#imagine... they used to be the exact opposite ^_^

[pink-nightmare-lab]

✨🦇General!Lilia Vanrouge one-shot🦇✨

Summary: reader is a diurnal* fae and is curious about the nocturnal fae so she goes to their territory to satisfy her curiosity

*Diurnal: basically the opposite of nocturnal, in other words, most active during the day

Other info: reader is female and a faerie🦋

Side note: might turn this into a fully fledged fanfiction with multiple chapters, also, I don't know the word count but it's long

Also, everything is purely made up, I took some inspo from the Tinkerbell movies and used my own imagination, so yeah, nothing canon here but HOLY MOLY, it took me so long to finish this

You live in a beautiful village surrounded by big trees where fae of all kinds flutter by or walk, going on about their day while the warm sun shines through the trees and illuminating the village in a golden glow, flowers blooming in every corner and magic flowing through the cores of the trees protecting the village.

You were a diurnal fae, to be exact, a butterfly faerie, wings as soft as silk and delicate like the wings of the small butterflies fluttering by, there was nothing better than to fly around and feel the breeze caress your skin like a gentle kiss.

It was widely known that faeries have conflicts with humans for centuries now but even amongst faerie kind, conflicts exist too, for one, nocturnal and diurnal faerie don't seem to get along too well and usually stay out of each other's skin just to avoid unpleasantries.

Yet no matter how often the others warned you and told you all sorts of stories, you always wanted to see the nocturnal fae up close out of sheer curiosity, after all, what if they aren't as bad as everyone says they are?

It's dawn when you slowly arise from your slumber, stretching and letting your wings flutter before getting out of bed, the village slowly coming to life to proceed with their daily tasks.

Today or rather tonight will be different, tonight you're venturing outside the territory of the diurnal faeries and into the lands of the nocturnal fae, yearning to learn more about them since books don't cover much about them.

You put on a beautiful floral dress and your hair up so it won't bother you for today's flower caretaking amongst other butterfly faeries in the nearby meadow.

You flutter towards your closet and grab a dark brown cloak and stuff it into a bag for later, after all, nobody should see it's you and with those big wings of yours that resemble those of a monarch butterfly, they'd stick out like a sore thumb, especially in the dark forest of the nocturnal fae territory, big bright orange wings would certainly be an unusual sight over there.

Once you're ready, you flutter towards the meadow, some already there and tending to the moon flowers, preparing them for an upcoming festival, pollinating them with a special pollen and making sure no illness befell at least one of them.

While you scatter the pollen on the flowers, you carefully observe the guards, ever so often hiding beneath the big flowers to take a better glimpse at them, listening in and trying to memorise their patrolling pattern, technically, it wasn't forbidden to leave the village at night but when your reasoning is to visit the nocturnal fae and try to become friendly, well, that's another story.

When it finally becomes evening, it's time to get ready, you put on a cloak and wait around a certain area around one of the exits for guards to walk past and go towards another area to patrol.

It's your cue to leave and you quickly do so, not the fastest by foot but it worked, you only hope that nobody saw you else you'd be in trouble and then the mayor would be upset and then the ministers when they heard one of their subjects decided to dare to go to the nocturnal faeries.

You take off the cloak once you're a good bit away from the village, you decide to flutter towards the edge of the forest for the rest of this small trip till you reach the edge of the forest, staring into the other side, it looks much darker and dangerous yet it's no time to go back now after planning for so long for this adventure of yours.

From what you've heard, nocturnal faeries are rather "scary" looking, sharp fangs, horns, scales and just overall roughness, that they're pretty mean although that's debatable since you've met plenty of mean diurnal faeries in your life but oh well, those were just rumours, you don't know what exactly to expect but at least it's one step closer to get friendly with them.

Aside from curiosity, you had another reason for this trip...

A while back, you overheard guards whispering amongst themselves, the trees surrounding the village are growing weaker and need a special kind of pollen to restore their strength but their problem was that the remedy lied within the territory of the nocturnal faeries and they're oh so stubborn to ask for help in that regard, instead, they tasked scholars to find an alternative solution.

If those trees die, everything around them does as well, your village is highly dependent on that but most importantly, the moon flowers on the meadow are of highest concern but what makes them special is that they have healing properties and that they bloom the strongest on the third full moon during the festival, without it, aiding the injured would take longer and finding a healer might end up being too late.

To you, the answer was obvious, to negotiate with the nocturnal faeries, asking for help and offering something in return, it couldn't be that bad... but then again, you've never met an actual nocturnal fae.

As night grows closer, you put on the cloak, trying to blend in, the forest seems so much darker compared to the ones in your territory, the tree leafs rustle in the wind and the owls sing their songs, it's hard to see without a light but if you lit up a light it could alarm the wrong type of creatures, so instead, you depend on the moonlight to guide you.

After walking for an hour, you spot a distant light emitted from a campfire but then you also heard... screeching and growling? you're not sure if you're hearing dangerous creatures or actual nocturnal faeries after all but nonetheless, it's an opportunity to see them up close.

You lower yourself and walk along the bushes to try to get closer till you're close enough to peek through the bushes and see what you've found.

Your eyes widen at the sight, real nocturnal faeries! But from the looks of it, soldiers.

Their masks are put aside and they're resting and talking, you hold in a gasp at the sight, such sharp fangs, piercing eyes with a slit shaped pupils, longer pointy ears and as you've heard, some indeed have scales and horns, the rumours about them looking more rough and predatory certainly wasn't a lie and yet... there was something ethereal about them.

To your confirmation, that growling and screeching is indeed just them talking, such an odd yet curious language, you thought.

You decide to stay hidden and keep observing, clearly, it's very important! You were just about to take out your journal but then you remember just how good of a hearing they have so perhaps alarming them wouldn't be so smart, writing can wait but... if their hearing is that good, what if they already are aware of your presence? No, that can't be, else they would've already noticed by now.

You have a clear goal in mind, observe, plan and negotiate (hopefully), after all, finding the remedy yourself and just taking it would be thievery, so you can't do that, you'd be punished and you aren't exactly fond of that.

You spot a fae much smaller and slimmer than the rest, his skin was a beautiful shade of pale, he had sharp fangs like the rest but his red piercing eyes truly captured your interest, his long hair flowing in the gentle night breeze.

Judging from the way the others interact with him, he seems to be someone highly important but it was difficult to really tell if they'd listen to reason were you to actually approach them, you could make nothing of their screeching.

They truly sounded and looked so different from the faeries you're surrounded by all the time yet you couldn't help but look at them in awe, you want to know more about them and get to know their lives and everything else.

Now stuck in a dilemma, you're sure that approaching them head on wouldn't be the smartest idea, they'd probably just shoo you back to your home but you somehow need to at least befriend one of them.

After some more observing, you internally sigh, it's no use to keep watching them so you slowly back away and try to get away without getting noticed.

Once you successfully get away, you continue to walk deeper into the woods in hopes of spotting the sister tree of the ones surrounding your village but that advantage is cut short very quickly.

One step and suddenly a rope snatches your ankle and pulls you up, dangling you upside down.

You did not expect this whatsoever and now you're stuck hanging upside down, also having made quite the noise with the amount of leaf rustling due to the trap.

Your hair is a mess, the skirt of your dress hanging down, revealing the shorts beneath them, your bag fell down alongside your cloak, letting you wings free and making you less hidden.

You curse inside, trying to figure out what to do now while you meekly tried reaching for the rope holding your leg, your wings flutter in frustration.

"first you're snooping around and now you're stuck dangling like freshly caught prey, I must say... I've never seen your kind venturing into our territory, alone nonetheless" a deep voice from behind suddenly speaks up.

You freeze, unable to look behind you but you can tell that it must be one of the soldiers you saw earlier.

"Such beautiful wings, diurnal faeries truly live up to their names, you look like a soft delicate flower, like something that doesn't belong here"

You feel a hand gently caressing your wing, you gasp and slap him with your wing, it was gentle and didn't harm him but it was enough to startle him and to tell him to stop.

After a moment of silence, he's in front of you and you're met with those piercing red eyes again that you saw earlier, he looks like he's thinking with a stern face.

"Tell me, who are you and what are you doing here?" he asks sternly, leaving no room to back away.

"I'm just here for help, I need something that can only be acquired here!" you say after composing yourself.

"and pray tell what it is you're looking for? Not often does your kind come here, nonetheless all alone like yourself, a bit naive if you ask me" he replied unimpressed.

You huff "I came here with a purpose, thank you very much..." you reply back a little sassy.

He keeps looking at you sternly, letting you know he won't help you if you don't tell your intentions first, very clearly as well.

"Okay look... my village has these special trees with magic and they're growing weaker... there's a certain type of pollen that can make it strong again but the problem is, the sister tree carrying that pollen grows here, in your forest, nowhere else and those trees are super important to us..." you explain and the sigh, talking while hanging upside sure is exhausting.

He hums and then just looks smug "I see how it is, we have a little thief here"

You gasp frustrated "I'm not stealing! I'm here to negotiate with your kind! I was hoping to talk with any of you, get friendly and well, get the pollen since the higher ups refuse too!"

He looks contemplative before responding "I truly don't know if you're naive or actually brave for coming here but let me be clear, you can't just waltz over here, expecting to simply 'talk it out' with the first faerie you see, not to mention, we aren't on friendly terms"

You look a little defeated but still keep your composure "...at least please let me down?"

He sighs and cuts the rope, making you fall down with a groan, slowly getting up and reaching for you bag and cloak.

He watches you gathering yourself and evening out the skirt of your dress and removing a few leafs from your hair before looking at him.

"Look, in case you didn't realise, we're in the middle of a war with the Silver Owls, we don't have time for something like this, we're busy protecting our lands, including yours, so you better fly back home and stay out of danger, let the higher ups handle it" he replies while looking around, listening to his surroundings.

You look frustrated but quickly keep shut once he looks at you sternly once again.

He sighs and looks less serious "I've been gone long enough from the camp, it won't be long till someone comes looking for me, you're lucky you came across me, you should better hurry back home before anything dangerous can happen, I can't protect you just because you decided to have a little adventure here, I have my duties to attend to"

You put on your cloak and bag but before you can go, the nocturnal fae calls out to you again.

"the name's Lilia Vanrouge, general Lilia Vanrouge, in case we cross paths again, little lady"

Clearly he knows just as well as you, that this won't be the last encounter.

Once you reach your home without alarming the guards, you sigh, sitting down on your bed, thinking about your encounter with Lilia, it was a rocky start but you know you'll have to come back.

Nonetheless, you start writing down on your journal, everything you found out so far, but you must admit, despite their rough and predatory features, they are quite handsome.

You smile and put the journal away, getting ready for bed for another day of planning the next move.

"You're finally back, general, was it a Silver Owl?" Baur asks once he sees Lilia return.

"No, just a lost deer, nothing to worry about" he dismisses, before heading to his tent, the feeling of your wings still lingering on his mind.

[kakushusband]

Citrus time.

Decided to redesign his patterns to match Orchard's, and I think they're finally looking Concise ^_^ also, outfit update! The indigo emblem is on his back 💜

[bcyhoods]

when eddie’s sick, i feel like he does the absolute most to deny that he’s actually sick. the man could be hacking and wheezing all over the trailer, his nose beet-red and chapped, and he would still insist that he’s felt worse. he is doing anything in his power to convince you that he’s fine, doing simple household tasks like see, can a sick person do this ;)) and it’s just him washing a mug.

it’s not really because he doesn’t want you to worry about him, although that’s definitely part of it. but he’s gotten this far. he’s just used to taking care of himself whenever wayne wasn’t home. pushing you away is more of a defense mechanism than anything. as if letting you tend to him meant that he was giving up or that you’d eventually leave when it got too much

once he starts letting you take care of him though…the theatrics are at an all time high. you’d think he was on his deathbed. flailing limbs, and whining, and exaggerating his symptoms, and definitely an entire monologue about the only cure for illness is a lover’s kiss :((( all so he could have you make him chicken soup and play with his hair and kiss his forehead

[shawtuzi]

thinking about suguru and satoru eating your pussy at the same time heje

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 imagine them both between your thighs, staring hungrily at your dripping pussy before gojo breaks the ice and thumbs at your already sensitive clit

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 imagine geto soothing your little trembles by gently stroking your thigh, maybe even giving it a few kisses of encouragement <//3

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 imagine both of the men using one strong hand to push your plush thighs open, exposing yourself even more to them. if you dared try to shut your thighs even a tad they’d be pushed right back open, along with a quick slap the soft skin curtesy of geto

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 imagine the two friends bickering for a moment before geto finally caves and lets gojo have the first taste

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 imagine gojo wasting no time spitting on your clit before wrapping his lips around it, tongue immediately caressing your sensitive nub. he couldn’t decide between roughly sucking on the poor thing or moving his tongue side to side sooo he settles on both! he hollowed his cheeks, holding your clit in place while his tongue continued moving with vigor

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 imagine geto sucking on the soft skin of your thighs while his hand finds purchase on your bare breast, squeezing roughly every once in a while to keep you on your toes

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 imagine geto slowly kissing his way towards your center before nudging gojo’s head with his own, giving the man a cheeky smile

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 imagine both men looking up at you before—

“a-ah!!! oh my-” your back suddenly arched off the bed as you felt not one, but two hot tongues on your clit. one slowly moving up and down, like they were trying to savor the taste of your essence—not too hard or too fast….just sensual. the other tongue on the other hand settled on quick, harsh licks sooo basically the exact opposite.

“s’good right ?” gojo slurred into your pussy, now sloppily kissing his way down to your dripping hole. geto took this as an opportunity to cup your entire clit in his mouth, while his tongue drew soft circles around the nub. geto hummed around your clit, spit dribbling from his lips from the sloppy kisses he was giving your weeping pussy.

all it took was gojo shoving his tongue in your pussy for your back to arch slightly off the bed as you came with a loud, pathetic whine. gojo moaned just as loud when he felt your cum began to coat his tongue in little waves.

geto pulled away from your clit with an obnoxious pop! dark eyes admiring at the mess your pussy has already become. “lemme get a taste,” he mumbled, leaning his head down to lick a slow strip up your pussy. but one lick was not enough! and it wasn’t long before gojo got a little jealous and smacked geto on the back of his head, a small grunt leaving him.

“‘fuck was that for?” geto hissed, but gojo didn’t even bother glancing at him, his attention focused solely on your soaked center. his long fingers ran slowly up and down your petal soft slit, occasionally applying light pressure to your clit. without warning he plunged two fingers in with a lewd squelching sound following, “we’re supposed to be sharing don’t be so greedy, now let’s make her cum again.”

“j-just be gentle m’still a little— hah! sensitiveeee,” your request fell on deaf ears as both mens tongues were on your clit once again. they went from synchronized licks, to each giving your clit an open mouth kiss, to taking turns slapping your pussy.

you tried to keep your eyes on them but you could only handle so much before you head fell back against your bed, eyes rolling into the back of your head. “m’gonna put my fingers in sweet thing,” geto mumbled into your thigh, giving it a sweet kiss before plunging two fingers inside you. getos fingers began doing a scissoring motion, and to help you avoid the stinging stretch gojo sucked your throbbing clit in his mouth.

“i’m gonna cu-cum againnn, you’re gonna make me—” your body tensed as another orgasm washed over you, a much pleasing sight for the two men before you. “fuck she’s squeezing me real fucking tight, ease up yeah? gonna make it real hard for gojo to put his in too,” geto growled, curling his fingers in the most delicious way possible.

you whined something along the lines of ‘i’m tryinggg’ and gojo could’ve just ate you up the way you were being so cute. “hehe she’s so cute the way she’s trying to keep it together, just let go baby we’re right here to catch you,” gojo giggled menacingly, his two fingers slowly prodding at your entrance.

“don’t forget to go slow, don’t wanna hurt the poor thing now,” geto patted your thigh before giving it a sharp swat.

it took a little time to get you used to the stretch of four fingers inside your tight little pussy, but you managed like the good girl you were for them. “oh my fuckin’…” your mouth dropped as both men began to move their fingers at a semi-fast synchronized pace, digits bumping against that special that had your toes curling.

geto eyed your lonely breast and brought his free hand up to tweak at your nipple, gojo following suit. there was so much going on and your poor little brain could only handle so much before you were spluttering out nonsense making the two men chuckle.

“look at how wet she is….dripping all over the fucking bed,” geto groaned, pushing his aching erection against the edge of your bed. anything to find a little relief he’s only human. “she’s squeezing so tight i think she’s gonna cum again!” gojo moved his hand from your nipple to your clit, rubbing tight little circles that had your thighs trembling.

you weren’t able to give them a verbal warning of intense orgasm, the only signal being being the clear stream of cum shooting from your pussy each time they pulled their fingers out. “catch some, but don’t swallow,” geto grunted, shoving gojos head down to catch some of your squirt in his already watering mouth.

once you were done they both slowly pulled their fingers out, a small whine leaving your lips from the emptiness. geto turned to gojo, his breathing uneven. “you know what to do,” he nodded his head towards you and gojo quickly understood, slowly crawling up the bed to where you laid, glazed eyes staring up the the ceiling with a fucked out smile on your face.

“open your mouth for him,” geto grunted squeezing the plushness of your thigh. you obliged and slowly opened your mouth, quickly met with the tart, tangy taste of your cum mixed in with a little of gojos spit. geto hummed happily giving your tummy a soft kiss, “that was fun, messy but fun nonetheless.”

the next twenty minutes were spent catering to your every need ofc. gojo having you between his legs, long arms wrapped around your waist while geto gently cleaned the mess up between your thighs. “did so good for us angel, thank you for letting us indulge in you,” gojo smiled, giving your hip a loving squeeze.

they both had raging boners but in this moment it was all about you but hey!! maybe once your rested up you’ll let them put both their dicks in you!! but don’t tell gojo that rn he might bust in his pants the poor thing :((

[moonlightwritingf1]

Just a Picture | LN4

⚘.ᥫ᭡⋆˚✿˖° summary ━━━━━━━ After four days of silence, Y/N was drowning in heartbreak, replaying the fight that started it all—a photo of Lando in a club, looking far too close to another girl. It triggered every insecurity she'd tried to bury, and when she confronted him, things spiraled—accusations, shouting, even a panicked flinch that neither of them could forget. Then he showed up at her apartment, looking just as wrecked as she felt, desperate to explain, desperate not to lose her. 

⚘.ᥫ᭡⋆˚✿˖° pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

⚘.ᥫ᭡⋆˚✿˖° word count ━━━━━━━ 10k

⚘.ᥫ᭡⋆˚✿˖° warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content, p in v, multiple orgasms, oral sex (f and m receiving), creampie?, slow sex, lots of 'I love you's

⚘.ᥫ᭡⋆˚✿˖° author's note ━━━━━━━ I guess this can be part 2 to The One He Couldn't Let Go if you squint a bit.

Based on this request.

It was late afternoon. Y/N was in her apartment, the dark clouds outside mirroring the storm brewing in her thoughts. She paced across the polished hardwood floor, arms folded tightly over her chest, her posture radiating tension. The living area—modern décor, a minimalist gray couch, glass coffee table, and tall bookshelves filled with novels—felt both too big and too small all at once.

Her phone lay face-down on the dining table, silent for the past three days. Not a single call from him since that explosive argument. She glanced at it again, half-hoping it would light up, but it remained still. She bit her lower lip, trying not to let the swirl of angst devour her. The image from that damned photo online had replayed in her head non-stop. Just a random snapshot—but enough to trigger months of tension that had been quietly building between them.

A year ago, when she first met Lando, she had never imagined she could be standing in this place—both physically, in her apartment, and emotionally, consumed by heartbreak so intense that it threatened to break her from the inside. And yet, she remembered how it all started. He had breezed into her life, courtesy of a mutual friend, with that mischievous grin and those unexpectedly soft, bright eyes that seemed to look right through her. At first, she’d tried to keep her distance. He was a playboy, or so all the rumors said. She had read the articles, seen the gossip, heard the stories from random acquaintances who claimed they knew him. She doubted he was the type to stay faithful. She doubted he was the type to take relationships seriously, given all that she’d heard about his partying, about the way he used to message random girls on Instagram. It was the exact opposite of everything she wanted or needed.

Yet he had pursued her relentlessly. Flowers would show up at her apartment every week—delicate bouquets of roses, peonies, lilies. Expensive gifts, random text messages in the middle of the day just to say he was thinking of her. He found out about her favorite authors and sent her limited-edition books. He discovered her love for certain designer bags and surprised her with them, even though she told him a hundred times that she didn’t want him to waste money on her. She had tried to play hard to get; she had shut him down over and over, telling him that she wasn’t convinced, that he’d break her heart. She had tried to remind herself that once upon a time he had been in a relationship, still rumored to be cheating, going to clubs, and partying with random women. All the gossip. All the pictures. She didn’t want that kind of heartbreak. She believed he would revert to his old ways at any moment.

But then, five months ago, she finally gave in. Five months that had begun the strangest, most wonderful, and most complicated relationship she had ever experienced. From that moment, everything between them had been intense, nearly suffocating in its passion, overshadowed by her lingering doubts and his determination to prove her wrong. Every kiss felt like a confession of how badly he wanted her to trust him. Every time he tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, she glimpsed in his eyes a silent plea that she believed in him. And slowly, she had begun to let her guard down. She let him in further than she had let anyone before.

That is, until four days ago, when her phone blew up with messages and notifications from mutual friends, from acquaintances who had seen it on social media: a photograph of Lando in a club with an unknown girl pressed very close to him. The angle of the camera made it look suggestive, as if he were leaning down into her ear, or maybe even nuzzling her neck. The girl’s arm was around his shoulders, and it looked like she was whispering intimately to him. The moment Y/N saw it, her stomach dropped. She hadn’t known rage so pure, not since childhood memories that she tried to bury. And in that moment, every single doubt she’d ever had about him came roaring back. She confronted him that night in her apartment, the memory of that confrontation still burned into the walls.

–

Four Nights Ago – The Fight

The moment Lando stepped into her living room, Y/N’s hands were shaking from anger. She had texted him: We need to talk. Now. And he’d come over immediately, wearing an expression of anxiety mixed with confusion. He must have known the rumors were swirling online.

“What the hell is that?” she demanded, pointing her phone at him, screen displaying the offending photograph. She didn’t realize she was almost yelling from the get-go. “Care to explain, Lando?”

He swallowed hard. His cheeks reddened. She wasn’t sure if it was embarrassment or guilt or both. “It’s… nothing,” he said, raising his palms defensively. “That picture—God, I didn’t even know someone snapped that. It’s not what it looks like.”

Her words came out in a hot rush, unfiltered. “Oh, it’s not? Because it looks like you’re cozying up to some random girl at a club—just like the old days, right?” She breathed in sharply, unable to stop the venom streaming out. “I knew it. I always knew you’d go back to your old ways sooner or later.”

He stepped closer, frustration written on his face. “I wasn’t cozying up to her. She was a friend of a friend. I was leaning down to hear what she was saying because the music was too loud. That’s it. It’s a stupid camera angle.”

“Camera angle,” she repeated mockingly. “Right. Always an excuse. You act like I don’t know you have this… this history. Messaging random girls. Sleeping around. Even when you were with someone, the rumors said—”

“Rumors!” he interjected, voice cracking with frustration. “They were just rumors! I told you a hundred times, I never cheated on anyone. If I had a reputation for partying, it was because I was young, going to clubs, sure, but I wasn’t hooking up with every girl who came near me. And I’m sure as hell not hooking up with them now!”

Her face twisted with anger she couldn’t contain. “Don’t you dare lie to me. You know how insecure I already feel. You know what I’ve been through, Lando!” Her eyes welled with tears, but she blinked them back, refusing to cry. “You should’ve been more careful. You should have thought about how that picture would look. How it would make me feel.”

He ran a hand through his curls, agitated. “For God’s sake, Y/N, I can’t control every photo or every rumor. I’m an F1 driver. People take pictures. I’m sorry that it happened, but I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Sure. Just like you never did anything wrong all those other times you got plastered with groups of girls, right? God, how am I supposed to believe you, Lando?”

A muscle in his jaw twitched. She could see him holding back his own anger. “Because,” he replied in a voice that trembled with repressed fury, “I’ve been bending over backward for months trying to prove to you that I’m not that guy. Do you think I spend all this time showering you with gifts, messages, and time, just so I can go out and hook up with random girls? That’s not me anymore!”

he shook her head, her voice laced with contempt that came from the deepest pit of her insecurities. “We can never know for sure, can we? God, I can’t stand the idea that I let you in, and you do something like this.”

He took another step toward her, eyes flashing. “Don’t put this all on me. You came into this relationship—if we can call it that—assuming the worst about me. I’m always on trial with you, Y/N. You never truly trust me.”

She let out a bitter laugh. “Well, if you want my trust, then don’t get photographed cuddling with random girls!”

He breathed heavily, exasperation rolling off him. “I told you, it wasn’t cuddling. And I can’t believe you’d think I would cheat on you. After everything we’ve shared.”

For a long moment, they stared at each other, hearts pounding, both of them caught in the throes of powerful, conflicting emotions. Then she lifted her chin, refusing to budge. “Get out,” she said quietly, but her tone was menacing in its finality.

He froze. “Y/N, please. Don’t do this.”

She shook her head. Her vision blurred as tears threatened to spill again. “Get. Out. Now.”

Lando’s expression turned furious and wounded. “Fine,” he spat. “If you won’t even listen to me, what the hell am I supposed to do?” In his frustration, he flung his arm up, wanting to run his hand through his hair, but in that split second, it looked like his hand was coming toward her in a fast, menacing way.

She recoiled instantly, a panicked flinch, arms defensively curling toward her face, eyes wide in fear. A rush of adrenaline spiked through her. It was so fast, so involuntary, as if a primal reflex told her that he was about to hit her.

His entire demeanor changed in an instant. The anger drained from his face, replaced by a haunting sorrow. “Y/N,” he whispered, voice breaking. “You think… you think I would—?”

She just stared at him, still trembling. She hated that her body had interpreted his movement as a threat. “I-I’m sorry,” she stammered, guilt mixing with the cocktail of fury and heartbreak in her chest. “I— I just… you moved so fast.”

He took a shaky step backward, heartbreak contorting his features. “I would never lay a hand on you,” he said, voice trembling. “How could you even think—?”

She pressed her lips together, her cheeks burning with shame. But the anger was still there, too, overshadowing everything. “Just get out,” she repeated.

He stared at her for a few long seconds, pain written on every line of his face. Then, without another word, he turned on his heel, storming out of the apartment. She heard the door slam behind him. It left her standing alone in the silent living room, her heart pounding loud enough that she thought it might burst through her chest. She sank onto the couch, tears finally spilling.

–

The Four Days of Silence

Now she was on day four without a call, text, or anything from Lando. At first, she’d been so angry she told herself she wouldn’t care if he never reached out again. But after the first 24 hours, the doubts crawled in. Had she overreacted? Was that truly just an innocent picture? She battled with herself over and over, replaying the confrontation in her head, fixating on the moment he raised his arm to push his hair back—how she flinched, how his eyes turned to raw agony.

Guilt ate away at her. Yet the betrayal—and the fear that he was still that same playboy—remained. She wasn’t sure she could handle being with someone who always had rumors swirling around. It was making her question everything.

But she also missed him. Terribly. She missed his laugh, that boyish grin in the morning when he’d wake up next to her, the way he’d wrap his arms around her waist from behind while she was doing something mundane like making coffee. She missed how he would gently brush his fingertips down her cheek while watching TV, how he was always so enthusiastic about introducing her to his friends—well, the few times she’d let herself be around his circle. She missed that warmth and attention, how being with him made her feel alive in a way she hadn’t felt in a long while.

Late into the nights, she lay awake in her bed, staring at the city lights, tears wet on her cheeks, imagining him in Monaco or at his family’s home, maybe even with that unknown girl. The worst part was that she realized, in her chest, that she truly loved him. A truth she had tried to ignore because acknowledging it made her feel so vulnerable.

She hated herself for flinching, for letting him see that she thought he could physically harm her. She knew enough about him by now to know he wasn’t violent. That flash of panic had come from a dark place in her mind, shaped by her insecurities. She didn’t know if he’d ever forgive her for that. Or if she could ever forgive him for being so careless in that photo.

Day three passed. Then day four. She was pushing through work, eyes rimmed with dark circles from lack of sleep, snapping at her coworkers who asked too many questions, trying to bury herself in spreadsheets and emails.

–

The Afternoon of the Fourth Day

She had just gotten back to her apartment after another draining day at the office. She kicked off her heels by the front door, passing the large mirror in the entrance hallway. She lingered a moment, studying her reflection—searching for something she could never quite name. She tried to straighten her shoulders, to seem more composed than she felt, but the familiar ache of doubt had already settled in.

She always worried that Lando, with his flirty ways and well-known preference for a certain type, would eventually look at her and realize she wasn’t enough. It hurt that she cared so deeply about this. She hated that she cared. She wanted to be that fierce girl who didn’t need anyone’s validation. But with him, she felt so out of control sometimes—like all the confidence she’d tried to build kept slipping through her fingers the moment he smiled at someone else.

Letting out a shaky breath, she headed to her bedroom, planning to change into something more comfortable, maybe sweatpants and an oversized tee. She rounded the corner into her living room—and froze.

Lando was there, standing by the window, looking out across the glittering skyline of London. He had his luggage next to him, as if he had come straight from the airport or something. Her heart jumped to her throat. Anger, relief, love, and pain swirled inside her so violently that she couldn’t even speak for a moment. 

He turned at the sound of her footsteps, eyes meeting hers. She saw the exhaustion on his face, the shadows under his eyes. He looked as if he hadn’t slept in days either. His hair was disheveled, the curls an unruly mess, and he wore a fitted black hoodie and gray joggers. Under normal circumstances, the sight of him might have made her breath catch with desire, but now, there was only tension.

They stared at each other in silence. Her eyes filled with tears again. She loathed that she cried so easily these days. “How did you get in?” she finally managed, her voice cold.

“I still have the key,” he replied quietly. “You didn’t ask for it back.”

She swallowed. Right. She hadn’t. Maybe that was a subconscious sign she wanted him to return. “You can’t just barge in here.”

“I didn’t know how else to see you,” he said, voice trembling with raw honesty. “You wouldn’t answer my calls or texts. I kept sending messages the first two days, you never replied. I got scared you’d blocked me, or that you never wanted to see me again.”

She scoffed, though hearing he’d tried to call made her guilt spike. She had left her phone on silent, or face-down, ignoring the messages—convinced she had to remain strong. “And so you decided to ambush me at home?”

He clenched his jaw, taking a step forward. “I couldn’t stand the silence anymore, Y/N. It’s been killing me.” He paused, searching her face with a mixture of desperation and anger. “I’m sorry for everything. But you have to understand, that picture—it was nothing. And I hate that you believed otherwise. It feels like you don’t trust me at all.”

“Because you’ve given me reasons to doubt,” she snapped, tears threatening to spill once more. “I’ve seen the rumors, the pictures, the girls you used to be with. I can’t— I don’t know how to handle it. It hurts to even think about. I can’t stand the idea of being compared to those bikini-model types you used to party with.”

His eyes widened. “Compared to them? Y/N, I’ve never once compared you to anyone. I—” He broke off, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Look, I know I made mistakes in my past. I slept around. I partied. But that was before. This last year has changed me, especially these five months with you.” He paused, voice trembling, “I’ve never felt this way about anyone.”

Her throat was tight. She exhaled slowly, all the anger and hurt rising again. “Then why did that picture look so—so intimate?”

He rubbed his face. “I was talking to that girl. She was leaning in because the music was loud. I wasn’t even there for long. I’d gone out with some mates, had a few drinks, and left early. I swear to you, I wasn’t flirting or anything close to that.”

She folded her arms protectively, glowering. “And I’m just supposed to believe that?”

He looked at her with a heartbreak so profound that her stomach twisted. “I wish you would,” he whispered. “Because it’s true.”

She stared at the floor, tension coursing through her. The silence pressed down on them. She recalled the image of his arm moving up four nights ago, the absolute terror she felt, that flicker of fear that he might hurt her physically. She forced her eyes up to his. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, voice catching. “For thinking you’d hit me.”

His face contorted with anguish. “That… that moment,” he said, voice shaking, “I can’t even describe how it felt to see you flinch like that. Like you believed I could do something so horrible.”

She sucked in a breath, her lips quivering. “I just—I don’t know what came over me. It was a reflex. But everything else I meant. I can’t stand the way you have these shady pictures circulating. The rumors. And I hate feeling like I’m one in a long line of random women in your life. It eats me alive.”

His eyes were red, and he seemed to hold himself back from crossing the room to comfort her. “You’re not just another woman,” he said, voice brimming with emotion. “I would never see you that way. I love you, damn it. Don’t you get it? You’re everything to me.”

She swallowed, her heart thumping so loud it filled her ears. “You say that,” she answered raggedly, “but it’s so easy to say. What if you get bored, or you find someone else, or you want someone who wears skimpier clothes—someone who has the perfect body or an easier attitude?”

He scoffed softly, a pained look crossing his face. “Skimpier clothes? You think I care about that? Y/N, I love you for you. You can wear a shapeless potato sack, and I’d still think you’re breathtaking.” He licked his lips, stepping closer, but still leaving a couple feet of space, as if cautious not to invade her bubble if she didn’t want it. “I don’t want any other woman. I want you. I hate that all these rumors, these illusions, keep driving a wedge between us.”

She turned away, crossing to the couch. She rested her palms on the back of it, trying to steady her breathing, trying not to let the tears fall. “I can’t… forget. When I see pictures like that, it’s like a knife to the chest.”

He came up behind her, so close she could feel the warmth of his body. Very gently, he placed a hand on her shoulder. She stiffened, but she didn’t pull away. “Y/N, I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I wish I could erase my past. I wish I could protect you from seeing that photo. But I can’t. All I can do is promise you I wasn’t cheating, nor do I ever want to.”

Anger still simmered beneath her skin, but she also felt the longing, the deep ache to reconcile with him. She wanted to lash out, to blame him, but she was so damn tired of fighting herself and him. She turned around slowly, looking up at him. “Why didn’t you call me sooner?” she asked hoarsely, tears pooling in her eyes. “Why didn’t you show up earlier?”

He inhaled sharply. “I tried calling. When you didn’t answer, I was worried you’d blocked me or that you needed space. I also needed to cool down. After how we yelled at each other, I— I was afraid you wouldn’t even look at me.” A trembling laugh escaped him. “I didn’t want to drive you further away. But last night, I realized I couldn’t handle another hour without trying to see you. So I packed my bag and flew here this morning.”

She bit the inside of her cheek, fresh tears running down. “I hate you,” she whispered, though her tone was heartbreakingly vulnerable, betraying how she felt the exact opposite.

He grimaced, eyes moist. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again. “I’ll do anything to make this right.”

For a moment, she couldn’t respond. She just stared at him through the haze of tears. Something inside her cracked wide open—the dam that had been holding in all the emotion. In one swift motion, she lunged forward, wrapping her arms around him, pressing her face into his chest. She felt his heart hammering beneath her cheek.

He hesitated only a split second before he crushed her against him, his arms wrapping around her waist so tightly as if he was afraid she’d slip away at any moment. The tears she’d been holding back poured out, and she felt his body shaking too. They stood there, locked in an embrace that trembled with raw anguish.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled again into her hair, kissing the top of her head. “I’m so sorry.”

“I hate that you made me doubt you,” she whispered, voice muffled by his shirt. “And I hate that I’m so insecure. But most of all, I hate that… I can’t let you go.” She let out a choked sob, closing her eyes. “I love you too. And it hurts so bad because I’m scared you’ll destroy me someday.”

He pressed his lips to her forehead. “I’d rather die than hurt you,” he said, voice cracking with sincerity. “I’d rather die than lose you.”

The tension and heartbreak in the air shifted palpably, turning into a different kind of electricity. They pulled back just enough to look at each other, eyes red-rimmed and puffy. Their faces were inches apart, breath intermingling. Then, wordlessly, as if drawn by a magnetic force, their lips collided in a fierce, desperate kiss.

She tasted salt from her tears as he kissed her, but the urgency in the press of his mouth overwhelmed her senses. Her hands slid up around his neck, fingers tangling in his curls. He held her face between his palms as though she were something delicate—yet the kiss itself was anything but gentle. It was raw, intense, filled with the pent-up longing of four days of agony and an entire relationship’s worth of insecurities.

They broke apart for a brief moment, gasping for air, foreheads touching as they tried to form words. But no words came. Only that frantic hunger to feel close after so many days of pain and confusion. They resumed kissing, deeper this time, tongues and teeth clashing, breath ragged. She moaned softly against his mouth, her body igniting with the need to be consumed by him.

“Bedroom,” he rasped, pulling back just enough to speak. His eyes were dark with longing, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

She grabbed his hand and led him down the short hallway. The moment they entered her bedroom, the tension redoubled. Even the air felt charged. The blinds were half-drawn, letting in the golden glow of the late-afternoon sun. The duvet on her bed was slightly disheveled, and she had thrown some clothes on it earlier that morning. The entire room smelled like her faint vanilla perfume and the leftover anxiety of the last few days.

She turned to face him, breath quivering. He reached for her face, cupping her cheek. She looked up into his eyes, still rimmed with leftover hurt. She reached for his hoodie, and he helped yank it off, tossing it aside. The next second, he was kissing her again, guiding her toward the bed. He peeled off her blouse, his hands shaking with the intensity of the moment, exposing her skin to the cool air and his heated gaze.

His lips moved down her jaw, her neck, gently nipping at the sensitive flesh there, drawing out soft gasps. Her fingers fumbled with the waistband of his joggers, pulling them down. Every movement was frantic, desperate, as if they both knew that making up like this was both a healing and a reaffirmation of what they meant to each other.

She sank onto the bed, and he followed, settling above her. Their mouths found each other again in a searing kiss, tongues dancing as their bodies pressed together. She could feel his heart beating wildly. She let her hands roam over his torso, savoring the warmth of his skin, the muscle that flexed beneath her palms. He groaned into her mouth, his voice husky with need.

“God, I missed you,” he breathed. He lowered his head to kiss down her collarbone, his breath hot against her skin. “I was going crazy not hearing your voice.”

She arched against him, eyes fluttering shut, overwhelmed by how much she had missed him too. Her nails lightly raked his shoulders. “Don’t ever disappear on me again,” she murmured, breath hitching. “Don’t leave me like that.”

He lifted his head, meeting her gaze. The raw emotion in his eyes almost made her dizzy. “Never,” he promised, and he sealed the vow with a slow, deep kiss.

Their hands explored every inch of exposed skin, reacquainting themselves with each other’s bodies as though it had been years rather than mere days. Slowly, carefully, they stripped away the barriers of clothes. Each article of clothing fell to the floor or was pushed aside on the bed, along with the tensions and fears that had weighed on them. He caressed her curves, pressing gentle kisses to her hip, her waist, then trailing his lips up to her neck. She whimpered softly, allowing herself to be lost in the sensations.

He loomed above her, completely naked, his body trembling with the intensity of the moment. His hands slid down her arms, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake, before he moved up her body again. His lips found hers in a searing kiss, hot and desperate, as if he were trying to make up for every second of the four days they’d spent apart. She moaned softly into his mouth, her hands tangling in his unruly curls, pulling him closer, as though she could fuse them together and never let him go again.

When he finally broke the kiss, his lips didn’t stray far. He kissed her cheeks, her forehead, her temples, each press of his mouth a silent apology, a promise, a plea. His breath was warm against her skin as he trailed kisses down her jawline, his teeth grazing the sensitive spot just below her ear. She shivered, a soft whimper escaping her lips as her head fell back against the pillows, her body arching instinctively toward him.

“Lando,” she breathed, her voice trembling with need.

He didn’t respond with words. Instead, he kissed across her collarbone, his hands moving down to her shoulders to steady her. His lips moved lower, leaving a trail of fire across her chest. He lingered there, his tongue darting out to taste her skin, his breath hitching as if he were savoring her. She could feel his hunger, his desperation, and it mirrored her own. When his mouth finally closed around her nipple, she gasped, her fingers tightening in his hair.

He sucked gently at first, teasing her, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bud until she was squirming beneath him. Then he sucked harder, drawing a sharp cry from her lips. She could feel the heat pooling low in her stomach, her body responding to him as it always did, as if it were wired to crave him and him alone. His fingers found her other breast, kneading and teasing, and she moaned, her back arching off the bed.

“Lando,” she whispered again, her voice barely audible over the sound of her own ragged breathing.

He lifted his head, his eyes dark with desire, his lips swollen from kissing her. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice rough. “I can’t get enough of you.”

She reached up to touch his face, her thumb brushing over his cheekbone. For a moment, they just stared at each other, the weight of everything that had happened between them hanging in the air. But then he leaned down, capturing her lips in another kiss, and all the tension, all the doubt, melted away, replaced by an all-consuming need.

This time, when he pulled back, his hands moved to her hips, lifting her slightly so he could slide further down the bed. His lips trailed down her stomach, leaving a path of fire in their wake, and she shuddered, her hands clutching at the sheets. He kissed her hips, her thighs, his breath warm against her skin, and then his mouth was on her again, sucking and teasing, his tongue darting out to taste her.

She cried out, her hips bucking involuntarily, and he groaned against her, the sound vibrating through her, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through her body. His hands tightened on her hips, holding her still as he continued to worship her with his mouth, his tongue flicking over her sensitive flesh until she was trembling, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps.

“Lando,” she moaned, her voice breaking. “Please.”

Lando didn’t lift his head, not yet. His hands tightened on her hips as he leaned in, his tongue flicking out to trace the slick, sensitive folds of her pussy. He groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating against her, and she whimpered, her thighs trembling on either side of his head. He could taste her, her arousal, her need, and it drove him wild. He loved her like this, so open, so vulnerable, so completely his. His tongue delved deeper, exploring her, savoring her, and she cried out, her hands fisting in the sheets.

“So fucking sweet,” he murmured against her, his breath hot. “I could taste you forever.” His voice was rough, dripping with desire, and it sent a shiver up her spine. He pulled back slightly, his lips closing around her clit, and he sucked gently, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud. She arched off the bed, her moans echoing through the room, and he groaned, the sound muffled against her.

He lifted his head just enough to speak, his lips glistening with her. “You taste like heaven,” he said, his voice low and reverent. “I fucking love your pussy, Y/N. I love how you writhe for me, how you moan for me.” He kissed her again, his tongue slipping inside her, and she gasped, her hips bucking against his face. He held her steady, his hands firm on her hips, as he drank her in, every sound, every taste, every shudder of her body.

He loved this—he lived for this. The way she fell apart for him, the way her breath hitched and her cries grew louder, the way she trembled when he touched her just right. He loved the way she moaned his name, the way she clutched at the sheets, the way she surrendered to him completely. He loved knowing that he could make her feel this good, that he could bring her to the edge and push her over, that he could make her his in every possible way.

His tongue flicked over her clit again, faster this time, more insistent, and her moans turned into desperate cries. “Lando—please—I’m so close,” she gasped, her voice breaking. He didn’t stop, didn’t slow down. He sucked her clit into his mouth, his tongue working her relentlessly, and she came with a sharp cry, her body convulsing, her hands clawing at the sheets. He didn’t let up, drinking in every drop of her release, until she was panting, her body limp and trembling.

He finally lifted his head, his lips wet, his eyes dark with satisfaction. “You’re so fucking beautiful when you come,” he said, his voice rough. He crawled up her body, his hands framing her face as he kissed her, letting her taste herself on his lips. “I love making you feel good,” he murmured against her mouth. “I love hearing you moan, feeling you shake, watching you fall apart for me.”

She reached for him, her hands trembling as she cupped his face. “You’re incredible,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “I love it when you worship me like that, when you make me feel like I’m the only thing that matters.” Her eyes were soft, filled with adoration, and he kissed her again, gently this time, savoring the way she melted into him.

“You are the only thing that matters,” he said, his voice low and earnest. He brushed a strand of hair from her face, his fingers lingering on her cheek. “I love you, Y/N. I love everything about you—your body, your mind, your soul. I love making you feel good, I love hearing you moan, I love watching you come. I love you.”

She smiled, a slow, sweet smile that made his heart ache. “I love you too,” she whispered. She pulled him down, her lips finding his, and they kissed, slow and deep, their bodies pressed together, their hearts beating in sync. For the first time in days, the world felt right again.

He pulled away from her lips reluctantly, his chest heaving, his cock throbbing between them as he hovered above her. “I need to be inside you,” he murmured, his voice low and rough with desire. “I can’t wait anymore.” His hands gripped her hips, his fingers digging into her skin as he guided her closer to the edge of the bed, positioning himself between her legs.

But she shook her head, her eyes filled with need, her lips swollen from his kisses. “Not yet,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I need you in my mouth first. Please, Lando. Let me taste you.”

He groaned, his head falling back as he fought for control. “Fuck, Y/N—I want to be in you. I’ve been waiting for this for days.”

Her hands slid down his chest, her nails lightly scratching his skin as she moved lower, her fingers wrapping around his hard cock. He hissed at the touch, his hips jerking forward instinctively. “I know,” she said, her voice soft but insistent. “But I need this. I need to feel you in my mouth. Let me, please. I’ll make it good for you.”

He looked down at her, his eyes burning with desire and frustration. She was begging him, her voice dripping with need, and he couldn’t deny her. Not when she looked up at him like that—with those pleading eyes. “Fuck,” he muttered, his resolve crumbling. “Just—just for a minute. Then I’m inside you.”

She didn’t waste another second. Lando lay back on the bed, his head resting on the pillows, his chest rising and falling rapidly as she positioned herself between his legs. His cock was already leaking precum, the tip glistening, and she could feel him twitch in her hand as she stroked him slowly. She licked her lips, her mouth watering at the sight of him, at the thought of tasting him, of feeling him on her tongue.

Without hesitation, without teasing, she took him into her mouth, her lips wrapping around his shaft, her tongue swirling around the sensitive head. He groaned loudly, his hands fisting in the sheets as she sucked him deep, her head bobbing up and down in a steady rhythm. One hand rested on his inner thigh, her fingers digging into his skin, while the other stroked the base of his cock in time with her movements.

She looked up at him, her eyes locked on his as she sucked him, her lips stretched around his length. The sight of her—her lips wrapped around his cock, her eyes filled with hunger—was almost too much for him. His hips jerked forward involuntarily, and she moaned around him, the sound vibrating through him, sending jolts of pleasure racing down his spine.

“Look at you,” he breathed, his voice rough with arousal. “Fuck, you’re so sexy like this. You love having my cock in your mouth, don’t you? You’re such a good girl for me, Y/N. Such a fucking slut for my dick.”

Her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t stop. She loved when he talked dirty to her, when he called her his slut, his good girl. It made her feel wanted, desired, and it only made her suck him harder, her movements becoming more desperate, more eager. Her hand moved from his inner thigh to his balls, her fingers gently massaging them as she continued to suck him, her lips and tongue working him relentlessly.

She could feel him throbbing in her mouth, could taste the saltiness of his precum on her tongue, and it only made her want him more. She loved the way he felt in her mouth, the way he filled her, the way he made her feel so alive, so connected to him. She loved the way he moaned her name, the way his hands tightened in the sheets as he tried to hold himself back. She loved the way he looked at her, his eyes filled with desire, his breath hitching as she sucked him.

For Lando, it was almost too much. The sight of her—her lips wrapped around his cock, her eyes filled with hunger, her hand stroking him, her fingers massaging his balls—was driving him wild. He loved seeing her like this, so turned on, so eager for him. It made him feel powerful, desired, and it made him want to give her everything she begged for. He loved the way she looked at him, her eyes locked on his as she sucked him, as if she couldn’t get enough of him. He loved the way she moaned around him, the way her body trembled with need. She was his, and he loved every fucking second of it.

But he couldn’t let himself come—not yet. He wanted to be inside her, to feel her tight, wet pussy around him as he spilled himself deep inside her. He gently pushed her away, his hands trembling as he gripped her shoulders. “Enough,” he said, his voice rough with need. “I need to be inside you. Now.”

She pulled back, her lips swollen, her breathing ragged, her eyes filled with longing. “Lando,” she whispered, her voice trembling with desire. “Please. I need you.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. His hands moved with purpose, gripping her hips firmly as he manhandled her onto her back again, her body sinking into the mattress. She gasped, her hands instinctively reaching for him as he positioned himself above her, his weight pressing her into the bed. His eyes locked onto hers, intense, brimming with something deeper than desire—something raw, emotional, and unspoken. He hovered for a moment, his breath ragged, his chest heaving, before he shifted, guiding himself toward her entrance.

She felt the tip of him brush against her, hot and insistent, and a shiver of anticipation ran through her. He paused, his hands framing her face as he leaned down, his forehead pressing against hers. She could feel the tremble in his body, the way he was holding himself back, trying to control the primal urge to claim her. His breath mingled with hers, shaky and uneven, as he whispered, “I love you, Y/N. So fucking much.”

And then, slowly, achingly slow, he entered her. She felt every inch of him as he pushed inside, her body stretching to accommodate him, the sensation both overwhelming and electrifying. She gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tried to steady her breathing. It wasn’t just the physical sensation that made her head spin—it was the way he looked at her, his eyes never leaving hers, his expression a mix of reverence and desperation. It felt like he wasn’t just entering her body; he was reclaiming her heart, her soul, every piece of her that had been fractured by distance and doubt.

For Lando, the moment was equally intense. The warmth of her body enveloped him, tight and welcoming, and he groaned, his head falling forward as he fought to keep his movements slow, controlled. He could feel her trembling beneath him, her breaths coming in short, shallow gasps, and it made him ache with a need that went far beyond physical. He wanted to lose himself in her, to drown in the way she felt around him, but more than that, he wanted her to know how much she meant to him. How much he loved her. How he’d do anything to keep her, to protect her, to make her feel cherished.

He stayed inside her, not moving, his body flush against hers, their breaths mingling as they stared into each other’s eyes. The stillness was charged, electric, as if the world had paused just for them. She could feel him twitching inside her, the way his body seemed to throb with the effort of holding back, and it made her ache with a need that was almost unbearable. “Lando,” she whispered, her voice trembling, her hands clutching at his back. “Please… move. I need you.”

But he shook his head, his hands cupping her face, his thumbs brushing away the tears that had started to fall. “Not yet,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. “I want to take my time with you. I want to show you how much I love you, Y/N. How much you mean to me.” His words were soft, tender, but there was a fire behind them that made her heart race. He leaned down, capturing her lips in a slow, deep kiss, his tongue exploring hers as if he were trying to memorize every inch of her.

He pulled back just enough to whisper against her lips, “I’m not going anywhere. I’m here. I’m yours. Always.” His voice broke on the last word, and she could feel the sincerity in it, the weight of his promise. It was as if he were trying to pour every ounce of his love, his devotion, into that one moment.

She whimpered, her hands sliding up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. “I love you,” she whispered back, her voice trembling with emotion. “I missed you so much. Please, Lando… don’t let go.”

He kissed her again, his movements slow and deliberate, his hands roaming her body with a reverence that made her heart ache. He worshiped her with his touch, his lips, his words, as if every inch of her were sacred. His hands slid down her sides, smoothing over her skin, before he cupped her breasts, his thumbs brushing over her nipples in slow, teasing circles. She arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping her lips as her body responded to him instinctively.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice low and rough as he leaned down to kiss her neck, her collarbone, the sensitive spot just below her ear. His lips were warm, his breath hot against her skin, and she shivered, her hands tightening in his hair. He took his time, exploring every inch of her with a patience that made her ache. 

“Lando,” she breathed, her voice pleading, her hands tugging at his hair. “Please… I need you. I need you to move.”

But he shook his head again, his hands sliding down to her hips, gripping her firmly as he pulled back slightly, just enough to look into her eyes. “I’m not going to rush this,” he said, his voice steady despite the fire burning in his gaze. “I want to make this last. I want to make you feel how much I love you, Y/N. How much I’ve missed you.”

His words were a balm to her soul, soothing the raw edges of her heart, but they also made her ache with need. She could feel him inside her, hot and thick, twitching with every breath, and it was maddening to have him so close, so still. “Please,” she begged, her voice breaking, her hips lifting slightly in an attempt to get him to move. “Please, Lando… I need you to fuck me. I need you to make me feel good.”

He groaned, his hips jerking forward involuntarily at her words, but he held himself back, his hands tightening on her hips. “I will,” he promised, his voice rough with desire. “But not yet. I want to savor this. I want to savor you.”

She whimpered, her nails digging into his back as she tried to pull him closer, but he stayed still, his eyes locked on hers, his expression filled with a tenderness that made her heart ache. She loved this side of him—the way he could be so soft, so gentle, even in moments of intense passion. It made her feel cherished, adored, and it made her love him even more.

Finally, he began to move, his hips rocking against hers in slow, deliberate thrusts. The sensation was maddening, each movement drawing a soft cry from her lips as she writhed beneath him. He kept his pace slow, his eyes never leaving hers, his hands moving to cup her face as he leaned down to kiss her again. His lips were warm, his tongue exploring hers in a way that made her head spin, and she moaned into his mouth, her hands clutching at his shoulders.

For her, the slow, deliberate movements were both agonizing and intoxicating. Every thrust sent waves of pleasure coursing through her, the sensation building slowly, steadily, until she felt like she might explode. She could feel him inside her, hot and thick, filling her completely, and it made her ache with a need that was almost unbearable. She wanted more—needed more—but he held back, his movements controlled, his eyes filled with a tenderness that made her heart ache.

For Lando, the slow pace was equally intense. He could feel her around him, tight and warm, and it took every ounce of his self-control to keep from losing himself in her. He wanted to savor this moment, to make it last, to show her how much she meant to him. He wanted to worship her, to make her feel loved, cherished, adored. And he knew that the only way to do that was to take his time, to draw out every second, to make her feel every ounce of his love.

He kissed her again, his lips moving against hers in a slow, deep rhythm that matched the pace of his thrusts. “I love you,” he whispered against her lips, his voice trembling with emotion. “I love you so much, Y/N. I’m never letting you go.”

She whimpered, her hands sliding up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as she kissed him back with a desperation that mirrored his own. “I love you too,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Please, Lando… don’t stop.”

He didn’t. He kept his pace slow, deliberate, his thrusts deep and steady as he continued to worship her with his body, his touch, his words. He kept kissing her neck, her collarbone, her shoulders, his lips lingering on every inch of her skin as if he were trying to memorize her. His hands roamed her body, exploring every curve, every dip, as if he were trying to commit her to memory.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice rough with desire as he leaned down to kiss her again. “I can’t get enough of you, Y/N. I never will.”

She moaned, her hands clutching at his back as she arched into his touch, her body responding to him instinctively. The slow, steady rhythm of his thrusts was driving her wild, the sensation building slowly, steadily, until she felt like she might explode. “Lando,” she gasped, her voice trembling with need. “Please… I’m so close.”

He kissed her again, his movements never faltering as he held himself above her, his eyes locked on hers. “Let go, baby,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “I’ve got you. I’ll always have you.”

And with those words, she shattered, her body convulsing as she clung to him, her cries muffled against his chest. He held her through it, his thrusts never faltering as he continued to drive her over the edge, his own release building steadily until he could no longer hold back. With a low groan, he pressed his face into her neck, his body shaking as he spilled himself inside her, his breath hot against her skin.

For a long moment, they stayed like that, their bodies trembling, their breaths mingling as they held onto each other. The room was silent except for the sound of their breathing, the air thick with the weight of everything they had shared, everything they had overcome.

Slowly, he pulled back, looking down at her with an aching tenderness she had never seen so plainly before. He brushed damp hair off her forehead, trailing a thumb across her cheek.

“I love you,” he whispered, voice a low rasp in the hush of the room. “I love you so much. And I’m so sorry for everything.”

She exhaled shakily, caressing the side of his face. “I’m sorry, too,” she murmured. “I got so consumed by anger and jealousy. I should have let you explain calmly. And I… I should never have doubted that you’d raise a hand to me.”

He shook his head, kissing her temple. “You have nothing to apologize for. Your fears come from a real place. I just want to do better for you. I never want you to think I could hurt you.” He swallowed hard. “I’m terrified of losing you.”

She stared up into his eyes, seeing the layers of heartbreak there. “Don’t do anything that makes me doubt you again, Lando. Please,” she whispered, her voice wavering. “I can’t take this kind of fight again.”

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. “I promise,” he said. “And if something comes up—pictures, rumors, anything—please talk to me before letting it build up in your head. I’ll tell you everything.”

She nodded, tears threatening once more, but they didn’t spill. “Okay,” she agreed softly.

They settled into a quiet embrace, his arm draped over her waist, her head on his chest. She could hear the steady rhythm of his heart, each beat reassuring her that he was here and that he wasn’t letting go. Outside, the sun was beginning to set, painting the sky in pink and orange hues that filtered into the room. For a time, neither of them spoke, letting the warmth of each other’s bodies and the lingering afterglow of their fierce coupling do the talking.

Eventually, their breathing evened out, and Lando shifted to lie on his side, propping his head on one hand so he could look at her fully. She blushed slightly, tugging the sheets up to cover herself, though he’d already seen every inch. Her hair was a tangled mess, and her lips felt tender from the rough kisses.

He reached out to tuck a stray strand behind her ear. “You’re so beautiful,” he said quietly.

She rolled her eyes, but her cheeks warmed. “Don’t,” she mumbled. “I’m not—”

“You are,” he insisted. “I wish you could see yourself the way I see you. Your body, your face, your heart… it’s all incredible to me.”

“Stop flattering me,” she murmured, but she couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at her lips. His genuine admiration always made her heart skip a beat.

He gave her a half-smile, though there was still a hint of sadness in his eyes. “We have to talk, you know,” he said softly. “We can’t just… pretend the argument didn’t happen.”

She nodded, the smile fading as she remembered the fiery fight. “I know.”

He took a deep breath, shifting closer so their foreheads nearly touched. “I hate that my past makes you feel insecure. But it’s my past. I can’t change it, no matter how badly I wish I could.” He placed a hand gently on her hip. “I need you to understand that I’m not that guy anymore. Maybe I was reckless before, a little shallow. But I’m not the same person I was a year or two years ago.”

She chewed her lip, eyes drifting to where her hand lay over his on the bed. “I guess a part of me thinks that once a player, always a player,” she admitted. “Like, if you’ve done it once, you’ll do it again. But I know that’s not fair. People can change.”

His fingers squeezed hers lightly. “I don’t want anyone else. I know you might find it hard to believe, but it’s true. I’m not going to ruin this for some random stranger in a club.” He paused, voice growing thick with emotion. “I love you, Y/N. I love your fierceness, your shy smiles, your sarcastic quips, how you refuse to let me pay for everything even though I want to spoil you. I love the way you get all excited about a new book or a new recipe you learned. I love your body, every curve, every inch, how it feels like you were made to fit in my arms.”

She drew in a shaky breath, tears gathering again. “Lando…”

He nodded, blinking back his own moisture. “So trust me, please. Talk to me if you feel suspicious. Don’t bottle it up until it explodes. Because I can’t go another four days like this. It was pure hell.”

She closed her eyes, exhaling. “I’m sorry I shut you out,” she whispered, voice trembling. “And I’ll… I’ll try. I don’t want to go through this either. I just need reassurance. Because my insecurities are… they’re crippling sometimes. Seeing that picture brought back every fear I had.”

He cupped her cheek gently. “I get it. And I’ll do my best to reassure you. Always.”

They shared a tender kiss, a silent pact to communicate better, to lean on each other instead of letting the fear linger. After a few more minutes of hushed conversation, she excused herself to use the bathroom, to freshen up.

Stepping into the attached en-suite, she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror: flushed cheeks, swollen lips, hair in wild mess. She splashed cool water on her face, trying to calm the roiling emotions. She felt lighter somehow, as if her chest wasn’t as constricted. He was here, in her home, in her bed, and they’d just poured out so many painful feelings. But they’d also reconnected intimately, forging a new bond in the midst of all the anguish.

Yet a small flicker of doubt still lingered. She wondered if she could truly accept the rumors that might come in the future—pictures of him with fans, random girls in clubs, or women who found him attractive. He was an F1 driver, he was famous, and she couldn’t shield him from the outside world. She swallowed hard, telling herself that if she truly loved him, and if he truly loved her, they would find a way through it.

When she returned, dressed in a fresh tee and shorts, she found him sitting on her bed, having pulled on his boxers. The bedside lamp was on, illuminating the curve of his shoulders, the slight slump as he stared at his phone. He looked up the moment she stepped in.

“Everything okay?” she asked softly, noticing his phone in his hand.

He grimaced. “Max and a couple of the other guys are freaking out because I went off the grid. I told them I needed time to sort this out.”

She nodded, crossing to the bed, settling beside him. “I’m sorry if I caused you trouble.”

He shook his head. “No, don’t apologize for that. They were worried, but now that I told them I’m with you, they’re pretty much leaving me alone.”

She reached for his phone, pressing the lock button so the screen went dark, then set it aside on the nightstand. “You’re here with me now,” she said quietly. “Focus on that.”

He exhaled, nodding. Then his eyes flickered to the faint bruise on her wrist, a small mark she’d gotten from accidentally knocking her hand against a table the day before. She saw him stare with concern. “What’s that?”

She glanced at it. “Oh, that’s nothing. I bumped into something at work. I’m clumsy.”

He lightly brushed his thumb over the bruise, then lifted her hand and kissed the spot gently. The tender gesture made her chest tighten. His gaze moved up to hers, intense. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, “for scaring you the other night. I haven’t gotten that out of my head. The way you flinched…”

A wave of guilt crashed over her. “Lando, I said I’m sorry. It’s not you—it’s my own fear. I just reacted.”

“But the fact that you could even think I’d—” He exhaled unsteadily, closing his eyes. “I promise I’ll never move that way again. I’ll be mindful. I don’t want to trigger that reflex or make you think—”

She slid her arms around him, pulling him into a hug. “No. Don’t change how you move or exist in the world,” she whispered, voice thick with regret. “It was my own trauma or fear or something. But I know you’d never do that to me, logically. My body just panicked.”

He nodded, holding her close. “Okay,” he said softly. “But if you ever feel scared, tell me. I’ll do everything in my power to make you feel safe.”

They stayed like that for a long time, arms wrapped around each other on the bed, the soft glow of the lamp creating a cocoon of intimacy. She felt his heartbeat slow as he relaxed in her arms, his breathing growing calmer. She gently stroked the back of his neck, and he exhaled against her shoulder.

Finally, she drew back slightly, looking into his face. “You haven’t eaten, have you?”

He shook his head, giving her a wry smile. “No. I came straight here from the airport, then… all this happened.”

She offered a small smile in return. “I’ll order us takeout. Thai or pizza?”

He shrugged. “Anything you like. Though I’m kind of craving noodles.”

She nodded, picking up her phone from the nightstand, scrolling through her food delivery apps. Within minutes, she placed an order for a selection of Thai dishes. Then she set her phone aside again.

Lando let out a soft chuckle. “I can’t believe we went from screaming at each other to ordering noodles. My head’s spinning.”

She gave a humorless laugh. “Yeah, it’s been a rollercoaster.” Her features turned somber as she looked at him. “Do you regret coming here?”

He reached for her hand, entwining their fingers. “Not in the slightest. I want to fix things with you more than anything.”

A gentle silence fell over them, broken only by the hum of the city outside. She cuddled closer, resting her head against his shoulder. Despite the leftover ache, a sense of relief washed over her. He was here. They were together, speaking, touching, and trying to heal.

[badathumanemotions]

Marked By Fate

Spencer Reid x Fem Reader

MDNI MasterList CW: Soulmates, Awkward Soulmate Mark Placement, Accidental Groping, Slapstick, Awkward Spencer, Clumsy Spencer, BAU Reader, Awkward Romance, Smut, Fingering, Oral (f rec), Vaginal Sex, Creampie. WC: 21,798

You've always hated your soulmark, mostly because of it's placement. Knowing that's where your soulmate would first touch you left you dreading the day you'd meet. At least it'd be a funny story one day…probably. (Not Proof Read)

Spencer had always believed in soulmates. Not just in the theoretical sense, the way one might believe in gravity or quantum entanglement, but in the deep, unwavering way that only a hopeless romantic could.

His mother, an English literature professor, used to tell him stories about fate, about invisible strings tying people together across time and distance. She read him Tristan and Isolde, Chaucer, and Shakespeare, filling his childhood with grand tales of love and destiny. He had clung to those stories, even when the world made it hard to believe in them.

His soulmark had appeared the same as everyone else’s, soft, golden, shimmering like trapped stardust against his skin. It had settled onto his left hand when he was young, a delicate glow across his palm. A promise. A certainty. Proof that somewhere out there, someone was waiting for him.

But knowing that hadn’t made the waiting any easier.

The mark had been both a comfort and a quiet ache. It was proof that someone out there was meant for him, but it didn’t make the loneliness any easier. He had always felt a step out of sync with the world, his thoughts moving too fast, his words landing awkwardly, his presence somehow too much and not enough at the same time. He had been the kid buried in books while others played, the one who rattled off facts when people expected small talk.

But through it all, his soulmark had remained, gleaming softly under the light, reminding him that someday, someone would touch his palm, and they would be *his*. Someone would reach for him, hold him, connect with him in a way no one else ever had.

He had dreamed about it more times than he could count. Would it be a gentle touch, fingers slotting between his? Would it be an accident, someone catching his hand in a crowded room? Would he recognize them immediately, or would it take time?

He had spent years turning the possibilities over in his mind, longing for the moment it would happen.

—

Soulmates were supposed to be romantic. A cosmic thread binding two people together, ensuring that out of the billions of people on the planet, you’d find the one meant for you. For most people, it was a beautiful thing. Something to be cherished. Something to be shown off.

For you? It was a nightmare.

Everyone else had sweet, poetic stories about their marks. A brush of fingers across a wrist. A guiding hand on a shoulder. A reassuring touch at the small of the back. Cute, wholesome, normal. You had grown up surrounded by people who proudly displayed their marks, eager to imagine the moment their fated person would finally arrive. Kids in school would trace theirs absentmindedly, daydreaming about the love story that would unfold when they met their soulmate. You had done the exact opposite.

You had spent your whole life covering yours up, never wanting anyone to know where it was.

Because your mark—the physical sign of where your soulmate would first touch you—was right on your right boob.

And no matter how many times you tried to spin it, there was no way to make that romantic.

It was embarrassing. Mortifying, even. While your friends talked about their dream scenarios, you avoided the subject entirely. You became a master of misdirection, dodging curious questions and changing the topic whenever soulmarks came up. You kept it covered at all times, never letting anyone see even a glimpse of it. The idea of someone realizing where it was? Horrifying.

And as the years passed, the worry only got worse. How would it even happen? What kind of scenario would lead to someone’s first touch being *there*? You didn’t want to think about it. The possibilities ranged from awkward to downright humiliating, and you weren’t eager to find out which one fate had in store for you.

You had resigned yourself to dreading the inevitable. To constantly living with the anxiety of an unpredictable, embarrassing first contact.

And then, in the span of a single day, it happened and it was even worse than you ever could have imagined.

The elevator ride up to the BAU was smooth, but your nerves weren’t. You inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly, and resisted the urge to fidget with the strap of your bag. New job, new team, no big deal, right? You’d done this before. Well, not this exactly, but how different could it be from any other first day?

The doors slid open with a soft ding, revealing the bullpen, busy but not overwhelming. Agents moved between desks, chatting, sipping coffee, typing away at computers. The place had a steady energy, something just shy of chaotic but still purposeful.

You stepped out and caught the attention of the first person who didn’t look like they were sprinting between tasks. “Excuse me, can you tell me where Agent Hotchner’s office is?”

The man barely looked up from his coffee. “Up the stairs.”

“Thanks.”

You adjusted your bag and started weaving your way through the bullpen, eyes scanning the space as you walked. It was all standard office stuff, desks, computers, a board covered in what looked like case notes. But then, about halfway across the room, your gaze snagged on something or rather, someone.

A man, standing near a desk, gesturing as he spoke to someone. Tall, lean, with soft brown curls that curled just slightly at the ends. His hands moved as he spoke, gesturing like he was sorting through his own thoughts in real time. He had this nervous energy about him, but not in a bad way, it was almost endearing.

You didn’t mean to slow down, but your feet betrayed you for half a step. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, exposing forearms that were far more attractive than they had any right to be. His lips parted slightly like he was about to say something else, but then he hesitated, head tilting just a fraction as if reconsidering his phrasing.

Oh no. He was adorable.

You forced your eyes forward and picked up your pace before you could get caught staring like some kind of weirdo. You weren’t here to develop a workplace crush within five minutes of arriving.

Reaching the stairs, you made your way up to the offices, stopping at the last door on the right. Taking a quick breath, you knocked.

Reaching the stairs, you made your way up to the offices, stopping at the last door on the right. Taking a quick breath, you knocked.

“Come in,” came the voice from inside.

You stepped into the office to find Aaron Hotchner standing behind his desk, his expression serious but not unwelcoming. He was taller than you expected, somehow even more imposing in person, though not in an intimidating way, more like he exuded authority without trying.

“Agent,” he greeted, extending a hand.

You stepped forward and shook it, his grip firm, professional. “Sir. It’s a pleasure to be here.”

He gave a short nod, releasing your hand as he gestured toward the chair in front of his desk. “Have a seat.”

You sat as he picked up a neat stack of paperwork and set it in front of you. “Just a few things to sign. Standard HR documents, confidentiality agreements.”

You nodded, picking up the pen he offered and quickly scanning through the forms. The usual legal jargon, nothing surprising. As you signed, Hotch watched you with the same careful scrutiny you imagined he used in interrogations.

“So,” he said as you finished the last signature, “I trust you’ve been briefed on the expectations here?”

“Yes, sir.”

“We deal with difficult cases. It’s not always easy work, but it’s important. We rely on each other here, you’ll find this team is more like a family than anything else.”

You glanced up at him. “That’s good to hear.”

He studied you for a second longer, then nodded in approval. “I’ll introduce you to the team.”

And just like that, your stomach flipped. You smoothed your hands over your pants, bracing yourself as you stood and followed him back out the door, back down the stairs, into the bullpen, where everyone was waiting.

As you followed Hotch down the stairs, you could feel a dozen pairs of eyes flicking toward you, agents sizing you up as you entered the bullpen. Your stomach did a nervous little flip, but you kept your posture straight, your expression steady.

“This is the team,” Hotch said, his voice calm but carrying enough authority to command the room’s attention.

He stopped just short of the gathered group, and you quickly took stock of them, each one distinct, each one watching you with varying levels of curiosity.

“Jennifer Jareau, communications liaison,” Hotch started, motioning toward a blonde woman with warm eyes and an easy smile.

“JJ,” she corrected, stepping forward to shake your hand. Her grip was firm but friendly. “Nice to meet you. You’re in good hands here.”

Next was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a knowing smirk that practically screamed trouble—in a good way. “Derek Morgan,” Hotch introduced.

Morgan took your hand but didn’t shake it right away. Instead, he held onto it just a second longer than necessary, flashing you a dazzling grin. “Now, how come Hotch didn’t mention we were getting someone this gorgeous?” His voice was warm, teasing, and effortlessly charming.

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. “That line work on a lot of people?”

Morgan chuckled. “You tell me.”

With a playful smile, you finally pulled your hand back, and he winked before stepping aside.

Next was Emily, who smirked and gave you a firm shake. “Hope you’re ready,” she said, her tone light but teasing. “This place has a way of keeping things… interesting.”

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll manage,” you replied, grinning back.

David Rossi, the older man standing beside her, had a knowing smirk before you even reached him. Rossi stepped up next, shaking your hand with a knowing smirk. “Welcome to the team. If you’ve heard any rumours about me, don’t believe a word.”

“Oh?” you said, raising a brow. “Not one?”

“Not unless they’re good,” he said smoothly.

Then, there was the woman who had been practically vibrating with excitement the moment she laid eyes on you. She had neon-bright clothes, chunky rings, and an energy that could only be described as infectious.

“Oh, aren’t you just a vision?” she gushed, taking your hands instead of shaking them. “We are so going to be besties, I just know it. And if anyone gives you trouble, you just tell me, I have access to all the databases, and I’m not afraid to use them.”

You grinned, already knowing you’d love her.

And then, finally—

“This is Dr. Spencer Reid,” Hotch said.

Up close, Spencer was even cuter. His eyes were wide, warm hazel with flecks of gold, his hair a little messy like he’d been running his fingers through it absentmindedly. He had that awkward, gangly charm, the kind that made him look both brilliant and completely out of his depth at the same time.

And right now, he looked very out of his depth.

Spencer stepped forward, moving faster than he seemed to be thinking. “It’s, um—hi. I mean, I’m Spencer—”

And then, it happened.

His foot caught on the leg of a chair.

For a split second, you could see it happening in slow motion—the way his body pitched forward, the way his arms flailed uselessly. His hands shot out on instinct, and—

Oh. Oh no.

One of them landed. Squarely. On. Your. Boob.

A tingling sensation shot through you.

Not just any tingling, the kind that sent an involuntary shockwave down your spine, that made your breath hitch in a way that was entirely inappropriate for a workplace setting.

Your brain barely had time to register the mortifying zap of pleasure before Spencer, in his frantic attempt to not grope you, lost what little balance he had left.

His eyes went impossibly wide, his mouth opening in a silent oh no, and then—

Gravity won.

He collapsed onto you.

There was no graceful way to go down. One moment you were standing, and the next, you were flat on your back, crushed under the full weight of a long-limbed genius.

The bullpen went silent.

For a single, excruciating second, no one moved.

Spencer was on top of you. His face was hovering inches from yours, his body pressed against you in a way that should never happen in front of new coworkers. His breath fanned across your cheek, warm and panicked.

And worst of all?

His hand was still on your boob.

A strangled noise escaped his throat as the realization hit. He jerked his hand back so fast you half expected it to break the sound barrier. “I—I didn’t—oh my god—I swear—I didn’t mean—”

You, meanwhile, were malfunctioning. Your brain had shut down. Your soulmark—the one you had spent years pretending didn’t exist—was buzzing, sending little pulses of heat straight through you.

Your breath hitched.

Before you could even think about how to respond, something even worse happened.

A soft, golden glow lit up the room.

Not from just Spencer.

From you, too.

Beneath your clothes, under layers of fabric, you felt it glow, bright and undeniable.

You were still trying to will yourself into nonexistence when the entire team’s eyes snapped to Spencer’s hand, where his mark was completely visible, shimmering bright gold against his palm.

Another beat of silence.

Then—

“Ohhhhh my god,” Garcia shrieked.

You scrambled to get up, which only made things so much worse because Spencer was still on top of you, and in his panic, he tried to move at the same time, which led to a disastrous tangle of limbs.

“Kid,” Morgan choked, wheezing with laughter. “Did you just—”

“I DIDN’T—” Spencer’s voice cracked as he flung himself off of you like you were made of fire. He scrambled back so fast he nearly tripped again, his hands flailing uselessly in the air as he tried to word.

You, meanwhile, were dying.

Actually dying.

Because you were pretty sure your face had caught on fire, and everyone was staring at you, and Spencer Reid, your new coworker, had just met you in the most horrifically inappropriate way possible.

Your brain refused to form words, refused to process that this was how you found your soulmate.

JJ, eyes wide, pressed a hand to her mouth like she was holding in a gasp.

Emily covered her face with both hands, her shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

Rossi just smirked knowingly, because of course he did.

Garcia practically vibrated with excitement, clasping her hands together. “Oh. My. God. This is amazing!” she squealed, bouncing on her heels. “Boy genius finally meets his soulmate, and it’s happening right in front of us! This is better than I ever could have imagined!”

Morgan, still laughing, clapped Spencer on the back. “You move fast, pretty boy.”

Spencer made a noise that was somewhere between a wheeze and a whimper.

Hotch, to his credit, remained utterly stoic as he calmly clasped his hands behind his back and said, “Well.”

You turned to him, desperately hoping he would restore some order to the situation.

Instead, he deadpanned, “That was not the introduction I had planned.”

Spencer, still wide-eyed and looking like he wanted to sink into the floor, ran a shaking hand through his hair. “I—I just want to clarify that I did not mean to—” His voice cracked, and he coughed, his hand flying up to adjust his tie like it might somehow fix the situation. “It was purely accidental. I mean, statistically speaking, the likelihood of me tripping at that exact moment, at that exact trajectory, in a way that would cause my hand to—” He floundered, gesturing wildly, “—land there of all places is astronomically low.”

You squeezed your eyes shut. “You don’t have to—”

“I mean, I—I don’t go around touching people’s—” He made a vague, frantic motion toward your chest before realizing what he was doing and immediately aborting it. His face somehow got even redder. “I have never—! I wouldn’t—! Not that I don’t want to touch—NO! That’s not—”

“Spencer.” You held up a hand, your voice dangerously close to a plea. “Please. Stop talking.”

But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

“I mean, obviously, I will touch them, statistically speaking, at some point in our relationship—not that I’m assuming we’re going to have a relationship! I mean, soulmates don’t have to be romantic. There are plenty of cases where soulmates are just platonic or even completely uninterested in—”

Morgan wheezed. “Kid, shut up.”

“I can’t,” Spencer blurted helplessly.

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Oh my god.”

There was no coming back from this. You were going to have to quit, change your name, and move to a remote island where no one knew what had just happened.

Spencer was spiralling fast. “I just—I want to be clear that I wasn’t trying to make a first impression this way! I had a whole range of hypothetical scenarios mapped out for meeting my soulmate, and none of them involved—” He gestured between the two of you before groaning and dropping his hands like he’d officially given up on controlling them. “This is literally worst-case scenario. No—this is worse than worst-case scenario because even in my worst-case scenario calculations, I didn’t account for—” He hesitated. “Accidental second-base.”

Morgan choked. Garcia gasped like someone in a telenovela.

You, on the other hand, wanted the earth to open up and swallow you whole.

“Spencer,” Emily chimed in. “I am begging you to shut up.”

“I mean, I’m just saying that biologically—!”

You turned sharply to Hotch, your last hope for salvation. “Sir, with all due respect, can we please pretend this never happened and move on with our lives?”

Hotch stared at you. Then at Spencer. Then at the rest of the team, all barely containing various degrees of amusement. After a long, excruciating moment, he exhaled through his nose and said, “Get back to work.”

That was apparently everyone’s cue to start snickering openly as they dispersed. You, however, remained frozen, still reeling from what had just transpired.

Spencer shifted awkwardly beside you. “…So. Uh.” He swallowed. “Welcome to the BAU?”

As the team filtered back into their individual desks, you followed Hotch as he walked you through the bullpen. The sound of keyboards clacking and phones ringing filled the air, but it felt oddly... comforting. Hotch gave you a reassuring smile.

“Your desk is right here,” he said, gesturing to a spot directly across from Spencer’s.

You blinked.

“Oh,” you muttered, dread settling in your stomach. "I... I see."

To your horror, the desk Hotch had led you to was positioned directly across from Spencer’s. You were now squarely within his line of sight at all times.

Spencer, who had been sitting hunched over his desk with a pen in hand, suddenly looked up at you. His wide eyes locked on yours, and you both froze for a moment. There was a brief, awkward silence before he cleared his throat, looking more like he was trying to reassemble his entire sense of self rather than just continue working.

Morgan, who had been watching this exchange from his desk, immediately straightened up, his eyes gleaming with mischief. He threw a glance toward Hotch, then back at Spencer.

“Well, well,” Morgan drawled, leaning back in his chair with a lazy grin. “Looks like you two are gonna be real cozy, huh?”

Spencer’s eyes widened, and he almost choked on his own breath. “It’s—it’s just a coincidence,” he sputtered, clearly flustered.

Morgan only smirked, raising an eyebrow. “A coincidence, huh? Funny how that works out. So, Hotch, who’s gonna show our new friend the ropes?”

Hotch glanced over at the team, then back at Spencer. He sighed, clearly understanding where this was headed but deciding to go with it. “Spencer, why don’t you help her out? Show her around, make sure she’s settled in, whatever she needs.”

Spencer, looking both surprised and horrified, opened his mouth to protest but quickly closed it. There was no way he was getting out of this. He gave a stiff nod. “Right. Sure. I can do that.”

Morgan leaned forward, not even trying to hide his amusement. “Good choice, Hotch. I’m sure she’ll be in good hands with Spencer,” he teased, practically grinning ear to ear.

The rest of the team was barely able to contain their snickers as they returned to their work, but not before Garcia shot Spencer a wink and Emily gave him an exaggerated thumbs-up.

With a final look at Spencer, Hotch turned back toward his office.

Spencer stood there, his face as red as ever, clearly unsure whether to laugh, cry, or run for the nearest exit. He turned to you, his eyes wide. “Uh, so... coffee machine's this way, I guess?” He began to move toward the break room, clearly desperate to get something, anything, done to distract from the absurdity of the situation.

You followed as he led you through the bullpen, his posture a little too rigid, like he was manually controlling every movement. You weren’t sure why he was the one acting like he’d been groped in public, but at this point, you were too tired to question it.

The break room was empty when you entered, thank god for small mercies. Spencer exhaled like he’d narrowly escaped death and immediately went to the coffee pot, reaching for it.

You stepped forward at the same time.

Your hands brushed.

Spencer yanked his hand back like he’d been electrocuted. “Sorry! You—uh—you go first.”

You couldn’t help but notice how strong the pull between you felt just then. It was subtle but undeniable, a strange connection drawing you both closer, but the awkwardness was still thick in the air.

You eyed him. “…It’s just coffee, man.”

“Yes. Coffee.” He clasped his hands behind his back, as if he needed to physically restrain himself from further accidental contact. “A normal workplace beverage.”

You grabbed the pot before he could overanalyze hot bean juice any further and poured yourself a cup. Spencer, still standing there like he wasn’t sure how to exist in this room with you, cleared his throat again.

“So. Do you, um. Enjoy coffee?”

You turned to stare at him. “I—yes?”

“Right. Of course.” He nodded rapidly. “Most people do. Statistically speaking, caffeine consumption is highly common among FBI agents due to demanding work hours and the need for heightened cognitive function.”

You took a slow sip of your drink. “…So that’s a yes on the coffee, then?”

“Yes.”

An awkward beat passed.

“…Would you like some?” you offered.

He startled like you’d just reminded him of the reason he’d brought you here in the first place. “Yes! Right. I’ll—I’ll just—” He reached for a mug, hesitated, then grabbed a different one, seemingly putting way too much thought into the choice. You caught a glimpse of the one he’d originally gone for.

Hot Stuff was printed across the front in big, flashy letters.

He cleared his throat so aggressively you thought he might hurt himself and quickly busied himself with pouring coffee. You decided to let him have that small dignity.

Unfortunately, fate was not so kind.

Just as he turned with his full mug, you shifted toward the sugar packets, and the two of you nearly collided. Spencer flinched, jerking back too fast. His coffee sloshed, spilling right over the rim of his cup—

And directly onto his tie.

He made a strangled noise.

“I’m fine!” he blurted, already yanking out a napkin like it might somehow erase the entire situation. “This is—fine! Totally fine! Very normal, in fact!”

You watched him with a mixture of sympathy and quiet amusement, the whole situation too awkward and funny to ignore, but also... strangely endearing. You could feel the bond, the unspoken connection drawing you toward him even more as you both fumbled through this moment.

You could feel your own heart rate picking up, not from panic, but from something else you couldn’t quite place.

Spencer, still trying to dab at his tie like he could somehow make it all go away with sheer willpower, cleared his throat again. “Uh. Right. I think we should—”

He paused, his eyes darting between you and his coffee-stained tie. It was like the connection between you two was too much to ignore, but neither of you were brave enough to act on it yet.

Spencer sighed. “Okay. Let's move on. Shall we?”

He tossed the napkin into the trash, and you both decided to leave your mugs behind. There was no point in finishing them now—both of you too distracted by the moment to care about the coffee anymore.

You nodded in agreement.

It was going to be a long day.

You followed as he led you through the halls, his pace brisk, like he was trying to outrun the mortifying events of the morning.

“This,” he said, gesturing stiffly as you passed a door, “is the copy room. If you need to print, scan, or make copies, the machines are all in here.”

You peeked inside. A row of printers and copiers hummed softly, an overflowing bin of discarded printouts shoved into the corner. “Got it.”

Spencer nodded, then pivoted so fast you barely kept up. “Restrooms are down this hall, men’s on the left, women’s on the right.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Not gonna walk me in? Thought you were supposed to be helping me with everything.”

He visibly choked. “That would be highly inappropriate!”

You barely contained a smirk. “Relax, I was kidding.”

Spencer made a noise suspiciously close to a huff and muttered something under his breath that sounded like why is it always me? before motioning for you to keep following.

He led you further down the hall before stopping at a plain, unmarked door. He knocked twice, then pushed it open.

“This is Garcia’s office.”

The room inside was an explosion of colour, trinkets, figurines, and twinkling string lights surrounded an impressive setup of monitors. Penelope Garcia turned from her screens, her eyes lighting up the moment she saw you both.

“Oh, look who it is!” she cooed. “If it isn’t my favourite pair of soulmates, stumbling through the day together.”

Spencer sighed. “We’re just—”

“Existing in the same space? Yeah, I know.” She smirked. “Listen, newbie, if you ever need help navigating the BAU—real help, not whatever awkward crash course this one’s giving you—my door is always open.”

You smiled. “Appreciate it.”

Spencer, clearly done with this interaction, turned on his heel. “We’re leaving.”

Garcia waggled her fingers at you in a good luck sort of way as you followed him out.

After a few more hallways and a very dry explanation of where the case files were stored, you finally made it back to the bullpen.

Spencer exhaled like he’d just completed a physically exhausting task. “That concludes the tour.”

You gave a mock salute. “Appreciate it.”

Morgan, who had clearly been waiting for your return, smirked from his desk. “So? How’d our boy do? Make you feel nice and welcome?”

You opened your mouth, but Spencer cut in before you could answer.

“She is now fully briefed on the layout of the building and equipped with all necessary information to function efficiently in the workplace,” he rattled off in a clipped, robotic tone.

Morgan blinked. Then grinned. “Well, damn. Sounds like she got the deluxe tour.”

You snorted. Spencer scowled.

Across the bullpen, Emily and JJ were blatantly watching, thinly veiled amusement written all over their faces.

As you settled into your desk, Spencer hesitated for a moment, clearly trying to figure out how to start this next part of your “orientation.” He cleared his throat once more, probably for the hundredth time that day.

“So,” he said, pulling a chair out beside you, “this is, uh, the part where you’ll be doing a lot of the, well, paperwork. It’s not exactly glamorous, but it’s important.”

“Let's start with something simple,” Spencer said, flipping open a file with way more urgency than necessary. “These are reports from precincts around the country requesting a profile. Our job is to go through them, assess and start a preliminary profile then send it back with recommendations.”

You grabbed one of the files, skimming over the first page. “Okay, got it. So, I just—” You reached for a pen at the same time Spencer did, your hands colliding.

Both of you pulled back immediately.

“Oh—sorry—”

“No, you—go ahead—”

Spencer hesitated, then went for the pen again at the exact moment you did. Another collision.

You both froze.

From across the bullpen, Morgan let out a low chuckle. “Man, this is painful to watch.”

Emily, who had been mid-coffee sip, grinned. “It’s like a nature documentary. Two very awkward creatures trying to establish dominance over a writing utensil.”

JJ, passing by with a file, smirked. “Should we intervene, or just let it play out?”

Spencer, determined to regain some semblance of control, cleared his throat. “Right. Uh. Let’s—” He reached again, but you had the same idea, and somehow, in a tragic display of poor coordination, his elbow swung outward—straight into your chest.

You sucked in a sharp breath, eyes widening. Spencer, face going so pale it was almost impressive, snapped his arm back like he’d been burned.

“Oh my god—I—” His voice pitched slightly. “That wasn’t— I didn’t mean—”

In his panic to put some distance between you, he pushed off the desk a little too hard. The chair, already slightly unsteady from his sudden movement, tipped dangerously backward.

The chair fully went over, taking Spencer with it. He hit the floor in a spectacular mess of limbs, momentum sending him rolling straight into an empty chair nearby, which immediately toppled over onto him.

The bullpen went silent.

Heat flooded your face. Your hands hovered uselessly in the air, unsure whether to help him or pretend this wasn’t happening.

Morgan let out a wheeze before cracking up. “Oh, hell no. Did that just happen?”

Emily had a hand pressed to her mouth, her shoulders shaking. JJ, pausing mid-step, blinked. “…Is he alive?”

Spencer, from under the chair, let out a weak, “Unfortunately.”

That was enough to set Morgan off. “Man, this is gold. I’ve never seen him go down that hard in my life.”

Your entire body was burning with secondhand embarrassment. “Should I—uh—” You half-stood, awkwardly gesturing toward the disaster zone.

Spencer, seemingly deciding he’d rather die than accept help, pushed himself upright, shoving the fallen chair away. His face was crimson. “I’m fine. That was—just—another minor miscalculation.”

JJ snorted. “Looked more like a full system failure.”

Morgan grinned. “Guess soulmate proximity messes with your equilibrium, huh?”

Your stomach twisted at that, embarrassment doubling. “Okay—um—can we not?”

Spencer shot Morgan a glare that was about as threatening as a wet cat. “Yes. Let’s not.”

Morgan just held up his hands, still grinning.

Spencer, still refusing to make eye contact with anyone, sat back down—carefully this time.

You hesitated, then picked up the pen, the cause of this entire disaster, and cleared your throat. “…So. Paperwork?”

Spencer’s shoulders slumped in relief. “Yes. Paperwork.”

JJ patted his shoulder as she passed. “You’ll bounce back.”

Spencer muttered something under his breath.

You just exhaled, still trying to will away the heat in your face.

Spencer shifted uncomfortably, casting a glance over at you. He'd helped you get settled with the paperwork, but now the silence between you was becoming almost unbearable. He cleared his throat again, the sound almost too loud in the quiet office.

"Well," he said, standing up a little too quickly, "I think you’ve got the hang of things here. If you need anything, I’ll be at my desk."

You glanced up, catching the way he looked at you—still flustered, but maybe a little more composed than before. He hesitated for a split second, his eyes darting between you and his desk, before he finally walked away, leaving you alone with your files.

As Spencer made his way back to his desk, you felt the weight of the connection between you both linger in the air.

Spencer sat back at his desk, his movements careful, like he was hyperaware of every single one. He stared at his screen, fingers poised over the keyboard, but he wasn’t typing. His pen, previously abandoned, found its way back into his hands, spinning between his fingers in a nervous rhythm.

You settled into your own work, flipping through the files. Every so often, your gaze drifted, just for a second, toward him. He was pretending to focus, but you could see the way his shoulders tensed whenever you shifted in your chair, like he was resisting the urge to look over.

Eventually, he did. Just a quick glance, but enough for your eyes to meet.

Spencer snapped his attention back to his monitor so fast it was a miracle he didn’t get whiplash.

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling.

Spencer sat at his desk, his notes scattered in front of him, trying to focus on the paperwork. The awkwardness from earlier hadn’t quite settled. It lingered in the air between you, thick and palpable. He adjusted the papers in front of him, trying to make himself look busy, but his eyes kept flicking toward you.

You felt it too. The pull, the strange connection that seemed to tie you to Spencer. Every time you looked up, you’d catch him looking at you, his gaze darting away so quickly that you wondered if you’d imagined it. Was he doing it on purpose? Did he feel it, too?

There was no way to avoid it. He was your soulmate. The bond was there, shimmering between you, even if neither of you was ready to admit it out loud. He was just as awkward as you, maybe more so, which somehow made the whole situation even more complicated.

You tried to focus on the papers in front of you, but Spencer was impossible to ignore. The more you tried to get lost in the task at hand, the more aware you became of the pull between you. Your thoughts kept straying back to him, wondering what he was thinking, whether he was struggling with the same feelings you were. What did he think of you? Did he feel as attracted to you as you did to him?

Spencer shifted in his seat, turning his attention back to his papers, but the tension in the room was too much to ignore. He cleared his throat, glancing up just as you happened to do the same. His eyes met yours for a split second before you both quickly looked away, as if the gaze itself had burned.

The silence continued on between you, both of you trying to pretend that everything was fine, that there was nothing to this strange, electric pull you were both feeling.

At one point you both stood at the same time. The movement was so synchronized it almost felt rehearsed, but neither of you had planned it. You both glanced at each other as you pushed back from your desks, eyes widening in surprise.

Spencer hesitated for a moment, standing awkwardly in place. “Uh… coffee?” he mumbled, as though he needed to confirm the very simple action.

You nodded, a little too quickly, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he was. “Yeah… coffee.”

Neither of you moved right away, both standing there awkwardly, like you were trying to figure out what to do next. The whole moment felt ridiculous, and neither of you seemed willing to take the first step.

Finally, Spencer cleared his throat again, a sound that seemed to break the tension just enough. Prompting you both to move.

For a few moments, neither of you spoke, both of you walking side by side but not quite together, the space between you almost suffocating. Neither of you had said a word, but the attraction was there, simmering just beneath the surface, as if the bond had wrapped itself around you both without either of you willing to acknowledge it just yet.

As you entered the break room, the sense of awkwardness only deepened, and you both stood there, pretending to be focused on something as simple as making coffee. You avoided making eye contact, each of you trying to maintain some semblance of normalcy while the rest of the world hummed around you, completely oblivious to the tension that had overtaken the two of you.

The entire thing felt like an elaborate dance. One that neither of you knew the steps to, but somehow it was drawing you closer, whether you liked it or not.

The coffee break didn’t last long. Both of you seemed to realize at the same time that standing in silence, avoiding eye contact while sipping coffee, wasn’t doing either of you any favours. So, with an awkward shuffle and a few too many polite nods, you both turned back toward the bullpen.

The walk back to your desks was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of movement as you each settled back into your respective spaces. You slid into your chair, exhaling slowly as you picked up a pen, trying to will yourself to focus. Spencer did the same, tapping his fingers against the desk, his leg bouncing slightly beneath it.

For a while, you both managed to maintain the illusion of productivity. The tension hadn’t disappeared, but at least it wasn’t suffocating.

At some point, you stood up to grab a folder from the nearby cabinet, stretching slightly as you reached for it. And that was when it happened.

Spencer didn’t mean to. He really, truly didn’t. But his eyes betrayed him before his brain could catch up. His gaze dipped lower, drawn to the curve of your ass, the way your slacks fit just right. It was a fleeting look, barely a second, but in that second, his brain short-circuited. His grip tightened on his pen, his face burned, and a thousand panicked thoughts flooded his mind at once.

Then, horror of horrors, you turned.

You caught him.

The second your eyes met, his face went completely red. His lips parted slightly, but no words came out. He looked like he’d been caught committing a federal crime.

You raised an eyebrow, fighting the smirk threatening to creep onto your lips.

Spencer made a strangled noise, immediately ducking his head down, suddenly very interested in the absolute nonsense scribbled on his page. His ears were burning, his entire body stiff with the sheer force of his embarrassment.

You let the moment stretch, watching him squirm for just a beat longer before finally deciding to take pity on him. With a small hum, you sat back down, not saying a word.

Spencer, still looking anywhere but at you, cleared his throat—loudly. “I—I wasn’t—uh—I just—” He exhaled sharply and gripped his pen tighter. “Never mind.”

The next hour dragged on in a haze of forced focus and pointed avoidance. You worked through your files, sneaking glances at Spencer just to see if he had recovered. He hadn't.

Spencer was sitting impossibly still, his entire body rigid with what could only be described as a masterclass in sheer mortification. His eyes were glued to the papers in front of him, but he wasn’t reading them. His pen hovered over the page, unmoving. It was as if he had decided that any sudden movements might make the ground swallow him whole.

You bit back another smirk.

At some point, you had to stand again, stretching your legs and reaching for another file. This time, you did it slowly, just to see if he’d risk another glance.

He didn’t.

If anything, he overcorrected so hard that his head turned in the opposite direction, eyes trained on the most uninteresting corner of the room like it was the key to solving life’s greatest mysteries. His hand twitched, gripping his pen so tightly you were mildly concerned it might snap.

Alright, maybe you shouldn’t be enjoying this so much. But after everything, the fall, the soulmate marks, the tension—it was kind of nice to be on the other side of the awkwardness for once.

You sat back down, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. He still refused to look at you.

The bullpen had settled into a steady rhythm, but Spencer still looked like he wanted to melt into the floor. The stiffness in his posture remained, his eyes locked onto his paperwork like sheer focus alone could erase the last hour.

For you, everything still felt off. The quiet murmur of the team working, the soft rustle of papers being shuffled, the distant sound of a printer. It should’ve been easy to focus. It wasn’t.

Across from you, Spencer sat at his desk, his eyes flicking between his notes and his paperwork in a clear attempt to look busy. He wasn’t. You could tell. Every few moments, his pen stilled, his fingers drumming absently against the page like his mind was anywhere but on the work in front of him.

You weren’t doing much better.

The awareness of him had settled over you like a weight, something pressing at the edge of your thoughts no matter how hard you tried to shake it. It wasn’t just the fact that he was there. It was the bond, the pull, the quiet way his presence wrapped around yours like an invisible thread you couldn’t loosen.

You could feel when he looked at you.

And sometimes, you caught him.

It wasn’t obvious, not really. It was quick, subtle. A flicker of movement as he glanced up, his gaze barely landing on you before darting away. But the more it happened, the more you noticed. He wasn’t doing it on purpose. It was like his eyes had a mind of their own, betraying him before he could stop himself.

And every time it happened, your stomach tightened.

It was getting harder to ignore how attractive he was. You’d thought it from the moment you met him, but it was different now. More intense. He had this way of being awkward and endearing all at once, like he was constantly fighting against himself, caught between wanting to hide and being unable to look away.

And it was affecting you.

Every time he adjusted his tie, every time he ran a hand through his hair, every time his lips parted like he was about to say something but didn’t, you felt it. A pull, an ache, something unspoken that settled deep in your chest.

You were so lost in your own thoughts that you almost didn’t notice when Spencer shifted in his chair, exhaling sharply like he was trying to physically shake himself out of whatever was going on in his head.

And whatever was going on in his head… was a mess.

Spencer had given up on pretending to focus. He knew it was useless. His mind had been running in circles all day, stuck on an endless loop that always brought him back to you.

It wasn’t just the soulmate thing, although, God, that was enough to keep his brain short-circuiting. It was everything. The way you moved, the way you talked, the way you existed in the space across from him like you’d always belonged there.

The bond was pulling at him, making him too aware of you.

Every time you shifted, every time you sighed, every time your pen scratched against the paper, he felt it. It was like his entire body had attuned itself to you, responding to the smallest movements without him meaning to.

And the worst part? You were beautiful.

He’d noticed before, of course. He wasn’t blind. But now, it was like his brain refused to let him think about anything else. Every detail was burned into his mind, the shape of your lips, the curve of your cheek, the way you furrowed your brow in concentration.

And then there was earlier.

Spencer swallowed hard, forcing his eyes down to his papers.

She caught me staring at her ass.

His face burned at the memory, the mortification still fresh. He had looked for one second. One stupid second, and now it was all he could think about. He hadn’t even meant to! His brain had just… done it, and now he wanted to disappear into the floor.

Had you noticed how red he’d gotten? Had you thought he was a creep? God, what if you thought he was a pervert—

No, no, no, stop.

He clenched his jaw, inhaling sharply through his nose. He needed to get it together. He needed to focus.

He picked up his pen.

It immediately slipped from his fingers.

Spencer closed his eyes for a brief moment, as if pleading with the universe to give him a break.

It didn’t.

Because the second he opened them, his gaze landed on you again. And this time, you were already looking at him.

His heart stopped.

Your eyes met, and neither of you looked away.

It was so brief. Barely a second. But in that second, the air shifted, something unspoken settled between you.

Then, just as quickly, Spencer tore his gaze away, his entire body stiff.

His mind was a whirlwind, and his breath caught. He couldn’t afford to focus on this right now. The bond was already too much. It was making it harder to get through the day.

So he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out everything except the work in front of him. The one thing he could still control.

The rest of the day passed without further incident. You focused on your work, occasionally catching glimpses of Spencer doing the same, both of you settling into the rhythm of the office. The initial awkwardness lingered, but with the steady hum of productivity around you, it was easier to push aside.

Now, as the workday wound down, the bullpen grew quieter. Desks were cleared, conversations turned to evening plans, and the weight of the day began to lift.

You gathered your things, telling yourself you had officially survived day one. But even as you slung your bag over your shoulder, a feeling of unfinished business settled over you, lingering like an unspoken question.

Across from you, Spencer was… lingering too.

His bag was packed, his work was done, but he wasn’t moving. Instead, he hovered near his desk, shifting his weight, fingers twitching like his own thoughts were betraying him.

He wanted to say something.

He needed to say something.

But every time he tried to open his mouth, his brain helpfully supplied the worst possible ways to start this conversation.

'So, about earlier when I—uh—accidentally groped you…'

No. Absolutely not.

'We should discuss our predestined spiritual and emotional connection…'

Nope. Horrifying.

You glanced up just as he let out a slow exhale, rubbing at his temple like he was trying to force his thoughts into order. The way he kept fidgeting made you pause.

“You okay?”

Spencer startled like you’d caught him committing a crime. “What? Yes! Completely. Totally.”

A beat.

“Actually… no.”

He shifted from foot to foot, adjusting the strap of his satchel like it might give him confidence. “I—uh—I was wondering if we could talk.”

You blinked. “Aren’t we talking now?”

His throat bobbed. “Yes, but—I meant tomorrow. Before work. Somewhere private.”

Your stomach flipped. “Oh.”

“Not that—uh—! Not that it has to be—” He made a flailing gesture, his face going red. “I just want to have a conversation. A real one. So I can—um—gather my thoughts first.”

You studied him. He looked so nervous, but there was sincerity behind it. A genuine desire to approach this properly.

The bond between you hummed—like an unspoken thread pulling you closer.

You found yourself nodding. “Okay.”

His relief was immediate. “Okay.”

“Where do you want to meet?”

He hesitated, then straightened slightly, as if he’d just remembered an important fact. “There’s a coffee shop a couple of blocks from here. It’s quiet in the mornings. We could meet there before heading in.”

You nodded. “That works.”

Spencer exhaled, some of the tension in his shoulders easing. “Great.”

A small smile tugged at your lips. “It’s a date.”

Spencer froze.

“Not a—!” You backtracked, laughing at his full-body panic. “Not a date-date. Just… you know. A conversation.”

Spencer let out a breath like he’d been holding it for an hour. “Right. Of course. A normal, casual discussion between two people who happen to be soulmates.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Super normal.”

“Completely.”

You shook your head fondly. “See you in the morning, Spencer.”

He swallowed hard, nodded stiffly, and then practically bolted before he could embarrass himself further.

You drop your bag by the door and kick off your shoes, rolling your shoulders as you step into your apartment. Day one was over. You survived. You should be relieved. But as you move through the motions of settling in for the night, your mind refuses to let go of the one thing that has lingered with you all day.

Spencer.

You sigh, running a hand through your hair as you flop onto the couch. You should be exhausted, but instead, you’re restless. Too aware of the way his presence still clings to your thoughts. The way he fidgeted when he spoke, adjusting his bag strap like it might hold him together. The way he tapped his fingers against the desk when he was thinking. The way his hair curled at the ends, falling into his eyes when he forgot to smooth it back.

And the way he looked at you.

It was subtle, but you caught it more than once. A flicker of his gaze before he forced himself to look away, like he was fighting something he wasn’t ready to face.

Maybe you were, too.

You exhale, stretching out against the cushions. He wants to talk tomorrow. In private. The thought sends a nervous thrill through you. What is he going to say? What does he think about all of this?

Because for all his awkwardness, all his nervous rambling, one thing is clear—he feels it, too.

Spencer stares at the ceiling of his apartment, arms folded behind his head, willing his brain to slow down. It doesn’t. It never does.

Today was a disaster. Well, not a complete disaster. He could have done without the public soulmate revelation via accidental groping. Could have done without the mortifying moment when he got caught staring at your ass. Could have done without the entire day feeling like an out-of-body experience.

But still. There were moments. Little things that kept looping in his head.

The way your lips pursed when you were focused. The way your fingers skimmed absently over the edge of your notebook as you listened. The way you smiled when you talked to the others, easy and warm.

The way you looked at him when you caught him staring.

You didn’t look annoyed. Or uncomfortable. If anything, you seemed just as caught in this strange, magnetic pull as he was.

Spencer continues to stare, unseeing.

What is he supposed to say to you tomorrow?

He rubs a hand over his face. He needs a plan. He needs to say something that isn’t completely humiliating.

'Hey, so, I’ve been thinking about you all day—'

No. That sounds obsessive.

'I believe we should establish an open dialogue about the nature of our soulmate connection—'

Too clinical.

'I don’t want things to be weird between us, but I also can’t stop thinking about you, and I don’t know what to do with that.'

Too honest.

Spencer groans, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. He’s overthinking. He knows he’s overthinking. But how could he not? You’re his soulmate. He’s spent his entire life wondering about his soulmate. Fantasizing about the moment he'd meet you, the way it would feel, the certainty of it.

And now that you’re here, he has no idea what he’s doing.

Tomorrow. He’ll figure it out tomorrow.

…Hopefully.

The coffee shop is quiet, just as Spencer had promised. It’s the kind of place meant for lingering, for hushed conversations and slow sips of something warm. You step inside, your stomach tight with nerves, scanning the space until your eyes land on him.

He’s already here, seated at a corner table, hands wrapped around a to-go cup of coffee that’s barely been touched. Another cup sits in front of him, waiting. His fingers tap anxiously against the cardboard sleeve, a restless rhythm that betrays the thoughts undoubtedly racing in his head.

When he spots you, he straightens instinctively, like he’s bracing himself.

You take a breath, steadying yourself as you make your way over and slide into the seat across from him. Your eyes flick to the second cup, and he follows your gaze.

“I, um—” He clears his throat. “I got you a coffee. The way you like it.”

Surprise flickers through you, quickly followed by something warmer. You reach for the cup, fingers curling around it. The heat seeps through, grounding you. “Thanks,” you say softly.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. There’s an odd weight between you, something unspoken but impossible to ignore.

Spencer forces himself to take a steady breath. He spent all night overthinking this conversation, running through a hundred different ways it could go, and yet, now that you’re sitting in front of him, he feels utterly unprepared.

Then Spencer clears his throat. “Thanks for meeting me.”

You nod, wrapping your hands around your own drink, grounding yourself in its warmth. “Yeah. I think we need this.”

He exhales, shoulders rising and falling as he gathers his thoughts. “I don’t want to rush into anything just because of the soulmate bond,” he says carefully, like he’s testing the words as they leave his mouth. “I want to get to know you—really get to know you—before we decide what this means for us.”

Your eyes study him for a moment, unreadable, and for a brief second, doubt prickles at the back of his mind. What if you don’t feel the same way? What if you expected more, something immediate and undeniable? What if he’s already ruining this.

But then you exhale, nodding slightly.

“I do too,” you admit. “Honestly, I’ve always been worried that my soulmate would expect something right away. That they’d take one look at where my mark is and assume that’s all this is supposed to be about.”

Spencer’s chest tightens.

You hesitate, fingers pressing into the side of your coffee cup. “I was afraid of being seen as just… a cosmic guarantee of sex instead of a person.”

Spencer inhales sharply, something in his expression twisting. “I would never—” His voice catches, and he shakes his head, forcing the words out more carefully. “I don’t see you that way. I never would.”

You look at him then, really look at him, and something in your gaze softens.

“I know,” you say quietly.

And the worst part? You do know. Because Spencer Reid, for all his fumbling awkwardness, has done nothing but try to keep his distance—to not make this weirder than it already is.

Still, the fact that you had to carry that fear at all…

Spencer grips his cup a little tighter. “I always wondered what meeting my soulmate would be like,” he admits, voice quieter now. “I spent a lot of time thinking about how it would happen, how it would feel.” He lets out a small, breathless laugh. “I didn’t expect it to be—” He gestures vaguely between you. “—this.”

You laugh too, because what else can you do?

“You and me both.”

Spencer exhales, but the tension in his shoulders doesn’t completely ease. “I guess part of me was scared I wouldn’t live up to whatever expectations you might have had.”

Your brows pull together. “Spencer…”

He shakes his head quickly, like he doesn’t want you to try and reassure him. “I just—I don’t want this to be something dictated by fate alone. I want it to be our choice, not just something that’s happening to us.” His fingers tap against his cup. “And I don’t want to mess it up.”

Your breath catches slightly, because that, that is something you hadn’t realized you needed to hear.

“I get it,” you say softly. “I don’t want to mess it up either.”

He looks at you then, eyes searching, like he’s trying to make sure you really mean it.

And you do.

Because even though there’s a pull between you, something almost magnetic, you don’t want to rush into it. You don’t want to make this something predetermined. You want it to be real.

You let out a slow breath. “Friends first?”

Spencer blinks, like he wasn’t expecting you to say it first.

But then his shoulders loosen, just slightly, and he nods. “Friends first.”

The words settle between you, a quiet agreement, but the bond doesn’t lessen its grip. If anything, you’re more aware of it now. The way the air between you crackles, the way every glance lingers just a little too long.

But at least now, you know you’re not alone in this.

Spencer watches you, his fingers still tapping absent patterns against his coffee cup. He wants to say something else, something reassuring maybe. But instead, he just nods, more to himself than to you.

As you both move to stand, your hands nearly brush, and for a split second, Spencer wonders what it would feel like to just give in. To let the bond take over, to find out exactly what fate has tied him to.

But he clenches his jaw, stuffing his hands into his pockets like it’ll stop the impulse.

You smirk slightly, amused by his obvious effort.

“See you at work, Spencer.”

His ears go red.

“…See you at work.”

You step out of the coffee shop, the cool morning air a stark contrast to the warmth lingering in your chest. As the door swings shut behind you, you take a breath, steadying yourself. That conversation had been… good, you think. Necessary. And yet, the undeniable hum of the soulmate bond still lingers beneath your skin, a quiet reminder that no matter how much you both insist on taking things slow, something bigger than either of you is already in motion.

You glance over your shoulder but the coffee shop window only shows Spencer still sitting at the table, his hands wrapped around his cup, staring at it like it holds all the answers to the universe. You smirk to yourself. For all his brilliance, he’s painfully obvious.

Still, you appreciate the effort. You both knew walking to work together would’ve been too much. Too soon. So, instead, he’s staying behind, waiting until enough time has passed for you to be comfortably apart by the time he leaves. It’s thoughtful in the most awkward way possible, so distinctly him that you find yourself shaking your head, amused.

With one last glance at the coffee shop, you turn forward and start walking. You don’t know what today will bring, but one thing is certain.

This thing between you and Spencer? It’s not going away anytime soon.

The bullpen hums with the usual morning energy. Agents shuffling papers, murmuring about last night’s game or the latest headlines, the scent of coffee lingering in the air. It should be like any other day, except for the way Spencer’s mind keeps circling back to you.

He tells himself it’s fine. He got here on time, sat down at his desk, and started working just like he always does. No one suspects a thing.

Except when he glances up, you’re there, sitting at your desk, sipping from the drink he ordered for you that morning. The sight of it in your hands sends a strange sort of satisfaction curling through him. He looks away fast, focusing on his paperwork.

Normal. He just has to act normal.

But the universe seems determined to make that impossible.

The bullpen moves around you like a well-oiled machine. Phones ringing, keys clacking, agents exchanging gossip and weekend plans between mouthfuls of burnt coffee. On the surface, it’s a normal morning. But the moment you sit down and take a sip from the drink Spencer ordered you, the illusion cracks.

You don’t even look up right away. You feel him.

When you finally do glance over, he’s at his desk, head down, flipping through a case file like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world. Which might be believable, if he weren’t holding the pages upside down.

Your lips twitch.

You’d laugh, but you’re not doing much better. Your brain keeps looping back to the coffee shop, the almost-touch, the way he looked at you like he wasn’t sure if he should say goodbye or sprint into traffic to avoid it.

He showed up after you. Purposefully, obviously. It doesn't take a profiler to spot a man avoiding awkwardness at all costs. And really, you don’t blame him. It was weird. You're both still pretending it wasn't.

But pretending only gets you so far.

You make it a whole ten minutes before you need something from the filing cabinet. It’s tucked against the back wall, awkwardly close to the corner of the room, and when you get there, you tug open the heavy drawer, scanning rows of neatly labelled folders.

You hear footsteps behind you and shuffle to the side without looking. A breath later, Spencer slides into the space beside you. He’s reaching for the same drawer, his fingers brushing against yours for a heartbeat before both of you yank your hands back like the other was made of fire.

You glance sideways. He’s staring at the folder like it just insulted his mother.

“…Morning,” you say.

His jaw ticks. “Morning.”

The silence stretches.

You tilt your head, watching the way he’s very pointedly not looking at you. He’s rigid. Like someone wound him up and forgot to let him out of the packaging. You can’t help but wonder if he's always like this, or is it just around you?

Eventually, you grab your folder and step away to spare him whatever internal malfunction he’s experiencing. His relief is palpable.

It’s barely past ten when it happens again.

You step out from behind your desk at the exact same time he does, and you almost collide. Your bodies halt a breath apart, close enough that you can smell the soap on his skin, see the way his pupils flicker wide before he flinches backward in alarm.

This time, he sidesteps so hard he nearly knocks into Rossi.

“Easy there, kid,” Rossi mutters without missing a beat, brushing past with his coffee. Spencer’s halfway to combusting.

You smile, far too amused. “Smooth.”

Spencer opens his mouth, then closes it. His ears do the talking—burning a deep, unmissable red as he mutters something that sounds like an apology before making a swift exit down the hall.

You watch him go, biting back a grin.

By the time you’re back at your desk, you’ve decided the universe must be bored. That’s the only explanation. There’s no way this many accidental run-ins can happen naturally. Not with an office this size. It’s like fate is running a slow-burn sitcom, and you’re the unwilling stars.

You try to focus on your work, but the quiet hum of conversation around the bullpen pulls you in. Morgan’s voice carries first.

Morgan’s voice cuts through first. “Okay, hear me out: stranded on an island, you get to bring one thing. What are you taking?”

“Not this question again,” Emily groans, though she’s already leaning back in her chair to join in.

JJ chimes in without looking up from her notepad. “A book. Something long. Preferably with a happy ending.”

“You’d be bored in five minutes,” Morgan shoots back. “Give me a hatchet or something useful.”

Rossi strolls past, coffee in hand. “I’d bring a bottle of scotch and a box of cigars. If I’m going down, I’m going down in style.”

That earns a round of amused groans.

You glance up just as Spencer looks over. He’s sitting across from you, posture perfect but his fingers are fidgeting slightly, tapping against a closed file. Listening.

Morgan raises an eyebrow in your direction. “Alright, your turn. What’s your one thing?”

You pause, glancing up from the file in your lap. “A survival manual I probably won’t read.”

That earns a few laughs from the bullpen.

You shrug, settling back in your chair. “It’ll make me feel better just having it. False confidence is still confidence.”

Spencer huffs something that might be a laugh, and when you glance at him, he’s watching you. Not mockingly, but with this soft, surprised kind of curiosity.

He speaks, voice measured but soft. “I’d bring a collection of classic literature.”

You raise a brow. “That’s ambitious.”

“It’s practical,” he replies. “You’d want something that lasts. Long narratives. Complex characters. Enough variation to keep your mind engaged.”

That piques your curiosity. “So you wouldn’t get tired of rereading the same stories?”

He shakes his head. “Not if they’re good ones. The kind that let you see something different every time. They grow with you. Or maybe you grow into them.”

You tilt your head. “You sound like someone who’s read them more than a few times.”

He glances down, like he’s not sure whether to be embarrassed or not. “A fair assumption.”

You smile. “So, what’s the appeal? Isn’t a lot of it just old language and people with too many names?”

He laughs, a short, surprised sound. “Sometimes. But that’s not what makes them last.”

You watch him now, genuinely curious.

“Most people approach them academically,” he says. “But that strips them of what makes them human. They’re not puzzles—they’re full of longing and desperation and hope. That’s the point. The imperfections, the contradictions.”

You’re not sure what you expected, but it wasn’t that. You watch him for a moment, struck by how earnest he is. How unselfconscious. There’s something quietly compelling about it. His passion laid bare like he didn’t think twice about offering it.

“That’s a lot of feelings for a stranded island situation,” you tease lightly.

He huffs a laugh, ducking his head. “Sorry. I know it sounds dramatic.”

You shake your head. “No, it doesn’t. Just unexpected.”

He looks like he wants to say more, so you let the silence stretch comfortably.

“I’ve always wanted to be the kind of person who liked the classics,” you admit. “But I never really connected with them. It felt like I was waiting for them to make sense, and they just… didn’t.”

“That’s not your fault,” Spencer says. “A lot of them weren’t written to be accessible. But sometimes, all it takes is the right one. One that just clicks, and suddenly everything makes sense.”

You smile a little. “You make them sound worth another shot.”

He shrugs, then nods, a bit softer this time. “They are.”

You rest your elbow on the desk and lean in a touch. “Alright, then. What’s your pitch? If I was going to give one a chance.”

Spencer pauses, considering, and there’s something warmer than thoughtfulness in his eyes now. Something quietly delighted.

“I’ll get you a list,” he says.

You grin. “A curated reading experience?”

“Exactly.”

You glance down at your file again, but it’s useless now. The energy between you has shifted—warmer. Quieter. Easier.

Across from you, Spencer doesn’t go back to reading either. He just stays there, like maybe he’s not quite ready to stop talking yet.

And for once, neither are you.

The conversation between you and Spencer seems to flow effortlessly, like two people who’ve known each other for years, even though you’ve barely scratched the surface of your time together. With each laugh, each shared moment, the tension fades a little more. You feel more comfortable, more familiar.

“Wait—hold on. You can remember everything you’ve ever read?” you ask, your voice caught somewhere between awe and playful suspicion.

Spencer shifts in his seat, clearly bashful about it. “I… yeah. I have an eidetic memory. It means I can recall written material almost perfectly.”

You blink at him. “So, like… if you read the back of a cereal box once, it’s just in there forever?”

He gives a sheepish little laugh. “Unfortunately, yes. Even the part about riboflavin.”

You shake your head, grinning. “Okay, so you’re either a genius or a really charming liar.”

Spencer stumbles over his words, his face flushing a bit as he tries to recover. He looks away for a moment, his lips twitching like he’s not sure whether to laugh or be embarrassed. There’s a slight pause before he glances back at you, his eyes narrowed just a little, like he’s trying to figure out if you’re being serious or teasing him. The corners of his mouth pull into a half-smile, but it’s clear he’s still trying to make sense of the situation, clearly flustered but not in an uncomfortable way.

Around you, the office moves with phones ringing, agents chatting, soft shuffling of papers and footsteps. But through it all, the conversation between you and Spencer doesn’t really stop. It shifts and changes, slipping into new territory without either of you needing to steer it. He’s already picked up on how quick you are with a joke, how you tilt your head when you’re genuinely curious. And you’re noticing him too. The way his hands move when he’s explaining something, the way his whole face gets animated when he’s caught up in a thought. Somehow, talking to him feels natural, like you’ve been doing it forever.

“You have how many PhDs?!”

Spencer shifts in his seat, suddenly preoccupied with aligning the edge of a folder. “Three,” he says, quiet but clear.

You blink. “Three. As in... actual, real PhDs? Not like honorary ones they give celebrities sometimes?”

He gives a sheepish nod.

Your lips twitch. “I don’t think I’ve ever committed to anything long enough to earn three of anything.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, ducking his head like he’s trying to hide the way his cheeks go a little pink. He’s not quite sure what to do with your reaction, but there’s something about the way you say it that leaves him slightly off balance—in a way he doesn’t hate.

It’s easy, somehow. The way your conversation keeps going, without effort or awkwardness, like you’ve skipped over the small talk and landed somewhere comfortable. Spencer isn’t quite leaning in, but his shoulders have lost their stiffness, his eyes tracking yours with soft focus. He listens like it’s an art form, picking up on every nuance, every half-smile and curious glance. You catch bits of him in return—how he thinks before he speaks, how he seems both shy and excited when something genuinely interests him. There’s a rhythm forming between you, unspoken but steady, like you’re both tuning into the same frequency.

“You know magic?” you ask, eyebrows raised in open delight. “You have to show me a trick.”

Spencer hesitates, blinking once, twice, like he’s recalibrating. “O-okay,” he says, a little cautious, a little sheepish, as if revealing this part of himself is somehow more vulnerable than anything else he's shared. “Just—don’t laugh.”

You don’t. You couldn’t, even if you tried. You nod, eyes wide, suddenly aware of how close the two of you have drifted without noticing.

His fingers skim the air near your ear, smooth and sure, and your breath catches at the sudden closeness. The office falls away, not literally, but enough that the hum of conversation, the tapping of keys, the distant ring of a phone, all of it fades into a soft, irrelevant blur. It's just you and him.

And then—there it is. A flower in his hand where there hadn’t been one before. Then, without a word, he offers it to you.

Your eyes widen. Your lips part in surprise. You know it’s a trick. It has to be a trick. But for one suspended second, it feels like real magic. You take it carefully, fingers brushing his for the briefest moment. The stem is cool, the petals soft—real. Your brows pull together as you glance down at it, then back up at him. “Wait… this is actually real. How did you—?”

He just smiles, that small, knowing one that doesn’t give anything away. “Magician’s secret.”

And he keeps looking at you, like watching you hold that flower is the best part of the trick. Like you’re the magic he can’t explain.

The flower stays in your hand long after Spencer’s fingers leave it, soft petals warm from where his touch lingered. You glance at it again, half-expecting it to vanish like the illusion it seemed to be. But it’s real and the memory of how it got there keeps playing on a loop in your mind. The look in his eyes, the weight of his focus, the slight curl of his smile like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

You’re definitely not imagining the way things have shifted.

Every glance between you now seems to last a second too long. Every brush of proximity, every slide of his arm as he reaches past you, the heat of him when you lean over the same file, feels electric. There's an unmistakable awareness pulsing in the space between you, something neither of you names but both of you feel.

Spencer is different now. Still the same stammering, brilliant, endearingly awkward man  but there's a spark under the surface. Like he knows what effect he’s having on you and is maybe, just maybe, starting to lean into it. He looks at you like he’s trying to memorize every flicker of expression on your face, like he’s mentally cataloguing the sound of your laugh, the way you bite your lip when you’re reading.

And you’re not exactly innocent in this either.

You ask questions you don’t need answers to, just to hear him speak. You tease him for fun, for the way it makes his ears turn red. You pass him things just so your fingers will touch.

It’s subtle the way it builds, slow, simmering, and sweet. But beneath all the half-smiles and sideways glances, there’s something else brewing. Something hungry. The kind of tension that coils low in your belly and makes you hyperaware of every little thing. The timbre of his voice, the slope of his neck, the way he licks his lips when he’s thinking.

You catch him looking at you more than once, his gaze slipping from your eyes to your mouth and back again. And each time, he looks away like he’s been caught but he’s not exactly apologetic about it.

Neither are you.

Because whatever this is, whatever it’s becoming, you don’t want it to stop.

You're trying to focus. You're really, honestly trying. There’s a case file open in front of you, a half-finished note jotted in the margins, and a perfectly good pen in your hand, but none of it is getting through. Your body is warm all over, tingling with leftover tension from the moment Spencer pulled a flower from behind your ear. The petals had brushed your cheek like a kiss. He hadn’t touched you then, not really, but it still felt like he had. Like something had passed between you, unseen but tangible. Electric.

Despite it all, you both manage to get back to work. The pens, the papers, the case files, they’re all still there, demanding your attention. But you’re both distracted, even if you don’t openly acknowledge it. You look back at your notes, trying to make sense of the information in front of you, but your thoughts keep straying back to him, to that moment. And it’s the same for Spencer, you can tell by the occasional glance he throws your way, the brief flicker of his eyes meeting yours.

You push through it, focusing on the task at hand, but there’s an undeniable tension between you now. It’s subtle, but it’s there, building with every shared glance and every small gesture that feels just a little too charged. It’s as though the space between you both has narrowed without either of you realizing it.

It’s been a little while since the moment with Spencer, but things still feel different. The way he looks at you, the way you can’t quite shake the feeling that something’s changed between you. You’re walking down the hallway, file in hand, but your mind is somewhere else. You’re not sure where, really. Just caught up in the way things are now. How it feels like the air between you is a little heavier.

You’re not paying attention to where you’re walking.

You stumble forward, foot catching on the floor, and the momentum pulls you ahead before you can stop it. Your heart leaps. Gravity tips you into motion, too fast to recover. But then, just as the floor rushes up to meet you, he’s there. It’s as if he appeared out of thin air, like some force pulled him into place in the exact second you needed him.

Spencer.

He catches you like he was always meant to be there, like something beyond either of you decided he would arrive in the split second you needed him. One arm loops around your waist from behind, firm and unshakable, halting your fall and drawing you back into the warmth of him. His other hand grips your upper arm, anchoring you, steadying you, like he’s done this before in some forgotten dream.

Then, he moves. Slowly. Purposefully. He turns you in his arms until you’re facing him. The world blurs for a breath as he guides you, but the moment you settle against his chest, everything sharpens. Your chest brushes his, your breath tangling with his. You can feel the strength in him, the control he’s holding onto, the tension thrumming just beneath the surface. His hand slides lower, from your waist to your lower back, moulding you to him with a kind of certainty that makes your stomach flip.

The hand at your arm lingers. His fingers twitch slightly, like they’re reluctant to move on. Then they do. Slowly. Like he's testing the water, like he's giving you every chance to stop him. He traces up the line of your shoulder, so lightly you almost wonder if you imagined it. But you didn’t. Your skin tingles under the weight of his touch, nerves lighting up as his hand drifts across the curve of your collarbone.

When his palm finally cradles your cheek, it feels like the world stills. His hand is warm, fingers curling just slightly, thumb brushing the edge of your cheekbone with a tenderness that feels almost impossible. He touches you like he’s afraid he’ll break something, but still needs to feel every part of you.  Your breath catches in your throat, not from the stumble, not from surprise, but from the sheer intensity of this moment. This touch. This nearness.

This is the kind of moment you wish had been your first. Not the clumsy mess of limbs and apologies. Not the heat of humiliation or the accidental touch that made your heart sink instead of soar. You wish it had been this. The quiet awe of being seen, the way he steadies you like it matters, the feel of his arms around you like they belong there. Held like you were always meant to find your way to him. Like letting you fall was never even a possibility.  Held like you were something he didn’t want to let go of. The closeness. The heat. The kind of moment that people write about, dream about, crave without even knowing what they’re craving.

Your eyes find his, and the moment shifts. Not soft. Not sweet. Heavy.

The tension that had simmered under the surface all day crests, slow and inevitable. It winds through you now, not subtle, not hidden, but full and real, like the charge before a summer storm. You’re wrapped in his scent, something warm and clean that pulls you in without trying. It clings to your skin and slips beneath your ribs, making it harder to breathe, harder to think. Your hands ache with the need to move, to reach for him, to follow the path his fingers traced and answer it with your own. Every inch of you feels pulled toward him, like your body is already making the decision your mind is still catching up to.

His gaze never leaves yours. There’s something in it that steals the breath from your lungs. Something hungry. Something tender. A kind of longing that makes your throat tighten. His thumb slides along your cheekbone, barely a touch, but your knees still threaten to give. You have to lean into him just to stay upright, and maybe that was the point all along.

Neither of you speaks. It would ruin the moment. There are no words big enough anyway. Just this: your bodies pressed together, the hallway holding its breath around you, the quiet hum of something that has been building and building and has finally found its place.

His forehead nearly brushes yours. You can feel his breath, the tension in his jaw, the slight tremble in the hand on your back that betrays the calm he tries to hold. Your own heartbeat pounds, steady and hard, loud enough to drown out the world. Your lips are so close you could lean in without thinking, could kiss him and fall and never look back.

You wonder if he’s thinking about it too. If he’s standing this still because if he moves, he’ll close the gap. Because he wants to. Because he almost can’t help it.

You don’t know how long you stand like that. Held. Gazing. Wanting. But it’s long enough for the rest of the world to fall away. Long enough for everything else to feel like static.

This is the moment you never thought you’d get. The one that feels like it was written for you.

The silence stretches, hanging between you, fragile and full. His hand is still on your cheek, and your heart is still racing, and you can’t quite believe this is real. You watch the way his lips part, the quiet flicker in his eyes like he’s trying to figure out how to hold onto this just a little longer.

“Are you alright?” he asks, his voice low and careful, like he’s afraid of breaking whatever this is between you.

You nod before you find the breath to answer. “Yeah,” you whisper. “I’m alright.”

Your voice doesn’t sound like your own. It’s too soft, too quiet, but it makes something flicker in his eyes. His hand lingers just a moment longer, brushing once more against your cheek before he finally begins to pull away.

“Thank you,” you say, voice trembling.

The space between you shifts as he slowly lets go, but there’s a reluctance in it, a hesitance like neither of you truly wants to break apart. His fingers are the last to fall away, brushing your waist like they might change their mind at the last second.

Neither of you moves. Not right away. You’re still in it, whatever this is. The moment hangs between you, soft and charged, like it doesn’t want to end just yet.

Eventually, Spencer steps back. You follow suit. There’s no rush to the way you part, just a quiet understanding that you both have to move, even if neither of you wants to.

You make your way back to your desk, feeling every inch of space that grows between you. It doesn’t settle the way it used to. There’s something different now, something alive beneath the surface. Spencer sits across from you, same as always, but it doesn’t feel the same. Not even close.

You try to focus. You open the file you meant to bring with you, scan the lines, click your pen, jot something down. Your fingers go through the motions, but your thoughts are still there in that hallway. Still tangled in the way his hand moved so gently, so slowly. The way he looked at you like you were something worth catching. Worth holding onto.

Across from you, Spencer doesn’t speak. But every so often, you catch him glancing up. Not obvious, just quick flickers of his gaze, almost like he’s checking to see if you’re still feeling it too.

You are.

The hours pass. Meetings blur. Paperwork piles up. You answer questions. You nod at the right times. But your awareness never quite leaves him. It’s like there’s a hum beneath everything now. A frequency only the two of you can feel.

When someone speaks to him, his voice is just a little softer than usual. When you stand, he notices. When you sit, he shifts. Nothing obvious, nothing anyone else would pick up on, but it’s there. In every small moment. In the way your bodies move in relation to each other. In the looks that pass too quickly to be caught.

And you feel it. The way the tension doesn't fade. It stretches with the day, quietly building. There's a pull in the air between you, subtle but steady. A current. It winds through each breath, each glance, each pause that lasts a beat too long.

By the time the sun dips low enough to cast golden light across the desks, the air feels warmer. Thicker. Not uncomfortable. Just aware. Your chest is tight, but not in a bad way. It’s anticipation. Something waiting at the edge of all this stillness.

You don’t know what happens next.

But the workday is ending. And whatever this is between you hasn’t gone anywhere.

If anything, it’s only just begun.

You don’t know what happens next.

But the workday is ending. And whatever this is between you hasn’t gone anywhere.

If anything, it’s only just begun.

People start to move around you, gathering their things, saying quiet goodnights. Chairs roll back, computers power down. Someone laughs faintly down the hall. You hear it all like it’s happening underwater. Distant. Muffled. None of it really touches you.

You stay seated. So does he.

Neither of you seems in any particular rush to leave, and maybe that’s the point. Maybe you're both hoping the other will wait long enough to make this more than just a day filled with glances and charged silences. You tidy up slowly, stacking papers, capping your pen, adjusting things that don’t need adjusting. Across from you, Spencer shifts his chair back just slightly, like he’s about to stand, then doesn’t.

It’s not choreographed. You don’t plan it. But somehow, you both stand at the same time.

That same quiet beat hits again, that tiny pause when your eyes meet. His bag hangs from one shoulder. Your fingers clutch your strap. The hum between you hasn’t gone anywhere.

You fall into step without speaking.

The office is quieter now. The buzz of fluorescent lights hums low overhead. The faint sound of someone typing carries from far off, but the main floor is mostly cleared out. Just a few stragglers wrapping up the last bits of their day.

You don’t speak as you walk. The silence doesn’t need filling.

When you reach the elevator, he presses the button with the same ease he does everything else, controlled, precise, but there’s a certain tightness in the set of his jaw. Like he’s holding back again. Like there’s something just under the surface he isn’t saying.

The doors slide open with a soft chime. You both step inside.

And just like that, you’re alone. The quiet feels louder now. The close walls, the faint metallic smell, the mirror-polished surfaces that reflect more than you want them to.

The doors close.

You glance at him.

He’s already looking at you.

The air shifts.

You don’t know who moves first. Maybe it’s him. Maybe it’s you. Maybe it happens at the exact same time, a silent agreement neither of you speaks aloud. One second you’re standing still, and the next your back is pressing against the wall of the elevator and his mouth is on yours.

It doesn’t feel planned. It doesn’t feel like either of you made a choice. It’s instinct. Reaction. The natural conclusion to everything that’s been building between you. His hands frame your face, not gentle but not rough, like he needs to be sure you’re real while he’s kissing you like he already knows exactly how. And you don’t hesitate. You’re already reaching for him, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, closer still, because distance doesn’t make sense anymore. Not when it feels like your body already knows his.

It’s not just desire. Not just chemistry. It’s something deeper. Something that settles into your chest like recognition. Like you’ve been looking for this without realizing it.

His hand drops to your waist, anchoring you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go. But you’re not going anywhere. Your hands slide higher, over the slope of his shoulders, into his hair, threading through the soft strands like you’ve done it a thousand times. Like you were always meant to.

You gasp against his mouth, and he swallows the sound like it belongs to him. It does. It all does. This doesn’t feel new, not really. It feels inevitable.

There’s a hum under your skin, like something golden and electric threading through you both, faint but steady. It’s not the mark. It’s something else. Something internal. Like your soul just leaned forward and said, finally.

His mouth slows against yours, just slightly. Enough for breath to return in shallow, uneven pulls. His forehead presses gently to yours, and for a second, neither of you moves. His thumb brushes along your jaw, slow and grounding, like he’s trying to catch his breath and memorize you at the same time.

You don’t open your eyes. Not yet. You just feel. The weight of his hands. The heat in your chest. The way everything around you has faded into something quiet and golden.

When he kisses you again, it’s different. Softer. Not because the want is gone, but because now it’s threaded with something else. Curiosity. Wonder. That ache that says I could get lost in this if you let me.

Your hand slides back down to his chest, resting over his heartbeat, and you finally look up at him.

“Spencer,” you breathe, your voice quieter than you mean it to be.

His eyes flicker open, gaze already on you. There’s nothing rushed in the way he looks at you. Nothing uncertain. Just that steady, focused kind of attention that makes it feel like you’re the only thing that exists.

“Can we…” You trail off, but he doesn’t press. He waits, his hand still resting warm and steady on your waist.

“Can we go to your place?”

There’s a pause, not hesitation, just a beat where everything between you goes still. Then he nods, slow and sure, like the answer was always going to be yes.

“Yes,” he says, and the word settles between you like a promise.

You don’t move right away. Neither does he. The yes still lingers between you, warm and certain, and your bodies stay close like they haven’t quite figured out how to separate yet.

Then your brows pull together, just slightly. There’s something off. A quiet that doesn’t feel right.

Your gaze shifts over his shoulder, past him, toward the panel on the wall.

“Did we…?” you start, and then you see it. All the lights on the buttons are dark.

Spencer glances back, following your eyes. “We didn’t press anything.”

You both stare at the panel for a second before the absurdity of it sinks in, and your lips twitch, the beginning of a laugh bubbling up in your chest.

He exhales a soft breath of disbelief, a crooked smile forming as he reaches over and presses the button. “Right. Small detail.”

The elevator hums to life at last, and your laughter lingers in the space between you, quiet and breathless.

But the moment doesn’t fade.

It just folds back in on itself, warm and wanting, as he turns back to you. You don’t waste the time. His hands find you again, yours reach for him, and this time when he kisses you, it’s with that same promise in it. That same yes.

You don’t remember the ride. Not really. Just flashes. His hand brushing yours in the car. The quiet tension sitting between you like it might combust. The shared glances that said everything words couldn’t.

The door clicks shut behind you.

You don’t speak. You don’t need to. You turn toward each other at the same time, like you were pulled by the same invisible thread. And then his hands are on you and yours are on him and it’s like the hallway all over again, only more. No more stopping yourselves. No more reason to.

He kisses you hard enough to make your knees buckle, and you stumble back into the wall behind you. You don’t care. You grip the front of his shirt and pull him closer, needing the weight of him, the heat. He presses into you with a low sound in his throat that you feel more than hear, something rough and quiet that makes your breath catch.

You’re not thinking anymore. Not really. Just feeling. Want. Heat. The ache of being this close and still not close enough.

Your jacket slips from your shoulders, his hands helping it off in a way that feels impatient and reverent all at once. He doesn’t throw it. He lets it fall, then his fingers are back on your hips, your waist, your jaw. Like he can’t choose where to touch you first. Like it’s all too much and still not enough.

His mouth moves to your neck, slow and searching, and your head tips back instinctively. One of your hands finds the back of his neck, the other drifts lower, slipping beneath the hem of his shirt to find skin. Warm and tense and real. He exhales hard at the contact, his hips pressing into yours like he’s already forgetting what space is.

You manage to drag his shirt up, your hands clumsy with urgency, and he lifts his arms to help you pull it over his head. It catches for a second, tangled around his wrists, and you both laugh, just once, breathless and surprised, but then it’s gone and so is the pause. His mouth crashes back onto yours and your hands are everywhere again.

He walks you backward through the apartment, guided more by instinct than memory. You bump into a side table, the corner of a bookshelf, and he steadies you with one hand while the other stays pressed between your shoulder blades. You’re trying to get his belt undone, fumbling with the buckle, and he’s got your shirt halfway unbuttoned, his fingers brushing your skin with every movement.

By the time you reach the bedroom, your shirt is hanging open and his trousers are unfastened, and the air between you feels like it’s on fire.

You don’t fall into the bed. You sink, slowly, together, hands still exploring. He kisses you softer now, but it’s no less intense. It’s layered. Tender, hungry, searching. Every brush of his mouth feels like it means something. Like he’s learning you one kiss at a time.

Your fingers thread into his hair again, tugging gently, and he groans against your lips like he’s been waiting for that sound from you. You part long enough for your clothes to come off piece by piece, tossed somewhere you’ll both forget about for now.

There’s no rhythm yet. No plan. Just heat and breath and the kind of touches that feel like they’ve been a long time coming. Like the path to this moment was always winding toward here.

He settles above you, one hand braced beside your head, the other tracing along your ribs like he’s memorizing you. Your hand finds his face, thumb brushing his cheek, and his eyes close at the touch. Not because he’s overwhelmed. Because he’s home.

You don’t say it. You don’t have to. It’s there. In the way your bodies move. In the unspoken understanding that this is more than just lust. More than just timing. It’s whatever has been humming between you since the second your marks aligned, now unravelling in real time.

When he lowers his forehead to yours again, your noses brushing, your breath mingling, he whispers your name.

You whisper his back, and it sounds like a vow.

Then he kisses you again, and you let yourself fall.

He finishes removing your open shirt, his fingers sliding along the fabric until it’s pooled around your waist. The cool air hits your skin, and you shiver, but it’s not from cold. It’s from the heat of his gaze as he looks at you.

Then, with the same kind of awe that had coloured his voice earlier, he unclips your bra. It falls away, revealing your chest to him for the first time. You hold your breath, waiting for his reaction. But instead of shock, his eyes fill with something like wonder as they trace over the gold mark on your right breast. It’s a perfect mirror to the one on his palm, a shimmering constellation of flecks of gold that dance together in the dim light of his room.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin as he leans in to press a gentle kiss to the mark. It’s not sensual, not yet. It’s almost reverent. Like he’s worshipping something sacred. His thumb traces the pattern, sending sparks of sensation along your nerves. You bite your lip to hold back a whimper.

You’ve been so self-conscious of this part of you, always hidden away, and now here he is, treating it like a treasure. His eyes never leave the mark as he kisses it again, and then again, like he can’t get enough.

It’s strange, but as he worships this piece of your skin that’s been a source of fear and embarrassment for so long, something shifts within you. You feel your self-consciousness slipping away, replaced with something new. Something like... power. Like you’re not just a person anymore, but something divine.

Your hand slides down his bare back, feeling the muscles shift and twitch beneath your palm. You trace the line of his spine, down to his hip, and you can feel his body tighten with need. You know he’s trying to be gentle, trying to take it slow, but the bond between you is a livewire, electric and demanding.

You arch up to meet him, your skin brushing his, and he groans, the sound vibrating against your mark. It’s like he can feel it too, the power pulsing between you, urging you closer. His kisses become more frantic, his touches less tentative.

Suddenly, it’s not enough. The need to feel him everywhere overwhelms you, and you both rip the rest of your clothes away with the same fervent intensity. It’s a symphony of desperation that fills the room, and you don’t care about the mess. You don’t care about anything except for the warm, bare flesh pressed against yours.

Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, and he doesn’t resist. He slots himself against you, his erection pressing into your heat, and you can’t help but rock upward, seeking more contact. Spencer’s eyes darken, and he lets out a shaky breath. His hand slides down to the juncture of your thighs, and you spread them wider in silent invitation.

When his fingers touch you, it’s like a spark catches fire. You arch off the bed with a gasp, your hand flying to cover your mouth. His eyes never leave yours, watching the way your pupils dilate, the way your cheeks flush with colour. He explores you gently at first, learning the shape of you, the way you respond to his touch. You’re soaking wet, and he groans at the slick heat of you, his thumb circling your clit with a pressure that’s just right.

You want to watch him, but the sensation is too much, and you drop your head back, eyes squeezed shut. You can feel the way your body responds to him, the way it’s been waiting for this. His mouth follows the line of your neck, kissing and nipping as he works you closer and closer to the edge. His other hand slides up, cupping your breast, thumb stroking over your soulmark. The feeling is indescribable—like he’s touching your very soul.

When he finally pushes two fingers inside you, you bite down on a moan. It’s perfect. He fills you just right, and you can feel yourself clench around him. He starts to move, slow and deliberate, and it’s all you can do not to scream.

You open your eyes to find Spencer watching you with an intensity that’s almost feral. His pupils are blown wide, his eyes dark with desire. His hand is a blur between your thighs, his fingers moving in and out of you with a skill that’s surprisingly gentle for someone who seems so lost in passion.

Every stroke of his fingers sends waves of pleasure crashing through your body, and you can’t help but rock against him, silently begging for more. He reads you like a book as he adjusts his touch just enough to send you spiralling closer to the edge. You can feel your muscles tighten around his digits, the tension in your belly coiling like a spring about to snap.

Spencer’s gaze remains on your face, his eyes devouring every flicker of emotion that passes over your features. It’s like he’s peering into the very essence of your soul, and it’s a heady, exhilarating feeling. It’s as if he’s come face to face with the universe and found it in you. The intensity in his stare is almost too much to handle, but it’s also the most incredible feeling you’ve ever experienced.

And then he shifts down, needing to taste you.

His mouth follows the path his hand has set, kissing your stomach, your hips, and then finally, finally, he’s there. He looks up at you, question in his eyes, and you nod, desperate for him to keep going. So he does, his tongue swiping over your folds in a teasing lick before focusing on your clit.

You bite back a cry as he circles it with the perfect amount of pressure, his fingers still working inside you. It’s like he’s unlocking some secret part of you, something that’s been waiting just for him. You’ve never felt so open, so exposed. So wanted.

His mouth is hot and wet, his tongue a masterful dance that’s driving you insane. You can feel yourself getting closer, closer, until you’re not sure you can hold on anymore. And then he adds another finger, stretching you just enough to make you gasp.

Your nails dig into the sheets, your hips rocking up to meet his mouth. He seems to understand your unspoken pleas, his tongue swirling around your clit in a pattern that’s making your vision swim. You’re so close, so, so close, and all you can do is whimper his name over and over.

The sounds you’re making are obscene, desperate and wanton, but he doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, they only spur him on. His tongue flicks and laps, and you can feel the pressure building, building, until it’s a crescendo that’s going to shatter you into a million pieces.

And then he angles his fingers just right, rubbing against your g-spot, and it’s like a dam breaks. You cum with a scream, your body arching off the bed as pleasure crashes through you like a tidal wave. Your eyes squeeze shut, stars bursting behind your eyelids, and you clench around him, waves of ecstasy rolling over you.

Spencer’s mouth doesn’t leave you as you come down, his tongue gentle now, soothing. He kisses your thighs, your hips, his way of saying sorry and thank you all at once. When he pulls away, his eyes are bright with satisfaction, a smug little smile playing at his lips.

You lay there, panting, your body humming with aftershocks. It’s a strange sensation, like every nerve ending is vibrating in perfect harmony with your racing heart. You feel alive in a way you haven’t in a long time.

Spencer’s weight shifts, and you feel his body settle beside you. He’s looking at you with a soft smile, his eyes filled with something you can’t quite place—it’s a mix of satisfaction and wonder. He reaches out, his hand hovering over your skin, as if afraid to break the spell.

But you don’t let the moment linger. You beat him to it, grabbing his arm to pull him back on top of you. Your kiss is fierce, demanding. It’s like your bodies are speaking a language that’s been forgotten, and you need to relearn it with every touch, every caress. His mouth crashes against yours, and you revel in the feeling of his warm, firm body pressed against you. The scent of him, the taste of him—it’s intoxicating.

Your hand slides down his back, then lower, cupping his ass and pulling him closer. You can feel his erection, hot and heavy against your thigh, and it sends a bolt of want straight to your core. You need him inside of you. To fill you up. To complete this connection that’s been building between you since the moment you met.

You reach down and wrap your hand around his cock, stroking it with the same urgency he had used on you. He groans, his hips jerking against your palm. You can feel the heat of his breath against your neck, the gentle nibbles turning into kisses, turning into love bites. He’s lost in the sensation, his body responding to yours.

And then he’s moving, aligning himself with your entrance. You can feel the tip of him, pressing against you, and you lift your hips, silently begging for more. He pauses for a moment, his gaze searching yours, making sure you’re okay. You nod, and with one swift thrust, he’s inside you.

You both groan, the sensation of being filled so completely stealing your breath. He’s thick, and the stretch feels incredible. You tighten around him, and he stills, his eyes closing for a moment as he fights for control. You can feel him, all of him, and it’s like your body was made to fit around him.

When he starts to move, it’s slow and deliberate. He’s not taking this lightly. He’s not rushing. It’s like he’s savouring every inch of you, every gasp and shiver that runs through your body. He’s watching you, reading you, learning you like he’s memorizing a new language.

You wrap your legs around his waist, locking him in place, your ankles crossing at the base of his spine. You don’t want him to stop, don’t want this moment to end. You want to live in the feeling of him inside you forever. His strokes are deep and sure, each one hitting that perfect spot that makes your eyes roll back in your head.

And through it all, you’re staring into each other’s eyes. It’s as if you’ve found a new way to speak—a silent language that’s more intimate than any words could ever be. You can see his love for you in those hazel depths, the way they darken with passion and burn with a fierce possessiveness that makes your heart race.

You hold on to him like you’ll be ripped away at any moment, like he’s the only anchor keeping you tethered to this world. Your hands dig into his shoulders, your nails leaving little half-moons in his skin, and you can feel the power of the bond pulsing between you like a heartbeat.

“Faster,” you moan, your voice barely recognizable. It’s a demand and a plea all at once, and Spencer seems to understand. His eyes never leave yours as he increases his rhythm, his hips moving in a steady, punishing rhythm that has you crying out with every thrust. He’s not just taking you, he’s claiming you.

You can feel your orgasm building again, the tension coiling in your belly. His hand slides between you, his thumb finding your clit and applying just the right amount of pressure. It’s like he knows exactly what you need before you do. Your hips buck up to meet him, your body begging for more.

With a sudden shift, Spencer rolls you over so you’re straddling him, his cock still buried deep inside you. The new angle sends a bolt of pleasure through you, and you gasp, your hands braced on his chest. He’s watching you with a fiery gaze, his chest heaving with every breath.

You take control, grinding down onto him with a primal need. The new angle has him hitting places that send sparks racing down your spine, and you can’t help but lean forward to take him even deeper. His eyes widen slightly, but he doesn’t protest. If anything, he seems to enjoy the way your body moves, the way your breasts sway with every thrust.

Leaning down, you brace your hands on his chest. You start to set a brutal pace, riding him like you’re afraid it’ll end before you’ve had enough. Your hips move in a frenzied dance, each grind and bounce sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. Spencer’s grip on you tightens, his fingers digging into your hips as he tries to keep up. His eyes are dark, his teeth bared in a grimace that’s part pleasure, part pain.

Suddenly, his hand slides up, his thumb brushing over your soulmark again. The contact sends a jolt of energy through you, and you throw your head back with a guttural moan. It’s like a switch has been flipped. The room seems to pulse around you, charged with more than just heat and hunger. It’s the bond, the soul-deep connection that’s been growing between you since the moment you found out about your soulmate status.

His other hand moves to play with your breasts, his thumbs circling the sensitive peaks. Each touch feels magnified, the soulmate bond acting as an amplifier for every sensation. The pleasure spirals through you, making your movements erratic as you ride him harder.

Spencer’s eyes never leave yours, even as the sweat gathers on his brow and his breathing turns ragged. His grip on your hip is firm but gentle, guiding you, urging you to take what you need. The way he watches you, with such fierce concentration and care, makes you feel cherished. It’s like he’s worshipping you, and you can’t get enough.

You lean forward, burying your nails into the taut flesh of his chest, and he gasps, the sudden sharpness of pain mixing with pleasure. You revel in the feel of his heart racing beneath your fingertips, the way his abs contract as he thrusts up into you. Your movements become more erratic, driven by a need so intense it’s almost painful. You’re so close, so very close, and you know he is too.

With each stroke, you feel yourself getting lost in the feeling of his cock inside you. The friction is perfect, the angle exquisite. You can feel him everywhere, inside you, on you, all around you. It’s like you’re drowning in him, and you never want to come up for air.

And then, almost as if he knows you’re on the edge, his hand moves. His fingers tease over your clit, and your eyes fly open in surprise. The sensation is intense, a spark of pleasure that ignites your nerves.

You lean back, bracing your hands on his thighs, and you start to move again, your hips rolling in a sensual rhythm that’s all for him. You can feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter, your body on the edge of something massive. You’re so wet, so ready, and every stroke is pure agony in the best possible way.

He groans the second your body shifts, the new angle sending a jolt through him. His hands slip from where they had wandered, only to find their way back to your hips, gripping tighter this time like he’s trying to ground himself, but it’s no use. The view of you above him, flushed and open and moving with purpose, sparks something raw in him. Something primal. His breath stutters, eyes locked on where you take him in again and again, and he can’t look away. It’s not just the way you move. It’s the way you look doing it. Every nerve in his body lights up, hunger curling hot and deep in his gut as the pace you’ve set pushes him closer to the edge.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, the words a rasp torn from his chest. It’s a whisper, but it feels like it echoes around the room. He can feel you tightening around him, and he knows you’re close. So close. His thumb traces lazy circles around your clit, and your hips jerk in response, your eyes fluttering shut. He loves the way you look when you’re lost in pleasure. It’s like watching the stars align.

“I’m... I’m... so close,” you groan, the words dragged from you with each movement of your body. Your voice is thick with need, and the sound of it sends a thrill through him. You’re riding him like you’re trying to outrace your own pleasure, and he can feel it building between you, a storm that’s about to break.

“Cum for me, sweetheart,” Spencer whispers, his voice a hoarse rumble that makes your skin prickle. His thumb presses harder against your clit, his hips jerking up to meet your downward strokes. The way he says it, the desperation in his voice, it’s like he’s begging you, and it’s the most erotic thing you’ve ever heard.

You can feel it building, the pressure in your core reaching critical mass. Your eyes fly open to meet his, and you realize he’s watching you, his gaze intense, his pupils dilated with lust. “I want to feel you cum on my cock,” he says again, the words a command that sends a shiver down your spine. You can see the anticipation in his eyes, the way his jaw clenches with restrained need.

With a final, purposeful stroke of his thumb, you shatter. The world goes white, and you scream, the sound echoing off the walls. Your vision swims, and all you can feel is the white-hot pleasure ripping through you in waves, stealing your breath. Your body clenches around him, muscles tightening and releasing in a symphony of ecstasy.

The orgasm feels like it lasts forever, your skin a live wire of sensation. Each pulse of pleasure sends a new tremor through your body, making your muscles quiver and your toes curl.

But even as your climax crashes over you, Spencer’s not done. He’s holding on, his eyes begging for something more. “Please,” he whispers, his voice strained with the effort of not letting go. “Can I cum inside you?”

You nod, the word a breathless gasp that’s barely audible. It’s all the permission he needs. Spencer’s eyes clench shut as he starts to move again, his strokes becoming more urgent, more demanding. You can feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles tighten with every thrust.

And then it happens. He cums with a roar that fills the room, his release hot and thick inside you. It’s a claiming, a bonding, a promise of forever. You feel yourself contract around him, milking every last drop of pleasure from him. It’s a moment of pure unadulterated connection.

As your orgasm subsides, your body goes limp, and you collapse against his chest, breathless. Your heart is racing, your skin slick with sweat, your body still trembling from the intensity of your climax. Spencer’s arms wrap around you, his embrace strong and steady, as if he’s afraid to let go. You can feel his heart pounding in his chest, in sync with yours, and it’s like your souls are dancing together in a rhythm that only you two know.

Your body is still pressed to his, skin damp, breath slowing as the last of the tremors fade. Neither of you moves. It’s not laziness, not really. It’s more that shifting feels like it might break something delicate that’s settled between you.

Spencer’s chest rises under your cheek, steady but uneven. One of his hands is on your back, palm spread wide, the other tucked gently around your shoulder. His thumb starts to move in slow, absent strokes, like he doesn’t even know he’s doing it.

You sigh, soft and almost sleepy, though your mind is anything but quiet.

He hums in response. Not a word, just a sound that rumbles from deep in his chest. It vibrates through your cheek, soothing in a way you didn’t expect.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The silence feels easy. Not awkward. Not full of things unsaid. Just full.

“I think I forgot how to move,” you mumble into his skin.

Spencer lets out a quiet breath that might be a laugh. “You don’t have to. We can stay like this.”

You tilt your head just enough to glance up at him. “Forever?”

He looks down at you with that little smile of his, the one that’s more genuine when he’s not thinking about it. “Or until we get hungry.”

You huff a soft laugh and let your eyes fall shut again, your fingers curling gently against his ribs.

There’s no rush. No pressure. Just the warmth of his body under yours, his hand on your back, and the quiet, shared understanding that whatever this is, it’s real.

Eventually, the rise and fall of your breathing starts to match his. The world doesn’t feel like it’s tilting anymore. Just warm and quiet, like everything’s settled in its place. You shift slightly, not to move away but just to get a better look at him, your chin resting lightly on his chest.

Spencer’s eyes are half-lidded but focused on you, soft in a way that makes your heart tug a little. His hand is still on your back, thumb brushing lazy lines over your spine. The kind of touch that feels like it’s always been there. Like it belongs.

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt this…” You trail off, searching for the right word.

He doesn’t press you to finish. Just watches you, patient and open.

“…content,” you say finally. “Like I can actually breathe.”

Spencer smiles, small but honest. “Yeah. Me too.”

You trace a slow, aimless circle with your finger against his chest. “I used to wonder what it’d be like. Finding my soulmate. I thought it would be terrifying. Or overwhelming. Some huge moment I wouldn’t know how to handle.”

“It was a little overwhelming,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice.

You laugh, quiet and real. “Okay, yeah. It didn’t exactly start smooth.”

He lifts a hand and tucks some hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering a second longer than necessary. “I used to think I’d be too much. That maybe it wouldn’t happen. Or that if it did, the person on the other end wouldn’t want anything to do with me.”

The softness of his voice hits you more than the words.

You shake your head, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. “That person would be an idiot.”

Spencer huffs a breath that’s almost a laugh, but it catches on something more. His hand comes up to cradle the side of your face, his thumb brushing just beneath your eye.

“I didn’t think it would feel like this,” he says quietly. “I didn’t know it could.”

You let the moment settle between you, full and warm.

“I feel like I’ve known you longer than two days,” you murmur.

“I know,” he says. “It’s strange, but it’s not. You just… fit.”

You nuzzle into him, and he shifts slightly to make room, as if your body was meant to settle right there all along.

“I’m really happy it’s you,” you say.

His arms tighten around you, not possessive, just sure. “Me too.”

You lie there for another beat, your cheek pressed to his chest, feeling the soft rise and fall of his breathing as it finally begins to settle.

“Hey,” he says after a moment, his voice quieter now, but not heavy. “I know we’ve only known each other two days. And most of that involved some level of either humiliation or aggressively avoiding eye contact... but I like this.”

You smile into his skin. “Yeah. Me too.”

Neither of you says anything else for a while. There’s no need. You’re wrapped in the kind of silence that doesn’t ask to be filled.

“I should probably get dressed,” you say eventually, not moving at all.

“You should definitely not get dressed,” Spencer replies, his voice dry.

You laugh, turning your face into his neck. “We can’t stay like this forever.”

“Why not?”

“Because eventually I’m going to need water. And food.”

He hums like he’s weighing the pros and cons. “Fine. But I’m still going to sulk about it.”

You finally push yourself upright with a sigh. “My legs forgot how to work.”

Spencer stretches beside you. “I’ll carry you to the kitchen if you want.”

You give him a look. “Bold of you to assume I’d let you carry me anywhere after how we met.”

His laugh is easy, warm. “In my defence, I was tripping over the laws of physics. Not my own two feet.”

“You fell directly into my boobs, Spencer.”

He groans and pulls a pillow over his face. “Please never say that again.”

You’re still grinning as you both get up and pull on enough clothes to be considered decent. The air feels different now, looser somehow. Like the two of you have finally caught up to whatever this thing between you is.

Spencer bumps your shoulder as you make your way to the kitchen. “You haven’t eaten since lunch. I should probably feed you.”

“You say that like I’m a stray you found sniffing around your porch.”

“You asked to come over,” he points out, giving you a look.

“Yeah. Because I was trying to be polite about jumping your bones.”

“Exactly,” he says, smug. “Stray behaviour.”

You stare at him.

“I have cereal,” he offers.

“That’s not food. That’s a cry for help.”

“I have three kinds of cereal.”

“You’re not making this better.”

“I also have microwaveable rice.”

“Do you have anything to go with the rice?”

A pause.

“…I have a drawer full of granola bars?”

You groan, leaning your forehead against the nearest cupboard. “I cannot believe I just had sex with a man who lives like a feral academic.”

“I’m very resourceful,” he says, clearly too proud of himself.

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Spencer leans against the counter, smug. “I’ll take it.”

You shake your head, still smiling as you pull yourself up. “Guess I’ll have to take over your kitchen. For your own safety.”

“Please do. I’ve been meaning to clean out the fridge, but I’m afraid to open it.”

You pause, halfway to standing. “You’re joking, right?”

Another pause.

“…mostly.”

You both eat something that barely qualifies as a meal, pieced together from the scraps of Spencer’s fridge and the questionable remains of his pantry. It ends up being better than expected, mostly because you’re both too busy laughing to care.

You end up on the couch, not so much by decision as by natural drift, like gravity knows where you belong. The television flickers quietly, casting silver shadows over the room while an old film murmurs in the background. Neither of you picked it out. Spencer just pressed play on something and then handed you the remote like it was a peace offering. Or maybe a thank you.

His fingers trail slowly along your arm, light and absent like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. You think maybe you wouldn’t have liked that before, the mindless closeness, the way he keeps reaching for you even when there’s no need. But with him, it just fits. Like the silence doesn’t need filling. Like the stillness between you is full of something instead of empty.

“I feel weirdly… settled,” you murmur, not quite sure why you’re whispering.

“Me too,” Spencer says, lips brushing your hair as he speaks.

The movie carries on, a slow-moving plot that neither of you fully follow. It’s just background now. A reason to stay exactly where you are. Not that either of you needs one. The blanket shifts slightly as he pulls it higher around you both, like that’s all he needs to protect. Just this one corner of the world, this one soft moment.

You don’t mean to say it. The words just slip out, tucked between a breath and the shift of his fingers against your skin.

“I used to hate my soulmark was.”

Spencer doesn’t flinch. He waits, just like he always does.

“It always felt like a joke,” you go on, your voice soft. “Like someone somewhere decided to brand me in the most humiliating spot possible. It was always this… looming thing. Something I had to guard. Something I couldn’t even talk about without it sounding like a punchline.”

Spencer doesn’t speak. His thumb presses a little firmer against your skin, grounding you.

“But now,” you continue, your voice catching just slightly, “it feels... different. Like it’s just a part of me. And you—you're just... you’re more than I could have ever imagined.”

His thumb stills for a moment, but his gaze never leaves yours. “I’m glad it’s not a joke to you anymore. I don’t want you to ever feel like that again.”

You smile, the warmth of it spreading from your chest. “I’m don't. Not anymore.”

His lips press against the top of your head, gentle and steady. He doesn’t rush it. He lets the moment stretch out between you both, filling it with everything unspoken. And you don’t need words now. Not when everything feels so right.

The movie on the screen is forgotten. Time slows down, and in its place, there’s only this: the rhythm of his breathing, the way his arm tightens around you, the sound of your heartbeats blending in the quiet space between you. This ,the two of you together, is enough.

You turn your head to look at him, your eyes meeting his. The faintest smile pulls at the corner of his lips, and you feel your own heart swell with a warmth you hadn’t expected to find. A tenderness, a trust, something deeper than you thought you’d ever feel in such a short time.

“I’ve been thinking,” you say softly, the words almost surprising you as they slip out. “About the future.”

He raises an eyebrow, his hand brushing lightly against your arm. “What about it?”

“About how... how this feels like the start of something. Something real. And how, every day, I’m going to fall more for you. I know that now.” You hesitate for a moment, then add, “I could see us—well, I could see myself... building something with you.”

Spencer’s eyes soften, the depth of his gaze catching you off guard. “You’re not scared of that? Of all the things that come with it?”

You shake your head, a small smile curving your lips. “No. I think I’m ready for it. For whatever comes next with you.”

Spencer’s thumb traces slow circles against your arm, as though he’s still processing what you’ve said, but you can see the certainty in his eyes. “I think we’ll be good at it. At building whatever comes next,” he says, his voice low, but steady. “I want that too. More than I ever thought I would.”

You nestle closer, feeling the steady warmth of his embrace, a comfort that feels like it’s going to last. It’s not just about this moment, but everything that could come after. And for the first time, you realize that this is exactly where you’re supposed to be.

“You know,” you say, the words almost playful as you lean against him. “I never thought I’d be sitting here with my soulmate. Definitely not this quickly.”

Spencer chuckles softly, the sound warm and reassuring. “Yeah, neither did I. But here we are.”

You pull the blanket up a little higher around you both, the room settling into a soft quiet. You know that no matter what happens, tomorrow will be just as good. Every day will be filled with moments like these, moments of connection, of laughter, of love growing quietly between you.

For once, you’re not afraid of the future. It feels like a promise, and all you have to do is keep going, together. You glance up at Spencer, and in his eyes, you see the same certainty you feel in your own chest.

“I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you,” you whisper.

Spencer’s voice is full of quiet intensity as he responds, “I’ve spent my whole life imagining this. Imagining you. All the little things I didn’t even know I was waiting for. And now that you’re here... you’re more than I could have dreamed. You’re everything I never knew I needed.”

And, as the old movie plays on in the background, neither of you needs anything more than this moment, wrapped up together on the couch, knowing that the days ahead will only bring you closer. That each day, each smile, each touch, will only make you both fall further in love with each other. And for once, you know this is exactly how it’s meant to be.

[pandora-whowalksbetween]

iirc there was an event in-game where mc was turned into this sheep– implying that in the gameverse, mc is usually human, even in the Devildom.

But also you can do whatever you want forever, so,

Question about obey me MC

Okay so do we think MC is a little pink sheep all the time or only in the devildom? Because in the manga (I can’t find the exact panel, if someone can that’d be great!) MC is confused and asks something about how they ended up in sheep form, implying that in the human world they look like a regular human. Would anyone like headcanons for the other characters reactions seeing mc in human form for the first time?

Here’s the best panel I can find but it’s not exactly what I’m looking for.

[biteyoubiteme]

blue raspberry flavored

soobin x fem!reader

synopsis: he’s so cute when he asks, he’s even cuter when he doesn’t

warnings: 🔞!!! breeding kink, baby trapper, dubcon/manipulation, nipple/breast play, use of teeth, marking, no protection, creampie, talk of pregnancy, soobin calls reader bunny a few times prob forgot some sorry

wc: 1.5k

an: don't know how this one will go over but hope you guys like it feedback is appreciated :)) [m.list]

this is apart of my mini kinktober event check out the other fics here [dumdum m.list]

Soobin was never really forgetful of anything. He never forgot your birthday, missed an anniversary, messed up on your coffee order, he never even had to write down what he needed when he went grocery shopping. But bringing a condom always seemed to slip his mind. 

At first it was easy to write off in the beginning of your relationship, every time the two of you got closer to having sex and not just messy make outs every pouty ‘its okay ill just pull out’ sounded more and more appealing. But you bought a box of condoms for your apartment and didn't realize the way his jaw clicked at the sight of them. 

Soon after soobin was suddenly into pda. Purposefully teasing you out in public, hand slipping up your thigh under the table at a friends house, pulling you into heady kisses out at events, pushing you into bathroom stalls to try and undress you. You didn't make the connection until later that he was avoiding taking you home. ‘I just can't wait i need you right now,’ 

He knew exactly what to say for you to fold, slowly chipping away at the idea that the two of you even needed protection at all. It was so easy for you to remember when in your own bed, the nightstand right there. But in the back of the car with his lips all over you, hands kneading your thighs, pushing your knees apart; you let so much slide. Mumblings for him to pull out lost between moans. Where was he supposed to cum in the car anyways? He’d hate to ruin the interior or your pretty skirt. 

In the beginning it wasn't so bad, soobin could restrain himself. If you two didn't use a condom he would make sure to pull out and if you did use one he was easy to comply. But it only took one time and it was an accident, a real accident where he didn't pull out fast enough. It was in the mix of his fucked out apology that he realized he wasnt sorry at all, not when he was watching the way your abused cunt was pushing out his cum and all he could really think about was going right back in for more. 

post nut he was a bit ashamed but as soon as he thought about it for long enough he had his hand down his pants begging in an empty room to get you pregnant. And when you're ovulating it's only worse. Not only does he know it would be so easy to knock you up but it's like you're beckoning him to do it. Your hands squeezing your boobs, pushing up your bra while you're watching movies together. “Ugh im so sore,” the pout on your lips instantly makes him hard. His imagination taking over thinking about just how big they would get if he did get you pregnant. 

And when you wear that tiny little tank top he is insatiable. Nipples peeking through the thin fabric as you lay against the pillows on the bed. You didn't even notice that soobin is paying no attention to the tv, his eyes watching the way your chest rises and falls. Adjusting in his seat to not make it too obvious he was already leaking in his sweatpants. Only it does the exact opposite, your eyes drawn to the bulge outlined in the gray fabric. 

“Need help there?” it's the slight invitation he needs to roll over on top of you, lips working down your throat, hips rutting against yours. 

“Please bunny, i need you,” he begs as you run your fingers through his hair pushing the strands behind his ears. Pleading brown eyes working on you instantly, he was always so desperate to have you and he knew it always made him get what he wanted. 

He tugs down your tank top far enough for your boobs to spill out, hands reaching up to cup them both, thumbs sliding over your skin as he groans. “Look at your pretty nipples,” he squeezes his hands, pushing them together to watch the way your cleavage deepens. 

You whine softly, “gentle i'm still tender,” the reminder only adding to his want, mouth coming down to suck on your nipple, your moan going straight to his aching cock. 

Kneading the handfuls he has of your breasts, your back arches, lips popping off obscenely from one nipple only to capture the next. He's rough as he massages, your nails scratching along his scalp, his moans reverberating through your chest as he swirls his tongue over the hard bud. 

He's humping you like you don't have layers of clothes separating you two, every slow drag of his hips pressing his hardness right against your clit, his teeth softly biting at your nipple tugging to watch how you react. Soobin knows that getting you off at least once before actually fucking you led to your inhibitions being weakned enough to forget about the condom all together. His hand slipped down between you two, pushing past your waistband to rub on your clit. 

Lips coated in his spit he starts sucking marks along your chest, watching the way your head rolls back, fingers sliding through your slick as your hips buck up into his hand. He knows your body well enough to see the first orgasm coming, relishing in the way you tremble against him. With no time to let you ride out your high he's pulling down your shorts and panties, kicking off his sweats using all your wetness to lube up his cock. 

But even in your haze you reach out beside you fumbling for the drawer to the nightstand pulling out the little shiny packet. You don't even see the disappointment on his face as you rip open the packet helping to slide the condom on him. 

And he wants to be good, truly, only when he slowly pushes in he cant think about anything else except fucking you hard enough the condom breaks, neither of you knowing until its too late, until all his cum is spilling out of you. It’s that thought alone that makes him pull all the way out, his fingers slipping along the condom as he tugs it off. “What-” 

“It's okay,” he mutters, tossing the condom to the pile of your clothes on the floor. “I need to feel all of you please,” and he tries to kiss away the worry on your mouth, and you shake your head. 

“No you need another one we have extra in the nightstand,” but he's already prodding your entrance, tip slipping in as he begs, "I'll just pull out I promise, please, please,"

You don't even get to respond before his hips slam into yours, fully seating himself inside you, promptly shutting up anything else you could say. Even if after the two of you were done you were upset it's not like you would leave him would you? Not if he got you pregnant, the two of you were ready, and he'd take such good care of you. “Fuck,” his drawn out moan pressed right into your neck as he bullies his cock into you, “you feel amazing bunny,” 

You're clinging to him, moans mixing with the obscene wet sounds coming from between you two. “Soobin s-slow down,” but you're not sure you want him to, not when he's hitting just the perfect spot inside of you, pressed so deep you swear you can feel him in your stomach. 

“No,” he pants pulling you closer, “im going to stuff you full of my fucking cum, we will stay here all night if we have to,” your clenching gummy walls aiding him on. “Don't you want my baby?” 

You can't even think straight let alone answer his question, his long fingers moving to work on your clit, “you'd be so pretty full of me, my cum, my baby, everyone would know youre all mine,” 

The room is full of your desperate moans, your legs wrapping around him as if you could pull him any closer. “You like that idea huh?” 

“Y-yes,” you're practically crying, tears welling up in your eyes, “i want it, please,” 

That alone makes soobins balls tighten, cock jerking inside you before he spills the biggest load he's ever had inside you. He presses his hips against yours making sure you're flush together as you cum, fluttering walls sucking him in deeper milking him dry of all he has. He takes your hand in his lowering it to press over your pelvis, pressing it down enough to make you moan, “i don't think once will do it,” deep slow thrusts pushing his cum further in making you dizzy, “but you did such a good job im sure you can handle the rest,"

a very special thank you to @aduh0308 and @chyuuiung for beta/proof reading this for me ily you're the best

🏷 taglist: @kissmekissykissme @bts-txt-ateez @apeachty @stwq2349 @isa942572 
@tomorrowxforever @beestvng @soobingf-blog @lovinjjong @lola-horore-553 
@cypher-03 @midnight-mochii @hueningwhy @choibeomning @soobinbunnie5 
@yunjinswifee @cupidtaehyun @bamgeutsz @prince-jjae

[mariuspompom]

I'm reading the lord of the rings and I'm once again amazed at how... good most characters are. Like, they are genuinely good people. They are a bunch of kindhearted, gracious, caring people, coming together under adverse circumstances and trying to figure things out and find a solution and support each other through it all. Like Frodo and Sam meet Faramir and Faramir is a bit suspicious at first and kind of implies Frodo may be a spy, and then when he hears his story and he's like Frodo, I pressed you so hard at first. Forgive me! It was unwise in such an hour and place. And this blows.my.mind. He wasn't even particularly mean or threatening to him in the beginning, he's just such a kind, considerate man, recognizing the kindness and honesty of another man. And they're all like that. Even Gollum starts slowly changing (for a short while) when he encounters Frodo because that's the thing about kindness and humility and grace, they are contagious. They transform people, even a creature like Gollum cannot be immune to that. Like, you may consider all this simple and basic and I get it but, hear me out. It is quite rare to see that in modern media and it is also pretty difficult to pull off in a way that is not corny and simplistic. It is mind blowing that you actually don't have to present the entire palette of human cruelty and vice in order to tell a compelling story, contrary to popular belief. Lotr does the exact opposite, and it is just beautiful and it warms my heart. Especially taking into consideration tolkien's pretty grim growing-up experience, him being a double orphan without a home, raised between an orphanage and a priest and having no family apart from his brother and then the war and then he almost dies and then he's poor as hell and then a second war and it all makes sense somehow. He writes to his wife who is also an orphan two days before the marriage "the next few years will bring us joy and content and love and sweetness such as could not be if we hadn't first been two homeless children and had found one another after long waiting" and, yes, yes! The love and sweetness just radiate from his work, the entire lotr series is a little radiant bubble of hope and love and grace that he imagined in his head to deal with a dismal reality and then he just gave that to the world, and isn't that what imagination and art is all about after all?

[suiana]

(yandere! golden boy x reader)

you don't think you've ever felt special. well, maybe your mom or something told you that when you were younger but you never really believed it.

you're too normal.

not exceptionally good at one thing, nor are you decently good at everything. you're okay at some stuff and you don't have any particular interests that you're really passionate about. and you know bevause you've tried changing. it's never worked, it never will.

because you're just you.

sometimes you wish you had talent, because then at least you'd be good at something. to lack the passion but have talent, that would be a dream for you. could you imagine? being effortlessly good and having people flock to you without trying? or even the opposite would be nice. being passionate about something sounds... like a life worth living. like your life has purpose. meaning. so what if you don't have talent? at least you'd want to be better, to improve yourself, to have the drive to live.

you have neither, what can you do?

all you do is go through the motions. wake up, go to work, come home, repeat. you don't have any hobbies other than watching the occasional television. it's not like your life is exceptionally hard either. you're blessed with good parents who love you and a select few friends that you're thankful for.

yet there's this... aching gap in your chest that's yearning for something more. something you can't give it. why? because you're just not special enough. you never are. you know this already, there's no use trying to change it.

so you scroll on social media constantly, trying to fill the empty gap in your chest.

but if anything, it only makes the gap worse.

it shows how much you're missing out, how others have it better than you. how others have something going on for them that lets them stand out. something that makes them alive.

maybe it's just the way things are, the way your life was always destined to be. to be the background character that admires others, never the one being admired. the supporting character that stays stagnant with no character growth.

you're just too average.

just plain old you.

plain like a cracker.

never the first choice, never a choice at all.

you merely exist on this world, you're never truely alive and living life like others. and it's a rather unfortunate thing to be doing when you could be achieveing so much but you're just... you. you don't even know who you are. you're just someone, really.

or at least that's what you think of yourself. he could never see you like that. not when he thinks that you're the best thing to ever happen to him.

he's the exact opposite of you. charming, handsome, an absolute adonis on earth. he's perfect in every sense of the word. and he chose you to give his heart to.

you have no idea why he even fell for you in the first place. you're average. not pretty, not ugly, just somehwere in between. you're not particularly charming or whatsoever, a little awkward but can hold a conversation. sure you've dated once or twice but they weren't serious and you didn't feel bad about break up either. you didn't feel much to begin with.

but with him... well, you think that maybe you just might have a chance.

those encouraging words and affectionate gazes, do you think that perhaps there's someone out there who could potentially change the way you live? the way you've been aimlessly drifting about?

there's just no way.

but you think you'll take the chance. with him, you'll get to do things you've never done before. if not, you'll just go back to where you were before. stuck in the middle, living out your days in an endless cycle of contributing to the Earth's death. there's nothing bad in accepting his hand, his promise for a better life.

at the very least, you'll have someone who tells you he loves you. someone who tells you that you're special and that you mean something. someone that partially fills the hole.

you just want to be somebody, and he'll gladly help you out. he might be a little bit too obsessive and protective, but you guess it's just part of him. he can't change something that makes him who he is, change isn't easy. you know that well.

and doesn't it feel nice to be wanted?

just trust him, everything will be fine. he'll teach you how to live, what love feels like. he'll protect you, take care of you...

"i love you, darling."

are those lies or the truth? you don't know, but you don't really care. would someone who wants someone as average as you ever lie about something like that anyway?

his affection burns with such a hot intensity that you're pretty sure could never be fake. you can see that, you're not blind. he very obviously adores you. that much you're sure.

so just give in already, would you? it would make things a whole lot easier if you stopped trying to resist and make sense of the world. sometimes... some things are just destined to happen. like how you see yourself as shit and he thinks you're perfect. that destiny also includes being with him. he won't accept anything else anyway.

don't worry, you'll be very happy. he's sure of that.

[plethorawrites]

I know a lot of people HC that Damian Wayne would be a terrible dad because of how he was raised and his own trauma keeps him emotionally detached, but imagine if his upbringing did the exact opposite? (1.2k)

He'd be terrified the moment he finds out his wife is pregnant, utterly unable to comprehend it. He wants to be excited, like everyone else in his family is about it, but can't bring himself to get over the fear. He's worried he won't love it or feel attached to it like she already is. Hell, he keeps calling it and IT.

That fear only grows and grows, getting infinitely worse as she's closer to having the baby. He doesn't feel worthy of being a parent, he's got too much blood on his hands to know how to be gentle or caring, especially not to someone as small as a baby. His wife alone had to break through a dozen of his walls before he fully trusted her enough to be vulnerable with her. But then, the baby is born. He's a dad. His wife is alright, which is his first concern, the next being making sure the baby is too.

She is.

She's a she.

He has a little girl and it's like time stops, staring at her little face, her dark skin, her full head of hair, her chubby cheeks. That fear in his chest both grows and disappears all at once. He knows then and there that his worries about not loving her were absolutely ridiculous. He's never let the world hurt her. But the apprehension about being good enough still persists.

He refuses to hold her, claiming his wife should be the first since she did all the work. Which she did. Then, he still refuses. He doesn't want to cradle her when he keeps thinking of all the blood his hands have spilled. His wife can tell and deep down it worries her too, but she doesn't say anything because she knew it would take a while for him to get used to being a dad. His family comes to see the baby a few days after they leave the hospital, they all hold her, but Damian keeps his arms crossed.

He's still terrified from afar that one of his brothers will drop her, though.

One night, after she got to bed, he hears her crying. His wife is exhausted, rightfully so, so he gets up. She's eaten recently so he has no idea why the baby is crying, just that she is. He shushes her while she lays in her crib but she's a few weeks old, so of course she has no idea what that means.

Finally, he reaches down, scooping her up into his arms, just to try to keep her quiet so his wife can sleep. "Shh. Please let your mother sleep," he whispers, his eyes softening as she immediately stops crying.

He puts her back down, the anxiety having already flooded him just by having her in his arms, but the second she's back in her crib, she's crying again. He's forced to pick her back up and the crying turns to soft cooing, staring up at him with wide eyes. He sighs, sitting in the chair his wife likes to rock her to sleep in, holding her close in her blanket. Which wasn't really a blanket at all, just his old cape that she had somehow taken to finding comfort in.

She reaches out, with that iron vice of a grip all babies seem to have, grabbing his finger with her hand. "Such a strong grip for such a small person," he whispers to himself or perhaps to her. "I love you, you know? More than anything. I just...feel like you deserve a better father than me."

She's still staring, silently, with absolutely no recognition of his words and his grips around her tightens as he leans his head back in the chair, falling asleep until morning when his wife finds him in the nursery with her still in his arms. He won't pretend he didn't feel a little bit of comfort holding her. But it was still frightening to him. Even if his wife assured him every other day that he was doing fine and she knew he could be a good dad.

He takes to being the one to soothe her at night so his wife can sleep, both because he's used to staying up at night for work and because he's somehow a lot better at getting her to calm down. He begins calling her 'beautiful' or 'darling' in Arabic, which always elicits a small smile. And he knows without a single doubt that he'd never let the darkness he's seen touch her.

The older she grows the better he gets at it. She's less fragile, he's more confident that he does deserve her. He can raise her better than he was raised. And he does. He can recognize each of her cries, knows what she needs, sometimes before she does. He presses a kiss to her head every night before she goes to bed and even when she starts sleeping through the night he'll still sit in her nursery for a while because he knows he'll never see her this small again.

She turns one and his whole family is there, spoiling her with extravagant gifts, even though he knows her favorite thing in the whole world is the blanket she sleeps with, made from his old cape. She's old to stand and starts babbling, not quite forming words, but it's enough that he knows what she wants when she points in a vague direction and starts getting frustrated about wanting something. He sits on the floor, holding her little hands while she stands, learning to take her first steps and his wife grimaces, worried the baby will fall.

She does.

Damian catches her.

She giggles and he can't help but grin with pride. "That's my girl. Already learning to walk a few months early." She's smart, he knows it. He doesn't boast to anyone aside from his wife or family about it, but secretly judges all the other kids in the group his wife takes her too. They weren't quite as advanced as his daughter.

After all, she responds to some words in Arabic. Her nicknames, mostly. Although she'll turn her head when he says 'look' or tells her 'good job' for finishing her mashed veggies. How many other babies did they know who were bilingual before two? Not many.

After fourteen months or so, her eyes change from blue to green and he finds himself even more transfixed with her wide eyes that track everything he does when he wakes up before his wife to make them all breakfast. He scolds her lightly when she throws the teething ring she loves at him, telling her "That's rude." Before handing it back to her and making her some steamed vegetables, since he always refused to give her store bought baby food.

It wasn't good enough for his child.

Around the time her babbling turns to poorly formed words, she starts calling him Babba and realizing how it makes him smile utters it over and over when she wants to be picked up.

She goes: "Babbababbababba." Like it's all one very long ramble until he lifts her out of her high chair and lets her rest on his hip asking her what she wants. "Stuffed animal?" He questions, pointing at her collection of them. She just repeats. "Babba." again, laying her head against him.

He realizes she just wants to be held and he gladly holds her for as long as she wants.

[ranoutofficssoiwritemyown]

Hello, I hope you're fine!! If you are open for requests, how do you think the lads men would react to mc telling them her period is late?

Hii, so sorry for the delay. Uni and work have been crazy and I finally managed to sit down to write

Soo let's start with Zayne. He tracks your period so he knows it's late, hence he doesn't even seem fazed when you burst into his office panicking.

"Yes, 8 days to be exact. You've been under stress these two weeks and don't even eat meals properly. Although, I suggest taking a test and in case of pregnancy I'll schedule and appointment with the gynecologist in our hospital"

You can't help but look at him shocked by his calm demeanour.

"Of course, I would tell all of these 2 days ago if only you didn't ditch our appointment. Now, if you excuse me I have a patient waiting for me in surgery room"

He rose from his chair heading to the door but stopped in front of you.

"I hope you know, in case of pregnancy you don't have anything to worry about"

You just nod your head still dumbfounded and he left the room with a kiss on your forehead.

I imagine Sylus also tracking your period and he wants you to be pregnant so bad. He is the one to tell you that you're pregnant, actually. One night, when you're in the kitchen deciding on late night snack he stands beside you with his arms crossed.

"Your period is late"

He brushes off your question about him tracking your period, instead repeating his statement. You make a mental calculations and just shrug.

"Only by 3 days. It's no big deal"

He clears his throat.

"It might become a big deal. You should take a test just in case"

"It happens sometimes. Like I said, no big deal"

"Take a test, just to be sure"

"First of all it's too early. Second of all, we use protection-"

"We know it doesn't protect 100% of times"

"Oh, stop worrying, will you? I'm not pregnant"

You finally decide on strawberry yogurt.

"I think you are mistaken, sweetie. I do not fret over the possibility of you being pregnant. Quite the opposite, if we are being honest..." he mumbles the last part under his breath but you squint at him.

"Sylus"

"Yes, sweetie?"

"Do you want me to be pregnant or something?"

A small smirk pulls on his mouth

"I am definitely not opposed to the idea"

You shake your head standing on your toes to peck his cheek but he turns his head to kiss you. Even after dating him for so long this small gesture leaves you blushing mess.

"I'll be in our room" you tell him and he nods still with the lovestruck look on his face. Once you leave the room he pinches his nose mumbling about canceling the order of baby-proof items.

Poor Rafayel doesn't know what hit him. Sure he has imagined having a family with you but didn't expect it to be so soon. What do you mean there might be a baby? He's the baby. There's going to be another person you'll love as much as you love him? He has to share now? This can't get worse. And as you look at him nervously he realises you're waiting for his answer.

"Late... okay, cool cool cool...  how late?"

"7 days"

He scoffs as if it's nothing.

"7 days is nothing, right? It's- uh did you take the test?"

"Yes-"

"It's negative, right?"

His hopeful tone makes you scrunch your eyebrows.

"It is" you say hesitantly "but it's still too early to be sure. I'll take another one tomorrow"

"Yeah, of course. Okay"  He seems to calm down

"Umm Rafayel... do you not want me to be-" you clear your throat "what if I'm pregnant?"

It just hit him that he's making this worse for you.

"Oh, cutie. It's not that. I want to have children with you... someday" he avoids your eyes "it's just... yourattentionwouldbeonthemallthetime"

You just give him a look that hints you have no idea what he just said. He sighs, giving up.

"Your attention would be on them and you'll cast me aside and I'm not ready for that" He admits blushing.

"Okay well, if I turn out to be pregnant..." you trail off not knowing, or not wanting, to finish your sentence.

"I'll be there, all the way. That's my kid too, ya know"

You crack a small smile

"You're weird"

"Well, you're not perfect either" he scoffs "nevermind, you are perfect"

You just laugh at him.

Xavier is so confused

"It's late. That's amaaaziiing....lyy bad..?" He tries to construct a sentence based on your expression but fails miserably "can you tell me what that means?"

"Well I don't know. It might be nothing serious but there's a chance I might be pregnant but we always use protection so I don't know how..." You sit with your head in your hands "I'm scared"

Xavier falling silent doesn't help your panic at all.

"Please say something"

"I'm going to be a father?"

You let out a confused laugh.

"I don't know. Probably not, but you might. I have an appointment with doctor Zayne tomorrow so maybe we'll know"

"I'm going to be a father"

You start to think you broke him

"Xavier... we don't know yet"

"Yeah, of course. But I would like to have a child with you"

He closes the distance, placing his hands on your hips

"Do you not want to..."

"I wasn't planning on it yet, but I'm not against it"

He smiles gently.

"Don't get your hopes up yet, though"

"Of course"

But as you leave the room you hear him saying "I'm gonna be a dad" to himself.

One evening, Caleb comes home and lets out a sigh when he enters kitchen.

"Okay, why is the breakfast I made for you still untouched in the refrigerator? We agreed you'd eat meals properly y'know?.. Pipsquak?" He calls out in the end when he receives no answer from you. He finds you in your bedroom sitting on the bed with your knees to your chest.

"What's wrong?" He's alert.

"My period is late"

"Oh my god" He starts laughing sitting beside you and pulling you into a hug. "No wayy, did you take a test? Are we gonna have little you and me running around? I'm definitely teaching them how to shoot a gun"

"Shut up for a minute" you grumble in his chest "I didn't take a test. It's only 5 days, I don't think test would show it if I was pregnant"

"I'll buy them anyway. Bunch of them, so you can take one everyday till it shows positive"

His ridiculous statement pulls a giggle out of you.

"Glad to know you're okay with it"

"Try ecstatic"

You look up at him and spot a mischievous grin on his face.

"You know... you'd be a milf"

That earns a smack on his chest

"Idiot"

"This idiot is going to be a father of your children, so be nice"

"I might not be even pregnant"

"I can take care of that"

He laughs at another smack he receives.

[homo-house]

hey uh so I haven't seen anyone talking about this here yet, but

the amazon river, like the biggest river in the fucking world, in the middle of the amazon fucking rainforest, is currently going through its worst drought since the records began 121 years ago

picture from Folha PE

there's a lot going on but I haven't seen much international buzz around this like there was when the forest was on fire (maybe because it's harder to shift the narrative to blame brazil exclusively as if the rest of the world didn't have fault in this) so I wanted to bring this to tumblr's attention

I don't know too many details as I live in the other side of the country and we are suffering from the exact opposite (at least three cyclones this year, honestly have stopped counting - it's unusual for us to get hit by even one - floods, landslides, we have a death toll, people are losing everything to the water), but like, I as a brazilian have literally never seen pictures of the river like this before. every single city in the amazonas state is in a state of emergency as of november 1st.

pictures by Adriano Liziero (ig: geopanoramas)

we are used to seeing images of rio negro and solimões, the two main amazon river affluents, in all their grandiose and beauty and seeing these pictures is really fucking chilling. some of our news outlets are saying the solimões has turned to a sand desert... can you imagine this watery sight turning into a desert in the span of a year?

while down south we are seeing amounts of rain and hailstorms the likes of which our infrastructure is simply not built to deal with, up north people who have built everything around the river are at a loss of what to do.

the houses there that are built to float are just on the ground, people who depend on fishing for a living have to walk kilometers to find any fish that are still alive at all, the biodiversity there is at risk, and on an economic level it's hard to grasp how people from the northern states are getting by at all - the main means of transport for ANYTHING in that region is via the river water. this will impact the region for months to come. it doesnt make a lot of sense to build a lot of roads bc it's just better to use the waterway system, everything is built around or floats on the river after all. and like, the water level is so incomprehensibly low the boats are just STUCK. people are having a hard time getting from one place to another - keep in mind the widest parts of the river are over 10 km apart!!

this shit is really serious and i am trying not to think about it because we have a different kind of problem to worry about down south but it's really terrifying when I stop to think about it. you already know the climate crisis is real and the effects are beyond preventable now (we're past global warming, get used to calling it "global boiling"). we'll be switching strategies to damage control from now on and like, this is what it's come to.

I don't like to be alarmist but it's hard not to be alarmed. I'm sorry that I can't end this post with very clear intructions on how people overseas can help, there really isn't much to do except hope the water level rises soon, maybe pray if you believe in something. in that regard we just have to keep pressing for change at a global level; local conditions only would not, COULD NOT be causing this - the amazon river is a CONTINENTAL body of water, it spans across multiple countries. so my advice is spread the word, let your representatives know that you're worried and you want change towards sustainability, degrowth and reduced carbon emissions, support your local NGOs, maybe join a cause, I don't know? I recommend reading on ecological and feminist economics though

however, I know you can help the affected riverine families by donating to organizations dedicated to helping the region. keep in mind a single US dollar, pound or euro is worth over 5x more in our currency so anything you donate at all will certainly help those affected.

FAS - Sustainable Amazon Fundation

Idesam - Sustainable Developent and Preservation Institute of Amazonas

Greenpeace Brasil - I know Greenpeace isn't the best but they're one of the few options I can think of that have a bridge to the international world and they are helping directly

There are a lot of other smaller/local NGOs but I'm not sure how you could donate to them from overseas, I'll leave some of them here anyway:

Projeto Gari

Caritás Brasileira

If you know any other organizations please link them, I'll be sure to reblog though my reach isn't a lot

thank you so much for reading this to the end, don't feel obligated to share but please do if you can! even if you just read up to here it means a lot to me that someone out there knows

also as an afterthought, I wanted to expand on why I think this hasn't made big news yet: because unlike the case of the 2020 forest fires, other countries have to hold themselves accountable when looking at this situation. while in 2020 it was easier to pretend the fires were all our fault and people were talking about taking the amazon away from us like they wouldn't do much worse. global superpowers have no more forests to speak of so I guess they've been eyeing what latin america still has. so like this bit of the post is just to say if you're thinking of saying anything of the sort, maybe think of what your own country has done to contribute to this instead of blaming brazil exclusively and saying the amazon should be protected by force or whatever

[docdudo]

Familiar 141 - Young Witch!Reader

You never thought you would be in this situation, running for your life as you try to get to your grandfather's cabin near the entrance of the woods as fast as possible.

Well, that's kind of a lie. You did expect something like this to happen at some point, but why now...??

Your biggest problem has always been the fact that you were a witch, born from the humid earth near a river source and blessed by the nature spirits of the forest.

Which, okay, it wouldn't be a problem...

If you weren't a witch without a Coven.

And you were so young too. Fate really dealt you the worst cards, making you, a small witch, barely in your teen years, fend for yourself without a Coven to protect or guide you.

It was dangerous, madness even. Young witches were easy targets. They didn't really have strong magic yet, couldn't interact with nature spirits that well or defend themselves. That's why they needed the protection of the older witches, who would keep their little ones safely tucked in the heart of the coven, only letting them out when they come of age (for witches), and in small doses until they get used to the world.

You... didn't have that luxery tho.

You have no idea what really happened to you when you were born. Usually, witches from the coven would all be present to a newborn's birth, help them settle and taking them with them as one more little sprout for the Coven.

But, all you had was your grandfather's story, about how he found a baby covered in dirt by the river bank, not crying or making any kind of sound, just peacefully laying there as the forest kept it safe for who know how long.

He knew you were a witch, that much was obvious. He knew you were just born too, but he didn't manage to find any other witch living around that place, much less a whole Coven of them.

So, he took you in, which you were pretty grateful for. You though that it would be fine, i mean... sure, you didn't have a Coven, but who needed them anyway?? You were doing fine by yourself...! Especially after you managed to control a bit more of your magic! Your grandfather told you were very powerful for a baby witch, which is nice! See, you didn't need a Coven...!

Except, being "powerful" for a baby witch wasn't really... that powerful in the first place, and now, you were being freaking hunted down after a mistake you made.

Ah, being hunted down by who? That's simple.

A freaking pack of familiars, four of them to be exact.

There's one little detail about all of this... witches have familiars, powerful creatures that were the most loyal beasts you could ever have for yourself. Usually, a powerful and old witch would never link themselves to a weak familiar, even if they could grow strong with time and a good master guiding them.

And you could imagine the same would happen to the opposite situation... except, familiars were freaking bastards.

One of the reasons older Witches kept their young very well hidden and safe in their Covens is because rogue familiars hunt down little witches to force a bound with them.

While mature witches look for familiars around their same power level, powerful familiars like to take in small and young witches to mold the to their liking. Teach the little witch how to properly use their magic, be their primary guides and protectors.

And you? You were a very young witch, with no Coven on sight, and that showed a very big potential since your magic was stronger than other baby witches your age.

You were a prime target.

And you were being hunted down by four bastards that were toying with you the whole chase.

You could tell they were powerful, just not... how powerful. Since you were still too young, it was quite difficult to identify these things. It's like you could feel the heat of the flame but not see how big the flame was.

But you had a hunch they were... very powerful... at least, that's what you thought, since there were four of them, bounded together. It means their last witch was probably old and strong enough to have four of these big beasts.

Not that your theory matters now, not when you are trying to run in this stupid thick forest from four big familiars that you could hear laughing and taunting you.

Tauting you gently, at most. They already knew they had you.

You already knew they had you.

Still, you were running, even if just because you were high in adrenaline and refused to just stop.

That is, until you fell harshly on the ground after tripping over a rock or some shit hidden on this stupid dense forest.

Goddammit.

"Aww, lassie, c'mere, did it hurt?" You widden your eyes in surprise as you hear the heavy scottish accent right behind you, big hands carefully grabbing under your arms to lift you up on your feet like a kitten.

You squirm momentarily in discomfort, settling down a little as he puts you down and gently pats your clothes. You wish you had more fight in you, but you were still young and just took a nasty fall. It stunned you enough to barely react to the big familiar gently fixing your clothes.

"Oww, baby, it's okay." Another one of them, the dark skinned one with a heart shaped mouth, approached easily, both warm hands immediatly cupping your face to check on you. "We're sorry for making you play until you got hurt, we're not doing it again...." He coos gently, a warm smile on his face.

He looked... so happy......... freak, the scottish-mohawk guy by his side looked ecstatic, such a big smile on his face.

Well.... familiars always prefered to be linked to a witch.

You jumped a bit as you heard the rustling of leaves in the distance, eyes falling immediatly on the big black wolf behind some trees. That's certainly one big bastard of a familiar, even in his animal form...

Wait... where is the last one then...?

"Darlin', we need to talk, don't we?"

You freeze for complete as you feel a heavy, warm hand hold the back of your neck, not hurting, not ever, just... locking you in place. His voice is low and gruff, authoritarian, but it's... soft enough. Enough for you to know that he's forcing softness to speak to you.

His hand feels so damn big around your small neck...

It's okay, it's okay... familiars rarely ever hurt a witch for no reason.

Besides, they don't seen that inclined on hurting you anyway... no, you know they are ready to claim you for them.

The mess you found yourself in...

"T-Talk...?" You murmur quietly, unsure, still a bit stunned as you try to look over your shoulder.

"Wee lass just took a fall, Price, little witch like this might've gotten hurt." The scottish one says easily, smile still on his face as he approaches you a bit more to gently hold on your head, inspecting you himself now.

"She's just a tad stunned, no harm done." This voice was new, and very low. Gravelly. Patient.

The wolf familiar went back to his human form, leaned against a tree as he observed you with crossed arms and a relaxed posture. Indeed, a big bastard.

"That's why we shouldn't play with the young ones like this. I told you that they get hurt easily." The dark skinned one sighs slightly, like he was scolding the big brute by the trees.

"Boys, focus. We are not yet marked to her, and she's out here, exposed and defenseless. We're taking her home." The 'Price' guy says slowly, his authority over the others obvious by how they all straightened at his command.

"W-Wait-" You manage to find your voice once again, only to be interrupted by the scottish guy.

"The Coven?"

"If she had one, wouldn't be wandering around 'ere by 'erself." The wolf one rumbles, still relaxed against the trees.

"A baby witch without a Coven?" The dark skinned one considers, eyes narrowing.

"Sometimes it happens. Rare, but it can happen. All the more reason to get her to safety." Price rumbles back, voice getting... grow-ly, the hand on your neck heavier. "Soap."

"Aye, Cap." He smiles easily, bending down closer to your height, meeting your big, scared eyes. "Let's go, wee lassie, ye're safe." He coos, and before you can protest, one of his fingers are touching your forehead, a wave of pure magic going through you. "Nap nap time, huh?"

And just like that, you are loosing your consciousness, falling directly on his arms as you feel him picking you up easily before falling asleep.

[lazysoulwriter]

you're safe here. - lando norris.

requested! hope you like it, like i did! - requested are open.

--- It starts with something small.

You’re curled up on Lando’s couch, one leg draped over his lap, your cheek pressed against his shoulder. A movie plays in the background—something warm, nostalgic, easy to follow. You’re not really paying attention, not when his thumb keeps drawing lazy circles into the back of your hand, not when his other arm is holding you like you’re made of something worth protecting.

On screen, a kid walks into a room full of balloons and hugs, a surprise birthday party waiting just for them. Their mom’s crying, the dad is beaming, and the whole thing is so full of love it makes your chest ache a little.

You laugh—soft, but not because it’s funny. More like a reflex.

“Surprise parties are weird,” you say, casual. “My mom used to forget my birthday half the time. One year she just said, ‘You’re getting older, you don’t need a cake.’”

You don’t even realize what you said until you feel Lando freeze beneath you.

It’s so subtle, anyone else would’ve missed it. But not you. You’re always scanning for shifts, changes in energy, things going suddenly cold.

“Wait—what?” he says after a beat, voice soft. Not judging. Just confused. Just Lando.

You shrug like it’s nothing. Because to you, it is.

“It’s fine. Just how it was.”

But he’s still looking at you, eyes soft and stunned. Like it’s physically painful for him to imagine someone not being celebrated, especially someone he loves.

You can feel it—his confusion, the way he’s trying to wrap his brain around the idea that someone could grow up like that. With birthdays forgotten and hugs withheld and love handed out like a transaction.

And you? You’ve already built the walls. You’ve spent years pretending it doesn’t matter. You learned to light your own candles. You learned not to expect softness from anyone.

But Lando—he doesn’t let it slide. Not in the heavy, dramatic way. Just the opposite.

He leans in and presses a kiss to your temple. Not rushed. Not fleeting. Like he wants you to remember the exact pressure of it. Like he’s saying I’m sorry, I’m here, I’ve got you—all without needing words.

“That’s not fine,” he murmurs against your skin. “You deserved a cake. You deserved the whole party.”

You laugh again, watery this time. “You gonna throw me one now?”

“Absolutely,” he says without missing a beat. “With balloons. And a stupid hat. And everyone has to sing.”

You roll your eyes, but your heart pulls in your chest in a way that’s unfamiliar. Soft. Unsafe. Safe.

Because here’s the thing: you’re used to doing everything on your own. You don’t like asking for help. You don’t like feeling like a burden. You were taught, early and often, that vulnerability is a luxury, not a right.

But Lando—he never makes you feel small for it. He doesn’t try to fix you, just... holds space. Gentle. Steady. Patient.

Sometimes you’ll drop a story without thinking—something offhanded about your childhood, a little crack in your armor—and his reaction is always the same. Not pity. Just quiet disbelief, followed by twice as much love.

And the more time you spend with him, the more you start to believe maybe you don’t have to carry it all alone.

Some nights, when the world feels heavy, you’ll wake up to find him already watching you. He’ll rub your back until the tightness in your chest loosens. He’ll hold you like he’s grounding you to the earth. He won’t ask questions you don’t want to answer.

“You don’t have to be strong all the time, you know,” he tells you one night, voice thick with sleep.

You want to believe him. You’re starting to.

Because with him, you’re not just surviving anymore. You’re living. You’re learning how to be—messy, stubborn, independent, complicated—you. And he doesn’t flinch. He just loves you harder.

And one day, when he walks into your apartment holding a stupid balloon and a single slice of cake—just because—it kind of breaks you.

“You said you never got one,” he says with a soft smile. “So... here.”

You kiss him like he’s air. Like he’s the first good thing to ever happen to you.

And maybe he is.

---

[sl-ut]

the bottom

PART ONE | the line

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader

description: joel’s new in jackson and tries to take his younger brother’s advice to fit in; keep your head low and work hard. however, while settling into his routine, he does exactly the opposite.

warnings: takes place between season one and two, unspecified age gap (joel is canon age/reader is mentioned to be mid-20s in beginning but the exact amount of time that’s passed is left to the imagination), reader has hair long enough to be braided, reader is a dv survivor, crazy exes, swearing, drinking, slight grumpy x sunshine but reader has layers she’s not just happy all the time, not a whole lot of joel x reader this chapter but it’s coming i swear.

words: 2.4K

date posted: 5/5/25

series masterlist | next part

Joel truly could not have asked for a better deal. He and Ellie were safe within the walls of Jackson, the Fireflies were gone and he’d made sure there was no one left in the hospital to follow them back, he’d found his brother after years apart, and he could finally sleep easy at night. He no longer had to worry about rolling onto his left side throughout the night (though, it was still a habit he’d failed to break when he settled out of survival mode), and he could actually prove to be useful to the community, something he hadn’t exactly shown much of in the past twenty-odd years aside from using brute force. Patrols kept him active, allowing him to maintain at least some of those survival instincts he’d relied on for so long, but it was the internal efforts that he surprisingly enjoyed the most. Plus, Tommy’s advice had seemed easy enough to follow; lay low and work hard. These people are welcoming, but you’ll still have to earn their respect. 

Tommy and a few other men had already been in the process of reinforcing the walls around Jackson when he and Ellie had returned from Salt Lake, and it seemed that they’d been in the process of figuring out some other larger renovations around the city that Tommy had yet to get around to. But now that they had a spare contractor, Joel was able to take over a few projects at a time and the city was being fixed up at twice the pace that they had initially expected and earning Joel that respect quicker than he’d hoped.

Laying low had been pretty easy, too. Joel had earned their respect, sure, but he’d also rather stick to himself whenever he could. He went to work every morning, was friendly enough with the others–but made sure to upkeep his reputation as the town’s resident grump, and spend his evenings either with Ellie, Tommy, or on his own. In the first three weeks since they’d arrived there, he’d made no effort to interact with many of the others outside of work or to trade and only learned the names of no more than two dozen people. 

Maria had finally taken a stand against this, insisting that Tommy and Joel each take the day off of their jobs so that Tommy could show his older brother around the city and properly introduce him to everyone. They’d made their rounds, bringing a list of errands made up by Maria to force them to go into a few places and interact with others, and Joel had been pleasantly surprised that he didn’t absolutely hate all of them–just a handful. 

“See, I told you that you’d get along just fine. Doesn’t matter who they were before they came inside these walls, they got two options; play by our rules or get the fuck out.” Tommy told him as they exited the bakery, each carrying a large brown paper bag in their hands with a selection of baked goods, “These are good people who live here–well, most of ‘em anyway. You gotta be shittin’ me.”

Tommy veered off to the right, headed down a side street at a quick pace. Joel followed behind, brow furrowed as he followed close behind, “Tommy, wha–”

“Hey Elias,” he called out, catching the attention of a tall, wiry man, his shoulder-length hair tied back in a bun at the base of his skull and body holding a slight tremor under the layers of clothing he wore; it all seemed to be nicer than what most wore, leading Joel to assume that he was some sort of higher-up around the place (despite the fact that Jackson had been built on the prospect of communism), “You need something in there, man? Thought you were supposed to be in the clinic today.”

The man turned and glared at Tommy, jaw set as if he had already been expecting the confrontation. He placed his hands on his hips, narrowing his eyes at the pair of brothers as he shifted one hand to point towards one of the buildings just off of the main street, “That’s my wife in there, Tommy. I’m sick and tired of you people telling me where I can and can’t go around here. It’s none of your goddamn business.”

Tommy rolled his own eyes, “Is she, though? Last I recall, she doesn’t wanna be married to you anymore. So if you’re going in there just to bug her after she, Maria, and myself have told you to stay away, I think it is my business.”

“I’m not fuckin’ buggin’ her, Tommy,” the man sneered, closing the distance between them to shove his finger into his face, “you stop me from goin’ to my fuckin’ house, schedulin’ me on these godawful shifts in the fuckin’ clinic, who the fuck do you think you are?”

Tommy turned his face away in disgust, “Yeah, from the stink of you it would seem you’ve been workin’ hard all day, huh? C’mon man, you smell like you’ve been bathing in booze. Let’s not make a scene here, make it easier on all of us.”

“Yeah, and what are you gonna do about it?” He turned his gaze down and spat at Tommy’s feet, “thought we were all a bunch of commies now, huh? All of us being equals and whatnot?”

“We’re all equal until one of us lays hands on their wife, Elias. You know that.”

Joel felt a surge of rage through him at this. Initially, he thought that the man had just been a drunk who’d skipped out of work to come and beg for his wife to come back to him, but now there was no denying the fact that the man was nothing more than a dirtbag wife beater. Truthfully, Joel was mostly shocked due to the fact that Tommy would even allow someone like him to even continue staying there. He couldn’t even count the amount of times that Tommy had gotten in trouble for picking a fight with men who even looked at women the wrong way; he could hardly imagine his brother having any sympathy towards a man who actually beat his wife, even if the punishment was an inadvertent death sentence by exiling him from the city. 

“It was none of your fuckin’ business to begin with. If that bitch hadn’t been running around on me then–”

“You and I both know that’s not true, man. She’s a good woman, and she’s made a whole lotta progress since she finally smartened up and left your ass.”

The man curled his lip in anger, but seemed to be backing down from the challenge, “Fuck this. That whore ain’t even worth it.”

He bumped both Tommy and Joel’s shoulders on his way past, but neither of the brothers made an effort to fight back against him, simply just glad that he had willingly left without forcing them to make a scene. Tommy stayed in his place for a moment, hands falling to his hips as he shook his head, finally turning back to his brother with an exasperated yet slightly sheepish expression.

“Do me a favour and keep this between you and me. Others know they’re split up but most don’t know why. I promised her I wouldn’t tell anyone.”

Joel scoffed, “You’re tellin’ me you’ve got good people here, and yet you’re harbourin’ a man who beats his wife.”

“Ex-wife,” Tommy corrected, “And it’s not like that. She left him, begged us to let him stay so long as he left her alone.” 

“I don’t know what sounds more fuckin’ stupid, that she wanted him to stay, or that you let him.”

Tommy shook his head, “It’s not just up to me. We’ve got a council, and unless I told ‘em exactly what happened, they’re not willing to give the boot to anyone for just bein’ an asshole, especially when he’s the only fuckin’ doctor we have.”

“Anyone can take the first aid training, Tommy.”

“No, Joel, he’s a surgeon. He was a resident before shit went south, and there’s been a few times where things woulda cost us a lot of good people if it weren’t for him. I can tell you right now that if she came clean about what he–” Tommy paused, taking a short breath to better compose himself, “We’d have a majority vote, and she knows that. If I had it my way, I wouldn’t have let him go that night.”

He watched his brother closely; his teeth gritted together, brow furrowed, and eyes wide and glassy. Tommy had clearly been affected by what had transpired between that man–Elias and his wife, so much that he couldn’t even seem to think about it without losing it. Joel grunted in response, nodding his head slowly. 

He couldn’t decide if he would have done the same thing in that situation, but then he thought back to Tommy’s words, I wouldn’t have let him go that night. Tommy had had his own hands on him, probably ready to kill him. Something about the situation made him sober up through the rage and make the decision to let the man go, to let him live. Joel knew he would not have had the same restraint if it had been him instead. 

Over the next few days, he repeatedly cursed himself for not demanding that his brother tell him the woman’s name. He spent the days that followed in a state of constant discomfort, always glancing over his shoulder in public to watch for Elias around town, taking note of where he went, who he spoke to, and to what anyone had to say about him. He’d begun taking on a leadership role around town, people flocked to him for help, following his orders on patrols, and looked to him for answers. He wasn’t the one to make those decisions on his own–hell, his opinions did nothing but occasionally influence the council, but people seemed to trust that he had the town’s best interest at heart. 

He’d been an official patrol captain for all of a week when Tommy met him in the stable early one morning, helping a young woman saddle up a dark chestnut coloured horse. She was bundled up in a thick wool sweater under a long green raincoat and a navy baseball cap over her neatly braided hair, ready to face whatever chill and rain early spring weather would throw their way. 

“Mornin’ old man,” Tommy grinned, turning to nod at the woman next to him, introducing her to his brother, “she’s gonna be joining you on patrol. You know this route by heart now, and she’s only been out a handful of times.”

Joel turned his gaze back over to her, taking in her features. He’d seen her around town before; she seemed to have taken on a new job every day and he could never anticipate when or where he might spot her. They had exchanged smiles and polite greetings as they passed by, just as everyone else did, though they had yet to interact any further. She was the kind of pretty that made him often struggle to pull his gaze away when he spotted her in a crowd, but she was also just young enough that made him feel guilty for it. She couldn’t be any older than her mid-twenties, but like everyone in Jackson, she looked like she had seen her fair share of loss and hardship. 

“Hi,” the woman beamed, holding her hand out to him eagerly, “I may be a rookie but I’m a pretty good shot so I think that makes up for it.” 

Joel shook her hand gingerly, “Yeah, hopefully you won’t gotta put that to use. This route’s usually pretty clear of infected.”

“Great,” she nodded, “because I was lying. I’m just okay.”

Joel scoffed, glancing over at his brother who seemed unfazed by the woman’s behaviour but amused at Joel’s reaction. She was exactly the type of person that Joel worked to avoid; far too peppy and a tendency to ramble. From the moment that they had mounted their horses until the moment that they returned from patrol almost three hours later, she hardly let more than a few moments of silence pass before she would be asking a dozen more questions. But for some odd reason, Joel didn’t hate it as much as he thought he would. 

It was sort of nice to have someone actually ask him about his day to day life without pressing too much into his past. He liked that she didn’t feel privy to his life before Jackson aside from asking where he was from and where he lived before Jackson. At some points, he was reminded of Ellie when they were travelling across the country in the way that she was able to come up with and ask such random questions off the top of his head, but it made patrol go by much faster than it usually did. And after, when she strutted off in the direction of the meal hall, he felt a flicker of regret for rejecting her invitation to join her. 

He felt an almost instantaneous connection to the younger woman, but he could not help but notice the line in the sand between developing feelings for the world and feeling like a disgusting older man preying on a younger woman; the line between denying himself of what could lead to happiness he hadn’t felt in decades and throwing himself head first into it. She was kind when she spoke to him, but Joel was not the sort of man to mistake kindness for flirting, but there was some sort of familiarity in her eyes when they met with his own–an understanding, leading to that already thin line growing even thinner. 

But what he hadn’t known at the time was that the moment they had set out on patrol that morning, he had started that dangerous walk along that narrow line, completely unsure of what side he was going to end up on.