#Well... I /thought/ I would... 4 months ago

[444eggnog]

I've Been Waiting for You

✍︎: this story is heavily inspired by Mamma Mia, one of my all-time favorite films. i haven’t seen any F1 x Mamma Mia AUs quite like this (at least not with these exact characters!), so I thought, why not? i hope you enjoy unraveling the mystery: who’s Sam, who’s Harry, who’s Bill? let me know your guesses and your thoughts, i’d love to hear it all. ♡ (i also have a few more AUs sitting in my drafts that I can’t wait to share soon. also, thank you for reading my very first post. it means the world.)

content: coming-of-age, romance, drama, slice of life

list of characters: Oscar Piastri, Lando Norris, George Russell, Toto Wolff

wc: 6k

excerpt:

Y/N wanted a fresh start, something quiet, something hers. Away from the chaos. Away from the noise that always followed her father. Sure, being Toto Wolff’s daughter came with perks, but the weight of his name, the pressure, the attention, the legacy, was far louder than anything she could bear.

So the moment she graduated, she disappeared.

No press release. No grand goodbye. Just a one-way ticket and months of research leading her toward something she can call her peace. In just a few days, she’d be in San Vicente, Palawan: a sun-drenched municipality tucked along the edge of the Philippines, where the ocean was blue, the air was still, and no one knew her name.

She could already picture it: salt in the breeze, silence in the mornings, peace so full it ached. She wasn’t there yet, but soon… she wouldn’t be Toto Wolff’s daughter. She would just be Y/N. And for the first time, solitude wouldn’t be a dream. It would be real and it would be hers.

─── 🏁

Y/N sat at the airport with her passport dangling loosely in her fingers, staring blankly at her freshly painted nails, the same neutral pink she’d chosen for graduation, which had ended not even 24 hours ago.

She should’ve been on her way to Palawan by now. But instead, the overhead speakers had just announced a delay. Heavy rainfall on the island. All flights postponed.

Devastated and restless, she slung her bag over her shoulder and marched out of the terminal, pushing past other travelers until she found a waiting taxi. She opened the door, climbed in— 

And someone climbed in on the other side.

“Excuse me?” she snapped, whipping her head around. “Who the hell are you? This is my taxi!”

The guy blinked, caught halfway through setting his bag down. He looked like he hadn't expected confrontation, especially not from someone with sharp eyes and graduation nails.

“Oh. I—uh—sorry,” he said quickly, raising his hands in surrender. “I wasn’t trying to steal it. I thought it was still open. My flight got delayed.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Palawan?”

He nodded.

“Well,” he said softly, offering a half-smile, “I guess we were going to be on the same flight.”

Y/N sighed, the irritation starting to dissolve into tired acceptance. He didn’t seem like the type to push his way into a cab for fun. And the rain outside was starting to fall harder. Great.

She scooted an inch toward the window. “Fine. But don’t talk.”

He chuckled, settling into the seat beside her as the driver pulled away from the curb.

“Wasn’t planning to,” he said. Then, after a beat: “Nice nails, by the way.”

She turned to glare at him. He looked straight ahead, pretending not to smile.

They found a modest roadside motel just off the highway, nothing fancy, just clean sheets, working locks, and a roof that didn’t leak.

“Two rooms,” Y/N said firmly at the front desk, already fishing for her card.

The stranger nodded. “Of course.”

But when the receptionist handed them their keys, Rooms 4 and 5, side by side. He glanced at her with a quiet, thoughtful look.

“Guess we’re still neighbors,” he said.

She gave a tired smile, the kind that slipped out when she wasn’t trying to impress anyone. “Just don’t knock on my door.”

“I won’t,” he promised. “Unless the roof caves in. Or the power goes out. Or there's a spider.”

They both laughed.

─── 🏁

That night, as the rain tapped against the window and the buzzing motel sign painted the walls in flickering light, Y/N stared up at the ceiling, wide awake.

The sheets were cold. The silence was louder than she’d expected.

She’d left home to find peace but maybe peace wasn’t meant to look like this. Maybe it wasn’t meant to feel like loneliness.

Maybe this was a sign she didn’t have to be alone tonight.

So she did the one thing she told him not to do. She knocked.

The stranger opened the door almost immediately, like he’d been sitting by it, unsure if he should do the same.

They stood there for a moment; two strangers bound by circumstance, sleep-deprived and emotionally raw.

“I can’t sleep,” she admitted. “I hate motel ceilings.”

“I’ve been counting the cracks in mine,” he replied gently.

She stepped inside.

“Hold on,” he said with a half-smile, “I don’t even know your name.”

She hesitated for a second, then smiled. “Y/N Wolff.”

He repeated it under his breath, almost like a secret. “Y/N Wolff.”

Then he hummed, amused. “Wolff? Like the animal?”

She laughed. “Yes, just like the animal.”

“Well, my name’s Oscar. Oscar Piastri.”

She tilted her head, studying his face. “That sounds made up.”

He chuckled. “Coming from the girl whose last name is literally an animal. But I swear, it’s real. I can show you my passport if you don’t believe me.”

She gave a small smile. “Well, Oscar Piastri... I knocked. So that’s gotta count for something.”

He smiled back, gentler this time. “It counts for everything.” 

She learned he was from Melbourne. That he liked the silence but hated long layovers. That he’d never done anything like this before.

He learned she had a complicated last name. That she didn’t know what she was running from, only what she was running toward. That she had no idea what tomorrow looked like, and maybe didn’t want to.

As the rain fell harder, and the room grew colder, their bodies shifted closer on instinct. The space between them shrank with every word, every glance.

Until talking stopped.

Until fingers traced jawlines. Until foreheads touched. Until lips met like it was something inevitable.

Clothes slipped to the floor. Her hands tangled in his hair. His fingers gripped her waist like she might disappear.

No promises. No expectations.

Just a moment carved out of stormlight and impulse, where nothing mattered except right then.

And in the quiet that followed, as the storm softened outside, Y/N thought: This wasn’t what she planned. But maybe, for one night, it was exactly what she needed.

─── 🏁

The next morning, she slipped out quietly.

No alarms. No door creaks. No drawn-out goodbyes.

She stood in the motel bathroom for a minute, lipstick in hand, staring at the foggy mirror. The same shade she wore to graduation the day before. A soft, warm pink. Fitting, maybe, for a night like that.

She pressed the tip to the glass and wrote:

Thanks for warming up my night. Don’t look for me. Good luck on your journey, Oscar Piastri. Kisses. 💋

She capped the lipstick, took one last glance at the room, at the messy sheets, the echoes of laughter, the quiet she no longer feared and left.

A few hours later, Y/N sat by the airplane window, one leg curled under her as clouds drifted past like soft promises.

Below her, the world stretched open. Islands waiting. Oceans glowing.

San Vicente, Palawan.

She could almost see it already. Salt in the breeze. Silence in the mornings. Space to breathe and build something new.

She leaned her head against the glass, a small smile tugging at her lips.

Whatever was waiting on the other side of the globe, it would be hers.

And no one would know her there.

─── 🏁

The sun dipped low over San Vicente, casting golden light across the town plaza as music and laughter filled the air. Streamers fluttered above the streets, children danced barefoot in the dust, and the scent of grilled seafood and sweet banana fritters clung to the breeze.

It was the town’s yearly fiesta, five days of joy, devotion, and celebration. And for the first time since arriving, Y/N felt like she belonged.

She moved with ease through the crowd, offering soft smiles, exchanging greetings in half-learned Tagalog, even accepting a flower crown from a laughing grandmother. Her hair was braided. Her hands were sticky from mangoes. Her heart, strangely, didn’t ache.

That’s when she saw him.

A stranger, sun-kissed, with sleeves rolled up and a quiet focus in his eyes. He was helping a group of locals unload a cart brimming with crates of drinks and trays of pancit. He lifted with ease, moved like he’d done this a hundred times before, though she could tell from his awkward “salamat po” that he was just passing through.

Still, there was something about him.

Something that made her heartbeat stutter, made her hand pause mid-wave. Like her body recognized something her mind hadn’t caught up to yet.

He looked up. Right at her.

And smiled.

She quickly turned away, heat blooming at the base of her neck.

But a few minutes later, after the crates had been stacked and the villagers clapped him on the back in thanks, he wandered toward her. Slowly. Like he was trying not to spook something delicate.

“Hi,” he said, stopping just a step away from her. His voice was light, slightly amused. “Are you from here?”

She shook her head, smiling. “No. New in town. Kind of.”

“Well, you wear that flower crown like you’ve lived here all your life.”

She raised a brow. “And you carry those crates like you grew up doing it.”

He laughed. “Touché.” Then, extending a hand: “I’m… well, I’m just visiting.”

She took his hand. “Okay, just visiting. I’m Y/N.”

“Y/N…” he repeated, then waited, brow raised.

She hesitated, then added, “Wolff.”

He tilted his head like he wanted to ask more, but let it go. “Well, Y/N Wolff. I’m glad I ran into you.”

“Is that what this was? An accident?”

He grinned. “Call it fiesta luck.”

─── 🏁

They spent the next few days caught in the rhythm of celebration, dancing under strings of lanterns, sharing halo-halo from a plastic cup, wandering through market stalls and beach bonfires.

She laughed with him. Laughed fully.

And each night, when the music faded and the town quieted beneath the stars, she found herself wondering what would happen when the fiesta ended.

But for now, she let herself stay in the moment. With him.

With the stranger who hadn’t yet told her his name.

The fifth night of the fiesta came wrapped in sea breeze and slow music. The kind that drifted through the streets like memory, tugging people closer together.

Y/N sat on the edge of the dock, legs swinging over the water, her flower crown now wilted and slipping to one side. Beside her, the stranger leaned back on his hands, looking up at the stars as if he didn’t want the night to end either.

They’d spent five days like this, entwined in a quiet rhythm of mangoes and music, inside jokes and lingering glances. She knew his laugh now. The way he squinted at the sun. The little scar on his nose he hadn’t explained.

But not his name.

She nudged him lightly with her shoulder. “So. You ever gonna tell me your name, mystery crate boy?”

He looked over, lips twitching like he’d been waiting for her to ask. “I was wondering how long you’d let me get away with that.”

“Well, I figured if you were a serial killer, you were at least very polite.”

He laughed, then turned his gaze out to the water, suddenly a little quieter. “It’s Lando,” he said after a beat. “Lando Norris.”

Y/N’s smile faltered, just barely.

He didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he did and chose not to.

“I figured it was time you knew,” he added gently. “Even if you keep calling me mystery boy in your head.”

She looked down at her hands in her lap, fingers absentmindedly spinning the silver rings she hadn’t taken off since graduation.

Norris.It echoed somewhere in her memory. Familiar, but foggy. Like a name she’d overheard once, half-remembered from a past life she’d long since tucked away.

Maybe it was nothing.

She nodded slowly, brushing it off. “Well… Lando Norris,” she said with a small smile. “It’s nice to officially meet you.”

He grinned at her like she’d just said something important. “It really is.”

─── 🏁

Later, when the music had faded into the background hum of waves and distant laughter, he walked her home beneath a sky full of stars.

The cottage was quiet when they reached it, modest, weathered, the kind of place that smelled like salt and old wood. He hesitated outside, hands tucked in his pockets.

“You want to come in for a bit?” she asked, already reaching for the key tied around her neck.

He looked up. “Only if I’m not intruding.”

She smiled. “I wouldn’t have asked if you were.”

Inside, she lit a candle on the table. The glow flickered across his face as he walked around, taking in the books scattered on the floor, the half-hung tapestry, the sandy flip-flops by the door.

“This is yours?” he asked.

“For now,” she said. “It’s rented. Still smells like the last person who lived here.”

“I like it.” He sat down at the edge of her daybed. “It suits you.”

She poured two glasses of water, handed him one, then sat across from him, knees tucked to her chest.

“So,” she said. “Bristol?”

He nodded. “Born and raised. Spent most of my time in go-karts before I could legally drive.”

“That tracks,” she teased.

He grinned. “I like fast things. Love cars. I stream sometimes too. Games, mostly. It’s silly.”

“It’s not silly. It’s cool.” She sipped. “You’re doing what you love.”

“And you?” he asked gently. “You said you’re new here.”

She hesitated. “Just graduated high school.”

His eyebrows lifted, surprised but not in judgment.

“My dad wants me to go to college,” she continued. “But… I want to carve my own path. Away from him. Away from all the noise.”

He nodded, listening, not interrupting nor pressing.

“So that’s why I’m here,” she said. “Palawan felt far enough.”

There was a beat of silence, soft and full.

“You seem brave,” he said.

She laughed quietly. “I feel like I’m just winging it.”

“Sometimes that’s the bravest thing.”

─── 🏁

The longer they talked, the smaller the space between them became. He leaned back against the bedframe, and she inched closer, her arm resting on the pillow near his.

Her laugh had gotten quieter. His gaze had grown softer.

And then, without saying anything, he reached up.

Gently. Carefully. Slowly.

He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, letting his fingers linger just a second too long against her skin.

Her breath caught.

His hand moved again, tracing lightly along her jawline, his touch featherlight, reverent.

She looked at him, eyes wide but unmoving, lips parted as though caught mid-thought.

And he moved in.

Not rushed. Not unsure. Like he’d known from the first night of the fiesta that this was always where they were headed.

He kissed her.

And the whole cottage went still.

Outside, the waves kept rolling. The moon kept rising. But in that moment, all she felt was the warmth of his mouth, the steady pulse in her throat, the quiet knowing in her chest that whatever this was had already started to mean something.

She didn’t pull away.

Her hand found his, fingers curling between his like they’d done it a hundred times. Like this moment had been waiting for them since the very first glance across the festival crowd.

He kissed her again, slower this time, deeper. One hand resting at the small of her back, the other still cradling her jaw like she might vanish if he let go.

And she let him in.

Let him trace the curve of her shoulder as he slipped the strap of her top down with careful hands. Let him pause when their eyes met, her breath shaking slightly as he waited for her nod.

Her top fell away. Then her skirt. And then his shirt followed, landing softly beside hers on the floor like petals being shed.

They moved like music. Quiet breaths, wandering hands, soft laughter when knees bumped awkwardly or when her hair caught in his fingers.

There was nothing rehearsed about it. 

Just skin warmed by candlelight, hearts trying to speak without words, and the way his thumb stroked her cheek like he couldn’t believe she was real.

She felt weightless in his arms. Anchored and adrift all at once.

And when he whispered her name, low, she felt something in her unravel, like a thread gently pulled loose, not broken.

They made love not with urgency, but with wonder.

Like two people discovering something sacred in each other.

Like the world outside had gone completely quiet, just for them.

Later, wrapped in blankets and each other, her head resting on his chest as the fan hummed overhead, she listened to the rhythm of his breathing. Steady. Calming.

Her fingertips traced lazy lines over his ribs, memorizing him in the dark.

And just before sleep pulled her under, she thought—This was the first thing that felt right. He felt right.

─── 🏁

The sky outside was beginning to bruise with dusk when Lando stepped out of the bathroom, towel slung over one shoulder, hair still wet from the ocean. Y/N was curled up on the couch, flipping through her old notebook, wearing one of his oversized shirts that hung off one shoulder.

It was peaceful. Golden.

He thought maybe this was what people meant when they talked about belonging.

Her phone buzzed on the table.

She didn’t notice, too focused on whatever half-written thought she was reading so he reached to slide it toward her.

That’s when he saw the screen.

“Dad Calling.”

The name was so familiar it didn’t even register at first. But then the surname popped into his head.

Wolff.

His hand stilled over the phone.

And then he said it quietly and carefully. Like he was checking if the air around them would change:

“Wolff... like Toto Wolff?”

Y/N’s head snapped up. Eyes wide.

And that was all the answer he needed.

There was a moment, barely a second where they both just stared at each other. Nothing moved. Not the fan, not the trees outside, not the ocean.

Then she sat up, slower now, placing the notebook down.

“Lando—”

“You’re his daughter?”

She didn’t deny it. Just pressed her lips together, jaw tight.

He let out a breath, hands on his hips. “You’re Toto Wolff’s daughter and you didn’t think that was something I should know?”

“I didn’t want you to know,” she admitted. “That was the whole point of coming here.”

His voice was quiet. “So you were hiding.”

“I was protecting myself.”

“From me?”

“No—” she stood, crossing the room, “from everything that comes with that name. The questions. The assumptions. The way people stop seeing me and just see him.”

He looked at her, and for the first time in days, it felt like he was seeing someone he didn’t fully know.

“You watched me unpack my whole life to you,” he said, shaking his head. “And all this time…”

“I never lied,” she cut in. “I just didn’t offer it.”

He exhaled hard, like he didn’t know what to do with the weight in his chest.

“Jesus. I was falling for you, Y/N.”

The way he said it made her knees weaken.

“I didn’t want to be someone you fell for because of who I was or someone you’d walk away from because of it,” she said, eyes glassy.

Lando ran a hand through his damp hair. “I wouldn’t have.”

“You say that now.”

Another silence.

Then: “When were you going to tell me?”

“I wasn’t.”

And that, somehow, hurt more than anything else.

He nodded slowly, like he was trying to accept it.

Then he looked at her again, really looked and she saw it: the shift. The beginning of distance.

“I have to pack,” he said finally. “Early flight.”

He walked past her toward the bedroom, leaving behind only the scent of saltwater and fading sweetness.

Y/N stood there, alone, her heart beating loud in a cottage that suddenly didn’t feel like home anymore.

And for the first time since arriving on the island, she felt like a stranger in her own skin again.

─── 🏁

The suitcase sat by the door like a clock ticking.

Y/N stood at the edge of the kitchen, barefoot, arms folded, watching as Lando zipped up the last of his things. The morning was warm, but her skin felt cold.

Neither of them had said much since he found out.

“I leave in an hour,” he said. “Monaco called. They want me there early for media rounds.”

She nodded, like that was just another weather report.

“I want you to come with me.”

Her breath hitched, but she didn’t move.

“Y/N, I’m just starting. Everything’s opening up. The seat. The team. This could be it.”

“I know,” she said, voice barely a whisper.

He stepped closer, reaching for her hand, curling his fingers around hers. “You don’t have to hide. You don’t have to run anymore.”

“But that’s just it, Lando,” she said, pulling her hand away slowly. “You’re running toward it. I’m running to get away.”

His expression faltered. “It doesn’t have to be either-or.”

“Yes, it does,” she said, firmer now. “I left because I didn’t want that life: the headlines, the noise, the cameras outside your door asking about who you're dating. I grew up in that world. I watched it eat people alive.”

He looked at her for a long time, jaw set but not angry.

“I’m not your father.”

“I know,” she said softly. “But it’s not about you, it's about that world you’re entering. And you deserve everything you’ve worked for, Lando. You really do. But I can’t go back to that. Not even for you.”

The silence settled like dust.

Then he nodded once, tightly, like if he moved too much he might shatter.

“So that’s it?”

She swallowed. “Yeah.”

He lingered in the doorway for a moment, like he didn’t believe it. Like she might call him back.

But she didn’t.

So he left.

Later that day, when the cottage was still and the sun was beginning to fall behind the palms, Y/N found it.

A note, folded in half on the windowsill, right next to the flower crown she thought she’d lost.

In his messy scrawl:

I would’ve stayed. But I know why you can’t. I’ll look for you in the crowd someday. —L.

She didn’t cry.

Not right away.

But when she closed the door, she pressed her back to it and exhaled like it hurt to breathe.

And in the quiet, she whispered to no one:

I would’ve stayed too. If only you weren’t the thing I left behind.

─── 🏁

It had been a week since he left.

Seven sunrises, seven quiet dinners, seven chances for her to say I miss you out loud and still, she hadn’t.

Y/N sat cross-legged on the floor of her cottage, hair up in a messy twist, wearing a faded shirt that still smelled like salt and sunscreen. Her friends, real friends, the kind who showed up even when she pushed them away had arrived that morning, bounding down the path with wide grins, dragging sand into the doorway, their arms full of local snacks and cold bottled beer.

They talked and talked and talked about everything and nothing. Sprawled across her couch and floor cushions, they told stories from home, updated her on gossip, work, exes, the dog that escaped from her neighbor’s fence. One of them tried to play ukulele. It was awful. She laughed anyway.

But somewhere between the second round of drinks and a bad impression of her high school chemistry teacher, they noticed she hadn’t said much.

“You okay, hon?” one of them asked, nudging her knee.

Y/N blinked. Realized she hadn’t spoken in maybe twenty minutes. Just nodded. “Yeah.”

“You sure?” another asked, gentler this time. “Because you’ve just been… sitting there. Like your soul’s buffering.”

She tried to smile. It barely held.

They all exchanged looks.

And then: “So. We may or may not have something to confess.”

Y/N glanced up, wary. “What now?”

“The whole ‘we randomly decided to visit you’ thing?” her friend said, raising a brow. “Yeah. That was… sponsored.”

“Sponsored?”

“As in: your dad paid for the tickets. Even offered us his jet. He also sent us your favorite snacks.”

Y/N’s jaw tightened. She looked away.

“But,” her other friend cut in quickly, “he didn’t ask us to drag you home. He just said he misses you. That’s all. Swore he wouldn’t push.”

Silence hung for a second. Then:

“He’s trying, Y/N,” one of them added softly. “In his own… control-freak executive way.”

She exhaled slowly. “I know.”

They gave her a beat to sit with that. Then, like clockwork:

“So,” one said, scooting closer, “are you gonna tell us about mystery crate guy or do we have to interrogate the villagers?”

Y/N let out a dry laugh. “You mean Lando?”

“Ohhh, Lando. It has a name.”

She reached for her drink, swirling the ice inside. Her voice came quieter now. “He’s from that world.”

They all went still.

“You mean—like…?”

She nodded. “Yeah… He’s just starting out. Bright-eyed. Hungry for it. It’s everything he’s ever dreamed of.”

“And you?”

“I’m the girl who ran away from it.” She looked down at her lap, tracing a wrinkle in the fabric of her skirt. “I didn’t tell him. Not until he found out.”

None of them said anything. They didn’t have to.

Y/N went on, voice soft and steady. “I think I could’ve loved him. If I let myself. Maybe I already did. But every time I looked at him, I saw everything I left behind. Everything I didn’t want to be pulled back into.”

A pause. The wind stirred the palm leaves outside.

“I didn’t stay for him,” she said, almost to herself. “And I didn’t go with him, either.”

“Do you regret it?”

She thought for a moment.

“I miss him,” she finally admitted. “But I don’t regret staying. Not yet.”

One of her friends leaned over and took her hand. Another reached for the half-played ukulele.

“Well, then,” they said gently, “let’s give you something worth staying for.”

And just like that, the night unfolded around them soft laughter, bad music, the scent of mangoes in the air and Y/N, for the first time in days, let herself breathe.

─── 🏁

The sun rose early the next morning, spilling gold across the floorboards of the cottage. Y/N stretched lazily on her bed, the air still heavy with the scent of fried garlic rice and sea breeze.

“You’re not moping here again,” her friend declared as she entered the room, tossing a sunhat onto Y/N’s stomach. “Come on. There’s a farmers’ market and half the town’s already there.”

Y/N groaned. “Do I have to be social?”

“No. You just have to show your face, smile once, and let the old ladies give you fruit.”

“And if I don’t?”

“We’ll drag you there. Don’t test us. You already owe us emotional labor and overpriced coffee.”

So Y/N found herself wandering the stalls a little before noon, slowly getting lost in the rhythm of it all. Music played on someone’s radio. A kid offered her a flower. Someone handed her fresh mango slices without asking.

She was just starting to feel like herself again when it happened.

A loud crash echoed near the docks; crates tumbling, someone swearing in British-accented panic, and a runaway dog barking like it was part of the circus.

She turned toward the chaos, eyebrows raised, and saw him.

A tall, lanky man with curls tousled by the wind and hands flailing as he tried to catch the dog now sprinting through the crowd with a pandesal in its mouth.

“Oh no no no no, please, I literally just got here!” he shouted, chasing after it.

The dog made a hard right. The man didn’t. He nearly collided with a crate of pineapples, lost his balance and stumbled straight into Y/N.

“Oof… sorry! So sorry!” he said, steadying them both. “Blimey. I swear I’m usually more coordinated than this.”

Y/N blinked. “You okay?”

He looked up, wide-eyed, and smiled sheepishly. “Yeah, yeah. Just… my dog. Not technically mine. Long story.”

“Looks like a very long story,” she said, trying not to laugh.

“I’m George, by the way.” He extended a hand, breathless. “George Russell.”

She hesitated, then took it. “Y/N.”

“Y/N,” he repeated, grinning. “Lovely name. Do all the women here come with flowers behind their ears and save strangers from flying pineapples, or is it just you?”

She laughed, truly laughed for the first time in days. “Just me, I guess.”

“Lucky me, then.”

Behind them, the dog barked again this time from the roof of someone’s motorbike.

George sighed. “Right. I should probably go rescue the village from him. But… can I buy you a drink after?”

Y/N tilted her head, amused. “You travel with a dog, steal bread, and ask strangers out before noon?”

“I’m very efficient.”

She smirked. “Alright, George. You’ve got one drink to prove you’re not a walking disaster.”

“Challenge accepted,” he said with a wink, then sprinted off in pursuit of the dog.

And as Y/N watched him disappear into the crowd, she found herself smiling again not because she’d moved on.

But because maybe she didn’t have to stand still.

─── 🏁

Y/N squinted under the late afternoon sun, scanning the street for George. She thought they were just getting coffee, maybe a walk down the market road. So when she saw him waving from the end of the dock, standing beside a modest white sailboat with a cooler in hand and two coconuts already open, she stopped short.

“That,” she said, walking up to him with a raised brow, “is not coffee.”

George grinned, wide and unapologetic. “Surprise.”

She crossed her arms, amused. “I didn’t bring sunscreen. Or a change of clothes. Or a sense of adventure.”

“Well, lucky for you,” he said, handing her a coconut with a tiny paper umbrella in it, “I brought all three.”

She tried to glare at him. It didn’t work.

“This isn’t even your boat,” she challenged, glancing down at the polished deck.

“Technically, it’s my uncle’s,” George said, hopping aboard and offering his hand. “He lives here part-time, teaches diving courses when he’s not traveling. Left me the keys while he’s away. I figured… why not?”

Y/N took his hand, letting him help her aboard. “So what? You’re just a charming wanderer with access to boats and a suspicious amount of coconut water?”

“I’ll have you know,” he said, placing a small speaker beside the cooler, “I’m a journalist. And this place?” He gestured around them; the sun, sea, horizon stretching like a painting. “This is my new project. Thought I’d write about it. You know, something slower. Simpler. Something beautiful.”

He looked at her when he said that last word. Not accidentally.

She settled on a cushion and sipped her drink. “And how’s the writing going?”

“Well,” he said, sitting across from her, “I’ve only been here one day… and I’ve already met the most beautiful subject I could ask for.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled into her drink. “That was smooth.”

“I’ve had practice,” he said with a wink.

They drifted for a while, the motor quiet, only the sails flapping and the water lapping against the boat’s sides. Conversation came easily. He told her about London, about how journalism felt like chasing ghosts sometimes. She told him about how she hated always being asked about her last name.

He didn’t push. Just listened. And laughed. And made her feel light.

That night, as the sun dipped beneath the water and painted the world in oranges and pinks, they stayed on the boat, sharing local beer from the cooler, stargazing on the deck, pillows pulled from the cabin.

They didn’t kiss. Not at first. Not like before.

But at some point, she leaned her head on his shoulder. And he leaned in, resting his cheek against her hair. And it just made sense.

When his lips finally brushed hers, it wasn’t fireworks. It was gentle. Warm. Curious.

It felt like freedom, not fire.

─── 🏁

A few days later, they stood at the edge of the dock again but now he was holding his packed bags instead of coolers, and the sails were tied down.

“I’ve gotta go chase stories,” George said with a half-smile. “But I’ll be back.”

Y/N nodded, hands in her pockets. “I know.”

She didn’t cry. Didn’t ache. It was something else softer than heartbreak. 

“Write me into your article,” she joked as he stepped onto the boat.

He grinned. “You’ll be the title.”

─── 🏁

Back at the cottage, one of her friends peeked over her sunglasses and said:

“Okay but… he’s definitely the love of your life.”

Y/N snorted. “He’s not.”

“He’s charming, tall, smart, has a boat—”

“I didn’t fall in love with him,” she said simply, “and that’s the best part.”

Her friend frowned. “You're sure?”

Y/N turned her face to the sun, letting the warmth sit on her skin.

“I think maybe,” she said quietly, “I’m still working on loving myself first.”

And for once, that felt like enough.

There was a beat of silence.

Then her other friend chimed in, casually sipping from her drink, “Okay, well… if he’s not the love of your life, he can totally be mine.”

All three of them burst into laughter, the kind that echoed through the trees and danced along the wind.

And for the first time in a long time, Y/N felt light. Like maybe healing didn’t have to look like forgetting. Maybe it could just sound like laughter.

─── 🏁

The sun poured golden over the balcony, spilling onto the canvas like blessing. Y/N stood barefoot in front of it, brush in hand, streaking shades of coral and seafoam in soft arcs. Her cottage smelled like coconut wax, citrus peel, and turpentine.

She was twenty-one today.

No party. No candles. Just the sea humming softly in the background, a slice of mango cake on the table, and a half-drunk glass of pineapple wine.

And for the first time in her life, she wasn’t lonely.

She was home.

She stepped back from the canvas, tilting her head. It wasn’t perfect, but it was hers. This place. This body. This life. All hers.

Then the nausea hit; sharp, sudden, insistent.

She barely made it to the sink before she emptied her stomach, breath heaving, eyes stinging.

At first, she thought it was the wine, or the heat, or maybe the mango. But deep down, her body knew. A primal, quiet knowing.

Hours later, crouched over a test in her bathroom, she read the result.

Positive.

She didn’t cry.

She just stared at the line, heart thudding slowly in her chest, one hand on the counter, the other pressed against her abdomen.

Not fear. Not even shock. Just… reality.

─── 🏁

The baby came just before sunrise.

The sky outside her window was still ink-blue, the stars clinging on like they weren’t ready to leave either. In the quiet before the world stirred, she held her child for the first time, skin to skin, breath to breath, and everything else the noise, the past, the ache dissolved into something simpler.

She cried, of course.

Not out of fear. Not from pain.

But because for the first time in her life, she knew what it meant to belong to herself.

Her parents came a few days later. Her mother brought flowers. Her father stood stiffly in the doorway until the baby yawned and he melted into something almost unrecognizable.

Toto didn’t ask questions. Didn’t lecture. Didn’t offer advice.

He simply said, “She’s beautiful.”

Y/N nodded. “Thank you.”

He asked if she wanted the world to know. If she wanted the press handled, the story cleaned up, the headlines ready.

She looked down at her daughter, asleep in her arms, and smiled.

“No,” she said. “I want her to grow up in peace. Just like this.”

So they stayed for a while. Held the baby. Cooked meals. Then they left again, quietly, as requested.

And for the first time in a long time, she wasn’t a daughter of someone. Or a girl running from love. Or a name in the paddock. Or a mystery to be solved.

She was just Y/N. And she was a mother now.

─── 🏁

Y/N

I used to think freedom was escape. That if I ran far enough, fast enough, I could erase everything that hurt.

But the truth is, freedom is choosing your own ending. It’s waking up in a home you built yourself, even if no one else understands how you got there.

I don’t know if I’ll ever tell them; Oscar, George, Lando. Maybe one day I will. Maybe one day, she’ll ask. And I’ll tell her the story of a summer filled with stars and secrets and three beautiful, messy, unforgettable boys.

But right now, the only thing that matters is this:

I don’t regret anything.

Not the running. Not the falling. Not the leaving. Not the love.

Because every step led me here—

To her.

To me.

[captainlakes]

it's nice to have friend ♡ finnick odair x fem!capitol!reader!

summary: being own by the capitol it isn't that good until finnick gets a hopeful surprise and a heartwarming offer.

words: 1.4K

tags: fluff (kinda?) sad/comfort. strangers to friends.

warnings: 6 years after finnink's win, forced prostitution, vague allusion to unwanted sex, anxiety and infidelity. mention of coriolanus snow, english is not my first language! (i'm sorry for any mistake)

note: omg this is my first one shot ever, please please be nice with me<3

━━━━━━━━ ❤️‍🩹 🌊 ━━━━━━━━━

The capitol never felt like a safe place for Finnick.

President Snow made sure of that.

He was a victor, yes but it didn't felt like it. His fate was written the minute they allowed a fourteen year old to volunteer for the hunger games, won it and then two years after, let that same teenager, who now had faced death and provoked it to some of his fellow tributes, save his loved ones by becoming some sort of sexual symbol.

Mostly a sexual slave.

Not that he would call himself like that in public.

Still, he didn't enjoyed it. He pretended he did, damn it, he lived the last four years pretending to like a life he secretly found completely and utterly disgusting.

Going from room to room, bed to bed, being touched by depraved strangers that didn't give a shit about him, it was exhausting, an awful way to live even when he was praised by his performances, by his looks every single time.

It wasn't enough.

It didn't make him feel better but more dirty, more used.

And then he met you.

The president called him to his office one morning, saying someone was interested in him and would meet him at the end of the day in the address written on a small piece of paper.

Finnick agreed, being the only acceptable answer for a snake like the one ruling the country.

But he was surprised when he meet you later that day.

You weren't a old woman with weird likings or a man waiting for him to get on his knees. No, you were a girl, probably his age or a year older, sitting on a couch relax and unbothered reading some book as the world outside wasn't crazy, as you weren't waiting for him.

But you were. You offered him a warm smile a nice greeting and asked him to sit across you, not beside you but in a single couch in front of you, leaving the book for another time on the coffee table and standing up to bring him a glass of water, not wine, nor a beer just water along with some biscuits you made a few hours ago.

And then you asked how he was doing, if the whole Capitol’s lifestyle hasn't annoyed him yet as you knew he came from District 4 and things worked differently there.

It was a simple question however it took him by surprise, probably it was the first time someone in this city asked for his feelings, his well being.

He answered with a bit of confusion lingering on his body, gazing at you curious, even more when you said something about always wanting to visit his district and then asking him how it was it back there.

This wasn't normal, if it were he would be over you by now instead of talking.

But that was exactly what was happening, you were having a conversation. It wasn't deep or life changing but it was fresh. For once in his life he didn't have to do what he hated the most, what he was forced to do all weeks, all months, all years.

A part of him though, was still in denial as you explained the grades method of The University and how it related with the positive or negative outcome of their given tributes, he still thought you were just polite waiting for the right moment to ask him to sleep with you.

But you didn't. It was all a long chat with him as you knew him, as if you were friends until you looked at the clock and told him that it was late, that he should go home.

It wasn't late, it was barely past seven and you were asking him to leave already, without having any kind of physical contact so he had to ask “Look, I'm not trying to be ungrateful but…I thought this night was going to be different.”

The comment made you stop, you were walking from the luxurious living room to the kitchen to clean the evidence of his presence in your house when you heard him, a little smile tugged in the corner of your mouth as you realized he need the explanation “The other day at the party,” you answered, referring to a few days ago when one of those big and reckless Capitol’s parties took place at one of your friend's parents house and where he assisted too “You seemed quite stressed” you said, softly.

You usually didn't focus on the victors, the party itself was distracting enough for you to be eyes glued with the winner of the games but when you saw him that night something struck with you. He was alone, a drink in hand and the other passing through his hair, frustrated, you followed him with your eyes for a minute, saw him curse and asked for another drink as he took his jacket off and breath deep, his eyes traveling to the woman that was with him just a second ago, some government man’s wife.

Whatever she told him, it unsettled him.

“I wasn't—” A big smile appeared on his face, a charming smile that screamed denial, pretending, hiding. You were fast enough to cut him off, whatever he was trying to make you believe, you needed to reassure him that it wasn't necessary, not here, not with you.

“When I'm stressed, I…I try to hang out with friends, talk a little” you explained, leaving the glass you have on your hand on the counter of the kitchen and turning back to see him. “It's usually better if you have someone”

He seemed off, shocked by all of this situation. He tried to say something but the words died on his throat, his mouth opened but he didn't say a thing and had to close it again. For a minute, he studied you as if he had to find the catch, the hidden message to decode you, to understand where this unexpected kindness to his person came from.

It was so rare nowadays for him, almost nonexistent that he didn't believe a nice person still existed in the capital of Panem.

“You don't know me” His voice cracked and his look reflected surprise, confusion, curiosity all at the same time, unsure to how he should be addressing this, how he should be managing this situation.

“I do know you” you took a step closer. “We just have a two hour conversation Finnick, I bet I know more of you than the president himself” you joked, trying to break the sudden tension in the room.

It worked for a second.

“You know what I mean” he replied quickly.

“I just thought it would be nice for you to have a friend” she shrugged, looked away then back at him. “You’re twenty and you barely talk with someone of your age”

He scoffed, shook his head, giving you a bitter smile “It's not that simple” he assured “I'm not here to make friends, I'm here to…” He trailed off and then you knew he wasn't having a great time, he was holding something back, something painful.

“You don't have to come back, if you don't want to” she said, stopping the visual contact they were holding, her gaze returning to the tray of food on the coffee table and reaching for it to take it back to the kitchen.

He strangely found himself not liking that idea. He didn't remember the last time someone didn't called him handsome, hot or sexy in an amount of two hours straight; the last time he felt really comfortable, really at ease with anyone at the Capitol.

He didn't think too much when he rushed to grab your hand, in a soft, delicate, gentle touch. A warm feeling invading you at the contact.

“I want to come back” His gaze was softer, more genuine than it had been all evening “I want…I want to be your friend”

You smiled in answer, you nodded and squeezed his hand, lightly with just enough pressure for him to feel it “Good” your voice was almost a whisper “I want to be your friend too, Finnick”

He smiled, dimples showing on his cheeks and he thought, with his hand still on yours, with your gaze holding his, maybe you were right.

Maybe it would be nice to have a friend.

Maybe it was good you were offering to become that person for him.

[manager-daylight]

So we now have the YouTube thumbnail for episode 5 of TADC

My thoughts on this:

1. I am relieved to see that the quality of this image is significantly better than the quality of some of the teaser images which had heavy shading :)

2. My favorite TADC YouTube thumbnail image is still episode 2’s, but episode 5’s is definitely in my top 3 favorite TADC YouTube thumbnails (I can’t decide whether I like 4’s or 5’s better at the time I’m typing this)

3. This is the first TADC YouTube thumbnail that includes the entire main seven in it and I love seeing all characters be included this time!!!

4. I hope they keep the title of the episode as “Untitled” instead of changing it later on since this episode seems to be the most chaotic one of the series and the name “Untitled” fits a chaotic episode well!!!

5. When I first heard of the multiple-adventures-in-one-episode idea around 2-3 weeks ago, I fucking hated it. But between then and now episode 5 has become a kind of acquired taste for me that I no longer hate and am starting to like now!!

6. While I like episode 5 now & no longer hate episode 5 like I did 2-3 weeks ago, the fact that I am a person who prefers to watch one thing get dragged out for a long time much more than watch five things get rushed through quickly still hasn’t changed and I would still prefer to see episode 5 get split into three or four separate episodes.

7. I fucking love TADC very much. I will always love TADC & I will always be loyal to TADC. I see a lot of potential in TADC, and unfortunately I see more potential for TADC than the nine-episode limitation the writers are so devoted to committing to. TADC loves to release new content on the 13th day of a month; two full episodes (1 & 4) as well as one trailer (5) were all released on the 13th day of the month. I would love to see TADC get extended from its original nine-episode plan to be a thirteen-episode series.

[captainrufflebanger]

For the ask game: 🌹:)

For the ask game, another abandoned WIP!

[somegrumpynerd]

-Okay but some of the fears that Color has are in fact the same fears that Nightmare has when it comes to Killer.

Like, Color is worried that Killer's so blindly loyal to Nightmare for whatever reason that he wouldn't even think of complaining if he hated it. And at the start that was something Nightmare probably expected. His henchmen should be loyal and obedient and not ask questions nor complain. But now, after years of learning and bonding and softening up significantly he wonders sometimes if that's still the case.

Nightmare knows Killer well, perhaps better than most, but he's not exactly an open book. Especially when it comes to his own wants or needs. More often than not when he makes a request it's intentionally silly or unreasonable for laughs, like asking if they can take Dust to the nearest pet store and try to trade him in. Very rarely does he want something strong enough to make it known, both to himself and others, like asking to keep the first cat he found.

So.

If he hated this. If he truly struggled and fought and agonised with himself about the position he's in and the work he's doing and the life he leads.

Would he say it? Would he realise that was how he felt? Would he even consider saying no was an option?

If Nightmare asked him to do something he really genuinely did not want to, would he just do it anyway because he doesn't believe he has a choice in the matter?

The only way of finding out (besides making a blatantly difficult request of him, which Nightmare is not willing to do) is to simply wait and trust that Killer will tell him if something is wrong. Which... is not exactly foolproof or easy.

But it's part of why Nightmare hates to be around Color too much, because deep down he's more than a little worried that Color could be right and he doesn't know how to fix it.

[fortune-maiden]

Oh! I just noticed we have a Date

I think that says June 24 2019?

[dasloddl]

glueing together pages of my friendship book... or as I like to call it... spiritual cleansing <3

[discoreptile]

As of yet unnamed game card art!

[salenrooz]

Oh the indescribable feeling of dread after you get exactly what you're asked for

[scorpiosbite]

the time actress!reader mentioned obx in her interview

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 ────୨ৎ──── while the obx cast were together in drew’s hotel room madelyn in her ever obsession of game of thrones brought up that you had mentioned how much you love obx in an interview. causing them to watch the interview together.

𝜗𝜚 pairing: actress!reader x drew starkey

author’s note: this takes place in 2023 during the filming of obx 4 and 3 weeks after the first time they watched the show together. at this point of my timeline the cast have watched the entire first season of game of thrones.

drew was scrolling through his phone, you had followed him back on instagram a week ago and he was on the moon. though he hadn’t messaged you yet. unsure on what to say to you. drew prided himself on being a confident man yet, your ability to make him nervous through a screen was unprecedented.

while stalking your profile for the umpteenth time he found himself wondering about you yet again. your limited amount of posts made you even more intriguing to him. he wondered what kind of person you are. what things made you tick, whether you would stare up at him with those siren eyes, whether you moaned or whimpered during sex, whether your face scrunched up and your mouth hung open as your chest heaved like it did in your sex scene that hasn’t left his brain since the moment he watched it.

just as he fell into a spiral of thoughts about you madelyn spoke up from her seat across the room, drawing the attention of everyone else, and drew was suddenly reminded that he wasn’t alone in his room. “oh my fucking god! i forgot to tell you guys!” she was staring down at her phone. but drew was having trouble focusing on her, still consumed in his thoughts of you.

the others, however, had no problem driving their attention to her, so drew remained in his bubble staring at the most recent post on your profile, a vogue magazine cover from three months ago, of you, seated, legs spread on the iron throne with the sword dark sister held in your hands standing between your legs, the crown of aegon the conquerer tilted on your head, the lace thigh high socks with garters disappearing under the skirt of your tight mini dress and the bold red coating your lips enticing him further.

it wasn’t till he heard your name slip from madelyn’s lips, was his attention torn from the captivating sight on his screen. “wait, what you just say?” madelyn smirked “of course, only when i say y/n’s name, do you listen.” drew blushed lightly. but didn’t make the move to defend himself, after all they would be right, he had been distracted from the moment he saw you in all your glory stealing the screen.

“what i was saying that y/n mentioned obx in an interview, just pass me the remote, i’ll show you.” drew’s heart rate spiked, the thought of you having seen him in his element, doing his job, made him self conscious in a way that he wasn’t ready to admit. once madelyn had the video loaded on the screen, drew was once again struck by how effortlessly beautiful you are. dressed in simple black pants and an off-shoulder cream long sleeve top, brown boots disappearing under your pants and simple gold hoop earrings, your brunette hair loose and following in natural waves. drew looked at your empty neck and thought how good you would look if there was a necklace with his initial hanging there, branding you as his.

madelyn skipped through the video until the moment you were talking. the interviewer asked you and your cast-mate what shows you watch during your down time when filming, your voice rang through the silent room and drew was struck once again by how attractive your accent sounded, your british accent deep and sultry but more casual than the tone you use when playing visenya. “oh, well mimi and i love outer banks a lot, to the point where we quote it on set quite often. i think we’ve annoyed everyone.” you laughed and drew thought about how he wanted to hear that sound for the rest of his life.

your cast mate and best friend, mimi who plays arianne martell laughed and agreed and the interviewer who was surprised by your answer said that obx was one of her favourite shows too. your face immediately brightened as you watched her intently as she spoke about the show. what drew would give to have you look at him like that.

madelyn paused the video and drew knew that once everyone had left his room he was going to watch the entire video. “that’s so cool!” jd gasped. “i know right? that’s so crazy that she’s seen our show.” madison replied. but drew couldn’t bring himself to speak, he wondered what you thought of him after watching his performance. he wondered if you had the same all consuming thoughts he had about you, about him.

“i followed her when i first watched the show and she followed me back, but after seeing that clip a week ago i messaged her and we’ve been talking back and forth ever since, she’s so fucking cool, it’s insane. i think we’re friends now!” madelyn raved. “you’re friends with her?!.” drew was baffled, how was madelyn just bringing this up, she has known about his developing crush for weeks. “ah, now you want to chime in drew?” “yes, we’re friends and she’s gonna be in la when we get back so i told her she should come hang out with us, what you guys think?”

drew’s heart felt like it was going a mile a minute, he was gonna meet you. what the fuck.

thank you for all the love on the first part i’m so grateful. and for everyone who wants to be added to the tag list i’m figuring out how to do that so please be patient with me. also please send me asks about this au i would love to do like a drew starkey x actress!reader thoughts thing, but let me know what you thought of this part!

[alienzil]

Nanny Danny

“That is a whole ass baby,” was the only thought running through Lex Luthor’s head when the scientist proudly showed him the tube containing Project KR. It was not remotely the sort of thing he would normally think and most definitely not what he had expected to be thinking the first time he saw the clone.

He’d been pleased when he’d read the reports indicating the success of KR after years of failures. Lex had poured millions of dollars and literally his own blood into ensuring a clone of the alien could be made, one that would be under his total control instead of the unknown aspirations of Superman.  He’d wanted to see the fruits of his labors personally but this…

It. No, not an it. He scrunched his tiny face and smacked his lips and…did he smirk? Was that HIS SMIRK on that baby’s face?! No. No. Babies this small didn’t smile or smirk. They passed gas and their sleep deprived and addled parents mistook it for an intelligent response. He’d heard enough inane conversations in the Lexcorp office about the various progeny of his employees to pick up on that but still. This child had Kryptonian DNA, not to mention his own contribution. Surely, he was far more advanced than the dribbling potato shaped lump of an infant whose pictures he’d been forced to smile and nod over when Mark from accounting had rudely shoved them in his face at the last quarterly budget meeting. Yes, that was definitely a smirk. His, that was his smirk.

“So as you can see its growth is well within expected parameters and we’re planning to start phase one of accelerating the maturation process tomorrow once the testing is do-”

“Take him out.”

“Sir? The testing can all be accomplished while it remains in the tube. There’s no need to-”

“I said, take him out. The project is cancelled.”

“What?! Mr. Luthor you can’t!”

“I think you’ll find I can. Now get me my son.”

*****

Two years later

“Call them again”

“Sir, I’ve called them seven times. They won’t answer.”

“Then call another agency!”

“There isn’t another agency, Sir”

Lex glared at his assistant who stared back at him impassively. Mercy stood by the door staring off into the distance and pretending she didn’t notice him being bested by his own secretary.

He stopped himself from shouting again and took a deep breath before asking, “Then what, exactly, do you propose I do Mrs. Anderson? Adjust my entire schedule around naptimes? Find a toddler size lab coat and safety goggles and bring my son with me to tour the new clean energy project on Thursday? Perhaps buy a tiny business suit while I’m at it for the next board meeting?”

“I’m not suggesting anything of the sort, Mr. Luthor. I’m telling you that no childcare agency in Metropolis will return my calls anymore. Most won’t even answer.  You’ve gone through 27 nannies in the last 3 months. You need someone better suited to your son’s…special needs.”

Lex snorted. “Special needs might be a bit of understatement. He can lift a car over his head and his favorite word right now is No.”

He sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Thank you for…clarifying the situation, Marjorie. If there’s nothing else, you can leave.”

His secretary didn’t move. She looked at him like she was waiting for something and now that he was paying attention, he saw she was holding a file.  “Did you have a suggestion?”

Looking pleased with herself she responded, “Actually, yes, I did.”

“Well?”

She set the file on his desk and flipped it open. He looked down at the first page and raised an eyebrow, “What am I looking at here?”

“This,” she responded pulling out the top set of papers and spreading them out, “is the employee file and background check for Daniel J. Fenton, an intern that started in our engineering department about 4 months ago. He has one sibling, two parents and several close friends he regularly meets with. His current supervisor has nothing but good things to say about him and reports he gets along well with all his coworkers.”

She set out the next set of papers, neatly arranging them on the desk to be easily seen. “These are newspaper articles and screenshots of social media posts regarding a small town vigilante locally known as Phantom. The same small town, Mr. Fenton is from coincidentally. Also coincidentally, Phantom made his first appearance only a few weeks after Mr. Fenton was involved in a minor accident in his parent’s home laboratory when he was 14, the medical records for the incident are included.”

“Hmm,” Lex said observing several photos of Phantom and a younger Fenton arranged in order of similar poses and facial expressions and printed out side by side.

“Finally,” she said handing him the last set of papers directly, “this would be a report from the lab Mr. Fenton works in from an incident that happened yesterday. A test with a new protype went wrong and started a fire. Everyone evacuated per protocol when the alarms went off but one of the other interns was working on a programming issue off to the side of the lab while wearing headphones and didn’t hear the alarm or notice the fire. Mr. Fenton noticed his absence and returned to the lab to get him out.” She stopped talking and let him look at the last several pages in the file, a series of photographs of the lab.

“Is this ice?”

“Yes, it is. It’s several inches thick and covers half of the lab. It completely put out the fire leaving minimal damage.”

“This machine was moved?”

“It was. It was very close to the flames and would have required replacement if exposed to extreme heat or cold. That particular piece of equipment also weighs several thousand pounds and was bolted to the floor.”

Lex read through everything in detail then clasped his hands under his chin and stared at the photo of Daniel Fenton for several moments before turning back to his waiting secretary.

“Have HR send Mr. Fenton up. I’d like to offer him a promotion.”

[szatears]

inked all over, stack.

summary: stack comes back to you with a new surprise, one that you must say suits him a little too well.

pairing: modernau!stack x blackfem!reader

warnings: smut, oral (fem receiving), p in v, use of the n word, descriptions of reader.

notes: modernau!stack has finally arrived! ever since i made that post about smoke and stack w tattoos i couldn't get it out of my head so here we are! also switched up the pov to third person for this one. ignore any errors, did not proofread at all. smoke version coming soon :)

"Goddamn, you said how long?!" Stack's eyes widened as he leaned back in the tattoo chair, sat opposite his tattoo artist, Deuce.

"We're looking at 'bout six hours?" Deuce laughed seeing the expression on his client's face.

Stack was always at Deuce's parlour when he wanted a piece done on his body, he didn't trust anyone else to do it for him. Same with his brother. Today, he walked in wanting to get something he had on his mind for months.

"Six hours? Nigga, I'ma need you to cut it down to like, two and a half. My lady already pissed I ain't wake her up with a kiss this morning," he blew out a breath, thinking about the messages his wife had left him a few hours ago.

He'd been up since the early hours, and it was almost 4 o'clock now. He was only meant to be out running a few errands with Smoke and some by himself, but he just couldn't get the tattoo out of his mind.

Deuce laughed, nodding his head as he placed the drawing of what Stack wanted on his forearm. "This good for you?"

Stack looked down at the placement, a faint smile on his lips. He couldn't wait to see her reaction to this. "Yeah, it's good."

He knew how the process would go, he just hoped he'd be back home at a reasonable time to not get his ass chewed out. Mrs. Moore didn't play like that.

He made himself comfortable, his arm out on the extendable part of the bed to allow Deuce to do his work. Many Men by 50 Cent played through the speakers, and Stack pulled his phone out of his pockets before Deuce started tattooing.

He already had a few tattoos, but he still wasn't too used to the pain. Smoke on the other hand? Stack would say "you could tattoo that nigga's eyeball and he won't even flinch."

Stack had put a lot of thought into this piece. It would be the beginning of a sleeve he hoped to complete later on, but to him, this was the most important part of it. It had the typical designs of a sleeve ─── shaded clouds with the sun peeking through, cursive writing with some red for that pop. But it was what was written that held the most meaning to him.

With time, Stack came to realise that one of his wife's favourite ways of expressing her love to him was through words. It could be something simple, like telling him she was proud of him or that he was doing well with everything. Or it would be more, like a note in the morning before she left to go somewhere, or one of the many texts she sent him throughout the day.

One of these letters stuck with him the most. In it, she wrote about how he'd become such an important part of her life, the tie that held them together growing stronger each day. The exact words he was getting tattooed on his arm were "you're my favourite person and my forever person, i got you always," something she never failed to mention to him.

It was obvious how in love the two were. You rarely saw them without the other, and even if they were, it wouldn't take long for either to mention the other.

Along with the words, Stack added her lipstick print that she always signed her letters off with. He knew he'd be making a joke soon enough about how her lips were always gonna be on him now.

The rest of the piece had some other smaller yet intricate designs, he told Deuce he could freehand whatever, he trusted him like that.

-

Surprisingly, Deuce actually managed to cut his estimated time in half, finishing the tattoo almost three hours later. As Deuce finished taking pictures and wrapping Stack's arm, his phone rang, looking down at the caller id to see his wife's name with a heart next to it. He accepted the facetime, smiling at the mug on her face.

"Why are you smiling? You must like playing with your life..." she mumbled, fixing her hair in the camera frame.

"I can't be happy to see you no more?" He chuckled, watching her fight back a small smile. "You look good."

"I know," she leaned her face closer to her camera. "Where are you? Come home already."

"I'ma be home in a minute, mama, I'm at the shop with Deuce," Stack turned his camera to face the man who was tidying up his supplies as he held up a peace sign.

"Hey, Deuce. So you're the reason my man's out til these hours when he said he'd only be gone for two tops?" Her head tilted as Deuce laughed.

"It ain't my fault he picks the tricky designs."

"Design─── Baby, you got a new piece?" All of a sudden the frown on her face was wiped off, replaced with a smile.

"Yeah, I did. Look at you, smilin' over there," Stack laughed as he got up from the bed, reaching into his pocket to pull out a stack of 50s, handing it to Deuce.

Before he could even complain about being given too much money, Stack gave him a look. "You really gon' make me argue with my lady on the phone?"

"No, sir," Deuce smiled, putting the money away.

"Aight, til next time Deuce."

He grabbed his coat and left the shop, opening the door to his car that was parked right at the front. "You need me to bring anything, baby?" he looked down at his phone as he put on his seatbelt, seeing his wife already staring at him. The smile that graced his face was just his natural reaction to seeing her; he couldn't get enough of her,

"Could you get some more fruit from Mama Glo's corner? If she's still open."

"Yeah. You gon' stay on the phone?"

"No, I'm gonna take a shower real quick. But I'll see you soon, handsome. I love you," she kissed the camera.

"I love you too."

-

Stack came back with a brown paper bag containing the fruit his wife had asked for, closing the front door with his foot. He slipped his trainers off, walking to the kitchen and placing the fruit on the counter. When he didn't hear the sound of footsteps coming down to greet him, he tilted his head, making his way up the stairs.

He found her lying on their bed, dressed only in a bra and a small pair of shorts. She turned her head to the door when she heard the floorboards creak, a smile on her face as she set her phone down on the bedside table.

Stack smiled at her smile, his hands resting on her waist as she stood in front of him. His frame slightly towered over hers, his head dipping down a little to kiss her lips.

"Nice of you to come home, Elias," she hummed into the kiss.

"You know I could never be away from you for too long." His words were like music to her eyes as she used the hands that were around his neck to softly run her fingers over his skin.

"I got your fruit," he told her, tapping her hip twice so she'd let him go briefly, letting him take off his shirt. It was only when he took off the black muscle t-shirt that he wore, that she let her eyes run over the tattoos that adorned his chest and back before she remembered the reason he went out.

She let her eyes wander over him whilst he put his phone on charge, finally spotting the wrapped part of his right arm. Stack glanced at her, noticing how quiet she'd gotten. "You wanna see it?" he laughed at how eagerly she nodded in response to his question.

He stepped closer to her, taking a seat on the edge of the bed as she stood between his legs. He slowly took off the wrapping of the tattoo, much to his wife's impatience. When he finally revealed the finished work of art, the look on her face made his impulse decision ten times worth it.

He let her gently run her hands over the ink, waiting for to notice what made it even more special. He watched her face closely as her eyes flickered over his forearm, holding it with so much care. It wasn't until she turned his hand over so his palm was facing her, that she saw the writing.

"Elias..." she whispered, a pout on her face as she ran over the words and the copy of her lips.

"You like it?" he smiled at her, flashing his gold caps.

"Like it? Baby, I'm in love with it, oh my God," she couldn't tear her eyes off it. Throughout their relationship, Stack would always say something along the lines of "I'ma get your name tatted on my face," but this was far more meaningful.

"Good, 'cause it hurt like a bitch," he mumbled, pulling her into his lap. He kissed the side of her face as she held onto his arm. "I love you more than life itself."

"I love you endlessly," she took his face in both her hands, kissing him.

"Yeah?"

"Mhm."

He turned his head into the kiss, letting his lips leave hers to kiss down her neck to her collar. He flipped them over, bringing her to lay back down in the middle of the bed.

Her hands ran down his toned arms, massaging his broad shoulders. She let her fingers trace over the inked parts of his skin that she could reach, having memorised where every part was.

Stack used his knee to nudge her legs apart, letting him slot in between them as he kissed her. His tongue danced with hers whilst she held him closer to her face by the back of his neck. Her soft moans only encouraged him more, as did the growing friction her hips created against his.

"Yeah, you gon' have to come up outta these," he mumbled against her lips as his hands fumbled down to her shorts, pulling them down her legs.

"Elias..." she whispered, tugging at his belt. She was almost naked whilst he was still half clothed.

He smiled at her, pulling away from her lips to kiss a trail down to her pelvis. "Hold on, baby. I wanna make you feel good first." He kissed her clit over the lacy underwear she wore, and she shuddered, leaning back further into the pillows.

Stack used his thumb to rub her clothed clit, watching how her legs started to close around his hand. "Baby, please," she whined, and it didn't take long for him to give in to her pleas, taking off her underwear.

Just as quick as he had done that, his head lowered closer to her core, his mouth latching onto her creaming opening. His tongue licked up and down, his hand holding either side of her hips as he ate her out. She let out a loud moan, her hands gripping the back of his head.

"Fuck, baby, just like that," she breathed out, her eyes fluttering with pleasure.

"Yeah?" he mumbled against her, the vibrations just adding to the feeling.

Stack lapped at her for all she was worth, the unholy sounds emitting from her lips and his work. He used his thumb to rub her clit as he continued to work her away with his tongue. She writhed underneath him, feeling that familiar coil inside of her begin to surface.

"Why you moving away, huh? You can take it mama, I know you can," he assured her, replacing his tongue with his fingers as he briefly looked up at her. The sight alone almost made her cum right there; his mustache and goatee coated in her fluids.

She couldn't keep it in, especially when he went back to her with his tongue, his two fingers pumping in and out just as fast. "Shit, I'm gonna─── Oh, my God," her moans aligned with her release, all over his mouth.

Stack continued to eat her out through her high, her hips grinding into his face as he sought more. "Baby let up," she groaned, trying to push his face away.

"One more, baby. For me?" How could she say no when he was making feel that good?

It wasn't long before she came again, her body letting up as Stack cleaned her up. Only he could make her tap out like that.

He finally moved his head from between her legs, hovering over her as she grabbed his face, pulling him down for a messy kiss. She licked over his lips, moaning at the taste of her on him. His hand travelled to her throat, the same arm that was newly inked now right in front of her.

Stack's tattoos were such a turn on, it was almost impossible to describe. If he wanted to make her orgasm fast, all he had to do was talk her through it, or have her analyse his tattoos. Easy.

"You not tapping out on me, are you?" he smirked, as she gave him a lazy smile. She could feel his dick through his pants at her entrance. Shaking her head, she let go of him to take his belt off, eyes on him as she pulled him out of his boxers.

He briefly got up to take them off all the way, before he settled back between her legs, hiking them up his hips. She let her arms rest over his shoulders as he pushed in, both of them groaning.

He fit so perfectly with her, and he made her feel that way every time, through sex or not. The sound of skin slapping soon took over the room, as did their moans.

Stack ground his hips into hers, his head resting in the crook of her neck, leaving small love bites where he could.

"You're doing me so good, E," she whispered lowly in his ear which only spurred him on. He picked up his pace, finding that spot of hers that had her arching into him.

"Like that, baby? Hm?" he asked as she could only not in reply, too far into it to speak actual words. Stack fucked her so good, without fail every time.

He looked down at where they connected briefly, fascinated by her precious pussy taking him in so well. "You're doing so good for me, pretty." he told her, his eyes back on hers.

She managed to keep the contact for a few moments before he had her eyes rolling at the back of her head, her muscled walls clenching around his dick.

He grunted at that, feeling himself close to unravelling. But like he always did, he wanted her to come first.

"I'm almost there, E, keep going─── Yeahhhh, just like that," she moaned, whining even as she felt herself about to come for the third time. She held his head to her face as he kissed her, groaning as she reached closer and closer to her climax.

"Fuck!" she screamed as he cum coated his dick, spilling out as he fucked her through it.

"You got it baby, shit, I'm gonna cum too, hold on," his words trailed off to a whisper as he came in her, her eyes fluttering shut as she adjusted to the overbearing amount of pleasure only her man could give her.

Stack's thrusts slowed down as he pushed his seed back in her, a lazy smirk on her face as she watched him do so. He pulled out slowly, gently laying on top of her. She brought her legs around his waist, kissing his temple as they caught their breath.

"Damn," Stack sighed happily. "Might have to get my whole body tatted up now."

taglist. @childishgambinaax @abriefnirvana @blackisy2k @chrisevansmentee @siasoup @amethyst09 @heauxtales @skywalker0809 @thelightknight21 @klssngss @atomicearthquakemusic7 @oc3anbxbyxoxo @honestlyurslol @simpingfor-wakasa @omg-mymelaninisbeautiful @favoritten

[clovermoters]

flights and family - lando norris x wife!reader

summary - after an eventful first half of the season, a trip home is just what you and your family need to reset

warnings - nothing! some mentions of lando being overwhelmed due to the 2024 season, but other than that just fluff & kisses

authors note - haiii heres a josie fic i wrote while i was on a plane a couple months ago, i hope u enjoy <33 im trying to get back into the swing of writing so gimme reqs and ill try and get to them as quick as possible!! lots of love, clove!

apart of the josephine elliot norris chronicals

“babe wake up..” kisses flutter across your face, pulling you out of your peaceful sleep. you open your eyes to see your husband's emerald eyes overtop of you. 

“we gots’ to go! its airport time in t-minus 1 hour“ he whispers, lightly pinching your bicep to spark your body awake. 

“uuuggh what time is it?” you groan, rolling over to grab your phone, 3:46am. your flight boards at 6. You fall back into the duvet, eyes slowly closing as sleep reaches out to pull you under again.

“baby! up! i’ll get josie”  he shouts through whisper, marching around your bedroom in his baby blue sweatpants and matching hoodie. You giggle, throwing the covers over, finally getting out of bed. 

lando speeds down the hall towards your daughter's room, he creaks the door open into the room. dimly lit from the flower nightlight hung on the wall next to the pretty pink letters spelling josephine above the small pink race car bed. his daughter, a recent graduate to the race car bed, was curled up under her blankets sleeping softly. 

lando lifts his daughter into his arms, the 3 year old stirring slightly, whining at the disturbance of her slumber. 

“it’s just daddy,” he shushes, pushing the curls out of her face so he can see his own eyes looking back at him “you ready for the plane baby?” rolling the bright pink suitcase down to the front door where yours and his await along with your carry ons. The quiet babbles of your daughter chatting with him about her dream fill the quiet of the early morning. 

monaco was rarely quiet, the city almost never sleeps. the peaceful blanket of calm reassurance, lando was sure today would go smoothly. 

you just needed to be ready on time. 

he loved you, his wife, the love of his life, mother of his child, number one supporter. 

but my god your punctuality needed some work. 

Just as if you heard his thoughts, you came bustling down the stairs with your bag in hand, sporting your light grey aritzia sweatsuit that Lando bought you as an early anniversary present. 

“okay, i’m ready” you huff, blowing your hair that fell in front of your eyes. lando chuckles at your disheveled-ness while your daughter rests her head on his shoulder, quickly falling back to sleep. 

you melt at the sight, smiling softly “she’ll be okay right?” you ask, it was josie’s first time flying, your husband rubbing her back before nodding 

“Of course she well, she's so zonked she won't even realize we're in the air-” you chuckle “and I booked a jet. we couldn’t be more safe.” he assures you while handing you some suitcases to take to the uber that’s arriving downstairs. 

“as long as we get to the airport on time” he jokes, giving your bum a light pat while you lock the door. You scoff at him playfully, even after being married for four years and having a child, Lando still has his ways to make you giggle like a teenager.  

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

making it through the airport was quick, josie had fallen asleep on lando in the car. Making the check in easy when you didn’t have a 3 year old asking every question imaginable. you and lando loved her imagination and curiosity, taking it as a small parenting win when you had the time and energy to answer those questions. 

4:45am, however, is not the time to answer those questions 

security was quiet, perks of flying early and in the middle of the week. the attendants recognized your little family letting you through the fast lane just for some entertainment, in the mist of the night. 

the sun was just making its appearance over the horizon when you took off. Josie was curled up in landos lap, completely passed out. 

“I can't wait to be home in London,” you say softly as you rest your head on your husband's shoulder, your gaze fixed on your little bundle of love whos sleeping in his lap  

Lando hums, eyes fixed on his daughter who’s been subconsciously squeezing his fingers in her rem. 

“yeah, i can’t wait to see my parents” he adds “i made max pick us up so we can surprise them at breakfast” 

one week ago, you and your husband made an impromptu decision to drop everything and take a trip home. You both have been overly stressed and it was taking a toll on the two of you. Lando has been at the fighting front of the championship for months while you have been juggling being a first time mother and handling your own responsibilities at work. 

it all came to a breaking point when lando had broken down after coming home from a tough race weekend. frustrated with the results, the pressure and overall the backlash from outsiders, had him sobbing in your arms the minute he walked through the door. soon after you both came to the realization that you needed some well deserved rest and relaxation during the summer break.  

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

“ahh they’re they are!” Max shouts from the car when he spots you two, earning a glare from you, pointing to the girl still sleeping soundly in landos arms. 

“Whoops, sorry!” He sucks in a breath through his teeth. helping you load the bags into the boot while Lando secures Josie in her car seat. You always thought fatherhood was so beautiful on him, you fall in love with him all over again seeing the way he was with josie. only proving to you that this was something he was meant to do. 

The London streets were still quiet, the faded radio music providing a background as you and Lando chatted with Max, catching up while he navigated through the city towards landos childhood home. 

When you arrived, you took Josie in your arms trying to wake her so she could greet her grandparents properly. 

the girl stirred in your arms, mumbling incoherent words into your neck and lando giggling from behind you, watching the girl wake. you always loved watching him with josie, the man adored his daughter. from the moment she was born she had him wrapping around her finger the very second he saw his own eyes staring back at him. 

“hi baby girl wanna go say hi to nana and pop?” he asked, that perked Josie up. The toddler always got excited at the mention of her grandparents. 

“ya i’m gonna giv’ them a biiig hug” she mumbled still half asleep, lifting her head from your shoulder while showing a toothy smile to her father. You and your husband break out into a fit of giggles.  

The sweet smell of eggs, bacon and delicious pastries engulfed the inside of the Norris family home. you and lando feel yourself physically relax at the thought of ciscas home cooked brunch. 

soft music came from the kitchen as the distant voices of landos family traveled throughout the home. Providing a lighthouse to the kitchen, the light at the end of a tunnel that you and lando so desperately were waiting for. 

you place josie down, allowing her to walk ahead of you and lando, the girl running into the kitchen, turning to see the girl, cisca halts her movements, gasping at her granddaughter, who she knew lived in monaco. 

“well what are you doing here missy?” the woman asks, alerting the rest of the Norris family of their unexpected guest. you and lando take that as the signal to turn the corner, smiling ear to ear with your hands interlocked, the shocked faces of the norris family say enough that your surprise was a success 

“surprise!”

The room erupted into cheers from the Norris family, moving to give you all hugs. Josie giggling as her grandma picks her up, attacking her cheeks with kisses. 

You greet landos sisters and parents, squeezing your sister in-laws while Lando hugs his brother and his wife. 

“what brings your three here?” landos father, adam asks while giving his son a hug, flo begins setting three extra place mats on the dining table for you as josie is in a very in depth conversation with her grandma. 

“monaco was getting too much so we wanted to spend some time home before the break ends..” lando explained, simply. pressing a kiss to your temple before moving to hug his mum, you watch as he melts slightly into the embrace, tucking his head inside her neck the same way he does with you. 

Cisca places a kiss on your check when she hugs you “you go settle in upstairs, breakfast will be ready soon, you must be exhausted” 

You both sink into the mattress, letting out a sigh of relief. 

“I am so happy we came,” Lando breathes, rolling over to look at you with that loving smile on his face that gives you butterflies, the morning sun hitting his face just perfectly, casting a gentle glow over his gorgeous features. You smile softly up at him reaching out gently to scratch the light stubble he's grown. 

“I'm so happy we came too my love” 

He lightly pecks your lips before the door bursts open, in walks Josie with Mila hot on her heels. The two cousins hopping on the bed before josie lightly jumps on her fathers stomach, causing lando to let out a quiet “oomf-”

“Nana told us to come get you because brekkie is ready!” Mila said before hopping off the bed and running out the room, Josie tries to wiggle out of landos arms but he squeezes her tighter, placing kisses all over her face. The girl giggling at her father 

“Oh no you don't missy!” he says

 “dada let me go!” she shouts through a string of giggles and squeals. 

You three make your way downstairs, joining your family at the table. The conversation flows effortlessly as you fill your tummy with ciscas delicious spread of food. You and Lando make eye contact from the opposite sides of josie who sat between you two, landos eyes were filled with nothing but love as you smiled softly back at the love of your life, a silent agreement that this trip was just what your family needed. 

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

all doneee thank u so much for reading!!

[darkmatilda]

𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐚 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you thought that after a certain misunderstanding, your relationship had taken on a purely platonic and friendly form but then the investigation sent you to the freezing wilderness of alaska, where every night you find warmth in his bed.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x fem!bau reader, the same reader as in my story "the bolter" but it's not necessary to read it before! there are no major references, but people who have read it might treat this as a continuation (if they want to). in this story, we still have our wonderful queen elle greenaway, gideon and morgan, and many of my attempts (not always successful) at being funny. mostly smut with A LOT of plot, description of the case, oral (f receiving) and some much actions but described in a subtle way. a little bit of angst, but I wouldn't be myself if I didn't add some. again, GLASSES REID!!

𝐚/𝐧: first fic at the beginning of the month, i really wanted to post it today. i think it's time to start posting christmas-themed works? would you be interested? by the way, i hope december will treat you kind <3

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 11k

“I’m freezing, God, I’m freezing.”

“Me too, look how I’m shaking, I swear, one more hour and my feet will fall off, and then my toes…”

“Guys, for god’s sake!” Morgan finally spoke up, his voice tinged with impatience. The hood of his waterproof, windproof jacket covered almost half of his face, and even so, he was clearly the lightest dressed of all of them. “We’ve landed.” He pulled off a glove to check his watch. “Just under fifteen minutes ago. You still don’t know shit about freezing, so stop complaining like a bunch of old women in a knitting cycle…”

“I’d love to be an old lady in a knitting circle right now,” you sighed, your breath immediately turning to steam. You exchanged a look with Reid, who was freezing just as much as you were, and together, you had been driving Derek crazy with your whining. You all had similar gear, thermal layers, and jackets designed for extreme conditions, but it still wasn’t enough. “Sitting by the fireplace, knitting a sweater. Gossiping with other retirees.”

“Exchanging gingerbread recipes,” Spencer suggested, his tone just as wistful.

“And sharing tips for dealing with worms in our cats’ anuses,” you added.

“I’m done," Derek muttered.

Your work often sent you to various corners of the United States, but it rarely involved Alaska. Well, due to the state’s relatively low population density compared to others, fewer crimes were committed there, especially at the federal level.

However, in recent weeks, strange disappearances had occurred—teenagers and young men. Their bodies were found in remote areas, deep in the forest or in completely uninhabited wilderness, places so isolated that even an experienced survivalist would struggle to find their way out.

The local police, as local police often do in most criminal cases, initially pretended there wasn’t a problem, insisting the victims had died as a result of tragic accidents, simply getting lost during a hike. But when the number of deaths began to rise, and the victims included even high school students—locals who were well aware of the dangers of wandering alone after dark in such perilous areas—the case landed on JJ’s desk.

And so, you found yourselves in the brutally frigid surroundings of Fairbanks, heading toward the inn where you were supposed to drop off your things and immediately dive into the investigation.

"The temperature this week is going to range from 15 to 5 degrees Fahrenheit," Spencer informed you over his shoulder as he opened the car trunk to retrieve the luggage. "Of course, that's during the day. At night, it’ll drop as low as -4 degrees."

Elle shivered as he handed her her bag.

"I was doing just fine without those numbers," she said, nudging you lightly with her shoulder—a touch you barely felt through the thick layers of clothing. "What do you say we make up for this with a New Year’s trip? Mallorca? The Himalayas?"

"I’m dreaming of the Caribbean," Morgan chimed in. "Beaches, sunshine, and cocktails—that’s what I’ll be dreaming of tonight."

"And half-naked sunbathers," you added.

"And half-naked sunbathers," he agreed with a grin.

Elle trudged ahead, sinking into the snow up to her calves. The inn was a sizable wooden building, adorned with balconies and terraces that, given the weather, likely went unused, though they added considerable charm. It was tucked away in a secluded spot, offering privacy and a peaceful atmosphere—ideal for work.

You lingered by the car, waiting for Reid to grab his things, unwilling to leave him behind.

“Do you know much about the northern lights, Rudolph?” you teased, nodding toward his red-tipped nose. “I’ve always dreamed of seeing them.”

“Well, then you’re in luck,” he replied, looking at you with a slight smile. “We’re in one of the best places to see them, during the season with the longest nights. They’ll be visible pretty early, though the most stunning views will probably happen between ten at night and two in the morning. I’ve always wanted to see them in person too.”

"So, what do you think?" you asked, raising your eyebrows. "Midnight, at my door, and we’ll go play aurora hunters?"

You shivered just at the thought. Of course, you were joking—there was no way you'd even stick a single hand out from under the covers at this hour with those freezing nighttime temperatures. You planned to admire the beautiful phenomenon from your room window. Warm, you hoped.

"Alright. Just make sure you bundle up,"

 "Sure. Thermal thong and all that."

Your room was on the same floor as Elle's and JJ's, and you were glad to have them just behind the next door. Unpacking took you only a minute, and within that time, you were all together, sitting as a team, going through the case files.

“These boys were so young,” JJ remarked, shaking her head with a hint of dread. “Sixteen, the youngest, twenty-four, the oldest. They were found in such remote locations that if it hadn’t been for the ongoing professional search and the dogs, who knows how long it would have taken before anyone stumbled upon their bodies.”

“Given the heavy snowfall, they might not have been found until the thaw. What do their parents and families say about all of this?” Hotch asked.

“Unanimously, they believe their kids would never have ventured that far on their own. This is where the mystery starts, though, because there were no wounds on their bodies, except for the ones they inflicted on themselves in their attempts to survive in the cold.”

“So, it looks like someone kidnapped them, drove them out to a place you’d never get out of without serious survival skills, and just left them to die?” Derek asked, baffled.

“Seems that way. Yesterday, an eighteen-year-old named David Moore was reported missing. Normally, it probably would have been classified as a delayed return home or maybe a runaway, and the police wouldn’t have even taken the report. But given the current circumstances and the rising panic among the locals, his parents decided not to wait. A wise decision.”

"How many hours has it been since he went missing?" you asked, running your own grim calculations in your head. "Around eight, right? Is it even possible for him to survive the night out there in these conditions?"

"That depends on what he was wearing and the specific location where he was left," Reid explained, thoughtfully cleaning the lenses of his glasses. You realized it had been a while since you’d seen him wearing them—he used to wear them daily, but lately, it was only on occasion. For a moment, you found yourself staring at his face, liking how the dark frames suited it.

"His parents believe he was likely abducted on his way home from tutoring," Elle noted, flipping through the case file. "People around here dress warmly as a habit, but even so, I doubt his everyday clothes would be particularly suited to weather like this. At night. In the middle of the woods."

An uncomfortable silence followed her words, broken only by Hotch clearing his throat.

"Anyway, we need to join the ongoing search efforts. We’ll be more useful out in the field than trying to build a profile with the scraps of information we have. I’m not sure if I need to remind you, but out of habit, I will: be cautious and don’t, under any circumstances, stray from the search group. They know this area."

Before you all moved out to get to work, Reid shot you a fleeting glance. Like a dad, you mouthed silently, and he let out the faintest chuckle. You both enjoyed spotting those unmistakably parental tendencies in your boss, though they were directed at you and the rest of the team.

Hours of searching had, unfortunately, yielded no results—the crushing pressure of time bore down on you all. The knowledge that each passing moment was stripping this boy of his chances for survival felt almost unbearable. If he had somehow managed to survive the first eight hours in the forest, sixteen seemed an increasingly unlikely feat.

And yet, hope lingered. The group, driven by his distraught family, refused to stop, likely continuing to scour the area despite warnings. Meanwhile, you stood in your hotel room, so close to the window that the cold glass brushed against your nose.

Your thoughts were consumed by the case and the fate of the teenager. Just as Reid had said, the sky was illuminated by that breathtaking greenish glow. Watching it felt almost surreal, and you wanted to take in as much of it as your eyes could hold.

If it weren’t for the fact that you had frozen to your very core during the search, you might have stepped outside to see it more clearly. 

Just as the thought crossed your mind, there was a knock at your door.

You furrowed your brow, not expecting anyone. When you opened it, you came face to face with none other than Spencer. Well, it was hard to tell it was him at first. He was bundled up so tightly in layers of warm clothes that his body lost its natural shape and resembled more of a puffy ball than a person.

"Hey," he greeted awkwardly, raising his hand hesitantly and scanning your appearance from head to toe. "You're not ready yet. Sorry, I think I came too early. I thought we were meeting at midnight..."

"We were meeting?"

"For the northern lights hunt, you forgot? I checked the Kp index, it's a measure of aurora activity that determines its intensity, and it turns out tonight is really favorable... wait, why are you laughing?"

His furrowed brows and face, barely visible in the dimly lit hallway but clearly confused, only made you laugh harder. Shaking your head in disbelief, you covered your smile with your hand.

"Spencer, I was joking," you said, suddenly feeling guilty that your sarcasm had led him to spend time and effort preparing for a night out. "There’s no way I'm going out in this cold. I’d rather dive headfirst into boiling water, at least that would be warmer."

“Oh,” he let out a short, disappointed sigh. He quickly nodded, as if trying to accept the situation, and forced a more neutral expression. “I—I really thought you were serious. Sorry for... for waking you up, then.”

For a moment, you stood in silence, your hand resting on the doorframe. An odd, unexpected thought sprinted through your mind. It had been such a long time since the two of you had been together like this, late at night, in the same room...

“Well, in that case,” he cleared his throat, snapping you out of your thoughts. “I’m sorry again. Let’s just pretend this didn’t happen, okay? Forget I came here and embarrassed myself. That’s all. Sorry. I should probably go if I want to avoid being completely sleep-deprived tomorrow...”

“Go where?” you interrupted, suddenly standing straighter, alarmed.

“Aurora hunting.”

“By yourself? Spencer, have you lost your mind?”

He opened and closed his mouth, caught off guard by your outburst.

“Well, I don’t know when I’ll ever get another chance like this, being in the Arctic Circle...”

“It’s pitch dark and freezing cold. You don’t know the area—”

“...I’ve had a chance to look around, and I’m not going far. There’s a small hill just behind the inn—”

“...And there’s a freaking serial killer on the loose around here, did you forget?”

“Well, I have a gun.”

“Well, I’m not letting you go,” you cut him off firmly, crossing your arms over your chest. Spencer tilted his head, clearly ready to argue further, but before he could speak, you added, “Give me five minutes.”

“What?”

“Five minutes to get dressed. I’m coming with you.”

At first, you could have sworn a faint smile flickered across his lips. But then, just as quickly, he shook his head vehemently.

“No, really, you don’t have to. Not just because of me. I’ll be fine…”

"Five minutes," you repeated once more, slightly flustered and trying not to dwell on the fact that the moment you stepped outside, you’d likely regret this decision. “Wait here. Or come inside—I don’t want to shut the door in your face.” As you spoke, you opened the door wider, inviting him in.

Without wasting another second, you headed straight for your suitcase. Okay, how many layers does one need for a night outside in Alaska?

“I actually bought a set of thermal underwear specifically for this case,” you said, pulling out the essentials from your bag. Most of what you’d worn during the day would work fine, but you debated adding an extra sweater and another pair of socks. “And, oh my God, I hate it. I’d rather wear lace thongs 24/7 than spend more than eight hours in this bugger.”

You glanced subtly over your shoulder, curious to see his reaction and waiting for his reply. It wasn’t like you wanted to embarrass him, but you absolutely adored how, in response to even your most suggestive remarks, he could always respond with complete seriousness—like he was dissecting some profound issue. Judging by the furrow of his brow, this time would be no different.

“Really? You know, thermal underwear is generally associated with comfort. The fabric is typically elastic, soft, and breathable. High-quality models are even seamless, so they don’t cause any chafing. Maybe you bought a poorly fitted one?”

“Maybe. I don’t know, I have no expertise in this area. It digs in so much, though, and I have to keep myself from adjusting it. Can you imagine me sticking my hand in my pants right in front of the missing boy’s family?”

He hesitated before responding.

“Not really. But I can picture Hotch’s face.”

“And I can picture a termination notice on my desk the next day,” you quipped.

You grabbed all the clothes you had gathered and disappeared into the bathroom to layer them on. It wasn’t a quick job—by the end, you felt like your movements were completely restricted by the weight of it all—but at least you were prepared. When the first merciless blast of Alaskan air brushed against the tiny exposed part of your face, it didn’t immediately make you want to run back inside screaming. 

Instead, you sighed in awe.

"I know I’ve invoked God's name a hundred times already, but God, this is beautiful," you said, feeling your own words too inadequate to describe the miracle above your heads. The streaks of light stretching across the sky, an intense green with a certain transparency, a glassy quality, the stars peeking through it all.

 Spencer turned to you over his shoulder. He was only a couple of steps ahead, but he kept doing it as if afraid that in a moment of not seeing you, you'd fall into the snow and disappear forever.

“Wait until we get to the spot,” he said, his smile clearly excited. In his dark eyes, the light seemed to reflect and stay there, even when he blinked, as though he had already absorbed it all deep inside. “It’s only ten minutes away, but it makes a difference.”

"I hope you're not one of those people who says, 'Oh, it's just around the corner, we don't need a cab!' and then leads you to walk halfway across the city" you scoffed. You tried to keep your gaze fixed on his back, his lantern swinging in his hand. Alaska, the vast empty terrain, the thick layers of snow, seemed to hide some sort of mystery beneath them, and it filled you with a fair amount of fear. "Will you shield me with your chest if a bear jumps out at us?"

"Actually, yes, I would," he replied. "But not because of heroism, it's more because I have bear spray in my pocket, and by that very fact, it's probably my duty."

"Okay, let’s make a deal: you protect us from a potential bear attack, and I’ll take care of Bigfoot. By the way, that legend never really scared me. A monkey with gigantic feet just sounds too ridiculous to me. Remember that episode of History's Mysteries that we watched at your place?"

You both shared a love for a certain TV show about conspiracy theories and famous mysteries from around the world.

 "Of course. You know part of it was filmed right here in Fairbanks? Bigfoot never really fascinated me either, but I liked that at the end of the episode they also mentioned other Alaskan legends. Like The Kushtaka, for example."

"I don't remember that. But I'm not sure I want you to tell me," you confessed, taking a breath, the cold biting into your lungs. Despite the layers of clothing, it was getting colder and colder, but at least you'd finally reached the spot Spencer had chosen. He was right; the vast plain on the small hill was perfect for watching the aurora. You had the feeling that the sky was only an inch above your head, and a childlike urge to reach up and touch it. "Alright, you've got me too intrigued. Go ahead."

You noticed that, unlike you, Spencer wasn't tilting his head back to gaze at the sky. He was looking at you.

"The Kushtaka is a creature from the folklore of the surrounding tribes. It is most often described as a hybrid of a human and an otter..."

You couldn’t help but burst out laughing.

"Otters, seriously? Is that supposed to chill me to the bone?"

Spencer raised an eyebrow in a somewhat sarcastic manner.

"Okay, let me tell you the story differently," he proposed in a similar tone, swallowing as if to prepare himself for the tension-building drop in his voice. "Just like now, we're heading out to see the northern lights. Just the two of us, surrounded by nothing but darkness. The sky is overcast that day, and there’s hardly any light to see." At that moment, he switched off the flashlight he was holding, and his previously well-lit face faded into obscurity. You crossed your arms over your chest, silently promising yourself you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of being scared.

“In this story, do my thermal undies also ride up so uncomfortably?”

“Your underwear isn’t a significant part of this tale. Anyway… crap, where was I?”

“The thought of my underwear distracted you?”

You heard him sigh, almost in exasperation, and a sly smile spread across your face.

“Let me continue. No more comments about underwear.”

“My underwear or in general?”

“SO WE’RE HEADING TO SEE THE NORTHERN LIGHTS. It’s dark, it’s creepy, and you’ve got chills running down your spine. Then suddenly, you realize you’ve lost me.”

“Phew,” you exhaled with theatrical relief. “Finally got rid of that creep who kept obsessing over my underwear.”

"You know what, I’m done. I’m done. I won’t tell you the story about the human-otter hybrid."

“I’m devastated by this fact!” you assured him in the same overly dramatic tone. Taking it a step further, you jumped toward him, desperately grabbing the fabric of his jacket. “Dr. Reid, please, I beg you, tell me about the human-otter hybrid. I need this. I’ll sell my soul and body, just please…”

Spencer threw his head back, laughing, and as you tried to calm yourself down, you leaned against him. Taken by surprise, he lost his balance, sending both of you toppling into the snow.

“Damn, we’re going to be wet!” he groaned, trying to get up from the deep snowdrift you both had fallen into. It wasn’t the easiest task with all the layers of clothing and a girl who was dying of laughter on top of him.

“I think that’s enough of our aurora watching,” you said once you both finally managed to get back on your feet. Despite the ski pants and very, very warm clothes, you were starting to feel frozen. “And enough of your legends. It’s late, and we should head back.”

“You didn’t let me finish,” he complained, sounding like a little puppy that had been scolded for peeing on the carpet.

“You can tell me on the way,” you replied. “Come on.”

You sent one last glance toward the sky before moving forward, your mind focused entirely on the vision of a hot, soothing bath and a blanket with an extra layer for warmth. For the rest of the walk, Spencer didn’t try to use his low voice or mysterious narrative tone. He finished the story in his usual manner, sounding more like a fascinated lecturer. You couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed—he had sounded really sexy earlier, you had to admit.

When you both got back to the guesthouse, you glanced at the stairs leading up to your room and shook your head in refusal.

“If I don’t get under at least five blankets right this second, I’m going to die, so sorry my dear, but I’m coming to you and I won’t leave until I’m warm, or I’ll never leave at all,” you said quickly and firmly.

Spencer raised an eyebrow but replied just as energetically.

“I don’t think I have five blankets in my room.”

“Three will be fine.”

And that's exactly how it went. First, you took off your jackets, and then, in your typical everyday clothes, you quickly jumped into bed, covered with the duvet up to your neck, waiting for the pleasant warmth to spread across your bodies.

“Was seeing the aurora worth all that suffering?' you asked, turning onto your side in bed so you could face him.

'Well, it wouldn't have been suffering if someone hadn't shoved both of us into the snow...'

He said this while lying on his back, but shortly after these words, he followed your lead and also turned onto his side. Your breath became shallower. It had been almost a year since you last had him this close, almost a year since you slept together, and then decided to let the situation fade into oblivion.

Honestly, you almost succeeded. After all, that incident was like every other encounter you had with guys. Spontaneous, one-time, followed by bolting. But you didn’t see those other guys afterward. Every day at work, forced to watch him wipe his glasses, his damn glasses, with the same fingers he…

“Are you thinking about something specific?” he suddenly asked, his voice eerily similar to the one he used to tell you the story on the hill, a voice you found so sexy.

That was the kind of man Spencer Reid was. Always wanting to know what was going on inside your head.

You sighed, probably too loudly.

"You don't want to know what I'm thinking right now," 

You felt a little pathetic, realizing that your whole excuse about not being able to go to your room was just a pretext to end up in his bed. Once again. This whole trip to Alaska must have really messed with your head. Or maybe it cleared the fog in your mind and left a single thought, naked and defenseless. You wanted him. 

"I know how pathetic that sounds, but I always want to know what you're thinking," he replied after a moment, swallowing audibly. You heard it clearly, you were so close. So close...

You had to make a quick decision: whether to continue and face the consequences the next day, or, perhaps worse, to be rejected? It was possible that he had learned from your last time together, and didn’t want to get involved with you that way.

"I can show you what I'm thinking," you finally proposed, not blinking for a long moment, just carefully studying the features of his face, any signs of uncertainty or tension. 

Because there was that one small seed of probability that he wanted you too.

His lips parted, but were immediately covered by your kiss. 

Slow and curious. How did he taste after all this time? 

Maybe it was a thought whispered by the moment, but you had the feeling that even better. 

You didn’t play the role of a taster for too long. Soon, still not pulling his lips away from yours, you lifted yourself into a sitting position, propping yourself up with your elbow on the bed, pressing closer to him with every passing moment, more intensely and hungrily. 

Something seemed to haunt you, preventing you from moving any further. Something in his posture—lying on his back, surrendered to your control, yet somehow absent.

You pulled away from his lips, your gazes meeting. There was a certain weakness and sadness in his eyes.

"Is something wrong?" you managed to ask, your voice strangely trembling.

Spencer suddenly sat up, straightening himself, though there was still a slight bend in his shoulders. His movement forced you to pull away from his chest.

"I can't do this," he confessed quietly, taking a deep breath. "I can't sleep with you." In a way, it hurt more than if he had simply refused to let you kiss him. Your forehead furrowed in disappointment and... shock?

"Why?" you asked directly, foregoing any excuses about not aiming for that. Because you had been.

He let out a laugh, filled with pity.

"Because after this, I won’t be able to stop thinking about you. And you, after tonight, won’t want me anymore."

You were breathing heavily, completely unsure of what to say. His words were painfully eye-opening, first and foremost. And secondly... true. Because did you plan, like a normal person, to wake up next to him, greet him, date him? That wasn’t how you operated. In your plans, there was always just one option—escape. Exactly like that time.

You slowly began to slide off the bed, his hand moved to reach for yours, and you hoped he would take it, but at the last moment, he hesitated. He hesitated.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," you reassured him, yet you didn’t look at him the whole time. You sounded stiff, almost reproachful, even though you were the one who should be reproached. You were the problem.

You looked around the floor, used to picking up your clothes from it, but this time there was nothing. Except for the jacket hung up and the ski pants you’d pulled on over your regular ones to avoid freezing in the cold night. Leaving without a word seemed excessive.

Your back rested against the door as you turned to look at him. Your quick-thinking mind raced, searching for something to say to at least salvage some dignity in this situation…

“Let’s pretend this didn’t happen,” you finally suggested.

Spencer was still sitting on the edge of the bed, as if he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to get up or stay there. Eventually, it seemed like he stayed, though you weren’t sure, having already turned toward the door, your hand pressing on the doorknob.

“T-think that’s the best solution,” he admitted, just as one of your feet stepped into the hallway.

Then, you heard someone whistling.

You immediately stepped back into his room, keeping your face turned toward the door.

“Damn, it’s Morgan,” you said, recognizing the person in the hallway by the sound alone. “We better not let him see me leave, or he’ll never leave us alone…”

You expected that when you turned around, you’d find him still sitting on the bed. After all, you hadn’t heard him get up, hadn’t heard him approach. You certainly didn’t expect that, when you turned, his lips would almost immediately attack yours.

It was so unexpected, so sudden, that the back of your head slammed against the door.

“Fuck, sorry…”

But you didn’t think for a second about the pain, nor did you focus on why Spencer had suddenly changed his mind. Your attention was solely on the two of you, two desperate pairs of lips pressing together and pulling apart, never staying away for long.

He pulled you toward him, wrapping his arms around your waist. Unlike the last time, it was your back that hit the mattress first. The cool surface, the heated bodies, and the weight of the layers of clothing between you both.

"You've changed," you noticed.

A different dynamic. The pace was set by him—just moments ago, you were standing by the door, and now, half of your clothes were gone, while the soft skin of your neck was buried under a cascade of messy, impatient kisses.

"Do you like it?" he asked, his face hovering above yours, one hand resting on the bed next to it.

"I haven't gotten enough to say for sure," you replied, teasingly. "But I get the feeling you're more confident now. A lot of practice since last time?"

He shrugged.

"I don't think it's about practice," he said, his hand sliding down your side until it stopped at the waistband of your pants, lingering there but not moving any lower. You reached for his hand, brushing against it before trailing your fingers along its length up to his forearm, feeling one of his veins beneath your fingertips. "I guess... I was just scared you'd leave, and I had to stop you somehow. That’s why I rushed," he admitted.

His gaze lingered mostly on your face, but it wandered across your body, his frustration clear as he eyed the layers of clothing still in his way. Something about his desperation and impatience stirred something playful in you, and you couldn’t resist teasing him.

Propping yourself up on one elbow, you tilted your chin to look at him.

 “If I tried to leave right now, how would you stop me?”

The corner of his mouth twitched at your question, but he decided to play along, nodding thoughtfully.

“I think I’ve got a few ideas.”

“Care to show me?” you asked, your voice dripping with challenge.

For a moment, he didn’t move at all, just kept staring at you, until he allowed himself that first, utterly shameless drop of his gaze and a soft sigh. His lips began their journey, starting at their usual, safe spot on your neck, trailing toward your shoulder, and crossing over your collarbone with deliberate intent. You were still half-sitting, struggling to steady your breathing so your chest wouldn’t rise and fall too much or too quickly, trying not to disrupt him. The first hint of uncertainty appeared between your breasts when his kisses momentarily softened, carefully exploring unfamiliar territory and testing your sensitivity.

You struggled more and more to keep yourself from collapsing fully onto the mattress. But when his cool tongue met your skin, pressing against it so firmly that his forehead brushed against your stomach, relentlessly moving lower, you couldn’t hold out any longer.

He was between your knees, bent in anticipation. He reached them, sliding his hands down your thighs and coaxing them to relax. He fumbled a bit while unbuttoning your pants, and had trouble sliding them down while you were lying there. You lifted your hips to help, even tried to do it yourself, but he stopped your hands, placing them above your head.

“You don’t have to do anything,” he said softly, finally freeing your legs from both pant legs. His hands wrapped around your ankles, his thumb tracing gentle circles around one of them, which somehow completely seized your attention, and you focused solely on that subtle motion. For a moment, you closed your eyes, and when you opened them again, you noticed that his chin was just above your panty line. "Actually, it will be much more pleasant for you if you just focus on feeling and nothing else. I was supposed to show you my ideas, remember?"

“As someone who apologized for being in too much of a hurry, you sure have an unexpectedly large amount of patience now,” you remarked with reproach, lifting your head again. Maybe keeping it down allowed for more comfort and relief for your neck, but on the other hand, the sight of his face immersed between your thighs was simply priceless.

If the sight itself was priceless, how do you describe that feeling?

With every move of his tongue, your hips swayed, adjusted to the rhythm. Often tense, trying to find some outlet, especially when sighs escaped his lips and his cool breath penetrated through you.

"Think I'm gonna cume embarrassingly quickly," you confessed, unsure whether he even understood anything from your sentence, which was at least interwoven with two moans. Three.

When it happened, you uncontrollably squeezed his head with your knees, a similar groan also came from his mouth. 

Spender didn’t stay in that position for long. When you opened your tightly shut eyelids, his face was right above yours, stretched in such satisfaction, as if he was the one receiving pleasure.

"Was it too quick for you?" he asked, still absorbing you with the same gaze, which seemed to pulse with desire. "If you want, we can try again, you’ll surely improve..."

"My God, when did you become so cocky?"

He chuckled, but instead of answering, he once again pressed himself against your body and skin, closing his eyes in devotion and lingering on each spot for as long as it took, as if he could never be satisfied, no matter how much he took in. 

Your hands, instead of tormenting the innocent fabric of the blanket, moved to his back, tightly embracing his neck and basically everything they could latch onto. All of his earlier composure seemed to evaporate; you didn’t even have to ask twice to make him slide in. It actually sounded more like an order than a request, a bit desperate, it's true, but still an order.

"How is it even possible that it feels even better than the last time?” His words, his lips, ticked your neck as he moaned out this question. "Just... I feel like I won’t have enough of you tonight."

"The night is long," you said, almost into the air, not really paying attention to the meaning behind it. "Tomorrow night too."

Spencer stopped, completely. His eyes desperately searched for yours, and when he finally found them, they widened in disbelief.

"Tomorrow night too?" he repeated. "But I thought... I thought you didn't want anything more than a one-night fling…”

"It's already our second," you reminded him. "And I'll be completely honest with you, I don’t want to walk around all day tomorrow sexually frustrated just at the sight of you. Let's make a deal, okay?"

"A deal?"

"Yeah. I'll tell you about it in a moment, but right now...Oh God, I think I’m gonna…”

You both got dressed right after, but not because either of you intended to leave. The temperature inside simply didn’t allow for sleeping naked, no matter how warm you were after sex.

"So?" he asked, handing you the piece of paper you had sent him to the bathroom for. Then he sat on the bed, facing you. "What did you mean by this deal?"

"Well, after thinking about it, I'm not sure if it's a good idea after all..."

"I want to know, even if just out of curiosity."

"You want to know everything, Spence. But fine. I thought maybe... while we're in Alaska, we could just, you know, allow ourselves to do whatever we want. In more direct terms, fuck each other as much as we want.”  

It sounded a bit...crazy? Spencer kept his gaze suspended in the air for a moment before turning it back to you, questioning.

"But only as long as we're in Alaska?"

"Exactly. Since there's only one floor between us, why not take advantage of it?" you tried to joke, lightening the mood.

It didn’t seem to have much effect on him.

"But what happens next? When we get back?"

"Do we really have to think about that?" you wondered, moving closer to him, to the body that just moments ago made you feel so good. "We'll get used to being apart, just like before."

"Okay," he sucked in a breath, clearly torn over the proposal. "I mean, no, I didn’t mean okay... because it doesn’t seem like a great idea, but on the other hand... on the other hand, I really, really want you, even if it only means for this short time."

You smiled, though deep down, somewhere very deep, there was something somber in that gesture. 

Ignoring that, you kissed him to seal the deal. And not just that.

"That was for good night and goodbye."

"Goodbye? You're leaving?" A clear look of disappointment crossed his face, but he quickly shook his head, trying to get rid of it. "Good night, then."

 "It's not that I don't want to stay. It's just that it would be better to be well-rested for work, and I don't think we'd sleep properly if I decided to spend the night here. “

You saw him open his mouth, ready to protest, but you had already gotten up from the bed and started gathering your remaining things.

"Wait," he called as you were about to leave. "You said... you said something that's been bothering me, you know? I can even quote it, so listen up. You said that you don't want to walk around all day tomorrow sexually frustrated just at the sight of me."

You couldn't help but let out a burst of laughter.

"And that bothers you?"

"I don’t understand what you meant by that. What in my behavior makes you feel that way?"

"A lot of things."

"Like what?"

"I'll tell you someday. Maybe it's better if you're not aware of it."

"Hey, now I won’t be able to sleep!"

"Anyway, good night, sweet boy."

*

Almost the first thing in the morning, you found yourselves at the local police station, full of disappointment and anxiety. You had to inform the parents of the missing boy found in the forest that he had been located. But unfortunately, it was not good news.

The first hours of the day passed in constant analysis and discussion, until finally, around noon, you gathered in front of the town's police officers, ready to deliver the profile. You didn’t have much time for any reflection on the previous night, or even for a conversation with Spencer. A sober one this time, when you weren’t intoxicated by desire and each other.

You stood in the corner of the room, listening to Hotch and Gideon.

"The UNSUB is a white male, likely with military experience or, at the very least, extensive survival skills, estimated to be around 50-60 years old. He abducts teenagers, boys, and young men who look younger than their actual age, which suggests he doesn’t know his victims very well."

"If he observes them, it’s for a short period. He doesn’t have time to get to know them but understands their routine and daily schedule well enough to know when to strike."

"He doesn’t drug his victims, which means he is physically capable of abducting them without assistance. This ties into the type of victims he selects. All these boys were more the intellectual type than athletes. When abducted, they were coming from school, tutoring sessions, or the library. David Moore, for instance, was tall but lanky. His family described him as gentle, with a big heart and a passion for learning."

"The UNSUB abandons them in remote forest locations. Forcing them to fight for survival gives him a sense of control and serves as a way to prove his belief that modern society and boys today are incapable of handling adversity. He openly despises them, viewing them as weak and effeminate. His mindset reflects a toxic approach to gender roles and what he considers the traditional male archetype."

“White men aged 50-60 with survival skills make up about half the population here,” a policeman noted. “Take me, for example…”

Hotch began providing more detailed information, while Gideon stepped out of the center of the room, and the atmosphere became more relaxed.

You approached Reid, who was sitting in a chair, and ruffled his hair with your hand.

“Watch your back, genius-boy,” you warned, standing behind him. From his seat, he tilted his head all the way back to look up at you. A smile instantly appeared on his face.

“You might just be next. And we wouldn’t want that.”

“So, you think I’m effeminate?”

"I know very well that you're not. But you do have that intellectual spark in your eyes. And, you know, those glasses don’t help."

Ever since you’d been in Alaska, he’d worn them less often because, as he’d told you while chatting in bed, they kept fogging up. But now, they were perched on his nose, making him look... delectable. Simply delectable.

The rest of your team approached, Elle's gaze lingering on your hand resting on the back of Reid's chair. As usual, she had to notice everything.

"I need to send you all to a few places to check out some individuals the police have identified as matching the profile," Hotch announced. "Y/N and Elle, I’d like you to speak again with the bus driver who drove David Moore just before he was abducted. Once he understands the profile, he might be able to recall more details."

You lingered in the room, wanting to exchange a word with Spencer. In complete privacy... He was slowly wiping his glasses, as if hoping for the same. Watching the movements of his hands, you shook your head.

"This is it—what you asked me about yesterday. What makes me sexually frustrated. Our agreement still stands, right?" you asked, running your hand along his shoulder, just to touch him. Even though the many layers of clothing made it almost impossible to really feel him.

He looked at the glasses he was cleaning, then at you, disbelief written all over his face.

"That's what you meant? Cleaning glasses?"

"Don't judge me. It's about the motion. Or maybe the glasses themselves, I don't know. Maybe I’m a fetishist. Anyway, are you going to answer my question?"

Still seated in the chair, he had to tilt his head back to look at you, which reminded you—just a little, okay, a lot—of another situation where he was down below.

"What about you?" he countered. "You haven’t changed your mind?"

"Absolutely not."

"In that case, yes. It still stands."

“Oh, I don’t know what I’d do if you’d answered differently. See you tonight, then,” you promised, glancing around the room to make sure none of your team members were still there. Just a few local officers... who weren’t paying much attention to you. Even if they were, it wasn’t their business.

You leaned in quickly to kiss him. He closed his eyes, as if hoping for more.

“Not now, and not here. I need to go find Elle. Hotch gave us an assignment. Have a good one.”

You walked away, feeling his gaze on your back.

You found your friend in the car, one of those suited for tough terrain, with high tires. She was sitting behind the wheel, tapping her nails on it.

"So, what was the address of that driver?" you asked, fastening your seatbelt.

"Forgive my bluntness, darling, but I’ll die if I don’t know. What was that all about?"

"What do you mean, ‘What was that all about’?"

"Oh, come on, you know exactly what I mean. Messing with his hair, the chair, the looks. Are you two sleeping together again?"

You technically had no reason to hide anything from her, after all, you trusted her completely and had never hesitated to talk about your sex life. But this time... you kind of liked the idea of keeping whatever happened between you and Spencer just between the two of you.

"I have no idea what you're talking about. We're just acting like we usually do," you said.

"Yeah?" She raised an eyebrow, slowly pulling away from the police station, her gaze shifting between the road and you. "Then what were those sounds last night from his room?"

"Oh shit, did we make noise?"

She smiled triumphantly.

"I don't know, you tell me. I'm just teasing you. I'm on a completely different floor. But I'll take that as an admission of guilt."

"Manipulative bitch!"

"I'll take that as a compliment. So?"

You rolled your eyes with a heavy sigh, but eventually, you confirmed her suspicion with a nod.

"I thought you didn't sleep with the same guy twice."

"The air in Alaska really does something strange to me."

"Sure. The air," she scoffed, and you furrowed your brows in slight confusion, looking at her, waiting for her to elaborate. The car glided along one of those completely empty, snow-covered roads where there was nothing to focus on. "You know, I wonder why you just don't admit that you like him?"

"I don't hide the fact that I like him."

"Then why not give it a try?"

"Try what, Elle?"

She glanced at you sideways, her lips tightening at your obviously irritated tone. She didn't mean to upset you, of course, but that's how you felt. She sighed, as if thinking about how to approach the subject.

"You've learned to live with it," she finally began, slowly and cautiously weighing her words. "With that fear. Of intimacy and commitment."

"It's just a preference."

"No, it's not a preference. It's fear. You're afraid that if you get emotionally close to someone, you'll be abandoned, and you don't want to risk another painful loss. You want to have full control over the relationship and disappear when you feel like it's fading. Usually in the morning. It's a common mechanism, and it's not just about you. And no mechanism can be broken without making an attempt."

"Elle, stop. You're profiling me, and you know how much I hate that."

And actually, you hated being confronted with the truth about yourself and being internally forced to draw conclusions about yourself.

It was easy, living without reflecting on oneself. Especially when those reflections were painful. You could hurt yourself, unsuccessfully trying to confront them, or flow along with their current, completely subordinated to them and deaf to the words of others, who said you were only hurting yourself in the bigger picture.

 Elle dropped the subject, as you had arrived at the house of the man you were supposed to interview. She didn’t bring it up again afterward. The hours at work passed, and you only waited for that specific moment when you'd cross the threshold of that room again.

The previous night danced vividly in your mind, never slowing down or taking a break for a moment. As soon as he opened the door, you threw yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his neck, kissing his face, and unbuckling his belt.

Spencer took a sharp breath, shocked and amused, as soon as you touched him.

"It would be incredibly awkward if someone were at my place right now," he chuckled into your mouth, half of his sentence drowned out by your kiss.

You pulled your face away just slightly, raising your eyebrows. It was only then that you noticed he was wearing glasses. Oh, he was so completely unaware of what you were about to do to him...

"How many people do you bring to yourself every night?" you asked.

"In that regard, only you. Besides, this is only the second time, so I wouldn’t call it every night... but I could always be here with someone, talking..."

"Keeping each other warm," you added.

Your hands slid under the fabric of his clothes, brushing the lower part of his stomach.

He noticeably tensed under your fingers, swallowing slowly, impatient and pleading.

"Engaging in a worldview discussion and exchanging conclusions," he finished, a smile playing on his lips.

"Uh-huh. Exactly like we are now. Honestly, does that turn you on? Do you want me to share my political views while you’re eating me out?” 

"This is probably the only scenario in which you could make me not feel pleasure because of it."

His hands hesitated, roaming uncertainly across your body, unsure of where to start. They brushed over so many spots, moving from one to the next, chaotic and desperate. 

You didn’t know where to focus – on the lips in the hollow of your neck, on the hand on your hips, or the other, slipping lower and lower?

Or perhaps on that sound, right by your ear, sweet, pleading whimper?

Moan left your body just for that reason and you already knew how you wanted the rest of the night to unfold. 

You gently pushed him back, and with quickened breath, you dropped to one knee, then the other.

"After yesterday, I couldn't stop thinking about you," you confessed, making sure your lips were close enough to his body as you spoke. You heard him inhale sharply, whispering something under his breath. "I couldn't focus on work at all. So today, I want to take care of you, completely."

You thought he would be satisfied with the offer; well, it was hard to deny that he was. Still, for some reason, he started shaking his head.

"N-no, that's not... I want to do it. Take care of you, I mean."

You couldn’t stop smiling, but at the same time, you weren’t about to back down, which should probably be enough to describe the dynamics of the following hours. 

At times, it was brutally slow, while at other moments, it was hurried and impressive. Sometimes, you interrupted each other constantly, unable to stop talking, and at other times, the only sound filling the room was your two breaths, the only constant, restless, and laced with moans and cries.

"You’re not leaving me tonight, right?" he asked, drawing closer to your body and holding you almost pleadingly. You laughed against his skin, shaking your head in denial.

 "At some point, I will have to. For about fifteen minutes, before everyone wakes up."

 "You’ll say you just came by for something. To ask a question or something," he tried to convince you.

 "Oh, at this early hour, looking like I’ve just done a two-hour workout? Derek would eat us alive. His eyebrow would never drop again. If I ever end up in hell, it will be with him there, looking at me like that." You tried to mimic his expression, tensing your jaw as you did.

"Stop, I feel harassed."

"You see? And if he found out about us, this is how the next... God, I can’t even predict when he’d get tired of it. Maybe in a year. Do you want to suffer for another whole year just to be with me for an extra fifteen minutes?"

 "I’d be able to survive that," he declared quietly, placing his hand under your head and playing with your hair with one of his fingers. "But if you don’t want it, I’m not going to waste time and try to convince you."

"Sure," you scoffed playfully. "So many things could be done in that time."

"Like what?" he asked, clearly intrigued. "Try to sleep. What were you hoping for?"

"Nothing, nothing. But you used a plural in that sentence and then only gave one thing. So, I’m waiting for the rest."

"That’s an overinterpretation."

"More like a simple analysis of sentence structure."

"Maybe sometimes it's better to analyze a little less. Spencer."

 "I don’t think I’m capable of that," he admitted, his tone a little more serious. You furrowed your brow, looking at his pale face in the weak light, showing signs of the night’s exhaustion. "That’s just how my brain works. It doesn’t give me much time to rest."

You often wondered what the world looked like from his perspective. How, in many ways, his genius was both a revelation and a curse. But you’d never heard him complain about it—until now. In fact, it wasn’t even a complaint, just a statement of fact, somewhat melancholy.

You kissed the top of his head, hoping it would have a soothing effect.

And indeed, it worked. He moved even closer to you, rested his head, and after a moment, almost at the same time, your eyelids fell.

*

The morning passed slowly and longingly, even though you were still so close to each other. However, there was the awareness that with the arrival of the day, you would have to wait many, many hours before you saw each other again. In a similar way, you meant. After all, at work, you constantly spent time together, which only made everything more difficult. It would have been much easier to push him out of your head and focus, if it weren’t for that.

Meanwhile, Spencer, perhaps trying to gently play on your nerves, cleaned his glasses much more often than necessary. But there was also the possibility that he was doing it the same amount as usual, and you were just imagining it.

"Are you doing that again?" Morgan nodded in his direction as a greeting when you were sitting in the guesthouse room that served as your team's meeting place. There was a long table in there, similar to the one in your office, but much narrower. Sitting across from Reid, you could easily touch his hand. If you wanted to. "Is this some new nervous tic of yours? Polishing them?"

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," Spencer furrowed his brow in mock surprise, stopping the corner of his mouth from twitching. You kicked him under the table, and he couldn’t suppress a gasp.

To hide your amusement, you covered your face with your hand, but Morgan immediately picked up on it.

"Is this some new inside joke of yours?"

"He’s literally just polishing his glasses, leave him alone," you said.

Morgan’s eyebrows raised in the same way you had imitated him the night before. Neither of you could hold it in and burst into laughter.

"What’s going on?" JJ asked, walking into the room.

"Something very strange is going on," Derek announced mysteriously, staring at you both intently. His hands were resting on his hips, and his head tilted in thought. "Something very strange..."

Then Hotch arrived, even more serious than usual, which immediately dispelled the good mood. The rest of the team also arrived—Elle and Gideon—and everyone took their seats at the table.

"In the past few hours, there hasn’t been any concerning missing person reports," Hotch informed you. "On one hand, that’s good; on the other, it means the unsub will strike again soon. And we can’t let that happen."

"And you even have a plan," Gideon stated, with some sort of understanding in his eyes.

Hotch looked at you all with hesitation before nodding in confirmation.

"That's right, I have. I've concluded that we have no choice but to set a trap."

At those words, his gaze rested on Spencer, which was enough for you to figure it all out even before the main subject did.

"With all due respect, Hotch, have you lost your mind?!"

And how exactly do you envision this?" Elle asked, not as shaken as you but clearly concerned. "Sure, he fits the profile of his victims, but how is he supposed to set himself up? Walk around town and hope to get kidnapped?"

"At least two of the victims were abducted on the same stretch of road, after getting off the bus at the same isolated bus stop while walking home alone. It’s an exceptionally safe location for him," your boss explained.

"Honestly, I’m not convinced," Derek interjected, staring ahead with a furrowed brow. "I just don’t think he’d use the exact same spot again. Word has probably spread around the area that the FBI is on the case. He might be more cautious and change his methods."

"But he might just as well try again," JJ said quietly. You looked at her with clear surprise, as you had expected that, with her characteristic care for the team, she would be against the idea. "Right now, it’s the only thing we can do to try to prevent another abduction."

You drew a breath, understanding her arguments but remaining entirely opposed. Your gaze finally fell on Spencer, for the first time since the idea had even been brought up. He was sitting very upright, his brow furrowed, and he slowly began nodding.

"JJ’s right, it’s the only thing we can do," he said. He wasn’t looking at Hotch, nor even at the team as a whole—he was looking at you, directly and only at you. A calming, slightly nervous smile crossed his face, making you scoff. "Nothing’s going to happen to me. You’ll all be around, on the bus, near the stop."

With his words, the decision was made, and all you could do was shake your head in disbelief.

"I want to be on the same bus," you declared desperately, crossing your arms over your chest. You simply couldn’t reconcile with the fact that Spencer was willingly putting himself in harm's way—especially when the unsub's desire was to hurt people like him. "I’ll pose as a civilian. A random young woman. I shouldn’t seem like a threat, and someone from our team has to be inside."

"You’re right," Hotch replied, looking at you with sharp attention. "But it will be Elle."

You and your friend exchanged a confused look, startled by the firmness in his voice.

"I don’t think it makes much of a difference," she tried to intervene, which made you feel grateful.

Although, it didn’t change anything…

"I’m not obligated to explain myself to you about this decision, especially in front of the entire team. This is an order," Hotch announced with almost brutal professionalism. "The only thing I can say is that we need someone who won’t break character until the very end. Someone who won’t let emotions cloud their judgment."

"Are you sure you’re up for this?" Gideon asked, directing the question at Spencer. His tone was understanding, prepared to accept any refusal without judgment.

This time, he didn’t look at you. As Spencer nodded in confirmation, he actually avoided your gaze.

"Then we have the whole day to prepare for the sting. Let’s hope this leads to catching the unsub," Hotch concluded the meeting, signaling that you could leave the table.

You were torn between staying and screaming at your boss or leaving the room after Reid. Well, the second option wouldn’t get you fired. And, honestly, it seemed like the better choice. It turned out he wanted to talk to you too, as he was clearly waiting for you in the narrow hallway of the inn, where animal antlers hung on the walls and an informational board about moose was displayed.

"Are you angry because I want to do this?" he asked, the narrow walls around you making you stand quite close. Well, not as close as you could be, but close enough to add gravity to the conversation and allow you to study his face carefully.

Especially his determination. The determination for this job, for solving the case, and for preventing others from suffering the same tragic fate at the hands of this killer. Finally, you understood that your reaction was a bit irrational. Because if the victims were young women with your looks... you’d agree to it without hesitation. Some hypocrisy, huh?

"No. I'm just terrified that you're going to do this," you confessed, your honesty and concern making his face twitch in surprise. You snorted, trying to ease the tension. "I’m angry at Hotch for calling me emotionally unstable in front of all of you."

Spencer smiled gently, though there was stress hiding behind it. He may have been determined to go through with it, but that didn’t change the fact that there was fear accompanying him. He tried not to show it, but anyone in his position would feel it.

"Well, in his defense, he phrased it a bit more subtly."

You let out a soft laugh, stretching your arm out to gently touch his forearm. As your hand slid up, you leaned in a little, the simple gesture helping you feel more grounded and at ease.

His gaze followed your movements with a gentle satisfaction. You didn’t pull him closer, you were simply stroking his arm in that easy, caring way that calmed both of you.

"You’ve never done this before, have you?" you asked quietly. "You’ve never put yourself in this position like this."

He shook his head in denial.

"I’m really... really worried that I’ll do something wrong and we won’t be able to catch him because of me."

"You should worry about yourself, Spencer. Not about that. I’m sure you’ll play your part better than anyone could. "But I really regret that I won’t be able to be right next to you, in case something goes wrong."

His lips parted and closed in a kind of... amusement?

"I was going to say that maybe Hotch could be convinced, but then I realized, no, he won’t be. No matter what you say. And besides, having you there wouldn’t let me focus fully."

"I’m aware of that," you joked, tossing your hair dramatically. "After all, I look stunning."

"I was more referring to the fact that I’d be focused only on making sure nothing happens to you, but yeah. That’s one of the reasons too."

You fell silent, oddly moved by that confession. It was so simple, driven by care, affectionate. And it definitely made your head spin in the context of your relationship. You shook your head, pulling yourself away from those thoughts. As long as you were in Alaska, you could afford anything. After that, who knows.

You swallowed and put on a playful expression, it came with some effort, but you managed.

"Okay, genius-boy. Let me prepare you. You need to know how to behave."

"I thought I was just supposed to be myself," he noted, letting you pull him by the wrist.

"Well, mostly, yes. But it's still better to rehearse, get you into character. Don't you have any random fun facts to share?"

"I always have some fun facts to share. An endless amount."

"We'll see."

For the rest of the day, up until the inevitable moment of setting the trap for the unsub, you listened carefully to everything he had to say. His constant chatter allowed him to occupy his mind, pushing the stress aside to the point that, when it was time for him to head to the designated location, he seemed almost surprised that the hour had come. Only then did certain shadows begin to cross his face.

You paced restlessly around the inn as the whole team prepared. Your task was to take a position with Gideon at a certain distance from the bus stop, to cut off the unsub's escape route if necessary. The bus driver had agreed to cooperate, and JJ was giving him instructions, asking him to act as naturally as possible. There were to be no civilians on board, only Elle and a few inconspicuous local police officers. Hotch and JJ planned to follow the bus from a distance by car. Morgan was to lay low at the bus stop, also posing as a civilian.

You moved closer to Spencer, breathing heavily, his presence alone calming you down.

“You’ll be fine,” you reassured him just before you were about to leave. Morgan gave him an encouraging pat on the shoulder, and everyone was still gathered around you. You gently hugged him, just as any other friend would, just like Elle and JJ had moments before.

He, on the other hand, wasn’t concerned with appearances. He wrapped his arm around your shoulders and rested his chin on top of your head in a strong, lingering embrace.

“Y/N, you and Gideon need to go now," Hotch interrupted.

As you were walking away, you noticed out of the corner of your eye that he also gave Reid a brief squeeze on the shoulder.

It was a truly tense moment. You found yourself in a position where you had no visibility on what was happening inside the bus, nor could you gauge the gravity of the situation. All you could hear through the earpiece was Elle's whispered signal informing you that the suspect, fitting the profile, had just entered the vehicle.

And even though you didn’t have high hopes for the plan, everything unfolded exactly as it was meant to. Spencer exited the bus, and the unsub followed him. The suspect seemed intent on tracking him down that desolate, shadowy road, planning to attack and abduct him. But at the last moment, Reid turned, and before the man could react, he was surrounded by the police.

On your last night in Alaska, you found yourself on top, with his head resting against the headboard of the bed, his hands placed on your hips, and in a position where you could look at each other and talk.

"You really did great today," you praised, leaning in to gently kiss his collarbone.

He didn't seem flattered by your words, no smile on his lips, just that sad, aching expression that caused you pain. Wanting to shake off the feeling, you quickened your movements, hoping it would work, but then he tightened his embrace, making you slow down once again.

"I want... I want to enjoy you," he said with a slightly embarrassed tone, his fingers tracing restless, tender circles on your bare skin. "Since this is our last time together."

For a moment, he gazed at your face, as if hoping you would say something. But he couldn't find any trace in your expression that would suggest you had changed your mind. The small, naive spark in his eyes faded. Elle's words about breaking the cycle echoed in your mind, but not in your heart. You couldn't turn them into reality; you simply couldn't. The agreement remained the agreement.

Once you returned, everything would go back to how it was before.

another author's note: I plan to create a tag list and I want to know who among you would like to be on it. please, let me know in the comments.

[svmjaeyvn]

hidden love, l.hs

synopsis: there were two things that park jongseong reiterated to you growing up.

1: he was the better, funnier, smarter, awesomer sibling and always would be, and 2: you were to never, ever, fall for any guys like his friends, literally and figuratively.

the first was a lie, one you always rolled your eyes at and the second was something 12-year-old you always agreed to without hesitation. but with time, they soon both became a fib from your lips, 14-year-old you coming to the disastrous realization that boys weren't as icky as you once thought and your older brother's best friend had the prettiest smile (when he wasn't being annoying.) as you continued to grow older, those fluttering emotions grew as well, even with him heading off to university it seemed to leave you with a sense of longing, happier than ever when he'd visit.

until you were 16 and he came home with a girl, one that was far prettier than you were able to compete with in your head and nice enough to be a saint. your hopeless, devastating one-sided crush was forced to be swallowed without much pride, though it held no avail until you dramatically decided to never speak to heeseung again. and it worked, ignoring all his calls and texts, avoiding your family home like the plague whenever your brother was home for break if he was visiting, and simply acting entirely clueless in the unfortunate circumstances that you did end up caught by him, chalking it up to dramatic teenage hormones.

once you reached the age of it being your turn to head to college, you signed up for every exchange program possible, leaving you traveling the world for three years that passed with no contact and your once-upon-a-time crush nearly forgotten. that was until you came back home, finally settling to finish uni and all of a sudden you were a kid again, fawning over your brother's best friend who didn't know how to leave you alone. this time though, heeseung didn't see you as that annoying kid who followed jay around, he saw you for you which scared him so much more with how you've grown and nothing was worse than him feeling something for his best friend's off-limits little sister.

featuring: lee heeseung, park jongseong, sim jaeyun, park sunghoon, nishimura riki, kim sunoo, yang jungwon, hanni pham, kim chaweon, yoon keeho, yoon yechan

status: writing. start: 03/30/24. end: tba.

genre: non-idol!au, college/young adult!enha, heeseung x reader, slight age gap (4 years), brothers best friend trope

content & warnings: age gap??? (slightly questionable morality but no romantic feelings or grooming since they end up with no contact for years until adulthood), cursing, drinking, all that jazz, innuendos, sexual humor, suggestive content, possible smut, forbidden relationship, sneaking around, overprotective jay, jay tries to fight heeseung cause duh, crazy exs, stalker mention, slow burn since they're both in denial, heeseung kind of toxic mentality which is forced to be fix, angst but fluffy ending (?)

a/n: based off the cdrama. watched it months ago but shit had me giggling and kicking my feet even if it's cliche. heeseung is so forbbidden older love coded i had to. im trying to make this a oneshot so well see how long it is,,,,,,, the plot will develop from when they were kids to adulthood to provide some background. once the actual romance starts heeseung will be 24 and reader will be 20 (the year will be 2025). all my drafts and writing has been about jake so im branching out (i love my man tho so he'll have his moments here). anyway! lets see how long it takes me to finish up this one

word count: 6k (as of now)

taglist: closed! (86 of you have responded omg)

[velvetburberry]

How I manifested my dad being the CEO of a big company:

1. I affirmed for a bit but then I didnt feel like affirming and I had other things i wanted to affirm about so i stopped affirming and I would only affirm for like 2 to 3 times like once a day maybe lol.

2. I accepted the fact that my dad has a great job. It was hard for me to accept something just like that but I pushed through that feeling. Everytime I would see him at home and not at office, I would just think "Oh well he is working from home for a bit"

3. Everytime I had thoughts like "My dad doesn't have a job" I would change that to "no he does! what am i talking about lol"

4. I didnt try to "feel it real" or robotically affirm. These methods are amazing and 100% works and robotically affirming is something I really like too and do often but I just didnt want to put more efforts in this because I knew I could do it even without doing the methods.

5. Did I feel miserable sometimes when I would see him getting worried or frustrated? Yes. But it didnt matter. Everytime I would feel really frustrated, I didnt do anything and just let myself feel what I want to feel and moved on.

6. Unlike my other desires, this one wasnt on my mind all the time. I didnt think about it that much. Only when something in the 3d contradicted with what I desired did I think about it.

It doesnt matter if you're obsessed with what you desire or if you arent. It doesnt matter if you think about it all the time or if you dont. It doesnt matter if you're manifesting in steps or if you're just accepting it as true. It will still work regardless. Because everything is an assumption.

A bit backstory: My dad lost his job around December of last year and since my family is financially stable, it didnt bother me that much. But then months passed and he wasnt getting a job even though he was really qualified. I was busy with my exams so I still didnt think about it much. But then I was bothered seeing him sad and at home all the time, so i decided to manifest a job. It's a great job in one of the best companies in our country so I'm really happy. It's not like he was a CEO of any company before. He is really good at his job but getting a CEO position in such a huge company is a really big deal. He gave an interview in that company MONTHS ago but they didnt get back to him after the interview so we all thought he didnt get the job. So it was a really big deal that they suddenly decided to employ him. I would show yall photos of the car they gave him but I'm scared any of my family member will be on this app and they will find out😭 not that they care about it. They are chill lol.

Tldr: Affirmed whenever I felt like it and accepted that he has a job and it's a great position. Thats all really.