jansqu

[jansqu]

i have an idea where were making some sort of plan, and the group doesnt know how to maybe get into the house ect. and lincoln has an idea for us to maybe flirt with a guy to distract him while they secretly break into the house? michael scofield x reader, and he gets jelaous and overprotective at the idea, so sorry about my english i tried my best!💗

Thanks for the request, hope you like this<33

A Dangerous Distraction (Michael Scofield X Reader)

The dim glow of a cheap motel lamp cast long shadows across the room, highlighting the tension written across Michael Scofield’s face. The blueprint of the heavily guarded mansion lay open on the table, covered in red pen markings—Michael’s careful calculations, his perfect planning. But right now, even with all his intellect and strategy, the one solution that made the most sense was the one he hated the most.

You.

“Well, I think we do have a way in,” Lincoln said, arms crossed as he leaned against the wall, looking straight at you.

You raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

Lincoln smirked. “That guard at the entrance—he’s the only real problem. He doesn’t move unless he’s got a reason.” His smirk widened. “And I think you could be that reason.”

It took you half a second to catch on. “Wait. You want me to flirt with him?”

Lincoln shrugged. “It’s simple. Go up there, give him some sweet talk, bat your lashes a little—he won’t even notice us slipping past.”

Before you could respond, a sharp voice cut through the room.

“No.”

Everyone turned toward Michael.

He was standing stiffly, his hands curled into tight fists at his sides, jaw locked so tightly you could practically hear his teeth grinding. His usual composed expression had darkened into something unreadable—but one thing was clear.

He was not happy.

“That’s a bad idea,” he said flatly, voice quieter now but filled with unmistakable tension.

Lincoln rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on, man. It’s harmless.”

Michael let out a sharp exhale, shaking his head. “It’s not harmless. We don’t know anything about this guy. What if he tries something? What if he doesn’t just let her walk away?”

You crossed your arms, tilting your head. “Michael, I can handle myself.”

His eyes snapped to yours, darker than usual, his jaw clenching as he took a step closer.

“That’s not the point.” His voice was lower now, rougher, filled with something heavy. “I don’t want you putting yourself in danger like that. Not for this. Not for us.”

Sucre let out a low whistle. “Damn, bro. You sound real jealous right now.”

Michael shot him a glare, but he didn’t deny it.

Lincoln, never one to let something go, smirked. “Yeah, man. What’s the deal? It’s just a little talking.”

Michael exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face before turning back to you.

“You don’t know what kind of guy he is,” he muttered. “If he touches you—” His voice cut off, something dark flashing in his eyes.

You blinked. Was Michael Scofield threatening someone over you?

Lincoln scoffed. “And if he does, she can knee him where it counts and walk away.”

Michael shot him a deadly look. “I’m not letting her take that risk.”

You stepped forward, looking up at him. “Letting me?” you challenged.

His nostrils flared slightly, but his voice softened. “I just—I don’t like this,” he admitted, low and frustrated.

It wasn’t just jealousy. It wasn’t just possessiveness. It was something deeper.

Michael Scofield didn’t just dislike the idea of you flirting with another man.

He hated the idea of you being in any kind of danger.

“I don’t like the idea of you being close to someone like that,” he continued, voice raw. “Especially when I can’t do anything about it.”

The way he said it, the way his fingers curled into fists, like the thought alone was enough to drive him crazy—it sent heat straight through you.

“Michael…”

His eyes met yours, and for a moment, everything else in the room disappeared.

His voice was rough, full of something unspoken. “If he so much as looks at you the wrong way, I will put him through a wall.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Sucre chuckled awkwardly. “Damn, man. You’re really gone for her, huh?”

Michael didn’t even look away from you when he responded. “Yeah,” he said, voice firm. “I am.”

Silence filled the room.

You swallowed hard, ignoring the way your heartbeat slammed against your ribs.

Lincoln, sensing the shift in the air, sighed. “Alright, fine. We’ll come up with another plan.”

Michael’s shoulders relaxed just the slightest bit, his gaze still locked onto yours.

The conversation shifted back to the break-in, but you could feel it—Michael standing close enough that his arm almost brushed yours, his fingers lingering near yours on the table.

He wasn’t just jealous.

He was yours.

And when you reached down and lightly brushed your pinky against his, Michael exhaled, the smallest smirk tugging at his lips.

Yeah.

You were his, too.

[jansqu]

FBI reader & scofeild ?!

Thank you for the request<33

Falling For A Genius (Michael Scofield X FBI!Reader)

The dimly lit FBI office buzzed with tension as you stared at the countless photos pinned to the wall—blueprints, crime scene snapshots, and surveillance images of the man you had spent the last six months hunting.

Michael Scofield.

A structural engineer turned fugitive mastermind. He had orchestrated the most brilliant prison escape in history, and now, he was always one step ahead. Every time you got close, he slipped through your fingers like sand. And yet, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was toying with you, leading you on a chase meant to challenge, not escape.

Then, one night, everything changed.

A tip led you to a safe house near the outskirts of Chicago. You entered carefully, weapon raised, your pulse steady but alert. The moment you stepped inside, the door swung shut behind you.

"You took longer than I expected."

His voice was smooth, calculated.

You turned sharply, aiming at the shadow leaning against the table. Michael Scofield stood there, his piercing blue eyes locked onto yours. No sign of fear. No panic. Just that infuriating calm that both fascinated and frustrated you.

"Hands where I can see them, Scofield," you ordered, voice firm.

Instead of complying, he smirked. "If you wanted to catch me, Agent, you would have brought backup."

You clenched your jaw. He was right. This wasn’t protocol. This was personal.

"What’s your game?" you demanded. "You could’ve run, but you’re here. Why?"

He stepped forward, slowly, carefully. "Because I think you already know I’m not your enemy."

Your breath hitched. The chase had been going on for too long. Somewhere along the way, it had become more than just a job. He had become more than just a fugitive.

And in that moment, as the space between you disappeared, you realized the most dangerous thing about Michael Scofield wasn’t his mind.

It was the fact that you weren’t sure if you still wanted to catch him.

The silence between you and Michael stretched thin, charged like a live wire. His blue eyes didn’t waver, and despite every instinct screaming at you to take control of the situation, you couldn’t move. Not because you were afraid—but because you weren’t sure you wanted to.

"You should put the gun down," he murmured, voice smooth as silk, his gaze flicking to the weapon in your hands.

You tightened your grip, but something about the way he stepped forward—slow, calculated, confident—made you hesitate.

"That would be a mistake," you countered.

He smirked, the kind that made your stomach tighten in ways you didn’t want to acknowledge.

"You’re too smart to make mistakes, Agent."

Your breath hitched. He was good at this. Too good. You had spent months chasing him, studying his every move, but he had been studying you, too. Every interaction, every near-capture—it wasn’t just about outsmarting you. It was something else entirely.

And the worst part?

You weren’t just chasing him anymore.

You were drawn to him.

Michael must have noticed the shift in your stance because his smirk faded into something softer, something dangerous in an entirely different way. He took another step, and this time, you let him.

"Why are you here, Scofield?" you asked, voice quieter now.

His expression turned serious. "Because I needed you to see the truth. I’m not the bad guy, and you know it."

"You broke the law," you reminded him, though even you could hear how weak it sounded.

"I broke the law to save my brother," he corrected, his voice laced with conviction. "And you—" He exhaled, shaking his head. "You wouldn’t be here alone if you didn’t already believe there’s more to this than black and white."

Damn him.

Because he was right.

And when he took another step closer—so close that you could smell the faint trace of soap and something undeniably him—you didn’t stop him.

"You should arrest me," he whispered, his breath ghosting over your lips.

Your fingers flexed around the gun, but your pulse was racing for an entirely different reason now.

"Maybe I should," you whispered back.

His eyes flicked to your lips. Your heart slammed against your ribs.

"Then do it," he challenged, his voice low, daring. "Or admit that this isn’t just a chase anymore."

Your fingers trembled around the trigger.

He reached up—slowly, deliberately—and wrapped his hand around the barrel of your gun, guiding it down until it was resting at your side.

Your pulse roared in your ears.

"You’re playing a dangerous game," you murmured.

His lips barely curved into a smirk. "So are you."

And before you could stop yourself, before you could think about what this meant, you closed the space between you.

It wasn’t supposed to happen. But when his lips brushed against yours, soft and testing at first, then deeper, hungrier, your knees nearly buckled.

Michael Scofield had spent months running from you.

But tonight, for the first time, you were the one falling.

[jansqu]

Late Night Drive (Lincoln Burrows X Reader)

The city was quiet at this hour, the streets bathed in the soft glow of streetlights as Lincoln drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on his thigh. The hum of the engine was the only sound between you for a long while, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence.

It was calm.

Something about being out here, just the two of you, made the world feel a little smaller. A little simpler.

You glanced over at him, his face illuminated by the passing lights. His jaw was set, eyes focused on the road, but there was something softer about him right now. Something you didn’t always get to see.

“You okay?” you asked quietly.

Lincoln’s lips twitched into a faint smirk. “You’ve asked me that three times now.”

You shrugged. “You still haven’t answered.”

He sighed through his nose, shaking his head slightly. “Just needed to get out of there for a while.”

“Yeah,” you murmured, leaning back in your seat. “Me too.”

Lincoln glanced at you briefly, then reached over and took your hand, threading his fingers through yours. His grip was warm, steady, safe.

Neither of you needed to say much after that.

He didn’t tell you what was on his mind, and you didn’t push him to. This was how it worked between you—when the weight of everything got to be too much, you’d just drive. No destination, no plan. Just the open road, the hum of the engine, and each other.

At some point, Lincoln pulled over near a stretch of empty road overlooking the city. He cut the engine, letting the silence settle around you both. The night air was cool when you rolled the windows down, the distant buzz of traffic below mixing with the rustling of trees nearby.

For a long time, neither of you spoke.

Then, quietly, Lincoln said, “Sometimes I wonder what life would’ve been like if things were different.”

You turned to him, watching the way his fingers tapped absentmindedly against the steering wheel.

“Different how?”

Lincoln exhaled slowly, eyes on the city lights. “If I’d made better choices. If things weren’t always so... complicated.”

Your chest ached at the quiet weight in his voice. You knew Lincoln carried more regrets than he’d ever admit, but hearing it like this—so raw, so unguarded—made your heart squeeze.

You squeezed his hand. “You can’t change the past, Linc.”

He huffed out a dry chuckle. “Yeah. I know.”

You shifted in your seat, turning to face him fully. “But if things were different, maybe we wouldn’t be here. Right now. Together.”

Lincoln finally looked at you then, his expression unreadable. For a moment, you worried you’d said the wrong thing. But then, slowly, his grip on your hand tightened.

“I guess that’s one thing I wouldn’t change,” he admitted.

Your breath caught.

You held his gaze, warmth blooming in your chest despite the chill in the air.

Lincoln wasn’t good with words—not when it came to things like this. But you didn’t need him to be. That one sentence said everything.

A small smile tugged at your lips. “Then maybe we’re exactly where we’re supposed to be.”

Lincoln studied you for a moment, then let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”

You grinned, leaning your head against the seat. “Someone’s gotta keep you from brooding all the time.”

He smirked but didn’t argue. Instead, he lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles before settling back in his seat.

The two of you sat there for a while longer, just watching the city, listening to the wind, breathing in the quiet peace of the moment.

And for the first time in a long time, Lincoln Burrows felt okay.

[jansqu]

Bruises (Lincoln Burrows X Reader)

The knock at your door is sharp, insistent.

Your eyes snap open, heart pounding in the stillness of your dark apartment. You sit up, breath caught in your throat, listening.

Another knock. Louder.

You glance at the clock. 2:37 AM.

No one visits you this late. Not unless it’s serious. Not unless it’s him.

Kicking off the covers, you hurry toward the door, your bare feet making no sound on the hardwood. You hesitate for only a second before peering through the peephole.

Your stomach twists.

Lincoln.

His face is half-shadowed by the dim hallway light, but you don’t miss the tension in his shoulders or the way he leans against the doorframe. One arm is clutching his side, dark fabric damp with something thick and red.

Blood.

Your breath catches.

You don’t think. You just act.

The door swings open, and Lincoln barely lifts his head, lips tilting into something like a smirk.

"Hey," he rasps. "Miss me?"

"Jesus, Lincoln." You grab his arm and pull him inside before anyone sees. He stumbles slightly, and you catch the scent of sweat, blood, and the faintest hint of something familiar—him.

You shut the door, locking it quickly. "What the hell happened?"

He exhales sharply, shifting his weight. "Nothing I couldn’t handle."

"Yeah? Because it looks like someone handled you."

Lincoln lets out a rough chuckle but immediately winces, pressing harder against his ribs. The sound makes something twist painfully inside you.

You reach for him, guiding him toward the couch. "Sit. Now."

"I'm fine—"

"Lincoln," you cut him off, voice sharp with worry. "You're bleeding all over my damn floor. Sit."

His lips twitch like he wants to argue, but exhaustion wins out. With a heavy sigh, he lowers himself onto the couch, body sagging as though he’s been carrying too much weight for too long.

You don’t waste another second. Rushing to the bathroom, you grab the first aid kit and a clean towel, running warm water over the fabric. When you return, Lincoln’s head is tipped back against the couch, eyes closed. The dim glow from the streetlights outside casts long shadows across his face, accentuating the sharp angles of his jaw, the bruise blooming along his cheekbone.

Your chest tightens.

Kneeling beside him, you carefully lift the hem of his shirt. The sight makes your stomach clench. A deep gash stretches across his ribs, the edges raw and angry. Blood sticks to his skin, staining his shirt, your couch—your hands.

"This needs stitches," you murmur.

Lincoln huffs a laugh, voice thick with fatigue. "No time for that."

You shoot him a glare. "Make time."

When he doesn’t respond, you grab the damp towel and gently press it against the wound. Lincoln hisses, muscles tensing beneath your touch, but he doesn’t pull away.

You work in silence, cleaning the wound as best you can. Your fingers move carefully, but your mind is racing.

Lincoln Burrows is not a weak man. He’s taken more punches, more hits, more battles than most. He doesn't show up on your doorstep unless it’s bad.

And this? This is bad.

"Who’s after you?" you ask quietly.

Lincoln exhales through his nose. "Doesn’t matter."

You pause. "It matters to me."

Something flickers across his face, too fast to catch.

You don’t push. You want to, but you know Lincoln. He doesn’t open up easily. He’s spent years carrying the weight of the world on his back, and he’s never been good at letting anyone share the load.

But you? You’ve always wanted to carry some of it for him.

The first time you met him, he was all sharp edges and reckless decisions, a man who loved too hard and fought even harder. You saw past the reputation, past the temper, past the bruised knuckles and late-night brawls. You saw him.

And somehow, over the years, he kept coming back to you.

Even now.

You press fresh gauze against his side, securing it with careful hands. His breathing is slower now, steadier. His body has relaxed—just enough that you know he trusts you.

"Thank you," he murmurs.

Your hands still. When you look up, his gaze is already on you—heavy, unreadable.

"You don’t have to thank me," you say softly.

Lincoln’s lips tilt into something almost resembling a smirk, but it’s tired, worn. "You always did take care of me."

You swallow hard. "And I always will."

For a moment, neither of you speak. The air between you shifts, thickens with something unspoken.

Lincoln’s fingers twitch against his knee like he wants to reach for you but doesn’t. Like he isn’t sure he should.

Your heart pounds.

"You should get some rest," you whisper.

Lincoln exhales, slow and deep. His body is already sinking into the cushions, exhaustion catching up to him. He doesn’t argue this time.

Instead, as his eyelids grow heavy, his voice drifts toward you—barely a whisper.

"Stay with me?"

Your breath catches.

Just like that, the years melt away. The nights spent waiting for him to come home, the whispered promises, the way he always reached for you in the dark like you were the only thing keeping him grounded.

The truth settles in your chest, warm and unshakable.

"Always," you whisper back.

[jansqu]

Criminal reader x mahone

Thank you for the request, hope you like it<33

The Hunter And The Hunted (Alexander Mahone X Reader)

I sat on the edge of the bed, wrists bound with zip ties, watching as Special Agent Alexander Mahone paced the length of the room, his jaw clenched tight, his mind clearly racing.

"You made a mistake, Agent," I murmured, my voice smooth despite the situation. "Bringing me here instead of a federal holding cell."

Mahone shot me a sharp glare, his blue eyes glinting with something between frustration and intrigue. "You and I both know the second you’re processed, you’ll find a way out. I don’t have time for your games."

I smirked, leaning back against the headboard. "So what’s your plan? Keep me tied up here until you figure out what to do with me? That’s not very FBI protocol of you."

His fingers twitched at his side, the weight of his sidearm visible in the shift of his stance. "I don’t play by the rules when the rules don’t work," he admitted. "And you, Y/N, you make a damn good case for throwing the rulebook out."

My heart pounded, but I wouldn’t let him see it. Mahone was dangerous—dangerous in a way that wasn’t just about guns and power. He was meticulous, obsessive. A man willing to do anything to get his target.

But I had been a target before. And I had never been caught for long.

"So what now?" I tilted my head, my voice softer, almost teasing. "You gonna sit here all night, watching me? Because that sounds a little intimate for an FBI agent."

His jaw tensed, and for a brief moment, his eyes flickered downward—just for a second. The realization sent a slow thrill through me.

"You think this is funny?" His voice was lower now, huskier. "You’ve left bodies in your wake. You’ve played both sides, stolen, lied, killed. And yet, you sit there like none of it matters."

I shrugged. "Because it doesn’t. Not to you, anyway. You only care about catching me because someone told you to. But what happens if you stop chasing? If you realize we’re not so different after all?"

Something flickered in his eyes, something dark and unspoken. Mahone was a man on the edge, and I knew how to push people just far enough to make them question everything.

He stepped closer, towering over me. "You like to play with fire."

I smirked, tilting my chin up defiantly. "And you like to chase things you know you can’t keep."

His breath hitched for just a second before he caught himself. His hand twitched again, this time not toward his gun, but toward me. He didn’t touch me—not yet—but I could feel the heat between us, a tension crackling in the air like static electricity.

"Tell me, Agent," I whispered, my voice barely above a breath. "If I wasn’t in cuffs, would you still be able to resist me?"

His eyes darkened, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. "That doesn’t matter."

"Doesn’t it?" I leaned in, just enough to close the space between us, to let him feel the heat of my breath against his jaw. "Because you’re looking at me like you don’t know whether to turn me in or—"

"Enough." His voice was rough, raw, but he didn’t move away. If anything, he was closer now, his own resolve cracking under the weight of whatever this was between us.

The air was heavy, thick with something far more dangerous than a chase. Because now, I wasn’t sure who was really hunting who.

[jansqu]

One Last Visit (Lincoln Burrows X Reader)

The walls of Fox River feel colder tonight.

You knew this moment was coming, but nothing could have prepared you for it. The clock on the wall ticks away the seconds like a countdown to something you can’t stop. You grip your trembling hands in your lap, trying to steady your breathing.

You have to be strong.

For him.

For Michael.

Michael sits beside you, his body stiff, jaw clenched so tightly you think it might break. He hasn’t said much since the guards led you both into the room, only a few clipped words to his brother. But his eyes—God, his eyes. They’re screaming everything he can’t say.

Then there’s Lincoln.

He looks different than the last time you saw him. Tired, worn. His hands rest on the metal table, cuffed together like a man already buried. But when his eyes land on you, something in them softens.

You forget how to breathe.

"Hey," he says, his voice rough, low.

You force a small smile. "Hey."

Lincoln shifts slightly, the chains around his wrists clinking against the table. He glances at Michael, then back at you, something unreadable flickering across his face.

"Didn’t think they’d let you in," he admits.

Michael exhales sharply, shaking his head. "Neither did I."

You can feel Michael’s frustration radiating off him in waves, his mind spinning for a way out. A plan. A miracle. But the reality of it looms over all three of you.

Time is running out.

Lincoln swallows hard and leans forward slightly. "I needed to see you," he says, and this time, he’s only looking at you.

Your throat tightens.

"Lincoln…"

His lips twitch into something almost resembling a smile. "Don’t look at me like that, sweetheart."

"Like what?"

"Like I’m already dead."

Your composure shatters.

A sob builds in your chest, but you fight it, blinking hard to keep the tears at bay. You promised yourself you wouldn’t break, not here. Not in front of him. Not when this might be the last time you see him alive.

Michael’s hands curl into fists on the table. "This isn’t over," he says, voice sharp with determination. "I won’t let them—"

"Mike." Lincoln cuts him off gently, shaking his head. "We both know how this ends."

Michael’s nostrils flare. "No."

Silence stretches between them, thick and suffocating. You reach for Michael’s hand beneath the table, squeezing it. His fingers tighten around yours, holding on like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

Then Lincoln speaks again, softer this time. "Take care of him for me, okay?"

Your breath catches.

Michael’s head snaps up. "Don’t do that. Don’t talk like that. Because I will get you out of here."

You feel Lincoln’s gaze on you, warm and familiar despite the coldness of the room. When you finally meet his eyes, the weight of everything you want to say—everything you’ll never get the chance to say again—hits you like a punch to the chest.

You stand abruptly, your chair scraping against the floor as you move. The guards shift, but you don’t care. You don’t stop until you’re next to him, your hands hovering uncertainly over his shoulders, his face—God, you just want to touch him.

"Come here," he murmurs, and that’s all it takes.

You fall into him, your arms wrapping around his broad shoulders as tightly as you can. His chains prevent him from holding you properly, but he still presses his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin.

Michael looks away, giving you both a sliver of privacy in a moment that feels unbearably intimate.

"I love you," you whisper, your voice barely holding together.

Lincoln exhales shakily. His jaw tenses, his shoulders shift under your grip, but he doesn’t say it back.

Your heart pounds harder.

You pull back slightly, searching his face, refusing to let him slip away from you without saying it. "Tell me you love me, too."

Lincoln swallows. His eyes flicker with something you can’t quite read—regret, pain, fear—but still, he doesn’t say it.

Your chest tightens.

"Lincoln," your voice breaks, and you grip his face between your hands, forcing him to look at you. "Say it."

He blinks, his walls cracking, his breath shuddering against yours. And then, finally, finally, he whispers it.

"I love you."

Your breath catches.

It’s raw. Hoarse. Like it physically hurts him to say it. But it’s real.

You close your eyes, pressing yourself against him, as if holding him tightly enough could somehow stop time. As if love alone could be enough to keep him here.

The guards step forward. "Time’s up."

No.

Not yet.

Not ever.

Lincoln doesn’t fight them when they move to take him away. He just looks at Michael, giving him one last nod. Then he looks at you, something final in his eyes.

"Be happy," he murmurs.

And then he’s gone.

Michael slams his fists against the table, his breath coming in ragged gasps. You don’t stop him. You don’t speak.

You just break.

Because no matter how hard you prayed for more time, this was never going to be enough.

[jansqu]

Spicy Spicy (Lincoln Burrows X Reader)

The room was bathed in the golden glow of the bedside lamp, casting flickering shadows against the walls. The air was thick with anticipation as Y/N lay beneath Lincoln, her breath coming in soft, eager pants. His weight above her was grounding, his touch like fire as his rough palms ghosted over her bare skin.

Lincoln’s lips trailed along the column of her throat, teeth grazing against her pulse as she shivered beneath him. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he murmured, his voice a deep, rasping promise.

Y/N’s fingers tangled in his hair, tugging lightly as she arched into him. “Then don’t make me wait any longer,” she whispered, her voice laced with longing.

A deep chuckle rumbled in his chest as he slid his hands lower, teasing the sensitive skin along her hips. “Impatient, are we?” His fingers pressed into her thighs, prying them apart as he settled between them, the heat of his body searing against hers.

She gasped, nails dragging down his back as he claimed her lips in a searing kiss. His hands roamed her body, exploring every dip and curve with an intensity that made her toes curl. He moved with purpose, his mouth and hands leaving a trail of burning desire in their wake.

Their bodies moved together in perfect sync, every touch, every moan, heightening the need coiling between them. Lincoln’s name spilled from Y/N’s lips in a breathless plea as he drove her to the brink, his own gritted moans vibrating against her skin.

“God, you feel incredible,” he groaned, his forehead pressing against hers as their bodies reached that point of no return.

Y/N clung to him, her breath hitching as waves of pleasure crashed over her. Lincoln followed moments later, burying his face against her neck as he let out a low, satisfied growl.

For a moment, the room was silent except for their mingled breaths, their bodies still entwined in the lingering aftershocks. Lincoln pressed a slow, reverent kiss to her temple, tracing lazy patterns along her back.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured, his voice filled with something deeper than just lust.

Y/N smiled, still breathless as she nestled against his chest. “So are you.”

Lincoln let out a soft chuckle, pulling her even closer. “Round two?”

She laughed, pressing a teasing kiss to his jaw. “You’re insatiable.”

He smirked, rolling them over as he hovered above her once more. “Only when it comes to you.”

And as the night stretched on, their bodies found each other again and again, lost in a haze of passion and unspoken promises.

[jansqu]

Love triangle between y/n , Michael and Lincoln 👀

Thank you for the request, I have never written about love triangle so hope you like this<33

Love Triangle (Michael Scofield X Reader, Lincoln Burrows X Reader)

The tension had become unbearable. The safe house was small, forcing us into close quarters, leaving no room for secrets—not even the ones I desperately tried to hide.

I needed space. Time to breathe. Time away from both of them. But instead, I found myself tangled deeper in this impossible situation, one moment at a time.

The night was quiet, save for the soft rustling of papers as Michael sifted through notes, his meticulous mind always at work. I lingered near the window, the cool night air brushing against my skin as I took a deep breath.

“You should sleep,” Michael said, his voice gentle but firm.

I turned to face him, his piercing blue eyes watching me carefully. “So should you.”

A ghost of a smile flickered across his lips, but it didn’t last. “I can’t afford to. Not when there’s so much at stake.”

I moved closer, my heart beating a little faster. “Michael… you don’t have to carry everything alone.”

He exhaled, his fingers tightening around the paper in his hand. “I’m used to it.”

“You don’t have to be.” I hesitated before reaching out, my fingers grazing his wrist. It was a simple touch, yet it sent a shiver down my spine. His gaze darkened slightly, something shifting in the space between us.

For a brief moment, it felt like the world had narrowed down to just us—like he was seeing me in a way he never had before. But just as quickly as it came, he pulled away, his expression unreadable.

“I should keep working,” he murmured, looking down.

I nodded, but my heart was already tangled in the unspoken words between us.

Needing air, I slipped out of the room and stepped outside, my arms wrapping around myself against the night’s chill. The tension in my shoulders hadn’t eased by the time I found Lincoln leaning against the hood of the car, staring up at the stars. He looked lost in thought, his jaw tight, his hands curled into fists.

“Couldn’t sleep?” I asked, stepping beside him.

He scoffed. “Haven’t slept in years.”

I huffed out a small laugh, though we both knew it wasn’t really a joke.

Lincoln turned to look at me, his expression softer now. “You should be careful.”

“Of what?”

“Michael.” His tone was unreadable, but the weight behind his words made my stomach twist.

I frowned. “Lincoln—”

“I see how he looks at you,” he cut in, his eyes searching mine. “I know my brother. He cares too much, and you… you don’t deserve to be caught up in all of this.”

I swallowed, my heart hammering in my chest. “And what if I already am?”

His jaw tightened. “Then you need to ask yourself if it’s worth it.”

The way he was looking at me made it impossible to ignore the weight of his own feelings. He wasn’t just warning me about Michael. He was warning himself, too.

I stepped closer without thinking, the space between us shrinking. Lincoln’s breath hitched, his fists unclenching slightly. For a second, I thought he might reach for me. That he might say something I wasn’t ready to hear.

But then he looked away, exhaling sharply. “We should get some rest.”

I nodded, but as I walked away, I knew sleep wouldn’t come. Not when my heart was still caught between them.

[jansqu]

PDA (Lincoln Burrows X Reader)

The warm aroma of simmering pasta sauce filled the kitchen as Y/N stood at the stove, gently stirring the pot. Soft music played from the speaker in the corner, adding a soothing backdrop to the rhythmic bubbling of the sauce. She was completely in her element, enjoying the simple pleasure of cooking.

She didn’t hear Lincoln enter the room, but she certainly felt him when his strong hands found her waist, pulling her back against him. His lips brushed against the side of her neck, sending a shiver down her spine.

“Smells amazing,” he murmured, his voice husky.

Y/N smiled, leaning into him. “I hope you’re talking about the food.”

Lincoln chuckled, his fingers tracing slow circles along her hips. “Maybe,” he teased before kissing just below her ear. “Or maybe not.”

She let out a breathy laugh, turning in his arms so she could drape her arms over his shoulders. “You’re terrible.”

“I’m honest.” His hands slid down, resting just above the curve of her thighs, pulling her flush against him. “You’re beautiful.”

Y/N felt warmth flood her cheeks as she reached up to kiss him. Just as their lips met, a loud groan interrupted them.

“Oh, come on! Seriously?”

They jerked apart to find LJ standing in the doorway, face twisted in exaggerated disgust. Y/N gasped and immediately stepped back, her cheeks burning with embarrassment.

Lincoln, on the other hand, only smirked. “Hey, kid,” he said casually, as if they weren’t just caught in the middle of something. “You need something?”

“I need brain bleach,” LJ muttered, covering his eyes. “Why do I have to keep walking in on this?”

Y/N buried her face in her hands, groaning. “This is mortifying.”

Lincoln just laughed, clearly enjoying LJ’s discomfort. “You’ll live.” He gave Y/N a quick, playful squeeze before finally stepping back. “You better get used to it, kid.”

LJ shook his head dramatically. “Nope. I refuse. I’m leaving.” He turned on his heel, muttering as he disappeared down the hall. “Gonna go pretend this never happened.”

As soon as he was gone, Y/N smacked Lincoln’s chest lightly. “You’re impossible.”

He grinned. “And you love it.”

She sighed but couldn’t stop herself from smiling. Moments like this—flustered, silly, but full of love—made everything worth it.

[jansqu]

Escape (Michael Scofield X Reader)

The night air was thick with tension as the three of you sprinted across the Fox River yard, the prison walls looming behind you like a bad dream. Every footstep felt like a thunderclap against the silence, every breath a reminder that freedom was just within reach—but not yet yours.

Michael led the way, his hand gripping yours tightly, his usual calm facade cracked at the edges with the sheer weight of the escape. Lincoln ran just ahead, scanning the dark horizon for any signs of danger. For once, no one was speaking. The plan had been drilled into your heads over and over again—stick together, keep moving, don’t stop.

But then, just as you reached the treeline, something unexpected happened—Lincoln let out a quiet chuckle.

Michael shot him a look. "What?"

"Nothing, it’s just… remember when we used to play jailbreak as kids?" Lincoln panted, shaking his head with a grin. "We thought climbing over the fence at the old park was the biggest thrill. If only we knew."

You couldn't help but laugh, despite the burning in your legs and the pounding in your chest. "I remember you two arguing about who was the better escape artist. Guess we got our answer."

Michael smirked, squeezing your hand. "I think we’re all proving ourselves right now."

For a brief moment, the fear, the adrenaline, the crushing weight of what lay ahead—it all faded into something familiar. Three kids, running through the night, chasing a freedom that had always felt just out of reach.

Lincoln clapped Michael on the back as they kept moving. "Well, genius, let’s see if you can lead us all the way out."

Michael shot you a quick glance, his expression softening just enough that you saw the man behind the plan—the man you’d loved for so long. "I’m not letting either of you go."

You nodded, gripping his hand tighter. "Good. Because I’m not leaving you behind either."

The moment passed, and reality crashed back in. The sirens blared in the distance, the night no longer still. The escape wasn’t over—but for just a second, in the middle of all the chaos, you had this. A piece of the past, wrapped in the hope of the future.

And that was enough to keep you running.

[jansqu]

Lincoln and y/n have a child together ( it’s 2 or 3 ) so it’s in the attachment stage . And Lincoln goes on the run . So that turns into an argument between the two of them and Lincoln leaves and Y/N is left to clean up the mess. Y/n is feeling like he’s abandoning there child and Lincoln feeling bad about it but he knows it’s for the best .

-sorry this is long

Thank you for the request, hope you like it<33

Goodbyes (Lincoln Burrows X Reader)

The small apartment felt suffocating, the air thick with unspoken words and the weight of an inevitable goodbye. Outside, the distant hum of city traffic continued as if the world wasn’t about to shatter inside these walls. Our son, barely three years old, sat on the floor playing with his toy cars, blissfully unaware of the storm raging between his parents.

"You can't just leave, Lincoln!" My voice was sharp, laced with anger and something far more painful—fear.

Lincoln stood by the door, his hands clenched at his sides, his eyes shadowed with regret. The duffel bag at his feet was already packed, stuffed with the remnants of a life he was walking away from. "I don't have a choice, Y/N. If I stay, they'll come after me. And then they’ll come after both of you."

I shook my head, refusing to accept it. "So your solution is to run? To just disappear and leave us to pick up the pieces? Do you have any idea what that will do to him?" I gestured toward our son, who was happily babbling to himself, completely unaware that his father was about to walk out of his life.

Lincoln’s jaw tightened. "You think this is easy for me? You think I want to go?" His voice cracked slightly, betraying the emotions he was barely keeping in check. "If there was any other way, I’d take it. But staying here puts you both in danger."

"He needs you, Lincoln. I need you." My voice softened, but the desperation still clung to every word. "Please. We can figure this out together."

Lincoln took a step forward, reaching out as if he could somehow fix this with a single touch, but I recoiled. He hesitated, pain flashing across his face before he steeled himself again.

"You’ll be safer without me."

I let out a bitter laugh. "You keep saying that like it makes this any better. Like it makes up for the fact that you’re abandoning your son."

His eyes darkened with guilt, his shoulders sagging under the weight of it. "I’m doing this because I love him. Because I love you."

Tears burned behind my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. "Then stay."

Lincoln hesitated for the briefest of moments—long enough for me to see the war in his mind, long enough for me to hope—but then he shook his head.

"I can't."

I clenched my fists, my voice trembling as I spoke. "You think leaving is the best thing for him? Do you know what it’s like to grow up wondering why your dad didn’t stay? To question whether you weren’t enough for him to fight harder? Because that’s what he’s going to feel, Lincoln. One day, he’s going to ask me why his father left, and what do you expect me to tell him? That you ran because you loved him? That’s not going to make it hurt any less."

Lincoln swallowed hard, his expression crumbling for just a second before he forced himself to look away. "I don’t want that for him. I don’t want him to hate me."

"Then don’t give him a reason to."

The silence that followed was unbearable. Our son, oblivious to the heartbreak unfolding around him, crashed his toy car into another with a loud, "Vroom!" His laughter rang out, light and carefree—so innocent. The sound nearly broke me.

I turned away, unable to look at Lincoln, unable to watch as he tore our family apart in the name of protecting us.

Lincoln knelt beside our son, his large hands ruffling through the boy’s soft hair. "Be good for your mom, okay, buddy?" His voice was soft, filled with a tenderness that made my heart ache.

The little boy giggled, grabbing onto Lincoln’s fingers with his tiny hands. "Okay, Daddy! You play later?"

Lincoln’s face contorted with emotion, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. "Yeah, buddy. Later."

It was a lie. We both knew it.

He pressed a long kiss to our son’s forehead before rising to his feet, turning to me one last time. His eyes, filled with regret, met mine in a silent plea. I didn’t respond. There were no more words left to say.

And then he was gone.

The door clicked shut, and I was left standing in the wreckage of his decision, our son’s laughter echoing in the empty space where Lincoln used to be. I sank down onto the couch, pulling our son into my arms, holding him close as if that alone could shield him from the absence that would soon take root in his heart.

The little boy shifted in my embrace, looking up at me with big, innocent eyes. "Mommy, can we play now?" he asked, holding up one of his toy cars.

I bit my lip, forcing a small smile as I brushed his hair back. "Of course, baby. Let's play."

Even as I picked up a car and rolled it across the floor, the pain in my chest remained—a reminder that no matter how hard I tried, I could never truly fill the void Lincoln had left behind.

[jansqu]

Fight (Michael Scofield X Reader)

Michael sat on the couch, his head resting in his hands, the weight of the argument settling between you like a storm waiting to break.

"You’re not listening to me," you said, your voice strained. "You act like I don’t deserve the truth. Like I’m just supposed to sit here and accept the scraps of whatever you decide to share with me."

Michael exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his short hair. "It’s not about what you deserve, Y/N. It’s about what I can’t risk."

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. "Risk? You mean like trusting me? Loving me? Or is that too dangerous too?"

His gaze shot up to meet yours, frustration flickering in his blue eyes. "You think this is easy for me? You think I enjoy keeping things from you? I don’t have a choice."

"That’s such bullshit, Michael." Your voice cracked, your composure unraveling. "You always have a choice. And every single time, you choose to keep me in the dark. Do you even realize how much that hurts?"

Michael clenched his jaw, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "I’m trying to protect you."

"Protect me?" You took a step closer, your chest rising and falling with barely restrained anger. "You’re pushing me away. And at this point, I don’t even know if there’s anything left for me to hold onto."

Silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken words. Michael stood abruptly, closing the distance between you, his voice lower but no less intense. "I can’t lose you, Y/N. I won’t."

Tears stung your eyes, but you held his gaze, refusing to back down. "Then stop making me feel like I’ve already lost you."

Michael exhaled shakily, reaching for your hand, but you stepped back, shaking your head. "I can’t keep fighting for something if you won’t fight with me."

He looked at you, desperation flickering across his face, but for the first time, you weren’t sure if love was enough to fix what was breaking between you.

And that terrified you.

[jansqu]

Do you write for mahone?

Yes I do, just send me your preference or plot idea!<3

[jansqu]

Michael and Lincoln have a little sister (slightly younger then Michael) that their dad also abandoned. She’s always been the more troubled one between the three of them and ends up in Fox river .

Thank you for the request, hope you like it<33

Blood Runs Deep (Michael Scofield X Sister!Reader, Lincoln Burrows X Sister!Reader)

The clang of the cell door shutting was deafening, the finality of it sending a shiver down my spine. I’d never been afraid of much in my life, but there was something about being locked away in Fox River that made my skin crawl. Maybe it was because I knew exactly what this place did to people. I’d watched it chew Lincoln up and spit him out worse for wear. I had no idea how Michael planned to survive this place, but if anyone could, it was him.

And now I was here, too.

I wasn’t innocent—never claimed to be—but I never thought I’d end up in the same hellhole as Michael and Lincoln. No one here knew the truth. To everyone else, I was just another inmate, another lost soul swallowed by the system. I kept my name under wraps, made sure no one connected the dots. The last thing I needed was the weight of my brothers' reputations dragging me down.

The rumors about me had already spread by the time I walked into gen pop. I knew people were curious, some wary. A woman in Fox River wasn’t common, but that didn’t mean I got any special treatment.

Survival came first. I kept my head down, avoided unnecessary trouble, and watched my back. But Fox River didn’t allow you to stay invisible for long. Every inmate here was looking for an angle, a way to assert dominance, a way to test you. It was only a matter of time before someone decided I was an easy target.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here, kid.”

I turned to the voice, already knowing who it was. Lincoln stood there, arms crossed, looking more exasperated than surprised. His short-cropped hair and tired eyes made him look older than he was.

I tensed. “Didn’t expect to see you either, Linc.”

Lincoln’s expression darkened. “What the hell did you do?”

I shrugged, leaning against the cold brick wall. “Made a few bad choices.”

Michael appeared moments later, his sharp gaze locking onto mine. He looked between me and Lincoln, his expression unreadable but clearly furious.

“We need to talk,” he said, his voice firm.

We found a quiet spot in the yard, and I could tell Michael was running a hundred calculations in his head, just like he always did. He’d gotten himself locked up on purpose—everyone knew that now. But my presence here? That wasn’t part of his plan.

“This isn’t happening,” Michael said, shaking his head. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

I smirked. “Yeah? Neither are you.”

Michael’s jaw tightened. “I need to know exactly what happened.”

I hesitated. The truth was ugly, and I knew Michael hated when I made things harder for myself. I’d fallen in with the wrong people, people who didn’t take kindly to debts left unpaid. A job had gone south, and now I was here, convicted of armed robbery. Maybe it was dumb, but I hadn’t seen another way out.

Michael exhaled sharply. “You have no idea what you’ve just walked into.”

Lincoln let out a dry chuckle, though there was no humor in it. “Great. Just what I needed. Another thing to worry about.”

I crossed my arms. “I can handle myself.”

Michael’s eyes narrowed. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

The tension between us was thick. They were angry, frustrated—but more than that, I saw something else beneath their fury. Fear. Not for themselves. For me.

Before I could respond, a shadow loomed behind me. I turned slightly, catching the smug face of one of the inmates I’d already pegged as trouble.

“Well, well,” he drawled, crossing his tattooed arms. “Didn’t think we had fresh meat like you in here.”

Lincoln shifted slightly, his body tensing. Michael’s face remained unreadable, but I knew him well enough to recognize when he was assessing a threat.

I met the guy’s gaze, unfazed. “You got a problem?”

He chuckled. “Not yet. But give it time.”

Michael took a step closer to me, making it clear that whatever this guy was thinking, he needed to think twice. “She’s not your concern.”

The inmate smirked, clearly entertained. “Funny. I don’t see your name stamped on her.”

Lincoln’s voice was deadly calm. “Walk away.”

The guy held up his hands in mock surrender, but the gleam in his eyes told me this wasn’t over. I’d just painted a target on my back.

Michael’s fingers tightened into fists at his sides. “You need to stay out of trouble.”

I exhaled slowly. “That’s not really up to me, is it?”

Lincoln rubbed a hand over his face. “Damn it, yn. This is the last place you should be.”

Michael’s voice dropped to a near whisper, his words holding more weight than anything else that had been said. “We’re getting you out of here.”

I didn’t know what the future held, but one thing was certain: if Michael and Lincoln were planning to break out, they weren’t leaving without me. And if anyone thought they could break me first, they had no idea who they were dealing with.

[jansqu]

I`m home (Michael Scofield X Reader)

The room was quiet, save for the distant hum of cars passing on the highway. The lights were dim, casting soft shadows across the worn-out furniture. It wasn’t much, but it was safe. It was enough.

You stood by the window, arms wrapped around yourself as you stared at the outside world, the weight of the past few weeks pressing heavy on your shoulders. Every second without him had been a test of patience, of faith. But now—

The soft creak of the door opening sent a shiver down your spine. You turned, heart pounding, and there he was.

Michael.

His face was thinner, exhaustion etched into every angle, but his blue eyes—those impossibly deep, stormy eyes—were locked onto you with an intensity that stole the air from your lungs. The door shut softly behind him, his bag slipping from his grasp as he took a hesitant step forward.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence crackled, filled with unspoken words, with all the nights spent apart, the fear, the longing. Then, as if drawn by an invisible force, you moved.

Michael met you halfway, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you against his chest like he was afraid you’d disappear. You buried your face in his neck, breathing him in, the familiar scent of him mixed with something new—something raw and desperate.

"You’re really here," you whispered, voice trembling.

His lips pressed against your hair, lingering. "I told you I’d come back to you."

Your fingers curled into his shirt, clutching him tighter, needing to feel the solid warmth of him against you. "I was so scared. Every day, I didn’t know if you—"

He pulled back just enough to cup your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears you hadn’t realized were falling. "I know, sweetheart. I know. But I’m here. I’m home."

His lips found yours then, slow and searching, as if memorizing every inch of you all over again. You melted into him, the weeks of longing unraveling in the way his mouth moved against yours—soft, deliberate, savoring. His hands traced down your arms, your sides, until they settled at your waist, pulling you closer, like he could never get close enough.

You sighed against his lips, your fingers threading into his hair, tugging him down as you deepened the kiss. He groaned, low and needy, his body pressing you gently back until the backs of your legs hit the bed.

Michael pulled away just enough to look at you, his breath uneven. "Are you sure?"

You nodded, your hands sliding beneath his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders. "I’ve never been more sure of anything."

His smile was small, tender, but the way his eyes darkened sent warmth pooling deep in your belly. He kissed you again, slower this time, like he had all the time in the world. His hands moved with practiced reverence, sliding beneath your shirt, fingers skimming the bare skin of your waist, igniting a fire that had long been waiting to burn.

You gasped as he lowered you onto the bed, his weight settling over you, grounding you, tethering you to this moment. Every touch, every kiss, was slow and purposeful, like he was making up for lost time. He whispered your name like a prayer, his lips tracing a path down your neck, across your collarbone, savoring every inch of you like he was afraid he’d never get the chance again.

And in that dimly lit motel room, tangled in sheets and whispered promises, you found each other again. Not just as fugitives, not just as people running from the past—but as two souls who had never stopped searching for one another.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you were whole.

[jansqu]

Memories (Michael Scofield X Reader, Lincoln Burrows X Childhood friend!Reader)

The open road stretched before you, endless and free, the wind whipping through the open windows as the four of you sped down the highway. The tension of the past weeks had finally given way to something lighter, something almost normal. Lincoln was at the wheel, tapping his fingers to the beat of an old rock song blaring through the car speakers. You sat in the front passenger seat, laughing as Michael, sitting behind you with LJ, struggled to balance a bag of chips between them.

"Come on, man, you’re spilling them everywhere!" LJ groaned, smacking Michael’s arm lightly as another handful of chips rained down onto the seat.

Michael chuckled, holding up his hands in surrender. "You’re the one who insisted on opening them in a moving car."

"Oh, so now it’s my fault?" LJ shot back, shaking his head in amusement.

Lincoln laughed, glancing at the rearview mirror. "This reminds me of something," he mused, a smirk playing on his lips.

You turned to him, curiosity piqued. "Oh no, what embarrassing story are you about to tell?"

Michael groaned, already knowing where this was headed. "Linc, don’t—"

Too late. Lincoln was already grinning, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Alright, LJ, you’ll love this. Back when we were teenagers, Michael and Y/N thought they were real slick, sneaking around behind my back. Like I wouldn’t notice."

You felt warmth rise to your cheeks as LJ sat up straighter. "Wait—what? You guys were secretly dating back then?"

Michael exhaled dramatically. "It wasn’t a secret. It was just… not something we advertised."

Lincoln let out a hearty laugh. "Oh, it was definitely a secret. Until I caught them making out in my car one night when they thought I was asleep."

LJ burst out laughing, nearly choking on his drink. "No way! Uncle Mike, seriously? In Dad’s car?"

Michael sighed, shaking his head as you covered your face with your hands. "This is exactly why I didn’t want him telling the story."

Lincoln was grinning ear to ear. "Hey, it was hilarious! I got in, turned the engine on, and suddenly these two pop up from the back seat, looking like a couple of guilty teenagers caught breaking curfew."

You peeked out from behind your hands, laughing despite your embarrassment. "We thought we were being so discreet."

"Yeah, not so much," Lincoln teased.

LJ leaned back in his seat, shaking his head. "Man, I wish I could’ve seen that. You guys were rebels."

Michael rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah, well, some things never change."

You reached for his hand, squeezing it gently. "Nope, some things don’t."

As the car continued down the highway, the sound of laughter filled the space between you. For a brief moment, despite everything you had been through, life felt normal again.

[jansqu]

Request

:Lincoln and yn are in a relationship he goes on the run , she stays to continue living her life only to find out she’s pregnant

Thank you for the request! Hope this meets your expectations<33

Runaway Love (Lincoln Burrows X Reader)

The night Lincoln left, Yn knew something was wrong before he even said a word.

She found him in the bedroom, stuffing clothes into a duffel bag with shaky hands, his jaw clenched so tight it looked painful.

Her heart dropped. “Lincoln?”

He stilled, gripping the zipper of the bag like he was bracing himself. When he turned to face her, the usual warmth in his dark eyes had been replaced with something colder—something that made her chest tighten.

“I have to go,” he said, voice low and strained.

Yn took a slow step forward, her pulse racing. “Go where?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply.

“Lincoln,” she tried again, this time firmer. “Talk to me.”

“I can’t,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I just—shit—I don’t have time.”

Her stomach churned. This wasn’t happening. He wasn’t just going to walk out. “No,” she said, moving to block the door. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to just disappear without telling me why.”

He clenched his fists. “If I tell you, you’ll try to stop me.”

“Damn right I will,” she shot back. “You’re running, aren’t you? From what? From who?”

He looked away, his silence answering her question.

Yn’s breath hitched. “Lincoln, please,” she whispered. “Whatever’s happening, we’ll figure it out. Together.”

Something in his expression cracked. Before she could say anything else, he pulled her to him, crashing his lips against hers.

It wasn’t a kiss of passion—it was desperation, regret, the kind of goodbye neither of them wanted to say.

Yn melted into him, fingers tangling in his hair, trying to hold on, to make him stay. But he was already slipping away.

He pulled back, resting his forehead against hers. “If I stay, they’ll come for me. And if they find me, they’ll find you.”

“I don’t care,” she choked out. “I just need you.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, pressing a lingering kiss to her temple. “I love you, Yn. More than anything.” His voice cracked. “That’s why I have to go.”

Before she could say another word, he pulled away and grabbed his bag.

She felt like she was drowning. “Will you come back?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lincoln hesitated, fingers tightening around the strap of his bag. “I don’t know.”

Then he was gone.

The door shut behind him, and Yn’s world collapsed.

Months Later.

Time moved forward, even when she felt stuck in place. Lincoln was gone. No calls. No messages. Just silence.

She tried to bury herself in work, in friends, in anything that kept her from falling apart. But then the symptoms started.

The nausea. The exhaustion. The feeling that something inside her had shifted.

At first, she ignored it, brushing it off as stress. But when her period didn’t come, dread settled in her chest like a stone.

And now, here she was, standing in her bathroom, staring at the little white stick in her trembling hands.

Two pink lines.

Her breath caught. The world tilted. “No…” she whispered, shaking her head. “This can’t be happening.”

Her knees buckled, and she sank onto the cold tile floor, pressing a hand to her stomach.

Lincoln was gone. She was alone. And she was carrying his child.

A sob broke free from her lips, her body trembling as reality crashed down on her.

What was she supposed to do now?