#I don’t remember if other shows are like this

[starkwlkr]

yap moment | max verstappen

an: finally the long awaited yapper max fic!! so sorry to keep you all waiting <3

As soon as you saw Max, you practically threw yourself on him. Finally he was back home. It felt like forever when in reality it was just a month. A month without Max’s lips on yours, a month without having his hands in your hair or on your body. A month too long.

“You’re so dramatic.” Max chuckled as you continued kissing down his neck. After stumbling through your shared apartment, you finally made it to the bed. You gently threw him onto the soft bed and straddled him.

“Oh! Before I forget . . .” Max spoke as you continue kissing his neck. “I watched that series you told me about. I watched it on the flight home and I can’t believe Beth and Benny don’t end up together! I mean they’re clearly meant for each other! I should be a writer on that series because I would’ve made them be together.”

You sigh deeply then decide to lay down next to Max. It was obviously going to be a long talk because once Max started, he wasn’t going to stop. But you loved listening to the sound of his voice, it was comforting.

“And it made me want to start playing chess. I ordered a chess board and books. I also played those online chess games and I’m getting pretty good,” Max pulled out his phone to show the screenshots he took of his victories. “I think I’m Beth Harmon reincarnated.”

“Wow, impressive.” You reply as Max showed all the screenshots.

“And I remember you telling me the series was based off of the book so I also ordered two copies so you and I can read it together.”

“Aw, Max. Thank you. Now how about—”

Max cut you off. “Did you know the longest game of chess lasted twenty hours? I read that it was played in nineteen eighty nine but I can’t remember who played it. Imagine just playing chess for twenty hours.”

Eventually, the sound of Max’s voice made you fall asleep. It wasn’t that you thought Max’s excitement over chess was boring, no, you loved how happy he sounded over the things he loves. It was that Max had that soft voice that made you fall asleep so easily. Sometimes you were thankful you had a talkative boyfriend.

[no1damianwayneglazer]

damian wayne best friend / lover headcanons

* pays for your school lunch that he calls “slop.” (he just wants you to eat something even if it is disgusting cafeteria food

* will wear matching friendship bracelets with you (absolutely detests it and thinks it’s childish even though you both are children)

* he doesn’t admit it and would never show you but he paints portraits of you constantly. sometimes they’re not even full portraits, he just finds himself sketching you. you’re always on his mind. (jason has found these portraits and made fun of him for days)

* begs his father to let him use his card so he can take you to art museums or tour an art gallery

* when you’re sitting together in class, even if you’re talking about the dumbest shit ever he’ll listen like he’s gonna be graded on it.

* remembers every little thing you tell him about yourself. your favorite color, favorite food, any info about your family, all of it.

* on the other hand, you know him, but you also don’t. he tells you little to no information about his private life. not his mom, not his dad or brothers, and CERTAINLY not his vigilante life. he has never told you any information about his secret life as robin and plans to keep it that way. he doesn’t let ANYTHING slip. unless you somehow get attacked in an alleyway or something and robin in all his glory comes to save you (and you notice he looks and sounds exactly like your best friend 👀)

* he definitely tells you about all of his animals, though. when asked about the name “bat-cow” he just says he used to be a bit batman fan.

* if you wind up injured or even just verbally bullied in any way by some random student, the student in question will get their shit absolutely ROCKED and will suddenly be expelled from the school with no warning.

* if you say your favorite vigilante is robin he will be such a smug little bitch about it. he’ll give you this punchable looking face and say “he’s also my favorite. in terms of hero work he is the most proficient and skilled…heh.. 🤓”

i couldn’t think of anymore but that was actually fun to write >_>

[ceilidho]

fear of god

There's someone outside the spacecraft. You don't remember them being part of the crew. Part 11 masterlist

-

The ship is big enough to get lost in, just like your mind.

You open your eyes and you’re back in your room. The lights are off. You feel around the wall for the light switch and when it comes on, it temporarily blinds you; you wince against the burning light. The faint remnants of a dream on the verge of slipping away lingers on the edges of your conscious mind. 

A man stands at the end of a long corridor, shrouded in darkness.

You are powerless to stop him unless he wants to be stopped.

Shaking. When you look down at yourself, you realize you’re shaking, your pinkie trembling independently of the rest of your hand though the tremor soon spreads to your other fingers. 

How did I get here? You want to ask but there’s no one around to receive the question. The door to your room is sealed shut. Looking around the room reveals nothing amiss or out of place. Even your clothes are neatly folded on your desk, and you’re clad in your pajamas as if you’d already gone through your whole nighttime routine. 

The sheets are rumpled and warm from your body, meaning that you’ve been in bed for some time. The problem is that you don’t remember returning to your room or tucking yourself into bed. The last thing you remember is Gaz taking your face in hand and promising you—

Your brows knit together as you rack your brain.

—promising you something. 

You rack your brain harder, searching for a memory that slips further and further away with each passing second. You remember Farah and doubles and your ship hurtling through empty space, and then a sickle slices through your memories and lops it off. 

Your lips tingle when you press your fingers to them. Something here too, but it slips from you when you try to fit your hands around it. 

Sleep knocks at the door of your mind though, putting off anymore thoughts of what you’re forgetting. Maybe in the morning it’ll come back to you.

In your dreams, he appears again, hovering over you this time, thick thighs on either side of your hips. Skin darker under the cloak of darkness. His plush lips part when you touch your fingers to them and he kisses each pad delicately, reverently. 

Your body feels warm and weightless; sticky between your legs. A pulsing pleasure like nothing you’ve ever experienced, desperate for him to tuck his hands under your back and draw you up into his chest. 

I’ve been waiting a very long time for something like you, he whispers against your fingertips. 

And you want to whisper back, what will you do now that you’ve found me? But when you open your mouth, all that comes out is ash and dust.

By the following morning, Hadir is sick.

You find out in the middle of brushing your teeth when Graves summons you to the medbay over the intercom, giving you only the briefest of explanations before his voice cuts out with a crackle. A line of toothpaste and drool drips down your chin as you stare up at the speaker in the corner of your room, dread pooling in your belly. Even from the outset, you know this can’t be any good. 

That feeling follows you all the way to the medical unit, shoving your arms into your lab coat sleeves while speed walking down the hall and wondering what you’ll find waiting for you. That’s where you find the three of them—Farah and Graves flanking the examination table where Hadir is laid out, the flush and sweat on his face visible from across the room. 

“What happened?” you ask, hurrying over to his side. You drag the computer over with you, the arm it’s attached to gliding over to the exam table. 

“He’s been like this all morning,” Farah explains in a terse voice, not meeting your eyes. “I went to check on him when he didn’t show up for breakfast.”

“Hadir?” Speaking directly to him now, you soften your voice, trying to gauge his mental state. Pupils of uneven size lazily roam around until they land on you. “Hadir, how’re you feeling?”  

His lips are dry when he parts them, and though he stares at you uncomprehendingly for long enough to worry you, he eventually responds with a raspy, “…Bad.”

That gets a shallow laugh out of you. “Yeah, I figured.”

The fever is obvious. What’s less obvious is the cause of his fever. You run through your usual preliminary tests, but nothing seems to stick. There’s a waxy sheen to his skin and boils under his arms that make you think bacterial infection, but coupled with his other symptoms—the fever and nausea—you err on the side of caution and take a few blood samples, plugging in the command for a CT scan. 

“I can page you when his results are in if you’d like” you let Farah and Graves know, looking at them from over your shoulder, the two of them still standing by Hadir’s bedside and watching you intently. “You don’t have to stay for this. It’ll be a little while until I know what’s going on.”

“Farah will stay,” Graves states. The look he sends her feels pointed and you don’t know if you like it. 

Something unsaid passes between their eyes. Excluded from their exchange, all you can do is focus on your work to quell the anxiety brewing in you. 

“Alright,” you assent, practically mumbling the word under your breath. 

Graves leans over Hadir’s prone form to whisper something into his ear before straightening and leaving without another word, not issuing you so much as a glance.

A tense silence fills the room. You try not to let it get to you at first, concentrating more on putting the blood samples into the centrifuge and setting up the scanner. After yesterday though, your tolerance for bullshit is low, almost nonexistent. You can only take Farah’s gaze boring into your back for so long before you snap. 

“What?” you finally ask, your voice cutting through the tension like a knife.

Farah doesn’t answer for a moment, considering whether or not to broach the subject.

“You ran away yesterday,” she finally says. A statement rather than a question.  

You’d been bracing yourself for this exact moment, but when it arrives, you flounder a bit. Tongue heavy and nerves electric. Rooting around in your brain for an answer that doesn’t make you come off as paranoid and crazy when you’ve already revealed your hand to her. 

“I wasn’t feeling well.” You keep it simple. Tell her nothing that she doesn’t already know. 

“You went back to your room then?”

“Yeah. I just needed to rest.”

She lets the silence hang in the air, long enough for you to worry that you’ve miscalculated in lying to her. There’s no sense in telling her the truth though. Even now, you can’t be sure of who you’re speaking to. 

That thought sits like a stone in your belly. 

“We still need to have that conversation.”

She dislocates himself from your peripheral vision when she takes a step away, forcing you to turn your head to find her. “There’s more to talk about?”

“Yes.”

“Like what?”

“You’re going around saying Gaz isn’t human and that we had conversations that I don’t remember ever having with you, and now my brother’s sick. I’d say there’s more to talk about.” 

“I made a mistake,” you lie, hoping that you can put on a convincing enough face. “The other day, I mean, when I said that to Hadir about Gaz. Obviously Gaz is a human. Maybe I was getting sick too.”

“That would be awfully convenient,” she responds blandly. 

“Convenient?” you repeat, frowning.

A sudden antagonistic turn to the conversation. Real or not, it’s been in the air for weeks now, maybe months. Your blood goes hot beneath your collar. Not once has she given you any semblance of grace or leeway. Like you can only do wrong; like she expects treachery or disappointment or worse from you. 

Then someone breaks the tension by coughing. 

“Can…you two…stop arguing?” Hadir rasps, dragging your attention back down to him on the exam table. 

“Sorry,” Farah murmurs to her brother. She slips her hand into his and gives it a squeeze.

You apologize under your breath to him as well, shedding the last of your annoyance. There’ll be a time for that later. Now, you have a patient to tend to. 

The day does not improve from that point on. 

Though you spend hours pouring over Hadir’s blood samples and the cross-sectional images from his CT scan, you can’t figure out what’s wrong with him, all of his results coming back ostensibly normal even though his condition continues to visibly deteriorate. By mid afternoon, his skin is abnormally hot and you sponge his skin with lukewarm water to try and keep him cool while running more tests. His fever holds steady.

You order an MRI on top of his other tests, waiting impatiently for his results only for those images to come back normal as well. Test after test comes back with the same answer. Though Hadir’s white blood cell count is higher than normal, his body doesn’t appear to be fighting anything in particular. 

He becomes less responsive around lunchtime, which doesn’t worry you until it gets harder and harder to get him to open his eyes and grumble out more than a couple words at a time. 

You can feel Farah’s frustration and worry rise as the hours pass. For a time, she’s called away by Nikolai to help work on something else, but she comes back as soon as her work is done, the soft whoosh of the door behind you alerting you to her presence. 

“How’s he doing?” she asks quietly on her return. 

You breathe out heavily, your mask making your breath blow down over your chin. “He’s still running a fever. I have him on an IV to make sure he’s still getting fluids in his system in the meantime.”

Farah idles closer to Hadir’s bedside, gazing down at him almost tenderly. You can almost see the effort it takes her to keep her face neutral. “Is he…in any pain?”

That question is hard to answer. Though all of Hadir’s tests have come back fairly positive—no sign of infection or internal bleeding or anything that could account for his outward symptoms—you haven’t been able to elicit a response from him in hours, not since he was first admitted into your care. Every so often, he grumbles out a couple words, but that’s hardly enough to alleviate your worry. The only comfort you can offer her is that you haven’t been able to detect anything that would be causing him any pain. 

You’re not sure if that comes as much of a relief to Farah when Hadir’s brow quivers and sweat beads on his upper lip.

The situation bleeds from one day into the next. You sleep on a cot in the medical unit instead of returning to your room, setting multiple alarms in order to check on Hadir periodically throughout the night. You try to convince Farah to go back to her room to get some sleep, but when she doesn’t make any indication of leaving, you relent and pull out a cot for her as well. 

Hadir is no better in the early hours of dawn when you check his temperature and vitals again, but he’s not any worse either. Stable doesn’t mean good though. 

It’s only when Graves joins the two of you around midafternoon that the situation turns dire. 

“Well, doc?” he asks after returning from speaking quietly with Farah outside the medbay. “What’s wrong with him?”

His and Farah’s continued presence shouldn’t bother you as much as it is. You know it’s only natural considering this is the first time anyone on board has been sick since you departed Earth. It’s cause for some concern. 

“No prognosis yet,” you sigh. “I’ve done every single test I could possibly think of but there doesn’t seem to be anything actually causing his fever.”

Graves looks unimpressed with your answer. “How long’s Hadir been here—ten hours? And you still don’t have a single clue what might be wrong with him?”

You should’ve assumed his question wouldn’t be in good faith from the way he initially ignored you to call Farah into the hall for a chat. You bristle at his words though, stomach roiling. 

“It may not be a simple answer,” you say through grit teeth. “I’ll keep looking until I can figure out what’s causing this, but in the meantime, he’s getting fluids and rest and I’m making sure he stays stable.”

“Where are all of his test results anyway? Any x-rays I can look at?” Graves asks, meandering over to the counter running along the wall. 

There’s a stack of papers on the counter nearest him that he flips through. You bite your tongue to keep from asking him if he even knows what he’s looking at, choosing instead to just silently hand him Hadir’s scans. He inspects each scan for barely a few seconds before shuffling it to the back of the pile. 

He shuffles through the pile twice before slapping them back down on the counter. “Okay, maybe this’ll be easier if you just explain it to us.”

You’d laugh but it’s hard to find humour in the situation with the two of them staring at you with such obvious disaffection. Instead, you walk them through the tests you’ve ordered and all of Hadir’s results, taking the time to ensure that they understand the purpose of each test and your thought process behind it. 

Graves’ face says he still doesn’t get it. “Well, if Hadir’s fine, why isn’t he getting better? Not to point out the obvious, doctor, but he looks like shit.”

“…I’d tell you if I knew, but as you can see from his scans—”

“Which I’m still waiting for you to explain.”

“—as you can see from his scans, I haven’t been able to find anything actually wrong with him. Apart from his white blood cell count, which is a bit high—which could mean an infection somewhere, but I haven’t been able to find anything yet.”

“You know,” Graves starts, drawing out each word. “Back on Earth, they really sold me on your skills when I was picking through resumes for our staff media, but I gotta say, doc…I’m not seeing much to be impressed with now.”

You balk at his words, struggling at first to form a coherent response. “I’m…sorry to hear that, sir. I’m doing my best.”

“And none of this has anything to do with the other day?”

Your blood goes cold. “What exactly are you trying to say?”

“I’m just trying to figure out if something might be impacting your judgment.”

“Like what?”

Your raised voices must be audible from the hall because Alex enters a few minutes later, followed by Nikolai and Gaz, the latter of which you studiously avoid making eye contact with. 

Ever the blunt one, Nikolai is the first to speak. “Why all the yelling? We heard you from practically down the hall. Hadir is not dying, no?”

It’s so much worse to do this in front of a crowd; it’s like something out of your worst nightmare, all of them gathered on one side of the room and you on the other, divided even physically. 

“I’m just trying to figure out if there’s something the doctor isn’t sharing with us,” Graves says, eyes still locked on you. 

Your jaw hangs loose at the implication. “You’re not serious. Are you implying that I did something to Hadir? I didn’t make him sick,” you say, emphasizing the absurdity of the claim being levied against you.

“But you’re also not helping him get better. And that’s what we’re concerned about.”

“I can’t just snap my fingers and fix someone! It takes time—”

“You’ve had over twenty-four hours—”

Gaz takes a step forward, placing a hand on Graves’ shoulder to calm him down. “Commander, I know tensions are high but…you know she wouldn’t do something like that.”

You have a momentary lapse of gratitude in being defended before the anger rushes back up at the thought that Graves would hold Gaz’s words with more weight than your own. That Gaz would need to defend you in the first place when you half suspect that Graves’ distrust is by his own design. 

Graves’ nostrils flare as he exhales, no longer hurtling accusations at you but still deeply suspicious. 

“Can all of you just leave?” you blurt out, at the end of your rope. “I can’t keep arguing with you while I’m trying to take care of my patient. And it might seem like Hadir can’t hear us, but he’s still very much conscious and all of this is just going to put undue stress on him.”

The five of them stare at you with varying degrees of uncertainty, only Gaz’s expression remaining neutral. 

“I’m not leaving my brother,” Farah states, her distrust unambiguous. It stings. 

“You either have to trust me enough to let me do my job or lock me up if you’re going to keep second guessing me,” you snap. Probably unwise to plant that seed, but anger keeps your common sense at bay. 

“It’s probably not good for you to be here. It won’t make you feel any better,” Alex murmurs. Though it’s mostly hidden from view, you can almost make out the way his hand flutters over her low back.

“I’m not leaving him alone.” Even speaking softly, Farah’s voice reaches your ears from across the room. 

 Your hands clench into fists at your sides. Indignation like you’ve never felt before bubbles up, anger at being treated like the threat in the room. Your eyes cut to Gaz, whose stare hasn’t wavered since he arrived. Waiting for him to say something, to indict you like the rest of them. 

His brows bend in sympathy, but he doesn’t open his mouth. 

It’s Graves who eventually breaks the standoff. “Gaz, I want you to stay here until the doctor’s able to give us a better answer on Hadir’s condition.”

“Commander, I don’t know if that’s necessary—” Gaz interjects, but your fury drowns out his voice.

“You’re leaving me with a guard?” you ask in disbelief. “You can’t seriously think I’m keeping Hadir sick? That’s fucking insane, Graves—I’m a doctor. And moreover, Gaz isn’t even part of the crew—”

“First of all,” Graves cuts you off, a hair from shouting his words. “I won’t have anyone questioning my decisions on this ship. I’m the one who’s in charge around here. Second, Gaz has earned his place on this ship just as much as you have. Maybe more so because at least he’s actually done his fucking job!” 

His outburst stuns you into silence. Stock-still. Your bones creak when you rock back on your heels

Maybe because all this time, they’ve never said it in so many words, though you’ve felt the sentiment creep through the pipes and vents, the metal clanging with the sound of it hidden just behind a wall, just out of reach from you. 

For a second, you can see yourself the way they see you. A feckless, ineffectual crew member who hasn’t been able to pull her own weight. An extra bit of cargo for them to carry to Jupiter. Someone who, for some time now, they haven’t seen as equal to the rest of them.

The edges of goodness curl away from you. You’ve felt isolation before but never to this extent.

And not one of them comes to your defence. You stand there under the scour of their judgment and wait for someone to speak up and say that this has all been blown out of proportion, only for silence to reign supreme. 

“I’ll stay,” Gaz finally says, taking a step towards you and turning to face Graves. Physically putting himself on your side, though his words still align him with the commander. You try not to look as pulverized as you feel—you shouldn’t feel that way anywhere. You know he’s never been on anyone’s side but his own. 

The urge to say or do something you’ll regret is strong. Almost overwhelming. All you can imagine is grabbing a scalpel from the drawer near your hip and driving it right through your commander’s throat, revelling in the soft gurgles and flesh giving under the steel blade. The thought turns over your head until it’s nearly unbearable to keep your hand from trembling. Even the room seems to darken with your thoughts. 

Hadir breathes out shallowly from the exam table behind you. You blink and bite the inside of your cheek. This isn't right; this isn't you. Violence won't do anything out in space.

You know no answer will satisfy them, so you don’t even try, turning your back to Graves and his crew and focusing on your patient instead.

“Let me know if anything comes up,” Graves says, speaking to Gaz instead of you. Humiliation burns like bile at the back of your throat.

You hear Alex whisper c’mon to Farah before the whoosh of the door signals their departure. One by one they leave until only you and Gaz remain, and Hadir, still unconscious on the exam table. 

And all around you, the ship hums as it hurtles farther away from Earth.

[ohgodthevoices]

going crazy over how husband material osamu is, hear me ouuutttt

tags : fluff, time-skip, f!reader, tattoo , he listens to, he cares , and he cook , i’m thirsting m sorry

osamu would be the type of bestfriend that knows damn well you want him bad but keeps on teasing you and acting clueless just to see how far you can go before you crack

as childhood friends, it was normal for you to be touchy and generally comfortable with each other but it raised his suspicions when you now looked away when he was topless around you. it’s not like you were uncomfortable with it ?

you’ve basically lived your whole life with the miyas, you’ve seen osamu wet the bed as a kid, get rejected by his middle school crush you’ve even witnessed him putting his hand in his pants and scratch his butt, seeing him topless in the comfort of his apartment was a casual thing so why the hell would you look away , did he lose his shape ? no, he still worked out frequently even if he’s not an athlete anymore…

either way osamu always took care for you, he was always so careful when it comes to you , sure he’d playfully hit you here and there but it was nothing you couldn’t handle

just imagine him cooking you a nice heart-warming meal, glancing at you every now and then while you’re sitting on the counter looking like a mess after a long exhausting day , wine glass in hand and rambling your worries away. it really became a ritual for you to swing by his place unannounced after a bad day.

he’d open the door with his signature lazy smile “ya had a bad day?” you finally let you shoulders relax “long story..” he steps back, inviting you in “i got time”.

sometimes osamu gets this weird feeling he can’t explain when he realizes he’s seen you grow into a real woman, it really freaked him tf out when you told him you had your first time with some boy he never heard the name of.

he scolds you after a bad decision for sure , but he’s always there to comfort you right after. SO imagine his surprise when during a drunken confession after you finally listened to him and dumped your toxic bf, you admit to him between sobs that broke his heart into pieces

“why can’t i find a guy that actually likes me—?” your face was buried in his now wet tshirt , his strong arms holding you tight as if they were gonna protect you from feeling hurt, your words were muffled, melting together “why can’t i find someone like you samu…im so jealous of the girl that’s gonna be yours” holy fucking shit how was he so blind to never realize this…

thank god that night was complete blurry in your mind , so when you woke up the day completely hung over and found your beloved best friend making you breakfast with a bed hair and his sleeves rolled up showing off his forearms that you find really hot for some reason , your slight blush was explained.

omfg the day he showed up to your workplace during his break with a well crafted lunch box he made full of delicious onigiris because he listens and he remembers that your annoying coworker kept flaunting her relationship to you and it pissed you off and you wanted to show her that you can pull too

ever since he realized the power he had over you, he wouldn’t stop just picking at you and seeing how far he can go, he was basically testing the waters by stretching until his shirt lifts up, hold eye contact for a lil longer than what he should, and how he praises you don’t get me startedddd

“yer actually pretty decent at this” when you cook dinner with him, “look at ya bein all confident and independent !” when you actually tell the waiter they got your order wrong, “yer pretty distractin’ yk that? that’s kinda dangerous.”

osamu was a pretty touchy guy, not overly cuddly or anything but he did enjoy proximity, he’d usually hold your wrist when passing crowds but for some reason he now held your waist, his touch gentle yet firm on you. istg his hand placement is impeccable

there’s just something about him keeping a hair tie on his wrist for you that’s so endearing, so caring and attentive to your lil daily struggles.

it all happened when you got your first tattoo, he had sent you to his friend whom he deemed good enough to ink your body. he was nervous and excited as if he was the one getting tattooed but that’s mostly because you wanted to keep it a mystery, he knew that when he came home after closing the shop he’d find you there already.

there was just something so intimate about him coming back from work and finding you already at his place , he liked it, he could get use to it.

“ ‘m here !” he yelled out closing the door behind him , analyzing you from head to toe as you pop infront of him with his tshirt and shorts on displaying an almost mischievous smile, his eyebrows creasing as he doesn’t see any trace of a tattoo on your arms or legs, maybe it was on your shoulders?

he plopped down on his couch , man spreading “soo… are ya gonna show me or ?” you happily turn to the side, his eyes widen as you lift up the shirt enough to reveal a sideboob tattoo. he sits up the shock visible on his face “holy shit cmere” you obey him , getting closer for him to get a better look. with a swift motion his arm was now around your hip , pushing you to sit on one of his legs

he clearly recognized his friend’s intricate style, the design cupping the side of your boob, he wanted to admire his work but damn he felt a lil jealous that he worked so close to you. he finally looked at you only now noticing your reddish face

his face was just inches from yours, his previously shocked expression fading as he met your eyes. he leaned in slightly, his breath warm against your jaw, and for a split second, everything around you felt quiet, just the two of you in that small space. he couldn’t help but let out a small laugh, though, breaking the tension as he nudged you lightly

“didn’t know you had it in ya to do somethin’ like that” he whispered.

before you could answer, his hand found its way to the back of your neck, gently pulling you in. his lips brushed yours, just a soft, teasing touch, before pulling back slightly with that same smirk. “couldn’t resist,” he muttered under his breath, and this time, when he kissed you again, it was longer, deeper—no more teasing, just the feeling of the moment taking over.

i’m currently such a sucker for time skip osamu he’s all i’m thinking about

[devotedlyandrogynousyouth]

Sugar, Baby

Chapter Three: Unraveling

Bruce Wayne x Sugar Baby! Reader

| Part 1 | | Part 2 |

I pinky promise there will be smut in the next part🤞 I just felt like making this one a bit of a slow burn

Taglist: @shadowqueen1322 @secretsideofbree @lillyrob

It started with nights at the manor.

At first, it was just a casual thing—Bruce would send a car, and you’d spend an evening talking over expensive whiskey, letting the world outside the Wayne estate fade into irrelevance. You still worked at the bar, still went to class, but somehow, Bruce had become a fixture in your life.

And it wasn’t just the money.

Yes, he still tipped you ridiculous amounts when he showed up at the bar. Yes, the black card he’d given you sat in your wallet, burning a hole you had yet to fill. But more than that, he was there.

The texts started coming more frequently.

B: You still alive?

You: Barely. My professor is trying to kill me with this assignment.

B: Send me the prompt. I’ll have my team handle it.

You: Absolutely not.

B: I don’t like seeing you stressed.

You: And I don’t like billionaire academic fraud.

B: Fair point.

He called, too—not often, but enough that you found yourself waiting for the sound of his voice on the other end of the line.

The nights at the manor got longer.

At first, it was just drinks and conversation, but then there were the quiet dinners Alfred started preparing for two instead of one. The slow walks through the grand halls of the estate, the firelit nights spent sprawled on the couch in the library, his arm slung lazily over the backrest behind you.

And then, of course, there were the kisses.

God, the kisses.

They started slow, teasing, an extension of whatever sharp-witted conversation you’d been having before he inevitably leaned in. Bruce kissed with purpose, with intent, with the kind of control that made you dizzy.

But that’s all it was.

Kissing.

He never pushed, never let things go further than you could handle, and part of you wondered if he knew.

If he had already pieced together that you had never done this before.

Not this—not just the kisses, but the way he made you feel.

Because it wasn’t just physical.

Bruce knew you.

He listened when you ranted about your classes, when you muttered about your deadlines, when you offhandedly mentioned your favorite books or movies. He remembered, too—casually dropping facts about your life into conversation, surprising you with small gestures that proved he had been paying attention.

“Tell me something real,” you murmured one night, curled up next to him on the oversized couch in his study.

Bruce glanced down at you, brow raising slightly. “Something real?”

You nodded. “Something not in the tabloids.”

He was silent for a moment, fingers tracing slow, absentminded circles against your knee.

“I never sleep for more than three hours at a time,” he admitted finally. “It’s been that way since I was a kid.”

You frowned, shifting to get a better look at him. “Why?”

His gaze flickered, something unreadable passing through his expression. “You know why.”

You did.

Gotham knew the story of Thomas and Martha Wayne—the billionaire philanthropists gunned down in an alley, the grieving son left behind.

“I dream about them,” Bruce continued, voice quieter now. “Not always in the way you’d think. Sometimes it’s just… glimpses. My mother’s perfume. My father’s laugh. I wake up before I can hold onto any of it.”

Your chest tightened.

You reached for his hand without thinking, threading your fingers through his. Bruce blinked, as if surprised, before his grip tightened around yours.

He didn’t pull away.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he murmured, rubbing a slow, deliberate pattern over your knuckles. “I just—”

“I’m glad you told me,” you interrupted softly.

He exhaled, eyes flickering toward your lips.

That night, the kisses were softer.

Not urgent. Not desperate. Just there.

Something real.

—

It was a few weeks later when you finally asked.

You were sitting in Bruce’s bedroom—an indulgently large space that still somehow felt distinctly him. There was a fireplace crackling in the corner, the low golden light casting shadows across the room.

Bruce was on the bed beside you, leaning against the headboard, sleeves rolled up as he scrolled through something on his phone. You had a book open in your lap, though you weren’t really reading it.

Instead, you were watching him.

“Bruce.”

He glanced up at the sound of your voice. “Mm?”

You hesitated. “Are you… waiting for something?”

He set his phone down, eyes scanning your face. “What do you mean?”

Your fingers tightened slightly around the book. “I mean, we’ve been… this for a while now.”

Bruce’s lips twitched. “This?”

You rolled your eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“I do,” he admitted.

You exhaled. “So, are you waiting? For me?”

His expression shifted, something fond passing through his features.

“Yes,” he said simply.

Your stomach flipped. “Why?”

Bruce sat up, moving closer. One of his hands found your knee, fingers brushing against the fabric of your leggings.

“Because I know you,” he said, voice low. “I know you wouldn’t be here if this wasn’t real for you.”

You swallowed hard. “And?”

His thumb traced slow circles against your leg.

“And I want to take my time with you.”

You felt yourself flush, warmth spreading through your body at the implication.

Bruce smirked slightly, tilting your chin up with the crook of his finger.

“You deserve more than rushed decisions,” he murmured. “I don’t need more. Not yet. Not until you’re ready.”

You inhaled sharply. “I—”

His lips brushed against yours, soft and coaxing.

“Don’t overthink it,” he whispered against your mouth.

And for once, you didn’t.

—

It didn’t happen that night.

Or the next.

Or the one after that.

But somehow, the waiting didn’t feel like waiting.

Masterlist

[miedei]

sick day

roommate!spencer is sick (and lovely)

a/n: wrote this in a fugue state i think, just couldn't get the thought of being spencer's roommate out of my head

cw: best friends who definitely don't love each other noooo why would you say that, spencer is sick and annoying but also the best

wc: 2k

mlist

(reblogs are the only way to promote fics on tumblr! please reblog if you enjoyed it :) )

Living with Spencer Reid is usually wonderful. He’s relatively neat, but messy enough that you don’t have to walk on eggshells around him. He’s always willing to recommend you a new read, he doesn’t judge you when you spend an entire day slumped on the couch, and is always up to help you stress bake. 

It’s decidedly wonderful, until it’s not. A week into your living together, you’d realised what a workaholic he was. After the first time you’d caught him asleep on top of paperwork in the living room, you’d understood how much of a pain Spencer Reid really can be. 

Unfortunately, today is one of those days. Spencer returned from a case last night, and the moment you’d seen the slump in his shoulders, you knew you were going to have to work from home today. 

“You really don’t have to stay home. I don’t even have to stay home! I’m seriously not sick, I swear!” His voice is low, as if attempting to mask the rasp in it. It doesn’t work.

His rambling doesn’t cease, not the entire time you steer him away from the front door and into the living room. 

“Yeah? Spence, do you even remember the last time you got sick? I came home to find you lying on the dining table! I’m not going to leave and come back to you trying to climb out of the window or something.” You deadpan, watching him cross his arms and grumble something about ‘elevating the upper body’, and ‘actually very good for the immune system’. 

Having shoved him not-too-lightly onto the couch, you stand with your arms crossed, eyes narrowed on him.

“I can’t believe you were going to go to work! Living with you is like living with a child sometimes, god. You know you would have been sent home straight away, look at you.” You gesture wildly at him. 

He’s a pathetic sight, curled up on the couch looking distinctly sorry for himself. His hair is limp, flat against his scalp, his weak limbs shoved haphazardly in a button down and slacks. He hasn’t even knotted his tie, leaving it hanging loosely around his neck. 

Grabbing his phone out of his bag, you thrust it towards him. 

“Call your boss and tell him you need a sick day. You said it yourself, it’s just paperwork today, right? You can take a day off once in a while, Spence, it won’t kill you.” Once finished, you stomp out of the room, heading to his bedroom to grab him some clothes. Surveying his closet, you grab one of his Caltech hoodies and a pair of sweatpants, grinning to yourself when you hear his hoarse voice on the phone. 

As you walk back into the living room, he’s settled in, clearly resigned to his fate. 

“Yeah, Hotch, I need the day off. I’m sorry, I’m just- Oh. It’s okay? You’re sure? Um, okay. Thanks Hotch.” He hangs up, his eyebrows pinched as if he’s loath to admit you were right. 

You can’t help it, snickering as you dump the sweats and hoodie on his chest. 

“I told you so.”

“You’re so mean to me.” 

It’s nice, spending a day with Spencer like this, even with how whiny he is. Sitting at the desk in the living room, you’re not being incredibly productive, but Spencer’s fever-induced rambles more than make up for it. 

“So, some moron made a blog called ‘What Would Carl Sagan Do?’, and Garcia - remember her, my coworker? She showed it to me, and oh my god, it’s so ridiculous! I mean, to start, all the entries were lifted from different sci-fi movies and books, and they were all so inaccurate, like, ‘The Martian Chronicles’ were good, but it’s been debunked so many times! Carl Sagan debunked it!”

He’s laying on his back on the couch, slender fingers waving in the air above him, eyes lidded as he speaks animatedly. 

“Yeah? What was wrong about it?” You rise from the desk chair, heading into the kitchen. “Also, do you want tea?”

His voice softens, speaking slower as he answers your question. “Yeah, that black tea you brought home last week, please.”

You can hear the moment he slips back into his rant, words growing more and more spirited as he continues to rail against whatever that blog was. Puttering around the cramped kitchen, you let his words roll over you, balancing two mugs and a plate in your hands. 

He doesn’t stop speaking, but flashes you a grateful smile as he takes a mug from you, swiping a cookie from the plate before delving back into the topic at hand.

“So, Bradbury, and a lot of the other sci-fi writers of the time, believed that colonisation of Mars would be possible within the 20th century. And then, in 1960, Carl Sagan, along with a bunch of other astronomers, discovered that Mars doesn’t have an atmosphere, so humans living there long term is virtually impossible without a huge improvement in technology, which probably won't happen until the latter half of the 21st century. And this moron with a blog is pretending like Sagan wouldn’t care, and that he would advocate for irresponsible space travel and I hate him.” 

He finishes with a huff, taking a large gulp of tea and sitting up against the couch. His eyes are hazy with exhaustion, eyelids drooping as he looks at you. You can’t help but giggle. He looks adorably dishevelled, and his eyebrows pinching together at your laughter only intensifies it.

“What? Why are you laughing?”

“I’m- I’m sorry Spence, you just look really cute right now, like you’re going to fall asleep.” You can barely get it out, body shaking with mirth. His eyebrows furrow further, a slight pout forming on his lips. 

His attempts to get you to stop laughing go unanswered, and he huffs once more, crossing his arms and settling against the couch cushions. 

It’s the late afternoon when a knock on the door stirs you from your reverie. Spencer is sitting next to you, your legs slung over his lap as he leans back, eyes trained on The Fellowship of the Ring on the television as his hands tap out something on your calves. 

“Are you expecting anyone?” He shakes his head no, not averting his gaze from the screen. 

You sigh, jostling his shoulder. 

“Spence. Spence, can you go get the door? It’s probably a salesman or something.” 

He hums, shaking his head once more. 

“Can’t. Too sick.”

You groan, tipping your head back in frustration before hauling yourself off the couch, flicking his shoulder as you walk past.

“You’re infuriating, you know that?” His only response is a grin, before he turns back to the movie. 

Grumbling under your breath, you trudge through the room to the front door, frowning when you look through the peephole to see two figures. 

One is shorter than the other, a woman wearing a hot pink and orange dress that should be garish, but looks completely natural on her. The man next to her is grinning, holding several plastic bags in one hand, the other arm linked with the woman’s. 

Not salesmen. 

Concluding that they’re probably not a threat, you swing the door open, causing their heads to pop up. 

“Hey, Reid- Oh.” The man speaks immediately, but pauses when he sees you. 

“You’re not Reid.” The woman concludes. 

You tilt your head to the side, confused. 

“Yeah, I’m not. Um, how do you know Spencer?” 

They share a confused look.

“We’re his coworkers. Derek and Penelope. Sorry, who are you? Do we have the wrong apartment?” 

You brighten, recognising the names from Spencer’s many stories about work. 

“Oh, that’s who you are! No, you’ve got the right apartment, of course. Come in.” You turn to the side, allowing them to walk in, although their expressions remain bewildered. “I’m Spence’s roommate, Y/N. He’s in the living room.”

“Roommate?” Derek exclaims before setting his sights on Spencer, striding over to him. 

“Hey, pretty boy.” Spencer jolts, the haze of sickness having made sure that he didn’t notice them till now. His voice is higher than normal, squeaky. 

“Morgan! What are you- Garcia? Why- why are you here?” Penelope smiles mischievously, plopping down on the couch next to Spencer. 

“Well, we obviously wanted to check up on you, Boy Wonder. This is the first sick day you’ve taken in the last two years - don’t try to lie to me, I checked - and now, we’re very interested in your friend here.” Her smile loses its teasing edge when she turns to you. 

A grin spreads over your face, recognising the same teasing affection you feel towards him in the two newcomers. Retaking your seat on Spencer’s other side, you pull your feet up on the couch, tucking them under Spencer’s thigh. 

Penelope squeaks quietly, but averts her gaze when you look up at her questioningly. 

“So, you guys have worked with Spence for a while, huh?”

Derek sits in the armchair across from you, chuckling under his breath.

“Since he was 22. Back when he straightened his hair and wore those sweater vests that were three sizes too big.” Spencer lets out a strangled noise of protest next to you, but you both ignore him in favour of continuing your conversation. 

“Seriously? I’ve seen one photo of him back then, but then he started hiding them all from me. You got any?” 

Penelope perks up, pulling out a tablet from her work bag. 

“Yes! Oh my goodness, sweetheart, I have so many. Did you know, he used to do this thing where he would gel his hair back, said it made him look older but it was honestly just really cute, hold on…”

She shifts and moves to sit on your other side, huddling over the tablet with you and Derek. 

Spencer is suddenly left in the lurch, stuck observing the three of you from the other end of the couch. He feels like he should be irritated, angry even, but he can’t do anything but watch, eyes softening. 

“Oh my god, Spencer, you were so cute, what happened?” Never mind, he’s feeling a bit irritated now.

It’s not endearing, no. No matter how lovely you look, your face flushed with excitement. No matter how easily you fit in with some of his favourite people in the world.

It’s not captivating, not at all.

[frmisnow]

ㅤ▌ ͟PINK RIBBONS & PRETTY LITTLE LIES! ⠀⎯⎯⠀⠀ ♬᭢ 𝟏.𝟓𝐤 smut . nsfw

SUMMARY in which you wear the set of lingerie that jungkook got you last valentine.. back when everything was going well (aka. before you broke up) ─── and he's reminded of how it felt to be yours and vice versa

jungkook shouldn't be here.

he knows it the second he steps through the threshold, the air too sweet, too warm, too familiar. it clings to his skin like a your perfume used to, drowning him in déjà vu. he’s been inside this apartment before — slept in that bed, kissed against that kitchen counter, fucked on that couch.

but right now? he's just a visitor. hell, a guest. not even a welcomed one, at that.

“you said you needed something?” your voice is a bit lower then usual, cautious, the same way it always is when you don’t know what to do with him.

jungkook blinks, coming back to himself. “yeah,” he says, tugging at his sleeve. “uh. my charger.”

it’s a lie. a shitty one.

your brow lifts, unconvinced clearly a bit amused. “your charger?”

“yeah,” he repeats, stuffing his hands into his pockets doing his best as to not act like he’s not already regretting this. “i think i left it here last time.”

he doesn’t mention that last time was two months ago, right before everything went to shit.

you’re still watching him, lips pressed together like you want to say something, maybe call him out. but then you sigh, defeated, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “i’ll check,” you reply simply, before turning towards your bedroom.

and that’s when he sees it.

just a glimpse, a flash of pink — delicate, silky, peeking out from beneath your shirt. a thin little strap sliding against your shoulder, trailing down your back, thin and precise.

valentine’s day. the last one — before everything went to shit.

he still remembers it in vivid, aching detail, the way the night bled into morning, how thd walls shook from how hard he fucked you, the imprint of your nails down his back when he m ade you come for the fourth time. how ruined you sounded, voice hoarse from moaning his name, from begging, from pleading — not that you ever needed to. jungkook would have given you anything.

he did.

i got you something, he’d said, fingers running along your spine as you sat on his lap, bare and so fucking soft. you gotta open it, though.

you had, with a lazy, knowing smile — already looking at him like you knew whatever was inside would be sinful. after all, you knew him so well.

the second you pulled out the pink lace, you’d laughed. "you’re such a perv."

yeah? his teeth had found your shoulder, licking over the fragile skin, before biting into it gently. put it on for me, then.

and fuck, you had. you did.

he’d known you’d look good in it, but nothing could have prepared him for how perfect it was — how the fabric hugged your tits, how the straps stretched over your hips, how the sheer paneling did little to nothing in hiding the way your cunt was already glistening for him.

then, fucked you slow at first, dragging it out, making you whimper, making y ou work for it. made you ride him just so he could watch you — so he could see how your tits bounced in that pretty little thing, so he could slip his hands under the fabric and yank until it nearly tore. he’d wanted to see you in it, wanted to make you come in it, wanted to make sure the next time you put it on, all you’d think about was him.

and now — now you’re wearing it again.

not for him.

something ugly twists in his chest.

“why?” his voice is quieter than he means for it to be. rougher.

you freeze, hand still reaching for the box on the top shelf. “what?”

“why are you wearing it?”

there’s a visable pause, just a second, showing you clearly gave more thought into this, then you pretended.

jungkook steps forward, fingers twitching. “did you wear it for him?”

he doesn’t say the name. doesn’t need to.

your shoulders go stiff, but you don’t turn around. “It’s just lingerie, jungkook.”

his jaw clenches. “it wasn’t just lingerie when I bought it for you.”

a deep inhale, measured. “things change.”

his presence is suffocating behind you. close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body, the way his breaths are heavier now. fuck, when did he even manage to get so close? you swallow, slow. "it’s just lingerie," you repeat, but there’s no actual conviction behind it.

“take it off.”

jungkook exhales sharply through his nose, a scoff bordering on a laugh, like he's going fucking insane. which by the way this conversation was going, he probably will. then, he’s closing the distance in one step, inked hands gripping your hips, pulling you back against him so your spine meets his chest. he’s warm. solid.

there's something familar and comforting in feeling him.

“you wore this for him?” his palm drags under your shirt, right to tracing over the lace, which was just as silky as he remembered “him?” like it was an insult to him personally.

you swallow. “jungkook—”

“tell me he made you come in it.” his hand moving below your waistline, flattens against your core. you suck in a sharp breath, heat pooling between your thighs. “tell me he fucked you in my lingerie.” his other arm wraps around your waist, pulling you tighter against him. his cock is rock hard, pressing into the small of your back.

“did he make you feel good?” he tilts his head, pressing a kiss to your neck. “did he make you beg?” another kiss, softer. his fingers press harder. “did he make you cry for it?”

you gasp, hips bucking forward.

“i bet he didn’t,” jungkook murmurs, his fingers slip under the lace, gliding over your slit audibly groaning at how wet you were, “bet he didn’t fuck you like you deserved.”

“bet he didn’t even touch you like this.” he slides a finger inside you, slow, deep. you whimper, "baby, i know he can't."

your head falls back onto his shoulder, a soft string of noise slipping past of your lips while his thumb rubs gentle circles around your clit, “i can love you so much better than he can.”

you breathe his name out, barerly, rocking your hips against his hand. “fuck,” he hisses, sliding another finger inside you. his lips ghost over your neck, pressing a few more kisses onto the skin, his breathing uneven. “need you, baby.”

his fingers move before his mind does, turning your head to his direction as he presses his lips onto yours, effectively lifting you onto the dresser behind you.

jungkook doesn’t realize he’s barerly breathing until you turn to face him, arms folding over your chest, pushing your tits up against the delicate lace. he can’t even be mad anymore. not when you look like this.

“jungkook,” you start, voice quieter than before. maybe even a little guilty. maybe not.

“can love you so much better than he can,” he breathes against your mouth, lips brushing, voice smitten almost as if he was begging. “you know that, right? you know.”

the hesitation in your eyes almost kills him. but then — then you sigh, melting against him, pressing into his chest with a softness that makes something in his stomach twist. your arms loop around his shoulders, fingers threading into his hair, tugging.

“kook,” you whimper, voice barely above a whisper as if it were a secret, only between the both of you. “kiss me.”

while groaning, jungkook drags you up against him, hands gripping at the backs of your thighs, forcing your legs around his waist. kisses you until you’re gasping, until you’re tilting your head back, mouth agape, letting him trail his mouth down the curve of your jaw, your throat, biting down when he reaches your collarbone.

he stumbles toward the bed, nearly toppling both of you over when he lays you down, panting, hands running over your thighs, pushing them apart. his cock aches in his sweats, already damp at the tip, already too hard to be rational.

“you wore this for him?” he asks again, just to watch you squirm. just to see the way your cheeks flush, the way your brows pinch together, that guilty expression that was almost grazing slutty.

“it’s just lingerie,” you whisper, shaky. who were you even fooling? not jungkook, that's for sure.

he snickers, disapprovingly yet there was no real malice, not in his gaze, not in his tone. he licks over the lace first, just to make you whine, pressing the fabric against your soaked cunt with his tongue, groaning at the taste. then, he tugs the panties to the side again, diving in properly, flattening his tongue against you.

your thighs jolt, fingers curling into the sheets, a choked gasp escaping when jungkook drags his tongue up your slit, slow, deliberate, savoring.

“fuck,” he mutters against you, hot breath sending a shiver up your spine. he licks again, rougher this time, pressing in, teasing at your entrance before flicking back up to your clit.

your breath stutters, hips bucking, but his hands are already on you, gripping, holding you down with a bruising force.

“keep still,” he says, voice thick, taunting. you can only whimper, thighs trembling, while jungkook hums in approval, lips wrapping around your clit, sucking, slow and deep. your fingers find his hair, tugging, and he groans, pressing his tongue against you harder.

“so fuckin’ sweet,” he breathes, slipping a hand between your legs, thumb rubbing slow circles over your slick folds, spreading your wetness. “bet he’s never had you like this, huh?”

you don’t answer. can’t. not when jungkook slides a finger inside you, then another, stretching you, pressing deep until he finds that spot that has you gasping, back arching. oh sweet sweet past, guess some things really do stay the same.

[hotchnersangel]

OUR PAST, PRESENT AND FOREVER

Aaron Hotchner

cw: fem!reader, wedding, crying, emotional hotch.

a/n- this one is super cute, surprise at the end but you can pretend it isn’t there if you don’t like it.

Meeting Aaron Hotchner for the very first time was like breathing fresh country air after being stuck in the city for your whole life. Though your life was arguably more chaotic after knowing him, you never doubted any part of your relationship, neither the good or the bad. You had disagreements but Aaron has never shouted at you and he never will, nor have you at him. Around each other maybe you have, but never to each other. Maybe that’s because of his understanding of your past but also due to the immense respect and love he will always have for you. He never wants to be the reason you cry. Yet, today he was the exact reason you were crying.

Your wedding day, a day you have been dreaming about since you were a little girl. You always wanted the traditional wedding dress, the big but intimate ceremony, the hundreds of thousands of flowers, the awkward and laughable dancing. You wanted and dreamt about it all.

When you met Aaron, you knew you wanted these dreams by his side. You wanted them to turn from your dreams to your shared memories, which is exactly what the day had been.

The ceremony had been indescribable, the feeling of walking down the aisle and Rossi handing you to your soon- to-be husband was overwhelming in the best way. Though, the moment those doors opened, Aaron took one glance at you and your emotions flood from your eyes and you didn’t bother wiping them, just let them fall. His smile was like no one but you had ever witnessed. Full of utter love and affection. Your vows illicited more tears from you, but Aaron was yet to cry. Close, very close he had come, but he had not shown a droplet until you stand up during the after party.

Everyone was sat round their tables and you go to make your speech following the maid of honour and groomsmen’s talks.

“If I could have your attention for a moment,” you say, everyone now looking over you, whose hand was still entwined with Aaron. “Since before Aaron and I were together, I made something hoping this day would one day come and I could finally be able to show him.” You start with a bright smile, looking down at him softly as everyone waits in anticipation.

“So here it is, the day we officially become one, this is my present to you honey.” You smile and wipe your eyes from the falling tears. “This is The Story of The Hotchner’s”

You look at Aaron who watches you place the scrapbook in front of him and he gets teary eyed, his lip wobbling as he looks up at you. He knew he chose the right one. His thoughtful, breathtaking, ethereal piece of art. His wife. The love of his life.

He stands up and pulls you into him, holding you in the tightest embrace you thought you were going to be squished. “Baby, oh my god.” He says, looking deeply into your eyes.

“I haven’t even gone through it yet.” You grin, kissing his cheek and wiping a stray tear from his eye before continuing through the book.

‘To my beloved husband, let’s us never forget our past, our present or our forever.’ Was inscribed into the first page, you’re sat down now, watching as Aaron flips to the first page.

It showed an image of you awkwardly standing behind Hotch from around three months into working at the bau, pointing at his back which was firmly behind you as you pulled a funny face to the camera. It was taken by Penelope, you remember it so vividly, she had been the one to take a lot of these photos, along with JJ. Stuck closely on that page is another image of the same few months where he was staring at you with a straight face but you were grinning at him.

Aaron looked up at you and raises an eyebrow. “Did I always look so miserable around you?” He chuckles softly.

“You did, but I knew you never disliked me. No matter how hard you tried to conceal it, I always knew.” You grin back at him and he kisses your nose. “Now carry on.”

The next page brought a photo of Aaron slightly smirking at something you said but trying to conceal it behind his mug, it was a perfect candid photo. The next was an image of you two conversing on the first press conference with the two of you. Professional and hot.

The memories continued as you slowly see a change in the dynamic of your relationship, at first it’s like you’re both there but just simply there, then you see how Aaron opens up to you slowly and starts to lose his cold front with you. Over time it’s obvious that the distance between the two of you disappears and your smiles grow ten times larger. Then, it gets to recent photos and you stop him before he can flip the page again.

“There is so much space to add more photos of our journey together but I thought today was the perfect day to share this with you.” You grin at him, fully beaming as tears kiss your cheeks. As you look at Aaron, he pulls you to sit on his lap and he looks directly at you. You notice that tears were streaming out of his glassy eyes with very little shame. You laugh at the sight and it makes the emotions bubble more in your chest and he pulls you closer to him by your waist, hugging you so tightly. He kisses your head.

“I’m so beyond in love with you. Thank you. Thank you for having the most thoughtful, generous, beautiful soul both inside and out.” He says letting tears stream down as he doesn’t bother wiping them. Not even considering hiding or getting rid of the evidence of his complete and utter devotion and appreciation of you.

“There’s one more page.” You whisper to him and he looks back at the book, you both flip the page together and it reveals a photo of a baby scan. He freezes from under you and looks at the photo, bringing the book closer to him and looking back to you. Switching his gaze between the photo and you like a tennis rally.

“Is this…”

You nod and laugh, tears falling from your eyes as he pulls you into the biggest hug ever, his hand at the back of your head as it against his chest.

“Our family.”

[willowsnook]

an experiment pt. 3

lando norris x reporter!reader

a/n: 😈

pt. 1, pt. 2

tags: @sarx164 @wildflowerrsszz, @jaematthews15, @opastries81 @armystay89 @hadesnumber1daughter @dying-inside-but-its-classy @chlmtfilms @freyathehuntress @ashley-k @charlesgirl16 @widow-cevans @cmleitora @rawr-123s-stuff @majapapaya4 @fullmugwolffish

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

Y/N: ABSOLUTELY NOT LN: non-refundable, sorry. See you tomorrow

You threw your phone across the room, furious. Hadn’t he done enough? You had your resignation letter typed out, for god’s sake. Begrudgingly, you moved across the room to find your phone, calling your best friend. 

“What’s up?” David asked.

“Lando Norris is coming to Austin to see me,” you said, as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Wait, why?” David questioned. You could hear his confusion over the phone. 

“I don’t know, he posted that thing on Insta and then texted me that he bought a flight,” you complained. 

David snorted, "He posted that thing and then immediately bought a flight? Sounds like someone's feeling guilty," David said with a hint of amusement in his voice.

You groaned, flopping back onto your bed. "I don't care if he feels guilty. I don't want to see him."

"You sure about that?" David asked skeptically. "Because it seems like you two have some unresolved tension."

"The only tension we have is me wanting to strangle him," you muttered.

David laughed. "Right, because that's totally normal behavior between two people who hate each other."

You rolled your eyes, even though he couldn't see you. "What am I supposed to do? He's just going to show up here."

"Well, you could always not be there when he arrives," David suggested. "Or you could hear him out. Maybe he genuinely wants to apologize.”

“You’re supposed to be on my side,” you complained to him and you heard him laugh in response. 

“I’m always on your side, but let’s just say that Carlos isn’t the only one betting on when you two will get together.”

Instead of answering you hung up, not interested in hearing what he had to say anymore. You groaned before pulling yourself off your bed to begin cleaning. Deep cleaning your apartment always cleared your head and it killed two birds with one stone considering that Lando was coming the next day. 

Lando didn’t answer any of your texts the rest of the night and you started to convince yourself that he wasn’t coming which had you relieved. That was shortlived when you heard someone knocking on your door the next day as you were eating lunch. 

“You’re kidding,” you said, shocked as you opened your door to see him standing there, exhaustion written all over your face.

“I don’t have the energy to fight with you right now,” he mumbled, pushing past you with his small suitcase. 

“I didn’t invite you to come,” you shot back, following him angrily. He set his stuff down near the kitchen island before turning back to you. 

“My guilt was eating me alive so I had to come,” he said plainy.

You rolled your eyes, “I would have saved you the trip if you just would have called.” 

He gave you a pointed look, you both knew you wouldn’t have answered. 

“Can I please take a nap before I read the apology speech I prepared?” He asked and you fought hard against the laugh threatening to escape. It didn’t go unnoticed by Lando who smiled triumphantly. 

“Fine,” you agreed, showing him to the guest room. “Why do you have your suitcase?” 

“I didn’t book a hotel,” he replied nonchalantly. 

“Then where are you going to stay?” He didn’t answer and you furrowed your eyebrows. “No. No way. Do you not remember that I don’t like people staying over?”

“I remember every single thing about that night. In detail,” he shot back and your face flamed red. “We won’t be in the same room so it should be fine by your rules.” 

You stormed out of the guest room and slammed the door. You paced back and forth in your living room, trying to process the fact that Lando Norris was currently napping in your guest room. This was not how you expected your day to go. After about an hour, you heard the door open and Lando emerged, looking slightly more rested but still jet-lagged.

"Feel better?" you asked, unable to keep the sarcasm out of your voice.

He nodded, running a hand through his messy hair. "Look, can we talk?"

You crossed your arms, leaning against the wall. "Isn't that why you flew halfway across the world?”

"I had no idea what was happening y/n, you have to believe me,” he said honestly. “I got rid of social media mid season because of the amount of hate I was getting. I’m so sorry this happened.”

“The things that have been said about me Lando…” you trailed off, resolve cracking. “How could I want to keep doing this?” 

Lando's face fell as he saw the pain in your eyes. He took a tentative step towards you, his voice soft. "Y/n, I'm so sorry. I never meant for any of this to happen. What they've been saying, it's not okay. Not at all."

You wrapped your arms around yourself, suddenly feeling vulnerable. "It's not just what they're saying. It's... everything. The threats, the harassment. They found my personal information, Lando. I don't feel safe anymore."

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration and guilt evident on his face. “You’re too good for us to lose you. That article you wrote? It was brutal, but it was honest. And that's what makes you great at your job.”

You didn’t say anything but didn’t stop Lando as he stepped even closer to you, his hands coming to cup your face. 

“I need you there,” he admitted. “I need you to keep me on my toes, to keep me accountable. Don’t let them win.”

A tear escaped your eye and Lando brushed it away with his thumb, staring intensely at you. You laid your head against his chest, taking a deep breath. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to you again. 

“It wasn’t your fault,” you replied softly. Pulling away, you tried to collect yourself before turning back to him. “How long are you here for?”

“Couple of days,” he said sheepishly. 

“You know I’m not going to sleep with you again just because you’re here,” you said and he rolled his eyes. 

“I’ll try not to be offended that you thought that was what I wanted,” he replied. 

“Whatever,” you said, heading towards your room. 

“Pain in my ass,” you heard him mutter under his breath as you left. 

The next day was actually enjoyable, as much as you didn’t want to admit it. You and Lando got brunch before walking around the city, you showing him the touristy sights. 

As you walked along the river, you couldn't help but sneak glances at Lando. He seemed more relaxed here, away from the pressures of the F1 world. You had to admit, when he wasn't being an insufferable prat, he was actually quite charming.

"What?" Lando asked, catching you staring.

You quickly looked away. "Nothing. Just surprised you haven't complained about the heat yet."

He chuckled. "I'm not that delicate, you know. Besides, the company makes it bearable."

You rolled your eyes, but couldn't hide your small smile. "Careful, Norris. That almost sounded like a compliment."

"Don't let it go to your head," he teased back. “What are we doing tonight?” 

“Maybe just a movie back at the apartment,” you said. “Thanks to your apology speech, I actually will have to go back to work tomorrow.” 

He grinned at you. “Glad to hear that.”

“Yeah my first piece back will be ‘Why Oscar Piastri is my pick to win the 2025 championship.’”

You squealed as he moved into you, tickling into your sides. 

That night, you and Lando were curled up on opposite ends of your couch, watching a movie. You kept sneaking glances at him, noticing how relaxed he looked in your space. It was a far cry from the tense interactions you usually had at the track.

As the credits rolled, Lando turned to you with a soft smile. "This was nice. I'm glad I came."

You nodded, feeling a warmth in your chest you weren't quite ready to examine. "It was. Thank you for coming, Lando. I know I gave you a hard time, but... it means a lot that you cared enough to fly out here."

He reached over, gently squeezing your hand. "Of course I care, y/n. Despite our... complicated history, I've always respected you. And I hate that you were hurt because of me, even indirectly."

“I appreciate it,” you whispered. He stared at you a little longer, his eyes flickering down to your lips before he spoke again. 

“Sequel?” He asked and you smiled, nodding your head. 

As the next movie started, he didn’t move back to his spot, instead staying very close to you. As you felt yourself drifting off, you snuggled into his side, much to his amusement. The last thing you remember was him placing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. 

The soft morning light filtered through the curtains, gently rousing you from your slumber. As consciousness slowly crept in, you became aware of a warm presence beside you, a steady heartbeat beneath your ear. Your eyes fluttered open, and the events of the previous night came rushing back.

You were still on the couch, curled up against Lando's side, his arm draped protectively around you. Sometime during the night, he had pulled a blanket over both of you, cocooning you in warmth. The TV screen was black, the movie long since ended.

Panic seized your chest as the full weight of the situation hit you. You had spent the night with Lando. Not just in a physical sense, but in the most intimate way possible - wrapped in each other's arms, vulnerable in sleep. This was exactly what you had always feared, the reason you never let anyone stay over.

Slipping out of his arms, you tried to calm yourself down as you headed back into your room. Your mind was racing as you showered, your feelings for Lando bubbling to the surface even though you pushed them down. 

Lando was sitting up and scrolling through his phone when you came back into the living room. He looked up at you, face instantly scrunching as he saw you. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked. 

“Nothing, what time is your flight?” You asked, without any emotion. Lando moved off the couch towards you, grabbing your arm as you turned away from him. 

“Y/n, what’s wrong? Is this because of last night?” He asked and you flinched, giving him the answer he needed. 

“You need to go Lando, thank you for coming, but it’s time for you to go.” 

“Wow,” he said in disbelief. “I’ll go when you can look me in the eye and tell me that all you still feel for me is hatred.” 

“Lando please,” you said, begging. 

“Why are you pushing me away?” He asked, frustration evident in his voice. 

You took a deep breath, finally meeting his gaze. "Because it can't work, Lando. We can't work."

His eyes flashed with hurt and anger. "Why not? Give me one good reason."

"We live in different countries, for starters," you said, your voice strained. "Our careers are completely incompatible. I'm supposed to report on you objectively, and you're supposed to trust that I won't use anything personal against you in my articles."

"That's bullshit and you know it," Lando snapped. "Look at Fernando and Melissa. We could make it work if we wanted to."

You shook your head, wrapping your arms around yourself. "It's not just that. We're too different, Lando. We argue constantly. Half the time I want to strangle you."

"And the other half?" he challenged.

“It doesn’t matter,” you said. 

“It does to me,” he shot back. 

“What would happen if we were together Lando?” you asked tirelessly. “If your fans hated me for writing about you, how would they treat me for dating you? I’ve seen how they treated your exes.” 

Lando was quiet for a moment, anger steaming off of him. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he finally said, coldly. “I guess I’m not worth it.”

You started to call after him but he was already gone. 

—--------------------------------------------

Lando’s season started off incredibly, winning the first three races all by over 5 seconds minimum. You would think that he would be ecstatic, his boyish energy returning to interviews and PR videos but that was not the case. He was pissed. Anyone that tried to talk to him was met with short answers and anytime McLaren made him do anything, he looked like he was being held at gunpoint. 

He wanted to get over you but he couldn’t. He’d never had anyone challenge him the way you did and he could still feel you sleeping in his arms that night from a couple of months ago. His friends were walking on eggshells around him and Carlos was about to lose it. 

“Please just call her,” Carlos begged, sitting next to Lando at dinner in Monaco. They had a couple weeks in between races and what was supposed to be an enjoyable break, was turning into a nightmare for Carlos due to Lando’s moodiness. 

“She doesn’t want anything to do with me, she made that quite clear,” Lando replied. 

“She’s just scared Lando, she’s literally been checking up on you,” he told his friend. A look of interest flashed across Lando’s face so Carlos kept going. “Oscar said she asked how you were doing just last week.” 

“I don’t believe you,” Lando finally said and Carlos groaned, resting his head into his hands. 

You were miserable. The past few months since pushing Lando away had been some of the hardest of your life. You threw yourself into work, covering IndyCar and trying to ignore the ache in your chest every time you saw news about Lando's incredible start to the F1 season.

But no matter how much you tried to distract yourself, thoughts of him kept creeping in. The way he looked at you that morning on your couch, hurt and confusion in his eyes as you pushed him away. The feeling of falling asleep in his arms, more content than you'd been in years.

You knew you had valid reasons for ending things before they really began. The complications of your careers, the distance, the intensity of F1 fandom. But the longer you went without talking to him, the more those reasons felt like excuses born out of fear.

OP: Hey, you asked about Lando last week. Thought you might want to know he's in a pretty bad mood lately. Carlos is at his wit's end.

You frowned, guilt gnawing at you. Was Lando's mood because of you? No, that was ridiculous. He was probably just stressed about the season, despite his early successes.

Y/N: Thanks for letting me know. I'm sure he'll snap out of it soon.

OP: c’mon y/n, I know you’re just as miserable as he is. 

You cursed your friend David who you knew told Oscar about how depressing your life had become. As you sat in your apartment that night your mind wandered back to that last conversation. 

Why did you push him away? Because you didn’t want to get hurt? 

The truth was, you were terrified. Terrified of letting someone in, of being vulnerable, of potentially getting your heart broken. But as you reflected on the past few months without Lando, you realized you were already heartbroken.

With shaking hands, you picked up your phone and dialed a number you had been avoiding.

"Hello?" Lando's voice was hesitant, guarded.

"Hey," you said softly. "It's me."

There was a long pause. "Y/n? Is everything okay?"

You took a deep breath. "No, actually. Everything's not okay. I... I miss you, Lando. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry for pushing you away."

Another pause. And then nothing. He hung up.

[redlittlebird]

I don’t really weigh in on a lot of shipping discourse, people are going to like what they like. I said most of what I wanted to say when they broke Tim and Steph up off panel when their relationship was probably the most healthy and supportive it had ever been in the 30 year history of being written together first happened. But I’m so tired, I don’t like the way DC handled any of how Tim came out. It’s just not in line with how his character had been written in the years leading up to it. I’ve always read Tim as bi, for as long as I can remember I have identified with this character and have always thought he was bisexual. I also think it’s really reductive to the bi experience that a character can only “be themselves” in a same sex pairing. That’s just not how it works. How Tim and Steph’s relationship was written right up until the point they were split up showed no signs of Tim or Steph ever having to hide who they were from each other. So yeah I do feel like it’s a bit of a slap in the face for writers to paint it like Steph was somehow holding Tim back from being his true self. If there was anything to actually show things not working out then maybe I’d buy what DC tried to do but just dropping everything to get with a character that has so little substance to him other than being “Tim’s boyfriend” is just shallow. I appreciate a lot of the points brought up by the person I’m reblogging this from.

But I guess that’s just me a bisexual being biphobic and really wanting Tim to cheat as soon as possible or something.

The mental gymnastics people do to hate timber should be studied under a microscope.

The fuck you mean he is bad bisexual rep because he is dating a man… and how does that makes him gay???? Have you ever talked to a bisexual person???

“Oh it makes less of his past relationships” how?? How?!? Is he not allowed to be infatuated with his current partner? Should he continue pining after his past relationships even tho he is dating someone else???

[revelboo]

hey, hope this months been good to you thus far and that january ended on a good note for you. appreciate you a lot ✌️✌️

Thank you! I hope your year is off to a good start, too

It Had to Be You Pt 17

TFO Megatron x Reader

• Draped against him, one of his hands is resting against your spine, sliding slowly up and down before his servos tangle in the hair at the back of your head. Making a soft noise, you wiggle on top of him, feeling his spark thrumming under you. That steady rhythm soothing you. As familiar now as the beat of your own heart. Still feel off balance from that contact with his spark. The glimpses you’d gotten of his memories feeling as real as your own. “You held back from me,” he says, red optics sliding to you then away as his jaw works. “Why?” Confused, you reach up to touch his bottom lip and his head turns away.

• Thought you’d finally trusted him. That the two of you had gotten past the fighting. Past resisting each other, but you’d not submitted to him when he’d bonded you. Hadn’t given him everything. And your expression is confused when you prop yourself up on your elbows on his chassis to look down at him. “What’s that mean?” Like you don’t realize what you’d done. What you’d denied him. Spark aching with that missing connection, with what should be.

• What’s he in a mood about now? See his lip lift slightly to show denta before he gently thumps the back of his helm against the berth a couple times. “The bond,” he growls, servos shifting against the back of your head, cupping it. “It’s not complete. You have to feel it.” Frowning at his tone, you remember being tangled in him. Overwhelmed as he’d coaxed you, wrapping himself about you. And you’d ignored that sweet pull humming through you, ignored his coaxing.

• “It was a lot,” you mutter, avoiding his optics now. Venting tiredly, he tries to let go of the tension. It hadn’t been a no. You hadn’t denied him. Can feel the imperfect bond prickling through his spark. Demanding to be completed. That he tangle himself so fully in you that you’ll never be free of him. But this isn’t something he can just demand or take. It has to be given willingly. And patience has never been his strength. “I didn’t really know what was happening. You didn’t warn me.”

• “A lot,” he echoes, voice strained. “I offer you everything and it’s a lot.” Servos restlessly playing with your hair, his optics shutter. “I’m trying. You have no idea how hard I’m trying.” Leaning up on him, you brush your mouth against his and he finally looks at you. Annoyed and hopeful all at the same time as his other hand lands on your hip. There’s a vulnerability in his expression that reminds you of the glimpses you’d seen of D 16. Of who he’d been before Sentinel’s lies had broken him of trust. And he’s trusting you, giving you the ability to hurt him. But You hadn’t been able to do the same, you’d balked, because it had felt like losing a piece of yourself giving in to him.

• “I’m trying too, okay.” Those eyes he gets lost in are so serious as you brush another kiss against him that feels like an apology. Knows he should have explained first, should have stopped you from touching him without understanding what you were committing to. Another Cybertronian would have known. Wouldn’t have given up their freedom to tie themself to him willingly. And he’d taken advantage of your ignorance to get what he wanted. To make a permanent claim on you. Would you have still chosen to reach out and forge that imperfect connection if you’d known what it meant? He’s not sure and a hurt part of him isn’t capable of just asking. Afraid of what the answer might be.

Previous

[bitchinbarzal]

Yacht | N Hischier

summary: a tweet about nico’s off season escapades hurts you.

-

The first time Nico calls, you don’t answer.

The second time, you silence your phone.

By the third, you block his number.

It’s not that you owe him anything — you weren’t exclusive, weren’t serious, weren’t anything more than stolen nights and tangled sheets before he left for Switzerland.

That was the unspoken agreement. No promises. No expectations. Just something fun while it lasted.

And yet, when you see the tweet — Nico Hischier spotted on a yacht in Ibiza with a mystery woman — something inside you cracks.

You stare at the photo attached, your stomach twisting. His back is turned to the camera, but you’d recognize him anywhere—the sharp lines of his shoulders, the curve of his neck. He’s leaning close to a brunette in a bikini, her hand pressed to his chest like she belongs there.

Like he’s hers.

It shouldn’t bother you. It really, really shouldn’t.

But it does.

So you do the only thing that makes sense: you stop answering his calls. Stop replying to his texts. Stop giving him any piece of you at all.

And when John asks you out in late July, you say yes.

It’s easy with John. Simple.

There are no blurred lines, no unspoken rules, no waiting around for the other shoe to drop. He shows up when he says he will, texts you good morning and goodnight. He doesn’t make you feel like an option, like something temporary.

Most days, that’s enough.

And then September comes.

You know Nico is back in New Jersey before you even see him. He’s hard to avoid when his face is plastered all over social media — first day back on the ice, first media availability, first preseason game on the horizon.

You tell yourself it doesn’t matter. That he doesn’t matter.

But when you spot him across the room at a Devils event, looking right at you, you realize you’ve been lying to yourself.

His gaze doesn’t waver, even when John leans in to murmur something in your ear. You barely register what he says, pulse roaring in your ears.

Nico looks different. Not physically — he’s still tall, still impossibly handsome, still the same person you spent so many nights tangled up with. But there’s something else, something in the way his jaw tightens, the way his hands clench into fists at his sides.

And then he’s walking toward you.

“Can we talk?” His voice is lower than you remember, rougher.

John tenses beside you, but doesn’t say anything. He just looks at you, waiting.

You could say no.

Should say no.

But you don’t.

“Yeah,” you say, pulling your hand from John’s. “Give me a minute?”

John hesitates, then nods.

Nico leads you away from the crowd, into a quieter corner of the venue. He shoves his hands into his pockets, exhaling sharply.

“You’re ignoring me,” he says, accusation laced into every syllable.

You fold your arms over your chest. “You’re just now figuring that out?”

His brows furrow. “I don’t get it, why?”

You let out a humorless laugh. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously.” His frustration simmers just beneath the surface. “I come back, and suddenly you’re acting like I don’t exist. I called you—”

“And I didn’t answer.”

“Yeah, I noticed.” He exhales through his nose. “I just don’t get what I did.”

Your stomach twists. You shouldn’t care enough to explain, but the words bubble up before you can stop them.

“You were in Ibiza,” you say flatly.

Nico blinks. “What?”

“You were in Ibiza,” you repeat, voice sharper now. “On a yacht. With some girl.”

Realization flickers across his face, followed quickly by something else — guilt, maybe?

“That’s what this is about?”

You scoff. “Are you actually surprised?”

“You ghosted me for months over a tweet?” He shakes his head. “Jesus, you could’ve asked me instead of shutting me out.”

“Why would I need to ask?” You cross your arms tighter over your chest. “We weren’t exclusive, remember? You didn’t owe me anything, I didn’t owe you anything. That was the deal.” You force yourself to meet his gaze. “So I didn’t ask. I just… moved on.”

His jaw tightens. “With Marino?”

You don’t look back toward John, but you don’t need to. “Yeah.”

Nico lets out a bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair. “So that’s it? You’re just done?”

“What else is there to say?”

“Maybe that you actually gave a shit” he snaps “Because if you didn’t, you wouldn’t have been so quick to cut me off. You wouldn’t be looking at me like that right now.”

Your breath catches.

You don’t know what he means by that, but you don’t ask. You don’t want to ask.

Because maybe he’s right. Maybe you cared more than you should’ve. Maybe you still do.

But that doesn’t change anything.

You inhale deeply. “I’m happy with John.”

Nico flinches, just barely. “Right.” He nods, slow and deliberate, like he’s convincing himself to believe it “If that’s what you want.”

You swallow. “It is.”

He watches you for a long moment, searching your face for something — doubt, hesitation, anything.

You don’t give it to him.

Finally, he nods. “Okay.”

You don’t say anything else. You just turn and walk back to John, ignoring the way your heart clenches in your chest.

Ignoring the way Nico’s eyes burn into your back the whole way.

Ignoring the nagging, unbearable thought that maybe, you didn’t move on at all.

[benz12313]

Delirium Part 3/3 - Ridoc x Reader 🌶️

{Images are not my own}

Summary: You and Ridoc have been dancing around each other for months, just on the cusp of becoming something more. All it takes is a rough week and a bit of liquor to have you become putty in his hands, and he's been dying for the chance to carry you to his bed. [Takes place during Iron Flame]

Warnings: morning after/aftercare, some angst, fluff, happy ending, Ridoc being a sweetheart, nothing particularly explicit, swearing

Part 1/3 - Part 2/3

Authors Note: This final part made my heart ache writing it, but honestly? I absolutely love how it came out. Thanks for showing this mini-series some love! Now that it's over let me know if you'd like to be added to either of my other taglists. I've got two; All Ridoc Fics and my ongoing fic, Surface Tension's. Either message me or comment! Thank you again, it's nice to have my writing shown some love! :)

Word Count: 2,606

Ridoc’s POV

My body ached, and I nearly groaned and stretched, until I felt the weight resting on my arm. Memories from last night crashed through me, blurry and confused due to the alcohol, but when I opened my eyes to confirm them I froze. Y/N was here. She was really fucking here. Looking divine and sleeping like the dead, makeup smeared over her face and my pillows, and head resting peacefully on my arm while she was huddled in the sheets. Good thing too, because there were scattered piles of fucking snow around the room, letting me know just how thoroughly I’d lost my control last night. 

You know… Aotrom’s voice rang through my head, teasing and I fought back a groan at whatever smart-ass statement he was about to make.

“Not now Aotrom.” I snapped and he chuffed, but for once quieted as he felt my quickly rising panic.  

Not because I regretted anything. Fuck no, I would never regret a single thing about what happened last night. But I knew she would. She was the one who’d run away every time things got too real. She was the one who’d be eye-fucking me one minute and then reminding me, painfully, the next minute that we were just friends. Friends who had now crossed that line and…fuck, just how many marks did I leave on the poor girl? 

My eyes washed over her after lifting the sheets gently, and guilt consumed me. Bruises on her hips and ass in the shape of fingertips, bite marks on the top of her perfect fucking breasts and along her neck, hickies covering her from her neck down to her thighs. And gods, her collarbone was deep fucking purple where I remember making my claim on her last night. A moment of particularly eager loss of control where all I could fucking cling to was the thought of making her mine.  

Well fuck. 

I let out a breathy sigh, and gently pulled my arm from beneath her. She didn’t even stir. My heart ached. Sure, I liked fooling around as much as the next rider. Being always on the cusp of death made one eager to enjoy what life they did have, but this was different.

She was different.

I would gladly give it all up for her, to be able to call her mine. To hold her, love her, absolutely fucking worship her like the goddamn princess she is. One more glance over and I decided. If she was gonna run from me anyway, I would at least make sure she was taken care of first.

It was gonna take a little field trip first though. Let’s just hope he was awake. 

Y/N's POV

My muscles ached, my head pounded, everything outside the blankets was freezing, I felt oddly empty, and unconsciousness pulled at me to stay under in it’s tight embrace. Warmth ran along my hips, trying to coax me awake, but I grumbled into the pillows and snuggled deeper, the scent of the unfamiliar bedding soothing me. 

I don’t care who’s bed I was in. They could fucking wait for me to be ready to wake up. 

I don’t know how long I had fallen back into unconsciousness, probably seconds, but when I awoke, warmth and wetness was running along my aching core and I halfheartedly swatted it away. 

“Ngh.” I whined, barely there. 

“Princess, gotta let me clean you up okay?” A soothing voice muttered, carefully being quiet. Voice barely above a husky whisper, mindful of my hangover.

I knew that voice. Shit..I fucking know that voice, much too well. My eyes flew open, luckily the room was dark so I could see without adjusting, but I found him immediately. Ridoc. 

Shit.

Shit.

SHIT. 

He grinned sheepishly up at me, where he was sitting on the end of the bed, wet rag in hand, and cleaning up between my thighs. The events from last night crashed through me, overwhelming me.

How did I actually let this happen? Even with the alcohol?

Fantasies are one thing, fantasies are safe. Fantasies don’t throw wrenches into friendships and throw the easy dynamic of our squad to the fucking wind. Tears pricked my vision, emotion overwhelming me and Ridoc cursed. 

“Shit, Y/N, are you hurt?” I met his panicked gaze and my heart ached. I was full on sobbing now, everything too much. I couldn’t even tell him that no, my body ached (deliciously) but I wasn’t hurt. I’d just ruined fucking everything. No big deal right? I shook my head as that’s all I could manage.

“Hey? Hey? Okay.” He threw the rag to the side before scooping me up and pulling me onto his lap. “I’ve got you. Just let it out. I’m here.” He cradled me tightly, my face buried in his bare chest as I sobbed. His hand threaded through my hair, holding me secure and his other arm wrapped around my back, cradling me gently. I flashed back to how he’d held me last night, just like this, like something breakable as he’d pounded into me. I sobbed harder. 

“I…ruined….everything!” I wailed and he stiffened, but then continued running his fingers along my scalp. 

“No. Princess, shh. Nothing is ruined.” He whispered, voice gentle, and so sure of himself that I had to pull back and examine his face. He was carefully neutral, and so serious that it threw me off, making me stop sobbing immediately. Not a hint of a smirk or playfulness. Nothing. 

I’d only seen him this serious one other time. When we learned that Violet had been lying to us and keeping secrets. He’d been so hurt that she hadn’t trusted us. He ranted for days about it when it was just us. 

“Yes it is-“ I tried and he shook his head, eyes narrowing on me. 

“It’s only ruined if we let it be.” He assured, gulping as I realized he was lightly trembling. Was he…nervous? Scared? He wiped the tears off my face and sighed, like he was trying to get the weight of the world off his chest. “You can walk right out that door now and pretend that nothing happened if that’s what you want. I can handle our friends. No one will say a fucking word if that’s what you need. Just…please…don’t think you’ve ruined anything.”

I opened my mouth and closed it again. Open. Close. Open. Close. What the fuck was I supposed to say to that? Did I want to leave? 

‘…if that’s what you want?’

What the fuck did that mean? My head swam, aching, and not in a good way. 

“What…what do you want?” I asked, voice small. It was a question I’d been wanting to ask for weeks. Months if I was going to really be honest with myself. 

He froze beneath me, as still as the little animal figurines he’d make for me when he was bored. The ones made of permafrost that I’d kept safely tucked away in the back of my wardrobe, the coldest part of my room. I looked up to his face again and he was biting his lip, terror in his gaze. I realized it then.

He hadn’t expected me to ask. That much was obvious. My heart broke as I realized he’d really expected me to run. To throw what happened last night away, chalk it up to a lapse in judgement, and try to forget about it. He hadn’t predicted I’d ask him what he wanted, that I’d care enough to ask. 

But I couldn’t just throw last night away without at least asking him. Sure, it was easily the greatest sex of my life…but it was more than that too. The tender seconds, thrown in amongst intense pleasure? The way it was so mind altering, not because of what he was doing, but because it was him. The way he’d reduced me to absolute, fucking, delirium where all I could comprehend was Ridoc? No. It didn’t matter if my instinct was to run, to forget everything, to laugh it off and ignore our friends teasing until they eventually forgot about it too. 

I knew with aching clarity that I would never be able to. 

I had to stop running from him. 

I had to put myself at his mercy if I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life with the constant question of what could have been. 

He was quiet, until he shook his head lightly, making my heart stop and fear clutched my throat, choking me. “I can’t…”

“I can’t tell you what I want.” His words were whispers as his thumb ran along my jaw, eyes anywhere but meeting my own. His eyes finally found the courage to meet mine and they went soft. “Don’t look at me like that.” He laughed, short and hollow, the sound suspiciously resembling my previous sobs. 

“I can’t tell you because then I’ll never be able to let you go. To let you walk away and protect your heart how you need to. I can’t tell you because then last night was real, not alcohol induced horniness. Not a mistake. Not two friends dancing over the line of being something more.” Frustration creeped into his voice and I clung tighter to him as he fucking glared at me now. “I can’t tell you because I know with fucking certainty that you’re gonna decide to throw me away like everyone else does. And if I let myself be vulnerable for a fucking second it will destroy me Y/N. You will destroy me. So no, I won’t tell you what I want. I’ll wait for you to tell me what it is you want and do whatever I need to with whatever you give me.” 

My heart raced at the painful truth in his words. The following words left my mouth with aching certainty before I could even think them. 

��I want you Ridoc Gamlyn.” He froze, the anger that had crept up gone, and his mouth fell open in shock. I continued, “I can’t pretend. I’m sorry but I can’t. I just…I’m sorry for crying…for scaring you…I just, I woke up and I remembered and I thought that you’d hate me for what we’d done. Or that I’d let feelings get involved and I’d have to watch you just…I don’t know…move to the next pretty face…and I’d have to bitterly watch and pretend to be happy for you…and it would just ruin everything with the squad…and fuck this is all hurting my head too much Ridoc.” Fresh tears streamed down my cheeks and Ridoc sighed. 

A small smile creeped on his face as he wiped away my tears again. “I knew you liked me.” Then his grin was teasing, and my heart lurched.

My Ridoc was back, sitting underneath me, quickly beginning to grin like a fool. Eyes drinking me in so warmly that I had to hide my face in his chest to cover the heat creeping up my cheeks. I squealed in surprise when he suddenly lifted me, and erupted in giggles when he gently plopped me back down on his pillows. 

“Ridocccc.” I groaned, shooting him heatless daggers as he went back to where he’d been between my legs when I’d first woken up. He laughed and picked up a small tub of what looked like some sort of tincture. In fact he had a few different unlabeled containers piled to the side on his bed as well as a fresh set of sweatpants that I recognized as my own. “What are you doing?”

“Taking care of you Princess. After care is important, I know it’s a little…delayed…but I’m still a gentlemen.” He flashed me a grin, before gently tossing a water canister next to me, within reach. “And I feel a little bad, I was a little…eager…to finally get my hands on you.” 

“I remember.” I giggled and he laughed, gesturing with a nod and an absent hand wave to look at myself. I did, my eyes widening before warmth crept between my thighs. Remembering just how good it had felt when he’d made the dozens of marks that now covered my body. My thighs clenched at the memory and he laughed, lighthearted, despite the satisfied smirk on his face. 

“You should see your neck, if you think that's bad.” He chuckled, before opening the little tub in his hands. “Drink your water. Bodhi leant me this bruise cream-“

“Bodhi? Why does Bodhi have bruise cream laying about?” I asked incredulously and his ears turned light pink. 

“Dude’s into some kinky shit…anyway-“

“Why do you know that?!” I asked and Ridoc sighed, looking anywhere but my face as he began rubbing the cream on my skin, and I couldn’t help but relax at the soothing warmth. 

“Just drink your water woman. Goddamn…too early for so many questions.” I hummed in response to his embarrassed mutters, but my throat was scratchy and water sounded amazing. 

So I sipped the water, as Ridoc gently massaged the tincture into my skin. I relished in his touch and then he was slipping a fresh pair of panties and the pants onto my hips. Then he moved upwards, straddling my waist as he applied more tincture.

We didn’t speak, didn’t really need to, as I watched him with affection in my gaze. He’d gently kiss over some marks, soothing almost as well as the tincture would. When he was finished he slipped one of his own shirts over my shoulders, the fabric soft, and practically drowning me in its size. It smelled so much like him though that I couldn’t complain. 

And then he was cleaning off my makeup after grabbing another container, that I finally recognized as my cleanser. He didn’t stop there though, applying my moisturizer and spf as well, nearly bringing tears to my eyes as my chest filled with emotion. He handed me a muffin without a word; blueberry and dusted with sugar on top, my favorite, before sitting me up and beginning to gently comb through my hair. He pulled it into a haphazard ponytail before slipping out from behind me as I munched on the muffin, thankful that the churning that had begun in my stomach lessened. He then moved around me, grabbed my boots, and sank to his knees in front of me, making my heart race. 

“We going somewhere?” I asked softly and he nodded, a pout covering his lips. 

“As much as I’d like to keep you locked in here all day, doing everything that I’m now allowed to do to you…” His gaze heated for a moment before he gave me a single peck on the lips, sighing sadly, “Our friends haven’t seen us since last night, its nearly lunch hour, and you need something more than a muffin to get your energy back.” 

I whined, wanting his lips back and he chuckled, giving in and giving me one more chaste kiss before working on my boots. Slipping socks on, then tugging the boots on and deftly tying the laces. Then he was off me completely, and pulling his own shirt on, much to my dismay. 

“If we have to.” I pouted as I stood, immediately falling back down again. The ache between my thighs catching me off guard and causing Ridoc to laugh. “What did you do to me?!”

“Don’t worry Y/N,” He teased, pulling me up into his arms. “I’ve got you."

@xadenswhore @littlemissmelodie @jobroho @the-lake-is-calling - I hope I got everyone, if I missed you I'm sorry!

[arcadia-smith]

Unrequited love. (I will always think that this is something that breaks hearts painfully slow)

Simon Riley x Reader.

You’ve always known that loving Simon Riley was a dangerous thing. Not because of the nightmares that clawed at his mind or the ghosts that followed him like a shadow. No, it was dangerous because he never saw you the way you saw him.

And maybe that was your fault. Maybe you should have walked away before the feelings sank in too deep, before your heart curled around him like ivy, clinging even when it hurt.

But you never did.

Not when he smiled at you, a rare thing that made your chest ache. Not when he held you close after missions, his breathing unsteady, as if he needed to remind himself that you were still there. And certainly not when he whispered your name like a prayer in the quiet hours of the night.

It was easy to believe you meant something to him.

Until her.

She was everything you weren’t. Soft laughter and bright eyes, warmth in the way she touched him, an ease in how she held his attention. And he looked at her the way you had spent years looking at him.

You remember the exact moment you knew.

It wasn’t when he first mentioned her name, or even when he started spending more time away. It was when he showed up at your door, eyes shining in a way you’d never seen before.

“She said yes,” he breathed, almost disbelieving.

And you smiled.

God, you smiled so wide it hurt, because that’s what friends do. They don’t break apart in front of the people they love. They don’t let the cracks show.

So you pulled him into a hug, let him crush you in his arms as he whispered about how happy he was. You buried your face into his shoulder, blinking back the sting in your eyes, swallowing the lump in your throat.

Because he never looked at you like that.

And he never would.

—

You don’t go to the wedding.

You have an invitation, of course. It sits untouched on your counter, the elegant lettering spelling out his name alongside hers, mocking you every time you pass it.

Soap calls. Gaz texts. They ask if you’re coming, if you’re okay, if you need anything. You lie through your teeth, tell them you’re sick, that you’re busy, that you don’t want to intrude.

Simon doesn’t call.

You don’t think he notices your absence until much later.

Maybe it’s when the party winds down, when he’s alone for the first time in hours, when the realization creeps in like a whisper.

Maybe it’s when he looks around the reception, searching for you without even realizing he’s doing it. When he catches Soap's somber expression, the way Gaz avoids his gaze.

Maybe it’s not until years later, when the honeymoon phase fades and real life settles in. When he finds himself thinking of you in quiet moments, wondering why you aren’t around as much anymore, why it feels like something is missing.

You relocate. A different base. A different team.

You relocate to spare yourself.

—

Years Later

The news reaches him too late.

Simon is sitting in the common hall, watching the rain streak down the window, when his phone buzzes. He answers out of habit, not expecting much.

Soap's voice is quiet. Too quiet.

He barely hears the words over the rushing in his ears.

A mission gone wrong. Too much blood lost before help arrived. You were alone, left behind by your new team.

Gone.

The funeral is small. Simple. He doesn’t speak. Just stands at the back, hands clenched into fists, watching as they lower the casket into the ground.

Soap stands beside him, but no one else does. Not her. Not his wife. She hadn’t asked where he was going, and he hadn’t told her.

Because how could he explain it? How could he explain the way his ribs felt like they were caving in, the way his lungs burned with every breath? How could he explain that this loss felt different than any other?

He doesn’t cry.

He doesn’t say goodbye.

He just stands there, watching as they cover you with dirt, as the last piece of you disappears from his sight.

And for the first time, he wonders if maybe—just maybe—he loved you all along.

But now, he’ll never get the chance to tell you.

And that is the worst part of all.

—

Months Later

It happens on a quiet night.

Simon is going through old boxes in the closet, looking for something long forgotten. His wife is asleep in the next room, unaware.

He’s sifting through old mission reports, books, scraps of things that don’t matter—until he finds it.

A letter.

His name is scrawled across the front in your handwriting, the ink slightly smudged, like you hesitated before writing it.

He shouldn’t open it. He knows that.

But he does anyway.

His hands shake as he unfolds the paper. The words blur in front of his eyes, but he forces himself to focus.

Sim,

I don’t know if I’ll ever send this. Maybe it’s just for me. But if you’re reading it, then I guess I wasn’t brave enough to say it out loud.

I loved you. I loved you in all the ways a person could love someone. And I never told you because I knew—God, I knew you didn’t feel the same. And that’s okay. I never expected you to.

I just wanted you to know.

I hope she makes you happy. I hope she gives you the kind of love I always wished I could.

And I hope, someday, I stop wishing things had been different.

—Y/N

The paper crumples in his grip.

His chest is too tight, his throat burning as he squeezes his eyes shut.

Because fuck.

He should have known.

Should have seen it.

But it’s too late.

It’s too late, and you’re gone, and all he has left is the ghost of what could have been.

And maybe that’s the cruelest part of all.

[alotofpockets]

Tiny Tillie | Katrina Gorry x Reader

5k celebration prompt: “Our girl’s first football practice.”

Woso masterlist | Words: 1.2k

-----

Harper grew up in a world filled with football. With both of her mom’s playing professionally, there hadn’t been a day in her life where a ball wasn’t involved. She had joined you and Katrina on camps since she was a little baby, and it hadn’t taken long before every single one of your teammates had become her aunties. 

While she had already kicked balls around in the biggest stadiums, in front of thousands and thousands of people, she had always been too young to sign up for your local football club.

You and Katrina had always said you wouldn’t force her to be into football like the both of you, your children would be free to love whatever they wanted. But Harper loved football with her whole heart. She wanted to be just like her mom’s.

After asking again and again if she could play, you were finally able to enroll her. She would have her first practice with the club today, and she had not stopped talking about it all week. Her enthusiasm was the most adorable thing.

The morning of Harper’s first practice was pure chaos, but in the best way. It started by her hopping into your bed and jumping around. “Get up! Get up! Get up!” She chanted full of excitement. 

You swooped her out of the air mid jump, and held her down onto the bed in a cuddle. “Darling, practice isn’t for another couple of hours.” You tried, hoping she would let you and Katrina stay in bed just a little longer. “But mama, I gotta get ready.”

“Hmmm, I think that you have plenty of time, and maybe the tickle monster should have a visit first.” Katrina chimed in, lifting her hands tauntingly above your daughter. “Noooo.” Harper said as she was trying to get up to escape the incoming tickle attack, but Katrina’s fingers were tickling her tummy and sides before she was able to run off. 

Your bedroom filled with her giggles, a sound you would never be able to get enough of. “Mama!” She cried out with laughter. “Help me!” You wrapped your arms around her protectively and softly swatted your wife’s hands away.

“Alright Harps, why don’t you put on your training kit. Mommy put it on your chair last night. Then I will be right there, alright?” Harper’s eyes lit up at your words. She jumped off of the bed and sprinted to her room. “Save some of that energy for practice.” Katrina said after her jokingly.

Then she turned to you, “Can you believe it’s our girl’s first football practice?” You shook your head and pulled your wife closer. “I still remember the first time we took her to camp with us like it was yesterday. I can’t wait to see the joy on our little girl’s face when she’s out there.”

“Mama, help!” You heard Harper from the other side of the hallway. You kiss your wife’s head. “Duty calls.”

When you walk into Harper’s room you see her struggling to get her shirt on. It was all twisted around her small frame, one arm through the head hole and the other in the wrong arm hole. “Hm I think this is fixable. Arms up.” You said and helped her pull the fabric off. 

“Here, let me hold it up for you, and then you can try again.” She carefully watched what you did, eager to learn how to do it herself. She had been in a phase lately where she wanted to do everything herself, so you let her and knew she’d come to you if she needed help anyways.

“There we go, well done darling.” You praised her when she managed to get the shirt on properly the second time around. She proudly showed off her outfit, that’s when your eyes fell on the West Ham short she was wearing. “Darling, why are you wearing your West Ham kit? You got shorts from your club.”

“Because they’re my favourite Mama.” You were about to tell her to switch them out, but Katrina stepped up behind you and wrapped her hands around your waist. “Pick your battles, love. They’re just shorts.” 

Katrina was right, as long as it was training, she should be fine in her West Ham shorts. “Alright, West Ham shorts it is.” Harper jumped around excitedly. “Yay, let’s go Hammers!” You both chuckled. 

“I’m going to start on breakfast, see you downstairs.” Katrina whispered to you. Leaving you to continue helping Harper get ready. 

When she was all dressed, and you finished braiding her hair, the two of you headed downstairs. Instead of walking to the dining table however, Harper went straight for the kit bag that Katrina had gotten ready last night.

“Where do you think you’re going, Harps?” Katrina called out to her. “We have to go to practice, Mommy.” She shook her head with a chuckle. “Come have some breakfast first, we still have time. Footballers need to have a good breakfast, so they can be strong on the pitch. You want to be strong, right?”

“I am strong, Mommy.” She said showing off her muscles. “Well, I think some pancakes would make you even stronger than that.” At the word ‘pancake’ she dropped her bag and sprinted to the dining table. “That’s my girl.” She said proudly before placing a stack of pancakes in front of her.

Once breakfast was ready, there was no stopping the little baller from wanting to go to practice. Heading over early actually worked out for the surprise you had planned. 

When you got to the parking lot, Harper was hastily trying to undo her seatbelt, wanting to get out of the car as fast as possible. You opened her door and walked her to the little sidewalk in front of the car before, while Katrina got the bag from the trunk. 

Harper was too busy looking towards the pitch to notice two people walking towards her. “Look who’s here.” You nudged her in the right direction. “Kywa! ChaCha!” She yelled out full of excitement as she ran their way. Jumping into Kyra’s arms as the midfielder lifted her up and spun her around.

“Are you ready for your first practice?” Charli asked Harped as she kissed her cheek. “Yes, I’m gonna be just like all of you!”

“Our Tiny Tillie.” Kyra said to her, “I can’t wait to see you out there.”

Then Harper looked over Kyra’s shoulder and saw even more familiar faces. “Put me down! Put me down!” She said, wiggling her legs. The moment her feet touched the ground she ran off to greet Steph and Caitlin. It was safe to say that the surprise of some of her aunties coming down for her first practice was a success. 

Together with some of you Aussie girls, you watched your daughter play full of pride. She looked to be having the time of her life, a big smile plastered on her face as she was running around on the pitch with the rest of the kids. No matter how far she wanted to take football, you would be there to support her through it all.

-----

💗 If you enjoyed this fic, please consider liking, commenting, and reblogging! You can also support me by leaving a tip 💗

[thebunnednun]

Kiss me!~Kiss me!~ 💐

Y'all ain't ready for ALL this here.

Based on my mha “Fuck it, I got you,” mha story au’s. Some of these ladies haven’t graced the screen yet so you’re meeting new girlies today!! The only two cannon series out right now are Katsuki’s and Aizawa’s. I don’t wanna write for more characters until I finish at least Katsuki’s. 

Why am I letting the girls out now then? (THey scaRe mE—) Because as Elizabeth Bennet said, not having the younger sisters have their share of fun because the eldest is not yet married hardly encourages sisterly affections. Plus, they crazy.

BUT— For this month alone, you will meet them and hopefully fall in love. Every fic is going to have bonus facts about the reader and how she met her man at the end of the fic. These ladies walked into my mind fully formed so I hope you love them as much as I do. 

None of these women are ‘OC’s’. They are you, with big personalities and crazy brain power/quirks/whatever. If y/n can be a pretty princess one moment then throw her hair into a messy bun using her orbs and take 5 dicks like a pro and keep it kicking at work the next day, you can have a discernible personality and strong powers in a fanfic. 

I will be hosting a poll that lets you, mi amor, vote on who you want to see get posted first. Make sure you cast your vote because poll times are going to be airtight. I will also take requests for a character that you desperately want to see added to the list. Remember to reblog with extra tags so more people can see this!

If you like my writing please feel free to follow, like, reblog, whatever. My fanbase is called the, “Cheesy potatoes,” and I do have a community link. Feel free to interact with me here on my blog, that’s what tumblr is for! I also have a Ko-fi if you’d like to tip me or commission a fic. I write for other fanbases too, but if you like my mha stuff in particular, please give my current works and series a look over and show them some appreciation. I’m also on ao3 and comments are love. 

Enjoy your reading!!

And Happy Valentines Day~~🌹

-Angie

P.s. All the little icons are clues to what the stories will be about, byebye!~

Remember to give the post a like if you vote.

Remember you are loved.