#I always wondered if he had any Italian in him or if it was just some long ago Roman ancestor

[childoftheriver]

This beautiful man.

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Pity Party.

Synopsis - Carmy just wants to see you treated the way he thinks you deserve. He decides to take matters into his own hands.

Pairing - Carmen Berzatto x Female Roommate Reader

Word Count - 3k

Warnings - smut. cursing. alcohol mention. carmys filthy mouth.

Age Rating - 18+

Author's Note - hello hello hello!! i am back!! i had a wonderful vacation soaking up the sun, and i am feeling refreshed and ready to go. i have had so many ideas over the past few weeks, so i'm excited to get some of them written asap!! this was a fic that came to me randomly, as i was thinking about roommate!carmen and how much of a menace he'd be if you ever talked about other guys. this was written as a part of my carmen roommates collection. it doesn't follow on from Finders, Keepers or Sweet Dreams, but it does exist in the same universe - so you can decide if this takes place before or after!! as always, feel free to send me any ideas or thoughts or burning desires you have. so much love <3

as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3

Series Masterlist. Masterlist. Inbox.

"You're back early."

Carmy had swung the door open, expecting to come home to an empty apartment. Instead, he's met with the sight of you, sitting on the couch, undoing the straps of your shoes.

"Fuckin' disaster," you mutter, loud enough for him to hear.

He breathes out a chuckle at the stormy look on your face. Carmy thinks you're cutest when you're angry. He aches to smooth the crease between your brows with his thumb.

"That bad?" he asks, taking a seat next you and kicking off his sneakers.

"You wouldn't even believe."

He rises and makes his way to the kitchen, filling the tea kettle and placing it on the stove top. Grabbing two mugs, he casts a glance over his shoulder at you, frowning at your body language. You look defeated.

Carmy steeps two cups of tea, placing one of them carefully into your waiting hands. He resumes his seat on the sofa, pressing his thigh against yours and turning to face you.

"You wanna talk about it?"

You think for a moment before replying.

"You're gonna laugh at me."

His face instantly crumples, confusion written all over it.

"I'll never laugh at you. I'll laugh with you, sure. But never at you."

He nudges your shoulder with his, urging you to go on.

"Okay, fine. The actual date was pretty good. He took me to that Italian place downtown-"

"Dolce Vita? Did you get the truffle pasta I told you about?" Carmy interrupts you before you can continue.

"Yes, oh my God. It was incredible. Do you think you can recreate it sometime?"

"Fuck yeah. They're pretty secretive with their recipes, but I think I can figure it out. You can help me if you want - I'm gonna need a sous chef."

He pulls a reluctant laugh from you, the sound echoing off the ceramic of your mugs. You both know that being the sous chef involves you sitting on the counter drinking wine while Carmy does all the work.

"Of course. I'll always be your sous chef."

"I'll hold you to that."

You smile at him gently, a little taken aback by the sincerity in his voice.

"Anyway. The dinner went great. He seemed super interested in me, asked me questions, told me about his job, his hobbies, his dog. He was hot, and good to talk to. I thought I'd hit the jackpot."

"And then?"

"And then we went back to his apartment. And it all went to shit."

He chuckles, blue eyes glinting in the moonlight.

"Tell me more."

"You really want to hear about all of this?"

It's not like you and Carmy aren't close. You absolutely are. It's just that there's always been this unspoken connection between the two of you. A bubbling, fiery attraction that you both shut down repeatedly, screwing the lid on tight whenever it rears its head. So, you tend to avoid talking to Carmy about dating. You're scared you'll accidentally blurt out the truth - you compare every single date to him.

"Of course I do."

His answer is so genuine it makes you ache. You continue, hesitantly.

"Well... things got a little... heavy. He wasn't a bad kisser, I guess... he just wasn't... a good one? He kept biting my lip super hard and it kinda hurt. Then he pulled my clothes off like a high schooler, and he's on top of me, and I'm waiting for him to sort of... do... anything? And then he's finished. Like, completely done. And then he has the nerve to ask me if I finished."

Carmy's mouth has fallen open, shock etched across his face. After a long, heavy pause, he speaks.

"What the fuck?"

You look at him for moment, before bursting into contagious laughter. He joins you, both of you with your heads thrown back, giggles reverberating around the lowlit room.

"I mean, seriously," he pants, still laughing. "What the fuck?"

"I didn't even answer him. I just put my clothes on, grabbed my bag and left without saying a word."

Every time you try to stifle your laughter, a giggle escapes. The situation wasn't funny at the time, but looking back, it's hilarious.

All of a sudden, you both go silent. You're deep in thought, reflecting on the seemingly never ending stream of bad dates that you've endured. Carmy is watching you intently, ocean blue eyes glued to your face.

"Fuck," you breathe. "This is kinda pathetic."

Carmy inhales deeply, and turns his body so it's facing yours on the couch.

"The way I see it," he begins, "you have two options."

You quirk a brow in confusion and stay quiet, waiting for him to explain.

"You can sit here feeling sorry for yourself, or, you can let me fuck you the way you deserve."

Your mouth falls open in shock at the exact same moment your brain seems to shut down. You can't think. You can't process his words. All you can focus on is the way he's staring at you. You suddenly feel hot under his gaze, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up. A shiver runs down your spine, and you have to remind yourself to breathe.

"Wh-... what?" you choke out.

"You heard me, honey. You can wallow in your little pity party, or you can let me show you what it's like to be with someone who can actually make you come. Your choice."

His voice has dropped an octave lower than usual, the tone warm and honeyed. He's still staring at you, blue gaze unrelenting.

"Is this gonna fuck everything up between us?" you whisper hesitantly.

Carmy reaches out and places a gentle hand on your cheek, thumb stroking careful circles into your skin.

"I don't think anything can fuck up what we have," he murmurs. "You're the only thing in my life that makes sense."

His confession seems to sober you up, the honesty in his words snapping you back to your senses.

"Okay."

He almost does a double take at the sureness in your voice.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Put your money where your mouth is, Carmen."

"There she is," he chuckles. "You scared me when you went quiet for a second there."

"Well, if what you say is true, you're not gonna be able to shut me up for the night."

He laughs darkly, and slides closer to you slightly.

"Oh, honey. You're gonna wish you hadn't said that."

He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, tracing the journey of your neck with his fingertips. He rests his hand lightly at the base of your throat, the heavy weight of it making you pant.

"If there's any point where you don't like something, or you want me to slow down, just say so. Okay?"

You nod your head, entranced by the sudden dominance he's displaying. You've never seen this side of him before. You can't believe he's been hiding it this whole time.

"Words, pretty. Need to hear you say it."

"Yes. I understand. I'll tell you, I promise."

He doesn't say anything in reply, just smirks. He lets you sit in the silence for a moment too long, the anticipation slowly killing you.

"Please, Carmen," you breathe. "Please."

"Fuck," he groans, shuffling closer to you. "You sound so pretty when you beg."

Carmy leans in and kisses your cheek gently, testing the waters. He presses a kiss to your other cheek, and pulls back to watch for your reaction. When he's happy, he tilts forward and leaves a careful kiss on your chin, then your forehead, then both of your closed eyes, before kissing you on the side of your mouth. His closeness makes you whine, desperate for him to give you what you want.

Finally, he connects his lips to yours, starting off slow and tender. When you tangle your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck and try to pull him even closer, his resolve snaps. His tongue sweeps into your mouth, exploring eagerly. You clamber over him and climb into his lap, straddling his hips and pressing yourself into his body.

Carmy can't decide where to put his hands. He's grabbing at your waist, running his fingers up your back, pulling you into him by your ass. You're both groaning into each others mouths, enraptured by the other person and the all consuming way they kiss.

"Can I take this off?" he asks lowly, pulling at the hem of your dress.

Instead of answering, you pull it over your head, throwing it onto the floor in front of you.

"Fuck," he murmurs. "Most beautiful girl I've ever seen."

His hands are roaming all of your exposed skin, as if he can't get enough. He's terrified he won't ever get to see you like this again, so he's not going to waste a second.

You grind your hips down into his, eliciting a groan from the both of you. His hands tighten their grip on your waist, as he leans up to press open mouthed kisses to your jaw. Your fingers fly to the hem of his t shirt, pulling it off swiftly. You manage to shove his jeans down and off, before attempting to pull off his underwear. Carmy stops you in your tracks.

"Nuh uh," he tuts. "This is about you. Not me."

He pulls you off his lap gently and shuffles so his back is resting against the couch cushions. He spreads his legs wide, and gestures for you to sit between them. When you don't move, he looks at you carefully.

"Give me a color, pretty girl."

You take a deep breath, and smile at him softly.

"Green, Carmen. Promise."

You manoeuvre sideways, so you can place yourself with your back to his chest. He wraps his arms around you for a moment and holds you tightly, as if he's scared you'll disappear any second. You relax into his embrace, all the tension leaving your body. You have nothing to worry about. It's just you and Carmen, in the place you call home.

You drop your head back into Carmy's shoulder, and allow yourself to get lost in the feeling of his hands on your skin. He's begun tracing patterns down your arms, your sides, your stomach, until he reaches your underwear. He plays with the band, dipping his finger underneath in a feather light touch. Goose bumps rise across your body and you shiver, practically vibrating with need.

"Carmen," you whisper. "Don't tease."

"But that's half the fun," he murmurs into your ear, and you can hear the smile in his voice.

You can picture it perfectly, too. The way his eyes crinkle, the way his mouth curves, the way he bites his lip to stifle it. The image in your mind makes you melt into him further. You want to be as close to him as you physically can be. You'd completely disappear into him if you could.

He brings you back to reality by cupping you over your underwear, groaning when he feels the saturated material.

"Oh, pretty girl. Is this all for me? Fuck."

Suddenly, his game of teasing has lost all its fun. Carmy twists his fingers into your underwear and pulls them off in one swift movement, throwing them in the general direction of your dress on the floor. He places a hand on each of your thighs and spreads them apart, hooking them over his legs.

Carmy starts off slow, careful. He caresses over your skin, gentle and almost apprehensive. When he gets to your core, he swipes a finger through, testing the waters. When you buck your hips into his hand, he knows you're both on the same page.

"Just relax, okay? Gonna make you feel good."

His deep, smooth, whiskey like voice is doing nothing to help the heat bubbling in your stomach. You only whine in response, wiggling your hips to urge him to keep going.

Carmy throws one arm around your stomach, keeping you plastered to his body. You can feel him hot and hard against your back, and you so desperately want to feel him that your mouth is watering. You grind back into him, and he reads your mind.

"Not yet," he whispers. "This is about you, remember? Need to show you what you've been missing."

With that, he circles your clit with two fingers, slowly but surely. He revels in the noises you elicit. They're making him dizzy, disorientated. He never thought he'd be the one to pull a sound like that from you. He's quite convinced he's dreaming.

"Let me hear you. Don't hold back on me, okay?"

You nod your head frantically, willing to give him whatever he asks if you get what you want.

Carmy slips a finger into you slowly, moaning under his breath at your warmth. When he thinks you're ready, he adds a second finger, and sets a steady rhythm, trying to figure out what you like.

After he's set his pace, he starts to curl his fingers on the up stroke, grinning to himself when he finds the spot.

"Yeah? Right there? That's it, isn't it?"

You're nodding and shaking and pawing at his forearms, trying to tether yourself to reality in any way you can. You think you might be floating, on cloud 9, in some sort of euphoric trance. You can't believe no one's ever made you feel like this before. You're convinced no one ever will again.

Carmy quickens his pace and basks in the glory of your moans. He thinks this might be the most beautiful you've ever looked, spread out completely for him. Every inch of your skin is touching his, and it makes his heart skip a beat for a second.

He presses a kiss into your hair and keeps his mouth there, murmuring honeyed praises into your ear.

"Doin' so good for me."

"You got it, honey, that's it."

"Atta girl. Keep going. Almost there."

"You look so fuckin' pretty like this. Fuck. Gonna be thinking about this forever."

"I'll ruin you, baby. Nothing's ever gonna compare to this, to what we have."

All you can do is moan in response, his filthy words pushing you closer and closer to the edge. You're almost there, but something is stopping you. You whine in frustration, tears welling in your eyes. Carmy feels the tension suddenly grasp your muscles, and leans down to mutter to you softly.

"What is it, sweet girl? What do you need? Just tell me. Anything, and I'll give it to you."

You're not sure how much you trust your voice right now, so you decide to show him instead. You take the hand that he's using to hold you to him and move it up your body until it's resting against your throat. You tighten your fingers around his, and moan in response to the pressure.

"Oh, baby," he coos. "Filthy fuckin' girl. Here I thought you were so innocent, and this whole time you wanted to be choked like a whore?"

The way he degrades you so lovingly makes you mewl. You'd never ever trust anyone else to speak to you this way in such an intimate moment - but with Carmen, there's no hesitation. You know he's just telling you what you need to hear in the heat of the moment. And you love him for it.

"Fuck, Carmen," you manage to choke out. "Keep going. Don't stop, please."

"I'll do anything you want if you keep saying my name like that," he whispers.

"Carmen," you moan in response. "Carmy Carmy Carmy Carmy Carmy."

You're chanting his name like a prayer. He's rutting into your back, hips grinding and circling in time with his fingers that are maintaining their steady rhythm. His fingers tighten around your throat as he crooks his digits just right, and the result is a devastating moan from you that Carmy wishes to have on repeat for the rest of his life.

"So close," you whisper hoarsely. "Harder."

Carmy uses his thumb to circle your clit with one hand, other hand pulling you by your neck back into him tightly. He grinds his hips dirtily into you, and the feeling of him so silky and warm against you is what sends you over the edge. The corners of your vision go white as you arch into him, head thrown backwards into his chest. The sounds you're making are so melodic, so borderline angelic that Carmy almost cries. Heaven, he thinks. This is salvation.

Carmy finishes with you, climaxing onto the soft skin of your back. You both relax simultaneously, chests heaving and panting. He removes his fingers gently and wraps both arms around you, pulling you into him tightly despite the mess. He reaches to brush the hair out of your face, and the gesture is so tender it makes your lip quiver.

"Thank you," you whisper after what feels like hours of comfortable silence.

"Sorry I called you a whore," he murmurs back.

You let out a surprised laugh, vibrating with amusement in his arms.

"I know you didn't mean it."

"I mean I did give you the best orgasm of your life, so... call it even?"

"You're forgiven," you chuckle. "Completely forgiven."

You trace gentle patterns over his forearms with your fingertips, following the black ink of his tattoos. He sighs in contentment and places a kiss into your hair, relaxing further into the couch.

You sit together like that for a while, neither of you too concerned with the time. It's not often you see Carmy so relaxed, so serene. You're enjoying it for as long as you can.

"We should clean up," he says quietly, eventually. "Sorry about the mess."

"It's okay. Worth it," you tease, pinching his thigh. He pinches your side in retaliation, which makes you jump.

"Come on, trouble."

He stands from the couch, never letting go of the grip he has on you. You have no choice but to stand with him, yelping as he half carries you through the apartment towards the shower.

The sounds of both of your laughter bounce off of the abandoned mugs of tea still sat on the coffee table, melodic and joyous. The moonlight seeps through the windows, illuminating the beginning of something special in the living room of your shared apartment.

[papercorgiworld]

I don't need space, I need you

This is the requested Draco and Enzo version

Read the Mattheo and Theo version here.

I present you cuteness overload with needy Draco and Enzo and some sassy insults towards Matt and Theo, because I can't resist adding banter and jokes. To the person that requested this, thank you! ☺️ To the people that have sent in requests or casual small talk I'm slowly working through my inbox... I will get to it one day... just know that I love all you darlings and I'm very grateful for your messages. Now, time to get to some reading, I hope you enjoy it, sending you all lots of love! 💛

Draco

“What’s the point of having a girlfriend if I can’t find her.” Draco complains, approaching his friends relaxing by the fireplace in the Slytherin common room. “Have any of you seen here?” Enzo looks up at the impatient blond. “I think she said something about studying with Granger.” Draco is about to start whining about you not being there and instead spending time with Hermione Granger of all people, when he’s interrupted by a snorting Mattheo. “Finally a moment of peace for my fallen brother. Sit and enjoy your freedom before miss clingy returns.” Theodore and Enzo chuckle and Draco feels forced to at least smile at Mattheo’s comment. “Yeeah-, finally peace.” Draco tries his best to sound convincing, but to him peace was cuddling with you, not hanging out with mister mommy and daddy issues, the Italian manwhore and Enzo. The latter picked up on Draco’s reluctance to sit down. “If you miss her so much, maybe you should go look for her?” Theo laughed at Enzo’s suggestion thinking it was a joke and Draco feels the need to make it absolutely clear that he doesn’t miss you at all. “No! If she gets any more cuddly and clingy I’m gonna need to hide from her. And she’s always so nosy, why does she always need to know how my day was? I'll tell her if she needs to know anything.” Mattheo chuckles and offers his friend a drink, but to Draco that did not make up for missing out on time with you.

Your excitement to tell Draco about your day was replaced by a wrecking sadness that made your tears well up. Clingy. Too cuddly. Nosy. As you turn on your heels to leave the common room before anyone notices you, you almost bump into someone because your eyes are getting blurry. Worried that you had been the most annoying girlfriend ever you decided to do better. Draco had been a wonderful boyfriend so far and you really didn’t want to screw this up by being overwhelming. 

***

“He’s a guy and it’s Draco. I’m just giving him some space.” You explained to Luna and Hermione, who both frowned as you joined them in the stands of the quidditch stadium without wishing your boyfriend luck as he left the barracks. Normally you would kiss him passionately in front of everyone and he would hug you tight before he hopped on his broom, but today you wished him luck at breakfast and that was it. You thought you were giving him space as you smiled at him from the stands, but instead you were giving your boyfriend a heart attack as he spotted you so far away. “Hey, Malfoy! The game is about to start. Get on your broom.” Theodore yelled annoyed. “But- but-” Draco’s eyes moved from you to Theo and back to you. The game could not possibly start without you wishing him luck. Confused Draco eventually got on his broom, but his head was nowhere near the game. 

***

Fred and George cheerfully ran up to you and George even picked you up for a moment, making you laugh. Gryffindor had won and the boys were convinced you aided in their victory. “Never wish Draco luck anymore!” Fred yelled and George put you back down as he noticed how confused you were. “I’ve known chickens who fly better than he flew today.” You frowned at the statement. “You think it was because I didn’t wish him any luck before the game?” Both nodded and then left as they were distracted by other people cheering. 

A little worried you slowly made your way in the direction of the changing room. Most of the slytherin team had already made their way to the common room, mainly to keep a pissed off Mattheo from throwing punches, but Draco wasn’t with them so you guessed he was sulking by himself.

You gently push the door open and it reveals a defeated, sweaty and shirtless Draco sitting in an empty room. He hadn’t even made it to the showers yet, his head resting against the wall behind him like it would fall off if it didn’t have any support. His eyelids slowly open and he ssees your worried figure standing at the door. Why is she not rushing to be by my side? Why is she being so distant? Is she going to break up with me? His head was spinning and his heart was aching. “Bad game, huh.” You eventually speak up and Draco just huffs in response. “If you’re going to break up with me just do it already. I’m having a bad day, but I can handle it.” Draco’s eyes look dull and his voice sounds soulless. He gets up and takes a few steps towards you, studying you as you look absolutely shocked. Once you process his words you immediately rush towards him, your eyes pained at the idea of breaking up with the man you so love. 

“I’m not breaking up with you!”. Your voice is surprisingly loud and there is a hint of fear in your words as you worry he was going to end things with you. Your hands rest on Draco’s arms and he shakes his head, not understanding why you were so distant earlier. “Then why didn’t you wish me luck?” You're baffled at the question, it was obvious to you why and you didn’t expect him to care for it. “You said I was too cuddly and too clingy. So I thought it best to give you some space and not overwhelm you before a game. I wished you luck this morning.” 

Draco looks at you like you had just said the dumbest thing ever. “Space? I don’t want space! I want you. I need you! I love you.” Your eyebrows knit together. “But I clearly heard you say-” Draco shakes his head. “When did I ever say you were too clingy… or cuddly. It’s why I love you so much.” You take a step back from your boyfriend. “Yesterday, in the common room, you were talking with Riddle, Berkshire and Nott.” Draco opens his mouth in realisation and then clenches his jaw as he curses himself. He takes a step and closes the distance you had created between you two. “Yeah… I said that… but I didn’t mean it. I said it because I felt that the truth was a bit embarrassing.” You look at your boyfriend with questioning eyes. “Not really cool to tell your mates that you’re looking for your girlfriend because you want to snuggle and watch the stars from the astronomy tower.” You give him a soft smack on the head and he looks at you with apologetic eyes. “I felt horrible after hearing you say those things.” Draco pulls you into his chest. “Shouldn’t have listened in.” He jokes, but you don’t think it’s funny at all and you try to push free from his arms. However you are unsuccessful but Draco apologises. “I shouldn’t have said those things, because I’m just one big softy for you. Nothing tough about me when it comes down to you.” Gently his lips search yours and you’re hesitant at first to kiss your idiotic boyfriend, but when he apologises again you let his lips meet yours for a sweet kiss. 

“So next game, kisses and hugs?” You ask and Draco nods. “Yes. And I don’t think a single slytherin is going to mock us for being too clingy since the only chance we have at winning the quidditch cup is with you by my side.” Nothing tough about Draco at all. Just a needy boyfriend. You think to yourself as you kiss him. 

Enzo

“Pans!” Enzo squeals dramatically as he enters the slytherin common room. “Where is the future missus Berkshire? Can’t find her anywhere.” Before Pansy can answer Enzo’s question Mattheo puts his book down grinning at his friend. “Can’t be without her for even a second?” Enzo’s excitement drops as he notices everyone is looking up now, curious what Enzo’s answer will be. Enzo was always a bit different from his nonchalant and stoic friends. He knew the tough act didn’t suit him and he was confident enough to just be himself, but right now he was a bit worried. He felt himself get nervous and chuckled at Riddle’s question. “Told you, he’s absolutely whipped.” Draco says with an arrogant tone as he raises his eyebrows, challenging Enzo.

“She was at the Library with Luna, but I’m sure she’ll be here any minute.” Pansy finally answers, after rolling her eyes at Draco’s arrogance. “Good, that gives me a few more minutes free of her… because I am not whipped. She’s the one that always wants to be near me.” Mattheo leans back and nods along, pretending to believe Enzo. “Oh really, so why do you keep putting up with it?” Enzo sits down, lounging casually. “I like her so I put up with her clinginess, but honestly I don’t need her around all the time. The hugs and kisses… that’s all her… not me.” 

You had only taken three steps in the common room before stopping. You felt your legs get wobbly at your boyfriend’s words. You take quiet steps backwards and hurry out of the common room. Obviously you were not wanted there.

However, you missed out on Pansy’s loud snickering. “Oh please, Enzo! You liar!” Enzo is absolutely shocked at Pansy’s accusations, but no one else is as all his friends start laughing. “You couldn’t go a day with her.” Draco says, shaking his head at Enzo’ sad attempt at trying to act indifferent towards you. “Alright, alright. I can’t stand being without her! I love her. I need her.” Mattheo laughs, satisfied with Enzo’s confession. “There’s the real Berkshire I know.” Enzo lets his head fall back, bracing for days of mocking and jokes about his attachment to you. 

***

“Oh yeah! Sounds fun. I’ll be there.” Enzo overhears you agreeing to go to Hogsmeade with the golden trio and leans over his desk towards you. “Hey, hey! You can’t go to Hogsmeade with them on Saturday, we were going.” You turn in your seat towards your boyfriend and kiss him on the cheek. “You can go with your friends. We don’t have to do everything together.” Your answer hurts Enzo and his eyebrows knit together. Yes we do, what else is the purpose of a relationship. But before your boyfriend can protest out loud the professor enters the classroom.

***

“Look at her.” Enzo complains to an uncaring Theodore Nott. “The entire week she’s been distant, always better things to do than being with me and now this.” A frustrated Enzo gestures your way and Theo shrugs. “What am I supposed to do?” Enzo whines.

“Kidnap her and lock her up, then you have her all to yourself.” Mattheo suggests, making Theo frown and offer his own advice on the matter. “No, don’t listen to abandonment issues over here. Just get a new girlfriend.” Blaise just facepalms at the realisation he is the only sane one in his friend group. “Ignore both abandonment issues and attachment issues and just go talk to your girlfriend like a normal person.” Blaise emphasises the last words as he glares judgingly at Mattheo and Theo who both act offended. Enzo nods, realising that Blaise was right.

You notice your boyfriend strutting over to you and your friends from across the street and excuse yourself to meet him halfway. “Hey you.” You whisper and Enzo immediately smiles, feeling relieved that you're still your sweet self. “I miss you.” Your boyfriend blurs, even surprising himself with his honesty. “You wanna have dinner together tonight?” You offer, but Enzo shakes his head making you frown. “No. I mean yes, obviously I would like that, but it’s not just that I want to do just one thing with you. We’ve barely spent time together this week.” An uncomfortable laugh escapes you, but you repress it when you notice how sad Enzo’s eyes are. “We’ve spent plenty of time together, besides you’re a guy, you need your space. I don’t want to suffocate you with hugs and kisses all the time.” 

Enzo is baffled at your words. “I’m a guy so I need space. What’s that supposed to mean?” There was a slight tone of agitation in his voice that made you take a step back, but he was quick to close the distance by taking a step closer. “Who put all these crazy ideas in your head of needing to give me space and suffocating me with love?” Your face falls at his harsh tone, but you bite back. “It was you. You were the one that said you wanted to be free of me for a few minutes and that I was the needy one and you had to put up with my clinginess. It was you, Enzo Berkshire, you idiot. So you have no right to complain about me giving you space, since you asked for it.” Enzo’s jaw clenches at your accusation. “I did not!” You cross your arms and raise your eyebrows. “I heard you with Pansy, Matt and Draco.” 

Enzo frowns for a moment, but when he remembers his eyes widen and a laugh escapes his lips. “You believed that?” He asks and you just stare at him in confusion. “They didn’t believe any of it. I was trying to convince them I wasn’t some whipped guy that couldn’t be without his girlfriend for a second, but they saw right through me.” You unfold your arms and Enzo takes your hands in his. “I don’t need space, I need you. So please don’t force me to go days without your hugs and kisses. You don’t suffocate me, if anything I suffocate without you.” You kiss him tenderly and out of excitement Enzo picks you up, making you squeal softly. “Please spend the day with me?” You nod and kiss your boyfriend’s pouty lips. 

[finelinevogue]

lost n found

summary - you are lost in italy the night before your wedding

pairing: fiancé!harry x reader

word count: ~2k

You were definitely lost.

Drunk and lost.

To: harry - im so sor:(y

From: harry - Baby, you’re fine❤️ Drop me your location and I’ll come find you. Please don’t move xx

To: harry - okaY.i love you xox

So currently you were sat on a stone wall, somewhere on a random side street in a small Italian village, waiting for your boyfriend to come and pick you up.

Harry had gone out with a few of his closest guy friends for drinks, for one last night as an unmarried man.

You and your girls had gone out for drinks too and you had mentioned to the boys that you would catch them up later.

At some point during the evening, though, you and the girls had all gone to the beach and you had gone to the toilet. It had been a trek to find one, only when you tried to find your way back you took so many drunken wrong turns that you couldn’t tell your legs from rights now.

Reading a map was useless, but sending Harry messages wasn’t.

You originally hadn’t wanted to send him any messages, not wanting to ruin his last night a “free” man but at some point you had become a little too lost to care.

Swinging your legs as you sat on the wall, you watched the birds fly overhead amongst the clear blue sky. You detailed all the cracks in the old buildings and counted twelve windows on one wall alone.

Your brain was fuzzy and your eyes kept on wanting to close from tiredness. You would be blaming a lot of your girl friends tomorrow for the continuous passing of shots your way.

Your phone rang in your hand.

“Yeah?” You answered, not even checking the caller ID.

“Baby? Love? Can y’hear me?” Harry asked.

“Yeah.”

“You’re not where y’said you’d be.” Harry sounded stressed.

“N-no I am. I sent you my location a-and I haven’t moved.”

You stood up and could feel yourself starting to panic. If Harry didn’t know where you were then there was no way of you knowing. Harry wasn’t ever a big enough drinker to get really drunk, unlike you.

You only ever got drunk when you felt you were in a safe environment, like tonight had been surrounded by all your closest girl friends. Or always with Harry.

Now that you didn’t have anyone and you were still drunk, you were getting anxiety of being alone and intoxicated.

Cue to shaky hands and tears.

“Are y’sure baby?”

“Y-yes. Fuck me. You’re not going to find me. Fuck. I don’t – shit – I.. I’m…”

“Hey, hey. Y/N, baby. Woah, slow down for me, okay? I am coming for you, okay? I just.. It was my mistake and I just need to relocate myself. You’re okay.”

Your phone was shaky in your hands and you started twisting your body around, as if expecting some random creepy guy to come around the corner and take advantage of you.

The twisting didn’t help your head, though, and was making you feel increasingly dizzy and sick.

“Y/N?” Harry asked urgently and you wondered whether you’d missed something he said.

“I-I’m scared.” You honestly said, backing yourself against a wall and trying to let the cool stone calm you down.

Your tears will no doubt have ruined your minimal makeup by now, not that that was a main priority of yours right now.

“Honey, you’re okay. I’ll be there soon, I promise.”

Harry sounded like he was running.

His voice sounded a little breathy and you could hear the fast movement of wind through the speakerphone.

“Y/N, love, turn on your data.” Harry said.

“I ran out.” You banged your head back against the wall, not even thinking about the pain that just caused.

You whimpered as you sank down onto the floor, knees tucked close to your chest and arm wrapped around your legs. Your phone was still to your ear, with Harry’s voice being the only sane thing in this moment.

“Okay, okay.” Harry muttered to himself rather than you. More running sounded from Harry’s end of the phone. “Baby, y’still there?”

“Mm.”

Your mind travelled to many worst case scenarios and due to how bad they were your panic only increased.

This was supposed to be your last nights as an unmarried couple and you couldn’t help but feel like you’d ruined that. He must’ve been having such a good night.

You’d seen a couple of photos on his private Instagram story and other people’s Instagram stories. Your fiancé looked divine. He just looked so perfect that it was difficult to believe that he had chosen you and you got to call him yours.

It did make you nearly cry that he was thinking of you, via Instagram, though.

“You feeling okay, baby?” Harry asked.

“Don’t know. I’m so sorry, Harry.”

“It’s okay. I’m not angry or upset. Just want to make sure you’re okay, my love.”

“Okay.”

“So you have to be brave for me, okay?”

“Yes, okay.”

You got stuck for a moment, trying to think of possible ways you could calm yourself down and distract yourself. Luckily, Harry was already one step ahead.

“Hey, baby?” He grabbed your attention.

“Yeah.”

“We’re getting married tomorrow.”

You couldn’t help but let the smile take over your face. You weren’t scared at all for tomorrow. You had no nervous jitters. All you felt was love in your heart for your husband to be.

“We are.”

“And you’re going to look so beautiful.”

“So are you.”

“I can’t wait to see you in your wedding dress. I bet it looks so pretty.”

You sniffled, building back your strength and overcoming your anxiety. A lot of your strength came from the love you hold for Harry.

You heard a noise from your left and looked to see a cat rustling through some litter.

Your heart deflated when you realised it wasn’t Harry. You knew he was coming though. He was on his way and he would not stop running until he found you.

It was almost like a bad scene out of a romance movie.

The night before your wedding and something terrible goes wrong. It’s a sign!

“I think it’s just perfectly me.” You said, talking about your wedding dress.

“Sounds perfect to me then.” Harry paused for a moment. “Baby, did you walk under an archway, like, uh, a stone archway covered in pink flowers?”

“I-I don’t know. I don’t remember.” You ran a stressed hand over your forehead.

“Okay. That’s okay.”

“Everyone’s going to be so mad at me.” You began getting frustrated with yourself. “Fuck.” You breathed in a sob and exhaled with a bigger breath.

“Promise you no one’s mad, baby. Gem has messaged me a thousand times asking if you’re okay. I can’t even answer ‘cause this bloody maps apps is a fucking nuisance. I swear to–”

“Harry?” You furrowed your eyebrows, looking up from your knees to check your phone. He was still on the line. “Hello?”

“Y/N!” Harry shouted your name, but not from down the phone.

You could see Harry walking over to you very quickly, clearly panting from having run street after street.

“H.” You dropped your phone and cried as you saw him faster approach you.

Definitely a moment worthy of a romcom.

Harry was probably living his Ryan Gosling dreams.

“Baby, hey. I’m here. You’re okay.” Harry sank down to the floor and scooped his arms around you, pulling you close and squeezing oh so tight.

He sank down to his bum and leaned against the wall, pulling your entirely onto his lap. Too close wasn’t an option right now.

Your arms wrapped around his neck as you sat sideways on his lap. Your face was tucked under his chin and his head rested on top of yours. You cried as Harry held you tight.

You couldn’t see Harry’s facial expressions but he was breathing out sighs of relief, some tears in his own eyes from the adrenaline of trying to find you. He had been just as scared as you, but had to remain strong for you. Now he had you he could let it all out.

“You’re never going to the toilet alone again.” Harry laughed. You laughed back.

“Deal.”

“That was scary.” Harry kind of mumbled, but you heard him anyways. He kissed your head a few times and you melted at the feel.

“Harry.”

“Yeah, love?”

“My head is so dizzy.”

Harry used a hand to tilt your head up so he could see your face. He noticed your mascara ridden face first of all, but beneath that you were all beauty.

“Tequila is only our friend for two rounds, remember?” He laughed at you. He was able to tell from your eyes that you weren’t exceedingly drunk, but definitely tipsy.

“I did not remember.”

He nuzzled his nose against yours as he shook his head with a grin. “You’re such a handful, you.”

“M’sorry.” You pouted.

“Never said I didn’t love you as a handful.”

“Do you? Love me a handful?” You used a hand to stroke over his cheek that had gotten so scruffy with the stubble he was trying to grow.

“‘Course. Love you every way and anyway. Love you so much. Love you until my body literally decomposes my wedding ring off my finger, and then some more.”

“That was dark, even for a 2AM drunk thought.”

“It was, wasn’t it?” Harry chuckled, noticing that smile on your face becoming more and more permanent.

“But I’ll love you for the same.” You promised.

Harry kissed you then, not wasting another moment of this evening away from you. Well, morning now. His lips were soft against yours and you smiled into the kiss, happy that he was here with you even if it was under really weird circumstances.

“Let’s go, trouble. We’ll go back to the hotel and I’ll kiss you all night.”

“Don’t you want to spend the rest of your night with the boys? You know, last night as a free man?” Even though you were suggesting this, all you actually wanted to do was kiss, kiss and kiss him.

“Free man?” Harry furrowed his eyebrows with disgust, “What are you talking about?”

“You know? People say the last night before they get married is their last chance to be free?”

“Why would I need to be free when I’ve got you? I’m choosing you, like I always have. Never needed to be free.”

You smiled warmly at him. “I’m shackling you to me for life.”

“Too right you are, baby. Wouldn’t want it any other way.”

“Now, take me home, trouble.” You giggled.

“Oh. So I’m the trouble now?”

liked by gemmastyles and 682,928 others

yourinstagram tomorrow i get your last name forever <3 p.s. i would like to state that harry bought himself that tshirt :)

view all 78,977 comments

harryfan1 oh to be y/n l/n

jeffezoff Where did you two go?

harryfan2 moustacherry fans rrIISEEEEE

harryfan3 wish my bf supported me with tshirts like that

jamescorden Tequila anyone?

harrystyles I am planning on wearing that tshirt tomorrow.

yourinstagram @/harrystyles the tshirt but nothing else please

gemmastyles @/jamescorden They aren’t coming back for tequila….

[scuderiahalf]

wild child — daniel ricciardo

pairing. platonic!daniel ricciardo x verstappen!f1a driver!fem!reader

summary. your uncle has another thing coming if he thinks you’ll idly sit there and take whatever he throws at you. alternatively, the story of how jos verstappen got his shit rocked by a sixteen-year-old girl. 1.6k

warnings. description of injury, referenced physical violence, themes of domestic and child abuse, mention of jos verstappen

masterlist.

.

Daniel watched with a wary smile as you joked around with your Prema teammates across the way. Dino said something that had Ollie covering your ears while jokingly scolding the other boy. You elbowed Ollie in the side and pointed at Kimi, probably complaining that you were less than a year younger than the Italian.

You were acting completely normal. Everything seemed fine and normal and totally cool. You gave no hint that anything was out of the ordinary, that anything was wrong. You smiled just as you always did.

But Daniel couldn’t ignore the swelling of your cheek, the bruise under your eye, the split of your lip.

Prema’s statement about the state of your face had said that you had gotten into a physical altercation that you had not instigated and that the perpetrator had been dealt with as necessary. Daniel had a really bad feeling about who said perpetrator was.

The VCARB driver wet his lips. He had to say something. He would never forgive himself if he didn’t. You needed to know you had people you could go to. You needed to hear it spoken plainly. He needed to extend a hand, whether or not you took it.

This wasn’t something he could sit in regret with. Daniel already regretted never saying anything to Max, never asking the important questions back when Max had still been skinny and ruddy-faced.

Daniel still didn’t know the full story there. He’s sure if he did, he should never be allowed in a room with Jos Verstappen ever again.

Daniel hated to see history repeating itself. He hated seeing Jos look at you like he looked at Max, like you were some prized race horse purpose-bred to win. Like you could win the Formula One World Drivers’ Championship and it still wouldn’t be enough.

Daniel didn’t know everything about Max and his father but he knew how Max acted, knew how he thought of himself, knew how his childhood still affected him today.

Daniel didn’t want that for you. If he could help you in any way, he had to try.

He caught you in Red Bull hospitality later in the weekend, when you were separated from the other Prema kids and eating lunch while scrolling on your phone.

“Y/N/N!” he greeted you with false enthusiasm. “Can I sit with you?”

You just smiled amusedly. “Knock yourself out, Ric.”

You and Daniel had always gotten on.

Before you got serious about racing and moved to Holland to live with your uncle, Daniel had only heard mention of you as Max’s favorite cousin. Starting two years ago, you had been making more and more appearances in the paddock as your relocation to Europe had given Max easy access to take you on field trips to various Grand Prix.

You had been uncharacteristically funny for a fourteen-year-old. Not in a mean or sarcastic way but genuinely funny with jokes and stories always ready to go. Daniel had liked you from the first time you had met.

Now, you were sixteen and you looked so much older but when Daniel looked at you, all he could see was that scrawny fourteen-year-old kid who had to have ten kilos of lead welded to her seat to meet the karting weight requirement.

Every time he looked too hard at the cut on your lip or the persistent redness of your right cheek, he felt sick to his stomach. He couldn’t imagine anyone ever wanting to hurt that funny, lovable little kid, or the young woman you were becoming who was still so full of life and humor.

“Daniel? You good? Do I have something on my face? Besides the obvious.”

Daniel forced out a laugh. “No. No, you’re fine. I was just wondering… How did you get that shiner?”

“Lost a fight with a revolving door. They’re vicious creatures, I tell ya.”

Daniel didn’t laugh. He barely managed a polite smile.

“Wow, tough crowd—yeah, it was Jos. I know that’s what you’re asking.”

You had always called your uncle that: Jos. Just Jos. Never Uncle Jos. Or Oom Jos, or however it would be said it in Dutch.

Your verbal detachment from your uncle didn’t make it any easier to stomach the thought of the man hitting you. Was this the first time? Had he done it before? How often? How severely? How had no one noticed?

“Y/N,” Daniel started, trying to approach the subject as gently as he originally planned, “You know you have so many people who care about you and would never want to see you kept in an unsafe environment? You have people you can turn to if you need help. Max, me, the people at Prema—“

“Did Max not tell you what happened? I figure he would have told you the story already. It’s pretty hilarious, in hindsight.”

What about this situation could ever be construed as hilarious? Daniel would admit he had a bad habit of making everything into a joke but this was a step too far, even for him.

“Y/N, I’m being serious. If Jos is hurting you, it has to be taken care of.”

“Believe me, I took care of it.”

Daniel just looked at you.

“Max really hasn’t told you?”

“Told me what?”

“So, I made that post about pride month on the first, right? Just ‘happy pride month’ in the caption of my insta post? Well, Jos decided that he wouldn’t have that under his roof and when I called him a ‘homophobic wife beater,’ he slapped me. Backhanded me, actually.”

Daniel was still failing to find even the slightest bit of humor in your story.

“So, I beat the shit out of him.”

Daniel blinked. “You what.”

“I beat the—I don’t know how else you want me to say it.”

“I’m not understanding…”

“He put his hands on me, so I rocked his shit. Kicked him in the dick. Slammed his face into the kitchen counter and broke his nose. Probably bruised a rib or two.

“He’s at home nursing his pride, I’m pretty sure. I’ve been staying with Max in Monaco ever since. It’s a real ‘you should see the other guy’ situation.”

Daniel thought he was having an aneurysm. His brain couldn’t decide if he should continue to insist that you could leave your unsafe home life or if he wanted to feed into the inarguably hilarious mental images of Jos Verstappen getting beat up by a sixteen-year-old girl.

The internal battle must have shown on his face because you said, “You can laugh. It’s pretty funny.”

No. No, he needed to be an adult and not feed into your interpretation of the events being funny. It wasn’t funny that Jos raised a hand to you. It wasn’t funny that you had to defend yourself from a grown man you were meant to be able to trust.

But then Daniel couldn’t stop imagining a semi-cartoonish version of your uncle curled on the ground, blood pouring from his nose as you stand above him, laughing maniacally with a foot on Jos’ side like a big game hunter.

“It’s not funny,” he barely managed to get out before he started laughing along with the triumphant caricature of you in his mind.

The you that sat across from him grinned. “No, it is 100% funny. He obviously didn’t know anything about me whatsoever if he thought I’d just let him get away with that. He started that fight, and I ended it.”

Daniel just laughed harder. You grinned even wider.

“No—it’s not funny! I swear, it’s really not.” Daniel collected himself as best he could, tried to look at you seriously. “Y/N, you can’t keep living with him. He can’t keep managing you.”

“I know. Prema’s already worked it out. They’ve found me a new manager and I’m staying with Max; he’s helping set me up in an apartment in his building.

“My mom is furious. She had to be escorted out of the hospital when she flew in to talk to Jos. She might have broken his nose a second time. I don’t know. I wasn’t there, unfortunately. Jos isn’t allowed within a hundred meters of me until I’m 18.”

That guilty, worried part of Daniel that had started festering as soon as he had read Prema’s statement about your altercation finally laid itself to rest. Everything was handled. You were safe.

“Y/N, I—“

Daniel didn’t really know how to put into words just how relieved he was. He didn’t know how to say how much he cared about you, how glad he was that you had gotten out of what could have been a terrible situation.

“I know.”

Luckily, you understood. Daniel didn’t have to stumble over the words. That was another thing about you that Daniel adored: you were intuitive.

“I’m talking through it with my therapist. But I’ll be fine. I feel fine. I’m not going to let Jos ruin me before my career’s even really started. I’ve still got a season of F1 Academy to win.”

Daniel had a feeling you were telling him this not because you needed someone to talk to but because you knew it was what he needed to hear. Relief settled even further onto his shoulders.

“Spoken like a true Verstappen,” he joked.

“My last name is L/N.”

“You still belong to the Verstappen clan.”

You giggled. “I hail from House Verstappen.”

“Exactly. Just like Game of Thrones.”

You fall into easy laughter alongside Daniel.

You were laughing. Your bruises would fade and you would remain unchanged. You would race later that day and continue leading your championship just as your cousin led his.

Ultimately, you were undamaged. You were safe.

And you also had one hell of a story to write a memoir about in thirty years.

[ghulehunknown]

Undressing Papa Backstage,

A Drabble - Dom Copia x GN Reader

Warning - adult themes ahead!

NSFW below!

Tags: blowjob, unprotected penetrative sex, dom Copia

Word Count: 1.3K

Just imagine undressing him after a show backstage. He’s sweaty and he’s just told the audience to go fuck themselves, and he has similar plans in mind. You watch as he takes the final bow. His brow is glistening with beads of sweat, and his hair is a little damp. There’s a hunger in his gaze, his bottom lip falling slightly open as the lights go out.

Performing has him especially riled up this evening. He’s already pitching a tent in his painfully tight jeans by the time he turns to go backstage. And he wasn’t kidding about that violent shower. You had always wondered what exactly he meant, and envisioned him painting the walls in his ecstasy and making a mess of himself only to wash it down the drain.

And where was the fun in that, imagining? And what was the fun in doing it solo the whole tour, Copia wondered as well. You got to know him pretty well, in the quick changes in between songs. Small chatter, but mostly silence as you focused on your task at hand. But all the touches, feeling his body as you put his robes on and took them off, carefully smoothing his hair each time… it built something inside of you. And you think it did for him too.

“Excellent job, Papa,” you remark as he runs backstage again for the final time of the night. He’s out of breath and chugs the water bottle you hand him as you start to take his red jacket off one arm at a time.

“Mm-!” he mumbles while drinking. “Grazie, dear.” He’s still trying to catch his breath but slowly it returns to normal. “You eh, catch my line?”

Oh yes, of course you had. Since the start of tour you began keeping a tally of all the different ways he would tell the audience about fucking each other or themselves, and how he intended to do the same…

“Of course, Papa, I think the audience liked it,” you say with a smile as you hang up the red jacket for dry cleaning later on.

“And…what about you?” he says with a small smirk, looking at you as he begins to unbutton his shirt.

You blush. “I…” you begin, stepping forward to help him with his buttons as he fumbles around.

“You…?”

“Please, Papa…you’ve put me in a rather…precarious situation. I - I have a job to do, and I can’t be distracted. Don’t make me choose between what I want to do and what I have to do.” You look up at him, his shirt collar in your grasp. But you don’t sound convincing. Nor do you want to.

“I know tesoro, but you don’t have to worry about any of that. I want you. I’ve wanted you since they assigned you to me.” He’s touching your elbow now, gingerly brushing your arm with his thumb. “All this touching and no fucking, I can’t stand it.”

“Papa, I -” you start to say but before you can get the words out, he shoves you off him while undoing his pants in a hurry but tugs at it hopelessly just like the buttons on his shirt.

He curses in Italian and slumps his shoulders a bit, looking at you pathetically, giving up. “That was supposed to be seductive,” he said, frowning.

You can barely contain a smile. “This is why you need your wardrobe assistant,” you say, unlacing his pants and unbuttoning his shirt the rest of the way. Your fingertips brush his sternum, feeling the few coarse hairs sprinkled across his chest.

Your breath catches in your throat. You kneel down to start taking off his pants past his waist before you realize - of course, how could you forget? These jeans don’t leave much to the imagination, and he forgoes undergarments just to get them over his hips.

“Something the matter?” he asks, looking down at you and wondering why you paused.

You shake your head and continue, this time yanking the jeans halfway down his thighs in short tugs. The tight fabric combined with his sweat doesn’t allow much wiggle room.

Finally his erection springs forth, completely hard and in your face. Your hands trail up the back of his thighs, until you’re cupping his supple ass. You give his cheeks a squeeze, eliciting a little chuckle from him. You bring one hand to his front, grabbing his cock in your fist and tilting it upwards towards your mouth.

He sighs and grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls your head back. Then he spits directly onto his shaft, saliva pooling around your hand. You work him up in your grasp, his spit giving you allowance to glide your fist around him smoothly.

You lean forward until your lips touch his flushed tip. You part your lips and kiss it gently before taking him in your mouth and sinking down on him fully, until his tip hits the back of your throat. You can smell his natural body odor mixed with his cologne at his base. He tastes salty from all the built up perspiration.

“Fuuuck,” he groans, clutching onto your hair harder. His eyes are closed as he rocks his body against your mouth, feeling every part of his cock enrobed.

You gag at first, but his thrusts don’t wait for you to catch your breath. He’s using you for his own pleasure, like his own little fuck doll.

Before he finishes, he pulls you off him roughly by the hair. You choke and sputter as he utters a gruff command.

You nod and obey him when he says, “I want you bent over the vanity.”

You quickly clear the scattered mess of things on the surface - his face paints, makeup brushes, tissues, setlists, water bottles - as he comes up behind you and yanks your trousers down your hips. He throws them to the side once your legs are free.

He pushes you flat against the vanity, your head turned to the side and your cheek laying down flat. He kicks your legs apart so they make a wide V shape. You hear him spit again, then again, this time in his hand. He reaches down to your core, massaging his saliva like it’s lube at your entrance.

You both moan in sync as he pushes into you, and you feel the initial stretch. Oh fuck! You had thought of this moment so many times while alone backstage with him, but truthfully never even knew how big his cock was until now. You had an idea, sizing the bulge in his pants. But he usually put his pants on by himself before shows, and took them off himself afterwards on his way to the shower, so you never saw this part of him. You wince as your walls contract around him to accommodate his size.

“Ah - fuuckk, s-so good -” he murmurs, thrusting in and out of you.

You lay there atop the table, feeling him pound into you over and over. You moan every time he brushes up against your little sweet spot deep inside you.

“You like that, mm? My little assistant,” he growls in your ear, and as you look up into the mirror you see him smirking and looking into your eyes. He spanks your ass, leaving a red handprint.

You yelp as he bends your left arm behind your back, keeping a firm grip there to steady himself as he continues drilling into you. Your body bounces on the table as you watch both your faces contort in passion in the mirror. The hairspray bottle and his cologne are dangerously close to falling off the table.

“Fuck, I’m going to cum -” he says breathlessly, pulling out of you quickly. You peer up into the mirror again and see him looking down and just when you wonder - warm, thick liquid splashes all over you, painting your backside as he coaxes out his seed.

You lay there in a daze as he pulls some tissues from the box next to you, cleaning himself off and aimlessly cleaning you off too, though it’s more of a smear.

Then he says, “Undress. Get in the shower. We’re just getting started.”

[doremimosasol]

𝐓𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 - 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐭 𝐎𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 ☆

warnings: suggestive but nothing too much

word count: 1,5 k

summary: in the desperation of a better grade for potions you find the perfect solution: Theodore Nott

@thatdammchickennugget ‘s Hogmarch challenge prompt 1

Potions class — you dreaded that class for the whole week just for it to be the last class on Friday. It's not that you just hated it, you absolutely despised it. Never passing any assignment, constant ridiculous remarks of Snape, the chills of the cold dungeon… You even began to wonder whether Professor Snape was the problem and not you. Everyone passed this class except for you, while you were the one who tried your utmost best.

You were beyond frustration, right now there was only despair left. As someone who scored top in almost every single class, a fail for potions was heavy on the heart. There was no denying it, you spent sleepless nights in hopes of improvement. Nothing, all hard work once again for nothing.

The Slytherins always scored top-class. Was it because they were good, or were they just favored? Snape couldn't possibly fail his precious Slytherins, of course not.

It was a rough week, the middle of winter, and now to top it off some more freezing in the cold dungeons for goddamn potions. How you wish you could just speed up time during these moments, to watch the minutes on the clock pass by faster.

You sat bored behind your desk, resting your head on your palm as you listened to the constant rattling of the teacher. Something about a new assignment. Why even try when you knew he'd fail you again like always? "... and it will be performed as pairs. Choose your partner wisely, no switching after today.”

Pairs? At the sound of that, you instantly lifted your head to find the familiar face of none other than Theodore Nott. It seemed as if his friends had already formed pairs and he was left standing, alone. He didn't look all too offended, just waiting for someone to approach him.

This was your chance. Finally, a chance to up your grades. Theodore Nott was the solution to your failing mark.

Without even thinking, you sprang up from your seat and approached him. You gave him a small poke in the side of his arm, his eyes looking up at you. You never noticed how mesmerizing his eyes were until right at this moment, it caught you off guard slightly. "Mind if we work together?"

He slightly frowned at your question, you two never spoke so this was honestly surprising to him. He looked around to see everyone partnered up already "Seems I'm left with no choice but to choose you." His brows were playfully arched as he looked back up at you.

Polyjuice potion. It wasn't an easy assignment, something that'd take weeks to brew. Which also meant weeks of working together. Snape explained that they didn't need to be strong, just for a minute; changing into the other.

"Make polyjuice potion." It was the only instruction that you got. Forced to find the recipe yourself, the ingredients, and a place to brew too. It was far from easy but at least you were smart enough to find a talented partner.

Theo had everything planned out; he made a schedule and found a place to brew. It was his own dorm but it was perfect, it was a large room and surprisingly cozy.

To your surprise, he used a lot of candles in his room. A lot of books lay scattered around too, from all different kinds. You often tried to read the titles, something Italian, while he made fun of your pronunciation. He corrected you, little did he know that was your goal: to hear him speak that lovely Italian language.

It was late at night when both of you decided to go look for some Lacewing flies in the woods. You didn't add enough in the beginning, which could mess up the ultimate potion.

"You know y/n, you aren't that bad after all. I can't deny I dreaded working with you, wondering why the hell you chose me as your partner. But you surprised me, in a good way." He looked down at you while you were next to him, looking around for some flies.

"Well, to be honest, I just wanted a good grade. That's why I chose you. You could say..." You thought for a moment before softly chuckling "…I used you to my advantage?" When you looked back up at him, he didn't seem all surprised.

"Is it that, or is it because you're in love with me?"

Huh? What was he even saying? In love? With Theodore Nott? No way.

Looking back on the past few weeks, you looked back on the feeling you got around him. The feeling you're having right now.

Like you can't breathe but feel like you're breathing better than ever before.

Like there's a whole storm going on inside your stomach.

The soft touches he gave you these last few weeks; touching your wrist, the small of your back, patting your head when you were doing something right.

The way your heart made a little jump when he said your name or when he called you princess. The little praises he gave once in a while.

Reflecting on those weeks, your heart almost dropped. Could it be that you were in love? Was that love? Was he in love with you? Why did he even ask that? He must be in love with you, right? No...?

"Ah, I hit right bullseye. I knew it! You are in love with me, isn't that right?" It startled you when you suddenly hit his hard chest. He must've just spawned in front of you or something. It was when you looked up that you noticed the look in his eyes.

You saw something flicker in his eyes when you didn't respond to that question he asked. Just when you wanted to open your mouth to say something he already covered it with his. A kiss?

A kiss?!

No response from your side, just eyes wide open and stiff like a statue. He tried to get some sort of reaction out of you by cupping your face with both of his hands but nothing at all. No reaction, just a deer in headlights.

"Come on y/n, try that again. I like a bit of enthusiasm." He pouted in a joking manner.

He pulled your face closer, caressing your cheeks with both of his thumbs before moving lower until one of them reached your top lip. He caressed the cupid bow before moving to your lower lip, slowly dragging it downwards. "I want you to kiss me back with those precious lips, princess. Please?"

He moved his lips closer, his breath fanning yours like a soft breeze in summer. "For those good grades, I'll be giving you, mhmm?"

You pulled back and now it was your turn to mess with him. "Well I don't see those good grades yet, do I? Guess I'll have to wait for some proof to kiss you back." You noticed some Lacewing flies a few steps ahead and approached them. "Let's go catch those flies for those good grades, shall we?"

He was dumbfounded. How could you have been so flustered some seconds ago to turn into such a tease now? But he would get you good grades, just for that kiss...

...and for that smile that now covered your face when Professor Snape announced the top grades. "Theodore Nott and y/n y/l/n."

He bumped your shoulder slightly at the announcement and whispered in your ear. "Guess who's getting a kiss tonight? Can't wait to taste those sweet lips of yours, princess. Have been craving them all week.”

And man did you both kiss... Hands in your hair, pushed against the wall of his dorm while working on the buttons of his shirt. He pulled away with a grin on his face. "A little eager now, are we?"

It took you by surprise when your feet left the ground and your back hit the mattress less than a second later. There was no time to respond before he had already crawled on top of you, his tongue devouring your mouth. You didn't even notice him pulling off your shirt and unclipping your bra until you felt his warm lips touching the middle of your chest.

His lips inched lower, leaving a wet trail in the middle of your chest. The warm touch sent shivers down your spine, this was new and you liked it. You liked him.

It felt like heaven. Being touched like this, being worshipped like this, you felt beautiful underneath the touch of his hands. This man knew what he was doing and there was no stopping him... It’s not like you wanted him to stop either, you wanted this to never end.

He looked up through his eyelashes with those piercing eyes, while sucking on your lower belly. "Do I have permission to show you heaven?"

And to heaven and back he brought you...

[mypoisonedvine]

𝐚 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 | riley poole x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 - having a girlfriend who can decode secret messages comes in handy when you're a treasure hunter; and having a clingy, needy treasure hunter boyfriend can be annoying when you're trying to decode something, but you find a way to compromise.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 4.4k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - SMUT (18+ only, and honestly who under 18 is watching this 20 year old movie about the declaration of independence? regardless, minors go away), established relationship, free use kink, touch of dumbification kink, FLIP PHONES (oh the noughties nostalgia), a totally unnecessary plot because everyone deserves a dose of colonial american history with their filth, riley and reader being nerdlove goals

(honestly can't believe I actually wrote this but now that I did I'm like hold up... is this my new obsession??)

When Ben answered the door obviously not ready, and obviously surprised by Riley’s presence, it didn’t take a genius to put together that he’d forgotten about tonight— which Riley had sort of seen coming, with how many times this one thing had been put off or rescheduled at the last minute.  One of the downsides of being a treasure hunter?  Your coworkers tend to be somewhat… unreliable.

“Riley— what are you doing here?” Ben wondered.

“Warm greeting as always…” Riley sighed before answering the question: “I'm here to pick you up.”

Ben gave Riley an even more confused look.

“For dinner,” Riley added flatly.  “At Talerico’s.  To meet my—”

“To meet your new girlfriend, oh god,” Ben realized, “was that tonight?”

“No, it's tomorrow, I'm just picking you up twenty-four hours in advance,” Riley replied snarkily.

“I'm sorry, Riley,” Ben sighed, “I really— I do wanna meet her, Abigail did too— but I completely forgot— can we move this to another night?”

“Ben, we've moved this so many times that she's not even a new girlfriend anymore,” Riley sighed.

“I know, I know, but we can't tonight— Abigail just went out,” Ben justified.

“Where'd the missus go?”

“The library, she's trying to help me with something.”

“A clue?  It's another clue, isn't it,” Riley realized, not trying very hard to hide his excitement.

“I was going to call you tomorrow,” Ben explained.  “Come in, I’ll show you.”

After walking into Ben’s house and upstairs to the study, Riley wrinkled his brow when Ben handed him the coded message.  “Well, that’s just a whole bunch of letters,” Riley noticed.

“Astute as always, Riley,” Ben frowned.  “We found them in a journal that belonged to James Madison.”

“Why would James Madison write down a bunch of random letters in his journal?”

“No— each letter was underlined in a different entry.  And, at the back, we found this,” Ben continued, showing Riley a scanned parchment.

“GABE FADECCE,” Riley read aloud, changing his mind a few times about the pronunciation.  “It’s a name, right?”

“It must be,” Ben shrugged, “but we’ve been searching online for any evidence of a Fadecce family or a Gabriel that worked for or with Madison, and we haven’t found anyone.  That’s what Abigail went to the library for.”

“It sounds Italian, could he be Italian?” Riley wondered as Ben set down the images with a sigh.

“I don’t know— possibly, but we’re at a dead end at this point,” Ben replied.  “I’m sure we’d have a lot more to work with if we could decipher those letters from the journal entries, but we were up all night trying to figure it out—”

“Not what I’d be up all night doing with my girlfriend, but okay,” Riley interjected.

“And I haven’t gotten anywhere with it,” Ben concluded.

“Wait— you can't solve it?” Riley challenged with a smug grin.  “The Ben Gates can't solve a clue?”

“It's not that I can't, it's just that a code like this requires a lot of time,” Ben explained.  “I'm a historian, not a cryptographer.”

“We need a codebreaker,” Riley nodded thoughtfully, “somebody who can decode something this complex, and knows enough about the Founding Fathers to have some context for the message...”  He tapped on his chin like he was really thinking about it, before proudly smiling and tilting his head in faux-realization.  “Hey, how about a former intelligence agent who specialized in decryption, with a master's in world history and beautiful eyes that you can get lost in for hours?”

Ben raised an eyebrow at Riley.  “Yes, that would be great— give or take the eyes thing— but where are you gonna find one of those?”

“At Talerico’s,” Riley announced, “waiting at a table for four.”

“Your girlfriend is a cryptographer?” Ben realized with wide eyes.

“I told you you'd like her,” Riley beamed.

~

Riley was engrossed in his game, furiously clicking the mouse and clacking at the keyboard before mumbling a curse of defeat and pulling the headset off; sighing, he turned around and looked over the back of the couch at you.

He'd only started playing the game because you weren't giving him attention, so it made sense that as soon as he died, he'd go back to bugging you.  “Hey,” he greeted plainly, smiling yet clearly fighting the urge to pout.

You were laying on your stomach on the bed, half-dressed, looking at the pages Ben had given you and scribbling notes on a pad.  “Hey,” you returned flatly after a pause, adjusting your reading glasses before taking a few more notes.

“You look cute doing that,” he hummed.

“Doing what?”

“Thinking.”

You frowned a little in concentration but didn't look away from your papers.  “I like to think I'm always thinking…”

“No wonder you're so cute all the time then,” he cooed, leaning in closer and resting his chin in his hands.

He waited for a moment for you to keep the conversation going, but sighed when you simply continued working on the cipher without paying him any mind.

Getting off the couch with a sigh, he hopped onto the bed and laid beside you, making the mattress bounce a few times.  He kept looking at you for a little while, eventually reaching out and rubbing your back for a moment, before sliding himself even closer to you and planting a kiss on your shoulder.

Even with ninety-five percent of your attention on the puzzle in front of you, you could still tell what sort of mood Riley was getting himself into.  “Well, there is one thing that makes you stop thinking…” he recalled in a purr, nuzzling into the crook of your neck and giving you a teasing trail of kisses there.

You sighed a little and shrugged him away.  “Riley, I need to focus.”

“Baaabe,” he pouted.  “I can't help it, you're just so— how am I supposed to resist you like this?”

“I'm literally just laying here,” you noticed.

“You know what you do to me in those bifocals, sweetheart.”

You snorted and finally looked back at him, admiring the puppy dog eyes he was giving you— they almost always worked on you, and he knew it.  Sighing in relent, you looked back at the pages in front of you.  “I need to get this done, I promised your friend I would finish it in twenty-four hours,” you explained, “but you can go ahead.”

“Go ahead?” he repeated, confused.

“You can just use me, while I work,” you offered flippantly, hardly noticing the way his face turned red.

“R-right… I can just, um… use you.  That's— okay, sure,” he coughed nervously.

“Just be quick,” you insisted.

“Yeah, that's a challenge,” he scoffed, shuffling on the bed to straddle your legs and run his hands over your back.  “I, uh, like when you wear my shirts,” he informed you, as if feeling his erection press against your ass wasn’t enough of a clue.

“Just get on with it, please?” you groaned.

“Yeah, yeah— sorry…” he mumbled, moving his hands down to your panties which he traced slowly.  “These are cute,” he noticed aloud anyways, and you sighed a bit to yourself as you realized how futile it was to try to keep him from talking.  You were just going to have to tune him out to get this done.

His fingers shakily hooked into the elastic and pulled your panties down, a low hum echoing in his chest as he looked at you.  Grabbing handfuls of your ass and kneading them gently, he mumbled something to himself that you weren’t really paying attention to— until he got your attention suddenly with a quick slap.  “Hey!” you yelped, jumping slightly.

“Sorry, sorry,” he breathed through a grin, “couldn’t help myself.  I-I won’t distract you anymore, okay?  Just, you know, keep working…”

You did just that, of course, re-ordering the papers in your hand to look at the scanned back page again.

He went on mumbling to himself as he shoved his sweatpants down to his thighs to free his cock: “juuuust keep working,” he breathed.

He spit into his hand quickly and smeared it on himself, before nudging in between your legs and pressing himself to your opening.

Admittedly, you did react slightly when he pushed inside you— a wince from the stretch of it, especially without much preparation— but you managed to keep quiet and focus on your work again.  “God, so tight,” he groaned, digging his fingers into your hips slightly as he slid deeper.  “You're too good to me, baby…”

He pushed as deep as he could go, which was honestly a bit further than you expected at this angle, and leaned over you slightly as he started to move.

“You feel so good,” he praised through a heavy breath, not taking very long to savor the moment before picking up speed.  You knew if you reacted too strongly to what he was doing, he'd notice instantly and start trying to pull you away from your work; so, you did your best to focus on the problem, even if you found yourself gripping the pages a bit tighter.

Even if your attention was straight ahead, you almost wished you could see him now— but then again, you had a pretty good idea of what you would see if you looked back: his mouth parted slightly with sighs of pleasure, a subtle pink flush across his face, his eyes going a little glassy as they drifted over you.  In fact, you could sometimes feel his gaze on you, especially at those times that his fingers traced your back and hips.

Realizing something suddenly about the cipher in front of you, you put your pen between your teeth and pulled the cap off, biting down on it slightly to hold it in place so you could keep writing on the paper your other hand held.  “Fuck, you're so hot,” Riley groaned, starting to thrust a bit more urgently.  Resisting the urge to smile to yourself too much, you kept taking your notes and didn't especially pay attention to him behind you, even when his occasional whimpers started to grow louder.

For the most part, you were able to keep your focus.  It wasn’t that Riley was especially easy to ignore— certainly not with him going just a bit faster with every thrust— but you were finally on a roll with this puzzle; maybe you would’ve already solved it if it weren’t for your boyfriend, even if he was a welcome distraction.

He panted with each movement, holding on tighter to your hips.  “Fuck,” he whispered, leaning down after a moment to rest his forehead on your shoulder.  Normally, you would have to stop yourself from reaching back to run your fingers through his hair, but you were too engrossed in your work; and it was a good thing, too, because if you’d done that he almost certainly would’ve grabbed the papers and tossed them away, impatiently demanding for you finish that later and let him finish now.

Instead, it seemed like the pace and intensity of both your decryption and his movements grew together: your writing was hurried while his thrusts were faster and harder suddenly, until you could hear skin hitting skin, his groans muffled slightly as they came out through his teeth.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, taking your pen away from the paper abruptly and looking at your work.

“Yeah, you like that?” he encouraged in a rough voice.

“Oh my god, I solved it,” you announced, hardly noticing how he'd misunderstood your exclamation.

That seemed to break him out of his focus for a moment, and he stopped moving as he leaned down over you, resting his chin on your shoulder to read the page you were holding.  “At the place of eighty-five pleas, remove the Crucifiction keys,” he read aloud from the paper— once he managed to navigate your disorganized notes.

“It's a polyalphabetic substitution cipher,” you explained excitedly.  “Once I realized the key word was his wife’s name it was relatively simple— aside from having to reverse engineer some Vignere tables—”

“But what does it mean?” he wondered.  “What even is a Crucifiction key?  Please don’t tell me Ben’s gonna rob some nuns.”

“This was Madison’s journal,” you recalled, “and he co-wrote the Federalist papers with Alexander Hamilton and John Jay— eighty-five pleas— but Hamilton wrote the majority in his home.  I think we need to go to his estate, and see if they still have any of the instruments he owned.”

“Instruments?” 

“The Crucifiction keys, that threw me off too,” you admitted, “but Hamilton was a pretty accomplished pianist— but he would’ve played the colonial precursor to the piano, the fortepiano, which was created by an Italian inventor named Cristofori.  Cristo as in Christ, obviously, and fori meaning ‘holes’.  The Crucifiction!  The keys are piano keys!”

“But who’s Gabe Fadecce?” he pressed.

“It’s not a name,” you answered, “it’s a song.  G, A, B, E, F…” you hummed each note as best you could recall.  “If we start at the first key in the bass and take out the first G, A, and so on up the scales, I’m guessing there will be another clue beneath them, or on the back or something.”

“You're amazing,” he smiled, kissing you on the cheek proudly.

“I'll call Ben,” you decided, reaching to pick up your phone from nearby on the bed and flip it open; you hadn't even opened your contacts yet before Riley wrapped his hand around yours and— gently— pulled it away and closed it.

“I'll call Ben,” he offered, “later.”

You turned to look at him, and he smiled at you, though there was something softer and darker about his gaze as it fell slowly to your lips.

“You and I have unfinished business first,” he continued softly before kissing you with more patience than you expected from him after all that…

When he pulled away, you reached up to take off your glasses, but he clicked his tongue as he stopped your hand from moving any further.

“No no no, leave those on,” he encouraged.  You grinned before he kissed you again, his weight sinking into your back as he slipped an arm around your shoulders.  You moaned softly into the kiss when he started moving again; it was a relaxed pace, but with him draped over you like this, he seemed to go so much deeper.

When he pulled away, you found yourself leaning towards him for more— but he just smirked at you and propped himself upright again, starting to move faster behind you.

“Look back at me,” he requested in a softer voice, and when you turned to look over your shoulder at him behind you, you found him biting his lip at the sight.  “Oh god,” he choked on a groan, meeting your gaze before shutting his eyes and tilting his head back.  “Fuck, is it weird that you ignoring me kinda turned me on?”

You laughed a little, and shook your head.  “No, that's fine… I can go back to it, if you want—”

“No, please— I still like you better like this,” he insisted.  “I like how responsive you are.”

He ran his hand up your back and you shivered, rocking your hips up slightly as he ran his fingers over your hair before taking a hold of your shoulder.

“Yeah,” he breathed, something beautifully dark to his voice, “like that.”

He began to fuck you hard— not fast, but intense and deep and just the right amount of impatient— and you didn't even try to hold back the loud whine of pleasure that jumped from your chest.  “Fuck,” you gasped, “oh my god, yes…”

“Uh huh?” he encouraged, watching with half-lidded eyes at the way you moved under him, your body naturally starting to rock back towards his.  “Tell me how that feels.”

“Good,” you panted.

“But not good enough to distract you from your work, huh?” he challenged.

“Well, to be fair, nothing feels better than cracking a code,” you giggled.

“Oh, baby,” he groaned, putting his hands on either side of you on the bed so he could lean down and kiss your neck, only to bite it a second later— not too hard, but a little harder than just playful.  You felt him smile when you yelped softly.  “You’re trying to piss me off, right?”

“Maybe,” you shrugged a little bit.

He sat back up and pulled out of you unexpectedly, but thankfully explained himself before you would’ve likely let out a pathetic whine that he would’ve held against you.  “Turn over,” he instructed, “and take that shirt off.”

You flipped onto your back with a smile; “I thought you liked how I look in your shirts,” you reminded him as he helped you pull it over your head and toss it aside.

“Yeah, but I like how you look without them even more,” he explained, running his hands along your sides before surprising you as he suddenly bent down to swirl his tongue around a hardening nipple.

“Fuck,” you gasped, grabbing onto his hair as he moved to the other, first with his eyes shut and then opening them to look up at you as your back arched.

“You’re so pretty,” he praised as his lips traveled to your neck; he yanked you closer by your hips, making you laugh slightly with surprise as you slid across the bed, though it turned into a moan when he thrust into you again in one go.

This time, he didn’t hold back at all: rough, needy, hungry.  You moaned louder than you planned to, grabbing onto his shoulders through his t-shirt.

“Sorry,” he panted out through a thin laugh, “but I can’t slow down now— not after you drove me crazy like that.  God, baby, you’re so fucking wet—”

You choked on the back of your own throat; you couldn’t help it, you just loved the way he said that.

“— this is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

“Uh huh,” you mumbled, 

“You like when I use you, huh?” he taunted, and you bit your lip before nodding.  “That’s pretty kinky, you know.  Is that all you wanna be?  A fucktoy?”

“Oh god,” you groaned, accidentally digging your nails into his shoulder, though he didn’t seem to mind.

“Want me to just fuck you whenever I feel like it, whatever you’re doing?” he continued.

“Yes,” you admitted in a hiss, head dropping back onto the bed.

“You're really trying to spoil me,” he cooed, leaning down to kiss your neck in between words.  “Be careful what you wish for, sweetheart— I might end up fucking you five times a day.  At least.”

You moaned lowly, feeling your muscles seize up on him briefly, making him laugh in the most condescending-yet-sexy way.

“Oh, fuck— you want that!” he realized, and his voice dropped to a low growl again as he thrusted even faster, teeth teasing your pulse.  “You can never get enough, can you?”

Not that you ever really thought your response to that was going to be especially coherent… but the way you cried out totally gave yourself away; how had he made you so desperate so fast?!

“Oh, poor baby,” he offered pityingly, only to fuck you even faster until you whined pathetically.  “You don’t wanna think, huh?  Just wanna be my hole.”

“Y-yeah,” you gasped, “fuck…”

“You’re too fucking perfect, you know that?” he praised.  “The only thing sexier than fucking you while you use that gorgeous brain of yours, is fucking you until you can’t.”

Your moan was sort of trapped in the back of your throat as you tried to swallow it down; you wished you had the wherewithal to hold it back better, but you weren’t really used to him talking like this.  Normally he would just go on tangents of praise and begging (as needed), and even though it wasn’t your first glimpse of his more dominant side, this all felt a bit different.  Even the way he was looking at you seemed different— a sort of pride in his eyes, pride in his own ability to turn you into a wet and whimpering mess.

“So fucking good,” he cooed, “you’re so good, baby— my good, dumb little fucktoy.”

“G-god,” you choked, holding on tighter to the sheets under you, trying to hold yourself together.

“You’d better come fast, ‘cause I don’t know how much more of this I can take,” he warned with a sigh— which would be a much more credible threat if he’d ever left you hanging.  But no, those times Riley’s stamina hadn’t taken you all the way, he was more than happy to put his mouth on you and let it do the rest of the work.

This time, though, all he needed was a thumb drawing rough circles on your clit to help you along.  You hadn’t even noticed how sensitive it had become, not until your back arched and a needy whine jumped from your chest.  “Oh fuck, Riley, I’m close,” you yelped.

“Yeah?” he whined— actually, he repeated it a few times as he watched you get closer to your peak, but it was all falling on deaf ears as your moans got louder and louder.

“Yes!” you cried out, shaking under him; even with his weight pressing you down into the bed, it began to feel like you were floating somehow.  It was one of those orgasms that left you a little numb, with little jolts of raw pleasure that were almost too much— but your only defense was holding tighter onto him, inside and out.

“O-oh god,” he choked weakly, the movement of his thumb slowing but his hips going faster than ever.  “Fuck, fuck!”

He stopped all at once, burying himself in one last stroke as deep as he could reach, moaning lowly against the crook of your neck as he went mostly limp atop you.

After catching your breath for a few moments, you hummed softly in contentment and he carefully lifted himself up just to fall back down beside you on the bed.  He looked at you with heavy eyes but a huge smile; “You wear me out, you know that?” he breathed, reaching up to move some hair stuck to your face.

“You distract me from my work, you know that?” you countered.

“Hey, you got it done,” he defended.  “We’ll let Ben know as soon as I… you know, remember how to exist.  And use cell phones.”

“And maybe after a shower…” you suggested.  As soon as you saw the sparkle in Riley’s eye you added: “Separately.  I’ll pass out before we can make it to dinner tonight if we just end up fucking again.”

“I mean, they’ve been putting off dinner for months— why can’t we blow them off for once?” he suggested with a smirk, moving closer to you on the bed.

“I thought I’d worn you out,” you remembered with a breathless laugh, and he wrapped an arm around you to pull you into him.

“You did,” he sighed against your neck, “I’m just… easily re-inspired.”

~

It was a good thing this place was mostly empty, since this was technically somewhat sensitive information, but you figured anyone who overheard wouldn’t know enough about the conversation to glean anything too significant.  You found yourself rubbing your hands together under the table anxious as you watched Ben across from you, holding your work, and waited for his response.

“This is incredible,” Ben smiled as he read your decryption, making both you and Riley smile back with pride.  “A polyalphabetic substitution cipher, I should’ve known.”

“Yeah, any idiot would’ve known that,” Riley joked flatly.

“Where’d you find this girl?” Ben asked him, and you glanced at your boyfriend to find a little flush on his cheeks.

“You know, the technical answer is that we met at a panel lecture proposing that certain ‘random’—” he accentuated the word with a sarcastic tone and air-quotes— “radio frequencies detected by military technology might be messages from extraterrestrials—”

Ben rolled his eyes even at the passing mention of one of Riley’s more absurd conspiracy theories.

“But,” Riley continued, “I have a theory that she was actually created in a lab, specifically for me, by a team of scientists with the inexplicable goal of making me happy.”

“Oh, come on,” you giggled nervously, shoving Riley on the shoulder but failing to stop him from giving you a kiss on your heated cheek.

“That line working on you really is a testament to the fact that you’re made for each other,” Ben offered, and you decided to ignore the backhanded element of the compliment because of your sense that there was something very genuine about it.

“Look who’s here,” Riley pointed towards the front door of the restaurant, over Ben’s shoulder, causing the latter to turn in his seat and look back.  “Abigail, over here!”

She waved when she saw you, quickly approaching the table and taking her seat as she apologized for being tardy; “This is Dr. Abigail Chase,” Ben introduced her with a proud smile.

“Oh, don’t be so formal,” she gently scolded him (maybe everything she said sounded that nice with her accent, though), but she beamed as she grabbed your extended hand to shake it.  “It’s so nice to meet you, finally— I’ve heard so much from Riley.  He’s been bragging about you so much these past few months, I feel like I already know you!”

“Apparently he met her attending some panel about secret alien messages from space,” Ben told her with a smile and a yeah, I know, it’s crazy look in his eyes.

“Attending?” Riley repeated with a scoff.  “We were both speakers!”

Abigail was a little better at hiding any judgmental instinct; “How perfect,” she announced sweetly.

“She’s a real whiz with decryption though— look at this,” Ben instructed, handing the (condensed) page of your notes over to Abigail, who took it and tilted her head as she read to herself.  

“Wow,” she sighed, “you made quick work of it: Hamilton’s fortepiano?  That must be in a museum somewhere.”

“It’s still in his home in New York,” you replied quickly, “we already looked into it.”

“Did you help her at all with the solve?” Ben asked Riley suddenly, who turned to you with a slightly mischievous look in his eyes.  

“Uh,” he stalled before clearing his throat nervously, but never looking away from you— “y-yeah, I helped… in my own way.”

[merakiui]

promising young man.

yandere!riddle rosehearts x (gender neutral) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, one-sided student/teacher relationship, obsession, dark thoughts, jealousy, delusion, brief descriptions of blood/gore, violence, death, murder, brief nsfw note - riddle's perfect world comes crashing down with the arrival of foreign exchange student azul ashengrotto.

He meets him in Intro to Psych.

Azul Ashengrotto struggles to parse English, but he’s dressed like a businessman with his pressed suit and leather Oxfords. The only thing that reveals his status as a student is the black backpack he carries to class. Riddle’s seen him around campus a handful of times. It’s hard to miss him when he seems to throw himself into social circles with practiced grace.

This is the first time he’s ever had class with him, though, and so now he gets to see him in a classroom setting. There isn’t much about him that immediately strikes Riddle as odd. He’s well-dressed and prompt with a polite tongue. Every time he speaks in his thick accent, the one that just commands admiration and attention, that tiny Italian flag pinned to the strap of his bag becomes even more apparent.

Riddle’s not sure what he’s doing in this class. Perhaps he’s aiming to study law as well. He’d hoped to find more people with similar academic hobbies and interests and, while he’s yet to form any lasting bonds, he’s been wondering what sort of person Azul is.

On the first day of class, he introduced himself with confidence: “Buongiorno, amici. I am Azul. I look forward to the year with all of you.”

Though the structure and pronunciation of English proved awkward in his mouth, that didn’t stop him from opening himself to others. He’s friendly and outgoing, always welcoming conversation when it’s thrown his way. Riddle finds it impressive. If he were in Azul’s shoes, he’s certain he’d feel just a little lost attending school in a new country, far from home, surrounded by people who speak a completely different language. But Azul is resourceful, a dab hand at communication despite the barrier in vernacular. Perhaps that’s where his charm comes from.

Riddle thought the two of them might get along.

But then Azul proved academically formidable, and then you began to pick his brain after class, during time that was specifically reserved for Riddle so that he could discuss psychology with you.

So now Riddle sits in his seat, impatiently awaiting his chance.

“The law over in here is fascinating,” Azul says, leaning closer as you show him something on the desktop computer. 

“What’s it like where you’re from?”

“Mm. How to explain… The law is…”

“It follows a civil law tradition,” Riddle pipes up, casually flipping a page in his textbook. He does it for show. He’s aware it probably makes him look like an arrogant know-it-all.

You peek past the screen at him. “Oh! Riddle, you’re still here. Hello!”

He hums, warming under your gaze. “I always am.”

“What was it you were saying about the Italian legal system?”

Azul stares at him. An unhappy frown tightens on his face.

Uplifted with pride, swimming in the clouds, Riddle elaborates: “I’ve only just started researching it, but it’s very interesting. In the realm of criminal law, trials are often led by judges or a select few to form a panel unlike the juries we have here. Of course you’ll find differences everywhere. All countries have justice systems and law enforcement. Still, it’s fascinating to compare and contrast the fine details.”

From across the room, Azul’s stink eye has never been more obvious.

“Ah, that’s right. I’ve heard a few things regarding the way cases are handled over there. From what you know, Azul, would you say the system is harsher here than it is there, or is it the other way around?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Azul says, and that polite mask of his slips for a second. “I’ve never done crime.”

Riddle snaps his book shut and rises from his seat. “Let’s hope not. You’ve a promising career ahead of you.” He smiles sweetly at Azul like he’s particularly stupid.

Azul tracks him as he packs his belongings away and strides towards the door. His brilliant blue eyes are dark. “Ci fai o ci sei?” he mutters, clicking his tongue discreetly. “Rompipalle…”

Riddle will later learn these are slang phrases. He’ll learn a lot of things later—things he thought he’d never need to learn.

Thinking it a joke, you laugh and wave your hand about dismissively. “Aren’t you going to stay, Riddle? I watched the first episode of that podcast you recommended.”

Riddle perks up at that. “You watched it?”

“This past weekend, yes. It’s a riveting series. They really dig deep into the facets of a criminal.”

“Don’t they just?” He hugs his textbook close to his chest, nearly vibrating out of his skin. Finally, the moment he’s been waiting for—an opportunity to speak with you. “I’m amazed at how much time and research goes into each episode, and they always treat each case with tact. It deserves so much praise.”

Azul glances between the two of you. Riddle is sick with satisfaction. Once more, his blue hues land on him.

“You like criminals?”

“Not in that way, of course not.” Riddle shakes his head. What a preposterous assumption. “I find their minds to be exceedingly, bewilderingly captivating.”

Azul blinks back at him, owlish. He doesn’t seem to grasp most of what Riddle’s just said.

“In short, I think they’re a fine learning experience.”

“An experience? Non capisco.”

“For those wishing to pursue a career in criminal justice or law. Think of it like watching a tape from a criminal investigation. It’s important to study the interview techniques and tactics utilized by detectives to understand what’s most successful in gathering a proper confession.”

Azul nods along. “Ah, capisco.”

“We’ll cover things like that later in the semester. Don’t feel so overwhelmed, Azul.”

“I’m not. I learn as I go. Grazie, Professor. You’re very kind.”

“I’m happy to help. If you ever need anything, my office hours are on that sheet I gave you. I had a colleague of mine translate the syllabus for you. If you have any questions or need accommodations of any kind, let me know.”

“I will.” He fixes the strap of his backpack and, after bidding you a final farewell, stalks past Riddle out the door. His footsteps echo down the hall until eventually they’re no more.

“Riddle, if you have a moment, I’d like to speak with you.”

“Of course. Anything,” he says hastily, his heart stumbling in his ribs. 

“If you wouldn’t mind, could you help Azul out? I notice he struggles taking notes during lectures. If you’d be willing to share your notes with me so that I can get them translated, that would be great.”

Riddle doesn’t want to share, but this is an opportunity to be praised in spades. “I’d be glad to. I’ll scan and email them after each class.”

“Thanks, Riddle. Your notes have always been so organized. This is a huge help. I’m sure Azul will be just as grateful.”

I’m not doing it for him, he thinks, bitter and envious.

But he just smiles, standing a little taller when you compliment him.

Your notes have always been so organized.

What is he getting so territorial for? He’s had you for four classes in past years. Azul’s only known you for a few measly weeks. That’s nothing compared to the special bond you have with him.

Riddle isn’t worried.

1 September, 20XX.

Dear Diary,

(Name) Rosehearts has quite the lovely ring to it. Far more musical than that of (Name) Ashengrotto. I’m almost certain he sits there in class, silently drooling over Professor. Just last week, he took my seat at the front. The gall to do such a thing! Can you imagine? He must know that seat is the best for getting a perfect view of Professor. It’s childish to bicker over seating arrangements and I refuse to stoop to his level. That said, the seat is mine. Professor’s time is mine.

I’ve deigned to share my notes, but only because Professor put such faith in my abilities by personally asking me. Even though it’s foolish, I’m tempted to sabotage the notes so that Azul will have incorrect study material. But that would be unfair and an infraction upon all that I stand for when it comes to academic fairness. Thus, I’ve refrained from doing anything of that sort. I’m certain Professor would disapprove.

It makes me happy to know Professor listens to the podcast I recommended. I wish we could discuss it at length, but Azul is always there and he takes up so much of what little time there is. It’s infuriating. I wish he would just drop out of the class. That way it will be just Professor and me, as it was intended.

Perhaps he will once the coursework comes knocking.

Sincerely, 

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle slumps forward over his desk and combs his hands through his hair.

“That rotten Azul…” he sneers, his face scrunching into something sour. “He’s always monopolizing your time… Does he not realize how important it is to me—how much I look forward to talking to you? And you smile at him… You look at him with those sweet eyes of yours and he’s completely undeserving of such treatment! It never does anyone any good to be greedy, yet there he is…”

He inhales deeply, holds it for a few seconds, and then exhales.

What am I supposed to do? How can I make this right again?

Azul isn’t breaking any rules. It’s not a crime to seek you out for conversation after each class ends. But therein lies the issue. There is nothing wrong with that. It would be wrong if, say, there was an illicit exchange between the both of you. Like a taboo relationship of sorts…

Riddle startles in his seat, his eyes blown wide.

Azul isn’t having a secret affair with you, is he? Not that it could be considered cheating when you’re not yet married (and Riddle intends to keep it that way). He has a plan. When he graduates, there will be no formal barriers holding him back from starting a relationship with you. He can email you freely without the need to circle back to academics. He can invite you for tea or coffee and the two of you can chat about things that aren’t school, and it won’t be weird or overstepping boundaries. Because he won’t be your student anymore. He’ll be Riddle, your former student. And former students have better odds than current students, do they not?

He’s thought it out carefully. He was raised to be responsible, to do everything right.

And though he’s thought of it in passing—considered what might happen if he were to try to play at being a seductive siren—he’d never truly act on such folly. But Azul… It isn’t too impossible to theorize he might be sleeping with you for a better grade. What if he’s forced you into it? What if he has some sort of wicked blackmail? What if you’re holed up in your office every day, scared for your career, while Azul bends you over the desk and uses that boyish charm of his, that silky-smooth accent, to coax the sweetest of sounds from—

Riddle shakes himself free of that thought. He’s not going to imagine it any further. He doesn’t need to be plagued with graphic imagery, gross as it may be.

Even though he chases the fantasy from his brain, it returns to poke at him. He gazes at his lap, noticing the substantial strain in his pajamas, and groans.

It would be easier if he wasn’t where he is now. Logically, he’s aware he doesn’t have much of a chance. Neither does Azul. Unless he’s sleeping with you in secret. Then he has a chance. But he’s not. He can’t. That’s against the rules.

And even if he was, it wouldn’t be very fair for him to do the very thing Riddle’s abstained from.

His hand closes around his dick. He feels pitiful as he pumps himself to scandalous visions. 

It’s not fair.

He should have a chance. In a perfect world, he’d have you. He’s earned this, hasn’t he? He’s worked so hard. So why isn’t he allowed to have you?

It’s not fair.

Why does Azul get to relish in your attention when Riddle’s left alone in the shadows? Why can’t you look at him like you used to? Why can’t you praise him for knowing all the answers? Why can’t you tell him good work when he does just that? Why must you coddle Azul? Riddle thinks he can speak perfect English. He’s just playing it up to look weak and pathetic—to garner your sympathy!

It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair.

He’s the good one. The one with perfect marks. The one with perfect attendance. The one every professor holds in high regard.

Riddle squeezes himself and sucks in a breath through grit teeth.

He’s not funny like Azul. He doesn’t have that awkward charm Azul has. He can’t speak another language fluently. He’s never traveled out of the country. He thinks he knows everything, but he only knows so much.

He can fascinate you with the intricacies of his mind, each fold primed for education, but Azul can do better because he has social experience.

Riddle can’t believe it. He, of all people, is jealous of someone.

Cum oozes from his dick and coats his fingers in a pearly-white. It isn’t satisfying.

Right then, he thinks his world would be better if Azul stayed in Italy.

Or maybe it would be better if Azul wasn’t in his world at all. 

On his way out of class, Riddle stops Azul in an empty corridor.

“I know what you’re doing,” he says, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

He blinks back, oblivious. And then he smiles, revealing a row of perfect teeth. “What I’m doing?”

Riddle won’t say it. He can’t. Because then he’d be admitting the truth Azul’s trying to pry from his heart, whether that’s his intention or not.

“You know very well what you’re doing.”

A silent head tilt is his reply.

His temper is nearing its boiling point. It’s been on a low simmer ever since Azul first bewitched you, and it’s threatening to spill over.

“I see the way you and Professor look at each other during class. You may think it discreet, but I know.” Riddle folds his arms over his chest, feeling very proud of himself for successfully playing Sherlock. “I can tell there’s nothing formal about it. So how long has this been going on? How long have you been flouting the rules?”

Azul stares at him. His shoulders shake with his chuckle. “You’re funny.”

Riddle startles. His accent—

“I’m here to learn just as you are. What I do outside of the classroom is none of your business, so it would please me greatly if you could stop prying.”

His eyes narrow into vicious slits. “If you lay a hand on—”

“Oh, I’ve done more than that.” Azul smooths the nonexistent wrinkles in his sweater vest. The same brand of sweater vest that Riddle wears. “But you have no proof. The courts here will want that, won’t they? Or is it harsher here? Will you need to peer inside Professor to see for yourself? I wouldn’t know. I’ve never committed a crime.”

Disgust pools in his stomach. He feels like he could vomit, and it isn’t because he’s appalled by the conspiracy Azul’s proposed. It’s because he should’ve been the one to do it if it was that easy. Instead, he musters a mean glare.

“Who are you, Ashengrotto? What do you want?”

“I’m just a student like you. I want to learn lots from Professor.” He brushes past Riddle, his voice a melodious hum. “And some things can’t be taught in the classroom.”

Riddle opens his mouth to let the angry tirade fall, but he chokes on the words. There’s so much he wants to say, but all of it will come out accusatory. And that’s where Azul has him pinned. It’s all baseless accusation.

He doesn’t want to believe it. Surely you wouldn’t… It’s impossible! An academic and social infringement! It’s wrong!

It should’ve been him.

Later that evening, cooped up in his room, Riddle scrawls furious lines in his diary: He’s a liar. A cheat. An embarrassment to this institution. I should be the one who holds Professor. I should be there in Azul’s place. I’ve worked so hard. I deserve it. I’ve earned it!

He can’t let this madness go on any longer. He won’t tolerate it.

Looking at it logically, Riddle has illustrated the negatives and the positives in his notebook.

If Azul’s insinuations are true, then all Riddle needs is valid evidence. Unfortunately, that would mean you might lose your job given the circumstances. If it’s consensual, both of you are equally at fault. If it’s not, Riddle hopes Azul will burn in a terrible blaze.

But if you do happen to lose your job, it would relieve some of the weight burdening his situation. He could start a real relationship with you. It’s plausible! Perhaps not very realistic, but there’s always a shred of hope to be found in misfortune. 

Riddle wonders if he should just ask you and save himself the headache.

He gazes sidelong at Azul, who has since claimed that seat for his own, and chances a glance at his open notes.

That’s Riddle’s handwriting.

He’s sure of it. That’s his handwriting. He writes his notes in cursive. He writes in a perfect, elegant slant. His letters always connect. There’s no denying it; that’s his handwriting on the page.

A disturbing thought crosses his mind: Has Azul been practicing my handwriting?

It sounds impossibly silly. Who would devote so much time to something so witlessly fraudulent? Riddle wracks his brain for a reasonable explanation. Why would he need to practice someone else’s handwriting? Riddle could understand if Azul struggled to write in English. Most of his work is submitted in his native language. You allow this exception even though Riddle finds it unfair. Maybe it’s because you treat Azul’s work like it’s something special, and you jump through all of these hoops just to get it translated. Why can’t you treat his work with that same amount of care?

Riddle drags his pen along the page, scribbling mindlessly. Why is he doing that? He has nothing to gain from writing like me.

But then Riddle realizes the notebook is the same as his. The same color, in fact. He wonders when Azul purchased a new one. Did he purchase a new one, or has he always had this one?

Riddle looks down at his notebook.

That’s Azul’s handwriting.

He blinks twice and rubs frantically at his eyes. When he looks back at Azul’s notebook, it’s to a page filled with Azul’s stylish scrawl.

Have I…been copying him this entire time?

No, surely not! He would never plagiarize. That’s one of the biggest sins of academia. He couldn’t live with himself if he did that!

Besides, he’s not the copycat. It’s Azul in his sweater vest, boasting the same writing implements as Riddle, using the same brand of notebook. Riddle’s not copying him. It’s Azul. It must be.

It can’t be Riddle. He’d never do such a thing.

After class, you call Riddle up to your desk. He hesitates, his heart thrumming wildly, and shuffles over.

“Yes, Professor?”

“Riddle, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about something.” You withdraw last week’s assignment from a folder and set it down. “You wrote this, did you not?”

Riddle scans the typed document. “I did, yes.”

“May I ask if the Italian was intentional?”

“The Italian?” he parrots, confused. “I don’t understand what—”

In between brilliantly articulated paragraphs, he’s sprinkled in Italian words and phrases.

He coughs out a rattled laugh. “I must have been studying it for another assignment before I did yours. I…can’t believe this happened. It was fully unintentional. I’m very sorry.”

His face is flushed cherry-red. He’s never felt more humiliated.

“It’s not a big deal. I just wanted to ask. It definitely confused me.” You take the paper from him, smiling that understanding smile he loves so much. But then, rather intrusively, he wonders how many times those soft-looking lips have been on Azul, wrapped around him, sending him to cloud nine… “I actually asked Azul to translate it for me. He said all of it was written correctly. You must be very adept in your Italian.”

“I… I suppose I am,” he answers after a tense minute.

His brain is swirling like sediment stirred up on the ocean floor. When did I pick up Italian? I’m not taking any language courses this semester. I don’t even own an Italian dictionary… Just what in the world is happening?

“Ah, you don’t have to look so pale! It’s not going to affect your grade. I only wanted to fulfill this nagging curiosity of mine. Thank you for all the good work you do.”

Riddle nods mechanically. When you ask if he has time to stick around and discuss more psychology podcasts, he shakes his head and mumbles a feeble excuse.

He tears through his desk and all of the drawers in his room in search of it. If it’s not there, he can relax. If it’s not there, he can chalk it up to stress. If it’s not there—

It’s tucked away in his bookshelf. A little pocket dictionary. English to Italian. And it’s been bookmarked and annotated.

Riddle pulls it from the shelf in a baffled daze. When did he get his hands on this? More importantly, when did he read through it? In a hurry, he empties the contents of his backpack and flips a few pages in his notebook.

His notes from class. Dated for today. Written in Azul’s script. And at the top of the page, an exact copy of his signature, a name that isn’t Riddle’s: Azul Ashengrotto.

Riddle peers at his trembling hands. He flexes his fingers, curls them into a fist and then unfurls them.

He seizes his psychology textbook next and skims the chapter index in search of an answer. He lands on it. Page 371. Dissociation.

Two minutes into a phone call with Trey, he’s asked a simple question: “Are you speaking with an accent?”

Riddle bristles. “Of course I’m not. Of…course I am not,” he says, sounding the words out. His brow furrows. Why does my tongue feel so clumsy in my mouth? “I’ve always spoken this way, have I not?”

“I can’t say. I mean, come on, Riddle. You’ve gotta be pulling my leg.”

“You know very well I don’t pull legs, Trey.”

“You told me buongiorno when I picked up.”

“I did not!” he snaps, scandalized. “I said good morning as I always do.” And then he pauses. “I… I did say good morning, didn’t I?”

Trey’s silence is answer enough.

Riddle sucks in a sharp breath. Neither of them says anything.

Eventually, Trey speaks. “Do you want me to come up there? I could bring you a tart or…something. You sound…tired.” He chooses his words carefully. “Silly question, I know, but I’ve gotta ask. You’re not overworking yourself?”

“No, not at all.”

“And you’re getting enough sleep? What about food?”

Riddle frowns even though Trey isn’t there to see it. “I’m fine, Trey. Midterms are coming up. I’ve got to focus. I refuse to fail.”

Again, the other end is quiet. A minute later, Trey says, “Do you have time this weekend?”

“This weekend?” Riddle flips his planner open to this week. “I do.”

“All right. Is it cool if I visit?”

Riddle almost declines, so it surprises both him and Trey when he replies with, “Please.”

“I’ll be there,” he promises, and the call ends before Riddle can say grazie.

Trey brings six strawberry tarts. Riddle shares three with him over tea at the campus café.

“So what’s up?” Trey points his fork at Riddle. “You sound like yourself, but you don’t seem…fine.”

Riddle chews thoughtfully. He can’t confide in Trey because Trey wouldn’t understand. Because he’d apply Trey Logic to everything, and Trey Logic is almost always sensible. Riddle doesn’t want to hear it.

“I submitted an assignment in Italian,” he says instead, casually, as if it’s not a big deal.

Trey looks at him like he’s grown a third eye. “Since when do you know Italian?”

“I dabble.”

Trey laughs. Upon seeing Riddle’s serious expression, the humor sticks in his throat. “Oh, you meant that. Well. That’s…good then? If it’s for a foreign language course—”

“It was for psychology.”

“You…wrote in Italian…for a psychology assignment?” he reiterates, attempting to parse it. He drags his fork through his cut of tart, but he doesn’t bring it to his lips. “Why?”

“I couldn’t say. It perplexed me to no end when I realized it. My professor thought it was curious.”

“It is. I mean, you don’t find that just a little…unusual?”

Riddle stares at him over the rim of his teacup. 

Trey tries again. “Was the Italian correct, at least? It wasn’t all nonsense?”

He nods. “It was as if I was translating and switching between words. Like using the Italian word in place of an English word.”

“Huh…”

“It’s not very impressive. I can do much better than that.”

“I’m not doubting your capabilities. I’m just…trying to understand why.”

Riddle smiles. “Why not? I think it’s very good to study another language. It opens more doors for opportunity, and it’s a challenge that proves rewarding in the end.”

“Is that it?”

“Precisely.”

The conversation comes to an abrupt halt there. Trey changes the subject. They chat the afternoon away.

Later, Riddle returns to his diary.

He writes an entire entry in perfect Italian. Workbooks pile up on his desk; he’s not sure when they got there. He’s filling them out so fast his hand gains new calluses. 

Azul visits your office around the same time Riddle used to. Now it’s Riddle who trails after him, hoping to catch him in the middle of a nefarious scheme. He’s not sure he’s ready for whatever he might learn, but he swallows his rage and carries on.

Azul turns just as Riddle ducks around the corner, perfectly out of sight. He waits until he hears the tell-tale click of those pristine Oxfords against linoleum before continuing. Azul walks right past your office and then he’s gone. Looking both ways, Riddle creeps further down the hall.

Where is he?

There’s a tap on his shoulder. He whirls around, startled, and is about to unleash verbal tyranny when he stops short. You stand there, looking positively puzzled. 

“Are you looking for something, Riddle?”

“No… I—” He cuts himself off. “Actually, I was hoping I might discuss something with you. The final project.”

“Oh, of course! Did you come earlier? I stepped out of my office for a second. Sorry if my absence had you looking all over.”

Riddle falls into step with you. “It’s quite all right.”

He’s not sure what he hopes to find by sitting in front of your desk, gazing at the familiar interior of your office. He manages to get through all of the questions you ask him regarding the final project.

“I have too many ideas,” he lies, “and I’d like assistance in narrowing the topics down to one.”

He glances slyly at the floor. Would Azul be bold enough to hide a voice recorder or a camera somewhere? Or is there something of Azul’s left in here? A cheeky means of marking his territory, maybe?

Riddle turns up empty.

He stalls the conversation expertly for ten more minutes. During that time, he can’t locate anything from his semi-thorough observations.

Maybe it’s hidden in your desk. Maybe there’s nothing at all.

No. No, there has to be something.

He thanks you for your help and, shouldering his backpack, leaves.

Just as he turns down the hall, Azul steps into his path.

“Your mind is exceedingly, bewilderingly captivating.” He snickers like a devil. Riddle wants to punch him. “So many ideas. Where do you have the space for all of that?”

“It’s not polite to eavesdrop.”

“Oh, is that so?” Azul taps at his phone and then turns the screen towards Riddle. There’s a picture of him in the hall, looking awfully disoriented. “It’s not very polite to stalk now, is it, amico?”

Riddle narrows his eyes. “How easily that accent comes. Almost like flipping a switch.”

“Non capisco.”

“You should know you’re going to ruin your life and Professor’s.”

“I’m not.” He smiles cryptically. “You’re going to ruin it for me.”

Fed up with his attempt at mind chess, Riddle stalks past him in a huff.

You walk into class five minutes late, disheveled and breathless. You’re babbling about a meeting that ran late, but Riddle can’t trust that.

Meetings don’t end in frazzled hair and crooked ties.

What’s even more damning, perhaps, is when Azul Never-Late-to-Class Ashengrotto walks in fifteen minutes after you. He sits in the seat beside Riddle. There’s not a hair out of place on his person. Except there is. The glass face of his luxury wristwatch is smudged with a fingerprint.

Riddle wonders what forensics would have to say about that.

He phases in and out of focus during the lecture. He can’t stop searching you for fine details. He can’t stop questioning Azul’s presence beside him.

How dare you? he thinks. How dare you defile my professor? What makes you think you have the right to do such a thing when I’ve been working hard all this time? When I’ve been nothing but perfect…

He glances at his notebook. A single phrase has been scrawled over and over, so manically that the lines loop and overlap in angry criss-crosses. Lo voglio morto.

At the end of class, Riddle catches Azul in the hall.

“I would like to review with you for our upcoming midterm.”

“What an honor.”

Riddle hums. “Let’s compare our notes tonight. You can stop by my room after dinner.”

Azul grins like he can read through Riddle. Like he’s in on a joke Riddle’s not privy to.

“I would be happy to study alongside you,” he says, his accent thick.

Riddle imagines a rope around his neck. A rope of thorns and barbed wire, pressing into his jugular until, inevitably, it severs his head clean off.

Azul arrives on time. He really does feel like an echo of Riddle. Same school supplies. Same notebooks. Same fashion style. Same manner of writing.

Riddle shuts and locks the door behind him. He doesn’t waste time waltzing around the subject.

“You’re the reason Professor was late today.”

“You’re mistaken. I simply lost track of the time.”

“That’s not true.”

“Then what is? I had nothing to do with Professor’s tardiness. If it bothers you so much, why not tell Professor to be more conscious of the time?”

Riddle grits his teeth. He’s sick of this. Sick of these mind games. Sick of all this mental chess.

Sick of the fact that he gets to have you when you should have been Riddle’s from the start!

“You’re a liar! Do you know the gravity of your actions—the severe consequences that’ll undoubtedly befall Professor? Do you know you’re jeopardizing a brilliant mind all for your own immature fun?”

Azul holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Those are harsh accusations. They could ruin my life, you know.”

“Oh, like that’s such an issue.” Riddle scowls.

“Your room is quite nice, I must say.” Azul looks around, his hands in his pockets. He spies the many Italian workbooks lining Riddle’s shelf, and a slimy smirk pulls at his lips. “Imitatore,” he marvels, his eyes bright with an eerie sort of joy. As if he’s just discovered a particularly filthy secret and can’t wait to tell someone.

“If it isn’t the pot calling the kettle black.”

“And what makes you think Professor would ever entertain you?” Azul rounds on him, still smiling. “Professor loves me most. There was never any room for you.”

Riddle hears the distant crackle of something fraying. “You’re wrong.”

“Am I? All I did was take your best characteristics and make them even better. Italian lovers are a romanticized ideal abroad. You were never an option, let alone a consideration.”

How dare you. How dare you. How dare you!

Azul steps towards the door. “Addio. Le mie condoglianze.”

That something inside Riddle finally snaps, and with it goes his restraint. He grabs Azul’s wrist and yanks him to the floor. There’s a struggle for survival. During the scuffle, Azul claws at Riddle’s arm and face. Riddle kicks him down. And then his fingers wrap around his psychology textbook—all 800-something pages, a hardcover—and he brings it down, brutal like a guillotine.

“How dare you walk away in the middle of a conversation!” he berates, lips curled in a monstrous sneer. “How dare you touch what isn’t yours—what you didn’t earn!”

He thinks he sees a real smile on Azul’s face, but in the midst of blind rage he can’t tell.

He sees red. He feels red. It splatters his room in a mess of broken bone and pulpy gore. It flecks his face, warm and thick and soupy.

It all ends with Intro to Psych.

Riddle is bathed in blue light, afloat on a chaotic sea.

Distantly, in the back of his mind, he can hear his mother in hysterics: What have you done?! Do you have any idea what you’ve just done—the future you’ve so carelessly thrown away?! All of my hard work?! Do you realize what you’ve done?!

And he does.

If there’s anything Riddle has ever been one-hundred-percent certain of in his life, it’s this. He sits on the steps to his dormitory, battered and bloodied, and bites into the strawberry tart clutched between crimson-stained fingers.

Despite the crisp autumn air, he feels warm.

An officer approaches him just as he’s licking his fingers clean of strawberry and blood.

He holds his arms out before the woman can say anything. He already knows what comes next.

Riddle has always wondered what criminals think and feel in the aftermath of grisly crimes. He can’t feel much of anything other than hollow relief. Maybe that’s just the adrenaline snuffing logical thought and remorse. He thinks everything and nothing all at once. He’s sure he’ll feel it all come crashing down when he’s sat in the station for questioning and then the reality of his actions will seep in, awakening him from a vile, murderous dream.

Right now, he isn’t concerned with that.

You lived filthy and you died just the same, Riddle thinks as he’s led to a police car. And now there’s no part of you Professor will ever want.

[tiredofthehumanlife]

Fuck your boyfriend, he’s a bitch.

Barbie dolls: Mattheo riddle x you

Word count: 3k-ish

Summary: your boyfriend Cormac is a piece of shit and Mattheo is tired of him totally most definitely not inspired by this sound

Warnings: Theo is called a spaghetti whore?, Cormac sucks, reader gets called a bitch, you’re friends with Pansy and she knows a lot of girls, Mattheo mentions sex, Cheating on Cormac’s side and then kinda cheating with reader bc theyre like flirtyish with Mattheo but its fineeeeeee, honestly Cormac’s kinda abusive, it gets kinda extra fanficy at the end but just consider it camp, reader punches Cormac :0, i think that’s it tbh

Your relationship with Cormac McLaggen had started as any relationship in Hogwarts did, a trip to Hogsmeade. You thought he was cute and he seemed sweet enough. So you continued to date him, much to your friends dismay. Draco complained about McLaggen's house. Blaise pointed out his habit of making obscene sexual comments to just about every girl who would breathe near him. Theo explained the time that he ran into McLaggen and Cormac called him a "spaghetti whore." Theo had a few choice words about Cormac, getting so heated he slipped entirely into Italian. You only picked up on a few words you remembered him teaching you in third year, none of which you would translate out loud. Pansy mentioned how he "sucked ass" at Quidditch. Lorenzo told you the filthiest rumors you've ever heard and truly wondered where he heard them. You were a little upset that all your friends disapproved of your new boyfriend. Mattheo had stayed silent the second Cormac's name slipped off your tongue. You turned to him, staring at him. Mattheo clicked his tongue. You didn't need him to say anything, rolling your eyes. You stood up, leaving the Slytherin common room all together.

After that your relationship was a touchy subject in your friend group. Often you'd all just ignore it entirely. When Cormac would interrupt, which was more frequent than you liked, everyone would fall silent and glare at him as he tugged you out of your seat. Though sometimes they would bring it up with you, every one of them always had some bad words to say about your boyfriend. Everyone, except Mattheo. He never spoke about it. Though that didn't mean Mattheo's point wasn't known. Often if Cormac's face was shown or even mentioned, all of a sudden Mattheo went silent. He was clenching his jaw, rolling his eyes, and clicking his tongue every two minutes. If he wasn't showing his hatred physically, Lorenzo or Theo would be reporting back to you. Theo always told you all the distasteful names Mattheo called Cormac. Lorenzo always told you the different ways Mattheo planned on torturing your boyfriend. No matter what he told the boys, Mattheo never said anything to you.

Until now.

You had planned on spending the weekend with your friends, whether that meant a sleepover, almost sacrificing Draco, or teaching Theo how to play charades. You thought it would be fine by Cormac because he never asked you out or made plans with you. You had a spectacular time with them. Just one hour with your friends and you were already feeling the stresses of your school week wash away. All of you laying in the courtyard grass as Draco ranted about his god awful experiences this week. Theo popping in his opinion every few minutes but the group was still filled with laughs and giggles. You were sat at the bottom of the tree you were all scattered around. It was peaceful and happy until you heard someone stopping towards you, the shuffling of a bulky Quidditch uniform. You peered around the tree to see Cormac storming towards you. Your friends noticed your sudden stiffness, looking to the source of the noise. You heard most of them groan.

"Not this bitch again." Blaise muttered.

"Stronzo" Theo whispered under his breath.

"I have got to get my father to hire an assassin." You rolled your eyes at Draco. You heard the muttering of Cormac approaching closer to you. He finally reached you, tapping you roughly on your shoulder. You looked up at him and smiled.

"Why hello, lovely boyfriend. Whatever can I do for you?" You wished your friends had chuckled or laughed but they all winced.

"Save it." Cormac grunted, pulling you up by your forearm. You quickly grabbed the strap to your bag, hauling it over your shoulder. Cormac noticed his glaring crowd of Slytherins. He leaned into your ear before angrily whispering to you.

"What happened to watching your Lovely boyfriend at Quidditch practice? Hm? 'Stead of watching me you're over here dicking around with your freak friends."

"Don't call them freaks."

"Shut up, do not interrupt me when I'm talking. You know my family has a saying? If a bitch doesn't know their place, beat them into it-" Cormac's grip on your arm tightened. You glanced down at his knuckles whitening.

"That's enough out of you Cormac." You looked up at Mattheo. This was truly the first time he said something disapproving of Cormac in front of you. Cormac rolled his eyes, tugging on your arm for you to follow him.

"Release their arm, you incomplete little dickhead." Pansy said, standing up next to Mattheo. You glanced around as all of your friends began to stand up. You suddenly felt like you were watching a children's movie and they were all going to break into song and dance. You wrenched your arm out of Cormac's grasp, stomping off to the Quidditch pitch. Cormac chasing after you and chiding you. You watched Cormac's practice, you cheered, and you ignored your friends for two days straight.

When you did return to them they didn't mention your boyfriend but they kept reminding you of how they supported you. Draco told you he'd hire a very good assassin for you if you gave him the word. No one mentioned Cormac's name but all of a sudden your friends were mentioning their deadliness. You told them you could handle yourself. You didn't need your friends to fight your battles. Sure Cormac said some odd things but it had been a particularly bad day for him. He treated you greatly but he just had a rough time and mishandled it that day. Pansy told you on your next birthday she was gifting you with Cormac's skull. Through all of their planned homicides, Mattheo stayed quiet.

At first you appreciated his silence because at least he wasn't telling you how he'd brutally murder your boyfriend. Now you were annoyed. You used to talk to him all the time, spending all your free time with him. Now Mattheo couldn't even look you in your eye when Cormac was mentioned. With more of Cormac’s appearances, the less Mattheo talked to you. Not only was he neglecting your friendship now he was neglecting to speak to you. You were starting to wish he'd tell you all the ways he'd decapatate Cormac just so he'd talk to you. So you hung out with your friends less. Their constant gorey talk and Mattheo's silence just made it difficult for you to sit through a conversation with them.

It'd been weeks since you last talked to them. You missed them but you had a feeling if you returned they'd make a stink about it. You saw them in the halls while Comarc walked you to wherever he wanted. Mattheo always grimaced at Cormac's hand on the back of your neck, dodging your eyes. Cormac seemed to trip suddenly when Pansy reached into her pocket. So you avoided them like the plague.

Weeks later, You placed your books back where you found them, humming to yourself. You had spent the whole day in the library. You sat in the window nook. Your stacks of read books growing taller around you. You didn't fully finish most of them but you skimmed them and that was enough for you. It felt nice to be alone and peaceful. No Cormac. No Mattheo. No drama. No Quidditch practice. No "oh come watch me arm wrestle Fred Weasley I'm going to beat him." And then lose nonsense. Just you, a peaceful room, and a good couple hundred of books.

"Hey baby, come here often?" And in comes Mattheo. You glanced behind yourself. He was leaning against a bookshelf, looking through the titles of your books.

"Oooh sorry handsome, I have a boyfriend. Awe." He smiled at you, happy to have you joking back with him. Mattheo rolled his eyes at you, remembering that you mentioned Cormac.

"Fuck your boyfriend. He's a bitch. You can do better." You sighed picking up more off your floating stack of books. You did not respond. Mattheo followed after you, taking a few books off the top himself.

"You know how at store if you buy something you can return it and swap it out for a new one? You can do that with your funk ass boyfriend too."

"Mm hm yeah, whatever you say Matty." You flicked your wand. Your books flying off the stack back towards their home. Mattheo held his stack out towards you. You snatched the books out of his hands, sending them back to their original spot.

"Come on, baby. We miss you. Not your skank ass boyfriend but that's besides the point. Come on are you really going to cut your friends out because your boyfriend is all "be my slave, suck my dick, make me dinner my tummy's rumbling"?" Mattheo stuck his arms out and wobbled like a zombie as he mocked Cormac. You deadpanned at him.

"Yes. That is exactly how my partner treats me." You said laced with severe sarcasm. Mattheo pointed at you.

"See. I'm glad you've realized that. But seriously, there's no way he treats you well. His middle name is Cornelius." You glared at Mattheo as you finished putting back your last book. You stifled your laugh and schooled your features. Mattheo caught it though, his grin growing.

"I mean does he even listen to the Smiths thinking of you?"

"Which one? Girlfriend in a Coma?" Mattheo’s face fell as he glared at you. Not the same one he sent to Cormac, this one was softer around the edges.

"Ha. Ha. Baby, come on. Does he even fantasize about your future together? Does he even get sick to his stomach thinking of how much he cares for you? Does he ever just look at you? To watch how pretty you are? Or does he just look at you when you can give him something?" You thought for a moment. You started to realize how little Cormac actually did for you. You covered up your concerns with a bright smile.

"Don't you have friends? Or do you only bother poor defenseless people in the library?" Mattheo rolled his eyes. He leaned against the table behind him.

"Mm hm. Listen baby, you can call me if you need anything. To beat up your-"

"Just say boyfriend"

"Punk ass boyfriend, if you feel lonely, if you need to get rid of a body, if McLaggen can't figure out how to make you cum and you need a very enthusiastic dildo, if you want arsenic to kill McLaggen, whatever I'm here for you." Mattheo gently grabbed your wrist and tugged you closer to him. He rubbed your back as he stared up at you with puppy eyes.

“If he hears you talking like that I think he’ll have your head.” You whispered to him. Mattheo shrugged. You intertwined your fingers behind Mattheo’s head. His fingers gently tracing shapes on your back. Cormac was never gentle. He always tapped you a little too hard, pulled you roughly, yanked on your clothes until you heard stitches pop. Mattheo would take his time with you while Cormac would always try to get something out of you the fastest. He always felt like he was racing against his own personal best to see how fast he could ruin your day. Mattheo tilted his head gaining your attention again.

“Could not care less about that little-“ you pressed your finger to his lips. Mattheo closed his mouth.

“I have to go.”

“To him?” You rolled your eyes at Mattheo.

“Yes I have to go, I have a date with my boyfriend.” Mattheo nodded. Just as you were about to pass him entirely, he reached out and caught your wrist.

“If he says anything to you, I mean anything. Friendly reminder; I keep my wand with me and I’m fully ready to Avada McLaggen.” It felt strange with him saying such terrible things while staring at you with such warm eyes.

“I love it when you talk dirty.” You whispered. Mattheo groaned and released your hand. He stood up from his seat on the table and disappeared behind the bookshelves. You smiled as you left to Library off to your date.

You truly tried to ignore Mattheo’s words. It’s like when you walk into someone’s home and all you smell is dog but they can’t smell anything. You become so accustomed to the smell you don’t even recognize it. Well Cormac’s shameful behavior was the dog smell and Mattheo was pointing it out. All of a sudden you started noticing things. You saw how anytime you decided to do something on your own he’d get upset. Asking if you were going to go see your “freaky Slytherin friends”. He never looked at you unless he was thinking about undressing you. You always felt cold under his eyes like you were vulnerable. Mattheo was right, McLaggen sucked. So you decided that was it. Only problem was figuring out how to end it.

You sent Pansy a long winded letter, apologizing to her and the boys, begging, crying, and plotting your breakup. You watched her as she stared at the letter on her plate from Cormac’s side. Cormac was squeezing your shoulder, always a little too hard. As Pansy started reading while pushing the nosey boys away, a smile grew. When she finished the letter she glanced over at you. Pansy grinned at you as hid your smile with McLaggen’s cloak. Pansy denied showing the boys her private letter, stuffing it into her pocket. She met you where you told her to in your letter and you both spent the night plotting. Pansy knew a girl, who knew a girl, who knew a girl, who knew a girl, who knew a girl, and that girl knew McLaggen. According to Pansy’s informants McLaggen has a crush on some Ravenclaw. Luckily Pansy also knew this girl. Pansy seemed to know a lot of girls. Pansy talked to this Ravenclaw and this Ravenclaw happened to be what Pansy would call a “girls girl.”

Here’s the plan: Ravenclaw Girl will wear her best dress. You will convince Cormac to go to this party. You’ll ask him to go get you a drink. At the drink station, Ravenclaw Girl will flirt with Cormac. He’s utter garbage so of course he’ll reciprocate. Ravenclaw Girl will ask him to follow her up to her room. You’ll wait a couple minutes and all of a sudden oh no where ever has your boyfriend gone best go look for him and now you’ve walked in on your unfaithful lover. Stage a scene in front of everyone, he probably calls you a couple bad names, you breakup and you’re back in business. You’ll be back with your freaky slytherin friends, flirting with Mattheo as friends of course, and calling Cormac every atrocious name in the book.

So the night of the party you dress in the best outfit you knew Cormac wouldn’t fuss about. It was going to be a great terrible night. You hadn’t felt this much excitement since before your god awful relationship started. Cormac complained about the stairs as you both made your way to the party. The music was too loud, the lights were too bright, the people stank too much, but nothing could bring you down. You were beaming even though you spent the first hour sitting on a blue velvet couch tucked under Cormac’s arm. Finally, you pointed out to Cormac you were a little thirsty. He groaned and stood up, moving to the drinks. You watched him from across the room. A beautiful girl with braids that turned blue at the ends approached him.

You understood Cormac’s attraction, she was stunning. Her hair reached just past the small of her back. She had dramatic, sweeping, bright blue winged eyeliner and a blue dress that swayed with her movements. It stopped at her mid thigh, trimmed with black lace. You would cheat on Cormac with her any day. You smothered your grin as you saw her gently tug him up the stairs of the girls dormitroys.

You waited a few minutes. You caught Pansy’s eyes across the room. She gave you a sinful grin and mimicked it. You looked around you. “Searching” for your faithful boyfriend.

“Oh boyfriend, where have you gone? Boyfriend where ever did you go? Oh no I can’t seem to find my lovely boyfriend, Cormac. Best go check the dorms.” You whispered to yourself. You stood and slowly made your way upstairs. You wanted to give Cormac plenty of time to get comfortable with Ravenclaw Girl. You flung open the door Ravenclaw Girl had marked with her necklace around the handle. Cormac had his tongue down her throat his hands squeezing her thighs. You gasped loudly.

“Oh. My. God.” The girl pulled back and gasped just as you did. She covered her mouth with her hands. Cormac spun around and his face fell when he looked at you. He tried to explain this away but all his excuses sounded like an extravagant way to say I tripped and fell I didn’t mean to. You let him have it. You screamed at him. You pulled out the waterworks. You stormed away from him. He followed you still trying to explain this whole situation away. The girl followed after him wanting to see this up close and personal. You spun around when you reached the middle of the stairs, visible to everyone. You called him every name in the book.

“You lying, cheating, filthy, disgusting, revolting, bastard.” You raised an octave with each insult. You saw the people around you turn to look out of the corner of your eye. Cormac tried to get a word in but you cut him off . You spilled everything how he had you working, spending all your time taking care of him and he couldn’t even have the decency to be faithful. Pansy joined you at your side, rubbing your back and glaring at Cormac. You kept yelling and scolding halfway through you noticed most of the crowd had gathered around. You kept shouting and when you finally let everything out you stared at Cormac as you caught your breath. He opened his mouth the second you closed yours. Cormac called you every degrading name he could think of. It didn’t bother you, he said them all before. Then he said it, he crossed the line.

“You hate yourself so much instead of being with a high value male like myself you’d rather fuck the disgusting freak that is Voldemort’s child” You felt your blood boil. You were going to kill Cormac McLaggen. Just not today, maybe tomorrow. You swung and hit him in the nose. Cormac’s head shot back as he quickly gripped his nose. The crowd oooed. Pansy gasped and let out an excited squeal. You heard your friends cheering.

“That’s my fucking girl.” You rolled your eyes at Mattheo’s yells and turned towards Pansy.

“Ready to go?” She nodded. As you turned to walk away Cormac spoke up from his place leaning on the stairs banister.

“I’ll gut you like a fish, and keep your-“ Mattheo’s drink flew at McLaggen’s face, drenching him.

“God just shut your mouth already.” Mattheo added, joining you at your side. The rest of the boys followed after you each stopping by McLaggen to toss in an insult. Blaise had to drag Theo away. Apparently that spaghetti whore comment still made his blood boil. Even the Ravenclaw Girl tossed in one, following after your group.

“You’re really hot when you punched your boyfriend in the face.” Mattheo whispered next to your ear as you all pushed through the crowd.

“Ex-boyfriend. And trust me I know.” You patted Mathheo’s cheek.

[pastryfication]

hii! i was wondering if u could do a fic about leclerc sister and carlos alcaraz once again? maybe they went to see her brothers race? :D

ferrari fan

pairing: leclerc sister!reader x carlos alcaraz note: had to do this after carlos was spotted in the alpine garage!! haven’t proofread this so i’m sorry if there’s any mistakes i’m sorry!! xx

sometimes it still feels surreal to be dating carlos—the young tennis superstar who’s swept the world by storm and somehow, amidst his packed schedule of grand slams and training sessions, found time for you. today, though, there’s a clash: carlos has been invited by alpine to the monza grand prix, and while he’s excited, you’re already committed to ferrari for the weekend. monza isn’t just any race—it’s the tifosi’s heart, and it means everything to your brother and the whole team. you’ve grown up surrounded by the red of ferrari, and skipping monza just isn’t an option.

you’re in your hotel room, getting ready for the day, when carlos walks in, holding two paddock passes—one from alpine, one from ferrari. his smile is cheeky, and you already know he’s gearing up for some playful teasing.

“so, ferrari or alpine?” he asks, waving the alpine pass in front of you with a mock-serious expression. “think you can survive a race not in red?”

you laugh, rolling your eyes at his theatrics. “oh, please. monza with alpine? i might get disowned,” you tease back, reaching for the ferrari pass and snatching it from his hand. “besides, if charles sees me in any color that isn’t red, i’m pretty sure he’ll never let me forget it.”

carlos grins, leaning closer, his eyes sparkling with that boyish charm that makes it impossible to resist him. “yeah, but imagine how much fun it would be to wind him up. ‘oh, charles, i’m just here with alpine, no big deal,’” he says, mimicking your voice dramatically, and you both burst into laughter.

“you’re so annoying,” you say, but there’s no heat in it, just affection. “look, if you want to go with alpine, i get it. but i’ve got to be with ferrari. it’s monza.”

he watches you for a moment, the playfulness softening into something warmer. “nah,” he says, his voice softer now, “i’ll go with you. wouldn’t want to miss the chance to see the italian grand prix through your eyes.”

you smile, touched by the gesture. “good choice. plus, you look way better in red,” you add, poking his chest lightly.

before long, you’re both at the circuit, dressed in your ferrari gear, surrounded by the roars of the crowd. you’re in the ferrari garage with charles’s girlfriend, alex, who’s always a comforting presence, and lorenzo and his girlfriend, charlotte. it’s a tight-knit group and carlos fits right in, trading jokes with charles, arthur and lorenzo like he’s been a part of this world forever.

as the race unfolds, cameras catch glimpses of you and carlos in the ferrari garage, cheering, reacting to the twists and turns on track. you’re leaning into carlos’s side, both of you engrossed in the action, and he’s got his arm around you, his other hand gesturing animatedly as he tries to keep up with the fast-paced energy of the pit wall.

you’re filmed laughing with alex during a particularly tense moment, then celebrating together as charles makes a great move on track. lorenzo and charlotte are nearby, sharing smiles and excitement, and the cameras keep circling back to your group, catching every genuine moment of joy. the tifosi love it—they love seeing the leclercs together, your little family surrounded by support, and they’re intrigued by carlos, the tennis champion who’s enthusiastically embraced ferrari red for the day.

social media explodes with clips and photos of the two of you, the shared intrigue between the racing world and tennis world creating a buzz. people can’t get enough of carlos’s easy fit with your family, of the way he stands next to you with that familiar, relaxed confidence, clearly enjoying every second. it’s rare to see him outside of his own sport, and fans are eating it up—there’s something so refreshing about seeing carlos, the world number one, just being a supportive boyfriend at a formula 1 race.

when the race ends, you’re all smiles, swept up in the post-race adrenaline. carlos wraps an arm around your shoulders, pressing a quick kiss to your temple as the cameras catch the moment. you glance up at him, your heart full, and he just grins down at you, both of you perfectly at ease in the whirlwind of it all.

“see?” you say, bumping his hip lightly. “told you monza was the way to go.”

he chuckles, nodding in agreement. “you were right. ferrari suits us.”

and in that moment, surrounded by your brother’s team, your family, and the roar of the ferrari fans, everything feels exactly as it should be.

[mediumgayitalian]

The best part of being his own camp counsellor is that he can wake up whenever the fuck he likes.

Nico’s a fan.

Because, however, his dumb ass made friends with the camp’s head medic, he doesn’t get to sleep in as often as he would like. He is instead often woken up before the clock strikes nine, which is a tragedy and one of the forty thousand reasons he is going to be present on Will’s judgement day. (The scales tip any which way on a regular basis, but as of last week, Will is going to hell. Unfortunate. Nico’ll still visit him, though. Bring him one half of a twizzler or something.) So when he wakes up, one lovely morning, mouth tasting like something rotted in it and sun well past halfway across the sky, he is capital-C Concerned.

What a horrible tragedy that is. Finally, for the first time in months, he was able to sleep in. And his first thought is not gratitude. Solace may indeed have to die — Nico was not this way before he started planting his annoying ass front and centre in Nico’s life. He’s quite fairly certain he used to be frightening and badass. Now Will orders him to drink milk for the sake of his calcium and he does. Gods.

“Morning,” he hedges, approaching the archery range, feeling marginally more alive than twenty minutes prior.

Kayla raises an amused eyebrow. “Dude, it’s, like, two.”

“Well fuck you, then.”

She smirks. “Aw, did baby not get his Sunshine fix of the day? Is that why he’s so grumpy?”

It really sucks that Will is so fond of his siblings. Nico wonders if Will would still like him if he knew how many times he daydreams of transporting Kayla onto the moon per day.

“As soon as I figure out which god would appreciate you as a sacrifice, you’re gone.”

“Yeah, right,” she snorts, turning away and lining up an arrow. She lets it fly, watching as it shaves a splinter off a hunk of wood fifty feet away. “You couldn’t get close enough to kick my ass before I’d skewer you, di Angelo.”

Remembering the warning arrow Kayla had shot through his shoulder last week, he wisely chooses not to press the matter any further. The power visibly goes to her head. Fuck.

“Just — tell me where Will is.”

“Why?” She strings another arrow. The grin on her face is a level of shit-eating that Nico has only before seen on a Stoll. She should spend less time around Julia, or else the camp is in for some serious trouble. “What are your intentions with my dear brother?”

Nico, on principle, refuses to answer that question. Kayla shrugs, finishing her shot and then turning around to stick her tongue out at him.

“No answer, no location! Find him yourself, loverboy. And remember that I am always watching.”

Stomping away, and ignoring the smile twitching at his lips — she is so annoying, truly, gods above he owes Bianca a thousand apologies for ever opening his mouth — he heads towards the infirmary. There are only six locations Will is at any given time, after all, except when he disappears for several hours randomly but Nico doesn’t know how to bring that up yet. As he approaches the infirmary, though, he hears it absolutely blasting with music, like genuinely shaking the ground a little bit, and knows exactly where to find him.

As he approaches the door, wincing at the door, he finds it closed. Odd — Will likes a breeze when he works. Even odder is the hastily-written sign pasted onto it:

ANNUAL CLEAN OUT DAY. IF YOU NEED ME, TOUGH SHIT. IF YOU NEED A BANDAID, TOUGH SHIT. IF YOU’RE BLEEDING OUT, CALL AN AMBULANCE AND PRAY. I AM BUSY.

(‘Busy’ is underlined three times.)

In smaller print, under the all-caps monstrosity, is:

Unless you’re Nico, in which case disregard the previous sentiment. No, Cecil, this does NOT mean you.

The note is written again in Ancient Greek, Latin, Spanish, Portuguese, French, Mandarin, Italian, Polish, Korean, Morse Code, and another ten languages Nico can’t even name. Actually, wait — the top left is Klingon. And middle right note does not appear to be language, showing instead a poorly drawn stick figure in armour being shoved into a cannon and shot into the sun by another poorly drawn stick figure in a lab coat. Nico loves a man who’s multi-talented, indeed.

Hesitantly, Nico cracks open the door. He is immediately assaulted by a solid wall of sound, and then nearly bowled over by the enigma himself, William ‘I Can Restructure A Human Brain But Cannot Tie My Shoelaces’ Solace. He catches himself at the last second, and then barely manages to catch Will, grabbing him around the waist just before his head hits the floor.

“Nico!” he shouts over the music, smiling brightly. “Hi! You’re here!”

“I’m here.” He can physically feel his voice cracking, but luckily the music drowns it out. Hopefully. “Uh, what’re you doing?”

“Cleaning!” Will straightens up, although he stays within the circle of Nico’s arms. Nico tries real hard to keep his gaze firmly planted on his face and not on the hands he still has in his hips. “I do it once a year, kick everybody out and deep clean the place. Helps keep it fresh and minimize the bloodstains on the floor.”

“Ah. And the music…”

“It’s fun!” Will shouts. He gasps when the CD player skips and a new song comes on, heavy base and funky synths blasting so hard the window panes shake. “Oh my gods! I love this one!” He turns his bright grin at Nico full force, absolutely no holdbacks on the dimples or freckles, gods help him, and bows cheekily. “Can I have this dance, good sir?”

“It’s Britney Spears’ Outrageous,” Nico protests weakly.

“Yeah!”

…Very, very weakly.

“…Okay.”

Will whoops, grabbing his hands and spinning him around. Nico yelps, nearly tripping over a cot, but when he looks back up Will has his eyes closed and is shimmying not unlike a worm on a fish hook, and it’s so ridiculous that he can’t help but laugh. Will pries one eye open, grinning widely, and shimmies harder.

“You’re such a dweeb!”

“Join me in the dweebiness! Free yourself!”

Nico rolls his eyes fondly, squeezing Will’s hand, and lets himself get ridiculous. He’ll deny it if anyone asks, but it’s fun.

…And not just because Will is next to him, smile brighter than any star, dancing like a massive dork, hand clasped in his.

[disciplined-cornfed]

Rome wasn't built in a day

Alex had never expected his college life to take this kind of turn. He’d moved to New York for school, planning to live on campus like most students, but when he found a better deal on an off-campus apartment that financial aid would cover, he jumped on it. The apartment was in a decent neighborhood, close to the subway, and the landlord didn’t ask too many questions. Seemed like a win.

What he hadn’t planned on, though, was Frank—his new roommate.

Frank was… something else. The guy was like a time capsule from a decade ago, straight out of Jersey Shore. From the gelled-back hair, the deep tan, ridiculous yelling at football and ufc matches every weekend, the flashy chains, to the relentless love of tank tops and gold watches. Alex wasn’t sure if Frank was for real or if this was just an elaborate, extended joke.

But here’s the thing: despite his douchey exterior, Frank was actually a pretty nice guy. Sure, he blasted club music at ungodly hours and flexed in the mirror every time he passed it, but Frank was always chill. He’d offer Alex food whenever he cooked, made sure the apartment was clean, and always gave him a heads-up when he had people over. Plus, Frank clearly knew what he was doing in the gym. The guy was shredded, and Alex had to admit, Frank’s discipline when it came to his diet and workout routine was impressive.

It didn’t take long before Alex’s curiosity got the best of him.

One day, after weeks of seeing Frank pound protein shakes and head to the gym religiously, Alex asked him for some advice. He had always been a casual gym-goer, but seeing Frank’s dedication made him wonder if he could up his own game.

“Yo, Frank,” Alex said one afternoon as they sat in the living room. “What do you usually eat for those gains, man? And how do you stay so consistent?”

Frank grinned, pausing the DJ Pauly D remix playing on his speakers. “Bro, it’s all about focus foods and the right lifts. Stick to lean meats, eggs, beans, lots of veggies. And you gotta hit the weights hard. No shortcuts.”

Alex nodded, scribbling down some notes on his phone. “Got any recommendations? Like content or something I can watch?”

Frank’s grin grew wider. “Oh, for sure. I’ll send you some stuff. There’s Dom Mazzetti, Vinny Guadagnino—some good shit, bro. But hey, I’ll send you my playlist too. Got a WAV file I use at the gym that keeps me hyped.”

Alex raised an eyebrow. “A playlist?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Frank said, waving his hand dismissively. “It’s got some fire tracks. Also, I threw in some personal affirmations underneath it, helps me stay focused during my lifts. You probably won’t even notice them, but they help, bro. Trust me.”

Alex wasn’t really buying into the whole “subliminal affirmation” thing. It sounded like some weird self-help nonsense. But Frank was shredded, and if these little tricks worked for him, maybe they were worth a shot.

Later that evening, Alex plugged in his headphones and hit play on Frank’s WAV file. It started with “Lucky, Lucky, Lucky Me”—a male cover that felt oddly calming. The song transitioned into upbeat remixes like “Fireball” and other club tracks that seemed to pump adrenaline into his veins. Somewhere in between, Sinatra’s smooth voice made an appearance, bringing a strange, nostalgic energy to the mix.

As the playlist played, Alex caught faint whispers beneath the music—barely noticeable. “You love the gym. You crave the weights. Tanning makes you feel amazing. You rep the Italian pride with every lift.”

He chuckled to himself. This subliminal shit can’t be real, he thought. But, whatever—Frank swears by it.

The playlist ended with “Lucky, Lucky Me” again, and as Alex dozed off that night, the tune echoed faintly in his head.

The changes didn’t happen overnight, but as the days went by, Alex began to notice subtle differences. It started with his workouts. He’d always been someone who worked out occasionally, but now there was something different. One morning, as he walked past the gym on his way to class, he felt an urge—a need to lift. It wasn’t just about getting in shape anymore. Something about the weights called to him, pulling him in.

He ended up inside, grabbing a set of dumbbells and diving into a full workout. By the time he finished, he was drenched in sweat, but instead of feeling exhausted, he felt exhilarated. There was a rush—an energy that coursed through him, leaving him wanting more.

From that point on, the gym became part of his daily routine. At first, he didn’t even realize it was happening. He started following Frank’s tips—lifting heavier, focusing on compound movements, and pushing himself harder with each session. His muscles responded quickly, growing faster than they ever had before. His shirts started to fit tighter, hugging his chest and arms in ways they never had before. Every time he looked in the mirror, he couldn’t help but flex, admiring his progress.

It wasn’t just the gym either. One afternoon, Alex caught himself in front of the bathroom mirror, noticing how pale his skin looked under the fluorescent lights. Without thinking much of it, he booked an appointment at the tanning salon down the street. After his first session, he looked at himself in the mirror, marveling at the golden glow on his skin. It made him feel good, confident—like he was stepping into a new version of himself.

Tanning became part of his routine, just like the gym. He started looking forward to that golden glow, the way it made his muscles stand out more, and how it just felt right.

One weekend, Alex found himself wandering into a clothing store, drawn to a section of tank tops with bold prints—Italian flags, American flags, vibrant colors that screamed confidence. He picked up a few without thinking twice, the fabric feeling perfect against his newly defined arms. When he got home and slipped into one of the tanks, he stood in front of the mirror, flexing his biceps. The tank hugged his body in all the right places, and as he admired his reflection, a grin spread across his face.

Damn, I look good.

It wasn’t just the clothes that made him feel this way—it was the pride, the feeling of representing his heritage with every lift, every flex. It felt right.

The most surprising change came with his voice. At first, it was barely noticeable—a slight shift in his accent, a few new words slipping into his vocabulary. But as the weeks went on, the transformation in his speech became undeniable. His voice took on a thicker Jersey inflection, and words like “bro” and “yo” started slipping out naturally, almost without him realizing it. He spoke with more confidence, more swagger, his words carrying a weight that hadn’t been there before.

He even noticed how loud he’d become, but it wasn’t obnoxious—it felt like he was owning the room. His friends started to comment on it, but Alex didn’t mind. It felt like the way he was supposed to talk, like his voice was finally matching the rest of his transformation.

One night, Alex found himself scrolling through YouTube, where he came across a Dom Mazzetti video. He clicked on it, expecting to laugh at the over-the-top persona, but something else happened. As Dom joked about gym culture, diet, and lifting, Alex found himself nodding along, relating to the lifestyle. The gym wasn’t just a place to work out anymore—it was part of who he was becoming.

The next few weeks passed in a blur. Alex’s days revolved around the gym, tanning, and repping his heritage with pride. He found himself following more content creators who embodied the same mindset—guys who lived for the grind, the lifts, and the pride in who they were.

His roommate Frank noticed the changes, too. “Bro, you’re looking jacked,” Frank said one afternoon as Alex flexed in the mirror before heading out to the gym. “You flexing the gains hard now.”

Alex grinned, running a hand through his hair, which he’d started gelling back every morning. “Yeah, man. It just feels right, you know?”

Frank clapped him on the shoulder, a proud smirk on his face. “Told ya. Once you get in the groove, there’s no going back. You’re one of us now, bro. Tanning, lifting, and heritage. Welcome to the crew.”

Alex chuckled, feeling Frank’s words sink in. Wasn’t just about the workouts or the diet no more. It was the whole package—the attitude, the pride, the way he carried himself. He’d become confident, bold, and unapologetic. The gym had become his temple, and every flex in the mirror, every perfectly tanned muscle, reminded him of how far he’d come.

He spoke with more confidence now, his voice carrying a thick Jersey accent that seemed to come naturally. Words like “bro” and “yo” slipped out effortlessly, and he found himself embracing the louder, more assertive side of himself. Even his walk had changed—there was more swagger, more presence.

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

A few weeks later, Alex and Frank were sitting in the living room, scrolling through profiles of potential new roommates. Their lease was ending soon, and they needed to find someone to fill the third room. Frank leaned back in his chair, sipping a protein shake as he swiped through a list of candidates.

“Yo, check this one out,” Alex said, pausing on a profile. “Marco Ricci. Italian last name.”

Frank raised an eyebrow and leaned in, studying the screen. “Oh shit, an Italian? That’s promising.”

They opened Marco’s profile, but instead of seeing someone flexing or rocking a tan, Marco looked... pretty regular. He wasn’t out of shape, but he wasn’t exactly lifting heavy either. Pale, with a pretty average physique, he was the kind of guy who didn’t seem to spend much time at the gym. His shirt was plain, and his expression, while friendly, was far from the confident swagger Alex and Frank had come to expect in their circle.

Alex chuckled, nudging Frank. “Dude’s kinda pasty, huh?”

Frank smirked. “Yeah, bro. Definitely needs some work. But Rome wasn’t built in a day, you know? He’s got the Italian blood—that’s what counts. We can mold him.”

Alex nodded, his mind already racing. Marco might not be there yet, but with the right guidance, who knows? The guy had potential. He just needed some direction.

“Yeah,” Alex said, swiping right on Marco’s profile. “We’ll get him there. If he’s down to move in, I have the perfect playlist in mind."

Frank chuckled deeply, shaking his head. “Bro, he won’t know what hit him.”

Alex grinned, flexing in the mirror nearby. “Hey, Rome wasn’t built in a day, right?”

Frank laughed again, raising his protein shake in a mock toast. “Damn straight, bro."

WANNA BECOME A GUIDO FOR REAL? Try this subliminal:

Guido Subliminal (Accent, Mindset, Discipline, Extreme Confidence)

[pretty-random-writer]

Clueless

___

Pairing(s): Spencer Reid x Autistic!Reader

Word Count: 1.1K

Summary: You and Spencer are oblivious. But maybe you two aren’t the only ones who are… ||| Based on this request

Warning(s): reader is gender neutral (not really a warning but whatever), Spencer is implied to be autistic too, secret relationship (?)

A/N: This is NOT my best writing. But I tried! Hope you enjoy & feel free to request!!!

Main Masterlist

||| Do NOT plagiarize, repost, or translate any of my work in any way. Thank you. |||

___

Spencer Reid is smart. Everyone knows this is in the BAU. I mean, what average person just has an IQ of 187? People can be shocked about how many facts and statistics he knows just on the top of his head. Or how he can beat almost anyone in a chess match. So, yeah, he’s really smart. 

But there is something that only a few people know about him.

He is clueless. So clueless. 

When the anybody would make a joke, Spencer would have a difficult time deciphering it. His issue was that he took these jokes literally. Because, in his mind, it’s just like a case. Because maybe if he could figure out what the joke meant, he would finally get it. 

The BAU team knew Spencer was clueless in those types of circumstances. And they had no problem explaining to him what they meant. That was until a new person entered the team.

When you first started your job at the BAU, everything went well. You met the team, did some paperwork, and called it a day. Of course, in the beginning, you were a little overstimulated but it subsided. You knew it wouldn’t always be as easy of a day in comparison of the future work days, but you thought it went pretty good.

The day that you started working was the day the team saw how perfectly you and Spencer fit together. I mean, even on your second day, the team saw you and Spencer talking during lunch! They have never seen Spencer talk so animated.

During your first week, the team got a case. While discussing it on the plane, Spencer noticed how your hands were twitching, like they were itching to move. And how you were talking to yourself, almost sounding like you were…counting?

Even though he doesn’t want to disturb you, Spencer moves to the seat next to you. You don’t seem to mind though, you’re too focused. 

Spencer doesn’t say anything at first. Instead, he pulls out a Rubik’s Cube. He can tell that you’re wondering what he’s doing, since you stopped counting. 

“This was one of the first puzzles I’ve solved.” Spencer tells you. “It took me a few times to solve. But when I finally did, I still found it…therapeutic.”

There is a pause between the both of you. Until you speak.

“I wasn’t expecting this,” You explain. “I mean, I was. But I forgot my headphones. And I’m not the best on planes, especially with the turbulence.”

There was a pause between them. Then, Spencer offers the cube to you. He’s just holding it out for you to take. Finally, you do. “Thanks,” you say, fidgeting with the Rubik’s Cube. 

“Anytime” he says, smiling. Smiling because he knows what it’s like. 

***

After your first few months, you felt as though you were finally apart of the BAU team. Normally, it takes you a long time to be able to trust new people. But, you were proud to call the people in the team your friends.

“Okay! Who wants to go over to Rossi’s for dinner tonight?” Derek says in the bullpen after another night of paperwork. 

“Oh, I’m in” said Emily. 

“Will’s watching the kids tonight, so count me in too.” JJ added while packing up for the day.

“Oh! I want to go too! Who doesn’t want the Italian Stallion to make them dinner?” Penelope comes out of no where.

Everybody pauses in the bullpen and looks at Penelope.

“The-“ Rossi starts. “The Italian Stallion?”

Everyone bursts out laughing. Even Hotch smiles a little. Penelope looks mortified. She clearly didn’t see Rossi enter the room.

“Rossi, I’m so sorry! I really didn’t-“ Rossi interrupted Penelope.

“Garcia, It’s fine. I know you were just joking.”

“Really?”

“Really.” Rossi then adds. “Plus, I kind of like it.”

The laughter starts again. 

“What! Don’t laugh at me! I’m not giving you folks free dinner for nothing. Don’t make me second guess myself.” Rossi says with a smile, even though he’s trying to be serious. 

“Okay!” JJ says. “So, everyone’s going?”

The team looks at each other in agreement. 

“You two lovebirds going too?” Derek asks you and Spencer, with a smirk on his face. 

“Hm?” You and Spencer tear away from your conversation, and look at Derek. All eyes are on you both.

“God! Can you both just make a move already, or do I have to shoot you both with an arrow or something?”

“Shoot us with an arrow?” Spencer says. He looks at you, and you look just as confused. “Why?”

Everyone exhales an exhausted sigh, mentally cursing everything in this situation.

“She means if you guys don’t start dating, she’s gonna have to play Cupid to get you guys together.” JJ explains. 

“Ohhh…” You both say at the same time. Blushing. Hard.

“I mean, come on! How can you guys not see it?” Penelope exclaims.

“Trust me. We do.” Emily joins in.

You look at the rest of the team. They all just kind of nod in agreement. You look at Spencer and he just kind of smiles at you. You both can’t help but laugh quietly. 

“What is so-“ 

That’s when full laughs start to erupt between the both of you. Everyone looks around at each other, confused. Except Hotch…

“I’m sorry-“ Spencer says still laughing with you. “This is just a little funny.”

“What’s ‘a little funny’?” Derek says, clearly trying to figure out what is going on. 

“It’s just-“ Your laughter is slowly coming down. “We didn’t know when to tell you guys…”

“Tell us what??” Penelope is trying not to explode over this suspense.

You and Spencer glance at each other and join hands. 

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my GOD!!!” Penelope squeals. Very loudly. “Really???” 

You both nod, smiling so wide. 

“Well, well, well…” Derek says patting Spencer on the back. “Proud of you, Pretty Boy.”

“Finally!” Emily says.

“That’s what I’m saying.” JJ agrees.

“Wait.” Emily turns to Rossi and Hotch, who are both smirking. “Did they know about this?”

A pause enters the conversation. 

“Really?” Penelope whines. “I wanted to be the first to know!”

“Babygirl, It’s okay.” Derek huffs out a laugh. 

“Hey, Hotch only knew because he’s their boss.” Rossi explains. “How I knew? Well… I can’t tell you all my secrets, can I?”

“Remind me never to underestimate you, old man.” Emily pokes Rossi in the shoulder.

“But really, we are happy for you guys.” Hotch says to you and Spencer. Then, he looks to you and says “You should come by to dinner with us. Consider it a welcome to the family.”

You look around at the team, then look at Spencer who is looking at you right back. “Okay. I will.”

And, so, you did. 

___

[soulrph]

chaotic unhinged lines from 2022-2023 (prompt edition).

basically in 2021 i made a list of prompts inspired by lines in tiktok videos and instagram reels that made me laugh so hard i cried! and now i have returned with another list! these may provide an alarmingly clear image of what my sense of humor is (aka broken) but i figure a little levity is always a good thing! more prompts are forthcoming, but in the mean time: bon appetit!

knowledge has always chased you, but you've always been faster.

no... no, that was mango apathy juice. from the farmer's market.

of all these people, you are the one i understand the least. i want to get to know you better, but like, not that much better.

i-i will CHEW YOUR MEAT!! WHAT are you doing?!

ooooh god, no, you wouldn't be long getting frostbit!

you are evil. like a hobbit.

WHY MUST YOU FAIL ME SO OFTEN?!?!!?

i have had a perfectly wonderful evening, but this wasn't it.

AHEM!! fill my cup.

may god ignore you like you ignored my greetings.

i will avenge you mister van gogh.

call off work bestie, we need you to solve a murder. here's fifteen dollars.

you're not in love. you may think you are, you dumb fuck, but you're not.

go ahead and put the ranch away.

sadly, "hopefully" doth butter no parsnips.

forget school, i want to be an italian sandwich.

you shouldn't skip work, you are a lawyer and he is a hamster.

you can stop roleplaying now. you're free.

her coupon game was so fucking raw.

i'm sorry guys... he's making a salad.

you could get a straight guy here if you learned to make a good pasta. i'll teach you how to make a risotto that'll get you married and out of my basement.

hey, do you want me to get together a plate of roast beef and hide it in our room so we can have night meats?

it's not the most ethical thing in the world, but in a pinch you can hand off a cursed object to basically any baby.

no, children, you're wrong. once upon a time, there was a piece of wood.

and i'm not saying she deserved it, but i am saying that god's timing is always riiiiight.

hydrate or die-drate, ya DICK!

why did the monkey fall out of the tree? because it was DEAD.

new york city is a fictional place written up by someone with a sinister mind and a knack for comedy.

this is grindr my guy.

wait, i didn't finish teaching you the difference between human and wolf anatomy.

it's time to tell your grandmother that she was wrong. do not be afraid.

vanilla vodka... you fucking child.

without ash to rise from, a phoenix would just be a bird getting up.

you are fucking alive. do what you want.

why are you cradling me like a baby, friend? this isn't how guys of my generation hang out.

i hope a hedgehog shits in your cereal, you difficult person.

you know, i am not as mean as i would like to be. and i think people should appreciate that more.

see, i am not a kangaroo.

well, i'd like to help, but... you see... not as much as i'd like not to.

rest in peace you fucking onion fairy.

when god sings with all his creations, will a turtle not be part of the choir?

i fight for a seat in heaven, every. single. day.

map maker? can you find me somewhere on the map where this big man thinks he's the king?

you bald-headed demon...

so... there are 24 million pigs in australia... and 24 million people... so if you ever feel lonely, there's like, a pig out there that's sort of your cosmic twin.

remember, alcohol is god's apology for making us self-aware.

i'm straight!! stop CONFUSING me!!!!!

you guys want something to eat? because... i know we'll die if we don't eat.

he is a BIBLICALLY gorgeous man. i wanna feed him grapes. i wanna fan him with the frond of a date palm from the forests of Lebanon. i wanna find the alabaster vial of perfume oil that one woman broke for jesus and comb it through his hair. like... he's stressing me OUT.

i'm not sad! i'm freaking HUNGRY!

maybe, if we wait a little bit longer, a fuck will fall into my hand, and i can give it to you.

it's not my fault you thought you lived in this IKEA.

let's leave my mother out of this.

jason may kill people but he's not bad enough to kick a dog.

i run for LUMP!

oh no, i'm all out of caring, baby!

you don't think it mcbe that way... but it mcdo.

what is this enticing bowl of white?

serious question, do his nipples sparkle?

what in the reese's peanut butter fuck is going on here?

if your parents don't buy it, stop loving them!

i just hope you know just how much you've decreased productivity today.

that was poetry at its FINEST.

and if you let that motherfucker shenan ONCE, you best believe they're gonna shenanIGAN!

may god bless the dinosaur that died to make the fossil fuel that was treated to become petrol in the car that took her mom to the hospital to give birth to her.

that's modern milk for ya. what a time to be alive.

you have attachment issues. please fix it.

remember when people had secrets? we should bring that back.

the moon landing was an elaborate marriage proposal.

i don't like the cobra chicken.

i didn't know eggs were this expensive? it's time to lay my own, i fear.

so you're saying the reason i don't have a girlfriend is because i'm not a big enough threat yet.

god gave him a top lip, that's why he's so powerful.

it's a common mistake, but frankenstein was actually the author.

i finally got a pocket-sized diary!!! also i don't get the concept of life.

if a beautiful woman disagrees with me, i will immediately change my view. i've no principles.

how did you all end up married to such boiled potatoes?

if so much as one tear drops from their eye... i will slap you back into your mum.

you are ringing a phone that does not like to be rung.

look how Dr. doofenschmirtz had a fucked up childhood but didn't project his trauma onto his teenage daughter. he projected it onto a platypus.

it is mathematically impossible for you to get a wedgie.

i'm breaking up with you. i love you, it's just... i don't think you could protect me from a mummy.

if you can't do fractions....... you will fucking die.

that's right; in the year 1791, all of our bottoms were killed in a Big Bottom Massacre.

people always assume i'm mean. like CAN you BELIEVE THAT CRAP?! like WHAT would make you think i'm MEAN?! I'M THE NICEST PERSON ON THE PLANET!

the chocolate milk is strikingly overpriced and at the same time very easy to steal; another of god's little tests.

someone's gotta tell the waiter that i ordered mashed 'taters and it sure as shit ain't gonna be me.

if i had a week i couldn't list all the reasons that wouldn't work.

[itsmrshamilton]

Last Goodbye | LH44

summary: reader is involved in a car accident during qualifying. can Lewis make it to her on time to say one last goodbye

a/n: lol, the summary is way more dramatic than it needs to be. I'm trying a different pov. Let me know what you think. Requests are open.

💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌

The sun was positioned high in the sky, the wind softly tickled the trees and there wasn't a single cloud in view for miles. The perfect Saturday afternoon to hold the Qualification Races for the British Grand Prix which would take place on Sunday. Lewis had left earlier that day just like the other racers in order to get to the track on time and begin preparing with their teams. Due to her work, Y/n was unable to attend most races on the calendar but she wouldn't miss the Silverstone race for anything in the world. It was their home race, the one time she got to spend the whole weekend with Lewis and their family while he worked. As scary as it was for her, she loved watching her favourite person do what he did best and inspire millions while he did it.

As was their tradition for home race weekends, Lewis had left Y/n her favourite breakfast in the kitchen, a handwritten note on a counter and a soft kiss on her forehead while she slept then quietly snuck out with Roscoe under his arm. She would have offered to bring their son with her later in the day but she knew that Roscoe had eager fans in the engineers' garage that were waiting to spend the day with him. So she got up and went about her morning on her own, tidying up and making snacks for later when Lewis came home knackered and starving.

She picked up her bag, patted herself down for keys then checked her phone for any last minute requests from her boyfriend. Seeing nothing new since the previous texts she sent, she figured he may have already started racing so she took a quick selfie and sent it with a caption. "I think I stand a chance of overshadowing your paddock outfit today, lol. I'm leaving the house, see you soon. Knock 'em dead, love" She giggled at her awful sense of humour before leaving the house and locking up.

The drive to the track was usually short but on such an eventful day, there were many cars on the road and one could feel the buzz of excitement and anticipation in the air. Y/n wasn't an anxious driver but seeing people pull risky moves between the lanes made her drive with a foot hovering above her brakes just in case.

💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌

"Okay, Lewis, P2 for Q1 was a great start. Let's keep that up and improve if we can. Q2 starts in 10 minutes, yeah?" Fred clapped Lewis' shoulder and walked off to another part of the garage.

"Yeah, thanks, man." Lewis replied as he stood in the red garage looking at the screen replaying his latest performance on the track. Roscoe pawed at his foot and whined, clearly requesting to be picked up. The bulldog seemed to forget that at his old age he was getting heavier but his father lovingly adhered and brought Roscoe to his chest with a grunt and a kiss to the forehead. "Where's your mum, eh? She's usually the one cuddling you during qualy, huh?"

He looked around the garage to see if his girlfriend had entered while he was distracted. He knew that the drive there wasn't very short but she always arrived before Q2 began so he was slightly confused. "Hey Marc, have you heard from Y/n or my dad?" he asked an engineer as he glanced at his phone. "No, nothing. There is traffic at the entrance though so that may be causing their delayed arrival." the Italian responded. Lewis nodded seeming satisfied as he read Y/n's text confirming that she was on her way. He grinned like a love struck fool at the picture she sent of herself decked out from head to toe in Ferrari merchandise. She was truly the most beautiful being he had ever seen and he wondered for umpteenth time how he had lived before he met her. He sent heart emojis in response and went back to watching the recording on the screens.

💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌

Y/n sighed in relief as she reached the last intersection before the paddock entrance. She could see gates from here and couldn't wait to get out of her car and see her son and boyfriend. The red light she had stopped at turned green and she let her foot off the break to move forward. As she was about to cross the middle of the intersection, she noticed the cars behind her screech to a sudden holt but before she could assess the confusing situation her car was hit from the side and she was sent jolting forward. The last thing in her vision was the airbag exploding into her face. She was unconscious by the time the horrified bystanders saw her car get thrust into the nearest pole by the driver who ran the red.

💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌

Lewis was seated in the red and yellow car and about to put on his helmet when he saw marshals, guests and staff hurrying in the direction of the paddock entrance. Focused on the next part of the race, he tried to stay grounded and drown out the sounds of shouting. "Lucas, radio check." he said to his engineer. "It's Lewis, radio check." Silence on the other end. He could now hear the sound of sirens in the air. "Lucas? Can-"

"Loud and clear, Lewis. Apologies for the delay, we were receiving a call from the stewards that there has been a car accident outside the entrance so there will be distractions during the second session."

Lewis grimaced and secured the position of his helmet on his head. Car accidents were awful to witness so he really felt sorry for those who were involved. He took hold of the steering wheel.

"That's awful. Do we know who it is? Has help arrived?" He asked sincerely.

"Uh, not really. They say it's a blue and red Audi and a black-"

"A what?" Lewis felt his blood run cold and his suit get tight. He didn't think he heard right. He couldn't have heard that right.

"A blue and red Audi. Anyways, let's focus on the ra-" Lewis didn't let Lucas finish because he shot up and scrambled to get out of the car he was strapped into. He fell out, landed on all fours but got up to rip off his helmet. His knees stung and there were shouts all around him but he had no time to listen. His skin was hot, his throat was tight and DAMN IT, WHY WOULDN'T HIS GLOVES COME OFF! Frustrated, he took off in a sprint towards the paddock entrance, shoving everybody out of his way. In the back of his foggy mind, he thought he heard barking right behind him but was too distracted to check.

When he finally made it off the racetrack property, he was buzzing with adrenaline, covered in sweat and coughing from screaming at the crowd to let him through. At the end of the driveway he could see two green ambulances and multiple police cars parked in a taped off area. "Oh, God. Oh God, no."

He only knew one person with a red and blue Audi. A red and blue Audi that he had gifted them. One person who hadn't yet arrived to the Ferrari garage.

He stumbled forward to take in the scene illuminated by flashing lights. But before he could mumble out another plea to God, he stopped dead in his tracks. A black body bag. Beside what was left of the blue and red Audi that belonged to his girlfriend.

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