#this was a really hard question i hope you know that >:(

[incognit0slut]

Crawling back to you

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Simmons!Reader Summary: You never planned on having a casual fling with your brother's friend five years ago, nor did you expect him to fall in love with you, which forced you to end things abruptly. But now he's unexpectedly back in your life—older, wiser, and fully intent on winning your heart. Content: (18+) >12k words, reader has commitment issues, he’s the softest softdom i’ve ever written, female oral, fingering, unprotected p in v, a little squirting? teeth rotting fluff and a chaotic ending because who am i without my crack humor A/n: This is for @imagining-in-the-margins FWB writing challenge and somewhat a celebration post for 7k milestone. Idk how that happened but tysm :( I hope you like this as much as I did writing it because matt simmons is so underrated??? I’m also freaking nervous with this i haven’t posted a new fic in a while so please please please be nice i feel like throwing up

Surprise has a way of stopping time. Although you're not sure you can call it that. What you’re experiencing is more than just surprise, it’s the kind of feeling that makes you freeze in place. It’s not just a jolt to the system—it’s a full-body takeover. Your breath catches, your heart skips, and your thoughts scatter like leaves caught in the wind. How could they not, when the last person you expected to see is standing right in front of you, clad in the most questionable clothes?

You almost laugh at how absurd he looks. He’s wearing an oversized hoodie with a tacky “Washington D.C.” print sprawled across the front. It’s baffling why he’s draped in that shapeless thing over his freakishly tall frame, but it’s too hard to focus on something so trivial when you’re still grasping with the reality of seeing him again. You really can’t believe it. Spencer Reid is here. The Spencer Reid.

The guy whose heart you broke five years ago.

You should have seen this coming. In fact, you kind of did, when your brother’s friends came rushing into the hospital room, their voices a chorus of “oohs” and “aahs” as they crowded around the newborn cradled in Kristy’s arms. You exchanged polite greetings when they noticed you—Penelope even pulled you into a tight hug, gushing about how amazing you looked—and thankfully, there was no sign of him.

But you’d almost allowed yourself to believe he wouldn’t show up. When the small space became overly crowded, you stepped out into the waiting room to catch your breath… only to find him standing a few feet away with JJ.

And just like that, all the air seems to vanish from your lungs.

You had a plan, of course. In the back of your mind, you always knew a chance meeting was inevitable, whether you liked it or not. And that plan was simple. You’d offer him a polite smile. Exchange a few words, nothing too personal. You’d be friendly but distant, always make sure to keep the kind of composure that says you’ve moved on, and that the past is just that: the past.

But those well-laid plans seem fragile now, almost naive as you suddenly caught his smile. Now how do you stick to a script when your heart is starting to rewrite all the lines? Or blur the lines specifically, when the past and present merge so seamlessly that you’re reminded of the first time that same smile had charmed you.

You’re suddenly thrown back to that day five years ago, when your brother had thrown a barbecue cookout to celebrate some joint investigation his team had wrapped up. You didn’t know the details—didn’t really care to, if you were honest—but Matt had called you and insisted that you join him.

You hadn't thought much of it at the time. It sounded like another family gathering with a few new faces. But that was the day you met Spencer, and what began as a simple introduction quickly spiraled into something much more complicated. Really complicated. Because as charmed as you were by his smile, he had wanted something more from you when all you could offer him was your body.

So you ran away.

Although not very far, because apparently, he’s standing a few steps away from you, five years later. And the worst part? He’s now very much aware that you’re here. You watch as his jaw slacks open as he takes a double-take. You’re rooted in place. JJ, on the other hand, tugs his sleeve as she notices his demeanor slowly shutting down. She turns around to see what’s caught his attention, and when she spots you, a huge smile spreads across her face.

"Hey! You're here!” You force yourself to look away from him as she moves forward. You reciprocate the hug she throws at you. "How are you?”

You’re not entirely sure how to answer. How do you even explain that your heart just did a triple backflip and landed somewhere near your stomach? Or that you’re seconds away from having an internal existential crisis because, of course, the universe would choose this moment to throw Spencer Reid back into your life?

There's really no good way to sum that up. So instead, you plaster on a smile that probably looks more like a grimace and reply, "Good. I’m good.”

JJ doesn’t seem to notice the strained edges in your voice. “It’s so nice to see you again! How long has it been?”

There’s a moment of silence as you try to gather your thoughts. But before you can respond, Spencer’s voice suddenly cuts through the quiet. It’s soft, almost hesitant, as if he’s been holding onto this detail for far too long, but every syllable rings in your ears.

"Five years," he says. "Five years, three months, and seventeen days."

Your stomach does another flip. JJ raises her brows, her eyes darting between you and him. You carefully meet her gaze. "Actually, you and I met up last year.”

“Oh, right!” She exclaims, her face lighting up as the memory clicks into place. “You were in town for a conference, right? I totally forgot about that.”

“You were in town last year and you didn’t tell me?”

God, he’s making it terribly hard for you to keep your composure. You throw him a sidelong glance. “I didn’t know you wanted to see me.”

His expression shifts slightly, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. He looks at you as if your words sounds ludicrous to him.

“I always want to see you.”

You can't decide what surprises you more, the fact that he still wants to see you after all these years, or how easily he says it. The words roll off his tongue so casually, so effortlessly, as if the weight of your shared past doesn’t cling to them. And to make matters worse, he's saying this right in front of JJ, who is now staring at him, clearly scrutinizing the significance behind his words.

You quickly shift your attention to her, forcing another smile. "So, are you going to head inside?"

JJ blinks at you. “Oh, yeah, I probably should.” She turns to Spencer and gives him a quick but knowing glance. "See you on Monday, Spence."

You glance at him. “You're not going to see the baby?"

"Spencer’s got something he needs to take care of,” JJ chimes in. There’s a slight edge to her voice, like she knows exactly what that ‘something’ is, but she doesn’t elaborate. She gives him one last look before heading inside.

You catch yourself looking up at him again. “You’re leaving?”

Spencer pauses, studying you carefully, his brow furrowing just slightly like he’s trying to read between the lines of your question.

“I was,” he says softly.

There’s a sudden tightness in your chest. “Right.”

“But now I don’t want to.”

There it goes again, the butterflies in your stomach. This is exactly why you didn’t want to see him. You knew that once you looked into his eyes, heard his voice, it would stir up everything you’ve spent five years trying to bury. You’d told yourself it was better to pretend that whatever happened between you was nothing more than a stupid choice. But now, standing here with him so close, you can feel all those walls you built crumbling down with just a few words.

You finally look at him, like really look at him. It’s impossible not to notice how he’s changed over the past five years. There are faint lines around his eyes now, signs of age that wasn't there before. His hair is longer, a little messier. It curls around his ears in a way that makes him look almost boyish, yet undeniably charming which suits him more than you'd like to admit.

But even with all the changes, his smile—gentle and just a little shy—remains the same. That smile reminds you of a time when things were simpler, where it was enough to convince you that you didn't have to keep your guard up all the time. But then you remember the reason you walked away, and his smile becomes a little harder to look at.

Because while he's changed, grown, matured, so have you, and you're not sure if there's room for the person you are now in the space that once belonged to both of you.

His eyes scan you in the same way you’re assessing him. “You look good.”

Your mouth twitches at his words. You didn’t expect him to be so straightforward. “Thank you.”

“You’re even prettier than I remember.”

The sigh you let out is long and weary. He really knows how to push your buttons.

“Spencer. Don’t.”

“What?”

“You can’t just say things like that after—” You hesitate, crossing your arms. "After everything. What happened to 'Hi, how are you?’. Or maybe something simple like ‘What have you been up to? Anything new?’”

He blinks, clearly taken aback by your abruptness. “Okay. Hi, how are you?”

You cast him a wary glance. “Good.”

"What have you been up to?"

"Work."

"Anything new?"

"No."

He pauses again, his eyes searching yours before he asks, "No new boyfriend?"

You frown. “Huh?”

“Girlfriend?”

"Spencer."

"Are you seeing anyone?"

"Spencer."

He smiles sheepishly, his shoulders sagging slightly. "You're right, that was inappropriate. I didn't think I would see you again, it’s throwing me off a bit."

“You didn’t think I would be here for my newborn niece?”

His smile turns into a grimace. "I guess I wasn't thinking clearly." He shifts on his feet, fidgeting with his fingers—a small, familiar tic that you hadn’t seen in years. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make things weird.”

“It’s fine,” you reply, though there’s no real bite to your words. His nervous energy is making it hard to stay annoyed. Your eyes narrow on his oversized hoodie again, the casual, almost careless choice that seems slightly out of character for the Spencer you remember.

He seems to notice you staring so blatantly. “What?”

“You look funny.”

A hint of surprise flashes across his face. “You think I’m funny?”

“Different,” you correct. “Did you raid someone’s closet on your way here or something?”

"Oh… I had to change my clothes. I got wet at the park earlier.”

You glance towards the window with a frown. "It's not even raining."

"I ran through the sprinklers."

The cease on your forehead deepens. Even that sounds so unlike him. Spencer Reid doing something that carefree in public?

“You ran through the sprinklers? Alone?"

You notice his expression shift as the question leaves your lips, something very subtle, but you’ve known him long enough to catch it. The way his eyes flicker, the slight hesitation before he answers, makes it obvious. There’s a hint of something unspoken in the way he looks at you, and suddenly, it all clicks into place.

He wasn’t alone.

You look away. It's ridiculous, you think. To feel this somewhat… jealous when it should be the last thing on your mind because, really, what right do you have? What you had with him wasn’t even a relationship to begin with. But despite all the logic in the world, you can’t help the pang in your chest, the twist of something bitter and familiar curling in your gut.

"It's not what you think," he slowly says.

You force a small, awkward laugh, trying to brush it off. "I wasn’t assuming anything. It’s none of my business, anyway."

"No, really, it's nothing like that." he insists, scrunching his nose in the way he does when he's trying to think. "I mean, I did meet someone at the park, but it’s not like… what you might be thinking. We were just talking, and… and then there were these sprinklers and it wasn’t really planned or anything, then she—well, technically, we weren’t even alone the whole time because there were other people around, and it’s not like we—”

“Spencer, you don’t have to explain—” you begin, but then something dawns on you. “Wait, is this what JJ was referring to? Did you… Did you have plans?”

You notice his Adam’s apple dip as he swallows. "Kind of," he admits. “But it wasn't anything serious. It was just, you know, a casual thing.”

You can't help the way your stomach knots. Casual could mean anything. Maybe a simple coffee between two friends, or even a lighthearted conversation over lunch. But in your experience, at least in the book you and Spencer had written together in the past, casual had always meant sex. And now, hearing him say it about someone else feels like a punch to the gut you hadn't expected.

You suddenly feel foolish for letting your mind go there, for assuming that whatever he meant by casual was the same thing it had meant for the two of you back then. It's been five years, and so much has changed. Maybe casual means something entirely different for him now, and you're the one stuck in the past, reading into things that no longer hold the same weight.

He must have noticed the slight falter in your expression, the way your eyes momentarily cloud over with something you can’t quite hide. He takes a step forward. "It’s really nothing.”

You take a step back. “Even if it is, it’s really not my business.”

“But it’s not,” he urges. He’s suddenly so persistent, and you can’t help but feel the embarrassment gnawing you at how easily he can read your mind. It's one thing to wrestle with these feelings privately, but having them so clearly acknowledged makes it all the more humiliating. You can’t believe you let yourself get so worked up over something that shouldn’t matter this much.

You eye the exit door. “I need to go.”

"Right now?” His brows knit together in confusion. “But your family’s here."

You’ve only spent a few minutes with him and you’re already running away.

"I just remembered I have to take care of… something."

The excuse sounds weak even to your own ears, but you don’t wait for his response. You quickly turn on your heel, and when he calls out your name with concern, you force yourself to keep moving, scurrying off down the hallway.

Me: I'm heading back first Big bro: You okay? Me: Bad headache Big Bro: You didn't eat anything, did you?

You scoff. What is it about your brother always zeroing in on eating whenever you complain about feeling off?

Me: You know I did. Just not much Big Bro: That’s what I thought. There’s some leftover dinner in the fridge. And check the second drawer in the kitchen, there should be some ibuprofen Me: Yes, Dad Big Bro: Don’t get smart with me Me: 🫡 Big Bro: Drink lots of water Me: Yes, sir. Anything else on your mind while you’re giving out parental advice? Big Bro: I’m just trying to keep myself from dragging you out of my house if you collapse Me: 🙄 Big Bro: The kids are staying with Kristy’s parents, I’ll drop by tomorrow morning Me: Okay Big Bro: Call me if you need anything

You toss your phone down on the bed, then let out the most exasperated sigh. Spending your Saturday night in your brother’s guest room is the last thing you expect to be doing, let alone faking a headache just to avoid confronting a situationship from the past. You honestly thought you’d outgrown this kind of avoidance, but here you are, slipping back into old habits as if no time has passed at all.

Ironically, your mind stumbles into the past, and you remember a conversation you once had with Spencer. It was during one of those nights when you both were tangled in each other’s arms. You could faintly remember the conversation started with him talking about his work.

He never actually told you the details of his cases, but he liked to share his thoughts on the different complexities of the human mind. And on that particular night, he was rambling about the psychological concept of avoidance, which he claimed to have detected the first time he spotted the bad guy. He went on at how people often retreat into familiar behaviors to protect themselves from discomfort.

At the time, you had brushed it off with a joke, teasing him about overanalyzing everything when the situation had already played out. But now the irony isn’t lost on you. You’re doing exactly what he once explained. It’s almost laughable if it didn’t sting so much to realize how right he was.

A sharp ding from your phone pulls you out of your thoughts, and one glance at it tells you exactly who’s messaging. The name on the screen makes your chest tighten, but you don’t even give yourself a moment to consider responding. You quickly turn the phone to silent, push yourself off the bed, and head straight for the kitchen. True to your brother’s words, there’s leftover pizza in the fridge, but the idea of reheating it doesn’t seem appealing to you.

You reach for the bottle of wine instead.

The red liquor tastes like butter, or something close to it. It’s similar in the way the liquid melts over your tongue, spreading warmth through your chest and settling comfortably in your belly. By the time you're sipping the second glass, you feel more relaxed, but then the sharp sound of the doorbell ringing cuts through the calm.

You glance at the door from the position of the couch. You have a strong feeling about who it is. But as much as you're sure of the who, what really gnaws at you is the why.

You hesitantly make your way toward the door, and sure enough, when you pull it open, Spencer is standing at your brother’s doorstep. The corner of his lips turns upward in an awkward, almost apologetic half-smile as if he’s unsure of how to begin or whether he should even be there in the first place.

You lean against the doorframe. “Did Matt tell you I was here?”

He gives you a pointed look, his eyebrows raising slightly. “No, but it wasn’t hard to figure out.” You throw him the same questioning look, and he explains, “This is the only place you’d stay in town because not only do you hate staying alone at a hotel, but Matt wouldn’t let you even if you tried.”

You can’t believe he still remembers your offhand comment about sterile hotel rooms. It’s one of the reasons you used to prefer staying at his apartment whenever you were in town.

“Why are you here anyway?” You ask. “I thought you had plans.”

He pauses for moment as if deciding how much to say. Finally, he clears his throat. “Can I come in? I’d rather explain it inside.”

"I don't think you owe me any explanations about what you do with your time," you reply, crossing your arms.

"Maybe I don't owe it, but I want to give it.”

“Which isn’t necessary.”

“But appreciated, I hope.”

You find yourself caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. You tell yourself not to read too much into it, but there's a part of you that can't help but soften at his words. Maybe it's the way his eyes reminds you of melted chocolate as he stares at you that makes you want to let him in, despite your better judgment.

You pull the door open. “Fine, but take your shoes off. Kristy’s very serious about hygiene.”

He does as he’s told and tucks away his shoes on the rack by the door.

“Do you want anything to drink?”

He shakes his head slightly, offering a small smile. "I'm good, thanks."

You nod and gesture toward the living room. He follows you, and as you both approach the couch, he instinctively moves to the far end, settling down cautiously as if not wanting to invade your space. You take a seat on the opposite end.

“So, what do you want to talk about?”

He leans back slightly, resting his hands on his knees. You can tell he's trying to gauge your mood, figure out how much to push and when to hold back. "Do you remember when we went on that date at the street fair?"

You frown, remembering how you had missed your bus home in one of your trips here and ended up wandering at the fair with him. “That wasn’t a date.”

"Fine. Do you remember when we went to the street fair together not on a date?"

“I remember."

His shoulders relax a bit at your response. “You spent ages deciding what to eat and you ended up choosing that little Korean stall in the corner. We had to walk a bit further to get there even when your shoes were hurting you.”

You think back, internally scolding yourself for wearing those damn boots that day. “You thought I was being ridiculous.”

"I didn't think it was ridiculous. I just didn't get it at first. Your feet were practically covered in blisters."

"I really wanted kimchi."

"I could tell, and it took me a while to understand why you went through all that trouble. Now I do.”

You glance at him, sensing there's more behind his words. “Why are you bringing this up?"

He meets your gaze. His brown eyes looking a little more golden underneath the dim light. "I guess this is me choosing.”

“That you’re craving for Korean?”

He gives a soft, genuine laugh, the kind that starts in his chest and reaches his eyes, making them crinkle at the corners. “Not exactly,” he says and leans a little closer. “What I’m trying to say is, that’s how I feel right now. I'm here because I want to be, not because it's convenient, but because it’s you.”

There’s a subtle flutter in your chest, and your skin prickles with a familiar warmth as he speaks. Your heart beats a little faster, not enough to be alarming, but just enough to remind you that you’re not as unaffected as you pretend to be. You can feel your palms start to sweat, and there’s that almost imperceptible hitch in your breathing that you hope he doesn’t notice.

“Spencer…” You don’t even know how to start. “It’s been five years."

He nods slowly. “I know.”

“No, I don’t think you do. A lot of has changed since the last time we saw each another, and you’re here acting like we both separated on good terms? Don't you hate me?”

His brow furrows slightly. “Why would I hate you?”

“Because I broke your heart. I—" Your voice falters as you struggle to find the right words. "The moment you told me you were falling in love with me, I... I ran. I couldn’t handle it. I pushed you away like a coward.”

“You weren't a coward, you were scared. And maybe I didn’t understand that back then, but I do now.”

You shake your head. “But I hurt you.”

The sigh he lets out is heavy, yet there's something deceptively calm about it, almost as if he’s already made peace with the past. “You did what you thought you had to do, and sure, it hurt. But I’ve had a lot of time to think about it, and I realized that I don’t blame you for needing space. It wasn’t about me not being enough, it was about you needing to protect yourself.”

His words start to chip away at the wall you’ve built around your heart. “I thought you’d hate me,” you admit quietly.

“I could never hate you."

You lower your gaze, your fingers fiddling nervously with the edge of the cushion. “Alright, let’s say you choose me. Now what? What is it that you want?”

He pauses for a moment, his fingers curled into his palms. He looks away briefly, taking a deep breath as if gathering his thoughts, then returns his gaze to you. “I want another chance.”

If you were surprised to see him at the hospital earlier, this is something entirely different. There’s something akin to panic fluttering in your chest. It’s amusing, really, how the human body reacts before the mind fully comprehends as if your heart knows what’s coming before you do. You can feel it in the way your breath catches, in the way your stomach knots with a nervous energy you can’t quite shake. Because how do you even react to that?

You finally turn to face him, leaning your head against the back of the couch. This moment feels like some sort of déjà vu, and just like the last time, your mind is already bracing itself, preparing to give him the same answer you did back then.

“You know it’s never going to work.”

He mirrors you, but instead of the frustration or sadness you half-expected, there’s a gentle smile on his lips. “You sound so sure.”

“That’s because I am,” you reply. “I know what you’re asking for right now, and we don’t function like that. Not in the past, at least.”

“How did we function?”

“Based on sex.”

“And what do you think I’m asking for now?”

“More than sex, which isn’t going to work."

“Why not?”

“Because—” you start, but the words catch in your throat. You’re not even sure how to explain. The fears, the doubts, the past... all of it feels too big, too overwhelming to articulate in a way that makes sense.

“Because the idea still terrifies you?”

You frown, caught off guard by the directness of his question. “No.”

The smile stretches even more across his face. “Then give me one good reason why you think so.”

"Oh I can name a few."

He studies you, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he’s trying to read every thought racing through your mind. “Let’s make a deal then. You give me those reasons why we can’t work, and I’ll give you reasons why we can.”

You’re quiet for a moment, considering his offer. It’s bold, almost reckless, and yet... there’s something in his eyes that makes you want to accept the challenge.

"And if your reasons aren’t good enough?"

“Then we’ll deal with that when we come to it,” he replies softly. “But I’m willing to bet we won’t have to.”

"You really think you can convince me?"

"I can try." He leans a little closer, just enough for you to feel the warmth radiating from his body. "So, what’s your first reason?"

That’s too easy, too obvious. “You’re one of my brother’s closest friends,” you point out. “What happens if this doesn’t work out? I don’t want to put him, or us, in that position.”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “That didn’t stop us in the past.”

You scoff. “Spencer, we were sneaking around behind his back. It’s not exactly the same thing. This… whatever this is, it would be out in the open, and that’s a whole different level of complicated.”

“It would be different, yes. But that doesn’t mean it has to be a problem. If anything, it shows how serious we were then, and how serious we could be now.” You scrunch your nose at his response. “Now what’s next on your list?”

"Uhh.. the distance! You’re in D.C., and I’m not. It’s not like I can just drop everything and move closer.���

He raises an eyebrow. “You’re a three-hour drive away, maybe two if I take the expressway. And honestly, with how much we both travel for work, I don’t see how that’s an issue.”

His reasoning is so undeniably logical you feel a flicker of annoyance, not at him, but at how easily he’s dismantling your arguments.

“You didn’t even want to visit me back then.”

"You were the one who didn't want me to. You kept saying it was easier for you to come here.”

His words hit harder than you expect. You remember all the times you insisted on making the trips yourself. You'd convinced yourself it was about convenience, but with him calling you out on it, you realize it wasn't about convenience at all. It was about keeping things on your terms, maintaining a safe distance even when that distance wasn't physical.

"Well, I had more flexible hours," you claim. The excuse is flimsy, and the way Spencer looks at you—patient, but not fooled—makes it clear that he sees right through it.

You try to think of your next reason, although the words seem to get stuck before they even form. You know you can easily rattle off more excuses, but something about the way he’s looking at you makes it harder than it should be.

“That’s it? You’ve only thought of two? I was expecting a bit more of a challenge.”

You scowl at him. "I didn’t say I was done."

"Take your time," he comments, leaning back slightly, still wearing that infuriatingly patient smile.

You huff softly, trying to regain your footing. "Okay, how about this? Sex."

There's a beat of silence. "What about sex?"

You feel the words forming, but they sound ridiculous even in your own mind. Still, you force them out of your mouth. Your subconscious is urging you to come up with more excuses to keep him at arm’s length. "That was all that we had. What if… what if we just fall back into the same patterns?"

“Don't you think that's a reason why we can work? If we were only ever about sex and we're still here, doesn't that show there's something more between us?"

“Or it just means we had a strong physical connection. That doesn’t necessarily mean there’s something more.”

“You really believe that? That all we had was just physical?”

“Yes,” you retort, though the confidence in your voice wavers slightly. Your eyes flicker away for a split second before you meet his gaze again. “That’s all it ever was and I don’t know if it can turn into something you’re trying to imply.”

He lets out a low, amused sound, as the corners of his mouth twitches upward. “You’re deflecting.”

“I’m being realistic,” you shoot back. “What if we try, and it doesn’t work? What if everything falls apart because we weren’t good at anything but the sex?”

His eyes light up, and suddenly he’s wearing the most boyish grin you’ve ever seen on him. “So you're admitting the sex was good?"

You stop yourself from rolling your eyes.

“You know what I mean. What we had was...” Wild? Passionate? Crazy-hot-mind-blowing sex? “…intense. But intensity isn't enough for a relationship. What if the rest of it doesn't hold up?"

He leans in closer, his hand hovering near yours on the couch.

“But what if it does?”

All you can do is stare at him.

“You’re giving me all these reasons to push me away again,” he continues. “But I’m here because I’m not afraid of those doubts. I’ve always wanted to give you more than what we had because you deserve something real. I want us to be real this time, and I think you do too, even if you’re scared to admit it.”

His words are affecting you more than you like to admit. You can slowly feel it in the tension building between you, it’s surprisingly not the uncomfortable kind, but the sort that pulls you in, that makes you want to move closer even though every instinct tells you to stay put.

And then it happens. You feel a slight tremor in your leg, an involuntary movement that causes it to brush against his. The contact is so light it's almost like it didn't happen at all, but it did. He notices—Of course he does—and now there’s a certain gentleness in his gaze like he knows exactly what's going on inside your head. He doesn't push, doesn't rush, just watches you with those impossibly kind eyes.

And in the softest, most careful voice, he asks, “Can I move closer?"

Your heart is pounding now, the rhythm echoing in your ears, in your chest, in the pulse at your throat. The sensation travels downward, a slow, steady beat that moves through your body, inching its way down your spine, tightening in your stomach before it settles low in your abdomen. It’s a heat that spreads outward until it reaches your core, leaving you acutely aware of every inch of space between you and him—and how much you want to close that distance.

You find yourself nodding. He shifts closer. “Can I touch you?”

You really want to say something witty, something that might deflect from the weight of the situation, but the words won’t come out. You can only manage another nod. He moves slowly, carefully, giving you every opportunity to pull back. But you don’t. You can’t. You’re rooted in place as his hand reaches for you.

His palm gently rests on your jaw. Your eyes flutter closed against your consciousness, and the tension that’s been coiling in your chest slowly unwinds, replaced by a sense of calm. When his thumb slides across your cheek, he speaks again. His voice is so close it's as if the words themselves are brushing over your lips.

"Can I kiss you?"

You inhale sharply. The word "Yes" hovers on the tip of your tongue, but you don't need to say it out loud. He can already see the answer in the way you’re leaning into him, and his mouth is on yours in an instant.

The reality is, you’ve kissed Spencer before. Plenty of times, actually. You know the feel of his lips, the way they can be both gentle and demanding, the way he tastes faintly of coffee or something sweet when he’s had a treat. You also think back to those hurried kisses in the past when time was short and the world was pressing down on you. Or the playful pecks that came with laughter. Even the desperate, heated moments when the need to feel something, anything, was too overwhelming to resist.

This kiss, however, isn’t like any of those. This one is slow, and achingly tender. His movements are unhurried. The way his lips glide over yours carries a deep sense of care, like he’s trying to memorize every soft curve. Just as you begin to melt in his arms, he pulls away slightly, not very far, but enough to hover close that you can still feel the heat of his breath on your lips.

There’s a tense silence as the tip of his nose brushes gently against your cheek. You can tell he’s giving you the space to decide what happens next, and there are a lot of scenarios running in your head. You could push him away, repeating history all over again. You could be in denial and pretend all of this never even happened. But something inside you snaps.

Maybe it’s the way he’s holding back, so gentle, so careful, too afraid of pushing too far. Or maybe it’s the realization that you don’t want him to hold back, that you need more, that you’re tired of resisting what you’ve both been dancing around for so long. Before you can second guess yourself, you’re clutching onto the fabric of his hoodie, tugging him closer.

He tenses for a moment, but the hesitation is gone almost as soon as it appears. His mouth finds yours again, and he lets out a deep, relieved sigh. You feel the soft, insistent push of his tongue against the seam of your lips. You hold onto him, parting your mouth eagerly before he slips his tongue with a desperation that catches you off guard.

Then his hands seem to be everywhere all at once, tracing the curve of your spine, sliding down to the small of your back, and brushing along the edge of your jaw. His fingers then tangle in your hair, tugging gently while his other hand skims over your waist. But when his hand slips inside your shirt, calloused fingers brushing your soft skin, you slowly pull away. “W-Wait.”

His eyes widen slightly, and you can feel the shift in his body. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, no,” you say quickly, tugging him closer again. “I just… I think we should continue this conversation somewhere more… private?”

He pauses for a moment. “Really?”

“If you want to.”

A subtle smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Are you trying to seduce me for sex?”

You’re oscillating between being incredibly turned on and equally mortified. In a sense, yes, that’s what you’re asking. But you didn’t expect him to be so blunt about it. You don’t think he’s ever been this direct in the past, and now you’re wondering if you missed something before, or if he’s just tapped into a level of confidence you’re struggling to keep up with.

“Would it be inappropriate if I said that I am?” you ask hesitantly, and you can’t help but wince a little as the words leave your mouth.

“Since when have you been worried about being inappropriate with me?”

“Well, Spencer, if you haven’t noticed, there’s a five-year gap since the last time we slept together.”

His hand on your waist tightens slightly. “Five years too long, if you ask me.” Then he pulls you closer until there’s barely any space left between you. “You do realize this is you giving me a second chance, right?"

In a way, you do. You've spent so much time convincing yourself that you were better off keeping your distance. Walking away in the past was easy, but now… now it feels different. The years have stretched on, and the excuses you’ve made have started to wear thin. Especially when just being near him is starting to stir memories you thought you’d buried—some good, some less so—but all intense, all Spencer.

Maybe he's right. Maybe five years is too long to pretend that whatever was between you didn't matter.

You slowly meet his gaze. “I realize.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

You hesitate, not out of doubt, but because of the sheer gravity of what you're about to say.

"Maybe."

His sigh is audible when he hears your answer, and without missing a beat, he brushes the barest, lightest, most gentle of kisses on your lips. “Maybe is good.” Kiss. “I can take—” Kiss. Kiss. “—maybe.”

You think you should say something more, but all coherent thoughts scatter the instant his lips meet yours again. You return his kisses, hesitant at first, but quickly falling into a rhythm that feels achingly familiar. It doesn’t take long until his lips move into something more urgent. There’s a hunger there, a pent-up longing that he can no longer hold back. His tongue flicks against yours, teasing, coaxing, and you know you need to stop him before he starts to undress you right there on the couch.

You reluctantly pull back. “Bedroom. Now.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He pulls you to your feet, and you’re practically dragging him to the guest bedroom. When the door closes behind you, he’s quick to guide you toward the bed, his hands firm on your hips as he steers you backward. The moment your legs hit the edge of the bed, he pauses, his hands lingering on your waist, and for a moment, he just looks at you.

“Having second thoughts?” You tease. The sarcasm drips sweetly in your voice, knowing full well he’s been trying to win your heart the entire evening.

“No,” he mutters. “I’m trying to see if you are.”

You draw back from his arms just enough to climb onto the bed and lay down in the middle. “Does it look like I am?”

He shakes his head with that cute, bashful smile. Although there’s nothing bashful about the way he pulls off his hoodie and tosses it carelessly onto the floor. The shirt underneath is crumpled, and his hair is even messier, sticking up in ways that make you want to run your hands through it.

“Come here,” you motion for him. Without hesitation, he crawls between your legs and leans in for another kiss. His hair feels like the smoothest silk when you finally reach for it. There’s a slight dampness from the faint sheen of sweat on his skin, the way it curls just slightly at the ends, brushing against your forehead as he dips his head to capture your mouth.

You don’t think you can ever get tired of kissing him. There’s a familiarity in the way he moves. His lips mold perfectly to yours, soft yet demanding, as if he knows exactly how to draw out the deepest parts of your desire. And you feel it everywhere. In your pulse, in your veins, all the way down to the spot between your legs.

It intensifies even more when his lips begin to trail down your neck. You feel the first warm rush of arousal pooling in your panties when he presses an open-mouthed kiss to your throat, the fluttering veins below your jaw with so much intensity as if he's taking every one of your heartbeats for himself. Your grip tightens in his hair as he marks another spot near your collarbone.

“I’ve missed this so much,” he murmurs as he slowly nips down your neck. “I’ve missed you.”

You can only hum a reply, your voice catching in your throat as your head starts to spin from the way his hands are now trailing down your side. He reaches the hem of your shirt and pauses, fingers lightly tugging at the fabric.

“Can I take this off?” He asks, pulling back slightly just enough to look down at you. With his messy hair falling into his glossy brown eyes and swollen wet lips, how can you possibly say no to him?

Without a second thought, you nod, your fingers already moving to help him with the fabric. His eyes never leave yours as he slowly lifts your shirt. It slides up over your skin, and you raise your arms to let him pull it off completely, tossing it aside without a care. Your bra comes off next, and when that follows to the floor, his eyes sweep over your body.

There’s a certain look in his gaze. Devotion would be too strong of a word, but it’s something close—something softer, yet just as intense. You’ve seen desire before, felt it in fleeting touches and heated glances, but this is different. This feels different. It’s as if his gaze is reaching into the spaces between your thoughts, gently pulling at the threads that hold you together to unravel you in the most tender of ways.

He kisses the spot between your breasts.

“You’re always so pretty.”

He gives a soft peck just above your heart.

“So incredibly beautiful.”

Then his tongue flicks along the delicate curve of your chest, making a slow, teasing trail upward until he takes one of your nipples into his mouth. He sucks gently, rolling it around with his tongue, and you’re mesmerized by the lewd scene of him drawing your flesh between his lips. Your fingers instinctively find their way back into his hair, tugging on the soft strands as he continues to lap at your sensitive skin.

He then shifts slightly, his mouth releasing your nipple with a soft, wet sound before moving to give the same attention to the other. While he suckles and nibbles on one hardened peak, he rolls the other between his thumb and forefinger, sending a rush of pleasure straight to your core. If you thought you were wet before, you’re certain you’re drenched by now. Your panties cling uncomfortably and the growing desire makes you ache to peel them off.

He must sense your growing need because his kisses trail lower, down to your stomach, while his fingers toy with the waistband of your leggings. His touch is teasing, slipping just under the elastic, and you instinctively lift your hips, silently begging for more. He takes his time as he slides the fabric down your legs, his knuckles brushing against your skin before discarding them somewhere in the room.

Your attention is on him as his palm dances along your inner thigh, and the closer he gets to where you ache him the most, the more your breath hitches in your throat. When his thumb brushes over the wet patch on your panties, your hips buck against him. “Spencer…”

He glances over at you and lets out the most appreciative sigh. You really are beautiful. Eyes full of lust, skin flushed with his marks. You’re a vision of longing, and every part of him is consumed by the sight of you. “Yes?”

You squirm under his gaze. “Aren’t you… going to take them off?”

A slow, teasing smile spreads across his face. “What, these?” He gives a playful tug at the edge of your panties, his fingers just barely slipping beneath the fabric before pulling away. “Are you sure you want them off?”

You try to hold back your groan when his thumb finds your clit. “Yes. I-I’m sure.”

He grins, clearly enjoying the effect he has on you, but instead of giving in immediately, he begins to circle your clit slowly with his thumb, watching your reaction closely. “On a scale from one to ten, how sure are you?”

Now he’s starting to get on your nerves. You can’t hold back the small huff falling from your lips. He simply laughs then slowly takes off the last piece of your clothing. The cool air instantly hits your skin as he grabs your knees, spreading your legs apart. He skims along your naked body and when you notice where his gaze settles, you swallow hard, suddenly feeling very shy.

It's kind of ironic, you think, how you've gotten this far, and now, of all times, you're suddenly blushing like a damn teenager. It's as if your brain is catching up to everything your body already knows—that this is real, and it's happening. You can't help but laugh at yourself a little. Here you are, all tangled up in each other, practically begging him to get you naked and yet you're acting shy now?

He seems to notice the shift in your mood, his hands pausing on your thighs as he looks up at you with concern. He tilts his head slightly, his brow furrowing. “Did I do something wrong?”

You quickly shake your head. “I’m suddenly feeling very self-conscious.”

He studies your face for a moment. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No!” you blurt out, more forcefully than you intended, your hand instinctively reaching out to grab his wrist. “I… I guess I’m not used to feeling this exposed in front of you.”

He shifts slightly, moving closer so he’s eye-level with you, his hands still resting gently on your thighs. “We’ve done this countless times before.”

“I know, but that was years ago. Things feel different now… like there’s more at stake, maybe?” You let out a sigh. “It’s silly.”

“It’s not silly,” he reassures you. He soothes the skin behind your thighs. “But you don’t need to feel self-conscious with me. You’re beautiful, and I just want you to feel as good as you make me feel.”

If he keeps talking to you like that, there’s no doubt you’ll end up giving him your heart on a silver platter by the end of this. He shifts lower down your body. “We can go as slow as you want,” he continues, pressing a kiss to the inside of your thigh, then another. “Just tell me what you need.”

You take a deep breath as his soft stubble grazes your skin. “I need you.”

“Then you’ll have me.”

You watch with heavy lids as he drags his lips along your skin until he presses the most tender kiss on your cunt. He really wasn’t lying when he said he could go as slow as you want because every kiss is achingly gentle, barely more than a feather-light touch. It’s the kind of softness that makes you writhe beneath him, and before you know it, your fingers are tangling in his curls while your hips buck against his face.

There’s a slight vibration on your skin—it could be his laughter, or maybe just a hum of contentment—but you don’t bother deciphering it. You’re too lost in the sensation as his tongue breaches your folds. You peer down and watch as he trails the tip of his tongue through your wetness, slowly tracing up and down your slit until he flicks it against your clit.

You’re honestly gone after that. You’re not surprised, though. If there’s one thing Spencer Reid is good at, it’s knowing exactly how to use his mouth. Sure, he’s a bona fide genius who spouts off random facts and quotes obscure literature, but his mouth? His mouth is a whole different level of expertise. It’s almost unfair how good he is. It’s like he’s studied you, memorized every little thing that makes you go crazy, and now he’s putting all that knowledge to devastatingly good use.

And it’s not like he’s doing it just for your pleasure. It brings him the same deep satisfaction. His eyes are closed, and he seems to lose himself in the act, savoring every taste, every reaction, every subtle shift of your body beneath him. It’s as though he’s completely immersed in finding an almost insatiable need to drink in everything about you. His tongue delves deeper, swirling around your entrance before sucking gently on your folds, pulling the soft skin into his mouth.

You find yourself pressing his head closer to your heat. His eyes flickers up to you. “You’re back.” Your response is simply another push of his head. “Oh. Needy, are we now?”

"Mhm," you manage to squeak out, feeling a rush of wetness seeping out of you. He leans in, his tongue catching a bead of moisture before it drips further, dragging it between your slick folds.

Your grip in his hair tightens.

“Spencer…”

“I know, I know,” he murmurs, his lips curling into a smile before his mouth descends again, this time focusing on your clit. His tongue flicks over the sensitive nub before he gently sucks, pulling it into his mouth with a slow rhythm that has you gasping. Each motion is perfectly timed and you feel yourself growing even wetter under his attention. His tongue swirls, then flattens before he sucks a little harder.

It doesn’t take long for you to feel that familiar coil in your stomach. The pleasure builds steadily, the tension winding tighter and tighter until it slowly overwhelms you. Spencer seems to sense it too, his hands gripping the back of your thighs a little tighter, pushing them further apart as he continues with unwavering focus. He’s not rushing, though, he’s savoring it, but his slow motion is enough to make you snap.

Your hips jerk against his mouth, and he doesn’t miss a beat, holding you steady as he continues his ministrations. He’s relentless in his gentleness, coaxing every ounce of pleasure from you, even as you’re left gasping for air. When you finally come down from the high, Spencer finally lifts his head and places a final, soft kiss on your inner thigh.

“Do you still feel self-conscious now?”

It takes you a moment before you can answer. You smile lazily at him. “Not after that.”

He grins and pulls you up into a sitting position. “Do you think you can give me another one?”

“Spencer,” you breathe out. “Even if you gave me thousands of orgasms, I’d probably ask for more.”

The laugh he lets out is warm and infectious, the sound vibrating through you in a way that makes you smile even wider. “Well,” he starts, slipping his hand down your thigh. “The human body is capable of experiencing multiple orgasms in a relatively short period of time, especially for women. So technically, you could keep asking for more, and I could keep giving them.”

“Even up to a thousand?”

“Maybe not to that extent.” He pulls you close, and you lean your weight against him. “Hold on to me.”

You do as you’re told and somehow you find yourself in a new position. When he spreads your legs apart, your senses go on high alert again. “Spence?”

He kisses your cheek, your jaw, then the corner of your mouth. “Try to relax.”

A gasp escapes your lips as his fingers dive between your thighs. Try to relax? Try to relax? Men and their audacity to tell you what to do, especially when they're the reason you're so wound up in the first place. Because how are you supposed to relax when his fingertips are brushing ever so gently over your clit? How are you supposed to calm your breathing when he’s spreading your arousal up and down your folds?

And how are you supposed to keep your composure when he suddenly fills you with, not one, but two of his fingers?

You feel yourself slipping and he tightens his other arm around your waist. “Told you to hold on.”

He’s starting to annoy you, but you listen to him and bury your face in the crook of his neck. You take a deep breath as he starts to move his fingers. Soap, you decide. It must be his soap, because he smells clean and crisp, almost like fresh linen and a hint of something peppery. It’s almost distracting if it weren’t for the way his fingers are curling inside of you.

Then you feel that sensation again, the kind that ripples through every nerve of your body. At first, it’s manageable, an intensity you think you can handle. But when he suddenly changes his technique, everything shifts. His entire hand moves in a fast, up-and-down motion that catches you completely off guard, and before you know it, you’re whining, your grip tightening on him as your head falls on his shoulder.

The rapid pace makes your head spin. It feels like he’s pulling the control right out of your hands, leaving you questioning your own limits. You’ve seen yourself getting wet, you’ve felt yourself become drenched before, but you’ve never experienced anything like this. You never realized your body could produce this much liquid. It’s not an overwhelming amount, but more than you’ve ever seen from yourself, and it splatters against his hand, dripping down your thighs.

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t even flinch when your nails claw into his shirt. He keeps going, and going, and going, until the only thing you hear is your rapid breathing against his neck and the slick, wet sounds he’s coaxing out of you. You’re overwhelmed (in the best way, of course) but you can’t stop yourself from cursing as the sensation intensifies, multiplies even.

It's not until your body starts to go limp that he finally takes pity on you. He slows down, his fingers pumping lazily inside you. “Good?”

“How did you—when did you—” you exhale a long breath. “I can’t feel my legs.”

He slowly withdraws his fingers out, only to rub your essence over your puffy clit, and your hips jerk once more before he finally stops. You're a trembling mess once you sink into the mattress.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you do that before.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever done that in my life.” Your eyes suddenly feel incredibly heavy that you can't resist letting them flutter close.

He kisses the tip of your nose. “Still up for another one?”

You peer through one eye, and when you catch him starting to undress himself, your other eye shoots open. The nod you give him is eager. His smile widens as he shrugs off his shirt, and you can’t help but let your gaze drop to the line of hair trailing down his stomach. You wonder what it would feel like under your tongue.

"Wait."

Your eyes snap back up to meet his. "What?"

His face twists into a grimace. “I don’t have a condom.”

Shit. Neither did you.

You roll onto your side, propping yourself up on one elbow and resting your head in your hand. “And you’re realizing this just now?”

“I was too focused with you."

And by that, he means giving you the most intense orgasm of your life. You watch as his fingers hover over his belt. “You really didn’t think of bringing one when you decided to come over?”

“My intention coming here wasn’t exactly for this.”

“Well, it would be great if you at least considered the possibility." You study his face and blurt out the first thing on your mind, “I don’t want to stop.”

He shifts his weight on the bed. “Me neither.”

“I mean… we could have sex without using one. We’ve done it before. Once.”

He recalls what you're referring to and lets out an amused laugh. “Are you sure? Didn’t you freak out when you realized your period was late?”

“That was a coincidence! I was stressed out at that time, but I’m safe now—I think.” You pause, brows furrowing as you start calculating your cycle in your head. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I’m not ovulating.”

“Pretty sure?”

You give him a look. “No, I’m actually sure. I know my body, and I’ve done the math. See?” You gesture vaguely, as if the numbers and facts are floating in front of you. “No ovulation in sight.”

The corners of his mouth twitches into a smile. “Alright then,” he murmurs, and leans down to plant a soft kiss on your lips. “No ovulation in sight.”

“None,” you confirm before tugging his belt. “Can you please take off your pants now?”

He complies—with incredible speed—and when he’s finally as naked as you, your mouth waters at the sight of him. His cock is painfully hard, thick, with a bead of arousal glistening at the tip. You try to reach for him, but he has other plans. He crawls over your body and slips between your legs. He then grips the back of your thigh with one hand, pulling it up slightly to open you to him, while the other holds himself from the base.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The moan you let out is lewd. “Fuck, Spencer.”

An airy laugh slips out from him as he rubs the head of his cock around your clit. “So needy.”

You wiggle your hips. “Hurry up.”

He only hums in response, before easing his hips back just enough to drag his swollen tip through your slick outer lips. The underside of his cock splits your folds open with each stroke, and your head is spinning. It’s almost sweet how he’s taking this slow, but at this point, you’re so close to just shoving him inside you. You let out a frustrated whine when he pulls back, only to thrust forward just enough for the head of his cock to nudge at your entrance.

Your walls squeeze around him.

“O-Oh…” His mouth falls open slightly as he stares down at where your bodies meet. “I… I don’t remember you being this tight.”

You follow his gaze, watching the way your outer lips swallow him inch by inch. “I-It’s been a while.”

He pushes further, and your nails dig into his shoulders as he stretches you in a way that feels almost too much, and you can't help but tense when he thrusts further. He wraps your leg around his waist before leaning down, propping his weight on his elbows.

“Need you to relax,” he murmurs, his lips ghosting over the pulse fluttering wildly in your neck. You do as he says. Breathe in, breathe out. Clench, unclench. And then you feel him easing inside you, oh-so-deliciously slow, until you squeak out a gasp when he finally fills you completely.

Because fuck, he stretches you—wrenches you open, and you’re consumed by his heat, the pressure, the sheer size of him. It overwhelms your senses, and all you can do is sing out a filthy moan. He follows your tune with a melody of his own, though his voice trembles, sounding more like he’s in pain as if he’s trying to hold himself back.

“You’re so warm,” he groans, his breath hot against your skin. “You okay?”

You nod and wrap an arm around his shoulders. “More than okay.”

“Do you think I can move?”

“Please.”

There’s no hesitation in the way he pulls back, only to sink into you again. His hips roll against yours in a way that feels both achingly slow and unhurried, like he’s savoring every second to memorize the way you feel around him. It’s like he can’t quite believe this is happening, that you’re giving him the chance to be tangled up with you in this position again.

And truthfully, neither can you.

But here you are, two bodies moving in perfect harmony, intertwined in the most primal, human way. Flesh against flesh, breath against breath. Even your heartbeats sync in the same rhythm. The world beyond seems to dissolve, leaving nothing but the pull of desire that draws you deeper into the moment, into him, until the boundaries of where you end and he begins blur into something undefinable.

It’s nonexistent. You’re glued to him, fused in a way that feels as if this is exactly where you belong.

No more running away, you decide.

“Kiss me.”

He’s in no position to decline, and within a heartbeat, he captures your lips in the sweetest kiss—well, as sweet as it can go. Because even though he tastes like honeyed warmth, his hips continue to pound into you, hitting that deep, tender spot inside. You whine against his lips. A needy, breathless sound that has him faltering for just a second, his hips stuttering against yours.

“You feel so—” he chokes on his words. “God, you’re so perfect.”

You’re perfect, you want to say, but you stop yourself, biting down on the words before they escape. It’s not that you don’t believe it. You just can’t bring yourself to admit it out loud. Not yet. Instead, your need wins out, pushing past everything else.

“More,” you gasp between shallow breaths.

He rests his forehead against yours. “Yeah? You want me to go faster?”

You whine in approval.

The instant he pulls back, his tip barely teasing your entrance before slamming into you again, a sharp gasp escapes your lips. He repeats the motion. Once. Twice. By the third time, he doesn’t hold back, driving his hips hard and fast, the wet sound of your bodies slapping together echoing off the walls.

You turn into a putty mess. You can barely think, let alone form words, your mind clouded with nothing but the feeling of him—inside you, around you. Your whole world narrows down to this moment, to the way he fills you so perfectly. His forehead stays pressed against yours the whole time, his lips hovering above yours he murmurs, “Tell me if it’s too much.”

But it’s not. It’s everything. Maybe even not enough. “I…” you gasp when a certain angle from him hits a deep spot inside you. “Oh, Spencer… harder, p-please.”

He’s more than happy to oblige.

He shifts slightly, then snaps his hips forward with a sudden, forceful thrust. He repeats the motion. Over and over again. His pace is relentless now, and he starts to pant, his breath coming in sharp, ragged bursts, every exhale brushing against your lips. There’s a tension in his body, a taut strain in muscles, but he doesn’t stop. He can’t stop. And you can’t help but moan softly into his mouth, swallowing each of his gasps as his control starts to slip away.

“Where do you want—” His voice falters. “Can I—inside—”

You nod frantically. “Yes. Yes.”

It’s enough to push you both over the edge.

The sensation starts as a gentle warmth in your fingertips, slowly winding its way through your body. It weaves through your limbs, spirals up your spine, before gathering intensely at your core. You’re shaking, trembling, and you instinctively reach out for something to ground yourself. One hand threads into his curls, the other clutches his jaw.

Then it happens. His cock moves in a frantic rhythm, sending you spiraling deeper into intense pleasure for the third time tonight. Your inner walls tighten around him as your orgasm crashes through you, gripping him so tightly that it pulls a raw, breathless groan from his lips. He slams into you with uneven thrusts as he presses your body flat onto the bed, until he stops and shudders, spilling hot, white liquid deep inside you.

You don’t think you’ve ever felt something this intense before—not even with him in the past. Every inch of your body is buzzing as his warmth spreads through you, reaching places you didn’t even know existed. You cling to him, your nails softly grazing his back as he finally lets out a satisfied hum, his lips moving to pepper kisses along your face.

He starts with your left cheek. Two gentle kisses. He moves to your right, giving a light peck that lingers just a moment longer, almost as if he’s blowing a warm breath against your skin. You giggle as the air tickles you. Then finally, he settles on your lips with a sigh that merges into a kiss. It’s soft, sweet, and tenderly slow.

You let out another laugh when he finally pulls away.

“What?”

His curls fall messily on his forehead and you reach up, brushing it back. “You’re starting to grow on me.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “I grow on you?” You simply nod. “Like fungus?”

Your fingers pause in his hair. “Like what?”

"You know, fungus. It grows on things. Like mold or mushrooms,” he explains and gives you a smile. "Am I growing on you like that?"

You’ve been apart for so long that you almost forgot how his brain works. His unexpected comparison sparks your amusement, so you decide to humor him. “Depends on what kind of mushroom you are.”

He looks thoughtful for a while. “There's this mushroom called mycorrhiza. It forms a symbiotic relationship with trees and helps them grow by improving water and nutrient absorption."

“And that makes you what, exactly?”

“Essentially indispensable.”

“So you’re claiming you’re good for me?”

A slow, confident grin spreads across his lips. “I’m saying I’m exactly what you need.”

You burst out laughing. Your cheeks might actually ache from smiling this much. “That was pretty smooth.”

He looks incredibly pleased with himself. Then after a quiet moment, he buries his face in the curve of your neck. You close your eyes, feeling the rise and fall of his chest against yours, and a sigh escapes your lips. It’s like all the time you spent apart melts away in that single breath, and something inside you relaxes, as if he’s managed to sneak back into the parts of you you’d forgotten existed.

Maybe he is right. Maybe, after all this time, he’s exactly what you need.

You wake up to the sound of clatter. It’s loud, jarring, and it echoes around the house. You stir in bed, stretching your limbs before tensing when you feel something poking your back. Your hazy mind immediately snaps into alert, and you open your eyes fully, glancing toward the window. Sunlight is already pouring into the room, far too bright for how early you thought it was.

You quickly turn over to the other side.

“Spencer. Spencer!” you hiss, shaking his shoulders urgently. “Wake up! We overslept!”

He groans softly but doesn’t move. Another loud clatter bounces off the walls, and your heart pounds wildly in your chest.

“Spencer,” you whisper sharply, eyes widening. “I think Matt is home.”

That finally gets his attention. He blinks his eyes open. “Wha—?”

You’re already halfway out of bed, rushing to the window to peek through the curtains. Sure enough, you spot your brother’s car parked in the driveway. “Yep, he’s here,” you mutter under your breath, the panic rising as you turn back to Spencer. “And now he’s going to kill us.”

“He’s not going to kill us,” he mumbles, but even by his voice, you can tell he’s not entirely convinced. You watch as he finally slips out of bed, scrambling to pick up his clothes scattered across the floor. “We talked about this last night. It’s not going to be as bad as you think.”

You shoot him a look before quickly pulling on your own clothes.

“There’s a big difference between telling him, and him finding out that his sister is sleeping with his friend while he was away taking care of his wife and baby.” You yank your shirt over your head. “In his freaking house.”

When you put it that way, Spencer’s heart sinks a little. Although Matt isn’t a violent person, he has twice the muscle he does, and it’s not hard to imagine him being a lot less forgiving in a situation like this. He can’t help but picture the worst-case scenario even though Matt’s always been the reasonable type.

Until now, maybe.

“Do you think I should climb out the window?”

You stare at him in disbelief. "Spencer, you’re not sixteen.”

“Actually, I’ve never been in a situation like this,” he admits, pulling up his pants. “My biggest concern when I was sixteen was getting my first PhD.”

You forgot how ridiculously smart he is. Smarter than most people, definitely smarter than you. “Well now you’re getting firsthand experience.” You start pacing around the room. “Let’s just try to stay calm.”

“That’s kind of hard to do when your brother could walk in while I’m half-naked.”

You look at him in horror. “Then put your damn shirt on!"

Before he can reply, there's a noise from outside the room—a quick shuffle of steps, light and rapid, as if someone’s rushing down the hall. You barely have time to react before the door is wrenched open.

But it's not your brother.

It's far worse.

You feel your stomach drop when your eyes lands on the small figure of your nephew, standing there with wide eyes. His gaze shifts back and forth—from you, disheveled and clearly flustered, to Spencer, whose bare back is facing the door, still fumbling with his pants. From little Jake's point of view, it must look like the most confusing sight, because he quickly retreats, bolting down the hallway.

“Dad! Help! There’s a strange man in Auntie’s room!”

You don’t know whether to laugh or panic. The fact that Jake didn’t recognize Spencer without his usual suit is almost comical. You glance at him, noticing how his body has tensed, his back straightening in alarm.

“Who was that?” he whispers, turning to you with wide eyes.

"Jake.” You blow a strand of hair that falls across your face. “Who apparently thinks you're an intruder."

The blood seems to drain from his face. “He didn’t recognize me?”

Your eyes flick over his appearance—his wild, tangled hair sticking out in all directions, bare chest still slightly flushed from sleep, and pants barely zipped. “Not when you look like this, no.”

But before he can respond, you hear the unmistakable sound of footsteps echoing down the hallway, heavier this time.

Your heart leaps into your throat.

“Shit.”

“I should have climbed out the window.”

The idea of him dangling from the window is even more absurd. You glance toward the door. "Okay, wait here. Let me talk to Matt first." Your eyes flicker to his bare chest again, and you let out the most exasperated sigh. "And please, for the love of God, put on your shirt."

You don’t have time to wait for his response as you rush out of the room, quickly closing the door behind you. You take a second to catch your breath, trying to compose yourself, when a noise down the hallway draws your attention. Only then do you notice Matt cautiously advancing towards your way, his back against the wall.

That’s when you spot the gun in his hand.

“Seriously?” you hiss, staring at him in disbelief. “What the hell, Matthew!”

He looks at you, equally surprised. “Jake said there was a strange man in your room!” he replies defensively, tightening his grip on the weapon. “What was I supposed to think?“​

Your eyes shift toward your nephew, who’s peeking around the corner, his little head barely visible as he watches the scene unfold. This is definitely not how you expected your morning to go. A simple, awkward conversation was one thing, but having to disarm your brother while explaining this mess was an entirely different level.

“There’s no intruder, Matt. Put the gun down.”

He looks past you, his eyes zeroing in on the closed bedroom door. “Then who’s in there?”

You bite the inside of your cheek. There’s no easy way to explain this. How do you even start? That Spencer is standing half-naked in the guest room, trying to gather his dignity after being mistaken for an intruder by a six-year-old? You never thought you'd have to introduce Spencer to your brother this way, in his own house, under these chaotic circumstances.

You can feel Matt's eyes boring into you, waiting for an answer. All you can think is how ridiculous this all must look, and how there's no good way to smooth over the fact that, yes, Spencer Reid, his friend slash teammate, is behind the door. And the most absurd part? A part of you is more worried about the look on Matt's face than the fact that he's holding a gun.

“Please don’t be mad.”

You hold your breath as you slowly reach for the doorknob. You push the door open and let out a small, relieved sound when you see Spencer fully dressed, looking almost presentable, except for the wild hair that refuses to settle. He gives you a small nod before stepping out of the room.

“Uncle Spencer?” Jake’s small voice cuts through the tension. Matt’s gaze darts between you two, his jaw tightening as he puts the pieces together. You can see the moment realization hits him full force.

“Reid?” Matt’s voice is incredulous, bordering on betrayed. “What the hell is going on?”

“I can explain,” you say cautiously. “It’s not exactly how it looks.”

“Not exactly how it looks?” Matt echoes, his eyes narrowing at you, then shifting back to Spencer. “You’re in my guest room looking like you just rolled out of bed—”

“Fully clothed now,” Spencer cuts in quickly, which only earns him a frown from Matt.

“Not helping,” you mutter under your breath, shooting Spencer a look before turning back to your brother. “Fine, it’s exactly how it looks like. So… uh, surprise?”

You watch so many emotions flashing in his eyes. Matt’s always been a good brother. Sometimes annoying, but always reliable. He doesn’t usually get angry at you—quite the opposite, actually. He’s calm, level-headed, and more prone to offering advice than raising his voice. But now? The frustration is clear in his eyes.

He’s not mad exactly, but he’s definitely not happy either.

“Surprise?” Matt repeats, his voice flat. His gaze flick back to Spencer, who’s now shifting his weight awkwardly beside you. “This is how you decided to tell me?”

“Okay, it’s not how we planned it, obviously.”

“Clearly,” he deadpans. You put on the best innocent face you can muster.

You put on the best, innocent-looking face you can muster.

“Maaatttt,” you try again, deciding to use a different approach by being cute this time. “Don’t be so harsh.”

To your relief, it actually works on him, like it usually does whenever you try to charm your way out of trouble. His tough exterior falters because, no matter what, you’re still his baby sister. His face softens for a moment, shoulders dropping as he lets out a sigh.

“I’m not mad, okay? But I am your brother. And you,” he adds, pointing at Spencer. “You’re supposed to be my friend. I feel like I should’ve known about this before… well, before finding you like this.” Your shoulders slumps at his words. “How long has this been going?”

Now that is a tricky question. Explaining that you and Spencer occasionally had sex five years ago definitely isn’t something your brother needs to hear right now—or ever, really. You can almost feel Spencer tense beside you, probably having the same thought.

You clear your throat. “Last night.”

"Last night?" Matt looks at you as if you’re crazy. It might be the most disapproving look he’s ever given to you. "You're telling me this just started last night?"

"But—" you quickly add, holding up a hand to stop his train of thought. "We’ve been talking for a while, it’s not like it happened out of nowhere. Last night was just the first time we decided to actually do something about it."

“Right under my roof?” Matt’s brows pinches upward. “You lied about having a headache, didn’t you?”

“Wait, you had a headache? Why didn’t you tell me?”

You’re not sure you can handle two men pestering you at the same time. You focus on your brother instead.

“Look, we didn’t plan anything yesterday. Things just… happened,” you say, trying to explain without making it sound worse than it already does. “But it’s not only about last night. For what it’s worth, we were planning to tell to you. Just not like this.”

Your brother cocks an eyebrow. “So this isn’t a one-time thing?”

Spencer doesn’t hesitate. “God, no,” he says. You feel an arm snake around your waist. “I care about her. A lot.”

Matt stares at Spencer for a long moment, his face a mixture of frustration, concern, and something else. Acceptance, maybe. He looks back at you. “Is this what you want?”

You feel Spencer’s grip tighten on your waist. He’s also waiting for your answer.

“It’s what I want.”

Spencer’s thumb brushes over you as Matt lets out a long breath, his grip on the gun finally relaxing. “This feels weird.”

“In a good way?”

“In a bizarre kind of way.” Matt’s falls falls on Spencer again. “I’m still trying to process this, but if you hurt her—”

“I won’t,” Spencer promises. “I swear.”

“Good, because you know I can put you back to prison if you do.”

Oh, he knows. Spencer understands exactly what he means, after all, Matt was one of the few people who helped clear his name during one of the most horrific moments of his life. Even if there’s a slight jab in his words, Spencer can tell he’s being dead serious. Especially with that gun still attached to his grip.

You, on the other hand, are hearing this for the first time. “Wait, what?” you blurt out. “Prison? You went to prison?”

Spencer merely shrug. Matt finally lowers his weapon, shaking his head as if he can’t quite believe this is happening. “I need coffee,” he mutters, turning toward the kitchen.

“Wait…” Jake finally peeks out from behind the wall. You blink your eyes, forgetting he’s even there. “Does this mean Uncle Spencer is your boyfriend now?”

You feel three pair of eyes on you. Matt’s gaze is sharp. Spencer’s expression is cautious. And then there’s Jake, looking up at you with the straightforward curiosity only a child can have. To him, things are simple. Either you are, or you aren’t, and in hindsight, it really is a straightforward question. But nothing about this situation has been straightforward.

You look at Spencer for a fraction of a second. You can see the nervous hope reflected in his eyes. Maybe Jake’s question isn’t just his… maybe it’s Spencer’s too.

And sure, maybe it doesn’t have to be so complicated. Maybe it really is as simple as saying—

“Yes.” You can feel your heartbeat in your ears. “I suppose he is.”

If you’ve ever seen Spencer being happy, it pales in comparison to this. His eyes light up, and he looks at you like you’re the only person in the world. A genuine, almost boyish smile spreads across his face as you feel his warmth seep into your skin. There’s so much affection in his gaze it makes your chest tighten. He’s not just happy. He’s beaming.

Matt clears his throat awkwardly. “Come on, kiddo, let’s grab what your mom needs and get back to the hospital.” He glances back at you. “You guys coming?”

You nod absentmindedly. “Sure.”

He throws you both a look. Not hateful, but definitely not warm either. You see him grip his gun from the corner of your eye, more out of habit than necessity, before steering his son away with a firm hand on his shoulders.

“That went better than expected,” Spencer mutters the moment your brother is out of earshot.

“‘It’s not going to be as bad as you think’,” you mock, reciting the words he said to you half an hour ago.

“It wasn’t.”

“Spencer, he held a gun.”

“He thought I was an intruder. I would’ve done the same thing,” he points out, his tone surprisingly calm as he holds you by your waist. “Relax, okay? He’ll come around us. Eventually.”

“You’re awfully optimistic about this.”

“He likes me.”

He does have a point. Matt has always had a soft spot for Spencer, but you’re not sure how far that can go after what just happened. “I think you might have lost a few brownie points today.”

He considers the truth in your words. “Maybe,” he admits with a shrug. “But at least I earned a few with you.”

“Because of the boyfriend thing?” He’s grinning so wide that his eyes practically disappear into crescent moons. You poke the slightest dimple on his cheek. “Don’t act so smug. I’m still trying to process the fact that I’m dating an ex-felon.”

“I was framed,” he explains, and the way he says it so nonchalantly only deepens your confusion. He tries to smooth your frown with a kiss. “I’ll tell you everything on our first date.”

“Who said I’ll go on a date with you?”

“You will,” he simply says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“And what makes you so sure?”

Because he’s always been sure. The man who doubts everything, who overanalyzes every situation, looks at you with a certainty that makes your heart swell. You’ve seen that look before—the one that says he’s considered every possible outcome and decided this is the one that matters most. There’s something magnetic about it, the way he seems to know exactly what he wants, and right now, it’s you.

“Because I’m your mushroom.”

He’s so silly, yet there’s something so perfectly Spencer about it that makes the idea of not going on a date with him feel impossible. You shake your head, unable to suppress your smile.

“You’re ridiculous,” you mutter, but the warmth in your chest tells you he’s already won your heart.

And you don’t mind him keeping it.

[ponderingmoonlight]

Hello!! If you’re still taking requests I’d love to see a Nanami x Reader fic where the reader is pregnant but doesn’t realize yet but I’d like showing OBVIOUS symptoms and for Nanami to start to catch on to them, I don’t know if that’s like weird? 😭 Also I hope you’re doing good!!

THIS. IS. EVERYTHING.

Yeah, we're doing this right now

Nanami realizing you're pregnant before you do

Pairing: Nanami x fem!reader

Word Count: 2,2k

Synopsis: well, basically the request above hehe

Warnings: I mean, reader is pregnant lol, fluff fluff fluff, Nanami is just the greenest flag I can't, please tell me you enjoy this as much as I do, I LOVE THAT MAN

Lately, everything feels… off.

It's subtle at first. Mornings are harder than they used to be, a strange kind of sluggishness that lingers in your limbs no matter how much coffee you drink after waking up. Your back aches at the most random times. And don't even get started on the nausea that strikes out of nowhere, leaving you clutching the bathroom sink with trembling hands.

But, still, it doesn’t cross your mind - not at first.

Nanami’s been noticing though. He’s always been perceptive, sharp in the way he observes the world, but lately, his focus seems to rest more on you. It starts with the small things: a subtle glance as you push your breakfast away with a grimace, the way his brow furrows when you wince, pressing a hand to your lower back. He doesn’t ask you about it immediately, and you’re grateful for that. Nanami doesn’t rush things, never has. He knows you well enough to wait until the right moment.

Today, however, something is different.

It’s a quiet Saturday morning. You’re both in the kitchen, sunlight streaming through the curtains in soft beams. Nanami’s making coffee, his movements precise as always, while you sit at the kitchen table with your hands wrapped around a cup of ginger tea. You’ve been craving that instead of coffee these days, the rich scent of the brew turning your stomach in a way it never used to. To be honest, you’ve never been a tea drinker your whole life.

He’s noticed that too.

You yawn, stifling the sound behind your hand as you stretch in your chair. There’s a strange heaviness in your body, and the thought of going back to bed, even after a full night’s sleep, is oddly tempting. It’s the third time this week that the idea of a nap has crossed your mind before noon. You blink hard, forcing your eyes to focus, and turn to Nanami, who’s watching you over the rim of his cup.

“Are you feeling alright?” he questions, his tone neutral but his eyes searching.

“Yeah, why?” you respond, but your voice lacks its usual energy.

Even to your own ears, it sounds tired. You clear your throat and offer a small smile, hoping to brush off the question as well as the wave of concern that starts bubbling up your chest all over again.

“I’ve just been a little out of it lately, that’s all.”

Nanami places his cup down on the counter, his gaze never leaving your face.

“You’ve been ‘a little out of it’ for a while now, darling.”

There’s a weight to his words, a quiet concern that has your defenses rising instinctively. You sit up straighter, forcing a more convincing smile this time.

“I’m fine, really. Just tired. It’s probably work.”

It’s true, to some extent. Work has been stressful, the usual demands piling up, but this exhaustion feels… different. It’s deeper, sinking into your bones in a way that no amount of rest seems to fix.

Nanami doesn’t say anything right away, but you can feel him assessing you. His silence is almost louder than words. You know he won’t push you to talk, but his patience, the way he waits for you to come to your own conclusion, can be just as insistent.

You sigh, leaning back in your chair and rubbing at your eyes. There’s no way you’ll get out of this situation, not when your beloved boyfriend sits opposite of you with his calm but demanding orbs staring straight through your soul.

“I don’t know. Maybe I’m coming down with something?”

It’s a flimsy excuse, and you both know it. But before you can think of anything else to say, a wave of nausea hits you hard and fast, making you lurch forward. You press a hand to your mouth, eyes wide as the world tilts just slightly. Oh god, not again.

Nanami is at your side in an instant, his hand on your back, warm and grounding.

“Hey, hey… breathe,” he murmurs gently, his thumb rubbing small circles against your spine.

“It’s okay. Just breathe.”

You close your eyes and focus on the rhythm of your breathing, counting each inhale and exhale until the nausea begins to subside. Slowly, you sit back, wiping at your mouth with the back of your hand. The embarrassment is hot on your face, and you can’t quite meet Nanami’s eyes.

“I’m fine, Kento”, you mutter, though you can tell it sounds unconvincing.

Nanami’s hand is still on your back, his touch firm yet gentle. He doesn’t say anything, not yet. You know he’s waiting, giving you space to figure out what’s going on. But even through your haze of denial, a part of you knows the truth is starting to unravel.

“Does this happen often?”

His voice is calm, but there’s an undercurrent of something more. Something you can’t quite place.

You swallow hard, not sure how to answer.

“It’s just been the past couple of weeks,” you admit quietly.

“I think it’s stress. Maybe some kind of stomach bug?”

Nanami’s brow furrows slightly, and he crouches down beside your chair, his eyes searching your face with that same quiet intensity.

“Are there any other symptoms?”

Your mouth opens to say no, but then you stop, thinking back over the past few weeks. The tiredness, the nausea, the strange sensitivity to smells, your shifting moods - small things you’d brushed off or tried to ignore. But now, all at once, it feels like they’re adding up, slotting together in a way that you hadn’t considered before.

You glance down at your hand, the one resting on your stomach, and something inside you clicks.

Oh.

Oh.

Nanami must notice the shift in your expression because his hand stills on your back.

“What is it?” he asks, his voice low and steady.

You swallow hard, the words catching in your throat before you finally manage to speak.

“I think… I might be pregnant.”

There. You’ve said it. And the weight of those words hangs heavy in the air between you, a truth you hadn’t been ready to acknowledge until now.

Kento doesn’t react immediately. His expression stays calm, though you can see the flicker of something in his eyes - surprise, perhaps, or maybe something more. Did he already suspect this? Is this why he pushed you to think about your symptoms further? Slowly, he straightens up, standing in front of you now as he takes a deep breath.

“Are you sure?”

You shake your head, feeling a little lost.

“I’m not. I… I hadn’t really thought about it until just now.”

The truth is, you hadn’t considered the possibility at all. With everything going on - work, life, the general busyness of existing, it hadn’t crossed your mind that this could be the reason behind everything you’ve been feeling.

But now that it’s out in the open, you can’t help but wonder how you missed the signs.

Nanami’s hand gently cups your chin, tilting your face up so that you’re looking at him. His gaze is steady, calm in a way that grounds you, just like always.

“Let’s not jump to conclusions yet,” he says quietly.

“But if you think there’s a chance…”

You nod, your throat suddenly tight.

“Yeah. There might be.”

For a long moment, neither of you says anything. The air between you feels thick with unspoken emotions, a quiet understanding settling between you. Nanami steps closer, his hand moving from your chin to cup your cheek instead, his thumb brushing against your skin.

“We’ll figure this out,” he murmurs, his voice soft.

“Together.”

The sincerity in his words washes over you, bringing with it a flood of emotions you hadn’t realized you were holding back. You blink, your vision blurring slightly as you reach up to cover his hand with yours.

“I’m scared,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Nanami’s expression softens, and he leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“I know. But whatever happens, we’ll face it together. I promise” he mutters against your skin.

You nod, your heart swelling with a mix of fear, uncertainty, and something else, something warmer, softer. You aren’t alone in this. No matter what happens, you have your boyfriend by your side, steady and unshakable.

He pulls back slightly, his eyes meeting yours again.

“Do you want to take a test?” he asks, his voice careful, as if he’s gauging your readiness.

You hesitate, biting your lip.

“I… I don’t know. Maybe? I mean, I guess I should, right?”

Nanami nods, but he doesn’t push.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

The idea of taking a test feels overwhelming, like it would make everything real in a way you’re not sure you’re prepared for. But at the same time, the uncertainty is starting to weigh on you, the not knowing gnawing at the edges of your thoughts.

You take a deep breath, closing your eyes for a moment as you try to gather yourself. When you open them again, Nanami is still there, watching you with that quiet patience you’ve come to rely on so much.

“Okay,” you say finally, your voice trembling just a little.

“Okay. I’ll take a test.”

Nanami squeezes your hand gently, a reassuring presence beside you.

“I’ll go get one,” he offers, his tone calm and matter-of-fact, like he’s suggesting something as simple as picking up groceries.

You nod, feeling a little more settled now that a decision has been made.

“Yeah, okay. Thank you.”

He leans down, pressing another soft kiss to your forehead before pulling back.

“I’ll be back soon.”

With that, he grabs his keys and heads for the door, casting one last glance over his shoulder before he slips out into the hallway.

Once he’s gone, the quiet of the apartment feels almost too loud. You sit there for a long moment, staring at the cup of tea in front of you, your mind racing with thoughts you can’t quite hold onto.

Pregnant. You might be pregnant.

The idea feels too big, too surreal to grasp, and yet it’s there, lingering just at the edge of your awareness. A part of you is scared, terrified of the changes this could bring. But another part, a part you’re only just beginning to acknowledge, feels something else. Hope, maybe? Excitement? It’s hard to tell.

All you know for sure is that everything feels different now, that your whole life will be turned upside down if this test comes out positive.

When Nanami returns a short while later, test in hand, you take it from him with trembling fingers. He doesn’t say anything, just gives you a small, reassuring nod as you disappear into the bathroom.

The minutes that follow are some of the longest of your life. You pace back and forth in front of the sink, your heart pounding in your chest as you wait for the results. The silence feels deafening, and all you can do is focus on your breathing, trying to keep yourself calm.

Finally, the time is up. You glance down at the test, your breath catching in your throat as you read the result.

Positive.

You stare at it for a long moment, your mind struggling to process what you’re seeing. And then, slowly, the reality starts to sink in.

You’re pregnant.

With shaking hands, you open the bathroom door to find Nanami standing just outside, waiting. He looks up at you, his expression calm but expectant.

“Well?” he asks quietly.

You swallow hard, your voice catching in your throat as you hold up the test.

“It’s positive.”

For a moment, Nanami doesn’t say anything. His eyes flicker to the test in your hand, and then back to your face, his expression unreadable. And then, slowly, he steps forward, wrapping his arms around you in a gentle, grounding embrace.

“We’re going to be okay,” he murmurs against your hair.

“You’re going to be okay.”

And somehow, with his arms around you, you really believe him. Maybe you will be able to work this out. After all, you have none other than Kento Nanami by your side, right?

“Kento…”, you begin, the flood of sniffs and wild emotions now slowly but surely calming down.

“What is it, darling?”

“Did you…did you know?”

He sends a small smile your way while gently stroking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I couldn’t be sure. But after seeing you like this for a couple of weeks now, I had some suspicions”, he admits quietly.

You let out a huff.

“I can’t believe you realized it earlier than I did.”

“You are my life, (y/n). I notice every little thin about you.”

“And now you’ll be the father of a child”, you breathe out.

The words still feel strange while rolling off your tongue. Kento Nanami will be a father – the father of your child.

You are pregnant.

This is real.

“And I couldn’t ask for a better mother for my child.”

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[giannaln4]

I Missed You

lando norris x fem reader

summary: You missed seeing Lando being happy after a race, and you couldn't wait to tell him how proud you were.  (1.4k words)

warnings: fluff, stablished relationship, a bit of mclaren slander

a/n: when i tell you i loved this idea SO SO much. i’m not too sure i’m happy with how this turned out but i really hope you guys enjoy it 🩷 i apologise for posting this just before the race but it was a bit hard to get started for some reason 😭 anyway pls let me know what you think!!

check out the original request here!

↺ back to navigation — send me a request!

The weekend in Monza was one you were hoping to forget. The tension in the air reflected not only in the team but also in the comments people were making about it, having even sports commentators and content creators question McLaren’s entire strategy to keep their fighting position in the WCC and also have a shot at the WDC. 

Lando’s demeanour immediately after getting off the car was something you would never forget, though, even if you tried. It was pretty obvious for everyone, even if he tried his hardest to never say something bad about his team and his teammate. That team was his home anyway. He had been with McLaren even before his F1 career started, and even after weekends like this one, he would never doubt he wanted to achieve great things with them.

That is probably what made it harder for him. This year they were competing not only for points and podiums but for something bigger, and after knowing what he is capable of, ending up in that position absolutely crushed him, and you hated to see him debating with himself. 

Once the weekend was finally over and you were leaving Italy, you wanted to make him feel better, telling him how great he was and how proud you were. You even shot some comments at McLaren for everything that went down, but he didn’t want to hear it; he barely wanted to talk about it, so you just dropped it. You understood him anyway, so you had to leave everything behind and just be supportive of your boyfriend.

You were hoping this weekend would be different, better, everyone was, and there was a lot of talking in the team that they would make the right decisions to keep fighting now that they had the chance. This, of course, would only mean something until they actually proved it during the race. 

Lando was in a better mood coming into this weekend; he trusted his team and he was confident they were backing him up. That was until the qualifying came. A yellow flag being pulled out by mistake during Q1 caused him to lose the opportunity to even put up a fight, and he ended up being P17. It wasn’t even his fault, but you knew he was beating himself up for that result. 

“Lando,” you called him right after he came back to the garage to watch the rest of the qualifying. He looked at you with a disappointed smile. “It’s not your fault, baby.”

“I know.” He pulled you into a hug, not wanting you to worry about him too much. “There’s nothing I could have done. We just have to wait and see what we can do tomorrow.”

“I’m sure you’ll do amazing,” you replied into his chest, rubbing small circles in his back to let him know you were there for him, no matter what. 

“We’ll see. The car felt okay, but it’s hard to overtake on this track. It’s quite a long straight.” He let out a nervous giggle as he pulled away; he didn’t sound as confident as you were hoping, but you knew he was right. “Some of it is just going to have to cross our fingers.”

There was no point in fighting him when he got like that, so you just nodded. “I’ll be crossing everything I have then.”

He went off with the rest of his team as you stayed back to watch the rest of the cars complete the qualifying. The air was starting to get tense again, and even though you knew everyone was nervous with Lando’s result, you weren’t sure if it was just your own feelings talking. But like Lando said, you were going to have to wait and see what the team could come up with, you were just hoping they would do the right thing.

Race day was finally here, and with Lewis starting from the pit lane due to a new power unit and Pierre being excluded due to fuel flow rate, Lando had been promoted to P15. Sure, it would have been better if Lando had the chance to fight for his starting position, but at least that was something. 

You could see he was still not completely confident in how the race would go, but you trusted enough for the both of you. 

Watching the race from the garage was something that always made you incredibly nervous, but especially in this position. But Lando managed to get to P12 by lap 2, and everyone was incredibly excited by his overtakes. 

As the race went on and he felt more confident with the car, he started to climb his way up to the top 10, trusting the team’s decisions with the strategy they were sticking to, and you were so glad everything was falling in place. 

The rest of the race still made you bite your nails at how nervous you were, but the bliss in the entire garage when he overtook someone was indescribable. He was driving the race of his life, and even the radios he exchanged with the team radiated that. As always, the last few laps were nervewracking, but the fact that he made it all the way to P6 and was even helping Oscar with his own race left everyone with a good taste. Not a complete terrible weekend after all. 

During the last lap, however, an unfortunate crash between Carlos and Checo pushed him to P4, meaning he gained 11 positions during the race; not that you ever doubted him, but seeing him end up there with the fastest lap after an absolute mess of the qualifying made you excited to see him. After confiming everyone was okay, you took the liberty to celebrate your boyfriend’s race.

Lando got out of the car and went to greet his team, cheers and smiles all over the place. Everyone was praising him for the incredible work he made, and his smile didn’t go away for a second the entire time. 

You knew you would still have to wait to congratulate him; he still had to do media before coming back to his room, where you were waiting for him, but seeing him so happy in the monitors made you grow impatient. 

It felt like it had been a while since you saw him so happy after a race.

After what felt like forever, you heard him come back to the garage. You stoop up from the small couch and opened the door, where you were greeded by your boyfriend. 

“Hey, you.” You said, closing the door behind him.

“Hi,” he replied, smile so big you could see his dimples.

“That was amazing, Lando. I knew you would do amazing, but I can’t even describe how proud I am.” 

He smiled even more at your words. He closed the distance between you when he took a few steps, wrapping you in his arms and kissing you deeply. You could even feel him smiling then, and that filled your heart.

“Thank you; it was a good day,” he said when he pulled away, looking down at you with loving eyes. “I think everything worked out.” You just nodded as you admired him.

“I missed you,” you whispered as you brushed a few curls that fell on his forehead.

“What do you mean? We’ve been together the last three weeks. You saw me just before the race." To say he was confused was an understatement, and you could see it in his face.

“I mean you, this. I missed seeing you so happy and smiley. Looks good on you.”

Lando was a bit embarrassed by your confession; he thought he did a better job at hiding how much the results affected him, at least to you. It was never his intention to be so down when he was with you, but man, was he endeared by your words. “I needed this,” was all he said, and you know he was right. And it wasn’t only him; you knew the team needed this as well.

“I know, and I know you hate to hear it, but I told you.”

He let out a laugh, not a nervous one this time. “Yes, you did,” he hugged you again, much tighter as he buried his face on the crook of your neck. “Thank you for being here and supporting me, even during my bad times.” He spoke with so much sincerity. 

“I wouldn’t change it for the world.”

[hgfictionwriter]

Discovery - Part Three

Jessie Fleming x Reader

Summary: Jessie spends the night for the first time and things come to a head. She's trying desperately to not hurt you, but instead, it's all she seems to be doing.

Warnings: G!P content. Masturbation (J). Body image issues or even dysphoria; mental and emotional anxiety; internal conflicts. Angst. Reluctant gaslighting??

A/N: Chapters one and two.

“Are you sure you have everything you need?”

Jessie smiled as she stood at the end of the couch, freshly changed into her pyjamas. You stood across from her, casually leaning against the doorframe to your bedroom. You wore your sleepwear as well, a baggy t-shirt and some shorts which she found incredibly cute. She tried to not let her eyes linger too long on your toned legs.

“I’m totally fine. You’ve set up quite the digs for me here,” she said as she gestured to the pillows and blankets.

“Okay,” you said with a small laugh. “And I set aside a couple of towels for you in the bathroom in case you want to shower when you wake up.”

“Awesome. Thank you. I tend to get up pretty early. I’ll try not to wake you up.” You waved her off.

“Don’t worry about it. I may not be up quite as early as you, but you know I’m a morning person myself.” You paused. “Okay, well, I hope you have a good sleep. I’ll see you in the morning. And if you need or want anything, just help yourself.”

“Will do. Thanks, babe,” Jessie said as she gave you a soft kiss. She sensed how you both wanted it to linger, but she forced herself to pull away. She smiled. “Good night.”

“Good night. And,” you shrugged trying to put on an air of nonchalance, “thanks for spending the night.”

Jessie chuckled and brought a hand to the back of her head. “Well, I know me biking home at ungodly hours of the night has been stressing you out the past few weeks, so, you know. Happy to finally put your mind at ease.”

She gave you another quick kiss and you retreated to your bedroom. She stared at the closed door for a few seconds before releasing a tight breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She settled into the couch, turning off the light and getting under the blankets.

She sighed contently and stared up at the ceiling. She could hear soft noises coming through the wall as you settled into bed as well.

The weeks had passed and Jessie was really happy with how your relationship had grown. Emotionally, things were even stronger - there was no question of that. Though she had to cast aside guilt every time you mentioned how close you felt to her.

That aside, simple acts of affection, like a kiss, were easier and more commonplace for you both now. And you even made out regularly, but they were always short and fleeting sessions. Jessie had been working very hard to desensitize herself and had even started wearing different clothes in hopes of better concealing a rogue erection. Still, it wasn’t a solution.

You were patient with her, but she could see your frustration building. And God, she understood, she was frustrated too.

It was inevitable that she’d need to spend the night at some point. You’d been dating for a few months and though her travel and schedule bought her time, she was running out of excuses as to why she couldn’t stay. Questions were starting to mount from your friends as well and though you laughed it off as you retold the stories to Jessie, she could see it weighed on you.

As for tonight, you told her she didn’t need to sleep on the couch, but didn’t push it at all.

Jessie was used to sleeping pretty much anywhere and everywhere, so she slept soundly through the night. When she woke, the first rays of light were just starting to break through. She blinked a few times, slowly coming to. She shifted slightly before freezing in place.

“Shit,” she mouthed as she lifted the covers and glanced down in a panic, only to confirm that her cock was jutting up and pulling her sweats tight.

She dropped the covers and looked up at the ceiling with an inaudible huff, her irritation with herself immediate.

It wasn’t entirely uncommon for her to wake up like this, and in recent years, it didn’t really matter. But laying here in your living room, sporting a raging hard on that would serve as a devastating discovery, it filled her mind with flashbacks to panicked mornings at sleepovers she tried desperately to avoid in high school.

She closed her eyes and worked to relax. There were two ways of resolving this and one was not an option right now.

She lay there for a few minutes and frowned in frustration. Normally, if she just relaxed or went about her morning routine it would just go away. She huffed under her breath and picked up her phone to start scrolling to try to distract herself.

Every time she thought of something else and was close to settling down, her mind insisted on shifting back to you and she'd remain at full attention. She rubbed her face in agitation.

"Come on," she coached herself.

The friction of the fabric being pulled taut against her as she fidgeted made matters worse. When her toes began to curl and her fists began to clench and unclench she shook out her head.

She stared at the bathroom door.

She shouldn't. She really, really shouldn't.

She checked the time. You normally woke up around this time. She couldn't just be laying out here, cock standing up defiantly, when you came out. Sure, the blanket might be able to conceal it to some degree, but...then what.

A heavy exhale escaped her lips. She couldn't believe she was doing this. She threw off the blanket and walked as swiftly and quietly to the bathroom as she could, closing the door gingerly behind her so as not to wake you. She checked the lock before turning on the shower and getting undressed.

It was a relief when she took off her boxer briefs and her cock sprang up. She stepped into the shower and wasted little time before dealing with her nuisance.

At home, it didn't take much for her to cum. She could drag it out if she wanted to, but if she was in a time crunch, that wasn't a problem. Right now? The minutes passed as she stood under the warm water and grit her teeth as she tried to find some release. She leaned a hand out against the shower wall and closed her eyes again as she pictured you - what your touch would feel like, how you'd feel gripping her, how you'd sound, how you'd look beneath her or riding her cock.

Fuck, she should be cumming, but she was too in her head.

"Jess - what do you-"

"What!" Jessie bellowed, her eyes flying open as she recoiled from the wall. Her chest heaved, breaths shallow and her heartbeat deafening in her ears as she stared in panic at the inside of the shower curtain before taking a tentative step and peering around it. The bathroom was empty.

Her lips were parted as she tried to catch her breath. She could've swore you were inside. She could see from here the door was still locked.

"Sorry," you said through the door, tone undecipherable. "I'll just talk to you after."

She cleared her throat, staring helplessly at the back of the door.

"Sorry! I-I was just surprised. What's going on?"

Silence.

Well. That was one way to deal with her arousal. There was nothing to worry about now.

Jessie dried herself off as quickly as possible and got changed. The pit in her stomach was heavier than ever as she recited different apologies or explanations in her head.

She yelled at you. She couldn't believe it. She didn't yell at people like that - especially not people she cared about. Loved. She grit her teeth together almost painfully.

This secret was twisting who she was and how she was showing up for you.

Her hand on the door knob, she took a deep, steadying breath before twisting it and stepping out. It only took a second to see you sitting quietly at the dining table with a book in hand. You didn't look at her right away and her stomach dropped.

"Hey," Jessie said gently as she approached. She tried to not be tentative, she didn't want to exacerbate what happened, but she couldn't help herself. "Good morning." She forced a smile onto her face.

"Hi," you said. Though a hint of a smile remained on your face, the open smile you started with dissipated as quickly as it formed. Your gaze fell briefly before you refocused on her. You smiled again, nervously this time as you gestured vaguely towards the bathroom. "Um, sorry about that. I didn't mean to-"

"Oh no," Jessie interjected, dismissing your apology with a wave of her hands. "I'm sorry. I-I was just surprised. It didn't mean anything though."

"Oh. It's okay," you shrugged, dropping eye contact. "I shouldn't have bothered you. I could've just waited."

"No," Jessie countered with a frown. "I shouldn't have reacted like that."

You chuckled lightly, a faint, perhaps rueful smirk forming at the edge of your mouth. "I mean, it caught me off guard - not gonna lie. But I caught you off guard too, so, we're even."

Jessie felt her face heating up and she scruffed up her hair.

"No, that's not fair. I'm sorry," Jessie persisted.

You shrugged, sitting back, eyes fixed on your now-closed book for a moment. "We're still new; learning each other's boundaries. You don't like to be interrupted when you're showering." You laughed as you looked up to her with a smirk. "That's completely fine. I just didn't know."

Jessie held back a heavy sigh. This was so stupid.

"It wasn't that. I think I just thought you'd come in and I freaked out. I'm sorry."

"I wouldn't do that," you frowned in disbelief. "I," you gave an exasperated sigh and dropped your hands to your lap, "was just trying to see what you wanted for breakfast." Jessie was about to speak went you frowned deeper and spoke in a somewhat hushed voice. "Why would I barge in on you? We haven't even- never mind." You shook your head.

Jessie's stomach tightened and she sighed in an effort to reset. "Look, I'm very, very sorry. And yeah, it was stupid of me to think you were just barging in. I-" she shook her head as she tried to conjure up the right words. She shrugged in defeat. "This is entirely on me. Not you."

You gave her a look. "Oh, I love that line."

"It's not a line," she refuted before hanging her head in her hands and groaning. She straightened back up and gave you a beseeching look. "Can I make you breakfast? Please?"

You half rolled your eyes. "I was going to make you breakfast."

"No, come on," Jessie said as she headed to the kitchen and opened the fridge. "I owe you."

You relented and soon enough Jessie was sitting down across from you, plates of eggs and toast in front of you both.

There was conversation during breakfast, but it was stilted. This was not at all what Jessie pictured for your first morning together and of course it was her fault. It took valiant effort on her part to not get down on herself in this moment. If she did, she'd clam up and it would only make things worse.

Jessie insisted on doing the dishes after breakfast, despite your protests. You didn't finish your food, instead claiming it tasted good, but you just weren't that hungry. She hadn't even had a chance to inquire as to your plans for the day before you excused yourself, telling her you had to run some errands and meet up with a friend after. She wanted to offer to join you for errands, but got the sense you didn't want that.

When you parted ways that morning, she well and truly felt like shit.

----------

Thankfully, the awkwardness of that morning was fleeting and soon you two were back to normal. She'd even stayed a few more times over the passing weeks without incident and for that she was grateful.

She begrudged your situation more and more because all she wanted was to be with you. She wanted to spend every night with you, she wanted to fall asleep with you in her arms and wake up just the same. But, that couldn't be. Yet anyway.

Janine had been on her case to tell you everything, and she knew Janine was right, but every time she went to broach the subject her mouth went dry and she just chickened out.

At the start, she tried to tell herself that if she gave your relationship more time, it would be more comfortable to bring up, you'd have a solid foundation to fall back on. Even then, she knew it was a lie to cover up her cowardice. But now, several months into your relationship and even longer into your friendship, it felt like an impossibility to address. It felt like a betrayal.

And stupid moments caused friction. You two had been laughing about something and Jessie sat down after and you sat in her lap. Though she let you sit there for a short while, the way you shifted against her was far too risky. She tried to subtly coax you off, but she caught the look of embarrassment on your face.

Tonight, you were cuddled up on the couch watching a movie together. Then, of course, a hot and heavy sex scene started playing.

You both remained perfectly still as you both watched. The tension and anxiety Jessie felt was palpable and she was sure you felt it too. It's not that you'd never come across explicit scenes before together, but it was more and more awkward over time.

"Wow. They're really going for it," you muttered at some point as the scene dragged on, breaking the silence. She looked at you out of the corner of her eye and saw you rub your temple with a near-grimace on your face.

Her heart raced. Maybe she could use this as an opportunity. She cleared her throat and resettled into her position on the couch. She scratched at the corner of her eye.

"Yeah, totally," she said distractedly in response to your comment. "Um," she could feel her face heating up already, "I know you're into girls - I mean, obviously." Jessie's head lolled to the side as she shrugged. "But um, does that mean, you know, you've never slept with a guy? Or you know, been interested? In you know, sleeping with a guy?"

When she turned to look at you, she was met with a very perplexed stare. You frowned.

"What do you mean?" You asked, a slight edge in your voice and Jessie felt her face burning hot. She pulled her hand out of yours as she held out her palms while she spoke.

"I was just curious," she said as she brought her shoulders high in a prolonged shrug.

"Have you?" You asked pointedly.

"Wha- Me? Slept with a guy? Well, no," Jessie stammered, feeling your eyes bore into the side of her face as she spoke towards the TV. She looked back at you as she finished and you looked away.

"Mm," you voiced and you settled into the cushion a bit further, still not looking at her as you folded your arms tight against yourself.

"Well, um," her gaze flit about as she tried to map out how to proceed, "is that bad?"

"That you haven't slept with a guy?" You asked, that edge still in your voice as you looked at her. "Guess that all depends if you think it's bad that I have."

"You have?" Jessie asked brightly and you gave her an even more confused look. "Did you like it?"

"What? I'm so confused right now." You pushed yourself back up and turned your body partially towards her. "I don't know where you're going with this. But me sleeping with a guy before doesn't mean anything." You frowned. "If you're asking if I liked fucking a cock," you gave a faint laugh with a pointed look, "clearly not enough." You sat back against the couch once more and shot her a smirk. "That curiosity was satisfied and I don't ever need to do it again. A strap is more than enough for me."

Jessie's body froze and she held her breath in her lungs unknowingly. She eventually swallowed and looked away, settling back into the couch as well, but unable to speak. She felt numb.

"Hey, did I say something wrong?" You asked. She could see you sitting forward to peer at her. She felt your hand rest on her thigh and she cleared her throat, pulling away slightly before fixing her gaze on the TV again.

"Wha-" You started, shoulders dropping as you stared at her in confusion. "Babe, I don't-" You trailed off again. A moment passed, but you didn't break your stare. "I'm sorry if I said something wrong."

"It's all good," Jessie said lightly, offering you a fleeting glance before nodding at the screen. "I was just curious. Can we watch the rest of the movie?"

She saw your body slump out of the corner of her eye and felt your eyes still on her. You seemed to contemplate what to do, but eventually sat back. You went to grasp her hand, and although she didn't pull away this time, she didn't reciprocate as her fingers rest loosely around your grip.

"Do you want to sleep with a guy?" You asked slowly, not letting up.

"No," Jessie responded firmly.

"Well, what is this about? I'm sorry," you repeated emphatically. "I know we never talk about sex. I'm sorry if I said too much. But you asked, so I answered...," you trailed off.

Your note about how you avoided the topic of sex like the plague made matters worse. She tried not to let out a sigh of exasperation, settling for a glance down at your hand and a feeble shrug. "It was nothing. Let's just watch the movie, okay?"

"I can tell it's not nothing," you went on and Jessie turned to you this time, giving you a steady stare. You looked so sorry, confused, helpless even. Part of her felt bad, but at this point she mostly felt bad for herself. Her emotions were churning and she wasn't sure how to feel or what to say. She wanted to leave.

She stood up and caught the look of concern on your face, but turned her back to you anyway.

"Where are you going?" You asked. She could hear you push yourself to the edge of your seat.

She scratched the back of her head. Her conviction to leave now wavering. She pushed her hair back.

"Just gonna grab some water," she settled on, her voice low and flat. She forced herself to turn and give you as much of a smile as she could muster. You looked unconvinced and were about to speak, when she cut you off. "Want anything?"

You paused, seeming to relent. You stared at her for a couple of seconds before dropping your gaze. "No," you said quietly as you sat back.

When Jessie returned to the couch, the tension was no better, but you'd seemed to be giving her space, which she was grateful for.

Her mind ran rampant throughout the rest of the movie. She caught herself fidgeting several times over; running her palms harshly against the top of her thighs, picking at her fingers, bouncing her knee. She wasn't being very subtle about her unrest, but you kept your distance.

The movie ended and the credits rolled and neither of you went to speak or make a move. Jessie fought the renewed urge to leave.

Eventually, you spoke.

"It's pretty late. Guess we should go to bed?" You asked in more of a statement than a question. Jessie didn't look at you and simply nodded. Another pause.

"You don't have to stay if you don't want," you offered, voice softer than before.

She shot you a look, holding eye contact. Even though she wanted to leave a moment ago, the fact that you offered it caused her temper to flare.

"Sure. If that's what you want," she said in a restrained manner as she stood.

"What? I-no. Jess," you implored. "That's not what I meant." She heard you stand, but she kept her back to you. "I-you just seem...restless. And not happy with me. So..., I was just saying you shouldn't feel obliged to stay the night. I want you to stay, but, only if you want it, too."

"Why would I be upset with you?" Jessie asked evenly as she turned to face you. She knew it was entirely unfair to ask, but she was so out of sorts and didn't know how to manage.

You gave almost a pained laugh. "I was hoping you could tell me. Because I don't know." You gave a quick shake of your head and held out your hands in defeat. "You asked me this question about sleeping with guys. I answered, and now you won't talk to me."

"And I told you it was nothing. I was just curious. I'm just tired. It's been a long week," she said. She knew she should offer you some kind of reassurance - the truth, for one - but even a smile or a kiss or something. She couldn't bring herself to do it.

You didn't believe her; that was clear. Still, you nodded.

"Okay. Well. If you want to talk at some point, I'm open. I'd like to," you offered before clasping your hands together and shrugging. "And, I do want you to spend the night still. If you like."

How? After how cold she'd been. Cagey. You still wanted her to stay. You were too good for her. The anger she'd been using to build a wall between you weakened.

"Okay," she said quietly, kicking idly at the hardwood floor, her eyes downcast before looking up at you. "If you're alright with me staying, I will."

You gave a discouraged shake of your head. "Yes, of course I want you to stay. Jess, you-" you stalled and just shook your head further. "Yes. Please stay."

She set up on the couch like usual. Tonight you didn't even attempt to offer sharing a bed together and you retreated to your room after a tentative and brief 'goodnight' kiss.

Jessie didn't know how long she laid there staring up at the darkened ceiling. Her mind wouldn't let up.

You had no interest in cock. So, you weren't interested in her. At least you wouldn't be once you knew.

Her eyes stung with unshed tears. She really wanted things to be different with you. She was so stupid. She'd let things go far too long. She'd been too scared to address things - to risk losing you. And now she was going to lose you anyway, but she'd let too much time pass, your connection grow too deep. Her chest ached already.

How could she protect herself so much, but still leave herself so vulnerable?

All of the 'should've' and 'could've' moments from your relationship were playing endlessly in her head. Her nails dug painfully into her skin as she tried to retain composure.

Alarm shot through her body as she heard your bedroom door open. She lay entirely still as the door softly opened. It was a couple of second before she saw your figure tentatively stepping out into the dark only to stop at the foot of the couch.

"Jess?" You whispered.

Another flare of panic went through her and her body stiffened further. She managed to respond though.

"Y-yeah?" She said, needing to clear her throat and hating how muffled her voice sounded with residual emotion.

You were quiet for a moment before speaking again.

"I can't sleep," you said, and Jessie's chest panged when she heard your voice waver.

She cleared her throat again. "Me neither."

You sniffled and took a seat on the arm of the couch. She could make out the shadow of you staring down at your hands as you fidgeted.

"I don't like how we left things tonight," you said quietly.

A renewed wave of anxiety went through Jessie, her hands clenching into fists.

"Yeah. Same," she said. It was true, even if you were upset for different reasons.

"Can we talk, then?" You asked. Jessie exhaled silently. She didn't want to talk. She just wanted things to be better. To be different. But she didn't want to have the hard conversations that would likely be the end of things.

"Sure," she agreed.

"Can you...," you trailed off momentarily, "tell me what upset you this evening? Because, if I said or did anything offensive or upsetting, I really want to know so I don't do it again."

"You didn't do anything," Jessie told you, already feeling herself start to withdraw despite everything.

"Jess," you implored, some impatience bleeding in. "Please. I know something's wrong. And I-" You paused, eventually exhaling. "Knowing that I've upset or hurt you in some way is driving me crazy. I-I care about you so much. You don't even know. I just want to fix things."

Jessie felt tears started to pool at the corner of her eyes again and she felt her defenses weaken.

"You didn't do anything wrong, baby," she said gently. "I'm just in my head."

You moved from the arm of the couch to the cushions. You leaned forward, resting your weight on your palms that you positioned outside of her legs, close enough to touch.

"You don't need to be," you said. "I want you to feel safe talking to me. Isn't that the point of how we're approaching our relationship? To build things emotionally?"

Jessie ground her teeth together as she fought off impending emotions. Even if she knew what she wanted to say, she wasn't sure she'd be able to speak without her voice trembling. She saw as you watched her quietly before looking away in defeat. Still, your thumb tenderly grazed the side of her leg.

"I don't know what to do," you said, gaze set on the floor. You eventually looked back to her, a pained smile on your face as you looked at her through the dark. "I really love you, Jess." Your voice broke as you said her name.

Jessie lifted her head to look further at you before pushing herself up so she was sitting. You loved her. Or at least you thought you did. Her chest tightened painfully as your words settled in.

"You don't have to say the same," you spoke quickly. "I just- I just want you to know."

She stared at you through the dark. She wanted to reciprocate. So badly. But how could she tell you she loved you when she couldn't find the courage to tell you anything else?

Her thoughts turned dark. Truth was, you didn't truly love her. You legitimately couldn't. You only loved what she presented and time was quickly running out.

The longer she waited the more hurt you looked. She felt so conflicted and eventually just reacted.

"Come here," she said softly as pulled you by the shirt towards her and kissed you deeply. She felt your body hitch with initial hesitation before melting into the kiss. You pulled back briefly, studying her for a second before kissing her again, deeper and more passionately than earlier.

Things escalated quickly. Your touches were hungry and urgent and this time Jessie did nothing to stop you. Soon, you were straddling her on the couch as you made out and your hands wandered along her body.

It wasn't long before a tightening sensation in her pants brought her back to her senses. Her grip on your waist tightened and you moaned into the kiss as you ground your hips into her.

Jessie's eyes flew open in a panic and she pushed you off of her. She tried to be gentle and gradual about it, but there was still an audible thud as you made contact with the arm of the couch.

Jessie watched you, wide-eyed and terrified as you looked back at her with shock that quickly dissolved into hurt. You cast your gaze to the wall, your body stiff, and Jessie could see emotion starting to bubble up.

"Y/N, I-" she started, but her words caught in her throat as you stood up and walked briskly into your bedroom. You threw the door closed behind you, and whether intentional or not, it didn't quite close and was left a few inches ajar.

A completely different kind of anxiety swept through Jessie's body as she rose off the couch and strode towards your door, pausing and staring at the gap between the frame and door. She wanted to push it open, but she remained rooted to the spot.

"Y/N," she called your name softly. "Y/N, I'm sorry. I-"

"Just go away, Jessie." Your voice was congested and strained and left her with little doubt that you were crying. Even then, you didn't sound angry, you sounded dejected and defeated and it hurt Jessie far more.

She let out an exasperated breath, bringing her hand to the door and opening it just a touch as she peered in. You were already under the covers at the far edge of the bed with your back to the door.

"Can we please talk?" Jessie asked, hoping desperately that you could feel how sorry she was.

You sniffled and she saw you curl into yourself under the covers. "No. I'd really rather not right now." Jessie's heart ached and continued racing.

"I-I can understand. But, please let me explain-"

"There's not much to explain," you interrupted. Jessie protested your claim and you cut her off again, trying valiantly to keep your voice steady though it still wavered. "I'm just going to go to sleep, okay?"

Jessie's stomach was in knots as she stared at your figure in the dark. There was so much she wanted to say.

"Please close the door," you pleaded softly.

She opened her mouth to speak, even lifting herself up onto balls of her feet before stopping herself. Defeat swept over her as she saw you wipe at your face. Her shoulders slumped and she sighed quietly. Her stare lingered a few moments longer before she reached up and closed the door.

She walked in a daze back to the couch and sat down heavily and stared blankly forward. This morning, you two were close as ever. Now...

Her shoulders shook as she started to cry. The display of emotions caught her off guard and she sat up pin straight and grit her teeth together harshly. Her lip trembled and she held her breath firmly in her lungs as she tried to regain control.

She dug her fingers painfully into the tops of her thighs and a small whimper escaped her. She'd tried to be so careful about everything, but instead made a royal mess out of everything.

She sniffled as she pushed herself off of the couch. She found herself at the front door, putting on her shoes and jacket. She grasped the doorknob, stilling, hesitating for just a moment before swinging it open and stepping out.

Glancing back, she contemplated texting you or leaving you a note of some kind. Her throat grew tight once more with grief and she closed the door.

Let's be honest. The way she was hurting you, the way she was lying to you for so long, she clearly wasn't ready to be in a relationship. You deserved so much better.

A/N: Folks asked to be tagged @multifandomlesbianic @marvelwomen-simp

[thaatdigitaldiary]

whatever you want

paige bueckers x fem reader

fluff & flirtation per usual

you were never one to be spoiled growing up, having to wait to buy things simply cause you couldn’t afford it, that was until your girlfriend came along, who can’t help but spoil the SHIT outta you.

enjoy babes 🙂‍↕️

growing up, you never really bought things for yourself, you bought things for school, things to eat, necessities. you were brought up to buy things you needed, wants weren't important. sure, you bought things for yourself, but you couldn't help the mentality you had, it was all you were use to. obviously you couldn't get away with getting nothing you wanted when you were around your college athlete of a girlfriend, who wanted to spoil you rotten.

you and paige started dating around two years ago, you transferred to uconn from your previous college, wanting more academic opportunities that weren't provided at your old school. you were new around, and paige saw that, and immediately befriended you. it started from friends, to seeing each other every other day to everyday, and paige popped the question, and finally asked you on a date.

she took you to a fancy restaurant, you tried your best to dress fancy, not expecting such an extravagant place, considering your past dates never went this hard for you. everything on the menu was so expensive, and you didn't plan on spending too much money tonight, so you ordered something small.

"yeah i'll have the small plate of alfredo, if that's okay." you ask the server, and he nods as a response.

"you sure you want the small, you told me you haven't eaten all day?" she asks you with genuine concern, hoping you would want more since you didn't eat anything until tonight.

"paige, these menu items are pricey for me, i'm sorry. i just paid rent and bills have been tight-"

"who said anything about you paying?" she raises her eyebrow at you, laughing and asking the server to get you the normal portion of what you ordered, instead of the small.

"shit, don't even know why you brought money with you honestly, you know i got you ma." she says, looking at you and smirking.

"i just didn't wanna assume p, i didn't know you'd go this hard for me. i'm not used to fancy environments, if you get what i'm saying." you express to her, kind of sad in a way, as you two are in totally different worlds financially.

"hey, one thing about us is when it comes to anything you want, I'M gonna buy it, and you can't stop me." she tells you, looking intently in your eyes, wanting to buy the world for you if she could.

your eyes soften at paige's words, knowing this was something to get use to, you weren't mad at it. maybe it was good to have something nice every now and then.

after this date, everything between you and paige go exceptionally well. you're learning that your girlfriend really doesn't give up on spoiling you, more and more nil money coming through, disregarding your say and buying things for you anyways. gifts, jewelry, and the most over the top "just because" presents from her; and don't get her started on the holidays.

when you lovebirds finally hit your two year anniversary, paige was eager to get you out of your shared apartment. asking you to run errands for her, even though you planned on doing so already. little did you know, her and the team were setting up something special for you. you wanted to get something special for her, saving your money to get you and her matching sparkling silver necklaces, her's being a thicker chain and yours thinner and dainty, each having your names on them, you'd wear the one with paiges' name, and she wore yours. you bought a cute gift bag for them, but that wasn't your only stop. you stopped by crumbl and bought cookies for her, the nike store to purchase new basketball shoes for her, as well as buying her a bouquet of flowers, wrapped in purple paper.

but that wasn't it.

you had been searching the internet for a promise ring. one that fit paige's personality and vibe, and found the perfect one. a beautiful silver band, with the words "i love you" engraved in the inside. it was perfect. "i can spoil my girlfriend sometimes too", you thought to yourself.

a good 3 hours pass by the time you got home, hands full of gifts for her to open, stacked so high in your hands you could barely see the door. you set them down to grab your keys, then you slowly pick everything back up. the lights are off, weirdly enough, since you could've sworn you left them on before paige asked you to "run errands".

you set everything on the table near the front door, going to turn the light on, when suddenly everyone pops out of their hiding places yelling "surprise!" making you jump suddenly, then immediately bursting into laughter, tears slowly forming when you realized the set up in front of you. there were balloons stating "happy anniversary" plastered on the wall, the whole house decorated in beautiful colors, and multiple gift baskets sitting on the coffee table.

"happy anniversary ma." paige says to you sweetly, tearing up herself and kissing you, then quickly holding you close.

"p, i can't believe you did all this for me," you say in between giggles and tears.

"oh this is nothing, open them gifts for me ma." she tells you, handing you one of the smaller ones first, being a pandora bag. you take the pink paper out of the bag, and see three boxes. inside is a bracelet, already decked out in charms, as well as two other boxes. in these boxes were seperate charms, saying things like "i love you" and "always and forever" engraved in the silver accessories. she helps you put it on, your arm clinking from the sound of the charms hitting one another.

"okay this one you'll love. and don't ask me how much it was, thank you very much." she says sassily, and you can't help but smile and rolling your eyes, knowing that as many times as you've asked how much things cost, she wouldn't tell you. you slowly unwrap the box, seeing the words "van cleef" printed on the front.

"no you didn't." you say sternly.

"but i did baby." she says shrugging her shoulders and laughing.

inside was an all silver van cleef chain bracelet, the clovers reflecting under the light, giving your wrist an extra shine. you look at paige softly, the look of pure love in your eyes, wondering how you got so lucky with someone like her. fuck the money, you wanted to be in paige's life forever, regardless of how much she had.

after you put your bracelet on, you hug her tightly, then walk towards the gifts you bought her earlier. the first thing you hand her are the beautiful hand picked flowers, she blushes at the thought of you buying them for her, and kisses you on the cheek. you set the crumbl cookies on the table, and pass her the nike box.

"oh shit y/n! you remembered i wanted these?" referring to the conversation you two had a couple days ago, as she rambled about basketball and some new basketball shoes she wanted.

"i remember everything baby, and you're not done, there's a couple more things," you say while grabbing the bag the necklaces came in, as well as the box with her promise ring inside.

she takes the necklaces out of the bag, and tilts her head with a smile so hard, it makes her eyes close.

"finna be repping you all day everyday huh ma?" she says flirtatiously, and you respond by smirking back at her.

"i know that's right," you say reciprocating her energy, something she loved about you.

she puts hers on, and assists you with yours since you just got your nails done, and can't seem to manage with them at the moment.

"wait baby, there was one more thing, it's inna room, i'll be right back." she tells you, walking away into your bedroom.

she comes back out excited, and she shares a suggestion,

"why don't we exchange them at the same time nd open em together?" she asks, and you agree.

she hands you the box, and you do the same. and on the count of 3 you open at the same time.

"three.."

"two..."

"one... open"

you both gasp and look at each other quickly, realizing you bought the same gift for each other, but different in it's own way. the ring you bought paige was the same as yours, just a band to fit her style more. yours had a beautiful teardrop diamond, with the same words "i love you" engraved in the inside.

"wow ma, you know me real well huh?" she says while putting her ring on, whistling at the fresh silver, almost able to see her reflection. you put yours on, the diamond sparkling anytime you slightly moved your hand.

paige looks at you, and you look at paige.

"happy anniversary mama."

"happy anniversary baby." you say, still so shook that she did all this for you.

"i been told you, it's whatever you want ma, i always got you."

————————————————————————————-

HELLO TO THE BAD BITCHESSSS, i know this isn’t a part two of open your eyes but that is inna works (and almost done) so i wanted to give you something while you waited! thank you guys for the support you bring and i love you dearly 🙂‍↕️(for p’s necklace think of the new “5 chain” she got that she wore to the seattle game if that helps 🤭)

tags: @rosemariiaa @bueckerscore @mrsarnold @patscorner @wbbgetsmewetter @juspeaks @ohbueckers 🫶🏽

[toadtoru]

GOOD LUCK BABE

when you wake up next to him in the middle of the night / with your head in your hands, you're nothing more than his wife / and when you think about me, all of those years ago / you're standing face to face with "i told you so"

pairing: shoko x fem!reader contents: angst, angst, angst, no curses au, reader is rich, reader is addressed with she/her pronouns, childhood friends to ???, no-curse au, some gojo x reader, alcohol consumption, smoking and weed wordcount: 4k

“Do you like him?”

You’re twenty-one the second time Shoko asks you this question. You’re out on the balcony, attempting to ignore the loud yelling and music being blasted from the small apartment behind you. You lean over the railing, looking down at the people below you. Shoko takes another drag of her cigarette. She glances back at the closed door behind you. She can easily catch the white blob of hair amongst the partygoers. 

“Of course I do! You’re all my best friends.” 

You both know that it’s not what Shoko means.

“Yeah, but do you like him?” Shoko repeats, and you pout when you realise that she’s not letting you off the hook. You send her a look while gently tapping your fingers against the railing. Shoko’s eyes follow the movement, trying not to glare at the diamond ring on your finger. 

You grew up different; Shoko knows that. Whereas she and Suguru grew up relatively normal, had parents who worked simple jobs and came home to cook dinner, you and Satoru were raised by maids and strict rules. She supposes this is the reason you’re so nonchalant about all this. Whereas Shoko as always had the choice, you never had. Still, it bothers her how willingly you let yourself be captured, how little you fight for the freedom to be your own person. She wishes she could shake you till you understood, but instead, she’s stuck here on this shitty balcony, hoping that you might answer her question truthfully for once. She takes another drag of her cigarette, inhaling deeply and hoping that you won’t notice how tense her shoulders are. 

“It doesn’t matter if I like him,” you say, shrugging. You glance over at Shoko, and something passes between you for a moment. Your eyes flicker to her lips, still wrapped around her cigarette. It’s barely a second before you’re making eye contact again. 

“I’m just happy my parents chose Gojo and not that asshole from Zenin Enterprises.” 

You’re twenty when you go to a bar for the first time. It’s your birthday, officially the last one to turn twenty out of the four of you. It’s the first time in six months that you managed to get together. After you graduated, Satoru immediately started working at his dad's company; you and Shoko started at separate universities; and Suguru… well, none of you really know what he’s doing. Shoko recalls him saying he has some kind of sales job that causes him to travel a lot. 

By this time, purple circles have settled under Shoko’s eyes, and cigarettes are a staple in her purse. In all honesty, she doesn’t want to be here. It’s a fancy place—more of a club than a bar, really. Satoru’s choice, of course. There’s no way that you picked this place. 

You look stunning. Dressed in a top and a mini skirt, you look both expensive and endlessly tempting. You’ve already drank some at your place, where you all started, and you’re pleasantly giggly, hanging on Satoru's arm. Shoko wishes you’d hang off her like that, but recently there’s been a weird divide between you. You’re hard to get a hold of. 

You catch her eyes and smile. “You look nice tonight, Sho,” you say, lips curling teasingly as you reach out to pull a piece of hair behind her ear. “Your hair has gotten longer,” you add with a hum. 

Shoko shrugs. Suguru and Satoru are talking about something that she’s not a part of, so she moves closer to you. “How have you been?” she asks casually, trying to act like she isn’t hanging off every word you say. 

“Come dance with me,” you reply, grabbing her hand and pulling her out on the dancefloor. Shoko follows you wordlessly. She’s never been much for dancing, but for you, she’ll make an exception. 

“I’m alright,” you say. “School is hard,” you add, and Shoko follows the way your body moves, easily falling into a rhythm with the music. She wonders why you couldn’t have this conversation at the bar, but in a way, she’s happy that she doesn’t have to share you with the boys for a while. Your fingers are intertwined as you both ignore everyone else on the crowded dance floor. It’s hot, and the music blasts from the speakers beside the DJ, all contributing to making Shoko feel dizzy. 

“What about you, Sho?” you ask, dancing closer. 

“School is hard,” she repeats after you, grinning when you roll your eyes. You dance for a little while longer, silence creating a distance between you. Shoko wonders why it’s like this all of a sudden. You used to always be close; the silence between you was never uncomfortable like this. 

“I miss you,” Shoko says. She doesn’t even know why she says it. These are the kinds of things Shoko feels in silence. She never shares them with other people. But for some reason, she can’t stand the thought of not being able to share it with you. You smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. 

“I’m dating Satoru.” 

Cutting Shoko open with a scalpel would probably have hurt less. The music becomes white noise, the room feels small, and the air becomes hard to breathe. She looks towards the bar where Satoru’s talking with Suguru. As if on queue, Satoru looks up from his conversation to look at the two of you. He smiles at Shoko when their eyes meet. Satoru, Satoru, Satoru. Bastard. It’s always him, isn’t it? 

“I need a cigarette,” Shoko mumbles, walking towards the smoking area of the club. 

“Sho,” you say, following her as she makes her way through the dancefloor towards the doors with the smoking sign. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” you say, and Shoko shakes her head as she pushes the door open and exits onto a small rooftop. The air is chilly, and there are several people already there, smoking and talking. 

“I’m sorry,” you repeat as Shoko lights her cigarette and takes a long drag. “Will you at least look at me?”

She does. Soft, kind brown eyes locked on you. You’ve always revelled in Shoko’s attention. It made you feel special to be deserving of it, for a person who’s usually nonchalant and seemingly careless, that you were interesting enough. Even when she would tease you and push your buttons, you liked it.

You don’t like it right now.

“Why?” Shoko asks. Your brows knit together. 

“Shoko, I’m sorry if you’re mad–”’

“No. Why him?” Shoko interrupts. She takes another drag before blowing the smoke off to the side. You frown. 

“You promised you’d stop smoking,” you say, and Shoko laughs. 

“Is it your parents?” she asks, stepping closer. Smoke fills your lungs as she blows some onto your face. You turn to the side, but she grabs your chin and makes you look at her. “Is it you? Do you like him?” She asks. You frown. 

“Yes,” you reply, though it’s half-hearted and soft. 

“Speak up,” Shoko says, but you don’t. Your brows are furrowed, and there’s a little pout on your lips. Your hands come to tug on her shirt as if you’re beckoning her to come closer, but she doesn’t, not even bothering to look down at where you’re holding onto her. 

She feels an awful desire to kiss you, to show you what liking—no, loving—someone really is. She doesn’t fight it when she leans in, pressing your lips together. This kiss is much different from any kiss you’ve shared before. It’s meaner, more desperate. As if Shoko is trying to put every word she won’t speak into this moment, lips moving against lips. Your fingers move from her shirt up to her neck, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss. 

Shoko tastes like smoke and the beer she took three sips off when you first arrived. It’s deprived; how good it all feels to let go. Then you part and you gasp for air for a few seconds before you step back, wiping your hands in your shirt and turning around, disappearing into the bar. 

You’re fifteen when you say the words that make Shoko take the first drag of a cigarette. You’re sitting on the floor in your room, watching some show that you begged her to see. Shoko can’t even remember which one it was, although it doesn’t matter all that much. You’re huddled close together, giggling whenever the main characters do something funny. Your eyes are on the screen, but Shoko can’t help but look at you. 

It’s dark out. She should’ve been home hours ago, but your parents aren’t home—they never are—and the maid left hours ago. 

“Have you ever kissed anyone, Sho?” you ask. Shoko blinks, turning to look at the TV again. A kiss scene is unfolding. Fairly innocent, she thinks. She looks back at you to find you already looking. Your faces are awfully close, only illuminated by the blue light from the show still going, though it’s all background noise at this point. 

“No,” Shoko replies bluntly. You smile, your cheeks heating up as you lean in closer. 

“Do you want to?” you ask. It’s innocent. You’re smiling, your eyes darting down to Shoko’s lips for a second before they’re back up. 

“I don’t know,” Shoko replies. Already at fourteen, she hates how she feels around you. There’s something disarming about you that makes Shoko lose all her cool and turn into a complete puddle of weird, awkward teenage mess. Her heart always seems to hammer in her chest, and her hands feel clammy. 

“We could try, you know,” you say. You’re so close now that Shoko can feel your breath on her lips, smell the fruit rolls you ate earlier. It’s so very you, so sweet. Blood roars in her ears, and she doesn’t say anything, afraid her voice might betray her. 

“For practice,” you add, and Shoko finds herself nodding along. For practice, sure. She ignores the gnawing feeling in her chest, the looming knowledge that she can never come back from this. Shoko has never been much interested in love or boys. She’s always opted for medical books and crime mysteries instead of chick flicks. Though with you, it’s always been different. You could rope her into watching The Notebook and Titanic as many times as you wanted if it meant Shoko got to spend time with you. 

“Is this okay?” you ask, placing your hand on Shoko’s cheek, and she nods again. “Yeah,” she replies, almost breathless. You’re so close now.

So so close. 

It’s innocent. There’s no tongue, no great big sparks. Yet Shoko feels electric. Your lips are soft. So soft. And despite how blunt you were just seconds ago, you feel shy now all of a sudden, pulling away with flushed cheeks and a sort of dazed look on your face. 

“Thank you,” is all you can think to say, and it makes Shoko snort at your reaction. This causes a giggle to be pulled from you as well, and you sit there for a while, just lingering in each other's presence, high on the experience of your first kiss together. It’s innocent, sweet. Shoko wishes she could bottle up the feelings you give her and save them from the rot she’s already feeling building up inside of her. 

She reaches for your cheek and pulls you in for a second kiss. You let her, getting braver this time. Your lips move against each other. It’s inexperienced and clumsy, but Shoko wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Then you whisper the god-forsaken words. 

“I wish you were a boy, Sho.” 

And Shoko feels the rot fester in her gut. 

“I should go,” she replies, stumbling out of your room and down the hall of your obscenely large house. She ignores your calls for her as she slips down through your kitchen.

She stops in her tracks when she notices the small packet on the counter. The maid must’ve left it, she thinks to herself as she picks it up and inspects it. Shoko and you have spied on her during enough smoke breaks to know. Two cigarettes left. She glances at the door. You haven’t followed her downstairs. She puts the box in her pocket and walks out your front door. 

How can two cigarettes hurt?

You’re twenty-three when you walk down the aisle in a beautiful white dress. Shoko watches from the fourth row, right next to Nanami. You and Satoru stand in front of the altar. Suguru sits on the front row with Satoru’s family. You hadn’t asked Shoko to sit with yours. 

The vows are formal. Clinical, almost. As though someone else wrote them for you, as though neither you nor Satoru actually feel the things you say. Nonetheless, you look blinding in your dress, even more blinding as you walk down the aisle and lock eyes with Shoko. 

She smiles at you. Purple rings have become more prominent under her eyes during the past few months. She’s told you they’re from late-night cramming and studying, and while that’s not technically untrue, there's another reason why she sleeps so badly as well. You smile back, and Shoko feels the green little thorn in her stomach reach just a little deeper. 

“Why are you looking all gloomy?” 

It’s playful. There’s no ill intent behind it. Satoru, as always, pretends to be unaware of anything that might start an uncomfortable conversation, instead resorting to acting like a fool. Shoko sighs. 

“Fuck off,” she says, though there’s no edge in her tone. She can’t ever really hate Satoru. No one can. That’s what's so annoying about him. Satoru walks forward and joins Shoko on the balcony from the venue of your wedding afterparty. Shoko doesn’t know where you are. Probably somewhere entertaining your guests, pretending that this is the happiest night of your life. 

Satoru eyes the cigarette between Shoko’s fingers as she takes another drag. 

“I thought you were quitting.”

“School’s been stressful.” 

“Ah,” Satoru nods, resting his arms on the railing and looking out over the city. It’s a peaceful night. The sky is clear, though you can’t see the stars due to the light of the city. Shoko exhales. 

“Are you doing alright, Shoko? You seem distant,” Satoru asks, eyes trained on the view in front of them. Shoko hums. 

“I’m alright,” 

They stand like that for a while, neither of them saying anything. Shoko wonders if she should just tell Satoru everything. About how she’s in love with his wife and has been for years. How she wakes up in the middle of the night, gasping for air and chasing dreams of you. You with your soft lips and pretty smile. You who never flinches away, you who remains the centre of Shoko’s world no matter how hard she tries to untangle herself from your web of love and praise.

She imagines it wouldn’t go down well. Even if Satoru has married you out of duty, she knows he still loves you. Maybe not as a wife, but as a companion. You’ve known each other for so long, known that you were promised to each other since you were mere children. 

“Ah, fuck, I better go save my wife.” 

The moment has passed. Shoko looks back towards the glass doors to the party. You’re stuck talking to some elders. Shoko doesn’t know who they are, but she assumes they’re from Gojo’s family. You glance towards the balcony. “Save me,” you mouth, and both Shoko and Satoru snort. 

“Duty calls,” he sings as he walks past Shoko. He looks back over his shoulder once. “Come back once you’ve finished that one, okay?”

You’re eighteen when you all huddle together on the floor in Suguru’s room, giggling and whispering about the joint that the boys somehow managed to secure. Suguru lights it and takes the first inhale. Satoru follows, cheeks immediately turning pink and a dopey smile settling on his lips as he passes it to Shoko. You watch Shoko curiously before she hands it to you. 

Carefully, you fold it between your two fingers, eyeing the little roll carefully. “How do I do it?” you ask, and Shoko snorts. Satoru is giggly already, lying down and putting his head in Suguru’s lap. Suguru looks mostly unaffected, yet he cracks a smile and pinches Satoru’s cheek. 

“You put it between your lips, and then you inhale. You gotta feel it all the way in your lungs,” Shoko explains. You try to do as she says, but when you exhale, barely any smoke comes out. Suguru chuckles. 

"Yeah, that was not an inhale,” he says, and you poke your tongue at him. Shoko moves closer to you, ignoring Suguru as she puts her hand on your thigh. 

“Try again,” she says, and you do, looking at her at the same time. Shoko smiles, and you choke, coughing out some as you feel tears prickling in your eyes. Shoko rubs a soothing hand along your thigh while Satoru laughs. You pat your chest, coughing furiously as tears run down your cheek and Shoko smiles at you. 

So cute. 

“C’mere,” she says, once your coughing has subsided. You pout at her, but move closer nevertheless, till you’re in her lap. The boys are quiet now, watching your exchange as Shoko puts a hand on your waist, taking the joint from your fingers with the other. 

“You ready?” she asks, and you nod wordlessly. Slowly, she inhales before leaning into you, blowing into your mouth. This time you inhale, puffing your chest out in a manner that makes Shoko grin. You exhale again, and Shoko pats your cheek rewardingly. 

“Good girl,” she mutters, and your jaw drops. Suguru coughs, and you can hear Satoru’s giggle increasing as you climb out of her lap and grab the joint again. Shoko smiles at you. The knowing kind that makes you want to bash your head into a wall. You ignore the heat in your cheeks as you peel your eyes away from her. 

“Okay, I can do it myself now, thank you,” you say, taking a big inhale. You hold it for a few seconds before exhaling again, white smoke leaving your lungs. 

“There you go,” Satoru says, flashing you his perfect white teeth. You frown and take another drag, for good measure, before Suguru takes the joint from you. 

“Woah, there,” he says, raising a brow at you. “This is your first time, right?”

“Yeah,” you reply, already feeling lightheaded. “So what?” 

“Might want to take it easy,” he says. You don't bother to reply, instead looking back at Shoko. She’s leaned back, resting on her elbows. She meets your gaze, tilting her head to the side. Taking you in. Examining you. You fiddle with your fingers in your lap, but you don’t break eye contact.

Then she nods at you. A tiny one, barely noticeable. You almost think you imagine it, if it isn’t for the teasing look in her eyes. 

An invitation. 

You don’t hesitate to take it, climbing over and promptly laying your head in her lap. Shoko laughs, but she lets you, adjusting herself so she can sit up and play with your hair. You hum, closing your eyes and wrapping your arms around her. You feel light, pleasant. 

“Someone’s feeling touchy,” Shoko says, smiling as she watches your brows knit together. She brings a finger down, running it over the crease formed between your eyebrows, forcing you to relax. 

“You’re my best friend, Sho.” Your voice is airy. “I’m allowed to feel touchy.”

You’re twenty when you kiss Shoko for the second time before slipping inside the crowded bar again. Shoko waits a few minutes before she follows you back in. She can still feel your pillowy lips and taste the gloss you wear. She feels dizzy, almost, under the neon lights, but she’s unsure if it’s the alcohol and nicotine or just you. 

Her eyes land on the table where she saw Satoru and Suguru earlier. The white blob of hair is easy to spot; it always is. Even when you’re running your fingers through them. 

Ah. 

Even when you run your fingers through Satoru’s hair while you kiss him stupid. His hands are on your hips, pulling you in. She can’t see your face, only your back. In a way, she’s glad. It makes the whole ordeal much easier. 

“There you are.” 

Suguru moves towards her, smiling casually when she turns to look at him. 

“I assume she’s told you?” he muses, nodding his head towards the two of you. Suguru’s hands are in his pockets, and his hair is tied back. Shoko shrugs. 

“Yeah,” Shoko says. She looks at you again before turning back to Suguru. “How long have you known?” she asks, and Suguru scratches his neck and hums. 

“About a month,” he says. Shoko shifts from one foot to another and nods. A month. A month and you didn’t tell her. She scoffs. Suguru raises a brow. 

“Are you upset?”

“No,”

“Alright,” there’s a teasing edge to Suguru’s tone that tells her he doesn’t quite believe her. Shoko’s brows narrow, and she feels her fingers itching for another cigarette. 

She gives you a last glance before pulling Suguru out with her for another cigarette. If you wanna kiss boys in bars, then so be it. 

You’re twenty-six when Shoko opens her door in the middle of the night and finds you on her doorstep, completely drenched from the rain. 

“I’m afraid there’s something rotten inside of me,” you say, and if your eyes weren’t brimming with tears, Shoko might have blamed your wet cheeks on the rain and tried to shrug it off, but it feels impossible with the way you stand there with red rims around your eyes. “I’m afraid that there’s something wrong with me, and it’s only a matter of time before you all figure it out,” you repeat, almost gasping for air as if each word brings you physical pain to speak. 

And Shoko steps aside, because what else can she do. How could she turn you away when you’re all she’s ever wanted, all she’s ever loved. Yet none of you make another move to do anything else as Shoko stands with the closed door behind her and you stand in the middle of her living room, your soaked clothes dripping in a puddle underneath you. 

“What’s going on?” Shoko asks. Your lips are downturned and your brows are furrowed, and you look so miserable that it makes Shoko’s stomach churn. 

“I don’t love him.” 

A beat. 

Shoko stares. Your eyes are trained on the puddle beneath you. 

“You were right. It doesn’t feel right when I’m with him. He’s my best friend, but—”

“Why are you here?” Shoko interrupts. She rubs the bridge of her nose, taking in a deep breath. 

“Sho-” you stumble across the room, but Shoko places a hand up and you stop in your tracks. 

“Stay there,” she says, and you frown. 

“I’m sorry, okay. I should’ve listened to you,” you say, knowing that it won’t help anything but saying it anyway.

Shoko always thought she would feel satisfaction in this moment. Some sense of superiority. To be able to say “I told you so” with a smile dancing on her lips. That all of it—all of the rot and pain—would be worth it once you realised you were wrong. Instead, she just feels bitter. 

“Yeah. You should have.” 

She realises she’s wasted so much time. Waiting, and waiting, and waiting. And for what? Shoko sighs. 

“You should leave.”

thank you for reading!

i'm satoru when i get high btw. very giggly, very happy, very in love with all of my friends.

tagging @madaqueue since you asked, my munchkin. <3

masterlist | divider by enchanthings

[josephandrewstarkey]

drew and reader have a toddler but they are broken up because reader thinks that drew and odessa are together. drew came to pick up the toddler and they start arguing over nothing because they miss each other so much.

ty for your request anon, i hope you like it!

second chances

warnings: slight angst

disclaimer: this is absolutely no shade/hate towards odessa, this is simply just for the plot <3

words: 1.036

❧ drew starkey x reader

The familiar sound of Drew’s car pulling up in the driveway sent a wave of tension through Y/N. She adjusted her grip on their toddler, Harper, who was happily babbling in her arms, blissfully unaware of the heavy silence that had settled between her parents for weeks.

It hadn’t been easy since the breakup. Y/N had thought she could handle it, but every time Drew came to pick up their daughter, the ache in her chest only grew deeper. It wasn’t just the end of their relationship that stung—it was the constant thought that he had moved on with Odessa. The rumors, the paparazzi photos, they all painted a picture that was too hard to ignore.

As Drew walked up the steps and knocked on the door, Y/N’s pulse quickened. She let out a slow breath and opened the door, greeted by the sight of him—his tousled hair, the familiar warmth in his eyes as he looked at Harper. For a moment, her heart faltered. Despite everything, seeing him still made her stomach flip.

“Hey,” Drew said softly, his eyes flicking to hers before focusing on Harper, who squealed with joy and reached out for him.

“Hi,” Y/N replied, handing their daughter over, careful to avoid letting their fingers touch. She couldn’t handle that right now.

Drew cradled Harper with ease, making her giggle as he kissed her cheek. For a moment, there was a pause, a heavy silence that neither of them knew how to fill.

“I’ve packed her bag,” Y/N said quickly, gesturing to the small backpack by the door. “Everything she’ll need for the weekend.”

Drew nodded, bouncing Harper slightly in his arms, though his gaze lingered on Y/N. “Thanks. I’ll have her back by Sunday night.”

Another stretch of silence filled the space between them, awkward and stifling. Y/N clenched her jaw, her mind swirling with all the things she wanted to say but couldn’t. She didn’t want to argue in front of Harper, but the frustration, the loneliness—it was all building inside her, begging to spill out.

And then it happened.

“So… how’s Odessa?” she asked, the words sharper than she intended, bitterness lacing her tone. She regretted it as soon as they left her lips, but the question hung in the air between them.

Drew’s brows furrowed, his hold on Harper tightening slightly. “What?”

Y/N crossed her arms defensively, her voice quieter now but still tense. “You two seem pretty close lately. The pictures... the rumors...”

Drew’s expression darkened, and he shifted Harper in his arms as she started to squirm. “Y/N, there’s nothing going on between me and Odessa. You know that.”

“Do I?” Y/N’s eyes flashed with hurt. “Because all I see is you spending more time with her than—”

“This again?” Drew interrupted, frustration creeping into his voice. “You’re really going to bring this up every time I come here? You think I don’t miss you? Miss us?”

Y/N’s breath hitched, the raw emotion in his voice catching her off guard. But she wasn’t ready to back down. “If you miss us so much, maybe you shouldn’t be cozying up to her in every photo.”

“I’m not cozying up to anyone,” Drew said, his voice rising slightly as he shifted Harper to his hip, trying to stay calm in front of their daughter. “I’m doing my job, Y/N. Odessa is a friend, and you know that. But you’ve already made up your mind, haven’t you?”

Y/N’s eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them back. “I made up my mind because you didn’t fight for us, Drew. You let us fall apart.”

Drew’s jaw clenched, his gaze softening as he saw the hurt written all over her face. “I didn’t want to lose you. I still don’t. But you keep pushing me away.”

“Because I can’t compete with her!” Y/N cried, her voice breaking. “I can’t compete with everything your world demands. It was always the two of us, and now... now it feels like I’m on the outside.”

Harper, sensing the tension, began to fuss, and Drew immediately began soothing her, rocking her gently. His eyes never left Y/N’s, though, filled with frustration, pain, and something else—something deeper.

“You’re not on the outside,” Drew said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re the one I love, Y/N. You’re the mother of my daughter, and you’re the only one I want. Odessa... she’s just a friend. That’s it.”

Y/N stared at him, her defenses crumbling as the weight of his words settled in. She wanted to believe him—God, she wanted to believe him so badly. But the pain of the last few months had built walls around her heart, and it wasn’t easy to just let them down.

“I miss you,” Drew whispered, his voice raw. “I miss us. This… this isn’t what I want. We’re a family, Y/N. I can’t keep doing this if we’re not going to at least try.”

Y/N swallowed hard, her heart aching as she looked at him, holding their daughter in his arms—their little family that felt so fractured. “I miss you too,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I don’t know how to fix this, Drew. I don’t know how to trust that it’ll be different.”

Drew stepped closer, his free hand reaching out to gently cup her cheek. She didn’t pull away. “We fix it by talking, by being honest. Not by pushing each other away. Please… let’s try. For Harper. For us.”

Tears slipped down Y/N’s cheeks as she closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. She felt the weight of his words, the sincerity in them. Maybe they could try. Maybe they could find their way back to each other.

Opening her eyes, she met his gaze, filled with hope and longing. “Okay,” she whispered. “Let’s try.”

Drew let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, his thumb brushing away her tears. “I love you, Y/N. That’s never changed.”

“I love you too,” she whispered, her heart finally beginning to mend.

And as Harper giggled between them, oblivious to the pain and healing happening around her, Y/N and Drew realized that maybe, just maybe, their family wasn’t broken after all.

[satanghulu]

the horrors of econs [teaser]

✦ PAIRING: satan x f!reader ✦ SUMMARY: Okay, you didn’t mean to summon a demon nor did you mean to throw a book at him but hey, it’s not like you expected the literal embodiment of Wrath to apparate in your apartment! Now, if only he could go back to where he came from… ✦ WARNING: College AU, crack, mild mentions of violence ✦ WC: 1K

| MASTERLIST

══════════════════

You were going to kill Solomon.

It’s a well-known fact that that guy was shady but really? Was he trying to give you an express pass straight to Death’s doorstep or something? Maybe he had always harboured a secret dislike for you because why on earth did the Economic textbook he lent you summon a--demon?!

“Human. Are you done staring at me?” The man--no, demon? brushes off the dust on the back of his pants. Wait, were those cow prints you see? No, wait. What are those hideous things draped across his neck? And, what was with his disaster of a shirt? For a second, you thought you had teleported to an alternate Jojo Bizarre Adventure universe.

”Your outfit is ugly as hell.” You blurted out, hands delayed in flying up to cover your mouth when you realised the words had escaped from you. The man--no, demon turns with flashing eyes, his tail swishing dangerously behind him. Oh my god, were those spikes embedded in them? Suddenly, you regret ever opening your mouth. This is why people always tell you to keep your mouth shut when you are in a sleep-deprived state. You could feel sweat beading at the side of your temple as you slowly backed away, edging to the bedroom door.

“Are you courting death, little lamb?” He hissed, taking a step closer. You took furtive glances around the room, swallowing hard when you realised the only makeshift weapon you had was the Econs textbook that Solomon had lent you.

The demon’s eyes had narrowed into slits, breathing coming out hot and heavy as if he was poised to attack you at a moment’s notice. Your grip on the textbook tightened as he advanced nearer to you, now a couple of steps away.

“Answer me, human--” The demon mocked you again, arms stretching forward presumably to attack you as you--

You threw the textbook at him.

Thud!

The textbook bounced off his head with a loud thud as he just stared at you in disbelief. At least, you had managed to get a headshot – your only accomplishment in life alongside the stupidest thing you have ever done. And somehow, you had landed yourself in deeper trouble if the shaking with barely contained rage from the thing was any indication.

You silently sent a prayer to the deity above, hoping that whoever was watching you from above would grant you a peaceful death. Although you weren’t one to believe much in religion, this seemed like a good time to start. Maybe next, an angel would drop from the sky too.

“HAHAHAHA!”

The hands you had raised as a shield were being forcefully put down by the entity in front of you.

“HAHAHA, I didn’t know humans could be this interesting.” Oh. The shaking was from laughter, you noted dumbly. You stared blankly at him before taking another step back, trying to covertly loosen his grip around your wrist.

Great, it seemed like the “demon” was a maniac too.

After struggling in his grip for a good minute, you gave up the fight and waited for his laughter to die down. “HAHAHAHA. I never thought the day would come when I would get bested by a human. HAHAHA.” The entity in front of you kept mumbling to himself with a crazed look in his eyes. Honestly, you were getting kinda worried for him too. There’s no way getting smacked by a book is as funny as he made it sound. 

After another minute, his laughter finally subsided and his hold on you had loosened enough for you to wiggle out tentatively. The thing stared at you before his mouth curled into a grin with a glint in his eye.

“So human, tell me why you summoned a demon.”

Well, at least you got your answer to the burning question plaguing you. However, it was not something you wanted to hear at the moment. It wasn’t reassuring, one bit at all.

“I’m really interested to hear what you want. Tell me why a measly human like you summoned one of the seven Denizens of Hell.” Said demon asked, voice growly in a way that gave you butterflies in the stomach; but the butterflies were trying to tear its way out to escape.

It took you a few moments to register his statement. The seven Denizens of Hell? You weren’t familiar with the concept but it seems to indicate that the demon standing before you holds a high rank which could potentially spell more trouble for you.

“Uh.” You started. “I didn’t summon you, I think?” You dragged out your words hesitantly, holding out both hands in front of you defensively. Immediately, his face pinched into a frown as he studied your expression.

“You’re not lying.” He concluded after a second. “Though, something must have happened for me to be summoned.” He sighed, finally moving out of your personal space to scan around your room – which had been trashed from the black void that had opened up to teleport the demon.

As you quietly bemoaned the state of your living quarters, the demon strides towards the textbook lying innocently on the ground. “This is it.” He bent at the waist to lean down and studied the title of the book. “An Introduction to Economics: 1st Edition.” He said stonily.

“How did you know?” It was a curious sight to witness, a demon with actual horns completed with a barbed tail was standing in the middle of the wreckage of your room as if he belonged there. You could hardly believe it but sadly, no matter how many times you rubbed your eyes, the scene remained the same.

“I felt the magic radiating off it.” He answered simply. 

“Where did you get the book from?”

“My friend lent it to me because-- Oh fuck.” You suddenly froze, feeling the blood drain from your face. The demon stared at you inquisitively, prompting you to finish your sentence.

“I have an exam tomorrow.”

══════════════════

a/n ▸ teaser teaser!! im still writing the rest of it but i just really like the introductory part of this so i wanted to make a separate post. im also not sure if this would end up as a series or just a long fic so bear w me huehue

[my-autism-adhd-blog]

How do you know if you're mentally regressing or just really burnt out and/or depressed?

Hi there,

Personally I find this quite hard to answer. But I have some sources about it if you’re interested:

I hope this helps answer your question. Thank you for the inbox. I hope you have a wonderful day/night. ♥️

[f1girliefics]

Hearts in Conflict

Lance Stroll x Mob!Reader

Warnings: Arranged marriage, Mob stuff (violence, murder, blood and guns) angst with a happy end

Summary: Your arranged marriage was something you never wanted, but much like with anything in life, you will deal with it one way or another.

A/N: People like to say how Lance's father is like a Mobster/Gangster, well I turned the tables.

You were supposed to take over your father's empire, not marry a rich boy.

You were supposed to become the next boss, not the wife of a spoiled brat.

And yet, your father decided to marry you to a Stroll.

Lance Stroll, is a Canadian and Belgian racing driver competing under the Canadian flag in Formula One. He has driven for Aston Martin since 2021.

According to Wikipedia at least.

But in your eyes, your father's latest attempt to have you marry someone.

You made 3 boys run already, you don't know why he insisted on this stupid idea.

"You will marry Stroll and it is final."

But you also didn't want to play the part of the spoiled princess who refused to get married.

You let out a long sigh as you entered the restaurant.

You tried your best to put a smile on as you sat down at the table, Lance wasn't here just yet.

But he arrived only two minutes later.

"Hi," he said and you smiled.

"Hello, I'm Y/N Y/L/N."

"Lance Stroll, please call me Lance."

He was respectful, a gentleman. But even so, you didn't want a husband, you didn't need one.

"How do you feel about what our fathers arranged?" you asked him after long conversations. You wanted to get to the point.

"I'm not going to lie, I didn't like it. I thought you would be a brat who just wanted my family's money. But now that we spoke, I realize that is not the case, and I assume from your question that you didn't want to marry me either."

"I wanted my father's company, not yours. But he is relentless about me needing a husband."

"I heard you drove away 3 potential candidates."

"Christopher Crooke, a playboy wannabe with a cocaine addiction. Stephen Fringo, a Spanish asshole who thinks women belong in the kitchen and just last month, Alfred Smith, an American asshole with three baby mamas and millions in credit card debt. I wouldn't really say they had potential."

"And what about me? What do you think about me? Be honest and I shall do the same."

"You go first," you said hoping he would do it so you would know how hard to go in on him.

"Alright, if the Lady wishes. I think you are stunning, that is the first thing I noticed, you are beautiful and smart. Very smart. I'm trying to figure out what the problem is with you, you are strong, independent and clever. There has to be a but. I'm looking for that. So, you go then, what do you think of me?"

"My first impression was almost the same as yours. Handsome, but the moustache does nothing for you. I thought you would be a spoiled brat and to a certain degree, I was correct. But I'm the same, I'm riding on my father's name just as much. I know you don't do drugs, you wouldn't be able to be an F1 driver. No baby mamas or recent girlfriends. Your lisp is annoying and cute and the same time. For me, your but is that you are way too normal. Rich, yes, but way too normal. For you, my but will be when you realize what my family business is because it is not cars and corporations." you smiled as you stood up. "I'm looking forward to our next meeting. I have to leave now as I have another meeting to attend. Good day." and with that, you left.

Leaving Lance sitting at the table, stunned.

He liked you.

And he had to call his father.

---

"Mobsters?! Are you kidding me, Dad? You want me to marry someone that kills people?"

"They don't kill people. They just blackmail them."

"That's even worse!"

"Her family is rich and influential. Just the mention of their name brings fear and respect in people. Word about your marriage with her will spread like fire and then our name will become one with theirs. This is a chance you won't turn down, Lance." Lance looked at his father in disbelief.

---

"So, how was your meeting with Lance?" your father asked as your order arrived. You waited until the waiters were gone.

"He is my type, Dad, you know that. He has a certain boyish charm."

"So? Will you marry him? I mean you did check his background already. He is clean. No baby mamas, drug addictions or prior arrests.”

“He is a brat. Rich. And handsome.”

“You must like him. You called him handsome twice already.” Unfortunately, your father did have a point.

You hated it when he had a point.

—-

Your next meeting with Lance was set for Saturday. You told your assistant to set a date, but you were informed that Lance will have a qualifying race. So, you decided to fly to Australia and meet him, well truly, it would be a surprise for him.

His father knew about and encouraged you to meet with Lance, so he gave you an all-access VIP badge.

You even got yourself a guide who showed you around.

It was all very interesting, you got to see the Ferrari paddock closer and even caught a glimpse of Max Verstappen himself.

And you got to ask many many many questions.

But soon, you found yourself in an air-conditioned room with a cold drink in your hand as the qualifying began.

You were lucky enough to be in a good spot where you could see the start line.

You wouldn’t say you were a fan, but you did enjoy it.

Even if Lance didn’t qualify high on the board.

You enjoyed the vibes. It was all so fast, everyone in there.

But you also noticed the smug behaviour of many people.

Influencers were invited to advertise the event and F1 as a whole.

You did not like that part.

Pretending to be interested only to receive free tickets? You paid for your own even if you got it as a present.

You smiled when you saw Lance enter the room you were in.

"Why are you here?"

"Harsh. Your father invited me." technically you weren't lying per say.

But it was also not the truth. "And I did want to see you."

"I know about your family business."

"Why did you say it like that?"

"Because you are a murderer."

"Harsh, again but also false. I have never killed anyone."

"Then you ordered someone to kill them, don't play with me. I can't believe my father set me up for this!"

"Well, believe it or not, we will be married by the end of the summer break."

"Over my dead body." his voice was cold, it excited you. You liked it possibly way too much.

There was a fire in him.

"You can either continue to deny the facts or accept them. Believe me Lance, I will not leave just because you wish it. The decision is out of our hands."

"My father will hear about this."

"Alright Malfoy, do as you please." You put your sunglasses back on and continued to sip your drink.

---

You went wherever Lance went, following him almost like a shadow, all part of his father's plan.

He told you to just keep trying and be stubborn because his son is a very stubborn man as well.

No matter what Lance threw at you, you simply smiled and continued.

You didn't give up but you did start to notice changes in your future husband.

Lance slowly but surely warmed up to you.

You even had dinner one time. And it was very nice.

It started to feel like Lance was slowly accepting the fact that you two were to marry. And so every effort you made didn't meet with a brick wall.

You asked him on dates and he did the same. He showed you his hobbies.

One time, he asked you to go biking with him.

It wasn't really your thing, but you did end up going.

He fell. And he fell hard.

And it was all your fault.

You were being playful and it caused him to lose balance. You didn't push him or run into him.

But it was your fault still.

You sat in the corridor of the hospital waiting for his doctor to get you when your phone rang.

It was his father.

"Sir?" you tried to hide it, but it was obvious from your voice that you have been crying.

"Y/N, what happened how is he?"

"It was my fault. He fell during a bike ride, he hurt his hands... The doctor is in there with him, I don't know what's going on." you took a deep breath. "I'm so scared."

"Darling, it will be fine, I'm going there right now, please call me as soon as you hear something."

"I will." you ended the call just as the doctor came to get you.

"How is he?" you asked, desperate for any answers.

"The scans showed I had a fracture and displacement in my right wrist, a fracture in my left wrist, a partial fracture in my left hand and another fracture in the big toe on my right foot. He will have to undergo surgery."

"Fuck." you said and took a deep breath. "Can I see him?" the doctor only nodded and left you alone.

"Lance?" it was terrible seeing him in hospital. Your heart broke into a million tiny pieces.

"Why are you crying?"

"This is all my fault. I was so stupid." you admitted as more tears fell. "I ruined your life, your career. I will speak with my father, arranged marriage or not."

"Slow down. This wasn't your fault. I ran into that curb and fell. I should have been looking where I was going. You didn't ruin anything, Y/N. And secondly, why would you talk to your father?"

"I feel so bad. I made you fall." he rolled his eyes as you continued to cry.

"Please, don't cry. You were laughing so beautifully only a couple of hours ago."

"How can I laugh at this, Lance?"

"Come on now, I will be fine! The doctor said it will all be good, I will have the surgery tomorrow. Please calm down, everything will be fine."

"Your father is on his way, he will be soon. I'll... I'll get myself something to drink." you said and he nodded.

Hoping you would be back soon, but your pain and guilt took you over. Instead, you wrote a small letter and asked a nurse to give it to him in about three hours.

And you left.

You walked out of that hospital with the guilt of ruining a life.

---

What's better than a pity party?

Being alone, with an ice cream and Bridgett Jones playing on the TV.

Running away was not your style. But what more could you do?

You left for Greece, got on one of your father's many yacht and cried yourself to sleep every night.

They tried to call you, look for you but couldn't find you.

You only picked up the phone for your father.

"Lance was here today. His surgery went well but he is looking for you. He says he won't give up."

"How he used to hate me. He should be happy the wedding is off."

"I really don't think the boy will give up, Darling."

"Okay, can you set up a date for me?"

"What's your plan?"

"Show him the real me."

"Poor boy." your father said before he hung up the phone.

---

Throughout your entire life, you looked up to your father.

You never knew your mother but it was okay. Your father was enough.

Even as a young girl, he taught you stuff no one should know let alone a 5 year old. He always had a plan and he loved you.

But no 5 year old should have a panic room attached to their bedroom in case her father's enemies found him.

But it was your life.

When the idea of marriage came to play your father had a lot of options for you.

He allowed you to choose.

Lance Stroll caught your eye. He was so different, yet similar to you.

Many people didn't like him, thinking he was only an F1 driver because of his father. Something you could relate to. People often said how you are leaning on your father too much.

Not exactly the words they choose.

He was handsome and the world of professional drivers excited you.

And so, you went on a date with him.

That stupid date now turned your life upside down.

Falling in love was the goal. But after you ruined his life, you knew better than to keep going.

So, you set him free. No arranged marriage.

And yet, he kept looking for you.

Much like now, as he entered the restaurant, looking everywhere for you and he finally found you.

He wanted to run to you but one of your bodyguards stopped him and made him sit before they left you alone.

"Why are we here? I was hoping you would come home." he said as a waiter placed your drinks in front of you.

"Lance, I know you didn't want this marriage. So, I made it... dissapear."I know this is all because you feel guilty about my injury but it wasn't your fault and I'm fully healed now. You didn't ruin my career."

"But I could have. I could have and it was just such a simple moment, Lance. Such a tiny mistake on my part and-"

"I'm not a child! I'm sick of you, my father and the entire world pretending that I am one! I fell because of my own stupidity. I was watching you when I should have been watching where I was going. All because I fell in love with you and your smile just... It just made me so happy. Because in that moment, on that small country road, I wasn't a rich kid who drives in F1 and you weren't the daughter of a powerful Mobster. We were simply a man and a woman in love." you felt a tear run down your cheek as he let out a long sigh. "How dare you spend all those months smiling at me and then during the first problem you run away?"

His words hurt, but only because you knew he was right.

"One night when I was only fourteen, I thought it would be fun to sneak out with my friends. There was a boy I liked, Jake, he was older as well. He was nothing like you, Lance. He was... aggressive. I didn't see it then, but during that night, he tried to drug me and kill me. Apparently, my father was the reason his father died, so he decided to kill me to hurt my father. Everyone I ever knew only cared about me for my money. I know you understand that. I never knew love and it fucking scares me. Of course, I ran Lance. The first time I have ever felt love and I ruin it? Scares me so much. I rather lose you than have you hate me like others do."

"We are in the same boat, you just didn't notice me yet. We do have a lot to talk about but please, do not push me away. I'm only here to beg you to not leave me, we don't need marriage in the mix. Just please... give us a chance. I love you."

"I love you too. Fuck I do..."

You looked into his eyes and all of the plans you had for the night went out the window.

Your pity party was long over.

You wanted this man.

And you always got what you wanted.

[tragedy-of-commons]

Heyo Gwen!! Congrats on 200 followers once more!!!!!

If you don't mind, allow me to drop in a request too hehe, no pressure of course!

"Wanna make a bet?" + Kamisato Ayato

I'm excited to see what you write for the event (>u<)!!!

– sincerely,

Maple

"Wanna make a bet?"

Ayato's lips curl at the question. Why not bite?

"Such a trap you're laying out for me," he tilts his head, sun reflecting off his pastel blue tufts, right directly into your corneas. You squint, grimacing at his sly expression. "Please, inform me of the stakes."

The Yashiro Commissioner knows which cards to play and when to play them to ensure victory, but he also knows better than to count his chickens before they hatch. You're clever and get your way more than he intends - which is precisely why he's letting you hold his hand in the privacy of the Estate's gardens.

You compliment one another perfectly. It seems like such a childish sentiment to any onlookers (those who dare to look), but even they can't deny this wonderful synergy that you two share, really two halves of a whole--

"I bet you a kiss that you can't remember our first date."

Sometimes, you can be cheekier than him.

"The art of subtlety is lost on you," Ayato tuts, already resigned. "Setting me up to fail like this... one would think you're a sadist."

It's almost comical to utter the words whispered about him by all sorts of political figures to your unassuming character. Even so, he probably won't be winning this bet. Robbed blind of another kiss - how tragic.

Kamisato Ayato is used to this being the way things go, usually nestled between sparring (where he's only lost to you twice), and hushed nights of mulling over poetry (where he still constantly watches the clock). If this routine is at all like the others that came before it, you're about to start gloating about your checkmate.

"I'm not hearing an answer," you singsong, admiring the various flora and painstakingly spoiled greenery.

He sighs, squeezing your hand. "I'd have to give you my best guess."

His memory isn't all what it used to be. Too many precious moments have been lost to the tumultuous sea of work and his constantly occupied mind; it's hard enough to keep it sharp, and even harder to fall into your arms after a long day, given the fact that there's still a lingering worry you may try to assassinate him in his sleep.

Your impish nature softens, grin shrinking into a sweet smile.

"That's all I want from you, Ayato."

Ah. Nevermind.

Before he answers incorrectly, he brings your knuckles up to his lips and kisses each one reverently, maintaining breathless eye contact. He's inclined to savor this while it lasts, after all.

"It had to have been when I first saw you. Mentally, I was already preparing to deal with the eventual public backlash of our marriage," he delivers, smirking against your skin--

You wrench your hand back to presumably elbow him, but Ayato is prepared, capturing your wrist with a gentle flair.

"I am ready for my kiss, as per your terms."

You heave a world-weary sigh, and Ayato has won.

🏷️: @akutasoda, @aviiarie, @lowkeyren

a/n: MAPLE 💗 thank you for your well-wishes n support thus far! you're so silly and fun, hope u like what i did with ayato. i know it's short, but ehhhhhhh i think i did an okay job at characterizing him.

event post here

[jessieren]

Here In America

I managed to go and see Here In America last night and, as promised, here's my (fairly brief) review. If you're going to see it and don't want to know anything in advance then don't read any further - although I've tried hard not to include any spoilers.

Firstly the theatre is tiny... and I mean really really tiny! When they said in the promo video 'you're going to be up close and personal with the audience' they weren't kidding. The stage area is incredibly tight and all the audience are within a few feet of the actors.

The scale of the theatre really gives the sense that you're 'in the room' with what's happening and adds to the sense of tension as the play builds. It also means that you can see the actors every expression and movement and they don't need to project/act up in the same way as you would in a large normal layout theatre. My personal view is that this suited Shaun's more minimal nuanced acting style really well - it was almost like acting for the camera.

The play is just under 90 minutes and is intense, quite complex, and dialogue heavy but the pacing is incredible and the 90 minutes disappeared in a flash. Shaun is on stage for pretty much all of that time and much of the dialogue and interaction happens between Kazan and Miller. The set, props and lighting are very minimal but work well and support the interactions (the scrabble scene near the beginning is great and sets the play up really well).

All four actors are absolutely brilliant but Shaun and Michael Aloni's performances are truly stunning. Shaun really does hold the entire piece together but without overwhelming or detracting from any of the other performances. Whilst it is intense there are some small moments of comedy and Shaun, in particular, plays those really well.

I enjoy plays with small casts as I think you get far more from the relationships and interactions and this is an absolute case in point. The details and nuance of the way the characters interact build a picture of their relationships that support and help move the play along and I think also build a genuine sense of empathy with the conflicts at the heart of the play. I went into it with a clear view of what/who I thought was right and wrong but the script and performances really made me reconsider my views throughout - and I'm still questioning how I feel about it 24 hours later.

Whilst Shaun doesn't look like Kazan (Aloni truly becomes Miller in an uncanny way, and similarly Jasmine is compelling as Monroe - not an easy ask), he is really convincing and plays him with a charm and charisma that gives a fully rounded view of him as a man and the choices he made, where it could have been easy to play him as a more two dimensional 'bad guy'.

I absolutely loved it and really hope it gets the praise and attention it deserves. Its one of the best pieces of theatre I've seen - and I go to a lot!

I'd highly recommend getting to see it - or paying to stream when its available.

Just as a side note: The play covers a lot of ground and refers to quite a lot of detail of Miller and Kazan's lives in particular. My personal view is that you get more from it if you already know the overall chronology of what happened in that period and also understand the basics of Kazan and Miller. I'm sure its still very watchable without the background but personally I felt I got a lot more from it from knowing something about the key characters, events and timeline.

[romanarose]

Wreckage

Joel Miller

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Summary: Joel and Tommy go back to Joel's home the morning after outbreak day and comb through the wreckage of their life.

Warnings: I'll be clear, Joel attempts suicide. Major, major, major trigger warning. Joel's extreme grief, guilt as a parent, just sadness. Endless slightly hopeful, a hint that he will find healing. But it's mostly wump. PLEASE head the warning, i cried writing this.

Based on Wreckage by Pearl Jam. I heard it and immidiatly thought of Joel and Tommy, pleeeeeease listen.

Visited by thought, another darkened day

How you're like the sun, hiding somewhere beyond the rain

I'm needing for the light, stormy is the grey

Rivers overflowing, drowning all our yesterdays

It was over. His life was over. Sarah, his baby daughter, his sweet teenager who was his reason for getting to the end of every hard day, his smart, talented, matured-to-early-because-he-couldn’t-give-her-what-she-needed daughter died in his arms hours ago. Minutes later, him and Tommy were arrested, torn away from where he held her, Sarah’s young body limp in his arms. Joel screamed as the soldiers tried to take him, wanting him to walk away from her when he wanted to lay down and waste away in the field with him. Tommy tried to calm him down but eventually the soldiers took them both away. They were released not too long later, sent back to their little town to gather up their things and move into some quarantine area. Wanting to avoid it, they went to Tommy’s first, grabbing his identification and what he could fit into a bag. Tommy lived in a studio, a messy bachelor pad… Joel had to look through a whole life lived in that house. They stood at the front door, bodies of their neighbors having been cleaned up already. Tommy put his hand on Joel’s back. 

“Are you ready, brother?”

Joel shrugged Tommy off. “No.” He opened the door.

Visited by thoughts on another darkened week

How even every winner hits a losing streak

The mistakes we all make and perfectly repeat

Chains are made by DNA refusing

Refusing to release

Everything was her.

Her soccer shoes on the floor he yelled at her to pick up that day.

The countertop she sat on as a toddler as he cooked breakfast for her on a Sunday that Tommy inevitably would come over and eat. Joel always made extra just incase.

The staircase they had their first major fight when she was 11. She came home late and after years of fairly lax parenting for a mature little girl, he laid down the law. She screamed that he was never around anyway, so why did it matter? Joel wanted to tell her it mattered because he was worried, that he spent the last hour calling every parent he knew, Tommy driving around town after dark because they didn’t know where she was. Instead, he got defensive and raised his voice.

The couch. Every late night movie they fell asleep watching, every time he woke up and she was dozed off on his chest or the arm of the chair. Every night he scooped her up and carried her to bed. Nights she faked being asleep so he’d do it. Feeling her growing up in her arms and feeling his age in his knees but never letting that stop him from picking her carrying her up the stairs, even in her teens. He would have done it last night. Instead he carried her past burning buildings and people killing each other as he and Tommy tried in vain to save her.

Combing through the wreckage, pouring through the sand

Surrounded by the remnants, what we could and couldn't have

Raking through the ashes, falling through my hands

Charcoal on the faces in the burned up photographs

“Whaddya need?” Tommy asked, the question two fold. They were being moved, shuffled to some containment area to be assessed for illness and then… who knows. Joel and Tommy would need clothes for a few days, they were told. But Tommy was also asking Joel, ‘How can I help you?’ But he couldn’t. Not really.

“Some bags in the cupboard.” He answered, looking at Sarah’s 100% paper he hung up on the fridge. Tommy grabbed them, waiting on Joel. They didn't have luggage, he didn’t travel enough for it. Well, Sarah had one, but he didn’t feel like taking a Spongebob suitcase. He had a backpack upstairs where he’d put his clothes in. “Food. Get canned shit.” They had enough of it. Joel was always feeding Sarah chef boyardee and campbells soups, like the lazy parent he was. Why didn’t he take the time to cook her real food? He was always so tired… too tired to take care of his only kid? She was in soccer, she was growing, she was in puberty, why couldn’t he be what she needed? WHy did he have to fail her, again and again and again and…

“M’ going upstairs…” 

Tommy said something, but Joel’s ears were ringing and he couldn’t hear. He couldn’t do it, he couldn’t face his daughter's bedroom… Joel closed his eyes as he walked past. Backpack was in his closet, he would just grab it, shove some basics in there, and get the hell out. When Joel opened his closet door, his backpack was there… And so was the gun he had up top for emergencies.

Oh, visited by thought and this I got to say

If you're feeling the leaving, I can't make you stay

I've only ever wanted for it not to be this way

But you're now like the water

And the water will find its way

He shouldn’t. He knew he shouldn’t. Joel was baptist, he was raised think suicide meant he was going to hell, but what was this world without Sarah? For 13 years, Joel poured everything he had into raising her and it wasn’t enough. He was never home, she said as much in the card she gave him for his birthday. He didn’t feed her right, he didn’t spend enough time with her, every single one of her accomplishments from soccer to her grades was all her. 

The gun was enticing,  up there for him, hidden in a lock box after Sarah got sent home with a pamphlet on gun safety after Columbine. Maybe he should just take it, just incase there was trouble… No, that was stupid. If the government was rounding up civilians, they weren’t going to let him walk in with a gun, everything would be searched. And one guy with a gun wasn’t going to be a match for 100 guys with guns. Joel would probably end up getting Tommy shot too, failing everyone he loved. 

Still, Joel got the keys and opened the lock box.

Combing through the wreckage

Holding out, holding on

Combing through the wreckage

Combing through the wreckage

“Joel, you wanna take a picture or something?” Tommy calls upstairs, startling Joel as he looked at the gun. He barked a no. Joel didn’t need a reminder every day of how he failed Sarah, how his one fucking job was to keep her alive and he couldn’t do that. He was a failure, and without Sarah there was no point.

There was no point.

Oh, visited by thoughts and not just in the night

That I no longer give a fuck who is wrong and who's right

This game of winner takes all and all means nothing left

Spoils go the victor and the other left for dead

Joel took the gun to Sarah’s room. If his home hurt, the pain he felt in here was unbearable. Purple was everywhere, her favorite color. Her bed was unmade, because it never was. He traced fingers over the pictures on her walls, her with her friend, with im, with Tommy. He looked around the room. She was everywhere and nowhere. Tears burned in his eyes, and he didn’t hesitate to let them fall again. Half done homework. When would this have been due? He didn’t know because he didn’t ask. A hair bonnet on the bed stand with some vampire book. The cover looked suggestive, was she old enough to be reading it? Joel knew so little, he was realizing. Did he know too little? It didn’t matter now. All those failures collided into that moment one last night, the moment he lived over and over again. The moment that would be his last thought.  

Combing through the wreckage

Holding out, holding on

Combing through the wreckage

He was taught to believe suicide meant going to hell, but Joel couldn’t fathom that. If there was a God out there, and Joel believed there was, Joel would pay his dues in purgatory and then go on to heaven. If there wasn’t a God, he would just be at peace. 

Either was better than this world without Sarah

Combing through the wreckage

Joel laid down on her bed, smelling her hair products on the silk pillow. 

He raised the gun to his head.

“I’m coming, baby girl.”

Holding out, holding on

Holding out

Holding in

Holding on

Combing through the wreckage

“Joel?”

He flinched. It was a flash of a thought at he pulled the trigger. Tommy. 

The gun went off, grazing his head.

Holding on (combing through the wreckage)

Holding on, oh (combing through the wreckage)

Holding on (combing through the wreckage)

It was unbearable.

When the gun went up, Tommy screamed Joel’s name, running upstairs to find his big brother bleeding out on his niece's bed, and there must have been a moment when Tommy thought Joel was dead.

The pain in his head wasn’t what hurt so bad, it was the pain of Tommy seeing him like this, of being so vulnerable, of having to have the person he should be protecting worrying about him. It was the pain of Sarah’s death. It was the pain of every failure that mounted in his house.

Joel began to scream. He wasn’t sure when it started or when it stopped, but as Tommy sat on the bed and pulled Joel into his arms he screamed.

Falling through the wreckage

“I need you, Joel!” Tommy shouted, frantic as he held gauze to Joel’s head. “You don’t get to leave me! You don’t get to do this!” Tommy was crying too.

But he was right.

Crawling through the wreckage

He had to take care of Tommy. Tommy had to live. Joel had always watched out for his brother, raised him, protected him, made sure he was fed when their dad was passed out drunk and their mom was out late with ‘friends’. Joel had to keep him alive. He failed Sarah, he couldn’t fail Tommy too. 

Joel would lock everything away. He’d push away it all, he’d shove down every feeling about Sarah. He didn’t want a picture, wasn’t going to think of her every day when he had to focus on Tommy.

He looked down at his wrist. When he went to go unlatch it, leave it in the house… but he couldn’t. In that moment, removing the watch would be like removing her again. He decided to keep it. A watch was useful, right?

One reminder. A reminder of what he lost so he remembered to do better for Tommy.

Everywhere, and nowhere at all.

Combing through the wreckage

As they stepped out of the house, the cul de sac seemed far too bright and sunny for the occasion. Too nice. Too happy. But it didn’t matter, Joel reminded himself. He looked at his brother, the younger man’s face seeming aged 10 years in one night. Joel found a new sense of hope.

He’d live for Tommy, he’d keep his family alive. Save who he can.

It didn’t matter what Joel had to do to do it.

*************

Thank you so, so, so much for reading and giving this a chance even though it's not a x reader. I appriciate each and every bit of love you all give.

2 more Joel WIPS to clear out before i excit this fandom

I hope yall give the song a listen, i cried listening to it while writing.

tagging those who might like but dont feel presured!!! i know it cn be triggering

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @miraclesabound @jennaispunk

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Excessive Force : Tom Ludlow x Fem Nurse Reader (COLLAB W/ THE INCREDIBLE @johnwickb1tsch) - Chapter Map Twenty-Seven

TW: medical stuff, talk of dying, nsfw

The next time you go to see Detective Washington Linda is there. She’s always there, bless, and you think that maybe she could use a change of scenery. “Would you like to get a coffee with me?”

She blinks up at you, as though the thought of being anywhere but by her husband’s side never even occurred to her. You sympathize, maybe even more now than a few days ago. You know that if Tom was in that bed…you would be losing your fucking mind. You try not to think about how real a possibility it could be, with the dangers of Tom’s job. Of how it could be not if, but when.

You need caffeine.

You go to the little café, Linda following a step behind you. You order a super sweet frappe drink that barely masquerades as coffee. She gets a latte.

“So…how is he doing?”

“Better,” she answers, looking into the frothed milk atop her coffee. “Stable, now, thank god. But…when he wakes up, we’re still going to have a long road ahead of us.”

“Yeah,” you acknowledge, understanding all too well. “But he’s strong. And you are too. I can tell. You’re going to make it.”

“We were going to leave LA, you know? That money they found in the car? We sold our house. We were going to start over in the Bahamas.”

“Well, maybe you can still do that? After he recovers? I’ve seen people recover from gunshots really well.” You hope you’re soothing her, instead of breaking her psyche down even more, but in truth you’ve never really thought you were good at this human connection stuff. 

Linda gives you the tiniest of smiles, and it warms you up more than the steaming cup in her hands. “You could be doing anything with your break…Why are you coming to see me?” 

“I don’t take breaks,” you say, leaning over with a smile like this is top secret highschool drama stuff. “Well, not usually.” 

She laughs in a huff. “Well, thank you.”

“I wanna be there for you,” you tell her truthfully, toying with the plastic, icy cup in your hands. “I think you could use a friend if I’m not mistaken?” 

“You’re right,” she nods, looking down into her own brew. “Although I’m sensing you need the company, too? After all, the only person I’ve seen you around here with is Ludlow.” 

Oh….Oh. 

Yeah, you suppose it makes sense that everyone knows by now. Tom is a little hard to miss, and you’ve been pinned to his side since the grocery store shootout. Every piece of you wants to defend him again—from the venomous way Linda says his name—dust off his badge and put him on the pedestal he deserves, but this isn’t about Tom…or you right now. “I’m… sorry,” you say, unsure of what else to provide. You bow to her grief, her anger, her pain, because sometimes that’s just what you have to do.

“Can you just tell me something?” She asks, her sorrow suddenly forefront.

“Of course, anything.”

“Tom…didn’t try and hurt him? Did he? He didn’t help the shooters?”

“Linda… No. Jesus, no. Tom, he…” you rub a hand over your face, forgetting that you’re wearing mascara to work because you feel this new sense of pride and confidence and beauty thanks to the subject of your current conversation. “He tried to help him, just like me. He did what he could. I swear to you.”

“And if he didn’t? Would you still be with him?”

For some reason, and it’s a reason you’ll have to do some soul searching about later on, you hesitate to answer that question. Because you’re not sure. Not sure if you would have blacklisted Ludlow for being involved with Washington’s near death, or comforted him about it—“you did what you had to.”

It’s scary, to give all of yourself when you…fuck it, when you love someone. Push morals and decencies and laws aside for a person. Lose yourself trying to justify their behaviors. You’ve been here, what? A dozen times? With friends, family, lovers. Thinking that if you could just see something in them, some redeemable quality, maybe that would erase all their copious horrible ones. 

So, would you? Defend Tom if he had tried to kill Linda’s husband? You answer with what you truly believe: 

“He wouldn’t. Maybe he would try and fight him. Break something, even. But he wouldn’t kill him, Linda. I know he wouldn’t.” 

She appraises you with something in her eyes that resembles trust, and it makes you wonder what you did to deserve it. “I believe you,” she says, confirming your suspicions about her expression. 

“Look. I know…our boys have had their differences. I know I don’t know the details. What I do know, is that Tom is determined to find the guys who shot your husband. He’s…all in on that.”

You’re surprised when Linda frowns at hearing this. “And what does the almighty Captain Wander think about that?”

Now you’re frowning too, because her skepticism maybe puts some things into perspective for you. You remember what Tom told you, about going around the official channels to get things done. “Honestly? I’m not sure it’s official. I just know Tom is on it like a missile. He’s not going to give up.”

Linda sighs, looking down into her coffee. “There’s a part of me that just wants to sweep all this under the rug and start over. But the other part of me?” She looks up at you, a fierce fire in her honey-brown eyes that makes you feel like you just stumbled on a lioness on the prowl. “The other part of me hopes Ludlow kills them all.” 

***

It’s a long, hard day. The weather is getting colder, although it’s hard to call outside cold right now, especially considering where you’re from, but dropping temps, no matter how insignificant Kansians think they may be, still come with colds and sepsis and lung troubles, even here in sweltering LA. 

It’s easier to get through the shift, though, because you’ve made a new friend, and she’s pretty damn cool. Linda is fierce, loyal, beautiful; you would envy her if it wasn’t for admiration getting in the way. Even better, you just seem to click with her so naturally, the vibes between you are immaculate—you feel like you’ve known her your whole life, and that’s really rare to have with someone. 

You chart with a smile for once, because you really hate charting more than anything else on God’s green earth, but take a pause when your phone vibrates in your pocket. 

Hey, baby, am I still picking you up at 1930, or you gonna be late? 

Your smile sharpens and spreads, warmth flaring up your bones like freshly plugged Christmas lights, at Tom’s message.

I can do seven thirty if you stop distracting me.

But I miss you :(

Oh my god. Now you’re blushing and giggling.

C’mon, you know you’ve been thinking about me all day.

Nope. Forgot your name, actually. Who is this, anyway? 

I think it’s time we give you that spanking.

I can take the bus home….

You know I will stop that bus with my lights and sirens on. 

Fuck u, handsome.

Maybe after I turn that little ass red. 

You roll your eyes, scoffing just as hard as clenching. This man is going to kill you. He’s so goddamn sexy it should be illegal. And he’s making all your dirty little fantasies come true while simultaneously making your heart melt. You shove your phone back into your pocket, determined to go back to work so you can actually get out at the time you’re supposed to, but it vibrates again. 

I’m very serious about pulling that bus over. Don’t even try it. 

Yes, officer. 

Good girl. 

What a dick. You’re absolutely head over heels for him. Asshole.

How the hell are you going to betray his trust and let Julian have his way with you? How are you not going to feel crippling guilt every time you look into those coffee brown eyes? How. Furthermore, is Julian going to want to keep doing this with you? Training you like you’re some sideshow pony? You grimace at the thought. 

It’s wonderful, how when you see Tom all those bad feelings seem to go away—especially since he picks you up in full uniform, those delicious glinting handcuffs strung proud to his belt. You bite your lip when you see him, and he kisses the sting away. 

“Working late?” You ask, shimmying your thumbs into his belt loops and pulling him closer. It’s been long, hard hours without him, and you missed him more than you want to admit. 

He presses you up against the wall, just like you want, and tucks stray, wild hairs behind your ears. “Had a residential disturbance,” he says, “let me make you dinner.” It’s beautiful, how such mundane things sound so sinfully promising through his voice. 

“You are dinner, Officer Ludlow.” Because God, you really have just been aching to lean into this cops and robbers fantasy that he started on that dark highway. All you’ve been able to think about is getting on your knees and undoing this uniform and sucking him empty.  

Fuck Julian, and your job, and everything else when he kisses you with a growl, hands cupping the back of your head and threading through your hair so he can get you closer. He either really likes this feral beast you’ve become, or really doesn’t like it judging by this lip splitting dance of tongue and teeth that leaves you gasping for breath. “Careful, baby, might have to lock you up and keep you all to myself.” 

You do love the sound of that. 

***

You ask Tom to take you somewhere…somewhere high and airy where you can look down on the city of Angels. The city you both protect, with shining colorful lights that fight valiantly against the dark night. Tom holds you in his arms, chin on your head, and you don’t mind that all the shiny bobbles on his uniform poke at you. You feel so safe, right here, even though you’re alone in the woodsy hills of LA, and it’s because he has you securely tucked between his biceps. 

“Something’s going on with you,” he says, kissing the top of your head. “I can tell, you know that?” 

The fine hairs along your spine lift, and you hide your face in his arm, trying with all your might not to start crying like a baby. 

“I’m just scared, of those guys trying to get rid of me…” it’s not a total lie, although it, surprisingly, between Julian’s clutches and Tom’s freedom, is the least of your worries. 

He pulls you closer. “Listen, baby, I’m gonna protect you. I know you’re not used to that, to someone having your back, but I do. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere…not even if you want me too.” 

You chuckle. “Yeah, I know.” 

“I think I should probably ask you out properly, but I’ve been a little nervous.”

Your chuckle turns to confused laughter, and you look up at his sheepish smile. “The unbreakable Tom Ludlow, nervous?” 

“Yeah, that you’re gonna tell me to go pound salt…again.” He tries to smile his way out of that statement, but his eyes droop and the corners of his mouth twitch with the effort of nonchalance. And you are a fucking asshole for trusting Julian and snubbing Tom—that’s all you really know for sure. 

“Will you go out with me?” 

His grin turns authentic, and it scares you how much lighter you feel now that he’s genuinely happy again. 

“Yeah,” he agrees on the soft crown of your hair.

[nightwriter357]

Smosh Summer Games:ships part 8

Thank you so much for all the support guys. After this one there's 2-3 parts left and I'm so excited for you to read it and hear you opinions on it!! Hope you guys like this one!

Part 8: Why is everybody afraid of love, LOVE.

Waking up next to him still felt bittersweet. This is temporary, you reminded yourself. Soon, you’d be waking up alone again, the warmth of his body just a distant memory.

His grip tightened, almost like he could read your thoughts, pulling you a little closer. You stirred and turned to face him, only to find his eyes already on you, half-lidded but awake, studying you.

“Were you watching me sleep?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

He smirked, though there was something softer in his expression. “Caught me,” he said, voice low. “Hard to look away.”

“Smooth.” You smiled, despite yourself. He leaned in, brushing his lips against yours, the kiss soft at first but deepening, almost like he was trying to hold onto every second.

When you finally pulled away, you could feel the weight of the moment between you.

“So... last night really was the last time, huh?” You tried to keep it casual, but your voice wavered slightly.

Damien blinked, his lips parted like he was about to say something, but you cut in before he could respond. “All of this is gonna be over soon,” you said, tracing a finger down his chest, playful but tinged with the uncertainty of what came next.

He sighed, pulling you even closer, his breath warm against your hair. “I don’t know,” he murmured. “I just... don’t want to stop.”

You nudged him playfully. “Then don’t, I'll give you a minute longer.”

He chuckled, his chest vibrating against you. “Is that an invitation?”

“Maybe,” you grinned, feeling a little lighter.

He pulled you back into his arms, the hug lingering a little too long, but neither of you seemed in a hurry to break it. It felt like you both knew that when you did, the illusion would shatter. You thought about asking him if he felt the same way—if this was more than just a fling to him—but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

Instead, you settled for breaking the moment with a nudge. “We should probably head up before someone comes looking for us. Can’t have them questioning why we're always sneaking of”

He groaned, reluctantly letting go. “Yeah, I guess. But if they ask, I'm blaming you.”

“Fair,” you laughed, rolling out of bed with a grin. “Come on, let’s go.”

As you both got dressed and headed up to meet the others, you couldn't shake the feeling of his lingering touches or the unspoken words between you. By the time you reached the group, you pushed the thoughts aside, deciding for now to just enjoy his company.

When you arrived, the others were already gathered, except for Courtney and Shayne, who were nowhere to be seen. You caught a few curious glances from the others, but nobody said anything—yet. They seemed far to invested in their own conversation.

Arasha smirked. "I didn't dominate; I was just... exceptionally prepared."

Angela, raising a fork in her hand, chimed in. "If by 'exceptionally prepared' you mean psychic, then sure."

Arasha raised her mug in silent agreement, her face unreadable. "I'm having a ball, though. Doesn't matter who wins."

Spencer feigned disappointment. "A ball? Really?"

Arasha didn't miss a beat. "Sorry didn't meen to appropriate you culture. A ball is plenty, who needs two anyway?"

Spencer blinked, mock-offended. "Hey, you're expelled for that."

As the group joked around, you couldn't shake the thoughts of this morning. Each glance from Damien seemed to carry more weight than the laughter around you. Are you ever going to be able to not be distracted by him?

Angela snickered. "Is that even something a judge can do?"

"It's usually up to management," Trevor added, nodding sagely.

Olivia leaned in, whispering far too loudly, "Management? So, Rhett and Link?"

Trevor furrowed his brows. "It would be Ian and Anthony?"

She lowered her voic  leaning closer. "Oh, right! That explains why he's been hanging around."

Anthony shook his head with a grin. "You literally whispered that TO me."

Damien chuckled beside you, his hand brushing yours under the table, sparking that familiar warmth between you two. You couldn't help but glance his way, that bittersweet feeling creeping back in.

Chanse playfully nudged Arasha. "We have been trapped on this ship for way to long. We need to meet people, dance, have sex."

Your eyes met Damiens as you tried to supress a smile.

Tommy piped up, wiggling his eyebrows. "So... who do we think is the last person here that got laid?"

Angela laughed, setting her cup down with a bang. "Well, Shayne and Courtney are missing... so I guess it's safe to assume it's at least one of them!"

Everyone chuckled, nodding in agreement. 

Tommy glanced around, leaning forward. "Okay, but who's gonna be the next person to have sex?"

Arasha didn't hesitate, locking eyes with you. "Y/n."

You froze, choking on your coffee. Damien, who had just taken a sip of his drink, nearly spit it out. "Uh, no. Not me. Like how would I even do that?"

You felt your cheeks heat as the group exchanged knowing glances. "Seriously, not me," you echoed, feeling the weight of Arasha's smirk from across the table.

"Oh, really?" she asked, her voice as smooth as ever.

For a second, you swore her gaze shifted to Damien, then back to you. But before you could react, the conversation kept going, leaving you and Damien awkwardly glancing at each other.

Arasha's lips curled into a small, mischievous smile. "But if we were stuck here, Angela would you kiss Amanda?

"No way," Angela scoffed.

Arasha smirked. "But what if you're choking and need mouth-to-mouth?"

"And what if you're doing mouth-to-mouth and you need choking?" Tommy added with a wink.

Amanda, unfazed, leaned back in her chair, a mischievous grin on her face. "I would," she quipped, winking at the group.

Angela eyes looked as is they were going to pop out of their sockets, while the rest of the table erupted in laughter, Amanda elbowed her playfully. 

You smiled along still puzzled by the moment that had just passed. It wasn't what Arasha said, though- that definitely lingered, it was the way she said it. Like she knew something you didn't. 

"Well, at least we know Damien wouldn't be hooking up with anyone," Arasha said with a sly grin. "You know how he is—he's gotta actually like the person first."

Your heart jumped at that, stealing a glance at Damien. What does that mean?

Damien didn't look at anyone else but you, his expression softening. "Yeah... I'm not into meaningless things." His voice was quiet but firm, each word carrying a weight that made your breath hitch.

Tommy, oblivious, chuckled. "No random flings, huh?"

Damien's gaze never wavered from yours. "You could say that," he said slowly, his voice carrying weight. The implication hung in the air, and your chest tightened, trying to read between the lines.

The intensity of his words sent your thoughts spiraling. He means me... doesn't he? It was too much to process, the uncertainty, the possibility. You needed space.

"I, uh, need to... get some air," you blurted, standing quickly as you excused yourself from the table.

You barely registered their responses as you walked away, your heart pounding in your chest. You had to talk to Courtney. Now. As you left them at the dining table you could hear Angela saying, "but she went downstairs? is she getting air inside?

 You weren't sure if barging into the room to talk about this was a great idea—especially with Shayne there. You had told Courtney about you and Damien hooking up, but this? This was a whole different level of confusion. Still, you couldn't keep it bottled up anymore. Talking about this felt... awkward, but you needed to figure out what was happening. 

You burst into the room, barely giving Courtney and Shayne time to process your frantic energy. They both sat on the bed, chatting before you interrupted.

"I need to talk to you... about Damien," you blurted, breathless.

Courtney raised an eyebrow, exchanging a look with Shayne.

"Oh, so it's finally happening," Shayne said, smirking.

You blinked. "Wait, what? You knew?"

"Of course," he replied, sitting back. "I've known for a while."

You blinked rapidly, confused. "How? I only just told Courtney!"

Shayne glanced between you and Courtney, his smirk turning into confusion. "You told her?"

Courtney stifled a laugh, sensing where this might be heading. Shayne didn't pick up on it.

"I mean, we already told her that," he continued, clearly thinking you were on the same page.

You threw your hands up, bewildered. "Wait, wait... hold on. How could you know? I never talked to you about... Damien and me."

Shayne grinned, still oblivious. "Come on, he told me WAY before he told you."

You stared at Shayne, dumbfounded. "Wait, how could you know before me? That literally makes no sense. What, did Damien give you like... a rundown of all of it before it happened?"

Shayne, still unaware, gave a confused chuckle. "Well, yeah, obviously he told me about it before you."

Your face twisted in disbelief. "BEFORE?! What do you mean 'before'? I'm pretty sure I was there every time. I would have known BEFORE you?!""

Courtney's eyes widened, "Wait everytime? It happned more than once!?"

You blushed, your voice low. “a.. few times.”

Shayne raised an eyebrow, still not catching on. "Uh, can  ithappen more than once?"

You stared at him, completely lost. "What? Yes, what do you mean, ofcourse if can happen more than once? It's not like you guys have only had sex once?" You looked over at Courtney."

Courtney stifled a laugh as Shayne blinked in bewilderment. "Wait, WHAT?! You guys had sex?"

Courtney burst into laughter, clutching her sides. “Oh my god, this is the best thing I’ve ever witnessed!”

"That IS what we are talking about?!" you exclaimed, rubbing your temples.

Shayne ran his hands through his hair, looking utterly flustered. "Wait, that’s what you’ve been talking about this whole time?!  - So your saying he told you that he's inlove with you and then you had sex?!"

"Yes" You froze mid-sentence. "Wait... WHAT? In love with me?! I'm just talking about the fact that we had sex!"

Shayne looked like he was processing way too much at once. "Hold up. So Damien, who has been in love with you for years, finally hooks up with you... and you thought it was a fling?"

You blinked, trying to make sense of everything. "Oh my god. He likes me? Like, actually likes me? I didn't know he was in love with me! I thought it was just... something that happened."

Shayne let out a half-laugh, half-groan, shaking his head. "Oh my god, this whole time... How did you not see it?"

Your eyes widened.  Shayne facepalmed as you started to ramble. "He likes me? Why? How? When? Oh my god—he's liked me this whole time?"

Courtney snorted, wiping away tears from laughing. "This is such a mess."

"I like him too," you muttered, your brain short-circuiting from the revelation. "I... I need to talk to him."

Shayne groaned. "You better, because I need to lie down after this.."

Courtney had a wide smile on her face, "Oh my god, this is going to be so good."

You dart out of the room, practically skidding around the corner as you spot Damien near the door to your cabin. Your breath’s still catching up, but you launch into words anyway.

“Damien!” you pant, rushing over. “We—we get along, right? Really well?

He blinks, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Yeah, I know.. we do. What’s up?”

You take a deep breath, trying to slow your racing thoughts. “Okay, good, because I want us to still get along when we get back, even after… you know, everything that’s happened.”

“Uh-huh…” he responds, clearly not following where this is going.

“And now that we know all of that, there’s… also a lot of stuff we don’t know! Or, I mean, stuff you don’t know, or that I know but you don’t know—yet!” You’re practically vibrating with energy.

Damien's eyebrows scrunch together, trying to piece together what you're saying. “Wait, what? I mean, I think we know eachother very well.”

“Yes! Exactly!” You pause, realizing how close you’re getting. “Well, not exactly. I mean, yes, but—wait, no, I mean—ugh, I don’t know how to say it!”

Damien’s brow furrows, his confusion deepening. “Waht are you trying to say?”

 You take a deep breath, trying to collect yourself. “I mean, I..

Just as you’re about to blurt it all out, Spencer pops up between you two, practically bouncing with excitement. “Hey, lovers! Time for the game!”

You gape at Spencer as he throws his arms around both of you. “Let’s go!” He pulls you both away before you can get another word out. You glance back at Damien, who’s still looking mildly puzzled, but you’re already being whisked away.

Your chance slips away as Spencer drags you off, and all you can think is: Great timing, Spencer. Great timing.

[thesilmarillionblog]

𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭: 𝟖

Click here to read the first part.

Summary: You and Soldier Boy want to create a family and move on from everything, even the Vought, but you also know that he has to face Homelander one last time to keep his vow to Butcher. However, nothing turns out as you had hoped.

Pairing: Soldier Boy / Reader

Warnings: light smut, angst, language, sexual tension, teasing

Word Count: 5814

A/N: English is not my first language.

This is inspired by the song 'Remembrance' by Memoria Futuri.༊

Your fingertips reached out the eagle symbol as your hands moved over the hard plate on his chest while you remained seated on his lap. Soldier Boy continued to watch every move you made. As the minutes went on, his grasp on your stomach grew softer, and you started to question your ability to truly influence his thoughts over Cate and other things. You hoped you would be able to go back inside his heart and that he would be able to love you without missing the times that you were reluctant to remember.

You wanted to make things right because you felt a strong draw toward him, even if you weren't sure how.

You were cool with it if he wanted you to Temp-V so he wouldn't force your mind to surrender you to the merciless hands of another Supe. You were obviously anxious to discover your dynamics with him, but you must have done it many times with him. You were curious about how he treated you in bed. The idea heated your cheeks. 

As if sensing it, he remarked in a playful tone, “What are you thinking now?”

“Nothing,” you said. “Just us.”

Your answer warmed his heart. If he couldn't remember every detail of the times you had spent together, he would say it was deja vu. But you were back on his lap, telling him that all you could think about was him and you. You sounded precisely the same, as if you were deliberately recreating that same moment, so he wondered whether he was right to think that you were different. But all memories were forgotten, and here you were in his arms. 

You made an effort to approach him more closely than you had previously, and you inquired, “Are you okay too, though? Instead of focusing on finding Cate and forcing me to recall things, considering extending my time.”

He said, “On one condition.” His hands seemed softer now, like if he could pull them back at any second. 

“I already accepted taking that thing you mentioned, Temp-V.”

“There is one more,” he said with determination. His expression was serious. 

“What now?” You sighed. He was constantly asking something more.

“If you can't remember a single thing in a month, you will agree to get help from Cate.”

You instantly said, “No way!” and were irate that he hadn't even given you six months. You had doubts; he cared about your feelings much. “You're being cruel. Let me have four months.”

With a tone of rage, “Fuck no,” Soldier Boy tightened his hold on your body. “One and a half.”

You sighed, seeing how quickly he was growing furious. “You're asking too much from me, you know.” There was something different about his rage. 

“How it's too much when I want the woman I loved to come back to me.”

The way he utilized the past tense made your body tense. Your mood fell as you realized that, despite your best efforts, there was still some distance between you. Your palms touched the eagle symbol on his chest and then went gently down to the belt, which had a star symbol on it. Soldier Boy felt regret after realizing what he had just said, but instead of offering an apology, he said nothing that would have made you feel even worse. 

You were reaching out to him, and he was reaching out to you, but your efforts were going in separate directions. Why did he find it so difficult to accept you as you are? Was the difference between the old and new you really that much? You questioned if you were really that annoying.

You muttered, “Give me three months then,” without responding to what he had just said. There was a hint of disappointment in your voice. It was difficult to control how you were feeling.

With annoyance, Soldier Boy examined your face and inhaled deeply. “One and a half. That's all I will give. Discussion is over.”

“No.”

“For God's sake,” he murmured in frustration. You began to become enraged with him for his impatient manner since he was being so persistent. At least he could acknowledge some of your decisions while you were being so kind, even if he didn't like your new version.

You scowled and tried to get to your feet to break free of his hold, but his hands stopped you with ease. Soldier Boy drew you closer to his body with a serious look, saying, “Stop moving.”

You placed your hands on his shoulders and said, “You stop being a stubborn asshole.” Then, with a rapid motion that brought your body even closer to his, you gasped, “Ow!” as his iron belt hurt your stomach.

Soldier Boy instantly released his hold on you. His expression was one of perplexity, as though he hadn't realized what he was doing. You questioned how you managed to stay with him for so long given how harsh he was and had such a temper. 

“Language.” With a hint of irritation in his tone, he playfully responded, “Show some respect to your man. That's what happens when you don't listen to me.” He replaced your body back on his lap. He looked over your stomach and raised your t-shirt a little higher to see if you were hurt. It burned a bit, but there was just a slight scretch. 

For a split second, you felt like a foolish young girl because of your excitement at his remarks. “I wonder how I survived with you,” you muttered once more as you stopped physically battling with him. Soldier Boy's fingers lightly touched the small mark on your stomach, giving him a disappointed expression, yet his expression was serious on the other side. “I should have been with a regular man who would respect my choices.”

He got frustrated that you brought up being with another man instead of him and remarked, “Watch your mouth,” as he let your t-shirt fall in a rough manner. “Respect the decisions you've made? A man is a pathetic and useless pussy who can't fix anything if he just lets go of everything when his woman experiences memory loss.”

“Or?” you said, trying to lighten the mood by lightly teasing him. While you were still on his lap talking to him about your future together, you realized it wouldn't be a good idea to argue with him. “And I'm not something to be fixed. You must know how thick your skull is.”

With a little smile, he studied your face and body till your cheeks reddened. You tried to get away from him slightly, but he held on closely. You stiffened up as his fingertips continued to linger on your skin and gently moved into your t-shirt. 

“What were you saying? Now, what happened? Do you need me to remind you of the other thick parts of my body that you found most pleasing?” Soldier Boy inquired, a sly smile playing on his lips. It was apparent that he was enjoying your response to him. You could feel the hardness of him beneath his suit as he rubbed your body against it. His mouth was so dirty that it made your cheeks flush crimson.

You whispered, “Don't change the subject,” without saying anything more. Your pussy had other plans, even though you tried not to stare at his massive member beneath you. “Will you allow me enough time? Four months seems like a reasonable amount of time.”

“No way.” He said it in a more controlled manner this time. You knew he was briefly looking at your body as his hands and fingers caressed your skin and held you tightly to his body. There was desire in his eyes; you could tell that.

Instead of disturbing you, though, it unexpectedly thrilled you. It seemed as though there was a magnetic pull between you or that your bodies were attempting to reunite in a more intimate manner. 

“That would be enough, and it benefits you the most,” you said. 

He arched an eyebrow at your refusal, chuckling. “In what ways will it benefit me?” Then Soldier Boy took a serious attitude, although it was clear that he was amused by your attempts. 

You stated, “If I don't love you back the way I had loved you in the past, you can tell my emotions were fake or something.” Even though you knew it was a cheap move, you still felt like you had to try it. 

The look on Soldier Boy's face shifted, as if he gave it some real thought. You might sense there was a brief moment of little lack of confidence if you didn't know how much he knew about himself. Nonetheless, he was undoubtedly the most attractive and powerful Super. 

“I know you love me already, and when you said you did, you said it sincerely.” There was no debate after his sharp remarks. “It doesn't matter if you remember or not.”

You dared to challenge him even though it wasn't a smart move. “How can you be so sure, and why so stubborn if it doesn't matter?”

“Because I can tell when you are lying. They are not the same thing,” he replied. 

With a cunning appearance on his lips, he watched you cautiously as your hands slid gently over his suit. You could have chuckled at how patient he was now, in spite of his intolerance only moments before, if you hadn't felt his hardness beneath you. 

You posed a lighthearted question, “Can I change your mind a bit?” You wanted him to be unconscious of how much this was fun for you, but you both were into playing a little. There was an overpowering need for discovering your balance with him. 

Your hands returned to his shoulders after carefully grazing each and every inch of his suit. As he stared at you and did nothing except hold you close, you felt a kind of joy emerge in your chest. Soldier Boy was the one who was closest to you and was willing to let you do everything you wanted to do him, even though you had known Butcher and the other guys for a very long time. You knew it was different with him.

“I'm not sure. You have to give it a try,” Soldier Boy grumbled, returning his hands to your hips. “You must know I'm not very easy to convince.”

“I see that,” you winked at him. At least you knew just how stubborn he was without needing your memories to return. However, you were equally determined about pursuing what you wanted. 

Soldier Boy couldn't resist chuckling when he saw how much you were already enjoying. For a little while, you felt as though you knew him as well as he knew you, and everything between you was normal. 

You said, almost in a whisper, “I want to bargain,” shifting slightly on him despite the fact that your cheeks were burning. If he acted more stubbornly and pushed you away, you would be quite embarrassed. 

To your astonishment, though, his hands kept stroking your hips—only more forcefully this time. Instead of harming you, he was once again showing his dominance to you. 

When you noticed he was considering it, you asked again, your cheeks heated, and you started to move on him a little. “Can we negotiate?” 

“Yeah,” he murmured, seemingly disconnected from what you had to say, and instead he stared at your body. 

That's when Soldier Boy turned to look at you. His eyes were staring at you intensely. You trusted him when he said he missed you. You were there with him, comfortably seated on his lap. You weren't uncomfortable or anything even a day ago. It just felt right to be with him.

Soldier Boy smirked and gave you a quick ass squeeze. “Show me what you can do to convince me,” he urged. Although your eyes became wide, you were determined not to allow Cate to touch you and fuck your brain's balance. 

You weren't sure how far you would go without Temp-V at the time, and you didn't know how much he would go far. You had at first wanted to speak with Butcher. But there has to be a way to get him interested enough. 

You shifted slightly on his lap, one hand caressing his neck and hair, the other gently touching his huge bisceps. Your lips parted in surprise and desire as you felt his erection under you. Even though you had both stated that you were not interested in having sex before you remembered him, here you were, unable to get your hands off of one another as if you were meant to be together forever. 

You remained motionless, yet your lips were almost in contact. All you could do was stare into his eyes. He continued to hold you, the mock on his lips disappearing as his hold on your hips grew stronger and stronger. 

“How about...” you muttered. “Four months?” 

“Fuck no,” he responded, giving you a firm squeeze to move on him. 

To give you adequate space, Soldier Boy widened his legs a little. As you moved, you could feel his hands tightening around your thighs and his breathing becoming heavier. The strength difference between you made you a little uneasy, but you would have told him the moment his touch began to hurt. 

He suddenly said in a stern voice, “I should have fucked you on that table,” urging you to continue. Although there was quite a barrier between you and his pants, it didn't stop you from getting pleasure. 

Your body and cheeks became flushed from embarrassment, but you persisted and stated, “Give me four months.” 

You could never have agreed to let some other Supe get near you and screw your mind even more. 

You gasped in shock when Soldier Boy ignored what you had said and put a firm grasp on one of your tits through your t-shirt. He had hands all over the place. By the end, you weren't sure if you would be the one to get what you wanted. All of his focus was on his own needs.

“Feel how much you still make me hard, baby,” he muttered on your neck, pressing you on his stiff cock more thoroughly. “We haven't been this way in a very long time. I've so fucking missed watching you move on my cock.”

Longing was present in his final words, along with a lot of yearning. Though you tried to dismiss it and concentrate on the present, you couldn't help but feel a type of sadness tightening in your chest. Though you hoped you missed him just as much as he did, you showed no signs of this feeling. It seemed as though you had never separated. 

At that moment, you found yourself willing to play the game he needed.

In an attempt to give him what he truly desired from you, you hesitated before placing one of your hands on his and making him squeeze your ass firmly. 

“How much did you miss me?” you asked, meeting his gaze directly. Though your lips met his, it was not a kiss. His lips and touch were warm. 

It would be great if you knew his name, but though you tried so hard, you could not recall. You hoped that you had forgotten Butcher's instead.

Soldier Boy's lips began to lick your neck and throat. “So fucking much,” he moaned. It was evident from the way he moved underneath you that this was making him harder than before. 

Between gasps, you proceeded, encouraged by his reaction to your touch and words, “Will you give me four months?” His grip on your hips began to ache a little, but you bit your lip to keep the moment from being ruined until you had what you wanted.

He groaned, “Don't stop,” as soon as he noticed you were moving on him more slowly. His finger was lingering around your trousers and giving you little bruises. You tense up, thinking he's going to rip them off, so you tried to get the speed that Soldier Boy needed.

“You did give me a good hand job there, didn't you?” He let out a moan as you struggled to maintain the same pace. You made an effort to loosen his hold somewhat with your hand, but he didn't seem to be listening. 

“Given how long it's been, you would let me fuck you raw right now, wouldn't you? Wouldn't you allow me to fully fill your tight pussy and fuck you from behind till you can't move?” You eventually whimpered as Soldier Boy tightened his grasp on your hips and murmured into your ear. 

“Careful!” His hot kisses on your neck were so passionate and intimate that you felt yourself losing yourself in the moment with him as you moaned in pain and stroked his hands to calm him. 

He said, “I'm not even using force; relax,” as if he were at the end of his tolerance. It was impossible to determine if he was very aroused or enraged. Most likely, he had no idea how powerful he was. You came to the realization that using Temp-V was a wise decision. It was risky to be with a supe like him since you never knew if he was aware of what he was doing. 

His lips captured yours with desire, allowing you to slow down and ultimately release his hands from your hips without allowing you to say anything more. You felt a bit more at ease once he released your hips. 

You said, “We need to calm down,” in between kisses. You gave him softer, more tender kisses in return for his fierce, heated ones. It was absurd that you felt safe getting closer to a man you had only met the day before.

Soldier Boy was not your boyfriend; he was a stranger in fact. Someone you couldn't remember. But your heart knew the right path. 

He moaned, “Can't get my hands off of you,” kissing you this time with care and desire. “Fuck, I need to be inside you right now.”

“But I didn't take Temp-V,” you murmured hurriedly. It was difficult for you to make predictions as to how you did it because you couldn't recall your private moments with him.

“So?” Not sure what you were hinting at, Soldier Boy stated in a querying tone.

You muttered, “I don't know,” struggling to find the right words. “How.. we used to do it.”

“Do what?” he repeated, but this time he was smirking.

You stopped him and said, “Don't act like an asshole,” but his rough hands were already on your hips once more.

He kissed you hard and briefly in between talking about your attitude, saying, “The first thing you must remember is that'respect' for sure. And yes, we did it many times without Temp-V or anything else.”

You've been rubbing yourself against him and quietly panting. You just whispered, “Hmm.”

Once more, Soldier Boy gained complete control over your body and forced you to rub up against him while murmuring, “You wouldn't believe how many times I've fucked you without Temp-V.”

As gentle fingers ran through your hair, you muttered, “Was it good enough for you?”

“Perfect,” Soldier Boy responded with honesty.

“Protection?” you asked once again. It was difficult to comprehend what kind of power imbalance there might be between you and Soldier Boy during such times. He wasn't even aware how hard he grasped your hips until you warned him. 

“No,” to make it short, Soldier Boy's brought your body as close as his as he possibly could. You scowled as you saw his expression change. His voice had lost its tone of amusement and had become harsh. 

“Why?” 

“I'm a supe. There's no way I... could get you pregnant. Our DNA's are built differently.” Oh. 

Expressing verbally, a sort of rage entered Soldier Boy's heart. He couldn't recall the last time he had given an explanation for his inability to complete something. Even if he didn't intend to have children at that moment, it hurt his pride as a man to be unable to get you pregnant. He repeatedly filled you in a single day and continued to do so for months, but you were never able to conceive.

You said, “Okay,” in a whisper. Though he had made it plain, he did not explicitly state that the reason was that you were weaker than him. You were unable to overcome the anguish that was around your heart like a glass.

You couldn't stop thinking if the person you used to be had any plans to have a baby with him. You were startled that the thought didn't even slightly worry you as your mind raced with images of you, Soldier Boy, and a tiny baby. On the contrary, it kind of excited you. But it looks like the concept would remain a far-off fantasy that wouldn't ever come to pass. 

“So,” you began, hoping to get the conversation to go somewhere else. Your hands hesitantly touched his chest, then his iron belt, making contact with the star sign. “How about our negotiation?”

“Two months,” he said emphatically, as if nothing could make him reconsider at that very moment. 

If you weren't sitting on his lap while he stared at you longingly and with anticipation, you would have giggled at his inflexibility. You wanted to take some time and give it your all, even though you were aware of his earlier statements that he wouldn't love you in this way. 

You reached between his legs with your hands down. You could feel him tensing beneath you as your palms found his hardness through his jeans. He began to loosen his hold on your body when it became too tight since he clearly didn't want to harm you. 

“Two months is not enough,” you told him, lightly stroking his hardened cock with your palm against his trousers. 

With a swift moment, Soldier Boy shifted your positions and with an escaped gasp on your lips, you were under him, on the bed. He gently pushed your hair from your face and placed himself between your legs. Your eyes widened with surprise as he took your hand and put on his cock, making you to rub him through his pants.

Neglecting your words, Soldier Boy said, “Take it out.” He was already waiting for you to do something. “Now.”

Excitement flooded your body, so you followed his orders. After giving him a few more rubs to torment him, you unzipped his pants very slowly to get him more thrilled, though messing with a Supe wasn't a smart idea. 

“I thought you didn't want to touch me until I remembered everything,” you stated. “Why did you say it if you didn't mean it?”

“I decided to change my opinion, and why not? We used to bang five times in a row,” he snapped back. He truly never felt embarrassed over anything. Your body became hot when you attempted to figure out how you could take him so many times. 

You whispered, blushing at his bold remarks, “Don't you have a filter on your mouth?”

Soldier Boy said in your ear, “You should hear me when I'm inside you, swetheart,” as you finally succeeded in unipping his pants with trembling hands. You couldn't help but notice the longing on his face, his messy hair, and his hot breath. He was terribly good-looking and masculine. 

With a slight roughness in his voice, he thrust his hips toward your hand and seemed eager to continue. 

“Are you thinking about how much time you'll give me?” You inquired lightly, refusing to take him out of his suit no matter how many times he ordered you to continue. Soldier Boy shot you a cold stare right after. 

“Depends.” 

“On?” 

“Your little handiwork performance,” he stated with a brief smile that offered you his desire. 

With a hesitant smile back, your hands started to work on his pants to remove him. It was a play that you were both on. You two knew what was happening probably made you more thrilled than he was, and he would stop whenever you wanted him to, so it wasn't like he was pressuring you into doing anything you didn't want to. That was ingrained in your bones and feelings. 

You struggled to free him from his suit and were a little afraid of seeming foolish. Once some time had passed, you gave him a helpless glance. All Soldier Boy did was smirk mischievously over you. 

You said, “You could give a hand,” as your hands were a little aggressive on the material. 

“I thought that was what you're going to do.”

You surprised yourself by pulling his head to yourself and kissing him, refusing to let him torture you any longer. Thank goodness, Soldier Boy responded to your kisses instantly, and it didn't take long for his to take control and start making coarse noises within your mouth. 

You had no idea who was making louder noises or which of you was kissing each other harder. You were just aware that he was pressing you against the bed. He pulled back, allowing you a moment to catch your breath. During that moment, his lips remained on your neck, giving you a few gentle nibbles that left you whimpering.

You could feel the desire between your legs as Soldier Boy's hands frantically tugged at his clothes to get himself free. You were unsure if he would take you there.

Your phone rang in your pocket, and you realized that he was about to pull his cock out of his pants. As Soldier Boy was ready to pull down his pants, he grumbled in displeasure and halted, ignoring the phone ringing in your pocket. 

With a frantic “Oh, wait,” you attempted to shove his body away. 

Then Soldier Boy quickly took the phone from your pocket and glared at the screen with enraged eyes before letting you react. He stood up, leaving you on the bed by yourself, still gasping after the passionate interaction you had. You could tell who was calling by the way he looked across the room—it seemed like he was waiting for the right opportunity to enrage Soldier Boy even more. 

“You're a dead man,” muttered Soldier Boy as he held the phone up to his ear. “You and your worthless team.” Though it was barely audible, his voice was full of promise. 

Whispering, “Give it to me,” you hastily rose from the bed and attempted to take your phone from Soldier Boy's hands. 

It was obvious that Butcher was getting on Soldier Boy's nerves, even if you could only make out some of what he was saying. Butcher always had an ability of getting under people's skin. 

“How many lies you've told her, I don't know, but one thing is certain. You and your pitiful pets had best hide out in whatever shithole you are now in, because I'm going to kill you all.”

Soldier Boy eventually handed you the phone, ignoring everything Butcher was saying to him. As you waited for Butcher to speak, your pulse raced with thoughts and confusion, but you were at your breaking point. 

“I've called you a hundred times since yesterday,” you immediately complained. It was clear from your voice that you were disappointed. 

You paced the room, ignoring Soldier Boy as he observed you intently and zipped back his pants and straightened his suit. 

“We needed to exercise caution since he managed to catch you. Are you alright?” Butcher questioned it as if it were a common question. You were getting tired of his insensitive attitude already. 

You answered him harshly, “I need to talk to you in private,” ignoring his question.

“This is not the place for you to come. Sweetie, you'd put us all in danger.”

It was difficult to ignore the awful weight of rejection from someone who you still called friend and remembered with a heavy heart. You were aware that, for the most part, Soldier Boy was being truthful at that point. You were dumbstruck at how easily Butcher cast you aside while continuing to discuss safety.

“In somewhere else, of course,” you remarked coldly. “He will not follow me.”

You looked at Soldier Boy to see how he responded, but he was already seated and preoccupied with smoking weed aggressively across the room. Even though he occasionally sent you glares, you wanted to think he wouldn't break his promise to you. 

“Don't be so sure, honey,” Butcher sighed, unsure of how to handle the situation without putting the squad at risk by speaking with you. 

You said, emphasizing every syllable, “He's treating me good. We can meet in the house we all used to live in. I'll go there by myself. Alone.”

Butcher said, “Fine,” not wanting to talk about it any more. “Make sure you come here by yourself, baby,” he asked. Butcher owed you a conversation, even if he wasn't eager to meet you or risk running into Soldier Boy again when he really intended to kill him that much. Especially not after what he had done to both of you.

Of course, there were other topics to talk about.

Feeling relieved that he finally agreed, Butcher informed you when to meet and hang up without saying anything else. You were far too hurt to talk with him without coming out as fragile. After standing for a while staring at the screen of your phone and doing nothing, you turned to face Soldier Boy, who had already begun to drink. Then he looked at you. It was difficult to determine this time if his expression was one of hatred or rage. It was unclear if it was directed against Butcher, you, or both. 

You muttered, “I need to talk to him alone,” which gave you nothing to talk about. It was too much for you to handle.

You felt lost and alone once again.

Soldier Boy said, “Come here,” in a quiet voice. He sighed, seeing your mood drop and your smile fade. He detested seeing you so distressed and heartbroken. It would be simpler if you could just remember, but you were terrified. He couldn't figure out why.

Soldier Boy made you sit on his lap once again and gave you a tight embrace as if he could see what you were going through. Your head was on the cool material of his suit, where the eagle emblem was supposed to be. His warmth was relaxing and soothing.

You said, “He wants me to go to him alone,” hoping that he wouldn't provoke another argument once more.

Surprising you, he simply said, “Okay.”

“Just because I'm not going there with you for this time doesn't mean I won't murder him,” Soldier Boy firmly said, “He will pay for what he did to both of us. He and the others will die for that.”

You wanted nothing bad to happen to Butcher or the others, in spite of all that he had done to you. You knew you would never stay with Butcher again the moment he accepted the lies he'd told you. It did not, however, imply that you wanted his or the others' deaths. The only thing that would be lost would be trust, and that would be enough price.

You stated, “I don't want to talk about this right now,” implying that you didn't want to discuss Butcher or anybody else. You felt his muscles tense beneath your touch, so you decided it wouldn't be a good idea to tell Soldier Boy that you didn't want Butcher to die. 

He kissed your hair, and you closed your eyes with relief. He murmured, “Fine,” with a soothing voice. His roughness didn't make his arms and kisses seem unsafe.

You said, “But I can't stay here too,” keeping in mind that you would have had to see the Seven, Homelander, and their heinous deeds every day. The idea itself was dreadful. “I don't want anything related to the Seven or Vought.”

Soldier Boy inhaled deeply and remembered the last night you spent together, months ago, when everything was okay. At least your hatred for Vought and Homelander did not change. That was good enough. Although he too had no desire to interact with them, he was forced to do so due to the circumstances. For the time being. 

He continued, “We'll talk about such things later,” in a harsh voice, his hands lightly brushing your back as though he were trying to comfort you. 

“Where will I be staying?”

Soldier Boy scowled at your thoughts of living alone. “Obviously, not here.” As if he would let you go. 

With pride, he declared, “I own a place. We’ll stay there.” Though it didn't, it would have been preferable if things had gone as you two had hoped months ago. He wished he had purchased a house while you still remembered him. He would like to see your reaction.

You inhaled with gratitude upon learning that you would not be residing in Vought Tower. You could tolerate this as long as you didn't encounter Homelander and everyone. You were aware that Soldier Boy wouldn't allow you to go elsewhere, apart from him. Whatever had occurred or would happen, you had to confront it.

“Have you thought about the amount of time you'll give me?”

Soldier Boy took another look at the problem and groaned at your intransigent demeanor. He said, “Two and a half months,” playing with your hair and curling it with his fingers. “Not a single day more.”

“Make it three.”

“You are always greedy, aren't you?” He teased to lighten your mood. “Fuck it. Fine.”

“Will you tell me your name?” You asked in a low voice, realizing that you had never addressed him by name and recalling how disappointed he was when you couldn't recall it. You forced yourself to recall it till your brain hurt, but it was just impossible. You felt horrible about not being able to recall even one letter. 

You said, “Jack?” in an attempt to predict what he was going to say before he did. “Kevin? Eric?” 

“Fuck, quit saying other men names. Who the fuck are they?” He abruptly became irate and cut you off; jealousy was clearly taking over. 

“I don't know anyone with those names.” You said, playing with his possessive gaze as you raised your head to look at him. “Are you jealous?” 

“I am,” he declared firmly. The roughness in his tone made you giggle.

“You can forget everything—my face, my name, and even our memories—but you never forget that you are solely mine. You belong to me in your every version.”

⋆⋅☆⋆☆⋅⋆──────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────⋆⋅☆⋆☆⋅⋆

A/N: I guess that was a filler chapter. Please let me know what you think. Comments are keep me going. ♡

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