#getting a rise out of him. there's something wrong with him and she's going to find out what it is. and she's going to be mean to him in th

[thatnerduknow98]

I don’t exactly remember how this happened. One minute I’m having a good time in a bar with my friends, the next minute I’m waking up roped up in some kind of sex dungeon.

I figured my drink had been spiked, which is a little weird because my super strength makes narcotics not work so well for me, but I am a woman so I do still abide by the same misandry from the male world. Especially in this town, where most of the men think they can get away with their toxic masculinity.

This perpetrator must’ve seriously dosed my drink, like maybe with intent to kill. When he came downstairs and saw I was still alive, his look of surprise confirmed it.

“That should’ve killed you,” the idiot said. He wasn’t bothering to hide his identity at all.

“Well I have a tolerance to drugs like that,” I replied.

He smirked and pulled a butcher knife out of his pocket. “You’re gonna wish it had killed you.”

I wasn’t scared. In any second, I could’ve snapped the chains and leather straps binding me to this table. I could’ve whipped the chains still bound to my wrists at this dude and beheaded him. I was more concerned about missing and letting this dude figure out that I’m the hero of this town.

So I let him get closer and closer and closer until he could put the knife on my neck, and at that moment, as I went to lift my leg and knee this jerk in the balls, my nemesis burst through the locked, metal basement door and punched the perp into the ceiling. My nemesis prided himself on his ability to fly, often punching people into the air and then letting them fall to their death.

This perp went up through the ceiling and came back down to his death. My nemesis took the keys from his pocket and unlocked my bindings.

“Are you ok?” he asked.

“Yeah, I was about to kick his ass.”

He laughed. “Sure, bound up like that. I’m Allen. Sorry to be creepy, but you caught my eye at the bar and I was trying to summon the courage to talk to you, so I went to the bathroom with my wingman and then when I came back you were gone and the cops were there. The bartender said some dude drugged your drink and took you. So I tracked him here.”

I realized then he didn’t know I was his nemesis. Truthfully, I’m not sure how I knew. Something about him just gave me that familiarity.

“Thanks. I’m Rene.”

We shook hands. It was awkward.

“So, umm,” he said, trying to break the silence. “Do you need an escort home or are you ok?”

“I would rather you not figure out where I live, but you can walk me to the bus stop,” I said, looking around for my satchel bag. I found it on a table and pulled out a bus pass. Yes — I take the bus.

He smiled kind of a weird smile, like he didn’t have the muscles to do an honest smile properly, and then we left the building. It was only three blocks north of the bar.

“So, umm,” Allen said as we walked down the sidewalk. The sun was beginning to rise. “What do you do for a living?”

Internally I was laughing hysterically. Outside, I smiled. “I work from home for a call center.” It was only a partial lie. “You?”

He deadpanned: “I am a vigilante. I try to take down awful people who legally are exploiting others. You may know me as The Viper.”

“Oh. Yeah I think I’ve seen that super girl kick your ass on the news.”

He scoffed, then laughed. “It’s funny, Mass actually agrees with me on the corporate corruption and tryna eliminate it, but she won’t go about it the same way. She takes them through the justice system, which only rarely actually delivers justice.”

I winced at him using my super name.

“I can see that,” I said. I recalled many times where the criminal in question bought a judge. But I also recalled times where that behavior was called out by the media, and both criminals were socially disgraced and unable to continue their exploitation, despite the lack of prison time. “I think she relies on the news and public perception to keep people righteous.”

He tilted his head. “Yeah, but it takes longer.”

He wasn’t wrong. By this point we reached the bus stop and were waiting for the first bus of the morning to arrive.

It got silent again as we watched the sun breach the horizon. I was starting to doze off when he asked, “Was my saving you method okay? I’m not used to saving people so I think I may have been a little too bold.”

The bus turned the corner and approached the stop. I laughed at his question. “It was definitely bold,” I replied. The bus opened its doors and I stepped onto the vehicle. With one foot still on the sidewalk, I turned and said, “I think I would’ve done the same thing though. I have a habit of breaking down buildings to save people.”

I boarded the bus and the doors closed before he could reply.

Getting kidnapped as a superhero is rather embarrassing, but at least you were certain that your friends would rescue you. Which is why it came as a massive shock to you to see one of your villains bust the door of you cell open and unlock your restraints.

[koyagifs]

we chose the world over you

pairing: seonghwa x reader au: non idol | super hero | genre: angst word count: 4.3 k synopsis: The group had to make a decision between saving you or completing their mission to save thousands. warning(s):

It was supposed to be a normal mission.

You being paired with Seonghwa should’ve been smooth—comforting, even. He was your constant, your calm. You two had worked side-by-side more times than you could count, trusting each other with the unspoken.

There had been worse assignments.

Tighter deadlines. Deadlier enemies.

This one was routine. Just recon. Just in-and-out.

At least, it was supposed to be.

But something was off.

Alarms were blaring—not on the comms, not in the facility. In you. That crawling feeling up your spine. The weight in your chest. Something wrong.

“Seonghwa,” you started, turning slightly, “something’s not—”

You didn’t get to finish.

There was a snap. A sharp shift in the pressure around you.

You saw it before he did.

The rigged beam above. The way the floor gave out in pieces. The chain reaction starting before either of you could stop it.

So you moved.

You didn’t think. You just moved.

Pushed Seonghwa back with all your strength, hard enough that he stumbled, just as the explosion cracked through the floor.

He yelled your name—but you were already gone.

Swallowed by the collapse. Steel and fire closing in like a coffin.

Pain bloomed fast and hot—your side crushed beneath debris, air thick with smoke and dust. Your ears rang. Your vision blurred. But you heard him—

“YN!”

You blinked up through the rubble, barely able to lift your head, and saw Seonghwa—fighting to get to you.

Blood down the side of his face. Cuts on his arms. But none of that mattered. He was trying.

But you already knew.

The countdown had started. The structural integrity was shot. If he stayed—

“You need to go,” you choked out, voice barely audible over the sound of metal groaning. “Now.”

“I’m not leaving you!” he shouted, wild and desperate.

“Hongjoong!” he barked into his earpiece, voice cracking. “YN is pinned down—we need backup! I repeat, we need backup!”

Static.

More static. Then a voice—distorted, garbled through interference. “—compromised—exit blocked—Seonghwa, you need to evacuate—”

“No! She’s still in here!” he screamed, rising to his feet, shoving debris aside with burning hands. He winced—cuts splitting deeper, bruises blooming—but he didn’t stop.

The air was thick, choking. The timer on the detonator blinked red: 2:14.

You coughed, blood coating your lips, your throat raw from smoke.

“You have to go.”

“No,” he said again, more broken this time. “I can’t—” His voice cracked, like something inside him was already splintering.

Your hand, trembling and bloodied, found his. Weak but certain. You squeezed what little strength you had left into your fingers.

You were terrified—God, you were terrified—but you looked at him like it would be okay. Like he deserved a better goodbye than screams.

Your eyes locked onto his—burning through the smoke, still so full of love it hurt.

“Seonghwa…” you whispered, your voice faltering, a sound more heart-wrenching than any alarm, any warning, any countdown.

“You have to go.”

His grip tightened. Just for a second. His eyes widened like he couldn’t believe you were saying it. Like he was waiting for you to take it back.

But you didn’t.

Because someone had to live.

And you would rather it be him.

Seonghwa shook his head again, jaw clenched like he could hold the world together with sheer force of will. “I won’t forgive myself.”

“I’ll forgive you.” A beat. A breath. “And that has to be enough.”

The timer flashed: 1:23.

A tear slid down his cheek. You smiled through yours.

And then—he kissed your forehead, his touch featherlight, reverent, like he was saying goodbye to a ghost already.

But he didn’t pull away.

His lips hovered there for a second longer than they should have. Like he could imprint his soul onto yours. Like maybe that would be enough to anchor you both.

When he finally looked at you, something inside him cracked open completely.

“I’m not leaving you,” he whispered.

You blinked up at him, stunned. “Seonghwa—”

“I don’t care what command says,” he said fiercely, eyes glistening. “I don’t care about the mission or the building or what anyone else would do. I’m not walking out of here if you’re not next to me.”

A piece of ceiling cracked and thundered down nearby, shaking the ground. Smoke thickened. The timer blinked: 1:09.

Still, he stayed.

Your heart broke open in a new, sharper way. “Hwa, please—”

“I can’t lose you,” he said. “Not again. Not like this.”

He tore off his comm and tossed it aside. Pulled off his vest and shoved it under the beam crushing your leg. His hands bled. His breath came in shallow bursts. But he didn’t stop.

You could see it on his face—he had already made his choice.

And that broke you more than anything.

Because you weren’t going to let him die for you.

Your fingers shook as you shifted just enough to glance behind him—where your teammate stood, silent, waiting. Mingi’s jaw was clenched, eyes glossed with emotion, like he already knew what you were asking him to do.

You gave a single nod.

Seonghwa followed your gaze, confused—until he saw him. Until he understood.

“No.” Seonghwa’s voice was sharp, panicked. “Don’t you fucking dare, Min—”

But it was already done.

In a split-second flash of blue light, the room emptied.

The smoke, the metal groaning above you, the rubble—all of it stayed. But he was gone.

And all that was left was the echo of Seonghwa’s scream—

“Mingi, NO!”

Seonghwa stumbled as he reappeared just outside the blast radius, Mingi gripping his arm tightly, still glowing faintly from the teleport.

The shock hit him first—then fury.

His hand shot out, grabbing Mingi by the collar and slamming him into the wall.

“WHAT DID YOU DO?” Seonghwa’s voice cracked, broken with grief and rage.

“You told me you wouldn’t leave them!”

Mingi didn’t fight back. He just looked at Seonghwa with guilt eating through his expression.

“I saved you,” he said quietly.

“I didn’t want to be saved!” Seonghwa roared, fists trembling, heart shattering.

Then, as the sirens wailed in the distance and the shockwave rippled through the air— the ground trembled.

Seonghwa fell to his knees.

Tears streamed down his face, silent at first. His chest rose and fell in sharp, broken stutters as the plume of fire rose in the distance. A violent bloom where your last words still echoed.

Where you still were.

“No…”

The word tumbled from his lips like a prayer already too late. His fingers clawed into the dirt beneath him, fists shaking as if he could dig through it, reach you, rewind it all.

“Mingi,” he whispered, voice strangled, “what did you do…”

But Mingi said nothing. He stood behind Seonghwa, fists clenched, his own eyes glassy. Because he knew. He knew what it cost to make that choice.

And Seonghwa—

Seonghwa couldn’t breathe.

He stared at the flames, at the smoke twisting into the sky like a funeral veil, and something inside him broke.

You were gone. You had to be. No one survived that.

And the worst part?

You asked for it. You chose it.

You knew he wouldn’t leave on his own, so you made sure he was forced to.

And now all he had left was the memory of your voice. The way you said his name like it was a goodbye. The feel of your bloodied hand wrapped around his.

“I’ll forgive you,” you said.

But Seonghwa didn’t.

He never would.

When Seonghwa entered the control room, he didn’t pause.

He didn’t speak.

He didn’t breathe.

His eyes locked on Hongjoong like a target, rage pulsing off of him in waves.

Hongjoong stepped forward cautiously, hands raised. “Before you say anything—”

But Seonghwa didn’t let him finish.

His fist slammed into Hongjoong’s jaw with a crack that echoed through the room.

Hongjoong stumbled back, colliding with the console behind him. Blood pooled at the corner of his lip as he caught himself, blinking up at Seonghwa, stunned.

No one moved. Yeosang’s mouth parted, frozen mid-step. Jongho looked away, jaw tight. Wooyoung closed his eyes, shoulders trembling.

None of them said a word. Because none of them blamed him.

Seonghwa stood there, chest heaving, hands clenched into trembling fists at his sides.

“You knew I wouldn’t leave them,” he growled, voice laced with venom and something deeper—devastation.

“You gave Mingi the order behind my back.”

Hongjoong wiped the blood from his mouth, his voice low. “I had no choice.”

“Bullshit.”

“I had to make a call. We didn’t have time—”

“You didn’t even try.”

Seonghwa stepped closer, eyes gleaming. “They were alive. I was getting them out. And you took that from me.”

Hongjoong didn’t argue. He just stood there and took it—like a man who’d already sentenced someone to death.

“Don’t you dare speak to me about protocol,” Seonghwa spat. “You left them to die.”

Silence rang out.

Hongjoong wiped the blood from his mouth, his jaw clenched. He straightened slowly, no longer flinching beneath Seonghwa’s fury.

He met Seonghwa’s gaze head-on.

“We would’ve lost you too.”

The words cut like a blade—not defensive, not cold. Just true. And final.

Seonghwa's chest rose and fell, rapid and unsteady. The fight in him didn’t leave—it just trembled, no longer anger, but the edge of a sob that refused to come out.

“You think that matters?” he whispered, voice shaking.

Hongjoong’s brows drew together. “Of course it matters.”

“They didn’t.” Seonghwa's voice cracked. “They made peace with dying, Joong. They smiled when they told me to go.” His throat bobbed, eyes glossy. “And you made that choice for both of us.”

Hongjoong’s shoulders dropped slightly, as if the weight of the decision had never really left him either.

“You wouldn’t have let them go,” he said. “I know you. You’d rather die with them than survive without.”

“I still would,” Seonghwa breathed.

And that, more than anything, broke the room again.

Yeosang finally sat down, head in his hands. Mingi couldn’t even look up. Jongho moved toward the window, his back turned so no one could see the tears quietly spilling down his cheeks.

And Hongjoong— He didn’t argue anymore.

Because he knew.

Seonghwa was right.

He had saved his body. But not his heart.

Hongjoong stood still, unmoving, as the soft beeping of machines filled the sterile room.

Behind the glass, your body lay motionless in the intensive care unit—wrapped in gauze, skin bruised, pale, barely alive. Tubes traced along your arms and up through your nose, a lifeline hanging in limbo.

He stared at you, hands folded behind his back, jaw tight. His expression unreadable. Too neutral to be calm, too composed to be honest.

Yeosang approached quietly, his voice low.

“We should tell Seonghwa…”

Hongjoong’s eyes didn’t leave your form. Not even for a second.

“He needs to calm down a little more.”

Yeosang hesitated.

Then, “Is this you speaking… or the company?”

There was a beat. One, two, three seconds of silence too long.

And that was an answer.

Yeosang’s jaw tightened. “He thinks they’re dead, hyung. He’s grieving someone who’s still breathing.”

Hongjoong finally blinked. “He’s unstable. If we tell him now, he’ll go to them. He’ll never leave their side. He’ll ignore orders, protocol, everything. You know how he gets when it comes to—” He stopped himself. Corrected: “When it comes to people he loves.”

Yeosang’s voice hardened. “They love him back.”

“I know,” Hongjoong snapped, louder than he meant to. His shoulders sagged. “I know.”

They both turned back to you—your chest rising and falling slow, shallow.

“But if we lose him too… I don’t know if this team survives.”

Yeosang looked at the figure through the glass. You looked so small. So unlike yourself. And yet—alive.

Barely. But alive.

“I’m not lying for much longer,” Yeosang said quietly.

“I’m not asking you to,” Hongjoong replied. “Just… not yet.”

Yeosang sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. His fingers trembled slightly, the toll of sleepless nights catching up to him. “Mingi’s a wreck. This is eating him alive.”

Hongjoong didn’t respond immediately. His eyes remained locked on the rise and fall of your chest, shallow and uneven. Monitored by machines. Held together by wires.

"He's blaming himself, Joong. Keeps saying he should’ve waited one more second. Keeps wondering if you would've changed your mind if you'd seen what Seonghwa looked like when—"

Hongjoong turned to him sharply, eyes narrowed. “What Mingi did was an order.”

Yeosang stilled.

“The fact that he was able to teleport them both out with that much interference and building collapse is a miracle,” Hongjoong continued, his voice firmer now. “Seonghwa was seconds away from dying with them.”

“But he didn’t,” Yeosang shot back. “Because they made that call for him.”

Silence hung thick between them.

The weight of it, unbearable.

“We chose,” Yeosang said quietly. “We all chose. The mission. The survival of one over the other. We let him think he lost them forever. And we keep letting him.”

Hongjoong’s jaw twitched. “Because we don’t know if they’ll wake up. Or walk. Or even remember him.” His voice cracked, barely. “What if we give him hope and it breaks him worse than the grief?”

Yeosang turned toward him, anger and heartbreak warring in his eyes.

But Hongjoong wasn’t finished.

“Yeosang,” he said, quieter now, more deliberate. “They walked into a trap.”

Yeosang froze.

“Until we find the mole—until we know who gave up their location—this silence… it’s not just about emotions anymore.” Hongjoong met his eyes. “This is for YN’s safety. And Seonghwa’s.”

Yeosang stared at him, every piece clicking into place. The flawed intel. The ambush. The exact timing of the detonation sequence.

“You think someone on the inside set them up.”

“I know someone did,” Hongjoong said grimly. “And if they find out YN survived—”

“They’ll try again,” Yeosang breathed.

A silence settled, darker than before.

“Which means,” Hongjoong added, stepping closer to the glass, his gaze hardened now, “until I know who we’re bleeding from, no one breathes a word to Seonghwa.”

Yeosang clenched his jaw, his hands curling into fists. “I don’t like lying to him.”

“Neither do I.” Hongjoong’s eyes didn’t leave your still form. “But I’d rather have him hate me than bury you.”

Hongjoong threw the file down in front of Seonghwa, the man slumped at his desk like he hadn’t moved in days.

Seonghwa didn’t even look up. He pushed the file farther away with the back of his hand, like it was tainted.

“That’s a new mission,” Hongjoong said stiffly. “You’ll go with Yeosang.”

“Go with him yourself,” Seonghwa snapped, voice like ice.

Hongjoong’s jaw ticked. “This isn’t optional.”

“I’m not your fucking soldier right now.”

Seonghwa finally looked up, eyes bloodshot, expression hollow and sharp at the same time. Something in him had wilted since that day. Like he was moving through the world just enough to keep his body breathing—but his mind was still in the fire. Still with you.

“I gave you everything,” Seonghwa said lowly. “Every damn ounce of trust. And you didn’t even hesitate.”

“You were going to die.”

“I should’ve.”

That shut Hongjoong up for a beat. Long enough that the air in the room shifted—cracked between them.

“I don’t care about the file,” Seonghwa muttered, leaning back in his chair. “I don’t care about the mission. None of it matters.”

“I need you to care,” Hongjoong bit out. “Because there’s still a team that needs you.”

“Then give the team someone who hasn’t already buried the person they love.”

A silence settled. Heavy. Absolute.

Hongjoong exhaled slowly, trying to keep his voice level. “Seonghwa… they wouldn’t want you to become this.”

Seonghwa’s eyes snapped to him, something dangerous sparking in them. “Don’t you dare use them against me.”

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then Hongjoong, quieter now, said, “Fine. Take the night. But you’re on that plane tomorrow.”

He turned to leave.

Seonghwa didn’t look at him again.

And neither saw Yeosang standing down the hall—watching it all from just outside the door, holding the truth like it was burning a hole through his chest.

The low hum of the engines filled the silence.

Seonghwa sat rigid in his seat, eyes locked on the mission file like it held something worth caring about. His brows were slightly furrowed, the crease between them deeper than usual, and he hadn’t spoken a word since they boarded.

Yeosang sat across from him, shifting uncomfortably, fidgeting with the zipper on his tactical bag. His foot bounced. His hands wouldn’t stay still. He’d tried three times to make small talk, but each attempt died before it left his throat.

The tension between them wasn’t just awkward—it was grief-shaped.

Heavy and sharp and coiled with guilt.

“You can stop looking at me like I’m going to break,” Seonghwa muttered, eyes never leaving the page.

Yeosang blinked. “I’m not—”

“You are.” He flipped to the next page, his tone unreadable. “You all are. Every time I walk into a room, someone stops talking or starts looking away.”

Yeosang stayed quiet.

“I’m grieving, not fragile.”

Still no response.

“Unless there’s something I should be fragile about.” That got Seonghwa’s gaze—cool and direct, cutting across the small cabin. “Anything you want to share, Yeosang?”

Yeosang froze.

He opened his mouth, then closed it. Swallowed. Looked away.

“…No.”

Seonghwa studied him for a moment longer before leaning back in his seat with a tired sigh. “Thought so.”

But the seed was planted now.

And the unease in Yeosang’s silence wrapped around Seonghwa like a thread waiting to be pulled.

When they landed, something in Yeosang shifted—the rigid tension easing for a moment as Seonghwa continued walking ahead. His eyes furrowed, lips parted as if to finally speak, when—

A loud gunshot ripped through the air.

Seonghwa froze. Instinct flared.

He spun around, eyes wide, searching.

Yeosang was already moving—dropping low, pulling out his weapon in one smooth motion.

“Get down!” Yeosang barked, voice sharp and urgent.

Seonghwa dropped beside him, heart pounding. Around them, shadows stretched and shifted. The mission had turned hostile faster than either of them expected.

Another shot rang out, this time closer.

“Ambush,” Yeosang hissed.

Seonghwa’s mind raced—not just with the immediate threat, but with the cold realization that whatever was waiting for them here was tied to the trap that had shattered his world.

This wasn’t random.

This was planned.

And it was personal.

Yeosang’s hands moved swiftly, fingers tracing glowing patterns in the air. A shimmering barrier erupted around them, crackling as the gunshots bounced harmlessly off its surface.

Seonghwa’s jaw clenched, eyes narrowing. His breath was steady, controlled—but beneath it was a storm of anger and pain.

“They’re hunting us,” he muttered, voice low but fierce.

Yeosang didn’t look away from the attackers just beyond the barrier. “They want to finish what they started.”

Seonghwa’s fists curled into tight balls at his sides. “We won’t let them.”

“Then let’s move. We can’t hold this forever.”

Without hesitation, Seonghwa stepped forward, ready to break through the ambush—not just fighting for survival, but for answers. For justice. For you.

The fire in his eyes burned brighter than the bullets flying around them.

Yeosang and Seonghwa stumbled through the company doors, both covered in blood—streaks dark and glistening across their clothes and skin. Their breaths were ragged, heavy with exhaustion and pain.

Hongjoong’s eyes widened in horror as he rushed toward them, voice sharp and panicked.

“What the fuck happened?!”

Seonghwa didn’t answer at first. His eyes flicked to Yeosang, whose face was grim but steady.

“We walked into a trap,” Yeosang said quietly. “There were hostiles waiting for us. More than we expected.”

Hongjoong’s gaze shifted to Seonghwa.

“Are you—” he began.

Seonghwa cut him off, voice low but fierce. “I’m not broken. Not yet.”

Hongjoong’s shoulders tightened, and for a moment the team’s weight pressed down on all of them.

“Get them patched up. Now. And find out who set this up.” His voice was cold, but inside, the fury burned hotter than ever.

Wooyoung and San nodded and quickly moved toward Seonghwa and Yeosang, steady hands and calm urgency in their eyes.

Hongjoong let out a heavy sigh, rubbing the back of his neck as his gaze lingered on Seonghwa—whose jaw was clenched tight, eyes still blazing with unspent fire.

“Seonghwa... meet me after you finish cleaning up.”

There was no question in his tone, only an unspoken warning. This wasn’t just about the mission anymore. It was about everything that had been left unsaid.

Seonghwa’s eyes flicked up, meeting Hongjoong’s for a brief, sharp moment.

“I’ll be there.”

Hongjoong nodded once and turned away, leaving the weight of what was to come hanging thick in the air.

Seonghwa followed Hongjoong down the hallway, his steps heavy but steady. He barely registered how stiff Hongjoong was beside him until they turned a corner.

Hongjoong’s voice broke the silence, low and rough. “Don’t freak the fuck out when I take you here. Punch me if you need to—but for fuck’s sake, let me explain once we enter. Understood?”

Seonghwa’s lips twitched into a bitter half-smile. “Got it.”

Hongjoong glanced at him, eyes sharp but guarded.

They stopped in front of a nondescript door—metal, reinforced, no markings.

Hongjoong’s hand hovered over the keypad, fingers trembling slightly before he punched in the code.

The door hissed open, revealing a small, dimly lit room.

Inside, screens flickered, showing maps, files, and a handful of photos pinned to a board. Most of them were blurred or marked classified, but one picture caught Seonghwa’s eye.

Your face.

“What the fuck is this?” Seonghwa hissed, stepping closer to the board, eyes scanning the images and notes pinned around your photo.

Hongjoong’s jaw clenched, voice low but fierce. “Mingi and Jongho set this up once they informed me that we have a mole.” He swallowed hard, the weight of it pressing down. “They want us dead. And you and YN are first on their list.”

Seonghwa’s breath hitched, heart pounding. The betrayal sliced through him deeper than any wound.

“They?” he repeated, voice thick with disbelief.

Hongjoong’s gaze didn’t waver. “The company. It’s why they forced that odd mission on you. It’s why you and Yeosang were ambushed.”

Seonghwa’s heart hammered painfully against his ribs. “Why would the company want to kill their own team?”

Hongjoong’s voice dropped to a harsh whisper. “Because someone inside wants control. Someone who thinks you and YN are threats.”

Seonghwa swallowed hard, fury and fear mixing into a cold resolve. “So it’s not just about survival anymore.”

“No,” Hongjoong said quietly. “It’s war.”

He let out another heavy sigh, his hand hovering hesitantly over a small button on the console.

“I need you to promise me you won’t punch me,” he said, voice rough but almost pleading.

Seonghwa raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. “...Can I ask why?”

Hongjoong glanced away for a split second, then back with a weary, almost defeated look. “Because what I’m about to show you... it’s not just bad. It’s going to make everything worse.”

Seonghwa’s lips pressed into a thin line. He didn’t promise.

He just waited.

Hongjoong pressed the button.

Another door slid open with a soft hiss, revealing a hidden observation room bathed in dim light.

Seonghwa’s knees buckled as the image came into focus.

There you were—alive.

Not just alive, but moving, breathing, laughing.

Wooyoung was beside you, flexing his fingers animatedly, making you laugh so freely it tugged at something deep inside him.

San hovered nearby, hands glowing softly as symbols swirled around you—healing, protecting.

The sight slammed into Seonghwa like a thunderclap.

His heart seized, a thousand emotions crashing through him all at once.

Relief. Joy. Confusion. And beneath it all—an ache, sharp and raw—because you were here, but hidden. Silent.

And he’d been left in the dark.

“I’m going to fucking kill you,” Seonghwa snarled, his hand shooting out, fingers curling toward Hongjoong’s collar like a vice.

Hongjoong moved quickly, stepping back just in time, hands raised in defense but his eyes steady.

“Seonghwa, wait,” he said, voice rough but firm. “Listen—before you do something you’ll regret.”

Seonghwa’s chest heaved, rage and betrayal burning hot in his veins. “You knew she was alive this whole time and you didn’t tell me?”

Hongjoong swallowed hard. “I was trying to protect you. Protect them.”

“By lying to me?” Seonghwa spat. “By letting me think she was dead?”

“No.” Hongjoong’s voice cracked with something close to pain. “By buying time. We had no idea who to trust. The mole was still in our ranks. If word got out that YN was alive, it would have put all of you in immediate danger.”

Seonghwa’s eyes burned. “I was in danger anyway, wasn’t I?”

Hongjoong didn’t answer.

For a long moment, silence swallowed the room.

Then Seonghwa pulled back, voice low but trembling. “I need to see her.”

Hongjoong nodded, pressing his hand against the pad. A soft beep echoed, and the door hissed open.

Seonghwa stepped inside quickly, heart pounding so loud he thought you might hear it.

Your eyes met his.

For a moment, everything else—the years lost, the pain, the silence—disappeared.

You just stared at each other.

His breath caught in his throat. Your lips trembled. Neither of you could move.

Then, slowly, hesitantly, he stepped forward.

“YN…” His voice was barely a whisper, thick with everything he couldn’t say.

You blinked, fighting back tears, your hands trembling at your sides.

“I’m here,” you finally said, voice breaking. “I’m still here.”

Seonghwa looked at San who nodded and he was quick to hugg you tightly. Tears streaming down both of your faces before he leaned back and cupped your face.

Seonghwa’s lips brushed softly against your forehead, then your cheeks, his touch tender but desperate—as if trying to memorize every inch of you.

Your laughter, light and shaky, broke through the heaviness of the moment, filling the room with a fragile warmth.

He smiled, a mix of relief and disbelief, his eyes shining with unshed tears.

“You’re really here,” he whispered again, voice thick with emotion.

He pulled you closer once more, burying his face in your hair, holding on like he never wanted to let go.

For now, nothing else mattered—just the two of you, finally together again.

[hauntedbyjoel]

Show Me How

pairing: joel miller x f!reader warnings: age gap | oral (f & m) | unprotected sex | dirty talk | praise | virginity loss | gentle aftercare | no outbreak word count - 5.7k summary - He’s told himself a hundred times it can’t happen. He’s too old, too close to her family, too careful. But now she’s standing in front of him, asking him for the one thing he swore he wouldn’t give.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

You’d always told yourself it was harmless.

The crush. The looks. The way your stomach flipped when Joel said your name or glanced your way for a little too long. He was older—older in a way that should’ve been enough to stop this before it started. He’d known your family for years. Helped your uncle redo the kitchen. Fixed your car once when it stalled in your mom’s driveway. Brought over soup when you got sick last winter and couldn’t get out of bed.

He was just… around. Always steady. Always quiet. Always Joel.

And somehow, over time, that steadiness started to feel like gravity.

You learned his habits without meaning to—when he left for work, what time he ran errands, how he always wore that same faded Texas Longhorns shirt to mow the lawn on Saturdays. You pretended not to notice the way he looked at you sometimes, like he wasn’t sure if he should be. Like maybe he wanted to look away but didn’t.

You never let yourself believe he could actually want you. Not really.

Which is why showing up at his house tonight felt like something you weren’t supposed to do. Like stepping out of line in a way you couldn’t walk back from.

But you couldn’t stop thinking about it. About him.

About the fact that you were tired of feeling like the only one who hadn’t done anything—hadn’t been touched, kissed right, wanted for more than a second. And more than that, you were tired of not knowing. Of being afraid you’d do it wrong. Say the wrong thing. Be too soft. Too quiet. Not enough.

And if you were going to ask anyone—

It’d be him.

Joel, who never rushed you. Who always noticed. Who fixed things with careful hands and never made you feel small.

That was what brought you to his door.

And the second he opened it—hair damp, eyes tired, wearing sweatpants and a shirt you’d seen a dozen times before—your throat locked.

He blinked at you. Didn’t speak right away. Then: “You okay?”

You nodded, fingers curled in your hoodie sleeves. “Yeah. I was just… out. I didn’t know where else to go.”

Joel studied you for a beat, then stepped aside. “Come in.”

The door shut behind you with a soft click. You stood awkwardly in the entryway, clutching the sleeves of your hoodie like they might anchor you. Joel moved past without a word, walking toward the kitchen.

“Want some tea or somethin’?” he asked, already reaching for the kettle. “Still got the kind you like, I think.”

You nodded, unsure if your voice would even work right now. He filled the kettle. Lit the stove. Moved around the kitchen like this was just another Tuesday night and not the most reckless thing you’d ever done.

The house was warm. Familiar. You’d been here before—birthday barbecues, a couple of holidays, quick visits with your family—but never alone. Never this late. Never when the windows were dark and the only light came from that little flickering candle on the counter.

Joel glanced over his shoulder. “You can sit, y’know.”

You did. Quietly, on the edge of the couch like your body didn’t know where to land. Your heart wouldn’t stop stuttering. You weren’t sure what he saw when he looked at you, but it didn’t feel like much. Not yet.

He brought over a mug. Set it down on the coffee table. Then took the armchair across from you and let out a low sigh.

“So,” he said. “You wanna tell me what’s really goin’ on?”

You looked down at the mug. Steam rising. Hands still tucked in your sleeves. “It’s dumb.”

“Doesn’t sound dumb.”

You let the silence hang for a beat too long. Then: “Can I ask you something?”

Joel nodded. “Course.”

Your heart climbed straight into your throat.

You stared at the mug, every nerve in your body buzzing, fingers twitching. It wasn’t that you didn’t know what to say—it was that once you said it, everything would change.

“I don’t have a lot of experience,” you said finally. Quiet. Careful. “Like… any.”

Joel tilted his head. But didn’t say anything.

“I mean, I’ve kissed people. But I’ve never really…” You swallowed hard. “I just feel behind. Everyone I know has—done things. They know what they like. What to do. And I just… don’t.”

Joel leaned back a little. His jaw worked once. Still quiet.

“I’m not saying this right,” you said quickly. “It’s not that I want to rush or that I feel like I have to, I just—” You looked up, finally, and your stomach flipped. “You’re the only person I trust to… to teach me.”

He stared at you.

Not with shock. Not with judgment. Just stillness. Like he was trying to decide if you meant it—if you even understood what you were asking.

“Sweetheart…” he started, then stopped.

“I’m not trying to make things weird,” you rushed. “And I know it’s selfish. And I’m probably not even your type or whatever, and I’ll never bring it up again if it’s weird, I just—”

Joel didn’t say anything right away.

You could hear the second hand ticking on the clock across the room. The silence felt like pressure on your chest. You weren’t sure what you expected when you showed up here—but it wasn’t this. This long, still moment where he just looked at you like he didn’t know what to do.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet. Careful.

“You’re so young.”

It wasn’t harsh. It didn’t sound like judgment. If anything, it sounded like he was trying to talk himself out of something.

You stared down at your lap, throat tightening.

“I know,” you said softly, barely more than a breath. “You don’t have to say it.”

Joel sat up straighter.

“That’s not what I meant,” he said, quickly but still gentle. “I’m not—I didn’t mean it like that.”

You gave a small nod, even though you weren’t really sure what to say. Your fingers curled tighter around the sleeves of your hoodie. Your eyes stayed on the floor.

“I just thought...” Your voice thinned out. You cleared your throat, tried again. “I just thought maybe—never mind.”

Joel’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” you mumbled. “You’ve always been nice to me and I... I shouldn’t have ruined that.”

His heart dropped. He saw your hands shaking, saw the way you blinked too fast.

Then he saw it—your lashes catching just slightly, that faint shimmer in your eyes before you ducked your head.

You were trying not to cry.

“Hey,” Joel said, gently. “Hey, no—don’t do that.”

You shook your head, swallowing hard. “It’s fine. Really. I don’t want you to feel bad. Or like I’m putting you in a weird spot. I just—”

Your voice cracked. You turned your face away.

And that was it for him.

“Aww, baby,” Joel said softly, barely more than a breath. “Come here.”

You didn’t move at first, but he was already leaning in, hand reaching out slow, warm, careful. His palm cupped the side of your jaw, thumb brushing under your eye like he could erase the tears before they fell.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” he murmured. “You hear me?”

You nodded—barely. Joel’s other hand found yours, steady and sure, lacing his fingers between yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I just didn’t expect it,” he said. “Didn’t let myself think about it. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want you.”

Your breath hitched.

“I’ve wanted you,” he said, voice lower now, rough around the edges. “I just didn’t think I was allowed to.”

You looked up at him, blinking slowly.

Joel’s thumb traced your cheekbone.

“I’d take my time with you,” he said. “Make sure you felt safe. Make sure it felt good. I wouldn’t rush anything.”

You leaned into his hand just slightly—barely—but it was enough.

Joel’s eyes dropped to your lips.

“You still want this?” he asked.

You nodded, soft and breathless.

“Okay,” he whispered. “Okay, sweetheart.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. His thumb still brushed your cheek, your fingers still curled inside his. You were so aware of the space between you—barely anything, and yet everything. You could feel the warmth of his body, the steady rhythm of his breathing. It made you ache.

Joel hesitated.

“You sure you want me to kiss you?”

God, he really was trying. Still giving you an out, even now. Even when your whole body was already leaning in.

You nodded again, just as shy. “Please.”

That was all he needed.

Joel leaned in slowly—like he was afraid to startle you—and tilted his head just enough to brush his lips against yours. It was soft at first, barely a kiss at all, more like a question. When you didn’t pull away—when your breath caught and your hand tightened around his—he kissed you again, deeper this time. Warmer.

His other hand slid to your waist, grounding you.

You shifted closer without thinking, your knees brushing his thigh. Joel made a low sound in his throat, something surprised and almost pained. He pulled you gently, letting you settle in his lap with careful hands, like he didn’t want to scare you.

You felt so small like that. Not in a bad way. Just—held. His arms around you, his mouth on yours, the scratch of his stubble against your skin. Every inch of him was solid and steady.

He kissed you like he had time. Like he didn’t need anything else.

When he finally pulled back, his hand lingered on your cheek.

“You okay?” he murmured.

You nodded, a little dazed. Your lips tingled, your heart pounding. “I—I’ve never kissed anyone like that.”

Joel smiled, soft and a little crooked. “Yeah? You did real good, sweetheart.”

Your cheeks burned, but you smiled too. You felt warm. Safe. Wanted.

And you still wanted more.

Joel kissed you again, deeper this time, like he was trying to show you what he couldn’t say out loud. His hands were warm where they held your waist, steady even though you could feel how tense he was—like he was holding back something big. Something sharp.

“Alright,” he murmured against your mouth. “We’re not gonna rush. Just want you to feel good.”

You nodded, breathless. “Okay.”

He leaned back, just enough to look at you. “Tell me somethin’, sweetheart.”

Your heart skipped. “What?”

His thumb brushed your cheek. “What’ve you done before?”

You blinked, nervous all over again. “Not much. Just… kissing. A little touching.”

“Okay,” he said softly. “That’s good. Just wanna know what you’re comfortable with.”

You bit your lip. “I want this.”

“I know. But I still wanna go slow.” He paused. “Has anyone ever touched you? Down here?”

His hand slid gently along your thigh, stopping just shy of where you were warm and aching.

You shook your head.

Joel’s eyes flicked to yours, his voice low. “And you?”

Your cheeks flushed. You nodded. “Yeah. A few times.”

He smiled—gentle, not mocking. “Good. That’s good, baby.”

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your neck. “I’m gonna touch you now. Just with my hand. That alright?”

“Yes,” you breathed.

Joel moved with such care—his fingers easing between your thighs, slipping beneath the hem of your shorts. When he found you already soft and wet, he groaned low in his throat.

“Jesus,” he muttered. “You feel that?”

You nodded, shivering.

“This all for me?”

“Yeah,” you whispered.

“Shit,” he exhaled. “You’re soaked.”

His fingers moved slow, parting you gently. You gasped, your hips twitching.

“Too much?” he asked.

“No,” you said, breath catching. “Just… new.”

He kissed the side of your face, murmured, “We’ll take it nice and easy. You tell me how everything feels, alright?”

You nodded.

He stroked you carefully—exploring, learning. Finding the spots that made your breath hitch, your thighs tighten, your lashes flutter. His fingers circled your clit, featherlight at first, and you whimpered.

“There it is,” he said, voice husky. “That feel good?”

You nodded frantically, too overwhelmed to speak.

“You’re bein’ so good for me, baby. You let me take care of you, yeah?”

Your whole body was warm and buzzing, every nerve alive under his touch. When he slid one finger inside, slow and patient, you gasped.

“Okay?” he whispered.

“Yeah,” you said, breathless. “Feels… full.”

He smiled against your cheek. “That’s what it’s s’posed to feel like. Just one for now. Gonna get you used to it.”

He curled it—just a little—and you whimpered again. Joel groaned.

“You don’t even know what you do to me,” he rasped. “Look at you. All pretty and sweet, takin’ my hand like it’s the only thing you ever needed.”

You clenched around him, involuntarily. His eyes darkened.

“Shit. You’re squeezin’ me already.”

You whimpered. “I—I don’t mean to—”

“I know,” he said, kissing you again, slow and deep. “Don’t you dare apologize.”

Joel kissed you through it, his lips warm and slow while his hand moved between your legs—gentle but focused, like he already knew your body better than you did. He didn’t rush. He didn’t push.

He paid attention.

Your hips bucked when his thumb brushed over your clit again, light and teasing. You gasped into his mouth.

“That feel good?” he murmured.

You nodded. “Mhm.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you—his eyes dark, focused. “Yeah? You like when I touch you there?”

Your face went hot, but you nodded again, biting your bottom lip.

He smiled—soft, proud, dangerously patient. “Good girl.”

Then he went back to it. Circling your clit in slow, deliberate strokes while that one finger inside you pressed deeper, exploring every new reaction you gave him. You were trying so hard not to make noise, but your body betrayed you. Your thighs trembled. Your stomach fluttered. Your breath hitched and broke.

Joel noticed everything.

“Y’ever touch yourself like this?” he asked, voice low.

You hesitated. “Not… like this.”

He raised a brow. “Not like what?”

You swallowed. “Not this slow.”

Joel chuckled—quiet and warm against your skin. “That’s ‘cause you’ve never been taught right.”

His words hit low in your belly. You whimpered as he curled his finger again, hitting something deeper this time. Your legs jerked.

“There?” he asked, voice roughening.

You nodded, breath caught. “Y-Yeah—oh—there.”

Joel groaned softly. “Fuck, baby. You’re already close, ain’t you?”

You nodded helplessly.

“Think you can come for me? Just from my fingers?”

You whined. He took it as a yes.

His movements stayed slow, but more rhythmic now—his thumb drawing tight little circles, his finger pumping deeper, coaxing something out of you so carefully, so sweetly. You clutched at his shirt, fingers trembling.

“Joel,” you gasped, barely able to breathe. “I—I think I’m—”

“That’s it,” he said. “Let it happen. Let me feel it.”

And then you broke.

It hit you like a wave—sharp and hot and overwhelming. Your body seized around him, legs clamping tight as the pleasure surged up and through you. You cried out, loud and wrecked, and Joel caught it with his mouth, kissing you hard while his hand worked you through every second of it.

“Goddamn,” he muttered. “You’re so fuckin’ pretty when you come.”

You were shaking when he finally pulled his hand away—slow and careful. He kissed your forehead, your cheek, the corner of your mouth.

“You okay?”

You nodded, dazed, still trembling in his lap. “Mhm. Just… I’ve never felt anything like that.”

Joel smiled. “You’ve got a lot more to feel, sweetheart.”

He kissed you again—longer this time. Slower. But now there was something heavier beneath it, something hungrier.

When he pulled back, his voice was deeper. Rough.

“Can I show you more?”

You looked up at him. Your limbs were still jelly, your heart still racing, but all you could think was yes. You trusted him. Even like this. Maybe especially like this.

You nodded.

“Yeah. Show me.”

Joel smiled when you said it. Not cocky—just warm. Soft around the edges, like the tension in him had finally given way to something sweeter. He tucked your hair behind your ear with a gentle hand, his other still cradling your bare thigh.

“Alright,” he murmured. “Then lie back for me.”

You nodded, breath still shaky. Your skin was buzzing—still oversensitive, still warm, but already aching for more.

You obeyed without a word, heart thudding as your spine met the mattress again. The air felt cooler now against your flushed skin, your body still buzzing from the first time he touched you like that.

Joel moved with you, settling between your legs without urgency. He leaned down and pressed a kiss just above your knee—then another, higher up. It was careful. Unrushed. Like he wanted you to feel every second of it.

“I want you to tell me if anything doesn’t feel good,” he murmured against your skin. “You just say the word, alright?”

You nodded.

“Words, baby.”

“Yes,” you breathed. “I will.”

“Good girl.”

His hands spread your thighs, slow and sure. Not to expose you—at least, not just that. More like reverence. Like unfolding something precious.

And then his mouth was on you.

Not forceful. Not greedy. Just… exploring. His tongue traced slow, soft circles, tasting you like he was learning something new and didn’t want to miss a detail. Every shift in your breath made him hum a little deeper, adjust, draw it out.

“Doing so good,” he murmured, pausing only to kiss the inside of your thigh again. “You let me know if it’s too much.”

It wasn’t.

It was everything.

You tried to be quiet, but your body had other plans.

Joel’s mouth moved with slow, deliberate rhythm—tongue tracing lazy circles that built heat like kindling. He didn’t rush you. Just stayed right there, steady and patient, until your hips started to lift, chasing every pass of his tongue like it might save you.

And he noticed.

“Yeah,” he murmured, voice barely a rumble. “That’s it, sweetheart. Let me have it.”

His hands slid under your thighs, pulling you just a little closer, anchoring you in place like he was afraid you might float off. And maybe you would’ve. Your hands gripped the sheets, searching for something solid as your breathing turned erratic.

“Joel—” you whispered, and it cracked.

He groaned low in his throat—like hearing you say his name like that did something to him.

“Feels good?” he asked, and when you nodded too fast, too desperate, he just hummed against you. “Thought so. You’re so fuckin’ sweet down here.”

The tension coiled again—hotter this time, faster. Your legs started to tremble, and Joel didn’t let up. Just flattened his tongue, applied more pressure, and listened to you fall apart.

“Don’t fight it,” he whispered. “Let it happen.”

You came with a sound that barely made it out—a soft, broken cry, thighs clamping around his head as you shook through it. Joel didn’t stop. Didn’t even think about it. He kept licking you through every wave, gentle and relentless, holding your hips like you might slip away otherwise.

Only when your body finally gave out—hips twitching, breath coming in shallow little gasps—did he pull back. His mouth was shiny, lips wet, beard damp. And his eyes…

Like he’d just seen something holy.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then leaned up slowly, palm cupping your cheek.

“There she is,” he murmured, voice like honey and gravel. “That’s my girl.”

Your lashes fluttered. You felt soft all over, unraveled, held together only by the weight of his gaze.

Joel smiled, just a little.

“You did so good for me, baby. So fuckin’ good.”

He leaned in before you could even catch your breath.

One hand still cradled the back of your head, the other brushing your thigh, grounding you. His mouth met yours in a way that felt earned—soft at first, just lips to lips, letting you settle into it.

You tasted yourself on him immediately.

Warm. Humid. Faintly salty. It made your whole body shiver.

You pulled back, eyes fluttering open like it surprised you. Joel didn’t move far. His forehead rested against yours.

“Sorry,” he said, voice a little rough.

You shook your head. “No. I just… I’ve never…”

His thumb stroked your cheek. “It’s alright.”

You blinked up at him, still a little dazed. “That was… nice.”

Joel huffed a soft laugh, like he wasn’t sure what to do with that word. “Nice?”

You nodded, suddenly shy again. “I liked it.”

His smile turned quieter—almost reverent.

“Good,” he murmured. “That’s all I wanted.”

He kissed you again, deeper this time. Your fingers found the hem of his shirt, pushing it up slowly, and he let you. Let you explore his skin, the soft stretch of his stomach, the trail of hair leading down beneath his jeans.

And still, he didn’t rush.

Just kept kissing you—until your body relaxed fully beneath his, until the last of your nerves melted into heat.

Joel pulled back just enough to look at you, his thumb brushing under your eye.

“You alright?” he asked, quiet.

You nodded. “I want to… I want to do something for you.”

His brow creased, surprised. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

Your voice didn’t shake that time.

Joel hesitated like he was going to argue again, but then his gaze softened, and he gave the smallest nod. He leaned back against the pillows, watching you carefully—curious, cautious, but clearly affected.

You sat up slowly, heart pounding. Reached for his waistband with trembling fingers, giving him one last glance for permission. He lifted his hips, helping you ease his jeans down until he was bare to you.

Joel’s eyes darkened, but his voice stayed low. “You ever seen a man before? Like this?”

You shook your head, heart thudding. “Just… in pictures.”

He chuckled, more breath than sound. “Yeah?”

Your cheeks burned. “Not those kinds of pictures.”

He smiled, slow and fond. “Didn’t say they were.”

You swallowed. Then curled your fingers around him.

God—he was warm. Heavy. Hard already. You inhaled sharply as your hand moved, just a little, feeling the weight of him against your palm.

Joel groaned. Quiet. Barely restrained.

“Jesus, baby…”

You looked up, eyes wide. “Did I do something wrong?”

He shook his head fast, eyes pinched. “No. Fuck, no. Just—been holdin’ back too long.”

You smiled, nervous but proud. Then you started to stroke him—tentative at first, just trying to feel out the rhythm.

Joel let out a soft, broken sound and tipped his head back.

“Just like that,” he muttered. “You’re doin’ so good.”

Your confidence grew with every soft grunt he made. Every time his hips twitched or his hand gripped the edge of the couch harder.

“You wanna try your mouth?” he asked, voice rough with restraint.

You blinked. “I… yeah. But I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Joel’s eyes locked on yours—hungry and warm all at once. He cupped your cheek. “That’s okay, baby. I’ll teach you.”

You shifted down between his legs slowly, your knees pressing into the couch cushions as your hands settled on his thighs. He was already breathing heavier, watching you with those dark, heavy-lidded eyes that made your stomach flip.

“Start with your hand,” Joel murmured, voice low and coaxing. “Get comfortable first.”

You nodded, wrapping your fingers around him again. The weight of it still shocked you. How hard he felt. How hot.

You gave him a slow stroke. Then another.

“That’s it,” he breathed. “Just like that. You’re doin’ perfect.”

The praise made your cheeks burn.

You looked up at him, a little shy. “Tell me what to do.”

Joel groaned. “Jesus, baby.”

His hand moved gently to your hair, not pushing, not guiding—just resting there. Steady.

“Kiss the tip,” he said softly. “Start there.”

You leaned in and pressed a hesitant kiss to the flushed head of his cock. His breath hitched. You did it again, slower, then let your tongue flick out to taste him.

“That’s it,” Joel said. His voice had gone hoarse. “Just your tongue, nice and easy.”

You licked a slow stripe up the underside, watching his stomach tense. He was biting back a sound, jaw locked tight.

“You can put it in your mouth now,” he said, rasping. “Only as much as you want.”

You parted your lips and wrapped them around him—just the tip at first. He exhaled sharply, hips twitching. You stilled, looking up at him in alarm, but Joel shook his head fast.

“Don’t stop,” he said. “You feel so fuckin’ good.”

You sank a little deeper, hollowing your cheeks. He groaned, one hand tightening slightly in your hair, still not pushing.

“Use your hand too, sweetheart,” he said. “You’re so good, baby. So fuckin’ good for me.”

Your hand stroked the base while your mouth worked the rest. You tried to keep a rhythm, breathing through your nose just like he told you.

When he swore under his breath, you felt it in your chest.

“Look at me,” he said.

You did. Eyes wide, lips stretched around him, cheeks flushed.

He groaned—deep and wrecked. “Fuck, that’s it.”

You took him deeper, feeling your throat tighten, your eyes sting. But you didn’t stop. You couldn’t—not with the way he was looking at you.

“You okay?” he managed to ask, even through the haze.

You nodded around him, and he growled.

“Goddamn. You were made for this.”

You pulled off slowly, a little breathless, a string of spit catching between your lips and the tip of his cock. He was flushed, panting, hands clenched into fists beside him.

“Holy fuck,” he said, voice blown out. “You sure you’ve never done that before?”

You laughed quietly. “I told you I’d be a fast learner.”

Joel leaned forward and pulled you into his lap again. His hands were everywhere—your back, your thighs, the side of your neck.

“You still sure about all this?” he whispered.

You nodded. Quiet. A little nervous. But you didn’t look away.

His hand brushed down your thigh, then between your legs—stroking over you slowly, making sure you were ready. “Feels like you are,” he whispered. “But I need you to tell me.”

“I want you to,” you said, barely louder than a breath. “Please.”

He exhaled like that did something to him. Something deep.

“Okay,” he said. “I’m gonna go slow, alright? Real slow. You just hold on to me.”

You nodded again.

Then he lined himself up, hand guiding, the heat of him settling right where you were softest. “You let me know if it’s too much.”

The pressure started before you could prepare for it—warm and wide and stretching you in a way you didn’t expect. You gasped, instinctively grabbing his arm, nails digging in.

Joel stopped instantly. “Too much?”

“I—I don’t know,” you whispered. “It just—hurts a little.”

He leaned down, kissed your forehead, your cheek, your jaw.

“I know, baby,” he murmured. “You’re doing so good.”

His hand found yours, threading your fingers together. Then he kissed you again—slow and deep, distracting, stealing your focus from the tight pull of your body adjusting to him.

Bit by bit, he eased in further, pausing when your breath hitched, pressing kisses to your mouth until the discomfort dulled to something else. Something warmer.

When he was fully inside you, Joel didn’t move. He just held himself there, breathing hard against your skin. “You okay?”

You nodded, stunned by how full you felt. “I think so.”

“God, you’re tight,” he whispered. “So fuckin’ perfect.”

His hand brushed your hair back, and he kissed you again—gentler this time, slower. “Tell me when I can move.”

You blinked up at him, dazed, breathless. “Okay… now.”

Joel started to move, just barely. A gentle pull back, then a slow press in, rocking his hips with an almost reverent kind of care. He didn’t take his eyes off your face—not for a second.

“You’re doin’ so good,” he murmured. “Feelin’ okay?”

You nodded, still a little overwhelmed. The stretch still lingered, but there was something else starting to build beneath it—heat, pressure, something that made your toes curl when he pushed a little deeper.

He felt it.

“Yeah,” he whispered, voice rough with restraint. “There she is.”

He moved again, a little more confident this time, keeping his pace slow and steady. One hand stayed laced with yours. The other braced at your waist, thumb stroking gently over your skin.

Every inch of him felt impossibly warm. Full. You couldn’t believe how close he was—how real it was. And yet he still treated you like you might break.

“You okay?” he asked again, quieter now.

You bit your lip. “It… feels weird. Good. But—intense.”

His eyes darkened a little, smile soft at the corners. “Yeah? Gonna get better, sweetheart. Promise.”

He leaned down, kissed the side of your neck, murmuring something you barely caught—so tight, so sweet, can’t believe I’m inside you. The praise made your cheeks burn, made your hips tilt up without thinking.

He groaned. "Fuck, baby. Careful—you keep doin’ that, I won’t last long."

You looked up at him through half-lidded eyes, heat buzzing through your chest and down your spine.

“I don’t care,” you whispered. “I just want to feel you.”

Something about that must’ve broken the last of his resolve, because Joel kissed you again—messy this time, like he needed to feel your mouth while he kept moving inside you, slow but deep.

You gasped into the kiss when he hit a spot that made your whole body jolt.

“There?” he asked, voice low and strained.

You nodded fast. “Yes—God, Joel—”

“That’s my girl,” he murmured. “Just let go. I’ve got you.”

He kept hitting that spot, rhythm just right, hand tightening around yours like he could feel every wave of heat building inside you. You were shaking, thighs trembling, nails digging into his shoulder—

And then it happened.

You came with a breathless cry, body locking up around him, vision going hazy at the edges. Joel groaned, burying his face in your neck as he lost it too, hips stuttering, voice rough against your skin.

You must’ve dozed off at some point, warm and aching and curled into Joel’s side, barely able to keep your eyes open.

He didn’t fall asleep.

You stirred when you felt his hand brush your thigh—gentle, coaxing. Not trying to start something again. Just checking. Making sure you were okay.

“Hey,” he murmured. “C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up.”

You blinked, disoriented, but nodded. He helped you sit up slowly, one hand steady at your back. You winced just a little, hips sore, thighs still trembling—and he saw it.

“Easy,” he said, voice softer now. “I got you.”

Joel guided you to the bathroom, flipping on the dim light. He grabbed a towel, ran the tap until it was warm, and knelt in front of you like it was the most natural thing in the world. You watched him in the mirror—his face focused, his touch careful as he cleaned you up with slow, steady hands.

“Still okay?” he asked, glancing up at you.

You nodded, a little breathless. “Yeah. Just… sore.”

“That’s normal,” he murmured. “First time’s not easy. But you did real good.”

You looked down, cheeks burning.

He noticed that too. Stood up. Pressed a kiss to your forehead.

When he walked you back to bed, he helped you lie down, then disappeared for a second. You heard the fridge open, the sound of water filling a glass.

Joel came back with a bottle of ibuprofen and handed you the water. “Take a couple. You’ll be stiff in the morning.”

You gave him a sleepy smile. “What, no post-sex pancakes?”

He grinned. “Tomorrow.”

He climbed into bed beside you again, tugged you into his arms like he needed you close to sleep. You let your body settle into his chest, warm and safe and still humming from everything that happened.

His fingers traced your spine, slow and rhythmic.

“Get some rest,” he said. “M’not goin’ anywhere.”

You believed him.

And for once, that was enough.

[cece693]

Hear me out percy jackson x demeter reader what if reader got kidnapped too by Luke just like Hades but reader doesn't like Luke an let me tell you percy and demeter ARE GOING WILD the crops are all dead and the water is going crazy

That's all thank you!

YOU TOOK THE WRONG PERSON

pairing: percy jackson x son of demeter

You were never meant to be part of the prophecy. You weren’t a warrior, not in the traditional sense. You could make vines grow through concrete, calm wild animals with your voice, and coax life from dry earth—but a fighter? No. You weren’t supposed to be on the battlefield.

But you were Percy’s.

And that made you a target.

They took you in the night—Luke and his followers. You fought, of course you did. You thrashed and shouted and lashed out with roots and thorn-covered whips, but Luke had planned this. He used celestial bronze nets soaked in hydra venom to dull your magic, and even as you screamed Percy’s name, the earth couldn’t reach you. Your mother couldn’t reach you.

At least, not yet.

Camp Half-Blood woke up to wilting gardens. Strawberries shriveled on the vine. Roses blacken mid-bloom. The Demeter cabin is on its knees, their prayers unanswered, the soil refusing to listen. But that’s only the beginning. Because when Percy finds out, when Chiron breaks the news that Luke took you,—“We think he intends to use them as leverage. You’re close, and their connection to the seasons—”

Percy’s already gone.

He doesn’t scream. He doesn’t shout. He just leaves, a storm trailing behind him. Quite literally.

The skies turn black. The ocean begins to surge unnaturally, even in places far from Poseidon's domain. Water floods subway systems and overflows dams. Rain won’t stop. Thunder pounds the clouds like a war drum. And Demeter? She’s not idle, either.

“My son,” she says, her voice brittle as frost. “Taken like Persephone. But this time, I will not weep. I will rage.” She refuses to bring spring. Crops fail. Vineyards rot. Fields across the globe dry into brittle husks.

Humanity begins to notice. But none of that matters to Percy.

He would tear the world apart ocean by ocean if it meant getting you back.

Meanwhile…

Luke tries to manipulate you, playing the old card of, “They don’t care about the truth, only the prophecy,” and, “You and I could be so much more.”

You stare at him like he's soil that refuses to grow. “You’re not Hades,” you spit. “You don’t get to play villain and still act like you’re in love with the world you’re trying to destroy.”

“You think Percy will come for you?” Luke mocks, cruel. “He’s a pawn of Olympus.”

You stare at him, the pain in your wrists forgotten, your breath catching not from fear but fury. Your voice is soft when you speak, but every word lands like the crack of roots splitting stone.

“No,” you say, gaze locked and unflinching. “That’s where you keep getting it wrong. He’s not a pawn.” You lean forward, eyes sharp with something ancient, something your mother passed into your bones like wildseed. “He’s the storm. He doesn’t take orders—he makes the sea rise.”

Luke falters—just for a second.

“He’ll come for me,” you continue, your voice calm, almost pitying, “not because the gods told him to. Not for Olympus. But because he loves me. And you? You wouldn’t know what that kind of loyalty looks like if it strangled you in your sleep.”

The silence stretches. You feel it in the walls—the faint tremble of far-off water

“You’re not a god,” you finish. “You’re just a boy playing tyrant in someone else’s war.” And that’s when the walls groan. Dust rained from the ceiling. Somewhere above, something—no, everything—shifts.

Luke’s smug smile finally cracks. “What did you do?”

You blink slowly. “I didn’t do anything.” You tilt your head, listening. “But the tide’s coming in.”

And then it hits.

The far wall of the chamber explodes inward, not with fire—but with water. Pressurized and howling like a leviathan. It floods the corridor, swallowing Luke’s guards in seconds. Vines as thick as tree trunks burst through cracks in the floor and lash out like serpents, tearing down pillars, choking weapons from hands, dragging the unworthy underground.

And then—him.

Percy stands in the breach. Soaked to the bone, blood trailing from his temple, celestial bronze blade clenched so tightly in his fist it creaks. His sea-green eyes land on you, and something ancient and wild ripples behind them.

“Get away from him,” Percy says, and there’s no room for argument. His voice booms like waves against cliffs. “Now.”

Luke draws his sword. “You won’t make it out of here with him,” Luke hisses. “I’ll make sure of that.”

“You already lost,” Percy growls. “The ocean doesn’t ask permission.”

And suddenly he’s moving—the kind of speed you don’t see, only feel. Water blasts forward in a crashing spiral, knocking Luke off his feet. The two clash in a blur of silver and blue. You watch helplessly, shackled, vines too exhausted to respond—but the earth is listening again. You whisper low, coaxing the stone, and slowly, steadily, the roots obey.

Chains snap. Your arms fall limp at your sides, burning—but free. Just in time to see Luke flat on his back, sword flung from his grasp. Percy doesn’t strike the killing blow. No. He plants a foot on Luke’s chest and points Riptide at his throat. “You hurt him. You took him."

Percy’s voice trembles—not from weakness, but from holding back the kind of wrath that could shatter continents. “You tried to break the world by using the person I love most as bait.”

Luke sneers, though he’s pinned. “Still think you’re a hero? You’ll never stop it—Kronos is coming. You’re just another demigod in the meat grinder, Jackson.”

“Maybe,” Percy says, eyes burning. “But I’m the demigod who’s still standing.”

He doesn’t kill him—not out of mercy, but defiance.

Instead, he lets the earth have him.

Vines snap from the ground, curling around Luke’s limbs, dragging him down like an ancient punishment—the wrath of Demeter herself. The floor cracks, soil groaning, and the last thing Luke sees before darkness claims him is Percy wrapping you in his arms.

Percy collapses to his knees beside you, arms instantly pulling you in. He smells of salt and blood and ozone, the sharp scent of a storm that finally passed. “I’m here,” he breathes. “I’m here, I’ve got you.”

You sag against him, the adrenaline finally fading. “You came.”

“Of course I did,” Percy says, almost incredulous. His voice cracks at the edges. “I’d flood the world if that’s what it took. You think gods scare me? You think fate scares me?” He cups your cheek, thumb brushing over the grime and dried blood. “Losing you—that’s the only thing that terrifies me.”

You lean into the touch. “You scared the plants.”

He laughs wetly, eyes still shining. “You scared the sea.”

[ashthesalamipiece]

This might be a bit specific but I’d like to request a fic where reader and Bakugou have twin boys who are already teenagers in like high school age (they can have more if you want, but these two are the oldest ones) where one of them does nicely academically, behaves properly, never disobeys his parents and the other —who’s the younger twin— is the complete opposite, basically a teenage Bakugou who likes to revolt and worry his mom and dad.

Anyway, it would go something like this; it’s like in the middle of a school night, maybe 2 to 3pm and reader feels like something is wrong and goes to check on her children finding out that the younger twin sneaked out. She wakes Bakugou up and they wait for him while he tries to calm her worries down. When he gets home they bicker until it turns into a full argument, both guys are screaming at each other and the son lets something out about how he thinks reader is not a good mother, that he hates her and that she favors his brother more (something like that) she has to hold her husband down for him not to jump on their kid and he runs to his room, she calms the man down and goes to talk to her boy and they talk, even with him being reluctant at first he apologizes and things turn out fine, but he was kind of an asshole still so she can’t help but cry when it’s just her and Bakugou.

I’m so sorry if this is too much I just needed to get it out of my mind, it will be totally fine if you prefer to ignore this love your writing💕

Thank you so much♡

enjoy♡

"We’re Still Learning"

Bakugou x Reader | Family Drama | Angst & Comfort | Long One-Shot

It was 2:46 AM when you woke up, heart pounding for no clear reason.

You sat up in bed, eyes scanning the dark room. Katsuki slept beside you, one arm stretched across your side protectively, his face soft in sleep — a rare sight. But something gnawed at your chest. An itch in your ribs. A mother’s instinct.

You slipped out of bed, careful not to wake him, and padded down the hallway. First stop: the twins’ room.

The older one, Haru, was sound asleep, arm flung over his head, mouth slightly open. But the other bed — Kaito’s — was empty.

Blankets pulled back. Window slightly cracked.

Your stomach dropped.

You rushed back into the room and shook Katsuki awake. “Katsuki—wake up.”

He jolted up immediately, eyes sharp even in half-sleep. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Kaito’s gone.”

It only took two words.

He was out of bed in seconds, tugging on a hoodie, checking the hallway, the back door, the garage. You called his phone. No answer.

“God, what if something happened to him—what if he’s out with those older kids again—”

“Oi, stop,” Bakugou growled gently, grabbing your shoulders. “Breathe, baby. We’ll wait. He’ll come back. You know he always does.”

But your mind spiraled. Kaito had been distant lately. Angry. Cold. He snapped more. He was only fifteen, but it felt like he carried the weight of the world on his back and refused to let anyone help.

You sat on the couch, fingers twisted in your shirt. Katsuki sat beside you, holding your hand, his grip steady but firm.

“I should’ve seen this coming,” you whispered.

“Tch. Don’t start blamin’ yourself for his shit. We’re doin’ our best.”

You didn’t answer. You just stared at the clock.

3:38 AM.

The front door creaked open.

Kaito stepped inside, hoodie up, earbuds in, expression hard.

You shot to your feet. “Kaito—!”

“Don’t start,” he muttered, brushing past you.

Bakugou’s voice cracked through the room like thunder. “Where the hell have you been?”

“Out.”

“Don’t get smart with me, brat. Do you know what time it is?! Your mom's been losin’ it over here!”

“Yeah, well, what else is new?” Kaito said, loud. “It’s not like she actually listens when I’m here anyway.”

You blinked. “What are you talking about?”

“You only care about Haru. You always have,” he snapped, voice rising. “He gets better grades, he talks more, he’s easier, right? So why would you ever wanna deal with me?”

“What?! Kaito—”

“I hate coming home to this! I hate how you look at me like I’m always the problem!”

Bakugou surged forward, voice like a war drum. “You don’t talk to her like that—”

“Or what?!” Kaito shouted back, stepping toward him. “You’ll hit me?! Do it! Just get it over with!”

“Katsuki—!” You grabbed your husband around the waist, stopping him before he lunged. His muscles were coiled, trembling with restraint, jaw clenched so tight you could hear it creak.

“Let me go,” he growled.

“No,” you whispered. “Don’t be that kind of father.”

Kaito’s eyes widened—not in fear, but in challenge. But when he realized you weren’t letting go, that Katsuki wasn’t going to blow, he scoffed and turned on his heel.

“Whatever,” he muttered. “I should’ve stayed gone.”

He slammed the door behind him.

---

Ten minutes passed before Katsuki finally moved. He sat down hard on the couch, hands on his knees, breathing heavy. You knelt in front of him, touching his face.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

“No. I’m sorry,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I almost lost it. He said that shit about you and I just—”

You kissed his knuckles. “I know. You were protecting me. But he’s hurting. I need to go talk to him.”

“I don’t know how you’re so calm.”

“I’m not,” you said, standing. “But I’m his mom. If I fall apart, he’ll never learn how to put himself back together.”

---

You knocked softly before entering Kaito’s room. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, hunched over, staring at the floor.

“Can I come in?”

Shrug.

You walked in anyway.

Silence.

“I don’t love Haru more,” you said quietly. “I love you both. Differently. Equally. But I’m sorry if I ever made you feel otherwise.”

He scoffed. “It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not,” you said, kneeling in front of him. “You said you hate me.”

He flinched. “I didn’t mean it.”

“Then what did you mean?”

He stayed quiet for a long time.

“I don’t know,” he muttered eventually. “I just… I always feel like I’m messing up. And you’re always disappointed. Even when you’re not saying anything, it’s just… there. In your face.”

You swallowed around the lump in your throat. “Kaito, I’m not disappointed in you. I’m scared. Because I see you pulling away and I don’t know how to reach you.”

His eyes welled up. “You don’t get it.”

“Then help me understand.”

He wiped his face angrily with his sleeve. “I don’t know how to not be angry all the time.”

Your heart shattered. “You’re allowed to feel angry. But you’re not allowed to use that anger to hurt the people who love you.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I just… I feel so lost.”

You wrapped your arms around him, and for a moment, he let himself be held.

“I’ve got you,” you said. “We’ve got you. Even when you’re lost.”

---

Later, when the house was quiet again, you crawled back into bed beside Katsuki. He was awake, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

“How is he?” he asked.

You let out a breath. “Better. Still angry. Still hurt. But… he apologized.”

He turned toward you, pulling you into his chest. “You’re too good at this,” he mumbled.

You didn’t answer.

Because the moment his arms wrapped around you, the tears you’d been holding back finally spilled. You buried your face in his shirt and cried quietly—out of relief, exhaustion, and heartbreak.

Katsuki stroked your hair, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“We’re not perfect,” you whispered, voice shaking. “I don’t know what I’m doing half the time.”

He held you tighter. “None of us do. But we’re not quittin’. Ever.”

And in that moment, with the weight of the night settling over you both, you realized something: being a parent didn’t mean having all the answers. It just meant loving your kids enough to keep showing up.

Even when it’s 3 AM.

Even when it hurts.

Even when they say they hate you.

You’d still be there.

Always.

[megalony]

Conditions Of The Heart

I've been having a lot of fun switching between fandoms, and this is my first imagine for Robert Chase from House MD. I hope you will all like it.

Please let me know what you think.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyje @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra848484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana @shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @lolalolsstuff @jupiter1700 @ashdoctor @an-aliens-ghost @lunaroserites @houseoftwistedspirits @callsignwidow @winterreader-nowwriter @reneinii @bellsbomb @western-pyro @itsgigikay @harry-satellite @midsummereve1993 @babyqueen17 @buckyyyismahhlife @sammiejane22 @mrsyixingunicorn10 @op-81-lvr-reblogs @talicat713 @niamhmbt @strawberry-canyon @bieberhoodforever @911fangirlie @hollandxxmix @jasmineee05 @creat1venat1onn @devilslittlehelper @darlingcharling-blog @bear8585 @nickie-amore @elliott-calls @person-005 @mbioooo0000 @amara-mars @shypy92 @nikfigueiredo @sabsthedoll @rach2602 @itshamleth @ladespedidas @devilslittlehelper @buckslifeline

Main Masterlist

Summary: (Y/n)'s been having health problems and symptoms that intervene with her work on House's team, but he doesn't think it's serious. Chase is the only one who believes her and tries to help.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Again?"

Why did he have to say it like that? Why did he have to make a big announcement? As if (Y/n) was doing something wrong or making am embarrassment of herself and he wanted the whole hospital to find out.

A deep frown set in (Y/n)'s features as she stared across at House like she was trying to burn holes through him with her dark glare, but her expression did nothing to waver his expression. His brow raised and that quirk in his lips remained set in a playful expression that was just dying to egg her on and see how many buttons he could press.

House's expression aggravated (Y/n) to no end and she couldn't help but let it show on her face in the form of a deep scowl.

It wasn't as if House let them have thousands of breaks during the day, they were lucky if they managed to get ten minutes off for a lunch break.

All (Y/n) was asking for was a few minutes to go downstairs to the clinic.

The first time she'd asked to go down to the clinic, House had been equally surprised and a little worried. It wasn't like (Y/n) to want to go and get checked out, and he hadn't noticed anything wrong with her or any visible symptoms. The second time a few days later when (Y/n) went to the clinic before going on shift, House had been very curious and (Y/n) knew he'd gone to look at her notes to find out what was wrong.

The third time he hadn't really been bothered since it was close to the end of her shift and she didn’t look too good. But now this was the fourth time and she had barely been up here in House's office for an hour and she was already asking to go down to the clinic to get checked out.

Did she not trust the team to go over her symptoms that were clearly persistent? Was this just a ploy to get a break from House and their newest case? Was she even going down to the clinic or was she going to take a break?

House had seen her notes. The doctors and nurses that had examined her each time hadn't found any underlying cause for her problems and symptoms. If House didn't know any better, he would guess that they were just rising symptoms of panic.

(Y/n) was a doctor, she was in one of the most prestigious teams in the best hospital in the country. She should know by now and be able to diagnose her symptoms as mere tools of anxiety. She didn't have to keep running down to the clinic to be assessed like this. She was disrupting House's team and his methods.

"You’ve been here an hour, you really want to go see Johnson that badly?" The teasing tone to House's voice made a fire spark in (Y/n)'s eyes and had adrenaline coursing through her already aching chest.

He knew she was in a relationship with Chase. It was one of the things House liked to poke fun at because the couple worked together- on House's team no less- and he liked to spark trouble and cause friction because life was a game.

But House also knew that most of the times that (Y/n) had gone to the clinic to ask for a check up or for help when her symptoms flared up, she bumped into the same colleague.

"House…" (Y/n) trailed off, not having it within her to start an argument. She just needed him to understand.

This wasn't a ploy to get out of trying to diagnose their current patient. This wasn't (Y/n)'s way of getting a well earned break or going to get something from the canteen. And this certainly wasn't her trying to sneak off to have a fling with another doctor. She wasn't well and she wanted help.

Being assessed by her own team wasn't something (Y/n) wanted. She wasn't very close with Foreman or Cameron so it would feel awkward if either of them tried to help her. And Chase was her partner, it would reflect badly if it was him assessing her and writing in her notes. Plus, they were currently working on a case. It wasn't the time for someone to take a break and assess (Y/n).

"You've been down there three times, and they said there isn't anything wrong. Wait 'til lunch." The tick of his head and the way House looked her up and down showed that he didn't want to be totally unreasonable.

But he couldn't see anything in her notes that suggested a problem. Elevated heart rate. Dizziness. Breathless. Blood pressure slightly higher than usual.

All symptoms of anxiety and specific symptoms that House would expect to find in the people who worked on his team. He was surprised (Y/n)'s symptoms weren't more frequent or harsher with the kind of strain this job had on them and the deadlines they had to find diagnoses for their patients.

After all, House only took special cases where a diagnosis was hard to find and usually, the clock was ticking on their patients.

She looked fine to House. She wasn't about to keel over or struggling for breath or in any visible pain or agony. She could carry on working until lunch time and if she still felt like she needed to be seen, then she could go on her break.

A defeated huff left (Y/n)'s lips and she turned, briskly walking away from the coffee station in the corner of the office.

What good would fighting him do? It would only prove to make herself feel worse and give House a sense of glee at some retaliation. And if she went he would only hold it against her or make her stay later to make up the most time.

Her fingers began to shake around her cup of coffee and as she walked around the table, she kept her eyes glued to the floor. Making sure to ignore the sympathetic look on Cameron's face and the blank stare Foreman gave her because he expected that answer from House.

The cup in her hand clattered down on the glass table with a thud that sent shivers down Chase's spine.

He winced and sank his teeth down into his lower lip as he watched his partner pull out and sink down into the chair beside him.

The pen in Chase's hand began to tap against the textbook laid out in front of him but his head angled to the right so he was looking at (Y/n). The scrutinising look in his pale blue eyes was clear; he was trying to see what symptoms she was feeling.

He knew what she had been experiencing. She told him of the infrequent palpitations she felt and how it made her lightheaded. And the bouts of breathlessness that made her feel like she was going to pass out and starved her lungs of oxygen.

But each time she went to the clinic, her symptoms faded or eased, they never lasted long enough for anything to show up on any tests and her symptoms weren't severe enough to admit her for further testing.

It felt like Chase was the only person who believed that something wasn't right but there wasn't much he could do either when the symptoms were sporadic and he could only assess her when they were at home or away from work. Officially he wasn't allowed to be her doctor.

A soft "Okay?" passed Chase's lips and he leaned in close and curled his hand around (Y/n)'s wrist while she slowly circled the pad of her finger around the rim of her cup.

She shrugged. Did it truly matter if she wasn't? Did it make a difference if she didn't feel well or if she felt uneasy? Did it matter if she was furious and upset and embarrassed that House had told her to suck up and keep working? She couldn't change any of it, so did it matter?

She continued to stare at her cup rather than drink it and with a sigh, (Y/n) leant to the left until her cheek was resting on Chase's shoulder.

Right now, she didn't care about being professional like she was usually so worried about. It didn't matter whether the team saw her being affectionate or close with Chase, it wasn't as if their relationship was a secret, nothing could be a secret in this place.

"Alright, so what theories have we got? Give me something good." House stood in his usual spot near the whiteboard, a pen behind his ear, a coffee in one hand and his cane in the other.

He looked around the table, but only Foreman seemed to be paying any attention to the task at hand. Cameron was drifting off, constantly looking in (Y/n)'s direction like she felt sorry for her, and Chase was annoyed. He wasn't going to answer or make any effort when House had just dismissed (Y/n) like that. And (Y/n) had all but given up trying to act interested.

With a sigh, Chase slouched back in his seat and parted his knees to the side. He still had (Y/n)'s head resting on his shoulder and every few seconds he turned and pecked the top of her head while his hand let go of her wrist and slid down to rest on her thigh instead. If any of the team noticed the affectionate touch, they didn't comment.

For a while, that was how their morning was spent. Chase barely chipping in with conversation, (Y/n) giving abrupt ideas that House contemplated and put on the board. And Foreman and Cameron rummaging through textbooks and trying to link all the patient's symptoms together.

There was still tension in the air and a thick atmosphere around them, but they were all trying to get on with their work to make it easier.

(Y/n) wasn't sure how much time passed as they all went through ideas and notations and delved into theories. But she knew that this time, her symptoms weren't fading like they usually did.

The tightness in her chest was starting to become overwhelming and it was causing that familiar breathlessness that made her throat burn and felt like her trachea was closing up. And her heartbeat was becoming more noticeable, each thump was bashing against her ribs and thundering beneath her skin and it caused a deafening ringing in one ear.

It was getting harder and harder to hold the tears at bay and carry on as normal.

She barely heard House giving out his usual orders, demanding for Cameron to give the patient an ultrasound and Foreman to go and run some blood samples. And she wasn't sure what he asked her and Chase to do, only hearing a few words here and there which she pieced together to assume he said that the 'love birds' can run a test together. The specifics had gone in one ear and out the other with the constant ringing she was hearing.

Chase pushed forward in his seat and tossed his pen down onto the table while he watched Cameron go to make herself another drink, and Foreman seemed to be making notations and little pointers again.

"Ready to go down to the lab?" He moved his hand from where it had been comfortably moulded against (Y/n)'s thigh so he could loop his arm around the back of her shoulders. But the slight shake of her head that he got in response took him by surprise.

He was even more surprised that (Y/n) leaned into him so affectionately considering the rest of the team were still in the room.

Chase felt (Y/n)'s hand resting on his thigh but her nails were starting to puncture through his trousers until they were piercing the skin. And she dug her chin down into his shoulder with her face tucked into the crook of his neck. It allowed her to lean into his chest while he tightened his arm around her shoulders, suddenly worried and on red alert.

"I- I don't feel right," Her voice strained slightly which Chase picked up on right away, causing his eyes to narrow as he looked down at her.

Her breathing was changing again. No longer controlled or placid and calm, but shallow and somewhat strained breaths that implied she wasn't getting enough air. And she was starting to tremble which in turn was making Chase tremble and caused shivers to scratch down his spine and throughout his nerves.

"What's wrong?"

"My chest hurts," (Y/n)'s voice sounded lighter than air this time, a mere whisper on the wind that Chase strained to hear despite having her lips hovering near his ear.

But when he glanced down and realised her free hand was rubbing over her chest, his complexion paled. This wasn't right. There was something wrong with (Y/n) and Chase was going to find out what it was, no matter what House said or did.

(Y/n) let her eyes close when she felt Chase's hand on her shoulder and how it glided up towards her neck. She wasn't sure what he was doing until he splayed his fingers out on the side of her neck, and she suddenly felt his index and middle finger pushing down on her pulse. He was silently counting her pulse without anyone else realising.

She knew he sensed it. The fluctuation in her heartbeat and she knew he tensed at the same time her chest quaked when she had a palpitation.

"Come on."

(Y/n) understood Chase's pretext and the hidden meaning behind his very few words.

House had given them a task, and Chase was going to use that as cover so he could get (Y/n) into an exam room and run some tests of his own. He was going to find out what was wrong, and House didn't need to know. They couldn't deal with an argument right now, as far as the team knew, they were going to run the tests they had been told to do.

It was comforting to feel Chase's hands on her skin when the pair of them got up, and (Y/n) was glad Chase was so close behind her. She wasn't sure how long she could keep herself upright when every limb was starting to tremble and her legs felt unusually weak and shaky.

They made it five strides towards the door to the office before (Y/n) stopped in her tracks, causing Chase to bump into her.

"Babe-" Whatever Chase had been ready to whisper suddenly fell upon deaf ears when (Y/n) stumbled.

Her quaking knees gave way and her wavering body plummeted backwards into Chase's chest and her head whacked into his shoulder, sending his body jolting to the left.

A groan tumbled past Chase's lips and his eyes went wide in their sockets as he grappled to bind his arms around (Y/n)'s waist, letting her weight crash into his chest. His knees ached as they tried to deadlock to hold them both up before he gave in and carefully moved to kneel on the floor, easing (Y/n) down with him as she was slumped back against his chest.

Shivers coursed up and down Chase's spine when (Y/n)’s trembling hand wavered to press to her chest as her breaths turned to strangled gasps.

"I could use some help!" He spat angrily, looking over his shoulder to find House staring at them both incredulously, much the same as Foreman. With Cameron being the only one to rush into action to try and help.

"C- Chase…" (Y/n) gasped, hardly able to get his name to pass through her lips from the shortness of breath the pain caused. Neither of them were sure what (Y/n) was asking of him, but Chase didn't seem to mind.

"Hey, come on, try and take deep breaths for me. Deep as you can." There was a slight edge of panic in Chase's voice while his left arm curved around (Y/n)'s waist and he pressed his palm down against the middle of her chest. Trying to feel her chest rising and falling just in case she was starting to breathe into her chest cavity, although he highly doubted that as a possibility.

His other hand moved to press back to the side of her neck while her head pushed down into his shoulder, tensing and writhing as she was clearly trying to remain in control despite her pain. And Chase tried his best to hide his wince and keep his shoulder tense beneath her head.

He hated how her features scrunched up in pain and she was almost froffing at the mouth from each ragged breath she gasped for.

(Y/n)'s heels bashed and scraped into the floor and she flopped into Chase's chest like a fish out of water, desperate to stop her suffocation. She closed her eyes and clenched her left hand down around Chase's thigh to try and ground herself.

But she was taken by surprise when a softer pair of hands took hold of her left hand. It was Cameron. She quickly attached a pulse clip to (Y/n)'s index finger before she pressed her stethoscope in her ears and pressed the end down into (Y/n)'s chest.

Cameron's lips formed into a concentrated pout but there was apprehension in her eyes. Especially when she saw that (Y/n)'s lips were becoming chapped and slightly discoloured on the inside. Tears were falling from her eyes like a stream when the pain in her chest felt like she was continuously being stabbed.

"Lungs are clear but there's muffling in her chest. I count at least three palpitations."

Lifting her head, Cameron looked up towards House who seemed to be observing them like they were performing a practical exam that he was going to grade. His eyes were narrowed and both hands were curled around his cane that was pressed down in front of him, allowing him to lean forwards and observe them more intimately.

"Lips are pale, she's not getting enough oxygen. Find a room and get her on oxygen and a dose of Atenolol. ECG should confirm an arythmia."

Chase fought the urge to roll his eyes or grunt in annoyance. Now House believed that something was wrong, all it took was for (Y/n) to collapse with breathing issues for them all to realise that she wasn't faking or trying to get out of work. She had a real health issue that no one had bothered to try and assess or work out.

"I can-"

"I've got her." Chase's words were snappy and to the point, cutting Cameron off before she had the chance to offer to help (Y/n) up.

A soft "Up we go," passed his lips as he switched his arms so one was around (Y/n)'s lower waist and the other slid beneath her knees. He pushed up to his feet, wincing at each shallow breath (Y/n) took which fanned against his throat as she tucked her face into his neck again.

He could feel her tears soaking into his skin and her trembling was surging through his blood and making him want to shake too.

He turned his head so his lips could press against (Y/n)'s burning temple and he had to concentrate so his hands didn't dig too harshly into (Y/n)'s skin and inflict any further unnecessary pain onto her.

When Cameron held open the office door, Chase hurried out, not caring that she and House were both following behind him. They could wait back in the office for all Chase cared. He needed to go and get (Y/n) set up in one of the empty rooms and get her on oxygen and medication to stop these symptoms from reoccurring.

This wasn't the first time (Y/n) had felt these symptoms, but it was the first time Chase had known her to collapse and suffer so much from them. Hopefully it was something as simple and treatable as an arythmia or maybe angina. He didn't want to think of there being any other serious problems; not for (Y/n).

Up until now, no one could find anything wrong. Hopefully this was it.

***

Tilting her head down, (Y/n) stared down at her thighs where her hands were beginning to tap out a rhythm. She didn't have to look up to see that Chase wasn't happy. The way his foot was repeatedly bashing against the floor was making the bedframe rattle and she knew instinctively that he had his arms folded tight over his chest.

House however, was a different matter. He looked unimpressed with his fingers twitching around the handle of his cane and his other hand was gripping the end of the bedframe.

"I need you both back to work. She's fine."

Pursing her lips, (Y/n) angled her head to one side and finally looked up towards her partner just in time to see Chase's nostrils flare and his lips curl into a grimace.

The palpitation she had suffered yesterday was most likely from an arythmia, but there was no single test to diagnose it. Angina was ruled out because (Y/n)'s cardiovascular blood vessels weren't constricted or tightening or weakening.

For an arythmia they had to monitor (Y/n), check each time she had symptoms or problems like yesterday and go from there. Either medication or trying to locate the section of the heart causing the issues and freezing it was their best course of action. None of which could be done within the next few days, they needed confirmation of this diagnosis.

But Chase wasn't so easily swayed. He didn't want (Y/n) to just go straight back to work. Yesterday had been different, it had been the first time she collapsed and he didn't want it happening again. She needed to rest and be monitored and they had to keep checking her heart to note the symptoms and changes.

"She's not fine, she has a heart condition-"

"That we can't diagnose without further symptoms and tracking. Do you feel fine?" House's attention turned to (Y/n), who didn't look too pleased about being talked about as if she weren't in the room with them.

Her hands began to glide up and down her thighs more vigorously and her eyes glanced up at Chase again. It was clear by his expression that if she said no, he would stick by her. He would stand up to House and make sure that she got another day or two or three on observation and an ECG to constantly check her heart rhythm.

But (Y/n) didn't want to be a burden. She had been okay since her episode yesterday morning. No more palpitations or shortness of breath, no more gasping for air. Being on oxygen for an hour and having beta-blockers had done the trick.

As long as she got to stay on observation and keep taking medication to try and ward off any further symptoms, (Y/n) would be okay.

She worked in a hospital, if she had any issues or fainting problems again then she was in the best place for it to happen.

Staying in this room as a patient was only going to help if something went wrong or she had further symptoms. Her chest was still aching and there was the odd pain but it was nothing serious and the monitors didn’t show anything. (Y/n) couldn’t sit here forever and wait until some sign appeared for what was causing this. For all they knew, it had stopped for good now.

When Chase locked eyes with (Y/n) he let out an irritated sigh, feeling anger boiling up inside of him when he realised he wasn’t going to be able to stop her from coming back to work.

"If she has any other symptoms or issues, you let her come back for observation."

"Fine. You'll be observing her and buzzing round her like a fly anyway." House waved his hand in Chase's direction before he turned and hobbled out the room.

It wasn't as if (Y/n) would be working away from the team or somewhere where they couldn't keep an eye on her. She would be with the team almost all the time, and when she went home she would still be with Chase. He could supervise and observe her to his heart's content. If she had any symptoms she could get back on an ECG and House would let Chase run any tests he liked.

But he wanted the whole team back on their current patient, back to doing their jobs that they were paid for. There was no use in (Y/n) sitting bored in here when she could be back with the team who were the most qualified to keep an eye on her and check her symptoms anyway.

Turning to the right, (Y/n) swung her legs over the side of the bed until her toes were just barely scraping the floor. And before Chase could utter one word, her arms were wrapped around his torso and her face was meshed into his sternum, breathing in his scent.

It was comforting to feel his hand on the back of her neck, his fingers tangling into her hair while his other hand roamed up and down her back in soothing circles.

"Are you sure you feel okay?"

"I feel better, I promise."

Chase leant down to kiss the top of her head while his thumb stroked up and down the back of her neck, causing shivers in his wake that he could feel soaring through (Y/n)'s skin.

"I'm keeping an eye on you," He murmured softly, the smallest hint of a smile tracing across his lips when (Y/n) angled her head back and looked up at him with that lazy grin that sent his own heart into a frenzy.

"I'm counting on it."

His lips were warm and sweet and his hand shifted to cup her neck, as if making sure she didn't move her head and try to break their kiss that was beginning to steal all the air from (Y/n)'s lungs just like her palpitations had done yesterday.

"So what does this do?"

(Y/n) fought as hard as she could to control her expression and steel her system. When she contorted a smile onto her face, she knew it wasn't as convincing as it should have been, and it wasn't as if she was about t give bad news or perform life-saving surgery.

But it wasn't the patient she was trying to protect. It was herself.

One week of a few meager symptoms and no collapsing or fainting at work. One week of Chase observing her and watching her like a hawk to no avail, because nothing else happened. After that one week, House seemed to believe that (Y/n)'s symptoms wouldn't flare up again and were either control or simply aggravated panic and therefore nothing to worry about.

It had been two weeks now since she had collapsed and her symptoms were simply flaring up in spates. A bit of a flush here and there, some breathless moments, the odd palpitation. Nothing serious enough to warrant another wave of panic or any further tests. Not that (Y/n) wanted any tests when they never seemed to prove that anything was wrong.

It was hard to keep smiling and reassuring the patient when she didn't feel like she was okay. She felt uneasy. The vein in her neck was throbbing like it was ready to explode. Her heartbeat was suddenly well aware in her chest. If anymore of her symptoms flared up she wasn't going to be able to perform this procedure.

"This allows us to remove the clot in your artery."

"No kidding, f-from all the way down there?"

"Blood vessels are like subway systems, this one goes right up to your lungs." At least her words seemed to comfort the patient and make him grin. He couldn't see the nerves hiding behind her eyes and he hadn't noticed that (Y/n) wasn't feeling her best right now.

Closing her eyes, (Y/n) took a moment to hold her breath and see whether it would make a difference or settle her system at all.

At least the patient wasn't panicking. (Y/n) would become a blundering mess if he didn't think she was capable or that she was too unnerved to do this minor surgery.

Out of all the strange symptoms and complications their patient had developed, no one had expected a blood clot to be one of them. Now they had changed his medication and were getting the clot from near his lungs.

To do that, they were inserting a tiny wire through the artery in his left leg which would go up through his system and reach the blood clot that was still partially blocking his blood vessel near his lung. It was a simple procedure, but (Y/n) had to steel her nerves and hold steady. Moving too fast or shaking as she inserted the wire could rupture the walls of his blood vessels and they couldn't have that happening.

"Just try and stay still, this won't take long."

(Y/n) flexed her fingers to try and rid the tension from her muscles and keep enough control so that she didn't start shaking. A doctor and any surgeon had to have steady hands, (Y/n) couldn't fall into trembles now.

She didn't realise she was holding her breath until her chest began to ache and she realised it wasn't one of her usual symptoms.

Her eyes focused on the wire she was steadily threading through the patient's thigh, watching it slither up his leg before she looked up to the monitor opposite her to make sure she was aiming the right way. Taking the right blood vessel. The right subway to get to the station that held the blood clot.

Chase was stood on the opposite side of the bed, his eyes watching her eagerly while his hand held the ultrasound over the patient's lower chest, right over his lung so they could keep check and make sure there were no other problems arising.

Chase noticed. He could see the signs (Y/n) was trying to hard to cover. He could see how her gaze kept flitting down to her hands and how she was putting all her concentration into keeping them steady, something she never had to think about doing on a normal day.

He noticed her throat tightening and her breaths increasing every now and then, despite this being a far more routine procedure compared to some of the surgeries they helped out with from time to time.

He watched with quirking lips and panic flooded eyes when (Y/n) uttered "Got it," but she sounded breathless.

Sweat was glistening on her brow and Chase could look no where else but at his partner. He watched her elbows resting on the bed as she tried to extract the wire from their patient's thigh without any sudden movements or ruptures. His fingers twitched and tightened around the ultrasound wand he was holding that he wasn't paying much attention to anymore.

"You're all done." The same breathlessness tore through (Y/n)'s chest and prevented her from trying to smile.

She was giving a patient good news. The clot had been extracted and his procedure was done. But (Y/n) was shaking as she placed a gauze patch over the incision and stepped away from the table.

She glanced across at Chase, giving him a brief look which he seemed to understand. He muttered "Let's get you back to your room." with a smile that could fool anyone and he paged for a nurse while (Y/n) started to retreat from the room.

The latex gloves seemed like she was peeling away a second layer of skin, the scrubs felt like they had been tied with sailor's knots at the back to keep her in a body suit like this.

Ripping them off was ten times harder than it should have been and (Y/n) shakily stuffed them into the waste bin on her way out the room.

She wasn't sure where she was heading, or where she was supposed to go now. House would probably want them back in his office so they could try and find the right diagnosis for their patient after this new development in his case. But (Y/n) didn't want to go back into the office yet, not when she was feeling like this.

The seats lined against the wall in the corridor seemed like a safe bet. (Y/n) plonked herself down in one of the chairs and slumped forward until her arms were flopped on her thighs and her head hung down, hoping to clear the dizziness that was ebbing away at the back of her mind.

"Hey, you okay?"

(Y/n) raised her head just enough to see Chase stood beside her, his head dipped to one side to look down upon her while he reached out to rest a hand on her shoulder.

"Palpitation," she mumbled, closing her eyes when she felt his hand immediately move from her shoulder to press against the side of her neck.

To anyone else it might have looked like a loving touch, but his middle and index fingers were feeling her pulse. His eyes narrowed as he felt her heartbeat, seeing that it wasn’t that much of a difference in rhythm but those little jumps and skips were there.

Chase brushed his thumb over the back of her neck when (Y/n) slumped against his front with her head pressing into the middle of his lower chest.

A sigh rumbled past his lips and he shifted his hand from her neck so his arm was loosely draped around the front of her chest, hugging her close as he leant down and buried his nose in her hair. He took a few slow breaths as he closed his eyes, feeling (Y/n)'s hand curl around his forearm like she was pinning him in place to ensure he didn't move one foot away from her.

He briefly opened his eyes at the sound of footsteps and Chase turned his head ever so slightly so he was still smothered against (Y/n)'s head, but he was able to glance down the hall.

Two nurses were wheeling their patient in the opposite direction, presumably and hopefully back to his room.

A peaceful silence enveloped them both as (Y/n) leaned into Chase who was wrapped around her like a comfort blanket. She found herself tapping her foot against the floor out of nervous habit, but her hands suddenly latched tightly around his arm and she tensed against him. Her chest seized and tightened as she doubled over with a gasp that caught Chase's full attention.

His lips parted, the question of what's wrong on the tip of his tongue until he felt the way (Y/n)'s chest seized and shuddered. Without thinking twice, he pressed his palm down against the centre of her chest before he fumbled to reach up to her neck and feel for her pulse.

Her heart was spasming. The palpitations and uneven rhythm were more prominent than last time.

This wasn't good.

"Up. C'mon, let's get you in the exam room." The urgency in Chase's voice made (Y/n)'s stomach churn and twist itself into knots and she whimpered in his arms. Clinging to the arm that was bound around her front while his other arm slid around her waist so he could help her up from the chair.

It felt and probably looked more like Chase was dragging her than walking with her, but (Y/n) was starting to flag in his arms. If he wanted to get her into a room to be checked out, heaving her there himself was the only way.

The couple stumbled into the new vacant room their patient had not long been in and (Y/n) reached one arm out to grasp the bed and lean against it when her knees started to tremble.

Her lips parted in a silent gasp and tears began to trickle down her features as that familiar suffocating feeling overwhelmed her and it felt like her heart had turned into a boom box. Each uneven beat was thundered against her ribs and pulsed through her blood and nerves and it hurt. It hurt to feel and notice each thundering beat of her heart that had her shoulders coiling inwards like her chest was trying to break itself in two.

She didn't quabble when Chase lifted her up and sat her down on the bed, and when his hands found her shoulders and he pushed to ease her down, (Y/n) didn't fight him. But she did coil her knees up near her stomach. Laying flat somehow didn't feel right. She wanted to curl up into a ball. Bringing her knees up and wrapping her arms tight around her waist was the closest she could get to the fetal position.

A pitiful cry along with a broken "Oow," left her lips before she snapped her eyes closed.

And when Chase's hand rested on the base of her chest, presumably to try and keep her still and to calm her down, (Y/n) grabbed his wrist until her nails were scraping against his skin.

Chase fumbled for the pager strapped to his belt, trying to compose himself and hold in his panic just long enough so he could type a message which he sent to all the team. Instructing them of an emergency which they needed to come down to the exam room to help with.

"Alright, alright babe. I'm gonna do an ultrasound, okay?"

(Y/n) nodded while her neck pushed out and she shoved her head back until she was almost tearing through the flimsy pillow beneath her. She could barely open her eyes enough to see a blurred image of Chase hovering over her.

She didn't care what he did or how he tried to help, she just wanted him to do something to ease her pain and terror.

With one hand clenched around his wrist, (Y/n) fumbled to whack her other arm out above her head towards the wall behind the bed. As soon as she grasped hold of the oxygen mask hooked there, Chase leant over and turned the oxygen machine on. (Y/n) didn't care about the wire wrapping and tangling around her arm because once the mask was over her lips, she was getting some form of help. Just enough oxygen to get through her system and keep her going considering she seemed to be suffocating. Again.

"Okay, okay…" Chase muttered a few other things to himself that (Y/n) couldn't make out, but she knew he was just trying to stay composed and walk himself through this.

He pressed his hips into the side of the bed so he could lean over her and a flicker of a grin pulled at the corner of his lips when he moved both hands to (Y/n)'s shirt. He locked eyes with her when he pulled and undid the buttons on her shirt until it was completely undone and he could see her bra. Unfortunately he didn't need to take that off.

(Y/n) barely felt the gel he squeezed onto her chest which was trembling and jutting up and down with infrequent breaths and gasps that were causing her throat muscles to tighten and constrict.

She had had an ultrasound two weeks ago after her other flare up of symptoms. But by the time she had been put on oxygen, an ECG and had her beta-blockers, the ultrasound was useless. Her symptoms had simmered down and her heart had been back to beating normally. The scan showed nothing amiss.

But Chase was hoping that doing a scan now, while she was actually suffering her strange variety of symptoms, that it might flag up something.

"Try and stay still babe, take a deep breath for me."

Chase's voice was lulling, almost as if he were putting her under a trance and (Y/n) nodded when the ultrasound was pressed down on her chest. It felt like he was trying to imbed it into her ribs, but she knew he was just trying to get a good look at her heart.

She took as deep a breath as she could manage, pushing her chest up and shifting from left to right as it became harder and harder to stay still when all she wanted to do was shake and writhe in agony.

"Breathe out."

With his right hip pressed against the bed, Chase had his right elbow resting on (Y/n)'s stomach as he moved the sonogram a little so get a better image. His left hand reached out for the monitor and he zoomed in a few centimetres.

(Y/n) wasn't sure whether the furrow in his brows and the slight pout of his lips was a good sign or not. Something had caught his eye or come to mind, that much was clear.

"Shallow breaths, start panting."

A whimper left (Y/n)'s lips and she brushed her cheek against the pillow while her hands clenched into fists and pushed down into the bed.

"Please baby, I know it hurts but I need you to try." Chase's expression turned to one flooded with sympathy. He knew she was in agony and he knew breathing was a struggle, but he had to see her heart rhythm changing and panting would use more oxygen and make her heartbeat increase.

(Y/n) tried, she panted as much as she could but it didn't feel like she was actually taking in any oxygen from the mask. Although she was sure she must have been because Chase leaned so close to the monitor that she feared he might end up putting his head through it.

"We got your 911… what are you doing?" Cameron's hands clung to the door handle as she paused in the doorway, unsure whether to step over the threshold or not when she wasn't quite sure what they were up to.

"Blood's leaking into her left ventricle. I need a better image, but the mitral valve looks loose."

Chase looked like he was panting, his jaw loose and eyes wide as he stared at the team as they flooded into the room.

An ultrasound wasn't such a great way to view the heart, but from what he could see, there was blood flowing back into the heart. Valves were like doors that closed after the blood pushed through to the next chamber of the heart, but if one was loose the blood could leak back and that caused a whole lot of problems.

Clearly this wasn't happening often enough for this to be visible on the scans they had done, and it wouldn't be prominent or visible on an ECG monitor.

If this was the right diagnosis then (Y/n) would need keyhole surgery to strengthen the valve and ensure this stopped happening. They had to stop this before it got any worse.

"I'll book a CT scan." Foreman held his hands out at his sides like he was giving some kind of apology for not believing anything like this could have been the cause. And he backed out of the room to give them some privacy and get the scan sorted. The sooner they diagnosed this, the sooner they could get (Y/n) to surgery and prevent it from happening again.

"Let me check your blood pressure, then we can find something to control the symptoms." Cameron's voice was soft and oddly quiet but her smile was comforting as she rounded the opposite side of the bed to Chase so she could try and help (Y/n).

(Y/n) was sure that her tight grip had left indents on the oxygen mask she was moulding against her face, but right now she didn't care. She inched the mask down her face just enough so that she could tilt her head back and look up at Chase when she realised he had put the sonogram away and was back to leaning over her.

His fingers softly carded through her hair and gently fluttered along her temple, but it was that calming smile and those ruby red lips that made (Y/n) feel a surge of adrenaline and shivers running down her spine.

And when she felt his lips attaching to her temple in a wet kiss, she leaned into the touch and hummed.

"You're gonna be alright now. We can fix this."

[sativariddle]

SON OF A BITCH ꒱ ⋅ ˚

♫ — ❝ stop looking at me with those eyes… ❞

╰› navigation.⌇m.list.⌇my au’s.

⌗ ┆ word count: 1k+

⌗ ┆ content: mentions of cheating, toxic relationship, gaslighting/emotional manipulation. if you don’t enjoy my content, there’s no need for you to stick around, i’m not responsible for what you choose to engage with.

──────────

"you aren't even listening to me!"

you let out a frustrated huff through your nose. your arms were crossed tightly over your chest, but mattheo didn’t even look up. he sat on the edge of his bed, hunched over a black leather book, his quill scratching across the page as if your presence meant nothing to him.

you had stormed in only moments earlier. cho had pulled you aside in the ravenclaw common room, concern as she whispered about what she’d seen: mattheo, your boyfriend, far too close to another slytherin girl. she said they were touchy. too touchy. his hand above her waist, the girl’s fingers brushing his collar. and only when they realized cho was watching did they pull apart, as if they weren’t doing anything wrong.

you hadn’t wasted a single second the moment you pushed open the door to his dorm. the words spilled out of your mouth. your heart pounded soooo loudly you could barely hear your own voice. but mattheo, in true infuriating mattheo form, didn’t so much as looked like he gave a fuck.

he simply looked up. those dark eyes flicked to yours, his face bored. bored. then he dropped his gaze and continued writing in his journal. "what do you want me to say?" he muttered. then he paused, eyes flicking up just long enough to add, "she’s obviously lying." he dismissed it with a wave of his hand, already turning back to the book.

you stared at him in disbelief. cho is your best friend, she wouldn’t lie about something like that. “she has no reason to lie!” you lashed out, he just shrugged like it meant nothing. it was like he couldn’t be bothered to care, not even enough to look up. his face hadn’t even changed once since you walked in.

“oh, you’re pissing me off,” you muttered after a long span of silence. he still didn’t say anything. you scoffed under your breath, already turning back toward the door, done with trying.

“wait—wait, wait!” mattheo shot up from where he sat. before you could even reach the door, he was already there. he slipped in front of you and pressed his back firmly against the door, chest rising and falling as he blocked your exit. “calm the fuck down, yeah?”

you rolled your eyes the moment mattheo planted himself in front of the door, blocking your way. he had said, ‘calm down,’ like it wouldn’t set you off even more. he should’ve known better. you clenched your jaw. never tell a woman to calm down, especially when you’re the reason she’s furious in the first place. “move,” you snapped. mattheo raised his hands, palms out, one resting lightly on your shoulder in an attempt to settle you. but you flinched away from his touch. “i said move!” this time, it came out as a shout.

"why?" he asked quickly. "what’re you gonna do? where are you gonna go? nowhere. so calm the fuck down."

he signaled toward the bed, silently telling you to sit your ass down, but it only made your blood boil faster. he was treating you like you were overreacting.

you shook your head, barely keeping it together. “i need to be away from you,” you said, shaking with restraint. “you’re being so fuckin’ irritating.” he didn’t say anything—again. you had come here to talk, to finally get the truth about what you heard: about him and that other girl: but all he gave you was nothing. literally.

your chest rose and fell with little baby breaths. the longer you stood in the same room with him, the more it felt like being trapped inside a burning house. you stepped away. “just—fucking forget it.”

it was always the same pattern. he’d do something that pushed you past your limit, something that would make you soooo mad, and the moment you tried to confront him, he’d hit you with the same ol’ ‘calm down” or ‘just sit down and cool off,’ like your feelings were some kind of overreaction.

but when the roles were reversed, when it was you who made him angry, it never ended in a mature conversation. fuck no; it would turn into a full blown screaming match, like his anger was always justified. and when he thinks he’s pushed you too far. when the silence pushes long enough for him to start wondering if you’re even still on good terms, he pulls out his favorite, stupid fuckin’ weapon:

“how am i irritating?” he asked, blinking once. when his eyes opened again, those long lashes fanned out. his chocolate eyes melted into yours, and when his pink lips parted just slightly, you could’ve sworn. sworn on your life you saw a damn sparkle in his eyes.

because of that! exactly that!

you looked away, refusing to meet his eye. he always did this. the second he sensed you were mad, those damn puppy dog eyes would come out. his lips would part the ever so slightest, it was all so rehearsed … though, it never failed.

you could lie to yourself, pretend it didn’t work every time, but shit, it did. every single time. the very second his long, beautiful lashes fluttered, you felt yourself melt away.

“you never hear what i have to say,” you mumbled, your back still to him. it was odd speaking directly to a drywall instead of the man behind you but turning around would make you so weak. “m’ tired of that shit.”

you heard him hum, and out of pure instinct, you turned your head. you always did that, always looked when someone made a sound. he was already staring into your soul. those annoyingly, beautiful eyes sealed on yours like they’d been waiting for you to turn around. you almost folded like a chair right then.

"god…" you muttered under your breath, looking away again. why was he such an asshole? why did he have to be so mean? why did he have to be so sexy?

[aylacavebear]

Bloodlines & Fate Chapter 26

Being Touched should have been a blessing—a mark of honor in your lineage, celebrated by your pack since childhood. But to you, it's always made you feel like an outsider, never really fitting in anywhere. Yeah, you had your best friend Jess, but for you, something always felt like it was missing. The land your pack runs on during the full moons brings you a sense of peace you don't fully understand, at first.

Paring: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader/You

Word Count: 6325

Warning: Angst, Fluff, Dean being an utter sweetheart, Upcoming heat worries, Pack dynamics - no poly, Her pack being there for her and each other.

A/N: Professor Robert Zimmerman is based off of The Doctor from Star Trek Voyager, as I absolutely love that character. Alaric Saltzman is from The Vampire Diaries.

A/N: It's my first attempt with an A/B/O fic, be gentle, please. I hope you like it. Not sure how many chapters this will be yet.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 26

The sun was already high by the time the coffee finished brewing.

The three of them had been up since just after noon. Breakfast was already made, and mostly eaten. Jess had set up a plate for you, covered it, and slid it into the fridge. Dean leaned against the counter, a half-full mug in his hands, watching the steam curl upward like it might give him answers. Sam sat at the table, fork scraping against his plate to catch the last few bits of hashbrowns soaked in egg yolk. 

“She should be up by now,” Dean muttered, not for the first time.

“She played hard last night,” Sam offered. “Figured she was just wiped. Like the night before.” Dean didn’t look convinced. “She ate half of what she normally would have last night before the shift.”

Jess glanced over her shoulder. “Do you want something to be wrong with her?” That earned a slight glare from Dean—and a sigh from Sam.

“I’ll go check on her. If it’ll get you to chill out,” she mumbled.

Jess padded down the hall, slipping into Dean’s room where you were still lying bundled under the blankets. The shades were drawn, casting the room in soft dimness. She approached slowly, nose twitching slightly as your scent reached her.

Her brow furrowed. Something about it was… different.

She reached out and touched the edge of the blanket near your face. 

Warm. Not hot—just warm.

Your forehead had a faint sheen to it, and you didn’t stir at her touch.

Jess sat gently on the edge of the bed, brushing her hand over your temple. “Sweetheart,” she murmured. “Time to wake up.” You groaned softly, burrowing deeper, the wolf in you resisting the pull to rise.

With a sigh, Jess returned to the kitchen. “She’s warm and exhausted. Let her sleep. But it’s her scent that’s throwing me.” Dean didn’t wait. He set down his mug and moved down the hall without a word.

Sam shot Jess a look. “You think…” he started, not sure he wanted to even finish that thought.

Jess shrugged. “It’s been a long time since I had my first heat. And I was never around anyone during theirs. I don’t know what it’s supposed to smell like.”

Dean slipped into the room, closing the door softly behind him. The second it clicked shut, he froze.

The scent hit him first—subtle, but unmistakable. Like freshly crushed cinnamon and vanilla curling at the edges. Not the scent you normally carried. This was warmer, richer, layered with something primal that had his instincts pulling tight in his chest.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath.

You were curled up beneath the blankets, only a sliver of your face peeking out. Your forehead had a faint sheen, your breaths slow and even. Peaceful. Unaware.

He moved closer, kneeling beside the bed.

“Sweetheart,” he said softly.

A soft groan answered him, your head burrowing deeper into his pillow.

Dean sat back on his heels, dragging a hand through his hair, jaw tight. Of course. Of course this was happening now. He should’ve known last night when you ate less. Should’ve caught the scent yesterday afternoon when you got up hours later than normal.

But he hadn’t. Because he’d never done this before. Never been around an omega during her first heat. Never had to prepare for one—let alone with someone he was bonded to.

He stood and backed out of the room, slowly, shutting the door with care.

Jess and Sam looked up as he returned to the kitchen.

Dean didn’t say a word. Just reached for the counter and gripped the edge like it might steady him. The air around him had already shifted—subtle but immediate.

Sam set his mug down with a soft clink. “So, it’s starting.” Dean gave a sharp nod, throat working. “Not full-on. Not yet. But it’s coming.” Jess’s eyes flicked toward the hallway. “And you?” Dean exhaled slowly through his nose. “I felt it. As soon as I walked in.” His jaw ticked. “I’ll go into rut when she hits full heat. We’re synced.” Sam nodded, calm and even. “Makes sense. It’s the bond.” Dean didn’t answer right away. His mind was already turning—calculating supplies, privacy, timing. Days. Maybe longer. Would it be worse because it was your first? Would you panic? Would you need him near? Or would the heat drive you to push him away if it overwhelmed you? As if Jess could read his mind, she set her hand reassuringly on his shoulder. “Breathe, Dean. Her body will take a whole year before she’ll be able to carry pups. These heats are just to prep things, get them moving.”

Dean finally looked up. His eyes were sharp but clear. “I don’t want to scare her.”

Her expression softened. “Did you scare her when you claimed her?”

He had to smile a little at that one. “No,” he admitted. “She trusts you, and your wolf. Now, go talk to your mom. She’s probably the best person to ask about first heats if you have questions,” Jess said firmly.

Dean’s grip on the counter loosened. “Sam, can you call mom. I need to prep things.” Sam chuckled, watching his brother turn into an overprotective, overthinking, utterly in love, worried pup. “Yeah. I’ll call Mom.”

Dean gave a grateful nod. His wolf stirring, mirroring his own emotions, pacing, but under control. He had days before the shift inside him would dig in deeper, or so he thought. But he’d be ready. For you.

The haze of sleep clung to you like a second blanket.

You didn’t fully register the shift in warmth at first—just a faint, low pulse beneath your skin, like your body was quietly humming from the inside out. Not fevered. Not painful. Just there. Different.

You peeled back the covers slowly. The sheets were soft and slightly tangled from where you’d curled into them, Dean’s pillow still tucked under your cheek. It smelled like him—pine and smoke and the faintest edge of worn leather. Familiar. Safe.

Still, the heat clung low in your belly, a whisper of something waiting.

With a quiet breath, you reached for one of Dean’s flannels draped over the edge of the bed, slipping it on over your bare arms. The fabric swallowed you, soft from wear, and still warm in places where his body had held it earlier. Your fingers brushed against the collar as you moved, grounding yourself in the scent. You tugged on a pair of sleep shorts from your overnight bag, feet quiet against the floor as you padded toward the bathroom.

The light was soft when you flipped it on. The mirror caught your face—sleep-flushed, hair mussed, eyes still a little heavy—but it was your eyes that held you for a beat longer. Something looked different. Deeper.

You turned the water on and stepped under it, letting the heat soak into your skin, softening the edges. It helped—not entirely, but enough to shake the worst of the grogginess and the ache in your muscles. Your skin felt a little too warm under the stream, sensitive in a way you hadn’t noticed before. But the clean scent of soap helped soothe that lingering ache under your skin.

By the time you dried off and padded barefoot into the main room, wrapped again in Dean’s flannel, the house had shifted.

Low murmurs filtered from the kitchen. Jess was curled up on the couch, one leg tucked beneath her, book resting in her lap. She looked up the moment she saw you, her expression soft, a quiet kind of welcome in her eyes.

“Hey,” she said, voice warm but gentle. “You’re up.” You nodded, rubbing a hand at the back of your neck. “Think so.”

Dean stood at the kitchen counter, already reaching for the coffee pot that had finished brewing. His head turned the second he heard your voice, eyes flicking over you quickly—not in hunger, but in concern. Care. He didn’t say anything at first, just poured you a cup of the fresh brew.

“Afternoon, sweetheart,” he said, voice rough around the edges, like he hadn’t spoken much in the last hour.

Sam was at the table, laptop open. He gave you a small, warm smile, fingers paused over the keys. “Feeling okay?” “Yeah,” you said, though it came out quieter than you meant. “Just… off. Kinda floaty.” Jess’s smile turned knowing. “That’s normal.” You blinked at her just as Dean handed you the mug he’d filled. “What’s normal?” It wasn’t like you’d told the three of them what Mary had said the night before. And you didn’t think your scent had shifted that much yet.

She didn’t answer right away. Just patted the cushion beside her in invitation. “We’ll walk you through it. Promise.” Dean looked down at you just as you looked up at him. You caught the way his jaw flexed, the slight furrow between his brows. Like he was trying to calculate three steps ahead and still stay present for you.

You weren’t sure what had changed exactly—but the shift was there. In the quiet. In the way Jess watched you. In the way Sam had three tabs open on Omega’s first heats and mating cycles. In the way Dean didn’t need to say anything at all to be completely with you.

Dean’s hand landed gently on the small of your back, warm and grounding. He didn’t push—just guided, a silent offer of comfort and direction. You let him lead you toward the couch, your fingers tightening slightly around the warm mug in your hands.

Jess shifted to make space, and the moment you settled beside her, the tension in your shoulders eased. You curled into her side without really thinking about it, the familiar press of her body anchoring something loose inside you. She didn’t say anything—just tucked an arm around your shoulders and rested her cheek lightly against the top of your head.

You hadn’t realized how much you needed it. The grogginess ebbed, the heat in your belly dulling to a soft, manageable hum. The ache in your limbs, the one the shower hadn’t fully shaken, started to fade. It didn’t make sense. Not really. But you weren’t about to question it either.

Dean dropped onto the other end of the couch, close but not crowding. His knee bumped yours once before he angled toward you, mug of coffee in his own hands, his presence a quiet tether.

Sam moved last, grabbing his laptop and settling into the armchair across from you. He set the computer down on the coffee table, open but angled away, as if giving you space to breathe before anything heavy dropped.

There was a pause. Just a few seconds, filled with the quiet crackle of something unsaid.

Then Sam cleared his throat. “So, um… we didn’t want to say anything until you were up. But…” His eyes flicked to Dean’s, then Jess’s, and finally landed on you. “We think you’re going into your first heat.” Your breath caught for half a second, but Jess’s arm stayed firm around you. Dean’s gaze didn’t waver.

You let out a soft exhale through your nose, then took a sip of your coffee to steady your thoughts. “Mary told me last night,” you admitted quietly. “After she sent Dean to go check on the boys.” Dean’s head tilted slightly. “She told you?”

You nodded, eyes fixed on the dark surface of your coffee. “She said it would start in two or three days. I thought…” You trailed off. “I just thought it was exhaustion from shifting and all the play.” Jess’s fingers rubbed gently along your upper arm. “Makes sense,” she said. “But you’re not alone in this. We’ve got you.” Dean’s voice was low, steady. “We knew something was off when you didn’t wake up the same way you usually do. Scent’s still faint, but it’s there. And you’re burning just a little warmer.” You blinked, processing all of it. “So this… groggy, achey thing—?” If you were being honest with yourself, you had hoped it was only from shifting and the play. You were well aware of the information available about heats and ruts. However, just like with everything else, knowledge wasn’t experience. And the fear of the unknown had crept into your thoughts again. Sam gave a soft nod. “It tracks. You’re feeling the early signs. Full heat won’t hit for a bit, but your body’s already responding. There are a couple ways it’s typically handled, but…” he trailed off, gaze landing on Dean.

Dean’s grip on his mug tightened, jaw working again. “My rut’s coming too,” he mostly mumbled.

You leaned back slightly, letting Jess’s arm slide behind your shoulders again. You hadn’t realized how much tension you were holding until it all started bleeding out. Dean caught your eye just then, something unspoken in the look he gave you—steadiness, quiet protectiveness, and concern.

For a moment, you didn’t speak, just feeling the hum of the connection, the bond between the four of you. It settled like a heartbeat under your skin. “I trust you, remember?” you reminded Dean softly. “I’m a little uncertain about it all, but I trust you. You’ve never let me down, and you’ve always been there for me.”

That eased some of his worry, a breath leaving his lips that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

Jess gave your arm one last reassuring squeeze before just holding you close. “Okay,” she said gently. “So here’s the part where we give you the rundown. Or… at least the parts you need to know right now. And don’t tell me you already know this stuff.” You arched a brow slightly over your coffee mug, trying for dry humor even as something fluttered uncertainly in your chest. “That sounds ominous.”

Sam huffed a breath that could have been a laugh. “It’s not. Promise. We’re not here to overwhelm you.” He glanced over at Jess and Dean, then back at you. “And before we say anything else… it’s important to remember that not every Omega experiences their heat the same way. Some are mild, some are intense. Some can function through it, others need full denning. Your body’s just… doing its own thing now. And that’s okay.” Dean nodded slowly. “We’re not gonna throw every single detail at you right now. We talked about that while you were still asleep.” He glanced down at the mug in his hands, then back at you. “Mom came over earlier. Said she wanted to check in. She shared a few things about what to expect—some of it Winter-line specific, some of it more general Omega stuff.” Jess picked up the thread. “Basically, we’re gonna do the early rundown and basic what’s coming.” It was all she offered on that, knowing that even mentioning there were other things would only pique your curiosity and you’d never let it go until they told you. 

You nodded slowly, tension starting to pool somewhere behind your ribs again, but it didn’t settle quite as heavily this time. “Okay… so what do I need to know?” Sam leaned forward slightly. “I reached out to Professor Saltzman this morning too. Figured if anyone would know what’s normal—or Touched normal, at least—it’d be him.” Your eyes flicked up at that. “And?”

“He confirmed what Mom said. The Touched mutation interacts with the heat cycle differently than in typical Omegas. There’s a longer pre-heat period. More subtle. Sometimes things don’t manifest until after your first shift. The full connection with your wolf, which… you’re already on that track.” His voice softened toward the end, cautious, but grounded. “Saltzman said you’re likely to start craving more contact in the next day or two. And that your wolf instincts are going to be stronger than you’ve felt so far.”

Dean’s jaw worked again, but this time it wasn’t tension—it was restraint. “We’re gonna keep you close. That’s all you need to focus on.”

You looked at each of them in turn. Sam’s careful steadiness, Jess’s soft reassurance, Dean’s quiet fire—all of it forming a shield around you. And beneath it all, that whisper of something deeper: pack, bond, safety.

“But… you two have to leave tomorrow,” you mumbled, gaze falling back down to the liquid in your mug, the feeling of loss threatening to take root.

Jess gave your shoulders a gentle squeeze. “Nope. We took care of it. We’ll be here the whole time or until you kick us out.” Sam leaned forward, his long arms allowing him to reach your knee with his hand across the coffee table. “You’re not gonna go through this one alone. Just like we were here for your first full moon, we’ll be here for this too.” He told you firmly, but softly.

Were they leaving things out? Definitely, but that was for your mental well-being. You didn’t need to know that Saltzman had explained your body wouldn’t take a year to regulate or prepare to carry pups. That it could happen on your next heat, which could come as quickly as a month from when this one ended.

Or that you could have two heats a month for the next two months, your body catching up biologically to what it hadn’t been able to before. You also didn’t know that your first heat could last for a full week of the hard stuff, with this being pre-heat symptoms that could also last for a full week.

“But, umm… what about…” You began, but trailed off, trying to find the right words as your brow furrowed in thought. “How does it work with Dean going into rut?” it finally came out, whispered, partially worried.

Dean’s gaze met yours, steady and sure, the kind of look that could quiet a storm before it broke. “It won’t hit at the same time. Not like you’re thinking.” You blinked. “It won’t?” “No,” Sam said gently. “Ruts don’t just flip on like a switch—especially not for bonded Alphas. It’s more controlled than that. It’s not like the movies. There’s biology, sure, but there’s also control. Dean’s not gonna lose it.” Dean’s thumb brushed the edge of his mug, slow and thoughtful, as if grounding himself in the moment before speaking. “If anything, my mom told me to trust my instincts and stop overthinking everything. So, I listened to what they were telling me. My instinct is to protect and comfort you. Like, my wolf knows how to do this, even if it never has before.” You could tell he meant it. Every word. But something in you still twisted at the idea of him being in any discomfort because of you.

Jess nudged your shoulder. “Hey, we’ll be here too. Sam and I might step out for a couple days, max—but we’ll be close. You two are already bonded. Like Mary told Dean, trust your instincts.”

Your cheeks heated as you ducked your head a little. You’d read plenty on how intense that sort of thing could be, mostly because movies romanticized it.

Sam, seeing your flustered state, gave your knee a gentle squeeze. “Saltzman did say that your bond with Dean could make your body respond faster. But faster doesn’t mean chaotic. It just means you’ll be more tuned in.” “Plus, it could also get you through it faster,” Jess piped in, trying to help calm your nerves.

Dean set his mug down with quiet finality, his gaze never leaving yours. “And whatever happens—whatever your body decides to do—you’re not going to scare us off.” His voice was low but resolute. “We’ll take it as it comes. Together.” Jess leaned her head against yours. “One day at a time, yeah?” You exhaled slowly, the warmth of her touch and the certainty in their voices settling something jagged inside you. Maybe not gone. But no longer so sharp.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “One day at a time.”

Dean’s hand stayed close on the cushion beside you, not quite touching, but close enough that you could feel the heat of him. “Can I ask how you’re feeling physically?” he said quietly. “Not trying to crowd you—just want to make sure you’ve got what you need.” You blinked at him, surprised not by the question, but by how gently it was delivered. Not a command, not a guess. A choice.

Jess shifted, keeping you tucked against her, her eyes warm. “Muscle aches, headaches, appetite—any of that hitting yet? We’ve got options if it is. Food, meds, heating pad, massage if you need it.” Sam stayed quiet for a beat, his presence more felt than heard, then added, “We can feel the bond, and there’s the scent in the air, sure. But none of that replaces you. What you want, what you need—that matters more than what our instincts are picking up.” Your throat tightened at that—not because of discomfort, but because of the simplicity of it. They weren’t treating you like you were fragile. They were just here, steady and constant, letting you lead the way.

You shifted slightly, checking in with your body. “Muscles are a little achy,” you admitted. “Sort of like the flu, but… not? I don’t know. I’m not really hungry yet, but I could probably eat.”

Dean nodded, already halfway to standing. “I’ll fix a plate. Something light. If your stomach changes its mind, I’ll adjust.” Jess squeezed your arm lightly. “And I’ll get the heating pad and some meds. Just say the word if you want something stronger.” It was too much. And not enough. And exactly what you needed.

“Maybe not the heating pad,” you said before she could stand. “I still feel too warm.”

Jess gave you an understanding smile before heading down the hall, and you instantly felt the loss of her against you. Everything started to flare again—heat crawling under your skin, your body curling in on itself even as it begged for contact.

Sam moved without hesitation. He didn’t need to think—it was coming off you in waves. He took the place Dean had left and pulled you gently into his side. 

“Professor Saltzman mentioned that you might need constant physical contact for this one,” he murmured into your hair.

He was warm too—but not in a way that overwhelmed. More like a counterweight, easing the pressure just enough to help your body relax again. 

“Thanks,” you whispered, tucked close to him, eyes drawn toward the kitchen where Dean moved with quiet purpose, making you something to eat.

Dean moved around the kitchen with quiet precision, pulling out ingredients with a practiced ease that said he already had a plan. Something simple, something grounding—bone broth from the freezer, soft bread from the counter, a bit of ginger root he began shaving into a mug for tea. Calming, warm, easy on the stomach.

He wasn’t watching you and Sam, not directly. Be he felt you through the bond—relief radiating like a soft pulse from your core the moment Sam wrapped around you.

And he didn’t flinch at that. Didn’t tense or growl or bristle the way an Alpha might be expected to.

Instead, Dean felt something loosen in his chest.

It surprised him, if he was honest. He’d always assumed this moment—her moment—would be his to carry. That his instincts would demand it. That needing someone else would sting.

But it didn’t.

Watching you ease under Sam’s touch, feeling how your tension bled out into the air around you, Dean didn’t feel threatened.

He felt… proud. Grateful.

There was something bigger here—something more—that he was only just beginning to understand. The way your bond threaded through the four of you. Not romantic, not territorial. Just real. Deep and knotted and irreplaceable.

The warmth of it curled low in his gut and spread up into his chest.

Jess reappeared just then, two pills in one hand and a glass of water in the other. She smiled softly when she saw you curled against Sam. “Right on cue,” she said gently, sitting beside you.

She set the items on the coffee table but didn’t leave yet. Instead, she leaned in and brushed some hair from your forehead, fingers cool and careful. “These are just basic painkillers—nothing heavy. You can take them now, or wait if you’re not ready. No pressure.” You gave her a contented smile, sitting up enough to take them without moving too far from Sam’s side. “Thanks,” you said, reaching for the items. “What was your first heat like?”

Jess had a feeling that question would come. “A lot like what you’re going through. Being too hot. Cramps. Super horny. Whiny. Hungry and then nauseous. Sleepy and then wide awake.” She explained gently, watching you.

“But, I was sixteen. So, my mom made sure I had specific meds to make it easier. I also didn’t have a mate back then. That’s why yours will be a little different,” she added, just as softly as before.

You nodded slowly, absorbing Jess’s words. Sixteen. Alone. Medicated.

Your body tensed briefly at the idea of that—of going through this without them—but it melted almost instantly under the warmth in Jess’s voice, the way she made it sound manageable. Normal. Like something you could survive.

Something you weren’t facing alone.

“Thanks,” you murmured again, meaning it more now. Grateful not just for the pills or the water, but for her. For the way Jess always knew how to say things so they landed softly instead of stinging.

From the kitchen, a quiet chuckle drifted in. “Super horny and whiny, huh?” Dean’s voice was teasing but light, good-natured.

Jess rolled her eyes. “You’re not helping,” she called back, but there was no real bite in it.

Dean appeared a moment later with a tray balanced in his hands, a bowl of steaming broth and a mug beside it. He set it down on the coffee table with care, and when he caught your expression—nose wrinkled at the tea—his lips curved.

“Yeah, I know,” he said, amused. “It’s not coffee. But it’ll help settle your stomach. Ginger and honey.” You looked up at him with a small pout that had no real heat, just a quiet, habitual protest.

And he loved it. That little wrinkle of your nose, the way your lower lip pushed out just enough—it wasn’t dramatic, just… you. One of those first things he’d ever noticed about you. Still made something ache in his chest, in the best way.

Dean crouched between you and the coffee table, his hand resting on your knee. “Drink it for me?” he asked, his voice low, coaxing but kind. “Promise I’ll get you another cup of coffee after.” You huffed, but reached for the mug anyway, cradling it between your palms as the warmth seeped into your fingers. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” you muttered.

Dean grinned, cocky but quiet about it. “I know.”

He didn’t move away right away. Just stayed crouched there in front of you, his hand still resting on your bare knee where the flannel shirt had slipped aside. It wasn’t inappropriate—wasn’t even deliberate, really—but the contact felt different this time.

Warm, yes. Comforting, yes.

But something else now, too.

A shiver coiled up your spine. His skin on yours didn’t just soothe—it sang. Lit up every nerve like a struck match, made the warmth in your belly flicker and pull low. And yet… somehow, it also cooled the worst of the heat. Grounded it. Like he was tethering you with just that one touch.

You sipped the tea slowly, trying to focus on the heat sliding down your throat instead of the buzz in your limbs. Trying not to react.

But Sam felt it. Jess too.

You didn’t see their exchanged glance over your head, but you felt the subtle shift—the way Sam’s thumb began tracing lazy, soothing circles on your arm, how Jess’s hand rested against your shoulder blade in silent support. 

And Dean… he felt it too.

Something through the bond—soft, curling heat that wasn’t pain.

He blinked once, and then his hand slipped away from your skin as gently as it had come, the warmth of it vanishing like a breath against your thigh. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull back in guilt or panic. Just… gave you space.

Instinctively. Quiet.

Because he’d rather back off than risk pushing you too far, too fast.

And even though your body missed the contact immediately, some part of you eased at that too.

At the fact that he could feel it—and knew exactly what to do.

Dean rose slowly and settled into the armchair across from the couch, his movements quiet and unintrusive. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, fingers loosely laced, watching—not with worry, but with something softer. Something like reverence.

He didn’t say anything. Just let the quiet stretch, filled with the sounds of tea being sipped and the steady rhythm of Sam’s thumb against your arm. The warmth of Jess beside you. The scent of broth, of ginger and honey. The hum of the bond that pulsed low and steady in your chest.

You finally understood why Dean had kept his distance.

It wasn’t doubt. Wasn’t hesitation or rejection.

It was mercy.

Because just that one touch had set your whole body singing. And if he’d pulled you into his arms—let you curl against him like you were with Sam now—you knew your heat would’ve surged forward like wildfire. Faster than you were ready for.

And he’d know that. Somehow, he’d felt that.

He wasn’t avoiding you. He was protecting you, just like he always had.

The realization settled warm in your chest, a little heavy but comforting too.

You stared into your mug, watching the steam swirl, and let out a soft, miserable noise. “So… what am I supposed to do while I feel crappy?” It came out more whine than question—pitiful, drawn out, with a slight tilt of your head and unconscious scrunch of your nose.

There was a beat of silence.

And then Dean chuckled under his breath. Sam huffed a smile. Jess full-on grinned.

“Okay, that was adorable,” she said, reaching out to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. “You really are getting whiny.”

“Rude,” you muttered, burrowing a little deeper into Sam’s side.

Jess squeezed your shoulder. “What you’re supposed to do is rest. Hydrate. Eat if you’re hungry. Let your body adjust. This is just the ramp-up, and we’re keeping it mild with the meds. But if you feel sleepy, sleep. If you’re antsy, we can put something on the TV. You don’t have to do anything except take care of yourself.” “Or let us take care of you,” Sam added, his voice low and steady against your temple.

Across the room, Dean didn’t speak, but when you looked at him, he was still watching. Eyes warm, expression unreadable—but his scent drifted to you again. Safe. Solid. Pine, leather, and smoke. Home.

But now, it was more. 

From the day you’d woken up after he’d claimed you, his scent was always all those things. Comfort. Safety. Home. When you’d wake up after him, depending on the strength of his scent in bed, you could tell how long he’d been awake. Then there was how it always felt like a blanket, wrapping around you when you were in his arms.

Now, though?

Now you wanted to bury your nose in the crook of his neck and breathe him in to feed something deep inside you. Something that was close to craving him. That had only started from the moment his skin had met yours.

Your wolf paced uncomfortably, like she couldn’t relax. She’d pace for while. Then lye down, but her tail twitched in irritation. After a few moments, she’d huff and start pacing again.

Halfway through your tea, which wasn’t helping anything, you placed it back on the tray and decided to try the broth Dean had made. “I just feel bored,” you mumbled.

Jess laughed quietly. “Welcome to heat, sweetheart. Bored, cranky, needy, restless—it’s all part of the pre-show.” “Don’t forget sensitive,” Sam added, his tone teasing but affectionate. “She’s radiating it like a space heater.” You groaned, unable to hide your head with the bowl of broth in your hands.

“Not helping,” came your mumbled complaint.

Jess ducked her head down to see your eyes. “It’ll pass. You’re doing really well, Y/N. Honestly. Most omegas are climbing the walls by now.” You gave her a tired look. “What happens when I do start climbing the walls?”

Dean shifted subtly in the chair—just enough that you noticed, just enough that your wolf flicked her ears toward him. He didn’t speak. Just watched. A muscle in his jaw ticked once, and then stilled.

Jess didn’t miss it either. Her voice gentle. “Then we’ll help you through it. You won’t be alone, not for a second.” Sam nodded. “We’ve got you.” Dean’s voice came last, low and steady from across the room. “Always.” He’d bitten back, ‘Mega, knowing how it would’ve sounded. Too much. Too soon. 

His wolf paced—slow, careful. Watching every little movement you made. Not to pounce. Not predatory. Just present. He could smell the slight shift in your scent, the discomfort tightening under your skin. The way your wolf stirred and flicked her ears. His own instincts pulled tight in his chest, ready but holding. Waiting for the moment your scent would change, would tell him everything he needed to know.

And somehow, despite the ache and the pressure building like a tide beneath your skin… that was enough. For now.

The silence settled again, thick but comforting. Safe.

You nursed a few more sips of the broth, but it wasn’t helping. The warmth of it was soothing, sure, but your stomach twisted halfway through. You set the bowl aside with a soft grimace, curling tighter into Sam’s side.

He felt it, that little shift. The faint wrinkle in your nose. And because it was Sam, he didn’t press. Just smoothed a hand along your arm.

“You feeling queasy?” he asked, voice low enough not to ripple the quiet.

You nodded once. “Smells good, but… I don’t think I can finish it.”

Across the room, Dean’s scent shifted again—just slightly. A quiet hum of worry. Something deeper beneath it, like pressure starting to build under the pine and leather. Like he was trying to keep his own discomfort on a leash.

Jess clocked it too. Her fingers found yours and gave a gentle squeeze. “You’re okay. Just your body flipping switches it hasn’t flipped before.” She looked past you to Sam. “Why don’t you and Dean grab dinner? I’ll stay with her.” Sam didn’t answer right away. He leaned in, brushing his lips to your temple before nudging your shoulder. “C’mere, sweetheart. Let Jess hold you for a bit.” It wasn’t a rejection. Wasn’t even a request. It was soft. Trusting. You let him guide you, limbs heavy and loose, until you were curled into Jess instead. Her warmth pressed to your back, her hand slipping beneath your flannel to rub slow circles between your shoulder blades.

The switch didn’t jar you—it soothed. Sam’s absence left a momentary chill, but Jess filled it easily. Familiar. Strong.

In your haze, you barely caught the quiet exchange between the brothers as they headed into the kitchen. The sound of the fridge opening. The soft thunk of containers and bowls. The rustle of foil being peeled back. Then the scent hit you.

Rich. Savory. Meat and spice and comfort.

Your stomach flipped.

You shifted in Jess’s lap, burying your face into her shoulder, groaning softly.

She didn’t ask. Just rubbed your back. “Stew turning your stomach?” “Smells so good,” you mumbled miserably. “But I think I’ll hurl if I try it.” Jess hummed. “Yeah, welcome to hormonal roulette. Did the meds help any?” You groaned, letting your eyes close. “Yeah.”

In the kitchen, Sam and Dean worked quietly. You could hear them moving around, the low murmur of voices. Dean’s scent, once a background hum of pine and leather, was starting to feel more… intense. Like the edges of it were sharpening.

You weren’t the only one ramping up.

Your wolf shifted again, restless under your skin.

And Dean? He didn’t look at you. But you could feel him. The pull of his attention like a tether in your chest.

You weren’t sure how much longer this “for now” would hold.

“Jess?” you murmured, quiet so only she could hear.

“Hmm.”

“I’m sleepy but don’t wanna be alone but don’t wanna put one of you out but don’t—” you rambled, half asleep, half drugged.

“Shhh…” she murmured against your hair. “If you’re sleepy, fall asleep.”

It wasn’t quite what you’d wanted to say, but it was part of it. You did feel sleepy. You did feel all those things. But at the same time, all you wanted to do was let go of whatever you felt like you were trying to hold onto. Like, if you stayed rational, focused, you could control things.

Deep down, though, you wanted to stop fighting whatever this part of your heat was. Just let your wolf stretch and do whatever it was she needed so she could finally relax too. It partially reminded you of when you exhaled just before shifting. But before you could think further, sleep found you while still curled in Jess’s lap.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 27 - coming soon

A/B/O Master List Main Master List Series Master List

Permanent Tag List: @roseblue373 @flamencodiva @reignsboy19 @stillhere197 @foxyjwls007

@hobby27 @megs-gadom @cheekygirl2309 @mxtansy @ladysparkles78

@ambiguous-avery @spn-fanfic-reblog-writes @jackles010378 @suckitands33 @my-stories-vault

@maddie0101 @bettystonewell @whimsyfinny

Tag List: @nancymcl @lovelydisc @luahmeeks @alternativeprincess94 @kailalaland

@ladykitana90 @muhahaha303 @bitchykittenconnoisseur @suckitands33 @stoneyggirl2

[stars-on-fyre]

Just watched The Gilded Age season 3 episode and um… what was that (disappointed tone) 😞

[hsslilly-blog]

i really like claire and sebastian's dynamic where she's really mean to him and he has no reaction whatsoever in fact he almost always ignores whatever it is that she's saying. and it frustrates her a lot because WHY is he not reacting. like ??????????????????????what is his problem

[berrryparfait]

❝ you're sleeping on the couch tonight. ❞ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

♥︎ featuring: sylus, zayne, rafayel, xavier, caleb x fem!reader

— ༉‧₊ᐟ premise: how he reacts to you telling him to sleep on the couch after an argument. 「but the couch is so hard...」

— ༉‧₊ᐟ tags/cws: fluff and slight angst, yall got into a petty argument earlier that day and he's worried it's spiraled into something serious, you're just being sassy tho (and maybe a little emotional), innuendo

— ♫₊ᐟ soundtrack: interlude: i'm not angry anymore – paramore

✧ a/n: inspired by @/erikadayshawn's jjk tiktok (¯ ³¯)♡ i seriously love her so much she's so damn good (ﾉД`)

You’re still butthurt about it, and you’re going to make sure he knows it. Sure, it was a petty argument and it happened hours ago, but you refuse to be the one making amends this time. If he’s so certain you were in the wrong, he can sleep outside for all you care!

Maybe you’re being a little toxic by avoiding communication, but you’ve been in your feelings all day while he was out and about doing god knows what (***he was working)—so the space next to you on the bed is currently occupied by your Jellycat.

“You’re sleeping on the couch tonight,” you huff, refusing to turn around as you hear the bedsheets stir.

You can’t see him, but you just know he’s giving you that same haha-you’re-hilarious look you’ve practically memorized by now. He’s standing at the side of the bed, one hand on his hip and an eyebrow raised at your curled-up form.

“This is my bed, sweetie.” He sounds amused, yet something tells you he feels as if you’re being ridiculous. Nevertheless, that velvety, husky voice of his nearly has you caving.

“I don’t care. I want to sleep alone tonight.”

He sighs, long and exaggerated. Does he pity you? Or is he annoyed at you? “You’re upset about our quarrel. It’s best we settle it now rather than bottle it up and let it fester.”

His maturity and composure jabs at your pride—you’ve never been one to act reasonably in the face of embarrassment. “...You just want to sleep on the bed.”

When you turn to look at him, he’s staring at you with an asshole smirk on his face. His tone is placating when he responds, “The couch is hard, Kitten. And besides, I forgive you.”

FORGIVE YOU?! Oh, he’ll be forgiving you all right— You smack him flaccidly on the arm and he pulls away with a chuckle, flashing that dashing smile of his. Canines.

“Go back to sleep. You can deal with me later.” He crawls under the blanket with nothing but a pair of pajama pants on, smelling of soap and fresh flowers.

You cave. You’re no longer angry, but exhausted—and so relieved he’s here. How your tender heart aches for his company, even when you’re mad at him… Soft sniffles emerge from your side of the bed, and he reaches for you with warm, gentle hands.

“Aww… C’mere, sweetie…” He wraps his arms around your waist and you relax into his touch, his chest against your back comforting—grounding. “I’m sorry about earlier. How about I take you to that French restaurant for dinner tomorrow night? Would you like that?”

“...Whatever,” you mumble as his fingers wander beneath the waistband of your shorts.

He just stands there in silence, taken aback. “...Is there something you want to talk about?” he asks, ever the logical, problem-solving boy from your childhood.

“No.”

A few beats pass before he mutters, “...Alright then. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

You close your eyes and force yourself to fall back asleep as you listen to his footsteps in the living room, swallowing the guilt rising in your throat. He settles onto the wide couch and rests his head on one of the stiff decorative pillows, utterly spent from a crushing day at the hospital.

Am I overreacting? He must be drained as hell… Am I a shitty girlfriend? Doubts and worries swarm your mind as you toss and turn on the half-empty king bed, your heart squeezing at the thought of him having to spend the night alone out there. What if he catches a cold? What if he starts hating me? What if he gets eaten by a skin-walker?

You shove your fuzzy bedroom slippers on and trudge into the living room, trying your best to maintain your nettled expression. He opens his eyes at the sound of you stomping across the carpeted floor and stares at you, speechless.

“Aren’t you gonna try to make amends with me?! You really don’t want to sleep in the bed?!”

He fumbles for words, pushing himself up with his elbows. “Y-You said you didn’t want to talk—”

“Well I didn’t mean it!” you squeal, holding back tears.

He senses that your emotions are all jumbled up right now, and gets up on his feet to put his arms around you. “Okay. Okay, let’s talk about it,” he says, calm and soothing. His hand massages the back of your head as you wail into his t-shirt. “Shh… It’s all right. I’m here.”

You look up at him with red eyes and pouty lips, too caught up in his embrace to be riled up anymore. “I was upset about our fight in the morning…”

He presses a kiss to your forehead and gently wipes the tears from your cheeks. “I’m sorry for what I said, baby. Will you forgive me?”

You’ve been waiting all day to say “yes”.

“Oh, hell nah—”

“Too bad, Raf! That’s what you get for pissing me off,” you spit, glaring daggers at him as he physically exhibits the five stages of grief.

“But-But the couch is so pokey and hard and—” He flails his arms around in protest, remembering the backache he had to deal with for a week after taking a nap on the couch.

You won’t be hearing any of it. Serves him right. “You should’ve thought of that earlier before saying my makeup looked weird!”

“But it did! Your contour was asymmetrical and your lips were way too overlined!”

Raw indignation rivalling the power of the sun bubbles in your gut, waiting for a chance to explode. How dare he pretend he knows anything about makeup?! “GET. OUT.”

He grumbles like a child before storming out of the bedroom and flopping onto the couch, both of you throwing silent tantrums while listening to your stomachs churn. Fuck. I could really use some Wingstop right now.

Half an hour passes before your phone dings. Notification from Rafayel. You’ve calmed down by now, so you begrudgingly open his message.

Wait a minute, is he...? Oh my god, he totally is. You've known him long enough to tell when he's down for sexy time.

You waltz into the living room with your head held high and say, "C'mon. We're going to get Wingstop."

The way the hope in his eyes disappears nearly has you cracking up. "I hate you," he sneers.

"I love you too."

He pauses, unsure of what to say. “...Is this about earlier?”

You don’t respond.

He climbs onto the bed anyway and gets under the covers with you, pulling you close and pressing his face into your hair. “Please don’t be mad at me. I can’t go to bed with you mad at me,” he whispers, fear lacing his words.

Though your heart squeezes, you lock in and wriggle out of his embrace, knowing exactly how much it’ll sting. It’s his fault for constantly forgetting to let you know when he’ll be working overtime. Some nights, you sit on the couch and blankly stare at the wall, worry eating you alive from the inside.

“Please, talk to me—”

“There’s nothing to talk about. I need some space tonight.”

You can tell he’s holding back tears when he agrees to leave you alone, sliding off the mattress like a heavy weight sinking from a rock underwater. “...I’ll be outside if you need anything.”

Am I too hard on him? You’re angry at him for stressing you out—and you wonder if he even realizes that you’re only stressed for his own good. Still, how can anyone stay mad at him? He’s the purest, kindest, most sincere person you know. Forcing him to sleep on the couch feels like kicking a small puppy.

Quietly, you creep into the living room, where he’s curled up on the couch with his eyes closed. I’m too hard on him.

You crawl into the space between him and the backrest, his arms immediately reacting to your presence like a bug caught in a Venus flytrap. His eyes flutter open, and his grip tightens around your midriff. “I’m sorry… I’ll call you in advance next time. I promise…”

He must’ve had a long day at work, because he sounds utterly exhausted. Broken. “Baby… You can talk to me—about work, about anything.”

“I know. I’m just glad you’re here, even if I haven’t been,” he says, his thumb tracing slow circles on the bare skin of your torso. “I want you to know you’re always on my mind—no matter where I am, no matter what I’m doing. You’re the reason I come home at all.”

“Don’t be like that, Pips. Let’s talk about it.” He rests a hand on your hip, warmth seeping through the blanket.

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

He scoffs, though his voice is void of hostility. “Clearly. Listen, I don’t want this to turn into something serious, okay?”

When you don’t respond, a crease forms between his brows. Is it too late? Have you already started to see him in a different light? Nausea churns in his stomach as he slowly inches away from the bed, afraid to even make a sound.

His thoughts spiral like a swarm of moths in his head, dark and foreboding. She’s better off without me…at least for now.

You doze off a few minutes later, when all of a sudden, you hear the front door shut. Panicked, you jolt upright and slip on your slippers, fearing the worst. Oh my god. Oh my god—

Still in your pajamas, you run out of your apartment and down the stairwell, praying he’s just round the corner— 

“Pips?”

You still, the icy cage around your heart beginning to thaw at the sight of him. He’s standing in the middle of the pavement, his breath fogging in the cold air.

Tears well in your eyes as you scream, “Where are you going?!”

“...To the convenience store? I was going to get you some Buldak—” You cut him off by seizing him in your arms, relief flooding you like a river bursting through a broken dam. He chuckles, wrapping you in his jacket and resting his chin on top of your head. “I’d never leave you, Pipsqueak. You should know that by now.”

“I-I don’t want Buldak. Let’s just go back inside,” you say between sniffles, clutching his shirt with such force it might tear.

“...Can I sleep on the bed now?”

— ⋆˙⟡ ©berrryparfait

《 please do not copy / plagiarize / translate my works or publish them on any other platforms. 》

[bartxnhood]

ANY VARIATION OF READER X THUNDERBOLTS BUCKY AND THE TEAM BEING TF U HAVE A GF THANK YOU AND ILY

girlfriend? | bucky barnes

| thunderbolts!bucky barnes x fem!reader

warnings: john walker and minor thunderbolts spoilers!!!!!

a/n: YAY!!! IM SO EXCITED TO WRITE FOR BUCKY AND MARVEL AGAIN!!! i also decided that this would probably take place after the events of the movie, and i took inspiration from clint hiding his family but, with reader! so, i hope i did your vision justice!!

Copyright © 2025 bartxnhood. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format.

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧

the smoke was dense and thick, making it almost impossible to see within five feet. the smell of sulfur and concrete filled the nostrils of the ‘new avengers’.

new york has seen yet another attack, this time by another outer space alien thingy that bucky couldn’t remember.

there’s a dreadful silence between the group, all stuck in their own minds, trying to figure out just what went wrong. how they got defeated so quickly.

he stood with his hands on his hips, trying to regain his breath after being slammed into a plethora of floors from one of the skyscrapers.

ava hunched over holding her midsection while also trying to catch her breath. yelena, leaning against a fallen slab of a building while clenching her arm. walker, somewhere else, blowing off steam as his shield was snapped in half, and alexei going on some sort of rant.

“it’s fine, this is fine” the broody older man speaks, his thick accent grating against buckys ears. “everybody get up!” the red guardian claps, trying to pump up the group. “we are the thunderbolts!!!”

yelena rolls her eyes, keeping a hand pressed on her arm, “dad, stop”. she looks at the man with sharp eyes. they say optimism is good to have on a team, but alexei had too much. it often got annoying.

turning a corner, walker, stuffing something in his suit pocket, looks to the others. “we’ve been compromised.”

ava stands, crossing her arms. “what?” she looks between bucky and yelena, who have the same look on their face. it isn’t dread, it isn’t worry, it’s something much worse.

alexei mutters some swear words in russian under his breath. and for a moment, no one knows what to do. they aren’t a team, they have no backup, and bucky knows that sam won’t help him.

yet again, he’s alone.

“well, what now?” ava asks, her attention trained on the white widow. “ah!” alexei holds up his fingers, then snaps, carrying a proud look on his face. “a safe house!”

everyone pauses, stealing glances at each other with a blank expression. clearly growing tired of the red guardians persona. “oh, you’ve got to be kidding me..” ava exasperates, before taking a few steps away from the group.

bucky contemplates for a moment, hes staring off at the gray rubble beneath his black boots. he only had a handful of options, one of those being sam. as he was not on the best terms with sam, he figured his last option would suffice. you.

“i know a place.”

the sun was just rising, its misty rays barely peeking through the thick fog. the air was cool and damp, the ground beneath covered with an early morning dew. a cabin tucked away amidst the trees stood silent and still, as if waiting to welcome the day.

the trees surrounding the cabin were barely visible through the dense fog, their leaves shimmering with dewdrops like tiny jewels on their green surfaces. the air was silent, save for the soft sound of the nearby river.

stepping off the quinjet, bucky stopped at the edge of the ramp, looking at his home he shared with you. he felt happy to be back home, but a part of him dreaded the following events.

bucky knew he was risking everything by bringing the others to his home, to you. someone who bucky made sure to keep hidden from everyone. he didn’t do it because he was ashamed or didn’t love you, but he did it because he loved you so much. it was better to keep you off file and off record, for your safety.

if anything happened to you, bucky would’ve surely lost his mind.

“why the hell are we at a cabin, bucky?” walker quips, following the other super soldier. “we can’t go on vacation now.”

“shut up, walker,” bucky snaps, shooting a glaring look over his shoulder as he waits for the rest of the others to fall in behind him. “what are we doing here? we clearly need a safe house,” yelena chimes in, ava and alexei adding something under their breaths.

bucky can already feel himself getting agitated with the anti-heroes. it’s hard enough working with people that collectively cannot get along, it was doomed from the veining. “it’s safe, just trust me.”

crossing the threshold of the dark oak cabin, the scent of fresh laundry mixed with mahogany, vanilla, and cashmere filled his nostrils, and in an instant, the tension in his shoulders dropped.

home. the living room was cleaned, and a few blankets on the leather sofa. you must've napped. a few records scattered around the record table, one still on the turntable, but the record had stopped playing long ago.

“baby? i’m home!” he calls out, not seeing any sign of your presence as he steps into the living room. it’s quiet, almost too quiet. bucky steps further in. “baby doll?”

the team steps in hesitantly, their hands hovering over whatever they have to defend themselves with. sharing puzzled glances with each other as bucky calls out to you.

you emerge from the stairway with a laundry basket on your hip. a quiet gasp gets caught in your throat as your eyes look past your boyfriend and see his co-workers. “what the..” you mutter, your eyes finally landing on bucky. “bucky?”

“we had nowhere else to go,” he explains, the wear and tear of fighting visible on his body. his eyes hold even more exhaustion than he let on.

you drop the laundry basket on the sofa and approach him, he hopes his arms and pulls you in, pressing a kiss on the top of your head.

yelena interrupts, “Im sorry..” the blonde holds out her hands, nose crunching with confusion. “what the hell is happening here?”

“yeah..what the hell is this?” walker stands behind yelena, his arms crossed now.

“guys, meet my girlfriend, y/n,” he introduced, holding you by his side. his thumb rubbing up and down your shoulders.

“hi..” you smile, holding up your hand to wave awkwardly. your freehand wrapping around buckys midsection.

the team is left speechless, all mouths are open, but no words are formed.

“girlfriend?!” yelena is flabbergasted, her eyes almost popping out of her head.

“oh! this is wonderful!! alexei is pushing past the other three, walking towards you with a big, dopey smile. “young love!” he cheered, clapping loudly.

you laugh awkwardly, again, because what do you do when the avengers are standing in your house?

“buck?” you look up at him, he had a less than amused look on his face.

“we just need some place to lay low, get patched up. i didn’t know what else to do.”

“ah, okay,” you pat his chest playfully, an amused laugh coming from you. “i can help with that.”

“girlfriend…” walker whispers as you begin leading the group downstairs to a makeshift med bay.

“shut it, walker!” buckys voice booms from a few feet ahead.

[street-smarts00]

Wish You Were Sober

Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Summary: The four times you confessed to Spencer while drunk, and the one time you did it sober

WC: 8.0 k

Tags/warnings: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, lot’s of mention of alcohol consumption, regretting things said while drunk, drunk flirty reader, reader is emotionally constipated and doesn’t want to feel her feelings at first

A/N: chat I’ve been sitting on this for MONTHS it’s been marinating in my google docs for a while so hope you enjoy! I lowkey picture this happening in earlier seasons Spence but picture whatever you like ;) Beta read by the lovely @whats-yesterday00

The first time it happened, your feelings were just starting to peek through the surface. 

You tried your hardest to shove them back down. Trying to convince yourself that developing the beginnings of a crush was absolutely not happening. But the alcohol opened the door you tried to close.

The whole team went out for drinks on a friday night. After multiple shots with Derek and JJ, plus the drinks you had before that, you were feeling quite a buzz. A buzz that always left you more flirty and courageous than normal. 

You were busy dancing amongst the crowd with Penelope and JJ. The music was flowing through you all as it blasted throughout the bar. The movement and crowd caused the temperature to rise exponentially. 

You wiped the sweat forming on your forehead and paused your dancing. 

“What’s wrong?” JJ asked. 

“I’m melting,” you answered, fanning yourself. “I gotta go sit down.” 

Penelope blew you a kiss and said, “be back soon!” as you made your way to the table. You of course blew a kiss back to her. 

After weaving through the mass of people, you approached the table housing the rest of your coworkers with a heavy sigh. 

“You done partying already, pretty girl?” Derek teased. 

“No, not yet. I just need a breather. It feels like 1000 degrees right now.” You sat down across from him and next to Spencer. 

Derek’s attention was pulled towards someone behind you. A smirk grew on his face, “Oh Reid look, it’s that girl from earlier she’s back.” 

Spencer’s face flushed at Derek’s remark. 

“What girl?” you asked intrigued. You hated the taste that question left in your mouth. 

“It’s nothing,” Spencer tried to brush off before Derek interrupted. 

“She was flirting with him when he went up to the bar.” 

“She was not!” Spencer squeaked. 

Derek chuckled, “oh yes she was,” his eyes turned back to you. “She was definitely into him. And judging by the fact that she keeps looking over here, I think she wants to talk to him again.”

Spencer hid his face in his hands and quietly groaned.

“Why don’t you go over there? Go talk to her,” you encouraged while silently hoping he doesn’t leave the table.

Spencer lifted his face from his hands. His face was scarlet now. 

“I can’t.” 

“Why not?” 

Spencer opened his mouth to say something, but cut himself off. He saw your eyes staring back at him and felt his palms getting sweaty. He swallowed and stuttered on his words. “Because I wouldn’t know what to say. I can’t flirt.” 

Derek leaned back in his chair, dissatisfied with his answer. “That’s bull.” 

“It’s not bull.” That was probably the closest you came to hearing Spencer curse. “I’d probably make a fool of myself and say something stupid.” 

“Spencer, you say a lot of things,” this earned a chuckle from Derek across the table, “But I don’t think you could ever say something stupid.” 

Spencer tried to resist the smile spreading on his face from your compliment. 

“Still doesn’t change the fact that once I open my mouth, she’ll lose all interest in me.” 

A small pout appeared on your lips. “Well, I don’t see how a girl wouldn’t find you endearing.” 

“Really?” He didn’t believe you. 

“Yes! I thought you were so cute when I first met you,” your eyes brightened. “The day we met, I remember you were rambling about something and I just sat there amazed.” 

He swallowed as his ears turned crimson. “You thought I was cute?” his voice cracked at the end of his question.

“Sweetie, I think you’re more than cute,” your voice lowered as you locked eyes with him. 

“Morgan calls you pretty boy for a reason,” you continued with a mischievous glint in your eyes. 

Spencer’s heart damn near stopped. He knew your playful demeanor was from the amount of drinks you’d consumed, but still seeing you so openly attracted to him was making him delirious. 

Morgan, of course, found the whole interaction to be the most intriguing thing he’d seen all week. The growing amused smile on his face was telling enough. 

“Wow I think that girl from the bar has got some competition,” he teased. 

You shrugged in response to his comment. “Maybe,” was all you gave as your answer. You stood up from your chair with Spencer's eyes still beaming at you. 

“I’m gonna go dance some more,” you turned to the man next to you. “You wanna come with, pretty boy?”

Spencer struggled to get the words out for a few seconds. “I can’t. I don’t know how to dance.” 

You tried to hide the disappointment on your face but the gleam in your eyes had dimmed. 

“Maybe next time,” you replied before making your way back to the girls. 

Spencer watched you walk away and disappear into the crowd. He then received an extensive amount of teasing and questions as to why he didn’t say yes from Morgan for the next 20 minutes while you were gone. 

Over the weekend, the hangxiety set in. You layed in bed staring at the ceiling as the memories from Friday night flooded your mind. 

The anxiety followed into Monday as you stood in the elevator. The doors opened to the sixth floor and you reluctantly dragged yourself to the bullpen. 

Your hands tightened around your bag as you approached your desk. Spencer’s eyes lingered on you as you set your things down

“Morning,” he greeted with a small smile.  

“Morning,” you mumbled. 

You fidgeted with your hands and stepped closer to his desk. 

“Listen Spence, about Friday night… l’m sorry I was flirty with you.” 

His cheeks turned a dusty rose at the memory. “It’s alright.” 

This still didn’t ease your worries. “Are you sure?  The last thing I want is for you to feel uncomfortable around me. Especially because of something I did.”

His eyes softened when he noticed just how nervous you were. 

“I don’t, I promise,” he reassured. 

“So we’re okay?”

He nodded with a small smile and the weight started to lift off your shoulders. 

___________________________________________

The second time it happened was a few weeks later. 

It was Derek’s birthday. The whole team went out to dinner followed by a trip to the bar to keep the night going. 

Spencer stayed behind at the table, watching you order drinks and chat with Emily at the bar. He also tried to ignore the angry green feeling surfacing as the bartender flirted with you. 

“So, are you finally gonna dance with her tonight?” Derek asked the young man as he sat down beside him. 

Spencer sighed as he kept his eyes trained on you. “I don’t know.” 

His friend patted him on the back, “Come on man. Consider it my birthday present.” 

Spencer turned his attention to the man beside him. “I already got you a present.” 

“Kid,” Rossi interjected from farther down the table, “in my professional opinion, when a woman asks you to dance, you dance.” 

This brought out a smile from Hotch. 

“Even if you think you’ll look like a fool,” Rossi continued. 

“Like two weeks ago when that woman asked Morgan to dance,” Hotch teased, which brought out an annoyed expression from the man in question. 

“Hey! I was not that bad,” Derek defended. 

“You looked like a bird doing a mating dance,” Spencer now joined in. 

Derek looked appalled from the younger man’s joke. 

Soon after you approached the table with Emily. “What’s so funny?” You asked the table.

”Morgan's attempts to woo women,” Rossi joked. 

Emily took a sip from her drink and rolled her eyes playfully. “Oh where do I begin?” 

Derek stood up from the table shaking his head and smiling. “Well, I’m gonna go dance with people who appreciate my moves.” He then made his way to the open area where Penelope and JJ were. 

Back at the table, before you could sit down, the speakers of the bar started to play Maneater by Nelly Furtado. You gasped and a bright smile filled your features. 

“I love this song!” You squealed. 

You set your half consumed drink down on the table and looked at Spencer, “Do you want to go dance?” 

He looked at you surprised. “Me?” He squeaked. 

You giggled, finding his reaction cute, “Yes you!”

Spencer started closing in on himself. Before he could come up with the excuse he used last time you said, “I can teach you. It’ll be so much fun!” 

You were oblivious to the knowing looks from your other team mates at the table. Your focus was only on Spencer. Staring deep into his golden eyes and finding nothing but comfort. 

“Okay,” he agreed with a small smile. 

You beamed with excitement, “Yay! Let’s go.” You offered your hand to him. He took it and found you pulling him up from his chair and towards the dance floor. 

He followed you through the people in the crowd until you found an open space to settle. You held onto his hands as you swayed to the beat. 

Spencer tried to follow you but was still noticeably tense. He was also less focused on his dancing because he was too enamored by your movements. Watching you sway so effortlessly with the rhythm. 

“Look at you Spence! You’re getting the hang of it,” you praised. 

He appreciated the compliment but cringed, “I feel awkward.” 

“That’s not how dancing should feel. You should feel free and loose.” You let go of his hands and spun around.

A real smile spread on his lips, “I’m surprised you’re this coordinated with how many drinks you’ve had.” 

“Oh, I guess you missed when I almost stepped on you.” 

He chuckled, shaking his head, “I guess I didn’t.” 

The song ended and changed to Don’t Stop The Music by Rihanna. Your jaw dropped and your face filled with excitement. 

“You like this song?” he asked even though he already knew the answer. 

You grabbed his hands once more and grinned, “Yes!” You resumed dancing with his hands in yours. This time you were mouthing the lyrics of the song. 

I gotta get my body moving, shake the stress away you heard from the speakers and shook Spencer's hands. 

“You gotta shake the stress baby!” you cheered at him. 

He bashfully laughed watching you drunkenly shout. And hearing you call him baby, but that’s beside the point.

As the song played your hips and shoulders moved to the rhythm of the music. He wasn’t as successful as you when it came to swaying his hips but he could move his shoulders and copy you. 

Who knew that you’d be up in here lookin’ like you do?

You took a step back and gestured to him as the song said. Spencer shook his head and pulled on your hands to bring you back closer to him. 

Do you know what you started? I just came here to party

You took him pulling you back as a way to sneak your arms around his neck. 

But now we're rockin’ on the dance floor actin’ naughty 

Spencer’s cheeks started to turn red at the closeness. 

Your hands around my waist, just let the music play

You retracted your hands to grab his and place them on your waist. 

We’re hand in hand, chest to chest, and now we’re face to face 

By the time your arms returned wrapped around his neck, his ears were crimson. With your arms around him your shirt raised slightly. His hands met the gap of your skin that was exposed. 

Even though he felt like his insides were going to melt, he kept his hands on you and kept dancing. Spencer followed the steps you took, the way you moved back and forth. He was finally starting to let the music flow through him. 

You definitely took notice. It only made you more eager to dance with him. 

As the song continued into the next verse you grew more confident. 

Don’t you feel the passion ready to explode? 

Your hands moved to his shoulders. You moved in closer, and with a playful smirk sang along the words so Spencer could hear. 

What goes on between us, no one has to know

Just when Spencer thought the fluttering in his stomach couldn’t get worse, you leaned in close to his ear and whispered the next lyric.

This is a private show

The air between you was magnetic. It felt like you were in your own little world. Like the rest of the bar goers were gone. Suddenly, it was just you two on that dance floor. 

Spencer’s face was inches away from yours. You were so close you could count the freckles on his pink cheeks. 

“You look so cute, all flustered,” you muttered. 

He licked his lips nervously, “I’m not used to dancing like this with someone.” 

“Are you having fun at least?” 

“Yes,” he answered instantly. 

“Well then, we should do this more often,” you offered with a sweet smile. 

As the song came to an end you leaned up and left a kiss on Spencer’s cheek. You took a step back to fully look at him. His eyes slightly widened and his lips parted from your peck on his cheek. 

“I love dancing with you,” you released your hold on his shoulders. The ghost of your touch was still hot on his skin. “Hopefully we can do this again.” 

His eyes shined as he looked at you, “I’d like that.” 

________________________________________

The third time it happened, Spencer got a phone call at 12:04 am. 

He was resting on his couch, nose deep in a book, when he heard his phone buzz. He breathed a sigh of relief at the caller ID revealing it to be you instead of Hotch with a new case. 

When he answered, he heard loud music and faint voices in the back. 

“Hello?” 

You quickly answered back, “Spencer! I didn’t wake you, did I?” Your voice had a higher pitch than normal. 

“No, I was just reading. What’s up?” 

“I went out to a bar for girls night but…I had one too many drinks,” you whined. 

He sat up straighter, “are you alright?” 

There was a pause before you spoke again. “The room is spinning. I’m really dizzy and everything is overwhelming,” you mumbled. Hearing you sound so scared and small made his heart hurt. 

“I didn’t want to bother the girls because they’re having so much fun and none of them can drive right now.” 

Before you could finish your statement, he was already standing up and walking to find his shoes and jacket. 

“Do you want me to pick you up?” He knew the answer. 

“Please. Can you?” you begged. 

Spencer was grabbing his keys and out the door in a heartbeat. “Of course, I’m on my way.”

Ten minutes later, he pulled into the parking lot. He walked inside and looked around the crowded room. A few meters away, a hand rose from a booth and waved him over. 

He followed it and found Emily, JJ and Penelope keeping you company at the booth. You rested your head in your arms, which were folded on the table. 

JJ carefully tapped your arm, “hey, your ride is here.” 

You slowly lifted your head up and beamed at the sight of him. 

“Hi.”

“Hi,” he said softly. 

“They found me,” you said pointing to your friends. “They said they would babysit me until you showed up.” 

He chuckled and lightly rubbed your shoulder, “You okay? You think you can walk to the car?” 

You nodded and slowly stood up. 

“Text one of us when you get home safe,” Penelope announced. 

You gave a lazy thumbs up in her direction and turned to Spencer, “Can you remind me to do that?” 

The corners of his mouth turned up in amusement. “Of course. Come on, let's get you home,” he nodded towards the door. 

You waved and said goodbye to the girls before Spencer led you through the crowd with his hand in yours. You grasped his hand like it was an anchor in the over-stimulating environment. 

When you stepped outside, the cool breeze caused goosebumps to rise on your skin. The fresh air and dulled sounds were already starting to help you feel better. 

Unfortunately, your balance was still screwed and you managed to trip over air. Before you could fall to the ground, Spencer swiftly reached out and caught you. He helped you stand back up and wrapped an arm around your shoulder. 

“I got you, you’re okay,” he muttered close to your ears. 

Him being so sweet was going to make your stomach twist. 

The rest of the walk to the car he kept his arm around you. Your body instinctively leaned into him and used his frame to keep you upright. 

When you reached his car, he opened the passenger door and let go of his hold on you. You almost whined at the loss of contact. 

“Thanks for coming to get me,” you spoke quietly as he helped guide you into the car.  

Before he closed the door and headed to the driver's seat he offered a kind, “You’re welcome.” 

The beginning of the car ride was quite aside from the hushed music on the radio. You leaned back, slouching in the car seat. 

You watched Spencer’s hands on the wheel instead of the rapidly changing view of the windshield. Your fuzzy mind was trying to focus on anything that wasn't the dizzy spinning feeling that couldn't go away. 

Of course your thoughts were jumbled with images of the man next to you. 

“You’re so nice,” you said with a fond look. 

He looked at you with brief confusion over your random declaration. “Thanks,” he returned his eyes to the road. 

You shuffled in your seat to face him. 

“No you’re really nice,” you huffed, frustrated he somehow didn’t understand the full scope of what your drunk brain meant. “You’re so kind and sweet to everyone. I love it.” 

An amused smile grew on his face. “I try to be,” he returned.  

“You are.” 

He quickly glanced over to see your figure leaning against the seat. Or more like the seat holding you up. Your eyes occasionally felt heavy, leading to your eyelids fluttering every so often. 

“You look half asleep,” he teased. 

“I feel half asleep.” 

“Then why are you so chatty all of a sudden?” 

You shrugged, “I don’t know, just feel like talking.” 

You forced your eyes open to get a better look at him. “I like talking with you.” 

Spencer tried not to think about how your voice was much more soft and melodious than normal. 

“I like talking with you too,” he affirmed. 

He suddenly went down a mental rabbit hole of your previous conversations with him. How often you conversed over coffee early in the morning. All those plane rides home where you both had to stifle your laughter so as to not bother the others. Or the dozens of times he rambled to you about endless topics. 

“I’m surprised I haven't bored you yet with how much I talk.” 

“Oh sweetie, I could never get bored of you.” 

His ears started to turn red at the flirtatious tone in your voice. 

“I could listen to you talk for hours. Even about things I don’t understand. I’ll always listen to you,” you continued.

“Really?” He muttered with a slight voice crack. His heart rate was steadily growing. 

“Uh huh,” you confirmed sweetly. 

His eyes darted to yours for a fleeting moment. You looked completely and utterly enraptured by him. 

“Your voice sounds like honey.”

Spencer's grip on the steering wheel tightened. He kept his gaze trained on the road ahead. 

“We’re almost at your apartment,” he deflected. 

Your smile fell slightly. 

The air in the car was growing stale by the seconds. Neither of you spoke until he pulled up to your building. 

As you reached for the door handle, he whispered for you to “wait one second.” You complied. He got out of the car and walked to your side. He opened the passenger door and held out a hand for you. 

“What a gentleman,” you said with a smug grin. 

He chuckled and made sure you didn’t stumble as you stepped out of the car. 

“I try,” he replied. 

“You succeed.” 

As you walked together to your apartment, neither of you let go of the other's hand. At your door, you fumbled with your keys. Spencer tried to offer to open the door himself but you shooed away his hand and mumbled, “I got it, I got it.” 

After fighting with the lock, you stepped inside and practically threw your bag on the couch. You were seconds away from falling on the couch yourself before Spencer calmly grabbed your shoulders. 

“Come on, let's get you to bed.” 

You whined but didn’t object. He guided you down the hall to your room. In the dark, he reached for your lamp and turned it on. You plopped down on your bed and yawned. 

“Where are your makeup wipes?” He asked, looking around the room.

You pointed towards the dresser, “In the top left drawer.” He followed your directions and returned to your bed, handing the pack to you. 

“See I told you. You’re so nice,” you complimented while lazily cleaning your hours old makeup off. 

“Why because I got you your makeup wipes?” He joked with a playful tone. 

You giggled in response. The sound made Spencer feel like he was the intoxicated one. He would never get used to the way you laughed. 

“No silly, not just that. The fact that you’re still here.”

You tried and failed at getting your lipstick and eyeliner off. Instead you smeared the deep colors around your face. 

Spencer’s lips formed a thin line, trying not to smile at you smearing your makeup. He grabbed a fresh wipe and kneeled down in front of you. “Here let me help,” he mumbled. With careful hands, he pressed the damp wipe to your face to finish the job. 

“Of course I was going to stay with you,” he acknowledged your previous comment. “I’m not going to just drop you off. I wanted to make sure you were safe and feeling okay.” 

You tried not to smile because his hand was so close to your mouth. Your brain was going to short circuit at the closeness. His face mere inches away. His hand and the skin of your face are only separated by a tiny piece of cloth. 

You watched intently as he used his thumb to wipe off the last bit of lipstick. His movements were desperately slow as he handled you with care. Like you were a fragile statue he couldn’t let break. 

The action made your chest tighten and your heart race. If you had consumed another drink or two back at the bar, you would’ve jumped at the chance to kiss him. 

But instead, you stared deeply into his eyes as he checked your face for any more makeup residue. His pupils were wide. You assumed it was from the dim lighting of the room. 

You may not have been drunk enough to kiss him, but you were drunk enough to joke about it. 

“What if I just kissed you right now?”

His eyes widened and his lips parted in shock. “What has gotten into you?” he questioned in a lighthearted tone. 

“What? it’s not just me! You’re also staring at my lips!” you put your hands up in defense with a mischievous grin. “Just say you wanna kiss me.” 

He chuckled at your antics. “Because I’m taking off your makeup. And what about you staring at my eyes?” 

A grin spread on your face. “I can’t help it. They’re beautiful. Nice to look at.” 

“They’re not that nice.” 

“I beg to differ gorgeous,” you returned with a wink. “I could look at them all day.” 

Spencer smiled as his cheeks turned pink. He looked between your eyes and your lips before his expression faltered for a moment. Like he was mentally stuck on something. 

However, because of your dizzy mind and vision, you didn’t pick up on it. 

He stood back up and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “You think you’ll be okay?” 

You nodded, “Yeah. Thanks again for … everything.” 

“You’re welcome.” He started walking towards your bedroom door but before he left the room, he paused. “Don’t forget to let the girls know you got home safe.” 

Your jaw went slack and a hand flew to your forehead, “oh my god you’re right.” 

He fought back a grin from your reaction. “Goodnight,” he offered before he left. 

You waved and said goodnight as his frame left your bedroom. The sound of the front door shutting soon followed. 

Before you passed out for the night you texted penelope you got home safe. But you didn’t see her reply until the morning. 

Penelope: yay! 

Penelope: hope you feel better my sweets <3

Thanks :) I have a raging migraine so I better feel better soon 

Penelope: :(

Penelope: oh btw, how’d it go with boy genius???

Ugh 

I flirted with him AGAIN 

Penelope: you’re kidding! 

Penelope: What did you say?

I can’t remember all of it but at some point I said his voice sounds like honey 

Penelope: OMG

Oh no it gets worse

He helped me take off my makeup and I said I wanted to kiss him. And THEN I pointed out how he stared at my lips and I said “just say you wanna kiss me” 

Penelope: oh girlie

Penelope: I think you have to throw in the towel 

Penelope: you love him

You stared at the words on the screen before your hands could even type a reply. Mentally fighting with yourself about the subject. 

No way

I can’t be in love with him

He’s my friend I can’t do that 

Penelope: I don’t think you have much of a choice  

You sighed and turned off your phone. As you reached for the aspirin bottle, you prayed you wouldn’t do something stupid like this ever again 

You were wrong. 

______________________________________

By the fourth time it happened, almost a month had passed since you asked him to pick you up. 

To celebrate the success of a case, his coworkers and friends wanted to go out for some down time. He thanked them for the invitation but kindly rejected it saying he had previous plans to attend some film festival. In reality, he had been on the fence about attending the film festival and ended up spending the evening at home. 

As much as he wanted an excuse to spend time with you, he couldn’t go through another evening of you flirting with him. 

Normally, it’d be his dream to have you flirt with him and call him sweet names. To hear how much you liked his voice, his eyes, and the way his brilliant mind worked. But the more it occurred, the more confused he felt.

At first, he assumed you were just a flirtatious drunk and there was no meaning behind your advances. But as time went on, he saw your actions and affectionate words had so much desire, so much longing that he started to suspect they were based on real feelings. 

Yet, it was only reserved for the version of you that had multiple drinks running through your system. 

He’d almost given up on asking you how you felt. Almost. 

Something that gave him a glimmer of hope was a voicemail he received. 

In an effort to actually get some sleep, he took a late night shower. When he returned to his bedroom, he found his cell phone had received a voicemail. He checked and saw he missed a call from the very person he was anxiously avoiding. 

With new clean pajamas on, he grabbed his phone and sat down on his bed ready for the possible plea for him to pick you up. He clicked the message and lifted the phone to his ear. 

“Hi Spence! I wanted to talk but it looks like you’re busy,” your voice sounded sweet and bubbly. He deduced you might have already gone home at this point given the fact that this time there was no loud background music or voices.

“I missed you tonight. I wish you came with us. I know that isn’t always your favorite place to be, but I still kinda had hope. I love spending time with you. I don’t care if it’s at work or off the clock, it makes me so happy to see you.”

His heart felt warm from the way you talked about him. Your voice sounded giddy and occasionally you would slur your words. 

“It’s kinda silly but when we don’t have work or plans, I will literally count down the days until I get to see you again. Isn’t that silly? I spend like five or six days of my week with you and when I don’t see you, I’m thinking about when I’ll see you again.” 

Spencer found familiarity in what you were saying. For the last few weeks he found his thoughts were constantly revolving back to you. Whether intentionally or not. 

“I pretty much think about you all the time. It’s becoming a bit of a problem. I don’t mean you’re a problem! The problem is how much I like you. I’ve never liked someone as much as I like you.”

There was a brief pause in your message. He almost thought the voicemail was over until your voice returned softer than before. 

“I’m probably falling in love with you.” 

“And that’s really scary to think about because I don’t think I’ve ever been in love before. You’re different Spence, when I’m around you I feel-“ 

You were cut off by the time limit of the voicemail. Spencer stared at his phone screen with wide eyes. His heart was beating so fast it could’ve jumped out of his chest. 

He finally got an answer to the question that plagued his mind. You loved him back. 

You loved him. 

His whole body was filled with adrenaline. He almost grabbed his keys and drove over to you at that moment. But he knew he had to wait. He couldn’t have this conversation with you while you were still intoxicated and would probably fall asleep by the time he got there. 

Spencer on the other hand, could barely sleep. He was too busy on cloud 9 to come back down and let sleep overtake him. 

The next morning he was practically buzzing with excitement. He got up earlier than normal for work so he could stop by your apartment. 

He nervously knocked on your door. He kept fidgeting by fixing his tie and cardigan while he waited for you. 

When you did open the door he saw you were still in the process of getting ready. You had on dress pants and an old college t-shirt. 

You looked surprised to see him of course since he didn’t announce he was going to come over. “Spencer? What are you doing here?”

Suspicion started to creep its way into his mind. For now he ignored it and pushed on. 

“I thought we could commute to work together. I figured you would be hungover and not in the best mood to drive.” 

Your eyebrows raised and lips turned up. “That is so sweet of you,” you beamed. You opened the door wider, suggesting he was welcome. He followed and walked inside your apartment

“You’re absolutely right by the way. I feel like shit,” you groaned. “My head is killing me, I’m exhausted and I have this massive bruise on my leg.” You waved your hand over your right thigh indicating where the injury was. 

“I have no clue how I got it. I probably fell but I'm not sure. Most of last night is fuzzy, I barely even remember how I got home,” you joked with a chuckle.

The suspicion Spencer felt turned into a pit in his stomach. With furrowed brows he asked the million dollar question. “Do you remember calling me last night?”

You stared at the ground as you tried to shuffle through the vague images of the night before. “No I don’t. What did we talk about?” you asked innocently. 

His grip on the strap of his satchel tightened. “We didn’t. Talk. I couldn’t pick up the phone and didn’t realize you had called me until this morning. That’s why I wanted to stop by. To make sure you were okay.” He topped off his lie with a flat smile. 

”Thanks for checking up on me,” you sweetly replied, not yet aware of the internal mess he was experiencing. 

“It’s no problem,” his voice almost cracked.

“I need to finish getting dressed and brush my teeth but I’ll be ready to leave in like five minutes.” You speed walked back to your bedroom. 

It wasn’t until he heard the door close that he finally let the storm of emotions rip through him. His chest was getting tighter by the second. It felt like he was suffocating. 

You don’t remember. 

You told him you loved him and you don’t remember it at all. The best news he’d heard in months was a blip in your memory. Was late night drunk babbling. 

He felt so foolish. So stupid for thinking you might really reciprocate his feelings. 

One part of himself that was still holding onto hope tried to remember that “drunk words are sober thoughts.” But that’s not always true. 

He knew studies have shown intoxication can lead to someone misinterpreting their own thoughts or feelings. Leading to them impulsively expressing things that they don’t really believe. 

Unfortunately, the factual and heartbroken part of his brain was overwhelming compared to the sliver of hope he had left. 

“Alright, I’m good to go,” you snuck back into the living room. Your voice brought him back to the present. 

You grabbed your purse off the couch and walked towards the front door. As you put on your jacket you noticed the sudden change in Spencer’s demeanor. 

“Spence, you okay?”

”Yeah, I’m fine,” he nodded and answered with a light voice. But you could see right through it. His eyes gave it away. They looked so full of hurt. 

”Spencer-“

”I promise, I’m fine,” he interrupted. He offered you a fake smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He walked to your door and tightly held his bag. “We should go before we hit traffic.” 

You observed him for a few seconds longer than he liked. The profiler side of you wanted to pry but you knew it was a bad idea to push your friend. 

The drive to work was agonizingly quiet. It was odd for you two to barely speak when in close quarters. Instead, you both let the tension hang in the air, ignored and untouched. 

Spencer sat with his feelings for most of the drive. He didn’t want to be hopeful anymore. He didn’t want to be confused if it was real anymore. At this point, he just wanted to give up. 

Now, he’d have to keep a tight lid on his feelings for you. Leave it to fester and wear away at his heart. 

Like that would do any good though. He couldn’t stop loving you no matter how hard he tried. 

____________________________________

The following days felt like a dream to you. But not in a good way. 

It felt like one of those dreams where you know something is off, but can’t tell what it is. 

Spencer had been closed off ever since he picked you up for work. You couldn't wrap your head around why. He seemed so happy and eager when he arrived at your apartment that morning. 

That was the last time you saw him act normal around you. Now there was an underlying bitterness in the words he spoke. Everytime you tried to ask him if he was okay, whatever excuse he gave you left a sour taste in his mouth. 

You weren’t the only one to notice either. Everyone could sense the air go stale when you entered a room he was in. How his eyes no longer lingered on you. Or how it almost pained him to even look at you. 

His sudden change in behavior was starting to drive you insane. You were overthinking and overanalyzing every single interaction you had with him, leading up to that day in your apartment. Every move you made around him was calculated. You were terrified one wrong word or move would make him hate you. 

“He hates me.” 

“He doesn’t hate you,” Penelope swung around in her chair to face you. “I think it’s impossible for him to hate you.” 

You shook your head, “but still he won’t talk to me Pen. He’s always been so open with me and the last few days he’s been shutting me out. He hasn’t been weird around you guys at all.” 

She twirled a sparkly purple pen in her hands as she watched you sulk. “You said it started on Thursday last week?” 

“Yeah, the day after our last case.” 

Penelope sat back in her chair thinking. “Do you think the case bothered him? Could that be why he went home instead of going out with us?” 

“No, I don't think so. The next morning when he showed up at my apartment he was in a good mood. A great mood even,” you folded your arms in frustration. “But when I left the room and came back he looked like a sad puppy.” 

Penelope tapped her pen against her chin. “Why was he at your apartment before work?” 

“Apparently, I called him the night before but he didn’t pick up so he stopped by to check up on me and assumed I’d be hungover.” 

“Awe, that’s sweet,” she cooed before her confusion crossed her features. “Wait, you apparently called him? You’re not sure?” 

You cringed as you explained, “I don’t remember calling him. I was really drunk.” 

She tried to hide the amusement on her face but failed. “Why did you call him?” 

You stared at the floor trying to piece together what happened after you got home that night. “I remember missing him. I wanted to talk to him, but I’m not sure what about.” 

“It’d pay good money to hear whatever voicemail you must’ve left him,” she chuckled with a cheeky grin. 

“Right!” You started to chuckle with her until vague memories of talking on the phone came to light. Your face fell as your drunk declarations were pulled out of your long term memory. 

“Oh god,” you said barely above a whisper. 

Penelope filled with concern, “sweetie what’s wrong?” 

“I did leave him a voicemail. He must have listened to it while I was changing,” your eyes widened and anxiety started flowing through your veins. 

Before she could ask what you said in the message, you interrupted. “I have to go,” you alerted as you remembered Spencer already left the office. “I’ll text you later!” 

You practically ran back to the bullpen to grab your things and tell Hotch you were leaving for the night. 

The car ride to his apartment was agonizing. You gripped the steering wheel so tightly your knuckles turned white.

This was all your fault. He couldn’t stand to be around you and talk to you anymore because you drunkenly told him you loved him. 

You ruined your friendship. 

The least you could do was go to his apartment to try to make things right. Try to fix whatever you have broken. 

You couldn’t lose him. Not Spencer. Not the first man you ever actually truly wholeheartedly loved. Even if he didn’t love you back the same way. You’d rather live with the soul crushing pain of unrequited feelings, than lose one of the most important people in your life. 

The walk to his apartment was even worse than the drive to his building. With every step you took, your heart grew heavier. By the time you weakly knocked on his door, your eyes had started to water. 

When Spencer opened the door, his face fell with concern. 

“I remember,” you whispered before he could ask what was wrong. 

A look of realization dawned on him. He stepped to the side and opened the door wider, “come in.” 

You followed and stood awkwardly in his living room. You’d been here hundreds of times before. But now it feels different. Even though you were welcomed inside it still felt like he was miles away. 

“Spencer, I am so sorry.” 

“For what?” He already knows what you’re talking about, you can see it in his eyes. 

“The voicemail.” 

He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “You’re sorry for sending it?”

“Yes, no!” you stuttered fidgeting with your rings. “I meant what I said. Every bit of it. I just uh- I wish I had told you all of that when I was sober. Maybe I could’ve phrased it better. Not come off so strong.” 

“Why didn’t you?” he inquired, a hint of desperation in his voice.

He took a single step closer to you. “You could’ve told me.” 

Your eyebrows furrowed at him, “wait, you’re not mad about what I said?” 

He mirrored your confusion, “what do you mean?” 

“All week you’ve been acting weird. I thought you were mad or uncomfortable with me because I said I love you.”

Spencer raised his hand to his face as he realized. “I would never be mad at you for that.” His voice raised slightly in frustration, almost a wine, as he continued, “I was upset because by the time you sobered up, you forgot about it.” 

“Oh,” you whispered —if you could even call it that— under your breath. 

He lied. He listened to the message before he showed up, was going to ask about it, and you forgot like an idiot. 

“You only flirt with me or show interest in me when you're drunk. I couldn’t tell what was real or not,” his expression showed more pain as he spoke.

“Spencer, I promise I really do have feelings for you.”

His lips formed a flat line as he stared back at you. “Then why did you only show it when you were drunk?”

“Because I was scared!” your voice raised. You spoke with your hands as you got louder. “How do you tell your best friend you fell in love with them? You can’t! It just doesn't work. I thought I was going to lose you.”

“I’m in love with you.” 

You deadpanned at him, “Spencer, I’m being serious.” 

“So am I,” he said louder than you. 

The weight of his confession finally settled. Time stood still. The world stopped turning. The hands on the clock stopped ticking. 

His voice was quieter this time when he said it. He spoke in the gentlest tone you’d ever heard from him. Like the words dripped right from his arteries, carrying them away from his heart and to you. 

“I love you.” 

“You do?” 

You don’t know why you asked that. It seemed to be the only thing that could leave your mouth. How could you not believe him when he said those three words like that. Like it was his purpose. That he was put on this earth to love you and only you. 

The realization of what his confession meant started to dawn on you.

“That’s why you were at my apartment. So you could tell me. And I-“ 

You stared at the floor with wide guilty eyes and sat (more like fell) on his couch. The guilt started to creep into your blood. It started to crush your bones. 

“Oh I screwed up everything,” you buried your face in your hands. 

He sat down next to you, “no you didn’t.”

“Yes I did. You have every right to be mad at me.” 

”I'm not,” his hand landed on your back, his thumb slowly caressing you. 

You looked up at him, “really?”

“Yes.” 

You stared back at him, looking unconvinced. 

He surrendered and shrugged, “okay I was kind of crushed about it. But I know now that you really did mean it.” 

“I still hurt you,” you returned meekly. The tears started to return back to your eyes and you blinked them away. 

“I’m so sorry. What can I do to make it up to you?” 

His thumb stopped its movements on your back. With the same hand, he pushed back the hair that had fallen in your face. He looked into your eyes like he wanted to see all of you. See every little crack and crevice of your soul you tried to hide from him in fear of judgment, in fear of him running away. 

He could never run away from you. 

“Tell me everything you wished you could say when you were sober.” 

You sat up straighter and turned to fully face him. After taking a slow deep breath, you said what you’d wanted to say to him for months. 

No liquid courage. Just the pure, raw, unadulterated you. 

“Spencer, I’m in love with you. I couldn’t tell you when I was sober because I was afraid. I was in denial for so long. I tried to convince myself I wasn’t falling for you. And it’s not because I don’t want to have feelings for you. It’s the opposite. I love you so much it scares me.”

You started to play with your rings again. “I’ve never been in love before. I’ve never said it and been sure that I really meant it.”

“I mean it when I say it to you. I know I mean it because I want to spend as much time as I can with you. Doesn’t matter if it’s sitting quietly next to each other on the jet or dancing in a crowded bar. I know I mean it because I’d do anything for you. I’d listen to anything you want to ramble about. I’d drive you anywhere you wanted to go because I know you’re not the biggest fan of driving.” 

You swallowed down the lump you didn’t realize formed in your throat. 

“I always find myself crawling back to you when you’re not near.” 

It was only now you really noticed Spencer's expression. His eyes were soft and dilated so much there was barely any brown left in them. His waterline threatened to spill with tears. 

Before you could even dare to say anything else, he reached to the back of your neck and pulled you closer. His lips mixed with yours in a long awaited dance. 

The kiss wasn’t overwhelmed with passion. But also not too slow and careful. The only way you could describe it was perfect. 

It was perfect. 

He was perfect. 

Every aching moment of yearning and longing leading up to this. 

After kissing for what felt like forever —although you’re pretty sure you could kiss him for forever— you laid down on the couch with your head on his chest. Your arms wrapped tightly around him as if he could disappear at any moment. His one arm wrapped around your waist while the other was playing with your hair. 

“You can stay the night if you want,” he nonchalantly tried to offer without explicitly asking if you would stay over. 

“Do you think we’ll have time in the morning to stop by my apartment to get me fresh clothes?” 

“If not, you could borrow one of my sweaters.” 

You chuckled, “Imagine their faces when we show up to work together and with me very clearly wearing your clothes.” 

He smiled at the thought of you wearing his clothes to work. The image of you proudly showing off that he was yours. “Yeah I can imagine it.” 

[charmedimsure]

A WELCOME DISTRACTION || kang dae-ho

pairing: Kang Dae-ho x reader

summary: Dae-ho helps you learn to play Gong-gi

word count: 1.5k

warnings: squid game stuff, but other than than just fluff

A/N: I got the rules of the game from watching the show, so they could be wrong. I think it's gender neutral but lmk if it's not so I can fix it

It looks like you're going to spend at least another day here. You're going to have to play at least one more game. Despite voting to leave, the majority of people disagreed with you, and now you're stuck here. You may be drowning in student loan debt, but at least your alive, and, if you've learned anything positive from this experience, it is that life is full of opportunities.

You take your food from the masked men and find a small space in between the beds where you can be alone. You don't think you can eat right now, so you put those to the side and sit on your knees, pulling five small stones out of your pocket. When you need is a distraction, and this game could do it.

Across the room, Dae-ho winces as Jung-bae hits him in the shoulder, almost making him drop his milk.

"What?" Dae-ho says, annoyed.

"You're staring," Jung-bae says. Dae-ho gives him a confused look, to which he nods his head in your direction.

Dae-ho looks down at his feet as he feels heat rise in his face. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Jung-bae scoffs a laugh, looking at the former Marine. "Please. You cheered so loud when her team crossed the finish line I thought you're life was on the line, too." Jung-bae laughs at his own joke, Young-il laughing along.

Dae-ho rolls his eyes, finishing his milk and putting the carton down next to him. Sure he thinks you're cute, but this is no place for any of this stuff.

"You should talk to them," a quiet voice says. Dae-ho looks up to see Jun-hee looking at him.

Young-il nods. "She's right. We don't know how much longer we will be alive, you should speak now before you lose the chance."

Dae-ho looks back over at you. You're hunched over on the floor between beds, your back facing him. With a small surge of confidence, Dae-ho nods, standing up. He takes a few steps in your direction before second guessing himself, stopping in place. He nearly falls over as Jung-bae shoves him towards you.

As he gets closer to you, he can hear the sounds of something repeatedly hitting the hard floor, as well as soft curses coming from you.

"Are you alright?" he asks, standing by the entrance to the small alley between beds.

You gasp and look up at him, being too invested in what you were doing to notice someone coming up to you. Acting on instinct, you back yourself closer to the wall away from him.

Dae-ho puts his hands up. "I don't want to hurt you, just wanted to see what you were doing."

You take a look at his face and number. You remember seeing him yelling yesterday with his friend, as if he was a soldier. It had actually made you laugh, which was much needed in a place like this. You also thought he was kinda cute. Getting out of your defensive position, you shyly show him the small stones in your hand.

He furrows his brows and gets closer so he can have a better look, kneeling on the floor in front of you. He recognizes the rocks from the ground of the last game, but has no idea why you have them.

You see his confused look and sigh. "I was trying to play Gong-gi. I've never played before and it looked interesting." You let out a little laugh. "I'm not very good at it, though. I don't even know if I'm doing it right."

Dae-ho gives you a small smile. "I can show you, if you want."

You look up at him with wide eyes. "You know how to play?"

He grows a bit embarrassed and looks everywhere except for your face. "I have older sisters, we used to play when I was little."

Expecting you to laugh at him, he is surprised when you hold out the stones. He smiles and holds out his palm for you to place the rocks in, then moves back to make room between the two of you.

"You have to throw one of the pieces in the air as you grab the others, and you need to grab more as you go. You start with one each, then two, then three and one, then all four. After that, flip them onto the backside of your hand and catch them without flipping your hand over." He takes a deep breath as he rolls of the stones onto the floor. As nervous as he feels with you watching him, he knows he can do it. After all, he did just do it perfectly with guns pointed at him.

He quickly goes through the game, not dropping a single stone. When he makes the final catch and opens his palm for you to see, he finds your mouth open as you stare at his hand in awe.

"That was amazing," you say to him with a smile.

Dae-ho smiles and feels the heat rising to his face again. "You should see my sisters do it, they move so fast you can't even see what's happening," he chuckles, making you laugh. "Besides, I saw you do spinning top before. You wrapped it in seconds and got it to spin on the first try! I was always so bad at spinning top as a kid."

You smile shyly, feeling heat in your face. "It was my favorite game as a kid. I didn't have many toys, so I would play it for hours. I'd try to teach you, but I don't have a top."

Dae-ho smiles. "That's okay." He holds out his hand for you to take the stones. "You're turn to try."

You take the stones from him, scattering them onto the ground between you. You smile as you manage to get each singular one, but when you try to get two at once, you don't catch the stone in time. You let out a frustrated sigh, sitting back on your knees.

"You're doing good," Dae-ho reassures. "Try going for the ones that are closer together, and throw the stone a little higher to give you more time."

You nod at the advice and pick up the stones again. You get the first two, but lose it again as you try to get the second two. Though you get frustrated with yourself, Dae-ho never does, patiently watching you and giving you tips.

It takes more tries than you would like to admit, but you are finally able to make the final catch. You yell out in victory with a big smile on your face, and the man across from you does the same. You get a little shy as you see that your yells have got attention from the people around you, particularly that one judgmental old man who really has no right to judge anyone considering he has more debt than most people here combined.

When everyone looks away, you smile up at the man again as he hold him hand up for you to high-five.

"I feel so accomplished," you laugh, making him chuckle. "Thank you for helping me. It was nice to play a game and not have to worry for my life."

He smiles sadly. "I'm happy I could help. My name is Dae-ho."

You smile back at him and give him your name. "If we both get out of here, Dae-ho, I'll teach you how to get the top to spin every time."

"When," he says. You give him a confused look. "You said if we get out of here, but when we get out of here, I would like that very much."

You smile at him. "I'm looking forward to it."

Dae-ho spots your food sitting on the bed next to you and frowns. "You didn't eat?"

You look at it. "I wasn't hungry so I was saving it. I got so wrapped up in this game I forgot about it."

The man moves to get up. "I'll leave you to eat, then."

"You don't have to leave," you say quickly, making him stop and look at you. "I mean, I don't mind if you want to stay."

Dae-ho smiles and nods, sitting down again, this time next to you. As you eat, you both talk about yourselves, how you ended up here, your lives back home, anything that comes to mind.

"What are you going to do when you get out of here?" Dae-ho asks you when your food is long gone.

You sigh and shrug. "I'll pay off whatever debt that I can, but besides that, I really don't know." You look at him. "What about you?"

"I'll pay off my debts, too," he says. He takes a deep breath before looking at you, feeling his nerves rising. "I also think that I'd like to take you to dinner."

His nerves calm as he watches a smile slowly take over your face. "I'd like that."

Dae-ho smiles. "Then it's a date."

When it is time to go to sleep, Dae-ho can only think about how he is going to do everything he can to make sure the two of you get out of here alive.

[sparklingblu]

Infinite Impossibilities: A Pervert's Dream Journal

Day 2: Eunbi

Dinner is the last thing on your mind.

You sit at the table, opposite your girlfriend Jae-eun, as her mom Eunbi bustles around the kitchen. The savory aroma of various dishes fill the air, but you barely notice, too distracted by the tantalizing view of Eunbi’s huge tits threatening to spill out of her low-cut blouse with each movement.

Fuck, how was her husband able to keep his hands off her? You wouldn’t know cuz the guy has already passed away. Nonetheless, you could barely tear your eyes away from the way her massive rack jiggles and bounces, straining against the thin fabric. She must have had some serious work done to look this good.

Eunbi catches you staring and smirks knowingly, batting her long lashes at you. She leans forward slightly, giving you an even better view down her cleavage as she sets down the plates of food.

“Careful now, you might burn yourself looking at my tits,” she whispers, so that only you would hear. “I wouldn’t want to distract you from your meal.”

You swallow, feeling your cock growing rigid as you imagine burying your face between those pillowy mounds. Jae-eun shoots you a puzzled look and you quickly avert your gaze, trying to compose yourself.

“It’s nothing, just kinda spaced out,” you mumble, picking up your chopsticks. But Eunbi isn’t done teasing you yet. Throughout the meal, she keeps making little comments and expressions designed to get a rise out of you.

She licks her plump lips after each bite, sucking the ends of her chopsticks seductively. “Mmm, so good,” she moans in the filthiest sound. “I just love when the food is seasoned perfectly, don’t you agree?”

You nod mutedly, your erection growing painfully hard as you watch a drop of sauce trickled from her chin down her cleavage. Your girlfriend frowns, noticing your distraction.

“Is something wrong, baby? You seem a little….flustered,” she said, narrowing her eyes at you suspiciously. Before you could respond, Eunbi speaks up.

“Oh, don’t mind him,” she says with a dismissive wave. “Boys his age gets distracted easily. But he’s a good listener, aren’t he? Always paying close attention to my words.”

She accompanies this with a meaningful look, one eyebrow arched as she runs her fingers along the neckline of her blouse. You mouth goes dry and you shift uncomfortably in your seat, praying that Jae-eun wouldn’t notice the massive bulge tenting your jeans.

The rest of the meal is a fever dream, with Eunbi finding every single chance she can to flaunt her tits and Jae-eun growing more and more annoyed by your lack of attention. By the time dessert is served, you are practically throbbing with need, imagining all the filthy things you want to do to Eunbi.

But with great unease, you manage to keep a lid on your lust, pushing away your empty and bowl and forcing a smile. “That was delicious, thank you Mrs. Kwon. But I should probably be going now, it’s getting late.”

Eunbi pouts. “But you can’t leave yet, we haven’t had our after-dinner shots! Stay and have a drink with us.”

Jae-eun glares daggers at you. “Yeah, stay for one drink,” she says through gritted teeth. “Or else.”

You hesitate for a moment, torn between your desire to flee and the dangerous allure of Eunbi’s advances. But her pout is too tempting to resist. “Alright, one drink won’t hurt,” you relent.

Eunbi claps her hands and lead you to the living room, where she’s already set out a tray of shot glasses and a bottle of soju. Jae-eun trails behind, arms crossed and lips pursed.

As Eunbi pours the shots, Jae-eun collapses dramatically onto the couch. “Ugh, I’m so full. I think I need to lie down for a minute,” she says, yawning.

Eunbi frowns in concern. “Are you alright, dear? Maybe you should have some water before you drink.”

Jae-eun waves off dismissively. “I’m fine, mom. I’ll just close my eyes for a sec.” She turns away from you, huddling into a ball on the couch.

Eunbi sighs and hands you a shot glass. “I don’t know what’s gotten into that girl lately.”

You raise your glass to hers in a toast. “Cheers,” you say, trying to distract her. The soju burns going down but warms you from the inside.

Eunbi throws back her shot and sets down the glass with a satisfied sigh. She refills it and tops off yours as well.

“You know,” she says, giving you a saucy wink. “You might think I didn’t notice but you seem really interested in my tits.”

Your face heats and you stammer. “I-I don’t know what you mean, Mrs. Kwon. You’re just being a good host is all.”

Eunbi chuckles and unbuttons her blouse slowly, revealing her lacy white bra straining against her huge, heavy milkers. “I think we both know that’s not true, baby. But don’t worry. Mommy Eunbi is going to take care of you.”

She pats her lap invitingly. “Come lie on my lap and let Mommy make you feel better.”

Your cock twitch in your pants as you obey her command. Eunbi wraps her arms around you, pulling you close so your face is level with her cleavage.

“Mmm, aren’t you a sweet boy,” she coos, petting your hair. “Mommy Eunbi is going to make you feel so good.”

With one hand, she reaches behind her back and unhooks her bra, letting her massive tits bounce free. Your mouth waters at the sight.

“Go on, baby. Suck on Mommy’s tits,” she urges, guiding your face into her soft pillowy flesh.

You moan as you take one of her nipples into your mouth, sucking greedily. Eunbi sighs in pleasure, cupping your head and pushing you harder against her.

Meanwhile, her other hand snakes into your lap and palms your hard cock through your pants. You buck into her touch with a muffled groan.

“Ooh, what do we have here?” she purrs, rubbing you faster. “Is this for me, baby? Is this big cock hard for Mommy?”

She unzips your fly and pulls out your throbbing erection, stroking it firmly from base to tip. You suck harder on her nipple, hips thrusting into her grip.

“That’s it, baby. Suck on Mommy’s tits while she jerks this nice hard dick,” Eunbi breathes. “Worship Mommy’s tits like they deserve.”

And you do just that, lapping at the stiff peaks, alternating between long, slow licks and quick, sharp sucks. Eunbi groans, fingers tangling in your hair.

“Mmm, yes! You love Mommy’s fat titties, don’t you? I bet you are rock hard for me.”

To demonstrate her point, she wraps her hand around your throbbing erection, giving it a firm squeeze. You moan against her breasts, hips bucking into her touch.

“That’s right, baby. Pay attention to Mommy’s tits,” Eunbi pants, pumping her fist along your shaft. “Show me how much you want it.”

You switch to the other nipple, sucking hard before grazing hard with your teeth. Eunbi gasps, squeezing your cock tighter. “Ooh, naughty boy! Mommy likes it a little rough.”

Emboldened by her reaction, you bite down harder, soothing the sting with a long lap of your tongue. Eunbi cries out, stroking you faster.

“Fuck, just like that!”

You switch back and forth between her tits, sucking and nibbling at the sensitive peaks. Your cock throb in her grip, leaking pre-cum to ease the way.

Eunbi continues working her hand up and down your length, twisting her wrist as she reaches the tip. “Mmm, you are so fucking hard. This big cock is aching to explode, isn’t it?” she purrs, squeezing the head and spreading arousal over the smooth skin. “I can feel it twitching in my hand. You are going to make such a good mess, baby.”

Eunbi pumps you faster, pre-cum leaking from the tip and smearing on her fingers. You groan around her nipple, lost in the dual sensation of your mouth on her tits and her hand on your dick.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you grunt, feeling your balls tighten. “I’m gonna cum all over you.”

“Yes, baby, yes!” Eunbi cries. “Cum for Mommy! Make a big mess!”

With a fee more quick strokes, you explode, shooting thick ropes of cum all over her hands and wrist. Eunbi milks you through it, coaxing out every last drop.

“Mmm, look at this mess you’ve made,” she purrs, bringing her sticky fingers to her mouth. “Monmy’s going to have to clean up.”

She licks your cum off her fingers with relish, eyes locked on yours. “You taste so good, baby. I think Mommy needs more.”

You sit up as Eunbi sinks to her knees between your legs, taking your spent cock into her mouth and sucking it gently. You groan at the sensation, already feeling yourself harden again.

Jae-eun snores softly on the couch, blissfully unaware of what her mother is doing to her boyfriend. Eunbi looks up at you with a wicked grin as she releases your cock from her mouth with a pop.

“You are not tired yet, are you?” she asks, standing up. “Cuz I’ve still got some things I wanna try out.”

You shake your head. There’s no way you are giving up on more taste of that juicy body of hers.

“Good,” she muses before turning around and bending over the dining table, hitching up her dress to expose her round supple ass.

“Come and get it, baby” she purrs, wiggling her hips invitingly. “Mommy needs this big cock inside her.”

You marvel at the sight, grabbing her ass cheeks and kneading the firm flesh. Then, unable to resist, you bring your hand down on her ass with a resounding smack.

“Oh!” Eunbi gasps, arching her back. “Yes, spank Mommy! Punish this naughty ass.”

You slap again, watching her pale skin flush pink under your palm. Her pussy glistens, slick and ready for you. You can’t wait any longer.

Gripping her hips, you rub the head of your cock along her slit, teasing her with shallow thrusts. Eunbi moans, pushing back against you.

“Stop teasing, baby, and give it to me,” she demands breathlessly. “I need this dick inside me. Now.”

With a growl, you slam into her, burying yourself to the hilt in her tight, wet heat. Eunbi cries out in pleasure, hands scrabbling at the tablecloth.

“Fuck, yes! Just like that!” she pants, meeting your thrusts. “Pound Mommy’s pussy with that big cock!”

You set a brutal pace, hips slapping against her ass as you rail her from behind. The obscene sound of skin against skin fills the room, along with your heavy grunts and Eunbi’s wanton moans.

“Fuck me harder, baby!” she shrieks, pushing back against you. “I want to feel this dick splitting me open!”

Your balls slap against her clit with every powerful thrust, driving her wild. She fists her hands in the tablecloth, knuckles white as she braces against your frenzied fucking.

“Ooh, Mommy’s pussy feels so good around this thick cock,” Eunbi babbles, lost in the pleasure. “Stretch me out, baby! Fucking wreck me!”

You reach down and fist her hair, yanking her head back as you slam into her. Eunbi howls, pussy clenching around you like a vice.

“Fuck, fuck, fuuuck!” she chants, meeting your punishing thrusts. “Don’t stop, don’t you dare fucking stop!”

The table shakes with the force of your coupling, glasswares rattling in warning. But neither of you care, too consumed by the brutal, beautiful fucking.

You reach forward with your other hand, squeezing her pillowy mound and pinching her nipple hard, sending jolts of pain-pleasure straight to her core.

“Oh!” Eunbi gasps. “Fuck, yes! Twist Mommy’s fat tits while you pound this pussy!”

“Fucking whore,” you mutter, tugging on her stiff peak as you continue your relentless assault on her cunt. “You act like a good mother but you are just a slut, aren’t you? A big titty slut who fucks her daughter’s boyfriend.”

“That’s right, I’m just a big titty slut for my daughter’s boyfriend,” Eunbi repeats, pushing her chest out. “I love getting fucked by this big dick!”

You growl in approval, slamming into her harder, deeper. “You’re nothing but a cock hungry whore, aren’t you? A set of tits and a tight cunt for me to use.”

“Fuck yes, that’s all I am!” Eunbi cries, shaking her ass back at you. “I’m just a pair of big tits for you to fuck and cum on! Use me, baby! Use Mommy’s slutty body! Make her cum”

It only takes a few more thrusts to make Eunbi creams on your cock, her thighs trembling as she lets out a guttural moan. If it isn’t for your hands gripping her waist, she would have collapsed right on the spot. Her pussy clenches tight as she comes down from her high and you can feel your balls tightening again, the familiar tingling building up from the base of your cock. You’re close, so close.

“I’m going to cum all over these big tits,” you pant, still fucking her through her orgasm. “Mark your slutty rack as my property.”

“Please do it!” Eunbi begs, writhing on your cock. “Paint my tits with your seed! Coat Mommy in your cum!”

With a final deep thrust, you pull out and stroke yourself frantically. Eunbi turns around and kneels, pushing up her huge breasts and lolling out her tongue.

“Cum for me baby,” she purrs. “Cum all over Mommy’s big titties. Make me your dirty cumslut.”

Your cock explodes, spluttering thick ropes of cum splattering across her face and chest. Eunbi moans in delight, scooping the warm spend into her mouth and licking it off her fingers.

“Mmm, so delicious,” she purrs, grinning up at you with a lewd satisfied smile on her cum-splattered face. “You make Mommy so full, baby”

She stands up, letting her dress fall back into place. But it's a futile gesture, the front is still stained with evidence of your passion.

"I think I'll go clean up," she says with a wink. "But don't think for a second that we are done, baby. Mommy Eunbi has so many more naughty things that she wants to do with you.

With that, she saunters off towards the bathroom, an extra sway in her hips. You watch her go, your cock already hardening again at the thought of what depraved acts this insatisable woman has planned next.

Jae-eun is still asleep on the couch without a hint of the things unfolding right besid her. Hopefully, she stays that way.

A few minutes later, Eunbi returns freshly showered and radiant. The towel wrapped around her curves does little to hide her lush body, and you feel yor cock twitch eagerly in response.

Eunbi eyes your hardening cock with a smirk. "Mmm, I see you are already up and ready," she purrs, sauntering closer. "You can't just get enough of Mommy, can you?"

You grab her towel and yank it off, exposing her naked glory to your gaze. "Fuck, yes. I am," you answer, grabbing her tits roughly and squeezing the soft flesh. "I want to taste every inch of your sexy body."

"Patience, baby. Let's head to my bedroom." She grabs your wrist and lead you out of the living room. You follow like a paralyzed prey, eyes fixed on her swaying ass.

She pushes open the bedroom door softly and enters. The room isn't spacious, occupied by a few furniture and a bed. But that's all you need for now.

"Come on, baby. Don't keep me waiting."

Eunbi gets on the bed, splaying herself out wantonly before you. You take a moment to admire the sight - her huge tits heaving with each breath, pussy glistening with arousal, eyes dark with lust.

"Fuck, you look so good," you groan, gripping your rock hard shaft. "I would have dated you instead if I have known you sooner."

Staring at her ankles, you trail hungry kisses up her legs, licking and nibbling every inch of creamy skin. Eunbi shivers and moans, threading her fingers through your hair.

"Mmm, yes, baby. Taste my body. I know you want it."

You continue your assault, sucking on her inner thighs and laving her dripping slit with long, slow licks. She tastes divine - sweet and musky and completely addictive. You could spend hours with your face buried in her cunt.

"Oh, fuck! Your tongue feels so good!" Eunbi cries out, grinding her pussy against your mouth. "Suck on my clit just like that! Make Mommy fucking cum all over your face!"

You do as commanded, sealing your lips around her swollen nub and flicking it rapidly with your tongue. Your fingers pump in and out of her channel, curling to hit that sensitive spit deep inside.

Eunbi's moans grow louder and more desperate as you rbing her closer to the edge. Her hips buck wildly, fucking your face with abandon.

"That'a it, baby! Don't stop!" She screams. "I'm gonna cum! Ahhh fuckkk!"

Her thighs clamp around your head as she comes hard, gushing fluid all over your face. You keep lapping at her through it, drawing out her pleasure as long as possible.

When she finally collapses onto the bed, panting heavily, you crawl up her body and capture her mouth in a searing kiss. She moans into it, tasting herself on your tongue.

"Mmm, you are being such a good boy for Mommy," she purrs when you break the kiss. "And good boys get rewards."

She reaches down and wraps her hand around your throbbing cock, giving it a firm stroke. "I want this big cock sliding between my tits. I want to feel it pulsing and throbbing."

You smirk. "Fuck yes. Let's give your tits a pounding they deserve."

You move up her body until your cock is nestled between the deep valley of her breasts. Eunbi squeezes them together, trapping your shaft in silky softness.

"Fuck baby, your cock is so hard and hot," she groans, starting to slide them up and down. "It feels amazing between my tits."

You groan at the exquisite sensation, thrusting into her cleavage eagerly. "That's it, use those big titties on me," you growl. "Show me what a naughty titty slut you are."

Eunbi arches her back, pushing her chest out further as you pump her faster. Her nipples are stiff peaks, hard and taut. You capture them between your fingers, pinching and pulling.

"Ahhh fuckkk yesss!" Eunbi cries out, the channel of her tits getting tighter with each assault on her nipples. "Play with my tits, baby!"

You increase your pace, fucking her tits hard and fast as Eunbi mutters obscenities as you toy with her nipples. Her expression is one of pure lust - eyes clouded and hazy as she gives you free rein of her milkers.

You push a thumb in her mouth and she sucks on it eagerly, lapping it with her tongue the same way she would do to a cock. Your other hand clench around her neck, keeping your grip just tight enough to feed into her kink.

"Fucking cock hungry big titty slut," you curses as you pound her tits, admiring the look of pain and pleasure on Eunbi's face. She's still sucking in youe thumb like crazy, eyes rolled back from the lack of air.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum," you groan. "I'm gonna cum on your tits, you fucking slut."

Eunbi can't answer, your grip on her throat too tight to form coherent words. But you already know the answer. This slut loves nothing more than a hot thick load.

"Fuck"

With one last thrust, you unravel - shootiing spurt after spurt of cum between her tits. Most land on her cleavage, the rest finding their way onto her face, her hair, her neck.

Eunbi grins triumphantly, smearing your release across her tits. "Mmm, so much cum for me," she purrs. "Seems like my daughter made the right choice."

You don't get the chance to savour the compliment, because you are interrupted.

"What the fuck, mom?"

You freeze in your place. You and Eunbi were too horny that you have forgotten to close the bedroom door. And now, Jae-eun stands at the entrance, staring at you with horror and shock. You try to master up an excuse but there's none. Not when you have your cock between your grilfriend's mother's tits.

"Oh.....shit."

-

[gf2bellamy]

hiiii

i was wondering if i could request shy!bau!reader and post!prison spencer where he keeps their relationship a secret but reader gets insecure (because she thinks the relationship embarrasses him) but spencer keeps it a secret because he knows what happened to all his past relationships when he got other people involved

just want to see how that conversation would go with spencer reassuring reader and just being so in love

hidden — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: reader feeling insecure , they both slightly get emotional at some point but i promise there's lots of fluff a/n: hi hi ! ty ty for your request <3 also i'm so sorry this took so long i just found this in my drafts and i had completely forgotten to post this !! i hope you like this

You stood in Spencer’s kitchen, staring blankly at the kettle as it hissed and steamed, the water inside bubbling furiously.

The sound was loud, but it did little to pull you out of your thoughts.

Your mind was elsewhere, tangled in a web of overthinking that had started the moment you woke up—or rather, the moment you gave up on sleeping altogether.

It was early morning, and the sunlight streaming through the window felt too bright, too cheerful, for the storm brewing in your head.

You hadn’t slept. Not really.

You’d spent the night curled up in Spencer’s arms, listening to the rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear, feeling the warmth of his body next to yours. It should have been comforting. It should have lulled you to sleep.

But instead, you had stared at the ceiling for hours, mind racing in endless circles, chasing a thought you couldn’t shake.

It was something small, almost insignificant, but it had burrowed under your skin and refused to let go.

You’d overheard a conversation between Spencer and a female officer at the local precinct. She’d been flirting with him—boldly, unapologetically—and while that wasn’t unusual (Spencer was, after all, undeniably attractive), it was his response that had stuck with you. When she’d asked if he had a girlfriend, he’d said no before politely turning her down.

Logically, you knew why he’d said it. You’d both agreed to keep your relationship private. But logic didn’t stop the question from creeping into your mind, unbidden and unwelcome:

Was he embarrassed of you? Did he regret this?

The thought felt ridiculous even as it formed. Spencer wasn’t the type to care about what others thought.

But no matter how much you tried to push the doubt away, it lingered.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t even notice the kettle boiling over, the hot water spilling out and hissing as it hit the stovetop.

“Be careful!” Spencer’s voice cut through the fog in your mind.

You blinked, startled, and looked down at the mess you’d unintentionally created. The kettle was overflowing, steam rising in frantic curls, and you quickly stepped back, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

Spencer rushed forward, his movements quick as he turned down the heat and moved the kettle to a cooler part of the stove. “Sorry, sorry,” you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper as you watched him. Your hands fidgeted at your sides, unsure of what to do with themselves.

He turned to you, his brow furrowed with worry as he took in your appearance. You looked exhausted—dark circles under your eyes, your hair slightly disheveled, and your shoulders slumped.

It wasn’t like you to wake up before him; in fact, Spencer hated waking up without you beside him. He loved the quiet moments in the morning, when the world was still soft and hazy, and he could just lie there with you, his arms wrapped around you, your head resting on his chest.

It was one of the few times he felt truly at peace.

But this morning had been different. He’d woken up alone, the space beside him cold and empty, and he’d known immediately that something was wrong.

Now, seeing you like this—distant, distracted, and clearly troubled—only confirmed his suspicions. You barely looked up at him, avoiding his analyzing gaze.

“Come on,” he said softly, his voice a gentle invitation as he reached out his hand to you. You hesitated for a moment, your eyes flickering to the kettle.

But then you slowly took his hand, your fingers trembling slightly in his grasp. He gave your hand a reassuring squeeze before leading you to the couch in the living room.

Spencer sat down first, before gently pulling you into his lap. You hesitated, as you always did, hovering your weight above him as though you were afraid of imposing.

It was a habit you’d never quite shaken, even after all this time together. Despite how long you’d been dating, there were still moments when you felt nervous.

It was endearing, but it also broke his heart a little. He never wanted you to feel anything less than completely at ease with him.

Spencer’s hands settled on your hips, his touch firm but gentle as he guided you down until your entire weight was settled in his lap.

You let out a small, shaky breath, your hands instinctively resting on his shoulders for balance. His eyes searched yours, his gaze soft but probing, as though he could see straight through to the heart of what was troubling you.

You shifted slightly under his scrutiny, your fingers nervously toying with the fabric of his sweater.

“So, what’s wrong?” Spencer asked, his voice gentle but insistent. His hazel eyes held that familiar, loving look—the one that always made you feel seen and understood. You hesitated, your gaze dropping to where your fingers fiddled with the edge of his sweater.

“Just having a bad morning, I think,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

It wasn’t entirely a lie.

But it wasn’t the whole truth either.

You could feel the weight of his gaze on you, and you knew he wasn’t going to let this go.

After a moment, you sighed, your fingers tightening slightly in the fabric of his sweater. “It’s stupid,” you admitted, your voice hesitant.

Spencer’s lips quirked up just slightly, the ghost of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Somehow, I doubt that.”

You huffed a quiet, self-deprecating laugh, but when you lifted your eyes to meet his again, your expression was hesitant.

His hands crept up under the hem of your shirt—well, his sweater that you’d borrowed—and you jumped slightly at the cool touch of his fingertips against your skin. “Your hands are cold,” you mumbled, though you didn’t pull away.

Spencer chuckled softly, his breath warm against your neck. “Yeah, well, I woke up in an empty, cold bed,” he said, his tone playful but laced with a hint of worry. “With no one to warm me.”

You smiled faintly at his teasing, but you could hear the underlying message in his words.

“I’m sorry,” you said softly, your hands moving to rest against his chest. “I didn’t mean to make you worry.” 

Spencer’s expression softened, and he shook his head. “You don’t have to apologize,” he said, his voice gentle.“I just want to know what’s going on in that head of yours.” As he spoke, one hand made its way to your temple, tapping lightly against it in a playful gesture before brushing a strand of hair out of your face.

“I just…” You exhaled, trying to gather your thoughts. “Sometimes, I get in my own head about things. Overthink them.”

Spencer nodded slightly, waiting for you to continue.

“Yesterday, you—” you started, then stopped abruptly, sighing loudly as the words caught in your throat.

Spencer didn’t interrupt, didn’t push. He just waited patiently.

“That officer asked you if you had a girlfriend,” you continued, your gaze dropping to his chest as your fingers nervously traced the fabric of his sweater. “And you said no. Which is fine,” you added quickly, your hands patting his chest lightly as if to reassure yourself as much as him. “But it just got me thinking that maybe you’re just…” You trailed off, the words sticking in your throat like they were too heavy to say out loud.

Spencer stayed silent, his hands resting gently on your hips, his thumbs tracing small, soothing circles.

“Embarrassed of me?” you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper, the words coming out in a questioning tone, as though you were afraid of the answer.

“I mean, I’m not as—” You exhaled sharply, shaking your head, forcing the words out before you lost the courage to say them. “I’m not as outspoken or extroverted as the rest of the team. I don’t have the same kind of presence as JJ or Emily or even Penelope. And you—” You looked down at your fingers still clutching the hem of his sweater. “You’re you.”

Spencer’s brows pulled together slightly.

You let out a short, humorless laugh, gesturing vaguely at him. “You’re a literal genius. You’re brilliant and kind and incredible. It’s not like I don’t know that. But maybe compared to that, I just seem… small. Forgettable.”

You could hear the slight break in your own voice as you finished.

A heavy silence followed, stretching long enough that doubt started creeping in. You shifted slightly in his lap, suddenly feeling exposed, vulnerable in a way that made you want to pull away.

But Spencer didn’t let you.

His grip on your hips tightened just slightly—not enough to hurt, just enough to hold you in place, to keep you from retreating.

And then, finally, he spoke.

“First of all,” he said, his voice steady, unwavering, “I need you to listen to me when I say this: I am not, nor have I ever been, embarrassed of you.”

Your breath hitched, but he didn’t stop. His eyes softened, his hands rubbing soothing circles into your hips.

He hesitated for a moment, his gaze flickering over your shoulder as if he were searching for the right words, but his hands never stopped their gentle, reassuring movements on your hips. His eyes met yours again.

“I just don’t want to risk what we have,” he said, his voice softer now, tinged with vulnerability. “I know what happens when people get involved—when things get messy. I’ve seen it happen too many times.” He paused, his expression clouding as though he were reliving memories he’d rather forget. “And I don’t want that for us. Because the thought of losing you—” His voice broke, and he didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to.

You felt your heart clench at his words.

“I love you,” he said, his voice steadier now, but no less heartfelt. “More than I’ll ever be able to put into words.” His hands moved to cradle your face, his touch so gentle it made your chest ache. “And I’m sorry that I made you feel like this,” he added, his voice thick with regret. “I never wanted to hurt you. I was trying to protect you.”

His apology was sincere, his eyes searching yours.

For a moment, you couldn't breathe. Every word felt like a soft anchor pulling you back from the edge of your doubts.

His hands were still cradling your face, his thumbs brushing lightly over your cheeks, as though he were trying to wipe away every trace of doubt and insecurity that had taken root in your mind.

All you could do was stare into his hazel eyes. You just sat there for a moment, letting his words sink in.

“I love you too,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly as the words left your lips.

Spencer’s expression softened at your words, his eyes reflecting a mix of relief and warmth.

“You’re everything to me,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, his lips brushing against the tip of your nose as he spoke. “And I don’t ever want you to doubt that.”

You nodded, your throat tight with emotion as you leaned into him, your hands sliding up to rest against his chest. His arms enveloped you, pulling you close as he held you like he was afraid you might slip away. You let yourself melt into his embrace.

For a while, you just stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s arms, letting the moment stretch.

Finally, he pulled back just slightly, his hands lingering at your waist as he looked at you with that warmth, the one that always made you feel like you were home.

“How about we start this morning over?” he asked softly, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

You gave him a small, shaky smile. “Yeah. I’d like that,” you murmured, your voice steadying now, as you felt the storm in your chest finally calm.

Spencer’s smile widened, and he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead before standing up, taking your hand in his.

“Come on,” he said with a gentle tug. “Let’s make some tea. The right way this time.” His playful tone brought a smile to your face as you followed him into the kitchen, feeling lighter than you had in days.