#+should also probably put all the other tags here-

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

When you point out how neurodiversity affects whole areas of the brain, not just what we see as the presentation symptoms, it seems so obvious. I've known that many neurodivergent conditions have high rate of co-morbidities, but haven't thought about what that would mean. I really liked your explanation of what else dyslexia affects, it made me recategorise some of my sister's mom behaviours. I see time blindness, some executive dysfunction, organisation difficulties and go, yup, I've got that too, it's normal, and forget that most people don't struggle with that (I've suspected I have undiagnosed ADHD for years, but never got checked for it, since I suggested it my dad freaked out, insisting there was nothing wrong with me. I really should though)

May I ask how your synaesthesia manifests for you? I'm always curious about how neurodiversity manifests in people and how it affects them, because there are so many minor and major things not talked about. I apologise if that question makes you uncomfortable, you don't have yo answer it.

Anyway, thank you for your explanation! It made a lot of things click all at once for me.

If you want lots of examples of how my synaesthesia works, I have a tag you could trawl here. But, I have a few different types; the common numbers-have-colours one, but I also get textures and sensations and feelings, and about... literally everything. Numbers, words, people's voices, names, personalities, the plots of media, images, everything.

Soooo, yeah. Sensory overload is the big impact; trial and error over the years has shown me it's primarily auditory, so if I can wear earplugs I can cope for longer in 'busy' environments. The other thing is that it really does a number on my mathematical ability, though, because, I shit you not, the colours get in the way. When I was a small child I was shown that 3 + 5 = 8, and my brain went "Yes, orange + pink = brown, got it" and ever since then if I see a 3 and a 5 together in a sum it DOES NOT MATTER what the operator is, I immediately assume the answer is 8. 3 plus 5? 8. 3 minus 5? Also 8. 3 times 5? Buddy you'll never guess. But it's 8.

It takes conscious effort not to do this T_T

The other thing is that I really, REALLY suffer from this thing where someone goes "Hey, we should watch Program X" but the problem is, you see, the problem is, I cannot stand the sensation I get from the name Program X, and therefore I will not watch it out of disgust that is totally unrelated to the actual show. This applies to all media, places, human beings, etc. (It is obviously a thing I have to be careful of when it's human beings.)

I think everything else I have is ADHD-related though, so that's probably everything I can put down to the synaesthesia.

[kingkat12]

art on art (eric draven x reader)

WARNINGS: 18+, piv sex, oral sex (female receiving), drug mentions, nasty fluff tihi

summary: why hasn't Eric reached out after leaving rehab yet, and how long does it take for marker ink to fade?

word count: 5,272 PART 1, PART 2, PART 3

a/n: this is part 3 of my Eric Draven fanfic draw you! thanks again for the overwhelming support of this series, and enjoy!!<333

(not my gif!! if it's yours, pls reach out and i will tag u<3)

Some broken part of me never expected to see Eric again. I knew that the previous men in my life would leave the second they got what they wanted out of me, so why should I hope for this one to be different?

I had been out of rehab for exactly two weeks now, and I knew this meant that Eric was out as well. He had my address, he had my number, and he weirdly enough also had my email address... yet I hadn't heard anything from him. Not a single thing. I wasn't quite sure why my heart was breaking at the realization I had been thrown away again-- I should be used to this.

In actuality, I knew exactly why my hopes were up.

The last time I saw Eric, had been right before I was about to leave rehab. We were standing in my room, the guards no longer watching me as I was technically excused and only there to get my stuff. I was packing everything into a big cardboard box, unable to meet Eric's green eyes as he sat on my bed-- he just looked so damn sad, I couldn't bring myself to watch. 

At the same time, I couldn't believe that he was upset about me leaving; no one had ever cared for me like that before. "Why do you look like that?" I eventually asked, stuffing his drawings into a book so that they wouldn't get ruined during the move. 

"Like what?"

"Like I'm about to shoot a puppy,"

Eric snorted, a slight smile finally forming across his lips. "Just thinking about how shit these next days are going to be without you here,"

I dared to gaze at him, watching his chest rise and fall in a long sigh. Even while doing the simplest act of sitting, Eric looked downright gorgeous. His dark hair had grown even longer during the time we had known each other, which allowed slight curls to form along his forehead. Draped in pink, tattoos peeking up from the collar of his jumper, green eyes soft with feelings-- the sight was almost enough to make my breath hitch.

"Oh, you won't notice I'm gone," I mumbled, trying to lighten the mood at the same time as I tried to be discreet about shoving my underwear down into the box. "Time will fly by, don't you worry."

Eric shifted, moving closer to the edge of the bed. He stopped me from picking up the next batch of my stuff, leading my hands into his as his rounded eyes sunk into mine. "You're saying that as though I won't miss you,"

I held my breath, unsure what to say. 

Eric noticed my hesitance, squeezing my hands; "I will miss you. Do you understand that?"

Oh, I most certainly did not understand that. Not at all. But it didn't stop my heart from swelling, beating harder than it probably ever had before. It also didn't get any better when Eric led me between his legs, letting go of my hands so that he could put his against my waist. He looked up at me through his thick, long lashes, clearly trying to make me understand the longing lingering in his body. "Will you miss me?"

There was no question in my mind that I would. I'd miss him every second of every day, as I already did. However, I wasn't sure whether it was smart to tell him this, or whether that would make him lose interest like my previous flings. But weirdly enough, something told me I could trust this guy-- or was that just his pretty face doing the talking? "I will," I said, taking his face into my hands, brushing my thumbs over his cheeks in a newfound sense of affection.

Eric's previously glossy look suddenly became a hopeful one-- he pulled me even closer, my hands going up into his hair as he buried his face against the crook of my neck. 

There was something so sincere about him, that I couldn't help but smile. Even now, as I remembered it. Was I stupid to imagine that it had all been real? That he hadn't acted like he would miss me just out of pity?

This was definitely my insecurity talking. I needed to get it all out of my head-- which is exactly why I ended up going out tonight, my friends by my side as we made our way into our usual spot at the club downtown. Being back in the darkness of this place, music blasting through my ears, brought a lot of memories back; specifically the dark ones. 

However, I wasn't drinking. I wasn't taking anything, and I wasn't planning on doing so. In the back of my mind, I kept imagining a scenario where Eric would finally reach out and find me relapsed... and that was certainly not ideal. Then he'd definitely not want to be with me.

Maybe I just needed to forget about him?

And so I began trying-- it didn't take long before I sat down next to some guy trying to tell me about his life story. I had never been this disinterested in my life, allowing him to put his arm around me as I stared up at the light-show on display across the roof, lost in thought.

I wondered where Eric was. What he was doing, who he was with, where he was. Whether he thought about me at all. It quickly hit me that being sober at a club took away all the fun, and with alcohol floating around right before my eyes, I wondered whether I should bother staying sober or not. I didn't exactly have anyone to stay clean for, as I thought I would. 

And just as I was about to ask the guy next to me whether I could have the tiniest sip of his beer, I spotted a familiar tall frame across the room. I blinked several times, straightening up in my seat as though I was a woman possessed. I was sure it was him-- I immediately knew the second I saw the tattooed poem on his back peeking through the top of his shirt.

As though I had heard a gunshot, I got up from the couch, my whole body tingling with unexpected excitement. This was an adrenaline surge unlike anything drugs could give me, and it only grew stronger as Eric seemed to be leaving. 

Panicked, I sped up into a light jog despite being in heels, making my way through the crowd on the dancefloor. It didn't take long before I caught up to him, grabbing the sleeve of his shirt.

Eric had a bewildered look about him as he frantically searched who it could be that had held him back from leaving. When his big, green eyes finally landed on me, they widened as he broke out into a look of relief. "There you are!" he exclaimed, his large hands grabbing my shoulders. "I've been looking for you all over!--"

I was sure I would've started crying if I hadn't reached for the collar of his shirt, tugging him down to my level to press my lips against his in the neediest kiss I had probably ever shared. I flung my arms around his neck as he pulled me closer, both of us letting out relieved sighs at our reunion. 

I wanted to stay like this forever, swimming in the bliss of being reunited with the man who had haunted my every waking thought. However, I couldn't let myself revel in the joy before I got the answer to my question; "You never called!" I said, my hands now at the sides of his face. "You never fucking called!"

Eric hummed, connecting our foreheads as he closed his eyes. "I did... just from a different number. You never answered, so I had to track you down all the way here,"

My thumbs stroked over his cheeks, my anger simmering down into a slow ache. The thought of Eric calling without getting a response made me feel worse than bad. "How?" was all I was able to say, leaning forward to kiss the tip of his nose.

Eric blushed a little before pulling away, and I was unsure whether the reason for my sudden dizziness was the loud music or his smile. God, he was gorgeous. "Our dealers are cousins," he said, wrapping his arms around my waist as we swayed on the dance floor. "And your guy told me I could find you here."

"I see," The loving look in Eric's eyes nearly made me melt— it was clear that he had missed me as well. But my questions kept coming to me; "Why did you get a different number? Is everything alright?"

With that, Eric's smile faltered just a little. His grip around my waist tightened as he brought one hand up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear in a loving gesture. "I... suppose there's a lot I have to tell you, now that I've come all this way,"

I could sense that this was serious— I had seen enough of those guilty eyes for one lifetime. "I see," I repeated, pulling him in for another kiss, reveling in the feeling of tasting him again. There was nothing I had missed more about rehab than this. "Let's talk it out somewhere else, then?"

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

It wasn't every day that I brought back men from the club— my policy was no men at my place at all, just in case I encountered a serial killer in disguise. But this thing with Eric was different; he could've moved in for all I cared. He could also proceed to burn it all down, rip me apart with his bare hands, and I'd let him.

However, the difference between Eric and the other men in my life was that I knew, deep down in my heart, that he would never hurt me; which is why I let him into my apartment.

I watched as Eric took a look around, his hands tucked into his front pockets as he whistled; "Quite the place,"

Shrugging, I made my way towards him as he towered over everything in my living room. "Sure is,"

Eric turned to me, a raised brow on display. "You're telling me you're loaded?"

I felt a bit embarrassed— I knew that once Eric found out the truth, he'd think of me just as all the other ones did. The spoiled girl who had nothing else to do but turn to drugs to get a high out of life. I couldn't help but grow nervous, unsure how to explain the truth to him; "Well... It's my parents' money,"

Eric nodded to himself, stepping towards me. "Are they around much? I didn't see them visiting you in rehab,"

The truth stung. "They don't want to look their biggest disappointment in the eye," I mumbled, my gaze falling to my feet. "But they make sure I'm still alive, I suppose. So it's not that bad."

There was a silence before I suddenly felt Eric's long, slender fingers beneath my chin, tilting me up so that I could meet his gaze. I wasn't sure what I was expecting to see, but it certainly wasn't this; compassion. "Their loss," he said, the emerald green of his eyes engulfing my being with unexpected kindness. "At least you got a great apartment out of it."

I let out a warm laugh, now keening against the palm of his hand as he placed it to my cheek. "I've missed you,"

As Eric smiled down at me, it was obvious that his heart fluttered at the sight of me. I had never thought someone would ever look at me like that. "I've missed you too," he breathed. "Thought about you during every waking moment of every day. You have no idea how glad I am that I found you."

I could barely believe this was real— didn't stuff like this only happen in movies? "If only I had known you called," I mumbled, placing my hand on top of his. "Being without you was just hell... What happened?"

Eric inhaled a sharp breath, an unintelligible emotion swimming in his eyes. "I want to be honest with you, but... I'm afraid you'll run,"

In a flash of desperation, I placed his hand against my heart. "I have nowhere else to run but to you,"

Eric's green eyes rounded out, his lips parting in confusion— was I maybe not the only one stunned by the confessions of complete and utter love tonight? "I— Fuck," 

With that, Eric's strong hands gripped my waist, pulling me towards him as our lips came together in a hungry kiss. The sheer force of it, along with the element of surprise, nearly had me stumbling a few steps back. But Eric only followed; I nearly moaned out as I felt his tongue against mine, my hands flying up into his dark locks and pulling him closer. I had missed him more than I had ever missed anything in the world, including drugs— all my swarming feelings of never-dying love had me pushing away all my needs for an answer from him regarding his phone, and I let my back hit the surface of the couch as Eric hovered above me.

"Missed you," he breathed in between kisses, a slight growl to his voice. Something told me Eric was trying to melt himself into me to make sure we would never be apart again— it only made my need for him stronger. I clung to him, my legs wrapping around his tall figure as I attempted to pull him even closer than he already was. 

Fuck, his lips were so soft. Deadly soft. The way Eric was nipping at my lower lip, occasionally sinking his teeth into it to draw out a whimper, was making a familiar knot form in my lower abdomen. I barely registered that my dress was gone before I watched him discard his shirt somewhere on the floor— now that we finally had time, I let my fingers run over his tattoos, smiling into the next kiss as I realized we would finally have that messy morning I was promised. I couldn't wait to lie in his arms, tracing every piece of art on his skin, taking it all in— this was heaven. Everything about finally being alone with Eric was heaven. 

"Missed you too," I eventually managed to moan out, feeling him grow hard against the apex of my thighs. "I don't ever want to be without you again." My breath hitched as Eric left wet kisses down jaw, neck, breasts, and stomach, knowing exactly where he was heading. I drew my hand towards my mouth, gently biting down to suppress a rather girly squeal. 

"You'll never be," Eric purred against my skin, sinking his teeth gently into my thigh to evoke a sound. "If you think we're ever going to be apart from now on, I need you to scour that pretty little brain of yours once more."

It was impossible not to smile, and I squirmed against the couch before Eric's big, strong hands grabbed my hips, holding me in place as he pressed a kiss against my clothed sex. However, I couldn't shake the feeling that he was doing this to avoid telling me what had happened in the moments we had been apart. Despite wanting to give in to the pleasure, let him tease me and keep me on the edge through the night, my mind wouldn't let me.

In the moment Eric threw my underwear to the floor, now kissing up my thighs and leaving me breathless, I propped myself up on my elbows; "Hold on," I breathed, reaching down to run my fingers through his hair in hopes of getting his attention. "Eric, wait--"

As he looked up at me through his brows, eyes wide with confusion as he paused for me, I didn't know whether I could go through with it. This moment was so damn precious, something I had been longing for ever since the moment I saw him; so why couldn't it wait? With a sigh, I laid back down. 

"You okay?" Eric asked, his thumb rubbing a soothing circle against my hipbone. "Wanna stop?"

That was definitely not it-- I let in a lazy breath, my eyelids drooping over my eyes as my body shivered at the feeling of his hot breath against my cunt. Everything about this situation was making my brain shut down. "No... I don't want to stop," My hands reached for his, and Eric let out a hum, his free hand now ghosting over my sex. "Just wondering whether you drew it or not."

"Drew what?"

"What we did in that stairwell,"

Eric's eyes sparkled with amusement as he laughed, placing a wet kiss against the inside of my thigh. "You bet I did,"

"Will you show me?"

He hummed against my skin; "Later... I'm a little busy here, as you see," Eric hooked his arms around my legs, dragging me closer to him as I yelped. I could only laugh, the realization that I had finally gotten all I had ever wanted hitting me just as I felt the warm trickle of spit running down my cunt-- my hips bucked up in surprise, my breath escaping me. I was about to prop myself up on my elbows for a second time, hoping to get a look at what the fuck he was doing, but as he ran his tongue up between my folds with a ridiculously soft touch, I could only whimper.

The memory of Eric saying he would take his time with me when we were out of rehab suddenly dawned on me-- I was in for the long run.

It didn't take long before he had me writhing beneath him, a whimpering, panting mess. With every swirl of his tongue around my clit, every time he sucked in my aching bud between his plush lips, I held back the urge to buck my hips up against him. It got increasingly hard to keep still, especially when Eric pulled away to simply breathe down on my sex, knowing exactly where he had me. 

"Fuck," I cried, reaching down to run my fingers through his hair-- I did my best not to tighten my grip, fighting the urge to use his dark locks as handles. 

I could feel Eric smiling against me, leaning down to press a soft kiss against my clit; my breath immediately hitched, bucking up against his mouth in an attempt to beg for more. His fingers dug themselves into my thighs, driving my legs further apart as he made space for his broad shoulders. I whined at the loss of friction when he tilted his head to look up at me, and a shiver ran up my spine at the look of his face, slicked with my arousal. 

A mischievous smile spread across Eric's plush, glistening lips; "Someone's impatient,"

I could feel my cheeks redden with embarrassment, lolling my head back down against the couch-- looking at him only made it worse. "Can you blame me? You're doing this on purpose," 

Eric hummed, one hand leaving my thigh to lazily rub soft circles around my clit, using my slick as a lubricant. It only made me squirm, letting out a shaky moan as my back arched slightly off the couch. Even worse, was that I started to feel a small tremble appearing in my hands. "Can't handle a little teasing?" he said, biting his lip as he watched me attempt to suppress my noises. "You keep saying you've waited for me... What happened to your patience?"

I held back the urge to simply kick him-- but that thought immediately slipped out of my mind the second Eric flattened his tongue against me, licking a stripe all the way up to my swollen clit. It was impossible to suppress the hitch of my breath, and the tug I gave his hair in response was purely instinctual. It surprised me further to hear him enjoy it; I decided to keep that observation stored for later.

I had a feeling Eric knew my mind was buzzing, that he wouldn't be able to toy with me much longer. There might've been a few giveaways that I was at my wit's end-- all of which left me feeling like an even bigger mess than I already was beneath him. "I- I can't," I whined, my words leaving me as Eric sucked me in once more. "Wait, please!--"

He hummed against me, now pressing his lips against the crease of my thigh as a chuckle built in his throat. "Fine, fine," he said, playfully sinking his teeth into my skin, his green eyes watching my every move. "I suppose I'm dragging this out... I don't know why I'm feeling nervous."

Nervous? Eric didn't look very nervous to me. "It's just me, though?" I tried, attempting to catch my breath as I laid my hand on top of his. My next words came out shakier than anticipated, especially now that he was kissing way back up my body; "You don't need to be nervous."

Eric hummed, his large, tattooed hands kneading my chest, kissing along the hem of my bra. "It's just... When you left rehab," he started, his lips pressing along my collarbones. "I realized it took me days to recover after a dream with you in it."

The rush of joy surging through my veins reminded me of a hit of amphetamine-- it was all-taking, consuming, and I wanted nothing more than to press him so closely that we'd melt together. "Eric--"

"I've drawn you over and over," he breathed, kissing up my neck with a toe-curling softness. "In every way possible. Imagined the way you'd look at me after waking up in the morning, how it would feel to kiss your pretty little face good night..." Eric's lips hovered above mine, our shared breaths hot and shaky against one another as he continued; "I want you to burn into me like warm glass, mold into one. It sounds insane, but... how else can I ensure we stay together?"

My eyes were wide, finding his, as my hands reached up to cup his face. Like this, I finally had the time to admire the tattoo above his right brow, the deep scar on his cheek, and the tattoo above it. I stroked my thumb over the ink, holding back from connecting our lips just yet; "If you think I'm ever leaving you, I need you to scour that pretty little brain of yours" I breathed, watching his pupils dilate as I bit back a smug smile. "Do I need to remind you that I'm all yours?" My fingers now ghosted over his lips, still wet with my slick, as an idea suddenly hit me. "Actually..."

Eric watched in confusion as I shifted beneath him, now reaching for the table right by the couch. There, I had left a marker which I had previously used to write a birthday card, and I took it into my hand before laying back down, looking up at the puzzled look on his face. "I'm not able to physically melt into you, but..." 

Eric's green eyes widened further, watching as I popped the cap and drew a tiny little heart on the peak of his shoulder.

I met his gaze, beaming up at him; "I can leave my mark,"

The most unexpected thing happened-- The sight of Eric welling up in tears was not something I had counted on when I let my impulses take the lead. For a second, I got genuinely worried I had overstepped all boundaries until he pinned my hand above my head and pressed a needy, passionate kiss against my lips.

I couldn't control the moan that escaped me, my hips bucking up against his, feeling his hard length grind down and brush up against my clit as our chests came together, pulling each other in as close as possible. The need I felt for Eric was undescribable, ravaging through my being-- I had never wanted anyone as bad as this. 

Mind dulled by anticipation and pleasure, I barely registered that he had managed to pry the marker from my fingers and pull it into his hand. Eric disconnected the kiss, pressing his wet lips against my cheek before propping himself up on his knees, scanning his canvas. "I'm definitely dreaming now," he whispered, mostly to himself, hovering above me as he drove the marker tip to the point where my ribs met on my chest. 

I could only smile, watching my favourite artist at work with admiration blossoming in my chest. Knowing I would be decorated with his work made me even more hot and bothered; I did my best to get a look at what he was drawing without disrupting his process. 

Eric drew a line down my chest, a few leaves scattered along it-- it dawned on me that he was drawing a rose. A beautiful, big rose, with that same scratchy style that I recognized from his previous creations. I watched him dart his tongue out, keeping it between his lips, focused; I couldn't help but find it endearing.

"Art on art," he breathed, pulling away to drink in the sight of what he had drawn on my body. Eric's green eyes found mine, his shy smile returning to his plush, glistening lips. "You're beautiful. You're so beautiful."

"So are you," I held back the urge to cry happy tears, my hands reaching out for him. "I love it, Eric. I'm scared of needles, so I won't be able to get this tattooed... Meaning you'll have to draw it over and over. Would you do that for me?"

Eric let out a choked laugh, eyes glossing over as he put the cap back on the marker, discarding it somewhere before returning to his place above me. "I'd do anything for you,"

I hadn't smiled so brightly in what felt like years. Like this, at this moment, I was sure this was it. He was it. 

Before I knew it, we were completely lost in the fiery kiss that ensued-- Eric's tongue against mine, hands lost around my waist as my fingers hooked into his dark locks, our chests heaving at one another. I was so gone, so dizzyingly aroused, that when I felt his thick cock pushing past my sopping entrance, I could only gasp. 

Eric let out a grunt, both of us moaning into the kiss at the immediate relief-- I could barely believe that this was real, that we were back as one. In a sense, this was the melting together that we had both craved so badly. 

My nails dug into his back, leaving crescent marks in their wake as I let him push further into me. Eric buried his face in the crook of my neck, letting out a breathy groan against my skin when he finally moved. His cock stroked my walls the same way it had that one evening in the stairwell, the exact feeling I had chased as I buried my fingers deep inside of me every night since-- I had forgotten how the real deal had felt. How mind-numbingly good it felt to have Eric in me.

I whimpered as I felt his cock throb upwards, immediately hitting my sweet spot, and I wrapped my legs around him, wanting nothing more than to stay like this forever. Knowing I bared his mark on my chest, knowing he had dreamed of this as well, only strengthened the electricity running all the way up to the tips of my fingers. I didn't know how I was supposed to last long at all, especially when I heard Eric moan out my name-- I shivered, pressing my lips against the heart I had drawn on his shoulder. 

I noticed a blush creep up his cheeks before he connected our lips once more, but it was hard to kiss properly when we were both in a heavy daze of pleasure-- we ended up mostly breathing against one another, Eric's green eyes watching as I let out a string of moans with every stroke of his cock. 

"You're everything," Eric rambled, nipping at my lower lip to suppress another grunt. "You're everything, you're-- Fuck!--" His hands dug into my hips, fucking me properly into the couch as he deepened his thrusts. 

My heart fluttered in my marked chest as I realized we were both looking down to watch our union-- the sight of Eric's cock pumping in and out of me, the wet sounds of our love filling the room, was almost enough to bring me over the edge. I also caught a glimpse of the petals drawn over my body, realizing I was admiring both the art and his body against mine. 

My back arched off the couch as Eric shifted, angling his thrusts upwards-- now, he was dead on pumping his cock against my sweet spot, which had me mewling out against his lips. "Eric, I-- I'm not gonna last, a-ah!--"

With glossy eyes, I watched a smirk spread across Eric's lips; "Let go if you need to," he cooed, his dark hair now kissing his forehead as he let out a laboured grunt. "We'll go again, baby-- hah, don't worry."

That was all I needed-- my heart fluttered, realizing we had all the time in the world to fuck all through the night. 

Forever, if we wanted to.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

This was nice. Stupidly nice. Nothing in my life had prepared me for this moment.

The softness of his fingers running up my bare shoulder, the kindness with which he bathed me-- I didn't even know this existed before now. I looked up at Eric, my head nuzzled against his broad, tattooed chest as we lay in post-coital bliss. I reached out to trace the heart I had marked him with, and I wondered what else I could draw on his beautiful body.

However, I knew I had to ask the question he hadn't been willing to answer yet. I had to look past how heavy his beautiful lashes looked in his drowsy state, and how badly I wanted to reach out and trace the upward slope of his nose, to ask what needed to be asked. "Eric?"

He hummed, glancing down at me. 

It was incredibly hard to take my eyes off his kiss-swollen lips. "You never told me,"

"Told you what?"

It felt as though we'd had this conversation about three times now; "You didn't tell me why you changed your number. Or why you waited to reach out. Or, better yet, why you didn't just show up here... I even gave you my address," I couldn't stop the imminent pout appearing across my lips-- I had forgotten how upset I was about this. "I waited for you. I nearly drove myself crazy thinking I'd imagined it all."

Sighing, Eric's gaze diverted to the ceiling. "I'm sorry. I will tell you everything. Just... could I have one more day?"

"What?" Something told me that his secret was a lot more damning than I initially thought-- why was he so reluctant to tell me? Did he think it would change how I felt?

"One more day," he echoed, his tattoed hand mindlessly traveling up into my hair as his eyes glossed over.  "Just give me one more day..."

I didn't know what to say, at a loss for words. Instead, I popped the cap to the marker in my hand, realizing I wouldn't be the one to deny him his one wish. Eric closed his eyes with a sigh of relief as he felt the tip of the marker against his skin once more; time was a gift I was willing to give him.

I was willing to give him absolutely anything he'd ever want-- I just hoped it wouldn't be the death of me.

(a/n: PART 1 and PART 2 linked here<33 thank you for reading!!)

[r6eduss]

Girllll what if an imagine where S3! Daryl and y/n are a thing and when Daryl left with his brother, rick and the others were the one who told y/n that he just left and she was so devastated that when daryl eventually came back she treated him coldly then eventually breaking down in front of him because they think it's easy for daryl to leave them

Idk maybe angsty in the beginning then fluffy at the end?? This scenario is stuck in my head for D A Y S 😩

Anws thanks!!

Listen before I go.

•Summary: Daryl leaves with Merle without thinking how it would affect you. (Fem Reader)

•Warnings: 18+, Twd violence, angst, fluff

•Word count: 2.6k

•Setting: The Prison

•A/N: thank you for the request! I’m really sorry if this isn’t what you wanted and you aren’t happy with it 😭 I rewatched a couple episodes to try and make it as accurate as possible to the actual series. also I’m a very strong believer that Daryl would call his partner sweetheart 🤞🏼(I promise I’ve seen all the other requests I’ve gotten!)

Rick, Daryl, and Oscar had set out to rescue Glenn and Maggie, who were being held prisoner in Woodbury. Michonne had accompanied them, serving as their guide through the hostile territory. The operation, however, hadn't gone as smoothly as planned. They had lost Oscar in the chaos, and the Governor had captured Daryl, forcing him into a brutal situation—pitting him against his own brother, Merle.

As the dust settled and the group reconvened, Glenn and Michonne stayed behind to watch over the car while Rick and Maggie went back for Daryl, determined not to leave him behind. Against their better judgment, they returned with more than just Daryl—Merle had tagged along, at Daryl’s insistence. Now, back at the car, an intense discussion was brewing over whether Merle and Michonne should be brought back to the prison.

“The Governor is probably headin’ to the prison righ’ now. Merle knows how he thinks and we could use the muscle,” Daryl’s eyes locking on Rick, his tone resolute. One way or another, he was bringing his brother back.

Tension radiated from Glenn and Maggie. Glenn, still nursing wounds from Merle’s brutal interrogation, was barely containing his anger. Maggie stood close, her face tight with the memory of her own trauma at the hands of the Governor. “He had a gun to our heads! You really want him sleeping in the same cell block as Carol or Beth?” Glenn's voice shook, both with fury and concern for his family’s safety.

Daryl shot back quickly, defensive. “He ain’t a rapist.” But Glenn was faster. His words were sharp, cutting through Daryl’s protest like a knife. “Well his buddy is.”

Daryl’s face tightened. “They ain’t buddies no more. Not after last night,” he said, growing more frustrated. To him, this was simple—Merle was family. Family was non-negotiable. Why was this even up for debate?

Rick, observing the growing argument, finally stepped in, his voice measured but firm. “There’s no way Merle’s gonna live there without putting everyone at each other’s throats.”

Daryl’s patience was fraying. “So ya gon’ cut Merle loose and bring the last samurai home with us?” His irritation was clear. They were even considering taking Michonne—someone they barely knew—while debating his own brother?

The group paused as Maggie spoke up, her voice softer but filled with conviction while gesturing towards Michonne. “She’s in no state to be on her own,” The trauma they'd all just endured weighed heavily on her, and she couldn't understand why Daryl seemed blind to it.

Rick and Daryl exchanged a look. They had their doubts about Michonne, and Rick had voiced that, telling the group that she’s not going back with them. “That’s righ’, we don’t know who she is. But Merle? Merle’s blood.” Daryl threw the statement out like it should end the conversation, as if everyone would automatically agree.

But Glenn’s response was immediate and cold. “No, Merle is your blood. My family is right here. And they’re waiting for us back at the prison.” His words hung in the air, heavy with finality. Maggie nodded in agreement, she wasn’t about to let Merle, of all people, endanger what little they had left.

Rick stepped closer to Daryl, his voice steady, attempting to bridge the growing divide. “And you're part of that family, Daryl. Not him.”

The statement struck Daryl hard. He looked baffled, wounded even. If they considered him family, why wouldn’t they accept his brother? “Man, y’all don’t know.” He shook his head, anger and confusion swirling inside him.

The silence that followed was tense. Everyone stared at Daryl, unsure of what more they could say. In their eyes, the decision was obvious—but for Daryl, it was far from simple. Finally, Daryl exhaled sharply. “Fine. We’ll fend for ourselves.”

The words hung in the air like a threat, and instantly the group erupted in protests. There was panic now, a desperation to keep Daryl from making a stupid decision out of anger. “No him, no me,” Daryl snapped, his voice thick with frustration. He felt cornered, like there was no room for him to protect both his blood and his new family.

Maggie stepped forward, “Daryl, you don’t have to do this.” He looked at her, and for a moment, his hardened expression faltered. “It was always Merle and me before this,” he said quietly, the pain in his voice clear. He was torn, and it was written all over his face.

Glenn, still reeling from everything, asked a question that Daryl forgot to consider in the heat of the moment. “What do you want us to tell Y/N?” It was a simple question, but one that carried so much weight. They both knew it would devastate you.

Daryl hesitated, his gaze dropping. “She’ll understand.” But there was a crack in his voice, a hint of uncertainty, deep down he knew that you in fact wouldn’t understand. The group fell silent, letting the gravity of the moment sink in.

For a long moment, Daryl stood there, chewing on the inside of his lip, torn between his past and his present. Finally, he began moving, heading toward the car. “Say goodbye to your pop for me.” Directing his comment towards Maggie. Rick quickly followed, refusing to let this situation go. “Hey, hey. There’s got to be another way,” he pleaded, knowing how hard this would hit not just Carol but you too.

Daryl paused, his back still to Rick. “Don’t ask me to leave him,” he said, accent thick as ever. “I already did that once.” Arriving at the trunk he begins stuffing supplies into his bag, while telling Rick and them to take care of themselves. He hoists it over his shoulder, glancing one last time at the group, and walking away with Merle.

You stood quietly, arranging your belongings. Your cell had become somewhat of a sanctuary for you, a space to shape, however fragile, into a semblance of back home. You carefully sat down on your bed, deciding that you were going to nap, until you heard a knock, and saw Rick standing just outside. His hands rested against the cracked walls, not wanting to intrude too much. “How are you doing?” he asked, his voice very careful.

You offered a smile, though it didn’t reach your eyes. “I’m okay.” It was silent for a moment, you could tell he had more to say. “Is everything okay?” Rick slowly brought his gaze from your face to the ground, wondering how he could bring the news to you. “Listen.. Daryl’s gone. Left with Merle.”

Your heart lurched violently in your chest, but outwardly, you kept still, trying to keep your breath steady while each inhale felt like swallowing glass. “Is he coming back?” He was coming back right? You two had something special did you not?

Rick’s expression was one of apology, his shoulders heavy with the weight of what he had broke to you. “I don’t know. He told me you’d understand.” Understand? Understand that Daryl had chosen to abandon the love you thought you both had? Without even saying goodbye?

“Okay.” You replied softly, your voice refusing to betray the devastation roaring inside you. You couldn’t fall apart, and especially not in front of Rick.

He lingered for a moment longer, “if you need anything..—“

“I’ll be fine, Rick. Thank you.”

He gave you a solemn nod before stepping back into the hallway, the silence in your cell feeling almost suffocating. You sat frozen for a very long moment, staring at ceiling. Then, like a dam breaking, the tears came, hot and unbidden, blurring your vision as the enormity of it all crashed down on you. You sank onto your bed, your body shaking with silent sobs and your heart aching in ways you hadn’t expected. You’ve always known that Daryl was complicated, guarded.. but why did he leave? Were you not important enough to him? Did you really mean that little? A hundred questions burned in your mind, and none of them had answers.

It felt like an eternity before the next day finally arrived. The night had been restless, your mind circling endlessly around one thing, and that one thing was Daryl. The way he had just stood up and left you behind, it left a pit in your stomach that only deepened with each passing hour. But today, you had bigger problems, problems that made personal heartache seem almost insignificant.

Glenn was gone, in attempts to clear his mind. With Daryl gone and Rick wandering crazy town, he was the next in charge, and right now he had a lot of pent up anger on what the governor did to Maggie. But of course, while he was gone, the Governor had made his move, and it was brutal. His forces stormed the prison with a cold, ruthless efficiency, and everything erupted before you had time to prepare. Axel was the first to fall, a sharp crack of gunfire cutting through the air as he crumpled to the ground, lifeless. Carol, who had been standing just beside him, let out a sharp cry of shock. In a heartbeat she ducked behind Axel’s now motionless body, using him as a shield.

Bullets ripped through the air, the deafening sound of gunfire filling the space as you scrambled for cover. You crouched behind the crumbling remains of the prison walls that were near the gate, heart hammering in your chest, adrenaline surging through your veins. You clutched your rifle tightly, hands shaking slightly as you peeked out from behind the wall, eyes scanning for targets.

There. One of the Governor's men was in your line of sight, crouched low, his rifle trained on the courtyard. Without hesitating, you aimed and pulled the trigger. The recoil jolted your body, but you didn't wait to see if you hit your mark. You ducked back behind the wall, the echo of gunfire ringing in your ears. Around you, The group fought just as hard, each of them locked in their own battles.

As you leaned out again, carefully scanning for your target who you hadn’t known already retreated, your eyes fell on Herschel, who was still exposed in the courtyard. Rick, positioned just outside the fences, was also in a precarious situation. At that moment, the Governor and his men launched an assault, sending a car to smash through the courtyard fence. Herschel, crouched in the field with his rifle, began to feel the weight on him as walkers started to flood in from every direction.

The fear was palpable among you, Rick, and especially Maggie as you all dreaded the possibility of losing Herschel. Just as the Governor began to leave, Glenn had returned, driving into the courtyard while Michonne followed the truck, cutting through the walkers that stood in her way. Their intervention was a lifesaver; they quickly rescued Herschel, escorting him into the truck and out of the courtyard, into the safety of the prison gates.

Outside, Rick was struggling to fend off the relentless walkers closing in on him. Just when things seemed dire, a bolt flew through the air, striking the head of the walker attacking Rick. Daryl and Merle had returned, joining forces with Rick to clear the remaining walkers. Daryl and the rest of your family were okay.. and that’s all you needed to know before bolting back toward your cell, trying your best to avoid the archer in the process.

A couple hours later you found yourself sat on your bed, running your fingers absentmindedly over the pages of an old journal you started keeping. Without looking up, you could heard the familiar sound of boots shuffling just outside your cell. Daryl stood awkwardly in the doorway, his hand brushing against the frame of the cell, his shoulders hunched slightly as though the weight of the world rested on them. He didn’t say anything at first, just stood there, the air between them thick with tension.

"Hey," he muttered finally, his voice gravelly and hesitant.

You looked up at him then, your expression unreadable. Daryl shifted his weight, uncomfortable under your gaze. Without a word, you stood and brushed past him, your shoulder grazing his as you walked out of the cell. Daryl flinched at the contact, his jaw tightening. The cold shoulder hit him harder than any words could have, and as he watched you walk away, he felt the guilt gnawing at his insides.

The distance between you two only grew more unbearable. As the days flew by, you continued to ignore him, feeling as if he didn’t deserve your attention, while Daryl found himself missing the soft touch of your hand, the warmth you brought into his life that no one else ever could. He couldn’t stay away any longer. He needed to fix this.

He found you sitting on the edge of your bed again, scribbling quietly in your journal like yesterday, not looking up when he entered, just blatantly ignoring him.

"Damn it, why’re ya avoidin’ me?" His frustration finally boiled over, his voice harsher than he meant it to be. You paused, setting the journal down slowly before looking up at him with steely eyes, the walls around you finally beginning to crack. "Why did you leave, Daryl?" Your was voice trembling but controlled, laced with anger. "Was it that easy?"

Daryl froze, his usual tough exterior faltering. He wasn’t used to being confronted like this, especially by you. He fidgeted, biting the inside of his lip. "It ain’t like that… Merle— he’s my blood."

"And what am I, Daryl?" You instantly snapped, voice rising higher as your emotions spilled over. "Why was it so easy for you to leave me? You didn’t even say goodbye. Did you not care?" Daryl’s gaze fell to the ground, avoiding yours at all costs. “I wasn’t thinkin’ straight”

Your eyes instantly widened in disbelief and hurt. “You left me here, alone, when I thought we had something! You weren’t even clear headed enough to think about how it would affect me!” Daryl flinched at edge of your voice. “I didn’t know what to do! I was tryin’ to do what I thought was right.”

You stood up abruptly, your anger radiating off you. “What was right?! You think abandoning me without a word is doing what’s right? Why’d you even come back if clearly all you needed was Merle.”

Your words cut deeper than any wound he’d ever taken. He stood there, staring at you, the silence stretching painfully between you both. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I came back 'cause I realized I love ya."

Your heart fluttered at his words, the anger in your eyes softening, though the hurt was still there. For a very long pause you just stared at him, scanning his eyes for any possible doubt for what he just admitted to you. “..Actually?” You really couldn’t believe it, you never thought he’d be the one to say those words first, but he did. All You wanted to do was stay mad, to push him away for making you feel like you didn’t matter, but the vulnerability in his voice stopped you. He again chewed the inside of his lips and nodded slowly to answer your question. "I’m sorry." he mumbled, looking down. He looked like he was about to cry, and in that very moment you just wanted to nurture him.

So without thinking, you closed the distance and wrapped your arms around him. Daryl tensed at first, his back stiffening at the unexpected embrace, but after a moment, he slowly relaxed, his arms wrapping around you in return and leaning down into your neck, feeling comfortable and safe.

"I love you too.. but don’t ever leave me again."

Daryl leaned back and pressed a gentle kiss onto your forehead, lingering just for a moment. “I won’t, sweetheart.”

And that was a promise he’d never break. Not for anybody.

@vampiresluv

[vilapollo-arts]

keeping him awake

pairing: Xavier x gn!reader

tags: mdni, established consent, s*mno, blowjob, Xavier calls you pretty, creampie, not beta read/edited

You’re lucky that your shift has already ended early for the day. The sun had already begun to set so you immediately stopped by the grocery store to buy some ingredients. You decided to also stock up your pantry since someone has been sneaking into your apartment and get their grubby hands on your snacks.

“I should probably also cook for him,” you mumble to yourself. “I bet that man just slept all day.”

After paying for your items, you immediately get home and start cooking up a simple dinner. You’ve been eating take outs for the past week so you decided that today is the day you finally get to eat a home cooked meal. While cooking, you send Xavier a quick message that you’re currently cooking dinner.

He immediately responds back, to your surprise, “I cant wait. Im just about to hop into the shower”

As soon as you read that last sentence, you bit your lower lip, imagining your boyfriend naked and steamy from the shower. You feel the heat in between your legs growing the more you think about getting in bed with him.

Both of you have been so busy with your missions that it's been a while since you've slept in the same bed. You miss the way his voice whispers your name. You miss his warmth. You miss him.

Your phone dings once again, interrupting your thoughts. “I missed U. I cant wait to have U all for myself tonight”

This dinner couldn’t cook itself any faster, huh?

You send a reply back, “I’ll just finish up our dinner and head over to your apartment right away.”

You return your full attention back to the dinner you were making, which is a completely difficult task, considering how uncomfortable your underwear is getting already.

Once you’re done cooking, you decide to also take a shower while it cools down for a bit. When you’re done, you transfer the food to another container before heading to Xavier’s apartment. You decide to just use your own key to the apartment to let yourself in.

The lights in the kitchen and the living room are both on. Even the fan was on in the living room.

“Xavier?” you call out as you head into the kitchen.

There’s no answer.

You set the bowl down on the island before heading into the living room. You turn off the fan. He’s not here either. You decide to head towards his bedroom. Before entering, you knock lightly. The only response you get is the light snores coming from the other side of the door.

You decide to let yourself in. As soon as you open the door, you see him lying on his bed with nothing but his boxers on. His sweater and sweatpants are right beside him. You’re guessing that this man was in the middle of putting on clothes when he fell asleep. But that thought is immediately abandoned when your eyes travel down his body.

His boxers are bulging. It’s as if it’s gonna be ripped at any second from how hard his cock is. Even some of his precum is leaking through the cloth.

You swallow as you slowly approach Xavier's figure on the bed. You bend down and slip a finger under the garter. You pull it down, which is a bit of a hard task with how his cock is straining the boxers. His cock slaps against his stomach as soon as you get his boxers down to his knees.

The breath shivers as you become painfully sore down there, impatient of what's to come. You kneel on the floor and take his long shaft in your hands before starting to stroke it slowly. You collect your saliva on your tongue and spit it on the head of his cock. You spread the mixture of your spit and his precum all the way down to the base of his cock. You pull his boxers down completely and discard it behind you before putting your attention back to his cock.

It’s so hard and the tip is almost like an angry red. The thought of his cum exploding inside you while you’re riding him while he’s fast asleep almost makes you cum as you press your lips on the tip. It twitches in your hand as your lips start to slowly envelop his girth. His scent and taste consumes your senses. While the pain in between your legs keeps growing, you want to feel his cock in your mouth first. You want to hear him moan while you facefuck yourself onto his cock while he’s asleep. You need to know that you can pleasure the man with your mouth alone even in his sleep.

Suddenly, you hear Xavier groan. Your eyes flick to the expression on his face to see whether he’s awake. His eyes are still closed but his lips are now parted, taking in heavy breaths. This alone urges you on to further push his cock into your mouth. The more his cock gets pushed down your throat, the more heavy his breaths become. Soon enough, your lips touch the base of his cock.

You move your tongue around, reaching for his balls, massaging them with the tip of your tongue while his whole cock twitches in your throat. You let out a small moan as you pull your head back, feeling every vein of his cock against your lips and tasting every drop of his precum on your tongue. As soon as your lips reach the head of his cock, you immediately push it back down your throat. Putting your hands on his thighs, you start bobbing your head up and down on his length.

Xavier’s heavy breathing is followed by small moans. You can see how his abdominal muscles are tensing, but he remains asleep. This does nothing but urge you even more. However, his hips suddenly jolt upward, catching you off guard as the head of his cock hits the back of your throat. Your nails suddenly dig into his skin as you resist the urge to gag loudly. Tears immediately formed in your eyes. You slowly pull away.

You gasp as soon as his cock pops out of your mouth, spit coating your lips and chin. You wipe your lips and chin as you stand up. You slip out of your shorts and underwear before carefully crawling on top of Xavier. You look down on his face. His brows are slightly furrowed, but as you press your palms on his chest, his breath is even. After confirming that he’s still asleep, you grind down on his cock. You move your hips back and forth. Your own arousal coats his shaft.

You take his cock behind you as you lift your hips. You line his cock to your entrance and start to sink down on his length. You bite down on your lower lip, your head hanging backwards. You stifle a pained moan as his cock continues to slowly split your insides in half. Xavier stirs beneath you. You can feel his chest start to expand and contract a little faster as the tightness of your hole envelops the entirety of his cock.

“Fuck,” you sigh as you bury your face on his neck.

You immediately start moving your hips up and down. Your breathing began matching Xavier’s heavy breathing as well. The feeling of his cock being pushed back up into you is making it harder for you to stifle your moans. Despite that, you don’t slow down. You even bounce your hips faster, trying to find that spot inside you that Xavier always somehow manages to abuse whenever he fucks you brains out. You whine in frustration as you increase your pace. Feeling his cock inside you feels amazing, but something’s still missing that could bring you to the edge.

All of a sudden, your movements were halted by two big hands on your hips, keeping you in place. Below you, Xavier slams his hips upwards into you. And that particular spot you've been searching for earlier is now being pounded against with his hard cock.

“You're so tight, my love,” you heard Xavier's lust-filled voice say in a raspy voice.

The voices you've been holding back for a while now fills up the entire room. He adjusts himself below you, planting his feet on the bed and slamming his cock up into your tight hole. His thrusts are fast but deep, making sure to hit that sensitive spot inside of you over and over.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head while drool trickles down Xavier's neck.

Xavier curses underneath his breath. “Waking up to you bouncing on my dick,” he chuckles. “You couldn't wait for me to wake up, huh?”

He slaps your asscheek before rolling so you are now the one under him. He doesn't even take a moment before placing your legs over your shoulders and pinning your hands on both sides of your head before he starts fucking you deeper.

“You’re so pretty when you cry,” he whispers, leaning down to press his lips on your forehead without breaking his pace.

You don't even realize that drops of tears have rolled down your cheeks. The contrast between his soft kiss and the roughness of his thrusts easily sends your whole body into orgasm.

“Oh fuck, Xavier!!” you cry out as Xavier buries his cock deep inside you. You can feel his hot and thick cum coat your insides.

Xavier buries his face into your neck and wraps his arms around your shaking body. You can feel every twitch of his cock inside you, making you shudder. The both of you lay there, bathing in the moonlight. He strokes your hair while whispering sweet praises into your ear.

“Such a good bunny.”

“It’s okay. I'm here.”

“You make me feel so good, my love.”

His other words blend in together as your eyes become tired. You suddenly feel that rush of tiredness enveloping your entire body. Xavier seems to notice this and tries to pull out to let you rest. However, you wrap your legs around his waist.

“Stay here,” you mumble.

Xavier chuckles. “Alright,” he whispers. “Let’s sleep like this.”

He adjusts himself on top of you so he’s not entirely pushing his whole weight on top of you. He knows how much having his weight on top of you comforts you. He doesn't know why but he complies anyway. He smiles as he looks down at your face.

“Sometimes, I can't believe such face can make the most sinful acts,” he mumbles, wiping off the tears that are still in your lashes.

He carefully takes the blanket and partially covers the both of you. With him still inside of you, the both of you fall asleep in each others’ warmth.

a/n: It's been a while since I've written a fic, but I hope you guys enjoyed it!! Requests are open so feel free to hop into my inbox!

Honestly, I wanted to publish 3 fics this week but I guess I overestimated myself because I felt rusty ;u; Still, I guess I can blame it on the illustration that I made because I wanted to publish a fic with an original fanart of mine.

Unfortunately, tumblr is having none of it and flagged my first post with the whole illustration. So if you guys are interested to see the full illustration, I posted it on my twitter account which is @/vilapollo_arts.

I do also have an uncensored version of the illustration. I haven't posted it yet since I wanted to post it once I reach my goal of 100 followers!! So, please help me reach my goal and consider checking out my twitter account. I do also have a Sylus fanart in the making which I will also be posting an nsfw version if I do reach that goal 😉

Thank you so much for reading!!

[askthejash]

([{ Information. }])

This is a RP/Askblog for the characters of the musician Chonny Jash!

Rules:

• No Suggestive/NSFW stuff at all, please.

• Send any asks targeted to Mod Axon at @theloisthatlikes.

• No sort of hate will be tolerated here, do not be queerphobic/ablelist/racist etc.

([{ Character Info. }])

This blog is the collective of Heart, Mind, Soul, and Whole!

The former three are usually who they are, though they can become the latter as well.

(Heart 💜)

my text is purple, my brackets are () and i usually speak in small caps.

he/they/it pronouns, please!

[Mind 🧠]

I usually speak with a blue text. My brackets are [], and I prefer speaking formally, sometimes in ALL CAPS, and with the font Monospace, in bold.

He/It/Tech Pronouns.

{Soul 🔱}

I like speaking with red text, and my brackets are {}. Bolded, casual.

It/He/They preferably.

Whole 👤

I dont really speak with any effects, honestly.

I like he/they.

🧪🥼Jekyll/Hyde♠️🧪

As Jekyll, I prefer speaking in green writing. I speak with a more formal tone, and my parentheses are 🧪 phials! I may have fancier writing if I am following after Hyde.

As Hyde, my writing is more larger, and nicer looking! I quite like it. Mostly the same formality and parentheses as Jekyll, obviously. Sometimes I may speak without my more prettier writing, especially if I must be quieter or I am following a sentence after Jekyll.

My pronouns are He/They/It, or It/He/They.

Do remember that I am the exact same person, not seperate like the others.

+Mod Axon⚡-

i speak in pink . lots of spaces and i misspell things alot too but ill try to keep that to a minimum , my brackets are +- and i smile alot :}

it/he/zap/tech/they pronouns 👍 . my main blog is @theloisthatlikes .

([{ Tags. }])

In character: #(thescourgetopurge) #[theautomatonfreak] #{thetridentialhost} #thecomplacencysettled

In character commentary: #([{jashspeaks}])

Answering asks: #([{lotsofquestionsanswered}])

Roleplaying: #([{youplayjekyllandiplayhyde}])

Singing lyrics: #([{songsweliketosing}])

Polls: #([{atallyinthehalls}])

Shitposting: #([{aahjesus}])

Other characters: #🧪hereistandhalfaman🧪 #🧪thebackendofmorality🧪

Out of character: #+thejashisamask-

ty for reading 👍

[maulfucker]

Yeah yeah jedi Maul au we've all seen him. But what about senator Maul au. Representing Dathomir, a neutral world like Mandalore that is still somewhat hostile to outsiders. Wearing fancy clothes that show a bit too much skin for the cold climate of Coruscant. Falling in hate at first sight with Padmé, the only other senator who brings a gun to the senate floor "just in case". The two of them having a weird rivalry because Maul doesn't trust the Jedi and is neutral in a lot of subjects that Padmé is a vocal defender of.

[piningpercussionist]

Template by @juni38

Im going to be completely frank with you all... and admit that I read these options and wasn't sure how to take this chart,,, so uh. Under the cut is Another Version. I'd apologize but I've given you the option to keep scrolling ¯\_(･･)_/¯

(If you notice characters missing on Kim's side, I probably figured she doesn't know who they are lol)

For the record,,, if they *wanted* me to pull their hair-- *is shot several times before I can continue*

Uhh Matthew is here because I have been converted fully on he/him or enby lesbian Matthew I think. He lives in my brain rent free now, very gender. I'd pull his hair but also I think he mostly just deserves to have it played with nicely.

And Scott's here because 1) I enjoy trans Scott, 2) Kim Pine Brain Rot possibly, 3) idk he's like,, the exception. God damnit, I've fallen for the inexplicable Scott Pilgrim Effect. What the fuck--

I did think about doing this chart like everyone was actually applicable to my tastes, but even if they were I think the ones I didn't put up would have to fall on the caress side bc I just don't feel that way abt them lol.

Again, not to say that's the case for the gals over on that side,,, I just think I would want to be gentle w them shxkdjsdhbd with the exception for Lynette who probably deserves to have her hair pulled, but again I fear she would Hurt Me,,, but maybe in a fun way,,,

Anyway No One Look At Me....

(,, also,,, Ramona is so far over bc I think she would enjoy it,, otherwise she'd be closer to Kim in that section. Same thing w Roxie)

If anyone actually looks at this version, I'm not opposed to doing a version like this for Kim btw! Just ask for it so I feel like I'm not just Dropping This and scurrying away

[bueris]

okay maybe I should seriously reconsider my path in life and sell my soul to marketing or journalism instead

[skelly-bean]

I love the character I’ve made for baldurs gate 3 SO. MUCH!

I feel like there is so much going on with them visually but I don’t even care they’re amazing

I also love the guardian I made a lot too - definitely put way less time into making her but I was so tired of overthinking in character creation haha

[gayarograce]

god every time i read a post about an american who says or does something just... really fucking stupid when in a foreign country i feel the need to apologize on behalf of the rest of my country like i promise we're not all this stupid😭😭😭

[loverboydotcom]

also waking up realising I posted an excerpt that I didn’t really want to post in hindsight but it’s okay bc this sites algorithm is so fucking bad barely anyone saw it 👍

[nereidprinc3ss]

hourglass

in which spencer disappears from fem!reader's life entirely for three months, right as it seems they were finally about to make things official. when he comes back they reunite, all the while knowing things can't be the same as they were.

18+ (smut, angst) warnings/tags: oh god so many. NOT canon compliant in the slightest, i make shit up, softdom!spence, nipple stuff prob, fingering, oral f receiving, piv sex, unprotected sex, pet names, tara mentioned, depression, mentions of trauma cause its the prison arc duh, passing mentions of alcohol, mentions of spencer losing weight, reader mistakenly thinks spencer tried to kill himself BUT ONLY FOR A SECOND, where is diana reid, nobody knows or cares, probably filming glee, optimistic ending a/n: haven't posted smut in forever but this wip required it and the angst was so angsty i just had to finish it. it was started in jan or feb and subsequently added to and changed months apart and then edited so the writing quality varies from section to section which i apologize for. originally based on good guy by julia jacklin... also the odyssey by homer? can't really explain that one you'll just have to see for yourself anyway byeeee ilysm!!! PLS tell me if you liked it! or if you hated it! but preferably if you liked it! MWAH! wc <12k

It’s been about three months since you last saw Spencer Reid.

About three months since you had an early Valentine’s Day celebration (even though you weren’t a couple) complete with champagne (even though he doesn’t usually drink) and slow dancing (even though you swore you’d be terrible and he spent the first ten minutes laughing at you as you stepped on his toes.)

About three months since you finally settled your head on his shoulder and let the warbling vinyl carry you somewhere distant as the two of you danced slow circles on the parquet floor for what felt like hours.

You’d have liked him to stay later that night. You’d have liked him to stay all night if you were being honest with yourself, but at 11:45 he gently pulled away and told you he had to go.

“Curfew?” you joked, the corner of your mouth lifting a little and you hoped you were hiding your disappointment well.

“Actually, I’m going down to Texas for a few days to speak with one of the leading doctors in experimental Alzheimer's and dementia treatment. I’m going to see if he can get my mom into a clinical trial. I leave early tomorrow morning.”

“Oh my god, that’s amazing, Spencer! What are you doing still here? You should be at home getting ready to go!”

A rosy blush stains his cheeks and he looks down at the ground, laughing that little self-deprecating laugh of his. It makes your heart dance to see him so happy, makes you want to wrap your arms around him and never let him go so that he knows how much you absolutely adore him—but you settle for an affectionate squeeze where your hands have come to rest on his biceps.

“I wanted to see you tonight because I won’t be here for Valentine’s Day... but I still really wanted to spend it with you,” he admits meekly.

If before your heart was dancing, it is now melting.

The dreaded ‘what are we’ talk has been lurking in the dark corners of every conversation you have with each other lately—at least, in your mind it has. What you have with Spencer is not easily defined, and near impossible to explain to your friends—you act like a couple, you go out on dates, he introduces you to his team like you’re his girlfriend without ever putting it into so many words—but this validation that your pseudo-relationship might be evolving is better than any flowers he could have gotten you (although the peonies he brought will look very nice on your bedside table.)

“Four whole days... what will I do without you?” you whisper, brushing a hand along his face, and your chest aches with the heavy truth of it—despite the fact that he often is gone for stretches about that length. They don’t ever start to feel shorter.

“Well, you can start by reading that copy of The Odyssey I annotated for you.”

“Depressing,” you admit. “And a little ominous, considering you’re about to embark on a hero’s journey.”

“I think you’ll like this one,” he smiles.

You chew on your bottom lip, looking up at him as you think.

“Give me something to look forward to,” you say, earnestly.

“I—well, honestly, I just really want to kiss you and I’ve wanted to for a long time now and, you know, if that’s something you’re maybe also interested in then we could, uh, figure out a time to—”

“You want to kiss me?”

“Wh—you couldn’t tell?” Spencer says, like he can’t believe it.

As if on reflex, you lunge up and capture his lips with your own. It obviously catches him by surprise, but when you lower from your tiptoes he follows you, pulling you in closer and holding your face in his hands.

It’s too natural, too right, to be exhilarating. There’s no rush of adrenaline—it's more like stepping into a hot bath or warming your freezing hands at a fire. Like pieces clicking into place. It’s a relief.

You breathe into it, letting more and more of yourself melt against him. He keeps coming back to you deeper and deeper like a rising tide, and you want more than anything to keep getting closer to him—but then he stops. He stays close enough for you to breathe his air, but dodges your kiss gently before supplanting it with a gentle one to the corner of your mouth.

“I really have to go,” he breathes, before moving away from your mouth to kiss your forehead and speak softly against your skin. “If I don’t leave now I’ll be here all night.”

Which is exactly what you want, and the implication does little to make you want him less. But you care about him too much to be so selfish.

At some point, his hands found their way into your hair, and you gently grab his wrists.

“Incentive for you to come home.”

Nearly three months since that night.

At first when he stopped answering texts, you’d assumed he just had too much going on down in Texas. Which you could understand—you knew how stressful this situation with his mother was.

Even when four days came and went without even an alert from him that he was back in town, you thought, okay, maybe he’s been called away on a case. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s disappeared because of his work. But even then, he’d at least text you enough information so that you would know he was alive. Now, radio silence.

So you tried not to be clingy. You tried to act like an adult, to focus on school and your life outside of Spencer, but when Tara Lewis cancelled your weekly meeting due to an “unforeseen work-related emergency”you called her immediately. Tara was something of a mentor, and it was she who had connected you and Spencer to begin with. You had met the other members of his team by that point, yes, but none who you knew as well as Tara.

When she had informed you that Spencer had been arrested in Mexico and was now facing prison time for murder, you laughed.

Laughed until you realized her end of the line was silent.

Realized it was not at all a joke.

In a catatonic state of tranquility, you asked her for more details. Beyond assuring you of his innocence, she couldn’t (or more likely, wouldn’t) provide them. Asked where he was now. Asked all the right things that made sense to ask.

Then you hung up and had a panic attack because Tara said something about 25 years and you saw Spencer evaporate from your future like an apparition.

Slowly, you felt him evaporating from your past, too. Those memories from the night he left, became visions of you swaying with a ghost. Holding nothing but light between your hands as you kissed the peony air of your apartment.

He doesn’t want to see you, she had said into the phone one night, her tinny voice cutting in and out. You’re not on his list of approved visitors.

“You asked him about me?” you had whispered, curled up on top of your made bed in the dark.

I tried. I’m sorry. I’ll call you when I know more.

All your days melded together like a muddied smear of paint. Suddenly you felt you had nothing to look forward to. No anchor, no goal. Yes, a PhD... and then what?

The only thing that punctuated one 24 hour period from the next was the time you spent crying because Spencer was in prison and he didn’t want to see you and by the looks of things you may never see him again. When you weren’t crying, you were thinking about how your life was a big cosmic joke. An unfortunate statistical anomaly that didn’t mean anything to anyone else, and that you couldn’t do anything about.

That copy of The Odyssey, which wasn’t even bound and instead was a thick stack of printer paper organized by a single black clip, became something of a manifesto for you—a tome that your poured over, reading and re-reading each note in the margins, each word beautiful and imbued with meaning because you knew Spencer had selected every single one specifically for you. You traced the letters reverently, because in a way this was the last thing he had said to you—about Lattimore’s faith to the original text, Merrill’s strict use of dactylic hexameter, the stylings of Wilson and Lombardo, and how he thought you would enjoy Hammond’s prose just as much as he did.

Day by day it was becoming more prophetic than fictional, and you allowed yourself to sink into madness. You would rather be a deluded zealot than be nothing at all.

He didn’t want to see you.

He might as well have been dead, for all that you were grieving him. And you started to hate him, because he wasn’t dead, but wouldn’t do you the kindness of proving it. Like a festering wound, scratched open day after day so as not to ever heal, you had to live knowing he was less than an hour away. So no, you weren’t exactly over it. You lived day by day, waiting for the occasional call from Tara to keep you updated on Spencer, but either she didn’t want to share much about how he was doing, or he had specifically barred her from doing so, because she was always sparse on the personal side of things. That thought actually lifted your spirits, because it meant he was at least acknowledging your existence in some tiny way.

But your routine was becoming more regular, and so you staid on top of your classes and your non-Reid related meetings with Tara once a week, and you learned to dip your toes into existential dread and the oily black pool of depression every night without ever fully submerging yourself. You learned hope, because it was pretty much all you had, and the BAU had confidence that they would get Spencer out one way or another so you did too.

So you didn’t really think about it when you missed a couple of calls from Tara some evening in May. You were preparing for finals and had way too much on your plate academically to think about anything else which was a welcome relief so you fully embraced it. I’ll call her back tomorrow, you think, as you clean up from dinner before going back to the living room where your textbooks and papers are completely covering every available surface. Maybe I have no idea what I’m going to do with my life after school, but I’ll be damned if I don’t even make it that far.

Hours later, well into the night, you’d all but forgotten about the calls. A knock at the door takes you a bit by surprise, and you frown as you stand again, tugging your Georgetown sweatshirt down over your shorts as you shuffle to the entrance of your apartment. You’re not expecting anyone, so you crack the door, peering around the edge of it.

And you couldn’t even consider trying to hide that shaky inhalation of dead air when you see Spencer standing on the other side.

Surely you’re hallucinating.

Surely this man in front of you who looks like he just got back from a day of work didn’t spend three months in prison pretending you didn’t exist.

He looks the same. Hair a bit longer, maybe—and gaunter even more than is normal for him. 

But it's him.

You can’t think about the apprehensive look on his face—you can’t think about the impossibility of him being here. You can’t think at all. Without your explicit permission, your body surges forward into his, and he’s real, and alive, and warm, and he is an anachronism in the hallway as he accepts everything you pour into the embrace, doesn’t flinch when you move your arms from around his waist to loop around his neck and back to his waist again with crushing force because you just can’t get him close enough.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer mutters into your hair, I’msorryI’msorryI’msorryI’msorry, he keeps saying, rubbing your back as you try to find a solid grip on the sleek material of his suit—try to gather all the pieces of him, already afraid he might fall apart and float away again.

“You—dis—disappeared,” you hiccup after an eternity, pulling away enough to look up at his pretty face. Tears blur your vision and darken the front of his jacket, bending the florescent lights so they form a kind of halo above his head.

Through the surreal haze you can see his throat bob.

“I know.”

He knows?

He knows?

You scoff.

“You have no fucking idea, Spencer. What the fuck is wrong with you? I—I'm—”

The hot anger is such a relief for a second, boiling the oceans of your despair into a wrathful, scorching fog, but as soon as you try to tell him how you feel, the barbed wire cuts into your throat again. You shove him away, skin burning where his hands had been.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks, hands hanging uselessly at his side. There’s that kicked puppy look about him—and it’s familiar, but now there’s more damage. You don’t know anything about his time in prison, you haven’t heard a damn thing, but beneath the glassy desperation in his eyes there is an unfathomable void that seems to be preventing him from being fully present—and you realize for the first time that he is different.

It chills you.

Before, you and Spencer shared everything. There wasn’t one part of his internal machinations that you didn’t understand, nothing you kept from each other. But as you study him now from a few feet away, you realize there might as well be a yawning chasm between the two of you.

He is so different.

Those eyes look deeper. No gears turning just behind the slashes of gold and brown anymore—only an endless dark corridor that goes places you will never go.

Gone is the perpetual boyish up-turn at the corner of his lips that always made him look slightly vacant in a way that you found incredibly amusing. Something you had been so fond of, even if you teased him.

He seems to have aged ten years—if not physically, then in demeanor. And now you feel like a little kid throwing a tantrum.

You cross your arms, suddenly unable to meet his eyes.

You’re embarrassed. And pissed. And relieved. Everything is worse and better. You want to fall back into his arms, but you have been jarred by the revelation that this might not be the same Spencer. It might not be the same relationship. You have no idea where you stand.

He says your name gently, with so much familiarity you’re briefly jerked into the past. It makes you wish you could look up to find him as he was three months ago. Wish this was just a bad dream. But that’s not fair to him.

“Sorry,” you mutter, studying the grey carpet fibers instead of looking at him.

“Don’t apologize,” Spencer says immediately, “you’re right. I don’t—” he clears his throat— “I’m being incredibly selfish. I shouldn’t have just shown up, I’ll just—I'll leave. I’m sorry.”

A silent moment passes.

You don’t look up as he turns and swiftly begins to move down the hall toward the stairway, leaving as quickly and silently as he had come, like a few bars of a song sighed in and away on a fleeting breeze.

Your bare feet are concretely planted, imagining him jogging down the steps and speed-walking away from your building—

And suddenly you’re sprinting after him, feeling like you might puke because Spencer was just here and you let him go again—and even though you’re still so mad and confused and hurt, the realization that he is leaving again makes the entire building spin and lurch.

“Wait!” You yell, almost wiping out as you run down the stairs and whip around corners in your slippery fucking socks. “Please, wait!”

The lobby is already empty as you spill out into it, and cold dread tightens around your neck like a fist as you shoulder your way through the double doors and right into Spencer.

“Please don’t leave again, you just—I'm sorry, I really need you to not go—” you blabber, lachrymose once more, gripping onto his forearms for dear life.

“I’m not going,” he breathes shakily. “I tried to leave because I think you were right and maybe I should and maybe it would be better for you but I can’t.”

“You can’t,” you agree, more sob than spoken word. He cups your jaw, then your cheeks, wiping tears and brushing away hair like he can’t figure out how to hold enough of you between his hands. The wild kaleidoscope of his eyes, bright and alive and real as he scans you desperately captures your attention enough to slow the tears to a trickle. He notices this and stares back, entranced.

A silent agreement is made, or maybe an inevitable fate is accepted—either way, something was set in motion three months ago and it matters to see it through. Spencer kisses you and you’re ready for it. You don’t need slow or tender. You need to feel how he feels. You need to know what he knows.

You sling your arms around his neck and he pulls you closer until you almost tip backward, chasing the bruising kiss even as you regain your footing. You want to drink him in and you do your best, breathing deeply as he kisses you deeper, backing you inside and toward the elevator.

“Is this okay?” he manages, only after blindly reaching for and mashing the up button on the wall panel.

Ideally it wouldn’t happen like this, but the world you live in obviously isn’t ideal and your personal situations as they coincide are far from ideal, so this is how it has to happen. But it’s hard to explain, and you’d rather not admit that this is so far from what you wanted for both of you and follow up with the fact that despite that you need him like you need water. So you don’t say a word as the metal doors slide open promptly. Instead you pull him in and let him press you to the chrome wall as he hits your floor button, and that very hand comes back to grab your ass like you didn’t think Spencer Reid capable of. It almost aches as his fingers dig into the flesh, but it’s a good ache because it means he’s real and he’s there.

You gasp as he hitches your leg up, arching into him. The shorts that you’re wearing leave very little to the imagination to begin with, but they become downright indecent like this.

Quickly the elevator stops and the doors hiss open. You don’t hesitate to pull Spencer by the hand down the hall. When you notice you left your door wide open, you don’t even care. Neither does he, apparently—once you’re inside he slams it shut, flipping the deadbolt while his eyes are glued to you like you’re already naked. Now Spencer is shameless in the way he drags his eyes over every curve, every place your clothes and hair are disheveled from his touch and eye-fucks you so obviously it makes your face warm. Three months ago Spencer would have at least been bashful about it when he met your eyes again, but this Spencer is far from apologetic as he pins you with his burning gaze once more. His hand stays stuck to the door like he’s holding himself back.

“Is this what you want?”

There’s an undercurrent of sorrow below the gravely arousal, like this isn’t what he wanted for the two of you either. But you’re both at the mercy of fate. This is all you have, and it might be all you can do for each other anymore. So you don’t need to say that, because he understands.

“Yeah. Yes, this is what I want.”

For just a second more he watches you from his place by the door, and there’s an unexpected softness to it. He looks at you the way he would have looked at you before. Like as long as he stays there he can entertain the idea of being that person again.

Need wins out quickly, though, and he surges forward. Immediately you’re caught in the riptide of him, helpless as he kisses you all the way to your bedroom.

He’s never been in here before. You find yourself glad it’s relatively clean—one of the pastimes you’d picked up in his absence was keeping everything tidy. It was something you could control.

A lamp glows at your bedside. You lean against the footboard of your bed, hands timidly behind your back and suddenly shy to have in him in your intimate space. Both of you set aside the heaving desperation long enough to catch your breaths, and for him to scan the room like he too is being forced to reconcile with the innate and unexpected intimacy of the moment. He cuts a harsh, dark gash in your sweetly decorated bedroom, radiating something wild and powerful and unsure of himself like a chained bull as he takes in the soft, pale bedding, the paintings and photos taped to the walls, the woven rug and the sheer drapery. His breathing slows as he studies it all—eyes eventually catching on something behind you. Looking is unnecessary. You’re sure he’s spotted the dried peonies in their ceramic vase. Or maybe the now worn stack of papers that is his Odyssey, marked up and soft around the edges from constant flipping-through.

Then Spencer looks at you, and that softness seeps in again. Along with something like... fear? Grief?

In some other universe your first time with Spencer is sweet and giggly and kind and he smiles at the decor in your room and looks around with wonder because it’s another way he gets to know you. It’s a different way to learn you from the inside.

You sense that he’s caught in between universes right now as well, painfully aware of what he would have given you that he can’t anymore.

He breathes your name like an apology, and foolishly you let a second go by in which you think he might offer you one. But he doesn’t. Not with his words, anyway. His eyes tell a different story.

“It’s fine,” you say unprompted on a whispered exhale, then a little louder as you push off the footboard, crossing the space until your hands are on his chest. You focus on his tie, not making eye contact as you rush to undo it. “It’s fine.”

He lets you do this for a few seconds before finally covering your trembling hands with his own. You still can’t meet his eyes.

“We don’t have to do—”

“No! No, please. I want to. I need—I need us to be okay.”

“Hey,” he murmurs, catching your chin and forcing you to look at him. “We are okay. Me and you are fine.”

It’s a pretty thought, but it’s not true. In fact, it’s a hideous and abject affront to the truth. Sure, maybe you’re fine in comparison to last week. Maybe anything feels fine compared to an eight by six cell. But it would be impossible for you and Spencer, for your relationship, whatever that relationship may be, to be fine. It’s especially impossible for him to make that claim, after all he did or rather didn’t do while he was gone. What you need is for him to stay anyway. What you need is to find a way to be with him, to exist with him, even when you are so clearly not fine.

“I just need you to stay,” you whisper, and he’s already nodding, wide-eyed like he’d do anything for you. You ignore all the bitter venom rising in your throat. You pretend this isn’t all happening after he cut you out of his life with a dirty switchblade. Instead you focus on his hands on yours, the familiar smell of him, which invites you to let go of each and every thought and worry. He must’ve showered before coming here, you realize. How long has he been out? What happened? 

“Okay. Okay, I can stay. What else can I do? How do I make it better?”

You sniffle and look back down.

“You can untie that for me.”

He hesitates, then nods some more, fingers working under yours to undo the tie around his neck.

“Okay.”

A moment goes by and after that final whispered word, the tension begins to build again. Spencer senses it in the way your fingertips linger on his chest and you step even closer, dragging them down to his belt. The metallic sound of it unbuckling, despite being your own doing, still manages to flip your stomach. How many times have you pictured this? When was the first time you realized you wanted it? You’re sure you haven’t stopped wanting it even once since then.

Spencer tosses the tie away and is shrugging off his jacket now, then before you see it coming he’s kissing you again, ducking down to do it. He feels taller this close up, and especially in your bedroom, where he just seems rather out of place. But you want him here. God, you want him here.

You break the kiss, forced to look down as you fumble with his belt.

“Sorry,” you gasp, embarrassed by your lack of dexterity. The light is barely sufficient to see what you’re doing, especially when he’s wearing black on black and your eyes are still bleary.

“You’re okay,” he assures you, and it’s so Spencer a fresh round of nerves electrifies the tips of your fingers. That thing is happening—the thing you’d hoped to avoid if you hadn’t lost momentum partway through, where you’re allowing your actual feelings for him to get in the way rather than getting swept up in the pathos of the moment and letting everything be easy and mindless. “Here, can I help you?”

But he doesn’t actually wait for an answer before he’s finishing off the belt for you, tugging it loose from his hips till it’s a leather coil in his hands. Your fingers brush the material and he lets you take it as if it were your prize. It’s heavier than you thought it’d be, and you just feel the weight of it in your hands for a moment, your dropped head brushing his chest.

You have a terrible feeling that if you do this now, it doesn’t mean everything will be alright. Because it can’t just go back to normal. Spencer has told you nothing of what must be an enormous trauma, and you haven’t spoken about it at all, but you sincerely doubt that after this he’s going to be ready to just jump into that committed relationship the two of you had been toying with for months before his absence. You’re almost... scared of him, now. Scared of where he’s been and what he’s endured—things you’re sure you couldn’t have taken. What that does to a person, you can’t imagine. He seems so solid and real in front of you now—but you know that’s not always enough. Maybe you’re just scared that somehow whatever he’s been through will have made him care for you less. That you were too far removed from the whole ordeal, and now you’ll never understand. If you could understand, maybe you could fix it for him. Maybe he’d stick around.

Still—even if you do end up pushing him further away in the long run—won't it have been worth it to have had him so completely, even just once?

You toss the belt to the ground, compressing all of these very complicated thoughts and feelings into a few seconds so short he can’t ask you any questions about them. Instead you find his top button, and just as you manage to undo it with relative ease he’s gently grabbing your wrists. You look up at him, immediately surrendering.

“If we’re going to do this I need you to relax a little bit.”

Gears grind in your chest. You feel need and anxiety comingling in every square inch of your body. It’s a sick buzz—a high on an empty stomach.

“I can’t,” you admit.

“Yeah, you can,” Spencer gently disagrees, slowly lowering your hands. When he’s sure you’re not going to try ripping his clothes off again, he releases, and his eyes lower to the zipper of your hoodie. His fingers follow, warm against the soft triangle of revealed skin at your chest as he grips the small piece of metal between barely shaking fingers. “You can.”

You match his eyeline, breathing shallowly and watching as he slowly drags the zipper down. You wonder if that sound has haunted his fantasies the way the sound of his belt has haunted yours. If he’s seen this hoodie on you and wondered what’s underneath, staring at you and daydreaming during movie night with you none the wiser.

Both of you have your eyes glued to the span of skin as the zipper parts. Spencer stalls with the zipper at your sternum, just below the band of your bra.

Right. No shirt.

You look up and find his eyes already on you, tinged with a curious kind of humor.

“I wasn’t expecting guests.”

The words come out shy. Spencer’s chuckle has its own nervous airy quality as he resumes tugging on your zipper, leaning down until your noses bump.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

Then he kisses you again, a little sweeter now. Sweet enough to give you butterflies and for them to flutter right out of your stomach and spill from your lips in a little whimper against his.

It comes as a surprise when he pushes the fabric from your shoulders without looking or asking. Not that you’d have said no—you're just underprepared for how assertive he is in this foreign context.

Left just in your flimsy shorts and your thin bra, you feel quite exposed—but Spencer’s hands are as demanding and hungry as his mouth. They skim up your sensitive sides and sweep lower, suggesting less proper placement over your ass and pulling at your bottoms until you gently put a stop to their wandering.

“Wait. We’re... we’re uneven.”

It’s a struggle to get any words out at all when he keeps chasing your lips, nipping at you like he physically can’t stand not kissing you, but they catch his attention and he laughs airily, pulling back to let his gaze pour over your less clothed form. It lingers and catches and lights you up everywhere it touches, drops of heat soaking into your skin and making you feel all fuzzy and needy.

“We are,” he acknowledges, tone low and colored with the faintest smile. “You’re a lot prettier without your clothes on than I am.”

“I don’t believe you.”

The challenge comes immediately and thoughtlessly. Spencer’s golden eyes flash up to yours. He’s breathing a little harder than usual.

“You want me to show you what I mean?”

If that means getting him naked, then yes, absolutely.

You nod, but rather than immediately stripping, he takes your hand and holds his own open next to it. A thick pink scar bisects some pretty significant palmistry lines, but you don’t mention that. Instead you swallow—your thoughts, your words, your nausea.

“That’s new.”

You wonder how you hadn’t noticed it earlier.

He nods.

“A lot is new.”

It sounds almost like he’s challenging you—there's a kind of tremulous force in his voice, despite the perpetual softness there, like he’s inviting you to say it’s ugly. And you realize he’s referring to more than just the glowing scar cutting an asteroid trail against the flesh of him palm. The scars he obtained in prison must form a constellation over his body.

“I don’t care. I wanna see you.”

Spencer swallows, cupping your face with the scarred hand once more. You can’t feel it against your cheek but you know it hasn’t gone away.

“I’m sure you think you do,” he permits, and that’s where the conversation ends for the moment—with his hand on your face and his lips back on yours. “For now why don’t you let me worry about you?”

Obediently, you breathe, “okay.”

This is, for whatever reason, amusing to him. The brief levity dies as quick as it comes like a snuffed-out brush fire as soon as he lets his hands fall back down to your hips.

“I want... I want to give you slow. But...”

But slow is for people who didn’t lose three months of their life. Slow is for people who don’t know what it’s like to be starving. Slow is not for the desperate.

You understand the feeling.

“I don’t need slow.”

You’ll let him use you up like quick-burning fuel if that’s what he needs. You’ll go as fast and as bright and as hot as he tells you.

“But you want slow,” he murmurs, a secret acknowledged into your own waiting mouth. You’d keep it there forever. You could be the object he hides his soul in. “I know you do. You deserve to get what you want.”

“I can go fast. I want whatever you can give me.”

Spencer’s shuddering exhale is like a drug, dizzying as you inhale it and your eyes flutter at the high, pressed head-to-head with him. For so long you’ve needed him so badly. It’s overwhelming to have him now, all over you. If only your walls could breathe him in the way you are, if this room could remember what it feels like to hold him the way you will, if any inanimate object could bear witness to how you’ll give yourself, any part of yourself, over to him, so willingly.

“I’m going to try.” Spencer’s voice is hoarse as he walks backward to the bed, taking you by the hips as he goes. “I want to do it right. I want to do this the way I... the way I imagined it, before...”

Now he’s sitting, and you’re standing between his legs as he finds the clasp of your bra and undoes it, his fingers a comforting pressure where they ghost down the slope of your back. Your heart is pounding at the confession, at the way his tongue darts over his bottom lip and his fingertips journey back up to your straps, looking up at you with haloed irises as if he’d find anything other than the most dangerous kind of smoldering devotion in your eyes—the kind cult-leaders seek and spend years nurturing, and he’d earned with a mere brush over your bare skin.

The fabric slides down your arms, and as it falls to the floor, you watch something like despair flash-flood his eyes. It is a deep, distinctly human grief. The ineffable kind where something is almost too beautiful; so perfect it offends the mortal senses because it should be permanent, but nothing is, and the clash of divine beauty with unstoppable time which oxidizes copper and covers marble with vine is almost as grotesque as metal rending delicate flesh. It is the grief that drove the first poet to write and the first parents to press their baby’s painted hands to the walls of a cave. It is the desire to do the impossible—to capture ephemeral perfection and make it eternal, and the knowledge that it is hopeless. You recognize it because you’ve felt it for him.

“I thought about you all the time,” he whispers, doesn’t bother calling you beautiful but you don’t mind because he’s telling you with his hands and his eyes and the waver of his voice. “When I was gone, I thought about you—”

You’re just as quiet, just as soft.

“Don’t, Spencer.”

He doesn’t get to tell you about when he was gone. Not now. Not after he acted like you didn’t exist.

“Okay.” He swallows the things he’d wanted to tell you like you choked on the things you needed to tell him for three months. “I’m sorry.”

But his hands—his hands are perfect over your waist and his lips are perfect where they kiss your ribs like they’re his homeland. You could forgive a thousand wrongs for each kiss he puts to your skin. Light from the full moon stretches over the room like a blessing from the cosmos, and you have every intention of making the most of that gift, how the silver gilds the planes of his face and highlights curls like they were carved, and invites you to search for something in each shadow.

Some of his kisses land over the sensitive skin of your breasts though you doubt he has much intention or that there is any sort of end-goal with the trail he blazes—in fact, you have to root your hand in his hair and pull gently back when he doesn’t seem to realize that he’s making you wait again. His eyes are glassy and cheeks slightly pinkened—you weren’t expecting this wave of fondness to knock you on your ass but here you are, falling all over again.

“You don’t have to go that slow.”

A slow smile splits the heart of his mouth at your bashful tone and he’s emboldened to bring his hands higher for a moment, thumbs brushing particularly delicate though not downright indecent spots. Nonetheless, your breath catches.

“Impatient girl,” he scolds, and though it’s lighthearted it still inspires heat to dance across your face. Oh, I think I’ve been plenty patient, you itch to say, but you bite it back because it’s only sad and true and unkind.

Still, he gives you the beginning of what you want, really only the tip of the enormous iceberg that is your desire for him, by slipping his thumbs into the waistband of your shorts and tugging them down. His hands slide up the fronts of your thighs, tracing the trim of your underwear, and you’d swear he’s not even breathing. The moment one of his hand loops behind your knee and pulls forward until it’s pressed to the mattress and you’re half-kneeling, half standing, desire begins to truly cloud your mind. Manhandling never seemed like Spencer’s style, but when paired with how softly he reveals your hip, pulling gently down on the fabric of your underwear just to admire you up close, you don’t mind it.

More kisses are littered over your stomach, and he takes you by surprise a second time with a quick maneuver landing you on your back and him on top of you.

“I wasn’t doing you justice with my imagination,” he murmurs against your mouth. “I couldn’t have known.”

“Couldn’t have known what?” you pant as he shamelessly digs his fingers into the plush of your ass. You almost hope it bruises.

“How pretty you would be,” he coos like he means it, and you dissolve, slipping through his fingers like sand in an hourglass. “You were holding out on me.”

It’s a tease, not at all serious, but you manage to hit him with a, “Was not, asshole,” and he chuckles, placating your little hurt with another sticky kiss, and you get another disorienting glimpse of some other timeline where you’re both a little less damaged. Where it’s a little easier.

But in this timeline, his touch becomes starving and ragged and urgent, and you accept the drag of his thumb up your thigh and between your legs, gasping when he runs his knuckles up the center of you. This touch is metal on screeching metal. It does not pretend to be anything more than what it is—brute, powerful, executed to elicit sensation. You get the sense that Spencer’s never touched anyone this honestly, and while you do envy the girls who got to have him gentler, you’ll take this as the compliment that it is. A kind of vulnerability that is nearing primal.

His lips, though—always his lips—are kind when they brush and land on your skin guided by some invisible map. A dip down your neck and chest and then a plunge, his tongue dragging over your hips, chasing the fabric of your underwear as he almost pulls it off and then reroutes, making room for himself between your legs and pushing lace aside to mark the hinge of your inner and upper-most thigh. Your chest heaves and you don’t dare move for fear he’ll stop leaving signs of himself on your body and you won’t be able to reassure yourself that it was real and he was here and it was not another dream.

Because something in you knows, if only consciously recognizing it for the first time now, that he will disappear again. That this may be your only chance.

The desire to make the ephemeral eternal. An impossibility.

He’s clearly losing himself to something, eyes shutting blissfully. You wonder when the last time he let his guard down even a  little was. You’re okay with being the thing he gets lost in, even if you’re not exactly okay with him—something you are becoming more acutely aware of as each touch makes a part of you want to cry. Maybe you still have some things in common. A strange pain that doesn’t quite feel like it belongs to you, for one thing.

You slam back into your body as his nose nudges against you through fabric, and his lips catch on cotton as he drags himself up, eventually settling a kiss against the little bow at the waist of your underwear. There he stays, eyes closed, mouth pressed to you.

“Is this okay?”

You swallow, buzzing. Is this really what he wants? After everything?

“You don’t have to...”

“But is it okay with you?”

Nothing more than an airy whisper, you reply, “Yes, if that’s what you want.”

Being emotional at this point seems wrong, but it’s difficult to ignore the fact that you have thought about this before and it’s finally happening but it’s not exactly as you’d imagined it. There is an indelible sadness to it, to the way he’s so hungry for you because he’s been deprived, to the desperation with which he touches you because he’s had everything taken from him.

For a moment, before he tugs your underwear down, he pauses, and you wonder if he’s freezing one moment in time, this moment, and grieving all the other ways it could’ve been, and accepting that this is the way it is going to be. You are.

These higher realms of thought abandon you as he finally pulls the last barrier down your legs and encourages you to spread them further. You don’t have time or energy to be embarrassed, not even by his staring, or the way his eyes dart up to yours and back down again, wide and shining, as if to say, have you seen yourself? Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?

All you feel is the lack of him on you, the pull to have him closer so strong it’s almost sickening because he could be gone at any second. Maybe he understands that because he doesn’t waste anymore time before he’s kissing the most sensitive part of you. The drag of his tongue has you loosing a shuddering cry.

His mouth wanders, making connections you wouldn’t have realized the value of until you feel them on your skin. Your hips buck as he traces you and you’re unable to stop yourself from tangling your hands in his hair. Speech fails you—hell, you can hardly breathe as you watch his with a furrowed brow and parted lips, only expelling air from your lungs in the form of little cries and gasps and failing to hold your hips down to the bed.

The tip of his tongue teases around your entrance and he catches your leg as your foot rises off the bed, slinging it over his shoulder and consuming you more fervently until you have no choice but to moan though you’ve never been one for theatrics. Nobody has done this for you like he’s doing it for you. Locks of hair fall in front of his face and you hold them back for him, shuddering as he shifts his weight and presses the tip of his finger to your cunt.

“Ah—please,” you manage, your first words since he started. Spencer groans against you and the sound is so wonderfully unexpected, so much better than in your dreams. You cant your hips up in further invitation, chirping as he takes it, pushing two fingers into you at once. Your eyes screw shut and you bite back a whine at the slight stretch, unconsciously writhing your hips either to get further away or take him deeper, you’re not sure.

Spencer pulls back, kissing your hips and thighs and pumping his fingers very slowly as you adjust.

“’M sorry,” you pant, “it’s been awhile, I...”

“Don’t apologize,” Spencer says like it’s simple, his own breath coming quicker. “How’re you feeling? Need me to stop?”

“No! No, it feels really good, I feel good.”

He holds your burning gaze, matching it with his own, and his hair is tousled and his cheeks are flushed as he continues to move his hand.

“Yeah?”

“...Yeah.”

This little show of obedience, of call and response, has him smiling before he occupies his mouth with something else once more. It’s a different smile than you’re used to from him, but you decide you don’t at all mind it.

Like that, with his tongue and fingers working tirelessly, your orgasm comes on quickly. The feeling is rare but not entirely foreign, and in that brief moment of utter disconnect between your brain and reality, of sheer white-hot pleasure, you don’t feel you’re missing out on anything at all. How could you be, when you are here and Spencer is here and for a moment all your neurons are lighting up and flashing neon? How could there be anything more to life than the searing feeling of him slowly withdrawing his fingers from you, than your hips between his hands like he’s cradling the world, and his lips, indiscriminate with where they kiss because every part of you is worthy of attention?

You’re reeling, and your legs are gelatinous as he so affectionately sucks the darkest mark yet onto your inner thigh like a parting gift, like he’s signing his trembling work. If you could clamp your legs shut around the almost painful aftershocks you would, but he’s climbing back up your body, so all you can do is wriggle against him and release delayed, stunted little moans. He stops to kiss your neck before he makes it to your mouth and drinks down all your sounds until you’re gentle and pliant for him like you haven’t been yet.

His voice is soft and sympathetic when he speaks. “Better?”

Wordlessly you nod, both comforted and unsettled by how well he knows you. What, exactly, has been made better, you’re not sure. Not trust. You don’t trust him anymore. Something cheaper, but temporarily effective. A sense of permanence, maybe, however fleeting it may be. You’ve completed something with him now, and he’s still here, still sweet.

He looks into your eyes, then, for a moment—and there is just enough light in the room for you to tell yourself that the shadows dancing there as he looks at you are love.

They morph as you watch into haunting, wild hunger. Pained even now.

He sits up abruptly and so do you, scooting back against your headboard and pulling your knees to your chest to protect your pounding heart as Spencer takes you in with darting eyes and quick breaths. His fingers find the collar of his shirt and he begins to unbutton.

“I need you to remember it’s all going to heal.”

He swallows, and you hardly have the wherewithal to study the way he unbuttons his shirt, a way he exists in the world that you had previously not been privy to. The words are too distracting.

“What?”

Sometimes he reminds you of a deer, with those big brown eyes that can’t help betraying anxiety. Moreso in those old pictures he’d shown you from his early days at the BAU—but it shines through occasionally even now. It’s reassuring to know that something inside of his has remained soft.

“Just...” his fingers don’t stop at their task, and you come to the disturbing realization that his knuckles are bruised. “Please don’t freak out, alright?”

Your mouth goes dry, eyes glued to the lengthening span of revealed skin.

And before he even has his shirt fully undone, something isn’t right.

He’s like a Pollack of bruises—starbursts and watercolor blots of discoloration blooming over his side and stomach.

You’re glad the light is off for two reasons: one, being that you don’t think you could handle the bruising in all its glory, and two, you hope the look of horror painted on your face is at least partially obscured from Spencer.

But you can’t. You simply don’t have the gas in the tank to freak out, as he’d said—at least not externally. Those bruises shouldn’t be there, but 96 days is a long time to be gone.

You drag your eyes back to his—nervous, deeply insecure and mistrustful. A deer. Just like those pictures of a 24 year old Spencer in an FBI jacket that was too big for him.

It’s enough to have you scooting on your knees across the mattress to him. Those big eyes stay glued to you as you draw near, falling as you carefully push open his shirt, cautious not to bump any tender spots as it falls to the bed. A flash of white gauze wrapped around his forearm that makes your stomach flip. How? You want to ask. Why?

He doesn’t seem to know what you’re going to do, and neither do you, until you’re grabbing his hands, bruised knuckles and all, and just... holding them for a minute.

“I lost weight,” he says quietly, as if that’s the most shocking thing about his current appearance, though it is noticeable.

“You’re still pretty.”

He smiles at this—a true Spencer Reid smile. Flattened lips, eyes tinged silver with sadness, voice quiet and anxious and wavering.

“I didn’t have a lot to spare.”

A moment goes by.

“I’m not going to ask you about them,” you promise, though you care so much and you want to know but you already understand that he won’t want to tell you.

Another moment. It doesn't surprise you to watch the shiny vulnerability in his eyes to freeze over completely. But he squeezes your hands once in thanks, and you know it’s still the same Spencer.

“Lie down.”

Oh. Right.

This.

You do as he says, taking a deep breath to try and exhale the concern twisting your stomach like a poison. Somehow your room feels so unfamiliar, so new with him in it. Even the whorls on your ceiling look different as you study them, trying to time the pattern of your breathing with the pattern of the paint and plaster and not let the sound of Spencer further undressing quicken your heartrate too much.

Soon he’s coaxing your legs apart again, reverently, and kneeling between them, studying every part of you—lingering not on the parts you’d expect. He traces the scar on your knee with his thumb, follows a line down your thigh to the freckle on your hip. The scrutiny is unnerving and warms you everywhere. Perhaps he senses the microscopic clench of your thighs as you imagine pushing them together, if he weren’t in the way.

“You alright?” He asks, still stroking your hip. Tender again. It’s so hard to keep up.

“I...”

Suddenly your heart beat is a deafening echo in your own ears. The tide of your breathing is too powerful, too in and out and whooshing, leaving you always too empty or too full but never comfortable.

Maybe he’s changed, and he’s harder to know now, but he is the same Spencer. He is the Spencer you’d fallen in love with. The hard part is knowing that now you may never get a chance to tell him that. You don’t know if he’d be able to hear it.

There are things you can’t have with him anymore. Not now, at least. Maybe not ever. But you can have this. It will be different, but you’d rather him be different and here than the same and only in your memory.

You swallow.

“I’m good.”

Tangling your hand in his hair once more, you pull him down into a kiss. It’s hesitant, at first—maybe he can taste your thoughts, where they’d been balancing just on the tip of your tongue. But the uncertainty fades and he kisses you deeper, harder, in a way that is hard to keep up with. You like the messy overwhelm of his lips, teeth, tongue. That’s the only way he knows how to want you.

When you go to wrap your leg around his waist he catches it, running his hands over the soft plush of your thigh. The hard line of him presses against you like memory foam and you gasp and he breathes it in deeply as your brain short-circuits, as you realize this is really going to happen, that you’re going to have him like you’ve never had him before and in ways you’ve only imagined and immediately felt ashamed for.

“Spencer,” you whisper. He ducks to leave open-mouthed kisses along your neck and your eyes flutter shut, craning your neck but not losing sight of your objective as you reach down blindly. When you find what you’re looking for he freezes, groans against your neck at the same time as you breathe the tiniest whimper. Just in your hand he feels impossible, hot and imposing and hard. Your heart palpitates.

Without thinking, you angle your hips up and encourage him closer, until the tip of him is smearing through your folds, and you both go utterly silent like the breath had been stolen right from your lungs. The moment crystallizes, time around you hardening like preserved amber to keep you frozen there forever.

And then he rolls his hips, catching the underside of his cock on the crux of you, and then he does it again, and you choke out a moan and so does he, and it’s beyond perfect—it's nirvana, more than you could ever have conceived of, with his weight pressing you into the mattress, arms caging you in, his heavy breaths hot against your neck and vice versa as you twine together like serpents on a rod, your foot floating in the air as you widen your legs to make more room for him.

And you’re not even fucking yet.

“Oh my god,” you whine, just for him, barely audible under the heavy cloak of night, the thickened air in your bedroom and the sound of panting and fabric shifting. It’s like your heart is trying to reach through your chest to his own where they’re pressed together—that is how hard it’s beating.

Spencer only breathes a long, low curse and shifts so he can grasp himself. Your fingers drift down the shaft of him as he slots himself at your entrance, notching half an inch in and you hold your breath, and you brace yourself—and then he’s kissing you again, but gentler this time. Reassuring. You soften, you can’t not, releasing all your air in a soft gust through your nose, and then he’s pushing in.

Your lips part at the stretch as it fuzzes your mind, but he stays right there, nose pressed to your nose, lips ghosting over your own. He’s not going anywhere, you think, and you’re glad for it, when it burns ever so slightly, and the tiniest whine escapes your open mouth.

“Shh,” he soothes immediately, low and soft, only fractionally louder than you had been. “You’re okay.”

Spencer. Your Spencer.

For a moment, you’re living in that alternate universe. The kinder one. The flash of pain you feel then has nothing to do with the way he’s opening you up.

This is the closest you have ever been, and in some strange way, the furthest apart.

Together, fingers brushing, you guide him until he settles at not quite your deepest point. You can feel that he’s not giving you everything yet, but you’re okay with that, as you adjust to the full feeling. Spencer again senses your desire to close your legs against the deep intrusion, and gives you the best he can by encouraging you to wrap your legs around him.

“Good girl,” he whispers tenderly, nudging at your jaw with his nose and dragging kisses along the ridge of it. Your stomach flips at the moniker and your brain turns to warm sludge as your eyes flutter shut. It makes you feel all light-headed and you flutter around him. Spencer chuckles into the junction of your neck and shoulder and the vibrations send a chill down your arching spine. “I thought you might like that one.”

“Mhm.”

“Mhm. How are you? You okay?”

“’M ready.”

“You’re ready?” His tone is dripping sarcasm and faux-disbelief as he pulls back the slightest bit only to push right back in deeper, this time. Your toes curl, one thigh sliding higher up his waist as you cling to him.

“Fuck,” you manage, a pitiful, high pitched curse tossed to the wind. He echoes the sentiment.

“Oh, my god,” he groans, continuing with that slow pace, “you feel so good, angel.”

You grapple at his back, searching for purchase as your brow knits. “Faster.”

This inspires another breathy chuckle, but he obliges, and you cry out softly. It’s almost unreal, your head buried against his neck, drunk on his scent and the drag of him like a shock felt in the far reaches of your body, again and again.

There’s nothing you can say that will accurately demonstrate what you’re feeling, so you elect not to speak, to remain silent and try to get a grip on this cacophony of sensation and emotion. But it’s too much to be alone with. You feel you have to get it out, to seek understanding. You can’t do it alone.

“Spencer.”

“Hm?”

“I don’t know...” the sentence trails off into a gentle keen. He moves to kiss you, speaking against your lips.

“You don’t know?”

Shyly you shake your head. Spencer sighs wistfully.

“Do you know how much I missed you?”

It’s like he can sense your need for comfort. For something grounding.

And while this topic was off-limits earlier—you're softer now. The stone walls that form your boundaries have been chipped away and lowered.

Spencer continues unprompted.

“I thought about you every day. Every night while I was falling asleep. You were always on my mind, angel girl.”

You whine. Whether it’s pleasure or distress is anyone’s guess—including your own.

“You were gone so long,” you whisper, eyes shut.

At this, Spencer slows again, and the tension that was building settles back to a simmer.

“I know. I wish I could—I wish I could change that. But I’m here, okay? I’m right here with you.”

Then he makes sure you feel every last inch, and it takes your breath away. If your thoughts were any more coherent, they’d be something along the lines of: but for how long? How long until you leave again?

“You’re here.”

You say it like a mantra, once out loud, and then again and again in your head, timed with every clash of your hips. With each repetition he becomes more real. Every little ache, every tingling, head-emptying brush against that most sensitive spot inside proves to you that he could not be any closer. This can’t be faked. It can’t be another dream to wake up in tears from.

“You’re here,” you gasp as it hits you, as it truly sinks in.

“I’m here,” he breathes.

There’s so much you want to say—three months of words you need him to hear, of things you need to talk to him about, things you need to yell at him for and things you can only say crying in his arms and things you can only say laughing or whispering or drunk or half-asleep—and in this moment you can’t manage any of it. Every word condenses into one drop of salt water, drifting away from your eye and down your cheek. Spencer doesn’t tell you to stop crying. He only kisses the tear away, and murmurs I’m here I’m here I’m here over and over again against your skin until he’s not even speaking it out loud anymore. But you feel it. With every brush of his lips, every breath, every movement, you feel it.

Soon he’s adjusting his angle, gradually picking up the pace but retaining that unforgiving depth, and your nails bite into the skin of his back as your jaw drops. Spencer hisses, pressing impossibly closer.

“I’m sorry!” you squeak.

“Do it again.”

“Wh—what?”

“Please,” he begs, low and hot against your jaw, just beneath your ear. “Do it again, honey.”

Honey.

You’d do anything for him if it meant he calls you that again.

When he shifts his weight to one arm and reaches down between your bodies to play with your aching clit in exactly the right way, you don’t really have a choice. You arch and moan wantonly enough to feel embarrassed as your nails scratch down his back. At the same time he’s making noises of his own, and you almost feel guilty for marking him up like this only you think he likes it. The most perfect and troubling tension is building in your core, so taut you almost fear the inevitable rebound when it snaps. But you’re driven to be exactly what Spencer needs right now, and to let him try and be what you need. Even if it scares you. Even if you’re not sure how.

Spencer groans, head tucked to the bend of your shoulder. “I’m not gonna last.”

Any response you might’ve been about to muster is annihilated by a sudden, deep bolt of pleasure.

“’M gonna cum,” you mewl like it’s a secret.

“Are you?” he asks, coming up breathless. If your eyes were open, you’re sure you’d see him above you.

“Mhm.”

“Look at me. Look at me.”

It is unmistakably a command—one you fight to follow.

You cry out as you meet the intensity of his gaze, those shadowy corridors suddenly ablaze and alive. They are not unending, like you’d thought. They are a door thrown open to let the light in, or maybe to let the fire out. They’re open in this moment for you.

No more words are spoken after that—you cum hard, gasping as you fall and spin. Spencer follows very shortly after, like he was holding it together just for you, and your eyes are still locked though everything is a bit bleary.

“Fuck,” you whine as he continues to fuck you for as long as he can, despite your writhing hips, but you’re entranced by him, unable to look away now that you’re hooked. Until he slows to a halt, glances down at your mouth, and you just have time to pray that he’ll kiss you before he does. You whimper against his lips—a plea for understanding. A plea for him to stay, even though this is over. He kisses back so soft and sweet it’s like he can read your mind. Echoes of I’m here I’m here I’m here still buzz across your skin. His eyelashes tickle your cheek. Your heart stops beating quite so quickly, melting and warm like the rest of your body.

Soon the kissing ceases and you’re just breathing together, trapped and faced with the knowledge that it must end just the same as you had waited for it to start.

Eventually the air between you becomes mostly carbon dioxide and you let your head fall to the side, dizzy and giggling breathlessly as you nearly avoid asphyxiation. Spencer laughs too, letting his head fall to your shoulder once more, and you finally let your eyes flutter closed. To do something as simple as laugh with him again is its own small euphoria. It’s unexpected, and a soft landing once all that tension breaks underneath your combined weight.

It can’t last forever, you know that well. But the slow fade of it makes the next parts a little easier.

Spencer presses a kiss to your neck. “Is your bathroom through that door?”

You hum a confirmation and are only slightly disheartened when he pulls out and rolls off of you. You’re further disturbed when you see there’s gauze around his thigh, matching what’s around his arm, and you wonder how you missed that. Spencer scoops up his clothing and disappears into the adjoining restroom, assuring you he’ll be right back and leaving you alone with your thoughts and the whorls on the ceiling which have seemingly shifted into entirely new constellations.

He leaves the door cracked which is oddly reassuring—the sliver of warm light and the sound of the sink running. Only a few moments pass before he’s returning clad in boxers once more to sit on the edge of the bed, pushing away the sheet you’d just pulled over your chest and pulling one of your legs over his lap. Your face warms as he brings a washcloth between your thighs. As soon as he glances up at you and catches your eye you’re looking back to the ceiling.

“I should’ve asked first,” he says quietly as he cleans up the mess he’d made of you.

You speak just as softly, like you’re both afraid of disturbing some peace, of waking some sleeping giant. “It’s okay. I would’ve told you if I didn’t want it.”

His reticence, his unreadable face, make you nervous.

When he’s done, he rises to toss the dirtied cloth in the laundry bin, and with his back to you (as scratched up as it might be) you feel braver.

“Are you gonna, like... hate me now?”

It was a mistake. That’s clear by the way he turns around, brow knit deeply and grimacing slightly like even the suggestion offends him.

“Am I going to hate you?”

Again you pull the sheet up, and again you look away, studying the pattern of moonlight stretching out over the floor and scooting to make room for him when he steps in it.

“Not hate, I just...” the bed dips beside you and you are indescribably glad he’s not immediately running out the door. “I’m not dumb. I know what this was.”

He pulls you into him and you settle against his chest. It feels good. “I never thought you were dumb.”

This is your first real conversation since he’s gotten back, you realize. And how quickly you’re falling into familiar patterns, familiar syntactical beats. You know when to speak. You know when to bite your tongue and keep him talking.

The silence goes on longer than you’re used to. Maybe he got good at not speaking while he was away.

Eventually your eyes wander, falling to the white strip over his thigh where it is parallel to yours on the bed, only over the sheets.

“What happened?”

You said you wouldn’t ask, but that was then, and you’re upset again. You almost want to hurt him. To piss him off. You don’t know.

But it doesn’t work.

“Do you really want to know?” There’s a note of something heavy in his voice, and you look up at him. It’s a privilege to have him this close—his beauty is a constant surprise that you’d become unaccustomed to over the months. You say nothing, and he takes that as the yes that it is. “I... I did it to myself.”

He may as well have reached down your throat and grabbed for fucking heart for all its clenching. Tears well almost immediately, though they’ve been waiting in the wings all night.

“What? Did you—were you trying to—”

His eyes widen.

“No! No, honey, no.” You wilt as he gathers you closer, a deeply confused frown still contorting your features, too heartbroken even to cling to him, or to appreciate the ease with which honey slips past his lips again. “No. I was—it's complicated. I didn’t—I wasn’t trying to hurt myself, but I had to—I had to do it before someone else did something worse.”

The bruises covering his abdomen.

You sniffle and pull back enough to look up at him tearfully. “Why would they want to hurt you?”

Mist fills his eyes even as he’s looking down at you, a layer of separation, as if he’s two places at once. Even as he goes to brush your hair behind your ear, to stroke your cheek.

“I’m... not... the same, as I was.” It’s not an answer to your question—but it’s the beginning of the answer to a question you’d been too afraid to put into words.

“Don’t say that,” you beg, because you know where this is going. He keeps smoothing your hair like it’ll make this easier.

“But it’s true,” Spencer says gently, the slightest waver betraying his own emotion.

“You’re just going to leave again.”

And you’re losing to the tears.

“I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“But you will,” you insist, like a child crying to a parent come to comfort them after a bad dream.

“Not right now. Right now I’m here.”

I’ll stay until you fall asleep again.

For now, maybe that has to be enough. 

You cry on his shoulder. He kisses your head and doesn’t tell you to stop. 

Eventually, you sniff and wipe your eyes. 

“We were so close. Before you… we were almost there.”

You’re sure of it. You’re sure that if he hadn’t gone when he did you would’ve been a real couple. You would’ve told him you loved him. 

“We’ll get there again,” he promises, rubbing your arm. “I just… I need a little bit of time. I think you do too. But we’re going to get there again.”

Maybe it will never be like it was. 

But as so often is the case—Spencer is right. Difference doesn’t mean it won’t ever be good again. 

You have to believe that, just as you had to believe you’d see him again. 

You look to The Odyssey on your bedside table. 

The sun has been obliterated from the sky, and an unlucky darkness invades the world. 

But the sun has a habit of rising, time and time again, after the longest nights, after the darkest storms. 

You feel the beginnings of its rise, see the golden tips of it lighting the room as he holds you. Even now. 

[peachysunrize]

[TANGERINE DREAMS]

Summary: being stood up on his wedding day, Aemond’s life takes a turn for the worse. Heartbroken and humiliated, he finds unexpected help in Helaena’s childhood friend, who helps him move back into his family mansion. Summer cocktail parties and a long stay at the Targaryen residency, Aemond might let the girl who’s always been in his life make a home in his heart.

Tangerines, in general, symbolize prosperity, good luck and happiness. So if these delicious fruits appear in your dreams - whole or in the form of juice - it is usually very positive. A dream with tangerines expresses the desire and the possibility of progress and prosperity

Warnings: none! Fluff, angst, tension! English isn’t my first language<3

Word count: 5.4k+

A/n: so so sorry for the delay… unfortunately I’m gonna be awfully busy this week so the next chapter might be also delayed😭 buttttttt hopefully this chapter will make up for it! Reblogs & comments are always appreciated <3

Taglist: if you wanna be tagged in the future chapters, please fill this form with your username!

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Chapter 4: push & pull

“I’m hungry!”

“Shh!” You put your finger on Helaena’s lips to keep her quiet, “you ate all of our snacks! How are you still hungry?”

“I don’t knowwww,” she whines, dropping her head back on your lap as you resume the movie, “I need sweets!”

“It’s three in the morning, I doubt you want to wake up the entire house just to find a chocolate bar,” you thread your fingers through her soft and freshly showered silver hair.

“Babe,” she turns around, reaching for the control to pause the movie before she looks up at you, “why do you think we live in a mansion in the first place?”

“Because you have billions of money and have no idea what to do with it?” You ask, chuckling and rolling your eyes affectionately when she slaps your arm, “as if there is another reason behind it.”

“Of course there is!” She sits up, plopping a pillow next to yours as she sits shoulder to shoulder with you, “Aemond is an awfully light sleeper, so is Mum! Aegon would even sleep through… I don’t know, imagine Michael Jackson screaming in a mic and putting the amplifier next to his ear. Daeron is the best, heavy sleeper but his survival instinct would save him from anything. Me—“

“You don’t sleep at all,” she gawks at you before laughing, “What? You think I don’t know my best friend like the back of my hand? Or why we’re watching The Dance of Dragons trilogy at this god-awful hour? I’m offended!”

She pushes you playfully, “That’s not what I meant! You’re right, I don’t sleep much, but that’s not the point. I’m saying living in a mansion is quite cool because we put Mum and Aemond at the back of the building and chose our rooms afterward. So if you sneak into the kitchen…”

“I’m not gonna sneak there and shuffle around your cabinets like a fucking thief, Hel!” 

“It’s literally your home too! You’ve been here a thousand times, no one would bat an eye if they catch you going through Aegon’s snacks!” She says, pouting a bit as she gives you her best puppy eyes, “One bag of his gummy bears, just one!”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No,” you glare at her, scoffing immediately when she gives you her most precious smile.

“Yes, please?”

“Absolutely fucking not,” you hiss, “Besides, I have no clue which cabinet I should search for.”

“The one next to the stove—“

“Helaena!”

“Please please please, I will take a walk with you in the morning—“

“I’m not dumb, why should going on a walk with you be anywhere near interesting?” You ask, crossing your arms on your chest as you give her a pointing look.

“Because… because I can take you shopping! You know, Aegon will probably give a theme for his party so what better reason than to go on a girl’s date and buy some clothes?!”

“No, and no—“

“One bag, that’s all I’m asking!”

“Fine!” She squeals in joy, “but you will make it up to me, you giant twenty-seven-year-old kid. And shopping is the least you can do.”

“Okay, babe, whatever you want! I can even set you up with one of Aegon’s friends—“

“I'll take the walk, please! Keep those boys away from me,” You stand up from the bed, shaking your head before you slowly turn the doorknob, and before you step out, you look at her and shake your head when you see her lying on the bed with her hands under her chin.

You look at the empty hallway, checking to see if anyone is around or not before walking downstairs, tiptoeing to make sure you wake up no one. Gripping the stair bars, you relax a bit when the wooden stairs don’t make a loud cracking sound.

The path to the kitchen is quiet and empty, but with the numerous vases and other home decor Alicent has put around the house, it’s hard to move around without breaking something or making a loud noise. You have been here many times, but the paintings and various pieces they have will always surprise you; they are so beautiful, and you expect nothing less from the Targaryens.

You finally reach the kitchen, slowly making your way towards the stove to find the cabinet or a drawer — because only those are next to the stove — Helaena told you about. Pulling the first drawer out, you find nothing but forks and spoons, nothing near a good snack, unfortunately. The next one contains spices and herbs, arranged neatly in jars with labels.

“What are you doing here?”

“Fucking hell!” You scream and turn around, hand on your chest as you look at Aemond who is equally surprised to see you here at such an hour, “you scared the shit out of me!”

“Shh…” he approaches you slowly, reaching to take your hand in his to calm you down, “I’m sorry, I thought you heard me, or even saw me.”

“How could I see you? My back was to you!” You exhale shakily, letting him take your hands in his larger ones, slowly caressing your skin, “what are you doing here? Creeping on me like that?”

“I was in the kitchen when you walked in,” he says, his lips twisting in a small smirk as he sees your lips part in shock.

“How did I not see you?” You gawk at him, laughing breathlessly, “You’re a giraffe, tall as fuck and your hair shines like a flashlight! Were you hiding?”

“No, no,” he steps closer, chuckling lowly to not make so much sound, your hands still in his, “I was searching for a cutting board.”

“What?” You smile a bit, looking up at him as he towers over you, “I’m really curious now.”

“No, you’re just nosy,” he smirks when he sees you open your mouth to disagree, but you catch on his teasing tone quickly and bat his hands away.

“Asshole.”

“I’m kidding,” with a kiss on the back of your hand, he moves past you to put the cutting board on the kitchen island, “I missed dinner and couldn’t sleep either so…”

“You wanna cook dinner? Now?” you ask him, rounding the island to stand close to him, “You are crazy!”

“I’m hungry,” he groans, shaking his head as he moves to another cabinet and pulls out a pot to fill it with water.

“What is up with you Targaryens being hungry at such an hour?” You lean on the counter, watching him put the full pot on the stove, taking your time to look at him from head to toe.

He is wearing a loose black T-shirt, with gray sweatpants that stay low on his hip bones. His silver hair is clipped and his glasses are on the bridge of his nose — he looks so cozy and welcoming, and he most certainly glides across the room so effortlessly, pulling out different ingredients to chop.

“What did Hel want anyway?” He asks, pulling out an onion and placing it on the cutting board next to you, leaning just like you with his hips on the counter.

“How did you know she wanted something?” You ask, crossing your arms.

“I doubt you’d come and snoop around for Aegon.”

“Why not?” You raise an eyebrow at him, taking a step closer to him, “Maybe I was in his room, what then—“

“No,” he whispers, putting the knife down before he puts one hand on each side of your hips, the heel of his palm on the dip between where your thighs meet your hips and his fingers against the kitchen island — not gripping you fully, but enough to make you tremble slightly, especially with the way he looks at you, so raw and playful, “you wouldn’t allow him to make a single flirty comment, and you want me to believe that you just left his room?”

“What if I have changed my mind?” You look up at him through your lashes, voice barely above whispering, “Maybe I have fallen for his Targaryen charm?”

“The only Targaryen charm you’ll fall for is—”

“Babeee!” suddenly Helaena’s hushed whisper echoes in the kitchen

Your eyes widen and in the blink of an eye, you push Aemond away and move to the cabinet Helaena told you about earlier, trying to make yourself look busy while Aemond puts his palms on top of the island, leaning down a bit as he sighs, his face forming into a deep scowl as he watches his sister tiptoe into the kitchen.

“Oh, hey, Aemy,” she waves at him, finally finding you crouched down next to the cabinet, “What’s taking you so long?”

“I couldn’t find the cabinet—” “It’s the one you are sitting in front of,” she says, smiling as she looks at her brother reaching for the knife, “and what are you doing here?”

“I was hungry,” he mutters, slicing the onion in half, “What do you want?”

“My promised gummy bears and a glass of water,” she shrugs and walks to grab her glass and you take the chance to stand up with her snack, standing side by side with Aemond, both of you following Helaena’s movements as she hums happily and fills her glass with water.

You glance at Aemond, catching him already looking at you with an unreadable expression that makes the hair on the back of your neck rise. Averting your eyes quickly, you watch Hel making her way to you before she gives you a quick hug.

“I’m going to bed, we will finish them another day.” “Sure, love,” you smile, “I’ll go to bed in a few minutes too, goodnight!”

“Goodnight,” Aemond says quietly, moving towards the boiling water on the stove before he drops uncooked spaghetti in it and walks back to the cutting board.

“What are you cooking?” 

“Penne alla vodka,” he replies, smirking when you roll your eyes at him.

“Of course, typical classy Aemond,” you say, groaning a bit because of how tired you are, “your sister is a menace for keeping me up so long. I can’t even stand on my feet!”

“Then you don’t have to stand,” he says casually, wiping his hands with the cloth hanging from the waistband of his sweats. He moves closer to you, backing you up against the kitchen island with a teasing look in his good eye, his hands coming up to grip your waist and before you know it, he picks you up effortlessly and sits you on the island, his fingers digging into your flesh.

You swallow, bracing yourself by your hands on his chest as you look at Aemond, finding him standing closer to you between your legs, his eye focusing solely on your face — how your lips part with a quiet gasp falling from them, how your pupils are blown with something he can’t read quite well. 

You are a vision to behold.

He leans closer, his face mere inches away from yours, his hot breath fanning against your face. You inhale sharply when he cranes his neck and his nose bumps into yours, his hooded eye hazy as he stares at you.

His grip tightens on your waist, and you feel his fingers caressing your back and the side of your tummy slowly, almost shyly, but with his lips only one breath, you know there is no shyness left within him, only determination.

As soon as he wants to lean down and capture your lips in a breathtaking kiss, the pasta in the oven is long overcooked and the boiling water pours out, making a loud hissing sound that makes Aemond break apart from you.

“Shit,” he groans, the warmth of his hand gone from your waist as he jogs to the stove and lifts the pot to empty the remaining water of the pasta, cursing himself in his head with how careless he acted — not only he nearly ruined your friendship but also his late dinner will taste like an uncooked dough.

“I-I think I should go to bed,” you stutter, jumping down from the island, smiling awkwardly at him, “goodnight.”

“Yeah, goodnight,” he watches you leave in a hurry, running a hand down his face — mindful of his glasses — he sighs loudly, “What the fuck was I thinking?”

If only he knew the answer to this.

“Okay kids, listen up!” Aegon claps his hands, stepping on top of the huge table in the guest wing’s living room, trying his best to give the four of you — six if you count Criston and Alicent — a very very pointed, dramatic and serious look, “tonight, we will drink!”

He points at Daeron and Aemond who are each holding two bottles of whatever drinks, or poison to put it better, Aegon has chosen to feed you tonight.

“Tonight, we will dance!” He points at Helaena who rolls her eyes and presses play on her phone so the music blasts through the amplifiers around the house but quickly pauses it so Aegon can talk.

“Annnnndddd!” He jumps down, striding towards you with a mischievous glint in his blue eyes. He grabs you by your waist, twirls you around suddenly, and dips you down on his arm before he leans down, “We will have fun!” He leans to kiss you, but you put your palm on his face and push him away roughly, laughing out loud with him when you make a gagging sound.

“Get away from me you moron!”

“I’m sure my kisses would make you feel much better—”

“I rather die than have your tongue down my throat,” you stand behind Aemond, and when Aegon sees how hard his brother is glaring at him, he whistles and wiggles his eyebrows at the two of you — Aemond blushes horribly and you only give a tight-lipped awkward smile.

“Alright!” Alicent says, walking towards the table Aegon was standing up to fix the tablecloth, “I know you’ll take care of everything, but—” she looks at Aegon, “no drugs,” she then turns to Daeron and Helaena, “No sneaking out of the house,” then she looks at Aemond, “no goddamn books!” “I don’t even read that much,” Aemond sighs, putting the vanilla vodka bottles on the table before he crosses his arms, “I haven’t had the time to read even one book.” “I don’t care, Aemond. No books, no workshop, no merging with the darkness and sulking in a corner of this house. Okay?”

“Yes, Mum, I get it,” he agrees, turning around to glance at you, only for you to give him an encouraging smile.

“Now that we’re all settled,” Aegon reaches and throws his arm around Alicent’s shoulder, “take out dinner, obviously—”

“What do you mean ‘take out’? I didn’t hire a chef for you to say you’ll get our guests nasty food,” Alicent frees herself from Aegon, giving him one last look before she moves with Cole on toe towards the exit, “Also, the catering will be here soon, if you wanna help, you’ll need to wait a bit for them.” “Did you hear that?” Aegon asks, eyes wide and a very large grin finds its way on his face.

“Billionaires have such a hard life, I pity you guys,” You say sarcastically, “what’s up with these faces? You don’t like having a private chef?”

“Babe,” Helaena comes and grabs your hand, “This means Mum really wants us to party! She only gets this generous when she wants us to have fun.” “A private chef is a pretty great thing,” Aemond shrugs, grabbing yet another two bottles of vanilla vodka with a grimace on his face and putting them down next to the other two.

“No shit Sherlock! Of course, it’s amazing! Who wouldn’t want a fresh plate of ribs in the middle of a partially illegal party?” he chuckles at you, nodding at the catering that finally arrived, putting his warm palm on your waist.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I am always in charge of dinner because these three,” he points at his siblings, “get absolutely hammered and won’t be able to order takeout.”

“I knew Helaena would get drunk if she set her mind to it but Daeron?” you ask leaning closer to his side, looking up at him, and occasionally glancing at the other three siblings who are helping the catering staff with the food and drinks.

“He is a mixed… combination of all of us,” he chuckles, his nails digging into your waist as he scratches your skin under your shirt gently, lit the fire of the memory of a few hours ago you shared, “He doesn’t drink much but when he does… well, rest assured he gets as bad and loud as Aegon.”

“I’ve been here countless times but never seen him acting like an idiot,” you laugh, walking to grab the closest tray to help with the setting. Aemond does the same and follows you around the room quietly, making small talk with you until everything is set and ready for the party.

You and him walk forward, and for the first time he doesn’t guide you with his hand on your back, and you see how he is pondering hard about something.

“He wanted to really kiss you,” he whispers for only you to hear. You stop and a soft yet confused expression overtakes your face as you look at him, waiting for him to continue.

“What?” “Aegon,” he says, “he likes you, maybe he would have gotten away with it if you let him kiss you.”

“Aemond, don’t be ridiculous,” you grab his wrist gently, forcing him to stop, “I said it once, I’ll say it again; I don’t like Aegon romantically, and I would rather die than let him get close to my face.”

He doesn’t look too convinced, so with one glance at your back to see where your best friend and the rest of her siblings are, you hold his other hand in yours as well, “Besides, I would rather kiss another Targ—” “Go find some clothes, kids! It’s a white party!” Aegon announces, and Helaena suddenly appears out of nowhere and wraps her arms around you, making you let go of Aemond’s hands immediately.

“Come on, babe! Let’s go get ready!” you don’t have time to finish your sentence so with one last look at Aemond, you leave with Hel towards your rooms to get ready.

Aemond pulls shirt after shirt out of his closet, all of them are either black or dark green and those who are colorful are blue. Nothing. He can’t find anything to wear and it has started to annoy him.

He sits on the edge of his bed, his hair unruly and in need of a good brush but that can wait. His outfit on the other hand can’t, and the fact that Aegon’s guests will arrive in a few minutes is driving him crazy. 

With a loud annoyed groan, he stands up and moves toward his hung clothes, searching through them, but again, all he can find is a pair of white sneakers that thankfully will go with any outfit he chooses.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair as he tries to think of any Shirts or pants he can find, but he is interrupted by a knock on his door.

“Hey,” you open the door a bit, smiling at him before slipping inside, but before you can stop yourself, your eyes roam over his topless figure leaning over the closet with his sweat hanging low on his hips.

Aemond is even worse than you; seeing you in a white sundress with sheer sleeves that hung low on your shoulders and the dress reaching your mid-thighs… he is speechless. His eye roams over your figure slowly, taking in the sight of you.

He can see how you get shy all of a sudden, caressing your arm as he literally looks you up and down.

“How do I look?” you ask, twirling to show the back of the dress as well.

“Wow,” breathtaking, gorgeous, mindblowing, earth-shattering, “Beautiful,” you make his heart nearly leap out of his chest, his cheeks turning pink as he gazes at you like a teen boy experiencing his first high school crush.

“Thank you!” you smile, rocking on your feet, “Why aren’t you dressed?”

“Well,” he clears his throat, “I couldn’t find anything.”

“Bullshit!”

“Excuse me?” he asks hesitantly, watching you curiously as you make your way to his wardrobe, standing in front of him to search within his clothes yourself.

“You wore those white shorts to the winery, hmmm, let me see—” You pull out a white shirt with baggy pants, both enough to make him much taller than he is, but he has to agree that the simplicity might actually look great, “here you go! But let me brush your hair first!”

You sit him down on the bed, crawling behind him with a brush and a hair tie you found on his vanity desk before you start slowly combing through his soft hair, detangling and making it look more presentable. 

He relaxes under your touch and lets you pull the front of his hair back and tie it so his face is shown more. He sighs and thanks you when you’re done, and to his surprise, you grab the shirt from him, forcing him to stand up to help him put it on, leaving the first few buttons undone before you do the rest slowly.

“Were you jealous?” You ask, letting your fingers brush over his pale chest, “When you saw Aegon wanted to kiss me?”

He swallows but as soon as you are done he pulls away and holds the pants up, signaling for you to leave so he can change, and you do but wait for him outside until he is ready.

“Maybe,” he says as you loop your arm through his, both of you walking toward the guest wing. You can already hear the blasting hip hop song Aegon is playing, the sounds of screaming and singing already filling the entire mansion.

“Really?” You ask quietly, letting go of his hand as soon as you reach the door, finding a few of Aegon’s friends around.

“I don’t know, I said maybe,” he moves away from you with one last smirk and enters the party. The smell of alcohol, cigarette, and smoke fills his lungs, and soon spots Daeron and Aegon mixing cocktails and handing them to the guests. Helaena is busy talking to an old friend of his, Cregan Stark, and she is all blushy and giggly while she sips on her drink — he makes a mental note to check up on her regularly.

“Here is our boyyyy!” One of Aegon’s friends screams and throws his arm around Aemond’s shoulders, shaking him as everyone erupts in joy and laughter, a shot of whiskey is thrusted into his hands and everyone is suddenly encouraging him to drown the drink in one go.

“Come on, Aemy! Don’t be a fucking pussy!” Aegon screams over the music, and with one final sigh, he brings the glass to his lips and empties the drink down his throat, making everyone around him scream and clap him on the back before they start shouting for another shot, which Daeron pours for him and as the first one, he drowns it again.

“That’s my fucking brother!” Aegon suddenly jumps onto an empty table, completely topless with two bottles of vodka in his hands as he screams and cheers for Aemond while holding the bottles up.

“He is so fucking insane!” Daeron shakes his head when Aegon starts rolling his hips to the music, his silver hair covered in sweat and possibly alcohol as he flexes his abs and chest for the girls.

“He is disgusting,” Aemond sighs, watching amusedly as Aegon jumps down and wraps his arms around two girls, moving to dance with them while their hands wander all over his body.

Aemond looks around and finds you and Helaena on the dance floor, clearly drunk out of your mind with how you are laughing and moving around. He drowns the rest of his drink before he sneaks out of the party, moving outside toward his workshop to clear his head, but before that, he goes back to the main building and grabs a bottle of water to sober up.

He finds Vhagar already waiting for him at the entrance, wiggling her tail when she notices Aemond. He crouches down to pet her softly, scratching behind her ears and kissing her furs before he stands up and moves to the backyard, his old lady following him quickly.

On their way to the workshop, they find Aegon and the two girls sneaking upstairs, making out with one while the other caresses his skin. Aemond rolls his eye in disgust as he moves past them, finding a pair of heels on the ground as she enters the small wood attached to their yard after where the Weirwood tree is.

He walks further inside the woods, following the path he once walked with you which leads to his workshop, Vhagar happily accompanies him there, even jogging and running past him numerous times to show her enthusiasm — she just loves being around him.

He notices a shadow in the workshop, moving around clumsily as it touches and picks different things up. He thinks it might be one of Aegon’s dumbass friends, wandering around their house drunk and exhausted. But how did someone, anyone find the key to unlock the door?

He opens the door, catching you of all the people snooping around his stuff, smiling when you find a pretty seven-pointed star keychain with Alicent’s name carved under it — he remembers when he made that. He was only seventeen, and he had moved past that amateur phase and got a grip on the woodwork and different types of it. What better way to celebrate his Mum’s birthday than gifting her something he made from scratch?

“Hey you,” he says slowly, not wanting to frighten you like he did this morning, “And what are you exactly doing here?”

“Look who’s here,” you turn around opening your arms, burping as you talk, showing how good Aegon’s cocktail must have been to get you this giddy, “sorry, Little nerd! I saw this really really pretty place and couldn’t help myself! Isn’t it strange that no one uses here? Urgh, what I would do to stay here.”

“Alright, darling, don’t pout,” he slowly reaches to grab your arm so you don’t trip over anything and fall down, “How did you get in here?”

“Did you just—” you gasp, letting him pull you to his side, “did you just call me darling?”

“Yes, I did,” he nods, keeping you secure on your feet before he offers you the water bottle, urging you to drink from it, “have this, clearly you need it more than I do.”

“What a gentleman! Thank you,” you say, taking a large sip after he helps you open the bottle, the cold water makes you feel slightly better so you drink the rest too, not sobering up completely but enough to remember where you are and who you are with and more importantly remember what you are doing.

“So, how did you get in here?” Aemond asks again, taking the empty bottle from you before tossing it for Vhagar, who happily claws at the plastic, jumping on it before she takes it outside to bury it somewhere — which Aemond would need to find later.

“Found a spare key under that vase,” you pointed at the vase outside his door on the floor, “You are not as slick as you think, Aemond, calling me darling and everything.”

“Do you want me to stop calling you that?” he asks playfully, watching you bite your lips in response, shaking your head slightly, “then I guess I won’t.”

You look around the workshop and find a wooden pallet with half a portrait carved on it. The lines are oddly familiar, a woman perhaps because of the details put in the jaw, and the hair looks so delicate and soft.

“Wow, Aemond…” You free yourself from his arms and move to take a closer look at the half-done wooden portrait, “Did you make this?”

“Yes…” he answers, rubbing the back of his neck in shame or perhaps anxiousness, because what if you recognize who the person is? All of his efforts will be in vain. What will you think of him? A boy with nothing better than observing women? A pervert?

“This is fascinating!” you keep looking at the wooden pallet but something catches your eye; a printed black and white picture of the person’s portrait, but before you can reach for it, Aemond grabs your forearm and pulls you away roughly.

You gasp as he pulls you between him and the desk the portrait and all of his stuff are on. His breathing is frantic, and his long fingers hold your forearm tight enough not to hurt you.

You look up at him, lips parted, a scene too familiar — this morning, so close to each other, one mingling breath away yet too far — but there is a fire burning within him, a newfound determination that makes his heart beat faster and his hands shake.

He is not a weak mean, quite the contrary, but when he looks down at you, catching how your gaze falls on his lips… he is no better than any other man.

He leans down a little, the sounds of the outside world fading away as he moves his face closer, and he notices how you slowly twist your arm out of his grasp, only to move them toward his chest, and he takes the sign and reaches to hold you by your waist, his nose bumping into yours as the distance between you decreases

You smell so sweet, like strawberry on a whipped cream once Aegon fed him when he was feeling down. It’s sweet but not too much to have him run away, to shy away from such a delicious taste. Will your lips taste the same if he musters the courage to just move down a bit and finds it by himself?

“Aemond…” One whisper of his name is all it takes for his restraint to shatter into a million pieces, and finally, finally, he leans down enough to capture your lips in a quick kiss. Both of you waiting for waited breath to see who will lean in, give in, and take what they want

Both, you both lean in, meeting each other halfway as your lips meet in a chaste messy kiss.

You taste so sweet just as he thought, but not just a strawberry tooth rooting sweet, no. you taste like a fresh cold morning breeze on a summer day, you feel like a cold shower after an exhausting day — so refreshing, so… so much like home. As if he has only found the solace he has been seeking with Alys for so long but something has always been amiss, but with you… oh, one kiss is enough for him to know how wrong he was.

You tangle your fingers through his hair, and he takes the chance to sit you on the desk, but by doing so, he knocks a little vase on the ground, and you freeze.

You pull away from the kiss, muttering his name but he doesn’t let you say anything before he seals his lips to yours in an endearing kiss. But you push him away by putting your hands on his chest, making enough room for you to talk.

“Aemond, we can’t—” “What do you mean we can’t?” He asks, panicking a little but you manage to ease his mind with a quick kiss, “What do you mean, darling?” He asks again, voice barely above whispering.

“I don’t want to be your rebound…” you pull him down enough so his forehead rests on yours, “I don’t want to be the person who you fuck just after you’ve been dumped.”

“You’re… you’re not that, you will never be that! Alys—“

“Alys… you’re still not over her, Little nerd,” you caress his cheek lovingly, pressing a gentle kiss on the apple of his cheek before you push him away and put a great distance between the two of you, and with teasr in your eyes you say one last sentence and leave.

“You still love Alys.”

[melannen]

How To Make Your Own Fanfiction Archive, In Just Ten Easy Steps

As the go-to "person who knows about AO3" for quite a few people who read fanfic but aren't really linked-in to wider fandom culture, I've fielded a lot of questions about how to do certain things on AO3 to which my best answer is "you should really start your own archive!" I think, in general, more fans starting their own small archives would be a net good for fandom. AO3 was never meant to be the only archive for all fandom, or even the main archive, and the more spread out and backed up we are the more resilient we are.

But of course I have to be reminded that a lot of fans these days don't really have any idea how little "you should start your own archive!" really involves. (Also, that I should practice what I preach.) So I am now making my own fanfiction archive, and writing up this post as I do it to tell people how to make theirs!

Go to https://neocities.org/ and sign up for an account. It only needs a username (which will also be your website address), password, and email. Pick a username that will be related to your archive's title!

Choose the free account option (if you ever need more than what the free account offers for a text-only archive, you should probably look into graduating from neocities.) This should take you to a menu of "how to make a website" tutorials. You should do them! They're useful skills. But let's get your archive running first.

Hit the big red Edit Site button, or open the menu under your username and select "Edit Site".

Select the "Index.html" file to edit. You're now in an HTML Editor. Congrats, you're a web developer c. 1999!

Find where it has text between the < title> tags. Delete the filler text, and put in the title of your new archive. This text will be what shows on the tab when people go to your archive.

Find where it has text between the < h1 > tags. This will be big header text at the top of your page. Put the title of your archive here again. If you have no experience with HTML, you should read over the other sample text. It covers the basic basics very well! Once you've done that, you can delete everything else between the < /h1> tag and the < /body> tag. Save your index.html file.

Get an HTML file for a fanfic you would like to add to your archive. If it's on AO3, you can use the html download option built into AO3. If you have it as a word processor/google docs file, you should have the option to save as an html file. Save that html file to your computer.

Go back to Edit Site on Neocities and go to "upload". Find the html file you saved and upload it. (You can also drag and drop files to upload.)

The file you uploaded should now be showing with your other neocities files. Right-click on the title and select "copy link".

Go in to edit index.html again. Under where you put your header text, type < br> < a href=" . Then paste in the link you copied. Then type "> Then put in the title of the fic. Then type < /a> . Then save the index page again when you're done. You can do this for every fanfic you have.

Congratulations! You now have your very own personal private fanfiction archive that you are 100% in charge of and make all the rules for. It's at least as good as half the ones I was reading on when I started reading fanfiction and will serve its function well as a way to let people read your fic. You can link to it from anywhere you want! (Including your AO3 profile.)

Blogpost version, with FAQs and discussion

Anyway, here's my beautiful new fanfiction archive made using this tutorial:

Melannen's Fanfiction Archive

(I am honestly way more disproportionately proud of finally making that than I expected to be. It's nice to have your own archive.)

If you make one, share it here ! I want to see!

[parfaitblogs]

waiting room ❀ s. reid x reader

in which he breaks up with you, and your life slowly falls apart. so obviously you should see him?

pairing: ex!spencer reid x reader genre: angst tags: implied alcohol reliance? lots of nothing happening not even a gun to my head could get me to write action... do not read if emotionally stable because i sure wasn't when i wrote this. word count: 1.9k a/n: i never write in second person so if there's a cheeky she her they them somewhere in this ignore it!!! i do not know what i am doing!!! probably not proofread enough. also no happy ending i hate those let the people cry i say! i haven't posted my writing in like three years be nice...

also posted here on my ao3 !

"Hey."

"Hi."

Awkward silence. Horribly awkward silence.

Your eyes darting around a bar that you found all too familiar, with decor that you could paint on a canvas with your eyes closed, and such a distinct smell that you could imagine it from miles away. You didn't think you'd ever forget the way the air moved in this bar, or the sound of the same three bands singing every Friday night on repeat. You knew all the words to their songs by now. And the bartender knew your name, embarrassingly so. 

And even over the sound of patrons talking, and the clinking of glasses and every other overwhelming sound that drove you crazy, you felt like you could hear your heartbeat slamming against your chest. Your lips chapped, never wetting no matter how many times you produced the saliva in your otherwise dry mouth to lick them. Hands wrapped around an ice cold glass that did nothing but numb some part of your body, to accompany the numb feeling in your chest. 

You looked better than you felt, but he was knocking both parts of you out of the park. Maybe that's why your mouth was so dry. You'd tell yourself that it is, at least. He's too attractive to talk to. But you could talk to him. You did talk to him. All the time. About everything, and nothing. Because that's what you two did. 

And yet; the awkward silence. 

He cleared his throat, and it prompted you to take a sip of your drink, mixed alcohol falling down your throat and leaving a burn that shouldn't comfort you, but did. You didn't pull a face at the taste of it the way you used to, and you found yourself wishing that part of you that you despised was back. 

Maybe he would tease you for it again.

"How's work?"

The words felt foreign on your lips. It wasn't really what you wanted to ask him, but every inquiry you had died on your tongue before you could ask them, nothing feeling good enough. 

"It's good," he answered, eyes studying you in a way that made you want to shrink into nothingness. 

"That's good," you said, and you saw the small twitch of his lips — brief, before they fell back into their natural downturned shape. 

It was almost comical how much silence sat between you two. Two people who would talk until people around them were groaning and regretting asking them a question, falling silent in the presence of one another. 

He cleared his throat again. Maybe you should offer him some water, but then you realised this wasn't your house and he was fully capable of getting his own water. And everything else in the world.

"How's work for you?"

"It's good," you answered, half-heartedly, because you really didn't know. You hadn't been in months. 

You didn't really realise a breakup would affect you this much. You had always been good. Good at putting emotional turmoil on pause for your busy life. You never considered the possibility of putting your busy life on pause for emotional turmoil. 

But then Spencer Reid left you. You never considered the possibility of that happening either, until it did. 

"Is it?" he asked, and you watched his body shift slightly in his seat, almost leaning closer to you. 

And unfortunately, you can only pretend in front of the man across from you for so long. "No," you said.

"Why not?" 

"I'm not going." Your voice was embarrassingly quiet, but you knew he heard you, because his eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly, and his lips parted for a second. It made you want to take the words back; to lie again. "I got laid off a week ago."

He slowly nodded his head in recognition — that would explain your sudden request to meet. "I'm sorry."

You could imagine a million things you knew he'd be saying the words for, but not one part of you really believed it for any of them. So you only nodded your head, gaze dropping from him to the glass in front of you, the paper straw disintegrating in the liquid — something you weren't used to; you would finish drinks too quickly for that to happen. 

You didn't come here to mope. You do that every other Friday night. You didn't need to do that tonight, when the man you were spending your nights sobbing and your mornings numb over was right there with you.

"How's your mom?" you ask instead, lifting your head back up, and you watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. 

"She's okay. Same as usual," he said, and you nodded your head. Short answers seemed to be the only thing you guys knew how to do. "How's yours?"

"Good," you answer, because the question doesn't really have the same weight as it did when you asked him; he only did it to be courteous. "She misses having you over."

That brought a small smile to his face. "I miss being over."

You can come back, you want to say, but you know that isn't true. 

You don't know how much longer you two sit in silence before he breaks it with a sigh that, if you didn't know better, you'd think was irritated. But it wasn't; simply exhausted. 

"Why did you want to meet me?" he finally asked, and your lips parted, before shutting again, because you're not too sure the answer is something you're allowed to say aloud. 

You say it anyway.

"I missed you."

You watched his facial features soften, his shoulders relaxing slightly, and that only seemed to bring more nervous energy to you. 

"You shouldn't," he said, and if your heart had anything left for him, it probably would have cracked again. 

You knew that you shouldn't. You had told yourself to get over it a thousand times before. Your go-to mantra was grow up. But you couldn't. Your brain wouldn't let it go and your eyes could just never stay dry for long enough to think it's finally over. It was almost pathetic. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat, nodding your head, slowly, and you were pretty sure tears were welling in your eyes, which felt even more pathetic in front of him. 

"I'm sorry."

This time it was you to apologise, and you knew he didn't believe your apology either. Not when you didn't even know what you were apologising for. Missing him, meeting him here, ever even dating him in the first place.

"It's okay," he said, instead, and you watched him exhale shakily, his lips rubbing against each other — usually a telltale sign he didn't want to be wherever he was any longer. That broke your heart too. 

Words died in your throat as you abruptly stood up, the stool you were perched atop wobbling slightly with your sudden movements. 

You stared at him for another moment, committing his face to memory, before you nodded your head to him in acknowledgement, pocketing your phone. You forced a smile, and left. 

Maybe not the best move you've ever done in your life. Not the move you wanted to do. But certainly the smartest. 

Because the second the cool, early fall air hit your skin, so did your tears, and you found that even ordering an Uber was difficult through blurry vision. So you decided to walk. Walk where, you didn't know. Away from the bar. Through the people-filled square; people as drunk as you wished to be, people out with friends and partner's, to have fun. People having a much better night than you, clearly. 

You heard your name. And something in you screamed to not turn around, to not give in to the caller. Probably the logical part of your brain. But your heart ignored it, and you halted in your tracks, turning to see him walking towards you, eyebrows furrowed in so much concern you think you'd crack further than you already have. Maybe if you split yourself down the middle it would finally stop hurting. 

"I miss you too."

Four simple words that could be heard even over the mixed songs playing from the clubs around you, even over the beeping cars and the chattering people. 

"Please don't lie to make me feel better," you croak, and you're acutely aware of the tears on your cheeks. 

"I'm not lying," he breathed out, and you were far enough away from his body to see his hand twitch. For whatever reason you didn't know. "Sweetheart, you're breaking my heart, here."

Oh.

You swallowed down a sob, swiping another set of falling tears before they could get too far down your cheeks.

"Spencer, please," you said, so desperately that you wanted to shoot yourself. "I shouldn't have asked you to meet."

"No, you shouldn't have," he agreed, and your heart stuttered in your chest, because he was telling you things you shouldn't do. Again. "Not that I—" he cut himself off with a sigh; frustrated, this time. "Not that I didn't want to see you, because I did. You're the only person I want to see recently. But I was getting better, and I know I've ruined all that by being here with you tonight."

I was getting better. The words echoed over and over in your brain. If he was just as bad as you were, maybe it would make this easier. Maybe you aren't as pathetic. 

"I hate this," you settled on, fidgeting awkwardly with your fingers. 

He didn't respond for a few too many moments, and it had you wanting to take back your words. He rubbed his eyes with another sigh. 

"I'm not going back on my decision," he said, and you didn't need to ask what decision; you had an idea, and your stomach twisted uncomfortably. 

But you did anyways. "Which decision?"

"Breaking up with you."

You were silent for a few moments too. "I'm not asking you to—"

"—No, but you want me to," he cuts you off. "And I'm telling you I won't. You know why I did it. That trumps whatever feelings I have for you."

Have.

"I don't know why," you said, shakily. You did. He gave you a reason, and if you had to explain the breakup to someone, you could tell them why. But the ongoing conflict in your brain confused you anyways. 

"Yes you do," he answered, his jaw tensing. When you shook your head, and went to respond, he cut you off, stepping closer. "I can afford to lose you. I can't afford for the world to."

He had said something similar the day he left. Something about a fear of you dying. Something you had tried to reassure him of, failing to do so clearly. 

"What about me?" your voice cracked and you cursed it.

"It will get better."

You could've cried all over again, in the middle of the square. Everything always for the better. Never for the right now, for the things you both wanted. But for the everlasting fear Spencer had in his brain, that you didn't know how to help. 

"Apparently," you replied, sniffling as you took a step away from him. "I think I should go."

If he wanted to protest, he didn't show it. He simply nodded his head, lips parting in a silent exhale. 

And so you did, with wet cheeks, and a quiet, "Goodbye, Spencer."

loml (part 2) ♡

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated dearly ♡

[wonustars]

Rain or Shine Cafe

Ⱄ pairing: kwon soonyoung x f!reader Ⱄ wordcount: 10.5k Ⱄ genre: fluff, cafe coworkers au, suggestive

Ⱄ reblogs, likes and comments are always appreciated ♡! tumblr is based on reblogs not likes, and they help writers like me to get better reach. thank you!

Ⱄ summary: with no umbrella in hand on a rainy day, you felt like your life couldn’t get any worse. losing your glasses while it’s pouring cats and dogs, well maybe your life really was the worst. thankfully a faceless stranger was there to pick up your glasses and hand you his umbrella. you weren’t able to ever thank him for his act of kindness, but the sweet memory stays with you for awhile.

Ⱄ tags/warnings: cafe coworkers!soonyoung and reader, dancer!soonyoung, reader wears glasses, set in vancouver canada, they develop feelings quickly, reader is a little type a, mentions of other svt members, mentions of alcohol, hoshi tiger agenda is very present, allusions to sex, making out, grinding, groping, heavy petting (thth host voice activated), if anything is missing here lmk!

Ⱄ note: it's finally here!! this is my fic for the world tour @svthub collab hehe. thank you to my two lovely beta readers @junkissed and @highvern who helped me so much (ily both sm) ♡!!!!!! and also to the svthub members who helped me when developing the banner for this fic :) i hope you all enjoy this fic because i loved writing it and hoshi is just so silly. its all fluffy and cute and no smut which is a first for me but i hope it's still enjoyable for u all hehe. talk to u soon - anna ♡

Today was one of those days. The birds don’t sing in your wake, the sun doesn’t shine as bright. You weren’t sure what had been the catalyst to such a terrible day; maybe it was forgetting your umbrella, losing your glasses under the gloomy sky, or the rain that pitter-pattered against the pavement and mocked your misfortune.

It wasn’t until a faceless stranger entered your blurred field of vision, offering their umbrella and picking up your glasses. Before you could even thank them for their help, they whisked away so quickly that it was like they were a figment of your imagination. 

That small kind gesture had stuck with you for days, wondering if you would ever be able to meet them again. You desperately wished you could see what they looked like, but from the softness of their voice to their gentle touch, you had a feeling that their personality was just the same. 

˚∗˖⁺⑅ ˖⁺⑅˖◛

Working a shift at Rain or Shine Cafe is always the highlight of your day, especially after spending so many hectic hours at your university. The cafe was always serene, the customers were kind, and you liked how calming it would get once the Vancouver rain started to pour in. The droplets hit the glass windows in a rhythmic pattern that could probably put you to sleep if you allow. 

Rain or Shine Cafe was like your little haven from the busy city and university town. You were working the evenings while your boss, Seokmin, would cover the mornings. It was a little bit complicated with only the two of you, but you didn’t mind. You liked being the only person during your shift, it meant that you were practically your own boss. 

It wasn’t until the day that Seokmin decided it was time for a new hire, your safe space seemingly turned upside down. 

“Y/n, I’ve hired a new person, you’ll have to train them okay?” Seokmin informs you the moment you clock in. 

Giving him a defeated sigh, you knew it was time for a new coworker to join you. Although you hate the idea, you feel bad at how hard Seokmin works in the mornings, and on the rare occasions when you’re sick, evenings as well. 

“I don’t know Seokmin… are you sure I should be the one training them?” your tone wavers, if anything the owner would be able to do a better job than you at training the new hire. 

“What! You’ll do great, you’re my best employee after all,” he gives you a reassuring pat on your shoulder. 

With furrowed brows, your eyes bore holes into his back as he headed back to his office. 

“I’m your only employee!” you shout back while he can still hear you. 

The idea of having to train a new person after spending so much time finding your rhythm while working at the cafe doesn’t particularly thrill you. With many many prayers to the universe, you just hope they aren’t a pain in the ass to deal with. 

˚∗˖⁺⑅ ˖⁺⑅˖◛

Soonyoung wasn’t sure what to expect on his first day, and he was especially nervous because he’d never worked at a cafe before. Although his coordination is great when it comes to dancing, he isn’t so confident in his coffee-making skills. 

The moment he walked through the door, he saw your face shining against the afternoon sun, his heart beating so fast he thought he might have to go to the doctor for a serious case of heart palpitations. He can’t help but curse at himself silently, knowing that he is going to be extra nervous because of his extremely pretty coworker. 

As he approaches you he starts to feel a sense of familiarity bubbling at the bottom of his stomach. Wondering if he’d seen you around before, but he quickly scratched that idea knowing that there are millions of people living in the Greater Vancouver area. 

Clearing his throat he tries to get your attention as you delicately refill the pastry shelf with almond croissants and bagels. Your eyes turn towards the figure in front of the counter, assuming it’s another student from the university wanting to order. 

“U-uh hi,” Soonyoung blurts out, his pillowy cheeks turning red under your gaze. 

“Hi, what can I get for you?” you ask him, trying to ignore the awkwardness between you two. 

“Oh! I-I’m not here to order, I’m the new hire?” He tries to explain, but you can tell he feels a little unsure about being here at the cafe. 

“Oh. Soonyoung right?” 

“Yeah, that’s me, but uh- you can call me Hoshi,” he chuckles, scratching the back of his head. 

The words ‘play it cool’ keep repeating in his mind as he continues to talk to you, not wanting to make a bad first impression with his gorgeous new coworker. 

“Ah, I see, Hoshi,” you say apprehensively while nodding your head, yeah I’m not calling him that, you think to yourself. 

Seokmin told you that the new hire would be coming in for his first shift today, but he didn’t mention anything other than that. 

At first glance, Soonyoung wasn’t the type of person you expected Seokmin to hire. His dark clothing, bright blond hair and piercings along his ears didn’t scream “barista”. The aura around him screamed men’s fashion influencer just from the way he dresses. Although his clothes were casual you could tell there was still thought put into his outfit, from the baggy dark wash jeans to his graphic tee and earrings. 

“How about you come around the counter and clock in so we can get started,” you add as you finish placing the pastries on the display shelf. 

Scratching the back of his head he walks over only to hover behind you, a meek expression washes over his face. 

You turn to him with a quizzical eyebrow, not sure as to why he’s just standing there like a lost child in a supermarket. 

“H-how exactly do you clock in?” Soonyoung mumbles while twiddling his thumbs. 

“Seokmin didn’t show you where to clock in?” You question him. 

There was a part of you that had a feeling that you might have to teach him every little thing around the cafe. When Seokmin told you the new hire was coming in today, you were hoping that they would at least have a little bit of background knowledge. 

“U-uh no he pretty much hired me on the spot and told me to come in today,” he mutters, feeling a little embarrassed by your judgement, “this is actually my first job ever.” 

“Ever?” 

“Yeah, so I’m not sure why he even hired me, but I needed a job so I didn’t turn it down,” he continues, the blush on his soft cheeks becoming more apparent. 

You sigh deeply, this shift is going to feel a lot longer than you initially thought. Knowing it’s his first job means that you’ll have to train him a little slower. As you walk to show him where to clock in you silently pray that he’s a fast learner. 

Soonyoung can tell that you’re not excited to train him, and he feels bad that he doesn’t have the experience to be good at his job right away. But he’s determined to learn quickly, not wanting to disappoint you or Seokmin. 

He spent most of his time in university being able to pay for his expenses from his dance scholarship and the little money he was given from his parents, but unfortunately, it wasn’t enough to fund his trip for his and his dance troupe’s upcoming competition. 

They had entered a national competition taking place in Seattle and although the commute was only a two-hour road trip, there were so many other fees that he couldn’t afford unless he found a way to earn money. Plus if he wanted to fund both his dance trip and tiger collection, it was either he get a job near his school or he would have to resort to selling feet pics online. But getting a job at the cafe seemed like the safer and more logical option. 

“Well now that you’ve clocked in, this is your apron and the tag that Seokmin made you,” you inform him while handing him his things. 

Soonyoung doesn’t say a word, only nodding while listening to you explain how everything works at the cafe. 

“First we need you to learn all the drinks that we serve,” you explain, pushing the double doors that lead back to the main room of the building. 

“Okay, I can do that, it can’t be that hard right?”  Hoshi shrugs, trying his best to act nonchalantly to mask his nervousness. 

…

“Wait-No! That’s wrong,” your voice raises in panic as you watch Soonyoung put a fresh shot of espresso into the plastic to-go cup. 

Freezing, his eyes go wide as his mouth forms an ‘O’ shape and you start to scramble with panic. The plastic started to shrivel from the heat of the coffee. 

“I’m sorry! I didn’t know it would melt!” he exclaims, pouring the contents into the sink. 

It had been an hour of teaching Soonyoung how to make the drinks that were on the cafe menu, and he had somehow made a mistake every single step of the way. Thankfully today is a slower day in the cafe, allowing Soonyoung to observe your routine on serving customers. 

“It’s fine, how about we take a break and I'll show you how to use the oven to heat the pastries,” you sigh with defeat. 

Soonyoung’s face drops a little because he knows that he’s disappointed you. He wishes that he was good at his job the same way he is with dancing but his naturally good coordination and reflexes can only take him so far. 

“If a customer asks for a pastry they can have the option for them to be toasted in the oven, you just need to use the tongs and place them onto the rack,” you explain, demonstrating the steps that you would usually take, “then you don’t want to set the timer for more than twenty seconds or it’ll burn.” 

Soonyoung nods along, trying to follow your instructions closely, but he can’t help but get distracted by your features. Your hair is tied up, and glasses perched on your nose as you try to concentrate. He knows that it’s important to pay attention but he can’t help but feel attracted to you. There was a certain familiarity to you that he couldn’t seem to pinpoint. He hasn’t felt like this about someone he just met ever, and it’s not helping that you’re the one teaching him how to do his job properly. 

If he could stare at you during his whole shift instead of working, he would. 

“Does everything make sense so far?” you pull him out of his thoughts, staring at him expectantly. 

“Yeah, the pastry stuff seems like the most simple thing so far,” he comments, watching you put the croissant into a bag to eat after you’re off work. 

“How about we go back to making more test drinks? Just so you can get the hang of it,” you offer, wanting him to get more practice just in case it’s a busy day the next time he comes in for a shift. 

“Sure, you’re a great teacher by the way, I’m just new to all this,” he comforts you. 

“Thanks, and don’t worry too much, you’ll get better with time,” you pat his shoulder. 

You give him a smile of gratitude. The past few hours had you doubting your knowledge, patience, and teaching skills all at the same time. But his words of reassurance make you feel him warm inside. 

The way Soonyoung’s cheeks puff as he smiles makes you giggle. There was something about his soft features that made him so endearing, which made you feel a little bad for raising your voice at him earlier while he was trying to learn. 

Sure, he’s not the smartest when it comes to working at a cafe, but you have faith that he’ll be able to learn as time goes by. From the looks of it, Soonyoung seems determined to do better, that or he’s faking it. Either way, you owe it to Seokmin to show him everything you know. 

˚∗˖⁺⑅ ˖⁺⑅˖◛

“So…” Seokmin looks at you expectantly while you get ready to start your shift, “how was it?” 

“Well… he’s definitely new,” you sigh as you put on your apron and clock in. 

Seokmon gives you a concerned look, he felt a little bad for handing Soonyoung over to you knowing he had zero experience working in a cafe, but he trusted you, his best (only) employee to be able to train him well.

“Everything went well though, right?” he asks you, trailing behind you like a lost puppy. 

You can’t help but laugh at the way he follows you to the counter, wanting to hear every detail about what happened during your last shift. 

There wasn’t much to say other than the fact that Soonyoung wasn’t very good at his job, but you don’t want to be an asshole and rat him out when you could tell how eager he is to do his job properly. Instead, you decided to lie to your kind, and very naive boss. 

“Oh he’s perfect, honestly you made the right decision in hiring him,” you force a smile. 

Seokmin’s eyes light up with excitement, you could practically see his imaginary tail wagging back and forth with happiness. He trusts you so much that he never thought to hire anyone else, meaning this was a big step for him and the cafe. You could already start to feel the guilt seep into your nerves as he stared at you with so much trust.

“Really? Oh, thank god, I was so nervous when he told me he’s never had a job in his life before, honestly Y/n, I’m so happy and I’m sure things will–” Seokmin is cut off by the jingle of the bell above the door. 

Both your heads whip around as Soonyoung enters the cafe with a bright smile along his lips, refreshed from the last time he was in and ready to work a real shift this time. His clothing was more appropriate for work, a simple black tee shirt and black pants, his blond hair reflecting with the sun, giving him a halo effect. 

You wish you had met Soonyoung in different settings, then you would be able to admit how attractive he is. If only he wasn’t such a clutz, then maybe you would have a full-blown crush on him. 

“Afternoon Soonyoung,” Seokmin smiles at him. 

Fridays were always the busiest days at the cafe, even during the evening. You're just hoping that the odds were in your favour and Soonyoung actually retained all the information you told him last time you saw him. 

“Afternoon everyone!” he exclaims cheerfully. 

Waving at him you watch him descend to the back to clock in for his shift, your stomach churns with anxiety because you aren’t sure how well today is going to go. 

“Okay Y/n I’m off, you’re in charge as always,” Seokmin declared before leaving. 

… 

About half an hour into your shift, the pace of the cafe started to pick up and the line was starting to get longer. As the clock hit three-thirty, all the university students started to pile into the tiny building. 

You were starting to sweat and because Soonyoung still doesn’t know how to make all of the drinks you put him on cashier and pastry duty. It seems to be the only way that you were able to get through to all the customers in a timely manner. 

“Is there really only two of you?” A male customer whines at the back of the line, clearly annoyed by the wait. 

“Yes, unfortunately, this is usually the busiest time of the day for us,” you try to explain politely, but your anger issues start to creep up onto the surface. 

The overstimulation from the heat of the coffee as well as the chatter of customers was causing your patience to thin. You didn’t want to have to argue with anyone today, especially because you had a newbie working with you. 

“Could you at least hurry it up?” He scoffs, eyes rolling with annoyance. 

You don’t reply to his complaints, because if you were to start talking you would probably end up starting a fight mid-shift. 

“Dude, you can’t talk to her like that,” Soonyoung retaliated, obviously annoyed with the whiny customer. 

“What’d you say to me?” the customer fumes, coming to the front of the counter. 

The two men size up each other while you stand there a little shocked at how fast Soonyoung was to defend you. 

Soonyoung scowls as he stares at the asshole who was yelling at you. He wasn’t expecting people to get so angry over coffee but he wasn’t going to let someone disrespect you. 

“I said, you can’t talk to her like that,” he seethes, looking at the customer up and down with his chest puffed out, “if you’re so sick of waiting then go somewhere else.” 

“You know what I will. I don’t want some slow bitch making my drink anyways,” the customer retorts. 

“Fuck you! And don’t come back!” Soonyoung yells at his descending figure and turns at you silently asking if you were alright. 

His soft eyes had your heart palpitating, you never took him for the type of person to defend you from mean customers. If you weren’t fully attracted to him before, now you are. There was something about the way his demeanour had changed while trying to protect you that made you look at him in a different light. 

… 

By the time it was closer to the end of both you and Soonyoung’s shift, the amount of customers coming in slowed down considerably, allowing you to rest after what had happened earlier. 

The sun was down and it was nearing eight in the evening. While you were cleaning the counters and organizing for the morning shift, Soonyoung was mopping the floors and putting the chairs back in order. He looked peaceful as he was cleaning, you couldn’t help but stare. 

Soonyoung’s jawline is sharp as he appears to be deep in thought, and you allow yourself to admire the way his biceps flexed under his shirt as he swayed the mop back and forth. The veins along his forearms popped with each movement he made, you practically had to pinch yourself in order to not get caught ogling at him. 

“Uhm, I just wanted to say thanks for earlier, you didn’t have to do all that,” you speak up, catching his attention, “I appreciate it.” 

Soonyoung chuckles while shaking his head, giving you that same smile he did on the first day. The one that made his eyes look like a cute emoticon, and his cheeks puffy as if he were a hamster. 

“It wasn’t that big of a deal, I wasn’t going to let that asshole talk to you like that,” he shrugs nonchalantly. 

“Yeah I know, but still, thank you,” you reiterate, heat starting to creep up your neck as you recall the way he acted earlier.

“Of course,” he continues to smile before he says something you didn’t expect, “also, I know we’re not all that close, but me and my friends were going to go to the bar down the street. Do you want to join us?” 

Your eyes widen in shock, an answer flying out of your mouth before you can even think properly, “Sure!” 

“Okay, cool!” his eyes lit up at your acceptance to his invite, “we’re going to watch one of my friend’s shows, so you can meet me here again at like, 10 pm?”

“Are you sure they’re okay with me coming though? I don’t wanna impose,” you ask with uncertainty. 

“Yeah, of course, they’re chill,” he reassures you before going back to finish his task. 

Turning around you silently scream at the thought of going out with Soonyoung, being able to talk to him off work hours, it made you blush deeply. You don’t understand why you’re reacting this way all of a sudden as if you weren’t constantly annoyed by his clumsiness just a week ago, but you’re not opposed to the feelings of your developing crush on your coworker. 

˚∗˖⁺⑅ ˖⁺⑅˖◛

This was the first time in Soonyoung’s life that he had been wrecked with nervousness. Not even when he was performing on stage did his nerves get the best of him. You were just so pretty, and the more he worked with you, the more he wanted to get to know you, to interact with you outside the cafe and learn more about your personality. 

“Soonyoung!” he hears you call out for him, forcing him to look up from the pavement. 

His heart beats out of his chest, and his palms start to sweat. Your hair is down and frames your face. As you start to get closer he allows himself to appreciate the view in front of him. The moonlight shining above, the stars twinkling beautifully and yet he can’t seem to take his eyes off of you. 

Your outfit suited you so well, a short skirt, an oversized graphic tee and a pair of knee-high boots. So this is what you look like outside of work, Soonyoung thought to himself. He already found you attractive in your work clothes, with your brown apron and baseball cap. But seeing you like this made his mouth go dry, forcing him to gulp like a starved man. 

“H-hey! You look really good,” he stutters and he curses at himself silently from how nervous he is. 

“Thank you, you too,” you blush, a timid expression falling on your face, not being able to meet his eyes as you play with the keychain on your bag. 

“Are you ready to go?” he asks, his head nudging in the direction of the bar. 

You nod with a smile, following his steps toward your destination. With clammy hands, you grip the strap of your bag while you and Soonyoung walk in perfect harmony. This is the first time you’ve gone for a night out in a while, and your body is filled with nervousness and excitement at the thought of being able to spend more time with Soonyoung. 

… 

“Hoshi! The show is about to start, what took you so long?” a brown-haired man calls out, walking towards the two of you. 

His eyes widened with curiosity, realizing that Soonyoung hadn’t come to the bar alone tonight. 

“And who is this?” he asks, observing you closely with a glass of beer in his hand. 

“Y/n, this is Seungkwan, Kwan, this is Y/n,” Soonyoung introduces the two of you, and you can only reply with a shy wave and smile. 

“I see,” he mutters, taking a sip from his glass. 

Seungkwan’s eyes are boring holes into your face and it causes your cheeks to heat up. 

“She’s my coworker at Rain or Shine,” Soonyoung adds, before giving Seungkwan a pointed look. 

Seungkwan, although usually friendly, is very intrigued as to why you were brought over to hang out with Soonyoung and their friends tonight. It wasn’t a normal occurrence for Soonyoung to bring anyone new to Vernon’s shows, especially a girl. He concluded that you must mean something to Hoshi, and not just because you’re his coworker. 

“Ohh okay, it’s nice to meet you,” Seungkwan smiles and that allows you to let out a breath of relief that you didn’t realize that you were holding, “but we should get to our seats, the show is about to start.” 

There’s a collective agreement and the three of you head over to a reserved table that’s located closer to the stage. It must be a perk to know the band that was playing because it had the best view in the bar. 

As you reach the table you meet with a few more people sitting around talking and drinking. Your naturally introverted attitude increases tenfold when your eyes lay on the group of men talking loudly and laughing with each other. 

“Soonyoung’s finally here! And he’s brought a friend,” Seungkwan announces, his back facing you and you don’t catch the way his eyebrows wiggle suggestively. 

The group’s conversation is cut off and they go over to greet you and Soonyoung. They were all so tall and attractive, you didn’t expect it at all. But it somehow makes sense that someone as good-looking as Soonyoung would also have good-looking friends. 

“Y/n, this is Chan, Mingyu and Minghao,” Soonyoung introduces you, pointing everyone out one by one. 

“Hi, I work with Soonyoung at the cafe,” you greet them with a small wave. 

The three men smile at you warmly before you sit down, and Mingyu is the first one to talk to you. You’re awestruck at how attractive he is, his wide smile and sharp teeth poking out added a charming factor to him that you wouldn’t notice if it were anyone else. 

“Hi, did you want something to drink?” he asks you, his voice husky and warm. 

“A diet coke and rum is fine,” you tell him and he nods before getting up and heading to the bar. 

Watching him walk away, you turn your attention back onto Soonyoung who seems to be deep in conversation with Chan. Seeing him laugh and talk with his friends is new to you, and it makes your stomach flutter at how concentrated he is. 

“No I can’t give you the leftover pastries, stop asking me, I literally just started working there,” Soonyoung groans as Chan begs him for leftover almond croissants. 

A giggle escapes your lips as you watch how desperate Chan is for a free croissant, you’ve never seen someone so passionate over bread before. 

“I can give one to Soonyoung next time we close, we always have leftovers,” you chime in, giving Chan a warm smile.

Chan practically lights up with excitement and Soonyoung rolls his eyes at the fact that his younger friend is somehow always able to get what he wants. You can’t help but smile at how eager he is over such a simple thing.

“Are you sure? You don’t have to do that,” Soonyoung looks at you. 

He watches as you give him a reassuring smile, your eyes reflecting the bar lights. There are so many things that he got to learn about you today. The way you get shy meeting new people, yet you’re kind and willing to get to know his friends. You were tugging on his heartstrings and he didn’t want to stop getting to know the little things about you. 

“Yeah, it’s fine, Seokmin always lets me bring some home after my shift is over anyways,” you wave your hand, letting Chan know that Seokmin is a chill manager. 

“Really? Thank you Y/n,” Chan gives you a look of gratitude, going over to hug you. Laughing at his sudden burst of affection, you pat his back while telling him it wasn’t that big of a deal. 

The lights in the bar started to dim and you see Mingyu coming back with your drink. He places it in front of you and says not to worry about paying for it. There wasn’t much arguing coming from your side, who are you to refuse a free drink? Instead, you thank him and pay attention to the band coming out onto the stage. 

“Oh yeah, whatever happened to your ‘beautiful stranger’? Did you ever find her?” you hear Chan ask right before the band performs. 

There was a pause in the air and Soonyoung’s words were drowned out by the music. You are grateful for the fact that you couldn’t hear his answer. Honestly, you didn’t want to know what he had said in response. Instead of worrying over something you had no right to worry about, you allow the music to take over you. Paying close attention to the melodic singing flowing through the speakers. 

… 

“Thank you for inviting me out tonight, I enjoyed it,” you break the silence on the walk home to your apartment. 

Soonyoung offered to walk you home and you refused but he insisted that he wouldn’t be able to sleep properly if you walked alone at this hour. The time was nearing one in the morning and you were able to meet the rest of his friends after the show. They were all nice to you, except for that first moment with Seungkwan, but he warmed up shortly after. 

The descent to your place was relatively quiet, the two of you admiring the Vancouver skyline and high mountains. Sometimes you forget that you live in such a beautiful place, a city that never sleeps. You watched Soonyoung appreciate his view and you smiled inwardly at how content he seemed. 

Watching him interact with his friends earlier warmed your heart, he looked so happy being around them it made you forget how bad he is at his job, and that he’s a little clueless when it comes to working at the cafe. You felt bad about getting angry with him so quickly, but as you started to understand him more, you realized that there’s more to him than his clumsiness. He’s a bright person, he has the resemblance of a ball of sunshine. Always smiling, eager to bond with his friends, to laugh and to make thoughtful memories. 

You realize how much you had envied him in that moment. It’s easy for him to get along with everyone, and the fact that he’s able to go out without overthinking the smallest things. You just wanted to be as carefree as Soonyoung. 

“It's no problem, I wanted you to come, and they all loved you!” he chirped, eyes turning into slits from a wide smile. You blush at his outward personality. 

“Well, this is me,” you motion toward the entrance of your apartment building.

 You were a little embarrassed at its homely nature. All the nicer apartments surrounding your tiny building. But you couldn’t help but think that it had a charm to it that the modern buildings in Vancouver didn’t have. 

“Have a good night Y/n,” Soonyoung grinned as you two stood there, the breeze flowing through your fingertips while you stared into his sparkling eyes. 

“Have a good night Soonyoung,” you repeat him, and he doesn’t say anything else, pulling you into a hug. 

Soonyoung wasn’t sure if you like to be hugged, and he was hesitant at first, but with the way you were staring at him, he couldn’t help but want to hold you. He understands that you aren’t that close, but he knows he wants to get to know you more. 

As he holds you in his arms, he breathes in your scent, and it’s addicting. You smelt like a rainy day, reading books against the window sill and drinking a warm cup of tea. You felt like home to him, he finds it odd that he thinks of you that way so early on in your friendship, but he can’t help it. Soonyoung doesn’t want to deny his growing feelings for you. 

Although you were surprised by his actions you didn’t hate the way his arms felt around you. Strong and muscular, holding you tight while you breathe in the scent of his cologne. He smelt good, like roasting marshmallows over a campfire, or a beach day where the sun warmed your skin in the best way. 

There's something comforting about Soonyoung’s demeanour, his personality, his everything. Why was he so nice to you? Why did he express so much interest in someone he barely knows? You didn’t know and you were too shy to ask. 

He pulls away and opens the first door to your building for you, making sure you enter safe and sound. But before you could get to the door with the lock he asks you a question. 

“Uh, Chan and I have a dance showcase coming up next weekend, did you wanna come and see me perform?” Soonyoung asks while blushing. 

“I’d love to!” You answer back, and he just nods, letting go of you so that you can go up to your apartment and rest. 

“I’ll text you the details! Good night!” He yells from down the sidewalk, arm flailing to wave goodbye. You can’t help but giggle at him, your cheeks heating up at his goofy personality. 

As you enter your apartment, your mind travels back to the question Chan had asked Soonyoung before the band started performing. Who was this beautiful stranger that he was talking about? It made your stomach churn at the possibility that Soonyoung wouldn’t be available if you decided to tell him about the crush you’d developed. Sighing at the thought, you try to not let it affect you. You’ve only known him for a short time, and there’s no reason for you to feel jealous of someone you’re not even sure that he knows.

˚∗˖⁺⑅ ˖⁺⑅˖◛

“How was your weekend, kiddo?” Seokmin’s presence welcomes you into his cafe, giving you a dazzling smile. 

“It was fun, me and Soonyoung went out with his friends,” you blushed as you recollected the time you got to spend with him. 

Seokmin walks up to you, his eyes panning over your body, eyebrow quirked up. He taps his chin acting as if he’s in deep thought before moving closer, sniffing you and you almost slap him square on the cheek. But he’s quick to avoid your hand. 

“I smell a crush!” He points his finger at you, his tone accusatory. 

“What?! Pfft, I don’t have a crush,” you deny his allegations, but your forehead starts to collect sweat out of nervousness. 

You didn’t think that Seokmin would put you on the spot like this, but it would feel awkward to admit that you have a crush on your coworker. Who just so happened to start working here less than two weeks ago. 

“Don’t lie to me, I can smell it on you! You have a crush,” Seokmin sang, dancing around you teasingly. Poking at your cheeks like you were a grizzly bear he’s trying to provoke. 

“Okay! Okay. Maybe I do have a crush, but it doesn’t mean anything,” you sigh, admitting your feelings so that your boss, nearly ten years older than you, would stop prancing around like a lunatic for all the passersby to see. 

“Why? What if he likes you back,” he wiggles his eyebrows, and you cringe at him. 

Leave it up to Seokmin to disregard professionalism in the workplace. If anything he was more like your surrogate dad that liked to be filled in on the latest drama. 

“He doesn’t,” you deflate, moving over to clock in and put on your apron. 

You know for a fact that Soonyoung couldn’t like you back, his mind was too preoccupied with much more important things, and some other girl who he doesn’t even know. 

“What are you? A mind reader?” Seokmin teases you, not wanting to see you pretend to be so apathetic.

Of course, you couldn’t read minds, but it was clear that Soonyoung’s interest lay somewhere else.  You don’t even know what to say to Seokmin at the moment, how do you even explain your feelings properly? Yes, you have a teeny crush on your coworker, but that’s all it should be, right? It wouldn’t be realistic to date him. 

The chime of the bell hanging on top of the door breaks your thoughts, “Good afternoon to my amazing boss, and my amazing coworker!”

Soonyoung is practically skipping through the door with delight, and it makes you smile. He always seemed so cheerful coming into work. It warms your heart. 

“Ahh good to see you Soonyoung,” Seokmin smiles, watching his figure disappear into the back. 

He turns to you and makes a face, his eyebrows wiggling while his lips widen into a shit-eating grin. Seokmin can’t help but tease you, he finds it cute that you have a crush on Soonyoung. In all the years that you’ve been working for him, there hasn’t been a time where he’s seen you so smitten over a boy. 

You roll your eyes at him, shooing him away before Soonyoung comes out and realizes why your boss is teasing you. 

… 

Once Seokmin had left, you and Soonyoung were left to fend for yourselves. Although today wasn’t as busy as the last time you were working with each other, it wasn’t a shift with Soonyoung if there wasn’t at least one thing that went wrong. 

You were minding your business, restocking some of the supplies in the storage room. As you were peacefully putting new syrups on the shelves, there was a high-pitched scream coming from the front part of the cafe. Your eyes widen at the sound, and you come rushing to the counter. 

“What happened?!” you stumbled in, your chest heaving as you tried to get to Soonyoung as fast as you could. 

“I-Uh-,” Soonyoung seems to be at a loss for words, you can he the audible gulp before he continues, “there was a spider, and I tried to kill it but I lost it.” 

A wave of relief washes over you as you realize that no one is hurt and the building is not on fire. Your eyes travel to where he’s crouched behind the counter, hands gripping the marble while his eyes peek over to observe the spider crawling across the floor. You can’t help but laugh at how terrified he is over a small insect. Instead of cowering away in fear beside him, you walk over to where the spider had begun to crawl up the leg of one of the chairs. 

“Y/n be careful! You could die if you get stung, and then we would have to call 911, and what if you don’t make it? I’d feel so guilty, I would carry the weight of my guilt as I grow old, we would hold memorials for you–Oh." His sentence comes to an abrupt stop as he sees you grab the spider with a tissue and place it back outside onto the pavement. 

“It was just a daddy long legs, no need to be afraid,” you reassure him. 

Soonyoung sighs in relief before standing up, patting down his clothes to get rid of the imaginary dust. He wipes his forehead as if he were the one to take care of the insect problem. 

“If there’s anything else wrong just call for me, I’ll be in the back,” you announce, hoping that would be the first and last incident for the day. 

Soonyoung nods, giving you a thumbs up as you walk into the back. You let out a breath of relief, giggling to yourself, recollecting the memory of him crouched behind the counter. The redness on your cheeks doesn’t seem to fade at the thought of him cowering over a small spider. 

No matter what Soonyoung does, you can’t help but find him endearing. And when he’s not, you find him undeniably attractive. How does this happen? How does one guy who once annoyed you turn into someone who has you completely flustered? It feels odd falling for someone so fast, and you’re just hoping he’ll feel the same. Especially because no one has had this effect on you before. 

The more you think about your budding feelings for Soonyoung, you’re constantly reminded of the fact that he’s searching for someone he thinks is his soulmate. You’re apprehensive, but at the same time, he might never find her. So what’s the point of trying to fight these feelings knowing you’re competing with someone he isn’t sure even exists? 

˚∗˖⁺⑅ ˖⁺⑅˖◛

There were tingles all over your body. Today was the day of Soonyoung’s dance showcase. Although you were excited to see him in his element, you were still nervous. It’s only been a month since you two met and him working at the cafe, but even then, you still feel like a stranger to his outside life. You weren’t sure why he invited you, but you’re grateful that you’ll be able to witness this side of him. 

As you make your way into the auditorium of his University, you find yourself in awe at the amount of people in the crowd. It was obvious that his dance team was well-liked at his school, causing admiration to bloom within your chest. 

Looking around for a familiar face, you spot Seungkwan and Mingyu sitting in the front row that’s reserved for close friends and family for the people on the dance team. You make eye contact with them, their hands motioning for you to come and sit with them. 

“Y/n! You came, Soonyoung is going to be so excited,” Mingyu exclaims, pulling you into a bone-crushing hug. 

You laugh at how excited he is to see you, your cheeks turning red at the mention of Soonyoung. As you pull away, you say hello to Seungkwan before taking your seat between them. 

The three of you make a little small talk until the lights start to dim and the spotlight glows against the stage. Your heart is beating out of your chest as you spot Soonyoung walking onto the stage. His hair and makeup were styled, his outfit complimenting his muscular arms perfectly. You’re thankful that the background music was loud enough, hoping that neither Seungkwan nor Mingyu heard the enormous gulp you took the moment your eyes laid on their best friend. 

“Good evening everyone! Thank you all for coming to our showcase tonight, I hope you enjoy the performances we prepared,” Soonyoung speaks into the mic, his eyes gleaming under the bright stage lights. 

Your breath is caught in your throat once again, Soonyoung’s confidence exuding from where he stands. He looks so handsome under all the bright lights as if he’s born to be on stage. To dance or to entertain, he has the charisma to make the audience laugh and cheer for him. 

You’re hot in your seat, your hands starting to sweat as he continues to charm the crowd. 

“Everyone has worked so hard for this, and you all get a sneak peek at our performance for the National Dance Competition taking place in Seattle!” He informs the crowd, his smile widening as he unveils his dance troupe's little secret. 

As he walks off stage you can’t help but stare in awe, anticipation swirls in your stomach as the lights start to dim once again. The dancers fill up the stage, indicating the start of the performance and you can see the outline of Soonyoung’s frame from where you sit. 

Soonyoung’s eyes blaze in the stage lights as the spotlight is cast on him. The dancers are behind him in their rightful positions as the music starts to play. With your mouth agape, you watch his body flow with the music. The strong bass of hip-hop flows through the speakers with every move Soonyoung makes along with his dance crew. The rest of the crowd sits there cheering them on while you’re left speechless. 

The serious gaze he holds, as he dances, makes your knees weak, especially because you can tell how passionate he is about his craft. He was made for dancing, born to tell a story with his limbs as they move languidly with the beat of the song. 

As the routine comes to an end you can’t help but feel lucky to see Soonyoung in his element. Far from the man who you’ve witnessed make the most silly mistakes while working, he’s so different on stage. Although you’ve come to appreciate his presence at the cafe, seeing him dance instills a profound sense of pride in your stomach. 

With each passing second the dance routine comes to a close, Soonyoung spots you in the front row as he continues to move on stage. His eyes widen as his gaze sets upon you before sending you a flirtatious wink. He goes back to facing the centre of the crowd, your whole body enveloped in heat. 

The song ends and you’re left sitting there with shocks of electricity passing through your entire body. Your crush on Soonyoung has turned into something deeper. 

…

Your palms sweat profusely as you stand at the entrance of the auditorium, an almond croissant in one hand and a bouquet of yellow flowers in the other. While you stand and wait for Soonyoung to come out of the dressing room, your mind is filled with thoughts of his performance. The image of him on stage doesn't leave your thoughts, not even for a second. 

“Y/n!” You hear a voice call out for you, pulling you out of your light daydreaming. 

Turning your head in the direction of the voice, your eyes land on Soonyoung, his tall figure making its way over to where you are. Your breath is caught in your throat as your gaze focuses on him. Bareface but his hair still styled, he looked breathtaking.

“Soonyoung! Hi, you were amazing up there,” you tell him breathlessly. 

  He smiles bashfully at your compliment, his cheeks turning red at your appreciation. Soonyoung doesn’t take compliments well as it is, but when it’s coming from you, he becomes even more flustered. The twinkle in your eyes never leaves as you smile at him. 

Pulling you into a hug, your shoulders tense in surprise at his sudden burst of affection, but you don’t hate it. You don’t mind how he likes to express his gratitude towards you. Instead, you embrace it, relaxing as his strong arms hold you close. You don’t ever get tired of how good he smells. Warm, bright, and comforting, like the sun personified.  

“Thank you for coming, you don’t know how much this means to me,” he mumbles while his arms are still wrapped around you. 

Your face buries itself deeper in his chest as you hear him talk, wanting to hide your already burning face from him. He makes you feel like you’re important like he would’ve been disappointed if you didn’t show up tonight. 

Pulling away, Soonyoung smiles at you, the same smile that reaches his eyes in the most adorable way. And then he notices the bouquet of flowers that are held tightly in your grasp. His eyes widen, cheeks red, he’s never received flowers in his life before, but he’s happy you’re the first. 

“Is that for me?” he asks, and you nod shyly, “thank you! You didn’t need to get me something, I invited you remember?” 

“I know but I wanted to thank you for inviting me, think of it as an advanced congratulations when you win the dance tournament next month,” you say as you hand him the bouquet. 

“Also, the croissant is for Chan, I know I promised to get him one,” you add. 

His laugh rings through your ears delightfully, finding it cute that you make good on your promises. Even the smallest things like getting a croissant for his best friend, he admires everything about you. The fact that you’re so earnest and willing to share so much with the people he cares about. He falls for you more as each day passes. 

Soonyoung knows it hasn’t been long since he’s met you, but he doesn’t care. He knows that he likes you, that he wants to take you out, shower you in all his love and affection, and do whatever it takes to see you smile. He doesn’t care about time unless he can spend the rest of it with you. 

˚∗˖⁺⑅ ˖⁺⑅˖◛

When Soonyoung asked to hang out after his dance showcase, you couldn’t help but happily oblige. The way he looks at you, how he shows that he wants to spend time with you makes your stomach flutter. How could one possibly say no to someone like him? 

As you two walk over to his apartment, your palms begin to sweat again, even with the cool Vancouver breeze that flows between you. You think about how close you two have gotten since that first day in the cafe, and you can only smile to yourself. He makes you feel wanted, like there's more between you than just friendly coworkers.

 Although you want to tell him how much you’ve grown to like him, there's a part of you that still holds back, just because of that little comment Chan made all those weeks ago. 

“We’re here!” Soonyoung announces, stepping into the front entrance of his apartment. 

It’s considerably nicer than the one you live in, making you feel slightly intimidated by the high-rise building. You tried not to let it show, but you didn’t fully realize how different you two were until now. He’s outgoing, a ball of sunshine. You tend to prefer living in solace, keeping to yourself whether it be at work or school. 

“Your place is nice,” you comment as your eyes follow the expanse of the building's height. 

“Thank you! Let’s get inside, I think it’s about to start raining,” Soonyoung ushers you in, already noticing the way the clouds start to thicken in the evening sky. 

The ride up to the elevator is peaceful, you two enjoy each other's company in silence while you continue to admire the building. As he leads you to the front door of his apartment, your breath gets stuck in your throat once more. You knew Soonyoung was a stylish individual, but you didn’t think that a person in university had much knowledge of interior design. 

In short, you found his home to be comforting, the furniture and decorations suited his personality perfectly. It felt warm, it felt like a home. 

If only you knew, that Soonyoung was just as nervous as you. His heart beats faster as your eyes look over his apartment. He cleaned it this morning in hopes that you would say yes to coming over. Otherwise it would’ve embodied a pig stye, and he couldn’t have the girl he has feelings for thinking that he was a slob. 

“Your place is beautiful, Soonyoung,” you mumble as you continue to look around. 

“Really?” He acts shy, scratching the back of his head. 

“Yeah! I like it, it suits you,” you turn back to him, flashing him a warm smile that makes his cheeks heat up. 

Soonyoung releases a breath that he didn’t realize that he was even holding, happy to know that your first impression of his home is positive. Usually when he has his friends over they tell him it can get a little messy, especially when Mingyu visits. His best friend is always helping him clean up the place because of his natural tendency to declutter any space he’s in. 

“Do you wanna watch a movie? Or maybe just talk…?” Soonyoung stutters a bit, his head all over the place because the girl he has been crushing on is in front of him. Not while his other friends are around, and not in a workplace setting either. 

He doesn’t know how to act when you’re around, he’s typically not a shy person, but when you’re around all his thoughts fly out the window. 

“Uhm, talking is just fine with me,” you laugh at how red his face has gotten. 

There was an obvious tension in the air and it was hard for you to ignore, but you’re just happy to be alone with him. For once, his friends weren’t here or Seokmin, it was just you and Soonyoung. 

He grabs your hand as if he had no control over his actions, guiding you over to his couch. You two sit there, a little closer than what would be considered friendly for coworkers. His eyes twinkled against the ambient lighting. 

“What did you want to talk about?” you ask innocently, trying to ignore the rising tension between you. 

Soonyoung shies away from your gaze, your eyes becoming the size the saucers the more you stare at him. He wants to tell you how he feels, although he isn’t sure that you feel the same. He wants to take his chance with you while it’s still in front of him. 

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you, and I’m actually really nervous but I just need to say it,” he lets out another puff of breath, trying to calm his nerves. 

The beating in your chest increases with each word Soonyoung says, and you don’t know how to feel. You’re nervous too, but you want to hear what he has to say. You feel his hand over yours, squeezing it softly. He’s not sure whether it's to soothe himself or you, but it's working. 

“I like you, I know we didn’t meet that long ago, but every time I see you I get so happy, and I love how all my friends like you, and you’re just so beautiful, I can’t keep it to myself anymore, but if you don’t feel the same–,” He blurts out, redness crawling up from his neck to his cheeks once again. 

Before you could even register anything past the words ‘I like you’, you pull him into a hug, which is not something normal for you, but Soonyoung is the exception. You can’t help but want to hold him in your arms, your own personal ball of sunshine that has been crafted specifically for you. 

“I like you too,” you whisper in his ear as you hold him close. 

Soonyoung gasped in surprise at your declaration, and you could practically feel him vibrating in his seat with excitement. 

He pulls back from the hug with the biggest smile on his face, eyes brighter than the stars that have been covered by the rain clouds swirling outside his window, “You do?” 

“Yes, I do like you back,” you giggle while intertwining your fingers with his, “but I’ve been holding back ever since that night at the bar.” 

Soonyoung raises an eyebrow, trying to rack his brain as he thinks of every moment that happened between you that night, but nothing comes to mind. 

“Wait why? What happened?” He asks, curious as to why you two have gone this long without confessing to each other. 

“It was something Chan said…” you trail off, staring at how your fingers are laced between his. 

“Fucking Chan,” he curses at his best friend, “what did he say exactly?” 

“Well he didn’t really say anything, but he just asked you a question on the stranger who you’re convinced is your soul mate or whatever,” you shrug your shoulders, trying to act like such a simple thing didn’t torment you for weeks. 

Soonyoung eyebrows raise even more and his mouth forms an ‘O’ shape, and he starts to connect the dots. He didn’t think that would be the reason you hadn’t told him. If anything, he thought it was because he was not very good at his job at the cafe or that you just weren’t sure about your feelings. 

“Oh, that… well I got over it a long time ago. It happened at the front of the cafe, this girl lost her glasses and it was raining and everything. I didn’t see her face because she walked away so fast I didn’t get a chance to act on it.” He recalls the moment between him and the stranger, “I was going in for my interview with Seokmin so I picked up her glasses and gave her my umbrella.” 

Sitting quietly beside him, your heart plummets to the bottom of your stomach. This whole time, the person who helped you on what you considered one of your worst days to date, was Soonyoung? You aren’t even sure what to say but it's almost laughable. As if the universe had known that you two were meant to meet one way or the other. 

“Soonyoung, that was me,” you reveal to him, and his eyes widen. 

“THAT WAS YOU?” He practically jumps out of his seat, hands now placed on your shoulder, inspecting every corner of your face, “now that I think of it, your glasses do look familiar.” 

Bursting out laughing, you can’t believe that he would react in this way. He looks like he’s just been let in on an ancient secret, “to be fair, I didn’t know it was you either, I’m practically blind without my glasses so I didn’t see your face.” 

“Oh my god, we’re meant to be,” he mutters to himself, his hand covering his mouth in shock. 

Soonyoung is elated, to say the least, he gave up on his beautiful stranger the moment he laid his eyes on you. But to find that you are his beautiful stranger. Well, now he knows that he can’t ever let you go. 

“I hope you know we’re locked in for life now,” he stares at you earnestly, taking both your hands in his and you look at him quizzically, “Sorry baby, but we can’t disappoint the universe after all the hard work they put into our love story.” 

You giggle at him, even when it’s just the two of you, he’s just as silly. That's what you like about him though, the fact that he makes you laugh and smile practically on command. You’ve never laughed this hard with anyone before, Seokmin probably being the only exception, but you don’t want to think about your boss right now. 

“Baby? Eager aren’t we?” you tease, and Soonyoung blushes hard, moving away from your peering eyes as he lets go of your hands. 

“I can’t help it, you’ll just have to get used to it,” he shrugs, acting nonchalant, but you can see the way he side-eyes you, wanting to still see your reaction. 

“Does this mean you’ll take me out on dates? And all the other couple stuff,” you whisper in his ear, your hands circling his bicep as he faces away from you. 

“W-well duh! Of course, I’m gonna take you on a proper date, I need to show you how good of a boyfriend I can be!” he exclaims and another giggle slips past your lips. 

Squeezing his muscular arm tighter, you can feel his pulse increasing under your touch, “boyfriend? When did I say anything about you being my boyfriend.” 

Those few words break his act and he turns to you in shock, he looks like a deer in headlights. Soonyoung is embarrassed about how ahead of himself he’s gotten but he doesn’t want to date anyone else either. If you’re not going to become his girl, then he’d rather just give up on dating altogether. 

“I want to be your boyfriend, like really really bad, but only if you’ll let me,” he declares, eyes piercing into your soul with all seriousness. 

Watching his demeanour change once more makes you gulp involuntarily.

“I want to be your girlfriend, like really really bad,” you echo his words. 

Gasping, Soonyoung can’t contain his happiness, pulling you into a tight hug, and showering your cheeks with kisses. Giggling in his arms, your stomach begins to hurt at how much he can make you laugh in such a short amount of time. 

Your body heats up at his affection, feeling the way his plush lips press against your skin. You haven’t felt something like this in a long time, but the fact that it’s Soonyoung makes it better. 

Getting up from the couch you stand in front of him, and he’s confused as to why you pulled yourself away. Did he take it too far by kissing you like that? He can feel the apprehension rising within himself as he stares up at you. 

“Do you wanna show me to your room?” You ask, and Soonyoung has never stood up so fast in his life ever before. 

Taking your hand in his, he leads you to his bedroom. As he opens the door you're met with at least twenty different tiger stuffed animals staring at you. Soonyoung on the other hand isn’t phased at all, if anything, he takes pride in his plushie collection. 

“Do you… collect all of these?” you ask him, and he just smiles and nods. 

You decide to have a conversation about the plushie collection another day, but you do find it cute that he’s into something seemingly harmless. 

Sitting on his bed, he doesn’t take his place beside you right away. Instead, Soonyoung carefully turns each tiger plushie around so that they’re all facing away from his bed. He turns back at your figure sitting on his mattress, a shy smile across his lips. 

“Can’t have them witnessing what we’re about to do y’know,” he giggles before turning the last tiger around. 

Once he is finally done, he jumps into the bed and smothers you tightly in his strong arms. You’re not over the whole tiger thing, but at least he’s happy, you think to yourself. 

“Now where were we?” He looks at you, eyes still glittering even in the dim lighting of his room. 

You shake your head and smile at him, pushing him down so that he's lying with his back against the bed. Each of your legs moves over his hips, hands feeling up his chest. 

Leaning closer, you two share your first kiss, and it’s everything you’ve hoped for. The two of you move together in perfect sync as he grabs your sides tightly. 

“You’re a good kisser,” you mumble against him, and he just smiles as he pulls you into another kiss. 

His hands move lower on your body, your skirt hiking up your thighs as he grips at your flesh. Your skin is so soft, and he can’t get over how sweet your lips taste. Soonyoung knows if he were to miraculously die now, he would die a very happy man. 

Soft moans leave your mouth as he gropes your ass under your skirt, feeling the way your lack of clothes leaves more for him to grasp at. He can’t stop touching you, exploring your body like it’s his and his only to discover. The fact that you even agreed to let him be your boyfriend was enough for him, but also getting laid on the same night, well, Soonyoung could really die a happy man. 

The kiss becomes heated with each second that passes, but Soonyoung just wants to let you know how much he likes you. You invade his thoughts relentlessly, not that he’s opposed to it at all. But he likes the way you smile at him every time he tells you how much he wants to be with you. 

“I’m so happy you’re mine,” he whispers to you, your smile widening even more. 

“I’m happy you’re mine too,” you repeat his words again, giving him the same reassurance he gives you. 

Out of all the people you could fall for, you’re happy it was your clumsy coworker with an oddly large tiger collection. You’re thankful for the fact that out of all the people, he was the one to help you on that rainy day. Even when it’s gloomy outside and the clouds cover every inch of the sun’s rays, Soonyoung still glows under the grey sky. Rain or shine, you want him no matter how good or bad the weather is.

Ⱄ a/n: if u want more of them please lmk hehe, and if u liked this story please leave a like or a reblog hehe it is very much appreciated :3 thank you ♡ p.s rain or shine is an actual ice cream shop in bc heheh

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