#best mid range phone of the year

[liesmyth]

new phone purchase is sending me into a stress spiral because. confession time. I've never bought a new phone in my life, ever. so now I'm looking at this brave new world and the prices are... WHAT? I can't wrap my head around it. I have some money saved. I could afford something cool. But why the fuck should I want to spend that much money on a phone I only use to chat and to take photos. But also I want this purchase to last a few years, so I feel like being cheap now might bite me in the ass later?

But seriously. WHAT the fuck are those prices. do people actually pay that much money. what

[reidmarieprentiss]

Lost & Found

Summary: You suffer memory loss after an accident, only remembering your sister, Emily, and not your boyfriend, Spencer.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff, angst, hurt/comfort

Warnings/Includes: car accident, depressive thoughts, fighting, crying, memory loss, struggling with memory loss, showering together, suggestive content (16+), use of Y/N

Word count: 19.6k

a/n: this reminds me of the vow lol my bad but i already wrote it sooo

main masterlist

The sun had just begun to rise over Washington, D.C., casting long shadows across the bustling streets. You were driving to work, your thoughts on the day ahead, when the unthinkable happened. Out of nowhere, a semi-truck barreled down the road, its brakes screaming in protest, unable to halt its deadly path. There was no time to react. The world slowed as the massive vehicle collided with the driver’s side of your car, the sound of metal crunching filling the air like a thunderclap.

—

Spencer Reid sat in a sterile conference room, surrounded by maps and case files in a small town in Missouri. He was miles away from home, yet his mind kept drifting back to you. It had been a little over two years since you and Spencer began dating, and in that time, he had come to rely on your comforting presence. Even though he was away, the two of you made it a point to call each other whenever possible, exchanging stories about your days and sharing a few jokes. Today, he hadn’t heard from you yet, and a nagging feeling tugged at the back of his mind.  

The shrill ring of his phone jolted Spencer out of his thoughts. Hotch was in mid-sentence when Spencer abruptly stood up, excusing himself from the meeting as he glanced down at the caller ID and recognized your best friend’s name. 

“Hey, Spencer! Sorry for calling so early, I just wanted to ask if you knew what Y/N would like for her birthday dinner!” they chirped, their voice a bit muffled from what sounded like some activity in the background. “She’s so picky, you know! Maybe we could make a surprise for her?”

“I...I don’t know. I haven’t spoken to her yet today,” Spencer admitted, his voice nearly shaking. “But she loves Italian food, maybe pasta?” 

“Oh, of course! I’ll start with that, then. Thanks, Spencer!” they replied before hanging up, oblivious to the gravity of the situation.

The call left Spencer feeling hollow, a growing sense of dread gnawing at him. He sank back into his chair, his mind reeling. Moments later, his phone rang again, and he picked it up without even glancing at the screen. This time, the voice on the other end was urgent and frantic, and Spencer’s heart sank as he listened. 

"Hello?" he said, trying to keep his voice steady, though the room was still buzzing around him.

“Spencer Reid?” a calm, authoritative voice inquired on the other end.

“Yes, this is he,” Spencer replied, straightening up slightly as he recognized the tone of someone delivering important information.

“This is St. Agnes Hospital in Washington, D.C.," the voice continued. "I’m calling about Y/N L/N.”

Spencer's heart skipped a beat. The mention of your name brought everything else to a halt, and he felt a wave of apprehension wash over him.

“She has been in an accident,” the voice said, and Spencer could hear the weight behind those words. “You are listed as her emergency contact, how soon can you get here?”

He froze, unable to process the words as they echoed in his mind. “An accident?” he finally managed, his voice barely above a whisper. "What happened?"

“There was a collision with a semi-truck,” the hospital staffer explained, their voice professional yet tinged with compassion. “Y/N was seriously injured. She’s currently in surgery, but it’s critical.”

Spencer's mind raced, each word like a punch to his gut. “Is she—” he started, his voice breaking. “Is she going to be okay?”

“We’re doing everything we can, Dr. Reid,” the worker reassured him gently. “But you should get here as soon as you can.”

He nodded, though the person on the other end couldn't see him, trying to gather his thoughts through the haze of shock. The room around him felt surreal, the voices of his colleagues fading into the background.

“Thank you,” Spencer managed to say, his voice shaky with barely restrained panic. “I’m on my way from Missouri, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

As he ended the call, Spencer abruptly returned, shoes pounding against the floor. His teammates noticed the sudden change in his demeanor, their conversations pausing as they turned to him with concern.

“Spencer?” Emily asked, noticing the ashen look on his face. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Y/N,” Spencer said, his voice tight with urgency. “There’s been an accident. I need to get home.”

Without waiting for a response, he grabbed his things, already planning his route to the nearest airport in his head. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing the urgency to be by your side, to hold your hand, to be there when you needed him most.

“We’ll cover things here,” Hotch assured him, stepping forward. “Go.”

“Thanks,” Spencer replied, his voice holding gratitude and desperation. He turned to leave, his thoughts solely focused on getting back to you, hoping with every fiber of his being that he wouldn’t be too late.

—

Spencer couldn’t remember the flight home. The moments blurred together as his mind replayed the words over and over: life support, coma, severe accident. They echoed in his head, refusing to let him think of anything else. His team had rallied around him, offering words of support and handling the details to get him back as quickly as possible. 

As the plane touched down in Washington, Spencer felt the full weight of the situation crashing down on him. His legs trembled as he stood, a numbness spreading through his body as he made his way through the terminal. 

The hospital was a short drive away, and yet it felt like an eternity. He barely registered the buildings and streets flashing by as he sat in the back seat of a cab, his heart pounding with each passing moment. 

Finally, he arrived at the hospital, a large, imposing building that now seemed more like a fortress. Spencer rushed through the doors, barely acknowledging the bustling activity around him as he focused solely on reaching you. He navigated the maze of hallways with a determination that surprised even him, eventually finding his way to the ICU. 

Your room was sterile and filled with the rhythmic beeping of machines, each sound a stark reminder of your fragile condition. Spencer stopped short at the sight of you lying in the hospital bed, tubes and wires snaking across your body. His heart wrenched at the sight, a profound ache settling in his chest as he slowly approached. 

“Y/N,” he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. 

He took a shaky breath, feeling the enormity of the situation press down on him. He felt helpless, watching the steady rise and fall of your chest with the assistance of the ventilator, knowing there was nothing he could do to change what had happened. 

Spencer reached out, his hand trembling as he gently took yours. The warmth of your skin was a small comfort, a reminder that you were still there, still fighting. 

“I’m here,” he said softly, his voice breaking as he spoke. “I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. Please, Y/N... please come back to me.” 

The room was silent except for the steady hum of the machines, and Spencer felt a tear slide down his cheek. He brushed it away, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. 

—

The hours that followed were a blur. Spencer sat by your side, his hand never leaving yours as he kept a silent vigil. The nurses and doctors came and went, their words and actions a distant murmur as Spencer focused solely on you. He remembered snippets of conversations, assurances that you were receiving the best care possible, and updates on your condition that offered little comfort. 

In those moments, Spencer clung to hope. He recalled all the times you had smiled at him, the way your eyes lit up when you were excited or passionate about something. He remembered the quiet moments you shared, the laughter and love that had blossomed between you over the past years. 

—

Three Days Later

Spencer hadn’t left the hospital since he arrived. The team had been by his side, offering support and keeping him company, but he barely registered their presence. All that mattered was you, and the hope that you would wake up and return to him. 

On the third day, the doctor came in with a more hopeful expression than before. He checked the monitors, made some notes, and then turned to Spencer with a small smile. 

“There’s been some improvement,” he said gently. “It’s a good sign. We’re going to try reducing the sedation and see how she responds.”

Spencer felt a flicker of hope at the words, his heart clenching with a mix of anticipation and fear. He nodded, unable to trust his voice as he watched the doctor adjust the IV line. They assured him they would keep him informed as soon as your surgery was complete and directed him to the waiting area, where he could collect himself while waiting for more information.

Spencer made his way to the waiting room, his thoughts a whirlwind of emotions. Memories of you together flooded his mind: the quiet evenings spent curled up on the couch, the laughter shared over inside jokes, and the whispered promises of a future together. He sat down, feeling the weight of uncertainty pressing down on him, wondering what the next few hours would bring.

—

The hours stretched on interminably, each tick of the clock echoing loudly in Spencer's ears as he waited in the sterile waiting room. He couldn't bring himself to focus on anything other than the thought of you, lying in surgery, fighting for your life. The antiseptic smell of the hospital, the murmur of other patients and visitors, all faded into the background as he replayed every memory he had of you in his mind, trying to cling to the hope that you would pull through.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, a doctor approached Spencer with a solemn expression. "Dr. Reid?" the doctor asked, and Spencer quickly stood, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Yes, that's me," Spencer replied, his voice fullof hope and anxiety.

"The surgery was successful," the doctor said, offering a small, reassuring smile. "We were able to stabilize her, and she's currently in the ICU under observation."

Spencer felt a rush of relief wash over him, though the gravity of the situation was still heavy on his shoulders. "Thank you," he said sincerely, his voice trembling with emotion. "Thank you so much."

The doctor nodded, understanding the depth of Spencer's gratitude. "She's not out of the woods yet," the doctor continued, "but she's made it through the worst part. However, I need to prepare you for the possibility that there may be complications. We won't know the full extent until she regains consciousness."

Spencer nodded, taking in the doctor's words with a mix of relief and apprehension. He felt his breath catch in his throat, knowing that there was still a long road ahead, but grateful for the chance to be by your side as you began to recover.

—

You pulled through, but it wasn't without its challenges. When you finally awoke, the room was filled with the soft beeping of monitors and the faint hum of medical equipment. Everything felt disorienting as you blinked against the harsh fluorescent lights, trying to make sense of where you were and what had happened.

Spencer was at your side, his eyes filled with relief and worry as he watched you stir. He reached out to take your hand, squeezing it gently in reassurance. "Y/N," he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. "You're awake."

You turned your head slightly, trying to focus on the man before you. He looked somewhat familiar, yet your mind struggled to place him. The last thing you remembered was being 18, living with your sister Emily, and yet here you were, in a hospital bed, with a stranger by your side.

"Who are you?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. The question hung in the air, heavy with the weight of uncertainty.

Spencer felt his heart drop at your words, a painful realization settling in. He had hoped that when you woke up, everything would be back to normal, that you would go back to the life you had built together. But the look of confusion and fear in your eyes told him everything he needed to know.

"I'm Spencer," he said gently, trying to keep his voice steady despite the turmoil inside. "I'm your boyfriend. We've been together for over two years. You live with me."

You shook your head slowly, trying to wrap your mind around his words. It felt like a dream, a reality you couldn't quite grasp. "No," you said, your voice breaking with frustration and fear. "I live with my sister, Emily. I don't know you."

Spencer felt a wave of sadness wash over him, but he forced himself to stay strong for you. He knew this was a possibility, that the trauma of the accident could have affected your memory, but hearing it from you was a different reality altogether. He took a deep breath, his heart aching with every word he prepared to say.

“Um, no. I—I don’t know how to tell you this, but, uh…” Spencer tried to speak through the tears coming on, his voice trembling. “You are 25 years old, Emily is 38,  and you work as a liaison for the Sex Crimes Unit in the FBI. Emily and I work together in the Behavioral Analysis Unit. We met through Emily, and now you live with me. You were in a severe car accident three days ago, and you may be suffering from amnesia.”

His words hung in the air like a cloud, heavy and dense, as you struggled to process what he was telling you. The hospital room felt colder, the sterile smell more pronounced, as your mind tried to catch up with the information being presented to you. Everything he said felt distant and unfamiliar, like a story someone else was telling, not your own life.

“Amnesia?” you repeated, the word foreign on your tongue. You could feel panic beginning to rise in your chest, the fear of the unknown pressing down on you. “How is this possible? I—I don’t remember any of this.”

Spencer’s heart broke at the fear in your eyes, and he longed to reach out and comfort you. But he knew that, to you, he was a stranger, someone who claimed to know you but didn’t feel real. He had to tread carefully, to give you space to process the situation at your own pace.

“It’s okay,” Spencer said softly, his eyes filled with compassion. “I know this is a lot to take in. You’ve been through so much, and I’m here for you. We can take this one step at a time. Whatever you need, I’m here to help.”

You looked at him, studying his face for any sign of deception or recognition, but all you saw was sincerity. It was both comforting and unsettling. Here was a man who seemed to care deeply for you, yet you couldn’t find a single memory to support his claims. It was like standing at the edge of a vast, unknown ocean, unsure whether to step forward or retreat.

“I just... I don’t understand how I got here,” you said, your voice small and uncertain, the edges of panic sharpening your words. Your eyes filled with tears as you grappled with the enormity of your situation. “Where’s Emily? I want to see Emily,” you added, the tears now spilling over, and you could feel your chest tighten with fear and helplessness. 

Spencer felt a painful twist in his heart as he watched you cry, the sight of your distress cutting through him like a knife. He knew how much you relied on Emily before, but he had been your rock these past years. To not be able to comfort you in your time of need tore him apart. Despite the situation, he felt a glimmer of relief that you still remembered your sister, a familiar anchor in a sea of unfamiliar faces and places.

“She’s at home sleeping. I’ll give her a call,” Spencer assured you, reaching for his phone with a steady hand, though inside he felt anything but calm. He wanted to be the one to comfort you, to hold you and tell you that everything would be okay, but he understood that right now, Emily was the person you needed most. 

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. You wiped at your tears, feeling both grateful and overwhelmed by the kindness of this man who seemed so determined to help you, even though you couldn’t remember him.

Spencer stepped out into the hallway to make the call, wanting to give you a moment of privacy. The hospital corridor was quiet, save for the distant murmur of medical staff and the occasional beep of machinery. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself before dialing Emily’s number. 

“Spencer?” Emily’s voice was groggy but instantly alert as she answered the call, concern evident in her tone. “Is everything okay? How’s Y/N?”

Spencer swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on him. “Emily, she’s awake,” he said, his voice tight with emotion. “But she doesn’t remember anything from the past seven years. She thinks she’s still living with you.”

“Oh my God,” Emily breathed, the shock clear in her voice. “Is she okay? What did the doctors say?”

“They think it’s retrograde amnesia caused by the trauma of the accident,” Spencer explained, running a hand through his hair as he spoke. “She’s asking for you, Emily. She’s really scared.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Emily promised, already moving to get dressed. “Tell her I’m on my way, okay? And Spencer... thank you for being there with her. I know this must be incredibly hard for you.”

Spencer nodded, even though Emily couldn’t see him. “I’ll tell her. Drive safely.”

After ending the call, Spencer returned to your room, his heart heavy with the knowledge of how disorienting this must be for you. He found you sitting up slightly, your eyes still red from crying but showing a flicker of hope at the mention of your sister.

“Emily’s on her way,” Spencer said gently, offering you a small, reassuring smile. “She should be here soon.”

You nodded, the knowledge that Emily was coming bringing you a semblance of comfort. But still, questions swirled in your mind, the uncertainty of your situation looming large.

"Thank you, um, what was your name again?" you asked softly, your voice hesitant and tinged with the confusion that clouded your mind. 

Spencer’s heart ached at the question, a painful reminder of the gap that now existed between you. But he managed a gentle smile, determined to be patient and understanding. 

“Spencer,” he said quietly, meeting your gaze with a steady warmth. “My name is Spencer.”

You nodded slowly, trying to commit his name to memory, even though it felt like grasping at straws. There was something comforting about the way he looked at you, a sense of safety that you couldn’t quite explain.

“Thank you, Spencer,” you repeated, hoping that saying his name would help anchor you in this unfamiliar reality. Despite the overwhelming uncertainty, you felt a small sense of reassurance knowing he was there, a steady presence in the storm of your fractured memories.

—

Emily arrived at the hospital within the hour, her eyes filled with concern and determination as she made her way to your room. When she saw you, relief flooded her features, and she rushed to your side, wrapping her arms around you in a warm, reassuring embrace.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Emily murmured, holding you tightly as she stroked your hair. “I’m here, Y/N. We’ll figure this out together.”

You clung to her, the familiar comfort of her presence grounding you in the midst of the chaos. For the first time since waking up, you felt a sense of safety, a reminder of the life you remembered.

Spencer watched the reunion, his heart aching with a mixture of emotions. He was grateful that Emily was there for you, knowing how much you needed her support right now. But there was also a longing, a deep-seated hope that one day, you would remember the life you had built with him, the love that had grown between you.

As you leaned into Emily's embrace, you whispered, “Can you stay with me, please?” Your voice was soft, almost childlike in its vulnerability, and Spencer’s heart clenched at the sound of it.

Emily smiled gently, brushing a few strands of hair away from your face as she nodded. “Of course, I’m so sorry I wasn’t here,” she said, guilt tinging her words. “I came as soon as I heard.”

“It’s okay,” you replied, offering her a small, reassuring smile. “Peter is really nice.”

The misstep in Spencer's name hit him like a physical blow, and yet he understood. You were trying your best to piece things together, to make sense of the world around you, and that meant trying to fit him into a picture that didn’t quite match the reality you remembered. 

Emily glanced at Spencer, a flicker of understanding in her eyes as she gave him a supportive nod. She knew how hard this must be for him, watching you struggle to recall the love and life you shared. 

Spencer swallowed the lump in his throat, forcing himself to return Emily’s nod with a small, grateful smile. He knew that rebuilding the bridge to your past wouldn’t be easy, but he was willing to do whatever it took to help you find your way back. 

He remained quiet, a gentle presence in the background as Emily continued to comfort you, knowing that while he might not be the one you remembered now, he would do everything in his power to be the one you’d remember in the future.

—

Spencer eventually went home, the weight of the last few days pressing heavily on his shoulders. The hospital had become a second home in the wake of the accident, but now, as he drove through the familiar streets of Quantico, he felt the exhaustion finally catch up with him. 

The apartment was quiet when he arrived, the silence amplifying the absence of your presence. He dropped his bag by the door and stood in the entryway for a moment, looking around the space that had been your shared sanctuary. Everything about it—the framed photos, the little touches that marked your shared life—felt like an echo of the past he was desperate to help you remember.

He made his way to the bathroom, shedding his clothes and stepping into the shower. The hot water cascaded over him, washing away the grime and fatigue, but doing little to ease the turmoil inside. As the steam filled the room, Spencer closed his eyes, allowing the water to drown out the noise in his head for just a moment. 

He thought about you, lying in that hospital bed, trying to piece together a life you couldn’t remember. The thought of your struggle weighed heavily on him, and he wished more than anything that he could simply take away the burden of your amnesia. But he knew that wasn’t possible, and it frustrated him deeply.

Stepping out of the shower, Spencer wrapped a towel around his waist and caught his reflection in the mirror. The face staring back at him was etched with worry and sleepless nights. He knew he needed to rest, to recharge so he could be strong for you, but his mind was already racing with possibilities, with ways to help you find your way back to the life you had known.

Reluctantly, he made his way to the bedroom and sank into the mattress, pulling the covers over himself. 

—

When Spencer awoke, the morning light was filtering through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. He stretched, feeling the knots in his muscles protest at the movement, but he pushed through, determined to make the most of the day ahead.

His mind immediately returned to you and the questions that had haunted him since the accident. He needed answers, a plan, something tangible he could use to help you. Rising from the bed, he quickly dressed and made his way to the library, his thoughts already churning with possibilities.

The library was quiet, a haven of knowledge waiting to be tapped into. Spencer made his way through the aisles, pulling books from the shelves with practiced ease. He found volumes on neurology, psychology, and memory restoration, stacking them on the table as he prepared to dive deep into his research.

Sitting down, Spencer opened the first book, his fingers flipping through the pages with the kind of fervor only a man on a mission possessed. He absorbed every word, every study and theory on amnesia and retrograde amnesia, searching for anything that might provide a glimmer of hope.

He read about the mechanisms of memory, the ways trauma could affect the brain's ability to store and retrieve information. He learned about the potential for memory recovery, the techniques that could aid in jogging the mind back to the present, and the importance of emotional connections in bridging the gaps.

As the hours passed, Spencer lost himself in the sea of information, each new piece of knowledge building upon the last. He scribbled notes in the margins, cross-referencing studies and compiling a mental list of strategies he could employ to help you.

It was a daunting task, but Spencer felt a sense of purpose in the research, a way to channel his love for you into something tangible. He was determined to do everything he could to help you regain your memory, to guide you back to the life you had shared together. 

For Spencer, this was more than just a quest for answers—it was a testament to the bond that had grown between you, a bond he was unwilling to let go of. He was ready to fight for your future, to be there for you in whatever capacity you needed, until the day your eyes lit up with recognition and the memories flooded back. 

With renewed resolve, Spencer closed the book he was reading, his mind buzzing with ideas and possibilities. He gathered his notes, feeling a sense of determination settle over him. He would be there for you, no matter how long it took, until you found your way back to him.

—

Spencer called Emily, feeling a slight tremor in his fingers as he punched in her number. He knew how delicate your situation was, and he didn’t want to risk upsetting you with his presence if it would cause more harm than good. As the phone rang, he took a deep breath, hoping that Emily would have some insight into how you were doing and whether it would be okay for him to visit.

“Hello?” Emily’s voice came through the line, sounding calm but tinged with exhaustion.

“Emily, it’s Spencer,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady despite the nervousness fluttering in his chest. “I wanted to check in and see how Y/N is doing... and if it would be alright for me to come back to the hospital. I don’t want to overwhelm her, but I think I might have found some helpful information on memory restoration tactics.”

There was a brief pause on the other end, and Spencer could hear the soft murmur of the hospital in the background, the distant beeps of monitors and the hushed conversations of medical staff. Emily sighed softly, and he could picture her leaning against the wall outside your room, her hand running through her hair as she considered his request.

“Spencer, she’s been asking about you,” Emily finally said, her voice gentle and reassuring. “I think she wants to start trying to piece things together a little, and having you here might actually help.”

The fragments of your past felt like pieces of a puzzle scattered across the table, and you were trying to fit them together. The memory of just having graduated college and moving in with Emily in Europe while she worked for Interpol was clear in your mind, yet the reality you were living in contradicted that memory in every way. You obviously went to college, got an important job, met someone, and fell in love. That would be nice to remember.

The thought of your life now—a life filled with achievements, meaningful relationships, and moments of joy—was enticing. You felt a sense of longing to reconnect with those parts of yourself, to remember the paths that led you to where you were today. The idea of having accomplished so much, of having people in your life who cared deeply for you, filled you with both curiosity and determination.

You sat in the hospital bed, the beeping of the monitors a constant reminder of the present, and tried to reconcile the gap between what you knew and what was real. There was a sense of urgency within you, a desire to reclaim the life that had slipped through your fingers due to the accident.

As you contemplated this, Spencer arrived, a reassuring presence amidst the confusion. He had a folder in hand, filled with information he’d painstakingly gathered to aid in your recovery. His expression was one of quiet resolve, a testament to his commitment to helping you find your way back.

“Hey, Y/N,” Spencer greeted softly, taking a seat beside your bed. His eyes were warm and encouraging, and you couldn’t help but feel comforted by his presence. “I know this is a lot to take in, but I’ve found some information that might help you remember.”

You nodded, eager to hear what he had discovered. The prospect of understanding more about your life, your achievements, and the connection you shared with Spencer filled you with hope.

Spencer opened the folder, revealing a collection of notes, articles, and studies on memory restoration and retrograde amnesia. “I’ve been looking into different techniques and therapies that could aid in restoring your memories,” he explained, his voice steady and full of purpose.

He began to outline the various strategies he had found, discussing everything from cognitive therapy and memory exercises to more experimental approaches. As he spoke, you listened intently, absorbing the possibilities and feeling a flicker of determination ignite within you.

“I believe that with the right approach and support, we can hopefully help you piece together your memories,” Spencer said, his gaze meeting yours with unwavering sincerity. “I’m here to support you in whatever way you need. We can do this together, one step at a time.”

His words resonated with you, and you found yourself nodding along, feeling a renewed sense of hope. The idea of reclaiming your memories, of rediscovering the life you had built, felt like a light at the end of a long tunnel. 

“Thank you, Spencer,” you said softly, your voice filled with gratitude. “I want to remember.”

—

The hospital released you into Emily’s care. While the medical staff had done everything they could, the journey to regaining your memory would continue outside the hospital walls.

The decision to stay with Emily instead of Spencer hurt him, but it felt like the right choice for now. As much as Spencer wanted to be there for you, he understood the need for you to be in an environment that felt familiar and safe. The last thing he wanted was to push you further away by overwhelming you with too much, too soon.

“It’s okay,” Spencer assured you as you prepared to leave the hospital. His voice was steady, but the flicker of pain in his eyes was unmistakable. “I understand. Emily will take good care of you, and I’m just a phone call away if you need anything.”

You nodded, appreciating his understanding. A part of you felt guilty for not choosing to stay with him, especially considering how kind and supportive he had been. But the gaps in your memory left you feeling adrift, and being with Emily was like holding onto a piece of your past that still made sense. Besides, he was still technically a stranger.

—

The drive to yours and Spencer’s apartment was quiet, Emily navigating the streets with the ease of someone who knew them well. You sat in the passenger seat, watching the city pass by, anticipation and apprehension swirling within you. This was a chance to see the life you had built, to find clues that might help bridge the chasm between the past you remembered and the present you couldn’t grasp.

Arriving at the apartment building, you felt a sense of déjà vu, as if you had been here countless times before, but it was all shrouded in fog. Emily led you up to the front door, her presence reassuring and calm as she unlocked it and gestured for you to step inside.

The apartment was warm and inviting, filled with little touches that spoke of a life shared between two people. You took a tentative step inside, your eyes scanning the space as you tried to grasp any spark of recognition. The furniture, the décor, the scent of your favorite candle burning on the coffee table—everything felt just out of reach.

But it was the photographs that caught your attention, lining the walls and filling the shelves with captured moments of happiness and love. You walked over to a series of framed photos, your heart aching at the sight of the images. There you were, smiling and laughing with Spencer, your faces filled with joy.

There was a picture of the two of you on a hiking trip, arms around each other as you gazed at the camera, the sun setting behind you. Another of you dancing together at what appeared to be a wedding, Spencer’s hand on the small of your back, your face lit with laughter.

And then there was the one that brought tears to your eyes—an image of you and Spencer sharing a tender kiss, your arms wrapped around his neck, his hand gently holding your waist while the other stretched out to hold the camera. The love captured in that single moment was undeniable, and yet it was a memory you couldn’t access, a chapter of your life that felt painfully distant.

Tears streamed down your cheeks as the weight of what you had lost settled over you. You turned away from the photos, covering your face with your hands as sobs wracked your body. The sadness was overwhelming, a deep, unbearable grief for the beautiful life you couldn’t remember.

Emily was at your side in an instant, her arm wrapping around you as she whispered soothing words, trying to calm the storm of emotions that had taken hold.

“I’m so sorry,” you cried, your voice breaking with the depth of your sorrow. “I’m so sorry, Spencer. I wish I could remember. I wish I could—”

Spencer’s expression was filled with compassion and understanding, though his heart ached at the sight of your distress. He longed to reach out and hold you, to reassure you that it was okay, that you would find your way back to him in time. But he knew that the memories were something you had to reclaim on your own.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Spencer said gently, his voice soft and comforting. “It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault.”

Despite his reassuring words, the pain of not being able to remember was too much to bear. You were inconsolable, and Emily could see that you needed space to process everything, away from the emotional overload of the apartment.

“Let’s go home, Y/N,” Emily suggested softly, guiding you toward the door with a gentle touch. “We can come back another time when you’re ready.”

You nodded, allowing her to lead you away, the tears still streaming down your face. Spencer watched as Emily escorted you out, his heart heavy with sadness. 

—

The following Monday, the next step in your recovery journey was to visit your workplace, a place where you had spent countless hours building a career you could no longer remember. The decision to bring you back into the office was made with the hope that it might jog some of your lost memories, and while it felt daunting, you were determined to face it head-on.

Emily drove you to the FBI headquarters, the massive building both imposing and familiar as you approached. You had been nervous about this visit, unsure of how it would make you feel or what it might stir within you. Your unit chief had been extremely understanding about your situation, assuring you that you had all the time you needed to recover and that your job would be waiting for you if and when you were ready to return. The possibility of never coming back loomed large, but today was about exploring what felt right.

As you walked through the corridors, passing colleagues who greeted you with warm smiles and words of encouragement, you felt a mixture of anxiety and curiosity. The familiarity of the surroundings tugged at the edges of your mind, teasing you with whispers of recognition that were just out of reach.

When you finally reached your desk, something shifted within you. A small sense of familiarity washed over you, grounding you in a way that you hadn't expected. The space was uniquely yours, decorated with personal touches that reflected your personality and interests. The colorful keyboard and mouse pad, the photos adorning your workspace, all felt like pieces of yourself that you were slowly rediscovering.

Emily stood beside you, watching as you took it all in. Her presence was reassuring, a steady hand on your shoulder as you navigated the myriad of emotions swirling within you.

"This is your desk," Emily said gently, gesturing to the array of decorations and mementos that made it uniquely yours. 

You ran your fingers over the keyboard, tracing the familiar keys, and then turned your attention to the photos. There were images of you and Emily from your first apartment together in D.C., snapshots of a time when life felt full of possibility and adventure. Your eyes lingered on the photos of you and Spencer, capturing moments of joy and love that you desperately wished to remember.

One photo, in particular, caught your eye. It was of you and another person, both of you with wide smiles, arms wrapped tightly around each other, faces pressed together in a display of friendship and affection. The bond between you was evident, even in a still image, and you felt a pang of longing to recall the memories associated with it.

“Who are all of these people?” you asked, your voice tinged with curiosity and a hint of sadness.

Emily leaned in, pointing to the photo of you and the person who seemed to be a close friend. “That is your best friend, Noah,” she explained. Her smile was warm, the fondness for your friendship evident in her tone. “You two have been inseparable for years. They’ve been by your side through thick and thin.”

You studied the photo, trying to summon any fragment of memory, but the connection eluded you. Still, it was comforting to know that you had someone like Noah in your life, a constant presence of support and friendship.

Emily then pointed to another photo, this one featuring a large group of people gathered in a spacious kitchen that looked to be part of a grand mansion. The scene was lively and filled with laughter, the closeness between everyone palpable even in a photograph.

“And that,” Emily said, gesturing to the group photo, “is my team. The Behavioral Analysis Unit, at David Rossi’s house for pasta and wine. It’s a tradition of ours to get together and unwind after a long week. You’ve become a part of that tradition too.”

The photo brought a sense of warmth and belonging that tugged at your heartstrings. Though you couldn’t remember the specifics of the event, the image conveyed a sense of community and acceptance, a reminder that you were surrounded by people who cared for you deeply.

You nodded, feeling a mix of emotions—gratefulness for the connections you had forged, sadness for the memories that remained out of reach, and determination to piece it all together. As overwhelming as it was, the visit to your workplace had sparked something within you, a desire to reclaim the life you had lost and reconnect with the people who meant so much to you.

“Thank you for bringing me here, Emily,” you said softly, turning to your sister with gratitude in your eyes.

Emily smiled, her hand squeezing your shoulder reassuringly. “You’re doing great, Y/N.”

—

After spending some time familiarizing yourself with your desk and the environment, you felt a little more grounded. Emily suggested taking a break, and the two of you made your way to the break room for some coffee. The small talk and casual atmosphere provided a sense of normalcy, and you found yourself relaxing into the environment, even if it still felt like you were seeing it all for the first time.

As you sipped your coffee, Emily shared stories about the team, painting vivid pictures of the friendships that had developed over the years. Her words were filled with warmth, and you could sense the deep bond that connected everyone in the unit.

“–and then you and Penelope performed as much of the Rent musical as you could while Spencer took you home from girls' night.”

You laughed, a joyous feeling after all the sadness and confusion you’d been wearing like a cloud. It felt good to feel lighthearted again, if only for a moment, and the image of yourself belting out show tunes with Penelope at the top of your lungs was both hilarious and comforting.

“Was he mad?” you asked, picturing the scene in your mind.

“Quite the opposite,” Emily said, her eyes twinkling with amusement at the memory. “He asked you out the next week at work.”

“That’s so sweet,” you said, a warm glow spreading through you at the thought of Spencer’s patience and kindness. 

“He really loves you,” Emily added, her voice gentle and full of sincerity. 

You looked down at your coffee cup, a mix of emotions swirling within you. “I just can’t believe I’m loved so much by someone I don’t remember,” you said softly, your words carrying the weight of your current reality. 

Spencer hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but as he was walking to the break room, your voice reached his ears, and he froze just outside the door. The sound of your laughter was like music to him, a familiar melody he had sorely missed since the accident. It felt normal to hear you in the building, like it had been before, a sense of déjà vu that was both comforting and bittersweet.

But hearing that last snippet of conversation—that you couldn’t believe you were loved by someone you didn’t remember—was like a punch to the gut. It was a reminder of how much had been lost, how fragile the threads of your connection had become in the wake of your amnesia.

Spencer’s heart clenched with longing and sadness. He wanted to be there with you, to share in the laughter and help rebuild the life you had once shared. Yet, he also knew that the path to healing was not a straight line and that you needed time to find your footing.

With a heavy heart, Spencer decided against going into the break room. He felt it would be too much to face you right then, knowing that he was part of the gap in your memory. He turned on his heel, heading back to his desk with a resolve to give you the space you needed while still being there for you in whatever way he could.

Back in his office, Spencer tried to focus on his work, but his mind kept drifting back to you and the conversation he had overheard. He wished he could do more, be more, to help you remember. The thought of the love you had shared, a love you now couldn’t recall, weighed heavily on him.

—

Over the next few weeks, life became a series of ups and downs, filled with moments of both clarity and confusion. Living with Emily had its comforting moments—her presence a soothing balm to the chaos in your mind. You cherished the time you spent with her, grateful for the bond that had been rekindled. You missed Emily deeply during high school, and living with her felt like a second chance to reconnect and make up for lost time. 

But the reason for your reunion weighed heavily on you. You were so happy to be living with Emily again, until you remembered why. Some nights, the memories—or lack thereof—were overwhelming, and you’d find yourself crying silently into your pillow, grieving for the life you learned about but couldn’t recall. You mourned for the person you once were, the experiences you’d lost, and the love you had built with Spencer, a man who was now a stranger in your life.

In those darker moments, a part of you wondered if a second accident could somehow reverse the damage, though you knew deep down that it wouldn’t work. The thought was fleeting, a desperate whisper in your mind, quickly silenced by the knowledge that the path to healing lay elsewhere.

You wanted to love Spencer, you really did. Everything you’d learned about him painted a picture of a man who was kind, intelligent, and deeply devoted to you. But every time you looked at him, all you felt was a sense of apathy and resentment. It was an unfair burden, one you didn’t want to carry but couldn’t seem to shake. He knew you, but you didn’t know him. He had gotten to know the you that you couldn’t remember, had built a life with a version of yourself that no longer existed. 

Safe to say, you hadn’t spoken to anyone but Emily since that day at Spencer’s apartment. Despite Emily’s best efforts to coax you out of your shell, to encourage you to re-engage with the world, you found solace only in her presence. She would suggest small outings, opportunities to reintroduce you to the life you’d lived—a coffee date with Penelope, a lunch with Noah, a casual dinner with the BAU team—but you declined each invitation with a sense of dread.

—

Emily understood your reluctance, though she worried about the isolation you were imposing on yourself. She was patient, never pushing too hard, but she tried her best to gently encourage you to take those first steps toward reconnecting with your life.

"Y/N," she said one afternoon as you both sat in the living room, the afternoon sun streaming through the windows. "I know it’s hard, but you have so many people who care about you. They’re all here, ready to support you whenever you’re ready."

You nodded, your eyes fixed on the floor. “I know,” you replied softly, your voice tinged with frustration and sadness. “I just... I don’t know how to face them, Emily. It’s like they’re expecting me to be someone I’m not.”

Emily reached over, taking your hand in hers, her grip reassuring. “They’re not expecting anything,” she said gently. “They just want to be there for you, to help you find your way back. And you don’t have to do it alone. I’ll be with you.”

Despite her words, the idea of facing Spencer or any of your friends felt daunting. It wasn’t just about remembering; it was about rebuilding a sense of self that had been shattered by the accident. You felt like a puzzle with missing pieces, unsure of how to fit back into the picture of your own life.

—

One night, as you lay in bed, the weight of it all pressed heavily on your chest. You stared at the ceiling, the darkness a mirror to the emptiness you felt inside. The person you were before the accident seemed like a ghost, haunting the edges of your consciousness, taunting you with glimpses of a life you couldn’t quite grasp.

Tears slipped silently down your cheeks as you grieved for the life you’d lost, for the love that was now a distant memory. It felt like an insurmountable chasm between the past and present, a gap you couldn’t bridge no matter how hard you tried.

You curled up under the covers, wishing for relief from the emotional storm, longing for a sense of belonging that remained elusive. But as much as you yearned for the past, you knew the journey to healing had to start from where you were now—from this moment, with its uncertainties and challenges.

Emily found you the next morning, the traces of tears still visible on your face. She didn’t say anything, simply pulled you into a hug, offering her silent support. You leaned into her embrace, grateful for the unconditional love and understanding she provided.

“I’m here, Y/N,” Emily murmured, her voice steady and reassuring. “Whenever you’re ready to take that next step, I’m here.”

—

On a random Tuesday morning, you regained a glimpse of yourself. It was an ordinary day, the sun barely peeking over the horizon as you padded into the kitchen, the scent of freshly brewed coffee filling the air. Emily was already there, pouring herself a cup and offering you a warm smile as you entered.

"Good morning," she said, her voice carrying the comforting tone you had come to rely on over the past few weeks.

“Did I bring any files home?” you asked, the question slipping out naturally as if it were the most normal thing in the world. “I want to review the Cooper case.”

Emily whipped around so fast she thought she might get whiplash, her eyes wide with shock and a glimmer of hope. “What did you just say?” she asked, her voice almost trembling with anticipation.

“The Cooper case?” you repeated, frowning slightly as you tried to grasp the memory that felt just within reach. “Oh, I wanted to review the evidence for the upcoming trial. I want to make sure that son of a bitch gets locked away.”

Emily’s face lit up with astonishment and disbelief, a slow grin spreading across her features. “Y/N… how do you remember that?” she asked, her voice tinged with awe.

“What?” you blinked, the realization dawning on you like a gentle wave, the fog lifting ever so slightly. “Oh…” you murmured, the pieces clicking into place.

“Oh my god! Oh my god! I remember!” you exclaimed, your heart pounding with excitement and relief.

“Do you remember anything else?” Emily asked eagerly, stepping closer as if to catch every word.

“My, um, my unit chief… her name is, uh, Sarah Freeman!” you said, a smile breaking across your face as more fragments of memory bubbled to the surface. It was like pulling on a thread and watching a tapestry unfold before your eyes.

“That’s amazing! You’re amazing!” Emily cheered, her eyes shining with pride and joy. She grabbed your hands, squeezing them tightly as if to anchor this precious moment in reality. “I’m going to call your doctor! Keep thinking!”

You nodded, your mind racing with possibilities. There was a thrill in the air, a sense of rediscovery that felt like sunlight streaming into a darkened room. 

—

As the days and weeks passed, your world gradually came into sharper focus. You began to remember more and more, and your doctors believed that your brain was finally healing from the trauma of the accident, allowing you to access information that had been temporarily locked away. It was as if the fog that had settled over your mind was beginning to lift, and the memories of your life were emerging from the shadows.

With each passing day, you started seeing people more. The familiarity of their faces and the warmth of their presence became less overwhelming and more comforting. You remembered small bits of Noah, moving in with Emily, a few girls’ nights, and coffee dates with Penelope. Each memory was like a small gift, a piece of the puzzle that was slowly coming together.

Whenever you shared a memory with someone, it was met with tears of joy and hugs of relief. They were all so patient and understanding, celebrating every little moment of rediscovery with you. It was a testament to the love and support that surrounded you, a constant reminder that you were not alone on this journey.

—

With your birthday approaching, the excitement in the air was palpable. Everyone was thrilled that they would at least get to celebrate with you, even if the memories of past birthdays were still hazy. The anticipation of the party, the chance to be surrounded by the people who meant so much to you, filled you with a sense of hope and gratitude.

The only person you couldn’t seem to remember, however, was Spencer. Despite the progress you were making with others, there was an inexplicable block when it came to him. It was as if the memories you shared were trapped behind a door that refused to open, no matter how hard you tried. 

Spencer felt the weight of this exclusion acutely. While everyone else reveled in your regained memories, he remained on the outside, watching as you reconnected with the life you’d once shared. At first, he tried to be patient, understanding that recovery was a complex and unpredictable process. But as time went on and the memories continued to elude you, Spencer began to feel a growing frustration, a simmering resentment that he struggled to contain.

—

The night of your birthday party arrived, and Emily had invited everyone important to you: the BAU team, Noah, your unit chief, and colleagues. The apartment was filled with laughter and music, the air buzzing with the joy of celebration. You moved through the crowd, receiving hugs and well-wishes, feeling more like yourself than you had in months.

The party was a joyful affair, filled with the warmth of friends and loved ones, each of them eager to share in the celebration of your continued recovery. You spent time with everyone, enjoying the opportunity to catch up and reconnect. 

You found yourself talking to Derek Morgan, recounting a small memory that had surfaced earlier in the day—a humorous moment from a case your units had worked on together. Derek’s laughter echoed through the room, a rich, joyful sound that drew the attention of others nearby. 

Spencer overheard your conversation with Derek and felt the frustration within him build past his boiling point. It was like a dam breaking, all the emotions he had tried to keep in check spilling over into an overwhelming wave. The exclusion, the constant reminder that you remembered everyone but him, finally pushed him to the edge.

Unable to contain his feelings any longer, Spencer stormed past you, his shoulder bumping into yours as he made his way toward the front door. The suddenness of his actions caught you off guard, the usually sweet and gentle Spencer now a storm of emotions.

“Spencer?” you called after him, confused by the abruptness of his departure. You quickly excused yourself from Derek and followed Spencer, determined to understand what had upset him.

You found Spencer in the hallway of the building, his back turned to you as he tried to compose himself. But when he turned around, you saw the angry tears in his eyes, the hurt etched across his features. It was a side of Spencer you hadn’t seen before, and it unsettled you.

“Spencer, what’s wrong?” you asked, your voice gentle but firm, wanting to understand the source of his pain.

He took a deep breath, his emotions churning within him. The question felt like a catalyst, igniting the frustration and hurt he had been holding onto for so long. And then, finally, he exploded, the words tumbling out in a torrent of anger and anguish.

“Why, Y/N?” Spencer’s voice was raw, filled with desperation and resentment. “Why do you remember everyone but me? Do you secretly remember me but don’t know how to break it off, so you keep pretending you don’t know me?”

His accusation hung in the air, sharp and cutting. It was a blow that took your breath away, the depth of his pain evident in every word. Spencer’s eyes bore into yours, searching for answers, for some explanation that could make sense of the exclusion he felt so deeply.

“I’m not pretending, Spencer,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, the shock of his words settling over you like a heavy fog. “I wish I could remember. I want to remember you more than anything.”

Spencer’s expression shifted, hurt and frustration warring within him. He turned away, running a hand through his hair as he tried to gather his thoughts. “It just feels like... like I’m the only one left out,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion. “I watch you remember all these moments, all these people, and I keep hoping that one day you’ll look at me and just... know.”

His words hung in the air, each syllable a reminder of the distance that had grown between you—a distance neither of you wanted, but couldn’t seem to bridge. It was like standing on opposite sides of a vast chasm, reaching for one another but never quite able to touch.

“You think this is easy for me?” you shot back, your voice rising with each word. “Do you think I wanted to get hit by a semi and lose my memories? No! I want it all back, I want my life back.” You took a step closer, the intensity of your emotions propelling you forward. “Do you know how much it kills me that you know a version of me that I don’t? You want her back, and so do I, but Jesus Christ, Spencer! I’m not her, I can’t just be her, I’m fucking trying, okay?”

The hallway seemed to close in around you as you stood there, the weight of your words hanging heavy between you. Spencer’s eyes widened in surprise at the raw honesty in your voice, the depth of your struggle laid bare before him.

“I know you’re trying,” Spencer said, his voice softening even as his frustration simmered beneath the surface. “But it’s so hard to watch you remember everyone else and not me. It feels like I’m losing you all over again, every single day.”

"I’m losing myself too!” you replied, your voice breaking with emotion. “Every time I remember something, it’s like I’m meeting a stranger who’s supposed to be me. It’s terrifying, and I don’t know how to make it better. And it doesn’t help when I’m constantly reminded that you’re disappointed in me too.”

Spencer ran a hand over his face, his own anger and hurt warring with the compassion he still felt for you. He wanted to say the right thing, but his emotions were tangled, pulling him in different directions. The frustration that had built up over the weeks finally met the compassion he still felt for you.

“I’m sorry,” he said, the fight leaving his voice as he took a step back, trying to regain control. His eyes softened as he looked at you, the anger giving way to vulnerability. “I know it’s not fair to put this on you. God, I’m not disappointed in you, I’m just... I’m scared, Y/N. I’m scared that I’ll never get you back.”

The vulnerability in his words pierced through your own defenses, the rawness of his confession echoing the fears that had plagued you both. It was as if the anger that had fueled the argument had stripped away the layers, leaving only the truth of your shared fears and insecurities.

You sighed, your own anger giving way to a wave of exhaustion and sadness. The argument had drained you both, leaving behind a hollow ache that you couldn’t ignore. “I’m scared too,” you admitted, your voice trembling as you spoke. “I’m scared that I’ll never be able to remember the love we had, that I’ll never be able to be the person you fell in love with.”

Spencer's eyes met yours, and you could see the struggle within him—the longing to reach out and bridge the gap between you, the desire to hold onto the love that had once been so strong and certain. “You’re still the person I fell in love with,” he said softly, his voice tinged with desperation. “I know it’s hard to see right now, but you are. And I don’t want to lose you, even if it means starting over.”

His words hung in the air, a lifeline thrown across the chasm that had opened between you. You took a deep breath, the weight of his words. 

“Can I ask you something?” Spencer spoke up, his voice laced with vulnerability. His eyes held yours, searching for an answer he seemed afraid to hear but needed to know nonetheless.

“Of course,” you replied, curious about what was weighing so heavily on him. You wanted to reassure him, to offer some comfort amid the storm of emotions that had engulfed you both.

“Do you find me attractive?” Spencer’s question was simple, yet it held a complexity of emotions—self-doubt, insecurity, a desire for reassurance.

“Spencer… what?” you asked, taken aback by the suddenness of his inquiry. You hadn’t expected that question, and yet, as you looked at him, you realized how important your answer would be.

He shifted his weight, his gaze dropping for a moment before returning to yours, the raw honesty in his expression clear as day. “Do you think that I am attractive? Even now, that you don’t remember me?”

You considered his question carefully. Spencer was undeniably an attractive person—his features were striking, with a gentle kindness in his eyes and a quiet strength in his posture. There was an undeniable allure to him, a magnetic pull that you felt even in your current state of confusion. 

You imagined seeing him in a bar or a crowded room, where his presence would stand out, where you would undoubtedly look twice. His intelligence, the way he carried himself with quiet confidence, and the kindness in his eyes were all qualities that would draw you in.

“Yes,” you replied honestly, your voice steady and sincere. “Yes, Spencer, I find you attractive.”

Spencer let out a small breath he seemed to have been holding, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he absorbed your answer. There was a flicker of relief in his eyes, a subtle shift that spoke volumes about how much your opinion mattered to him.

“Thank you,” he said softly, his voice a blend of gratitude and something deeper, something that felt like hope.

You took a step closer, wanting to close the distance between you. “Spencer, it’s not just about looks,” you added, wanting to make him understand. “I may not remember everything, but I can see the person you are. The way you care, the way you’ve been so patient with me… that’s what makes you truly attractive.”

His lips curved into a tentative smile, the tension in his features easing as your words reached him. It was a smile that held the promise of new beginnings, a shared understanding that even in the absence of memory, there was a foundation upon which you could rebuild.

Spencer nodded, a small chuckle escaping him as he rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture you found endearing. “I guess I just needed to hear it,” he admitted, his vulnerability laid bare in that moment.

You nodded, reaching out to take his hand in yours. “We’ll figure it out,” you said, your voice filled with determination.

Spencer's fingers intertwined with yours, his touch gentle yet reassuring. The simple act of holding hands felt like a small victory, a step toward rebuilding the connection that had been so abruptly severed.

“You couldn’t possibly remember this,” Spencer said with a wry smile, “but I don’t usually touch people’s hands. It’s actually safer to kiss; fewer germs are spread that way.”

You let out a laugh, the tension between you dissolving into a moment of lightness. It was the first genuine laugh you'd shared since the accident, and it felt like a breath of fresh air. 

“I can’t tell if you’re joking or not,” you replied, raising an eyebrow with a teasing grin. “But if that’s a line, it’s not working.”

Spencer chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “It’s not a line, I promise,” he said, a hint of mischief in his tone. “Just one of those strange facts about me you’ll probably hear more about as you get to know me again.”

“Good to know,” you said, your smile softening into something more sincere. “But for now, hand-holding is just fine.”

—

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of laughter and joy, a celebration not just of your birthday but of the progress you had made and the hope that lay ahead. Surrounded by friends and loved ones, you felt a sense of belonging, a reminder that even in the midst of adversity, there was a community that held you close.

As the night drew to a close, you and Spencer stood together on the balcony, the city lights twinkling in the distance like stars. It was a moment of quiet reflection, a chance to breathe and appreciate the small victories that had brought you to this point.

“Happy birthday, Y/N,” Spencer said softly, his voice carrying a warmth that resonated deep within you. 

You turned to him, your heart full of gratitude and the promise of what was to come. “Thank you, Spencer,” you replied, your words laced with sincerity.

—

“Y/N! Spencer is here for you!” Emily called out from the living room, her voice carrying through the apartment with an excited lilt that made you smile.

You were in your bedroom, putting the finishing touches on your outfit, excitement and nervousness fluttering in your stomach. Today marked your fifth date with Spencer, a milestone that felt both exhilarating and significant as the two of you continued to rebuild your relationship from the ground up.

The past few weeks had been a journey of rediscovery. You and Spencer had taken it slow, giving each other the space and time needed to navigate the complexities of your situation. Each date had been a new beginning, a chance to learn about each other all over again, and it had been going well—better than you had dared to hope.

You’d spent hours talking about everything and nothing, sharing stories and memories that both filled in the gaps and created new ones. There were still moments of hesitation and uncertainty, but they were gradually being replaced by laughter and warmth, a growing sense of familiarity that felt like home.

Taking one last look in the mirror, you adjusted your necklace and took a deep breath, feeling a thrill of anticipation for the evening ahead. You made your way to the living room, where Emily was chatting with Spencer, her eyes lighting up with the kind of mischief only a big sister could muster.

“Hey, Spencer,” you greeted him with a smile, feeling the familiar flutter in your chest that had become a welcome sensation. “Ready to go?”

Spencer turned toward you, his face breaking into a warm smile that made your heart skip a beat. He looked dapper in a casual blazer and slacks, an outfit that struck the perfect balance between relaxed and stylish.

“Wow, you look amazing,” he said, his eyes filled with admiration as he took in your appearance. "If I had known you were going to look this stunning, I would have worn my best suit."

You laughed, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks. "Oh, please, you look great," you replied, meeting his gaze with a teasing grin. “Besides, I think we match perfectly. You know, two fashion icons taking on the city."

Emily watched the exchange with a satisfied smile, clearly pleased to see the chemistry between you and Spencer reigniting. She gave you a playful nudge, her eyes sparkling with encouragement. “Have fun, you two,” she said, ushering you toward the door. “And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes at Emily’s antics, before turning back to Spencer. “Shall we?” you asked, extending your hand toward him.

Spencer took your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze that sent a reassuring pulse of connection between you. “We shall,” he replied with a grin, leading you out the door and into the evening that awaited.

—

The drive was filled with easy conversation, the kind that flowed naturally and effortlessly between you. You chatted about everything from work to your favorite TV shows, reveling in the comfort of each other’s company.

“So, where are we going tonight?” you asked, curious about the plans Spencer had made for your date.

“It’s a surprise,” he said cryptically, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “But I think you’re going to love it.”

“Really?” you said, raising an eyebrow with a playful smirk. “Are you sure it’s not just another one of your ploys to impress me?”

Spencer chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Would it be working if it was?”

“You’ll have to wait and see,” you teased, giving him a flirtatious glance as the car continued through the city.

Eventually, you arrived at a charming little restaurant tucked away in a quiet corner of the city. It was the kind of place that exuded warmth and intimacy, the cozy ambiance inviting you in as soon as you stepped through the door.

“Wow, this place is lovely,” you said, taking in the dim lighting, the soft music playing in the background, and the delicious aroma of Italian cuisine wafting through the air.

Spencer smiled, clearly pleased with your reaction. “I thought it might be a nice spot for us to relax and enjoy some good food,” he said, leading you to a table by the window that offered a view of the city lights twinkling in the distance.

“So, any more memories come back recently?” Spencer asked gently, his tone curious yet considerate, as if he knew the subject was still delicate.

You nodded, feeling a flicker of excitement as you recounted some of the fragments that had returned. “I remembered a trip I took with Emily last year to the beach. We ended up getting caught in a rainstorm and had to take cover in this little café, where we spent the afternoon playing board games. It was such a fun day.”

Spencer listened intently, a smile tugging at his lips as you spoke. “That sounds amazing,” he said, his eyes filled with warmth and understanding. “You know, we had a similar rainy day adventure once. It involved an umbrella, a very wet cat, and an impromptu rendition of Singin’ in the Rain in a park.”

“Did we now?” you replied, a playful twinkle in your eyes. “Are you sure you weren’t just trying to get me to fall for your charming rendition of a classic?”

“Guilty as charged,” Spencer admitted with a laugh, his gaze meeting yours with a sincerity that made your heart flutter.

“Tell me, though, did we kiss in the rain?” you asked, wiggling your eyebrows suggestively.

Spencer blushed, a charming pink spreading across his cheeks. “We might have…”

“How scandalous!” you replied, feigning shock, but the playful glint in your eyes gave you away.

“You were the one who initiated it!” Spencer shot back, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Oh yeah, am I just supposed to believe you?” you teased, leaning back in your chair with a smirk. “You could be making it all up just to impress me.”

“Well,” Spencer said, a hint of mischief in his voice, “it is supposed to rain later. We could test out the theory.”

“Spencer Reid, you dog!” you exclaimed, laughing at the thought of dancing in the rain with him.

You shared a laugh, the sound mingling with the gentle hum of the restaurant around you. It felt like the world had faded away, leaving just the two of you in your little bubble of happiness.

—

After dinner, you and Spencer strolled through a scenic path in the park, hand in hand. The night was pleasantly cool, and the stars dotted the sky like scattered jewels. The conversation between you flowed effortlessly, a blend of teasing and genuine connection that made the evening feel special.

“I thought it was supposed to rain?” you mused aloud, glancing up at the sky.

“Are you disappointed it’s not?” Spencer asked, a playful edge in his voice as he followed your gaze.

“Are you going to kiss me anyway?” you replied with a teasing smile, looking up at him with hopeful eyes.

Spencer froze up for a moment, caught off guard by the boldness of your question. A myriad of thoughts raced through his mind, each one tangling with the next. 

He had been nervous to make any moves on you ever since you’d started dating again. What if you didn’t like how he kissed anymore? Or his scent, or taste? What if you two didn't have rhythm anymore? The fear of these possibilities had kept him in check, cautious and tentative.

“What’s going on in that big brain?” you asked, your voice gentle and full of curiosity. You squeezed his hand, bringing him back to the present. Your touch was reassuring, a reminder that the connection between you was as strong as ever.

Spencer shook his head slightly, chuckling at himself. “Just... overthinking, as usual,” he admitted, meeting your eyes with a sheepish grin. “I’ve just been worried that maybe things aren’t the same between us.”

You tilted your head, regarding him with a soft smile. “Spencer, nothing about you could ever disappoint me. We might be rebuilding things, but I think that’s what makes it exciting. We get to discover everything all over again.”

He nodded, his apprehension slowly melting away as your words resonated with him. The sincerity in your voice was like a balm, soothing the insecurities that had plagued him.

“And besides,” you added with a playful twinkle in your eye, “I think we both know we’ve still got that spark.”

Spencer laughed, his tension finally breaking as he took a step closer. The warmth of your presence enveloped him, and he realized how much he had missed these moments with you—the teasing, the laughter, and the unspoken bond that seemed to transcend the gap of memory.

“You’re right,” Spencer said, his voice softening as he gazed into your eyes. “I’d be more than happy to kiss you, rain or no rain.”

You smiled up at him, your heart fluttering with anticipation. As he leaned in, the world around you seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you beneath the starlit sky.

When Spencer’s lips met yours, it was like coming home. The kiss was gentle at first, a tentative exploration of the familiar territory that quickly blossomed into something deeper. His lips were soft and warm, and the familiar scent of his skin surrounded you like a comforting embrace. 

All the previous worries melted away as you found your rhythm together, the familiarity and connection more than you could have hoped for. Spencer’s kiss was tender but charged with an intensity that made your heart race, a reminder of the passion and warmth that had always been at the core of your relationship.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, feeling the subtle tension in his muscles beneath your fingertips. Spencer responded in kind, his hands finding their place on your face, drawing you into him as if he was afraid to let go. 

The kiss deepened, and it was as if time had stopped, the world around you fading away until only the two of you remained. Lips slotted together perfectly, tongues gliding in a slow, sensual dance that sent shivers down your spine. 

You felt Spencer’s teeth gently nipping at your bottom lip, a playful gesture that made you gasp softly against his mouth. The small sound seemed to spur him on, and you could feel the gentle pressure of his hands pulling you even closer, until there was no space left between you. 

In that moment, everything felt right—the way his lips moved against yours, the warmth of his touch, and the gentle thrum of your heartbeat syncing with his. It was a moment of pure connection, a dance of lips and breath and emotion that left you both feeling dizzy and alive. 

You could feel the tension and uncertainty of the past few weeks melting away, replaced by a deep sense of belonging and peace. As you finally pulled back, you looked into Spencer’s eyes, seeing your own emotions reflected back at you—the warmth, the longing, the hope that you both shared.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathless but smiling, the shared moment leaving a lingering warmth that seemed to wrap around you both.

“Wow,” you murmured, gazing up at Spencer with a soft, genuine smile. “That was... perfect.”

Spencer chuckled, relief and joy evident in his eyes. “I’d say it was pretty amazing,” he agreed, still holding you close.

You both lingered there for a while, savoring the quiet intimacy of the moment, the cool breeze whispering through the trees, the world feeling just a little bit brighter.

—

As you continued your stroll through the park, the clouds did open up, and the rain did come, soaking both you and Spencer. The unexpected shower was a sudden thrill, droplets of water cascading down your hair and cheeks, drenching your clothes in moments. The rain brought a fresh, invigorating scent to the air, wrapping around you like a cool embrace as you and Spencer burst into laughter.

“You said you wanted rain,” Spencer quipped, looking at you with a playful glint in his eye, water droplets clinging to his hair and eyelashes.

“I did, didn’t I?” you giggled, brushing a lock of wet hair out of your face. You both sprinted toward his car, shoes splashing through puddles, the sound of your laughter mingling with the rhythm of the rain.

You reached the car, breathless and exhilarated, climbing inside and closing the door behind you. The heated air enveloped you both in a welcome warmth, and you shivered slightly, feeling the chill of your soaked clothes. 

Spencer turned on the car’s heater, and soon the air filled with warmth, contrasting the rain still pelting the car roof outside. You shared a look of amusement, the shared adventure bringing a delightful sense of connection.

“I don’t want to go home, but I’m uncomfortable,” you admitted, glancing down at your soaked clothes with a bemused smile. 

“We could… go back to our—my apartment and change. Maybe watch a movie?” Spencer suggested, his voice soft and inviting, a hint of hesitation in his words as if worried you might say no.

You met his eyes, the warmth in them offering reassurance. “I’d love that,” you replied, your heart fluttering with the anticipation of spending more time with him.

—

Spencer drove you both back to the apartment, the windshield wipers swishing rhythmically as the rain continued its steady drumming against the car. It was your first time returning to the apartment since the night you’d cried there, overwhelmed by the weight of memories you couldn’t quite grasp. But now, the thought of revisiting felt different, less daunting and more like a step forward.

As you entered the apartment, you paused to take it all in again—the familiar scent, the little touches that made the space feel like home. Spencer watched you with a gentle smile, allowing you to explore at your own pace, offering silent support as you reacquainted yourself with the surroundings.

“Do you want to take a shower?” Spencer asked, breaking the comfortable silence. “All of your stuff is still in there.”

“Um, sure. Thank you,” you replied, grateful for the chance to shake off the chill of the rain.

You made your way to the bathroom, feeling a sense of nostalgia as you stepped inside and closed the door behind you. The shower was just as you remembered it, a familiar haven of warmth and comfort.

The water was soothing as it cascaded over you, washing away the rain and the lingering remnants of the day’s adventure. You felt a sense of relaxation settling in, a quiet moment of peace as you let the warmth envelop you.

But then, as you turned too quickly, your foot slipped, and you fell onto your tailbone with a startled yelp. 

“Ow!” you exclaimed, wincing at the sudden jolt of pain.

“Y/N?? Are you okay?” Spencer’s voice called out from the other side of the door, filled with concern.

“Yeah! I just fell,” you called back, trying to keep your tone light despite the embarrassment.

“I’m coming in,” Spencer announced, the worry evident in his voice.

“Wait, Spencer, no—” you began, but he was already in the bathroom, eyes wide as he took in the scene.

He saw your naked form on the ground of the tub through the clear glass, his expression filled with worry and, perhaps, just a touch of awkwardness.

“Spencer!” you exclaimed, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment and amusement.

“What happened? Are you hurt? Did you hit your head?” he asked, his concern overriding any sense of propriety.

“I’m fine, I’m naked!” you replied, laughing at the absurdity of the situation even as you tried to cover yourself.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Spencer said, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “I forget. I’ve seen you naked many times.”

“That is so weird,” you teased, rolling your eyes playfully.

Spencer laughed lightly, his eyes twinkling with warmth. “I don’t think so,” he said, his voice softening into something more tender.

“Can I see you then? Even it out?” you asked, a mischievous grin spreading across your face.

“What?” Spencer’s eyes widened slightly, his cheeks flushing a delightful shade of pink.

“I’ve seen you naked before, right?” you continued, your playful tone belying the genuine affection in your gaze.

“Well, yes, but it’s different,” Spencer stammered, trying to maintain his composure.

“So it’s okay for you to see me, but not for me to see you?” you challenged, a teasing lilt in your voice. “Come get in the shower and help me up.”

Spencer hesitated for a moment, then his expression softened into a smile, affection and delight playing across his features. “Alright,” he said, his voice filled with laughter. “Just this once.”

He quickly shed his clothes and joined you in the shower, his presence a comforting warmth amid the steam and water. With a gentle touch, he helped you up, his hands steady and reassuring as he held you close.

“Thank you,” you said softly, meeting his eyes with a smile. 

Spencer’s gaze was warm and tender, his hands lingering on your waist as he smiled back at you. “Anytime,” he replied, his voice a gentle promise. 

Your eyes couldn’t help themselves as they wandered downward, taking in the sight of him. The realization that you were both standing there, unashamedly bare, brought a new kind of awareness that was both amusing and endearing.

“Y/N!” Spencer laughed. “Eyes up here.”

“I'm sorry,” you said with a playful smirk, your eyes darting back up to meet his. “It’s human nature, after all.”

“I know,” Spencer replied, shaking his head with a chuckle. “But at least pretend to be subtle.”

“You’re quite large,” you teased, unable to resist the opportunity to keep the mood light. “Are you a grower still? Or always a shower?”

Spencer’s cheeks flushed a deep red, his hands instinctively moving to cover himself as he groaned, “Oh my godddd.”

“Answer the question, and I’ll shut up,” you promised, a sweet smile playing on your lips as you looked at him with mock innocence.

With a sigh of resignation, Spencer removed his hands, his expression a mix of bashfulness and humor. “Still a grower,” he admitted, rolling his eyes good-naturedly.

“Lucky me!” you exclaimed, your tone full of playful triumph.

Spencer shook his head, his laughter infectious as he declared, “Not anymore, this was great. Goodbye!” He made a half-hearted attempt to step out of the shower, clearly feigning an exaggerated exit.

“Not so fast!” you interjected, grabbing his arm and pulling him back gently, your own laughter bubbling up as you did so.

His eyes met yours again, and the playful banter settled into something softer, a mutual understanding that transcended words. The silliness of the moment gave way to a quiet intimacy, the kind that came from truly seeing one another and finding joy in simply being together.

As the water continued to rain down, you and Spencer stood there, wrapped in each other’s presence, feeling a sense of comfort and safety that went beyond the physical. 

You both eventually turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, towels wrapped snugly around you. The steam-filled bathroom felt like a private world where the rest of the day’s worries faded away.

—

Once dried and dressed in cozy clothes, you settled into the living room, the aroma of freshly brewed tea wafting through the air as you curled up on the couch together. The rain had stopped outside, leaving a soft patter of droplets against the windows, the perfect backdrop for a cozy movie night.

Spencer draped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer. “So, what’s our viewing pleasure tonight?” he asked, his voice filled with a relaxed contentment.

“I was thinking something classic,” you suggested, snuggling into his side. “Maybe a bit of Casablanca?”

“Casablanca, it is,” Spencer agreed, reaching for the remote with a smile.

As the movie played, you found yourself not only immersed in the storyline but also in the warmth of Spencer’s presence beside you. The shared laughter, the gentle teasing, the comfortable silence—it all felt like home.

—

You don’t remember falling asleep, but when you wake up, you find yourself nestled in the bed, no longer on the couch. The room is softly lit with the early morning sun filtering through the curtains, casting a warm glow over everything. Spencer is still sound asleep next to you, his arms wrapped around you in a protective embrace. His breathing is steady and calm, and you watch him for a moment, feeling a rush of affection for this man who has been so patient and kind through everything.

Wanting to do something kind for him, you slowly and carefully extricate yourself from his embrace, trying not to wake him. You slip out of bed, pulling on his robe as you head to the kitchen to make some coffee, a small gesture of appreciation for the many times he’s been there for you.

As you move about the kitchen, the familiar routine of making coffee brings a sense of comfort. You smile to yourself as you measure out the coffee grounds and water, the rich aroma filling the air. It feels good to be doing something for him, even if it’s just a small gesture.

When Spencer finally wakes up, the smell of freshly brewed coffee lures him from the cocoon of blankets. In his sleep-delirious haze, he doesn’t realize anything has changed, and he instinctively walks into the kitchen, still half-asleep, and wraps his arms around you from behind.

“Morning, Spence,” you say softly, feeling the warmth of his embrace as you continue to stir the coffee.

“Mmm, good morning, baby,” he mumbles into your hair, his voice thick with sleep.

“I made your coffee, just how you like it,” you say with a smile, feeling a sense of satisfaction at the little surprise you’ve prepared for him.

“Black, seven teaspoons of sugar?” he asks, his voice carrying a note of playful suspicion.

“Precisely,” you reply, leaning back to kiss his head where it’s nestled against your neck. You love the way his hair feels soft and slightly tousled from sleep, the familiarity of the moment wrapping around you like a warm embrace.

Spencer hums contentedly, the combination of your affection and the promise of coffee stirring him more fully awake. You hand him a steaming mug, and he takes a grateful sip, savoring the sweet warmth.

“Thought we could call Diana today, check in on her progress,” you suggest casually, remembering the conversations you’ve had about keeping in touch with his mom.

Spencer’s mind is still catching up to the morning, the mention of his mother registering slowly. “Okay, that’s a good id–wait… what?” His eyes widen as he pulls back slightly, looking at you with surprise and hope.

“Diana, babe? Your mom? I haven’t talked to her in a while, and I wanted to see how she was doing,” you say, turning to face him, your own excitement bubbling beneath the surface.

“Y/N, are you messing with me?” Spencer asks, his voice a blend of disbelief and anticipation, as if he’s afraid to hope too much.

“No… Are you okay, Spence?” you ask gently, reaching up to touch his cheek, your thumb brushing lightly over his skin. 

“Spence? My coffee preference? My mom?” Spencer’s eyes search yours, an array of emotions flickering across his face. “What are you not telling me?”

You smile, unable to contain your excitement any longer. “Oh, I woke up this morning with a few memories of our time together.”

Spencer’s eyes widen, his expression shifting from confusion to pure joy. “You remember?” he asks, voice filled with a hopeful wonder that sends a warm thrill through you.

“Bits and pieces,” you admit, nodding as you set your own coffee down on the counter. “It’s like little snapshots coming back, but they’re there. And you were in them.”

His face lights up with a brilliant smile, the kind that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners and sends warmth flooding through you. “That’s amazing, Y/N,” he says, pulling you into a tight embrace, his arms enveloping you completely.

You melt into his hug, feeling the steady beat of his heart against your cheek. It’s a moment of connection and triumph, a small victory in the long journey of reclaiming the life you once shared.

“I’m so happy,” Spencer murmurs, his voice muffled by your hair but no less filled with emotion. “I’ve missed you—every version of you.”

You pull back slightly, meeting his gaze with a smile that mirrors his own. “I’ve missed you too, Spence. I can’t wait to see what else comes back.”

Spencer leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. His touch was a gentle reassurance that you were exactly where you were meant to be, a soothing balm to the uncertainty that had lingered since the accident. The warmth of his lips against your skin sent a wave of comfort through you, a reminder that love was a constant, waiting patiently to be remembered.

“I love you,” Spencer murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, filled with sincerity and a gentle vulnerability. “Can I say that now? Is that okay?”

His eyes searched yours, seeking not just permission but a confirmation that the love you once shared was finding its way back, stronger and more resilient than before.

“Only if it’s okay for me to say I love you too,” you replied, your voice soft but filled with the depth of emotion that had grown in your heart. 

The words were a quiet declaration, an acknowledgment of the bond that had endured through the haze of forgotten memories and the challenges of the past. It was a promise of the future you were eager to explore together, a future built on the foundation of love and understanding.

Spencer’s smile widened, his eyes sparkling with a joy that mirrored your own. “Then it’s more than okay,” he said, his voice warm and full of affection.

You both stood there for a moment, wrapped in the quiet intimacy of the morning, the aroma of coffee mingling with the soft light filtering through the kitchen. It was a simple moment, yet it held the weight of everything you had been through together, a testament to the resilience of love and the power of memory.

“Come here,” Spencer said, pulling you into another embrace, his arms wrapping around you with a tenderness that spoke volumes.

You leaned into him, resting your head against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat a comforting reminder of the life you were rediscovering together. In that embrace, you found not just comfort but a sense of belonging that had been waiting for you to come home to.

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

tag list <333 @dirtytissuebox @yokaimoon @khxna @noelliece @dreamsarebig @sleepey-looney @cocobean16 @placidus @criminalmindssworld @lilu842 @greatoperawombategg @charismatic-writer @fxoxo @hearts4spensco @furrybouquettrash @kathrynlakestone @chaneladdicted @time-himself @mentallyunwellsposts @sapph1re @idefktbh17 @gilwm @reggieswriter @loumouse @spencerreidsreads @i-live-in-spite

[sunsburns]

naked in manhattan

pairing: tashi duncan x fem!reader / implied art donaldson x fem!reader

summary: you’re just hours away from a flight that will change your career forever—one that will take you to london, england, for the 2012 olympics, a milestone you never thought you’d reach. thrilled yet trembling with nerves, you find yourself at the hotel bar, celebrating alone. it does not help when you run into art donaldson and… his wife?

—or: you and tashi rekindle an old flame

word count: 6.9k

contains: SMUT 18+, smut with a lot of plot, semi-public sex (a gym at the middle of the night so idk if that counts), mid-challengers movie (a year after the atlanta scene with tashi and patrick), angst with no comfort, fingering, homewrecking, cheating but also not cheating but also a worse third thing, no use of y/n, old situationship best described in terms of “casual” by chappell roan (iykyk), art is lowkey a shit starter

author’s note: so i finished this a while back and added it to my queue and did not realize i put it for july instead of june so LOL MY BAD. this is kinda like a prequel to “good luck, babe!” but you don't need to read that to get this. alsoooo thank you for all the love and feedback in “good luck, babe!” i’ve read every single message and tried to reply to all of them! you guys are so sweet and inspired me to write more! thank you thank you <3 i hope you enjoy this one!

Manhattan, New York City, 2012

"I hope you're planning on getting laid tonight."

Your drink is cold, the ice cubes clinking against the glass as you swirl the straw absentmindedly. The dim lighting of the hotel bar casts a warm, golden glow over everything, making the polished wood of the bar counter gleam. Around you, the murmur of conversations, bursts of laughter, and the occasional clinking of glasses create a lively yet intimate ambiance. You glance at the TV mounted in the corner, where a muted sports channel displays highlights from a basketball game.

You try not to snort into your drink at the words of Patrick Zweig on the other end of the call. You push your phone closer to your ear, unable to bite back the grin spreading across your face.

"Are you serious?" you ask.

"What?" Patrick's tone is mockingly innocent, full of playful mischief.

"I thought you called to say something a little more... I don't know, sincere? Heartwarming?"

He lets out a loud, boisterous laugh that you can practically feel through the phone. In the background, you hear the faint sounds of a city—honking cars, distant chatter, and the occasional bark of a dog. The noise fades slightly as Patrick likely moves to a quieter spot, and you can almost picture him getting in his car in some other state—you think he's in Arizona.

"The only kind of warming I wanna hear about is cockwarming," he retorts, his voice dripping with mock seriousness.

You make a face, "You're disgusting."

"I mean it," he insists, still laughing. "I'm actually so jealous of you right now. You qualified for the Olympics, for fuck's sake! How's your mom doing? Did she have a heart attack? Did she call you already? I hope she packed you some condoms. There's gonna be such a wide variety. Literally every country in the world."

"Shut the fuck up, Patrick."

Your mother did call, her voice crackling with emotion over the phone just before Patrick rang you. She told you how proud she is of you, how she can't wait to watch you play and tell everyone she knows that her daughter is an Olympic tennis player. A gold medalist, maybe.

Her words echo in your mind, filling you with a warmth that battles the nerves simmering beneath the surface.

You take a sip of your drink, savouring the blend of fruity and bitter flavours, a welcome distraction from the whirlwind of thoughts. You try not to spill it on your Ralph Lauren sweater, custom-made, just for the Olympics, with your name stitched on the arm.

Around you, the hotel bar is alive with the buzz of other athletes celebrating with their teams. The fellowship is appreciable as laughter and cheers fill the air. But for some single athletes, like yourself, it's a different story. You feel as if you're in high school all over again, too awkward to make friends, hoping someone braver than you will come by and say hello first.

"You better not be sitting at the bar alone, drinking that orange juice you like."

"A sangria isn't just juice, you dick," you retort, rolling your eyes.

"You're such a loser."

You do feel a little bit like a loser, sitting alone at the bar, but you know you shouldn't. You're hours away from your flight to London where you'll have the chance to play tennis in the Olympics. This is all you've ever wanted since you were a child, all you've been working for—sweat, blood, and tears. You can't even remember a time when you've dreamt of something other than this.

Tennis has always been your escape, your sanctuary. You remember those early days when you played with second-hand rackets and makeshift nets, the local court becoming your second home.

And then there was Patrick, your closest… friend(?) and fiercest rival. His encouragement, his competition, and his company kept you grounded and motivated. When the going got tough, the dream felt too distant, and all of it made you feel far too guilty as if you had stolen someone else's life, Patrick was there to reassure you that you deserved it just as much as the next. Without him, you likely would have walked away from the sport you love.

"I can't believe you made it to the Olympics before me," Patrick's voice pulls you back to the present, a mix of envy and pride lacing his words. You can almost see the playful smirk on his face, a familiar expression that often surfaced during your countless matches together.

"I wish you were here, Pat." Your voice softens, the longing evident. It was hard to track down Patrick Zweig, especially while he was constantly on the move, hopping from state to state, playing as many challengers as he could sign up for, each match a stepping stone toward his dream of winning the US Open. And you think he will. You've played against him enough times to know he's better than you at hitting a ball with a racket.

There were nights when you'd both crash in a shabby motel or back at your place after a gruelling day on the court, strategizing and critiquing each other's play styles (sometimes in more than just tennis). His tenacity was a beacon for you, pushing you to strive harder and to reach further.

His voice softens, becoming more earnest. "Yeah, me too. I'll try to get tickets for one of your games in London. If not, I'll catch up with your mom and watch it with her. Is your dad still in the picture?"

You roll your eyes, a reflex to his familiar teasing. "Oh, my god."

"I'm just asking," he chuckles. "Listen, I'm gonna let you go, 'cause I've got a date tonight. But call me when you land."

"Oh, yeah, okay." You try not to let the disappointment seep into your voice, but it's hard. It's not like you and Patrick were together, at least not publicly, at least not in the sense that you couldn't see other people. But even as you tell yourself that, a knot tightens in your chest.

It feels a bit teenageish, you think, messing around with friends and acting like it means nothing just to avoid making things awkward. Yet, you couldn't shake the feeling that you were leaving something unsaid, something unacknowledged. Patrick was one of the few people in your life who kept you on your toes and made you feel good—truly good.

Now, the idea of him with someone else, going on dates while you chase your dreams, feels like a betrayal you can't quite articulate. But what right do you have to feel that way? You never made things official, never dared to cross that line.

You never bothered to search for love outside of tennis.

"Have fun on your date," you manage to say. It comes out more brittle than you'd hoped. "Talk to you later."

"Bye!" he says, oblivious to the turmoil in your heart. His voice is light and carefree, and why wouldn't it be?

You end the call and set your phone down on the bar with a bit more force than intended, the hollow thud echoing your frustration. The bartender glances your way and you try to flash him an honest smile before ordering another drink. The TV overhead flickers, switching from basketball highlights to a recap of the latest tennis matches. You watch the screen without really seeing it.

The bar is still lively, yet you feel an overwhelming sense of solitude. You can't help but feel like you're stuck in limbo—caught between your dreams and the reality of your personal life.

You take a deep breath and a long sip of the rest of your first drink, the cool liquid doing little to ease the heat of frustration building inside you. You tell yourself you should be happy, grateful even. But right now, all you can think about is Patrick, and how much easier it would be if he were here with you.

But he's not. And maybe he never will be.

Maybe no one will.

Maybe you will die alone, your tennis racket as your only companion.

"This seat taken?" A familiar voice breaks through your thoughts.

You turn, startled, "No-" you start, but then the blur of blonde hair comes to focus and you're stumbling over your words, "Art? What- what are you doing here?"

"Oh," he smiles, a shy faint red blush already growing on his pale skin. He sits beside you, almost hesitantly, "Just stopping by the city. I saw you and thought I'd say hi."

"Hi." You return his smile, albeit a bit warily.

It's been years since you last spoke to Art properly, though your paths have crossed a few times. You've seen him in magazines, TV, and brief passings usually at major tournaments—Wimbledon, the Australian Open, the US Open. Each time, there were shy smiles and waves from across the room, lingering eyes, and awkward conversations where mutual friends tried to reintroduce you as if you hadn't once known each other

Art looks different every time you see him. His hair, now a little shorter than you remember, still maintains that boyish shagginess. There's a darker tan on his skin, evidence of his time spent under the sun. Some days he has a brighter smile, other days, it's a smile that never reaches his eyes.

As he sits there, you can't help but think of how golden his hair used to look whenever he wore his old Stanford hat, the one he used to pull low over his eyes during your college days. The memory makes you aware that you're staring, maybe a little too long. But he's looking at you too, his blue eyes trailing from one end of your face to the other, as if trying to memorize it all, capturing a photograph of who you are now.

A warmth spreads through you under his gaze, and when he finally looks away, you turn too, tapping at your empty glass, pretending to seem interested in the way the ice has started to melt.

But your eyes betray you, slowly trailing back to him. You watch the way he sits, the way he calls over the bartender and orders himself a glass of water. You try not to notice the deep timbre his voice has gained over the years, and how it resonates in the noisy bar. He looks at you, then the empty seat on your other side, and finally scans the room anxiously, as if he's searching for someone or something.

"He's not here," you finally say, breaking the silence that has grown too heavy. "If that's what you're wondering."

He nods, trying to act nonchalant but failing miserably. "What city is he in now?"

"Vegas, I think."

He makes a face and rests his chin on his hand. "There's no challengers in Vegas this month."

"Then he's just visiting. I don't know." The truth is, you don't want to talk about Patrick right now. Especially not with Art. Not after the way they ended things. You watch Art shrug, and the bartender sets your drink in front of you. You take a grateful sip, savouring the blend of flavours. Art holds his glass carefully, and the two of you sit in strained silence for a moment, the noise of the bar fading into the background.

You can't help but ask, "What are you doing here? In Manhattan?"

"I have an interview tomorrow. For the New York Times," Art says, leaning back slightly. He seems a little surprised as if he expected you to sit there without acknowledging him for the whole night. It makes you wonder what he thinks of you. "They're doing a piece on my career, the highs, the lows... the beginning and stuff."

You study his face, trying to gauge his emotions. You know what it's like to be interviewed, to have a team of people making you look your best for photos and another team crafting answers to help you maintain your reputation. It’s exhausting and thrilling all at once. "Congrats, I'm happy for you."

"Thank you. If anything, I should be congratulating you. Olympics? That's huge..." He continues talking, his lips moving, but you’re barely registering the words. For the first time that night, he seems genuinely enthusiastic, a faint spark in his eyes as he talks about you, about London, gesturing with his hand in excitement.

That's when you notice it. The gold around his finger. It glimmers under the warm lights of the bar, catching your eye like a beacon. You can't stop staring at it even after he's done talking.

"Oh, yeah. It's great." The words feel hollow as they leave your mouth. You struggle to find the right response, not wanting to be rude. "You're married?"

His face falls, and he looks down at his hand resting on his lap. "Oh, yeah, yeah. We, uh..." He scratches the back of his head, his eyes darting up to meet yours briefly before looking away. He seems nervous, like he's bracing for your reaction, worried to tell you, as if you weren’t supposed to know at all. "We got married last year. We kept pushing the date for a while because we were... we were busy... and stuff just kept getting in the way."

"We...?"

"Tashi."

"Tashi," you echo, the name tasting foreign and bitter on your tongue. "You're married? You married each other?"

He nods, "Yeah, we've been engaged for a few years now. You haven't heard?"

You feel a lump form in your throat. "No, uh. My coach tries to keep me away from certain news... my mom suggested it. So I don't get uh, distracted."

This is exactly the kind of situation your team has been trying to avoid.

The reality of his words sinks in, and you feel a sharp pang of something—loss, regret, maybe even jealousy. The air around you feels thicker and harder to breathe. Each word he says feels like another brick being laid on your chest, pressing down, making it harder to stay composed.

"Oh. Yeah, that makes sense."

You force a smile, but it's a fragile thing, threatening to shatter at any moment. "That's... that's great, Art. I'm happy for you. Really. How was... how was the wedding?" Your mind races with thoughts of broken promises and missed opportunities. You imagine Tashi in her wedding dress; you know she looked beautiful. The image stabs at you, and you wince.

"It was beautiful. Both our families came in, and we kept it traditional, in a church. It was..." He pauses, watching you before adding, "It was a small ceremony. Private. Just family."

His words twist the knife deeper. Tashi's family used to see you as such. "No, yeah, I get it. Wouldn't want any trouble at the wedding. I'm happy for you. I'm happy for the both of you." You turn to the bartender, desperate to keep your voice steady. "Hey, can I get another drink? Something stronger?"

Patrick was right; your stupid orange juice won't get you through the night.

Art watches you with concern, his brow furrowing. "How many of those have you had?"

You laugh, but it sounds hollow even to your ears. "Not enough."

"Does your coach know you're drinking?"

"Does yours know you're talking to me?"

Art leans back, his posture stiffening. He turns to his drink, the ice clinking softly against the glass as he takes another sip. The silence that follows is thick and uncomfortable. You watch as he processes your words, his expression shifting from defensiveness to something more pained. You instantly feel a pang of guilt, realizing you've struck a nerve.

You've heard all about Tashi's coaching with Art. Whispers in the locker rooms during tournaments, hushed conversations about how she's pushing him until he cracks. You never wanted to believe it, never wanted to think that Tashi, of all people, would be the one to break him down.

"She calls you Ace, you know."

You make a face at the name. A journalist had written an article about you a few years ago when you won your first US Open, nicknaming you Ace since your serves were almost impossible to hit. The nickname stuck, plastered across headlines, magazine covers, and merchandise. People even bet on you becoming the youngest tennis player with the most aces in history before the season ended. You were only off by a dozen.

"Does she?" you ask, trying to keep your voice steady, unaffected.

"You do have a killer serve."

You scoff, shaking your head. "Killer." The word feels bitter on your tongue. "Tashi used to hit those back at me like it was nothing."

Art nods, taking another sip of his drink before pausing to look at you. "Only 'cause she knows you."

"Knew," you correct him.

The silence stretches again, heavier this time. You're about to say something, anything to break it, when Art speaks again, his voice softer, more earnest.

"I miss you."

What. The. Fuck.

"I do," he insists, leaning forward, his eyes searching yours. "I miss hanging out with you. I miss playing with you. Watching your games live and not recorded on my TV."

"Art, c'mon." You feel the dread crawling up your throat, wishing you had left the bar sooner. Every word he says seems to pull you deeper into a past you've been trying to escape. Art has done nothing but throw you off your game all night.

"I miss you outside of tennis, too," he continues, his voice tinged with regret. "I miss our late-night walks, studying in the library. You remember those?"

"Of course I do."

"Tashi misses you, too," he says, and you can tell he's crossing a line, testing your patience. You can feel the corner of your mouth twitch, your eyes unable to meet his. "She tells me every night. She's always keeping up with your stats, watching all of your games, rewatching your old ones. She makes notes for you, how you could improve. She wants to coach you."

"Art, stop it," you finally snap, turning to face him. The night feels ruined, any semblance of peace shattered. Was this all some elaborate scheme against you? After all these years, is this how they repay you? Out of spite? Is that what it is, a way to get back at you because you somehow got it all, and Tashi's taking whatever she can scrape off from Art?

"I don't want her to coach me. And I highly doubt she wants to coach me either."

"I booked the hotel," he says suddenly, his voice softer, more sincere. "She doesn't know you're here. And I really think it will be good for you two to talk." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small piece of paper, placing it carefully on the bar in front of you. "Here's our room number. I'll be out tonight with some friends, so the room is yours till late. Just, don't kill each other or break anything if you fight."

"I'm not going—"

"She really does miss you," he interrupts, his eyes searching yours for any sign that you might understand, might relent.

You stare at the piece of paper, feeling its presence like a burning brand. Art stands up, hesitating for a moment as if he wants to say more but thinks better of it. "I mean it. Think about it," he murmurs before turning and walking away, his footsteps echoing in the hollow space of your mind.

You watch him go, each step he takes pulling at the threads of your carefully constructed facade. As he nears the entrance, your eyes follow him instinctively, and that's when you see her. Tashi. She's standing there, with her bags looking around with a familiar intensity, her eyes scanning the room until they lock onto yours.

You feel sick.

Meeting Art was a pleasant surprise; he makes your heart race and your cheeks burn. But Tashi makes your heart stop and your brain shut off.

She looks different—older, more mature, hair straight and cut to a mid-length but also a lighter colour—but still heartbreakingly familiar. Her eyes widen slightly as she recognizes you.

She opens her mouth as if to say something when Art stands next to her, pressing a kiss to her temple, but no words come out.

Your heart hammers in your chest.

The weight of her gaze is too much. You're the first to look away. You stand up abruptly, nearly knocking over your drink in the process. "Excuse me," you mutter to the bartender, slapping a couple of bucks on the counter. Your voice feels distant, and detached, as if it belongs to someone else.

You push through the crowd, your mind a chaotic whirl of emotions. You need air. You need space.

As you reach the elevator, you can feel Tashi's eyes still on you. But you keep moving, your footsteps quickening with each step. You need to focus on tennis. That's the only thing that's never let you down.

Tashi had once picked tennis over you, and now it was your turn to do the same.

You reach your room and close the door behind you, leaning against it as you finally let out the breath you've been holding. The walls seem to close in on you, and you slide down to the floor.

You need to remember why you're here. For the game. For the dream. And that has to be enough.

Only one problem.

You can't sleep.

Hours later, you find yourself in the hotel gym, the quiet hum of the machines the only sound in the stillness of the night. Your mind is racing, a chaotic swirl of thoughts and emotions you can't control. Desperate for an outlet, you hop on a treadmill and start running, hoping to exhaust yourself into some semblance of peace.

Anything is better than sitting in the hotel lobby, scouring the internet on the public computer for any proof of Art and Tashi's marriage while drinking wine straight from the bottle.

Art was right, it was a small wedding. There were almost no photos of it caught by the paparazzi, only articles upon articles talking about it, magazine covers and everything. God, how could you have missed this? How out of the loop were you?

There was only one photo posted, and it was from Tashi's Facebook and Instagram from less than a year ago; a picture of just her hand holding onto Art's, where you can see her wedding ring. There was no caption. But the photo had millions of likes.

You wonder if Patrick knew. He probably did. He stalks her account religiously and only recently started to tone it down. And then there's you, who had her blocked on everything since your last argument.

The music playing in your ears drowns out the world around you, a heavy beat pulsing as you hum along. Your eyes fixate on the rising numbers on the treadmill screen, sometimes glancing out the window at the city skyline, other times catching your silhouette in the glass reflection.

Sweat makes your clothes cling to you like a second skin, rolling down your spine in rivulets. You're still a little tipsy from your drinks, the taste lingering in your cheeks, but you think you're sober enough that a few more miles will drain it all out.

Art's words are burned into your mind. The wedding you were never invited to, how he suddenly wants to be friends again. You can see where he's coming from; tennis is lonely. You're lonely. You press the button to go faster, your legs burning as you push yourself harder, trying to escape the thoughts that chase you.

You don't hear the door click open, and it takes a few seconds for you to spot the reflection of someone walking behind you in the window's reflection, rolling out a pink yoga mat. But they don't step onto it, they don't move, and even worse, you catch their eye in the reflection.

Fuck.

It's Tashi Duncan.

Your heart lurches in your chest. You quickly look away, panic setting in. You turn your music up higher and make the treadmill run faster, the machine whirring louder in response. Your pulse races, not just from the exertion, but from the presence of the one person you can't bear to face right now.

In the corner of your eye, you see her approach you. When you hear her call out your name between songs, you pretend you can't hear her. You pretend to be captivated by the sight of the city at night, pretend that you're lost in the music as P!nk's voice blares into your ears, cursing out one of her old lovers.

You wonder how long you can keep the act up.

Tashi moves with a determination that you've always admired and feared. She walks around your treadmill, eyes locked onto you with a fierce intensity. Without hesitation, she reaches down and unplugs the machine from the wall, forcing it to power down abruptly.

Not long enough.

"What the fuck?" You huff, yanking out your earbuds. "What's your fucking problem?"

"You're my problem," she says, her voice steady, unyielding as she rolls her eyes.

"I haven't said a word to you."

"And that's my problem. I'm talking to you," Her gaze bores into yours, refusing to be ignored. You can see the resolve in her eyes, the same decisiveness that made her a force to be reckoned with on the court.

"I'm busy," you snap, and your breath comes in ragged gasps, both from the exertion and the emotional storm raging inside you. You feel trapped, cornered by the very person you’ve been trying to avoid.

You bite your tongue, stepping off the treadmill and walking around her when she steps in front of you. You make a straight line for your bag, watching her from the mirrors as she follows you closely.

"Can you listen?" It's more of a demand than an ask, "I just... Art told me what he did. He's a little shit, I'm sorry. You didn't deserve that. You have other shit to worry about."

You're taking long chugs from your water, staring at her without saying a word. Part of it is because you have nothing to say to her, and another is because you're afraid that if you speak, she'll see through you.

Tashi's eyes roam over you, lingering on your shorts and the way the wires from your earbuds snake from your iPod, under your tank, and peek out from under your sports bra. Her gaze is both appraising and filled with something unresolved between you. When you don't respond, she sighs. "You look great, by the way. On the court. You've changed your approach. You're vicious."

The compliment stings more than it soothes. You still don't say anything, letting the silence stretch between you like a chasm.

"...Or maybe you've always been. I haven't seen you in a long time. So a lot could've changed, I don't know."

You lower your bottle, swallowing the water. It feels cold as it runs down your throat, a stark contrast to the heat of your rising anger. You can't help the way your eyes drop to her hand when you pull your hair down from its ponytail. The sight of the ring on her finger feels like a punch to the gut.

She notices.

"We didn't want you to find out this way."

Your eyes snap up to hers. "And how was I supposed to find out?"

Tashi looks taken aback for a moment, her confident façade faltering. She takes a deep breath, as if bracing herself. "I don't know. Maybe we should've told you. Should've invited you. But I thought... I thought it would be easier for you if you didn't know. I didn't want to hurt you more than I already had."

Your laugh is bitter, devoid of any real amusement. "Easier?

"Look," Tashi begins, her voice tinged with a hint of impatience, "I'm not a fan of the way I ended things. But I think that keeping a grudge for this long is embarrassing. We were teenagers."

"You're right," you concede with a bitter chuckle, "it is embarrassing. But you know what's even more embarrassing?" Your voice rises, fueled by a mixture of frustration and hurt. "Having your husband come to me and tell me how much he misses me. And how you miss me. But you don't have the guts to tell me that yourself, do you? Do you miss me, Tashi?"

"Of course I miss you," she scoffs, her tone defensive. "You were my best friend. My serving partner. We played and won doubles together."

"Is that all I was to you?"

"Was there supposed to be anything more?"

There it is, the moment you've been dreading, the confrontation you've been avoiding. You can feel the familiar ache in your chest, "You know I fucking loved you, Tashi," you admit. "And yeah, whatever, everyone loved you. No one could get enough of Tashi Duncan. But you know damn well I loved you for more than just that."

"Loved?" She steps closer, her eyes searching yours. "You don't love me anymore?"

"No," you tell her. "I don't. I dropped out of your groupie a while ago."

"What do you love, then?" Her voice is almost a whisper, the distance between you closing.

"I love tennis," you confess, your gaze never leaving hers. "I love winning. Turns out I'm great at both. And I love that too. And people love me. That's more than you could ever give me. Or Art."

"Even Patrick?" The mention of his name is a sharp jab; she's trying to get under your skin.

"I don't know, you tell me." You're taunting her. And you love the way she falters for a split second. "You saw him at the Open last year, didn't you?"

The air drifting between you is almost palpable, shrinking smaller and smaller like it’s terrified of being trapped between you. "Listen," she says, her voice dropping lower, "I just came here to tie some loose ends. For Art's sake. He says It'll be good for me."

"Okay," you reply, seizing the opportunity to turn the conversation in your favour. Hook, line and sinker. "Is there anything else you want to get off your chest?"

Hook.

Tashi's eyes narrow slightly, but she takes the bait, her expression shifting to one of determination. "You raise your arm too high when you serve. You're gonna dislocate your shoulder one day."

"I bet you're waiting for the day I do."

"I can make you the best."

"Am I not already?"

Line.

"You're one of the best at most. But not the best. I'd be surprised if you bring back bronze. You're too short-tempered for silver. Let me coach you. I'll make sure you bring back gold."

"I don't need you," you say, the words catching in your throat.

"We both know you do," she whispers, her breath warm against your lips.

And sinker.

In that moment, everything else fades away, leaving only the two of you suspended in time. The words hang in the air, a silent challenge. You can feel the heat radiating from her, the closeness almost unbearable.

Without another thought, your lips crash together in a desperate kiss, a release of all the pent-up tension and longing that has simmered between you for far too long.

It's a whirlwind of heat and passion, each touch igniting a fire within you that threatens to consume everything in its path. Her hands are in your hair, pulling you closer, and you respond in kind, your body pressed against hers with a fierce urgency.

The kiss deepens a symphony of desire and desperation, all the words you couldn't say pouring into it with a fervour that borders on reckless abandon. You can feel yourself start to become absorbed into the bubble that is Tashi Duncan, it sucks you in, and it scares you, makes you feel as if you're sinking into the bottom of the ocean.

She grips the back of your neck, hard enough that her nails dig into the skin. Tashi waits for your gasp, and when you do, she pushes her tongue into your mouth, past your teeth until it collides with your own.

You're moaning, groaning into her mouth with the way she shoves you until your back hits the mirror behind you. You're arching into her at the way she fucking smiles against your lips at your reaction.

It's pathetic. You're pathetic. Almost in the same way Art is. You know it. She knows it. But in your defence, it's been a while since you've been kissed, it's been a while since someone's touched you this way, with heat and flavour. You're a little dizzy from it, cheeks flaring with embarrassment.

Tashi sucks your tongue into her mouth and you buck your hips against the thigh she's pressed between your legs.

There's a sweetness that lingers when she bites your lip, you wonder if she's wearing lipgloss, maybe chapstick. You hope she can't tell you've been drinking, that talking to Art made you spiral, that you've been bluffing since the moment she walked into the gym. Since the night she packed her things and told you she was leaving Stanford, her scholarship has no use since she can't play anymore.

When her hands run down your neck to your waist, gliding over the sweat on your skin, you can feel the cold touch of her wedding ring. It's frigid, making you shiver when Tashi starts to lick up the column of your throat. You almost feel bad about how wet you've become.

"Tashi..." you huff, her hands found their way to the base of your ass, guiding you to rock faster against her, only making you whine. Her grasp is tight, wanting. She pulls at your hips, slowly, dragging your crotch closer to hers and then pushing you back down on her leg. She repeats the motion a few times, rolling her own hips up into you a little more with each motion, and soon your muscles start to work so you can grind down onto her.

Tashi rewards you with a quiet moan—oh, you want her to do that again, you're going to make her do that again, louder and louder—and then, with a touch so light you could cry, she traces one hand over your hipbones and down to your pussy.

You can feel your stomach nearly drop, "You're married, Tashi."

She pulls away just to laugh at you. One finger traces your slit through your shorts, and you hear yourself moan. She raises her brows, a challenging look in her eyes, "Are you jealous?"

You try to scoff, but the cold glass of the mirror behind you squeaks when you shift. Even just this feather-light pressure through two layers of fabric, and every nerve ending in your body sets alight at once.

"What would Art say?" You try to say, your hair falling over your face as you try to collect some kind of morality. If you were caught, you can already imagine the headlines and the stories people would write about you. "What would he do if he found us right now?"

"I don't know," Tashi hums, leaning closer. She pretends to think as if the answer isn't obvious, teasing you a little when she gets close enough to kiss you but doesn't. "He'd probably ask to join."

You can't stop the way that thought alone makes you melt. You remember the jokes Patrick used to make back when you were in college, of you and Tashi being his wet dreams. You can almost imagine, how he would moan at everything, want everything, his whiney moans too similar to the ones he makes when he's on the court.

Tashi rubs gently at your pussy a few more times like she's exploring you, and then suddenly she taps right where your clit is. You cry out, and she sighs against your mouth. "You're so wet. You like it when I touch you?"

"Yeah, please... touch me." You nod. And in your head, you're telling yourself you only like it because you haven't been with anyone since Patrick left for his tour.

Tashi kisses you again, and it's a tangle of teeth and hands and smiles kept hidden, as you slip your fingertips beneath her shirt she starts to fumble with your waistband, and you're both angry and resentful and incredibly destructive, but it doesn’t matter yet.

Her fingers are clumsily slipping into your underwear and then she's there, her fingers are brushing right against your clit—you're so wet that her fingers brush right through your folds, gliding like silk, and by the time she reaches your hole, two fingers easily sink in right to the knuckle.

Tashi leaves you gasping and she teases you for it. "So sensitive," she taunts against your lips, pressing her thumb against your clit so she can see you squirm, pumping her fingers at an urgent pace to hear you moan. "So needy."

With each movement, she scissors her fingers a little, spreading you wider every time, and she starts to mouth at your neck with hot, wet kisses. "Do you like that, yeah? Am I making you feel good? I am, aren't I? I'm exactly what you need. C'mon say you want me. Tell me you need me, Ace."

"Maybe—" You're breathless, and the nickname has you tugging at her hair again, "Shit, I saw the way you made Art. He... oh god... he wouldn't be half the athlete without you. I also... I also wouldn't want to ruin my shoulder... while—while serving."

"I'm not talking about tennis."

For a moment, you worry that you've fallen for a trap, that you've said too much. You're vulnerable, a little drunk on lust and wine, and Tashi isn't stupid to not catch your sapphic crush on her since the two of you became friends, an old high school love that's never really disappeared, from slumber party kisses and how you've gawked at her, at her husband and even her ex-boyfriend.

"C'mon, Tash, you're always talking about tennis."

"Not this time."

You barely catch onto what she says. Your body feels like it's going through the most intense orgasm of your life, especially now that she's given up on pumping her fingers in favour of curling them in rapid beats against your g-spot, but you know that you're not even coming yet: you're close, though, judging by the way the room is spinning around you, and the pressure building in the pit of your stomach—"I think I'm close... oh, I don't—fuck—keep touching me like that."

She bites your neck until you say her name. You pull her hair until she moans. Her touch is blistering against your skin. She says your name in a breathy drawl like she's pleading with you, humouring you, wanting to take everything from you.

"Keep going, please, please don't stop," you all but shout, and Tashi continues the massaging movement right up on your g-spot: the positioning of her hand means the heel of her palm is dragging over your clit, and your hips are frantically grinding up into her hand—you're gonna come, the world feels like it's crashing down around you.

Every muscle in your body tenses up and through it all you hear Tashi whispering, come on, that's it, I've got you, come on, come on, and then you're coming—

Distantly, you can feel her fingers continue their movements inside of you, unrelenting—and the other hand keeps a firm grip on your hips, grounding you onto her lap—but other than that, all you know is the pleasure slamming into each nerve in your body, one by one and then all at once. A hot sting against your skin that reminds you of the sun whenever you're on the tennis court, deep into the game you've turned into the love of your life.

It can't have possibly been this long since the last time you've gotten laid, right?

Then, suddenly, you're back in reality. Tashi is heaving for breath against your shoulder and her fingers are back to a slow, steady pumping, in and out of your swollen pussy. "You're so pretty, you know that? No tennis talk."

You lean your head back against the mirror, a slow grin forming on your lips, "You don't think I'm pretty when I play."

"I think you're hot when you play."

You peek a glance at Tashi, meeting her eyes as she watches you, watching the way you catch your breath, skin shining against the fluorescent lights of the gym, similar to how you shine on the court. Yeah, you're a sight for sore fucking eyes.

Tashi takes slow, taunting steps back and away from you, and then she brings her fingers to her mouth and sucks, moaning around the digits, and through hazy eyes, you can see the most fucked-out look on her face just at the taste of your cum.

She licks her fingers clean—you feel your pussy clench down again at the sight—before opening her eyes, fixing you with an intense stare, and panting, "I'll be in my room," she rolls up her pink mat (which she never used) and picks up her bag, "I'm sure you know the number. I'm hoping you can return the favour and touch me or something. You know, before you leave in the morning."

tags 🏷️: @begoniaespresso / @sceletaflores / @too-deviant / @wolflover384 / @sevikasblackgf / @supercutszns / @diorrfairy / @24kmar / @apolloscastellan

reblog to support your writers!

© sunsburns.tumblr 2024. all rights reserved. unauthorized copying, translation, or claiming of my writing or any works as your own is strictly prohibited.

[yandere-romanticaa]

𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬.

🎀 in the late night of june, you sit beneath a mystic moon. well, rather, you're in a bar, all by your lonesome, pondering on what to order. in your daze, you didn't even see the strange man watching you.

yandere oc! x fem! reader

Despite being late June, the weather could not seem to make up its mind on how it was going to go. For the past few days, the sky kept going back and forth between being a beautiful blue to then suddenly changing to a gloomy grey, the air growing heavy with the threat of a downpour on any unsuspecting pedestrian.

You suppose you were no better than the weather, you figured. Toying with the the menu between your fingers, you noticed how it was filled to the brim with various drinks ranging from alcoholic to non alcoholic, hot or cold drinks, all of which was printed out on a pristine piece of jet black paper.

What to drink , what to drink?

The stress of exams was too much to bear, perhaps you could blame that for being so damn indecisive.

You let out a shiver as you noticed the waitresses cranking up the air conditioning to an insane degree. What was she trying to do, freeze you to death?! How inconsiderate...!

With a huff, you focused your attention back on the menu and came to the rational realization that perhaps it was for the best to get a simple fruit juice. But which kind? The offer was diverse and each flavor would surely satisfy your aching throat.

Just as you were getting ready to call out the waitresses, she seemingly beat you to the punch as she scurried towards you, a mysterious drink in her hand. The crystal glass shimmered softly against the dimly lit bar as the woman placed the drink in front of you, along with a scrunched up piece of paper. It couldn't be a bill as you had not ordered anything yet...

Seeing the confusion swirling in your eyes, the waitresses gave you a wink, beating you once again in terms of speed.

"See that guy in the corner over there?" she asked you, her tone laced with a sort of excitement. You nod, albeit slightly dumbly.

"It's from him!" she chirps happily.

Odd. You could have sworn that seat was not occupied just a few moments ago.

Taking the piece of paper in your hands, you unfold it to reveal neat handwriting, each letter and syllable written gently with a basic blue ink pen. It was a string of numbers, most likely his own phone number. Raising your head towards his direction, you noticed him eyeing you up and down, a boyish grin on his face.

He seemed normal enough, you reckoned. He seemed to be around his mid 20's, average height. He wore basic blue jeans and a cozy looking black t-shirt, which had no print on it. There were little to no accessories on his person other than a string which was hanging around his neck, most likely a necklace but was hidden from your view. Another thing worth taking note of was his phone case, which had a print of the Ghostface mask from the Scream franchise.

Ah, so he was a horror fan. How neat.

Feeling a little bold, you grabbed both your drink and the note and made your way towards him, never once breaking eye contact with the mystery man. Without a word, you shimmied across from him as you placed everything on the wooden table. A strange silence hovered in the air as neither one of you spoke for those few moments, but the man was clearly amused. Something was going on inside his head and he made no attempt to hide it, his light brown eyes basically dancing with pure glee. As if to ease the tension, he lightly smacked his lips and spoke:

"So. How are you on this fine evening?"

His tone was casual, as if he had known you for years, like he was chatting with an old pal back from the good ol' days. His entire demeanor was calm, dare you say friendly even. He raised his glass to his lips, the amber liquid in it swishing away as he took a sip, his gaze still not leaving yours.

"What's wrong? Cat got your tongue?"

You couldn't help but to giggle a little.

"Ah, she speaks! Such delight!"

His tone was sweet like candy, lulling you in to feel safe. It was embarrassing how there was a part of you that actually seemed to be enjoying this encounter, but how could you not?

Life was so stale sometimes, so dull. The most exciting thing that would happen were the occasional outings with friends, all of which you loved dearly but... You craved more. It was unsure what you craved exactly, what you needed to get your heart beating and pulsing, but regardless you needed some excitement.

It was good to change the pace every once in a while.

The evening went on and you came to learn that the name of the mystery man was Will, an engineer student who transferred recently. He liked horror movies, mystery novels, cars and good beer. It was easy to chat and you shared many things with Will, even going as far to express the desire to see him again.

The sentiment was very much mutual.

As closing time was due, you exited the establishment with Will, his hand playfully linked with yours as he talked your ear off all of the fake guts in horror movies. He was so fascinated with the way films handled the production of those fake body parts, gooey blood and potential inducing nightmare fuel.

You made your way down the street together, the darkness of the night sky being slightly broken by the old street lights.

"Y'know..." he trailed off. He was still smiling.

"I always wondered what it would be like to actually kill a person."

It took a few seconds for you to realize just what he exactly said. Stopping dead in your tracks you turned towards Will, a flabbergasted look on your face. You felt the hair at the back of your hair stand up as the wind picked up, the leaves around you going in every direction, a warning of what was potentially to come.

Suddenly, the sound of loud and absurd laughter came bursting out of him, you soon following suit. It was borderline manic as he held your hand in his own, but being so lost in the sweet comfort of earlier you chose to not think about his worrying statement. Most horror enthusiasts were a little quirky anyway, Will was probably like that too.

And just like that, you parted ways for the evening, both parties promising to get in touch as soon as possible.

The walk home was swift as each step made you feel like a silly schoolgirl who just had her first kiss.

It was just so refreshing, like gentle rainy dew on a hot day.

Making your way back home, you fumbled with the keys inside your bag and opened the door with lightning speed. Kicking off your shoes and tossing the purse on the bed, you grabbed your phone and the piece of paper, pondering on the thought of whether you should just save his number or not. You were clearly going to be seeing him for a while, so -

Ding!

The text message was so sudden that you almost threw your phone on the ground. One mini heart attack later, you saw that the string of numbers were the same ones from before, so you quickly opened the message.

"What's your favorite scary movie ;))"

You snorted. He was so cheesy but damn it all if it wasn't cute.

"I like Scream a lot, if that makes you happy :D"

It took him a few minutes to respond.

"Good choice. But, personally, I'd really like to make my own scary movie with you... I could make you the main star."

Oh... Well. You're not sure how to respond to that. You stop and think, only for the sudden feeling of unease to come back. You remain still and try to brainstorm a response, but Will is faster.

"What wrong baby? Did I scare you? :)"

Ah. He's really committing to the part, isn't he? The best thing to do would be to just call him out.

"Haha, very funny Will! And no, you did not scare me, I'm just a slow texter!!!!"

Perhaps it was time to call it a night. It's been a rough week and you were not in the mood for these games. Halfway as you were turning away, your phone suddenly rang. You sharply turned your head back, wondering why Will was calling you so late. Perhaps he didn't get social cues? Your discomfort should have been obvious from the get go, but you still decide to pick up. Parting your lips, you started to talk but a male voice interrupted you instead.

"This isn't Will baby. But I'll be more than happy to make you my Sidney Prescott."

All the air was knocked out of your lungs as your eyes bulged so hard out of your head, threatening to pop like cheap balloons.

He was right. That was not Will's voice. The mystery caller cackled, his voice ringing loudly in your ear, the sound almost too painful for your mind.

"Didn't think you'd actually pick up." he continued. "I kept an eye on you all night, and you didn't even see me! Now that baby, is skill! "

He sounded so proud, like a child who just got a high mark on a test, as if he didn't even see just how wrong this whole situation really was. Mustering up the courage, you spoke up:

"Where's Will?"

Silence. The other line was dead silent but the caller didn't end the line.

You really did not like where this was heading.

"And why would you care where he is?" inquired the man, his voice changing from menacing to serious. Your silence spurred him on, making him more mad.

"You're my girl, even if you don't know it yet. I won't have you sweet talkin' with other men."

You let out a shocked scoff and quickly hung up. You smacked the phone against the table as an audible smack! echoed across the room. Crossing your arms close to your chest, you sprawled across the cozy bed with worry on your mind as the heart in your chest beat like crazy, pumping and pumping sheer adrenaline.

Despite all that, you somehow managed to fall asleep.

You didn't even get to see the last text the creepy caller had sent.

"I'll make you my girl, even if it's the last thing I ever do."

That was not a threat. But rather, a promise.

[ink-n-shadow]

listen—my brain had a thought, and I had to bring it to life🤷‍♀️ i kinda wanna make this into a text!au... (or maybe just it's own au)

[ SWIPE RIGHT ] 𝜗𝜚 the one where you swipe right a man almost 10 years older than you

𝜗𝜚 pairing: hookup!simon "ghost" riley x gn!reader 𝜗𝜚 cw: very bare bones smut (minors—DNI), age gap (reader is in early/mid 20s; simon is in mid 30s), gentle and casual sex, possessiveness (if you squint), some aftercare, some feelings caught, slightly nervous!simon

you would meet hookup!simon on a random wednesday night, mindlessly thumbing through dating apps while draining a bottle of wine by yourself. it wasn't your fault that you were bored, pent up, and fresh out of a long-term (and rather toxic) relationship. you didn't even remember how you ended up setting your age range to 30s.

hookup!simon would have like three pictures maximum—one of his rugged face, one of his toned muscles in the gym mirror, and the last one of him and his german shepard puppy. he wouldn't even have a bio, just his name, age, and that he was looking for something short-term.

hookup!simon would be surprised when you match back with him, eyes bulging out of his skull as the notification blinked across his screen. he fully expected to never see your pretty little face ever again—but there you were, sitting innocently in his messages and begging him to tell you his dog's name.

the first time you meet hookup!simon in person, he's all shaky hands and sweaty palms—despite the fact that you're sprawled out naked across his mattress not long after he led you up to his apartment—muttering a breathless “i don’t do this often” under his breath as his calloused fingers crawl down your thighs.

hookup!simon would be so juxtaposedly gentle, soft caresses and breathless kisses smeared against your skin as he gently sinks his leaking cock into your prepped hole. his harsh and rough exterior doesn’t match the way he treats you like porcelain, careful not to break you in two as he split you open on his length.

you didn’t expect the way hookup!simon treated you after—turning on the shower and letting it get warm enough for you to slink into, putting your sticky underwear and pants into the laundry while you showered, making sure a cold glass of water was on the bedside table before you lumber back into the bedroom.

hookup!simon would offer to drive you home once you were out of the shower and your clothes were dry, insisting that you didn’t have to stay if you didn’t want to (but he really wouldn’t mind if you did). his eyes nearly pop out of his skull when you say you wouldn’t mind spending the night.

spending the night leads to you and hookup!simon talking for hours, your body sandwiched between his and his german shepard puppy (“his name’s riley—i know, s'not very original”) as you both ramble on about your incredibly different lives.

hookup!simon only takes you home after fucking you into his king-sized mattress one more time, intentionally (and rather possessively) littering your chest with hickeys and imprints of his crooked teeth in hopes of driving away your other hookups.

hookup!simon almost forgets about you and the night you both shared as two weeks (and another deployment) pass. it isn’t until he comes back to his flat and gets a random tinder notification, seeing your name illuminating his phone, that he becomes enamored all over again.

bonus: hookup!simon has a thing for being the best fuck you’ve ever had—the ego boost he gets from hearing you talk about how well he fucked you and how much you missed it >>>

[ja3hwa]

♡ 𝐋𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬 𝐏𝐭.𝟒 | 𝐊.𝐇𝐉 ♡

【Synopsis】 : Hongjoong needed to show you how much he liked you. But he couldn't help but wonder how long he could dance around the fact you were his best friend's sweet, innocent daughter.

『Word count』 : 2.35k

-> Genre: Fluff. Romance. DBF.

Pairing: Dilf!Hongjoong x Park!Reader

[Warnings] : Making out. Nightmares. Slight unspoken trauma. Wet dreams. Flirtish texting. Flirting. Romance some spicy thoughts. mention of sex. mentions of fooling around. lots of staring and pinning. Hongjoong IS the standard. Fluffy, so very fluffy. Insecure thoughts. Reader fell first, but Hongjoong fell harder. Whoops.

Note: Sorry I didn't post last night, I wanted this to be longer, so i had to scrap and start again. But it's done now, hehe. Also, special tags to @mingis-prince @likexaxdaydream @itza-meee @dinossaurz @nopension @mysteriousrainsworld @therealcuppicake for interacting and loving this little series. ♡♡

Masterlist | Navigation | Part Three | Buy Me A Ko-Fi

Turning the key in the lock of your door, you sigh finally entering your quiet home. Chucking your duffle bag through the door and down the hall, you manage to kick off your shoes and lug the rest of your bags inside. You were sweaty, tired, and plan out annoyed right now. Sexual frustration was not something you needed but here you are. Once the ordeal in the car was over, Hongjoong helped you out of the car, tucking himself back into his pants before exiting the vehicle himself. he bid you goodbye saying he’d see you soon. How soon you didn’t know, but you were fearing to ask, becoming too busy with feeling his lips on yours as he pushed you up against the door of the car. You had hooked up a leg around his waist, moaning for more while his lips explored your jaw and neck.

‘Go home and get some rest angel.’ His words still rang in your head as you showered and hopped into bed. It was just past mid-day but you were so tired, you just closed your curtains and slipped straight under the covers. It didn’t take long for you to pass out, drifting off quickly into a dreamy land where all you could think about was Hongjoong taking you, tasting you. Loving you….

-

You had woken up in shock, your nerves feeling shot and hot. It was like all your senses heightened. You hadn’t realized you were having a nightmare until you managed to jump yourself awake. You raked your fingers through your hair feeling the sweat on your brow. This is odd, you thought. You weren't someone to have nightmares, then again you don’t think you’ve ever had nightmares. It wasn’t something your brain did, yet here you were, shaking, reeling over the images your cruel mind had painted. Hongjoong didn’t want you, he was just using you. He just wants to fuck you and leave. He wasn’t going to be with you after taking your virginity.

You felt so stupid. Of course, an older man with years of experience wouldn’t want you as a partner. He just wants some fun, a distraction from his life. You didn’t know how long you cried for but when you finally left your room you noticed the clock on your dining room wall read it was almost ten-thirty. You rubbed your swollen eyes, grabbing your phone off the kitchen counter. You yawned checking your notifications seeing your father asking if you made it back already then complaining you had fallen asleep without calling him. But what caught your eye were messages from an unknown number, the unknown you quickly found out to be Hongjoong.

‘Hey, I got your number from your father. Sorry if that’s weird’ - sent at 8:35 pm

‘I had a really fun time with you’ - sent at 8:36 pm

‘Would it be too forward to ask if you want to go out tonight? I can’t stop thinking about you’ - sent at 8:45 pm

‘Angel did you fall asleep?’ - sent at 9:48 pm

You felt your cheeks hurting at the last one, smiling brightly. It almost made you forget about the anxiousness you were feeling moments ago. You sat down on your couch, staring at the text bubble. You didn’t know how to respond. He wanted to go out? But where? Was he referencing a club? Or a fancy restaurant. Maybe he just wanted to catch a movie… do people his age go to see movies?! you cringed thinking just how childish you could be. Did he think of you as childish? Young? God, you were overthinking again. 

“Okay!” you huffed out, shaking the thought, while sitting straight up. You held your phone with two hands, tapping your thumbs on the screen, sending your thoughts before your mind you take it back…

‘You wanna go out? Where?’ - sent at 10:35 pm

‘No hello? I thought better of you princess.’ - sent at 10:35 pm

you blushed, locking your phone for a moment, and staring at the ceiling. You could practically hear him call you princess. The was his whispers so lowly in your ear while his fingers would be so deep in yours—a ding from your phone shattered your thoughts, looking at the bright screen you read a new message he sent.

‘I wanted to take you out to dinner. But honestly, I’d do anything as long as I get to be around you’ - sent at 10:37 pm

Your heart was jumping, thumping so deeply in your chest that you felt like it was about to burst right out. As long as I get to be around you.. that was the smoothest thing you’ve ever read in your life. He was so charming, a gentleman and you kind of forget that from all the interactions of him spilling filth in your ears. You tried to message back as casually as you could;

‘Dinner sounds fun. But won't everything be closed by now? We don’t have reservations.’ - sent at 10:40 pm

‘Don’t worry about that. Just dress nice and meet me out the front of your apartment building.’ - sent at 10:41 pm

You shut off your phone, practically jumping to your feet. Your nightmare was long gone as you picked out something to wear, deciding on a long pink sundress with little strawberries and a white corset belt to make it look a bit more classy. You found a matching colour shall, finishing your outfit with some white docks with frilly pink socks. You chose to pick them cause, let's face it, you couldn’t wear heels. You’d end up looking like a fawn just learning how to walk and break an ankle or your foot. 

Once you were finally finished you grabbed your phone, seeing it was about ten minutes since Hongjoong sent his message. You couldn’t wait another moment, locking up the doors as best as you could, running down the stairs since the elevator was down—yet again—getting to the exit in no time. You looked out onto the street, feeling the air nip the tip of your nose and eyes slightly water at the change of temperature. “God Doll, you look like you’ve run a marathon.”

“Haaaa.” You pant out closing your eyes. You could hear the older man chuckling at your antics. The way your hair was slightly frizzy. How your chest takes a large batted breath and your corset sits slightly askew. Your face was flushed and red, and his mind went south a tad. He shook it away for a moment, walking up to you. You finally opened your eyes, seeing the broad man was almost flushed against you. He had basic dusty almost black jeans on, one of those old man belts. The dark brown ones that have been worn for years, and no one knows where to get one other than fathers or elderly men. He was wearing a different black shirt. A looser one. It made him seem more relaxed and more… comfortable.

-

His car was nothing other than lavish and chic. You’ve never sat in such an expensive car. It felt like sitting in pure diamonds. The leather was soft, and the velvet on the chair detail was magnificent. The radio wasn’t playing, unlike the way you used it as a way to kill the silence in your car. But rather off, letting you and Hongjoong sit in a comfortable silence. His hand never left your leg as soon as you took off. Him driving is one thing, but him driving one-handed. You felt like you were about to melt onto the chair, and by the thin fabric you were wearing, you’re praying you didn’t.

“So are you taking me?” your voice came out a lot shaker than you would have liked but you tried to brush it off nonetheless.

“Somewhere special.” He cooed softly, lovingly squeezing your thigh.

“Special? We don’t need to go somewhere expensive and extravagant, you know.” You laughed. You didn’t need him to spend money on you, cause you knew if given the chance he would. He was just that type of person. He had bought your father over five hundred dollars worth of Lego one time because he wanted to. You still remember the look on your father's face, as if he was about to have a heart attack with how many boxes were stacked in his home office. 

“I want our first date to be lavish. I want to treat you like royalty. Is that too much to ask?” He grunts, briefly smiling in your direction before looking back to the road. You gulped, feeling a wave of butterflies dance in your tummy. Your fingers began tugging at the hem of your dress, feeling a red blush creep on your cheeks.

“Our f-first date…” that’s what he had said. He thought of tonight as a date. Not just hang out time with two friends. The car came to a stop, not noticing you were standing outside valet parking. He unclipped his belt, turning his attention to you with a cheeky smirk on his beautiful features.

“Of course, this is our first date, and I wanna treat my girl to an unforgettable night.” his words made you suck in a sharp breath, not even hiding the way his words affected you. His girl. His. Your heart was doing flips right now. You looked away from him for a moment, hoping it would help calm the racing thump in your chest. But your eyes caught onto the dimly lit restaurant. It was like no one was even here.

“It looks closed. Are you sure we can even get in now?” You had no clue what the time would be. But given you left your place around eleven and you’ve been in the car for about twenty minutes. You knew it was already much too late for anything to be opened. He just clicked his tongue, hopping out of the car, circling the bonnet and stepping in front of your door, opening it for you. 

“Like I said. Don’t worry about it.” he let out a hand for you to take, which you grabbed happily, letting you out of the car. He pulled you snugly against his body, using his free hand to pat down your ass, moving the fabric so he could fall nicely on your figure, he was so attentive, and observant. It made your heart so full of how caring he is. You walked to the front door, your arm snaked tightly with you. Your hand resting snugly on his bicep, you could feel the way his muscle tenses under your fingertip. You had to shake any unholy thoughts that were crossing your mind as you entered the empty restaurant.

There was a row of candles, leading into the building. You turned to Hongjoong seeing his smile had grown brighter, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Well go on.” He let you go, letting you walk slowly down the aisle of lit red and black candles. All the tables were empty and unmade, chairs missing and most likely packed away but in the centre of the room was one table with a beautiful white cloth and a cute little dull lamp in the centre. There was a red curved couch hugging around the dark oak table, gifting anyone who sat down a more intimate setting. You felt tears begin to swell at the sight, no one had ever done something so romantic for you before but now that you mentioned it, your previous one and only partner probably didn’t have a single romantic bone in his body. 

“J-joongie..” You didn’t even notice the pet name as it slipped off your tongue. Hongjoong did, and god did it make his heart skip a beat. He wanted everything to be perfect for you. He wanted, needed to tell you how much he cared. Not just for the sex but for your company. He liked having you around. He loves hearing you laugh every time he says something funny. He loves the way your nose scrunches as the bubbles of the champagne tickle it. He loves the way you love food and describes all the joys and flavours and styles to cook. God, he was thankful now he didn’t give you a home-cooked meal. He would have been too afraid of your critic pallet tasting his mediocre dishes. 

His eyes would crease and smile at everything you say or do. And the outfit you wore made him fall for you even more. Your style was such an opposite to him, but yet it matched him perfectly, like two peas in a pod as his mother would say. If she was here, she would be yelling at him about ‘How have you not asked for to marry you already’. insecurities would settle in soon at that thought… You both like each other. Want to be with each other. And yet. You were his best friend's daughter. You were half his age younger. God, he wished he had met you on the street randomly. Maybe then the relationship would have been easier. Your father would most likely hate him. Heck, would he hate you afterwards? Seducing his older, very single, and very hot friend? 

Forbidden love…

And as the night drew on, you would shimmy closer and closer in the rounded couch until you were flushed next to him. He would talk about his work and his plans in life. And you were speaking about your own ambitions. And, of course, they had to match. Everything was so perfect. Right down to the movies you both liked and the music you both listened to. You were equals in every way.

The question that circled both your minds now was… how long could you keep this a secret?

[moviecritc]

ollie bearman x reader at graduation plss

pink bouquet ⋆ ollie bearman

pairing: ollie bearman x reader (fc: avantika)

summary: you thought your boyfriend couldn't make it to your graduation, but turns out he and your mum were plotting something

word count: 1K

warnings: mixed smau and writing

a/n: i made some things up about ollie's education for the sake of the plot

masterlist | wattpad | letterboxd

Y/N wasn't even sure how she had managed it, but she had graduated. Her time at secondary school had been rather confusing and tough, balancing classes with karting competitions and training sessions was no easy task, and even there were several times she thought she wouldn't make it.

But now secondary school was over and she could dedicate herself entirely to her career in motorsport. The future looked really bright for her, with several championships won, sponsors, and her pretty boyfriend who hadn't been able to make it to her graduation. Although the latter wasn't entirely bright.

Ollie and she had met at that same secondary school two years earlier. They had to do a project together and, eventually, they ended up meeting on the karting tracks, so what started as a simple friendship unfolded into a lovely relationship.

They spent a lot of time together, studying and attending each other's races. Ollie was much more advanced in the sport than she was, practically having his path to F2 carved out, and that also took a lot of his study time so usually, he performed worse in subjects than she did. So in mid-March of that year, he dropped out of school.

This made the relationship between Ollie and Y/N a bit complicated, but surprisingly they overcame the distance in a great way. He went to London whenever he could, and she accompanied him to races as they used to do before. They even managed to go to the prom together and have a lovely evening.

Y/N was aware of the fame her boyfriend had gained in a short time and he had thought it best to keep their relationship private from the media. Y/N didn't mind this part too much, but it was impossible not to think that Ollie hadn't come to see her at her graduation because there would be quite a few people taking photos.

Y/N emerged from her room wearing the pink dress she and Ollie had picked out for graduation. He had himself told her it looked so good on her that he didn't know if he'd kill or die for that dress.

She descended the stairs, finding her mother and brother eagerly awaiting her exit. "Oh my goodness, Y/N," her mother said, heading towards her the moment she saw her. "You look beautiful." Her mother glanced at her brother sternly, encouraging him to say something.

"Yeah, you look alright," he spoke, lips pressed together.

YN rolled her eyes and hugged her mother. Her phone rang, and she hurried to see who it was, which left Y/N feeling quite puzzled, especially seeing her mother's wide smile.

"Let's take a picture," her mother nodded, under her brother's grimace.

The two posed with weak smiles because Y/N looked amazing, while her brother remained in his pyjamas. Although it was Y/N who had the weakest smile; she had been feeling her boyfriend's absence all morning.

Ollie had been there for many of her most special moments; when she won her first karting championship, when she got her driver's license, when she passed that subject that had been so difficult for her… His absence at her graduation felt wrong.

Someone rang the doorbell at that exact moment. Y/N frowned and looked at her mother and then her brother, wondering who was missing.

"Why don't you open it, darling?" her mother commented from the kitchen, hiding her excited smile.

YN knew something was about to happen because even her brother sat on the sofa, waiting for her to open the door.

Upon opening it, she was met with a bouquet of tulips larger than her upper body. She gasped, bringing her hands to her face. Then a little head peeked out from the top of the bouquet. "Hi,"

YN stifled a scream, which turned into a giggle, and went into the arms of her boyfriend, who lifted her slightly off the ground as he kissed her, not caring that his face got smeared with her red lipstick. YN took the bouquet, still speechless. They closed the door behind them, and she pointed at her mother instantly.

"You knew,"

"Well, of course," her mother said, with a proud smile.

YN let out a laugh of complete happiness; she was smiling so much that her cheeks started to hurt.

"It was Ollie's idea," her brother pointed out.

"You knew too?"

Everyone laughed, and then her mother and brother left them alone for a few moments so they could talk quietly. They kissed a couple more times until Ollie asked her, "You didn't know?"

YN smiled slightly. "I found out a couple of days ago; my mother isn't very discreet with her calls," Ollie laughed, resting his head on YN's shoulder. "But I'm thrilled you're here,"

"And I am too," he raised his gaze instantly. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

YN pursed her lips slightly. "For a moment, I thought you wouldn't come. Because of all the photos and stuff,"

Ollie pulled away from her a bit, frowning.

"Why would I care about that?"

"You know, because of the private relationship thing," YN nervously bit her lip.

Ollie smiled softly, and kissed her gently on the nose. "I only told you that because at races, it's not cool to have cameras everywhere trying to take pictures of you. Some drivers told me it was a good idea,"

"Ollie, I don't care about that. I just want to show off my boyfriend at my graduation," she shrugged, cradling Ollie's face in her hands.

"I love that," Ollie pulled her back towards him, kissing her for a few seconds.

"Also, with all that fame you say you have, you could make me some promotion,"

"You cheeky…"

YN cut him off with a kiss. "I love you,"

"I love you more, baby,"

olliebearman just posted a story!

[caption: the only driver out there with gcse's]

yourusername just posted!

liked by olliebearman, yourbff and 1834 others

yourusername when the dress match the flowers>>>

tagged olliebearman

view all comments

yourbff face card never declines

user1 oh to be ollie

yourfriend ready for saltburn summerrr 🥵

yourusername i have to train 😔 yourfriend booo

user2 she's in motorsport too!!

user3 power couple

olliebearman stunning as always 🌷👑

yourusername you too babyy 💗💗 user4 they're so cute I CAN'TTT

user5 wait so if they're both in motorsports, who's the wag?

yourusername ollie obviously user6 she's so sweet it hurts

user7 i heard that they've dating for two years?? like how we didn't know??

user8 they gonna be highschool sweethearts.

[mistydeyes]

Hey hey! I don’t know if you’re still taking requests but if you are, can I please request headcanons of Price being a father of 5 girls?

AHHHHH thank you for requesting anon! Ugh I love this idea especially Price having a lil army of the best daughters (also come on look at this picture my heart!!)

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

summary: When you and Price first started dating, you wouldn't imagine having a small army of daughters but look at you now!

pairing: John Price x spouse!Reader

warnings: none :)

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

When you and Price were married and the topic of children came up, you both agreed on wanting to have a sizeable one

Oh how you laughed when you said you wanted only about 2-3

Now you were 15 years into it with 5 daughters of various ages

Soap had a running joke that you had your very own "army"

Despite your eye rolls and Price's stern glare, you adored your family

Each one of their names was something special to the both of you, memories of close family members and friends or the name of a place close to your heart

Despite your naming conventions, Price comes up with creative ways to nickname your children

However your favorite is when he looks at you all and calls you his, "loves"

Every one of your daughter has their own unique personality and it's always a constant competition to gain the affections of their father

Phone calls are a mess with the cacophony of updates and accomplishments

Price still has the fatherly command to have them all in order (with you obviously going first, he adores your updates- no matter how small)

Your home is what you and Price like to call an "organized mess"

Living with five girls ranging from mid teens to toddler means that there is always something going on in your home

From your youngest's newest art project for her papa to your oldest's latest makeup and skincare taking over the sink, every two weeks you reserve time for an entire house refresh

As you all go around trying to make sense of it all, you gently scold Price (if he's home) for buying your daughter's everything under the sun

He can't deny he loves spoiling his favorite girls (especially you)

When he goes on long trips and finally returns, you make a small tradition of waiting up for him with your daughters

You'll all gather in the living room and excitedly rush to the door when you hear the keys turn in the lock

If it's not to late, he'll be returning with a bouquet of flowers specifically picked for each one of you

Obviously yours is the biggest and your house is filled with laughter as Price looks for vases for you all

You love mornings when you wake and you can smell the kitchen filled with delicious aromas of a fresh breakfast

In a baggy t-shirt and shorts, Price is gently directing your youngest daughters on how to make the perfect pancake while your older daughters are making orange juice, coffee, and tea

“Mama look what we made,” your second youngest would call and Price would gently kiss your forehead as you tried their chocolate chip pancakes

Despite the chaos and pancake batter splatter, you would all make your way to the dining table

There you would smile, enjoying having your husband home and your not-so-little family

This moment of serenity would be broken by Price saying he invited the 141 over along with their families and spouses

[arctickat2400]

Tornado Troubles ∞ Clark Kent

Clark Kent x F!Reader

Word Count: 1799

Disclaimer: This is not how I would react to a tornado. Actually I don’t know, since I’ve never been in direct contact with one. But in my head, I’m pretty sure I’d react differently. But this is just what I came up with and how the story played out. Hope you enjoy it!

A/N: This was a spontaneous story. Before I had written this, I hadn’t even planned to. I’ve had the idea in my notes, and another idea had popped into my head to go with it, so I was like, okay, let’s write. So I apologize if it’s not my best work. (Sorry for the dumb title too lol)

* * *

His heart began racing the second he heard the all too familiar siren. You and Clark had come to Kansas to visit Martha, which had started out well. It was always nice to see her. She was like a mother to you. Well, technically she was your mother - your mother-in-law, for that matter. But even before Clark, you’d known Martha and she had instantly become part of your family, followed by Clark (but that’s a story for another day). 

Martha was at work and there was a crime in the minute town of Smallville that had pulled Clark away from you that afternoon. You were left to your own devices and you’d decided to work on your art and listen to some music to take your mind off the fact that Clark was out dealing with some sort of danger. Yes, of course you know he’s more than capable of taking care of himself and that he’s Superman and deals with this stuff all the time, but that still doesn’t make the heaviness in your chest any less heavy when he’s not by your side.

Since no one was around, you had your music blasting to drown out your anxieties. You’d been half way through one of your drawings when you could have sworn you heard something apart from your music. However, your mind tended to play tricks on you, and even then, the music was too loud to even be sure. So you ignored it and continued with your work. 

Clark, having been flying home with a smile on his lips at the thought of seeing his love again, began to panic as he stopped mid air after having caught sight of the rotation of air and debris in the distance, passing by just outside of Smallville, right by his mother’s work, thankfully not having hit. 

Usually he wouldn’t be worried about tornadoes after having experienced several during his years in Kansas. But the tornado was, in fact, spinning straight toward the Kent Family Farm, straight toward his precious baby girl who has never experienced a tornado and who has always feared that the day would come where she would have to experience such devastation. What worried him more was that he was not with her, that she was all alone, and the tornado was coming in fast. 

Clark didn’t waste another second as he sped through the air towards his baby who, if she hasn’t heard it yet, will soon start to panic. He finally caught sight of his house and, using his x-ray vision to see inside, saw you sitting peacefully at the table only to be startled when you finally heard the sirens. Clark spotted the fear in your eyes instantly as you stepped up to the window, turned down the radio, and froze at the sight of the tornado.

You didn’t know what to do. You’d never been in this situation. You never thought you’d have to experience something like this since you live in the city. Your eyes were locked on the column of air spiraling towards you, your body frozen in place. 

“Y/N!” It wasn’t until you’d heard Clark’s booming voice that you finally snapped out of it. You watched as Clark made his way to you, tears stinging your eyes. 

“It’ll be okay, baby. Let’s go,” Clark assured you, taking your hand in his, his warmth providing the smallest bit of comfort in this terrifying moment. The phone rang as you hurried through the halls. Clark figured it was Martha calling to see if everything was alright, but there was no time. He had to get you to safety. 

Clark led you out of the house and towards the storm cellar, the wind whipping your hair around, blinding your view of where you were going. Luckily, you had Clark to lead you, but halfway there, you made the mistake of looking back, only to be met with the colossal tornado looming over you. You froze once again as Clark went to open the doors to the storm cellar, but even when he’d called out to you, you found yourself unable to move despite the swirling column coming closer and closer. 

Clark was quick to get to you, picking up your terrified body, holding you to his chest, your eyes locked on the tornado above as he rushed you underground, the doors slamming behind you. He sat on the old couch that was kept there for this exact situation, holding your trembling body on his lap. You clung onto him as he pulled his cape out from behind him and wrapped it around you before wrapping his own arms around you for extra protection, holding you close and rocking you soothingly in his arms. 

The sudden thunderous sounds of the tornado shredding through the surface above made you jump, tears streaming down your cheeks, causing Clark to hold you that much tighter.

“Shh, it’s okay, my love. Everything will be alright. You’re safe with me,” Clark comforted you, his fingers brushing through your hair as an act to calm you. You hid your face beneath his cape, against his chest, your mind telling you that you’d be safer there. 

It had felt like hours but was only minutes before Clark had told you it was finally safe to go outside. If it had been anyone else, you wouldn’t have trusted their judgment. But Clark’s enhanced abilities provided you with the utmost comfort that always allowed you to feel as safe as ever (since he was able to sense what was and wasn’t going on outside). 

Slowly, you lifted your head from Clark’s chest, coming out from your red silk hiding spot as Clark’s protective hold on you just barely loosened. He looked down at your red, flushed features to gauge your reaction as you looked at your surroundings. 

“Are you okay, sweetheart? It’s over now. We’re okay,” Clark vowed softly as he lifted his hand to your cheek to brush away the tears, tucking your hair behind your ears. You looked up, meeting his eyes, and he gave you a sweet, reassuring smile. You nodded hesitantly in acknowledgment as Clark placed a loving kiss to your forehead.

Unwrapping his cape from around you, Clark kept you in his arms as you clung to him, standing and making his way up and out of the cellar. You whimpered as you watched the tornado continue its path away from the farm, away to destroy whatever else it could find. Then, you felt the hitch in Clark’s throat, causing you to pull away slightly to see the damage behind you - the Kent's home was destroyed. 

It was Clark’s turn to freeze in place. You dropped from his arms and turned to face the only home that Clark had ever known as a gasp escaped from your throat. Of course, he still has his apartment with you in Metropolis to go back to, but it’s his childhood home. And Martha, what about her? She’s going to be devastated. You turned back toward Clark, his body motionless, his face expressionless as he stared up at his house, or what was left of it.

 “Clark, I’m so sorry,” You didn’t know what to say. What could someone possibly say to make this better? You pulled him back into your arms, making it your turn to comfort him. His arms wrapped around your waist, nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck. Clark finally came to his senses, though, the senses he’d been accustomed to since he became Superman, the need to make sure everyone else is okay.

“I’m just glad you’re okay, darling. Just the thought of you having to go through that alone made me come home that much faster to get to you. I don’t know what I would have done if something had happened to you, my sweet girl,” Clark professed. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. His house was gone and he was worried about you?

You pulled back to look him in the eyes, placing your hands on either side of his face, his hands on either side of your waist. “But, Clark, your home, it’s…” But you couldn’t finish when you both turned at the sound of a horn, the horn of the Kent’s truck. Martha was driving down the road towards the farm. But Clark wasn’t done with your conversation yet.

He guided his hand to hold yours against his cheek, gaining your attention back, your eyes locking with his as he rubbed his thumb soothingly over the back of your hand. “You’re my home, baby. This is just a house,” He gestured to his childhood house. “But you, my darling, I couldn’t live if something had happened to you. But you’re okay. We’re all okay, and that’s all that matters to me,” Clark declared, his eyes showing the immense love and adoration he felt for you. A smile lifted your lips as your forehead met with his, finally letting out the breath you’d been holding, knowing now that everything was going to be okay. 

“Are you guys okay?” Martha’s worried voice rang out after the sound of the truck door slammed closed. You both turned to her, Clark offering an encouraging smile to her.

“We’re okay, Ma,” Clark spoke first.

“Martha, I’m so sorry about your house,” You replied. You couldn’t even begin to imagine what Martha could be feeling after seeing the devastation that was her home. You met her in the middle and pulled her into a hug. It was the most motherly hug you’ve felt in a very long time. Clark had come up behind you, placing a comforting hand on your waist. Martha had noticed and pulled him into a hug of their own. 

“Oh, my boy,” Martha smiled, thankful that her son was okay, tears threatening to spill at the thought of almost losing the only family she had left. Unusual because Martha was not one to get emotional. She’s such a strong, independent woman, someone you looked up to. 

“It’s okay, Ma. You know it’ll take more than a tornado to take me down,” Clark joked in an attempt to make his mother feel better. 

“Yes, but not this one here,” Martha smiled pointedly at you, placing her hand gently against your cheek as you hold it there with a smile, her other hand holding onto Clark. “I’m just glad you both are okay,” She added.

“I’d never let anything happen to my girl,” Clark smiled at you, taking your hand and pulling you into his arms. That was what you loved about the Kent Family - it didn’t matter if they didn’t have much in the matter of the material things. As long as they had each other, they would be okay. 

[eliluvschan]

Shadow Selfies

pairing: bang chan x reader

word count: 971

warnings: few curse words & cutie Channie

genre: fluff

a/n: am i writing instead of finishing an essay for my deadline on thursday? no im not👀

i was walking my to my best friend Chan’s house. he’s got i don’t know what hair colour cause the man dyes his hair every two weeks now? i kinda lost count.

we’ve known each other for the past five years, but the thing is i’ve always liked him more than a friend.

i like him. a lot.

i rang the bell and Jessica, Chan’s mother, appeared in the doorway.

“hey dear, Chan’s in his room upstairs.”

“thanks, Mama Bahng.” i always call Jessica Mama Bahng, it’s a habit i picked up from hanging out a lot at Chan’s house.

she smiled as we both walk trough the hallway. “are you hungry?” she asked me.

“a little.”

“come on. i just bought these.” she said, putting a batch of brownies in front of me.

“alright then, but just one.” i smile.

“sure.” she turned away.

i took a piece and ate it.

“oh, this is amazing.”

“i know right? it’s a new bakery called Felix’s Goodies, maybe you and Chan can pick some up for the others?” she suggested.

“sure thing!”

“eomma, is Y/n here already?” i heard Chan calling from upstairs.

“maybe later.” i smiled and got up from where i was sitting, and made my way down the hall and upstairs. i knocked on the second door on the left.

“if it’s Hannah, go away. if it’s Y/n, come in please!” he called from inside.

“ugh, rude!” Hannah called as she got out of her room to go downstairs.

i laughed at her comment as i opened the door to the usual shirt strewn floor and messy bed.

“hey, where are you?” i called.

“oh, hey there cutie.” he said emerging from the side and pulling on a black hoodie. he stopped in front of me. “what’s up?”

“nothing much. you ready?”

“ready for what?”

“science!”

“oh yeah. come on.”

so we sat down on the bed and flicked through our books and opened chapter seven of biology. disease’s & microbes.

“i don’t understand this shit.” he said after five minutes of poring over the same page. he scanned the green page and then looked at me.

“what is that hard about learning the freaking definition of a compost?” i asked after explaining the compost again.

“it bounces off of my head. how did you do it?”

“don’t ask.”

he laughed. omg his laugh.

“okay. one more time?” i asked.

“okay. and then we do something else.”

i rolled my eyes. “sure.”

he smiled and sat a little straighter.

“when rotten plants, are piled onto a heap, the bacteria of microbes act on it, and produce an enzyme that turns into any sort of liquid and then they feed on it. this stupid and disgusting process is called a compost. got it?” i asked.

“the crappy heap of plant shit is called compost?” he joked.

i laughed. “yeah. now Bio degradable’s?”

“we’re doing something else.” he told me.

“you’re going to fail the test!”

“no, i’m not.” he said.

“yeah, you are. you’re not paying attention!”

“look, i’ve done as much as i can. and just one def. of bio- whatever’s left. it won’t hurt to leave one thing. and besides, you need a break too.

i thought for a moment. true, i do need a break.

“why are you trying so hard to make me study?” he asked.

“cause friends watch out for each other, and remember Mr. Lee said he’s gonna change out seats so we can’t pass notes or talk at all.” i reminded him.

“aw, you’re doing this so we can talk? sweet!” he smiled.

“shut up.” i said, returning to the book.

“hey, look at the shadows!” he said.

i looked and saw our shadows on the wall, very clear and sharp.

click!

Chan took out his phone and took a picture. soon, we were posing madly and taking pictures in the mirror. then Chan held up his index finger. i put mine across it and made an x. i took the picture.

he held his palm in the air. i calmed mine against it, forming a weird, but beautiful shadow of two hands joined in mid-air.

both of us took the picture. then he curved his hand into a half-heart shape. i curved mine, completing the heart. we took the picture.

i looked up at him, he looked down, not smiling. his eyes full of passion. he stared at my lips, then he leaned in and the next thing i knew his lips were moving against mine and his arms were no longer suspended in the air but gripping my waist.

a soft sigh and a click!

a camera snapping a picture, and we jumped and broke apart. Chan looked around. his mother was standing in the doorway. she quickly turned around and walked away.

“i, uh, i should get going.” i blushed and turned away.

“no, don’t go.” he whispered, holding me back.

“goodbye, Chris.” i moved away. but i felt a tug at my fingers. i looked back. our fingers were still locked. Chan smiled at them, but i hastened to pull them away.

i made my way home, still thinking about the kiss.

i got a text from Chan as soon as i was inside.

Channie😩❤️‍🩹: i made mom delete the picture.

me: ok, thanks.

Channie😩❤️‍🩹: but i still have it ;)

me: what? why?

Channie😩❤️‍🩹: our first kiss.

me: can u send it to me too?

Channie😩❤️‍🩹: [1 attachment]

me: well…

Channie😩❤️‍🩹: it’s uhh, nice.

me: yeah.

Channie😩❤️‍🩹: will you be my girlfriend Y/n? i mean i’ve liked you forever and i know you kissed me back and we are friends- i’ll take you out this weekend if that suits you?

me: uhh…

Channie😩❤️‍🩹: what?

me: nothing

Channie😩❤️‍🩹: then?

me: yes! :D

Channie😩❤️‍🩹: i had fun.

me: excuse me?

Channie😩❤️‍🩹: excused, girlfriend ;) i was talking about the shadow selfies and science of course.

me: oh yeah. me too >_<

Channie😩❤️‍🩹: so tomorrow night?

me: sure. goodnight boyfriend 🤍

Channie😩❤️‍🩹: goodnight girlfriend :)

~

[schoenpepper]

Chivalry Should Die!

Intro: Or, how to kill chivalry in five steps, featuring Idia Shroud!

Warnings: bad writing, awful grammar, not proofread I got lazyyyy, mentions of hentai lmao, reader is not yuu, idia highkey being a loser

A/N: This is a request from an anon. Not sure if this is actually what they wanted, but if you're reading this I hope you like it. Kinda short idk I was really busy with that Jade songfic.

Masterlist

Opening the door

As the heir of a kingdom, you've long since been trained to be respectful, etiquette and decorum seared into your flesh and carved into your bones. Perhaps with such an upbringing, Royal Sword Academy would have been for you.

But the invitation is black.

Your first day in Night Raven College is nothing too interesting. You're sorted into Ignihyde (ha!), your housewarden is a floating tablet, and some magicless folk with a rabid cat crashed orientation, starting off the year with a literal bang! You're unphased, a polite smile on your lips as you gather your things and your wits and line up to head to the dorm. You go through the mirror and up the stone stairs that led to the building in its weird mishmash of ancient architecture and blue triangles and holograms.

You, being the very kind person you are, open the door for the tablet.

It stops in mid-air.

"What...? Did you just open the door for a tablet? Lolz! Wtf you're such a weird freshie lmao. Imagine being that person, idk couldn't be me ig."

You keep on smiling.

(But the urge to punt the tablet all the way back to the hall of mirrors is strong.)

Carrying items

"Oh, let me help you, senpai."

"Huh? No, I'm okay..."

You glance at the large box, clearly heavy and stuffed to the brim by whatever was inside it and your senior slash housewarden who was doing his best to lug it up the stairs as he panted. "Are you sure? You look like you're having trouble." You watch him carry it to the second step.

"Totally fine, yep, nothing weird here, nope, nuh uh, I don't need help."

Idia avoids your eyes. The tips of his hair are turning a faint pink, and the fact that Ortho wasn't the one doing the heavy lifting was really the very first giveaway that something was wrong.

You narrow your eyes and step back.

"If you say so, Idia senpai. But why don't you just use—" he accidentally drops the box back onto the ground, watching, horrified, as its contents spilled out, "—magic to...carry it..."

"No, Y/N, don't look!"

You pick up a thick book from the pile on the ground to help him gather it all. Manga, was it? Upon accidentally reading the title, you give him the most disgusted look you could ever muster.

Idia screams until Ortho comes by to help him put his hentai manga back into the box.

Always be on time

You and Idia had agreed; 4 p.m. Not too early, not too late to work on that essay you needed to pass by tomorrow. He's a good friend and upperclassman if nothing else, so he offered to help you with the topic, which was included in his wide range of expertise. The catch is that you had to do it in his room.

You knock on the door at exactly 4.

No answer.

You take out your phone and send him a quick message. When he doesn't immediately answer, you call Ortho instead.

"Hello, Y/N!"

"Hey Ortho, do you know where Idia is? He promised to help me with an essay and he's not in his room."

"Older brother and I are in the Shaftlands!"

You smile (instead of cracking your phone into pieces). "Really? And when did you leave?"

"We left this morning because there's a comic convention that brother wanted to go to."

"I see. Thank you, Ortho."

Help getting down from a carriage

You hop down the carriage and hold out a hand to Idia. He looks at your hand weirdly, hair pink as he murmurs something you couldn't quite understand (you just know it's something annoying though). He gingerly puts his hand on yours and carefully descends from the carriage.

And by carefully, you mean, of course, that he lets go of your hand halfway and trips on the stairs before faceplanting into the dirt.

You sigh and carry him in your arms.

"Eek! Is this a limited edition SSR CG?!"

"What?"

"I mean, where are you taking me?"

You look at him dead in the eye and press on his left ankle.

"Ouch! Oh...okay..."

Paying for a date

First date! You don't know how, but you managed to convince Idia to eat out in a fancy restaurant with you (if only because you know that he will never agree to anything like this ever again). The food is nice and the ambience is tolerable even though the two of you are in a public space (you chose a private room but to Idia it's still a public space apparently). At the end of the night, the waiter puts the bill on the table and leaves.

"I'll take the—" When your hand reaches for the check, Idia grasps onto your wrist.

"No."

"No?"

He shakes his head.

"I'll pay for it because...you asked me out so...it's only fair..."

"No, it's unbecoming of a royal to not even pay for their partner's food."

He is weirdly competitive about this.

Anyway, at the end of the night, the check accidentally rips in half (the waiter wonders why) and you successfully pay for the full meal.

[jeon-ify]

that night : j. yunho - pt. 1

a/n: this is my first actual fic since i’ve just been posting scenarios and requests :3 !! this idea came from listening to ‘you broke me first’ by tate mcrae. its a great song and it reminds me of yunho but toxic yunho. it would kinda be good if you listen to the song while reading !! idk girl i just write

genre: smut, drama, early 20s- mid 20s romance, toxic/dark romance, 18+

warnings: smut, dark romance, toxic!yunho, yunho has a threesome with y/n’s best friends, yunho is a cheater, reader swears a lot, yunho calls reader a psychotic bitch, san is a druggie, alcohol, cocaine, yunho begs, yunho gets sad and guilty, reader claims she moved on, san is annoying as hell, wooyoung is readers bestie!!

“san! i haven’t talked to you in so long, i’m sorry! how have you been?” your phone rang, you look to see that san called you about 20 times. you’ve been ignoring him, since he’s done almost every drug under the sun in the past year since you all have moved to different cities.

“man I called you 6 times. stop playing dumb. yunho’s asking about you again, please call him back. i’m sick of his shit.” san sniffles sharply. you’re sure he’s doing crack again, but when is he not?

you did not want to hear about yunho. you haven’t heard about or seen him in almost 4 years now, recovering from that night.

~~~~~~~~~~~

you call yunho, in hopes that he’d pick up. you left him a voicemail asking if he’d want anything from target when you were off work tonight.

*hello!! it’s yunho, sorry i couldn’t take your call. leave a message and i’ll call back!*

“i’m gonna stop at target, babe. did you want anything? love you, call me back.”

you finish your target run, grabbing a set of shampoo and conditioner and other necessities as you’ve been out of your favorites for a week now. you step out of the car, grabbing your bags and unlocking the door to yunhos apartment. you didn’t live with him, but you practically did since you were there almost every day of the week.

“~yuyu, fuck its so good! so big!” “you fuck us so good oh my god.”

“you’re both so fuckin’ pretty. my god.”

no fucking way.

your heart dropped to your ass, at a loss of every word in the dictionary. you felt like you were being run over by a truck 100 times over.

it felt like every moment with yunho was flashing at once.

he told you he loved you a million times a minute, you thought you were the only one. you thought that yunho would love you and only you, but how could you be so stupid to trust anyone else again?

you walk to where the noise is coming from, tears flooding your eyes, threatening to fall. the door is cracked a little, you see a pile of black hair and red hair mixed, one on top of the other. one of the girls has a tattoo on her wrist while the other has one too— it looks all too familiar.

one tattoo being a moon, the other being a sun.

your best friends.

you want to cut off the star tattoo on your wrist so fucking bad. how could they ever betray you like this? they never approved of yunho, but he’s inside both of them, fucking them on your shared bed. in your (what was once) home.

you didn’t even want to acknowledge the situation, instead you dropped the target bag at the door of the bedroom, leaving as soon as you could.

hours later, yunho calls. no answer.

you stare as your phone rings.

*32 missed calls from yuyu 🫶🏻✨*

yuyu 🫶🏻✨: hey, sry i didn’t call back. where’d u go?

yuyu 🫶🏻✨: babe?

yuyu 🫶🏻✨: y/n, pick up the phone.

yuyu 🫶🏻✨: not funny.

Read at 12:43AM

yuyu 🫶🏻✨: ur reading my fkn messages but ur not answering n its pissing me off

yuyu 🫶🏻✨: alr whatever lmao dnt pick up.

Today at 5:21AM

yuyu 🫶🏻✨: i cnt sleep, thibkin about yoj

*2 missed calls from yuyu 🫶🏻✨*

you watch your phone ring, waiting for the ringing to stop. your tears flow, deciding to call him back.

“baby? my fucking god, i mis-missed you. *hiccup* had me worried sick.” he slurs. he’s fucking crying.?

“you’re a fucking liar. my best friends? you’re drinking, you piece of shit. and you’re fucking crying?”

“relax, they’re not your best friends and i know that cus they did that to you, plus me and you baby, we don’t belong to each other. been wanting to leave. felt so fucking locked up. you won’t let me do what i want, you controlling fucking psychotic bitch.”

what the fuck.?

you watch the time on the phone call increase as he mumbles what you really meant to him.

you feel like you really did trap him, but you both didn’t agree on a poly relationship. for him to fuck your best friends is an insane thing to do to someone.

you end the phone call after 57 minutes of yunho talking about how much he fucking hated you for never letting him fuck your friends.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“i’m never talking to that piece of shit again and never bring him up to me. i have things to do, i’ll text you.”

you hung up the phone after 35 seconds.

you’ve grown past the situation with yunho, healing and becoming a better person. you were single, traumatized from your past relationships being a burden on you. but, your best friend wooyoung always supported you through and through. he wanted what was best for you, even though he introduced you to yunho. it wasn’t wooyoungs fault that yunho had fucked up (or was already fucked up), he just wanted to help you find someone. you had your own apartment, your own car and your own lash studio. you were booked for days on end, always working and being your own person.

but, with healing comes pain.

you’d occasionally think about yunho, how he’d pamper you in gifts and he’d take you anywhere you wanted. you thought about the nights that you’d cried to him, he’d hold you in his warm chest, making sure you were held and you didn’t feel alone. you sometimes still toss around in bed, thinking yunho was next to you, on your right side. you’d still bake matcha and white chocolate cookies as if he’d eat them with you, a reminder that you loved yunho— as your love language was baking— and every time you see those cookies, your heart begins to ache.

you pick up your phone and text your best friend, as he’s the only person you go to for anything.

—————-

to: woo 🧍🏻‍♀️

y/n: bitch get up

y/n: r u awake yet

y/n: GET THE FUCK UP BRO ITS AN EMERGENCY

y/n: if ur not up in the nect 5 minutes i’m calling the cips

y/n: next *^ & cops^*

y/n: man i just need to talk 😩 san called me

*seen*

woo 🧍🏻‍♀️: girl what the FUCK

woo 🧍🏻‍♀️: did u call the cops yet

woo 🧍🏻‍♀️: is the cop hot

woo 🧍🏻‍♀️: bitch WHI CALLED

woo 🧍🏻‍♀️: im calling u rn answer

your best friend calls you in no less than 3 minutes after your series of texts.

“why is san calling you? what’d he want?” wooyoung asks, concern masking his voice.

“woo, i just started feeling like i finally moved on from all that bullshit. he fucking calls me like ‘oh yunho wants to talk to you’ and i’ve been dodging yunho for fucking ever. i know he’s been calling me but-“ you ramble to him. he cuts you off, questioning:

“did you ask him what he wanted from you?”

“it doesn’t matter because im over it and im over fucking everything. its all bad news and i don’t wanna go down that hole again, woo. if you’re so curious ask him yourself. i don’t care and i honestly don’t wanna know.”

“okay. i won’t ask.” wooyoung says in defense. he has a sixth sense, and his sense is telling him that maybe something is wrong with yunho, or maybe he wants to try to give you the closure you deserve. though he already gave you closure— just not the kind you expected from someone you’ve loved for 6 years.

but a part of you really wanted to know why he called. a little portion of your heart still aches for yunho, but you’re healing, remember?

the phone call ends after small talk, and you stare at yunho’s contact info for 7 minutes. you open messages and read the last message he sent you. you have him blocked, but you know it’s his number.

May 19th, 2021 at 3:21AM

*You have new messages from (***)***-**** *

(***)***-****: baby, i’m so sorry.

(***)***-****: you won’t ever forgive me, but i’ve changed. my star, my love, my moon, my sun.

(***)***-****: i can’t sleep anymore.

(***)***-****: i’ll leave you alone, okay?

December 10th, 2022 at 1:21AM

(***)***-****: i can’t live without you.

(***)***-****: it’s been so fucking long

(***)***-****: js need to see ur face. keep staring at the same pic but it was so long ago

(***)***-****: my messages are green, why are they green?

(***)***-****: i met someone today, his name started with an M but i can’t remember what his name was

(***)***-****: he’s helping me heal. ik i don’t deserve to heal but i wanna be better bc u deserve better

(***)***-****: i wanna be the one for u my love

(***)***-****: i fucked up but pls believe me when i say i’ll change for u bb

(***)***-****: i’m going to sleep, goodnight my angel

January 8, 2023 at 7:08PM

(***)***-****: everythibg remjnds me of u baby

(***)***-****: ur everywhere i go

(***)***-****: ur everything i see

(***)***-****: mingi won’t let me live diwn what i did to u

(***)***-****: i deserve to fucking die

(***)***-****: i really lost u

Today at 10:32PM

(***)***-****: i still miss you, my love.

(***)***-****: want you to carry my children and be in my life forever.

(***)***-****: i’ve bettered myself. i’ve changed, please let me see you again.

*seen*

shortly after you open his book of messages, your phone rings.

*2 missed calls from (***)***-**** *

———————

you watch your phone ring twice, your heart dropping 6 times over, you didn’t think he would be this bad about it, but maybe he aches for you the same way you ache for him.

maybe yunho is sorry. maybe he changed and maybe he wants to be with you again.

your phone rings again, the same phone number showing up, as your shaky hands press the green button.

silence. the first 8 seconds is silent as yunho tries to process and come up with what he’ll say to you.

he tried calling you for 3 years on end, you’d blocked him. he was so used to your voicemail being the only thing left of you to heal him.

“h-hello?” there it is. the voice you refused to hear for almost 4 years, its there. it’s no longer only in your head, it’s his voice on the other side of the 7 inch screen against your ear.

his voice makes your stomach twist and turn, your hands sweating as your chest forms a hole within itself.

“you don’t need to say anything, just listen to me, hm? you can hang up any second you want, but if your heart still aches for me the way mine does for you, you’d listen.

my love. i’ve ruined you and tore you to shreds. i don’t even know where i begin. you are the most precious thing that has ever happened to me. the minute you entered my life, i took you for granted and fucked up. i didn’t realize how much i loved you or how much you meant to me until you left. that night is a blur to me, you didn’t deserve any of that. you deserve to be treated like royalty, you deserve to be treated in the most beautiful and enchanting way because that is how you made me feel. but i went and fucked that up for the both of us. i didn’t mean what i said to you. i was drunk but that’s no excuse to talk to you the way i did. it’s not right. it never was.

the only time i ever find myself doing right is when i beat myself up for doing you wrong.

i stay at the same apartment, san comes over and does whatever he needs to do but i haven’t touched a drug since you left me. the minute you left was the minute i decided to better myself. mingi is helping me be the person i want to be for you. my god, i hate myself for everything ive done to you. i’m not asking for your forgiveness, i know you won’t give it to me. but i want you to know that i still am here and i still love you. i love you better and i love you the way you deserve.

are you still with me, y/n?”

he breathes. you breathe. you finally breathe.

“i- yunho. i don’t know how to feel about any of this, you really hurt me and i can’t trust anyone anymore. you fucked my best friends, in our room. i don’t even know why i even looked at my phone or why i even answered san when he called me. i’m doing better, but you calling me again is really making me feel like i’m falling down that hole again.” you try your hardest to not let him hear you grow weak to his confession. his heart caved in, and his stomach grew empty when you’d brought up his mistake.

“i understand. i won’t push or do anything to make you uncomfortable. but, i want to have coffee with you, or one of us can come over and we can talk about this, hm?”

you sigh. you felt like all the healing and all the self care you’ve been doing is going straight down the drain.

but do you wanna listen to what he has to say?

“i’m free tomorrow afternoon. but i can’t stay long.” is all you say. you don’t wanna keep this conversation going, nor do you even want to talk about this at all. you are growing selfish; only wanting to see yunho because you miss the attention you used to get from him.

“as long as i get to see you, its okay. i look forward to talking to you, y/n. been waiting forever. is 4:30 fine with you?” he sniffles and lets out a calm chuckle from within his throat.

he’s aching just as much as you are.

“yes. goodnight, yunho.”

“goodnight, star.” that nickname. the same nickname that dragged you into his lore. he speaks lightly. the phone call ends and he sounds like an angel, making your head spin and your heart confused.

you don’t know whether to trust yunho again because, maybe, he is sorry. maybe he wants to make things right with you.

for the rest of the night, you cannot sleep. you don’t decide on going tomorrow, you really don’t want to face yunho after what he did to you. after 4 hours of tossing and turning, rereading texts from yunho, drinking water, and listening to nothing but the buzzing in your ear, you finally manage to get sleep.

—————————————————————————————

first fic!! yay!! i know yall are gonna hate yunho because what he did to y/n is trash and ass and all of the above. i hope you guys start to understand yunho further in the story. idk what im gonna do with this fic but i hope i come up with part 2 in a timely manner cus i dont want it to be dragged lol. but!!!!!!!!!! i hope you all like this fic just as much as i HATE it 😋

[xxaraaq]

𝙎𝙥𝙤𝙤𝙠𝙞𝙚 𝘾𝙤𝙤𝙘𝙝𝙞𝙚

masterlist

word count | 5.6 k

cw | suggestiveness, smut, that's really it

Choso x Black!reader

A/N | Sorry that I haven't posted in a long time. This is really shitty but I wanted to post something for Halloween before I probably disappear again. I hope you enjoy. Also, the costume is the first one when you click on the link.

Choso wasn’t one to be at any type of social event, much less a Halloween party. He hated everything there – from the alcohol filled bodied rubbing against each other to the shitty costume, he could barely stand the thought of it.

He’s always preferred to stay in and watch any horror movie franchise ranging from Saw to the Conjuring. It was one of the best ways to spend the night in his opinion, and he wouldn’t think in a million years that it would ever change. 

Until you.

He doesn’t even know how he bagged you, with the fashion sense of a borderline homeless man, to a face he would consider as pale as a corpse. But he did, and easily at that. You were obsessed from the moment you saw him in the dining hall. It was early – around 8 AM, when you first met. He made your heart drop down to your stomach, and you knew then and there that you were gonna have him.

Safe to say he was surprised when you came up to him in nothing but a hoodie, pj pants, and a bonnet asking for his number. He thought you had him mistaken for somebody else, even looking side to side with a look full of confusion. “Ain't nobody behind you if that’s what you're looking for.”

He looked at you before looking at your phone, taking it in his hand before quickly typing his number into it, “Here you go.” He says, an unreadable look on his face. You chuckled playfully, taking your phone with a confidence he’s never seen before. “I’ll see you later I guess.” You smirk, walking away with an extra sway in your hips.

What the fuck is wrong with me, saying ‘here you go’, shit is mad corny, he thinks to himself, a grimace forming on his face.

Your relationship with him grew fast after that, constantly spending time with each other in your dorms, doing everything from watching shitty comedy movies to talking shit on half of the professors. Seeing you was the highlight of his day, and vice versa. It didn’t help that you were a tease though. With all the lingering touches and possessiveness, he didn’t know what to do with himself.

You’ve always had a confident and solid aura, and it didn’t stop when it came to him. You knew that he wasn’t experienced – at least not as much as you – and you honestly didn’t care. You loved when he would go short of breath when you gave him hickies while he was supposed to be doing homework. And you loved it even more when he would moan, whimper even, when you slowly grinded against his crotch. It was a fun game for you, but you were getting restless. 

So when one of your friends told you about the halloween party being hosted that Saturday, you knew that it was your chance. 

“Baby pleaseee, we’ll look so cute together.” You whined, moving the hairs out his face. “Do we have to? Being around that many people for that long doesn’t really sound like an ideal setting to spend Halloween to me.” He sighs, gently grabbing you by the waist, pressing chaste kisses on your shoulder. “You wanna make me happy?” You ask, turning to face him. “Of course I do.” He sways back and forth with you. “Then you’ll do this for me, right?” You say, sultry tone lacing your voice. He stares at you in contemplation, and that’s when you know you have him. “Who do you wanna be? He asks, groaning in defeat.

It works every time.

—

“Choso, come here please.” You ask, pulling your stockings up to your mid thigh. “Come, lemme take a picture of you.” taking your phone. You posed, before taking it back. You knew he wasn’t going to, so you didn’t even bother to take a picture of him. “Come on, we’re gonna be late.” You say, dragging him out the door.

By the time the two of you got there, it was already packed. Music rattling every known surface and people already out in the front yard. When you stepped in the house, the smell of smoke and other substances hit your nose like a truck. You grabbed his hands, leading the two of you to the kitchen.

 “This is soo fun.” He says, pouring you a drink before pouring himself one. “Stop being a pessimist Choso, we just got here.” You say, rolling your eyes. You can tell he’s getting a second and high by the way his eyes are already lidded. “You ok? You're staring y’know.” You joke, taking the rest of your drink down before stepping closer to him. “Oh I am? What, you don’t like it?” He teases, eyes darkening as he pulls you close.

 He breathes in your scent, almost moaning as he feels himself harden. You giggle, dragging your hand against his clothed erection. He hissed at the sudden feeling, but you retract before he gets the chance to fully enjoy it. “Don’t be a fucking tease.” He says lowly, taking your chin in his hand. “You gonna do something about it?” You say, gliding your hand under his shirt. He chuckles, taking your hand in his before leading the two of you upstairs. 

–

You don’t know how it progressed so quickly, but it did. One minute you were making out, practically tearing each other's clothes off. Next, you were grinding against each other like dogs in heat. Now, he was fucking you into the mattress.

“Ohhhh fuckk.” He groans, digging crescents into your hips as he pounded into you. You moaned like a pornstar, gripping his muscular arm as you fucked back. From the way he was hitting your sweet spot like a man starved to the way his balls hit your clit every time he bottomed out in you, you didn’t know how much longer you could last.

“Choso,” you whined. “S’good, sooo good. Keep fuckin’ me like this.” You cry out, tears staining the pillow. He took all of you in, from your angelic moans to the way your ass bounced on his pelvis, it was almost too much for him.

Almost.

“Shhh, it’s ok baby, you’re doing so good. S-so good for me.” He sighs, leaning over to press light kissed on your back. He gripped the back of your neck, pulling you back to create a near perfect arch. “You so pretty like this baby, fuck, so pretty.” You could tell that he was about to cum, and you smiled at the fact. “Cum in me.” You gasp out, hand coming to reach for his. “You want me to cum in you? Hmm” He asks, thrusting into you with more fervor than he has the entire night.

“M’cumming, m’cumming, m’cumming.” You chant like a mantra, seeing stars as you cum. “M’close, so close.” He says, still fucking into you. You whine at the overstimulation, slyly going forward to escape his ministrations.

“Where you going? Stop running from this dick, take it like a good girl, okay?” He says, pulling you back as his thrusts become sloppy. You take what he’s giving you, eyes rolling back. “Best pussy I ever had.” He moans, cumming with his final thrusts.

He lays down next to you as you both catch your breath. “If I knew you fucked like this, I would’ve taken you to a party sooner.” You laugh, rolling over onto his chest. He wraps an arm around you, tugging you close. “You make me cum like that again, I’ll go wherever you want.” He says, placing a chaste kiss on the side of your head.

His view on Halloween parties has definitely changed.

-Nene

[webslingingslasher]

Do you remember?

Fun fact, I have been writing this piece off and on for about a year now. The fact I think it's finally done and ready to be shared is insane.

Pairing: MCU! Peter Parker X Stark!Reader

Genre: Fluffy, some angst.

Word Count: 6K

Summary: You told Peter you love him, he's not sure you understand what you said. You're acting like you didn't know what you said. Do you remember what you said?

Warnings: mentions of sex while intoxicated, not hammered but tipsy. no assult here baby, not on my page! also, not really stark! reader, her dad is Tony and thats it.

Peter loved and hated working with Tony alone. 

Tony was the best mentor Peter could’ve dreamed of but ever since he started dating you time alone with Tony always felt off. Peter was his protege but when he became your boyfriend Tony wanted to test him further, that because his daughter had feelings for him, it was his fault. Not that he’s complaining because thank god you did but Tony didn’t have to ask questions about your relationship and back Peter in a corner with certain questions and take pride when he falters.

So when Tony told him about the sudden three day trip and they would have to do an entire suit reset and build it made him want to stomp in the lab with lead filled boots. To make matters worse he knew it would be an all night thing and you weren’t going to be around. 

Tony was on one side of the lab at his own station working on the new Spider-Man suit upgrade hunched over a table, he turned every so often and would grunt at Peter looking for his approval. Peter sat on the opposite side of the lab at his own station tinkering with his web shooters, he was helping Tony update the technology with each suit upgrade; the suit got taser webs so did his shooters. 

It was nearing midnight, he had been hiding in the lab for half the day with Tony. He had come over after a quick after school patrol knowing he wouldn’t be able to go out later that night. Peter showed up with a giant Delmar’s sub, the kind he could only get with a hookup. He had splurged knowing it would most likely be the last time he saw you this evening. His half of the sub had extra pickles and yours had onion, he did surrender to your request of keeping it unsmooshed. One time you gave into his claims of it being the superior way to have a sub but gagged when you told him that you “hate to break his spirits but that’s sog heaven.”

You, on the other hand, had plans with MJ to go to a small bar to watch a band play tonight. Not your style but the headliner was MJ’s favorite and she had no one else to ask. Ned promised he would have gone but bars downtown gross him out. (When MJ pointed out he had never been to a bar downtown he blinked at her and said “yeah, because they’re gross”)

When 9:30 rolled around you made your way into the lab to say goodbye to your boys. Adorned in a mid length dress to help you look a bit older than what you were, you paired it with some small heels.  

“Bye Bye, I'll miss you.” You walked to your boyfriend, when he looked up from the screwdriver and disc in his hand, eyebrows furrowed, obviously not happy with his task being more frustrating than he had hoped, had smiled when he saw your face.

 “Bye Bye, I’ll miss you more.” He leant up and puckered his lips and you met his mouth quickly. “Call me if you need me,” he mumbled when he pulled away, pressing two more pecks to your sticky lips. 

“Bye father, love you.” You called behind your shoulder already walking towards the glass door.

“Bye daughter, be safe.” Tony shot back, not even looking up. 

Then called out to you, “Heels in a bar isn’t a good idea.” 

Peter smiled and watched you pout,  you held a foot out and wiggled an ankle before leaving the room, definitely on your way to change into actual shoes. 

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

Then sometime around 11:40 Peter's phone rang, your contact photo popping up across his screen. A small smile involuntarily creeping unto his face 

“It hasn't even been two hours yet!” He laughed into the phone, “Peter? It's MJ.” She didn’t laugh at his joke, his heart already speeding up. “Where’s y/n? Is she okay?” His response was quick, Tony looking around his shoulder at the kid sitting straight in the office chair. 

“Yeah, sh-“ MJ couldn't even answer his question before he heard a loud voice in the background, “Is that Peter? Tell him I miss him! Where is he? Peter, where are you?” MJ pulled the phone from her ear slightly “Hold on, I'm asking him.” 

“Peter!” he heard your voice cut back in whining.

“Y/N!” MJ hissed at you so you would be silenced for a moment. 

“Is she-“ Peter began to form the question, MJ beating him to the punch 

“Drunk? Yes. Very.” She turned to make sure you were still next to her, you twisted from side to side playing with a stand of hair mumbling to the cover song that a band was blasting through the bar rattling both of your chests.

“Peter, some men kept buying me drinks and wouldn’t take no as an answer so I need you to come save me.” You shot into the phone, tired and annoyed you just wanted your boyfriend with you. 

“She kept asking for you. I gave it an hour before I called, she’s pretty drunk.” She sighed into the phone a little disappointed she wouldn’t see the last performance. 

“I'll be there in 10 minutes. Wait outside if it’s safe.” He instructed MJ before hanging up and standing on his feet. 

He looked at his mentor and girlfriend's dad who was already staring at him. “Y/N got drunk at the bar and wants me to come get her.” He filled Tony in so he wouldn’t panic like Peter had.

“Like father, like daughter.” He chuckled before turning back around to get the update time on the suit and sighed at the estimated time.

“I'm going to get her and help her to bed then we can finish, okay Mr Stark?” Peter asked his boss. 

“Get her home in one piece.” He waved him off. 

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

“How long is ten minutes?” You asked MJ.

You were sitting outside the small bar, vines pressing into your backs where they were growing up the wall, dust settling into your bare thighs.

“Ten minutes”. She quickly replied

“Oh. Okay.” You swept your hand over some dirt in the concrete. You were silent for less than ten seconds, “It hasn’t been ten minutes?” You scrunch your face. 

“It’s been-“ She pauses to look at your phone, “Seven minutes.” You nod. 

“You know one of the things I love about Peter is that he’s very punctual.” You gave MJ a knowing look, “when he actually shows up I mean.” She nodded knowing what you meant. 

“He's still a really good boyfriend though.” You begin plucking weeds growing between the concrete cracks. 

“I miss Peter, has it been ten minutes?” You went to look at MJ once more when you heard

“I missed you too, and it’s been nine minutes.” You gasped at the boy in front of you, surprised as if you weren't aware he’d be showing up. 

You looked at MJ next to you and slapped her arm, “See! what did I tell you, punctual!” 

You raised your hands palm up gripping at Peter so he could help pull you up. Once you were standing he pulled you into his side tightly placing you under an arm so you wouldn’t wobble when he offered his hand to MJ. 

Before all three of you could walk away from the bar you looked at Peter “I missed you. Can I have a kiss now please?” you already had your mouth in his face, not really giving him a choice but he laughed anyway and gave you three quick kisses. 

You pulled back looking at your boyfriend, a lust driven haze swallowed your eyes “Can we have sex when we get home?” You asked. Peter choked on his air and MJ busted out laughing, your eyes swept from MJ to Peter not understanding the joke until Peter said “not in front of our friends.”

Peter gave MJ the car to get home and walked you  the shortest distance home, figuring the walk would help sober you up. 

“And then I told him I was only a baby and he was still buying me drinks! I was okay with one or two but then he wouldn’t stop telling me to drink and I was wasting alcohol and then I got really scared.” You were explaining the night to Peter, talking with your hands, watching your face shift into a million emotions. 

“Is that when MJ called me?” Peter continued to learn the story 

You nodded frantically, “Yes. Thank you for saving me.” You smiled at him before interlocking your hands and swinging them. 

“I love dating Peter, don't get me wrong but I like when I get to date Spider-Man too.”

“Can I piggyback?” You huffed in the middle of the street, annoyed with walking. 

Peter knelt down in front of you and hooked his hand around your knees to help push you around his back, the perks to a super strength boyfriend- they can carry you for miles. 

Resting a chin on his shoulder you had your arms wrapped around his neck one hand loosely pointing at objects and giving them a life story, “and that lamp post Petey, imagine the things it’s seen. Imagine how long it’s been there!”

Talking to him about the things you saw on the way home from “way up here!” and a small game of i-spy you kept losing because you kept forgetting what color Peter said he saw. 

“Can we have sex?” You whispered in his ear, cautious to look around you to avoid the embarrassment he had the first time you asked. 

“Let me get you home first and ready for bed.” He replied sternly before lifting you higher on his back. 

“Okay!” You took that as a win, and settled back into his shoulder. 

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

“Are you hungry?” Were the first words Peter asked when you walked into the kitchen. 

“Oh my god, I was just about to say I was starving.” Your eyes widened at him, “We are seriously made for eachother.” You clapped him on the chest before asking him for a bowl of cereal. 

Two bowls of Coco Pops later, Peter had finally gotten you upstairs in your room and had helped you undress.

“What pajamas do you want?” He stood in your closet waiting for you to tell him what shirt.

“Yours!” You yipped back. 

“Mine what?” He looked down at himself, he was wearing a normal outfit. Jeans, shirt, hoodie. 

“Shirt.” You pointed at his shirt, and so did he. “The one I'm wearing?” His girlfriend nodded her head enthusiastically, taking her bra off as he shrugged his shoulders and gave her what she wanted. 

“Wash your face, brush your teeth.” He instructed her next. He watched her stand in the mirror for a minute, “do you need any help?” she shook her head. 

“I'm going to go update your dad, I’ll be right back okay?” He waited for an answer before leaving, zipping his hoodie over his bare skin. 

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

“Y/N‘s okay.” Peter knocked on the glass next to him so he wouldn’t sneak up on Tony. 

“Good, is she in bed?” He was ready to finish for the night, they were set back a good thirty minutes to an hour now.

He shook his head, “She’s brushing her teeth and wants me to stay with her until she falls asleep. It won’t be long though.” He promises. 

“Take care of her.” The elder Stark waved him off once more.

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

“Okay I read this at least four times in the mirror,” you turned when you saw your boyfriend reappear behind you. “And I still don’t understand what it means.” You were referencing the shirt you  were in. It had a science joke on it, or maybe math. 

“It says find x, and the x is circled.” 

“oooooh,” You dragged out. “I knew that.” You quickly added. 

You stepped in front of him and gave him a hug, holding on, you looked up “teeth brushed, face washed, can we have sex now?” 

Peter brushed some hair from your face, “are you okay?” He asked quietly. 

“Are you asking if I'm sober?” You kissed his palm. 

“What's the last ten letters of the alphabet backwards?” Peter asked, holding your hand with one and scratching down your back with another. 

“z,y,x,w,v,u,t,s,r,q” You replied 

“Who won the 2016 presidential election?” 

“Don’t make me say it.” You bit back. 

Peter muffled a laugh, “How many fingers am I holding up?” He lifted his hand in a peace sign, you squint your eyes and concentrated, “Twelve.” 

“Seems sober to me.” He told you. 

“Sex time?” You looked up at him. 

“Sex time.” He deadpanned. 

“Fuck yes! You’re the best boyfriend ever. I love you.” You squealed and pressed a fast kiss to his mouth before you hopped into your bed, fixing the pillows. 

Peter stood solid in the ground. He wasn’t sure if you were so sober now, his heart was suddenly red hot and he felt like he needed to lay down. Those words had never come from your mouth before and you shot them with such ease it almost unsettled him. 

He loves you. He knows that for certain, he just didn’t know you did. And he’s not even sure you understand what you just said because his ears are ringing and you're humming on your bed kicking your feet. 

“Y/N?” he cautions your name, before he goes forward with the kisses and coos he wants to be sure they’re on the same page

“Peter!” You call back. 

“Are you gonna get me naked or am I gonna get me naked?” You asked him before he was able to say anything more to you. 

Peter started to unzip his hoodie, he figured if she was playing dumb so would he. 

Drunk words sober thoughts rant in the back of his head but he pushed that to the back of his mind. He could analyze this another day, as of right now his beautiful tipsy girlfriend was begging him for sex and he wasn’t going to let her down.

Walking his way towards you he bent down to kiss you before getting on top of you, not missing the loud squeal you produced when he ran his hands under the shirt you were wearing preparing to take it off.

He pulled back slightly looking down at your wide eyes sparkling in the moonlight creeping between the cracks in the blinds. 

Your cheeks flushed and a cheek hurting smile adored your face, he’s never loved you more in this moment but instead of filling you in on his thoughts he whispered a “Shhh..” before placing his lips on yours delicately. 

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

Watching you sleep on Peter's chest has never felt like this before. 

He’s always thought you were beautiful, and he always thought he loved you but having your weight on him, soft snores coming from your mouth while his hands ran down your naked back he felt different. 

When you told him you loved him, intentional or not, something changed. He felt it immediately. 

Peter had always been caring and would stop at nothing to keep you safe but after tonight the feeling deepened. It went from keeping you safe to a sense of protection, he felt like it was his personal duty to harm whatever came in your path.  

He moved a piece of hair from your face as it dawned on him, he told himself “I would kill for her.” He felt his heart get loud in his chest and ears and felt his feet clam up, he hadn’t felt like this before. 

It’s never been so black and white, he knew at that moment had everyone ever tried to hurt you he would do anything in his power possible to keep you safe and protected. 

And suddenly he had to leave. He didn’t like that feeling. He's a good guy, he’s the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, he keeps the city safe. So the idea of him being so okay with hurting anyone who ever tries to touch you scares him. 

He was thinking like a villain; heros will protect the many at the cost of one but villains protect one at the cost of many, and he would destroy New York for you. 

Gently removing himself from the bed he slowly gets dressed before heading back to the lab with your dad to finish the nightly task before the early morning. 

Sliding back into the lab he threw himself down into the chair focused on his web shooters. 

“Are you okay?” Tony asked the protege already sensing something was off, standing to his full height and turning to Peter directly.

Peter didn’t look up but responded, “She said she loves me” 

Tony's eyebrows went up, “Did you say it back?” 

“No. I don't even think she realized she said it.” He twisted the screwdriver in his hand. 

“Is that why you're upset?” Tony asked back, arms crossed over his shoulders.

“No.” Peter shook his head, he didn’t want to have this conversation with his girlfriend's dad but seeing as he was also a superhero he was probably one of the only people that could truly understand it. 

“She was laying on top of me just sleeping, and this feeling came over me and sent me into a panic. I always thought I would protect my friends and May the best I could but just seeing her tonight I realized that I would die for her.” He paused, “I would kill for her.” Peter finally looked up and locked eyes with his mentor and girlfriends father hoping he would understand 

He nodded, letting him continue “I've never felt that way before. I feel responsible for keeping my city safe but I've never felt responsible for another person before.” 

“And it’s fucking terrifying.” He let out in a breath, his chest already feeling lighter. “I really love her, Mr. Stark.” His eyes started to sting, whether it was from tears or exhaustion he wasn’t sure. 

Tony nodded his head before coming closer and sitting across the bench from him.

“When Y/N was born, after I held her for the first time I told everyone I was going downstairs for coffee but I actually went into the garden and just cried because I had never had a feeling like that before in my life.” He spoke softly but sincerely. 

“When Y/N  told me how much she had liked you before she even told you I immediately felt a pressure coming off of me, because I knew no matter what she was always going to be safe and cared for with you.”  

“It’s scary to feel so strongly about someone else but seeing it recipucated makes it all worth it, and super powers or not Y/N would die for you too. Not that you’d ever let her.” He laughed at the end, but meant every word. His daughter was one of the strongest people he knew. 

Peter smiled at that. 

“I know.” 

Tony slapped his hand on the table, “Now how about you say we finish this up and get a few hours of sleep in before the trip tomorrow?”

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

About an hour later you woke up, groggy with a pounding headache and an empty bed. Pulling yourself to the bathroom to pee, you put Peter's shirt back on and some slippers before making your way to the lab. 

Walking in Peter's head looked up at you before clicking his tongue at you, “What are you doing up?” he joked. 

“What are you not doing in bed with me?” You asked back before sitting down on his lap, your head falling into his neck. 

He wrapped his arm around you holding his web shooter in one and screwdriver in the other still trying to piece them back together. 

“How much longer?” You asked huffing at the fluorescent lighting.

“Maybe 10 minutes.” Peter replied softly knowing you're still on the brink of sleep. 

“I have a really bad headache.” He could feel you frowning in his neck. 

Pausing his hand movements he pulled you tighter “Do you want me to get you some medicine?” 

You nodded but tightened your hold on him when he went to stand up, “you can finish first, I’ll just sleep here.” You snuggled deeper into him finally finding the perfect position that blocked all the lights out. 

Peter went back to working and sure enough felt your body get heavier and a bit more loose as you actually dropped back to sleep.

Ten minutes ended up being almost twenty five but once he was done and Tony left the lab with a “Goodnight, be ready by 7:15,” He had started to run his hand down your back trying to slowly wake you back up.

“Let's go to bed, okay?” He whispered in your ear.

Still more than half asleep, you nodded but kept your eyes closed and pressed yourself to Peter so he would keep you balanced while he walked you to your room. 

Stopping at the kitchen to get you a water bottle and some pills for your headache and then finally back to your room to cuddle for the night. 

When you finally laid back into bed with him you shoved your face into his bare chest, your legs intertwined with his, you grabbed onto his hair with one hand too tired to scratch at it. He nudged you anyways and you started to run your fingers through his curls and he gave a contempt sigh, you shuffled your hips closer to his and pressed around his body tighter. 

You broke the quiet moment with a whisper. 

“You’re not allowed to leave.” 

Peter laid his head on top of yours. 

“You know what I hate about Spider-Man?” 

No. He never talks bad about his alter ego, always going on about responsibilities and stopping bad things from happening, he has never complained or ragged on him. You shook your head into his chest, your hand still reached over your head, still dragging fingers through his own. 

“I hate we’re two people in the same body. Sometimes when I take off the suit I wish I was actually taking it off. Like, I lost all responsibilities and I was just Peter Parker. A normal 18 year old, about to graduate having a dope ass intern gig and dating Tony Stark’s daughter and not sharing that with Spider-Man. I wish it was a switch I could turn on and off, and when I'm with you, I really hate having to leave to go be, him.” 

He sighed and you tugged at his hair to show you were listening and waiting for more. 

“Sometimes, it just feels,” Peter stopped when his voice cracked. You knew that was a warning sign from Peter, he was about to cry. He laughed to hide a sob, he stayed quiet. You stayed on his chest, you turned your mouth in to press three small kisses, “Feels like what?” You whispered against his skin. 

He shook his head, if he stayed silent one more time you knew he was already crying but trying to hide it. “Petey?” Your head bounced from his chest when he let out a sob, his breathing getting loud, you sat up to face him watching him hold a hand over his mouth as another one was on his chest trying to ground his breaths. Tears were flowing down his cheeks, he choked out another sob on his hand, you tried to pull his head to your chest but he pushed you away. 

"It just feels unfair."

You’ve only seen him this bad once before, it was after a mental breakdown, similar to this one. It was just a combination of everything happening at once.

He and you had a fight, May was mad about something, he was getting his ass beat nightly and couldn’t even catch the guy and couldn’t get Tony to help because he pissed off his girlfriend, and therefore Tony was pissed at Peter.

And he was trying to study for the upcoming SAT while trying not to think of you being mad at him and how he was going to fix that, while also thinking about that guy still kicking his ass and his suit tech failing after various beatings but he was banned from the tower until he made up with Y/N, per word of her father.

And, trying not to think about May being pissed about something still, and not remembering what it was but it was probably a big fuck up on his end and reached his breaking point while in this spiral May came through his door and asked him “Why haven’t you taken the trash out? Or brought the laundry down? Or wash the dishes? Or anything I asked you?” Her tone was bitter, she sure was pissed. 

Then Peter turned his head to his desk, saw his phone resting on his PSAT workbook unlocked with your messages open but with nothing new. He snapped the pencil in his hand and sobbed. He cried so hard and suddenly May ran to him to grab him from dropping to the floor, “Peter?” He wouldn’t stop, he was babbling between not being able to breathe, his sobs were full of chokes and coughs. 

“Sorry-” “Tired” “Y/N” “Fight” “Banned” “Stressed” “Sacred” Were bits and pieces of the words May heard from him, sorry was a favorite he was using on loop. “Peter, what can I do? You need to calm down.” She was rubbing at his chest like she did when he was a baby, it would always calm him down. Sometimes she would catch you doing the same thing, “Y/N” He nearly screamed it with his cry, “I can call her, I can call her,” May fumbled for her phone in her pocket.

You looked at your phone light up with May’s contact photo, your brows furrowed. She never calls you. Texts, sure. But Calls? No. You almost thought it was Peter but you didn’t block his number or anything so there was no reason. 

“Hello?” 

She heard cries and heaving breathing in the background

“Y/N, you need to come over right now.” 

May was quick to the point. You heard a chorus of ‘Sorry’ in the background and coughing and sniffles. 

“Is he okay?” 

“No.” 

Your heart hurts. You’ve never heard anything like this from him. 

“I’m on my way. Can he hold the phone?” 

You heard May ask the question, a shuffling sound played, the trading of hands. 

You knew Peter was on the phone, the sobs ceased but he still couldn’t catch his breath, you heard sharp quick intakes every few seconds, no doubt tears still falling down his face. 

“Peter? Petey, listen to me. I’m on my way to come see you, okay? I need you to catch your breath, can you do that? I’m coming, Peter. I promise.” 

“M’ Sorry.” His voice was squeaky, he was forcing the words out. 

“I’m not mad. I’m not mad I promise. I just miss you and want you to be okay. I’m on my way right now.” 

“Okay.” 

“Okay? I’ll see you in a few minutes.” 

He pushed the phone back to May and she ended the call. His crying stopped, his breathing slowed. He was calm for a couple minutes. Then he remembered the fight, again. And about the SAT’s and how he’s still not done with that guy from three nights ago and started all over again. 

You remember how broken he looked then, how stress piled on him and crushed him entirely. His plate was so overloaded it cracked the glass. You sat next to him on the floor and straddled his hips, you pressed yourself to him and repeated ‘I’m here’ over and over. 

But tonight he was rejecting your help. 

“It just feels so unfair” 

He felt so shameful using these words. It was his secret, he always thought about it but there was nothing he could change about it so why complain? 

“It is unfair, Pete.” 

“It’s really unfair,” You added. “It really sucks you have to miss out on things in your life to do things in another life you didn’t ask for. It’s actually kind of shitty, I don’t know how you don’t complain more.” You were honest but you got a laugh from Peter and kept going, you were slowing his brain. 

“Seriously, babe. Could you imagine if I had powers? Do you know how much I would drag on about it? ‘Oh my god, I had to, like, save a child today. Ugh,’ Or, i’d be like, ‘bro they asked me to hold a ferry together, ME!’” You smiled at Peter’s face brightening up. “I would never shut up about it. You’re braver than the marines for never talking shit on the web man.” 

“Web man?” He gave a guttural laugh

“You’re a good person and you don’t deserve half the shit life throws at you.” 

“What’s the other half of shit I do deserve?” 

“Me.” 

Peter sighed and laid on you this time. He kissed your temple, they didn’t need to say anything more. He was soaking up this moment, in just five hours he would be up and on a quinjet to a top secret location he would find out on the way, and be missing your warmth for three days. He would normally tell you he would never deserve you but he let you win tonight. 

“Good night, baby.” 

“Good night, Petey.” 

Peter woke to Tony pushing on his shoulder, “Get up kid, let’s go.” He lifted his head from his girlfriend's shoulder and turned towards Tony and gave him a death glare. 

He removed himself from the bed with a groan when Tony left the room. Peter watched your body lay unmoving and moved around the room silently collecting his things. He pulled on his suit and folded up his clothes on the floor and grabbed his phone and the small bag he would be taking with him on the trip. 

He moved to your side of the bed, you were still squished in as if Peter’s weight was still resting on you, soft snores billowed from your mouth, hair combed around your face and he moved his hand across your forehead to clear it. When he moved his hand across your face you lent into it, a subconscious movement that had you leaning into his touch. He sighed and felt upset to be leaving, it would only be two nights away, he could deal with that. 

“Hey baby?” He lent down to kiss across your face, trying to wake you to say goodbye always hurt him. 

You whined and pressed your cheek further into the pillow. Peter kissed the cheek facing him a few times before he tried again. 

“Baby, I’m leaving. Give me a kiss before I go.” 

Your eyes opened for a moment seeing your boyfriend sitting over you, his red and blue suit contoured to his body. It was too early for him to be Spider-Man. 

“It’s too early for Spidey.” 

“I know. It’s a good thing he can sleep on the plane.” 

You opened your eyes again, awake for now. You studied his face, he looked okay. 

“I thought we said you were staying home.” 

“Next time,” he smiled. 

He would’ve added a ‘promise’ to it but he wouldn’t make a promise to something he knew he couldn’t keep. 

You make a ‘psh’ sound, “Yeah, right.” 

“Two minutes, Underoos.” Tony’s voice belted from the hallway. 

“C’mon. One kiss, and I’ll be back before you miss me.” 

You leaned up to kiss him. It was a soft kiss, a goodbye kiss, an I’ll miss you kiss, an be safe, I need you kiss. 

He pulled away and turned to leave when you called from the bed, 

“I love you, Peter. Be safe.” 

His head never whipped around so quickly, his face with a smile you’ve never seen before. 

“You remember!” 

He wanted to tell you those words last night so badly but was terrified you said it in a moment of recklessness and wanted to make sure they counted when he said them. 

He jumped full force onto the bed barely catching himself before he flattened you. He was pressing kisses all over your face while you were giggling trying to push him off, “I love you, I love you, I love you,” was thrown with each kiss to a new spot. 

“Of course I remember! I love you and I want you to know it.” 

“I love you too, and I want you to know it.” 

Tony interrupted the moment, 

“Now. Spider.” 

He nodded at you, “Be careful when I’m gone Y/N. You need either one of us just call, we’ll be around. I’ll see you in three days, okay?” 

“Okay. Bye dad. I love you, be safe.” 

Tony looked to Peter for him to follow him out of the room. 

“I love you Petey.” 

“I love you too.” 

[aloesarchives]

Valentine's Day Special #2 (JJK One shot)

Warnings: Suggestive parts from Suguru and Shoko but it's funny, I think that's it.

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x Fem!Reader

Here's Gojo's part I promised after my Toji one. A bit but here nevertheless.

 “Sugu, have you gotten in touch with Toru? He hasn’t responded to any of my calls and texts this morning and class starts in 10 minutes.”

“Maybe Satoru forgot to charge his phone last night and is coming here with a dead phone. I mean we did have a late start today but you know how he is. Something wrong?”

“I thought I asked. I’m just a little worried, that’s all. Normally he would blow up my phone but not today. I hope he’s not sick.”

You sigh as you look at your phone to see if any more messages would be sent but none came. It was Valentine’s day today and everyone was giving their Valentine gifts to the one that gives them heart eyes. Some were cute, others were cheesy, and some were mid. You’d usually spend Valentine’s day alone or celebrate it with a few classmates. However, this year was different because you would actually be celebrating with Satoru. Initially, you were trying to play it cool and be all chill about it. Not making it a big deal. But you can’t help but feel giddy and a bit excited because you can spend the day with your boyfriend who was also your best friend. 

However, Satoru’s lack of response made you a bit anxious with your foot rapidly bouncing and your eyes fidgeting between his empty desk and the clock. If he was sick and couldn’t come to school, you would understand. But Satoru wasn’t sick yesterday or showed no signs of any. You hoped that he was okay and nothing bad happened to him. With class starting in five minutes, you deflated into your seat and just wanted the day over with because it wasn’t going to be fun when Satoru’s absent. 

Just as you were about to turn around and ask Suguru something, your classroom door slid open to reveal Satoru Gojo in the flesh. His face was covered by a bouquet of (favorite flowers) and a large shopping bag. Sugaru just smirks as you sit in shock before standing up to meet Satoru who was standing next to your desk.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Sweetheart!”

“Is this for me, Toru? Aww, thank you~! You shouldn’t have.”

You give him a quick peck on the cheek before taking your gifts and placing them on your desk. To everyone, Satoru brushed it off suavely while embracing his confident smile. But to you, and Suguru, Satoru was a lovesick fool who is screaming from joy on the inside.

You would have talked more but the bell rang so it will have to wait until break. Satoru sneaks a grin, sending a wink your way while you could only roll your eyes playfully.

“Sorry I didn’t answer your texts or calls this morning. I used the late start to pick up your gifts but I accidentally woke up later than expected. So I had to rush myself to get your things while trying to make it to school on time. I had to ask Suguru to distract you until I arrived.”

You glanced over at Suguru to confirm what your boyfriend said was true. All you were met with was whistling and his eyes were anywhere but on yours. You shake your head with a chuckle as you place your hand on Satoru’s bicep while walking to get some snacks.

“You had me worried, Satoru. I got scared for a second something happened to you. At least it’s good to know that you were okay.”

“I didn’t mean to! Look, I just wanted to surprise you. I just—you know— had a minor slip up. I just wanted to treat my favorite girl!” Satoru whines out trying to defend himself.

“Favorite girl? You mean I’m not the only one, Satoru?”

Satoru froze and had this look of absolute panic on his face. Suguru gave an accusatory look at Satoru’s way before you bursted out in laughter.

“Toru, I’m just messing with you! You look like you’re about to cry, I didn’t mean to get carried away like that! I know you love me, you simp. My one and only.”

The way his face shifted from panic, relaxed, to flustered was like a powerpoint where the teacher is changing slides too fast. The tips of his ears and the apples of his cheek were rosy pink. He tried to use his free hand to hide his blush but it was useless. Suguru just laughed at the expense of his friend. 

It was interesting to spend Valentine’s with one of the school’s heartthrobs. Satoru’s fans are split down the middle between fangirling or mean mugging at you two. You honestly don’t care about the haters because they’re not the one dating Satoru. School goes on as per usual, Shoko came to hang during lunch because she was out on a field trip, and the occasional hallway confessions and gift giving. Once school ended, things were different. You assumed you would go back to your dorm and that’s the day.

But Satoru had other plans in mind. You were about to go grab yourself something at the local convenience store before seeing Satoru pull out in a slick black sports car. At this point, you wonder what Satoru didn’t have. Satoru said the day’s not over and he’s got stuff in store for you. He takes your stuff away inside the car before reaching his hand out towards you with the absolute rizz.

“Let’s get moving, Babe. I don’t want to waste a second today when I’m with you~” Satoru says with  his overflowing rizz and charm.

You giggle like the high school girl you are and make your way over to him, taking his hand in yours.

“You two love birds have fun! Don’t go too crazy!” Suguru shouts from afar.

“If you guys do the deed, don’t forget to wrap it up, Satoru!” Shoko shouts after as she waves off to the two of you.

You both immediately got in the car, Satoru laughing his ass off with red all over while your whole body was ablaze and on fire. If it were possible, steam would be coming from your head. Once he comes down, Satoru starts driving you to treat you like the fucking queen you are. Satoru took you to all your favorite spots, stores, and places. He bought you anything you asked for, which were literally three items. He takes you to a crane game arcade and he won every single game you looked at on the first try, getting some of your favorite plushies in the process. God the way you smiled and eyes lit up made him so elated that his heart was going to burst. Genuine joy and whims of boyish youth surge through him as he realizes he can be himself around you. 

Free from his title as a Gojo, free from being the heartthrob, free from being anything other than Satoru and your best friend/boyfriend. He wanted to feel like this everyday forever when he’s with you. Every now and then he kisses your hand as you go around to your heart’s content. You never had this much fun in your entire life until today and it was all boy you gave yourself to that was also your best friend. As naive it is to think, you knew you wouldn’t experience this with anyone else. For your boyfriend to also be your best friend was absolute bliss and you want both of you to cherish it forever.

You two sit on a bench in an empty park, staring up at the starry night sky while eating some daifuku together. Your hands interlaced and both of your heads lean onto each other. No talking, just silence and the sound of the city night life filled the air.

“I want to thank you for today, Toru. I had a wonderful time, and it’s because of you.”

“I should be thanking you, (Y/N). You showed me things I never thought I’d get to experience. You made me feel things I never thought I could feel until now. All thanks to you… I love you, (Y/N).”

Satoru turns to face while holding your hand up to his face to kiss it. You smile softly at him while unlacing your hand so you can cup his face gently. You giggle seeing his face sink slightly in your hold.

“I love you too, Satoru Gojo. For as long as we’re together, I will always love you.”

Pulling him in to share a sweet kiss until the gentle moonlight. Once pulling away, Satoru brings both your hands into his as he brings them to his chest, feeling his fast but strong heart beat. His eyes are full of sincerity and unwavering dedication, boring into your own.

“Then promise me, (Y/N), you will stay with me for the longest time. Not just spending the future Valentine’s days together, but to experience life with you by my side. Now and forever… my one and only…please…”

You see the yearning and devotion in his cerulean eyes that still shine in the midst of night. His words, his eyes, his heart reassured you with everything you needed to hear. Because being with Satoru Gojo is something you will never regret and neither did Satoru as he never regretted loving you and only you.

“Of course, Toru, I’ll be with you until the end of time. Now and forever, with my one and only, Satoru Gojo.”

At your confession, you saw a smile that Satoru gave you that will forever be etched into your memory. One you have the honor and privilege to see everyday as he does with yours.

There’s no telling what the future holds. But it’s guaranteed that there are many more Valentine’s days to be spent together with Satoru. In which one of them you are wearing a shiny ring. Then another where there’s an additional ring on top of your other one, you are seated close to your husband as your last name is now Gojo.

[ashwhowrites]

Hi I've never requested before but I was thinking abt best friend!Eddie who's always been there for you. And when a guy leads you on, he realizes he's in love w you and confesses to u. Idk I was thinking abt it, and it has me blushing and shi 🤭

I used she her pronouns in the request but it can be gender neutral too idk whichever u prefer ❤️

Very cute request! I miss fluff Eddie :) starts a little angsty

I hope this what you were looking for

I had the worst writers block trying to figure out how to write this to where I liked it, so if you dislike it please tell me because I will scrap it and try again 😭 not proofread :)

Y/N has been in love with Eddie since she met him her junior year. It started as a big crush on the curly haired boy but grew the more she was with him. Now she stared at his lips a little too long, wondering what they tasted like. She hugged him just a little bit longer than anyone else. She felt like she was giving hints but he blew right past them. Bragging about his latest hook up after his gig. The same gigs she went to every week. Trying to hold tears back when she'd watch him walk out the door, a new girl hanging on his arm.

She had to accept Eddie Munson was not into her. She needed to move on.

Moving on was a tad bit easier than she thought. After she watched Eddie walk off with his latest date, a guy sat next to her.

He was beautiful. He bought her a drink and they talked for hours. For once she left the hideout with a smile and not in tears.

She gave her number, waiting patiently for him to call.

~~

Her and Eddie were in the middle of game night with hellfire. Screaming as they played.

She was in the middle of fighting with Dustin over the rules when her phone rang. Eddie picked it up as she was occupied.

Placing the phone on the counter near the wall, he walked over to the table.

"um Y/N?" He said. She looked up at Eddie, stopping mid argument.

"yes?" She sighed

"some guy named Logan is asking for you?"

Eddie didn't know why, but he hated the way she smiled and jumped out of her seat. Racing to the phone in seconds.

"Logan hi!" Eddie hated the way she sounded excited.

Who the fuck was Logan?

"a guy is calling for her?" Dustin questioned

The group all looked at each other confused. She never once said anything about a guy she met.

When she came back, still smiling and giggling

Eddie couldn't help but speak up

"so who is Logan?" He asked, smiling. A teasing look on his face.

The look of him smiling at her reminded her just how much he really doesn't care

So she allowed herself to like Logan more than ever.

"um a guy I met at the hideout last week. He's very sweet and cute. I had a really good time getting to talk to him and he asked for my number." She smiled. Blushing as she remembered his charming smile and flirtatious looks

Eddie deflated. She met this guy on HIS territory. HIS band's territory. A place where HE was welcomed and accepted. Logan met HIS girl at HIS second home. It almost felt like a knife in his back

"you met him at my gig?" Eddie scoffed, "really at a bar? You expect something to come out of a guy at a bar? You know what guys at bars are there for right?"

"take home their fifth groupie for the week?" She snapped back. She lets this guy sleep with every girl he sees and never once judged him for it. She gives her number out, hoping for the guy to at least call and he tries to make her feel stupid for it?

Eddie was taken back by how angry and pissed out she sounded. He bit his tongue, because technically she was right. But that didn't stop him from being angry at her and even more angry that he didn't have an argument.

"nothing to say now huh? Maybe he only wants me for sex, and that's fine. But at least he asks for the girl's number you asshole." She stood from her chair, scraping loudly against the floor and she stomped upstairs to her bedroom. Slamming the door and locking it.

Hellfire could let themselves out

~~

"yikes dude. She got your ass" Jeff laughed. Eddie sent him a glare that caused him to stop.

"um Eddie. Not to kick you while you're down, but that was a total dick move. She seems really upset" Dustin said softly

"shut up Henderson. I'm aware that I'm an asshole and she's fucking pissed. I don't need you to paint me the damn picture!" He snapped, hand slamming down on the table. Dustin flinched at the sound and shrunk in his seat.

~~

Eddie gave her the time to cool down before he went up to her room.

His tail between his legs as he knocked on her door

"Y/N?" He asked softly

"GO TO HELL MUNSON" she screamed back

"if you're mad at me then I'm already in hell. Talk to me please?"

He had a plan the second she opened the door, it was time to pull his puppy eyes out. Stick out his bottom lip slightly and begin apologizing.

He heard her sigh and get up from her bed. Opening the door with a very annoyed look

"don't even start with puppy eyes" she pointed her finger at him, letting him pass into her bedroom.

"I'm sorry. That was a total dick move and unfair of me. You were right to call me out on all my hook ups. If you want to date this guy or even just have sex with him. It's not my place to say anything." Even though it killed him to think about her moaning underneath some douchebag from the bar, a douchebag that wasn't him.

"why did you?" She asked, head turning to the side, "why did you get pissed off about it?"

"I don't know. Something about it just made me feel like I got kicked in the stomach." The one thing he adored about her was whenever he didn't understand a feeling, she knew what it was. He never held back from details of what he felt with certain things. She just knew him.

"like you want to cry and beat him up at the same time? Almost like it physically makes you ill to think about him and I together? Romantically and sexually?" She asked

He was taken back from how perfect her explanation was

"yeah exactly. It's almost like I can't even think of you being like that with someone else." He thought out loud. Not noticing the weight behind his words

"Someone else? As in you think of me that way with you?" She questioned

He blushed. He didn't realize how much he thought of her in that way until she asked him.

"I guess I do" he confessed, looking at her as he tries to process what this all meant

"that feeling. That's what I felt when you'd ditch me at the bar every week. Watching you flirt with countless girls and them getting you, your mind and body in ways I refuse to let myself think about. You hurt me really bad Eddie. And just when I finally felt like I was okay with you and all the girls, because of Logan, you made me feel stupid for thinking he liked me. You made me doubt him before we even went on a date. That's not fair." She ranted looking everywhere but him.

But her eyes snapped towards him when she heard sniffles. Looking up at him, his eyes were red, tears falling fast down his cheeks and small hiccups in this throat.

"Eddie?" She asked softly, reaching her hand towards him

"don't" he said, stopping her hand, as he shakes his head. "I don't deserve to be comforted right now"

She nodded as he kneeled to his knees. Tears still working down his face

"I'm so sorry. I didn't know I was making you feel like that. I should have paid more attention to you. I should have noticed you were upset. I'm sorry for ditching you, I never should have ever left with girls knowing you were right fucking there. You were right fucking there!" He's never been this upset with himself. All these years he could have talked to her and been with her

"Eddie stop. I never told you I was upset. You can't blame yourself for all of this. We both weren't communicating. But I need to know if you like me more than a friend or not?" She didn't want to answer this question for him. She wanted him to say his feelings for once.

"Yes I do. I think if I saw you get even more beautiful than you are for another man. Let him take you out and kiss at the end of the night. I don't think I could handle it" he confessed. He felt like he now understood his feelings. And he understood what he needed to say to make sure she knew. "Do you still like me?" He asked

She tried to ignore the damn puppy eyes. The way he looked up at her, on his knees, with tears in his eyes. She could barely handle it.

She sighed and kneeled in front of him

Cupping his face softly as she wiped his tears

"I do Eddie but I can't throw myself into this to get hurt"

"I won't. I swear. I'll try so hard for you to do this right. Please give me the chance. Baby please?" He begged. Holding her hands on his face.

She nodded with watery eyes

"let's try it" she said, leaning in slowly

His eyes raked over her face. Watched as she leaned in. He leaned in and met her half way.

Lips connecting in a hurry. The kiss was fast, needed, and desperate. Kissing harder every time either went to pull away. Not wanting the moment to end. Heads empty, just feeling their lips finally meeting together for the first time.

"thank you" he sighed as they pulled away

"don't make me regret this Munson" she laughed through her tears.

He laughed through his tears as well. He should have known all along it would be her.

Tags!

@bmunson86 @mxcheese @ladymunson @michaelfuckinglangdon @z0mbie-blah @biittersweet @mirrorsstuff @slightlyvicked @micheledawn1975 @ago-godance @magnificantmermaid