#And the best part of course is that he doesn’t even wait for the dinner date to pop the question

[monzabee]

Hi!!! I know you're in Turkey, and therefore obviously can't work on requests, but I thought I should put on in for when you get the chance to write!!

I've been so hooked on the nanny series with hotch, and even more with the way you write his feelings!! I want to request something for it. Maybe she takes a day off, which is already pretty unusual for her, and is kinda secretive an vague about what it is. I'm imagining her going on a date and hotch somehow finding out about it and I just want to read all about his reaction.

Obviously if this isn't an idea you're super into, no worries! I look forward too reading more of your writing :)

- H

too late, too soon - a. hotchner

criminal minds masterlist || part of the nanny series

Summary: you’re left wondering about your boss’ feelings towards you. unfortunately for you, aaron isn’t exactly an open book. 

Pairing: aaron hotchner x nanny!reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: they finally realize they are in love! jealous aaron! sad reader! not a happy ending i'm not gonna lie to you, angst galore 

Author's Note: hellooo!! this was very fun for me to work on and it feels so good to be working on some requests after coming back! this is a shameless reminder that my requests are still open! thank you so much for your request and i hope you like it!

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 

You've realized that the work-life balance of a nanny is rather non-existent after the first few months you’ve spent with the Hotchners. Not that you’re particularly complaining, of course. Jack is probably the nicest kid to ever exist, and Aaron is... well, he is Aaron.  

So, when you tell Aaron you’ll be taking the day off, you notice the small furrow in his brow, the way his hand tightens slightly around his coffee mug. 

“Is everything alright?” he asks, voice even. 

“Yeah, of course. Just... taking a little time for myself,” you say, offering what you hope is a casual shrug. You don't mention the coffee date you’ve agreed to—mostly because saying it aloud feels strange, and you don’t know how you’d tell him in the first place.  

You thought he’d make a move after the way he looked at you at the gala. Or after you literally shared a bed after having a fight. Or better yet, after you looked after him when he was at the hospital last month.  

But nope. Zilch. Nada.  

So now you’re here, fumbling for casual lies, pretending you don’t care, pretending the tiny crack in Aaron’s professional façade doesn't make your heart pound louder in your ears. 

“Of course,” he says after a moment, nodding tightly. "You deserve it." 

You wonder if you’re imagining the strain in his voice. Maybe you want to hear it too badly. 

You leave early the next morning, feeling oddly guilty for stepping out. You tell yourself it’s normal — you’re allowed to have a life outside of this house, outside of Jack and Aaron and all the complicated feelings simmering beneath your skin. And a coffee date isn’t a date in the first place. It’s in the middle of the day, so in your mind, you’re not even going out on a date ‘date’. If anything, it’s just you testing the waters... and trying so desperately to get your mind off your very emotionally constipated boss.  

Still, you check your phone twice before the date even begins, half-expecting a text you have no reason to hope for. 

Lo and behold, it doesn’t come. 

You shove your phone back into your bag and force yourself to focus. The guy — Mark? Matt? — is sweet enough. He’s charming in a way that feels almost too easy, too practiced, but you let yourself laugh at his jokes and sip your coffee and pretend like you don’t feel like you’re waiting for someone else. Someone, who you’d consider the most stubborn man on this earth, but heart wants what it wants, you suppose. He's kind, easy to talk to, and you do your best to focus on the conversation instead of wondering what Jack’s having for dinner or if Aaron remembered Jack’s favorite bedtime story. 

What you don't know is that you’re not the only one at that café. 

Aaron hadn’t meant to find you. Honestly, he hadn’t even realized how close he was until he heard your laugh — soft and familiar, threading into him like muscle memory. 

He's frozen on the sidewalk, briefcase in hand, watching you from across the street through the window. The man you’re with leans in slightly, laughing at something you’ve said, and Aaron feels an unfamiliar prickle of jealousy claw up his spine. 

You look... happy. 

He should be happy for you. 

He should leave. 

Instead, he stands there too long, the scene burning into the backs of his eyelids even after he forces himself to turn away. And because he is a masochist, his eyes choose to focus on the way your hand brushes against your date’s across the small table—a fleeting, innocent touch—but it’s enough to make his chest tighten painfully. He tries to make himself believe that it is for the best when he’s walking to his car.  

He tells himself he doesn’t care. 

He tells himself you deserve someone who isn’t him. 

He tells himself that letting you go is the right thing. 

But the truth is, none of that is true. Because he knows you don’t deserve someone with all his baggage—but he knows you don’t deserve coffee dates either. You deserve more. And God help him; Aaron wants so badly to be the one to give it to you. 

He grips the steering wheel tighter when he gets into his car, his knuckles whitening. He sits there for a moment, head falling back against the seat, eyes closing briefly as if he can somehow will away the ache in his chest. 

But he can’t. 

Because no matter how hard he tries to convince himself otherwise, the truth remains: he is already hopelessly, irreversibly in love with you. 

There’s a strange ache in your chest as you walk back home later that afternoon, the late sunlight catching on the sidewalk, making everything feel a little too bright and a little too sharp at the same time. You tell yourself it’s just the awkwardness of ending the date—Mark (Matt?) had asked if you wanted to do it again, and you’d said you’d think about it. Which was polite speak for no, and you both knew it. 

You tell yourself it’s normal to feel a little hollow after putting yourself out there, after trying so hard to feel something for someone else when you obviously have feelings for one named Aaron Hotchner.  

You don’t tell yourself the truth. 

You don’t tell yourself that you’d spent half the date wishing you were sitting across from someone else entirely. That you’d thought about the way Aaron listens when you talk, the way his mouth softens when he smiles at Jack, the way his voice always dips low when he says your name. 

By the time you reach the house, your feet are dragging, heart heavier than when you left. You find the door locked—not unusual—but the soft sound of footsteps in the kitchen draws you in. Aaron stands there, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, like he’s been pacing. He looks up the second you step inside, and for a moment, the air feels too thick to breathe. 

“Hey,” you say, voice catching slightly, and it almost makes you wince. It’s not natural, the rigid way you stand at the entrance. If this was any other day, you’d make a smart remark about how he looks with his sleeves rolled up, he’d give you one of the looks he has reserved for you, you’d flirt with him—shamelessly, and secretly hope that he feels the same way towards you that you do for him.  

“Hey,” he replies, but it's rougher, lower. Like he's been thinking about what to say for a while and still doesn’t know how to start. He doesn't move, and neither do you. The silence stretches just long enough to be uncomfortable. You open your mouth to say something, anything, but Aaron beats you to it. “I saw you today.” 

Your breath catches, just for a second. You don't know what you expected him to say — certainly not that. “You... you did?” you ask, your voice small, uncertain, and very out of character. 

He nods once, tightly. His hands flex at his sides, like he wants to reach for you and knows he shouldn’t. “You should go on more dates,” he says, each word slow, deliberate, as if he’s forcing them out one by one. “You deserve to be with someone who can give you everything you want. Someone who doesn't carry around... everything that I do.” 

You blink, feeling the burn of unshed tears. “Aaron—” 

He cuts you off, gentle but firm. “I’m serious. You’re young, you’re smart, you’re incredible with Jack. You shouldn’t...” His jaw tightens. “You shouldn't wait around for someone like me.” 

“Since when do you get to decide that for me?” The words splinter inside you, sharp and cruel even though you know he thinks he’s being kind. Even though you can see the truth of it written all over his face—the longing, the ache, the way he can’t quite meet your eyes because if he does, he’ll break. “So what? I should go date other people? Sure, do you also want me to tell you about the dates as well? Maybe you’d like details.”  

The muscle in his jaw jumps. For a moment, he says nothing. Just looks at you like you’ve ripped something out of him and he’s trying to piece it back together without falling apart. “That’s not what I meant,” he finally says, voice tight, low, strained in a way you’ve never heard before. 

“No?” You challenge, stepping closer before you can talk yourself out of it. Your heart is pounding, your hands shaking, but you keep going. “Because from where I’m standing, it sure as hell sounds like you’re pushing me away and expecting me to just smile and thank you for it.” 

He exhales, sharp and broken, like he’s holding back something he doesn't trust himself to say. “I’m not good for you,” he says roughly. “I want you. God, I want you so much it terrifies me. But I can't be what you need. I have Jack. I have this job. I have all this baggage—” 

“Oh, trust me, I know,” you interrupt fiercely, voice rising. “I know all of that, Aaron. And I still—” You stop, chest heaving, the words threatening to burst free, terrifying in their honesty. “And I still want you.” 

For the first time, he meets your eyes fully. “I can’t lose you,” he says, so softly you barely catch it. “If I have you… and something happens… I couldn’t survive it. I’m already—” He breaks off, a pained breath leaving him.  

“You are a coward, Mister Hotchner,” you emphasize despite the shaking in your voice and all the aching burn you feel in your chest, despite how much you love him—God, you love him—and how badly you want to just fall into his arms and let this all be easy. 

“I’m not good for you,” he says roughly. “I want you. God, I—” He cuts himself off, like even admitting that much is dangerous. 

You stare at him, your heart aching so fiercely it feels like your chest might cave in. For a second, you wonder if you should fight it—if you should close the distance between you, say the thing that's burning on the tip of your tongue. But something in his face stops you. 

It’s not hesitation. It’s resignation. 

He’s already made up his mind. 

And maybe... maybe you should too. So you swallow hard, the weight of everything crushing you down. “I know you think you're protecting me,” you say quietly. “But you’re not. You’re just hurting both of us.” 

You pull in a shaking breath, forcing yourself to smile—a small, sad thing that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “I should go check on Jack.” 

He nods, once, tightly, like it’s physically painful to let you walk away. His hands clench at his sides like he’s fighting every instinct to call you back. But he doesn’t. 

And you don't look back when you leave the room. Because if you do, you know you’ll break. 

[dekariosclan]

I think everyone is aware Patch 7 fixed Gale’s ‘last name’ dialogue so that it activates in the game now, but equally as important is that it also fixed his expressions, too. Previous datamined clips showing this dialogue had him looking very ‘flat’ while he spoke, so you couldn’t really read into his emotions:

Gale: You like so many things about me I’d have sooner discarded…Your generosity is quite wonderful. Gale Dekarios likes you too. Very, very much.

Now, after watching the updated animation, it struck me how he says “Gale Dekarios likes you too” with a serious, sincere look on his face—but then he pauses, and his whole expression shifts into a loving smile as he emphasizes “Very, very much”…

Look me in the eyes and tell me this isn’t him thinking about how he’s going to propose to Tav 🥹

[nymphaea-blue]

Romantic gestures with Love and Deepspace boys

Info : 1200+ word count (about 300 per part), fluff, mentions of possessive Xavier (nothing strange there), slight suggestive mentions.

Notes : Something small for Women's Day! Enjoyy <3

Rafayel

He would always pull out the chair for you during dinner dates and would take off your coat for you! I am a firm believer that he is a bit of a hopeless romantic and a gentleman, but also he takes it very seriously since love is important for him as he’s a Lemurian, so you can expect to have absolutely the best time of your life wherever you go out with him. Rafayel would also enjoy the small domestic moments with you, like helping you do your makeup, shopping with you or cooking together, after waiting for you for so long, he’s more than happy to spend quality time and see you so peacefully at his side.

He buys you gifts, frequently. Sometimes you will arrive back at home after work and see a package on your doorstep and of course - it’s from Rafayel. The gifts can be anything from jewelry, sketches of you and your date spots to sometimes even flowers when he can’t be there to give you them on his own because of travels. 

Rafayel loves giving you kisses! They are always so sensual and slow, yet you can feel the passion and the love he has for you in each of them. The kisses aren’t only on your lips either, a kiss on the back of your hand when he invites you to go somewhere with him, a kiss on your cheek during the mornings you share together or a kiss on the forehead to comfort you or shower you with affection, it’s always his favourite part of the day <3

Zayne

Now he’s a delicious mix of casual and romantic love, his love is purely domestic and so comforting. Zayne, being raised a proper gentleman by his parents, will always follow simple rules such as letting you go first when entering a restaurant, walking at the side closest to the road or paying for you during the dates. He’s no stranger to that type of affection and he thinks it’s important, because then you don’t need to worry at all during dates with him. However, the other side of his love is more homey, almost natural. He always makes sure to have your favourite sweets stacked inside his home as well as any supplies you may need, he has some of your clothes kept in his closet at all times if you ever want to sleep over at his place and you also own the spare keys to his house.

He doesn’t really do many gifts, but he will always give you flowers on special occasions or on your dates. He much prefers to spend time with you rather than to shower you with trinkets, in his mind that’s the most appropriate way to show love. If you ever need to buy something though or you like something, he will buy it for you without a problem whenever the two of you are out together, you can consider that a gift.

Zayne is the most reserved when it comes to affection, but he still shares it with you and it’s always perfect. He won’t do too much, no, he doesn’t need to be showy about it. A passionate yet gentle kiss with his arms hugging you or a kiss to the inside of your wrist when you cradle his cheek after his hard day of work, that’s the affection he gives, and you eat it up every time.

Xavier

He’s more of a casual romantic, so he treasures calm dates with you! His favourite activities are going on slow walks with you, sometimes through the park in Linkon and sometimes through the spots he found randomly. Either way, the dates are always full of love, even if they aren’t expensive, because he always makes sure to be as close to you as possible : be it your hand in his when he wants to guide you somewhere or a hand at the small of your back when someone passes by you just too close for his liking.

Xavier loves making memories with you, so while his gifts might not be fancy then they all carry a meaning. Most of the time, the gifts are from places the two of you visited, sometimes they are silly handmade trinkets he did while he was bored at work and other times they are flowers he handpicked for you to form a small yet unique bouquet.

His way of showing you affection would be a mix of words and actions, while he might not do too much PDA in public unless he has a reason to, he will openly tell you that he treasures the moments he has with you and that he enjoys the date and he will carry your bags when needed as well. But he can be affectionate as well, kisses with him are mostly full of love and lots of passion and they happen pretty often, though his favourite way of showing you love would be hugs or just touching you in general, he frequently falls asleep in your arms.

Sylus

He’s a sly little lover boy, we all know it. He’s comfortable with his love for you, it’s romantic, casual, yet so playful at the same time. During dates he will pull out a chair for you if needed, though whenever you accompany him for business or are hanging out inside his house, he much prefers you to be at his side or on his lap instead. He loves to take off your coat for you and will help you dress up for the date as well if you only wish so, just give him a word and he’s already on his knees to help you put on your shoes. At the same time, he’s not scared of being a little playful, sometimes he will tease you just for the sake of it and to see your reaction, but you are free to tease him back.

Gifts? Very often, but you also have access to his black card whenever you want and he encourages you to use it to buy things for yourself. Sometimes a random package will come to your apartment and it turns out to be a dress, one time you opened up your closet to find a new, much more comfortable but also expensive pajama (in red, of course), oh and also can’t forget about the time he bought you a new gun because the one provided by your job was “too old and basic for you”. I don’t know how he would feel about giving you flowers, perhaps on special occasions, but if you ever express wanting to be given flowers then he will get you them with no hesitation.

Sylus loves affection, no questions asked. He will not be shy about it, he loves it, he has no issues kissing you in public or putting you on his lap while he deals with serious matters. People might look at him like he’s crazy but he doesn’t care, you are the most important person in his life and he isn’t afraid to show that to the world. Don’t try to get too touchy with him outside though, because he will refuse until the both of you are somewhere private.

[ivy-elle]

How they tend to you after getting injured

Feat. Albedo, Childe, Kinich, Scaramouche

A/N: Slightly suggestive in Childe's part, more so in Scaramouche's

“Move it a bit for me?”

You couldn’t help but grimace a little at that prospect. “I’d rather not.”

That promptly earns you a disapproving look from the alchemist. Which is quite an unusual sight for him, you think. He must be really concerned then.

“Slowly.” A soft musing laced in his voice as his fingers gently wrap around your wrist to move your hand at a slow pace.

You hiss quietly at the sharp pain. “It’s not broken,” you state, trying to convince yourself more than actually being sure of that.

“No,” Albedo attests, touching up your wrist, careful not to hurt you further, “it’s fortunately not. Yet, your wrist is in a less-than-ideal state.”

You raise your eyebrow and reply in a flat tone, “Really.”

Albedo’s eyes meet yours, unaltered. “Positive.”

Then his brows furrow as his gaze falls on something next to you on the table. He reaches for the bottle of painkillers you took earlier, inspecting them with concerned incredulity. “My love, I hope you didn’t expect to cure a sprained bone with these pills alone?”

 “Well…I mean, maybe?” you fumble with your words. “They’re good.”

Albedo can’t help the sigh leaving his lips as he shakes his head and grabs the pack of bandages, he prepared. “I will bring along some more profound remedy later if that’s alright with you.”

Carefully, he starts wrapping a string of bandages around your hand, making sure it sits steady and firm but not enough to be painful.

“Does that feel comfortable enough?” He shifts his eyes back to yours, observing closely for any indication of pain on your face.

Somehow his soft-spoken words seem to soothe the pain on their own Your heart tightens along with the last string of bandages as he seems to be so utterly tender and gentle with you.

“Yes,” you whisper. “Thank you. I’m sorry, for the fright earlier.”

“Nonsense.” Albedo gently lifts up your now bandaged hand and presses a feather-light kiss against the cloth. “I’m glad I could help.”

“You’re slacking more than usual. Where’s your fire today?”

The sounds of clashing swords against each other halt for a moment when Childe stems his sword into the earth beneath. He tilts his head as his arms sneak under to support his chin against the grip of his sword. A boyish grin on his lips as wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. “Long night?”

You huff, mirroring his position. “Shut up, you shithead.” He knows damn well who’s to blame for your lack of sleep recently.

But Childe only snickers, like that smug ass he is, giving you a once-over. “Oho, we have a sore loser here I see.”

“You just want me to pay for the dinner tonight.”

“Precisely.” His smirk widens. “There is an evening waiting for you full of relaxation, notorious meals and of course the best company Liyue has to offer.” Childe takes a few steps back, widening his arms out in a dramatic manner. “Me.”

“See, I’d actually beg to defy that statement,” you start as you put your sword away. But when you look back up, the single head movement causes a sudden spur, your vision adorned by black dots for a moment. “Damn,” you huff, holding onto a tree for some support.

“Woah, there.” Within a second Childe is at your side, his hand reaches out, holding you in place. “You okay?” His tone has shifted into a more serious one.

You blink and your vision clears one more. A sort of sheepish, perhaps slightly embarrassed grin settles on your lips as you meet his eyes. “Yeah. That treasure hoarder must’ve gotten me a bit harder than I’ve assumed.”

But Childe doesn’t join in on your amusement and frowns instead. “What treasure hoarder? On your way to Liyue earlier?”

Exasperated, you run a hand through your hair as you get reminded of the events earlier that day. “Unfortunately.” An annoyed scoff escapes you. “Please, it was embarrassing enough as it is. Don’t make me live through that again.”

Childe’s eyes slightly darken and he’s quiet for a moment. Contemplating. As if settling on some plan. Then from one moment to the other, his expression immediately clears up again and he ruffles your hair in an affectionate way. “I suggest, we let the food deliver to us instead and you’re gonna tell me exactly what happened, hm?”

Disgruntled, you push his hand from your head. “Childe, it’s-“

“Ah-ah, no. Concussions should be treated seriously. Off you go now.” He shoos you forward gently, but now his arm is draped around your waist, just to make sure you’ll stay on your feet. “Come now.”

“You’re walking funny.”

Confused, you turn your head back around to where Kinich is walking behind you, raising your eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

Kinich’s eyes are focused on your feet, analysing. “Did you sprain your ankle?”

“No,” you turn back ahead, “it’s not that bad.”

His fingers take hold of your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. “May I see?”

You frown. “My foot?”

“Your ankle,” he corrects, his face unchanged.

“Right now?”

“Yes.” It’s obvious he isn’t up for any kind of discussion.

You look around the jungle you’re passing through. Quite the inconvenient setting.

“Kinich, I swear it’s-“

“Please.”

You nearly crumble. Both at his touch as well as the tender look in his eyes. So you relent with a sigh. “Alright, just-, “You look around for something to sit down. “Let’s get somewhere closed off, yeah?”

One settled on a nearby rock, Kinich crouches down in front of you, one hand on your calf the other on your knee. He sure seems like he’s done this a couple of times before. Well, in his line of work…

“Can you bend it?” Kinich asks then. Some strands of his hair fall into his face and you’re tempted to reach out and gently brush them away.

You blink. Focus.

“Sure. Well, I think I’d rather not bend it though.”

He hums, contemplative. “I’d rather you not as well.” After carefully checking up upon your skin and bones he looks up again to meet your eyes, a bit of a stern look on his face. More so than usual. “You realise this is swollen, right? Surely you must feel that?”

“Mayhaps,” you admit more hesitantly than he’d like.

Kinich frowns, sighs and then stands up. “Come on. I carry you. It’s not far off anymore, anyway.”

At that suggestion, your heart skips a beat. “No way.”

He crosses his arms. Then one eyebrow rises. “You think I’d dare to drop you?”

“I have dignity.” You explain and prop up your elbows as you lean back against the rock before you add, “And pride.”

“There won’t be much left of your pride if you continue to walk that way in the open.” He takes a few steps back with a glint in his eyes. “I’d put that into careful consideration as well if I were you.”

You squeeze your eyes at him. “You’re playing dirty.”

Kinich lips curve into a smile. Then he adjusts with ease and lifts you up into his arms. “And yet I win.”

You are in heaven. You could swear it.

It has been weeks now, where missions, the fatui or simple life have kept you away from each other, getting barely any time to spend.

And while Scaramouche might not outwardly admit that he’s missed you (or your touch), it is now quite evident in the way his lips adorn your skin, his fingers trailing along your body like he has to physically assure himself, you’re right here. Right beneath his very hands.

His hand slides down your midriff and his fingers grace the skin beneath your shirt, causing goosebumps to spread there. “Your fingers are cold,” you murmur dazedly between kisses, yet a slight amusement has found its way into your voice.

Scaramouche simply captures your complaint with his lips, a slight tug on his mouth. “Don’t tell me we have a temperature problem on our hands?”

“Not for long I hope,” you reply with a teasing grin and return the kiss again with more fervour. He obliges immediately.

But just as he’s about to slip your shirt over your head he pauses. You bite your lip to stop a few less-than-dignifying words from leaving your mouth and open your eyes instead. “What’s wrong? Too cold after all?”

Scaramouche’s hand tethers your waits as his gaze is locked on someplace on your ribs, the reverence from moments ago completely vanished. Now there’s a grim expression as his eyes dart down to you. “What happened here?”

You follow his line of sight where sure enough, the gash from one of your fights greets you. One, that you have perhaps pushed back farther into the depths of your mind for the sake of the moment.

“It’s nothing bad,” you explain. You feel somehow caught, trying to overplay the situation by mumbling on. “Seriously, just a stupid cut from days ago.”

“Do you think I’m stupid?” There’s an agitated tension in the room now as Scaramouche’s annoyance level rises and his expression darkens. “I know for a fact this hasn’t been here for a few days already. It’s fresh. And you’re aggravating it further.”

That prompts you to prop your elbows on the bed, frowning. “It’s not bleeding, it barely even hurts. It is fine. Absolutely. Can we just…?”

His eyes narrow at your words, jaw clenching. “Perhaps you’re the stupid one then.” He clicks his tongue in irritation and gets up from the bed, muttering some disgruntled curses.

Slowly, you sit up on the bed and pull your shirt back down to cover your midriff again. You watch him roaming around the room, gathering some utensils from the shelf at his side of the bed before he returns to sit beside you. Scaramouche doesn’t look at you. In unbent silence, he pushes you back down on the sheets to give him a better angle to the wound on your side. You swallow a grunt at the sharp pain and his grip on your waist tightens for a moment.

You observe him quietly as he works, eyebrows scrunched with his anger simmering just beneath the surface. Obviously, you’re aware that his irritation stems from the desire to keep you safe, from his protective nature, and his destined grief of you one day inevitably slipping through his fingers.

“Scara-“

“Shut up. I’m done already.”

His gaze meets yours once again and for a few silent moments, you just stare at each other, with unspoken emotions swirling around on both of your faces.

Then he suddenly scoffs and puts the utensils away. As if trying to shake off his sense of irritation. “Who risks their health in such a way just to get laid?”

You can’t help the grin spreading on your lips. “Hey, at least that’ll leave a sick scar.”

“I’m gonna murder you, y/n. I’m serious.”

He isn’t.

Thank you so much for reading! Comments and reblogs are so appreciated <3

[mixingandmelting]

Asked for No Pickles

Summary: A cashier gives you crap after you ask for no pickles. It’s unfortunate for the other that it happened right when he enters the building.

A/N: Part 2 here!

Dick:

Everyone says he’s the nice one. And he makes sure to play the part when he approaches the cashier. 

Charming, disarming smile that gets most people to swoon, he flashes what others have dubbed as “the Dick Grayson smile” to the cashier(which he still doesn’t get. It’s just a smile-?).

“Sorry but my s/o asked for no pickles.” 

He’s definitely working hard to keep his smile on, the cashier a piece of work himself when he scowls at him in disdain and starts slowly scanning him from head to toe. 

“Listen here Mr. Boyfriend. Like I told your S.O. over there,” Dick kisses his teeth, not liking how the cashier jabs his thumb at your direction nor the mocking valley-girl drawl. “But it’s either you order the burger and remove the pickles yourself or get something else.” 

Breathe Dick. Breathe. He’s no longer like himself from his Robin days; he’s an adult and peace is an option. But the urge to give the other a piece of his mind is so real. Show him what it's really like to roast a person. And he plans to, only to catch a certain someone in the corner of his eye. 

“But you know, I do think pickles in burgers are overrated. They don’t really do much, you know?” He drawls out, ignoring the nudge you give him and cocking an eyebrow up “Just a few more crunch and tang that can easily be subbed in with onions and mustard.” 

Hook, line, and sinker. The guy’s face blooms red, his eyes bulging from their eye sockets.

“Shut up! This place is a fucking fast food restaurant, if you something other than pre-ensembles burgers and get some fancy, personalized burger go get it some other place than wasting mine or other people’s time-“

The guy nearly slaps the hand that lands on his shoulder off until he turns around and sees the manager's not-so-friendly expression. With that he smiles in satisfaction, wishing the other the best of getting wrecked while taking you to the pizza place he first had dinner with you instead to spend the rest of the date.

Jason:

It’s a one and done deal. There’s no words, not even a syllable uttered. All he does is stand behind you, easily towering both you and the cashier. Looking down in condescension at the chump who was giving you a hard time about not wanting pickles at Batburger of all places. But of course, it wouldn’t be him if things were to simply end there.

“My s/o asked for. No. Pickles.”

“Y-yes, sir! Right away, sir!”

Under his breath, he grumbles “weak-ass” and “better be right away” loud enough for the guy giving you crap to hear. Then, wrapping an arm around you, he walks and waits with you at the pick-up counter. 

“You okay? Did that guy say anything else?” He keeps rubbing circles on your arm as you lean closer and place a hand over his. 

“Nah, just wouldn’t stop giving me a hard time with the whole pickles.” You instantly narrow your eyes when you see the expression he’s making. “You better not go after him tonight.”

He flinches. Awkwardly he coughs into a fist and turns his head away from you. 

“Jason.”

“I won’t, I promise!” He raises both hands in the air only to lower them and quickly grab the food and drinks off the counter. After all, he’s not about to let you carry them when you had a shitty time to get it. 

With that, you stick next to him for the rest of day to make sure he doesn’t go out and beat up the poor guy. You even cling onto him in bed, enduring all the teasing though for him, it felt like he was getting spoiled. You should’ve known better when you read the headlines the two days after the incident. 

“JASON PETER TODD!”

With that, Jason bolts from the couch while you run after him, a rolled up newspaper in your hand that had a picture of the employee reading an apology essay at the front of the chain food restaurant. He did what you told him to do- leave him alone for THAT night! You didn’t say that for all the other days!

Tim:

Tim is a simple man. If anyone were to give you BS, he will make sure that person will be served ten-times as much one way or another. So when he enters the restaurant and witnesses the guy at the counter giving you crap for simply ordering no pickles, the cashier’s fate was sealed in ink, wax, and blood. 

The same business smile that’s used for galas and talking to Wayne Enterprise’s partners plastered on his face, he gently grabs your hand when he reaches the counter. 

“So sorry for the commotion, we’ll go eat somewhere else.”

And that’s all he says, turning around and walking out with you in tow. The rest of the day goes by with him comforting you and making sure you receive the treatment you deserve by taking you to the movies, walking at the park before suddenly pushing you into a department store and getting you tailored, branded clothes so he could have dinner with you at those fancy restaurants. Seems as normal as it could get with him, right?

It’s once he gets home, he finally lashes out. Every file he could get his hands on are opened on the monitors, not even taking him two hours to finish scanning through them because of how lackluster the cashier’s life was. However, he did find a plethora of black-mail worthy material including the guy’s most recent humiliating events and minor criminal activities. Rubbing his hands, he gets to work. Until he suddenly gets a text from you.

‘Leave the Batbuger guy alone.’

He pauses. How did you-Never mind. You’ve always had a knack of knowing what he’s thinking. He texts you, audaciously you later tell him, that he’s just working before going back to what he was doing. 

He ends up being in a grouchy mood after you found out he was behind the anonymous reddit post regarding the cashier. He still thinks he was being lenient considering he only destroyed the guy’s social life instead of throwing him in jail but you apparently begged to differ, banning one week’s worth of cuddle sessions.

Duke:

He really tried to stay calm. Give the other guy a chance since he may never know, the other person might have circumstances to be that way. 

“Look dude, all my s/o asked was no pickles.” 

“Kid, can you not read? It says WITH pickles. Not WITHOUT.”

And with that, Duke’s gone. Genuine can not anymore. He was already having a hard time after witnessing you getting done dirty over asking once, ONCE, for a burger with no pickles. Now this? Like, excuse him, sir, but there’s a menu for customization right there?!

The next few words that come out of his mouth go uncensored, unfiltered. Logic getting spit out left and right, pointing out every single flaw like rapping bars. Forget about acting like a vigilante, he was raised in the Narrows and he was very well taught what to do, how to act, and what to say if anyone were to behave disrespectfully to him and to anyone he cares about. 

“Duke? Duke! That’s enough” It’s literally because you have your hand on his arm that prevents him from taking a step forward and getting in the guy’s face. Well that and your expression which is a mix of laughter and horror but you and Colon (seriously what kind of name is that?) didn’t need to know about that. 

Speaking of, it seems like he did enough damage when the other stays silent. Face fuming yet at a loss from where to start (more like trying to figure out what to say in his opinion, but whatever).

“Come on, let’s just go eat somewhere else.” He relents when you link your arm around his, looking at him pleadingly. Only to pause when he hears “fuck you” as the door gets close to being completely shut.

Instantly, the guy flinches when Duke snaps his head back towards him, making hand signs that he’ll be watching out for him. 

To think people thought he’s the normal one. Puh-lease. There’s a reason why he’s part of the Bat family.

Damian:

“Damian, no!”

“Unhand me, Richard!”

“Not unless you put down that katana!”

Behind a bemused Red Hood, the guy, all tied up, shivers as Damian continues his attempts on attacking him. First off, how dare he insult you? Calling you stupid brat all the while accusing you of being untaught about ordering food. Only he, Damian, can call you names and berate you. Who does the guy think he is? Second, he’s not short! 

If not for you hugging his arm, the man would’ve already been maimed (he’ll deny to his dying breath that he was blushing and enjoying you hugging him). But instead of saying thank you to you, what does he do? He proceeds to go on even more about you being a dumb kid who doesn’t even know how to eat a burger. And all because you asked for no pickles, too! 

Which leads to now, where Damian had coincidentally found the same guy mugging an elderly lady during his patrol . And when he was figuring out how to break into the guy’s house too.  

“I thought you don’t kill people anymore!”

“Who said I was going to kill?”

The struggling stops, Dick looking at Damian in confusion.

“Then why are you holding your sword?”

“To remove an appendage so he would start depending on his brain.”

The battle resumes, more fierce with Dick trying to warn about the risk of blood loss to which Damian replies it won’t if he’s careful and why would he care anyways. 

“Uh, maybe it’s better we hand him over to the police.” Surprisingly it’s Tim who intervenes, awkwardly pulling up information on the mini-holographic monitor after performing a quick background check on the cashier. “It seems like he’s wanted for multiple crimes.”

“Well, might as well let the Bat Brat get a hit in.” Jason quips. 

Dick covers his face, bemoaning why no one can be normal. Damian starts grinning victoriously. Needless to say, he was very satisfied especially when he got a thanks from a flushed you, knowing it was because of you he did it.

[wqlfstqr]

◟𖥻 cat approved : percy jackson

▰▰ pairing: percy jackson x fem!reader

Her cat hates when she brings people home, except when it's Percy.

She and Percy have been seeing each other for some time now, and she's pretty certain he's just— perfect. He's funny, loyal, handsome, he listens to her, buys her flowers just because, makes her smile and the list goes on and on.

But he has never been to her apartment, it's not like he asks about it or pressures her. But after months of dating, she has been to his, to watch movies, to have dinner, sleepovers. Everything in his apartment.

But her apartment? Well, the problem is Mochi, the cat that acts like he owns the place. Her beloved cat seems cute and sweet on the outside, people are immediately falling over those blue eyes and that white fur— until he shows how wrong they are.

Mochi's grumpy, doesn't like people at all and only allows y/n to pet him. People have left her apartment with scratches for even trying to get close to him, or in the best case scenario they're simply rudely ignored by the cat even when trying to win his attention.

But she loves that cat as much as the cat loves her, she's always making excuses to everyone as to why the cat is always so grumpy, telling everyone he's not always like that. But oh, he is, just not with her.

And the worst part? she's absolutely sure Mochi is some sort of psychic because most of the people he has rejected ended up not being great friends or dates. So maybe he just can sense something she can't.

That's why she's scared about Mochi meeting Percy, because she doesn’t want Percy to end up like her other dates. No. She likes him too much.

But eventually the topic comes in, and she doesn't have any excuses to avoid movie night in her apartment. So here she is, placing a bowl of popcorn on the coffee table while Mochi looks at her from his place on the couch, almost as if he knows she's waiting for a visitor and he already doesn’t approve of it.

"You'll like Percy." she assures the cat, softly patting his head before walking into the kitchen. She's not sure that's true. Not sure at all.

But she hears knocking on the door a few minutes later, so she doesn’t have any more time to worry about her cat's antics. When she opens the door, Percy's already smiling and— of course he brought her flowers. Can he get any more sweeter?

"Hey! I got these for you." He offers her the bouquet, and she can't help but notice that he looks a little nervous. "I was looking for peonies because you said they're your favorite, but then I read something about them being bad to have around cats? I'm not sure, but I did some research and I got you these instead. Just to be sure."

Yes, yes he can get more sweet.

She feels her heart swelling with happiness as she hugs the flowers to her chest, taking a step back so he can walk into her apartment. "Thank you, Percy."

Of course Percy doesn't think it's anything out of the ordinary, so he simply shrugs and smiles. "I figured if I had to impress Mochi, I shouldn't try to poison him first."

She laughs softly, but then feels the need to warn him. "You must know, Mochi isn't very—"

While she's trying to come up with a word to describe her cat's grumpiness with strangers, Mochi himself interrupts her by appearing behind her legs. He stops in front of Percy, as if assessing a threat. And she's already expecting him to hiss or simply ignore Percy. But he doesn't.

Her mouth is hanging open when Mochi actually walks up to Percy. And Percy, completely unfazed, simply kneels down to greet him. "Hey, dude, I've heard so much about you."

"Don't try to—" her words once again die on her mouth when Percy actually extends a hand towards the cat, and Mochi nuzzles his head against it.

She's frozen in place, staring in pure shock as Percy, completely unaware of the miracle he just performed, starts scratching behind Mochi's ears. And her cat is purring.

"What the fuck? what kind of sorcery is this?" She asks, still blinking in shock. "Mochi has never—" yeah, she's at a lost for words.

Percy looks up, his eyes shining with amusement. He knows about the stories of Mochi giving people the cold shoulder. She shared them with him just to warn him. Now she's not sure he needed any warning at all.

"Don't get jealous, pretty girl, I'll be with you in a second." Percy tells her, smirking at her before looking back at the cat. Who's totally enjoying being the bearer of Percy's attention.

When Mochi finally seems to get bored and turns to the kitchen, Percy and her take the moment of distraction to go settle in the couch. She's still fully surprised about what just happened, but she's distracted momentarily when Percy wraps his arm around her shoulder to bring her close to him on the couch as the movie starts.

It's only a few minutes later that her cat finally appears again. Now, Mochi is usually glued to her side when people come over, always curling up on her lap like the spoiled cat he is. That's what she's expecting him to do.

But nope. Not today.

Mochi doesn't even turn to look at her, instead he jumps right into Percy's lap instead. Of course, Percy doesn't even see anything surprising about it, he only adjusts to accommodate him. "Hey, bud, you want to watch the movie too?" He scratches under the cat's chin, and Mochi melts.

She watches this unfold in front of her eyes. Her grumpy, unapproachable cat who has rejected every single one of her past dates— making himself comfortable in Percy's lap.

"Jealous?" Percy smirks at her, looking way too amused by the whole thing.

"Of course not! I just— he never— this is—" She sputters, trying to find an explanation.

Percy only laughs, of course he understands, he knew about Mochi's reputation beforehand. Yet, here he is, with her cat nuzzling his face affectionately against his chest, looking for his attention.

"Guess i've been chosen." Percy winks at her, and she rolls her eyes playfully.

"I hope you know this means you're never getting rid of us now." She tells him, her eyes dropping to her cat, that purrs almost as if he could understand the conversation and was agreeing with her.

Percy grins, leaning to steal a kiss from her lips. "Wouldn't dream of it."

And she melts.

By the end of the movie, she's sure Mochi has claimed Percy as his new favorite human. She would be jealous if it wasn't so cute to watch, Percy playing with him and scratching his belly. She's sure she's had literal heart eyes the entire night.

And when it's time for Percy to go, it's not only her that wants him to stay a little longer, but also Mochi. After Percy has kissed her goodbye and is about to walk out through the door, the cat follows him and meows, patting his leg as if he doesn't want him to go.

Percy picks him up, and Mochi actually let's him do it. No complaints, no trying to scratch his arms the way he has done with other people. "Don't worry, i'll be back." Percy reassures him.

And y/n? she's already smiling so much that her cheeks hurt. She's always said that Mochi knows things. And if her cat loved Percy this fast? yeah, he's the one. No questions asked.

[kyeomofhearts]

Need Somebody | J.WW

+ summary: a heart-to-heart conversation with your best friend leads to an unexpected confession…

+ pair: wonwoo x gn!reader

+ word count: 2.7k

+ content: hurt/comfort, it was never platonic lol, mutual pining, angst, fluff. (I really tried keeping the reader gender-neutral but I’m not 100% sure it is so please lmk if I need to make any changes!)

[borders created by @enchanthings <3]

“So when do you plan on settling down?” Your mother had asked you over dinner. God, you hated the holidays.

Never in your life have you ever dated anyone.

Not that you needed to.

It's not like you haven't had anyone take interest in you either, there would be some people here and there who would pursue you for a bit. You were just simply not interested in them.

Of course, there would be times when you would feel the loneliness creep in even more than usual. But you usually reasoned to yourself that the right person would come with time.

Except tonight happened to be one of those nights.

You see, your family had just left your place a few hours ago. With the holidays coming and going, your family had begun to visit you more often.

Now you obviously loved your family, but man, did they get on your nerves.

Being the youngest amongst your siblings was becoming more difficult as the years passed by. Seeing them get married one by one definitely didn’t help with your case either.

Your mom started to fear for your so-called ‘future’. Which irritated you since you had everything you needed for the most part, that being a well-paying job and a nice place.

Which is exactly what happened today. Your parents (alongside your siblings) started asking you non-stop questions over your love life.

“Mom please don’t,” you tried to keep your tone respectful but it was getting difficult when you weren’t seeing an end to these invasive questions.

“What? All of your other siblings have gotten married… don’t you think that’s it’s time you do too?” Her tone was bordering a slight feeling of concern and stress.

You stayed quiet for a beat, trying to give her a response that would help get her off your back until the next time she saw you.

“We’ve talked about this, I’m not in a rush and surely it will-“ before you could finish your sentence your mom was already finishing it for you.

“-happen with time I know. But don’t you think you are being too picky at this point? Prince Charming doesn’t exist, so stop waiting for him.”

There it was.

Just because you didn’t date around didn’t mean that you were picky.

You just didn’t like wasting your time with the wrong people, that's all it was.

But before you could counter, one of your siblings quickly changed the subject before things eventually escalated into something worse.

And just like that, the rest of your evening had been soured by that single conversation with your mother.

Even hours after your family had left, you still felt bothered by your mother’s disapproving comments.

…

Needless to say, you called the only person who would be awake at one in the morning.

Wonwoo.

You and Wonwoo have been close friends for a few years, having first met in your senior year of college.

At first he was just an acquaintance, someone you thought you would see once in a while. But he somehow happened to be everywhere you were.

You don’t really remember how the two of you actually became friends, it could have been through a mutual friend or class that you shared. But ever since then, the two of you have been inseparable.

You might have had the tiniest crush on him too but you don’t really like thinking about that. You like to think you grew past that stage.

“yn? Is everything okay?” His voice was slightly groggy… shit you might have woken him up.

“Fuck I’m sorry, were you asleep? I’ll leave you-“

What was it with people cutting you off mid-sentence?

“-No I wasn’t. I actually just woke up from my nap, what’s up?”

Wonwoo and his naps. At this point they should not be called naps considering how long he sleeps for.

“Oh you know… just had the best talk with my family.”

You could hear him audibly smile. Wonwoo knew that you didn’t always have the best times with your family, having heard your countless rants throughout the years.

“What did they say this time?” He asked with faux enthusiasm.

“More like what did my mom say. She just kept asking me when I plan on getting married and that I should stop being picky.” As much as you tried to act nonchalant about it, you were really upset by the way things had turned out.

Wonwoo quickly took notice in your slightly wavering voice. It wasn’t normal for you to get emotional over small fights like this. It must have been serious enough for you to remain bothered even after your family had left.

“Hey, don’t take it to heart. I know your mom can say some out of pocket things but try to not let it get to you.” Wonwoo was not the best at comforting people, even he knew that, but he always tried his best to comfort you.

“I know but it’s so…. irritating? Like she told me to stop waiting for Prince Charming as if I’m a little kid.” You wanted to say more but once you started ranting you knew Wonwoo would not be able to keep up.

“I’ve told her so many times that I don’t want to waste my time with the wrong person. I don’t get how she doesn’t understand that!”

Relax. Just take a deep breath and wait for his response.

“Do you want me to come over?”

Even though Wonwoo had been over to your place a numerous amount of times, you still couldn’t help but feel your heartbeat race at the thought of him coming over.

“No, it’s okay I promise. I just wanted to talk to you about it.”

One thing you had learned about Wonwoo was that he was a bit assertive when he was concerned about you.

“Hmmm… doesn’t matter I’m coming over.”

It was always shocking to see him get this bold, seeing how reserved he was with everyone else.

“What was the point in asking then?” You tried sounding annoyed but you knew that your smile was very audible.

“Just wanted to make you feel like you had a choice.” You could hear his cockiness through the phone and somehow, it made your heart do somersaults.

“Don’t you think it’s a little late to be coming over?” Like always, you tried playing it cool, never wanting to show Wonwoo how his words got to you. Maybe he did notice, but if he did, he never said anything about it.

“Never… I’ll see you in ten.”

And just like that he ended the call.

Sometimes you wondered what it would be like when he eventually got a girlfriend. Wonwoo is a good-looking guy, you’re surprised he hasn’t been snatched up yet. Not that you’re worried or anything, but… you know, things will surely change once he finds the one.

Maybe it was you being selfish, but you try to take advantage of the little time you have left before either one of you finds a partner. You know it’s bound to happen at some point, so might as well enjoy it while it lasts.

It actually took Wonwoo a little over thirty minutes to get to your place, which was weird considering you live pretty close to each other.

What was also weird was that he knocked. He never knocked anymore considering that he had a key to your place.

“Hey, what took you so-“ opening the door you were greeted with a slightly disheveled Wonwoo.

Oh.

Wonwoo’s hands were filled with plastic bags. You could see snacks poking out of through some of the bags and… regular groceries? What grocery store is open at this hour?

“Couldn’t come over empty handed.” He stated simply.

Before he stepped another foot you decided to help him with the load. You could imagine how tiring it must have been for him to carry the bags all the way to the third floor of your apartment building.

Seeing him like this felt oddly comforting. It looked like he was just returning home from a long day at work.

“You really didn’t have to Won…” As much as you liked to play it cool, you couldn’t help but swoon over his actions. It was hard to when he was just so caring.

“But I wanted to… everything I do is by my own will you know,” he softly smiled at you while ruffling your hair.

Before you were able to respond, he quickly offered you your favorite bag of chips.

“Sit down, I’ll put everything away.”

And just like that, he quickly went to work. It helped that he knew where everything went so it didn’t take him long before he joined you on the sofa.

“So… rough night?” He asked gently, despite being so bold through the phone. Seeing your defeated face always put a sour taste in his mouth, which made him more careful with his words.

“You could say that.” You tried to laugh it off, but he knew that you were bothered.

“I know dealing with your family is hard but just know that I’m always here for you.” He lightly grabbed your hands over to his, rubbing soft circles over your palms.

This always seemed to do the trick, seeing your tense shoulders drop into a more relaxed position.

“And I’m grateful for that Won… but sometimes it really gets to me you know?” You tried avoiding looking into his eyes because you knew that one look would break the dam building up in your eyes.

“Maybe she is right… maybe I am being too unreasonable. Like as much as I like to think that the right guy will come through one day… what if he doesn’t?”

This seemed to annoy Wonwoo. He never wanted to see you settle for less, because he knew that you deserved better.

With a sharp inhale, he grabbed your chin to make you look directly into his eyes.

“Never say that again. You should never settle for less. You know better than that.” He was obviously annoyed but not at you. He hated when others tried to make you take less than what you truly deserve.

His fingers on your chin stayed, making your skin slightly tingle from his touch.

As great as he was at comforting you, the thoughts of him someday not being able to be there for you started to cloud your mind. It was bound to happen, either you or Wonwoo would find someone and eventually stop hanging out. Wonwoo seemed to notice the shift in your sadness, eyes becoming glossy.

“There’s something you’re not telling me,” he muttered softly.

“It’s nothing,” you weren’t sure if he actually heard your response since it was barely audible to you.

Wonwoo gave you that look. The one he always used when he wasn’t convinced by your responses. You didn't want to tell him about your fear because it would then expose your feelings for him. And that was one thing you could never risk, your friendship. No matter how strong your feelings would get, you couldn't let him become aware of them.

“Talk to me,” his eyes were pleading. He just wanted you to completely open up to him the way he did with you.

There was no way out of this. Obviously, you weren’t going to tell him the actual reason behind your sadness. You had to give him something to get him off your trail.

“Well, it’s just that sometimes it does feel lonely. And having my mom point out the obvious makes me feel like a lost cause. I’m also not getting any younger, so now I feel like I have to rush into something or else my ‘good’ years would have gone to waste…” While this wasn’t the actual thing that was bothering you tonight, it was at least something believable.

Wonwoo seemed to have bought it, since he stopped giving you those judging eyes. He stayed quiet, most likely trying to find the right thing to say.

He cleared his throat after a beat or so.

“Don’t lie to me. I know there’s something else bothering you, if you don’t want to tell me then just say that.”

How? How did he know you that you were lying?

Maybe this was your chance. Your chance to tell him how you felt about it because if you truly thought about it, there was no future with him either way. Either he rejects you or he finds someone, they both lead to you not being in his life in the future.

You took in deep breath, gathering all of your courage before speaking.

“If I tell you, please don’t judge me-“

He immediately cut you off, “Why would I judge you?”

“Please just let me finish, it’s already hard enough having to tell you.” Again, you avoided his eyes, fearful of seeing any sort of judgment in them.

“Look, I know we’ve been friends for a while now… and I’ve been so happy with that, I really have. It’s just that… one day we won’t have each other.”

As much as you tried not looking at him, your eyes landed on his. They looked solemn. You could already tell that he knew where the conversation was going.

“Eventually, we’ll have our own partners-” your voice was beginning to shake, becoming harder to hide your sadness.

“yn stop.” But before Wonwoo could get another word in, he softly pressed his lips against yours. His hands had snaked their way up to your neck, gently cradling your face. His touch was gentle, as if you were the most fragile thing in the world.

You were stunned, to say the least. Even as he pulled away, you couldn’t find any words to say. It was as if he had taken your breath away.

“I tried taking it slow, I really did, but I can’t continue seeing you like this. I like you yn, I really do. I was too scared of ruining our friendship so I didn't say anything, but I hate to see you think that no one wants you… because I do.”

You didn’t even notice you had started crying, only feeling Wonwoo's thumbs wipe your tears away.

He continued, “I’m not even sure if you feel the same way about me, but I really need you to know that you are not unloveable.”

It felt like a huge weight had been lifted off your shoulders. Especially now that you knew that Wonwoo liked you back, you felt elated.

Wonwoo on the other hand… felt terrified. While he didn’t regret confessing his feelings towards you, he was certainly scared. He didn’t even know if you reciprocated those same feelings. It also didn’t help that you were being quiet. The silence that was once comfortable to him was beginning to feel suffocating. But before his thoughts could escalate any further, your voice was able to snap him out of his daze.

“Do you really mean it?” You knew it was stupid to ask, considering Wonwoo was not the type to stay stuff like this without meaning it. But the little voice in your head didn’t buy it one bit, so you needed the reassurance to silence those thoughts.

Without hesitation, Wonwoo answered, “Of course.”

“Okay, well… I do too. Like you, that is…” Your face was beginning to burn up. This was so embarrassing. God, you felt like a teenager again, except this time you actually did get your happy ending.

But like the two idiots you were… you didn’t move a single inch. Were you supposed to hug? High-five? Kiss again? This has never happened to you before, either you rejected the guy or pretended that it never happened. What were you supposed to do?

“So….” Wonwoo’s voice was quiet and awkward.

To be fair, neither of you were expecting to confess to each other tonight. Obviously, now that you both know that you have mutual feelings for each other… the next step would be dating right? Or is that too soon? You have been friends for a while now so it wouldn't be that unreasonable... right?

Wonwoo grabbed a hold of your hand, weaving his fingers with yours. You could see the tips of his ears turn a bright pink before he cleared his throat.

“Do you… want to be my-” Wonwoo was visibly cringing as he said it out loud. It was a no brainer, but he still wanted to ask you, to make it official.

“-Yes. I would be an idiot to say no.”

[ᝰ.ᐟ] hey guys! i know i haven’t been active lately and i’m really sorry about that. school has been so overwhelming for me so i struggled finding the time to write, which brings us to this! i wrote this i think… last year? not too sure but i tried editing it a little but there might be some errors here and there so please excuse that 🥹 also i am still working on part three for Back for More so stay tuned for that!

[avis-writeshq]

pairing: early seasons!spencer reid x sunshine!fem!reader genre: fluff, roommate au warnings: reader is a pretty girl (YOU ARE A PRETTY GIRL !!!!!!) and she wears dresses !! feelings of inadequacy (aka, it’s so hard to find good guys now ☹️☹️☹️) she’s also taking her master’s degree at Georgetown  a/n: i love roommate reader so much guys !!! give me a million requests for them; i will write it ‼️🫶 wc: 936 part 1 | you are on part 2! | part 3

“Date?” Spencer asks despite his knowing, watching as you wrap a cardigan over your shoulders and fix the bracelet on your wrist.

He’s not in denial about how pretty you are. He remembers it, even back when the two of you were younger. Everyone loved you– following you around the playground and doing whatever you ask of them. You’re the sun, he accepted on a hot summer’s day, drowsy from the heatwave while you ate a bright orange popsicle beside him. You’re the sun and I’m one of the planets you allow to be near you. 

He’s not entirely surprised either when he sees you again, as beautiful as he remembered, surrounded by people of all genders with starstruck gazes, all enchanted by your brilliant smile and embellished words. He’s not surprised either when you receive so many propositions of romance. A little jealous, maybe, because sometimes he wishes that you would share an ounce of your sparkle with him. 

“Yeah,” you respond with a soft smile, fixing your shoes. “Going out for dinner. I’ll be home a little late, so don’t wait up, okay?”

“Okay,” he agrees, fiddling with the ends of his hair. “You’ll call me, right? If you need anything.”

Your smile widens and you nod. “Of course I will. Thanks, Walter, you’re the best.”

His cheeks glow warm at his middle name and he clears her throat. “Good night.”

“Good night!”

Then you’re gone. He doesn’t hear the way you return back to the apartment hours later but earlier than anticipated, or the way you dump your bags at the doorway instead of putting them away in your room as you usually do. He doesn’t notice the way the shower runs longer than usual, or the opening and shutting of the freezer door or the clanging of metal spoons. He wishes he did.

*** 

“I give up.” You grip the phone against your ear tighter, your gaze dark with frustration. “Hah, you’re on to talk! You’re getting married in November! Yeah, well, it doesn’t help. I hear enough of that from everyone. Bye.”

Spencer flinches at the harshness of your tone. He’s even more concerned at your initial words. You’re giving up on something? You’ve never given up on anything. That’s one of your biggest charms; you know exactly what you want and you’ll do anything to get it. Giving up is simply not in your vocabulary. Except for now, he supposes. 

“I am so– so  sick of this,” You huff, slumping onto the couch beside him, hugging a Tuxedo Sam plush toy that he bought you for your birthday a few years ago. “This is so stupid.”

“What’s stupid?” Spencer asks cautiously, placing his book down and turning to you.

“Paget is getting married in November,” you say, half happy but half sullen. 

He nods, perplexed. He knows all about the wedding, especially since you’ve come home after shopping for dresses and decided to get his opinions on all of them. “You’ve been looking forward to it since the beginning of the year.”

“I know,” you insist, frowning. “And I am excited! But lately she’s been pressing me to bring someone as a plus one and when I said that I’d invite one of my friends in my class, she insisted that this is a brilliant time to invite a boyfriend. And she keeps sending me off on blind dates lately and I’m just ugh!”

Spencer pats your shoulder in an effort to be sympathetic. “They haven’t been going well?”

“They suck,” You grumble. “Rude, stupid, inconsiderate– the list goes on and I am sick and tired of being treated like an idiot on every date I go on.”

“I see.”

“I know what I want,” you continue, squeezing the plush toy in your lap. “I see it all the time. With my friends and the people I care about. I know how I want to be loved; I know how I deserve to be loved. I just don’t understand why it’s so difficult to find someone who would love me the way I deserve to be. And I see all these people falling in love and getting married and having these wonderful relationships, I can’t help but wonder if I did something to be so unlikeable.”

“You’re not unlikeable,” Spencer says immediately, frowning. How can you say something like that? “You’re the most likable person I know. There’s just a lot that you’re not willing to put up with, things that a lot of men do that you don’t want to put up with, and they can’t understand that.”

He relishes the way you smile, smaller than your usual ones, before leaning your head onto his shoulder. His heart leaps into his throat at the contact, taking in the sweet smell of your perfume. He doesn’t understand how someone could ever dislike you– you and your brilliant smiles and your sweet disposition. 

“There’s an old Buddhist saying,” he begins slowly, watching as you take to drawing circles against the back of his palm, “that the act of bringing you and your soulmate together was 500 years in the making. So you’ll find someone. Or maybe you’ve already met them.”

“You’re lovely,” you murmur, drawing a heart then a series of squiggles onto his hand. 

His cheeks glow hot. “I could say the same for you.”

He thinks of the letters he’s written for you but never sent, all stored neatly in a box. There’s one envelope that sticks out from the rest– your favourite colour with a heart wax seal. He decides against giving it to you for the thousandth time.

reblogs are always appreciated !!

part 1 | you are on part 2! | part 3

[lyn31]

Accident? 🐱😽

Summary:

When you grows cats ears and tails, how would you think your boyfriend react?

Notes:

This is a prompt from @chryssikyu I thought it was very cute, it still are but uh I might've gone overboard? Oops? Well hopefully it's still enjoyable ahahaha Pairing: Zayne x Reader/MC

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It’s just like any other day. You’ve just finished your mission and returned home, standing in your kitchen, grabbing the leftover dinner Zayne made earlier. With food in hand, you hum to yourself as you walk toward the dining table, only to hear Zayne call your name. Then he appears at the door, holding a test tube.

“What is this?” he asks, his face as stoic as ever, but you can see a hint of concern. “Doesn’t look like something you should be bringing home, does it?”

"Ah." A closer look confirms it—you definitely shouldn’t have brought it home. “Where did you find it?” you ask, stretching your hand toward the tube.

Zayne doesn’t hand it over immediately. “In your jacket.” He tilts his head, waiting for an explanation.

“It’s nothing dangerous.”

At that, Zayne lifts an eyebrow.

“I mean, yeah, that shouldn’t have been in my pocket, but I have no idea how it got there.”

“Well, you do have a habit of pocketing anything in your hand.” You can hear the teasing tone in his voice.

You roll your eyes. “I do not!” But his teasing smile makes you pause. “Well… okay, sometimes. But not all the time! Either way, I should get that back to the lab. It’s supposed to help Hunter fight Wanderers, but it’s not quite a success yet.”

Zayne hums, waiting expectantly.

“I heard it’s nothing bad, though. The effect is reversible. The last guy who breathed in the fumes was fine after 24 hours.”

Zayne’s brow furrows. “24 hours? That’s a long effect. What exactly does it do?”

You shrug. “I didn’t hear that part.” You reach out again. “It’s better than most things their research usually—”

Zayne hesitates, his fingers tightening around the test tube before he finally exhales and hands it back to you.

“Alright. I’ll just put it in my pack and secure it properly.”

You take a step forward, but somehow, your foot catches, and—

Crash. The glass shatters against the floor.

Zayne reacts instantly, grabbing your arm and steadying you, his grip firm. But the damage is done. A faint wisp of blue smoke curls upward, and before you can even think to hold your breath, you inhale.

A sharp tickle burns through your nose. Your eyes water. Then—

Sneeze.

Zayne cups your face, his hands warm and steady. “Are you okay?”

You blink against the stinging sensation and rub your nose. “Ugh. All good,” you mutter between sneezes.

Zayne watches closely, scanning for any changes. When you sneeze, his hand steadies you before you even register the movement.

“We’re going to the lab, or the hospital.” His voice is firm, but his touch remains gentle, he slowly leads you forward.

“Ah, no, no, I’m fine.” You stop sneezing now and really do feel… normal. “Like I said, it should be fine. Even if something happens, it’ll go away. We don’t need to go.”

Zayne’s brow furrows further. “It’s better to be safe than sorry.”

But of course, you just shake your head. “No, really, I’ll tell you if I feel anything, alright? Besides, I want to eat.” You give him your best puppy-dog eyes, pleading.

Zayne scans your face, then your whole body, searching for any sign of distress. After a long moment of silence, he finally sighs, resting a hand on your shoulder.

“Alright. Tell me if anything—and I mean anything—feels different, okay? Eat your meal. I’ll clean up.” He presses a soft kiss to your forehead before turning to grab cleaning supplies.

With that settled, you return to the kitchen and start eating. After finishing, you wash your plate in the sink. You’re just about to look for Zayne when you feel an itch in your ears. You scratch them absentmindedly as you walk toward the living room. The more you touch them, the thicker and softer they feel beneath your fingers.

Zayne sits at his laptop, fingers tapping against the keys in steady rhythm. The soft glow of the screen casts shadows over his face. When he hears your footsteps, he barely glances up at first.

“Do you still feel—”

Then he really sees you.

His fingers freeze mid-keystroke, his grip tightening around the edge of his laptop before he slowly leans back, his gaze locked on you. His mouth parts slightly, but no words come out, as if his brain is still catching up with what he’s seeing..

“What?” You frown, rubbing your ears again. They still feel itchy, weird. “Something on my face?”

Zayne doesn’t answer immediately. He just stares.

That’s never a good sign.

You grab his phone from the coffee table, flipping it to the front camera as you sit next to him. The moment your reflection comes into view, you freeze.

“Oh shit—” You grimace. Slowly, you reach up, touching your ear, half-expecting them to disappear under your fingers. Your face hasn’t changed much, but your ears… they’re clearly different. They’ve turned into cat ears—white cat ears—starkly contrasting with your dark hair. You look at Zayne. He looks at you, he exhales slowly, measured. “…We’re going to the lab.”

Zayne starts to stand, but you grab his arm and pull him back down.

“No, wait! It’s fine. It’ll change back tomorrow!”

His frown deepens.

“Darling, listen.” His voice is soft as he gently touches your ears, making you shiver. “This is clearly not fine. We’re going back to the lab.”

“No, Zayne, really! I’ll just contact them, and you can ask them too, okay?” You really don’t want to get nagged about this. Handling it over the phone is a compromise. By tomorrow, when the effect wears off, hopefully the nagging will too.

You watch his expression shift—his jaw tightening, fingers tapping against his thigh as he debates whether to just carry you to the car anyway. But after a while, he exhales through his nose and sighs.

“Alright. Call away.”

So you call your colleague, report what happened, and let Zayne ask a million questions to make sure you’re really fine. After an hour, the matter is settled.

“See? All good, right?”

Zayne exhales softly, shaking his head. His face stays neutral, but you catch the subtle ease in his eyes—the quiet relief he won’t admit.

“All good, huh? Just don’t leave my sight, alright? We still don’t know for certain.” He kisses your lips—a quick, chaste kiss—before going back to his laptop, glancing at you briefly before returning to his work.

So, you grab the remote and turn on the TV. Truthfully, for the past hour, you’ve been feeling the same itch—not in your ears this time, but lower. And you have a pretty good idea of what’s happening.

And then you feel it. You flinch as an unfamiliar sensation prickles at the base of your spine. Your fingers twitch, reaching back—only to freeze the moment you feel it. Soft. Fluffy. Moving.

Your breath catches, and you shift in your seat, testing the strange new weight behind you. Zayne immediately notices, his eyes flicking to you before trailing downward. His gaze lingers for a moment, then slowly lifts back to your face.

“Well… they did say the tail would show up, right?” you say, voice uncertain as your fingers hesitantly brush over the unfamiliar appendage.

Zayne lets out a slow breath, his brow furrowing slightly. Without a word, he reaches out, resting one hand on your shoulder and the other over yours, stilling your movements. “Anything else feel weird? Any pain?” His grip is steady, grounding, his gaze locked onto yours as he searches for any sign of discomfort.

You shake your head.

After another moment of scrutiny, he gets up. When he returns, he has a blanket. Zayne wraps the blanket around you, his movements careful, deliberate. His fingers brush against your ears, barely lingering before he pulls away.

“Anything uncomfortable?” His voice is softer now, but the concern is still there.

You shake your head again.

He kisses the top of your head and heads to the kitchen. A few minutes later, he’s back with a cup of chamomile tea, setting it gently on the table in front of you before returning to his laptop.

You curl up with the tea, taking a sip. It tastes stronger than usual… or maybe your senses are sharper now. You refocus on the TV.

For a while, the sound of the TV and Zayne’s typing fills the room. You scratch your ears gently. It feels nice. Really nice. You remember how good it felt when Zayne did it earlier. You glance at him, still working, but… shouldn’t he be paying more attention to you?

Yes. Yes, he definitely should.

Feeling restless, you inch closer, nuzzling against his side, seeking his comfort.

Zayne glances at you, ruffling your hair, kissing the top of your head. But just as you start to enjoy his touch, he returns to his laptop.

Pouting, you move closer, pressing against his side, but when he doesn't react, you move with more intent—climbing into his lap, settling against him.

Zayne exhales lightly, amusement flickering in his eyes as his hands automatically move to steady you.

"And what exactly is this?"

Instead of answering, you nuzzle into his neck, arms draping around him. He hums, rubbing small circles into your back.

But then his hands return to his keyboard, and you frown.

Not acceptable.

So you shift, straddling him, tilting his chin up before kissing him—first softly, then trailing down his face, his neck.

“Darling,” His voice is teasing, “I’ll finish this in a bit, then I’ll play with you, alright?”

You shake your head at this, stopping your licking and clinging onto him. You take one of his hands and guide it to your tail. You hear his chuckle, and then he strokes it slowly, heeding your request. The moment his fingers brush your tail, a sharp jolt sparks through you—almost like static electricity. It feels really nice, like an itch finally being scratched.

“Hmm, this does feel like a real cat tail—”

You cut off his words with a sudden purr. The sound vibrates in your throat before you even realize it, and your eyes widen. Wait… did I just…?

His fingers twitch against your tail before going completely still. You feel the way Zayne stiffens when your purring starts—a sharp inhale, his fingers flexing against your hips before gripping tighter. His throat bobs, and for a moment, he doesn’t move, as if he's trying to gather himself.

A slow, teasing sway of your hips earns you a low, involuntary groan, his breath hot against your ear. He doesn't move, but the tension in his body is unmistakable but other than that he still doesn’t move.

“Zayne?” You pull your face from his neck, trying to look at him when suddenly, you’re pushed down onto the couch. Zayne is on top of you, caging you in on both sides.

“This is dangerous, don’t you think?” His voice is much, much lower now, sending a shiver through you.

Now that you can finally see his face, his hazel eyes are more intense, filled with desire that he’s still trying to restrain. The tips of his ears are red. You simply tilt your head at his question, nuzzling against his hand, holding onto it.

You hear him sigh. He touches your cheek, and you automatically lean into him, seeking his touch. So, he tilts your face up, forcing you to look at him.

“Are you aware of what you’re doing?”

“Of course I do?” What a strange question, you think. You’re definitely aware of what you’re doing—it’s not like you’re drunk. So, you keep nuzzling against his touch, holding his gaze.

His gaze flickers, like he’s calculating his choices again. Then, he kisses your forehead gently. Studying your face once more, he asks,

“What do you want, darling?”

His tone is so soft, the same as his expression, making your stomach flip-flop. You take his right hand and place it on your ears.

“Touch me, please,” you say softly, already closing your eyes as his hand makes contact.

And so, he does.

He strokes your ears gently, and you feel blissful—so nice, so relaxing. It feels really good. You find yourself leaning into his touch. He kisses the area just below your right ear, his lips warm against your skin. His hand continues stroking your left ear as he trails slow kisses upward.

You gasp when his lips reach your ear. He licks it, nibbling slightly, and the sensation makes you purr again—something you can’t seem to stop. You squirm beneath him, heat pooling in your stomach.

He chuckles softly against your skin, his warm breath sending more shivers down your spine. His fingers continue caressing your ear, slow and deliberate, as if testing just how much you can take.

“You’re really something else,” he murmurs, his tone laced with amusement and something deeper, something that makes your stomach tighten.

His fingers trail down, brushing along your jaw before tilting your chin up—slow, deliberate, like he’s savoring the moment.

His hazel eyes bore into yours, dark and unreadable, as if weighing his next move. You hold his gaze, your breath unsteady, ears twitching under his touch.

The corner of his mouth twitches, like he knows exactly what he's doing to you.

“Zayne…” his name leaves your lips in a soft whisper, and that seems to be the last straw.

His breath ghosts over your skin before his lips press against your neck—slow and deliberate.

The contrast is dizzying—the heat of his mouth, the teasing stroke of his fingers against your ear. You shiver beneath him, your breath hitching as his lips travel lower, marking a slow, possessive path.

Then his fingers trace along your tail, and a warm pulse spreads through your spine, making your toes curl involuntarily. Your breath hitches, the sensation sparking deep in your core.

He notices.

Zayne's grip tightens, his palm gliding along the length of your tail with agonizing slowness. Your thighs instinctively press together, heat coiling low in your stomach. His voice, thick and rough, brushes against your skin. "That sensitive, huh?"

He strokes again, and this time a soft whimper escapes you, followed by another involuntary purr. His breath hitches, forehead pressing against your shoulder as he steadies himself before continuing. His teeth grazing the shell of your ear. His free hand presses against your lower back, keeping you exactly where he wants you, but he’s the one unraveling.

Your purring deepens, vibrating against his chest, and you feel his body tense even more. He lets out a ragged breath, his fingers twitching slightly. For a moment, he just lingers there, letting the sound wash over him.

“You keep making that sound,” his voice is rough, almost strained, “and I won’t be able to stop.”

You nuzzle against his touch again, silently asking for more, your tail curling slightly in his grip.

“Then don’t stop.”

He grunts, his fingers digging into your hips for half a second before he exhales sharply—then suddenly, you're flipped over. Your face is pressed against the couch now, your body pinned beneath him. His weight hovers over you, just enough to remind you how easily he could take control. His breath brushes against your ear as he leans in, voice thick with amusement and something darker.

“So, the kitty wants to play?” His voice is thick with amusement, but his eyes are dark with something else.

His words send a shiver down your spine, but before you can respond, his tongue flicks against your ear, slow and deliberate. His teeth graze the tip before he sucks lightly, making you gasp. One of his hands keeps him propped up so he doesn’t crush you, but the other? It slides back down to your tail, this time gripping, stroking with purpose.

A sharp jolt of pleasure runs through you, your body reacting before you can even process it. You arch against him, pressing your hips back, chasing more of that friction.

A strained chuckle escapes him, his breath hitching for a split second before he recovers. His grip on your tail tightens, his hips pressing forward, drawn to the heat of your movements. “Look at you…” His voice is lower now, rougher. His fingers flex, the pressure teasing, almost testing. “So sensitive here.”

His kisses trail down your neck, lingering, slow. He shifts, brushing your hair aside, exposing more skin. The moment his lips reach the back of your neck, he stills, his breath warm against you. Then, his mouth opens against your skin, tongue tracing slow circles before his teeth sink in just enough to make you squirm.

A deep sound rumbles in his chest at your reaction. He doesn’t stop, tracing a slow, burning path along your tattoo—licking, sucking, biting—as if branding himself into your skin. The sensation is overwhelming, a push and pull between heat and restraint, between teasing and claiming.

Your fingers find his free hand, gripping it tightly, nails digging into his skin as you writhe beneath him. You don’t even realize you’re pressing back against him again, your body moving on instinct. A low, guttural groan leaves his lips when he feels it—when he feels you.

“Impatient,” he murmurs, but his voice is different now—rough, strained, like he’s barely holding himself together. His hold on your tail shifts, fingers pressing in just enough to feel the way you twitch under his touch. He watches closely, taking in every reaction, his breath stalling for half a second before he strokes again, slower this time—almost like he’s testing both your limits and his own.

You catch a glimpse of him from the corner of your eye—his hazel eyes, dark and heavy-lidded. His breath uneven as he watches you, drinking in every movement, every sound you make. And yet, even now, he’s restraining himself.

“Stop teasing,” you whisper, breathless. “Touch me properly.”

For a moment, he doesn’t move, but you can feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles tighten, the way his grip on you trembles just slightly. And then, his hand shifts, trailing down from your tail, following the curve of your body, stopping just short of where you need him most.

His lips brush against your ear as his voice drops lower. “You’re making this really hard for me.” His fingers press into your skin, his restraint slipping with every second. “You keep pushing me, and I don’t think you even realize it.”

He exhales sharply, his forehead dropping to your back. His fingers twitch against your waist before curling into a fist, knuckles pressing into the cushion beside you. Then, he shaking his head.

"I need a second," he mutters, his voice strained, like he’s barely keeping himself together.

He stills. The heat between you, thick and all-consuming, is nearly too much to bear. You shift beneath him, silently begging, but instead of giving in, he exhales, slow and controlled.

Then, his lips press against your shoulder—soft, lingering. His fingers, which had been tracing slow, burning lines along your skin, suddenly retreat.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” His voice is low, amused, and maddeningly composed.

You turn your head slightly, trying to catch his expression, but he only smile, his hands settling on your waist in a way that’s possessive yet withholding.

“Maybe I should make you wait a little longer,” he muses, his fingers brushing over your tail in a teasingly light touch that makes you shudder. “See how much you can take.”

Your breath hitches. “Zayne—”

He presses another kiss to your shoulder before shifting back slightly, as if deciding to draw this out just a little more.

His fingers trail lower, gliding down the curve of your back until they brush over the base of your tail. The touch is unhurried, intentional, and when you tense beneath him, he exhales softly—like he’s committing the reaction to memory.

"Still so sensitive," he murmurs, his voice quiet, almost thoughtful. His fingertips stroke over the spot again, this time with more intent, savoring the way your body shifts beneath his touch.

You shiver, pressing subtly into the sensation, but before you can move too much, his palm settles at the small of your back, keeping you in place. His other hand glides over your hip, his thumb smoothing slow circles into your skin.

"You wanted this," he says, his voice a deep hum, warm and steady. He leans forward slightly, his chest just barely brushing your back as his hand slides up your spine, fingertips tracing along the dip of it with aching slowness. "And now you're trembling for me."

His grip tightens—not rough, but firm, grounding you beneath him. Then his fingers drift lower, teasing along the inside of your thigh, never quite where you want them. The anticipation pulls tight between you, each second stretching unbearably.

"You always push," he says, his tone quieter now, almost indulgent as he watches you react to him. His fingers continue their slow path upward, lingering at the curve of your hip, never quite giving in. "But the moment I touch you like this…" His thumb skims higher, barely there. "You melt so easily."

His hand moves back to your tail, fingers tracing its base with the same aching slowness. The movement is tender, reverent even, as if he’s savoring every shift and sigh you give him in return. His other hand rests at your lower back, his touch warm, steadying.

He leans down, pressing the lightest kiss just below your ear, his breath warm against your skin. "You’re too easy to spoil," he murmurs, amusement lacing his words, though there's something softer beneath it.

Then, with one last slow caress over your tail, he chuckles, low and teasing. "I should keep you like this a little longer."

The words linger between you, a promise, a challenge—one that sends another shiver down your spine. But when he shifts forward again, pressing a kiss to the nape of your neck this time, there's no mistaking the warmth in it, the quiet affection woven into his every touch.

Like he has no intention of letting you go just yet.

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[irndad]

Hi hun! I just love love love your pieces <3

As for Carmy prompts - could we have some hurt to comfort when Carmen doesn't show up for a date? It's ok if you dont wanna do it or i requested incorrectly, but if you do, i cant wait to read!!!!! Thank you so much mwah mwah mwah

I’m not thaaaaaat sure how I feel about this and it’s so long but your request was so sweet I had to!!! Ily <3333

wc:1.1k

There’s so fucking much in his ear. Fak’s screaming whatever bullshit he’s sure will help absolutely nothing, Richie’s harassing Sydney and Tina’s trying to keep them all in line and will of that goddamn chaos, he shouldn’t be able to make out anything.

Prepping this whole thing, the opening, Richie biting his head off for fucking sending him to the best kitchen in the city- it’s all a bit fucking much.

He barely hears the door open (she has a key, because of course she does) and he doesn’t even look over his shoulder as he calls out her name.

“Hey, baby,” he yells back towards the entrance. It feels good, chopping the vegetables. It’s actually one of her favorite dishes that he’s making, and something inside him preens that he gets to feed her tonight. Everything feels illustrious under her gaze. He remembers the first time he’d cooked for her, how her watchful gaze felt a bit like sunlight; equal parts burning and doused in light.

She’d said she liked his hands, then. Said he looked pretty with a knife and a cutting board. “Will you try this sauce for me?”

He hears her heels click, the soft thud of her purse landing on the couch. It’s a slow saunter she does to him, but he’s razor focused- what does it need, garlic? Oregano?

It only breaks when he sees her. And she looks gorgeous. Wearing a black dress with a cowl neck, shimmery eyeshadow that catches and dances in the low light of the kitchen, a crimson lipstick neatly applied to her beautiful pout.

She smells like vanilla, and Carmen has the privilege of knowing what real, rich, Madagascar vanilla smells like. He’d loved the scent so much that he’d bought her a perfume made from it, and there’s a warmth blooming in his chest when he realizes that she’s wearing it.

Wordlessly, she opens her mouth and leans forward to try the sauce covered wooden spoon he’d raised to her lips.

Even when she’s in front of him, he can’t believe she’s someone he knows. That she’s wasting her time with someone like him.

“Jesus Christ you look beautiful,” he says without thinking, and he kisses her quick. It’s true. She’s a vision, plucked out of an old movie shot on grainy film, warm to the touch film.

He abandons the spoon and the sauce without much fanfare, a rough, calloused hand meeting her soft warm cheek.

“Thanks, Carmen.” she says, but her doe-eyes deny the joy she typically exudes in his presence. It’s his proudest achievement, how she glows around him. She’s tight lipped, smile betraying her words.

“What’s wrong? Is it the sauce? I know it’s a mess in here, I’m sorry, I didn’t think you’d see it-“

“No! No, seriously, it’s okay, honey.” She tries to insist but it really doesn’t work. He moves the pot off the burner and twists himself completely to face her, placing a gentle hand at the small of her back, pulling her closer to him. He tries not to let it sting, how she stiffens for a moment before softening again.

“What happened?” He asks again.

“It’s the first,” she says, a rueful grin on her pretty lips, before gesturing down at her outfit, and oh.

The dinner. The fucking dinner that he’d promised her. His sweet girl, who waited up every night, who dutifully tasted every recipe, who soothed him on nights where nightmares stole his sleep-

“Fuck,” he says, more to himself than her, but god, he can’t stop looking at her, “Fuck! God, I’m such an asshole, I’m so sorry-“ he insists, suddenly so grateful that she’s letting him touch her, even more aware of every point of contact with the sudden fear that it could escape in a moment’s notice.

“Y’know, Carm, if you could’ve just told me that would’ve been one thing? But I left the reservation, and this was the one night we both had off!”

“I know, baby, fuck, I forgot-“

She backs away from him, and there’s a sick feeling in his stomach. Sitting on the chair he keeps by the stove (he put it there for her, because she loved watching him) she pinches the bridge of her nose.

“It’s just not fair, Carm. To either of us. If you don’t have time for this-“

“I have time for this! I have time. Don’t say things like that.”

“Carmy, I’m not trying to hurt you. You know that’s the last thing I want.”

And it is. It’s the last thing she wants, and Carmen fucking knows it. Knows that three months in he’s supposed to have brought her flowers and taken her out and done more than cook for her and spend hours in his shitty apartment, and lately she’s been asking if he has time for being in a relationship.

And maybe he doesn’t, but fuck it if he doesn’t feel like he can breathe around her. This was the point of the dinner- take her out, be a boyfriend. Have her wait a little while on him. Show her he’s worth it.

Instead he fucking missed it, stayed home and made sauce no one would even eat.

“I’m sorry,” he says, grabbing her hand and lacing it through his own. It always shocks him, how it fits his own. “Okay? I’m so, so fuckin’ sorry. Tell me what I can do. Tell me, cos I’ll do just about fuckin’ anything to get you to stop saying shit like that.”

Her voice comes out small.

“I was alone, Carm. They kept trying to take my order and you weren’t there, and eventually I had to leave.“

She looks up at him, eyes sparkling and kind and Carmen. She looks beautiful, and if he wasn’t with her, he’d see her in the street and hate whatever fuck was lucky enough to be who she got dressed up for.

“I am so, so sorry. It’s just with the stove, and Fak, and Richie fucking calling me to bitch me out every thirty seconds,” she reaches her delicate fingers to brush his cheek with concern, “I should’ve remembered. It’s just about the only thing this week worth remembering. And you look…stunning, I should’ve been there. I should’ve. Please.”

Her expression softens and he loves the sight of her, warm and kind and lovely in both form and temperance. She’s so patient with him, responds with kindness- a gift.

She brushes her soft lips on his cheek and he tries to savor the sensation, note how warm and wonderful it is to have her form pressed against his, how her arms knot themselves around his waist.

“I know you’re stressed, babe,” she murmurs against his cheek, eyes shut, “tell you what. Why don’t you make me something better than what that place could’ve, huh?”

After he kisses her for so long that excess is no longer the right terminology, he makes her the best pasta she’s ever had in her goddamn life.

It’s better this way, anyway. She’s gorgeous in a way that’s just his to look at tonight.

[saintobio]

blue christmas

a sincerely yours christmas special. non-canon. angst. 900 wc. part of the sy side-stories.

It was quiet that night. 

The fire crackled softly in the hearth, and the scent of pine and cinnamon lingered in the air while the warm glow of Christmas lights twinkled on the tree. Outside, snow drifted lazily to the ground, covering the surroundings of your home in a soft, pile of white. It felt peaceful—almost too peaceful—and you sat back on the couch, lounging after a nice Christmas dinner with your teenage son, Sachiro, who cradled a mug of cocoa in his hands beside you.

You smiled faintly, admiring how much he had grown, and how this quiet night seemed so far removed from the all the drama that had once filled your life. But the comfort of the moment didn’t last long before he spoke. His voice, deep like his father’s, broke the silence of your supposed peaceful night. 

“Mom,” he began, “Why didn’t you ever choose to remarry Dad?”

The question hit you harder than expected, and for a moment, you couldn’t find the right words. Really, what were the right words? You had never been good at talking about these things, and you didn’t expect that your son would put you on the hot seat like this. The past, especially those connected to Satoru—sometimes it felt easier to leave them untouched, forgotten. As it should be. 

You glanced at your son, unsure of how to explain the complicated web of emotions that tangled inside you. “I thought... it was for the best,” you said quietly, voice soft as you searched for something that sounded right. His question was too sudden to be given a decent answer. “You know your Dad and I just couldn’t make it work. And for you, for us, it was better this way.”

Sachiro nodded slowly as if he already knew the answer, yet his fingers tightened around the mug. You could see the way he was processing your words, as if he was hoping for better reasoning. He had never even known the sibling he had lost until recently, the gap that finally forced his father out of your lives. Sachiro only saw the quiet love that both his parents shared, but it wasn’t enough, not for either of you.

“Do you ever wonder what it would be like if my sibling were here?” he asked, clearly inciting. “If you kept her, mom. Would she be celebrating with us tonight?”

You felt the ache in your chest as the question landed. You knew Sachiro’s question came from a place of grudge, aiming really well at a spot that hurt the most. And it did good at bringing you a pang of grief from a memory you had tried to bury long ago. You weren’t numb. Of course the loss still stung, even all these years later.

“I think about it all the time,” you murmured, unable to hide the shame in your voice. “What she would’ve been like. How she would’ve looked like. But... I don’t want to remember, Sachiro. I’ve made peace with it.”

But he wasn’t done. “Then, why didn’t you try again?” His voice was so gentle, yet so curious. “Why didn’t you remarry anyone else? I mean... Dad’s married to someone else now. And they’re having another baby. Shouldn’t that be a sign?”

The words felt like a stab to your chest, your heart shattering with an emotion you couldn’t name. Satoru’s life had moved on without you, far far too long ago, yet every reminder of it still cut deep. 

“I’m happy for him,” you said softly, the words stuck in your throat. “But that doesn’t mean I want the same outcome for myself. It’s... complicated.”

Marrying someone else again was not in your books. 

You could feel the intensity of Sachiro’s gaze on you, as if waiting for more. But you didn’t have more to give. You didn’t know how to explain the parts of you that had been shattered, the pieces that had never fully healed. Even if your own son hated you for it. 

“I just want you to be happy, Mom,” Sachiro said, turning away from you, his gaze landing on the Christmas tree. “I want you to have what you deserve. When I have my own family someday, I don’t want you to be spending your Christmas all alone.”

You wanted to tell him everything. How much you loved him, how much you would do for him. How hard it was to move on, how hard it was to see his father moving on with someone else. But the words needn’t be said. At least, not for tonight. 

And then, just as quickly as the moment had come, it faded into a kaleidoscope of memories. The world around you shifted, and the warmth of the fire and the smell of Christmas began to dissolve. Suddenly, you were back in your bed, heart pounding recklessly in the darkness.

You woke up eyes wide in surprise, until the reality of your room finally made sense to you. You blinked, trying to steady yourself. It was a dream. It was all a dream. 

Sighing, you let your head fall into your hands. And just for a moment, you let yourself mourn the future you would never have. The family you would never see, the happiness you could never quite reach.

But as the soft glow of the Christmas lights flickered in the silent night, you slowly allowed yourself to breathe. Tomorrow would come. But tonight, you would let the dream linger just a little longer.

[luveline]

i know you said hotch and reader baby requests… but what about hotch’s daughter that he met as an adult meeting Jack for the first time? two babies in one! love you 💕

—You meet your little brother, with your dad’s support. fem, 1.6k

To grow up wondering if your father might love you is odd. You spend years wondering if you’d ever know him. Would he be proud of you? Would he like you? If you could find him, would he want you to? 

And then you do find him, and you’re floored by how desperately he wants to take care of you. 

Honey, his message starts, sent at 5AM that morning. Just to remind you, dinner is at 5PM, but you don’t have to worry about being late. You can come whatever time you like, please let me know beforehand. Jack was so excited last night he couldn’t sleep.

Another sent at 5:16AM. I can’t wait for you to meet him. How are you feeling about it? If this is too much, you don’t have to. 

At 5:25AM. Please call me to talk when you’re awake, if you can. 

You think perhaps your father might be as nervous as you are to introduce you to his family. Because Aaron, your dad, has a wife and child. Haley, his high school sweetheart (though there had been that brief separation in college that allowed your existence), and Jack, his four year old son. 

This might be hard for everyone, but at least you aren’t destroying a family by existing. Aaron didn’t do anything wrong in getting your mother pregnant. He had no idea about it until you showed up at his office. 

You rub your tired eyes and decide against calling him right away. You have work soon, and he’s probably at his own place of work already. Instead, you make yourself a cup of tea and breakfast you can’t eat. Turns out you’re more nervous than you thought. 

You call him on your lunch break. 

He said you can call him whenever you want, just he’s busy, and can’t always answer. He also said you can call him whatever you want. It had been a strangely touching moment at one of your ‘catching up on a whole life’ dinners. Mr. Hotchner was extremely formal, and made him laugh every time you said it. Aaron was better, but you could call him dad, if you liked. The paternity test agreed. 

“Will that be weird for you?” you’d asked. 

“Honey, I’ve had someone calling me dad for the last four years. You can call me what you want.” 

Some part of you wished he insisted, but maybe it’s best the choice be down to you. 

“Hello?” he asks as he picks up. “Y/N?” 

The will to call him dad dies. It’s too awkward, what if he hates it? “Hello,” you say instead, stammering trying to sound natural. 

“Hi, honey. Are you still coming to dinner tonight?” 

“Yeah, I wouldn’t miss it.” 

After an investigation and a mother’s confession, you found Aaron Hotchner online. Watched him behind podiums and sat at conference tables, even found his guest lecture at your university. It was a few years before you’d attended, but you can’t help thinking: what if you’d watched him talk? Would you have known he was your father? Of course, you couldn’t know. But maybe he would have. 

Aaron took one good look at you in his office and believed you. Well, you had a photo of him and your mom, and you offered to take a paternity test then and there, but he told you he knew pretty quickly.

“You okay?” 

“Just terrified,” you say. 

“Haley… Haley isn’t mad at anyone. She has,” —he clears his throat— “a very tight picture of her life in her head, and her husband having a child without her wasn’t in that picture, but she also has a really big heart. I promise you have nothing to worry about.” 

“It’s not Haley I’m scared of.” 

“Honey, Jack can’t stop telling people he has a new sister. People keep giving Haley congratulations.” 

You rub your eyes. You’ll be surprised if your makeup survives the day. “Are you sure you even want me to come?” 

“I want you more than anything.” 

Which doesn’t answer the question you’d voiced, but reassures the one you’d been thinking. “I just wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want me to. I can’t imagine how terrible this has been for you. I’ve disrupted your whole life.” 

“Is that what you think?” he asks gently. 

You can imagine him sitting at his desk. His office was roomy, with heavy furniture, big windows, and a gaggle of photo frames on the desk. He is intimidating, but he doesn’t talk to you with any meanness, or sternness. He’s been careful with you this whole time, so no, you’ve no reason to think he doesn’t want you around, but maybe he’s too good a man to admit it. 

“If it’s too much for now, we can wait,” he says. “We have all the time in the world. But I promise it won’t be what you’re thinking. You certainly aren’t disrupting my life.” 

You decide to be brave about it and go to dinner. Only when you’re standing on the Hotchner porch do you remember he’d wanted to talk to you about something. He opens the door quietly, ushering you in with a smile, and before you know it he’s offering a hug in the small foyer. 

“Hi,” he says, patting your back. Your hands rest tentatively on his sides. 

“Hi.” 

He holds you at arm’s length before dropping his touch. “You look pretty,” he says. 

Which is a whole other category of thing. “Thank you. Is this the sort of thing you wear to dinner?” 

“You can wear pyjamas, if you like. Jack usually does.”

“That would make a good first impression.” 

Haley appears from a doorway. “Oh, you’re here,” she says, smiling. “Hello, hello!” 

You get another hug. Haley smells like expensive perfume and softness. Her hair is perfect. She’s one of the most beautiful women you’ve ever seen, and it’s emphasised by her glowing smile. “Jack is bouncing off the walls, but he might get a little shy when he really gets to meet you.” Her smile softens. “Wow. You don’t look much like him, but you have his frown. How’s that possible?” She nudges Aaron. “You’re so moody it’s in your DNA.” 

“I’m sorry, I’m just nervous,” you explain. 

“Me too,” Haley says. 

“It’ll be okay.” Aaron gives Haley a squeeze around the shoulders. “He’s in the living room. Are you ready?” 

“Maybe she should go in by herself.” 

You and Aaron both stare at Haley. 

“I should?” you ask. 

She shrugs. “It’s not like we’re going anywhere. But maybe Aaron can introduce you and then bow out. It’s less pressure on both of you.” 

You honestly couldn’t agree less with her, and Aaron’s giving her a dubious frown, but she’s Jack’s mom and your dad’s wife and you’re too scared of upsetting her to disagree. 

Aaron, however, isn’t worried. “You don’t have to,” he says, giving Haley a rub on her shoulder, “it’s just a suggestion.” 

“It’s okay. Um, whatever you guys think is best.” 

So Aaron opens the living room door and walks you in. 

Jack is drawing a bright picture on the floor, surrounded by a spread of crayons and washable markers. He has a huge sketch pad, where light from the TV stains the white with cartoon colours.

“Jack.” Aaron touches the back of your arm. “Bud, Y/N’s here for dinner.” 

Jack whirls. As predicted, he sees you and his smile turns to shyness. You’re feeling shy, too, tempted to hide behind Aaron’s arm, but stepping forward when he prompts you to. 

“Hi, Jack,” you say. 

“Hi,” he says, lookin at Aaron. 

“This is your big sister,” Aaron says. 

Because Jack is your little brother. Half brother, but brother. You weren’t expecting to feel so awed. 

You step out of your heels, you should’ve at the door, and use the armrest of the couch to lower yourself onto your knees. You just wanna see him. 

He’s quite big, for his age. He’s tall. He has brown hair with slightly blond ends, and his eyes are big, flush with dark lashes. You have some of the same DNA, but you’re not sure you could tell with the two of you side by side. 

“You look like your mommy,” you say. 

“You don’t,” Jack says. 

“I look more like my mommy.” You smile at him. “It’s nice to meet you, Jack.” 

“You don’t look like a sister,” Jack says. “You’re old.” 

“I’m not that old.” 

Aaron laughs and touches your shoulder again. It’s nice to think he’s standing by. 

“I… I can still do big sister stuff, even if I’m old,” you hedge gently. “I can still do fun stuff, I swear. I’m super fun.” 

Jack pulls himself on knees to sit very close to you. He takes the skirt of your dress into his hand and pets it. “What if we ruin your dress?” he says worriedly. 

“I have so many like this, it’s okay.” 

His smile warms. “Okay. You want to colour with me?” 

“Yes, yeah, I do. I really want to, what can we colour?” 

“I’ll draw you a picture.” 

You look up at Aaron with a smile that threatens to set with the wind. You’d be stuck like that, grinning with a mixture of relief, pride, and affection. 

“I’m gonna go help Haley set the table,” he tells you. You’re probably wanting more than he’s giving, but you swear, he talks with love. “Okay?” 

“Okay.” 

“Okay, dad,” Jack says, taking your hand to pull you to the crayons. “We’re gonna colour now.” 

“Okay, buddy. Draw me something nice.” 

[bitchinbarzal]

Plus One | C Keller

summary: Clayton invites you to a wedding as his plus one, but the bride is his ex—and the groom is his best friend and you’re the situationship.

—

You’re halfway through your second cup of coffee when your phone lights up.

Clayton: Any chance you’re free next weekend?

You bite your lip, smile forming almost immediately. He never starts with “hey,” never with “are you busy?”—just drops the question, like the answer was already yes in his head. And maybe it is. Maybe it always is when it comes to him.

You call him instead of texting back.

“Depends,” you say, leaning back into your kitchen stool. “Is this a booty call or are you finally taking me on a proper date?”

There’s a pause. Then his low chuckle slips through the speaker. “Neither. I need a plus one for a wedding.”

You blink. “A wedding?”

“Out of state. Kind of a big deal. You don’t have to come, obviously, but…” His voice trails off.

But he wants you to. That part’s clear.

It’s not a date—not officially. That’s never what you two are. Not just friends, not quite a couple. You’re something in the grey: tangled sheets, late-night calls, soft glances in quiet rooms. Situationship. Complicated.

But still, you say yes.

Of course you do.

The drive is peaceful, almost romantic in a way that feels dangerous to acknowledge. Windows cracked, his playlist low, his hand resting on your thigh like it’s always belonged there. He hums along to songs under his breath and glances at you at red lights like he’s seeing you for the first time all over again.

“You clean up okay, you know,” he says as you adjust your sunglasses in the mirror.

You snort. “Oh, just okay?”

He grins. “Fine. You’re gonna make every bridesmaid hate me.”

It makes your chest warm.

You don’t ask who’s getting married. You figure if it’s important, he’ll tell you.

The venue is stunning. A lakeside resort tucked into trees, like something out of a movie—warm wood interiors, the scent of pine and champagne lingering in the air. You check in under his name, and the concierge hands you a single key.

There’s only one bed.

Of course there is.

He shrugs, nonchalant. “Hope that’s okay.”

It always is. You wish it wasn’t.

The room is soft-lit and quiet, your bags landing beside the closet while he drops onto the bed with a sigh. You glance at him, tie loosened, hand tucked behind his head.

“You always bring girls to weddings like this?” you tease, toeing off your shoes.

Clayton turns to look at you. “Never.”

It’s not flirtation. It’s a fact. And it lands somewhere between your ribs, sharp and heavy.

At the rehearsal dinner, you feel it before you even know it. The tension in Clayton’s shoulders, the way his grip on your hand tightens whenever someone walks by. The polite greetings laced with awkward silence. The too-long glances from a few of the guests. The quiet murmur of your name after you pass.

Still, he smiles for the cameras. Introduces you as “my date,” not “a friend.” His fingers curl around the small of your back. He kisses your cheek as you laugh at something someone says.

It’s easy to pretend you fit. Even if you don’t quite know where.

Later, he unzips your dress in the hotel room and lets his fingers graze your skin in reverent silence. He doesn’t push. Doesn’t assume. Just kisses your shoulder and whispers, “You looked beautiful tonight.”

You sleep in the center of the bed, wrapped in his arms, the unspoken thing between you pulsing like a heartbeat.

The wedding day is a blur of white linen and sparkling lakeside views. Everyone’s dressed in soft neutrals and expensive smiles. You sip champagne and float between polite small talk and awkward half-hugs.

You’re waiting at the bar when she finds you.

A woman in emerald green, smile sharp enough to cut.

“You’re brave,” she says casually.

You turn, confused. “Sorry?”

She glances at you, then toward the venue behind you. “Coming here, knowing the bride is his ex.”

Your stomach drops. “What?”

Her smile turns amused. “They were together for years. Until she ended things and got with his best friend. Now she’s marrying him. Small world, huh?”

She clinks her glass against yours. “Good on you for showing up. You’re gorgeous, by the way.”

You don’t respond. You can’t.

You set your glass down and walk away—heart hammering, ears ringing, a thousand emotions boiling under your skin.

You find him outside, mid-conversation, laughing with someone who might be the groom.

Your mouth goes dry.

The man she left him for. His best friend.

You wait until they part, until it’s just you and Clayton.

“Did you bring me here to make her jealous?”

He stiffens. “What?”

You’re trying to stay calm, trying to stay collected, but it’s unraveling too quickly.

“She’s your ex. The bride. And she left you for your best friend? And you didn’t think I should know that?”

“I didn’t bring you here for them.”

“Then why?” Your voice cracks. “So people wouldn’t feel sorry for you? So you could parade around the ‘hot new girl’ and pretend like you’re over it?”

“I brought you because I wanted you here,” he says, eyes dark. “Because when I pictured this weekend, I couldn’t picture it without you.”

You laugh—sharp and bitter. “Right. Because I’m convenient. Not your girlfriend, not someone you owe honesty to. Just someone you take on trips to make yourself feel better.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Neither is finding out from a stranger that I’m standing in the middle of your history like an idiot.”

He flinches.

“I didn’t tell you,” he says quietly, “because I didn’t want her to matter anymore.”

“You still brought me to her wedding.”

“I brought you because I thought if I had you here, I wouldn’t feel it. That I’d be okay.” He exhales shakily. “And for the first time in a long time, I was.”

You look away. Your voice is quieter now, almost a whisper. “I’m tired of pretending this doesn’t mean anything to you.”

He steps closer.

“It does,” he says. “It means everything.”

You don’t say anything else.

Just turn, walk back to the hotel.

He follows.

The door closes behind you with a soft click.

You don’t speak right away.

You walk to the dresser, hands braced against the wood, your reflection catching his behind you in the mirror.

“You meant it?” you ask finally.

He doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah.”

You turn, eyes meeting his. “I need more than this halfway thing, Clayton. I need to know I’m not just a chapter you skip over when you finally decide to move on.”

“You’re not a chapter,” he says, voice low. “You’re the whole fucking book.”

You swallow. “Then say it.”

He steps closer.

“I’m in love with you,” Clayton says. “Not because it’s easy. Not because I’m lonely. But because when I think about who I want next to me when everything’s hard—when it hurts—it’s you.”

Your breath catches.

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” he says. “But I’m telling you now.”

You take one shaky step closer. Then another. And then you kiss him—soft and slow and full of everything that had gone unsaid for too long.

His hands cradle your face. Yours twist in his shirt. When you finally pull away, he rests his forehead against yours and whispers:

“Please don’t walk away from this.”

You shake your head, tears caught in your lashes.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Later, you fall asleep wrapped in him, his hand resting warm against your back, your name still soft on his lips.

You weren’t just his plus one.

You never were.

You were the one he should’ve chosen all along.

And now, he finally has.

[covenofagatha]

A dance with death (and her wife) (Part 7)

Answers to your past are revealed

Word count: 5500

Warnings: oral, fingering, and of course, more murder

You’re nine, almost ten, when your family moves to Salem, Massachusetts for your dad’s job. You don't quite know exactly what he does, but it doesn’t matter. 

What does matter is that you get to pick your own room in the four-bedroom colonial on the cul-de-sac three blocks from your new school. You choose the bigger of the two bedrooms upstairs and the long windows overlook the woods in your backyard. Your younger brother complains since he only gets the smaller room with a view of the neighbor’s house, but your mom laughs and tells him that since you’re older, you get first pick. 

Everything is perfect there. You like your new school, and like the new friends you made. You come home everyday and sing karaoke after dinner, putting on a show for your family, and they clap and cheer and tell you that they can’t wait to see you on Broadway someday. 

One day in fourth grade, you learn about witches in Social Studies. Women were burned at the stake right there in Salem because men feared them and what they were capable of. Your best friend leans over and whispers, “You know there’s still witches here, right? They live in the woods.” 

This piqued your interest more than you thought it would; there is something fascinating about a woman with power. While you don’t believe in witches or magic, you want to know what that is like, to be capable of doing something great, something more than just your boring life as a fourth grader. And while there obviously aren't witches in the woods, your curiosity gets the better of you.

So you pack a bag of snacks and capri-suns and set out into the woods behind your house. You know your parents would be mad if you told them, so you don’t. You’d be back before it was even dark out, and you had turned ten a few months ago at that point. Plenty grown up enough to go alone. 

It’s only about five minutes in when you start panicking. Snow is starting to fall, a light cover on the forest floor, and you are possibly a little lost. The trees seem to be getting thicker and a branch scratches your leg through your pants. It tears the fabric and there is a bloody gash. 

Your mom is going to be so mad that you ripped them.

You should probably get home now. 

The only problem is that you don’t know which way home is, having been disoriented by the scratch to your shin. And there isn’t enough snow to see your footprints yet. So you pick a random direction, hopefully the one you just came from, and start walking. 

It is not the right way, as you only seem to be going more into the thicket. 

You’re scared, starting to freak out, when you come across a frozen creek. You bend down and stare into your reflection, meeting your eyes while you take deep breaths to slow your racing heart. 

And then you hear a sound and you lurch back, falling onto the mud on the bank. It gets on your clothes and you know your mom is going to be even more mad now. Not only did you tear your pants, you now have wet dirt all over them and your jacket.

The sound comes back, only this time, you’re able to figure out what it is. 

Laughter. 

Someone is laughing in the woods. Who is it? 

Terror grips your heart. Are there really witches here? You know you should turn back around, go anywhere other than toward the sound, but you’ve come this far. 

You stand up and brush your messy hands on your jacket and you follow the noise through more trees, and you’re convinced you must be going the wrong way until you come into a clearing. It’s in the shape of a large circle and you wonder if there used to be more nature here. 

Stepping forward, you feel incredibly vulnerable without the protection of all the trees around you and snow crunches underneath your boots. The laughter has stopped, and you scan the tree line to look for where it may have been coming from. 

More snow starts to fall and you wrap your jacket tighter around you, shivering. You’re about to leave when you see what looks like the outline of a person tucked away between a few trees on the other side of the clearing. 

It’s like you’re being pulled towards them by an invisible line. As if in a trance, you start walking in their direction and a stick cracks under your foot, sending red birds fluttering from the branches. 

The person hears it too, and they turn around. It’s a woman with long dark hair and blue eyes that seem to glow, and she smiles at you, reaching a hand out to beckon you closer. 

Your mom’s warning of Don’t talk to strangers! echoes in your mind, but you push it away and keep moving forward. 

She’s with two other women, one with dark hair to her shoulders and brown eyes, and the other with gray hair and greenish-bluish eyes. The gray-haired lady looks mad and her face reminds you of a crow. She’s standing against a tree, her feet in the middle of a big pile of wood. 

“What’s a young girl like you doing out here in the forest?” The brunette with blue eyes asks, but you’re too busy peering at the older lady. Her hands are behind her back and seemingly wrapped around the tree. 

“Little girl, you need to run and get help,” the gray-haired lady barks and you flinch at the roughness in her voice. “They’re going to kill me!” 

Is she tied to the tree?

Your brows crinkle and the other woman, the one who hasn’t spoken yet, chuckles and waves her off. “Don’t listen to Evanora, doll. Why don’t you come walk with Agatha and I and we can help you figure out where you need to be right now.” 

The blue-eyed woman – Agatha – smiles in agreement and puts an arm around you to lead you away, deeper into the woods. You can still hear Evanora shouting faintly but you try to ignore it. 

“Why don’t you tell us your name, sweetheart?” Agatha asks and you tell them. They both nod. “Well I’m Agatha, and this is Rio.” 

“Are you guys witches?” You ask and they both give you amused looks. 

Rio kneels down so she’s eye-level with you. “Why would you think that, doll?” She’s studying your face curiously. 

You shrug. “My friend told me there were witches in the woods. And then I found you.” 

“Sorry to disappoint, honey, but we’re not witches,” Agatha laughs. “We were just camping.” 

It makes you frown. “Then who’s that woman?” 

Rio glances up at Agatha and then back to you. “Evanora is…not a very nice person. But you don’t have to worry about that at all. Do you live around here?” 

“Yeah, at the edge of the woods. I got a little lost, though,” you say sadly and they look very sympathetic. 

“Well, why don’t we help you get back? We know these woods very well, we can have you back before supper,” Agatha offers. 

But you’re not ready to go back just yet. “Why can’t I stay here a little longer with you guys? Can you show me the woods?” You look at them hopefully, sticking out your bottom lip and giving them the best puppy-dog eyes you can, and Rio chuckles before standing up and holding out a hand to you. 

“Why don’t I show you my favorite spot?” She says and you nod eagerly. You notice Agatha giving her a strange look but she follows the two of you. 

“So, Y/N, why don’t you tell us a little about yourself?” Agatha asks. 

You beam up at her, happy she’s coming along. “I’m in fourth grade. I have a younger brother who’s in first. We don’t have any pets, even though I’ve been begging my dad for a dog. And I’m going to be famous when I grow up!” 

They both gasp. “Famous!” Agatha exclaims. “I didn’t realize we were in the presence of a future celebrity. Rio, remind me to get our little superstar’s autograph before taking her back home.”  

You giggle at the name and they both smile fondly down at you before leading you on. It’s only a bit more before Rio stops and points. “See right there, doll?” 

A gasp leaves your throat. It’s absolutely beautiful. In the middle of the trees, there’s a field of the prettiest purple flowers you’ve ever seen. You drop Rio’s hand and go wander into it, breathing in the honeysuckle scent. 

“What kind of flowers are they?” You ask absentmindedly, brushing your hand over the stop of them. Even in the winter, they are still growing strong. 

“Azaleas,” Rio tells you and you repeat it. 

You pick two and walk back over to them, offering them each a flower. Then you ask the question that’s been weighing on your mind. “Are you going to kill Evanora?” 

Agatha does a double-take and Rio’s hand tightens around the flower stem. “Of course not, superstar,” Agatha assures you, but you’re not convinced. 

“She said you were going to,” you insist. “It looked like she was tied to the tree and she’s standing in a lot of wood. Are you going to burn her? That’s what they did to witches, you know. Is she a witch?” 

Rio snorts. “More like a bitch,” she mutters under her breath and Agatha shoots her a glare. 

“That’s a bad word,” you state matter-of-factly and she smirks. 

Agatha gets down so she can hold onto your shoulders. “Evanora is a very evil lady. She’s tried to hurt me many times.” 

You hold onto her gaze. “Maybe she deserves it then.” Agatha sharply inhales and Rio cackles like it’s the funniest thing ever. 

“What?” Agatha asks, regarding you cautiously, scanning your face like she’s looking for something. 

You shrug. It makes sense to you. “Have you ever killed someone before?” 

“I like you, doll,” Rio says, reaching over to pat you on the head. Agatha gives her a weary look. 

 “She’s a kid, Rio,” Agatha reminds her. “We should really be getting you back home. Come on.” 

You walk behind them as they follow your footsteps, winding you back through the woods until you’re back to where Evanora is. You can see her hands struggling with the rope around her wrist, struggling to get it off. 

Why can you not stop thinking about it? About what it would feel like to watch her die? 

You don’t know why, but you know you’re not ready to leave just yet. So you dig your heels into the snow and stop moving. Evanora starts wailing, trying to get your attention, but you fix your stare on the other women. 

Agatha and Rio keep walking a few more paces until they finally realize you’re not behind them. 

“Y/N, let’s go,” Agatha says sternly but you stay rooted. Rio whispers something to her and they begin a heated discussion about what they should do with you. 

But you drone them out, looking around their campsite. You can feel something calling to you almost, something in Agatha’s backpack. You bend down and pull out a matchbook. 

Your breath stutters in your lungs and you’re in a daze when you turn back around to see Evanora. 

“Little girl, put those down and help untie me,” she hisses. “We need to get away from my abomination of a daughter and her friend.” You don’t know why she says it like that, not sure if there’s an underlying meaning to her words, but nothing feels real when you take out a match. 

A hush falls over the woods and you glance back to find Agatha and Rio watching you with wide eyes, waiting for your next move. 

Time slows down when you strike it against the box and the heat from the flame, while small, warms your face. 

It's a morbid curiosity, you tell yourself, that’s filling your head right now. You just want to see what happens. 

Evanora isn’t making sense now, babbling on and pleading and blubbering, but there’s a vibration in your ears that drowns her out. 

Is this what it feels like, to have power? To be capable of something greater, for people to know it? 

Except you’re not the one about to be burned. 

Your arm reaches out and your fingers open and the match drops out, falling to the wood as if in slow motion, and a brilliant blaze of fire erupts. 

You gasp – what have you done? Why would you do that? 

She’s going to die. Panic fills your lungs – or is that smoke? – and you rush forward and try to help her but someone yanks you back by the shoulders. 

“You’ll get burned!” Agatha yells in your ear over Evanora’s horrific screams. You struggle against her, needing to break free, needing to do something. 

“Agatha, we need to go!” Rio shouts and you tear out of Agatha’s arms and start running in the other direction. Maybe if you go fast enough, you can run back in time and undo it. 

Why would you do that? 

You round a tree too fast and slip on the ice, tumbling down to the ground. Your head smashes against a rock with a loud crack and you instantly black out.

When you wake up, you’re in a hospital room with your mom and dad asleep in chairs next to your bed. You stir and attempt to sit up, but your entire body aches and machines start beeping as your heart starts to race. 

Your parents jump up and your mom breaks into a sob, your dad embracing her tightly. 

“What’s–” You try to ask what’s going on, what’s happening, where are you, but your throat is dry. 

Your dad calls for a doctor and two men in white lab coats rush in. 

“Y/N, do you remember what happened?” One of them asks and you strain your brain but a sharp pain bolts through your head and you clap your hand to it. 

All you can do is shake your head no. 

The doctors look grimly at your parents. “We knew this was a possibility. A traumatic brain injury like this can cause amnesia, especially regarding the events right before the accident. She might never remember, and it might take a few days for her memory to get back to normal. There’s a chance she might not even know she was in the hospital. Don’t be surprised if there’s a bit of a personality change too.” 

A fresh wave of tears fall from your mom’s eyes but she clasps your cheeks and presses a kiss to your forehead. “Our baby is okay, though. That’s all that matters.” 

 And there were no indistinguishable differences in your personality from before the accident to after, except for one thing. 

You now want, more than anything, to understand how murderers’ minds work.

~~~

Agatha and Rio had thought you were dead up until three years ago. 

They had followed you after you had lit the match and watched as you fell and hit your head, quickly rushing over to you. 

Your breaths were faint and they had grunted as they carried you almost all the way out of the woods, positioning you on the ground next to the bloody rock on the edge. Surely it wouldn’t be too long before someone saw you, even if you had already died. 

And then they booked it out of Salem, into Westview, New Jersey, where they set up their new life, getting married a year later. 

The topic of you killing Agatha’s mother quickly became something the two of them stopped talking about, and it was like it had never happened. 

Agatha became a detective and Rio became a therapist, and all was well. 

Until one morning, about twelve years later, when Agatha is reading the newspaper in the kitchen and sees an article about a serial killer getting caught down in Miami, Florida. 

She hums and Rio looks up from her coffee. “What?” 

Agatha flips the paper and points. “Have you heard of the Scarlet Killer?” 

“A little bit,” Rio shrugs, leaning forward. “Apparently she was kidnapping kids and killing the parents or something. One of my patients with triplets was so paranoid that she was the next victim, despite living a thousand miles away. Convinced the killer was going to come all the way up here just for her.” 

Agatha snorts. “She was just caught. But look at the part about the profiler who caught her. And the picture.” 

Rio’s eyes drop and scan the part toward the bottom. Her brows furrow and she looks up and meets Agatha’s gaze. “This can’t be her, can it?” 

But the name is the same, the face, albeit older, is the same. 

Agatha uses her resources at the police station to look you up and they find the story of your life, everything that’s happened since that fateful day in the clearing. Her and Rio pour over it and Agatha can’t help but feel proud of everything you’ve done. 

The medical record from the hospital they get a hold of from Salem is hard to get, it takes Agatha calling in many favors, but it’s worth it because now they know that you don’t remember. 

A year and a half passes and they follow all your cases. Rio is fascinated by the way your brain works, putting things together and figuring things out. You have a knack for the female serial killers it seems, and a question lingers in both their minds. 

It isn’t until they’re laying in bed one right that Rio dares to ask it. “Do you think it’s because of us?” 

Agatha shrugs. “Maybe there was something else.” 

“You think she came across two other people planning on killing a woman in the woods and then she stole their thunder?” Rio says and Agatha laughs. 

“She stole our thunder?” Agatha teases and Rio lightly jabs her in the stomach. 

Rio softly strokes the skin on Agatha’s hand. “Yeah, I kind of wanted to be the one to do it after everything she put you through.” 

Agatha softens. Death had been a part of her life ever since she was a girl and her mom had found out that she liked girls. Evanora was the town’s pastor, and that simply would not do. The girls Agatha had a fling with always turned up missing or dead, and there were far too many times Agatha had almost been accidentally killed for it to be a coincidence. 

Everyone stayed away from her except for Rio. Rio wasn’t afraid, Rio was willing to kill for her. 

Had the two of them killed people before? Yes. They can still remember you asking them that. They liked the thrill, got off on it even, but they hadn’t done it since they’d met you. 

“Well, I’m very sorry I don’t have another mother for you to kill,” Agatha jokes and Rio leans in to kiss her. 

“I would, you know,” Rio says seriously and Agatha laughs at the ridiculousness of the conversation. 

And then she thinks back to the photos of you in your FBI jacket and how much you’ve matured. Your mind is brilliant, but you’ve become ever the attractive thing. “She’s grown into quite the young woman,” Agatha muses and Rio pulls back, a glint in her eyes. 

“She certainly has,” Rio agrees, going in for another kiss, a deeper kiss. Agatha moans when her wife bites her lip. “What if we…“ 

Agatha raises an eyebrow when Rio trails off. “What?” Her voice is barely above a whisper, already knowing what she’s going to suggest. 

It’s crazy. 

It’s a spur of the moment, impulsive thing to say. 

“Female serial killers are her thing,” Rio begins, her fingers trailing down Agatha’s stomach. She skates under the oversized tee she’s wearing and Agatha shivers. “One of the best in the FBI. If there were to be, say, two female serial killers here in Westview, don’t you think they’d send her?” 

Agatha gasps when Rio cups her over her underwear. Her wife moves her fingers roughly, rubbing her clit through the fabric, and Agatha can feel herself growing wet. 

“You want her to catch us?” Agatha asks, voice breaking off into a groan. Rio snickers as she pushes her panties to the side and draws lazy circles over her pussy. 

She shakes her head. “Not catch us. We know her, know what she’s capable of. We can bring that out in her again.” 

Agatha moans when Rio pushes a finger inside her. Her hips roll slowly, matching Rio’s thrusts. “You want to make her into a murderer?” 

“Like you don’t want to corrupt her? Look at her, how delicious she is. She’s our own case study. We’ve never met anyone like her,” Rio says, entranced and speech unburdened, like she didn’t just slip a second finger into her wife. 

“You’re such a therapist. And so horny,” Agatha huffs out, her own hand reaching down to rub her clit while Rio speeds up her thrusts. Her walls are clenching and she feels a building low in her gut, tingles spreading through her body. 

Rio ducks down to suck on Agatha’s neck and the older woman keens underneath her. “Think about it, Aggs. We draw her here. We get a little taste of our superstar, both mentally and physically. She’s fucking brilliant, and so fucking hot.” 

Agatha’s mind betrays her and she pictures you on your knees for her, holding your hair back in a ponytail so she can get a clearer look at you. You’re twenty-two years old now, half Rio’s age and over half Agatha’s age, too young, but there’s something about the darkness that she knows is inside you that calls to her, entices her. 

“She’d be such a good pet for us,” Agatha gasps, giving into the fantasy. Rio curls her fingers and scissors them and twists them and Agatha is reduced to a panting mess on the bed, hips furiously grinding up. She’s so close. “Rio.” 

And her wife always knows what she needs. “Just picture her, Aggie. Picture the three of us in bed, her fucking you and me fucking her and then vice versa. Her tongue inside your pussy and then your fingers inside hers. God, I bet she tastes so good.” 

Agatha’s back arches off the bed at the image and she cums all over Rio’s fingers, frantically rubbing her own clit to draw out the pleasure. 

When she comes down from an intense high, the two of them start planning. 

It becomes apparent quickly that they’re rusty in the whole murder game. But they just need some practice. 

Agatha and Rio can’t do it in Westview though, can’t bring you here too soon before they’re ready. 

So they drive to different states. Staying in New Jersey is still a bit of a risk. But it doesn’t take them that long to find their groove. 

It can’t just be a regular, basic crime scene with a gunshot or a knife or something. It needs to be art, a performance, something that gets you here. 

So they figure out their M.O.. Rio was always excellent with a knife, and Agatha, whose father was a chemist, is able to whip up some mixtures that create exactly the look they’re going for. 

It’s gruesome and unnecessary and perhaps over the top, but they’re going to desperate measures to make sure they get what they want. 

And oh god, do they want you now. You’ve become an obsession to them, sinking your claws into their minds and leaving them to think of little else. 

They won’t make it easy for you, no. They’ll confuse the witnesses and Rio will wear a mask and there will be no trace left behind, but they’re confident that you will crack it. 

Plus, they’re more than willing to give you a guiding hand. 

The first time they strike, it goes almost too perfectly. They choose a random person, a woman who lives alone. The poison achieves exactly the desired effect and the bleach and hydrogen peroxide completely gets rid of all the blood after Rio cuts out her heart. 

The purple azalea was Rio’s idea, a small thing meant to jog your memory. They both didn’t have a clue if it would work, but they wanted to see. 

“What should I do with this?” Rio asks, holding up the organ, and there is something about her disheveled hair, rolled up sleeves, and bloody hands that just really gets to Agatha. 

She has her wife pushed against the wall and Agatha sinks down to her knees, quickly unbuttoning her pants and shoving them down before Rio can say anything else. She mouths at her through her underwear and moans at the musky scent and how she can suck the wetness out of the fabric because of how soaked Rio is. Agatha can already feel her throbbing. 

Their plan is going to do wonders for their sex life. 

Agatha nips at Rio’s pale skin, bites her hip, and drags her panties off with her teeth and Rio’s head falls back at the sight. 

“Agatha, fuck,” Rio breathes, the hand not holding the heart coming down to tangle into her hair. She wildly looks around for somewhere to put it and decides to place it gently on the bookshelf. 

The older woman’s tongue delves through her folds and Rio makes a strangled sound, widening her stance so Agatha can get better access. Her nose bumps against Rio’s clit and continues to move against her as Agatha shoves her tongue inside her entrance and devours her, licking up and curling it only the way she can. Her nails dig into Rio’s thighs, knowing the younger woman likes a little bit of pain, and Rio’s fingers tighten in Agatha’s long hair, holding her there. 

It’s a bit hard for Rio to ride her face, so she settles for rutting her hips against Agatha, each bump from her nose and each stroke from her tongue only making her closer. 

Rio moans her wife’s name again and Agatha rubs her glistening face against her inner thighs, spreading Rio’s wetness all over her skin before sucking her clit into her mouth and scraping her teeth against it. 

That’s all it takes and Rio cums faster than she ever has, all over Agatha’s face. 

The sex becomes part of the process. Who knew murder would be such an aphrodisiac? But it’s more than the killing, it’s the thought that they’re one step closer to getting you. 

Their prize. 

Chief Jones brings in profilers from around the area but the bodies keep piling up and there’s no other choice but to call the FBI and Agatha gets wind that they’re sending in a profiler from the Miami branch, one who specializes in female serial killers. 

Their plan works perfectly. 

And you killing people in your sleep is just a pleasant surprise. 

~~~

“What happens now?” You ask when Rio and Agatha finally break the hug that you’ve been standing in for what seems like hours. You immediately miss their warmth. 

The two of them look at each other. “We leave,” Rio says. “We pack up all our stuff and hit the road and never look back.” 

The plan makes you pause. “I can’t do that though, I’m in the FBI, I can’t just disappear off the grid.” 

“Why not?” Agatha asks seriously. She raises an eyebrow at you. “You’re perfect for us, superstar.” 

You’ve fucked up. You’ve fucked up big time. While you have the answers you’ve been searching for, you now wish you didn’t. 

It was you. Somewhere, subconsciously, in your brain, you had wanted to understand why you had dropped the match that day and killed Evanora. A random woman, for no reason other than because you wanted to. 

Is the answer because you’re just a killer? 

No. That can’t be it. You refuse to accept it, because you’ve helped people, you’ve solved cases, you’ve caught the bad guys. You’re good. You can be good. 

But Agatha and Rio are standing here like you’re everything you’ve ever wanted, murder and all. 

It’s tempting. 

You can’t. But you want to. But you can’t. 

And then you remember that Tony should be getting into Westview right about now. Fuck. What are you supposed to do about him? 

You can’t go back to Miami right now, so what other choice do you have? You nod your head slowly. “Okay. I just need to pack up my stuff.” 

“You mean the stuff that we gave you?” Rio asks wolfishly. “Let’s go. We’ll drive.” 

“I stole your car and it’s parked out front next to Agatha’s,” you remember and they chuckle. 

Rio invades your space and reaches into your pockets, fishing around in them, and her proximity makes heat flood through you again. She winks at you when she grabs her keys and you blush. 

“Let’s go then,” Agatha says, pulling you out the door and leading you to her car while Rio gets into hers. 

The drive is quiet and you play with the lock until Agatha swats your elbow. It’s an uncomfortable silence to say the least, but you’re not sure exactly what to say. 

She apparently doesn’t either. 

Thankfully, it’s a short drive. 

They follow you into your room and you kick aside the azaleas so you can walk back and forth easier between the bedroom and the living room to throw all your stuff into your suitcase. They go through the room like they haven’t already been in here multiple times. 

“Thanks for her, by the way,” you say sarcastically, pointing to the dead body that’s still on your bed. 

Rio snorts. “Agatha has a wicked jealous streak,” she says and Agatha throws a flower at her. 

You’re almost completely packed and ready to go, feeling confident about your decision for the first time, when there’s a knock on the door. You freeze and Agatha and Rio look at you. 

“Y/N, open up! It’s Tony,” he calls from outside and you think your heart is going to explode. The air in the room has changed and you can feel their suspicions. 

You look around for anywhere to hide them and then hiss at them to get in the bedroom. You had hoped you’d have more time before he got here. They squint at you, trying to figure out your game, but go in anyway.

The second the bedroom door closes, you let him in and his jaw drops. 

“What happened in here?” He asks, taking in your suitcase and the flowers. What are you supposed to say? I’m skipping town with the serial killers and I just had sex with them and also I killed someone when I was ten years old and I’ve been murdering people in my sleep? 

You don’t think that would go over well. So you decide to tell him a version of the truth. “The killers were here,” you say, your mouth suddenly so dry. “They’ve been taunting me, messing with my head.” All not a lie. 

“I don’t care. We’re leaving. Get your stuff,” he orders and it’s clear you don’t have a choice. 

You wonder if they’re listening to you. “Tony, please,” you say. “I can’t leave yet.” 

He throws his hands up in the air. “And why the fuck not?” 

“Because I know who they are,” you tell him, your voice dropping to a whisper in hopes that Agatha and Rio won’t be able to hear you. “I can get them. Please, just give me more time.” 

He paces around, hands over his forehead like he can’t even stand to look at you. “You’re certain you can get them?” 

“Yes!” You insist, leaving out the part about them being in the room next to you. You chant It’s not real in your head over and over again, like they’ll be able to read your mind. You just need him out of here and then you’ll go with them. 

But then you hear a crash, the sound of glass breaking, coming from your bedroom and your heart drops. Tony rushes past you and throws open the door and –

“What the fuck!” He shouts and you dart after to explain why you have two women, two serial killers, in your bedroom, but they’re not there. Tony is talking about the dead woman on your bed. 

Your head starts to spin as you take in the window that has been smashed with the chair and you look out it, desperate for a sign of them. 

But there’s nothing. 

Agatha and Rio are gone. 

[hitlikehammers]

the one where eddie blinks one day and wonders how he could be so blind as to only just be realizing his best-friend-roommate-sworn-in-blood-fucking-soulmate (or close enough) has been his whole heart, this whole time ♥️

(but what if he’s made his sweetheart wait too long? 🥺)

(that’s more a me thought than a thought in the fic though; trust the tags 💕)

He can’t for the life of him understand what makes today different. What makes him breathe in through his nose and out through his mouth with his eyes lifted to Steve mid-breath, and in the clench of his heartbeat he sees it. Nothing feels any different but he understands all at once what it means that it doesn’t. And that makes all the difference. Because when he opens his mouth on the exhale it’s like his heartbeat pushes up all the things that have lived in him maybe for forever, that he maybe just didn’t add up as two plus two fucking equals— “I love you.” —equals…Steve.

rating: t ♥️ tags: post s4, feelings realizations♥️, but they were roommates!, (and maybe never just roommates), love confessions, oblivious!eddie Munson, fluff, softness✨, 💕so domestic💕, idiot4man-who-conveniently-loves-his-idiot♥️ let me EMPHASISE SOFTNESS, okay?!?!???

for @steddielovemonth day twenty-seven: “Well, it seems to me that the best relationships - the ones that last - are frequently the ones that are rooted in friendship. You know, one day you look at the person and you see something more than you did the night before. Like a switch has been flicked somewhere. And the person who was just a friend is... suddenly the only person you can ever imagine yourself with.” ― Gillian Anderson

Eddie’s doing what he realizes he does most weekend afternoons. Most evenings in general, even.

They get home from work, or for Steve sometimes it’s school, working on his course load part-time at the community college. They make dinner, bring it home sometimes, order delivery if the budget’s landing in their favor—it hadn’t for a while once they moved, got out of Hawkins and went to Indy as soon as they could once Robin got into school there, but they’re levelling back out, and they’ve got a little flexibility left even as they set aside some of every pay check for trips back home, the possible need to move when Robin graduates because she wants a master’s either in Boston or Chicago, maybe Philadelphia. San Francisco was floated once or twice, too—they plan for all contingencies.

And who the fuck would have seen that coming: Eddie Munson. Planning. Considering a budget. Sticking to a budget. Working a fully legal job with a W-2 and everything. Making his half of the rent.

And again, ending up right here in this very instant: stretched across the couch—the one they nabbed from Steve’s house when they decided to move in together as real roommates versus just half living at each other’s houses, and managed to prove could in fact be broken in to the point of relative comfort when it was actually being used—but he’s stretched over it, ankles dangling off the end and head propped on Steve’s thigh where he takes up the far cushion, and today Eddie’s just reading, tomorrow he might work on fitting words to the chords he put down earlier in the week, or he might sketch a little further into one of the campaigns he’s building—not the one for the gremlins back home that he promised to bring and run for them over the holidays, but the one for the group he’s found here, who he likes well enough and whose DM had moved shortly before Steve and Eddie had gotten their apartment, almost like fate. Maybe he’ll do something entirely different tomorrow, who knows.

Like he said: he ends up this way, here like this, at some point just about every day.

He can’t for the life of him understand what makes today different. What makes him breathe in through his nose and out through his mouth with his eyes lifted to Steve mid-breath, and in the clench of his heartbeat he sees it. Nothing feels any different but he understands all at once what it means that it doesn’t.

And that’s makes all the difference.

Because when he opens his mouth on the exhale it’s like his heartbeat pushes up all the things that have lived in him maybe for forever, that he maybe just didn’t add up as two plus two fucking equals—

“I love you.”

—equals…Steve.

“Yeah.”

Eddie blinks. It’s a warm thing, that word, and Steve’s lips quirk a little, pleased-like, but Steve’s…Steve doesn’t even look away from the textbook he’s highlighting.

“I said I love you.”

Because Eddie…Eddie is running to quick through his head and he kinda thinks maybe he’s loved Steve since the Upside Down, but where he just kinda tossed that in with his love for everyone he fought the end of the world alongside, with Steve being at the top of the list because Steve had unexpectedly become his best friend, his closest confidant, the paladin to his bard and the closest, truest thing he had to family outside of Wayne, and so different from what he has with Wayne and—

And all of that, all of all of it was love of a wholly different kind, wasn’t it? From the fucking first and Eddie feels like an idiot for only putting it together, and not even consciously just—overflowing with it finally that somewhere at the fucking…cellular level, it couldn’t be contained.

So yeah, Eddie feels like a fucking idiot. He feels the slightest, like, frisson of anxiousness for saying it, the clear truth of what kind of love he’d meant ringing in Eddie’s each, pulsing through Eddie’s veins not just once but now twice but none of that means anything in the face of the giddy joyswelling undiluted through him, that makes him need to be absolutely sure Steve heard him.

No matter the consequences.

The tilt of Steve’s lips purses into more of a smirk, but still, like, a good one. But all he does it cap his highlighter and glance down at Eddie to poke the tip of his nose playfully with the pen-tip as he deadpans, or…no.

As he sasses:

“Yeah.”

He makes to go back to his homework, opens the text and then his highlighter again with his mouth this time—weirdly sexy, and it was always sexy, Eddie’s always found Steve extremely sexy but he’d figured that was just the plight of the gay guy with a model-gorgeous roommate; he’s a fucking moron, isn’t he?—and then Steve does something that’s not unprecedented or anything; actually happens pretty often: threads his finger through Eddie’s messy curls and just kinda, plays with the strands, massages at the scalp.

It’s a minute, even if Eddie feels it like an age, with Eddie’s own pulse jackhammering at the base of his throat, mind reeling, before Steve’s had slows; stills.

Eddie feels his weight shift and looks up, needy more than he’s a little terrified as Steve moves his gaze and locks eyes with him proper before asking, very slow:

“Did you just realize that it doesn’t have to called that out loud, to be that in all of this,” he gestures with his highlighter around the room, around their apartment, around their home—their home—and then softens, presses the tip of his marker to eddies sternum before he pauses, must see something in Eddie’s eyes before he slides his hand down the barrel and taps Eddie’s chest with his palm, intent heavy and clear as me breathes low, quirking his brow meaningfully:

“In here?”

And hell if Eddie’s pulse doesn’t jackrabbit a little: called-out but then also like it knows how to preen under an attention it’s quite possibly always wanted, and finally has?

Jesus.

“In everything?” Steve’s voice is low but his eyes glitter knowingly; there’s no hesitation; just observation. There’s no…there not even a shred of doubt.

And it’s kinda wild, because where Eddie…guesses he might have expected Steve to be waiting for the declarations, after the history he’s had in love of all sorts, he…he sees how maybe it’s that exact history that meant Steve, who reads people better than words on a page, would pick up on what real love was, whatever shape it finally took. Eddie feels fucking buoyant with it, vibrating with it, can’t even stew in the regret that it’s taken this long to say and recognize because Steve’s right: they were never just roommates. They weren’t just planning out budgets.

They’ve been building a life. And it’s…

It’s kind of fucking beautiful.

“I love you,” Eddie says again, this time heavy with feeling but…but it’s featherlight, like a sigh after holding his breath for…like, shit; since birth, maybe. “I’m in love with you.”

Steve’s smile doesn’t broaden too wide, more for the fact that he chews on his lip a little: endeared and amused and real fucking close to giggling and fuck, fuck: Eddie loves him.

He loves him.

And his smile might not change too much—or else, not to the untrained eye, and that’s sure as shit not Eddie’s—but Steve’s eyes.

Steve’s eyes dance and glow like starlight, half sun and half constellation; half life giving and half breathtaking.

“Love you too,” Steve says simply, traces Eddie’s cheekbone delicately, dare he say adoringly, with the pad of his thumb before going back to his textbook, one hand back to playing with Eddie’s hair.

So much the same. So much so different. So much…so much.

Eddie rests a hand on his own chest as he muses idly, just takes the feelings in as they rise in him and suffuse his whole being; watches Steve and feels under his palm when his heartbeat trips over itself in a giddy kind of way that he knows he gives away on his face for the way he feels his cheeks stretch.

“You look very happy with yourself,” Steve eventually darts a glance from the page over Eddie’s way, but looks something very arguably close to fucking delighted in his own right, so Eddie doesn’t hold back.

Doesn’t think he’s ever going to hold back, in this; takes a second to be thankful for not…understanding before he did just now because the idea of holding this back, of drawing it out or trying to hide it while he wondered or worried—it’s unfathomable in this moment. Under the warm glow of Steve’s gaze, those hands in Eddie’s hair.

“So fucking happy,” Eddie squirms a little where he lies, throwing himself a little more squarely in Steve’s lap and fuck, it feels so right, and Steve just huffs a little laugh and twists to use eddies chest as a table for his textbook, so Eddie can stare up at him as he threads fingers through Eddie’s hair again—and maybe it’s just in his head but that touch feels a little bit firmer. Not…not truer, but decisive somehow in a brand new way.

Nothing different; but understood, now, which makes all the difference.

“So happy I can barely stand it,” Eddie sighs, turning to nuzzle into Steve’s stomach through his worn sweatshirt, imagining doing it without the fabric in between, straight against the gloriously coils of that fucking chest hair—and Eddie startles, if only on the inside, to realize how that’s not the first time he’s thought that thought, just the first time it’s built up fire in his belly like this, like it’s something he might get to have—

“I’m gonna kiss you when we get up.”

Eddie realizes that’s another thing he’s never done, but was very aware of thinking about, even before; he just knew it wouldn’t happen. Again: just the unavoidable plight of the queer dude whose best friend is stunning.

“Sounds great, babe,” Steve leans, and it shifts Eddie a little because it’s worth it for the tease of what’s to come in the way Steve presses lips to the mop of Eddie’s hair, says babe the same way maybe Eddies been saying big boy and sweetheartthe entire time.

Holy fuck, man.

He’s gonna work on lyrics tomorrow, when he’s lying like this. Against Steve’s warm, steady, perfect presence. He’s gonna work on the lyrics.

He’s absolutely certain, now, that those bars he’d fine-tuned were meant for a ballad.

He leans his head a little close into Steve’s stomach, makes sure he’s steady enough to keep Steve’s book from falling, and closes his eyes. Listens to Steve breathing under his ear—fuck yeah, a ballad.

A love song, even.

✨also on ao3

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[f1goat]

roommates ; lando norris + part ten

In which you have to live with your brothers best friend who you really don't like, Lando Norris, and his many 'girlfriends' for a while, but there's always a thin line between love and hate.

masterlist - playlist

lando norris x fem!verstappen reader tw: smut & not proofread

Breakfast was nice, but now you’re stressing. Since you have finished the breakfast, you have been waiting for Lando to drop your feared question. You know that he’s thinking about it, you can see it on his face, but the question doesn’t seem to come yet. Should you start about it? You continue to doubt about starting the conversation yourself. It would be nice to have this conversation, so you don’t have to think about it anymore - but on the other hand, you have no idea how to start it or what to say. You feel Lando his eyes on you. It’s pretty clear that he’s staring at you. It makes you even more nervous. 

What if you’re honest with Lando? You could tell him about your still growing feelings for him and that you want to date him officially. There’s only one, tiny problem. You have no idea about Lando his feelings for you. There still is a possibility of you making a fool out of yourself when confessing those things. For all you know, it could also be just a sex thing for him. You literally have no clue about how Lando feels. 

“Ready?” Lando asks you eventually. 

You show him a confused look. Is he asking you if you’re ready for this conversation? 

“Do you feel ready for this conversation?” Lando asks you a bit more clear now. 

“I don’t know,” you confess. 

Lando lets out a soft sigh. He knows that this can’t go on like this for any longer. There’s like a million questions inside of his head which repeat themselves during the whole day. He wants to know what you’re feeling, what you’re thinking about all of this and is he has a chance - even a small one, to finally call you his girl. 

“I don’t want to push you into a conversation you don’t feel ready for,” Lando comforts you. He lays his hand onto your knee. Slowly he draws figures onto your skin. “But,” he continues to speak, “I do need some clearance soon. I can’t go on like this for too long.”

“Of course Lan,” you quickly tell him. 

With those words the conversation seems finished for now. Lando is already changing the subject and talking about going out for dinner tonight. He offers to invite Max and Kelly as well, something you gladly accept. Lando is quick to text your brother and invite them for tonight. 

Lando: dinner tonight with y/n & Kelly?

Max: Sounds good!

Max: can you tell y/n that the apartment is almost ready?

Lando lets out a soft sigh while reading Max his latest text message. He knew this day would come, but he didn’t expected it already. The apartment is almost ready, fuck. What is this going to mean for everything that’s going on between you and himself?

Lando: yeah

Max: its probably ready tomorrow, so if she wants she can move back tomorrow evening

Lando doesn’t reply at first. There’s only one word on repeat in his mind right now. Fuck. Eventually he types back a message for Max.

Lando: fuck my life

You notice the shift in Lando his behavior. He does however tell you that Max and Kelly will be there for dinner. So you wonder what caused his change in demeanor. Before you can question Lando, he’s already muttering something about going to game for a bit. 

He knows that this isn’t the way to handle a problem, but Lando really needs to think for a bit before telling you about Max his text. He doesn’t want to hear you talk about moving out yet. Lando is pretty sure that when he tells you, you’ll start packing in no time. He does however realize that if he won’t tell you himself, Max is going to ask about it tonight during dinner. Fuck. Luck really isn’t on his side today. 

You decide to let Lando be for a bit. You have no idea about what’s going on in his head right now. He seemed okay before he texted Max, but after that things changed. You wonder if Max said something, but you can’t imagine that. Maybe it’s because of the earlier conversation you had with him? Lando seems to want a clear answer about everything that’s going on between you two and you couldn’t supply him with that answer. Maybe you should figure out something to say about it before dinner tonight? 

There isn’t any other subject that you’ve spent this much time thinking about then the situation between Lando and you. You try to figure out what to tell Lando without embarrassing yourself, something that almost seems impossible when you want to tell him about your feelings. 

+++

“Fuck,” Lando mutters softly when he walks into your room. He should have knocked before walking in like this. He tries to look away - even tries to focus on the decor changes you did in your own room, but his eyes keep wandering back to you. Not that strange when you’re standing naked in front of your closet. He guesses that you’re picking out something to wear. 

When you turn around and notice Lando, you don’t know how to act. You feel his eyes glued on your body. It feels weird to have him in your own room. That’s probably because you’re naked right now. Before Lando wandered in, you were trying to figure out what to wear for dinner. You feel vulnerable with Lando checking you out like this. It not that you mind it this much, but it would be good if Lando said anything else. You still have no idea what he’s doing in your room right now.

“Lan?” You ask a bit confused. Lando has been absolutely silent since the soft ‘fuck’ left his mouth. You continue to wonder what he’s doing here.

Lando keeps his silence. He does however walk closer towards you. His silence causes you to shiver a bit. Lando tries to remember why he came in here, but his focus has shifted onto your body. He knows that he’s here to tell you about the renovations from Max his apartment being ready tomorrow, but now he can only focus on your nudeness. He takes you into his arms. You let him do so. Of course you let him do so, it’s not like you can say no to Lando. You feel how he grabs your ass, softly kneading it with his hands. It doesn’t take long before you let out a soft moan. 

Without saying anything else, Lando is quick to have you laying onto your bed. Your legs are already spread for him. He’s hovering above you on the bed. His necklace dangles in your face. You softly grab it, using it to pull Lando his face closer towards yours. Lando lets out a soft chuckle when you do so. You pay no attention on it, you just want to kiss Lando. So that’s what you do. 

While kissing him, you let your hands wander around. Eventually you reach his belt. Slowly you unclasp them and remove them from Lando his jeans. You pull those down as well. You see the outline of his already hard boner through his underwear. 

“Babygirl,” Lando groans when you trace the outline of his cock. 

You let out a soft chuckle and pull Lando his underwear down as well. His boner springs free against his stomach. Lando presses his lips against your neck, softly sucking on a bit of your skin. When you take his dick in your hands, you feel a moan from Lando vibrating against your skin. You try to guide Lando his boner towards your own cunt, wanting nothing more then to feel him inside of you. Lando knows what you want and he’s more then ready to give you exactly what you want. He pushes his boner inside of your cunt and starts to fuck you with a fast pace. 

In no time you’re a moaning mess underneath Lando. He isn’t any better himself. Lando is letting out hard moans as well. When he goes faster, he’s rewarded with another sweet moan from you. It makes him think about what will happen when you move back to your brother. What if that would also be the end of this? What if this is the last time he feels you around his dick like this? 

You feel yourself getting closer to your release. Lando sounds like he’s also getting pretty close. When he increases his pace again, you’re ready to let yourself go. 

“Please don’t move back in with your brother,” Lando suddenly says. 

You try to focus on what he just said. When you look him in the eyes, it almost seems like he doesn’t even realize that he said those words as well. You really try to focus on his words, but with the pace he’s still fucking you with, it’s impossible. You’re quick to lose your focus again. 

When you feel your orgasm crashing over you, you let out a last soft moan. Lando is quick to follow you into his own orgasm. With a couple moans he let himself come undone as well. 

While laying on the bed with Lando, you’re wondering about his earlier words. Why did he mention something about moving back to your brother? You know that you should just ask him, but you’re afraid that it will cause another difficult conversation. Carefully you look at Lando, he’s looking at you as well. He plays with your hair. 

“Max texted me,” Lando eventually just confesses, “You can move back into his apartment tomorrow evening.” 

You feel your world crashing down. Since Lando and you have been closer, you haven’t thought about moving back with Max. You weren’t even under the impression that this much time has already flew by. It makes you nervous. What do you need to say now? Do you even want to move back? 

“Tomorrow?” You ask. You need to be sure about it. 

Lando nods. It makes you sigh softly. Then you remember his words again. Didn’t he just ask you to stay here? You can only hope that Lando will ask you again. You’d rather stay here. 

“If you want you can stay as long as you need,” Lando offers, “I mean uh, so you don’t have to hurry with packing.”

As happy as you were with the first sentence, as sad as you are with his last. This means he does want you gone, right? You softly thank Lando, but you know your words aren’t sincere. What a mess. There’s only one way to make this even messier, you still have to confess about your feelings. 

What a fucking mess.

+++

Things have been awkward since you send Lando out of your room so you could get ready for dinner. Even now, while sitting next to him in the restaurant - it doesn’t feel the same. You feel rejected even if you didn’t confess anything yet. Maybe you should tell Lando that you don’t want to move back with your brother, that you rather stay with him. But, what would he say about that? This is making it even harder to let alone think about telling him about your feelings. You softly sigh. 

Max and Lando are talking about the upcoming race. You notice the lack of interest that Lando is carrying during the conversation. It doesn’t seem intentional, it just seems like he isn’t focused. Maybe he’s somewhere else with his head. You can understand it, you’re the exact same tonight. Eventually you start a casual conversation with Kelly about her latest modeling jobs. You try to focus on what Kelly is telling you, but your mind keeps floating away - thinking about the situation with Lando. 

When Kelly falls silent, it’s Max who continues to speak with you. “Excited to move back?” He asks you.

Lando can’t help himself, he’s quick to stare at you while awaiting your answer. He wants to hear that you’re not excited, but he doesn’t believe that you’ll say that. In the mean time you’re thinking about what to answer, but you have no clue. No you’re not excited to move back. You want to stay with Lando, but it seems weird to answer that. 

“Uh yeah,” you eventually mutter without sounding even a bit excited about it. “I just don’t know if I’ll manage to get everything together for tomorrow,” you continue, “so I might stay at Lando’s tomorrow and come back home later.”

Max chuckles. Lando doesn’t even look at you. He seems disappointed with your answer. You wonder if it’s because of you staying an extra day. He did offer it himself, so you don’t know why it should be a problem now. Or did you understand him wrong?

“If that’s okay with you Lan,” you quickly add. In your hurries you forget that it’s weird to call him Lan in front of your brother and Kelly. Lando however seems to give you a small smile after hearing the nickname. Before he can say anything to you, your brother has taken the word again. 

“As if he would say no to that,” Max laughs, “He begged me to make sure that you’d live with him during our renovations. If it weren’t for Lando, I’d have rented a bigger apartment for those weeks.”

What? 

What did your brother just say?

Lando spits out his drink when he hears the words Max just said to you. Fuck, why did Max tell you that? Max also seems to realize his mistake. His eyes widen with shock when he sees the way Lando and you react to his words. 

“Fuck, sorry Lando,” Max is quick to apologize, “I thought she knew.”

“No,” Lando sighs, “Of course not.”

You can’t stop yourself from questioning them. You need to make sure that you’ve heard your brother right. What if this is all a mishearing from your side? “It’s true?” You nervously ask Lando, “You wanted me to stay with you?” 

“Maybe it’s better to have this conversation at home,” Lando desperately answers, “I don’t want you to get mad at me in public.”

Getting mad? You have no idea why you should get mad. As far as you know, it finally seems like Lando really likes you. Liked you even before living together. But still, you show him a small nod and stand up from the table. 

“I’m not mad,” you tell Lando when he nervously grabs your hand and takes it into his own. 

Lando doesn’t reply. Both of you say bye to Max and Kelly before walking back towards the car. Your head is filling up with all sorts of questions. Did Lando really begged Max to make sure that you’d stay at his place? Why would he do that? Why would he want to live together with you? You always thought Lando didn’t like you at that moment. 

When you’re back home, Lando doesn’t know where to start. You want to question everything that’s coming up in you, but you don’t know where to start as well. Eventually you start with the question he didn’t answer yet.

“Is it true?” You ask Lando carefully. 

Lando softly sighs while he nods at your question. “Yes,” he mutters defeated.

“You begged Max to let me stay here during the renovations?” You continue to ask.

Lando keeps nodding. He doesn’t dare to look at you. 

“Why?” You ask him surprised. When Lando doesn’t answer fast enough, you continue to talk. “I always thought you didn’t like me, so I don’t get this.”

“Didn’t like you?” Lando almost laughs out loud while asking you. You show him a confused nod. “Oh for fucks sake,” Lando sighs, “I wish I didn’t like you.” He really can’t deal with this right now. The vagueness from the last days is making him slowly lose his mind. He thought that it was clear to you what he wanted - you, but apparently you don’t even realize it. 

“Babygirl, I already liked you before we even met,” Lando confesses. He can’t hold back his words anymore. All of them need to get out. He needs to make sure that you’ll see how much he likes you. “Max introduced me to you, but I knew perfectly well who you were since I was stalking your Instagram every day. That’s how desperate I was,” Lando continues. 

You don’t know what’s going on. Lando is confessing one thing after another. It almost seems like he needs to get everything out. His confessions are making you feel all kind of things.

“When I met you and heard about that boyfriend, I was disappointed, so I decided to take a bit of distance,” Lando goes on, “And then when you broke off with him, I couldn’t help myself to be happy. I tried to figure you out, finding a way to flirt with you but half of the time I was too nervous and acted weird I guess…” 

You wait for Lando to continue to explain. Somethings start to make sense. Earlier you never knew why Lando acted so weird around you before. Sometimes he was so shy he barely said anything, other times he joked with you or teased you. You never knew what you were up for. 

“I don’t know what I was hoping for, but everything felt pretty shattered when you left in a tight nude dress to go on a date with some other guy,” Lando speaks further, “I know I should have kept my silence, but I was so confused. I didn’t try much with you back then because I thought you needed time, but then I heard you about a new date and I could only think about being too late.” 

It amazes you that Lando remembers everything so well. He even still knows which dress you wore for that date. 

“And that’s when the worst part came,” Lando sighs. You notice the shift in his look. He almost looks ashamed. You wonder if he’s going to tell you about the girls now, you guess that they are the next fase. “I searched distraction,” he confesses, “I got drunk multiple nights in a week, only to find a girl who could distract me from my thoughts about you. I fell in some sort of pattern. Always fucking random girls but thinking about you.”

“That wasn’t an one time thing?” You ask confused. Lando sends you a confused look as well. “When you moaned my name,” you explain, “I thought that was a one time thing, but you’re saying that you thought about me every time?” 

“It wasn’t even the only time I moaned out your name,” Lando confesses. It causes a small smile to form on your face. Is it weird that you like to hear that? “Did you like that babygirl?” Lando asks you, he seems to have noticed your smile as well. You show him a small nod. Lando softly shakes his head, “Brat,” he mutters lovingly. 

“But, why did you want me to live here?” You ask Lando. 

Lando knows there’s no way back anymore. He has already said so much, would it really matter to confess even more? After letting out a soft sigh, he continues to talk and explain. 

“Babygirl, I uh just wanted another chance,” he confesses, “You were single, I didn’t hear anything about you going out on dates for a bit.. So when Max told me about the renovations, I asked him to help me out with a plan. Maybe I pushed him into it, you can’t be mad at your brother.” 

“Another chance at what?” You ask him. 

“I wanted to show you that I could be uh,” Lando falls silent for a bit. He thinks about which word to use. Eventually he decided to stop caring about the consequences from his words. He already said so much, he can better stay honest and tell you the whole truth. “I wanted to show you that I could be a good guy,” he sighs, “good enough to maybe have a chance with you. The idea was that if you lived here, you’d get to know me on another level and maybe fell for me too.”

“Too?”

“Babygirl, you’re asking questions as if you still don’t get it,” Lando accuses you with a kind smile.  “Do I need to spell it out for you? I like you, probably love you even though it’s kinda early to say something like that. I really like you, as in I want you to be my girlfriend and to be by my side for everything.”

“Fuck Lan,” you whisper. 

“I know, it’s pathetic,” Lando sighs, “Please don’t feel like you have to like me back, I should have confessed way earlier instead of doing all of this. I get it if it was just sex for you.” After saying those words he’s ready to walk away. He takes a small step away from you. “I uh, I need a bit of time for myself.”

“Lan wait,” you quickly stammer, “Let me reply first.”

Lando stops and turns himself back to you. Nervously he watches you, waiting for you to say something about everything he just said. You try to gather your thoughts, but when you see the nervous look on his face you just tell him everything that’s coming up in you. 

“I love you too,” is the first thing that you tell him. Lando his expressions are quick to change. Surprised but really happy he looks at you. He already wants to take you into his arms and kiss you, but you continue talking. “And I stalked your Instagram a bit as well before we met,” you continue, “That’s probably why my ex thought we we’re together. I don’t know what went wrong, but I’m glad you made up this weird plan and got me to life here. Last weeks I’ve fallen for you and to be honest, I don’t even want to move back to Max.” 

“Stay,” Lando quickly says, “You can live here with me.”

You smile. “That sounds amazing,” you confess.

“And please be my girlfriend from now on,” Lando continues.

“Of course,” you answer. 

“Finally,” Lando sighs relieved. This time he does take you into his arms. It feels like home. He realizes that it isn’t his apartment that’s his home. It only felt like home since you lived here with him. It’s you who’s his home. And for now it seems like he has gotten his forever home.

“I love you,” you softly murmur before pressing a small kiss against Lando his cheek. 

“I love you babygirl,” Lando replies, “and now I really need to call your brother and thank him a couple times for spilling my secret.”

You chuckle. This is a life you can get used to. 

a/n ; that was it everyone <3 i decided to end it like this, since the inspiration was missing quite a bit. i hope to write something new, but i have no ideas yet :) my requests are open (but i don't write everything that's coming in!). thanks for all the support!!!!

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