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littlecoffeeadict · 2 months ago

Note

Hey. Could you please do a Winchester!sister reader fic like the mystery spot episode where Dean dies over and over but can you have the reader be the one who dies over and over again while the boys watch

Groundhog Day

Note: Once again apologising for my lateness but here we are! I actually also wrote this yesterday but I thought it was only fitting to release this on a Tuesday.

warnings: death *and lots of it, It's mystery spot*, grief kinda, time loops, swearing.

Word count: 3.5k

⛤ SPN MASTERLIST ⛤

‘Heat of the moment-’

Sam sat up abruptly, awoken by the sudden racket that filled the room. After sitting up groggily and allowing his eyes to adjust to the light he glanced at the clock, hardly noting the time before he turned to his brother who was surprisingly already up and raring to go, having made his bed which he was now perching on as he laced together his boots. He felt the blankets shift around him as you tried to bury yourself into the mattress, bringing the covers over your head to try and block out some of the noise and fall back to sleep.

“Rise and shine, Sammy.”

“Dude.” Sam blinked, swiping his hair from his eyes. “Asia?”

“Come on. You love this song and you know it.”

Sam rolled his eyes and nodded. “Yeah, and if i hear it again, I’m going to kill myself.”

“Be quiet.” You murmured from behind the sheets, squeezing your eyes shut and rolling over. You knew it wasn’t going to happen but you were trying to cling onto the idea of getting more than 4 hours of sleep for once.

Dean took a break from trying his shoes to reach over and turn the dial on the radio. The song blasted louder from the speakers. He raised his voice with a grin “What? I’m sorry, I can’t hear you.”

Sam let out a light chuckle, still bleary with sleep as you sighed and sat up. Dean was still grinning at you before he began to mouth along to the words of the song. You shook your head at him before hauling yourself up and making your way to the bathroom to get ready for the day.

Dean had decided that he was going to be annoying today. You weren’t sure if it was because he didn’t want to go on the hunt and he was trying to delay it or something or if it was simply because he was being Dean. You decided on the latter because his keenness to be up and ready this morning was unusual. It started with the gurgling when he was brushing his teeth. Then, just as the three of you were about to leave, despite being up before either of you he had forgotten his pistol leaving you and your other brother standing impatiently by the door while he rooted around the motel room for it. He was irritating in the car too and you were itching to jump out of the Impala, praying for the day to end.

The diner was hardly busy when Dean pulled into the driveway. There were only a few cars belonging to passers by occupying the spaces. After securing your pistol in the pocket of your jacket the three of you headed inside. You decided to stick close to Sam; you had an odd feeling about this hunt and weren’t entirely sure what it was but something just wasn’t sitting right with you. Your brothers entered one of the booths and you slid down beside Dean who let out a content sigh as he scanned the menu.

“Hey, tuesday. Pig in a poke.” he read, gesturing to the sign.

“Do you even know what that is?” Sam raised an eyebrow.

The eldest brother opened his mouth to answer only to fall short of his words. Sam gave him a smug look and then pair fell into some sort of childish bickering that you weren’t really paying attention to. You were too busy scanning every inch of the room still unable to shake that uneasy feeling from your mind. Something just wasn’t right. Everything seems so…perfect. It made your skin crawl and you bit your lip.

“Hey.” Sam nudged you under the table with his knee, he had noted the way that you had gone silent and that you were fiddling with your hands restlessly. He knew almost straight away that something was up. You twisted to face him. “You okay?”

“Yeah. yeah.” You muttered. “Sorry.”

You nearly let out a sigh of relief when the waitress came over and distracted your brother's attention away from you. You hated the way that they stared when they were concerned about you. The three of you rattled off your orders before Dean leaned back in the chair, stretching his arm back behind you to lounge about as you all discussed the plan, only interrupted once by the waitress bringing your food and accidentally spilling a bottle of hot sauce which tumbled to the floor and smashed into tiny pieces.

The rest of the day passed by quickly after that.

You did not like the look of the so-called ‘mystery spot’. It was all overly commercialised, filled to the brim with strange and amusing objects that stuck out at odd angles or were glued to the ceiling. The darkness of the room mixed with the obscurity of the place made it come across as quite disorientating. You supposed that was the point. Your strange feeling from this morning was still lingering. You and Dean moved around with flashlights as Sam waved around the EMF. But it was silent.

“Find anything?” You asked.

Sam shook his head.

“Do you have any idea what you’re looking for?” Dean said rather loudly. He was still set on the idea that this hunt was a complete waste of time and had decided to make it everyone else's problem.

“Uh… yeah.” Sam shrugged until you gave him a look and he dropped his shoulders. “No.”

It wasn’t long after you set off to explore again that Dean’s gun was being cocked. Somehow someone had managed to catch you off guard, causing the three of you to whip around alarmed when his shaky voice boomed through the room.

“What the hell are you doing here?!” He demanded. The man was small and scrawny and would normally be no match against Winchesters, but he was wielding a gun that he didn’t seem to know how to use and his unstable finger was hovering dangerously close to the trigger.

“Woah. We can explain.” Dean started, raising his gun in surrender and gesturing for the two of you to follow suit.

The man moved his weapon uncertainly. “You robbing me?”

“No.” You told him. “Nobody’s robbing you, calm down.”

Dean began to lower his gun, but this only wound the man up more.

“Don’t move!” He demanded. “Don’t!”

“I’m just putting the gun down.” Dean tried to reassure him, but the man was having none of it.

He raised his gun, but before he fired he spotted you moving out of the corner of his eye.

Sam, as worrying of a brother as ever, gestured with a tilt of his head for you to move toward him. He knew that you were perfectly capable of protecting yourself, but it made him feel ten times better to know that you were hidden behind his lumbering frame, especially given the recent circumstances that had resulted in so much loss between the three of you. Your movement however, combined with Dean’s haste to put down his gun startled the man and with a fast flick of his arm he had pulled the trigger.

No one had any time to think before your pained scream filled the room. It was quick and short as the bullet lodged itself within your chest and you collapsed to the ground, writhing with an agony so intense that it made white spots dance in your vision like little stars.

“Y/N!” Sam cried out, moving quickly to bridge the short distance to your side where you lay in pain on the cold ground. Sam slid an arm around your back as your other brother dropped to his knees next to you, hovering his hand over your chest where blood had already begun to pool through and seep into your shirt. He was frozen with terror unsure what to do at the sight of your pained expression or the way that your hands clutched feebly at the hem of Sammy’s jacket.

“Call 911.” Sam demanded, turning to face the man who stood there white as a sheet.

“I-I didn’t mean-”

“Now!” Dean yelled.

You whimpered at the yelling. It cuts through your already pounding head adding to the concoction of your agony. You couldn’t see straight, couldn’t hear properly, couldn’t feel anything besides the burning fire in your chest that spread through your lungs like a disease. Your head lolled back against Sam’s arm as you began to taste metallic copper in your mouth, slowly drowning on your own blood that had filled your lungs.

“No. No” Sam said as you writhed in his arms, glancing up bleary eyed at him. Dean pressed down firmly on the wound, and it hurt more than anything but you couldn’t bring yourself to even whine at the contact.

“Come on sweetheart.” Dean pleaded. “Not like this.”

You could see his lips moving but it sounded like he was underwater as your body began to grow numb and your vision slowly faded. You tried to blink away the spots that consumed your vision, but it was no use and your eyes ended up fluttering shut just as your ragged breaths slowed before stopping altogether until you lay morbid limp in your big brother's arms.

‘Heat of the moment-’

Sam sat up abruptly, awoken by the sudden racket that filled the room. After sitting up groggily and allowing his eyes to adjust to the light he glanced at the clock, hardly noting the time before he turned to his brother. He had been here before. He realised suddenly, but this time his older brother was not lacing his boots. Instead he was stood at the foot of the bed, staring at the space beside Sam. He felt the blankets shift around him as you tried to bury yourself into the mattress, bringing the covers over your head to try and block out some of the noise and fall back to sleep. Sam stared at you, startled. He could have sworn that just a moment ago you were-

“Rise and shine, Sammy.” Dean said, with much less enthusiasm as he had before. His little brother furrowed his brows.

“Dean…?”

“I know. Is it just me or are you getting a serious sense of deja-vu?”

He nodded in agreement.

The Winchesters shared a look. Man, something strange was happening and whatever it was, you clearly weren’t feeling the same thing they were.

The diner was exactly the same as it had been the last time the two brothers were here. You were still looking around with the same uncertainty as you were before and you even ordered the same thing as you did before and so did Dean. Tuesday’s special. Pig in a poke.

“It’s tuesday?” He said uncertainly to himself.

You stared at him blankly as if it was the most obvious thing in the world “Yeah.”

Sam eyed you strangely and you raised a brow.

“You okay?”

“Peachy.” He replied, leaning across the table. “Are you?”

Narrowing your eyes at the pair of boys you asked. “Okay. What’s going on with you two?”

“What?”

“Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

“You don’t…you don’t remember any of this?” Sam asked you

“Remember what?”

“This. Today. Like it’s happened before.” Dean.

“You mean like Deja Vu?” You frowned.

“No like it’s really happened before.” Sam stressed. “If it feels like we’re living yesterday all over again.”

“Deja Vu.”

“No. Forget about that. Its-

The conversation was once again cut off by the waitress who was delivering the food. And once again she sent the hot sauce toppling. But this time, Sam caught it before it could hit the ground.

You gave him a charismatic grin. “Nice reflexes.”

The rest of the day did not pass by quickly after that.

Your brothers were trying to explain the situation to you, while theorising themselves. It was safe to say that at first you were completely lost, but were halfway to believing them when it happened.

The car came from nowhere, speeding around the corner. It collided harshly with your unsuspecting body sending you skidding across the asphalt. By the time your brothers had reached you, a trail of blood trickled down your face from the wounds that were opened as your skin ran across the floor. Dean nearly choked on the sight of your pained and bloodied face as he reached you but you were dead before he had even lifted you into his arms.

And then, there it was again. That wretched song, screaming from the radio.

‘Heat of the moment-’

Sam sat up abruptly, awoken by the sudden racket that filled the room and muttered one single phrase.

“Son of a bitch.”

The rest of the day did not pass by quickly after that. In fact, it never seemed to end.

Sam was getting angry now. No. That's not really the right word to describe it. He was frustrated. Tired. Scared. Dean was angry. And growing impatient. But both of them could not bear to live another tuesday. They couldn’t bear to see you fine one second and then dying the next. They had lived through at least a hundred tuesdays, had scanned every inch of the diner, the town, the mystery spot, they had followed the people from the diner and had even tried to keep you in the motel room but no matter how hard they tried they were forced to watch you die again.

The worst part was that you were clueless. Sam and Dean had to re-explain the ordeal to you everytime they woke up to that stupid song again, leaving you back at square one. They had lived through the day so many times that it had gotten to the point where they could both predict your sentences word for word and while it freaked you out, their patience was wearing thin.

Until finally, something changed. Dean had asked the woman he kept bumping into to see her flyer. They finally had a lead. So, the next time Tuesday morning rolled around, they felt hopeful as they filed off the information to you.

“When’d you get time to do all that research?” you asked through a mouthful of food.

Dean did not have the energy to answer, so he just stood, rolling his eyes. “Let’s go. We’re wasting time here.”

That was when Sam spotted it. The sticky, pink syrup sat in the dispenser next to the half eaten pancake. He frowned, stopping suddenly. When you noticed his absence you turned and asked him what was wrong.

Sam watched the man leave through the slats in the blinds. “That guy has maple syrup for the last 100 tuesdays, now all of a sudden he’s having strawberry?

“It’s a free country, Sammy. A man can’t choose his own syrup now? What have we become?”

“Not in this diner.” Sam shook his head. “Not today.”

“Nothing in this place ever changes. Ever. “ Dean told you. “Except us.”

The two brothers nearly lost their shit when they woke up again, but by the time they had suffered through the morning routine and had reached the diner they had come up with a plan.

There were no conversations during breakfast. The pair left you to ponder over your own thoughts after mentioning the idea of a time loop. Any of your questions went unanswered as they stared down the man, jumping into action when he rose, pushing the stool out with an ear splitting squeal and making his way to the parking lot.

Dean gripped the man firmly, forcing him against the fence by the scruff of his neck and silencing his protests. “We know who you are. Or should I say what?”

You watched very confused from the side.

“Oh my god-” the man begged, wide eyed. “Please don’t kill me!”

“Uh, Boys-”

“It took us a hell of a long time, but we got it.” Sam seethed.

“What?!”

“It’s your M.O that gave you away.” He continued. “Going after pompous jerks, giving them their just deserts. Your kind loves that, don’t they?”

“Yeah. Sure. Okay! Just put the stake down!” He pleaded, side eyeing the weapon that Sam pressed to his neck. Sam refused to move.

“Sammy, maybe you should-”

“No!” He yelled at you. The tone of his voice was so unexpected for Sam that you recoiled. “There’s only one creature powerful enough to do what you’re doing. Making reality out of nothing, sticking people in time loops- In fact, you’d pretty much have to be a god.”

“You’d have to be a trickster.” Dean spat.

“Misters…” The man pleaded shakily with tears in his eyes “My name is Ed Coleman. My wife’s name is Amelia- I’ve got two kids! For crying out loud I sell ad space!”

“Don’t lie to me! I know what you are!” Sam shouted into his face.

“We’ve killed one of your kind before.”

There was a heavy paused before the grey hair and wrinkles on the man before you morphed into the all familiar face of the trickster you and your brothers had run into not too long ago.

He smirked and your brothers’ faces dropped. “Actually, you didn’t.”

“Why are you doing this? Why her!?” Sam pressed, digging the stake into his neck.

“You’re kidding?” The trickster replied “You all tried to kill me last time. Why wouldn’t I do this? Why not make you three suffer.”

“So this is funny to you? Killing her over and over again?” Dean gritted his teeth.

“One- yes, it is fun. And two -this is so not about killing Y/N. This joke is on you two. I mean… come on. How great has it been to watch you to see her being torn apart again and again. Watching your sister die everyday. Forever.”

“You son of a bitch.”

The trickster smiled. “How long will it take you to realise you can’t save your sister, no matter what.”

“Oh yeah? We kill you, this ends now.” Sam growled.

“Woah. Okay, look. I was just playing around. You can’t take a joke, fine. You’re out of it. Tomorrow you’ll wake up and it’ll be wednesday. I swear.”

“You're lying. “

He shrugged. “If I am, you know where to find me.”

“But you better promise me, I’ll be back in time-”

Sam couldn’t contain the gasp that fell from his lips. “It’s wednesday!”

“Yeah…?” You said from across the room where you were rummaging though your bag. “Which usually comes after Tuesday. Turn that crap off, would you?” you asked him.

“No. Leave it on.” Dean interjected. He agreed with Sam. If he heard Asia one more time he was going to kill himself. “Isn’t that the most beautiful song you’ve ever heard?”

“...No. Jesus, how many Tuesdays did you guys have?”

“You don’t wanna know.” Dean sighed. “Wait..what do you remember.”

“I remember you two being pretty whacked out yesterday. And then i remember running into the trickster. S’bout it really.”

“Right. Whatever. Lets get out of here.” Sam said as he pulled on a shirt.

“What? No breakfast?” You asked, slightly upset that you were going to miss out on the diner food you had quite enjoyed yesterday.

“No breakfast.”

Sam and Dean were still inside when they heard it. The unmistakable pop of a gun being fired. You were outside loading the last of your things into Baby and-

Sam's heart sank.

“Y/N!” He cried, dropping what he was doing and racing down the stairs towards you.

The offender fled the moment the gunshot had sounded and your two brothers could see him rounding the corner, but their concern was on you, sprawled out across the floor in a pool of your own blood.

They shook you, crying out your name but you didn’t move. Your heart had stopped beating.

“No. This isn’t supposed to happen today.” Sam squeezed his eyes shut tight, only to nearly cry when he opened them again and you were still lying lifelessly in his brothers clutch. “We’re supposed to wake up.”

And then, he began to cry.

Part 2 may be coming…I’ll add it to my to do list

548 notes · View notes

littlecoffeeadict · 2 months ago

Text

𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: your toothbrush was in his bathroom, clothes in the wardrobe, and the sheets had long since grown accustomed to the scent of your skin. you were practically living together, but that day, when you're about to move in officially, one conversation with your boss, one ultimatum, and one decision change the purpose for which you're packing your boxes.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: glasses reid x bau!female reader, ugh mostly fluff with a bit of hurt and comfort, unspecified height difference mentioned

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 5.k

𝐚/𝐧: it wasn’t a request, but @penelopegarciaismygf kind of suggested it in a conversation—thank you, thank you, love, for the inspiration <3

The golden light seeped through the imperfectly covered window, making its pilgrimage across the entire width of the room straight to your bodies buried under the bedding and, more precisely, to your eyes.

You furrowed your brow and rubbed your still half-asleep eyes. The morning silence was fragile but steady—it seemed to rise and fall gently, adjusting to the rhythm of Spencer’s breathing as he lay on his side, facing you. Although the prospect of crawling out of bed, getting up, and going to work didn’t exactly fill you with enthusiasm or make you want to leap to the ceiling with energy, a small, lazy smile spread naturally across your lips.

Maybe it was because of the expression on his sleeping face—or rather half of it, since the other half was buried in the pillow. Maybe it was those unruly brown hair strands you wanted to smooth with your fingers, but you held back, knowing that waking him when he looked so peaceful and idyllic felt almost like committing a crime. Maybe it was simply his presence.

At that very moment, the sound of the alarm clock snapped you out of your trance and pulled Spencer from his sleep. His temples tensed for a second as his eyes started to open. You quickly leaned over his body to reach the source of the noise, silencing it before it could take over the room.

He opened his eyes, blinking slowly, as if shaking off the heavy grip of sleep that had just held him. Then, his still partly absent gaze focused on the figure hovering above him—on you.

You crawled onto him, pressing your weight down just enough to keep him from sitting up.

"I've got good news for you," you began, resting your forearm on his collarbones and propping your chin on it as you spoke.

Your voice was soft, husky—the first words you’d uttered that morning.

Spencer, just as you intended, remained on his back. His hand had somehow found its way to your hip, as if he were making sure you wouldn’t slip off. Looking at you through half-closed eyes, he gave you a gentle smile.

“What is it?” he asked, his voice edged with a bit of morning rasp that seemed to make the air between you vibrate ever so slightly.

For a moment, you stayed still, simply looking into his eyes, until you remembered that you both had work that day and couldn’t afford to be late. It didn’t matter how warm his body felt beneath you, wrapping around you like a blanket, or how the scent of the night you’d just spent together lingered softly on his skin.

“A good fairy visited you and is offering an extra five minutes of sleep,” you murmured. “While she makes coffee.”

His eyebrows arched slightly with intrigue.

“Is this fairy an altruist, or is there a catch?”

“Mhm. There is a catch. But it’s a pretty easy one,” you said. “Just one kiss. There could’ve been more, but you get a discount for those pretty eyes.”

You even closed your eyes again, waiting for him to fulfill your request. But Spencer remained still—physically, at least—though his sleepy face showed growing amusement.

“The fairy should know I have a girlfriend,” he replied with a slight shrug. “And she wouldn’t be too happy about me kissing someone else in our bed. Even if it is an incorporeal being.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t stop the wide smile spreading across your face.

“The fairy already talked to her about it,” you snorted, brushing his hair away from his forehead. “And she thinks five extra minutes of sleep is an offer too good to pass up. So?”

Spencer let out a defeated sigh.

“Well then…”

You leaned in to kiss him, his head still resting on the pillow. Under the pressure of your lips, he sank even deeper into it, and his hand on your hip tightened its hold. His sleepy mind seemed to have forgotten the concept of moderation, wanting everything at once as he pulled you even closer. For a moment, he forgot to breathe, letting out a soft, involuntary whimper when you pulled away. It wasn’t easy, but someone had to make sure you both didn’t end up getting fired.

“Five minutes,” you reminded him before sliding off of him and then out of bed.

Well, you didn’t mention that you’d already wasted at least half of that time teasing each other.

He kept his head slightly raised, as if wanting to see you off with all the honor and dignity his sleepy state could muster, following you with his gaze until you reached the bedroom door. But as soon as your foot crossed the threshold, the rustle of the sheets announced his swift retreat back into them, fully intending to make the most of the time granted by the good fairy.

After a wake-up like that, a gentle smile lingered on your lips as you made your way to the bathroom. You’d left a toothbrush there for yourself a while ago, and not long after, a face wash had joined it. Before you knew it, your collection of toiletries at your boyfriend’s place had grown larger than the one at your own. The realization hit you one evening when you and the girls from the team were getting ready for a night out—you couldn’t find your favorite lipstick because, well, it was there. Same with your favorite perfume.

Most of your clothes.

You could say that your entire life’s belongings had slowly started to migrate.

It didn’t bother you—in fact, you were spending more and more time there anyway, and it was convenient to have everything within reach. But it did create a bit of a cycle. You spent another night at Spencer’s place because all your things were there, and all your things were there because you spent another night at Spencer’s place.

Soon enough, your own apartment started to feel a bit foreign. Almost like all those hotels you ended up in while working on cases. Sure, you could relax there, catch your breath after a long day, but it just wasn’t the same.

You headed to the kitchen to make the promised coffee. At that exact moment, Spencer appeared in the doorway as well. His eyes weren’t fully open yet, and his hair was a true mess—barely deserving to be called hair at all. He was trying to put his glasses on the wrong way, accidentally poking himself in the eye.

A snort escaped you.

"I seriously doubt even the strongest coffee could pull you out of this state," you remarked with a touch of amused sarcasm.

"It doesn't hurt to try," he groaned, this time managing to put his glasses on correctly and without risking an eye injury. That’s when his gaze fully landed on you. His lips parted slightly, as if he’d just remembered something. "The mugs are—"

"Here," you finished, opening the exact cabinet where they were stored. Spencer nodded, mouthing a silent right. "You don't have to remind me every time,"

"I know, sorry," he sighed, moving closer to you at the counter where you were making coffee and leaning against it sideways.

His hand, straightened at the elbow, rested on the edge, and the pads of his fingers tapped out a rhythm, as if lost in thought. A similar expression appeared on his face. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed him watching you in a thoughtful way.

Handing him the mug of freshly made coffee, you raised your eyebrows.

"Do I have toothpaste around my mouth or what?" you asked.

"What?" He jolted, completely caught off guard by your question. For a moment, he froze in place, then shook his head, realizing he'd zoned out. "No—I... Thanks for the coffee," he said, still looking somewhat dazed.

You tilted your head to the side with curiosity. Was it just regular sleepiness, or something more? Somehow, you had a gut feeling that something a bit more elusive was behind his behavior. You were probably becoming an expert at reading him.

"You're welcome," you replied.

"I really like when you're here in the morning."

"Because I make you coffee?"

He let out a chuckle, lowering his gaze to his mug. Standing so close, only two wisps of steam rising from your drinks separated you. You slowly set yours down on the counter, adopting a more focused, expectant stance.

"Not just because of that," he denied, the corners of his lips twitching slightly. For a moment, he held his mug in an uncertain grip, as if he'd forgotten what it was for. Only after a prolonged sigh did he also set it aside, briefly rubbing his forehead.

"Maybe I should put it better. It's not just that I like when you're here in the morning."

He paused, lifting his eyes to meet yours through the small difference in height between you. You saw how the softness in his dark, now fully awake eyes mingled with a hint of nervousness. He swallowed.

"I like when you're here. Just...here."

For some reason, an inexplicable stress washed over you too. For a moment, you felt surprised by it, only to realize a beat later what this feeling was called.

Excitement.

"Mhm," you hummed slowly. "I like it too. I mean, being here."

You thought you knew where this conversation was headed. You thought you wanted to help guide it there, but at the same time, you didn’t want to apply any pressure. If he didn’t ask, that was fine. But if he did...

"I've actually been thinking about this a lot lately," Spencer continued. "You know, we work together. I mean, I know you know we work together..." He blinked. "Okay, from the top. What I meant to say is that since we work together, it would actually be quite practical. We wouldn’t have to commute from two different places and...and our carbon footprint would be smaller..."

"Spencer—"

"...So it wouldn’t just be convenient, but also economical and, I think, enjoyable, because, as we both just agreed, we like being here, with each other..."

You opened your mouth, but he beat you to it again.

"But if not, that's totally fine. I’m not trying to pressure you, of course—the most important thing is whether you want to, whether we both want to, but I just... I just wanted you to know that I really would like that, and it’s just a matter of..."

"Spencer, are you trying to ask me to move in with you?"

You felt that if you didn’t put it into clear words yourself, he might never get there. He’d sooner deliver an entire lecture on CO2 emissions, lose his train of thought halfway through, and somehow end up talking about the JFK assassination—leaving both of you completely unsure what his original point was.

You couldn’t really criticize him for it, because you knew you’d listen, completely enchanted, for an embarrassingly long time—thinking about how adorable he was when he drifted off-topic without even realizing it.

Spencer paused for a moment, his lips slightly parted, as if he were in shock that it was possible to say it so simply. He nodded eagerly.

You, too, froze for a moment, because, well, it had just hit you. He had really meant to ask that from the beginning—it wasn’t just a figment of your imagination or some mistaken assumption. You drew in a deeper breath, nodding even more eagerly, because forming a full sentence had suddenly become quite difficult.

"Are you sure?" The question slipped out, and he seemed amused by it.

Okay, asking that after he even brought up ecological reasons was seriously unnecessary.

"Of course I am. I've been sure for a while, actually. I wanted to suggest it earlier... but I didn't know how you felt. I wasn't sure if you’d think it was too soon."

You took a sip of coffee, barely tasting it because you were so absorbed in the situation and his words. You, too, had spent a lot of time thinking about moving in together, not knowing how to bring up the topic. There was no universal rule for when a couple should start considering living together—no ancient script with a clear decree to do it after a set number of months. They say that living together is what truly tests a couple, showing you each other in the most intimate situations, in a place where the dress code requires taking off the mask. It's not uncommon for this stage to be the beginning of the end.

But you weren’t worried about that at all. You knew you’d make it work—this thought dominated your mind, and no doubts could withstand its strength. After all, you’d already been practically living together for a while; bringing a few more things from your apartment wouldn’t change anything—if anything, it would only solidify what already was.

The only stress you felt was the good kind.

"I’ll need to move everything over. Well, it’s not that much since most of it’s already here, but still, it’s a job for a day off, which means..." You were already planning everything and estimating how many boxes you’d need. The effect of excitement, probably.

But then your gaze fell on the clock, then on your boyfriend, still in his loose sleep t-shirt, and finally on your own clothes.

"Oh, shit, Spencer, we’re gonna be late!"

He straightened up, realizing the same thing. You pressed the mug to your lips, wanting to finish your coffee as quickly as possible and immediately get moving to get dressed. Despite the rush, you still tried to savor that morning.

Soon, good fairies, moving plans, and cardboard boxes would be replaced by something else—specifically bodies, victims, and unsubs.

"I'm exhausted," you groaned, leaning your shoulder and temple against the wall.

Concern shimmered in Spencer's eyes as he stood across from you.

"We'll be home soon," he reassured you gently. But then, his brow furrowed. "At least, I hope we'll be home soon. I have no idea what Hotch wants to talk to us about. Do you?"

You shook your head. The boss had told you both to wait for him outside his office, so there you were, leaning against the wall opposite the door with his name on it. You wondered what this could be about, but you were too tired to really care. The last three days had been spent working on an incredibly difficult case in another state, and all you wanted now was to crash into bed, snuggle up against your boyfriend, and erase everything from your memory.

Tense, you wrapped your arms around yourself.

"I swear, if he comes in here to tell us we're going on some secret mission to Florida to chase a cannibal who makes human soup, I won’t even cry," you declared. "I'll just jump out the window right away."

"You’d lose your job," Spencer pointed out. "And, well, you’d die."

"Interesting that you mentioned losing my job first. Boyfriend of the year, no doubt."

"Oh, don’t complain."

He snorted, but a tiny, tired smile lingered on his lips. Before moving closer to you, he glanced around. At work, you both rarely showed affection—it was something you had mutually agreed upon. Well, the FBI wasn’t exactly the place for that kind of thing.

However, the fact that you were completely alone in that hallway convinced him to break your private protocol. He leaned in just enough to press a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“We’ll survive the talk with Hotch, and then it’s just…”

“Sleeping,” you finished with a dreamy sigh, resting your temple against his chest.

“Well, not exactly,” he replied. His hand found its way to your head, fingers gently tangled in your hair. “Tomorrow, we’re spending the whole day cleaning out your old place, remember?”

You let out a long groan.

“Why can’t everything just magically transport itself instead of needing actual human effort…”

“Because…” Before he could respond with some undoubtedly logical explanation, something alerted him, and he stepped back from you.

You glanced over your shoulder. Hotch was approaching, clad in a black suit and, much like you both, wearing a less-than-fresh expression.

"I'm glad you stayed," he said, his tone a bit robotic and devoid of any emotion, which amusingly contrasted with his words.

As if we had a choice, you thought as he led you into his office. He took a seat on the other side of the desk, and you quickly exchanged glances with Reid. You were both starting to feel a bit anxious. There was something in Hotch’s posture and stride that didn’t exactly suggest, say, a raise.

"Did something happen?" Spencer asked, his brow furrowing. "Is it about the case, or maybe the report...?"

"No, it has nothing to do with that," Hotch stated. You held back from exchanging another glance. He froze for a moment, his gaze fixed on both of you, but his expression gave nothing away. Then...he sighed.

"We're all tired, so I'll get straight to the point. This is about the two of you."

"I think we figured that much out," you remarked.

The sarcasm wasn’t meant to be rude—it slipped out as a natural response to the sudden wave of stress that washed over you. Hotch's gaze lingered on you for a moment, and that was all it took. You knew what this was about. You simply felt it.

"You know that relationships between agents aren’t exactly encouraged here."

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Spencer’s face grow taut. A prolonged silence fell over the room. Neither of you spoke, as if staying quiet might somehow halt the conversation altogether—freeze it in that moment and then let it melt away, disappearing like a cube of ice.

A lump formed in your throat, so massive it made swallowing difficult.

"But they aren't forbidden," you said.

It was true—there was no such rule. If there had been...well, you weren’t sure what would’ve happened to you two. Would you have hidden it? Or maybe you’d never have allowed anything to develop between you in the first place? It wasn’t the kind of question you pondered for fun before falling asleep, so you genuinely had no idea.

In theory, you hadn’t done anything wrong, yet in practice, you were sitting in Hotch’s office.

Something had to be up—something had to be wrong.

"Which doesn't change the fact that such relationships are not looked upon favorably," your boss continued. There was no reprimand in his voice—he wasn’t scolding you for being together. In fact, you doubted he cared about it at all. The fact that you were in a relationship hadn’t changed the way you did your job in any way.

"And it also doesn't change the fact that you've attracted particular attention," he paused for a longer moment, cleared his throat, still incredibly calm, though something was beginning to break through on his face as he stared at you both. Displeasure? "If it were up to me..."

"It actually is up to you," Spencer interrupted him, sitting as straight as a string in his seat, staring at him almost without blinking. There was a silent plea in that gaze. And perhaps the last echoes of denial that had long since quieted in you. That’s why you didn’t even flinch when Hotch shook his head. "Right? You could vouch for us...It didn’t start yesterday, you know our relationship has never once caused us to botch a case, or anything like that, not once has it negatively impacted an investigation—"

"Reid, I am fully aware of that. This is not my decision," he emphasized. His next words came out slightly quieter. "Just as it’s not my decision which one of you will leave the team. I know this will be difficult, but I’m leaving it up to you."

Spencer parted his lips, not knowing what to say, while you only took a loud breath and held it at the top. Suddenly, you didn’t feel sleepy anymore. You felt as if a soap bubble had burst right in front of your eyes, and a bit of the stinging liquid had gotten into them. But above all, everything colorful and wonderfully distorted by the bubble’s shifting surface had suddenly vanished.

You could have predicted this. The last few months had been going too well. Something had to burst.

You were the first to shake off the shock and rise from your seat. Your movements felt as if something was restraining you.

“We’ll let you know what we decide,” you said to your boss.

Spencer stared at you with a dazed expression. Not directly at your face, but at the calmness surrounding you. He shook his head, not blinking.

“No, wait, we don’t—” he trailed off, watching Hotch nod as you slowly moved toward the door. He stood up as well, but he didn’t look like he intended to follow you. “We can just figure this out; no one has to leave the team. Who decided this?”

“We should go,” you said quietly, before Hotch could answer him.

He met your gaze, a hint of disbelief in his eyes. From his perspective, it might have seemed strange—as if you were choosing to give up without so much as a discussion or an attempt to change anything. But perhaps you simply accepted things more easily, even the worst news, and recognized when a situation was truly lost.

That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

Spencer finally decided to follow you, clearly unsettled by your strange behavior. Before you both left, you managed to exchange a fleeting glance with Hotch. Brief, yet filled with a certain understanding. Because he, of course, knew.

You didn’t have a heated argument on the way to your car—in fact, you didn’t say a word. He watched you closely, and it was clear that so many questions were pushing against his lips, a whole shapeless, chaotic mass of them. That state lingered even inside, the parking lot nearly deserted, and the night—just an ordinary night like any other day of the year—felt somehow withdrawn and distant, as if it was afraid to come between you.

"I don't understand you," Spencer finally said, his hands dropping onto his knees in a gesture filled with helplessness. He had been sitting completely turned toward the front windshield, his gaze fixed there, and only shifted it to you a second before speaking. "Instead of trying to handle this, you decided to walk out."

"Because it can't be handled," you said firmly, pressing your back hard against the seat. "We can argue and try, of course we can, but what's the point? This isn't some new school rule we don't like—it's our job, our team, and a whole lot of people above us. "Listen, I don't want it to look like I just gave up right away. I just looked at it realistically. If even Hotch couldn't do anything..." You waved your hand with a sigh, as if that gesture could finish the sentence.

Spencer took off his glasses and rubbed his tired eyes. He drew out the motion, gathering his thoughts.

"It's not fair that he left us with this decision," he said after a long moment. "Basically speaking, he just dumped it on us. And what are we supposed to do now? Choose which one of us leaves the team?"

You didn't feel like the question needed an answer. This was the situation you were in—that was the fact—and even Spencer seemed to be starting to understand it. You didn't have the strength to face the looming sense of injustice. It would be different if you had actually committed some violation or broken any rules. Then, at least, it would make sense. But as it stood, you were put in this position simply because word of your relationship had reached the wrong ears—ears that had decided to shut it down, seemingly out of nothing more than some arbitrary whim.

You looked at each other again, in a quiet stillness that made it harder for you to breathe. He gave a slight nod, swallowing. He didn’t look like someone making a decision. He looked simply lost. Like you, he was exhausted. Combined, the two of you sat side by side, incredibly fragile and weak, forced to make an overwhelming decision in this state.

You wanted to speak, but he beat you to it.

"I can do it," he declared. He cut the last syllable short, almost swallowing it, as if he was afraid his voice might break. He held eye contact with you only sporadically, but you didn’t need to look into his eyes—or even at him—to understand the obvious truth. That this job meant so much to him. "I have...I really have plenty of other offers. There’s bound to be something even better than the BAU. You should stay."

"Don’t be ridiculous."

"I'm not," he insisted. "I...I'm a good profiler, but I’ve never been great in the field. Not as good as you. You’re smart, you adapt well to new situations. If you stay, you’ll be far more valuable to them than I ever could be."

He looked into your eyes, and the fact that he was saying what he truly felt seemed almost too much to bear. You hid your face in your hands for a fleeting moment, then stretched out your hand, stopping him from saying anything more.

"We’re not discussing this," you declared.

It was, in a way, cruel—to have to look each other in the eye and say out loud which of you mattered more. But, thankfully, you didn’t have to do that. For one reason, a reason that echoed through all the looks Hotch had given you during your conversation. And whose beginning lay a few weeks back, in the offer you had received—but had kept entirely to yourself.

"Well, I’d rather not either, but we have to—"

"We don’t have to," you interrupted him, exhaling sharply. For a moment, you turned your face toward the side window before looking back at him to say the words you hadn’t yet had the chance to voice out loud. "I...Two weeks ago, I also received an offer. Something... something really serious, but I didn’t want to tell anyone because I knew you’d try to convince me to take it, and that would mean, um...it would mean..."

He gently reached for your arm.

"Maybe you should start from the beginning?"

Focusing on his touch, you nodded.

"It's Interpol. And well, not exactly a job—it's training. Undercover Operations and Covert Techniques, something...something that would give me a lot of opportunities."

"Is that something you’d want?"

"Spencer, it's in the Netherlands."

You saw it—the expression on his face shifted for a fraction of a second. He lowered his gaze to hide it, then returned to his original position, forcing a slight smile that didn’t quite land.

"But still. Is it something you want?"

Slowly, you reached for his hand on your shoulder, covering it with your own. You gently ran your fingers over the back of his hand, over his knuckles.

"I don’t want to leave you."

He leaned his face closer to yours, gently shaking his head from side to side.

"That’s not something that should hold you back. Did you want to take it?"

You shrugged, because, truly, it was a complicated matter for you.

"I was considering it, but I was a bit scared. I’ve gotten used to our team. Well, after today’s conversation with Hotch, I’d probably agree to it without hesitation—after all, one of us has to," you explained on an exhale. "But it’s a different continent, and lately...lately, everything has been so good. Between us. Not that it wasn’t before, but recently, I keep catching myself thinking that I love you, and it feels so natural and so honest and so good, and I was supposed to move in tomorrow, and I feel like I’m going to ruin everything by leaving right now..."

You fell silent, feeling the first tears welling up in your eyes under the weight of all the thoughts and doubts. You tried to push them away by looking up and blinking faster. When you looked at him again, his gaze followed your actions with a gentle sadness.

“You won’t ruin anything,” he promised quietly, his hand shifting in yours, trying to hold on more firmly. Slowly, you relaxed your fingers around his. “It was good, you’re right, but... we can’t stay in the same place forever. And it wouldn’t be wise to turn down such an offer just because of this.”

You stayed quiet for a moment. Once you’d started spilling your doubts and fears, it was hard to stop.

“It’s not just that,” you admitted hesitantly. “I know you know the statistics. What percentage of relationships fall apart when one person leaves?”

“It doesn’t matter because statistics don’t apply to us,” he stated firmly, straightening slightly. “Statistics say drowning in a bathtub is more likely than a plane crash, and I’m sure you’re more stressed about flying than taking a bath.”

"I don’t know what you’re getting at."

"Me neither."

You stared at him in silence for a moment before the corners of your mouth curled up. It was a somewhat bitter smile, a paradoxical expression of the weight on your chest and the fears swirling inside you. You took a deeper breath, the air trembling as it moved through your lungs, and leaned in to rest your forehead against his. A simple gesture, allowing yourself to close your eyes and, if only for a brief moment, shut off your mind.

"I love you too," he said after a long moment.

You opened your eyes, a bit surprised by the suddenness of his confession.

"Earlier, you said you catch yourself thinking that you love me. And well, if my memory serves me right...I never really told you that, at least not directly. But I do, and maybe, hm, maybe that's why I know that we'll be alright. No matter what happens."

A part of you wanted to ask out loud if he truly believed that. Another part didn’t need any more reassurance—constantly seeking it only fed your insecurities and fears. So you simply nodded gently, your foreheads still pressed together.

“We’ll be alright,” you echoed him.

Those words carried a certain calm with them. They weren’t a promise that could be kept or broken, setting you up for great disappointment. They were simply a fact, tossed into the air, and despite their lightness, they found their own path, eventually sticking to your heart.

“Can we go home now?”

He pulled his head back, leaving his hand in yours, and just nodded softly.

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littlecoffeeadict · 2 months ago

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hey so pleaseeeee don't apologyze for doing what's best for your health!🩷 Like I feel your stress and stuff and it's so so sooooooo important to sometimes take some time off. Do what feels best for youuuuu😙🙂

Heyyy there, hows it going??

Hey! I'm so sorry. I've been super busy and honestly so mentally drained it's not even funny so I've been staying off a lot of my social media sights..but im gonna respond to that other message you sent as soon as I can cause I have so much I wanna talk about but the brain power's just really lacking right now if yk what I mean 😅 but it's going okay thanks for askingg 🤗 I hope you're doing good 🥰

#No problem bestie you'll figure it outttt #Spencer and I belive in you!

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littlecoffeeadict · 3 months ago

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✦ ALEXANDER HAMILTON: AMERICA’S #1 EMOTIONAL SUPPORT MARTYR ✦

aka: the 5’7” disaster bisexual of your historically unhinged dreams

okay so picture this: a man walks out of colonial trauma hell, armed with exactly zero social capital and infinite self-loathing, and decides the best way to earn respect is to work himself into an early grave while dragging a whole nation into existence. that’s not ambition, babe. that’s a coping mechanism. that’s our boy.

this man—this immigrant bastard war orphan bastard with a god complex—wrote like he was running out of time because he WAS. he was sprinting headfirst into annihilation at every possible moment. he was trying to out-write fate. fate wrote back with a bullet.

hamilton wasn’t just obsessed with honor. he was honor. like he’d fused his actual bloodstream with the idea of national credibility. every time someone insulted the government, he took it personally. every time the senate made a decision without him, he was “tortured.” that’s not patriotism. that’s a full-body psychological spiral in a waistcoat.

he literally equated the collapse of his political vision with his own death. he couldn’t separate “the nation” from “alexander hamilton.” this man woke up every morning and chose violence against himself in the name of America™.

this wasn’t your standard genius-with-flaws situation. this was i’m going to publicly confess to cheating on my wife to prove i didn’t commit financial fraud levels of self-destruction. this was everyone around me is exhausted and i refuse to go to therapy energy.

he was all insecurity and swagger, brilliance and manic overcompensation. like—this man had the energy of an honor student who got one B in fourth grade and never emotionally recovered. he tried to rewrite the entire economic structure of the country because he could not stand being irrelevant.

writing wasn’t just how he communicated. it’s how he survived. this was a man who literally processed emotions at the speed of light via quill. he didn’t draft legislation—he drafted exorcisms. he wrote like if he stopped, the ghosts of his childhood would catch up and drag him back to the Caribbean. he wasn’t just building a country—he was building a legacy because that was the only thing he thought could make him permanent.

look. burr didn’t have to destroy hamilton. hamilton was already doing that on his own. the duel wasn’t murder—it was assisted suicide. burr just showed up. hamilton spent years laying the groundwork. this is the man who alienated his own party, blew up his marriage in print, and dragged everyone around him into his spiral like a tragic little tornado. burr pulled the trigger, but hamilton wrote the play.

alexander hamilton was not noble in the way some people likes to tell it. he was not a victim of history’s cruelty. he ran into history with his arms wide open and yelled, “RUIN ME LIKE ONE OF YOUR FRENCH GIRLS.” he was brilliance built on a fault line. charm sharpened into weaponry. insecurity wearing the mask of certainty. he was a man who broke himself apart to build something bigger—and insisted it would all be worth it, even as he bled into the foundation and ruin the people around him in the process.

alexander hamilton is:

don draper’s self-invention panic

patrick bateman’s neurotic self-control with a side of 👀unhinged👀

tom wambsgans’s clawing desperation for validation from institutions that hate him

and a founding father with a quill in one hand and a death wish in the other

and i love him. i love him so much it makes me stupid. so much so that on some days I want to hug him, shake him, choke him, maybe even stab, and then eat him alive.

Also this is about the historical Ham 😔 the musical one is a bit more silly.

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littlecoffeeadict · 4 months ago

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my type: pretty boys who are professors, FBI special agents, ex-con, probably autistic and have real puppy eyes

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littlecoffeeadict · 4 months ago

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House would have figured out what’s wrong with Will Graham after nearly killing him and would have been like oh yeah also your therapist has been feeding you poison chicken soup that’s why you’re getting worse, probably should check his freezer too the guys not subtle with the cannibalism. But it’s easy to miss all this when you’re getting bent over the therapy chair instead of sitting in it.

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littlecoffeeadict · 5 months ago

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OH MY GOOD THAT SOJNDS LIKE A LITERALL SNOW CASTLE😍😍❄️❄️🏰🏰

Supeeeer cool, my brother and I used to make those too a few years back, together with my mum. It used to be THE BEST part of winter✨️

We actually had some snow, but not that much. Especially here kn the city we had more rain than snow, but that's not thaaaaat bad because me and my family went out hiking in the snow a few times🙃 Also, jogging in the snow is not the coolest thing, I literally slipped every ten minutes or so.

Right now it's getting warm, like waaaarm for spring ya know? I actually don't know the degrees in fahrenheit because we use celsius, but tomorow it's gonna be 20°Celsius outside, which is like PERFECT✨️❤️ Not to cold, not to hot, so that you can go out in a t-shirt but don't start sweating, it's wonderfull!

I LOVE the MCU! Alltough I must admit, i havent watched every series, especially not the newer ones/new seasons, but I know almost all the movies! I actually just went out with a friend to watch brave new world like two weeks ago, and it was amazing!❤️ Who's your favourite character?? Cause mines are Hawkeye and Nat🩷 And do you like the X-men (and ship Cherik?)?

I'm sorry did you just say physics exam on wednesday, two family gatherings this week-end and c.ai suddenly won't even let me kiss someone? Tf?

My life is not functioning right now, the anxiety...

#Snow spencer is like the most precious thing ever😭#Sending a cute flowery spring spencer right back #(Thinking season two magic science tricks spence)

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littlecoffeeadict · 6 months ago

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poe dameron

MASTERLIST ✩ OSCAR ISAAC CHARACTERS ✩ 05/05/24

˚‧⁺ ･ ˖ · ୨ৎ recs

𑣲 the droid problem I @theowritesstuff

𑣲 love bites I @eyelessfaces

𑣲 us, now I @/eyelessfaces

you and poe always promised to act on your feelings towards each other once the war is over. this time has come.

𑣲 uncalled for I @/eyelessfaces

you get quite upset when poe "saves" your assigned mission by giving orders to your teams without consulting you; poe is determined to fix his mistake.

𑣲 why are you crying I @whirlybirbs

𑣲 risks I @/whirlybirbs

cadet!reader & poe dameron butt heads after a mission

𑣲 damsel doing damage I @/whirlybirbs

𑣲 an unorthodox method I @the-little-ewok

All you want is a hot shower, some clean dry clothes, and to crawl into bed. What you absolutely do not want is Poe Dameron in that bed with you.

𑣲 a little help I @/the-little-ewok

Poe brings BB-8 to you every week insisting something is wrong but you can never find anything, His droid is always in perfect condition. But BB-8 has decided his master needs a little help with you…

𑣲 heartless I @youvebeenlivingfictional

When you landed at the Resistance base on D’Qar, you had nothing but the clothes on your back, your mother’s heart pendant, and fifteen credits in your pocket.

𑣲 effective I @/youvebeenlivingfictional

Your family loves to rib you for being single. This Christmas, you learn that bringing your best friend Poe with you can make the holiday a little more enjoyable.

𑣲 the stars I @/youvebeenlivingfictional

𑣲 the force I @/youvebeenlivingfictional

Staring at each other’s lips for a moment before moving closer, as if drawn together by some unseen force

𑣲 invisible string I @campingwiththecharmings

You're a new medic in the Resistance and you keep running into a certain pilot in the medbay.

𑣲 never have i ever I @/campingwiththecharmings

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you grab one of the shots in front of you and down it, coughing a little as the alcohol burns down your throat. As you set the glass back on the table, you slowly meet your best friend’s gaze. He stares at you with slightly narrowed eyes, his lips parted as he absently tongues the inside of his cheek. “You’re messing with me.”

𑣲 fo!reader (co- w/@runa-falls) I @/campingwiththecharmings

𑣲 some like it hot I @/campingwiththecharmings

𑣲 hard landings I @softlyspector

Everybody in the kriffin galaxy seems to know you...Except for Poe.

𑣲 hot under the helmet I @januaryembrs

Poe finds out the hard way the best mechanic in the resistance is also most beautiful woman he’s ever seen; too bad you’re so hot headed.

𑣲 did you meant it? I @jake-g-lockley

𑣲 feels I @/jake-g-lockley

“you are, without a doubt, the most annoying person i've ever crossed paths with. and don't even get me started on the sound of your voice." and "please shut up. i can't stand how appealing your voice is."

𑣲 sunk I @reallyrallyauthor

𑣲 the promotion I @/reallyrallyauthor

When you parents call you home to marry someone you’ve never met, you turn to your best friend, Poe, for help

𑣲 working in the dark I @ichorai

poe should know better than to sneak up on you in the dark.

𑣲 something forgotten I @bensolosbluesaber

Poe Dameron is the love of your life, but he can’t remember you. Still, Poe finds himself drawn to you and seeing flashes of a life he has forgotten.

𑣲 in the stars I @/bensolosbluesaber

It took all your strength to save Poe Dameron. As you lay unconscious in the medbay, his real feelings come out.

𑣲 one kiss I @starryeyedstories

Poe likes you. You like him. You’ve sworn to yourself you won’t get involved with anyone until the war is over. Poe has sworn to himself that he’ll get you to kiss him before then.

𑣲 black leader, shutting up I @/starryeyedstories

Poe loves missions, especially when you’re manning the comm systems.

𑣲 crush I @batshitbimbo

one moment he was just some pilot and the next he was your Poe.

𑣲 tangerine, tangerine I @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

𑣲 move over I @/my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

You let Poe share your bed when he's too drunk to go back to his own room. He, however, can't seem to stop himself from taking up all the space humanly possible.

𑣲 nine ten, eleven, twelve I @foxilayde

Idiots in love. You’re the idiot, mainly. You happen to hear something quite salacious about your bestie. And oooh boy, are you awful at keeping your shit together.

𑣲 late I @spctrsgf

another day, another mission where poe is (not just a little) late.

𑣲 baby wings I @angel-of-the-moons

Poe teaching reader who’s a new pilot for the resistance some of his tips on flying.

𑣲 fight or flight I @happyhauntt

you and poe have never seen eye-to-eye. most days, you wonder if you ever will.

𑣲 come alive I @marc-spectorr

𑣲 boundaries I @melodygatesauthor

Commander Poe Dameron has a bit of a reputation in the Resistance. When your crew acquires a group of refugees in need of transport, General Organa is happy to oblige, but that just means that some people have to give up their beds on the ship and share...you being one of those people.

𑣲 break your fall I @/melodygatesauthor

When Commander Poe Dameron jumps you while you're on a ladder, you unfortunately fall backward and land on his gorgeous face. While you're grateful he broke your fall, you feel terrible that you may have ruined his Valentine's Day date and do your best to make it up to him.

𑣲 even in the quietest moments I @freelancearsonist

Poe in which he and the reader are secretly dating?

𑣲 i don’t hate you I @/freelancearsonist

𑣲 request I @dameronalone

𑣲 coquet I @ozarkthedog

CEO!Poe doesn’t take kindly to you flirting with a co-worker in front of him.

𑣲 less sass, flyboy, shut up and kiss me I @writefightandflightclub

you’re friends with Poe, but you dream of more. Dreams can be painful things though, when there’s little chance of them coming true.

𑣲 a cut above the rest I @/writefightandflightclub

five times you cut Poe Dameron’s hair.

𑣲 graceless (ft. din djarin) I @leiakenobi

“Two bad men, just nice enough to treat you right. Is that what you want?” (A young spice runner named Poe picks you up at a bar and takes you back to his ship. When an older member of his crew walks in on you, your one-night stand goes in a very different direction than you’d anticipated. Takes place in 20 ABY.)

𑣲 all the time in the galaxy I @lilacliquors

𑣲 your wish is my command I @dailyreverie

Poe Dameron, the brand new Commander of the Resistance, is everything you have ever dreamt of: charming handsome, talented, and so completely in love with you. So what could possibly keep you apart from him? Maybe the target on both your backs, maybe the war, or maybe the fact that your mother is General Organa and dating her daughter, and her most beloved pilot, is something not even you two are brave enough to do.

𑣲 if i survive another night I @/dailyreverie

Right before a mission Poe wants gives you his mother's ring, you make him promise to come back to give it to you, with a proper proposal after you are both back. But you disappear during the mission, and Poe is left to grieve you just to find you years later with a promise still hanging in the air and a ring still hanging around his neck.

𑣲 scott street I @jadefromwattpad

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