#please don't decode it please

[yrooxrksvigirzmtovwzwwb]

One thing I'm glad about is that nobody has tried decoding my username (yrooxrksvigirzmtovwzwwb) because it would raise many questions about me and my type of partner

And yes, it's not gibberish

[willowser]

decode—

geto suguru x f!reader wc: 6.4k+ tags: sci-fi au—tbh i leaned into the cyberpunk futurism thing again i can't help myself 💀, suguru's job is never explicitly mentioned but hopefully you get the gist, he's also a bit scary but i think that's normal ?? idk hehe thank you thank you thank you to dear @rabbbitseason for allowing me to write this ! it's my first time with him 🥹 i hope it's okay ! very grateful for all your support 🥹

ONE

On the night you meet Suguru, an outage swallows the bar in one gulp.

No flicker, just a snap and everything cuts. The holosign outside dies in a whine of static, fans grind to a halt, light collapses, and you're left standing in the dark, holding a tray of warm glasses in hands that suddenly feel too small.

It's disappointing, but nothing new. You’re used to this. Your part of town doesn’t scream when the power goes out—it just sighs.

There’s a rustle near the door. Not the scrambling kind, not like the usual patrons stumbling out to smoke and curse the grid; it’s measured, heavy boots on concrete, too slow to be familiar.

This part of town isn't kind, even to someone it's grown. You step behind the counter in preparation for something—anything.

The figure comes into view in pieces—at first, just a tall silhouette framed by the dim spill of emergency glow leaking in from the street, but then he steps closer, and you see him: all in black, lean and broad-shouldered, his coat trailing like a shadow that's grown too long. The emergency light catches in his eyes, plum; dark and sharp and sweet.

You try not to stare. He probably notices anyway.

"Power out everywhere, or just here?" His voice is low, silk wrapped around steel. Calm in the way that makes you wary.

You shrug, but aren't sure he sees it. "Whole block, I think."

He hums, like that tells him something, and you reach below the counter to fumble for the old lantern. It flickers to life, casting amber light across the counter and his face. He’s handsome—suddenly so—but there’s something else. Something in the way he stands, relaxed but alert, like a man used to being watched.

You clear your throat. "Can still serve you something, if you're not picky. Got a few bottles that don't need cooling."

He smiles, slow and deliberate. One strand of his long black hair has come loose from the tight bun at the back of his head, and it swings slightly as he leans closer.

"Something warm, then," he says, not looking at the bottles. He’s looking at you.

You nod and turn, shoulders rising as you reach for the chipped ceramic pot. The movement’s an excuse to hide, give you a moment to settle the uneven flutter in your chest. You’re not used to being looked at like that. Not with focus. Not with intention.

The power’s out, but the pot’s still warm from before the lights went. You kept it wrapped in a thermal sleeve—old habit from long nights, colder ones. You pour the tea slow, steady, hoping your hands don’t shake as much as they feel they might. The silence thickens around you, too many shadows in too little space.

When he speaks again, his voice is low and steady, curling around edges in the dark. “City’s quieter with the lights out.”

You don’t answer right away, letting the sound of tea against ceramic fill the gap. Letting the heat of the cup chase back the chill climbing your fingers. “It’s always loud,” you say finally. “Just changes the kind.”

He makes a soft sound—agreement, maybe. Or understanding. Or neither. “No neon, no noise,” he says, more to the air than to you. “Funny how much the city depends on its own distractions.”

You slide the cup across the bar. He doesn’t reach for it right away, just watches the steam coil upward, like he’s waiting for something to reveal itself.

“I like it better this way, feels…cleaner, I guess.” You say, and it's true; this part of town isn't kind, no, but without the automated glitz and glamour, there's no need to pretend.

You hear the soft shift of fabric as he leans in—not close enough to touch, but closer than before. His presence hums against the edges of your awareness.

“You’re not scared of the dark?” he asks, voice smooth, teasing. His smile is wide, charming, disarms you in a way that it shouldn't.

You hesitate, trying to bite back your growing timidness. “Only when it’s creepy,” you say, "when it creaks or breathes back at me.”

That makes him huff, amused. Not quite a laugh, but close enough. “So, no ghosts in here?”

“Well, yeah, we have those,” you shrug, “They just mind their business.”

That pulls something out of him, something real and small that feels like a reward. “Interesting bar,” he continues, finally reaching for the tea. “Do you see much traffic here?”

You keep your face still. “Some.”

“Travelers?”

You nod, wary of where this is going, though nothing in his tone gives anything away. Not pushy, not prying. Just drifting. “People passing through,” you say. “They come. They leave. Same as anywhere.”

He sips. There’s something practiced in the way he does it. Measured, like he’s used to watching, used to waiting. “This part of the district,” he says after a beat, “doesn’t get much patrol. No official presence. Doesn’t that bother you?”

You shrug. “They never helped much anyway.”

Another pause. Another small pull of his attention. You realize too late how much you're giving away, when you see the thought behind his eyes, whatever he's cataloging for whatever reason, but he doesn't press it.

“Sometimes the places with the least oversight are the ones that know best how to take care of their own,” he says, almost like a proverb.

You nod. You’ve learned to let silences hold the things you don’t want to voice.

He drinks again, not watching you now, not exactly, but still aware of you. His presence wraps around the room like heat—delicate, thick, hard to ignore. You wonder if he’s just a traveler; surely not, with how handsome he is, how subtly elegant, the way he speaks. You wonder what he’s really looking for.

The thought doesn't go farther than that before a stool screeches from the back of the bar. Not the clean scrape of someone careful, but the lazy sprawl of someone who thinks the world owes him the space and time.

Jogo has been here since before the outage, hunched in the far corner like he’s part of the decor—one of the peeling posters or half-lit neon strips that doesn’t work right anymore. You should’ve made him leave with the others. You didn’t. You never do.

“Still no power?” His voice lurches into the dim, louder than necessary, too smug. “Place like this, surprised it had any to begin with.”

You press your palm flat to the bar. Not in fear—just to keep still. Shame flickers inside of you at the insult, a small flame, ever-burning; no pretending in the dark, no pretending you and your handsome stranger could be from the same world.

Jogo gets up, boots thudding against the composite floor. “Surprised you’re still running this place at all. Must get real lonely in here, huh?”

The sound of his approach stretches the silence thin. You don’t answer. Words feed men like him; it's always best to let them starve.

He stops at the bar, leans in with that breath like rot and synth-spice. “What’s wrong? Cat got your—”

He sees Suguru—who you don't know is Suguru, not yet—still half-sitting, one elbow resting on the counter like he’s got all the time in the world. Jogo must not have noticed him in the shadows before, but now he has, after the air has changed around him, gone colder, thinner. Like the room is holding its breath, too.

Suguru lifts his gaze to Jogo, calm as still water. "She’s busy," he says, voice smooth enough to be polite, but not a bit friendly. "Maybe try saying what you need without spitting."

The smile he wears is soft. Mannered, almost pleasant, though it doesn’t reach his eyes.

Jogo blinks, tries to laugh. It dies somewhere in his throat. “Didn’t mean anything by it,” he mutters, suddenly smaller. “Gonna smoke.”

He turns on his heel and stumbles out, too fast to be casual, too slow to be brave, and the door hisses shut behind him. The silence returns, heavier than before—but gentle, too. You breathe, slow, and let your hand drift from the counter. Suguru hasn’t moved.

When you risk a glance, he's watching you, eyes like dusk, plum-dark and unreadable, but not cruel, not smug; observant. Like he's measuring the weight of the moment and choosing not to tip it.

“Didn’t mean to bring any problems with me,” he says, voice low, dry with something like an apology.

You shake your head, smiling reflexively. “No problems, just finicky ghosts.”

He smiles, enough to show his teeth, and something sour in you eases, recedes. “That so?”

You nod once. It feels like the right answer.

He leans back again, and the moment should pass, but it doesn’t. Not really. The bar settles around you both like the world has exhaled, but there’s still something coiled in the space between you, waiting. Watching. Becoming.

TWO

Suguru comes and goes like a rumor—whispers first, then footsteps, then silence.

You don’t know what Suguru does, or what he has to do to come back. He doesn’t tell you, and you don’t ask—not because you don’t care, but because some part of you already knows it’s nothing soft. Whatever world he disappears into when he’s not here, it stains his silence, lingers in the way his eyes avoid yours when he’s too tired to pretend he’s fine. It sits between you like something alive and untouchable, a quiet, clawed thing neither of you dare disturb.

Sometimes he brings strange gifts—tokens you don’t understand, bought in currencies you’re sure you never want to learn. Once or twice, he shows up with that white-haired menace in tow, loud and too tall for your doorway, trying too hard to be funny and laughing like he owns the air.

But most of the time, it’s just Suguru, and the rain.

He comes when he wants to, leaves without warning, watches you too long sometimes, like he’s memorizing the shape of your silence. Like there’s something he wants from you but doesn’t know how to hold without breaking. And still, he never says why he comes, and, still, you never ask him to stay.

But the space between those two things—what you don’t say and what he won’t admit—is shrinking.

In the morning, you stir—bones stiff, muscles whispering their usual complaints—and the city mutters back outside your window, indifferent. Your apartment is still, small, the kind of place that remembers everything you’ve ever done in it, that won't let you forget.

You don’t want to wake up, but your body doesn’t care what you want. You shift, stretch, dreams still clinging to your lashes like cobwebs—and then you hear it: soft, wrong, from the kitchen.

And that easily, you’re no longer alone.

It only takes a breath for your nerves to remember themselves. You already know who it is. No need to ask.

The air has changed. Sweet, smoky, with something metallic curling at the edge; sharp, familiar, a memory you didn't have to invite back in. He’s here, Suguru, and of course he’s made himself at home again, like this place was carved to fit him and not the other way around.

The clock says six. Early, but time doesn’t mean anything to Suguru; he isn’t ruled by it, doesn’t bend to it. He arrives when he wants, leaves when he’s done, and you—you just let him.

The floor is cold beneath your feet. Not just icy—artificial, indifferent, the kind of chill that comes from old synth-tiling, worn thin by time and use. In the corner, your heater clicks to life with a tired hum, flickers once, then settles into its usual half-hearted wheeze. It’s trying, and failing, just like every other morning.

Suguru’s already steeped in the hush of the kitchen, the shadows wrapped around him like old friends. He doesn’t turn, just moves, slow and precise and controlled, the way he always does—tea, window, silence—and your exhaustion finds you again, soft and sudden. You should be used to this—used to him—but surprise has a way of wearing new faces; even the expected can weigh heavy.

His voice cuts through the morning, low and smooth. “Good morning.”

You rub at your eyes, suddenly too aware of yourself. Of the old pajamas clinging to your skin, the sleep still dragging at your limbs, the way your hair’s decided it has a mind of its own. Bare, vulnerable things.

Your words are dry, meant to sound casual. “Back so soon?”

He glances back, just enough. Eyes finding you like they were made to—slow, deliberate, full of something unreadable that still manages to see too much. You catch the shape of his smile in them before it ever touches his mouth.

“Don’t sound so disappointed.”

His ease scratches at something inside you. Not longing, not quite, something worse, maybe, that doesn’t have a clean name. The kind that slips into your throat and settles there. Every time he comes like this, unannounced, unbothered, it’s like he leaves part of his shadow stitched into your space when he's gone.

You sigh, slow and shallow, trying to collect your thoughts before they show on your face. “No Gojo this time?”

His name lands heavy in the room: Gojo—noisy, untouchable, always dragging storms in behind him. You already know the answer; if he’d come, it would have been obvious, because the walls would still be vibrating. He’s never hidden the disgust in his mouth when he talks about this place, your dirty little corner of the star-system, as if it's a smudge on Suguru’s reputation. Shame and relief crawl into your chest together and sit there, when Suguru shakes his head.

“He can handle things on his own every now and then.” A pause. A glance. “Don’t tell me you miss him.”

Your laugh breaks out too fast, too sharp. It’s loud and uglier than you want it to be, but real, the way everything Suguru drags out of you is.

He turns fully at the sound and steam curls from the mug in his hand, held like an offering. He doesn’t speak, just smiles—that Suguru smile. The kind that knows too much. The kind that doesn’t need words to press against you. His presence settles like warmth between you—just enough heat to stay. Just enough to forget it will burn when it leaves. You take the mug, fingers brushing his, barely, and he steps aside.

And then you see it.

A package on the counter no larger than your hand, plain brown paper folded with precision, sharp corners and clean edges and neatly tied with a band of thin copper wire.

You eye it warily. It looks expensive. More than that—it looks deliberate. That kind of care—small, quiet, meticulous—is more him than any signature. You feel it in your chest before your brain can catch up. No one else wraps things like that. Not in this city. Not for you.

“What's this?” you ask, already knowing he won’t answer the question directly.

Suguru just slides it toward you quietly.

You pick it up slowly, running your fingers along the cool surface. The band slips off with a soft click, revealing beneath the paper a slim e-journal—compact, beautifully made. The kind sold by back-alley specialists who don’t advertise but somehow always have a waiting list. The kind you’ve lingered near before, just to stare. A soft hum rises from it as the display lights up with a warm, golden pulse. Your name flickers in the top corner, small and elegant.

You blink. “These aren’t easy to get.”

Suguru doesn’t respond right away. His eyes flick to yours, unreadable. “You said your old one was glitching.”

You can’t even remember when you said that. Weeks ago, maybe, in passing. You doubt you even meant for him to hear it.

Your chest tightens, that odd pull of gratitude and disbelief tangling behind your ribs. You press your thumb against the screen, watching it open to a clean interface—blank pages, empty folders, but one tab already labeled: Home.

"Suguru…" you start, voice shaky, barely pushing past your throat.

He just tilts his head slightly, smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. “Don’t mention it.”

The journal hums gently in your hands, in response. It’s light, sleek, and somehow heavier than it should be. A gift like that isn’t about what it is, not with him, it’s about the way he remembers. The way he’s been gone for weeks, and yet, when he returns, he still knows exactly what you need.

You keep your eyes on the journal even after the screen fades to black, the glow slowly dimming beneath your fingertips. It feels like the only thing anchoring you, like if you let go too quickly, the quiet swell of feeling might show on your face.

He’s here. He brought you something. He thought of you.

And you like the way that feels. You don’t hate it—not at all. You’re just shy about the way it wants to spill over. You’re not sure what he’d do if it showed too obviously, but from the way he’s watching you, eyes half-lidded and amused, maybe he already knows.

You squish your lips together, trying to tide back your smile. “You know, I was managing just fine with my ancient, barely-functioning piece of junk.”

Suguru hums, warm and buttery. “Mm. I noticed.”

“I was!”

“You say that, but I watched you slap the screen four times just to open the calendar.”

“It still worked.”

He lifts a shoulder in a slow shrug, like the act of teasing you is something luxurious, a taste he wants to savor. “Barely.”

The air feels lighter already. You’re still holding the journal—still feeling the warmth of its casing, still tracing its smooth edge with your thumb like it might disappear if you let go.

You move to the kettle to keep yourself from lingering too long in your thoughts. The tea’s already ready, still warm in its ceramic pot. You pour him a cup without asking—it’s second nature by now—and the motion steadies you.

When you pass it to him, your fingers brush again. This time, the contact lingers just a little longer than it should, and you pretend not to notice how your breath catches in your throat. You don't dare meet his eyes.

“Thank you,” Suguru says, voice softer now. How many times will you have to say it back before you're even?

You nod once, keeping your arms folded loosely across your chest. “You didn’t have to bring anything, you know that, right?”

“I know.” He blows gently across the rim of the cup before adding, “but I wanted to.”

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye. The steam from his tea curls upward, catching the low light spilling through the window behind him. His expression is unreadable—somewhere between patient and quietly pleased. And it settles deeper than you expect it to.

“Well,” you say, small this time, “it’s nice. You’ve officially outdone yourself.”

Suguru leans beside you, shoulder brushing yours as he shifts. His presence is always heavy, but now it feels warm, grounding. “I’ll try not to make a habit of it.”

You let out a breathy scoff. “Liar.”

His mouth curves, a small, knowing smile. “Maybe.”

The silence that follows stretches—not tense this time, but gentle. Lived-in. The kind that doesn’t demand anything from either of you. Just... a moment shared. A stillness made from something softer than what this world usually offers.

When you finally look over again, he’s already watching you—eyes dark, but not distant.

This time, you don’t look away so quickly.

And for a second, everything feels suspended: his hand cradling the tea, the warmth of his shoulder against yours, the soft click of the journal as it powers down completely. The hush of the kitchen wraps around you like a secret, and you let yourself stay there just a little longer than you should.

THREE

Something eats away at him.

You don’t notice it at first—he’s always been distant, unreadable in ways that feel deliberate—but something shifts. Subtle at first, then sharp as a crack beneath ice.

Whenever the mask slips, Suguru speaks in riddles. About rot. About weakness. About the way curses cling to people like smoke in their lungs. Suguru never says what he means outright, but you start to understand that what he hunts is no longer just out there: it's in him now, settling deep. You’ve always been afraid to ask where he goes, what he does in the stretch between his visits—but one day, something starts ticking inside you, soft and slow, like a countdown. And you know you have to ask, soon, before the poison spreads.

He comes in just after midnight; a whisper of the stairwell, the slow press of the door, the scent of cold air and blood and rain. The room bends with his presence, drawn to him like gravity to a star, but tonight he is no source of light. Now he swallows it whole.

For a long, terrible moment, he simply stands there, tall, broad-shouldered, soaked through the folds of his coat. Hair down, black and heavy, falling like a curtain, hiding more than it shows. You don't speak. You don't want to fill up any more of the space than you have to.

Suguru crosses the room like a man half-remembering the shape of it, as though he’s not really here, not yet. His eyes skim the walls, the ceiling, the half-empty cup on the counter like it’s all unfamiliar, like he’s unsure whether he’s still dreaming.

He finds the edge of your bed—an altar he has never bowed to—and sits slow, deliberate. The same way someone eases into the bath after a long battle.

The silence feels brittle, glass under pressure. His hands are braced on his knees, fingers twitching, opening and closing like he’s trying to hold something he can’t quite name.

“Did you eat?” you ask, because you don’t know what else to say.

His gaze flicks to you. Something unreadable in the dark plum of his eyes, bruised purple, shadowed and strange.

“No,” he says. Then adds, almost like an afterthought: “I'm not hungry.”

You don't care if that's true or not. You have to do something with your hands, offer comfort made just for him, even if it's instant and simple and comes from a packet—but before you can leave the room, he asks:

"Do you think people are born evil?"

He’s not looking at you. Just at the floor, at the space between his boots, like the question fell out of him without permission.

“I don’t know,” you say softly, and it's true—you don't.

You never had time to wonder about things like good and evil, never had the luxury. Your choices were simpler, narrower. How to keep the lights on. How to make enough for the next meal. How to stay whole in a place that’s always trying to carve pieces from you.

But this—this is a crack in his armor, and through it you see the shape of his world. A world built on consequences, on lines drawn and crossed again. You wonder who you’d be if your life asked those kinds of questions, if every choice you made had to hold up under the weight of whether it was right or simply necessary.

Suguru looks up—and in that moment, he’s someone else. A snake in the grass, coiled so tight you hadn’t noticed his presence until too late. He remains seated on the edge of the bed, and you’re still standing, but the distance between you feels like a black hole, sucking you in; it doesn’t give you control, doesn’t make you feel safe.

“What if I told you they were evil? Would you believe me?”

The question hangs in the air, sharp and unsettling. You don’t like the way he asks—don’t like any part of it, truthfully, but this, especially, settles under your skin like a stain that won’t wash out. It makes you wonder if he’s lied to you. If he’s been playing you all along, smiling just long enough to hide the knife in his hand, to keep you from seeing the truth.

Suguru has always unnerved you, in ways you never quite could face. From when he stepped into your bar, drifting in from the dark street outside, bathed in the emergency lighting. Like a warning you were blind to.

Since he walked into your apartment tonight, his attention has been scattered, drifting through the room like smoke, but now it’s all on you. You thought you wanted it, thought you could handle it, but now, under the weight of his gaze, you feel like prey. His focus presses on you, slow and deliberate, until every breath feels too shallow. When he rises from the edge of your bed, you step back, head bumping into the wall of your cramped room. The space between you disappears with one swift motion, and suddenly, he’s right there—close, too close.

"Would you kill them if I told you to?"

The question hits you before you’ve even had a chance to form an answer. You shake your head, words bubbling out in a rush, helpless. "I don't know."

"If I told you they were born wrong, would you kill them?"

You don’t know. The answer drips out, thick and slow, but it's the truth. "I don't know."

"If I told you they were little demons, twisted and demented, brought nothing but death and ruin—would you kill them? Even if they were young?"

You can’t answer anymore. The question feels unceasing, endless, like it’s reaching beyond you. His eyes, once dark and intense, have gone empty—hollow like a well. You don’t know if he’s even still looking at you, if he sees you at all.

Then, you notice it—blood. Slowly seeping through the chest of his white shirt, dark and damp, spreading like ink across the fabric. The realization hits you harder than anything he’s said, because there’s truth in it: something has collapsed inside him, something broken that you couldn’t stop.

“Y—you’re bleeding.” The words sound too small, too stupid, leaving your mouth like an afterthought, but he's still so close, close enough that you could count the long, dark lashes of his closed eyes when he blinks—and something flickers across his face. A snap, and then everything cuts.

His expression barely changes from that haunted look, but his voice is steady when he says, “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing.” The words leave you with more force than you expect, anger flickering beneath the surface of your worry. You latch onto it, grounding yourself with it, needing something to steady you against the unease crawling up your spine. “You’re hurt and you didn’t tell me.”

Suguru straightens, settling back onto his feet, back into his bones. It should be terrifying, how familiar he seems in that moment, how quickly he slips back into himself, but you're so desperate to get him away from that horror that you don't care.

His voice is sharper now, edged with something close to irritation. “Was I meant to?”

“You could’ve said you were bleeding.”

“It’s not new.”

“It’s new to me.”

That stops him. The space between now and the last time you saw him flickers behind his eyes—not like before, not like a wound he couldn’t name, but something else. A fact. A shared recognition: That was then. This is now. He is not whoever he was then. Not here. Not with you.

He closes his eyes, eventually. Breathes out a quiet sound, almost a hum. “It is,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

But he doesn’t step back. Doesn’t give you the space to go. There’s no hand on your wrist, no body blocking your path—but you know, with a kind of terrible clarity, that you couldn’t pull away from him right now, even if you tried.

It can’t be life-threatening, you realize, now that your heart isn’t pounding so loudly in your ears. Not a picked scab, but not a torn stitch either; the blood looks worse than it is, startling against the clean white of his shirt, thin and vibrant where it crosses in straight, resolute lines. In better lighting, you might have been able to see through the soaked fabric. You’re not sure that would do either of you any good.

The top two buttons of his shirt are undone, something so profoundly unlike him it feels like a slip in character, and the pale glimpse of his collarbones is distracting, delicate in a way you hadn't expected. You shouldn't be looking, but it's hard not to. Enticing in a way that pulls gently at your attention, makes your breath catch for reasons you don't want to examine, not with him so close. You almost can’t stop staring, can’t help but wonder what else you’re missing—until the corner of his mouth twitches. Barely, but enough.

You clear your throat and press your spine against the wall, like it might make more space between you. It doesn't. "How recent is ‘not new’?”

“Weeks,” Suguru says, casually—so easily it startles you. You’ve never talked about his work before, and you’re still not, not really, but you’re closer now than you’ve ever been, in too many ways. “I’m fine.”

“You’re fine now,” you say, not quite believing it. His smile tightens, enough that it reaches the corners of his eyes, though you wouldn't call it warm.

And then his hand moves. Slow, deliberate, like he’s afraid of startling you. His fingers rise until they hover beside your face, and when they finally make contact—just the backs of his knuckles brushing your cheek—it’s featherlight. Reverent. It’s not possessive, not even asking; it’s a question in the shape of a touch, and somehow you already know the answer is yes. The air between you grows impossibly still, as if the world stopped turning just to see what you'll do next.

Your heart stumbles. You’ve never seen him like this—not the version that walks in shadows, not the one who smiles like a blade—but something else. Something stripped down and aching. It terrifies you how badly you want him to stay.

His eyes don’t leave yours. They could lie, but they don’t. "Yes," he says, "I'm fine now."

FOUR

Not much time passes, surprisingly.

Days, maybe a week or two, though time stretches differently when you're waiting for something—or someone—you’re afraid won’t come back.

Outside, the neon gutters spit their color against the wet pavement. The air smells like ozone, like the sky’s about to split open again. Maybe it will. You wouldn’t mind. Rain makes everything seem farther away. The night is nearly over; you’ve wiped the counters twice, swept the floor even though no one spilled anything, stacked the chairs with a little more force than necessary. You move slower than you need to, hands lingering on small tasks just to stay busy, just to keep from looking at the door.

The place is quiet—finally—and you welcome it.

Suguru left as he always has: without reason. Something has changed, yes, but still, he left you in the same shape he always does—like the world has flipped itself inside out. He never leaves without unmaking something. Every return, every departure, carves a new gap into you. They don’t heal. You don’t even notice they’re there until you're trying to stand still and find you can't—until gravity presses in wrong, sideways, like it's trying to fold you in half.

You've never seen him that way, so unraveled. It's been replaying in your head on repeat, unending: what if I told you they were evil? Would you believe me? Sometimes you think you should’ve said yes. Not because you would believe it, but because maybe—just maybe—he would’ve stayed, but that thought brushes up against something inside of you that’s cold and rotten and not meant to be touched. It makes your stomach twist. You don't like who you are in that version of the story.

You tell yourself, maybe it's for the best that he's done, that he doesn't come back—but the thought feels distant, like it doesn't belong to you. Like it doesn't belong to him, either.

You don’t hear the door open, but you feel it, a shift in pressure, like the world exhaling. You turn just as he steps inside, though it's not quite the same as before; his hair is down again, though only half-way, not the wild ink-spill it was before, and his shoulders seem more relaxed, like he’s shed whatever that unseen weight was. He’s not walking with that same tight, controlled confidence; this is different, lighter, somehow, but there’s still something about him, something sharp behind the soft way he moves.

And he's not alone.

Two little girls are with him, though they haven't moved from the door, haven't commanded the space as he has. They're just watching. One of them has her arms crossed tight like a shield, the other clutches something—maybe a toy, maybe a scrap of cloth—pressed to her chest like it might anchor her. Both of their eyes seem too old for their small, round faces.

It's been playing in your head on repeat, unending: would you kill them? Even if they were young?

You stand there, unsure of what to say. The silence stretches, taut as a wire, until his voice cuts through it.

“It’s quiet tonight,” he says, lightly. Too lightly. Like he’s trying to smooth the air between you, pretend nothing’s changed. Maybe it’s for the girls’ sake. Maybe it’s for yours.

You open your mouth. Close it again. A question rises and flattens against your tongue. You don’t ask. He doesn’t offer. But that’s always been your dance, hasn’t it? The space between what’s said and what’s not.

He follows your gaze, then crosses the bar to stand in front of you. In front of them. “I’m tired,” he says, quiet and sharp. “Of that world, of the filth it feeds on. Of fools who think hurting someone small makes them strong.”

That word—small—lands like a dropped glass; the question you never asked answers itself, shattering quietly between you.

Suguru lifts his hand to your face, like he did the last time—but now the gesture is different. Looser. No tremble at the edges, no hesitation, as if he’s no longer afraid he might break whatever he touches.

His thumb grazes the arch of your brow, traces down to the soft skin beneath your eye. You think—maybe—he’s counting your lashes.

“I want them to live in a world that’s better than ours,” he murmurs, barely louder than a breath. “Safer.”

You've always thought Suguru was built from something other. Something finer, sharper, less breakable. A different species from whatever you are, clinging to the bottom rungs in your corner of the world, but now, up close, that divide feels thinner. Imagined.

You don’t know where he came from, not really, but you know where he is now. You’ve seen the edges of it, the pieces he hasn’t named and maybe never will, and they’re ugly. Embedded like grit beneath his fingernails, worn into the quiet lines of his face. Ghosts clinging to the hem of his voice.

You’re not the same. But there’s something unkind that lives in you both. Something heavy, and tired, and human. Something he wants to cut out—for their sake.

You glance back at the girls. They’re clinging to each other now, as if the world might fall out from under them at any moment, and the only thing they trust to hold is each other. Their small hands are tangled in fabric, sleeves bunched in fists, pressed so close they breathe as one. The sight turns something in your gut—sharp, instinctive, like a wire pulled too tight.

The thought that someone, anyone, had wanted to hurt them—had tried—makes your throat close. Your body moves before your mind does and you lean into Suguru’s touch. Maybe it’s deliberate, maybe it’s not, but his hand doesn’t hesitate. His fingers drift into your hair, curling there like a root finding soil, like he belongs.

For a moment, neither of you speak. You don’t have to. The quiet stretches, warm and fragile.

Then, softly—barely above a whisper—you say, “I don’t know where you’re going to find a place like that.”

Because you don’t. You’ve lived your whole life in the dirt of this city, in the cracks of what people like to pretend is order. You’ve never been offworld, never even dreamed of it, but you’ve heard enough to know there’s no such place waiting out there, not one untouched, not one that won’t eat girls like those alive the moment you look away.

Suguru hums, low in his chest. The sound rumbles through his fingers where they rest against your scalp.

“I’m not going to find it,” he says, quiet but certain. “I’m going to make it.”

And when he says it, you believe him. Maybe not in the way of miracles, but in the way storms believe in rain. His hand lingers in your hair a moment longer, then slides down, slow, catching at your jaw, your cheek. He doesn’t move away. You don’t either.

Behind you, one of the girls makes a soft noise on the tile, barely a scuff of her feet, but it tethers everything back to the moment. The realness of it. This isn’t a story. It’s a turning point.

Suguru glances toward them, then back at you. You're not used to seeing him like this, less worn, less closed off. Like the jagged edge he’s always carried has been tucked away for a moment of stillness.

“It's not going to be easy, and I’ll need someone who knows how to build things that last. Someone steady.”

He’s not smiling, but his eyes hold the weight of something close to it. Hopeful, uncertain, wanting. A line cast into a dark sea.

You could laugh, if it didn’t feel like your whole chest was shaking. There’s no question what he means. Not really.

The silence sits between you again, but it’s different now—waiting, watching. Becoming.

And when you speak, your voice is quiet, but it doesn’t tremble. “Someone like me,” you say.

Suguru's thumb brushes your cheek again, soft as a promise. “Exactly like you.”

[red-moon-at-night]

I am very Normal

by the way, if anyone has a higher quality image of the back of the Undercover CD I would be most grateful. because I am low-key fighting for my life here with some of these runes

[valiisthea]

"your heart is racing" -to Roche 🥹

Send 'your heart is racing' for my muses Response || Always Accepting

@strykingshot || Roche

"Ah, yes, it is indeed!" Roche is quick to excite, especially in his heightened state of adrenaline fueled anticipation. He turns to face her, ever-present smirk curled around his teeth as he holds out a hand with every hope and intent for her to grab it.

"That you should accompany me upon the back of my mount revs the very engines of my soul. Shall we take this dance to the soaring heights of the horizon?"

[aperrywilliams]

That Wasn't Fake (Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader)

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Author Masterlist

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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader.

Request: Can you write a Spencer fic where the reader is kind of quiet and shy when she begins working at the BAU, and Spencer has a crush on her, and then they have a case, and she has to like to seduce the unsub lowkey and everyone kind of like...how is she going to do this shes not very outgoing but when she does shes really good at it, and everyone is surprised and impressed.

Summary:  You're shy and reserved. Spencer has a crush on you, and unbeknown to him, you have a crush on him. Maybe the cat can get out of the bag when you have to step aside of your comfort zone to catch an elusive unsub.

Word Count: 4.2k (no self control here)

Warnings: Words like 'fuck' and 'bitch'. A rant about self-doubt. Typical CM stuff: unsubs, killings, etc.

A/N: Another request I loved! It should have been a little shorter, but I'm having a hard time getting to the point these days. Please keep sending requests!

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Spencer knows it is inappropriate, but he can't help it. You're coworkers, and that itself sets a boundary, so he shouldn't be thinking of trespassing.

But the crush he has on you seems to grow every day.

He doesn't know if it is your beautiful smile, the kindness you show in everything you do, or the enthusiasm you put into every task you are committed to. Since the moment he saw you pass the bullpen glass doors, Spencer knew he was damned.

From that moment, Spencer knew he wanted to know you and learn everything about you. About what you liked, what you hated, and what your fears and dreams were. Everything.

But not much after that revelation in his mind, he understood it wasn't going to be easy to get to you.

You were extremely shy and reserved.

In fact, your first interaction - when Emily introduced you both - consisted of a wave of your hand and a timid 'nice to meet you.'

He thought as time went by, you would loosen and become less bashful and quiet. And in part, he was right. As the months passed, you began to feel more comfortable within the team. You laughed at Luke's jokes, you commented on Rossi's stories, and you could even - when the stars aligned - crack a joke yourself to Tara or Matt.

But beyond that, no one knew much about your life outside of the BAU, unlike JJ, who always talks about her kids and her husband, or Matt, who talks about his kids, too. Or Tara, who recounts her failed dates. Or the same Luke who always shows photos of Roxy.

You, on the other hand, seemed to be an enigma. But Spencer Reid loved decoding enigmas.

At first, he turned his interest in you out of mere scientific curiosity. However, internally, he knew it wasn't just that.

It started with small random questions about the times you worked together: Is this coffee okay? What was the last book you read? Do you think we should buy some donuts for the team?

If you were honest, it picked your interest why, from all people, Dr. Spencer Reid was so adamant in making conversation with you.

From what you knew and from what the team said, Spencer was not a person very interested in things other than work or books. But suddenly, out of nowhere, he asked you what the last movie you saw was or something like that.

You always answered his questions; however, you would have liked to be much more talkative and engage in longer conversations, but your nature stopped you.

'What if I don't have anything more interesting for him to say?'

'Does he just talk to me because he feels sorry for me?'

And that was the big issue: you have never had problems with the way you live your life. You're pretty satisfied with what you do in your job and out of it, too. But you have always thought you are too 'simple' to entertain people's interest.

And to be honest, being surrounded by people with so much experience and big things happening in their lives still intimidates you a bit. So, you usually refrain from talking too much about yourself or anything for that matter.

But with Spencer, things are a bit different. He's always checking on you but respects your boundaries. He has learned that sometimes you just don't want to talk, and he doesn't push.

Despite his interest beyond the professional, Spencer would never do anything to make you uncomfortable. Being able to share time with you will have to be enough for him.

In a way, he has become your protector. He is your backup during interrogations or in situations where you can feel awkward, like the times when some police officers tried to flirt with you and got too close. Sure, you know how to turn them down, but sometimes guys don't get the memo and keep pushing. You're too shy to yell or be aggressive about it.

The team also understands the way you are, and they know it does not make you any less professional. However, they have always been careful not to take you too much out of your comfort zone.

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

A whole two weeks and five murders later, the team is stuck trying to catch an unsub who has preferences for killing women after club nights. The profile says he is not interested in just any woman but in those between 25-30 years old who like to flirt with several men in the clubs. But it is not just any type of flirting; it is the type that is initiated and dominated by them. In short, he likes to kill women who are the opposite of submissive. He sees them as predators on a hunting ground.

Another finding in victimology is that the women he kills, in addition to having a specific age range, have very similar physical characteristics. And similar to you.

All his victims have your build, eye color, hair color, and height. It gets to be creepy to a certain point. And it's something difficult to ignore.

Bouncing information and possible strategies, the team agrees they need to be proactive to get him to show up before another killing happens.

"Okay, what options do we have?" Emily asks.

"The witnesses haven't gotten us anywhere," Luke complains.

"Although we've narrowed down his hunting grounds," Rossi shrugs.

"Yeah, we know the clubs where he likes to hunt," JJ backs Rossi.

"But although the profile, we have yet to learn about what to look for there. I mean, we know what the unsub wants, but not how he looks like." This time, it's Tara who speaks.

You've rarely seen Emily bite her tongue when she wants to say something, but it's clear that she has something on her mind, and she doesn't know how to put it, or maybe the problem is something else. You look at her out of the corner of your eye, and she looks back at you; what do those eyes say? They look like they're even apologetic.

It's a fraction of the time before she comes back to behave like herself.

"We need to lurk him. It's the only way," she says. And everyone's eyes - yours included - are on her immediately.

"Lurk him?" Matt repeats.

"Yes. And all we know who should be the one going undercover to do that," Emily adds, looking at you this time.

That's it—the elephant in the room.

Of course, you're the ideal candidate. Well, you're perfect in the physical aspect because if we talk about the victim's personality and yours...

There's silence in the room, and you can feel like the team's eyes are all on you.

Do they expect you to say no? To refuse? From your perspective, it's not a question; it's more like the option you all have to catch the guy.

"It's true (Y/N) would be the closest to the unsub type, but there are a lot of things to take into account," Matt says. And you know perfectly well what's behind his words, even if he doesn't say it directly.

And that's okay; it's perfectly plausible they have their doubts. It is not enough to look like the victims for the operation to work.

But if there is one thing you are sure of, it's that you will always give your all to your job, even if that means becoming a completely different person.

"I can do it," you mumbled so quietly that if the AC weren't in the lower setting, people wouldn't have heard you.

"But (Y/N), you know about this guy. It's dangerous," Matt points, a frown on his face.

"Not to mention he likes rough interactions," Luke adds.

"You don't have to do it if you feel uncomfortable." This time, it is JJ who voices her opinion. And you know, that's the closest reason to the team's main concern.

And the fact you can blow up the entire plan.

Spencer stays in silence. Internally he's freaking out thinking of you having to lurk on the unsub, but he knows you are a professional. And he feels a kind of deja vu.

When he was younger, the team would have said the same about him doing something like that. Spencer knows what it's like when people baby you, making you feel insecure. Sure, he hasn't had to worry about that anymore. Spencer is almost forty, and no one would dare to tell him he can't do something. Not after all the things he has been through.

"JJ is right, Bella. You don't have to do it. We can think of another way," Rossi backs JJ.

That's when Spencer notices the slight frown on your face. It's invisible to everyone but him. He knows it's there.

You stay collected, even when everyone on the team has something to say about how bad the idea of you going undercover to lurk the unsub is.

Emily is who stops everyone's rant.

"Guys, hey. If (Y/N) is telling us she can do it, we're going to do it. Of course, we'll be there to back up her and catch this unsub."

And this is how the discussion is settled.

Emily sends everyone out with a task to prepare for the night. Today is Friday, and the unsub will surely be stalking some new victim. The chances are high.

When it's just you and Spencer in the room, he still looks at you in silence.

"Do you also think I'll not be able to pull off this mission and I'm going to ruin everything?"

You downcast your gaze, exhaling deeply.

"No. I don't think that," Spencer clarifies, and you raise your gaze to meet his eyes. "You are more than capable, (Y/N). The team is worried because you'll be out of your comfort zone in a dangerous situation."

"The team? Not you?" You narrow your eyes to him.

You try not to sound accusatory, but if you're as scared as everyone, you also are fed up with the other's doubts.

Spencer closes the distance between you both but doesn't invade your personal space.

"Of course, I'm worried too! I don't want anything bad to happen to you. But I trust you and your judgment."

Your heart does flip-flops, and you're not sure if it's because Spencer is worried or because, despite that, he trusts you—or both.

"You do?" You ask, not so convinced.

Spencer nods and smiles at you.

"And we'll be there when you catch the guy."

If that is the reassurance you need, you don't mention it. Instead, you grin at Spencer as a promise you'll do your job just how you are supposed to.

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

You insist on getting ready in your hotel room. The only assistant you ask for is Emily. She was the one who trusted you first in this, so you'll take every piece of advice she can give you before this night starts.

Everyone has a role in the plan.

Rossi will be the chauffeur who will drive you to the club.

Luke and Spencer would be in the club, mingling with the patrons. JJ, Matt, and Emily would be in the van monitoring the whole situation with cameras and earpieces. Rossi would keep his facade as a driver so he could be at one of the entrances. Tara would be at the club, too, eyeing nothing suspicious going on in the bar because there is a chance the unsub is getting help from the bartender.

When you are in front of the mirror applying the last touch of makeup, Emily is looking at you with a stare you can't decipher.

"What?" you ask, and Emily chuckles.

"Please, don't take this in a bad way, but I never thought I would live the day of seeing you using clothing like this. And Jesus, you look so hot!"

Your cheeks redens.

"It's a little bit odd coming from my boss, don't you think?" you muse, smoothing the fabric of your dress.

"Point taken," Emily raises her hands in defense. "Although I know someone who is going to run out of breath after seeing you."

You let out a scoff. It's not a surprise for you. The BAU girls - boss included - have been trying to set you up with Spencer since forever. You don't entertain the idea only because you don't think it's possible and not because you don't like the concept.

"Come on, don't say that. You are not helping to my nerves."

"Sorry, I'll shut up. We should go, though," Emily says, checking her watch.

One of the SUVs drives you to the van parking point. You needed to review the operation details.

At the back of the van - or commander point - JJ, Luke, Tara, Rossi, Matt, and Spencer see you come up with Emily.

For the best US profilers, they're not doing a good job hiding that they are gawking at you. Surely, no one imagined seeing you in such a revealing outfit. Outfit that, without a doubt, suits you extremely well, highlighting all your body attributes.

Spencer feels like he died and was resurrected after seeing you.

"Okay, guys, we need to check the details again," Emily announces.

The plan is in motion, and everyone is in position.

As expected, you arrive with Rossi at the club, who opens the door for you and helps you descend from the car. Rossi gives you a reassuring smile before letting you go.

Like a switch, you are no longer the shy SSA (Y/L/N). Now you are the woman who is going to take what she wants and attract the unsub attention doing that.

Your walk is determined, and your eyes send out flames of confidence to those who look at you. The music is very loud, something that would usually bother you, but not now. This needs to feel like your environment. That's how you like it, you tell yourself.

Almost instantly, you start to attract the looks of men who are eager for a woman like you.

You exude determination, and you don't go unnoticed.

Walking into the club, you make brief eye contact with Luke, who is on the dance floor. You see Spencer perched in a booth, nursing a beer.

At the same time, Tara is stationed at the bar.

"Remember (Y/N); the unsub expects the woman to approach men. The flirt needs to come from you," Emily reminds you by the earpiece hidden in one of the earrings you're wearing.

"Show time," you mumble to yourself.

You walk seductively to the dance floor, where a young man is dancing with a blonde. You approach and whisper something in his ear. That makes the boy completely lose interest in the blonde and start dancing with you. You smile and cling to the man's body, who wastes no time and takes your hips as if they were his possessions.

That dance certainly has nothing innocent about it. You continue whispering things in the boy's ear, and he looks more and more excited. Once you consider it a reasonable amount of time to have attracted attention, you leave the boy alone and head to the bar. Just a few meters away from Tara, a suspicious man is staring at you. You see him out of the corner of your eye as you order a drink. When the bartender passes it to you, you make subtle eye contact with Tara, who nods, indicating that the drink is clean.

You look next to you and see another man not so subtly looking at you. You know the unsub's profile, and you can't be intimidated or dominated by another man. You are the one who calls the shots. Otherwise, this will not work.

Before the man makes his attempt to seduce you, you turn to him, and with a penetrating look and disdainful voice, you stop him.

"Sorry, honey. Don't waste your time. You're not my type," and with that, you leave to move to the opposite side of the club. The guy huffs, and you're almost sure hearing him call you 'bitch' under his breath.

JJ, who's following the cameras inside the club, sees someone who looks suspect.

"Hey, this guy has been peeking at (Y/N) the entire time, and look, he clenched his fists when (Y/N) turned down that guy at the bar."

Emily confirms JJ's observation before giving you the next instructions.

"(Y/N), you're doing great. We have a possible target. So we need to raise the bet."

You know exactly what Emily means. You both had talked about the strategy to follow, having more details about what you should do than the rest of the team.

Matt and JJ look confused at each other but say nothing.

Your next step is to find another dude to seduce before delivering the coup de grace.

Luke and Spencer keep an eye on you. And while Luke is pleasantly surprised by your audacity, Spencer can't help but feel his stomach tighten. He tells himself it's because he is afraid something bad could happen to you, but inside of him, it's that and the fact of seeing you flirt with other men.

Just like you did with the guy on the dance floor, you attract the attention of another man; this time, you take his hand and pull him to the dance floor.

JJ and Matt's jaws drop to the floor. If Tara, Luke, and Spencer could do the same without giving themselves away, they would have done it, too.

As if it were your second nature, you laugh and move to the music. The man seems to enjoy the moment so much that he takes a bold step by leaning in to kiss you. You let him get closer until his lips are almost on yours. But before touching each other, you pull back with a malicious smile.

"Naughty boy. I'm who says if you can kiss or no," you pout, faking disappointment. Dizzed, the guy cocks his head and sees you walk away.

Matt chirps now. "It's him. Look boss," he tells Prentiss, pointing to the same guy JJ saw before.

There is no longer any doubt that it is him. Now you just have to catch him red-handed.

"(Y/N), we got him. It's time for the last play," Emily tells you.

With Emily's instruction, you go to the bar for another drink before heading over to where Spencer is sitting.

He tries to play it off, but he has no idea why you're approaching him.

"Is this seat taken, handsome?" You ask, with your drink in hand.

"N- no. Please," Spencer gestures to the booth on his front, but you opt to perch to his side. Spencer thinks he never has been this close to you. He looks at your eyes, and it's like you are a totally different person. It's a little bit contradictory for him, to be honest. He already likes you just as you are, but this version of you? It's driving him insane.

Some resemblance of your true self looks with a kind of curiosity the nervousness on Spencer. You don't think much about it; you assume he's playing the nervous guy who is baffled by you.

The thing is, Spencer isn't playing. He's definitely baffled by you.

"Are you okay?" You ask him, masking your question with a seductive smile.

"Yeah. Are - are you?" Spencer stutters a bit—something that is perfect for the plan but embarrassing for him.

You get closer to him to speak in his ear.

"This was Emily's idea," you tell him before kissing his ear and gently biting his lobe.

Spencer's breath hitches in his throat, and he thinks he's going to pass out any second. You're not doing it better: your heart is also pumping hard from the adrenaline. Of course, you had imagined something like that with Spencer, but only in your erotic dreams. You wouldn't dare do this on any given day.

You keep teasing Spencer, who, despite the nervousness, tries to play along. If this is the closest he will ever have you, he wants to engrave this in his memory.

"Just a little push, (Y/N). We almost have him," Emily instructs by the earpiece.

You swallow as subtly as possible as you wrap your arm around Spencer's neck, pulling him closer to you.

It's only a second between that action and the fact that you're kissing Spencer like it's your last meal.

Spencer doesn't know how to respond, and you were counting on that; it was enough time for the unsub to notice that you were the one who chose her last prey.

When Spencer is about to reciprocate the kiss, you murmur a 'sorry' into his lips and quickly pull away, giving him a disdainful look—which you hope he understands is fake—before getting up and walking toward the back exit door.

As expected, the unsub follows you towards the back door, and while your back is turned, he believes he has the advantage to attack you. What he doesn't know is that Matt and Luke are ready to lunge at him the moment he tries to touch you.

Everything that happens after is too fast.

The unsub is detained and taken to a patrol car while the team gathers around you, congratulating you on the successful operation. They all apologize to you for their previous apprehensions. You tell them that you understand and that there is no need to apologize. And it's like the switch has been flipped again since you came out of the femme fatale role.

But something is wrong. Spencer is not in the group. You see him a little further away, near the exit door of the club. Emily notices the looks between you both, and she sends the team on different tasks to close the case, leaving you and Spencer there.

There's something in his eyes that you can't decipher. You think it's resentment for using him without warning him what you were going to do.

You shyly approach him.

"It's me again," you tell him, pulling a face. You don't know what to say to make the situation better. Spencer nods.

"Yeah. You did it great, by the way," he compliments you. But it doesn't feel good like Spencer's compliments usually do.

"Look, about the kiss back there-" you start. He needs an explanation as a bare minimum.

"I know. It was fake," Spencer cuts you off.

Those words shouldn't hurt you as they do now. But isn't that the most reasonable thing to believe? The you in the club weren't you, so all you did inside was pretend.

Everything except that kiss.

If it's true you couldn't enjoy it the way you would have liked, you will never forget his lips on yours.

A tense silence takes over the moment. This is not okay.

You can't afford to lie to one of the most important people in your life, even if telling the truth takes you out of your comfort zone.

What the hell! Tonight has already been a total of 180 from a usual day for you.

"It wasn't," you mumble, and you see his eyes flicking to yours in a second.

"What?" Spencer asks, narrowing his eyes at you.

"Everything was fake, but not the kiss," you say with a stadied voice this time.

Spencer's heart races again. If you say you didn't fake it, then what he felt on your part at that moment was real?

"It wasn't fake?" He asks for clarification. You nod.

A smirk forms on Spencer's lips, seeing your cheeks redden.

There you are. The girl he had fallen for in the past two years.

"Well, you know that I am a man of science, right?" he tells you, and you frown because you have no idea where this is going.

"I know," you say with some hesitation.

"And as a man of science, I need evidence of things, you know?"

Now, you are the one who smirks at him.

"Evidence, huh?"

"Yep," he says, emphasizing the 'p' and swaying his body on his feet. You hum.

"I believe I can provide the necessary evidence if you need them," you concede, and Spencer's eyes sparkle with excitement.

Now, he is the one who reaches out and cups your cheeks. Your breathing quickens, but that doesn't stop you from standing on your tiptoes and connecting your lips with his.

This time, there is no unsub, no curious eyes are looking at you, there is no rush, there is no femme fatale role, and above all, this is not fake; it's as real as the fact that your heart beats for him, and his for you.

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Spencer Reid's Taglist: @dreatine @nomajdetective @jayyeahthatsme @rosalinasam2 @averyhotchner @lovelyxtom @princessmiaelicia @pastelbabygirl19 @reidsbookclub @alexxavicry @gspenc @spencerreidisbae123 @calmspencer @pauline5525mgg @anamiad00msday @milivanili99 @laylasbunbunny @leahblackk @miaxx03 @missabsey @taintedstranger @khxna @hiireadstuff @pleasantwitchgarden @dysphoricsanity @levi-of-starz @themoonchildwhofell @silver138 @lovelybaka @shinytinywhispers 

[kafrcknboombaby]

neighbors

setting: reader's room shares a wall with ghost's in the barracks.

ghost can't stand that he can hear you changing into your pajamas, but yet you're never kind enough to let him see you in those tiny shorts and t-shirt.

so he pulls the fire alarm.

everyone in the building is outside behind the barracks and ghost finally catches sight of you.

you're seething. the fire alarm has never been pulled before and its way to chilly out to be in whatever you're not wearing this evening, so you resort to clutching your arms over your chest and gently bouncing your knees, the annoyed glare at nothing in particular still on your face.

you all get the go-ahead to come back inside, ghost following your trail.

"cold out, is i-?" he asks, head nodding slightly down to your hard nipples poking through your light shirt.

embarrassment washes over you, followed swiftly by anger. you hike up the stairs, ghost hot on your heels.

he reaches his door before you get to yours.

"don't make me file a fucking report on you, ghost."

as you reach for the knob of your door, you hear him chuckle to himself and your head whips around at him. he slowly turns to you, his tall presence looming and dark eyes zeroing in on yours.

"i handle those reports, sarge." and you swore you almost saw him smile underneath his mask.

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

15 minutes later you're in bed trying to fall asleep. one side of your brain trying to decode your interaction earlier and the other part fixated on the pure heat between your legs.

your vibrator turns on a moment later. jesus, wet already? this won't take long.

your mind fogs immediately as you recall the way ghost motioned down to your tits earlier, not to mention that he'd be the one to read your report. what kind of a comment was that, by the way? does he want you to file one? to read your memories of how he lingered on your body for a little too long earlier? to recall how he knew you could read his filthy, desperate thoughts?

"i'll file that fucking report," you exhale as the deep churning in your stomach begins to intensify.

i'll cum on it first, too, you thought.

and meanwhile, ghost's cock just twitched when he heard that, jaw clenched while his hand gently squeezes at his base.

jesus fucking christ, he needed you to drop that off in-person. show up at his door, that look on your face again, just so he could drag you inside his room, lock you in and toss you on his bed. immediately climbing on top of you with your ankles on his shoulders. bulge in his pants so tight he asks you to please please please unbutton and unzip them to give him some relief before lifting your hips and sliding yours off.

then ghost let a moan slip.

a big one -- too big.

you heard it and your vibrator switched off, which frightened ghost to fucking death. you perked your ears and listened. was that... labored breathing?

"ah-em," you cleared your throat in an obviously coaxing tone.

that was all it took for ghost to come barreling out of bed, which, in turn, made you toss your toy and bounce up to unlock your door.

the fucking look in his eyes when you opened it -- pure hunger.

there weren't enough hours in the night for what he wanted with you.

good thing you're neighbors.

[thestarsaboveme]

Reader thinks the Lads men are cheating with MC

masterlist

this was a request from a kind anon.

summary: angst with comfort, reader and lads men having a misunderstanding because reader is overthinking that they’re cheating on her with the mc since they always spend time with the mc and spending less time with the reader.

xavier ver. | rafayel ver. | zayne ver. | sylus ver.

caleb x reader | angst/comfort

There was a time when Caleb used to show up with your favorite drink before you even asked.

He'd call you ''pipsqueak'', kiss your forehead, and ramble about the most bizarre cosmic theories while you curled up beside him.

Now…the only thing constant was his absence.

And MC.

-

''I'm going out with MC again today,'' he'd said casually that morning, slipping on his jacket. ''She's got some readings I wanna help her decode.''

You nodded, trying to be supportive. ''Again?''

He glanced at you. ''Yeah. We've been making progress. She's intuitive. Gets the rhythm of it.''

You gave a faint smile. ''Right.''

He leaned down, kissed your cheek quickly, and said, ''I'll be back late, but I'll text you, okay?''

But he didn't.

Again.

-

You scrolled through your messages that night, seeing blue bubble after blue bubble with no replies.

Dinner's ready if you want to swing by.

Hope the readings are going well.

Are you okay? It's getting late.

Each one unanswered.

And then your heart twisted when you checked MC's social feed. Just a short video clip of her and Caleb, both laughing as he showed her something on a holographic tablet.

He looked happy. Relaxed. Engaged.

The kind of look he used to save for you.

-

It wasn't just tonight. It had been weeks.

You told yourself it was work. That MC was a client, a partner, a hero in her own right. Of course Caleb would be focused on her.

But even when you were in the room with him lately…you still felt alone.

Like he was always looking past you. Toward someone else.

You didn't even notice your hands were trembling as you typed the message.

I need to talk. Can you come over? Please?

It took six minutes for his reply to come through.

On my way. Give me 15.

-

He arrived exactly 15 minutes later, his hair wind-tossled, coat still half-zipped, and an easy smile on his lips that immediately faded when he saw your face.

''Hey…what's wrong?'' he asked, stepping inside.

You didn't answer right away. You just stood there, looking at him, trying to figure out where the boy you fell in love with had gone.

''You and MC seem close,'' you said finally.

Caleb blinked, confused. ''I mean, yeah. We've been working side by side for a while. Why?''

You looked away. ''Are you cheating on me?''

The words cut through the room like a sharp blade.

His mouth parted slightly, stunned. ''What?''

''I need to know, Caleb. I can't keep pretending this isn't eating me alive.''

He took a slow step toward you. ''Pipsqueak…no. I would never. Where is this coming from?''

You laughed bitterly. ''From weeks of watching you give her your time, your focus, your energy. And leaving me with scraps. From seeing the way you light up around her. From missing you when you're standing right in front of me.''

His brows pulled together, the easy charm in his expression replaced by something heavier.

''Is that really how you feel?''

''I don't know how else to feel. You don't look at me the way you used to. You don't see me.''

He ran a hand through his hair. ''I didn't know it had gotten this bad.''

''That's the problem,'' you whispered. ''You're so good at reading the stars, Caleb. But you haven't been reading me.''

Silence stretched between you.

Then, in a voice low and raw, he said, ''You're right.''

You stared at him, heart pounding.

''I've been out of sync. Focused on work. On helping MC process everything she's dealing with,'' he said. ''And I thought…I thought you were okay. That we were okay.''

''Because I didn't say anything sooner?''

''Because I wanted to believe we were solid enough to weather it,'' he said. ''But I see now I've been neglecting the one thing I can't afford to lose.''

You folded your arms tightly. ''So what was it, then? Just convenience? You two work well together, so I got put on the backburner?''

He stepped forward, voice steady but filled with something deeper. ''You were never on the backburner. MC is a colleague. A friend. Someone I respect. But you…''

He stopped, looking straight into your eyes.

''You're the only person I've ever loved without fear.''

Your breath caught.

''You think I'm fearless, right?'' he said. ''The charming one. The one who always has a line ready. But you terrify me.''

''Why?''

''Because you're real,'' he said. ''Because you see through all the masks. Because when I'm with you, I'm not pretending to be the guy who always knows what he's doing. I'm me. Just Caleb.''

You swallowed hard. ''Then why didn't you show me that lately?''

''I was scared,'' he admitted. ''That I'd burn out. That I wouldn't be enough for both of you. For her mission, for your heart. So I leaned into what I knew. Work. Banter. The stuff I could control.''

You looked at him, searching for the lie.

But there wasn't one.

''I thought maybe…'' you hesitated, voice trembling, ''you were starting to feel more connected to her. Like you admired her more.''

Caleb stepped forward again, slowly this time, until he was close enough that you could feel his warmth.

''I do admire her,'' he said honestly, ''But I love you. You are not the same. You'll never be the same.''

Tears welled up, and you turned your face away.

He gently cupped your cheek, guiding your gaze back.

''I should've told you more. Made time. Asked how you were doing instead of assuming,'' he said. ''And I know an apology doesn't erase the loneliness I caused. But if you let me…I'll prove I haven't forgotten how to be yours.''

You let out a shaky breath. ''I didn't need fireworks, Caleb. I just needed you.''

His eyes softened. ''Then let me come back to you. No shields. No distractions.''

You didn't respond with words.

You just leaned into him, letting his arms wrap around you.

Letting the quiet between you finally mean something healing.

[kerink]

lets kick off bill gets held day with something fun and light hearted! cipher decoded below⬇️

rock-a-bye billy, don't look at the sky. if they ask what you see, make sure that you lie. please listen to mommy, or else we'll all die.

[rayasslicker]

Tunes of your heartbeat ‧₊˚♪𝄞࿐₊˚⊹

sypnosis; In which your fate somehow gets entangled into a jumble of mess between punk music in cozy cafés, intense rivalry, cherished yakults, parallelograms and quantum physics, competitions in contests and rainy days. Or in other words; the universe seems to fucking hate your guts for whatever reason and decided to curse your love life with your awful crass emo twink-a-fuck rival. The question is; did the curse work?

a scaramouche x f!reader SMAU

• Genre; hate at first sight, slowburn, intense rivalry, also intense rivalry in?? who gets to?? pamper each other more?? yeah, rivals to lovers, scara doesn't know how to love, punk music, yakult and coffee, senior highschool love, bonding through music, confessions through music, hanging out in ugly places vibes, angst, hurt/comfort, happy ending (?), and etcetera:)

• Warnings; mommy issues, a fuck ton of curses (be warned), mentions of alcohol and probably a few panic attacks here and there, sewersidal mentions, kys jokes, vulgar jokes, like very vulgar. 18+ not for wattpad purposes but bc it's too inappropriate and vulgar😭

• Taglist II is open! ask to be added or removed!

• Status; ongoing. no update schedule, and irregular hiatuses.

inspiration; from the sidelines bkdk fic ao3, sleeping sirens' songs omg and this one fic that i made over a year ago which is the root of this SMAU

— notes..

- let me know if you want to be added as a twt user in this SMAU too!

- feel free to picture yourself however you want:)

- all the titles in this SMAU are songs:D

───────────────────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───────────────────

╰┈➤ playlists; curse these feelings (scara's playlist) || fuck these feelings (name's playlist)

╰┈➤ profiles; the five horsemen of stupidity (name's group) || yacult (scara's group)

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➞ PLAYING... FIRST BEAT ✰ .ᐟ

Prologue

I. Shut me up (by a punch)

II. Get it up

III. Situations

IV. Don't you dare forget the sun

V. Fake it

VI. I don't care

VII. Knives and Pens

VIII. Pretty Handsome Awkward

IX. Kick me

X. Another life

XI. Sink or Swim

XII. Aneurysm

XIII. Besitos

XIV. Heart Shaped Box

XV. Young Blood Spills Tonight

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➞ PLAYING... SECOND BEAT ✰ .ᐟ

XVI. My Love

XVII. Wut I Liek Abt U

XVIIII. Scream

XIX. Stacy's mom

XX. Suck my kiss

XXI. Just like you

XXII. Ohio is for lovers

XXIII. Emergency

XXIV. Decode

XXV. Circles

XXVI. Ribs

XXVII. Bulletproof Love

XVIII. Demolition Lovers

XXVIX. crushcrushcrush

XXX. Summertime

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➞ PLAYING... THIRD BEAT ✰ .ᐟ

XXXI. Against All Odds

XXXII. Careless Whisper

XXXIII. Listen To Your Heart

XXXIV. Into the Night

XXXV. What Do We Mean To Each Other?

XXXVI. I'm not in love

XXXVII. Only when you leave

XXXVIII. You Keep Me Hanging On

XXXVIX. How Am I Supposed To Live Without You

XL. Right Here Waiting

AND... PAUSE!

───────────────────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───────────────────

authors notes - i've been literally thinking of making this since uhhhhhhh idk last week ago? this fic was actually inspired by a bkdk ao3 fanfic. and what drove me to really do this smau is that—i really like the idea of applying real life things to fiction. like please tell me everytime u see yakult, it reminds u of this fic. or cafés. i want this fic to exude that vibe and by that, ill try my best to do exactly that.

(ask to be added in comments)

[burrowswomen]

Send us some fic recs!

here r some of my favorite (joe & justin) fics on here!!!

JOE BURROW

daylight ( series ) by @goldfades

sweet on you ( series ) by @goldfades

who else decodes you? ( part 1 & part 2 ) by @goldfades

guilty as sin ( part 1 & part 2 ) by @goldfades

is it casual now? by @joeyfranchise

mine, all mine by @joeyfranchise

delicate ( series ) by @joeyfranchise

tiger girl! reader x lsu! joe burrow ( part 1, 2 , 3 ) by @ladyluvduv

secret of us ( series ) by @honeyncherry

we never tell ( series )by @honeyncherry

you still want this by @honeyncherry

labyrinth ( series ) by @emmyblues

soon you'll get better by @emmyblues

doctor's orders ( series ) by @v6quewrlds

love language by @v6quewrlds

you are in love ( series ) by @starsinthesky5

quarterback by @starsinthesky5

sweetest surprise by @starsinthesky5

so high school by @starsinthesky5

maybe i am jealous by @joeyb1989

imgonnagetyouback by @joeyb1989

slip of the finger by @yelenasbraid

save a horse, ride a quarterback by @yelenasbraid

maintaining professionalism ( series ) by @yelenasbraid

the met by @yelenasbraid

study date by @eternalsunrise

when in france by @eternalsunrise

friend zone? end zone by @thoughtfulfiction

operation : den prep by @thoughtfulfiction

JUSTIN HERBERT

conversation hearts ( series ) by @joeyfranchise

baby blues ( series )by @emmyblues

sunlight ( 1 & 2 ) by @emmyblues

labyrinth ( series ) by @emmyblues

merry christmas, please don't call by @emmyblues

text me by @v6quewrlds

NSFW A-Z by @v6quewrlds

sunday morning by @v6quewrlds

juno by @herbertswomen

i'll be watching you by @herbertswomen

surprise! by @herbertswomen

social media qb by @thoughtfulfiction

last updated: 4/8/25

[tsaheylutales]

You weren't supposed to know | Chapter 1

Hello! This is my first Steve Harrington fic EVER so please be kind. There will be a part 2, i just got impatient and wanted to post something. She's an angsty girl, hope you like it! It’s basically a rewrite of season 4 episode 2.

Pairing: Steve Harrrington X Henderson!Reader

Warnings: ANGST, stranger things level threats, mentions of blood and knives, reader is a softer girl so if you don't like that, scroll, Steve and Dustin are very ooc so...keep that in mind. Let me know if there's any more!

Summary: Steve wasn’t always like this, he used to be kind, and caring, and he used to call you every night. But now? He barely calls at all. Most of the time it’s you calling him. Or you visiting him…Or you planning dates…He’s just really busy at the moment…That’s it. That’s gotta be it…Right?

about 2k words

You weren’t supposed to know about the Upside Down. Or the Mind Flayer. Or Eleven. Or interdimensional monsters made of blood and flesh. You were just supposed to drop Dustin off at the mall. That was it. Easy. In and out. But Steve’s your boyfriend. And you hadn’t seen or heard from him in days. So…why not surprise him?

Worst case, he’s dodging you. Best case, you kiss in the backroom of Scoops Ahoy and steal an ice cream on the way out. That’s what you told yourself, anyway.

Instead, you and Robin ended up decoding a secret Russian message, discovered a secret Russian base underneath Starcourt Mall, got captured, maybe drugged, tortured a little, and were eventually saved by two kids with an electrified stick.

And then, just when you thought your night couldn’t possibly get any worse, a walking nightmare made out of flesh and bones clawed its way through the mall like it had personal vengeance. Turns out it did but that's besides the point.

Your entire life flipped upside down. 

And Steve, your boyfriend…He had known the whole time. And so did your little brother, Dustin.

And afterwards, everyone else went back to normal, back to school, back to work. They made no mention of the horrors that happened that night. They just moved on. Like you didn’t fight The Mind Flayer. Like Hopper didn’t die in that Russian base. Like Billy didn’t die in front of you all.

You haven’t gone a single night without nightmares since. And it doesn’t help you have no one to talk to. Not anymore. 

You’re not really part of the group. You’re just there.

You’re Dustin’s older sister. You’re Steve’s girlfriend, well, sort of. On a good day, when he remembers to call. 

You joined the fight the same day Robin did. Same nightmare. Same blood-soaked floors. Same mindless terror crawling out of a gate you didn’t even know existed until it nearly swallowed you whole. But somehow…She became one of them. Fast. Seamless. Like she was always supposed to be there. And you…didn’t.

You're the one who drives them sometimes, the one who gets asked, “Hey, can you grab snacks?” before a movie night, ones you weren’t even invited to.

You hear about things after they’ve happened. “Oh, sorry, it was last minute.”  “Did we not tell you?”  “Thought you were busy.”

You’re always busy, apparently. Even when you’re not. Even when you’re waiting by the phone, waiting for someone to call. Waiting for someone to invite you to anything.

You’re not welcome. You’re unwanted.

You try not to let it show. You plaster on your smile. You nod along. You say “cool” and “no worries” and “maybe next time.” 

But it gnaws at you. That hollow, twisting feeling.

“Have you talked to anyone else?” Dustin’s voice is tight, panicked, as he and Max hurry down the hallway. They need to find Eddie, and ask him about what happened last night. What happened to Chrissy. They suspect it's something more evil, covered in slimy tentacles and sharp teeth, or a dark shadow, or maybe a towering monster made of the citizens of Hawkins.

“No. I can’t find Lucas or Nancy, and Mike’s in-”

“California. Shit, shit, shit.” He cuts her off without thinking. His brain is moving too fast, thoughts crashing into each other. Too many questions, half the party missing, half the party on the other side of the country. 

“What about your sister?” She blurts, scrunching up her face.

He sighs, a defeated, frustrated sigh. He treats you like a last resort, you are the last resort but…You know about the upside down so…guess you’ll have to do.

“[Y/n]! Can you take us to Family Video!?” he yells, sharp and impatient.

You peek your head out from your room, wide-eyed. “Right now?...”

“Yes, come on!” He rolls his eyes, tapping his watch.

“Uh, okay. Let me get my shoes-”

“Now! Come on!!”

“Okay-okay.” You whisper, shrinking back slightly.

Max glances at him. “That was harsh,” she mutters under her breath. Dustin ignores it.

Your mom calls out, “Dusty, where are you going?” 

“To see a friend.” His voice comes out stressed. Too panicked to just be ‘seeing a friend’. He’s already heading for the door.

“You heard the news. It’s not safe.” Your mom’s voice waves and it makes you feel guilt. She’s already been through enough. 

“We’ll be careful. Thanks, Mom. Love you. Bye.”

“Bye, Mom. Love you,” you murmur behind him, brushing a kiss to her forehead. 

Max and Dustin take off ahead of you, their sneakers smacking against the pavement as they storm towards the video store. Dustin throws the door open and they both rush inside.

They’re already at the front desk, knocking over stacks of tapes, looking through the computer. They set up a “base of operations,” whatever that means. You just stand there, eyes drifting across the rows of movie tapes, pretending to read the titles you’ve seen a hundred times. You feel invisible. 

You still don’t know what’s going on but, the urgency in their voices, the frantic energy? It’s terrifying. It feels like last year again. Whatever it is, it’s scary…. Fourth of July scary.

Your eyes find Steve.

He’s crouched near a toppled display, restacking the mess Dustin left behind. He doesn’t notice you at first. He doesn’t look up.

You walk over, swallowing the nerves in your throat. Your smile feels fragile, like if you hold it too long it might crack and fall.

“Hey.”

Steve looks up. His face shifts. Not into a smile, into something smaller. Tighter. “Oh. Hey…”

Your heart sinks, just slightly.

“Um…” You try to sound casual but your voice wavers. “You didn’t call. Last night…”

He blinks. Hesitates. “Right. Yeah. Sorry. Had to cover for Robin.”

A lie. You know it’s a lie. Robin was here yesterday. You came in to drop off a tape after school, about an hour before he was supposed to call. “You couldn’t have called from here?” you ask, softer this time.

“Super busy.” He mumbles. “Yeah, it was just…really busy.”

He’s not even looking at you anymore. The bell over the door rings again. A girl walks in, she’s pretty, confident, like she belongs. Steve glances at her, not you.

You bite your lip and clear your throat softly. “I was thinking…” You start, trying to sound upbeat, like this isn’t breaking your heart. “Maybe we could go out this weekend? Dinner, or a movie? Whatever you want.”

Steve exhales. Not a sigh. Something heavier. Tired. Dismissive.

“Yeah, maybe.”

You latch onto the word like it’s a life boat. “Cool! I’m free all weekend, so we could do whatever, whenever, I mean-”

“Look,” He cuts in, voice clipped and distant. “I’ve got a lot going on this weekend. Maybe another time.”

Oh.

Your smile falls before you can stop it, not dramatically, just…falls. Ever so slightly. A tiny fracture. Barely a second of vulnerability before your instincts kick in. You catch it. Forcing a grin even though your lip wobbles.

The smile that returns doesn’t fit right. It strains too much. It doesn't reach your eyes. You nod. Once. Twice.  “Yeah. Sure. Another time.”

Steve gives you a tight lipped smile and turns to your brother, who is still trying to find Eddie. You awkwardly wait by the front desk, picking at it nervously. Steve wasn’t always like this, he used to be kind, and caring, and he used to call you every night. But now? He barely calls at all. Most of the time it’s you calling him. Or you visiting him…Or you planning dates…He’s just really busy at the moment…That’s it. That’s gotta be it…Right?

“Hey,” Max says, her voice breaking your from your thoughts. You blink, startled. “We found something. Are you coming?”

You nod automatically, though the words don’t register. Your body moves before your mind catches up. 

Eddie slams Steve against the wooden wall of the cabin. It’s damp and a little rotten, that’s what happens to things left unchecked. You gasp, moving towards your boyfriend before realising he has a knife. You swallow softly and look towards Dustin, eyes begging him to do something.

“Woah, woah! Eddie, stop! Eddie, it’s me, it’s Dustin! This is Steve. He’s not gonna hurt you. Right, Steve?”

“Right. Yeah.” Your boyfriend breathes out. He gulps, eyes squeezed shut.

“Steve…” Dustin says gently. “Why don’t you drop the oar? He’s cool. He’s cool.”

“I’m cool, man. I’m cool.” Steve echoes, voice shaky and wavering.

“What are you doing here?” Eddie growls, pressing the knife closer to Steve’s neck.

“We’re looking for you!” Robin jumps in. “We’re here to help.”

“Eddie, these are my friends. You know Robin, from band? This is Max, my friend who never wants to play D&D.”

Dustin raises his hands. “We’re on your side. I swear on my mother. Right, guys?”

A chorus of, “Yes. Yes, we swear on Dustin’s mother,” echoes around the small cabin.

“Yeah. Dustin-Dustin’s mother,” Steve stammers.

Eddie pauses, and then lets him go. Steve's knees almost buckle as he falls away, and you immediately rush towards him, reaching for his face “Hey, you’re okay. You’re safe-“ You coo.

“I know-I know, god stop touching me!” He shoves you away, leaning towards Robin, who’s sat on the other side of him.

Your eyes widen, and you feel that familiar pit in your stomach. “Sorry. Sorry, I-“ You start, confused, voice wobbling.

Steve gives you a look, one that he’s been giving you a lot recently. One that says ‘You’re really getting on my nerves, please stop talking.’ 

It makes you swallow your apology, and you look down to your scuffed shoes. 

They’re a beat-up pair of converse that you bought back in sophomore year. They’ve been everywhere with you, including some very lovely dates with Steve. Like when you went to the movies, where he kissed you for the first time.  Or like the picnic, where he fed you strawberries and whispered he loved you while watching the stars.

Dates like that feel like a dream. They don’t happen anymore, haven’t in months. Not like they used to. 

For the rest of the conversation, you’re not there. Not really.

[yeahxsurexokay13]

decode, lando norris

previous

summary: fans keep having to decode clues to find out whether yn and lando are back together. until they don't. 

warnings: none.

a/n: last chapter ): honestly, i think i'm pretty pleased with how the story turned out after not having planned anything else after 'anything but the truth'. and i really appreciated all the likes, comments and reblogs, so thank you for that! enjoy<3

landonorris ✓

Liked by maxverstappen1, keeganpalmer and 2.190.012 others

landonorris happy birthday, you ❤️

view all 5.908 comments

user1 🚨 HARD LAUNCH HARD LAUNCH HARD LAUNCH 🚨 THIS IS NOT A DRILL

user2 decoding era officially over. it's been an honour.

jasmineharper ✓ oh i've been WAITING for this one 😭❤️❤️

ethan.y/l She better’ve wished for more patience to deal with you

user3 HAPPY BIRTHFAY QUEEN OMFG

user4 full face?? main feed?? yeah we earned this

oscarpiastri ✓ Happy she’s putting up with you again!

user5 i knew from the knee pic. i KNEW.

angryginge13 ✓ You romantic little shit

user6 happy birthday @.y/n.y/l!!!!!! u deserve nothing but the very best<3

carlossainz55 ✓ Happy birthday, Yn! Sending love ❤️

user7 i'm crying this is actually real😭😭😭😭😭

user8 let the records show we were right since the leg on the beach pic!!!!!!!!

user9 HBD YN 🎂🥹🥹🩷​🩷​🩷​

maxfewtrell ✓ Well played, mate😌

user10 i am losing it. i can't tell what’s real anymore. this man posts her and i feel like it's fanfiction

pietra.pilao So sweet 🥹

y/n.y/l ✓ I love you ❤️

26 October 2024

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

taglist: @sarx164 @willowpains @n3versatisfied @verogonewild @addzlibs @knivesdoingcartwheels @sky--wzlker @sheslikeacurse @sashisuslover @midnightbabylon @sunflowervol18 @itsselllaaa  @chezmardybum @quinquinquincy @seonaw @imagine-it-was-us @freyathehuntress @pandora108 @stylesmoonlight12 @azuramicah @emneedshelp @lorena-mv33

[mylovesstuffs]

OT13 reaction to their s/o stuttering while explaining something

Request: Celeste hello it's me again LMAOOO I hope you're doing fine my queen 🫶 so hear me out, ot13 with s/o that always stutter whenever they tried to talk with them or explain something that they don't understand. I hate that whenever I tried to explain something to my friends, I'm always stuttering ended up I became quite person 😔 idk if you already nake it or not.

- ⭐️ anon

A/N: Aww my love, first of all, you’re amazing just the way you are and stuttering when explaining something doesn’t make you any less smart or capable! Please don’t let stuttering stop you from speaking up. You have important things to say and your voice deserves to be heard! Sending you so much love!

Absolutely Patient Kings (Would Wait Forever for You to Finish Without Rushing You)

Joshua: The most reassuring and patient partner. He’d probably hold your hands while you talk, nodding and smiling to encourage you. If you got flustered, he’d rub your back and say, “No rush, sweetheart. Just tell me however you can.” Even if you ended up not finishing your explanation, he’d still act like he understood just to make you feel better.

Wonwoo: He’d just stare at you with soft eyes, never once interrupting or making you feel rushed. If you got too frustrated, he’d calmly say, “It’s okay, take your time.” He hates the thought of you going quiet because you feel insecure. If you ever gave up mid-sentence, he’d encourage you to try again or just wait until you feel ready.

Woozi: He might seem intimidating at first but he’s actually super patient. He understands that thoughts can be hard to put into words sometimes (since yk, he's a songwriter sou; it's different from stuttering but you get the point), so he’d just listen, nodding along to make you feel comfortable. If you ever got upset, he’d softly say, “It’s fine, baby. Just say whatever comes to mind. I get you.”

Encouraging Sweethearts (Would Help You Find the Right Words Without Making You Feel Bad)

Dokyeom: Would be the most verbal with his support. “Awww, my baby is working so hard to explain! So cute.” If you got upset, he’d say, “Hey, hey! No getting mad at yourself. Take your time, jagi. I’ll wait forever if I have to!” He’d try to finish your sentences but only if you wanted him to. If you shook your head, he’d laugh and say, “Okay, okay! I won’t guess, you got this!”

Mingyu: Would physically encourage you like nodding enthusiastically, leaning in closer, or squeezing your hands. If you got too flustered, he’d pout and say, “Why are you embarrassed? I love hearing you talk!” He’d make you feel so so so safe that even if you were stuttering like crazy, you wouldn’t feel judged at all.

Seungkwan: He’d notice if you’re struggling and immediately jump in to help. “Wait, are you trying to say [this]?” If he guessed wrong, he’d giggle and say, “Oops, my bad. Keep going, baby, I’m listening.” He’d never let you feel embarrassed about stuttering—he’d even make fun of himself for the times he trips over his own words just to make you laugh lol. That's how much of a sweetheart our boo seungkwan is.

Dino: Dino would be so supportive but also a little bit awkward at first because he wouldn’t know how to help. He’d be like, “Uh…do you need me to like…wait? Or should I help?” He would never judge you and over time, he’d probably develop his own way of helping you feel comfortable. He’d even joke around like, “It’s okay, jagiya, I stutter when I rap too!”

Would Try to Decode Your Words (Determined to Understand You No Matter What)

Jun: Would be the most dramatic about it in the cutest way. If you stuttered too much, he’d go, “Ahhh! The suspense! I must know what you’re trying to say!” He’d grab your shoulders and act like he’s on the edge of his seat. You’d roll your eyes, but his goofy ass would make you laugh and forget about feeling insecure.

Hoshi: Would take this as a challenge. If you stuttered too much, he’d squint and go, “Okay, wait. I think you’re trying to say...hmm…” He’d get all dramatic about it, acting like Sherlock Holmes trying to solve a mystery. “Okay, one more time, baby! I’m almost there!” You’d end up laughing and he’d just grin and say, “See? No stress! Just talk however you want.”

Vernon: Would be so chill about it that you wouldn’t even feel nervous after a while. He’d nod and hum while you talk, even if you were struggling to explain. If you gave up, he’d shrug and say, “It’s cool, I kinda get what you mean. But also, no pressure, you don’t have to explain if you don’t wanna.” He’d make you feel like stuttering isn’t a big deal at all, which would actually help you feel less self-conscious.

Would Try to ‘Fix’ the Problem (But Only Because They Love You So Much)

Seungcheol: He’d notice if you were getting frustrated with yourself and would not let that slide. “Hey. Stop that. You’re explaining just fine.” If you got quiet, he’d cup your face, “You don’t have to rush. Just say what you can.” He’d be so reassuring that even if you were a mess of stutters, you’d feel safe trying again.

Jeonghan: Would tease you about it but only to make you laugh and ease your nerves. If you got too flustered, he’d smirk and say, “Why are you so nervous? It’s just me, angel.” He’d never let you feel insecure but if he saw you getting upset, he’d immediately drop the teasing and softly say, “I’ll wait as long as it takes, okay?”

Minghao: Hao hates seeing you get frustrated. He’d say (with that soft voice of his), “Take a deep breath, love. No need to rush.” But if you kept struggling, he’d eventually ask, “Do you want me to guess? Or should we write it down instead?” He wouldn’t want to “fix” you but would try to find ways to make you feel less stressed about talking.

[seobinghard]

WISDOM TEETH, OYSTERS, AND BEDTIME STORIES — j.yh

[ ☆ ] summary: apparently, all it takes is two wisdom teeth, one foul oyster and a fuckass bedtime story to end your decade-long beef with your arch-nemesis, jeong yunho.

pairing: arch-nemesis!yunho x fem!reader. tags: enemies-to-lovers au, fluff, crack, witty. note: yuyu's a bit mean mwahaha. slight yungi x reader. best friend!mingi mentioned. yunho and reader's beef is not intense but long-standing and petty. mingi loves you both tho. wc: 1.5k i think. warnings: mentions of anaesthesia, vomiting, and swearing.

the instructions were plain and simple.

mingi was supposed to pick you up from the dental clinic after your wisdom teeth removal appointment at two pm sharp because god knows you'll be high off your head from the anaesthesia to even comprehend traffic lights. but lo and behold, things don't go quite as planned because some guy in a grey hoodie shows up instead of your best friend. how d'you know?

he's got naked fingers.

"you're not wearing any r-rings–" you slur at the unidentifiable stranger, decoding his face with your half-lidded eyes before realising;

"wait, you're not mingi!"

"no shit, einstein." yunho rolls his eyes, scoffing at your accusation. you're barely standing up straight.

yunho's your arch-nemesis, your best friend—mingi's other best friend (which is why he's your arch-nemesis), and your ex high school class president who caught you cheating on your physics finals in junior year and almost got you expelled. whatever, you think he's just conceited and has no life, that's why he goes around policing the free-willed like you. acting all high and righteous like he knows it all (he actually does know it all but you'd rather swallow a lava rock than admit it).

"man, you're so cooked," yunho laughs mockingly, snaking an arm around waist to hold you upright.

although he can be petty and leave you here for the flies (it's summer), yunho's a man of his words and great time management.

the plan was plain and simple.

he promised mingi to pick you up from the dental clinic after your wisdom teeth removal at two pm sharp because mingi decided it was a great idea to slurp a two-day old raw oyster straight from the fridge that san had forgotten to throw out which sent him straight to the emergency room for food poisoning at ten in the morning. who escorted him? that's right. yunho. after all the barf hysteria mingi's put him through, yunho only got a 'bro, can you pick y/n up? also wear rings so she doesn't freak out.'

the fuck, yunho thought to himself.

but now it all makes sense.

you identify mingi by the rings on his fingers when you're feeling loopy and not quite there; like when you're drunk from the club or high off your head from anaesthesia.

yunho thinks that's kinda cute; your habit. you're kinda cute, now that he's gotten a closer look at you.

"can someone please remove this man from my sight?"

yeah, fuck that. yunho shoots you a glare you probably can't even see. "enough. we're going home."

"um, no. the fuck," you hiss, prying his hands off your arm before turning to your assigned nurse with tears in your eyes, "n-nurse yoon, this is not my guy– mingi's supposed to pick me up and he wears loooots of rings. this–"

"y/n, look at me." yunho steadies you with both hands, looking you straight in the eyes. "mingi's got food poisoning and he's at the er right now. so, i'm, me, yunho," he points at himself, "i'm gonna take you home, okay?"

there's a moment of silence.

nurse yoon finally excuses herself and hands you over to the tall man in the grey hoodie, advising him to watch you until the anaesthesia wears out from your system. he sounds so familiar yet you can't quite wrap your head around where you've seen him. the only thing you recognise, though, is his scent—soft, clean and musky like freshly hung laundry in the summer sun.

"yunho?" you mutter weakly, finally regaining a bit of clarity.

"yeah, me, dumbass. who else?" yunho replies flatly, though if you squint hard enough, you might just spot playfulness on the curve of his lips.

getting you home was a journey. not that you live far from the clinic but you couldn't stop bursting into fits of giggles and asking yunho to tell you funny stories so much so that he had to stop three times on the road to fix up your seatbelt.

"no more funny stories," yunho shuts you then your apartment door with a firm 'bang'.

you're standing in front of him like a kid in time-out, lips pursed in fear and excitement. maybe it's the anaesthesia, maybe it's your first time being this close to your arch-nemesis, maybe it's the sternness in his voice and the intensity in his gaze when he tells you to "behave" while gently grabbing your chin. something is definitely different about yunho, and you can't quite say you hate him as much as you did before.

"can i get a bedtime story then?" you bat your lashes.

"sun's still up."

"you're actually so lame, you know that?"

yunho never left you.

the sun has long set and you're fast asleep in your room, softly snoring under a pile of pillows after a bowl of chicken soup he made you and two tylenols. he kept the nightlight on—a small miffy lamp on your bedside table and made sure to refill your humidifier once every few hours. you're in deep, deep sleep, as expected. nurse yoon had advised him to keep an eye on you for two to four hours post-op. it's now half-past nine. why is he still here? he doesn't even know.

mingi's still at the hospital with a guilty san though he can now text. they'll probably let him go tomorrow morning if his conditions improve tonight. this is good news, yunho tells himself. he feels a great relief that his best friend's recovering, yet a part of him is filled with utter dread because if mingi gets discharged tomorrow morning then that means he's no longer your primary carer; that means he's ... leaving you.

what the fuck, yunho thinks.

is this what he thinks it is? no ... there is no way he's crushing on you. you? the chronic academic cheater? the spoiled crybaby? no way. yunho is genuinely crashing out in your little pink kitchen. before he can string together another mental smear campaign against your name in an attempt to 'un-crush' you, a shrill cry breaks from your room.

rushing over, yunho finds you uncontrollably sobbing in bed, eyes shut, brows knitted in utter distress. you're having a nightmare. his heart softens.

"shh, shh, it's okay," he coos, "it's okay, now." slowly, he slips into your bed and under your sheets, holding your trembling body close to his chest, cradling your head in his arms as he gently rubs circles on the skin of your lower back, steady and slow.

"yunho?"

yunho glances down at your half-awake face, wiping away your tears with his thumb. "mhm?" the circles on your back don't stop.

"can you tell me a bedtime story?"

"no," he replies flatly, swallowing the urge to smile. but when he sees your teardrops double-up in size, he immediately switches up. "alright, fine, fine. let me think of something." he coughs, "once upon a time, there were three best friends–"

"is it us?"

"no questions," yunho mutters, restarting, "once upon a time, there were three best friends who lived in a small cottage by the woods. one was goofy, one cried a lot, and one was super smart. they would go fishing by the creek and spy on the neighbours–"

yunho pauses.

he looks down and finds you snoring on his chest, hand still gripping onto his grey hoodie. a content sigh leaves his lips as he takes in the features of your face; your pretty lashes, pretty nose and pretty pink lips. you're so pretty, he thinks. why are you even beefing?

"goodnight, crybaby," he murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. before he knows it, sleep creeps up his sleeve and you're both fast asleep in each other's arms.

epilogue

"WHAT THE FUCK."

you and yunho jolt awake, whipping your heads to the doorway to find a freshly discharged mingi, frozen and wide-eyed, staring at you with horror and bewilderment dripping from his face as if he's just seen a ghost.

"while i was puking my life out in the er, you're here cuddling up to each other like– bro, what– you betrayed my moral loyalty! the both of you!"

"just say you're jealous and jump in," yunho groans groggily and throws throws a pillow at his best friend. he dips back into bed, pulling you into his chest.

you giggle when the bed dips behind you, followed by an arm around your waist, cold rings pressed against your skin.

"i need a proper explanation after this," mingi murmurs in your hair, eyes drooping as the post-food-poisoning fatigue starts to hit him.

yunho only hums in response and swats mingi's arm away from you. "did i say you can touch her?"

© seobinghard 2025 . all rights reserved. / m.list

a/n: one of the best shit i've written so far. also it's 2:44am n i need to sleep. but peep possessive yunho at the end mwahaha fuck i need him bad

[cbuumbbles]

[Decode Pt. 2] Self-Aware! Caleb x fem!reader

CW: Smut, this shits gonna get freakyyy, 18+ MDNI. (Contains: egregious squirting, vaginal fisting, cunnilingus, unrealistic belly bulge, HES GOT A HUGE PENIS GUYS, so many orgasms, water breaks to stay hydrated, size kink ??, def hand kink, dacryphilia, misuse of evol, drooling, choking, tummy appreciation in missionary, breeding kink too possibly?? not really, but maybe if you squint, idk if I’m missing anything else w/ out spoiling). SORRY FOR THIS LAUNDRY LIST. I got carried away :p

Summary: You and Caleb had been dating for a while now and your needs couldn't be more met than they are with him.

A/N: Hi people! If you haven't read part 1, go read it! Part 1 is not freaky btw. This is my second time writing for this godforsaken website. So I still don't know how to make it look fancy. Bare with me. Anywho! I hope you enjoy, this is my first time in a long time writing smut, so if it's bad, just tell me nicely so I can fix it. Also sorry this took so long to get out after part 1, I have had 0 time to write.

Part 1

Caleb had finally convinced you to quit your job so he could take care of you full time. You loved the time off, he made sure to pamper you too. Your nails were always done, hair trimmed, and your back massaged. When he wasn't home, you started having to get creative with ways to entertain yourself. He had bought you a vibrator a while back which helped entertain you until he got home. You'd think it'd wear you out by the time he got home, but something inside of you was like an insatiable beast that needed to jump on Caleb as soon as he got home from work. Caleb loved every second of it, he loved giving you as much pleasure as you wanted. If you thought you were spoiled before you got together, you haven't seen anything yet. Caleb would do anything you asked him to, and you've asked him to do a lot. He's always happy to oblige and eager to please you. Being able to code anything about your reality was a life saver. Since he knew what you liked, he coded himself to be able to give you the maximum amount of pleasure you'd ever want. He was also surprised about how you weren't completely dehydrated all of the time, but he made sure you drank plenty of water, even having water breaks in the middle of sex to keep you from passing out.

Right now, you were using your vibrator on your shared bed, waiting for Caleb to come home. All you could think about was how good it's gonna feel once you start feeling his fingers filling you up. You started to imagine his fingers teasing your folds, gathering your wetness and spreading it around. His thick fingers were something you drooled over every time you saw them, they were perfect and all you could picture in your mind when you saw them was how nice they feel pumping inside of you. The vivid fantasies started to feel real when you swear you can feel his fingers start to slip inside of your dripping pussy. They felt so real that you opened your eyes to find Caleb, home from work. "Hi princess, I'm home." He whispers, smiling at you while his fingers were pulling squelching sounds from you. It was embarrassing how wet he could get you. But he knew all of the places he needed to get to in order for you to get undone on his fingers. He bent down, using his tongue to lap up some of the mess you were making. "Always taste amazin', pretty." He praised you. You were moaning in response, unable to form proper words. But that's how he always had you, it was like magic. He could melt your mind in an instant with just his fingers, something he was extremely proud of. All you could say was 'more' and 'Caleb,' it was like a mantra. He sticks another finger in, making it a total of three, but he knew you could handle the whole fist tonight, you were sopping. The spot under you was drenched in your squirt. He loved how messy you were and that he was the only one who could get you to that point.

"I- close, Caleb 'm close." You hurried out, he kept his same pace as you felt the white hot pleasure building in your stomach. The journey to the orgasm was almost as pleasurable as letting go, maybe it was because you knew what was about to happen.

"Come on, angel, come on my fingers." He coaxed, his words being the final push that sends you over the edge. You moan and whine out his name as you feel your pussy pulse around his fingers, squeezing them in. As you ride out your high on his fingers, the feeling fades and you start working yourself up again. He adds another finger, making it four and you feel amazing, on cloud nine. The water works were going everywhere and you couldn't shut your mouth, as hard as you tried. You were making a mess of Caleb, thankfully he undressed himself before starting in on you, you could see drops of your squirt on his chest which made you incredibly more horny somehow. "You're doing so good, takin' me so well, pretty. You think you can handle the whole fist now?" He asked. All you could do was nod your head fervently. "I wanna hear your words baby, think you can do that for me, or are you too fucked out to speak?" He knew the answer, anything past three and you were completely melted. "My dumb little angel forgot how to speak. You're lucky I know you so well, I know exactly what you need." He coos, adding the last finger. You could feel him reaching every possible spot he needed to, his fingers stretching you out and getting you ready for his cock. You felt that familiar feeling start building up again as you suck in his fingers subconsciously. He could tell you were getting close by the way your walls were spasming around his hand. "You're so greedy with my fingers baby, it's makin' me jealous. You're taking me so well, pretty. Getting all stretched out for what's coming later. Gettin' so wet for me, you're drenching the bed. You're doing such a good job, princess. Come all over my fingers." He spoke, all of his praises going straight to your core as you felt that burning hot feeling again.

"Caleb, Caleb, Caleb." You repeated in quick succession, you could feel your release rapidly approaching.

"That's it, come on, angel. Let yourself go, beautiful." He says. His encouraging words help you focus on getting to your release and when you finally snap, it's just as intense as last time. You pulse around his fist and your legs start shaking. You know that tomorrow will have to be a recovery day for, the night is still long from over. "Let me get a taste, baby. Can you sit up for me?" He asks, you try your hardest, able to get to your knees. Your brain was fried and all you cared about was getting more. He handed you your water as you took slow sips, learning not to chug it all at once by now. "Sweet girl, that feel better?" He asks, taking the water back to set it down, as you nod your head. He lays down on the bed and you know exactly what he wants. You hover yourself above his head, staring down at him through tired lids. He grabs your thighs and pulls you down onto his face, he moans in pleasure as a response. "So good, angel. Taste so good." He moans into your pussy, using his tongue to fuck your hole while his nose was rubbing into your clit. You couldn't help your hands traveling down to his head to push him up further into you, using your hips to grind on his face. You were so spoiled, using his face like this, but he loved every second of it. You tasted tart which reminded him of his favorite fruits. You could hear him sucking everywhere he could get his mouth on, it felt so good. You desuctioned yourself from Caleb's mouth, with a wet plop and a whine from him, to turn around to put your hands on his chest. Now he was nose deep in your pussy and his tongue was working on your clit. You fucked his nose, hearing the sound of labored breathing through his muffled mouth. You saw his hips buck up into the air as he was holding you down on his face like a vice.

You just tasted too good, the remnants of squirt still coating your sex. His moans were deep with a heavy vibration that you felt throughout your entire body. It was enough to have you heaving for air as you got closer to your third release, from him, that night. He began sucking on your clit, tonguing it while the pressure from the suction helped get you off. The suction started building your release as you started getting desperate for release. "Please Caleb. I need it so so so bad." You beg, it coming out labored from how little you could focus on anything other than releasing on his face. The sounds of his muffled moaning mixed with the wet sounds coming from both of you were what you focused on to finally snap and pulse your cunt onto his face. You could hear his muffled praises from underneath you as he worked you through your third orgasm of the night.

He lifted you off of his face and flipped your positions with ease. You think you're finally ready for his dick, but he has other plans. "I'm not done tasting you yet. I didn't get nearly enough time with that gorgeous pussy in my face." He said, your slick coating and dripping off his face. He dips his head between your legs again and starts his attack on your sensitive bud again. You jolt in response from how sensitive you were. You felt like you had nothing more to give, but every time Caleb would start up again, you'd be proven wrong. There was a battle in your mind. You wanted to go to bed for the night, but you also wanted every single orgasm he was about to give you. You buck up into his face, grabbing his head to push it down into you, but your hands are pulled from him and held by an invisible force. You whine, trying to fight his evol holding you down. "If you weren't so greedy, I wouldn't have to keep your hands above your head." He comments, looking at you while sticking two fingers in your hole. You gasped, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. His fingers were pushing against your gummy walls, hitting every spot with a precision that made you favor fingers over anything else. Caleb knew your preference and made sure to spoil you. You felt him go back to sucking on your clit, still pumping his fingers into you. It was like he was the conductor of the most beautiful sounding symphony and you didn't want it to end. Everything was so overwhelming that you couldn't help but beg, but you didn't know what you were begging for. Caleb loved hearing your pleading voice repeating his name. He loved breaking your mind with pleasure. There wasn't a time that the sex you had together didn't end up in you becoming a drooling mess. You tasted amazing, he couldn't get over it. If they made a drink inspired by you, he'd drink it every day. He couldn't get enough of you, because, just like him, he is just as insatiable as you are. He'd eat you out all night if he you'd last without passing out. You definitely last longer now, you're able to have more orgasms in one session. You used to get wiped out after two, but he's trained you to go to four. Tonight he wants to try for six, he knows you're ready, that you're so good for him. His tongue wouldn't relent, keeping a sickening, steady pace that made your mind swim with thoughts that were nothing but Caleb. The combination of everything with the steady pace he was keeping and his moans into your sex made the feeling start to build up again. Your moaning turned into whines and whimpers the closer you got to finishing. You could feel tears threatening to spill from the overwhelming amount of times you've came and you didn't know what number Caleb planned on stopping at. He loved making you orgasm, it was one of his favorite things to do. He also loved watching tears roll down your face from how overwhelming the pleasure was.

"Caleb!" You whined out as you were pushed over the edge again, for your forth orgasm. Your breaths were uneven as you tried to come back down. He kept going until you rode out your high, stopping to grab your water again, knowing you'd need it after how much fluid you lost. Again, you sip it, tears drying streaks onto your face, your hair a wild mess from all of the thrashing you were doing and Caleb didn't think there was a prettier sight in the world.

"So pretty baby, such a mess for me. Like a work of art." Caleb was no artist, but he thought that if he were, you'd be his best work. Your chest was heaving as you took in breaths through your nose as you kept sipping the water. Your eyes were closed and you felt ready to fall asleep, but you also craved more. You wanted his cock and thankfully that was the next part of the night. "You ready, angel?" He asked you. You just nodded, handing your water to him with your eyes still closed. "Are you too sleepy?" He asked causing you to groan in protest. He had fucked all of the words out of you. "Alright then, greedy." He narrowed his eyes at you, like a predator with their prey.

You feel his evol moving your legs, folding you in half. Then you felt him hovering over top of you. You open your eyes to see a slice of heaven. His face was glistening with sweat and your juices, same with his chest. You could smell your arousal on him now and it made you realize he had been too busy eating your cunt to even kiss you yet, so you wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him into one. You can taste yourself on his lips as your tongues meet together, fighting for dominance. Neither won, but the war was still raging. You bit his bottom lip to surprise him. He moaned in response, taking the hint and doing the same thing back. Your fingers were tangled in his hair to try and pull him closer to you because he never seemed close enough. You desperately wanted to wrap your legs around his torso to slam him down onto you, but he still had his evol holding your legs in that stretching position. You whined into the kiss, wanting friction from him so badly. “Please, Caleb. I need you.” You whimpered, looking at him with the most desperate look in your eyes. He couldn’t say no to you, especially not when you were looking at him like that.

You had taken him many times before, but you still needed a pretty big warm up before he could penetrate you. Saying his cock was big was an understatement. It caused a delicious belly bulge every time he’d go in. “Alright honey, I’m gonna start sliding it in.” He warned you. You felt his tip prod at your entrance making you impatiently eager. The first feeling of his cock entering you made you gasp. It was never not shocking to feel how girthy he was. You felt him keep going and you thought he must almost be done by now, until you heard him say. “Tip’s almost in, honey. You’re doing amazing.” And with that a final pop and his tip was officially in. Now the real challenge was being able to take all of him in. You hated leaving some of his dick out; you didn’t think it was fair for some of his dick to have a taste and the other part left in the dust. This is where the previous size training comes in handy. You can handle all of him, it just takes time to get it all in. After that, it’s smooth sailing.

“God, Caleb.” You choke out, eyes going wide at the sensation of how full you were feeling already.

“Don’t tell me you’re already quitting? We’re not even half way yet, angel.” He teases you.

“No, please keep going. Need more.” You muttered, gripping his biceps for dear life. As full as you felt, he was right, you were so greedy. He loved how you always craved so much of him. He was happy to oblige. He kept sliding further into you that you could feel him in unusual places, but you loved it. You craved it. You couldn’t wait to see him poking through your tummy.

“Almost there, love. Doing so well for me. Takin’ me like you were made for me, baby.” His praises made you throb around his dick, which earned a hiss from him. “Careful, princess.” He warns. You feel the last of him bottom out with his balls on your ass. “Did so good for me. Look at that.” He said, forcing your head, with his evol, to look at the bulge he made. The sight literally made you drool. You were shocked it took you this long to start drooling, but the sight before you was delicious. You detangle one of your hands from his hair to press down on it. You both moaned in response. He starts thrusting and you started seeing stars. He went slow at first, like always, to ease you into it. You knew his mercy wouldn’t last for much longer. Instead of begging for a faster pace, you relished in the calm before the storm. That surprised Caleb considering you were usually whining at him at this point. He figured it must’ve been because of how many orgasms you had that night. Still more to come! “Always so tight for me.” Caleb manages to grunt out. He loved missionary because he got to watch your tits bounce up and down. Your cute little tummy made the same bouncing movements too that he loved.

Then he sped up and you were gripping his biceps like a lifeline. Your face was dug into his neck, biting into his shoulder and accidentally drooling on it. Caleb loved witnessing you turn to mush beneath him. It was a feeling he would never get over, he'd do it forever if you'd let him. You looked perfect, your sweat was making your hair stick to your forehead and it gave your skin a beautiful glow. Your flushed cheeks were calling out to him to kiss them. He peppered your cheeks in kisses as you moaned out his name. You felt yourself building to climax again, this was past your limit. You knew you could do more, Caleb always brought it out in you. Your squirt was spraying up from being smacked into, it was a mess. You could tell how much Caleb loved it by the feral sounds he was making paired with the aggressive thrusting. He had you hovering off of the bed now, holding you up with his arms and keeping your thighs at torso level with his evol. He was grunting in your ear, telling you how beautiful you were, how much he loved you, and other sweet nothings. It helped push you over the edge to the point where you were gripping so hard on his biceps that your fingers turned white and half moons from your fingernails would linger for a couple of days. "Caleb." You whined out, your voice coming out in waves of volume that matched the thrusts he was pounding into you.

"That's it baby, you got it. You're almost done." He said. With every steady, rough thrust, you could feel the build getting faster and faster until eventually it all climaxed and you started pulsing around him, once again. His dick had finally had a taste of your orgasm pulsing around him. It was like you were trying to milk him. He could've came, but he knew he needed to last a little longer to pull that one last sweet orgasm from you. "'m not done yet, princess. Just hold on until I can fill you up." He instructs you, causing you to moan. His pace was relentless and it felt sweet going in and out of you. You were addicted to it at that point, wanting to feel him stuffing your pussy full forever. You'll have to ask if you can cockwarm him sometime soon. He'd obviously agree, but he wouldn't make it easy for you.

He flips you over, using his strength to arch your back and choke you from behind. He used his evol to keep your head back while he stuck two fingers in your mouth. The slight pressure his evol added to your neck was addictive. You sucked and bit down on his fingers, moaning his name. He felt so much bigger from behind that it was almost ridiculous. Your whimpers and whines faded into the distance only to be replaced by viceral moans as he pounded into you with a sickening pace. The noises coming from your sex was like music to your ears. His fingers in your mouth caused you to drool more. Thankfully, you were in the spare bedroom so that way you could change the sheets and clean the mattress and still have a bed to lie down in to get aftercare. Because with the way you were making a mess out of both ends, you'd need a dry place to sleep. "Mmm." You loudly whine, feeling it build up again.

"You almost there again, already?" He teased you. He loved looking at you from behind too. He loved looking at you from any position really. He thought you were the most beautiful angelic person to ever exist. "Come on baby, let's cum together. I'm gonna fill you up." He said as his hands dwared your hips as he began to hold them to slam you back into him. Your tears started up again as they began to stream down your face.

You felt it build up and up and up until it finally spilled over, you spasmed on his cock, feeling impaled. "Thank you, thank you, thank you." You said over and over again like a mantra.

"Fuck baby, I'm cumming." He groaned, pumping his cock into you. You could feel him paint your pulsing walls. It all felt so warming, it could put you to sleep. He pumped his last few times to finish inside of you, pulling out of you and immediately pulling you into him for a much needed hug. "So beautiful and perfect. I love you so much, honey." He said, using the nickname you used to have when you'd fake date. Those same butterflies from back then found their way to your stomach too.

"Mm, love you too... S'much." You muttered out as best you could. You could tell you were fading fast. All you wanted was to fall asleep in his arms while he played with your hair. You also realized how thirsty you were too. "Water?" You asked. He was already one step ahead of you, holding the straw up to your lips. You took sips, making contented sighs as you leaned back into him. This was heaven, you were sure of it. Every day he'd treat your needs as the top priority. You couldn't express how much you truly loved him. It was impossible because there weren't grand enough words to describe it.

"Let's get to bed, baby. You look so tired." He cooed at you, lifting you up and carrying you into your shared bedroom. He laid you down in the bed, going to grab a towel to clean the mess in between your thighs. "You did so well. Six in one session. And that's not even counting the ones you had before I got home. You're so amazing baby. I knew you could do it." He spoke on his way back from the bathroom. He cleaned me and then him, tucking me into the covers and turning on the ceiling fan. He threw the towel in the dirty laundry and finally joined me in bed. By the time he climbed in beside me, I was already half asleep. He turned me around to cuddle me into his chest and I fell asleep with a content smile on my face with his fingers playing with my hair.

[coolwyous]

┈─★ 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯, 𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘢?

         ⊹ ࣪ ˖ some mysterious disappearances in your small town have megan acting extremely weird— and insanely protective.

         ˎˊ˗  🌘  ⊹ ࣪ ˖  🔓୭˚.  ⠀ ᵎᵎ ⠀ 🗝️

   ➴ pairing: werewolf!megan skiendiel x f!reader

          ➴ genre + wc: 4k, protective!megan, highkey brainrot fluff don't take this seriously 🤭

   ➴ you might want to tune in...: decode- paramore. ♫

megan was one of your best friends in elementary school, your dad having been close with her family. but it's easy to be close when your town is only a few thousand people, sleepy and quiet, little to wake up to. it felt like a culture shock to move in middle school, but you try not to give it much thought. you guys had kept in touch the first few years, but as you got busier and busier, it got harder to make time for your phone calls.

megan is the first one to come out to greet you when you move back home for a few months to finish your senior year. it was either forks, or moving to florida, and your better option is painfully obvious.

you're only a few boxes into unpacking when your giant dresser begins to tip out of the back of the moving truck, threatening to flatten you beneath it, before there's a body quickly catching it. your eyes meet, and she looks like a statue of atlas— effortlessly catching it on her back and propping it back up as if it's nothing. you're certain it would have crushed you, and you want to ask her how the hell she didn't get hurt beneath the giant thing, but before you know it, she's swooping you up in a giant hug, beaming from ear to ear.

"y/n, where the hell have you been, loca?!"

(it's been years, but she's taller than you expected her to be, and if lifting the dresser wasn't enough, the way her powerful arms wrap around you and squeeze you in their embrace hint that she's way, way stronger than she was back then when you were both just scrawny kids.)

-

she offers to be your tour guide to re-familiarize yourself with forks the weekend before you're supposed to start school. she's so animated, showing you around the whole town, and admittedly, most of it is the same— even megan. sweet, goofy, and so proud to be a forks native, she talks about the small mom and pop shops as if they're a wonder of the world. she takes you down to the beach even though it's the middle of a spring frost, but she doesn't care.

she takes you on a hike in the wooded area behind your house, and warns you not to come out at night due to all the wild animals that call the woods home. you see her seem most at home among the nature, pointing out cougar prints in the mud when you guys hike in the woods.

"aren't those wolf tracks?" you ask, noting a faded print up the trail. you're certain you make it up, but her face almost seems to fall, as if you've said something you shouldn't have.

"too big to be a wolf, it's gotta be a bear," she tells you, shaking her head, but something behind her eyes changes— you've spooked her.

-

you catch her constantly looking uncomfortable when her friends start to make digs at some classmate of yours, a family that megan's friends make abundantly clear they are not a fan of.

"they're just fucking weirdos," dani says about sophia and manon, the adopted sisters from a family that always happens to be gone camping when it's not raining.

"they've been pretty nice to me," you admit, though the most of your interactions have mostly just been them politely ignoring you as you're paired for work in a class you share.

megan looks up quickly from the game of tug-of-war she's playing with lara, her brows knitting together.

"please don't tell me you've talked to them?" she questions, and you simply give her a look, confused as to why she cares so much.

"like, once," you say, and she's closing the distance between you in seconds, a panicked look in her eye.

"promise me you'll keep your distance from them," she pushes, dropping her chin for her dark gaze to dig into yours.

"fine, you weirdo, i'll keep my distance," you roll your eyes, and you hear her sigh as if she's relieved... what the hell is she so weird about this for?

-

megan, out of nowhere one day just stops calling, stops texting, stops reaching out. you assume she's busy with lara and dani, considering they live downtown and attend a different school, but when the next day passes and you get no reply, you're confused as to where the hell your best friend disappeared to. three days go by with no replies by the time you take it upon yourself to drive up to the old property dani's family own in the woods where the three spend most of their free time playing with junk or just talking amongst themselves. that's when you see her— fresh, dark ink embedded into the skin of her left shoulder, and what looks like the fading indents of teeth just beneath.

"did you ditch me to get matching tattoos?" you question, trying to piece it together. the rain is matting her hair down against her face, and her eyes look heavy, tired.

"you can't be here," lara says quickly, and you notice something similar on her arm— a sigil tattoo, and a bite mark just underneath.

"y/n, please," megan cuts in, reaching for your wrist to turn you both around, walking you in the direction back of your car. "you really shouldn't have come."

"are you going to tell me why you and your friends look like you just got caught summoning a demon?" you laugh, but she doesn't laugh with you.

"y/n, it's just like, really complicated stuff with our families," she says anxiously, glancing over her shoulder as if at any moment, she'll be caught with you. "please just trust me. i'll text you later."

"i just wanted to make sure you were okay," you press, giving her an anxious look as she gets you back in your car. you motion to her arm. "did you all get bit by something?"

"i'm okay," she reassures you. "but i'll be better once i know you're safe and out of here."

"megan," you press. "please talk to me."

"i will." she nods, and it brings you the slightest reassurance at how serious she seems about her promise. "soon. for now, stay out of it, and stay away from sophia and manon. please."

you drive away, and in your rear view mirror, you see her walking back to the other two. in a flash, the three of them are gone, disappearing into the woods behind them.

-

a week later, and megan is finally getting back to her normal self. she calls you friday night, asking if you can make time for her the next morning. you have half a mind to turn her down, but you can't stay mad at her for long— especially remembering how panicked she seemed about whatever she was going through.

it's raining the next morning, when she comes over to come get you for your coffee hang out, and dani and lara are in the back of her car to join the two of you. the moment the door swings open and your eyes lock, you can't help but smile, feeling relieved to see her in one piece.

but... megan does something weird.

your eyes are locked the whole time you walk up to the car, hoping for some kind of greeting or indication that she's happy to see you, but all she does is just stare at you, her expression blank. then suddenly, her eyebrows furrow, she looks almost.... pained? she pushes back in the drivers seat with a gasp as soon as you open the car door, and dani and lara instantly share a concerned look between the two of them.

"did you seriously just fucking—" dani starts, but megan cuts her off.

"y/n," she greets simply, her eyes lighting up as soon as you get into the passenger seat. the pained expression melts away from her face, replaced instantly by a smile. "missed you."

"you're kidding me," lara groans, tossing her head back against the seat, but you're lost as to what is going on.

"will someone tell me what's going on?" you beg, desperate for some clarity.

"it's just been a long week," megan waves them off. "let's go get something to eat, i'm fucking starving."

-

the four of you are at the local diner, and you're in absolute shock at just how much the three of them are ordering. between the trio, they've ordered enough food to cover the entire table, and they make no small work between them to take it all down plate by plate.

"are you guys bulking or what?" you question, confused as to how exactly they can still be hungry.

"what meg said. it's been a looong week," dani smirks, stealing another pancake off of lara's plate.

"did you hear about the mountain lion attacks this week?" you ask, spotting a man across from you with the newspaper. your dad had warned you not to go too far into the woods after another hiker had come up mauled to death.

megan's face goes stony, her fork dropping against the plate. "how do you know about that?"

"it's all over the newspapers," you tell her. "they cancelled a mountain club hike because of it."

"it's those fucking—" dani starts, but lara swiftly kicks her under the table and shuts her up.

"it's what?" you prod, but the three of them share a look between them, a look you're starting to get sick of. "i just wanted to make sure you guys were safe. what the fuck bit both of you last week?"

"we just played too hard with dani's dog," lara says weakly, and you see daniela pull the sleeve of her jacket up to cover her arm. a lucky guess would tell you that she probably has the matching tattoo and bite combination as the other two.

"be so forreal, lar. each of you, in the exact same spot?" you ask. "do you guys think i'm stupid or what? what are you hiding?"

a crack of glass against the table and the sound of dripping liquid shocks you out of your questioning. you look up quickly to realize megan has accidentally crushed her coffee mug in her grip, the ceramic clanging as it falls to the table, a few shards left in her hand.

"what the fuck?" you gape.

"sorry, sorry," megan shakes her head. "please stay out of it, y/n."

"if you don't talk to me, i'm going to start looking around for answers," you threaten, feeling your neck heat up. the three of them avoid your gaze, reaching for napkins to clean up megan's mess, but you can't handle being around their weirdness any more.

you storm out of the diner but you hear her right behind you, a strong arm pulling you back. since when was megan's grip that powerful, since when was her skin so warm?

"y/n, i know things have been super weird," she starts, and you don't want to bring yourself to look at her, but you can feel her eyes pleading with you. "but i promise, everything is happening to keep you safe."

"i'm going to figure this out sooner rather than later," you threaten, finally looking up at her.

"you need to back off," she nearly growls, her voice low and heavy. she softens slightly, and you see something change in her eyes. "i can't let anything happen to you."

"what would happen to me?" you ask quickly. "megan, please. i can help you."

"just stay out of it, please." the look in her eyes says it all. she's begging at this point.

you pull your arm from her grasp and turn to start walking towards the library. you need answers, and you need them now.

-

try as you might, your research yields nothing. your best bet is to guess that she is joining some kind of weird occult thing with lara and dani, and you're not quite sure where that leaves you. if she's embarrassed about doing some weird spells in the forest, why is she acting like you catching her would cause you some sort of harm?

your walk home has given you plenty of time to think about how you're going to approach it. you don't want to give megan the cold shoulder, but if she's going to be weird and secretive with you, you're going to demand answers whether she wants it or not.

you don't want your dad asking about where you've been, and you know he's in the living room watching TV, so you hop the gate into your backyard to enter through the back door and hopefully escape his view. you're unlocking the back door when a cracking branch catches your attention, sending you spinning to try and see where the noise is coming from.

you see a few moving figures in the tree line of the woods up against your backyard. you feel your heart start to race before you see a familiar shape emerge from the trees, locking eyes with you.

"megan? what the fuck are you doing in the woods this late?" you question.

she's running up to you, panicked expression in her eyes as she glances behind herself, back at the woods.

"i thought you got home forever ago," she says, almost angry, as if you've ruined something for her. "you can't be out here. you need to go inside, like, now."

"this is my backyard," you push back in confusion. "what is–"

megan steps in your eyeline, blocking your view of the woods behind you. she's breathing heavily, her skin looking flushed. you realized in the freezing weather, she's in a stupid pair of shorts and a t shirt. isn't she fucking cold?

but then she speaks, and the harshness in her low voice makes your pulse race.

"go inside, y/n, and lock the door." she grabs you hand, her skin impossibly warm, and places it on the doorhandle, as if to rush you. she glances back over her shoulder, before looking at you with a panicked expression "please."

you don't know what's going on, but her panic is enough to push you into working the lock, pressing the keycode in. you look back over her shoulder and spot a figure, a person, at the edge of the treeline. your toes go numb at the sight— they stand there, menacingly, blankly, terrifyingly.

"who is that?" you try to ask, but your voice is a mere whisper. your hands are shaking too hard to work the lock and you feel yourself stuck with a scream in your throat.

megan yanks the door open after you finally press the code in, and you see the wood splinter from how hard she pulls it.

"i'm not fucking asking," she says in a low growl, her hand on your waist to guide you into the doorway. "inside, now. close the window and don't look out."

"who the fuck is in that my backyard, megan?" you ask shakily, but whatever is happening, time is up. megan gives you an apologetic look and pushes you forcefully inside, slamming the door behind you. you hear your dad snore from the living room and rush to go wake him up, but freeze before you make it to the living room.

why didn't megan want you looking outside? 

you know it's probably a bad move to deliberately disobey her, but you’re on the cusp of getting answers. you won’t let yourself be pushed away again. 

you take shaky steps back into the kitchen, your breaths quickening as you approach the window. you push the curtain to the side and put your eye against the crease of the window that forms.

in the sliver of the moonlight, you spot it by the treeline again, the form of the person waiting. they’re just standing, and you have half a mind to take a picture of them and report them in the morning, but before you can do anything, the person hunches over, as if they’re waiting, watching for something.

then, your stomach lurches. a bear, so much more massive than you ever thought they could get in forks, washington, bursting out of the treeline, diving directly towards the person.

you clamp a hand over your mouth to cover your scream, and realize quickly it’s not a bear. but a bear is the only thing that describes the massive size of the creature. shaggy black hair and enormous in stature, your eyes feel like they’re playing tricks on you. a wolf, the size of a large bear, but it’s not attacking the person. you see it snap it’s massive jaws once, twice, the sound of their closure loud enough to reverberate to you even through the shut window several yards away in your backyard. 

you’re horrified by what you think you’re about to see, a mauling in your own backyard, but you suddenly spot another two giant wolves rushing out from the trees. a smaller golden colored one, and another black one with a white patch just above the eyeline, both snapping their jaws in tandem with the first one. almost as quickly as they emerge, the person disappears into the woods, moving nearly so quickly you could swear they disappear in a blink. 

you’re not sure whether to call someone, something, anything at this point to figure out what the hell just happened in your backyard. you pull your phone up to try and get a picture of the creatures, so much bigger than you could have possibly imagined wolves could get, but the golden one and the white patched one have already disappeared right back into the woods.

the first one stays, though.

you pull back the curtain all the way to try and get a better picture, but the moment the moonlight hits it, you drop your phone in shock.

those eyes. those familiar, painfully comforting dark eyes.

it’s looking straight at you. you don’t know how, and you don’t know why, but it feels like an answer to all the questions you’ve been asking.

and just as quickly, it disappears into the woods, following the other two.

-

who the hell are you about to try to convince about what you just saw?

you fall asleep on the couch next to your dad, too shocked to make it into your room. the next morning, you wake up at the crack of dawn to escape out of the house and seek her out. you need answers, and you need them now.

you drive up to the avanzini property, wondering if you’ll see them there, and you park in the dirt driveway just as you spot them. you see dani first, then lara, but by the time you see megan, you see a slightly taller girl in front of the three of them. before you can recognize her, the taller girl is shoving megan backwards, the younger girl flying backwards and down into the dirt. she kneels above her, looking over at dani and lara, who you half expect to do something, or at the very least, you expect megan to do something.

but none of them do, and the older girl says something to the three of them before landing two fast, painful looking punches to megan’s face. you feel your heart lurch as you watch her just sit and take it, the girl grabbing megan by the collar and saying something just inches from her face before she lands one final blow and steps back.

“yunjin,” lara says, as if she’s warning the girl to your presence.

“get off of her, what the fuck?” you nearly scream, pushing her away from megan. you can’t understand why megan, this insanely strong, rather stubborn girl, would just lay there and take such a harsh looking beating.

“no, it’s fine y/n,” megan tells you, getting up from the ground as she realizes you’re there. you wince as you see the angry red of her cheek and eyebrow from the blows, her nose dripping with blood. you want to turn and give this yunjin girl a piece of your mind, but you remember what exactly you’re there to establish in the first place.

“you owe me so many explanations,” you warn, pointing a finger in megan’s face, but the puppy dog eyes she gives you is enough to soften you. you confirm something you had almost hoped you were making up— those eyes are the ones you saw last night.

“so you’re the girl.” yunjin’s nostrils flare, clearly displeased with your interruption. she eyes you up and down, then glares back over at megan. “the patrols, the hunts, the nights, all this for her?”

“yes,” megan says firmly, wiping the blood from her nose with the back of her wrist. 

yunjin glares at you for a little longer, before looking back over at dani and lara. she shakes her head, then focuses back at megan.

“make sure she understands,” she snaps coldly, motioning to you. “nobody else can know. you’ve put everyone in danger. all over a girl.”

“it was worth it,” megan pushes back bravely, albeit a bit quietly. yunjin eyes her, her jaw hard.

“i don’t know why i got stuck with you as my second-in-command, but remember who you need to put first. just because you imprinted doesn’t mean you can just leave your pack behind to protect some girl,” she hisses, before turning to walk back inside.

“what is this about?” you ask, trying to piece it together from yunjin’s cryptic comments.

megan rubs her neck, her nose wrinkling. 

“dani told her about how i um…” she lets out a quiet breath. “i did something, when i saw you again.”

“okay.” at this point, anything will be better than your hypothesis of a cult. “what did you do?”

“i just kind of, always knew i wanted to protect you,” she starts quietly. “and after someone turns for the first time, your instincts like, reveal stuff to you.”

“turns?” you question, but you figure there are more important questions at hand. “what kind of stuff?”

you see her smile nervously– a full 180 from the angry, dark-eyed girl who was barking you around the night before.

“it just tells me who i’m meant to be with or whatever, no pressure.”

“lots of pressure,” you laugh, confused about what she’s rambling about.

“it also makes it impossible for me to not worry about you,” she goes on. “and you’re super fucking stubborn about getting yourself into dangerous situations.”

“i’d be less stubborn if you just talked to me,” you remind her. she lets out a quiet sigh.

“you wouldn’t believe any of this, if i tried.”

“just try me,” you plead, reaching fo her hand.

“before i imprinted, i liked asking the pack to just take a lap behind your property, just to make sure there was nothing there that wasn’t supposed to be there.” her voice is shaky, gentle, like she’s trying to pick her words to not overwhelm you. “after i imprinted, it made me go crazy thinking something would happen to you. like i just kept getting this feeling. i made us all go back after the first patrol. i’m glad we did. last night, something tried to get to you.”

“she’s so annoying about you, y/n.” dani finally cuts in, and you’ve forgotten that they’re both still there, standing off to the side. “i liked you so much better when you weren’t the only thing she thinks about, it’s like a radio stuck on one fucking song.”

“what?” you ask, hoping someone will clarify.

“they can like, read my mind when we’re shifted,” megan confesses sheepishly.

“what do you think about?” you ask curiously, and the girl’s eyes go wide.

“that’s way too embarrassing,” she quickly shakes her head, but lara lets out a loud snort. 

“the last thing was about how she wishes she would have kissed you, before she was fighting that vampire,” lara butts in, and megan shoots her a glare that speaks volumes.

“my protector,” you grin, wrapping your arms around her neck.

“i’d never let anything happen to you,” megan tells you firmly, her hands wrapping around your waist as if to anchor you there. her eyes are warm, imploring, sincere as she looks into yours. “ever.”

“i believe it,” you tell her, and the way she lights up makes your heart race in your chest. “i think i owe you a token of gratitude.”

“great. another thing we’re never going to hear her shut the fuck up about,” dani groans.

the both of you ignore her. you have enough questions, and not enough answers, but at the very least, you can let megan kiss you as if it’s the start of solving something.