#I know what I'm talking about this time though

[astonmartinii]

other side of the moon - chapter one | formula one imagine

pairing: fem retired formula one driver reader x ??? fem retired formula one driver reader x platonic!kimi antonelli

chapter one: an offer you can refuse

years of solitude has led y/n y/ln down a dark path following her career-ending injury in 2022 but one rookie seems dead set on bringing her back into the fray

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

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“have you seen this?”

it’s too early in the day to be subjected to twitter in y/n’s opinion, but her manager - the one she’s always insisted in not needing - insists upon it. sara’s hand shakes as she hands over her phone, the video already playing loudly.

the video is a poorly clipped together compilation of kimi antonelli, for no better word, gushing about her. it’s earnest and even cute, but not cute enough. the formula one paddock was a vulture pit, one y/n had only escaped three years earlier with her life - barely.

“it’s cool. that’s all it is though,” y/n moves towards the door, picking up her coat and refusing to turn back towards sara, “i’ve told you since jenson insisted i hire you, there’s no way in hell i will ever go back to that paddock. and that’s the end of it, please. i’ll do any stupid vitamin ad or female empowerment talk if it makes you happy, but i can’t go back there.”

y/n grabbed her keys and left the apartment, leaving sara in her wake. sara reached into her pocket and pulled out a tattered letter with ‘y/n’ scrawled on the front in awful handwriting. she left it on the kitchen island and left, understanding this was likely to be her last time in this apartment - there's stupid and there's what she was doing right now, there was no way she would still be employed in the morning.

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girlsonthegrid

liked by maxverstappen1, oscarpiastri and 103,478 others

tagged: yourusername

girlsonthegrid: today we look back at the biggest what if for women in formula one - y/n y/ln. the 26-year-old drove for mclaren from 2020 to 2022 before she sustained a career-ending injury at silverstone. y/ln was the first ever female f1 race winner with her emphatic victory at monza in 2021 and the first ever female formula 2 champion with her win in 2019. her career lasted just 30 races and she hasn't been seen in the paddock or around any drivers since the crash. there have been reports that she has been approached about a mentor role but considering how fast her management rejected and shut down sky sports about a commentary role, this is also unlikely. what would you like to see from her if she ever comes out of hiding?

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user1: i mourn for her everyday

user2: the way she paved the way for so many but can't stand to be in the paddock to see what she did for the sport

user3: i really don't blame her

user4: doriane is the mercedes reserve and abbi is alpine's! her work is there even if she isn't and i know i'll always be grateful for that

user5: she's so overrated, if she didn't crash she still would've been out of formula 1 by now

user6: me when i'm the most wrong ever

user7: i can't believe there are still men to this day that think she wasn't great? literal world champions like max, lewis, fernando, seb and jenson have all said that she could've won a championship

user8: i mean no shade to lando but i think y/n would've made it 100x harder for max this season in that mclaren

user9: the way jenson tried to say that in the nicest way possible in las vegas lol

user10: and max agreed with him LOL

user11: the way it wasn't even proper lando shade or oscar shade like twitter painted it to be but like max just praising his bestie

user12: he does not play about her as he should

user13: i mean he's the only one we know y/n still actually talks to

user14: i can't wait for the tell-all biography that exposes half the grid because like how much have you must have fucked up for her to never speak to you again

user15: when twitter likes were public she was caught liking a bunch of tweets bout mick when he got his first points so like she doesn't even have hard feelings to the guy who put her in the barrier sooo

user16: it was proven it was break failure???? mick did nothing wrong that's why she still likes things praising him

user17: that crash really robbed us of the best ever f1 relationship with y/n and lando

user18: you know that's part of the reason that she doesn't speak to lando right?

user19: because she wished it was him not her?

user20: NO! because she hated that whole 'ship'

user21: and lando leaned into it way too much

user22: it made me a bit uncomfortable and i'm not even y/n

user23: AND she said on the beyond the grid podcast that she thought those rumours were really reductive and relegated her to just a love interest of her teammate rather than a race winner

user24: kimi antonelli please bring her back to us

user25: praying she'll listen to the literal child

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texts between y/n y/ln (bold) and max verstappen (italics)

did u give them my fucking address

my lawyer says to always deny everything?

i also actually have no idea what you are talking about…

i just got home and there’s a fucking letter from KIMI ANTONELLI on my kitchen counter

it’s creepy and a mad invasion of privacy

i did NOT give them your address?

i gave them sara’s contact details so they wouldn’t be able to directly get to you and i honestly thought she would be too scared to ask you

she showed me all the clips of him praising me.

it didn’t work.

it’s been three years y/n…

and it still hasn’t been long enough.

all i’m saying is read the letter, as creepy as it might be, he is just an 18 year old entering the lion’s den you could at least reply to him even if you don’t take up the offer

although i read they were going to pay you £10 million a year??? was that real?

unfortunately it is very real.

i didn’t think i was still worth that much

you are worth that and more, just give him a chance. we’ve both met him, he’s a sweet kid.

for now.

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it was cold in her apartment, y/n hadn’t shut the window from when she opened them that morning. in fact she hadn’t moved from the kitchen since she set eyes on the letter. it was bold she’d give him that.

the letter was crumpled as if it had gone through hell to get to her (it probably had) and the handwriting was a serious reminder of just how young kimi is. y/n had wondered if her maternal instincts would ever kick in like all the older women in her life insisted it would. sure she had felt intense feelings of love for her childhood cats and had cared her formula one cars (regina and heather, they were named after mean girls, because that is who they had to be on track) like they were children. but that true maternal feeling had never come to her, until now.

all y/n could think about was kimi. how young he was, how much he was set to lose. not everyone was her, the worst thing wasn’t going to happen to everyone - it just always seemed to happen to her.

her loud phone alarm jolted her out of her daydream, reminding her to take her painkillers. as she poured herself a glass of water, y/n slammed down the glass and ripped open the letter.

dear miss y/n y/ln my name is andrea kimi antonelli and i am going to be driving for mercedes amg f1 team in 2025. we met very briefly after i won all three races at mugello and lifted the italian f4 championship trophy. i know you were there on mclaren PR but for me it changed my life. you have always been my biggest inspiration alongside michael schumacher (i am italian, you must understand). it was always my dream to race alongside you and maybe even be teammates, i’d even betray toto and leave mercedes to make that happen (please don’t tell him i told you that). i know that can never happen now, but it could happen in another way? i know like me you grew up seeing niki lauda supporting and mentoring the mercedes drivers and i was wondering if you would be my mentor - who cares about george anyway. i know you’ve never come back to the paddock and are unlikely to do so for little old me. but if you could just think about it that would be great, if you don’t ask, you’ll never get! i hope this letter wasn’t horribly offensive, i mean it when i say you’re my favourite!!! love, kimi (p.s. i was at monza 2021, so you could even consider me a good luck charm) (p.p.s you won monza 2021 completely on merit but i was there) (p.p.p.s please don’t think i’m an idiot) (p.p.p.p.s i also loved interlagos 2020 that’s a super underrated drive)

with tears in her eyes, y/n placed the letter back on the counter, grabbed the glass of water and made her way to her bedroom. painkillers taken with a wince, she still hadn’t gotten used to the size of the pills even three years into taking them, y/n shuffled under the duvet.

the offer was there and it seemed sincere. her accountant would tell her that the money was worth the mental turmoil, even if she just did it for one season and returned to her little cave in west london.

there was no doubt she felt something for kimi - a kinship, a frienship or a maternal yearning - but was it worth ripping off all the bandages and opening herself back up to all the scrutiny again?

she would sleep on it.

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yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, georgerussell63 and 10,567,388 others

yourusername: much to think about these days. like how the fuck this app works now?

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user1: first post in three years and it’s THIS?

user2: i am not complaining

user3: i am savouring every little piece in case she goes missing for another three years

mclarenf1: the queen has returned

user4: no thanks to you

user5: how about we keep my wife’s name out of your fucking mouth

user6: socials admin i know it is not you specifically but i really don’t know how you can post up here like you’re completely absolved of your involvement in this. your car had break failure that broke her fucking back - it is a miracle she is even still walking! and you still don’t accept any responsibility for it

user7: i love y/n but like how is it mclaren’s fault? break failure happens all the time?

user8: well it’s in one part the fact that they were using her as a test dummy because it was a new faulty part that mclaren was experimenting with that was on her car and NOT lando’s and the fact that to this day when they feel like it they’ll heap guilt onto mick schumacher

user9: without being disrespectful there were two formula one careers that were ended that day because mclaren have kept to the narrative that it was mick that put her into the barriers eventhough siedel admitted when he left mclaren that it was a faulty break part that caused it.

user10: clock it

user11: yes clock it but maybe on a different post because it’s y/n’s return to the internet and all yall can talk about is the most traumatic event in her life?

kimiantonelli: i also love clairo

user12: what is bro doing?

user13: be quiet he’s our best hope of y/n coming back to the paddock let him cook

user14: name three songs local

kimiantonelli: bags (live), alewife and blouse

user15: this motherfucker might just do it

maxverstappen1: i miss brando :/

yourusername: you know my address

yourusername: use it since you like to give it out so much

maxverstappen1: I DID NOT GIVE THEM YOUR ADDRESS

user16: y/lnstappen friendship is BACK

user17: it was never gone?

user18: but now we get to see it :P

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when she woke the next morning, y/n knew she had to read the letter again before jumping into anything. in her sleep she was plagued with memories of the past, but not the usual ones that haunted her in the dark. there were no flames, no hospitals, no career-ending injuries. no, this time she was transported back to 2020 and her first few races of her formula one career.

march 2020.

the paddock was much bigger in formula one than it had been in formula two with hundreds more people running around, barging through crowds, hitting y/n on the way through and not even stopping to apologise. she had thought briefly that she would be making more noise as the first female racer to take part in a race since forever - y/n even thought that she’d made a bit of a splash during preseason testing, nestled between her teammate lando and alex in the red bull in fifth.

but she was invisible. even with the garish orange path to follow to the mclaren garage, y/n struggled to get through the crowds of people brandishing their paddock passes. her trainer had gone ahead to set up her driver room which left y/n to push through and arrive to briefing ten minutes late.

“i’m so sorry, i got lost and by the time i was going in the right direction the paddock had filled up?”

y/n stammered, not quite able to make eye contact with zak brown. the american wasn’t tall in comparison to the general public but he towered over y/n and the disapproving stare didn’t do much to help.

“just make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

zak snipped, waving his hand in y/n’s direction, telling her to take a seat. y/n rushed to the nearest empty seat and looked for her teammate in the room. lando was sat just three seats to her right on a small table. y/n tried to make eye contact with lando but he avoided her gaze like it was burning him, so much for the ‘big brother’ act he had put on at the car launch.

the engineers stood in front of the screen and started their long-winded presentation about the prospects for the season ahead. y/n pulled her note book out and frantically started taking notes, she didn’t know if that was normal for formula one drivers, but knowing as much as possible couldn’t hurt.

y/n copied down the warnings about possible tyre wear in turn three when she heard some soft sniggers, like someone was trying to stifle their laughter. this drew y/n out of her focus on the presentation, looking around the meeting room to locate the perpetrator.

lando caught her eye immediately. he had a light blush across his face and his mouth was covered by his hand. he looked guilty, guiltier than the rest of the room who were listening intently to the engineers. y/n raised her eyebrow in question.

“i’m sorry are we distracting you two?”

zak interrupted the presentation, turning to look at y/n and lando.

“no, sorry sir,” y/n replied turning her chair back to face the screen. “lando?” zak pressed.

“i’m sorry zak but y/n was distracting me with her note-taking,” lando forced out between his boyish giggles. “i’ve never taken notes, i didn’t realise you would be sucking up to the engineers this early on?”

“i’ve always taken notes? is it a problem? i’m sorry if i was distracting you lando.”

“yeah we’ll see how much those notes help you on track, rookie.”

lando spat over the table. it was uncharacteristically mean for the lando she had seen in the mclaren social content and the lando she spoke with at the car launch. y/n felt tears prickle in her eyes but she swallowed them down, she couldn’t cry yet - or at least not in view of all the most important people on the team.

“right. we’ll get back to business then.”

the rest of the meeting went by in a blur for y/n, but despite the outburst from lando, she continued to take her notes, she would be damned if some comments from lando would fuck up her entire race weekend routine. y/n took her time when zak dismissed them from the meeting, not wanting to look unprofessional.

moving towards the door, y/n’s shoulder hit someone else’s. she looked up to make eye contact with lando yet again.

“you better not make a habit of making contact with me, rookie,” lando said, a slight smirk but a harsh look in his eyes.

“are you like okay?”

“why wouldn’t i be?” lando replied pushing past through the door.

“i don’t know, you’re just a little frosty this morning? did i do something?”

“why would i be thinking about you, seriously? this is my team, know your place and we’ll get on just fine”.

with that lando was gone and y/n was left puzzled. i guess PR really does work wonders, y/n thought before making her own way to her drivers room.

her trainer, luca, wasn’t there when she managed to locate the room but all of her gear was already neatly put away like they had discussed. y/n cracked open an electrolyte drink and opened her notebook to study the meeting points.

there was a loud knock at the door and before y/n could even utter a “come in”, the mystery visitor barged into the room. daniel ricciardo announced his arrival with a packet of tim tams thrown at y/n and a quick “howdy” before he started rifling through her stuff and studying her helmet.

“ah, another cool dude who has a cuddly guy on their helmet,” daniel said, picking up her helmet, pointing at the cartoon version of her childhood cat.

“oh that’s schumi, when we travelled for karting we always brought him up until he died of old age, but i still want him with me whenever i race.” y/n said, nervous that the heartfelt explanation would be deemed uncool by one of the coolest racers she had ever seen.

“oh that’s surprisingly cute, i bet schumi was a big hit in the paddock back in the day.”

“he sure was, he’s how i charmed max into not hating me after i took him out once,” y/n chuckled thinking back to the race where max stormed up to her with angry tears in his eyes until y/n practically threw schumi at him. in just five seconds, max had calmed down and schumi was happily purring in the young dutchman’s lap.

“that sounds like max. but speaking of the other young whippersnappers in the paddock, how is our lando treating you? i bet zak and that can’t keep up with you two…” daniel asked, slumping to the floor, taking one of her drinks from the mini fridge.

“oh. i am getting used to him, we’ll put it that way?”

“he’s not being rude is he?”

“no! well. he insists on calling me rookie and keeps making comments about me crashing into him and made fun of me taking notes in briefing but i’m sure that such the british banter.”

“you’re british?”

“well. um. yeah, you got me there.”

daniel grabbed her hands, forcing y/n to look him in the eyes rather than her very interesting shoes.

“i know lando is like some media darling, but so are you. don’t let him push you around, he may have been in this team a while but you’re just as good as him if not better. you’re here to prove yourself, not to play second fiddle, okay?”

it was the first time someone had actually tried to talk to her properly since getting to the paddock. again, tears climbed to her eyes, but this time she let one creep out. daniel wiped it away.

“we made the mistake of isolating max when he was young and new, we won’t make the same mistake - we can’t have two of you running rampant around here,” y/n let out a wet laugh which daniel returned, “just come to renault if you need anything from me. max will be there for you, you know, and seb, kimi, fernando and all the old men will listen to you. don’t rot in your drivers room or hotel suite and think you’re not wanted here.”

y/n nodded, feeling some butterflies in her stomach. she was actually here - a formula one driver. a seven-time race winner wants her here, world champions want her here. a private-school fuckboy wasn’t going to ruin her first ever race weeekend.

“thank you daniel.”

“i have to dash, but i’m serious, we’re here for you. and i would be honoured to kick that little shit’s ass for you, okay?”

the australian left in just as loud fashion as he came, but in the remaining silence, y/n finally felt some peace. this was her chance, and she wasn’t going to mess it up.

present.

y/n couldn’t let that happen to kimi. the young italian was just so unbelievably earnest in his letter that y/n couldn’t bear the thought of his kindness being taken advantage of. george russell had never been outwardly callous but with his attack on max late last season and his complete radio silence with y/n since her crash made her suspicious.

as she prepared to ask max for kimi’s number, sara (who did actually still have a job) sent her a link.

sara: zak brown believes mclaren has the strongest pairing on the grid with no more childish recklessness like in the early 2020s

sara: do you want us to put out a statement or ignore as usual?

y/n clicked on the link, even though she knew it would just annoy her to the point that her phone might become closely acquainted with the thames.

as the formula one world gears up for the 2025 season, zak brown has already stated his confidence for mclaren this season. the papaya team will be coming into the 2025 season as reigning constructors champions and lando norris and oscar piastri will be aiming to add the world drivers championship to that as well.

when zak brown sat down with us earlier this week, the mclaren ceo did not beat around the bush, stating that mclaren have the strongest pairing on the grid. with red bull promoting liam lawson in a test and, mercedes putting unproven kimi antonelli next to george russell and ferrari gambling with charles leclerc and lewis hamilton, brown might just be right.

in their journey to constructors champions, brown recognised that as a team they had straightened out all of their ‘growing pains’. this is exemplified in oscar piastri completing all laps in the 2024 season.

like they usually do, y/n y/ln’s particularly rabid twitter fans will probably detect some ‘shade’ towards the former driver. brown did touch on the prior mclaren drivers during his reign as ceo, saying that the team had some childish recklessness, but now they have a team that all know their place.

y/n y/ln hasn’t spoken about anything formula one related since her retirement, even forgoing the opportunity to congratulate the team that took the chance on her for winning the championship - something brown did not mince his words on off camera. brown lamented about y/ln’s silence, labelling her a brat and ungrateful for not still thanking him for allowing a woman to compete in formula one.

will mclaren make it back-to-back constructors championships? and will they sweep both championships this season?

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she needed that loud-mouthed american’s head on a silver platter. the letter had almost sucked her back into the world of formula one, only for the man who discarded her like a broken toy when his car had malfunctioned and smashed her and her career into a concrete wall to call her an ungrateful brat.

fuck him. fuck mclaren. and fuck that dumbass reporter for giving him the time of day.

y/n didn’t throw her phone from her balcony but pulled up her texts with max.

texts between y/n y/ln (bold) and max verstappen (italic)

have you read this absolute hogwash

zak brown believes mclaren has the strongest pairing on the grid with no more childish recklessness like in the early 2020s

i 100% get why you wanted to put him in a wall last season

you watched last season?

shut up not the time

did you text me just to call your old tyrannical boss a fraud?

i was going to ask for kimi’s number but now i’m back at square one

noooooooo

i want to be there for him, the way no one was for us.

but this is the bs they write about me when i haven’t been seen or heard from in three years, imagine the shite they come up with when i’m the paddock every weekend

WHEN?

no no no

i’ll give you kimi’s number

contact: kimi antonelli (mercedes)

you decide what you want to do

as much as i would kill to have you around the paddock again… even in the vicinity of george

i want you to do what you are comfortable with

thanks max

i’m not giving you a yes but i’m definitely thinking about it

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fin.

note: omg that's part one??????? i had this idea and have been planning and adding to it for a couple days. no spoilers but there will be multiple love interests, backstabbing and all that lovely stuff - i just love the drama !!! (yes i will finish guilty as sin at some point as well). i hope you enjoy the prose as well - first time writing that way on here lol ?! let me know if you liked it, who you'd like to see her with and what you'd like to see happen!

[mangostarjam]

you've been touching him a lot since he got back.

itoshi sae doesn't do anything about it — doesn't dissuade you from tugging at his sleeve or sliding his jacket zipper back and forth while you talk. doesn't comment or bring your attention to it.

but he watches.

you've been around him a lot since his plane landed, making up for all the time he's spent abroad, as if your daily chat threads haven't been enough. most of the time it's just the two of you, the way it used to be. sometimes his brother is around, though thankfully it doesn't seem like you've gotten any closer to rin since sae left.

other times there's a group, mostly your friends, a mix of guys and girls who don't seem to know what to do with themselves around him. sae is used to this — fame brings strange things to light — but you treat him as you always have, except for the touching.

you don't touch anyone else.

it makes him think.

sae has his reasons. he's never let your relationship get past that line, drawn in the sand. he's a professional football player on the other side of the world, and you have a life here. you have friends (even though you still call him your best friend), you have a job (that you complain about all the time), you have family (that can't be bothered to ever congratulate you on anything).

it wouldn't be right — to make you leave. to take you away. not when he needs to focus on being the best in the world.

(he is the best in the world. all those years ago he showed the U-20 team in japan the difference between them, the way the most they could hope for was dating a gravure model. sae never cared about that aspect. he already had you.)

he lets you touch him, but he doesn't touch you back. he keeps you at arm's length — where you're safe.

and then you ask him to be your wingman.

someone else — touching you? kissing you? having you? unthinkable. sae steps out of the shower and barely dries off before pulling on his briefs and pants. steps into his room and there you are, sitting on his bed, looking good, if a little sad.

he considers telling you to get your passport updated and catches the way your eyes trail down his form. maybe this conversation would be easier if he's wearing a shirt — your gaze is too heated, too distracting. you probably think you're being sneaky, hiding your feelings as best as you can, but sae knows you.

and your casual touches are ocean waves washing that line in the sand away.

sae walks towards his closet when it happens again. your finger in his belt loop, stopping him in his tracks. "what?"

"you were ignoring me," you say. "i asked if my outfit is okay."

your outfit is more than okay. "i would have told you to change if it wasn't."

"if you're going to be my wingman, shouldn't you hype me up?" you huff.

sae feels his jaw clench at the reminder. "no," he says, and his tone comes out cold. you don't seem to notice, falling back on his bed and testing every bit of self control in his grasp. "this is a waste of time."

he goes to pull on a shirt before he does something drastic. you're saying something, but it hardly matters when his flight leaves if you'll be on the plane with him. you've covered your eyes with your forearm, so you miss the way he pauses at the foot of the bed, teal eyes drinking in your form splayed out so defenselessly.

sae climbs over you silently, knees nudging yours apart, hands planted on either side of your body. "this is a waste of time," he repeats, watching with amusement as you take in his position. a blush sweeps across your face, but you don't push him off. that's a good sign, at least.

"what, you think i'm not worth being a wingman for?" you ask. silly. you have no idea.

and then you reach for his belt loops again, as if that's a totally normal thing to do and not something that drives him a little nuts every time. sae prides himself on his control, though, so he doesn't lean down to kiss you just yet.

"tell me," sae says, "have you become this touchy with all your friends since i've been gone?"

"n-no?"

it's cute, how wide your eyes get. sae leans down a little closer. feels your breaths on his lips. still doesn't kiss you — yet. "then i won't be your wingman. you don't need one."

"why not?"

do you know how breathless you sound? sae considers his apartment in spain, how he'll need to make sure the bedroom doesn't share any walls with the neighbors. the way you sound is all for him and him alone.

"because you have a boyfriend, now."

(companion piece to this)

[awordsmith]

omitted thoughts 𝜗𝜚 s.r

۶ৎ in which the tension between you and Spencer at work is almost too much to bare; lingering eyes and longing needs that are ignorant to the people around you, but all too easily perceived by the other.

who? spencer x bau!reader  when? s8  category: smut  content warnings: (maeve plotline does not exist, emily is still with the bau) munch spencer, tension here–tension there–tension everywhere, thorough foreplay (as in practically the entire fic), sexual acts, not too explicit, no dom/sub really mentioned–though spencer is a little more confident, proofed! reid with pleasure...  word count: 11.4k a/n: munch spencer as per requested by an anon!! this one has been in my filing cabinet for a while, so i'm glad i've finally gotten to write it out... also, new format–hey! okay i'll stop rambling... enjoy!!

There is a moment in every person’s life when they just know something sinister is about to unfold. That feeling found its way to you the exact moment the mixup with the rooms happened. It was bound to occur, it wasn’t like it was inevitable–you of all people were accustomed. Though, to be particularly truthful, it wasn’t the mixup that strangled your thoughts, no, it wasn’t as trivial as that.

What had your heart racing–your mind running–was that you were paired with Spencer. You should have said something. You were sure Emily would switch with you in a heartbeat–she and Spencer got along well enough, that it wouldn’t be a favor at all. However, even with this knowledge, you kept your mouth shut.

It was something in your gut, something in the darkest parts of your mind that swayed the moral, logical side.

It was late and the dimly lit hall only had so much life. You noted the old, peeling, pee-colored wallpaper; red flowers straying to and fro–if you tried hard enough, you could almost picture how it must have looked like in its prime.

Spencer made no effort to talk and for this you were grateful. You hadn’t had the chance to get too close to him in the few months you’ve been with the team. You were new, but not unaccustomed–you had been transferred almost six months ago with the help of thorough recommendations and pure skill–though you never pulled rank.

Hotch seemed a nice enough dad-boss, Rossi gave the impression of a comedic uncle most of the time, Morgan took his role as the older brother, Emily and JJ were great mentors and you were thrilled to be working alongside them, and you found Penelope to be a strong aunt-like figure. Spencer, though, you weren’t too sure where he fell in the categories you had enlisted just yet. 

He was a great mystery, one you were keen to unravel little by little.

“Do you have a preferred side?” Spencer asked after completing a skim with his bedbug flashlight.

“No,” you glanced around the room, two queen beds sat adjacent to each other only separated by a mediocre bedside table. A home phone sat close to the bed nearest the door and a lamp sat closest to the bed nearest the AC and window. The old, red velvet curtains were pulled back in what you thought was meant to be a kind gesture. Nevertheless, for an unknown reason, it left a bad taste in your mouth. “But, I do think we should close those,” you sighed, setting your duffle bag in the only chair in the room.

Spencer set his things on the bed near the window. You began untying the curtain closest to the bathroom. A shiver crawled up your spine as the air around you grew dry, you were seriously hoping for hot water. You meant to throw Spencer a hopeful glance, praying he’d let you take a shower first–but your eyes caught his hands instead. He was working his sleeves back, unbuttoning them as quickly as he could.

His sweater vest had been discarded and now lay in a bunched-up pile near his suitcase. You found yourself tracking his every move. He didn’t take notice of your stare until after he’d untied the curtain and met it with the one you had undid. You swiftly averted your eyes and swallowed, finding your throat had gone dry.

You cleared your throat and pushed your hair away, giving Spencer nothing but back, “If it’s alright with you, I’d like to shower first.”

Seconds ticked by and he said nothing, only when you heard a bed squeak did you turn back around. Spencer took up a space at the head of his bed, watching you with a look you were sure you’d never seen cross his face, it was almost smug, but not in the normal sense of the word–as indescribable as it was, it didn’t make you uncomfortable. You weren’t too sure what it made you feel.

“Is–is that a yes?” Your face felt hot, and you wanted to slap your hands to it, knowing it’d cool down somewhat, but you forced your hands to remain at your side.

“Yeah, sure,” he quipped, his voice the complete opposite of what his eyes conveyed.

You nodded and hurried over to your bag, leaving it at the foot of your bed when heading into the bathroom, which is where you found it upon exiting. 

Spencer had pulled pajamas out, they were neatly folded beside him. “I’d wait a little before showering,” you frowned, “sorry, I must have been in there for ages,” your mouth lilted in a slight smile as you tucked a lock of hair behind your ear and took up residence near the bedside table, “next time, just to tell me I’m taking too long, I won’t mind.”

He chuckled and you grinned, elated you finally were able to ease the unnecessary tension that had come over the two of you during your staring contest in the moments right before your shower.

“Seriously?” He sounded mirthful and when you looked up his eyes caught yours, your heart studded and you found your cheeks heating up again. He had an eyebrow raised slightly and the small smile that accompanied his expression gave off the impression he was teasing, “You’d be fine with me just walking into the bathroom while you’re in the shower?”

Your eyebrows scrunched together in slight confusion and you couldn’t help the awkward smile that wouldn’t leave your mouth, “I was just joking, Spencer, but–if I am taking too long you can bang on or yell through the door.

He nodded, looking away, “I–I know, I was just messing with you.”

“Oh, please,” you snorted and rolled your eyes, trying to crush the way your thoughts raced at the way you absolutely would not give a half a damn if he did. You pressed your hand to your cheeks for a few seconds before continuing to move things out of your bag, you were thinking about how to arrange them in the large chifforobe directly across from your bed. Did Spencer hav–you gasped and dropped an article of clothing as if it had burned you.

“That was not–” you scorned yourself, that was completely inappropriate. You blinked over a few times, thinking it would make the image disappear well from your mind, but it only served to intensify the phantasmagoria.

“Hey, are you okay?” Spencer was at your side after three blinks. Your eyes widened as he reached for your hands that were opening and closing, trying to grasp any control over yourself. 

You stood abruptly, unable to be in any sort of vicinity he was near. “I’m fine–I just, I remembered, I forgot something in the lobby. It must have fallen.” You shrugged, forcing a horrid excuse for a smile onto your lips. You left the room, heading straight for the elevator. You needed the cold-biting air of December to slap some sense into you, it was almost January, thus winter should have been approaching its peak right about now.

You have never–okay, yes, you’ve had small torrent thoughts of coworkers in somewhat unprofessional manners, but none had ever been so vivid–not like the one you had just then. As the elevator opened, you tried assembling the course of thoughts that had led up to the–the Spencer one.

It only took a few minutes for you to understand thinking about it was useless. There was no coherent explanation for the thought you had, no indication of any type of build-up that might have prepared you for the fabrication. 

“His eyes,” you heard yourself murmur as the elevator let you off onto the first floor. You ignored the receptionist whom you recognized from only a few hours ago. The glass door was as easily pushed open as it was to pull; the biting air hit your face and you sighed, relief allowing you to breathe once more.

His sleeves were rolled up, your arms laced around his neck as you pulled him against your flushed, exposed skin. You were nearly naked and all but begging him. You had it. His attention. Every single piece of it.

And you were relishing it as he fucked you against that damned chifforobe.

You were startled by the discovery of Spencer’s presence as he pushed open one of the glass doors of the hotel. The carpark was desolate save for the two of you and you felt more vulnerable than you had felt in the daydream.

“Hey,” Spencer lifted his hand slightly, sticking it back in his pocket right after as if he’d cringed at himself.

“Oh, hi,” you pressed your lips into a thin smile, squeezing your eyes so as not to give away the fact that you did not want him to be there.

“You–kind of ran off, I just wanted to make sure you were alright…” his eyes traced up and down your body as if in search of something. A slight smirk grazed his lips, but it was quickly replaced with a frown that felt a little too compelled, “did you find what you were looking for?”

“Nope,” you squeaked, rocking back and forth on your heels. You squeezed your hands together behind your back like you were in prayer or giving thanks, “sorry for bringing you out here, I thought I lost something important and overreacted.”

He didn’t acknowledge your answer immediately, though he did step forward and when he took another step forward, you were inclined to take a step back because you thought the proximity might prompt you to do or say something you definitely shouldn’t be doing or saying with a coworker. He raised his hand to your face, the back of his hand rested on one of your cheeks, your eyes shut on impact, your hands separated and were not fisted.

Your eyes opened when a few low chuckles escaped Spencer’s mouth, he huffed out a few more before pulling his hand back and using it to cover his mouth…watching you. His eyes held that same smug amusement that you’re sure you’ve never seen before this night.

You met his stare, noting that with the coverage of his hand, his expression was just a bit easier to read. Your lips settled into a thin line as you concluded he was messing with you. You cast an unbothered expression over your face, though you felt anything but. “I think the water should be hot enough now.”

Disregarding the moral obligation of waiting for a response, you headed for the hotel’s entrance.

The elevator ride-up wasn’t as tense as you would have thought it to be. You could feel a calm rest over each other’s company. It was almost like a mutual understanding that did not need voicing. Back in the hotel room, Spencer headed into the bathroom without a word, again, you found yourself grateful he decided to spare you.

Even so, you did find it just a bit peculiar because Spencer had never before taken on any particular interest in you, sure you shared conversations–that was to be expected though, as you worked with him. You shared meals and nights out, though only when it was a group thing.

To be sure he drew your curiosity, but you never once thought about indulging in your secret desire because it just never seemed right. This mixup had felt like a gift from God when it was first introduced, because now–you had thought–we’ll be forced to be around each other, no doubt we’ll grow somewhat accustomed to each other’s habits. 

Perhaps the thought was a bit excessive, but it was simply the truth to you. How else were you to casually approach Dr. Spencer Reid? The youngest to be scouted in his field?

Well, you now thought grimly, scratch all that, he’s just a genius with an ego.

You approached the chifforobe hesitantly, then hastily sorted your clothing in a few drawers and on a few hangers that were already there. As you set your duffle bag at the bottom of the large space, you heard the shower squeak off and Spencer called your name.

You rolled your eyes but walked toward the bathroom, calling from your side of the closed door, “what?” 

“I,” his voice cut off and just when you thought you had waited long enough, the bathroom door swung open halfway and Spencer leaned out. 

The first thing you noticed–though unintentionally–was the steam that hit you in the face. You squinted and waved a hand before you, “Jeez, Spencer.”

His face–his hair was wet and water dripped down his head–looked a bit painted, “I left my towel in my bag, get it for me?” 

He sounded genuinely displeased at the situation, which is why you huffed and replied, “Fine.”

“Thank you,” he yelled, shutting the door again. You ignored the flip your stomach did and shivered. 

He had left his suitcase open, his things in a bit of disarray across the bed. You wavered only a moment before letting your hands fly up and down his things. His towel was quite easily discovered, though your eyes lingered on the rest of his things.

You stood and headed back toward the bathroom, knocking. Spencer appeared instantly, a smile spreading to his face. The steam had cooled somewhat, but the bathroom–you could tell–was still very much sauna-like. “Thank you.”

“You said that already.”

He raised a brow, his smile quirking, “thank you, again.”

He stole the towel and shut the door, leaving you standing there. You felt impulsive and thought there would be no way you could get through this entire trip by sharing a room with him. And yet, it was your job, and it would no doubt be questioned, you’d probably–by accident–allude to something that did not occur, and you’d both be in trouble for something so ridiculous: it shouldn’t even be a thought that crossed your mind when you looked at your coworker and yet–the bathroom door opened and Spencer walked out in only a towel–it did.

“What do you think you're doing?” You called from your bed, standing.

“It’s too moist in there, I won’t dry.” He replied as if it were a fact and not an atrocity.

“Yeah–but–” you bit your lip, eyes tracking up and down his torso, something you should most unquestionably not be doing.

He was bent over his things on the bed near the window, you turned your gaze on the floor when his eyes flickered to yours. “But what?” He paused, probably noting your expression, your pursed lips, and your unstill gaze. “I mean, if it makes you uncomfortable I can go back in. I don’t want to–I’m sorry.” You swore you could hear a lilt in his voice when he began, but it quickly turned into something more…appropriate–like he just realized the embarrassment of what he was doing. He gathered his clothes again and headed for the bathroom, returning a few minutes later in damp garments.

And though his frown said ‘I’m sorry,’ his eyes said, ‘I’m going to give you hell’. And hell it was. For the rest of the trip, you could swear Spencer did…things purposefully. Such as lifting his shirt slightly to wipe his face when he got out of the shower, turning his neck just barely so that your gaze would catch on the exposed collarbone. You swore up and down that these were being done on purpose just to make you squirm because–because–well you didn’t really know why Spencer was doing all that. 

But you knew it was for you, that was about the only thing you knew to be fact. Your nose scrunched as you recalled the looks he’d given you after every purposeful act–in such a way that it seemed like he wanted to see your reaction–as if he gets off on it.

The jet ride home was no exception to Spencer’s antics, but by this time you had decided for yourself you’d had enough of falling victim to him. You concluded that there could only be one reason Spencer was acting the way he was: because he was attracted to you. You didn’t know why–hell you couldn’t even explain why you were attracted to him in that way–but it piqued your curiosity. If he had the ability to get you to react in such distinct and significant ways, what power did you have over him? That was the dispute you set out to ascertain.

At first, it was harmless, quiet jokes told only loud enough for the two of you to hear. When the jet landed again, you ran a hand through your hair and threw your head back, as if trying to stretch. Your eyes popped open just a few minutes later to find Spencer’s eyes eating up everything from your neck to your collarbone. When he met your eyes, they weren’t amused but rather accusing. He had fallen into your trap and he had just now realised. Some genius, you found yourself regarding him with an internal snort.

“We get the day off tomorrow, right?” Emily’s tone was mirthful, full of sarcasm.

“Yeah, right.” Morgan groaned.

Hotch grimaced, “See you all tomorrow.”

“At nine?” Rossi sounded hopeful.

Your boss sighed, eyes: rolling, but a smile etching itself onto his face, “At nine.”

Small victories, a sigh escaped you under your breath, small victories.

You headed for your car, rummaging through your purse for your keys. A presence loomed over you and you froze, Spencer’s hand lightly pressed against your back as he leaned over you and tilted his head downward, “See you tomorrow —…”

Your breath caught and you tried to swallow, but your mouth was dry. Was this real? Was this not the nerdy little geek you were told you’d be working with? The guy who kept getting kidnapped? The one who could barely hold a gun four years into working in the BAU?

He walked away, down the row of cars, looking for the one he owned.

Despite yourself, your lips curled into a sinful grin. You already loved this game. 

The next morning, you caught Spencer stepping into the elevator, “hold the door!” You threw your hand out, as you rushed your footsteps.

The elevator wasn’t crowded, but there were five others you did not know, and they were all men, so naturally you moved closer to Spencer. It wasn’t on purpose, but nor was it an accident, more of an instinct. His presence gave you peace of mind as you calmed yourself down.

“Rough morning?” He asked, appearing nonchalant.

You looked up at him as he took a sip of his coffee. The elevator came to a halt and two people shuffled into the elevator after three others left. Your floor was approaching and you felt easier–especially with the extra space–but when you stepped away, a hand caught your waist.

You followed the arm all the way to Spencer’s gaze, the expression there looked to be a mix of contemplation and confusion. His hand dropped when the elevator dinged and the doors opened. He was the first to step out of the elevator, you were the fourth.

Penelope found you on her way to the roundtable, stating the others were already there. You followed her and took the only available seat in between Morgan and JJ. Spencer sat right across from you, between Emily and Rossi. When you caught his eyes, his head tilted slightly and a small smirk danced across his lips in the bright light. 

Your eyes rolled and you shifted one leg over the other under the table. 

Penelope read off the new case and while many questions were thrown out, you and Spencer kept playing the game of ‘who could make who more embarrassed’; though you both were incredibly refined at your job and were able to keep it from the insight of the others.

Hotch stood and said, “jet’s up in 15,” before rushing out of the room.

You stood as well, needing to collect all the things you might have left on your desk and turn in your report to Hotch you forgot. Rossi had followed your boss–it was probably something about Strauss, it always was whenever they acted like that. Emily, Morgan, and Penelope were having a conversation while JJ said something to Spencer and began a small exchanges. Your eyes were laser focused on her, you felt a sort of conviction fall over you. You didn’t think you were jealous, no–it was anything like that because you knew Spencer was only trying to get under your skin. Instead, you felt a sense of thrill and couldn’t help the smirk that edged its way onto your face as you floated right past them without batting an eye.

You heard his chair squeak as he leaned back, eyes trailing your figure as you exited the roundtable room. Upon approaching your desk you smacked your hands to your cheeks, helping them cool off while ignoring the chatter of the office. You searched your bag a bit until you found the documents you had been looking for.

You froze, you could feel his stare, but when you glanced around, you couldn’t find him anywhere. Your eyes narrowed as you sifted through each and every face, there–in the breakroom behind the glass… Spencer had one hand in his pocket and one holding a mug of coffee, his eyes anything but innocent. He mouthed something, but only when you noted the absense of your other team members were you able to put together his words. We’re leaving.

You met each other in the stairwell of the rooftop, you ignored the simmering in your chest as he veered over you and pushed open the door. He smelled good– god he smelled good. You forced yourself not the make it obvious you were trying to drink in and savor his scent when he let out a shuddering breath. Your eyes popped open–which is when you realized you had shut them. What is wrong with me? You allowed your eyes to track up his face, starting from his shoulders.

He was so close you could see him swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing as he stared you donw, mouth slightly ajar. His eyes were hazy and he wasn’t staring at you, but your throat. It was only for a few seconds, but it felt like hours. When he found your gaze again his jaw yet and he pulled himself together. His eyes were no longer dangerous, but they still set some kind of fear in you.

“We should go,” you murmured.

He didn’t respond until you began moving. He called your name only once, but when you looked back, a grin–small, but fucking there–destroyed his firm calmness from only moments ago, and replaced it with egotistical destruction.

There were so much said in that single expression and yet nothing at all that would have been picked up by a team of profilers, let alone a stranger–it was as if this look was designed specifically for you–designed just to become your undoing. You fucking hated Spencer Reid and his big ass ego, but you wanted him–by all hell you wanted him.

Though you’d soon find that wanting him was nothing compared to needing him.

The rest of the case came and went in a similar manner you had dreamt about the night before. You and Spencer shared lingering looks, murmured things in front of the team that, though made sense in the moment, his the underlying meaning only the two of you could pick up. You honestly found it surprising no one had caught on to what was transpiring between you and Spencer, although to be perfectly honest, you, yourself, had no idea what was transpiring between you and Spencer.

You didn’t seek each other out, but whenever you were together–alone or with others–there was this spark of craving you couldn’t quite explain out loud, and even when you thought about it, you didn’t know the right term for it other than a game. What else could it be? You couldn’t relly put togehter the events that had started it, but you knew it began sometimes on the 3-day case–maybe even that first night in the hotel. A shiver crawled up your spine, you watched Spencer out of the corner of your eye, reading. He could normally be found in the front of the jet, lying down and napping or reading.

When you were alone, all your thoughts revolved if not around the case at hand, Spencer. You didn’t want to compare it to an obsession, because what it really was was a little less of that and a little more of a desire to learn him. His body, his mind, his cravings and and fantasies. It was everything you had never felt and it scared you. There was no logical explanation to Spencer being the onset to these emotions, and yet if you’d never met Spencer, who was to say these feelings would have ever been unleashed?

It was late, but you were glad you were going to get to sleep in your bed two nights in a row. It felt like a blessing from the heavens, but then your realzied you’d have to see Spencer again tomorrow and go through the fervency all over again. Now, it felt more like irony.

Weeks of the same longing, the same wandering eyes, the same muttered whispers, the same damn game. Though you’d gotten used to your little gambit of brash actions, you weren’t tired in the least. It was–as sad as you had to admit–the most fun you’d ever had with a person.

It was fun until it became real. The team hadn’t caught on, but that was particularly due to the fact your efforts always occurred out of pure chance. You never made it obvious and he was especially good at hiding his feats, it seemed to you he was consistently able to accomplish his devious acts right under the nose of his superiors. 

You reasoned that it was perhaps because none of them would ever suspect him of any of the things he was taking up in his pastime. Not even yourself would have guessed he was like this if he hadn’t shown you, or if you hadn’t noticed the way his eyes always seemed to look the opposite of whatever his face was saying in the moment.

Despite all of this, however, you hadn’t touched–at all, no brush of the hands, no accidental shoulder bumping, nor anything on purpose; not since he’d grabbed your waist in the elevator that first day back at Quantico. The contemplation in his eyes then occurred to you at night. You tried to make out what it meant–to him at least, but never could. It was one of those thoughts that kept you up, staring at the ceiling, hoping exhaustion would so its job and prevent the misery that inveitable came without it.

Tonight, though, you didn’t know how you were going to fare against pretending to be with him. It was for the case–you kept reminding yourself as you changed into a little black dress. Everyone looked good in black, it was a color that also hid a person well enough in a club–perfect for an undercover agent.

The decision to have you go in with Spencer instead of JJ was his idea. Of course it was his. He’d proposed the switchup at the roundtable meeting that morning–and as soon as he had, you’d jolted in your seat. He��d continued talking, glancing at you now and then as if he’d actually believed the difference between you and JJ would matter.

Regardless, because you were closer in age–by only a few years, you’d wanted to remind everyone–it’d be more believable that you were together, he’d also dropped an “it’d be more comfortable that way”, which swayed Morgan and Emily, JJ kept silent during the entire tirade–though not angry, was incredibly, almost blatantly long. 

You couldn’t tell what she was thinking, but at the time you weren’t too much focussed on her, the looming fact that you’d have to touch him in ways you’d only thought about touching him to do your job? It terrified you. Not because you were afraid of acting out your fantasy–but because you weren’t sure if you could control yourself enoug to where it was just acting.

You slipped the dainty dress on and hid your gun and badge in your boots. You let your natural hair fall loose, but kept a hair tie on your wrist. Stepping out of the only bathroom in the police station you were currently residing in, holding your work clothes against your chest , you noted the imminent stares. Instinctively using your clothing to cover your thighs as you met the others in the front. Spencer kept his eyes in check–smart boy, you bit back a smirk–but the rest of the team complimented you, Hotch and Rossi having almost completely different ways of doing so, you snorted at the contrast. 

Spencer took the driver seat of a vehicle you were borrowing, the dark of a December night threatening to conceal the thing entirely. You gazed out the window, “they’re following us right?”

“Everyone will be outside and prepared.”

“I can’t believe this,” you sighed, throwing your head back.

“The fact that we’re going undercover or the fact that you have to wear that piece of cloth?” Spencer asked, though his manner was light, there was a rough undertone that heated your insides.

“I was wondering when you were going to bring it up,” you sighed carelessly, waving a hand, “I just thought you hadn’t noticed.”

“Everyone noticed.” The mask of his facade was slowly slipping away, revealing a much colder side to Spencer–one you had the pleasure of seeing more and more of the past three weeks than in all of the six months you’d been in the BAU.

“Yeah,” you smooth down the dress, “I wouldn’t normally wear this type of thing out unless I was looking to bring someone home.”

“Oh really?” You could practically hear his eyebrows raise. “You never wear things like that when we go out for drinks.”

“Precisely my point,” you quipped.

Spencer pulled into the club’s parkinglot. It took you less than five minutes to get inside. At first, you were sitting at the bar, but then, Spencer, with the earpiece attached to him, relayed the message from Hotch. Penelope had given everyone access to the inside of the club, they were watching you two through the cameras. You forced yourself not to glance at them–even the tiniest slipup could reveal you to the unsub, and you wanted them to target, not avoid you.

“They want us to dance.” Spencer sighed loud enough to where you could hear it over the noise.

“Right,” you rolled your eyes, because that’s exactly how the unsubs target their victims–didn’t we go over this in the profile? Your smile tightened as you spun and headed for the floor, crowded by so many–oh that’s not hygienic.

“Yeah, okay, maybe we skip this part,” Spencer grimaced from his palace beside you.

“You think?” You raised an unimpressed brow at the blurred figures in front of you.

He murmured something Hotch and they went back and forth a little, though you couldn’t hear exactly what was said, Spencer’s face of triumph was all you needed to breathe a sigh of relief.

You found yourselves hiding in the corner at the back, there weren’t many people crowding around you which made you perfect for the unsubs, though the appearance of them at this club tonight was purely based on instinct, gut feelings, and careful, calculated guessing, there was still a chance they wouldn’t show themselves.

You didn’t mean for it to happen like this, you were doing everything in your power to stay composed and in control, but some part of you–the defiant, terrible side of you–wanted so badly to see his reaction when you touched him.

His frame leaned over you, holding you against the probably dirty wall, the sensual music that played a heavy beat around you felt like an instigator. Sweat slipped down his neck and it drew your attention, all of a sudden Spencer tensed, then he relaxed slightly but it felt forced, “They have eyes on the unsubs.”

“How many,” You compelled your eyes to stay on his though they wanted to scour the area around you and find just exactly who he was talking about–which would be idiotic, of course.

“That’s right,” he swallowed–ignoring your question, your eyes caught his throat bobbing–he noticed. “Keep your eyes on me,” you nodded at his words, feeling your throat drying as you neglected the need to trace his collarbone with both your fingers and gaze.

His hair was a mess of damp curls and his face was barely visible in the bright, flashing lights, but you had a job to do–and yet here you were, gripping the collar of his shirt, brushing back the hair that fell in his face as he looked at you with those eyes.

“I’m going to kiss you,” he said, “but if you aren’t up for this just tell me now.” His voice lilted at a challenge, but you heard the mumble ordered in the earpiece–by hell he could yank you hair almost completely out and you wouldn’t give a damn.

You held his regard with one of your own, eyes narrowed, “Just do it.”

And he did. But he also didn’t. His smirk narrowed ere leaning in. He gripped your face with an elephants strength and a swan’s gracefulness. You closed your eyes, waiting for his lips, but he swerved at the last moment and kissed the skin below your ear. He trailed a few kisses down your neck but stayed close to your hearing range, evidently, he was teasing–you wanted to scoff but couldn’t find it in you to make him stop.

“How’s this?” He murmured.

“You’re an ass,” you replied huffed, trying to mask a groan.

He grinned against your neck, “I know.”

The club case was the reason you and Spencer now ensured you were always together. From then on, you seemed to not want to be anywhere else the other wasn’t–or rather, you felt more comfortable with each other and couldn’t bring yourselves to leave the other alone.

Not that either of you minded and you still did your jobs perfectly fine–though there was more intensity when the other was in any sort of danger, it only propelled the one that wasn’t to learn how to do their job quicker. It was both a fast track to understanding how to adapt to constant situations that warped your idea of what was really going on. When he got something wrong–which was rare but not absolute. After about a month of this, you were starting to question what you were to him–what he was to you.

Though you still weren’t sure how to properly ask that question. You hadn’t slept together, though you thought about it all the time you weren’t at work…and perhaps sometimes when you were… Those thoughts slipped through on occasion–but it wasn't anything that hadn’t been transpiring before the club case.

It was as if the ‘who can make the other person more embarrassed’ game had been turned into the ‘what can I do to make you squirm this time’ game. Like the rules of the game had somehow intensified and touching was now allowed and despite all of the things that ensued upon the new rule instatement, you still had not taken it further than work.

It kept you up most nights, and you wondered when this cycle of what are we would end–if it would take one of you getting into a relationship–though you were sure Spencer didn’t have to worry about you in that department–and although you hated it, the fact was that Spencer was the only one you could think about. It was as if the man had ruined sex for you altogether. 

You fucking hated Spencer Reid–and that fucking chifforobe. 

Your heart dropped in your chest. You refused to give Spencer the satisfaction of looking over at him–though he seemed just as surprised as you. At this point anything could happen–and by anything you mean anything. Because anything would be better than having to share a room with him again. You were so tired you could barely recall what that even meant.

But then again, a small part of you whispered, this could be your chance. My chance? You scoffed, my chance at what? Making a fool of myself? Because confronting him means admitting I can’t stop–thinking about him. And that, to you, would feel like admitting defeat. It’d feel like losing the game–oh and you really felt like you were winning! Winning at what again? God, you needed sleep.

“Are you planning on getting in the shower first?,” he asked as soon as you were behind the door, away from prying ears and nosy coworkers.

You let out a heavy sigh and held your arms up to stretch, yawning–“honestly, I might just head to bed, it’s late and I could really use the sleep.”

“Have you not been able to sleep at night?” He set his things on the bed near the window as you claimed the one near the door.

“You have no idea,” you murmured, although a bit more to yourself than to him.

“Do you know why?” He seemed genuinely curious–but as you faced him, all you could think was, if only you knew.

“Nope,” you popped the ‘p’ and grimaced as you laid your back against the bed, arms spread like a starfish, your duffle bag discarded near your feet at the end of the bed.

You felt Spencer watching you, but for the first time in a while, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You quite literally had been running on nothing but coffee for the past day and a half–and you were in desperate need of some sleep–especially if you wanted to be at your best tomorrow.

“Here,” you hadn't heard Spencer approach you–you blamed his Hotch training. You cracked open an eye as he pushed you on your side. Your back burned at where he’d touched you, but it was quickly overshadowed when you heard him yank the bedspread down as hard as he could. “Come, on,” he huffed, pulling your shoes off and setting them beside your bag.

You forced yourself under the cover and snuggled, “the light?” you grumbled.

“First, your blazer,” he held out a hand. You whined but made quick work of ridding yourself of the fabric. “You sure you don’t want to change into something more comfortable–”

“Spencer.” You warned.

“Yeah, I hear you,” he reached for the lamp atop the bedside table–smaller than the one from the last hotel room you’d shared–the chifforobe near the window was smaller as well. He hummed as the thoughts faded in and passed through his mind.

Spencer found himself forgetting everything else as he sat in the bed opposite yours and leaned his arms on his thighs, watching you. A few minutes passed, but only when a knock sounded on the door did he realize he maybe shouldn’t be watching his coworker like a creep. Though, you weren’t really a coworker, were you?

Well–he meant you were–but you were also more than that, though he didn’t exactly know if your relationship had a name, he knew that it entailed things normal coworkers did not have. He knew what he wanted–but to outright say it felt like disrupting the sort of balance you’d gotten accustomed to–as if going out and actually attempting to take what he wanted would break the trance that had set over the two of you–it’d be throwing all the rule’s to the game away, and then what did either of you have left? Rules were important, if not necessary. He couldn’t chance it–not yet at least.

“Hey, oh,” Morgan tried looking around the room.

Spencer felt his eyes roll as he stepped into the hall and shut the door slightly behind him, careful not to shut it completely as he didn’t have the key card and he didn’t want to wake you up. “Yes?”

Morgan nodded behind him, “she’s asleep?”

“She’s really tired,” Spencer affirmed.

“Right,” his eyes fell back on Spencer, and for a second, he thought Morgan might be analyzing his form.

“Was there something you needed?” Spencer pressed, eager to head back into the room, unpack his suitcase, and head to bed himself.

“Ah, no, we were just going to order food–but I guess you don’t want anything either?”

“Uh, no, but thanks for asking.”

“Uh-huh,” Morgan once again glanced behind Spencer, whose irritation at the suspicion was steadily increasing.

“She’d not dead,” Spencer stated, though he meant it as a joke it came out rather harsh.

“Alright, pretty boy, I didn’t say she was.” Morgan chuckled, patting Spencer on the shoulder, “See you tomorrow.”

Spencer made quick work of unloading his things, he thought about getting in the shower but feared it’d wake you. Instead, he debated on whether or not he should leave your things in you bag or do you a favor and put them away. He didn’t want you to consider him a snoop, especially with how you’d been looking at each other the past few weeks–and that undercover case.

His heartbeat picked up, and he couldn't stop thinking about it–it was the thing he fell asleep to at night; it was gradually eating away at him, and he couldn’t deny the way his body tensed whenever he recalled the image of you under the flashing array of lights–how you’d looked so…submissive.

He hastily shoved that thought to the furthest corner he could find in his mind and headed for your bag. He didn’t want to be brash with the way he put your clothing away, but he also didn’t you to wake up while he was holding your underwear–then he’d truly feel like a creep. 

He was halfway done when you mumbled something; he froze and he could feel the thump of his heart in his chest. Though it was still winter, he’d begun to sweat and had set his glasses aside because they kept sliding off the bridge of his nose. He’d been wearing them more often than not for the past few months as he’d found them to be a particular fascination of yours. It was now that he squinted and moved his hand around for them.

His footsteps carried him quietly across the room, near your bedside. “—?” He whispered and when you failed to respond, lifted a tentative hand to your cheek–though just before the pads of his fingertips met your skin, you mumbled something again–and this time, he could hear it. He fisted his hand and used the bedside table to hold himself up, and although he couldn’t see them, he knew his hands were turning white with how hard he was squeezing them.

Again. He wanted to hear it again–his prayers were answered as you shifted slightly, tugging the cover up to your neck. Skimming down your person, he bit his fist and tried to calm himself down. Again. He needed to sit down, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. He felt it twitch–he needed to walk away right now. And he did, but instead of picking up where he’d left off with your clothing, he headed for the bathroom, not bothering to turn the light on as he shut himself in complete darkness.

Images of you, your stolen glances, and desperate touches filled his mind. He was particularly focused on the tired way you slurred his name in your sleep. He wondered what kind of dreams you were having, what you were picturing as you said his name like that. He muffled his groans as he stroked himself, using his fist to bite back anything that might escape the small confines of the washroom. His thoughts of you were possibly the only thing he allowed himself to go to extensive lengths with. His mouth watered at the mere concept of you and your twisting legs. He’d done this a considerable amount of times before–but this was the first time you were so close– a hairsbreadth away.

It felt both right and wrong, and yet the lines began fading into oblivion as he came closer to climax.

He whimpered into his hand just as he came. It was odd, he didn’t too much feel like a creep after he cleaned himself up, but upon washing his hands profusely and returning to put your garments away, he was once more–afraid of what you’d think if you caught him messing with your things.

Although a part of him felt it might have been because he wanted you to find him in that state, he tried rationalizing–but the more he thought about it–even as he now rested his head against a pillow–the more he found that ‘might’ to be absolute truth. 

You woke up to the smell of coffee. You stretched, yawned, and pried your eyes open. Rolling onto your side, you found Spencer devouring a book, his glasses at the tip of his nose. You smiled, thinking you were dreaming–but then his eyes shifted over to yours and your smile fell, you quickly understood this Spencer was real–oh no–your cheeks burned from last night's delusions. “Good morning,” he smiled. You groaned and sat up, your hands finding your cheeks, “what time is it?”

“It’s around six, you have,” he checked his watch, “an hour and thirty minutes, Hotch wants us ready before eight.”

You huffed and threw yourself back against the pillows. New Years had come and gone and you hadn't even celebrated...though, your mind with all the ways you could make up for it–you shook the thoughts away, now was not the time.

Five minutes later you were searching for your clothing, but your bag was practically empty, “did you move my things?”

Spencer choked on his coffee, “ah–yeah,” he motioned toward the chifforobe. You glared at it as he said, “It’s small, so some of our things are mixed, but you should be able to find whatever you’re looking for easily.”

“Thank you” You appreciated his simple act of affection, it made your chest ache.

“Yeah, sure.” Despite going back to reading his book, Spencer snuck small glimpses of you from the corners of his eyes.

As the hot water ran down your back, you found yourself thinking of Spencer, just a few feet away, you were practically naked and he could walk in at any moment, you felt an ache between your thighs, but you shrugged it off–or at least you tried to.

You hadn’t had sex since that incident with Spencer a few weeks ago. You tried–by all God did you try–but you just couldn’t It led to a few arguments with the guys you’d taken home–and your credit, you did feel just a little bad. All the same, you simply couldn’t seem to get him out of your mind. It was like he was mocking or watching you every time you attempted it–he was that tiny, little voice in the back of your head feigning disappointment, saying you wouldn’t purge the sexual frustration unless it were him. Though you were a saint at keeping it hidden, your agitation only built.

The day was more or less: “Spencer, what do you see?” from Hotch and “—, if you were the unsub…” from Morgan. Penelope was on call a few times and you were so close, but it had grown late and you needed sufficient unwinding. After a group dinner in the hotel lobby that primarily consisted of takeout and the small meal provided by the hotel staff, you headed up to your room. Spencer stayed to grab one last cup of coffee before the staff closed the mailroom for good. Thus, with your alone time, you decided to wash off all the griminess of the day.

You were drying yourself with a towel when you heard him enter, “I’m almost done,” you shouted, “I think there’s still some hot water left.”

His lack of response piqued your curiosity. You threw your clothing on once you were mostly just damp and yanked the door open. You were pulling your hair back into a ponytail when he looked up. He’d just set his cup of coffee on the table near the lamp, which now that you noticed, was the only light that lit up the room, he had turned the big llight off.

“You okay?” You rubbed your face, dropping your hands to your side right after, “did you hear me?”

“No, sorry,” he frowned, “I wasn’t paying attention.” He stood.

“Oh, I just said–if you wanted to get in, there’s still hot water left.” You thrust a your thumb behind you.

“Ah, thanks.” You nodded and pursed your lips. “So, what book were you reading this morning?” You took up the spot Spencer had just abandoned.

He turned and watched you–filling the area. He caught the way your legs pressed together as you crossed them to sit more comfortably against the pillows, attention to the book he’d been reading that morning.

“I’m going to get in the shower,” he cursed himself as he felt desire pool in his throat. He wondered what it’d be like to kiss you, to touch you–to taste you. His mouth watered at the prospect and he felt himself harden just like the night before. His shower was quick as the water had gotten cold and had quickly ruined his mood.

“You lied to be,” he glared at you from the threshold of the bathroom door.

You bit your lip, but still, a smile graced your mouth, “sorry, I thought it would last.” He shook his wet hair around around, mimicking the actions a puppy would.

“What?” His eyes widened slightly and his eyebrows raised, “what did you call me?”

A hand flew to your mouth, your own surprise showing, “I–” of bloody course, you said it out loud.

He stepped forward, dropping his towel on the bed, “say it again.” It was odd, the way he said it–like it was both a question and a demand–or rather, a demand he questioned your willingness to obey.

“…puppy?” you tried laughing it off, “Sorry, it just came out–I didn’t mean t–”

“Didn’t you, though?” Came a mirthful reply. Spencer stepped forward, towering over you as he leaned down, bringing his face near yours, one hand on the bed near your hips, the other on the bedside table. “Is that what you’ve thought of me this entire time?”

And what the hell were you supposed to say to that? Game on is what Spencer saw in your eyes as you set the book on the table, your hand purposely roaming over his as you pulled it back. “No,” you stated, a nonchalant expression crossing your features as your eyes turned away from his, the move calculated, “only sometimes.”

Spencer didn’t think the table would be able to withstand him much longer, but it did as he thought of ways he might proceed. Eventually, he let go and instead wrapped his firm fingers around your nape, forcing your attention to his. “And do you think that now?”

He watched a Chesire grin take its place upon your mouth. “If I said yes, would that anger you, Dr. Reid?” The mocking was unnecessary, but it sure as hell was a lot more fun than if you simply addressed him as ‘Spencer’ or ‘Reid’.

The parental-like tone you took up furthered his new-growing erection. His hair still dripped with water and as a water droplet streaked down his face, you lifted your hand to wipe it with your thumb. His hand let your your neck go to snatch your wrist–God you wanted him so badly. This witty banter–you were already starting to find–just wasn’t enough anymore.

Your eyes reapproached his, they seemed to meet with the same level of desire, completely forgetting that there was a serial killer on the loose, your eyes dipped to his lips only once before you leaned forward–but while you did he pushed you back, your back hitting the bedframe and just as you caught your breath, you found yourself being deprived of air once more.

Spencer was hungry, he tasted like coffee and something minty. Your hands tangled through his hair and while he suffocated you in the only way you’d ever want to be suffocated, you tugged. It barely stopped him the first time, but the second and third had his eyes rolling.

When they found you again, noting the playful glint in your eyes, he vowed he would go as far as you’d let him tonight–and perhaps the night after that, he hadn’t quite thought it through, and at this time, he neither had the strength nor the want to do so. 

He began tugging at your t-shirt, but you grabbed his hand, “ah-ah,” you clicked your tongue, “you have to earn that.” 

He paused and took a step back, watching you now, your knees digging into the softness of the mattress; your mouth darkened with the visceral kisses he’d forced on you. Your eyes sparked with something he knew he’d never be able to find in any other woman. His lips quirked, his eyes were hooded, and his voice thick when he asked, “What do I have to do?”

The need in his voice was enough to shed you of your clothing right then and there, but it seemed you had a lot more self-control than he did in the moment. You tugged your hair out of the loosened, droopy ponytail it had fallen into and brushed it back, smoothing it out to appear just how you wanted it to. You felt his eyes on you, patient, but every second he was, was a second his lust grew, and the moment you gave him the okay–well, he honestly couldn’t say just what he’d be capable of.

“You seem agitated, Spencer,” you pouted, shifting so that your legs fell in front of you over the edge of the bed. His eyes tracked your movements as he used your bed’s bedpost to steady himself, “just how many times have you pictured me like this?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” came his frivolity response. To be frank, he knew the exact answer to your question, but the first thing that flew into his head and out of his mouth was–to be sure–an edging reply. He watched how you interpreted it.

In a moment of unconsciousness, you glanced at the chifforobe across from you. Spencer caught that shit.

“Oh?” He raised a brow, finding the confidence to step forward.

“Don’t get any ideas, Reid.” You warned, but he could see the arguments going on between your eyes.

“No, see: I think it’s your idea.” He corrected, a deep, rumble of a laugh fell from his throat, “So, what exactly did you picture me doing with this thing.” He snorted and walked over to it, running a hand along the cupboard. You bit your lit, your dreams coming into clear view as if they were a film playing in front of you.

“Spencer,” you stood both embarrassed and a little annoyed. 

You marched over to it at placed a hand on his shoulder–but then you were against the doors of the small chifforobe and Spencer was whispering just above your ear, “Was this it? Your sick fantasies of me? Did they include me having you against a wardrobe?”

Your breath caught and you wanted to hide your face because there was no doubt he’d be able to see the truth without you having to voice any sort of answer–but the jerk had his hand cupped around your jaw, and his grip was unimaginably strong for–well, him.

He smiled and tilted his head–and God only knew what that did to your resolve. Your knees weakened and you found yourself whimpering. “So, I guess that’s a yes.” You found just enough strength to narrow your eyes and look somewhat pissed. He nodded, “the shirt,” he tugged at the bottom.

You bit back a repost as he dropped his hands and stepped away, though he kept his distance close enough to where you felt his presence even after you’d lifted your shirt and he was out of sight. His eyes didn’t leave yours, you admired his stoicism; you’d already proved you weren’t any match when your eyes traced every line anytime you saw a sliver of his stomach, hips, neck, or forearms–okay maybe you had a bit of an obsession, but could it honestly be considered that when the look he was giving you screamed ‘wolf in sheep's clothing’? 

“What other things have you thought up in that horny brain of yours, I wonder,” he spoke almost to himself, but his ever-focused gaze told you he was quite literally asking.

“That’s not how the game works,” a cheeky grin reformed your scowl.

“Right,” he paused, turning his eyes to the ceiling for effect, “remind me?”

Your eyes roved from one eye to the other, and back again, searching for any hint of hesitation, “this foreplay is kind of starting to get old.”

“Yes, I can agree–” you cut him off midsentence with a ravenous kiss. You could swear you bit him more than once, but he wasn’t complaining. Your head lulled to the side as he trailed kisses up and down your neck, finding a spot he particularly liked just below your ear.

Your hands twisted in his hair, yanking, tugging, and pulling–whatever got the most responses from him, you were doing. You threw his shirt to the side and pushed him toward the bed. He braced himself using his arms, though they were swiftly in motion again, wrapping around your waist as you stepped between his legs. “What do you want?” You asked, attempting to catch your breath.

He laughed, but when he realized you were serious he almost snorted, “What do I–what do I want?”

“It’s a simple question,” you shrugged, “what do you want from me?”

Now–now his eyes dipped, “I want a lot of things.”

You bit back another grin. Somehow in the few minutes, you’d been running around the room talking about how horny you both were, you’d ended up on the bed, your head behind a pillow. Spencer was between your legs, mouth-watering. He’s waited so long, he honestly didn’t think this foretold moment would ever actually occur, but God, was he glad he’d been wrong. Heavy, sinful eyes skimmed your lower body as he fumbled with the top of your shorts. His hands were warm despite the dreary weather outside, likely due to his recent shower. They pressed into your thighs as he brought his face just above your lower stomach, his name fell from your mouth in a whine, leading him to push aside the cover of your shorts. He drug a few fingers over your center.

Your moans sliced through the rough tension that had fallen over the hotel room. “What?” His snort was low and sloppy, “Oh, is–,” one of his fingers gently slid over you and your eyes shut, “–is this what you want?” His eyes traced the arch of your neck that was most exposed, the one lined with the red marks he’d left. The twitching beneath his sweatpants pulled a groan from his lips.

He swirled his finger around, feeling your wetness was more than inviting. “Spencer,” you cried, eyes flying open at the loss of contact. 

“Be still,” he said, his voice wavering as he tugged everything off and discarded them on the floor. You watched him watch you–it wasn’t until you noted the way his eyes narrowed that you understood he was outlining your form–so that he could vividly paint it in his mind for a later purpose.

“I asked first,” you frowned up at him.

“You’re right,” he sighed, “here: let me show you what I want.”

Your breath caught as he lowered himself, his face coming right up to you, and with the way he was drooling at the sight, you could tell he’d been thinking about this for a while–it made you wonder if his desire had begun a lot sooner than yours had.

His mouth was warm, his tongue stroked up and down as far as they could go, and even when you thought he’d reached that point, he proved you wrong. Your hands knotted in his hair as you guided his head. His mouth was warm as he lapped up everything. You tried keeping your moan to a minimum, but when he stopped, your eyes popped open–had you done something wrong? But no, he was looking up at you with those desperate, puppy-like eyes, “please,” his whisper was grating, “I want to hear you.”

You swallowed, the ache building in you, “if that’s what you want,” you nodded.

And a few moments later, you were calling out his name in a way you’d never called anyone name. This was so new, you’d never had a guy worship you like this and you couldn’t fathom the fact that Spencer wanted to do it for your pleasure as well as his own.

You tried to hold it in, but your body had been desolate of attention for so long that you just couldn’t anymore. You could hear him slurp, and God did it do something to your brain chemistry– He considered you with clouded eyes. “Are you okay?” He frowned, pushing his body over yours.

Without giving him time to settle, you yanked his jaw toward your face with firm hands, he tasted like you and smelled of his shampoo–and yet, there was still the unknown Spencer scent that seemed only his skin could produce. You lined his jaw with kisses, your heart pounding in your chest with every new groan that escaped him.

My turn,” you huffed, definitely the cause of the lopsided grin that spread across his mouth. Though his hair was a mousy brown, in the dim yellow lamplight, it was as dark as the wood that made up the vintage furniture. It looked windswept or like he had just woken up–and perhaps he had. It was no longer a deniable fact that he’d never feel this good with anyone else, and he didn’t know how long this relationship with you would last, so he would milk everything he could out of it–and in exchange, surrender everything he had of himself.

It was only a few seconds later that you had him on his back, hands roving up and down his chest. You rubbed yourself against him, eliciting sweet sounds from his throat and friction from where you were just barely connected. You made sure to hold his gaze as you slid onto him. His jaw tightened and you could feel relief leave him as his chest fell. You tightened around him, trying to get used to him, you had to pause for a second–you couldn’t believe you were doing this–and in a moment of incompetence, you laughed.

“Sorry,” you lowered your chest onto his and began chuckling into his neck, “it’s just–what would the other think if they knew?”

Spencer pushed your shoulder away and held you above him, “I guess it’s a good thing they don’t, right?”

You nodded, but a small part of you wondered about what that meant for the after. Spencer groaned as you sat back up, you started slowly, hissing as you let him fill you. Spencer gave out his fair share of whimpers, but you wanted more, you wanted to make him cry.

You gripped his hair with one hand and the pillow beside him with another, you rolled your hips and wiggled every time you sat back down. Squeezing your thighs seemed to make him shudder the most, and when you added sucking to the mix, you knew you had him. 

“There it is,” your grin was devilish as you swiped at his cheek. He opened his eyes just in time to see you licking his tears off your thumb.

“I might ask what we are now,” you huffed a laugh as Spencer shut the bathroom door. He had been a complete gentleman about everything, cleaning you, massaging your shoulders. You’d never had such an experience, you’d never thought there could be more to having sex if you only had the right partner; now that you did, there was…but you were unsure about yourself.

You found your mind questioning all you knew about Spencer and what this all meant to you. You had asked him what he wanted from you, but did you even know what you wanted from him? Before, the question might have thrown you off–though Spencer had asked it, you weren’t taking him all too seriously. Now that you had more time to contemplate your roving thoughts, you knew the answer as if it had been written in your DNA.

Spencer’s eyebrows furrowed as he sat beside you, you were facing the window and the chifforobe.

“Well, what else would we be?” He paused, almost hesitatingly. You jerked your head toward his, eyes searching, and as the seconds of silence ticked by, he seemed to fade more and more into himself. When he turned his head and averted his eyes, saying, “I mean–if that’s not what you want–” you cut him off.

“No, I just–” you stopped yourself, unsure of how to explain the complications running through your mind, “I’m just not exactly sure what that means…”

A heavy sigh escaped his lips. You opened your mouth to clarify–probably more than necessary–but your words caught in your throat as Spencer stood and lowered to his knees in front of you. He was between your thighs, but there was nothing sexual about it–if anything it felt like the complete opposite kind of intimacy you had grown accustomed to with him.

His hands reached for yours, pulling them into your lap. He looked up at you with possibly the one look Spencer Reid had never given anyone. His eyes couldn’t decide which one of yours to focus on for the longest time, but when he did, his tone was guttural and almost choking, trusting. 

“The more time I spend with you, the more I feel I’ve always known you. These past few weeks–they weren’t the beginning for me.” Your mouth suddenly went dry, though you still tried to swallow. “I–I honestly don’t know when it started, but the more I felt drawn to you, the more I forced myself away. It–I don’t–I didn’t think I deserved to feel that way–I guess…”

You waited a few moments to ensure he was finished, your mind ran to look for the best possible response–but given the one-in-a-million situation you were in, your mind went blank. Instead, you rambled the first words that rolled into your mind just as you whispered the last, “I want you in every way, Spencer. It’s like–like you’ve bewitched me–”

“...body and soul,” he finished, “it’s…Jane Austen–sorry.” He cringed.

You threw your head back and laughed, then huffed, wiping a few tears from your eyes, “No, oh, no don’t worry. See this is why I love you,” Your heart came to an abrupt halt, and you felt as if you were dead, “no–I mean, I don’t–I mean, I–well, I do, but I mean–”

“It’s okay,” you followed his face as he stood and leaned down, his palm brushing across your face as he tucked a lock of hair behind your ear and leaned forward, “It’s okay, know what you meant,” the end of his sentence was muffled by another kiss.

“So, do you think they’ve caught on yet?” JJ asked, taking a sip of her coffee.

“Uhh, I’d say probably not.” Emily nodded.

“Would you like the share with the class?” Morgan raised a brow.

“Oh, I know this one,” Penelope hand shot up, her jewelry clinking against one another, “because — and Reid still think we don’t know.”

“I mean how could we not, though?” JJ huffed a laugh, setting her mug on the table in front of her.

“Know what?” Rossi smacked his lips, startling the group of four.

“Know…the complexities of…nail polish?” Penelope tried and failed to save the group.

All four members winced as Hotch appeared seemingly out of thin air and stated, “they think we don’t know about Spencer and —.” “What?” Rossi shook his head, following Hotch, “how could we not know? They’re so obvious.”

a/n: sorry for the wait, but i do proofread my fics because i just can't stand things not being as good as they could be–i'm a bit of a perfectionist lol irregardless, happy late new year !!

@darkmatilda @theylovemelody

[power-handmaiden]

Chuck Tingle interview

OK, here is the FINAL 2024 Tingles My Butt post, which I've been pretty hyped for. I still kind of can't believe this. While I was figuring out how I'd move on from 2024, @drchucktingle generously offered to answer some questions of mine to commemorate the end of my tingler project! Here they are!

-Considering that your process for tinglers is just to write it out and not stress about proofreading and editing, was it weird for you to see someone decide to go back, examine, and contemplate every single tingler published in the past decade?

the whole dang project was really wonderful for me, for exactly the reason you have just said. tinglers are very STREAM OF CONSCIOUS and only edited with one quick pass so while i think this adds to their honesty and rawness it also means that my time with them is limited. really watching someone go back through them at this depth was like reading a diary that i have not opened for many years, and it jumps around through time in a very beautiful way. it was very moving

-I love tingler character names. I personally admire how many great ones you come up with. (I never know what to name my ttrpg characters.) You just come up with all these great names that seemingly spring from nowhere, how do you do it?

DANG great question cant believe i have not been asked this before but yes there is a type of name that shows up in the tingleverse that is unusual and has a certain feeling and cadence that is very specific. if i am trotting along with sweet barbara and there is a name of a product or a place or something that has this tone we will say ‘oh thats a tingleverse name.’ the reason i wanted to do this in the books was as a very subtle way of saying these stories exist on a timeline that is RIGHT next to ours, so in some ways it is exactly the same as our world but there are these little cultural differences with things like chocolate milk and spaghetti and then with the names. you will have buckaroos like justin and sarah trotting along next to buckaroos named corb torbins-quill or borto lart.

-So, as a reader, reading from 2014 to now, old tinglers and new tinglers feel different to me. I believe you when you say tinglers have always been sincere, but they feel MORE sincere than they used to be. Like, I feel like there was some self-consciousness and irony in some of the early tinglers that you've since let go of and embraced the Chuck Tingle voice more. I don't know, am I imagining this, or does this square with your tingler writing journey? If it does, what has that process been like for you?

i think you are absolutely correct. the intention with tinglers was always to be a place for me to express myself with complete sincerity, but the practical way of HOW to trot like this took a bit of an evolution to arrive at. in other words i knew the basics, but actually refining the best way to express yourself and perform your art takes time. maybe in the same way goin back and watching season one of a tv show can feel very different from season three, even though they are part of the same expression. 

similar thing happened with in my chuck PRESENTATION as well, where my main focus was to stay anonymous so the metaphors i used to talk about my life were still true but laid on much thicker. even my attire was a large gi so that you would not even be able to see my shape, which has obviously changed now because i wear suits these days. all of this was a process of starting in a place i knew was important to me and then peeling off the parts that were not helping the message or expression over time

-Is there anything you could tell us about the significance of Borson Reems? I feel like he's more than just another Buck Trungle/Chuck Tangle/etc but I'm not sure what exactly...

yes borson reems is god. not that i believe in GOD in the way that most buckaroos talk about god (i am agnostic) but within the tingleverse, borson reems is an avatar for the creator of that world. technically i am borson reems, because i am writing the books. the question is: are we all the gods of our own little worlds that we create? i do not know, but when i look around at my buds and the joy and love they bring to various timelines they sure seem like gods to me

-A lot of no-sex tinglers (especially ones that aren't romance-focused) vary in terms of plot and structure a lot more than erotic tinglers. Is your writing process for these stories any different?

same process actually, but the sex scenes in tinglers are about 1500 to 2000 words long, and total tingler length is 4000 words which means if you are not including that portion you are going to have to come up with some creative way to fill that space in the story and a new axis for story to turn on. so the variety comes from me getting creative and trying out different axis points

-In "Not Pounded By My Book "Pounded In The Butt By My Non-Fungible Tingler That Is Literally This NFT" Because Of The Current Catastrophic Environmental And Ethical Impact" there are references to an earlier draft of the story that was never released because you ended up disagreeing with the message. Are there any other tinglers that never got finished and/or published, if you'd be willing to talk about any of them?

oh this is a VERY good question. the story of the NFT tingler is that when buckaroos were first talkin on nfts online and nobody really knew what they were, my first thoughts were just ‘oh this is interesting what the heck is this?’ this is my way with most CURRENT EVENTS. and i thought ‘this would be an interesting tingler, i suppose maybe i should make the tingler an ACTUAL nft’. this was in VERY early days so i did not really even understand what an nft was (neither did 99 percent of buckaroos yet honestly). so i looked into it just enough to actually MAKE a nft tingler that was a real nft and put it out. lasted for about thirty seconds before buckaroos were messaging saying ‘oh this is bad chuck you should look into what this is’ and i DID look into it and thought’ oh yeah this is terrible nevermind’. i took down the original and thought ‘well THIS is what art is all about. this is where i thrive in a world of moving living art that is in communication with itself’. so i dove into the research and actually started to understand NFTS and then i repurposed the story into a strongly anti-nft tingler and put that on out instead.

as far as OTHER tinglers that kind of move and breathe and live like this, in communication with the audience, GAY T-REX LAW FIRM is another very good example. that one i wrote early on and i think it was kind of in the model of something like fifty shade of grey, where issues of kink and consent and communication are not really handled well. i think at the time it came out the story was okay, but as time went on it always kind of bothered me and finally i thought ‘i love art that exists in the REAL WORLD and changes and evolves, so lets rewrite that story and fix some of these mistakes.’ honestly it is something i wish more artists would be open to. its okay to let something hold strong against a changing timeline, but it is also okay to explore what its like to take the notes that time gives us

-This one is about Chuck Tingle that exists in deeper layers of the Tingleverse that operate on tingler logic: what does the location inside his/your butt look like?

probably a nice mid-century modern home up in laurel canyon neighborhood of los angeles. kind of quiet and small like a cabin but also very cozy, like the kind of place where you would put on a crosby stills nash and young record on vinyl and gaze out into the woods for a while then walk down the hill for dinner at a little cafe where you spot some actor from a 60s tv show also having dinner in the corner booth. this basically sounds like the start of a tingler and in that tingler i will say the actor would be a bigfoot.

-OK this one is very self-indulgent but if you could help settle this frequent point of discussion I have with my wife- where do the following fit in the Tingleverse bigfoot/dinosaur/unicorn/living object(/human/does not apply?) taxonomy?

-a ghost of a regular human

-a regular human vampire

-a human/fish mermaid

-a sentient winged horse

-a sentient centipede large enough to wrap around a mountain several times (she is handsome)

alright lets trot through these. a GHOST is not one of the four tingle types so you can have a ghost racecar or a ghost unicorn or a ghost bigfoot. ghosts are outside of the four types and do not have a classification

a VAMPIRE is also outside of the four types. so you can have a vampire bigfoot or, of course, a vampire night bus. does not strictly fall into any of the four main categories

MERMAIDS are technically a long lost species of unicorn I DONT MAKE THE RULES I JUST EXPLAIN THEM. this makes the MERMOPED tingler a little confusing but i had to pick a category and that one went into living object. now that i mention it possibly the only tingler that is technically a double category of unicorn/living object.

WINGED HORSE is easy, thats a pegasus which is a species of unicorn just like a mermaid

a SENTIENT CENTIPEDE LARGE ENOUGH TO WRAP AROUND A MOUNTAIN is an ancient creature, therefore dinosaur tingler

-My other self-indulgent question: do you have a favorite bug? (Or second-favorite if you count Mothman as a bug)

i love finding spiders in the house and giving them a pet because they are doing a good job livin their lives doin their thing. close second would be a pretty ladybug

-Any thoughts on what tinglers will be like in 2025? Do you expect to be writing a lot of political tinglers again, like post-2016?

honestly i really do not like writing specifically political tinglers anymore, and the amount that i write has gradually dropped over time (i think ALL tinglers are political but in a different way). so honestly i think i will write a few political tinglers but not many. my hypothesis on this is that my HORROR NOVELS are very very political and so maybe i get a lot of these ideas out of my system that way now. when it comes to tinglers i just wanna explore my OWN mind and heart and butt more

THANK YOU for these wonderful questions and thank you for your tingler-a-day project it was so moving and powerful. what a treat it was an honor to be a part of something so beautiful. THIS PROVES LOVE IS REAL

[melminli]

Love To Dream

summary - there was this one girl that thanos really wanted, though, she didn't really want to have anything to do with him. unfortunately, that made him want her even more.

pairing: (thanos) choi su-bong x fem. reader

word count: 1.5k

contains: modern au, mention of drugs, enemies to lovers vibes ig, crack, yearning

a/n: i don't even know what this is tbh but I felt like we all deserved some laughs ;)

Life was good - life was really fucking good, Thanos thought to himself as he winked charmingly at a group of hot girls. They had been looking in his direction for a while now while giggling, clearly interested in him. He continued to watch them as he sipped his drink, the club music pumping through his veins like adrenaline. Thanos's eyes darkened as the girls continued to cast lustful glances in his direction - he knew he could easily get more than one of them into bed tonight and why wouldn't he? It hadn't been long since his last performance on stage, reminding everyone present once again of his legendary status in this club.

However, his attention was focused somewhere entirely else after the most breathtaking person ever decided to walk past him. The pick-up lines he had been thinking of for the group, vanished from his mind after this angel showed up in front of him since the other girls could barely compare. The whole thing looked like something out of a scene from a Kdrama because time seemed to pass in slow motion and your hair was swinging in the air like that of a princess - which would have been the perfect time for some product placement because it just looked so damn soft.

Thanos had his mouth wide open in shock and put a hand over his heart to check if it was still beating while his eyes never left your figure. You - who was leaning prettily against the bar right next to him as you ordered something from the bartender.

“Hey.” he finally recovered from the moment and casually moved towards you. “I'd introduce myself, but I assume you already know me.” he talked to you with his flirty face as soon as you looked up at him.

You smiled shyly. “Yeah, I watched your performance,” you answered him and seemed quite grateful that he was speaking to you right now. “You were pretty good.” you giggled slightly as you complimented him.

“Yeah, that's just how I am.” he sighed as he looked around the room as if it was a burden for him to have to live with all the recognition. His eyes met yours again and he tried to impress you by unpacking a few bars while emphasizing them with the movements of his hands. “Girl, I know you and I are meant to be because after I looked at your pretty face everything stopped being. If only you saw what I can see, you'll understand why I want you so desperately.” he rapped to you, stealing the last line from some One Direction song, but you didn't need to know that.

You shyly put your hands in front of your face to hide your smile. “Oh my god, that was so incredibly sexy, I'm so horny for you right now.” the words came out of your mouth and made Thanos screw up his face weirdly for a second.

Because first of all, those vulgar words didn't match your innocent demeanor in the slightest - and secondly, you said exactly what Thanos had imagined you would say - it was actually a bit creepy since you literally said it word for word. Thanos hardly thought that he could foresee the future all of a sudden or that you could maybe read minds, though he decided to ignore the whole thing as soon as you started touching his chest softly with your hands. He wanted you so bad.

“You don't even know what you're doing to me right now,” he whispered to you while you felt him so sensually and he was about to kiss you, hadn't you stopped his lips with your hand as you laughed into his face. “I think you should wake up now. Otherwise, the pink elephant will keep handing out balloons to people.” You told him, pointing behind him to where the bar was supposed to be.

“Hah?” he asked you confused and turned around while continuing to hold you in his arms, but all he saw were a few dogs breakdancing - and that was nothing out of the ordinary. He continued to look at the scene with a grin, even though some inner voice inside him was stressing out about kissing you immediately as if he was running out of time. He finally turned back to you and was about to continue when he suddenly heard a man speak. “You really should wake up man.” Nam-gyu's voice told him and Thanos only caught himself almost kissing him after he took a closer look. He just pushed him away from him in disgust and then -

Thanos woke up from his sleep, bathed in sweat, when he saw your face in his field of vision. “Finally, you're sleeping like a dead man. There's some guy at the door who wants to talk to you,” you told him as he sat up tiredly while slowly recovering from his strange dream.

That's right. You weren't just some hot girl he met at the club, you were his fucking roommate. Thanos discreetly pushed more blanket over his lap as he tried to shoo you away from his room with a wave of his hand. “Yeah, yeah - I'll be right there, just - give me a moment,” he said without looking you in the face.

You just sighed slightly and complied with his request, though not without letting him know how unhappy you were. “I told you to stop giving our address to these dealers. I don't like it when they show up here,” you grumbled under your breath before dashing out and closing the door behind you.

After that, Thanos let out a very heavy sigh and stroked his face aggressively. “Now she's showing up in my dreams, too? Fucking great.” he grumbled to himself and got up from the bed to put on some decent clothes. His eyes met his own reflection as he pulled a shirt over his head. “Get a grip man, what's wrong with you?” he asked himself as he grimaced in annoyance. “You're Thanos the destroyer, not some kind of -”

“Stop taking so long and come here already!” your voice suddenly shouted, coming through his door slightly muffled.

He looked even more annoyed at that and made his way to the living room while shouting back at you. “I'm fucking on it, alright!” and it only took a few loud steps from him to your front door for him to yank it open to fix the damn problem. He looked at his friend, completely bothered by his presence. “What do you want?” he asked him and was kinda glad that it at least wasn't Nam-gyu because he just really didn't want to see his face at the moment and probably for a little while.

“Hello, to you, too.” the man in front of him greeted him, already used to his weird mood swings. “I just wanted to do you a favor by bringing you some of the pills you wanted because last time you almost beat me up when I didn't have them with me,” he explained, holding the bag, which Thanos grabbed instantly before inspecting it more closely. “Don't act like you didn't deserve it, I paid you the money in advance, man. Of course, I was angry,” he complained again and would probably have beaten him up for real right now if he had ruined his morning over something completely unnecessary. However, he would still have to make sure that something like this didn't happen again so that you didn't have another reason to kick him out of the apartment.

“You know, maybe this was meant to be. Otherwise, I wouldn't have been greeted by an absolute hottie today,” he said happily as he stood there, still interested. “Is she your cousin or something? Do you want to introduce me to her?” he asked and was quite confident in the way he acted, but Thanos just looked at him emotionlessly for a few seconds until he slammed the door in his face.

"Okay, he's gone now!" he exclaimed, bored, and made his way into the kitchen, where you were sitting with a cup of coffee or something while scrolling on your phone. "Don't open the door for that guy if he shows up again," he said, grabbing a cold Sprite from the fridge. You just looked at him with a displeased look. He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I'll make sure that he and no one else shows up after today. But, I'm just saying that in case it still somehow happens."

Thanos then opened the can and drank from it while he continued to watch your face from the side. Eventually, he sat down next to you, although, to his dissatisfaction, that didn't seem to get your attention. "Hey, you want to go on a date?" He asked, and you weren't sure how many times he asked you that by now. You kept scrolling on Instagram. "You know my answer to that."

Thanos continued to grin hopefully. "Yes?" he asked and then watched you disappear out of the kitchen with your cup of coffee in your hand - probably to your room. "You should be glad that I'm even asking you! Other girls would die for..." he muffled towards the end before he stopped talking entirely once he realized that you weren't giving him a reaction.

Maybe, I should just go back to sleep, he thought to himself dejectedly, unable to believe that he had actually better chances with you in dreams with pink elephants and breakdancing dogs.

[thecurioustale]

First-person stories are a great format that could use an ad council or something!

It's not a point of view that shows up often. I think its minority status has become even more pronounced in recent years, one of the primary victims of the shift from past-tense to present-tense fiction and the rise of second-person "dungeon master" styles of storytelling. But first-person was never the most popular narrative point of view in fiction, as fiction originally evolved around the conceit of the chronicle and was necessarily third-person except insofar as the narrator was involved in the account. The innovation of a first-person fictional story whose narrator is a fictional character and not connected to the author in any way was a real step forward in human storytelling.

Why? Because the first-person point of view is extremely fresh and intimate. The most recent comment in this thread insinuates that first-person stories are "not about you" (second-person ones are), but this is not correct. Second-person stories are to you and for you (with "you" usually being you personally, though cleverer authors can still do characters this way), but there is virtually no overlap between the narrator and you as the reader. They are not "about" "you." The first-person perspective really is, by far, the best-suited perspective for temporarily inhabiting another character. (Second-person is probably the worst point of view for that, so much so that it, to build on what I was just saying in the previous aside, in the hands of able storytellers the second-person is often used as a tool to develop a character purely through indirect means, i.e. "I wonder who this person is that the narrator is speaking to.")

The point the OP is making (in expressing their surprise) is that some people can't do this. They don't "inhabit another character," i.e. experience the world from that character's point of view for a while, when they read a first-person story; rather, they take themselves into that character and make of it a vessel for themselves. It is a failure of imagination and an inability to shed ego and empathize.

And it is apparently pretty common. This is why, after all, video game protagonists are so often blandly generic and sometimes even mute. They are explicitly meant to serve as vessels for the audience rather than as independent characters whom the audience might inhabit. This is done by people who know something of the world of marketability, and who presumably know that there are a lot of people like this out there.

It's very strange to someone like me (and also to the OP, by their reaction). I have no problem at all inhabiting other characters through a first-person point of view without my own self getting in the way of the authenticity of the experience whatsoever. Moreover, I tend not to be very interested in those bland, generic, deliberately blank "vessel" protagonists—like Link or Chrono, etc., where everyone around them is talking all the time, and has strong opinions, etc., even as they themselves never say anything. (You don't see this "silent protagonist" as often in books (as opposed to video games), presumably because it can't be done without trivializing the narrator's status as a character in a way that the medium of video games does not permit due to the primacy of gameplay mechanics in the overall experience.) On the contrary, first-person narratives, for me, tend to be the most effective when the protagonist is strongly characterized, with lots of substance to inhabit.

I'm not sure whether this reflects a fundamental difference in how I visualize and experience stories versus how some other people do it, or if it's a matter of degrees of awareness and control over vs. helplessness against one's own ego.

What I do know is that first-person stories have an acclimatization period for me, at the very beginning. Partly this is because they're so uncommon, but partly it's because they're just so much more raw and vivid by virtue of that first-person perspective. It's very immersive. It also, as a side benefit, cuts through a lot of the intrinsic clunkiness of third-person limited closeups, allowing prose to be more economical and incisive. I'm almost tempted to say that, for the stories which support a first-person point of view, it's objectively the better perspective in cases where a narrative is built around a small number of POV characters (one being ideal). I'm writing such a story myself on the back burners and it stands in impressive contrast, in terms of fluidity and agility, to my third-person work exclusively centered on Cherry in the Galaxy Federal Inaugural Novel.

One thing I will say: We don't put enough thought, I think, into narrative point of view and the verb tenses of the storytelling. All of them are valid; I'm not saying otherwise; but many stories would be better off with a particular combination.

(As far as my editorial opinion goes: Among tenses, past tense is usually best because present tense closes off a lot of narrative flexibility (as the narrator does not know how the story will unfold or end without breaking grammatical logic, and therefore cannot provide any retrospective contextualization or framing). Among perspectives, I think first-person deserves a lot more attention than it gets, and third-person omniscient after that. (Whereas third-person limited and second-person tend to be overused.))

wait do people read first person stories and think they're the ones in the story???

Saw people talking about not liking first person, which is fair, but their reasoning was like "I would not do that" and I don't understand that mindset.

First person stories are still about a character. A character making their own decisions. First person isn't about you???? At least I thought it wasn't. What am I missing? I've always seen first person as just a more in-depth look into a character's mind and stricter POV. Not as a reader stand-in.

[hcneymooners]

⋆ woman of my dreams, don't betray me.

wife!ambessa x wife!reader. men & minors dni.

synopsis: you and ambessa are wives, and your parents have come to visit the two of you. everything will be fine, or would've been if you mother hadn't brought up her desire for grandchildren.

cw: angst, angst with a happy ending, wife!ambessa, wife!reader, age difference, older woman/younger woman, sfw but suggestive content, emotional hurt/comfort, you're a little bit of a crybaby, anxiety attacks, discussions of children and pregnancy.

notes: i hate this so much, but ce la vie hmm? this is a drabble.

“Sweet girl, don't bite your nails. You'll be so upset later.”

“You'll just give me the money to get them done,” you mutter. 

Still, your hands lower from your mouth to tremble yet again over the dinner you've painstakingly made.

Ambessa moves behind you, her presence steady and warm against your back. Her hands settle on your shoulders, thumbs working small circles into the knots that have been building there all day. You lean into her touch despite yourself, despite the anxiety that makes you want to vibrate out of your skin.

“Will this occur before or after you protest against me giving you too much?”

A laugh slips out of you before you can stop it, and you turn to slide your arms around her neck. You take in the strong line of her jaw, the crooked set of her lips with it’s thin stripe of golden jewlery in the middle. You thumb at it, face flushing slightly as she nips at the tip of your finger.

“My nails have yet to cost five hundred dollars, Bessa.”

“I include the tip.”

“I must be incredibly generous.”

“You are,” she hums, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Besides, you never think of tax.”

“Tax?” You say in disbelief. “What tax would they be adding that costs that much? Honestly, Bessa.”

“You never know,” she says with a slow smile. “They could swindle you very easily. You have such a trusting nature.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you tell her, cupping her face.

"Talk to me," she says, and her voice carries that gentle authority that first drew you to her. You turn away, your attempts at misleading her thwarted. "Is it your mother again?”

You stiffen under her hands. "Among other things." The roast in front of you blurs slightly. 

You can picture her expression without turning around - that careful neutrality she wears when she's processing something that angers her. It's the same look she gets in meetings when someone has said something particularly stupid.

"And what did you say to her?"

"Nothing. I deleted it. I’ve never been any good at convincing her to leave me alone." You pull away from her hands to adjust a perfectly arranged plate for the third time. "It's easier than explaining. Than having the same argument over and over about how I'll change my mind, how I just haven't met the right person yet." You pause, throat tight. "As if you're not..."

"As if I'm not what?" There's an edge to her voice now, not angry but intent. When you don't answer, she gently turns you to face her. "Look at me, little dove."

You do, though it hurts. She's beautiful in the warm kitchen light, silver hair gleaming, dark eyes fixed on yours with an intensity that still makes your heart skip even after all this time. You see the question in them and can't bear to answer it.

"The table still needs-"

"The table is perfect. You're being avoidant."

A laugh bubbles up, slightly hysterical. "Isn't that what I do best?"

"No." Her hand cups your cheek. You can smell her: blonde wood, vetiver, pink pepper, dry vanilla. "What you do best is love fiercely and completely. And we agreed that that meant being honest with one another.”

She titls your head up, presses a thumb against your pulse. The action makes you almost confess the words that crowd your throat, threatening to spill out:

I'm terrified you'll realize I can't give you the family you deserve. That one day you'll look at me and see all the things I'm not, all the things I can't be. That you'll regret choosing someone so much younger, so much less certain of their place in the world. That my mother is right and I'm being selfish, denying you something fundamental.

But before you can voice any of it, the doorbell rings. Your whole body goes rigid. Your hands come to your sides and you’re back to shaking, neck burning with sudden stress. 

“I’ll get the door,” you say.

Your voice is rasping, as if you’ve swallowed down endless snakes of smoke.

‧₊˚ ⋅  𓐐𓎩 ‧₊˚ ⋅ 

Dinner is excruciating. Your mother talks about your cousin's new baby, about how wonderful motherhood looks on her, about how she's "simply glowing." You push food around your plate and feel Ambessa's concerned glances, even as she masterfully deflects conversation toward politics, toward her work, toward anything else.

But with each deflection, you can feel her growing more tense beside you - the way she sets her wine glass down with just a fraction more force, how her knife scrapes against the china with military precision.

"But really," your mother says, wine glass tilting dangerously in her hand, "I just don't understand why you two haven't started trying yet. Ambessa, dear, you must want more children? And you're not getting any younger-"

The fork clatters from your hand. "Mother."

You can feel your body pulsing with that sick warmth that comes with the rush of tears. You’re boring a hole through the dining room table with your gaze, eyes growing large and wet. If you were a lamb, you’d be bleating except your mother is the wolf so who will be the one to save you? 

Beside you, Ambessa goes perfectly, terrifyingly still. The kind of stillness that precedes a storm, that makes the hair on the back of your neck rise. You can see her hand flat against the table, the metal of her rings catching the light, and you know without looking that her face has taken on that marble-smooth expression that makes junior officers quake in their boots.

"I'm only giving you something to think about, my love. I’ve been you before. You think you have so much time, you know? It’s just—you've always been so good with kids, sweetheart. Remember how you used to babysit for the Hendersons? And Ambessa's children turned out so well-"

"Stop." Your voice comes out strangled. "Please."

Ambessa's hand sneaks under the table to grasp your thigh. The touch is slightly grounding but you can feel the tremor in her fingers - not from fear, but from restraint. You know she wants you to look at her, but then you'll really begin to lose it.

You'll spill over, right into her lap, because she always could unlatch your body in ways you thought were only for other people.

You catch the slight movement of her jaw, the way she swallows whatever cutting remark she wants to make. Because this is your mother, and Ambessa—for all her power, all her authority, because of the love—is letting you handle this your way. But the tension in her body screams of fury, of a woman forced to watch her beloved take wounds she can't deflect.

"I don't see why you're being so sensitive about this. It's a natural progression-"

"Natural?" You're standing now, though you don't remember deciding to. "Natural is me not wanting to vomit every time someone mentions me being pregnant. Natural is not having a panic attack every time you send me another fertility clinic link or baby clothes or-" Your voice breaks. "I can't. I can't do this."

You flee, ignoring your mother's startled "Well!" and your father's awkward attempt to change the subject. You're halfway up the stairs before the tears start properly, and by the time you reach your bedroom, you can barely see. The door locks behind you with a satisfying click.

You stumble to the vanity, clutch blindingly at your hair to yank out the pins. You feel out of control, your hands sliding up your neck and over your face.

A sob slips out despite you clutching your fingers over your mouth, and you press at your stomach until you feel the urge to dispel the mixture of your decayed dinner and acid that sits within it.

The bed. You need to be under the bed. It's childish and ridiculous but it's where you used to hide when things got too much, and right now everything is too much. You curl up in the darkness there, pressed against the wall, and try to remember how to breathe.

Time passes. You hear murmured voices downstairs, the front door opening and closing. Footsteps on the stairs - Ambessa's, you'd know them anywhere.

"Little dove?" A gentle knock. "Let me in?"

"It's unlocked," you manage, voice thick.

The door opens. A pause.

"Are you under the bed?"

"...yeah."

Another pause. Then, to your utter astonishment, you hear grunting and turn to find Ambessa - your tall, dignified, warrior-queen wife - attempting to squeeze herself under the bed frame.

"What are you doing?" you ask, hiccuping between tears and startled laughter.

"Coming to get you," she says, voice strained as she wriggles forward. "Though I'm beginning to think this bed was not built for someone of my size."

"You're going to get stuck."

"Then we'll be stuck together." She finally manages to get next to you, though she has to lie completely flat to fit. "Hello, sweet girl."

A rush of gratitude floods you and you press forward, drawing her into a soft kiss. She deepens it, sliding a large hand underneath your thigh and holding you to her. You part with a soft, slick noise. 

“You’re always meeting me where I am, even when you don’t understand,” you tell her. “Literally.” 

You gesture weakly at the whole predicament. The absurdity of it - Ambessa Medarda, covered in dust bunnies, cramped under a bed - breaks something in you. 

"I have this terrible secret inside me, and it’s that I feel so—so sick when I think about being a mother," you blurt out. The words slide out of you, like maggots from a rotting body. "Not—not your children, I love them, but being one myself. Having them. I can't. I won't. And I know you must want- but I can't, I just can't, please don't leave me.” You begin to sob again. “Please, Bessa. Please don’t leave me. Please. Plea-”

"Shh." She pulls you closer, awkward in the confined space but no less tender for it. You tuck your head into her neck as she soothes you. "Shh, my love. I'm not going anywhere."

"But-"

"I have two children," she says firmly. "Two wonderful, grown children who I love dearly. I have never once thought about having more. What I want - all I want - is you. Happy. Whole. Exactly as you are."

You're crying again, but differently now. "Really?"

"Really." She strokes your hair, rocking you as best she can in the tight space. "Though I would very much like to have this conversation somewhere with fewer dust bunnies."

You laugh wetly into her shirt. "Sorry."

"Don't be. I would crawl under a thousand beds for you. Even into a grave." She kisses your forehead. "But perhaps we could move on top of this one? My back is not what it used to be."

"You’re really not getting any younger," you quip, the onslaught of relief making you giddy.

"Watch it, little dove." But she's smiling - you can hear it in her voice. "Now come out before we really do get stuck."

“What if we stayed here forever,” you whisper, “and you never let me go?”

She releases you, then shimmies out from the crawl space. Gently, she curls a hand around your ankle and pulls you out with a sharp yank. You gasp as you emerge from your hiding space, hair spilling around you and your dress rucked up just enough to display your panties.

Ambessa leans over, drags the dress further up until she can kiss the swell of your breasts. She looks up you, face ever-calculating.

“I will never release you,” she finally says. 

It should scare you, the clear promise, but it doesn’t. You lead her hand to your throat, just to hold it there, and smile instead.

© hcneymooners.

[wandanatrules]

Can you do g!p WandaNat fighting over reader but they just agreed with each other to take reader at the same time at a college party.

Three’s A Party

Hi guys! Thank you to all those that sent requests, please keep them coming. I kind of took this one loosely. I didn’t do the threesome part but if enough of you guys comment saying you want it I will write a part two!! I didn’t really feel like proofreading it (sorry it’s kinda ass).

word count: 1.8k

pairing: Beefy popular g!p Nat x Nerdy beefy g!p Wanda x cheerleader fem reader

warnings: smut, nat and wanda have penises, cursing, name calling, oral, drunkenness, penetration, foul language, dirty talk, roughness, voyuerism, potential threesome, slight angst, (let me know if I missed anything!)

“Tonight is the night I am finally gonna bag y/n. I can’t wait, she’s been catching my eye for a while now, being the only girl who hasn’t thrown herself on me.”, Natasha said, while looking in the mirror and making her final touches before the party.

Wanda’s head popped up at Natasha’s words. “Wait, what do you mean? I was gonna try to talk to y/n tonight.” 

“Wait damn Wans I had no idea you were into y/n like that. I guess the best one wins.”, Natasha said with a friendly nudge on the shoulder before heading out the door of their shared apartment.

The best friends arrived at the party together in Natasha’s car, immediately being swarmed by girls, Natasha in particular. Being the star basketball player and wrestler at their college, makes Natasha perfectly built with a figure that is to die for.

Wanda on the other hand was your typical nerd. While she does have an incredible physique herself due to her tendency to workout and strength train when she’s stressed, her focus on her studies keeps any attention away from her. 

And you were just the typical popular cheerleader, who just so happened to be very familiar with Natasha. You were always in the front cheering her on in her sports and congratulating her on her wins. While you tried to make it obvious you want her it seems as though she is always distracted by the hundreds of girls waking up in her bed. But tonight you were determined to be the last one to be in her bed.

Across the floor of the party you saw the pair chatting while sipping on their respective drinks. Natasha was wearing a black wife beater with a loose pair of carpenter pants and a black leather jacket. Her thick red hair was cascading down in full waves. She was talking with a shorter redhead who you didn’t know but had seen her with a couple times but it never seemed to be romantically, so you weren’t threatened.  

“Okay fine only because you’re my best friend. I'll back off and I'll let you talk to her first, but if she’s not feeling you I'll shoot my shot. Okay?” Natasha said as she saw you looking in their direction getting ready to come over.

Wanda sighed, that’s not what she was hoping to hear. The truth is that she lied about wanting to talk to you. She only said that to keep Natasha from talking to you, so she could talk to Natasha. Yeah she talks to Natasha everyday but she wants Natasha to talk to her the way she talks to the millions of girls in her bed every night.

”Hey y/n it’s good to see you again.”, Natasha said as she wrapped her hands around your waist in a tight intimate hug. Wanda bites her lip holding back a growl at the sight.

”Oh my god natty, you are so strong i bet you could pick me up and squat me.” You said with a flirty grab to her bicep and your classic bambi eyes.

”I probably could, hopefully I see you next time I'm in the weight room. But um I don't think you met my friend Wanda.” Natasha said while pointing you in the direction of a shorter redhead with a nice build as well. 

“Oh hey Wanda nice to meet you, I'm y/n”, you said hurriedly and dismissively, not interested in talking to anyone but Natasha at the moment. 

“What are you drinking Natty? Why haven’t you gotten me a drink yet?” You said teasingly, taking her drink and making a show of putting your mouth to the tip of the bottle. 

“Yeah go ahead Nat buy her a drink I'll be fine.” Wanda said, waving you both off.

”Are you sure?” Natasha mouthed before you pulled her away.

Wanda nodded her head before going off to find something stronger for herself to drown her sorrows. 

“Alright let’s cut to the chase natty, do you not think i’m pretty?” You said scooting closer to her on the couch you two ended up on.

”What y/n I think you are absolutely gorgeous baby.” She said putting your hair behind your ear. 

“Okay well then i want you to take me somewhere and show me just how gorgeous you think I am. Okay natty?” You said in her ear before she shot up and led you out the room by your wrist.

The two of you wandered down the halls of the frat house, before stumbling into the first empty room. She closed the door and pushed you up against it putting her lips on yours in a rough kiss. Parting your lips, she let her tongue lazily roam around the inside of your mouth. 

“mmhm” you moaned into the kiss, before pulling away for air. While you were catching your breath she moved to kissing your neck and sucking a hickey right onto your pulse point making you moan even louder.

”mhm can I take this off baby.” She said while tugging on the fabric of your dress.

”Yes please take me to the bed.” you replied while she tore your dress off and threw you on the mattress.

“No bra baby? I knew you were a slut.” She said while grabbing handfuls of one breast and popping the other into her hot mouth, giving you pleasure that no man has ever made you feel. 

“Please take your clothes off too, natty. I want to see you.” You whined as she pulled back from your breast with a trail of spit before wiping her mouth and standing up. She threw her jacket across the room and stepped out of her pants, making a show of slowly unbuttoning her shirt so you could see her incredibly defined abs. 

You got on your knees and moved towards the end of the bed, impatiently ripping the rest of the shirt off. She laughed while discarding her bra, leaving her in only her boxers.

You reached out to grab her bulge. “ I wonder if it’s as big as all the girls say it is.” You say looking up at her while gently massaging the bulge.

”Only one way to find out I guess.” She said with a smirk gesturing for you to take the boxers off. 

You reached up and pulled the waistband down, eyes widening when her seemingly foot long penis popped out and hit you in the face.

” Wow and it’s thick too.” You giggled while looking up at her and jerking it between your hand spreading the precum along the length.

”Go ahead and see how it tastes.” She said grabbing a handful of your hair to pull your mouth on her dick. “mmhm just like that baby.”

She slowly starts to move her hips, thrusting herself down your throat. She tastes better than any man you’ve ever sucked, most likely a result of her diet and exercise.

”Shit, I can tell you’re a fucking professional, i’m gonna have to keep you for myself.”

You take your mouth off and continue to jerk her off while you look up and nod fervently, hearing exactly what you wanted to hear. 

“I’m real close, are you gonna be a good girl and swallow it or do you want me to punish you?” She said, increasing the intensity behind her thrusts. 

“No please I want it so bad, natty.” You said sucking the life out of her before she released her load down your throat. “very tasty” you said after swallowing it all and wiping your mouth. 

“Oh my god, where did you learn that? Hopefully you won’t be disappointed when I return the favor.” She said pushing you back on the bed, while pulling your panties down your legs.

She hovered over you and kissed you on the lips, before kissing her way down paying special attention to your breasts again. When she finally made it to your cunt she licked a stripe through the wetness, groaning at the taste.

”You are so wet, baby. It tastes so sweet.” She said looking into your eyes with a smile. 

“Please natty, it’s aching so bad.” You begged for her to continue.

”Don’t worry baby. I got you.” She licked her way through your cunt again circling your clit. Latching on, she takes two of her fingers and rubs them through your wetness before inserting them. She furiously sucks your clit into her mouth while curling her fingers, pistoning them into your cunt.

”Damn you are so tight I can’t wait to feel myself inside you.” She said while watching your cunt swallowing her fingers.

”Ugh i’m so close, natty please.” You said ready to let go.

”Go ahead and cum for me then.” She said while furiously rubbing your clit, before you inevitably let go.

A hot gush of liquid squirted out of your cunt hitting Natasha in the face. Smiling, she opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue to catch your arousal.

”Oh that was so hot I got to get you to do that again. I never pegged you as a squirter though.”

”No one has ever made me do that before, but it felt so good.” You said with a goofy grin trying to catch your breath. 

“It was my pleasure, plus you taste delicious.” Natasha said before kissing you on the mouth, sticking her tongue in your mouth so you could taste yourself. 

“I know you’re still hard, I don’t think I need to beg you to fuck me. Do I?” You said pulling back and looking up at her. 

“Such a slut, I'm gonna teach you to watch your mouth.” She said, flipping you over and pulling you into your hands and knees. 

She slaps your ass and spits onto your cunt, before slipping in and bottoming out on the first thrust. 

“I knew you were gonna feel incredible, so fucking tight.” She moans while continuously slapping your ass. Speeding up her thrusts with so much intensity that the bed keeps knocking against the headboard.

”You fuck me so good natty, you’re so big.” You moan with a heavy breath, reaching back to feel her. 

“Are you on the pill? I don’t want to waste my load on your ass. I need to cum inside.” 

“Yes please I am cum inside me.” You begged.

Walking down the hallway of the frat house Wanda was stupidly drunk wanting to find somewhere to relax, because she figured Nat, the unrequited love of her life, had left her. Stumbling into the first room she saw, she slightly cracked open the door and was met with a heartbreaking sight. But she couldn’t help but watch. 

After a while of thrusting, Natasha felt this weird sensation of being watched, so she turned around and caught a glimpse of Wanda peeking through the door. She laughed to herself, not expecting Wanda to be such a perv. 

With a smirk she asked, “Have you ever had a threesome, y/n?”

”Yes I love being used by two people at once.” You said with a moan. 

“Okay. Come on in Wanda, I don’t mind sharing.” She said before hearing the door creak the rest of the way open. 

comment if you want a pt. 2!! 

[uconnwbbcrashout]

last winter break

chapter iii: “i think i’m gonna kiss you”

paige x azzi

word count: 6.5k

content: swearing, some fluffy banter, and a healthy dose of angst

chapter list: here

author’s notes: after a long wait, it’s finally here!! i wanna apologize for the 100th time for how long this took me to write. as you can tell by the word count compared to chapters i & ii, this one kinda got out of hand. but i'm happy w/ how it turned out and i hope it's worth the wait!! :) enjoy!

Winter 2022-2023

AZ: hey, i saw the news

AZ: about your acl i mean

AZ: i hope you’re doing okay p

p (IGNORE): thanks. good as i can be yk

p (IGNORE): surgery went well and all

p (IGNORE): but hey

p (IGNORE): delayed not denied right ?

changed user’s contact name to “p”

AZ: right

AZ: you’ll be okay

AZ: i know it

p: i hope youre right

*****

p: did you see the schedule

p: we play you guys

p: dec 11

p: well i wont be but

AZ: i did!!

AZ: you guys don’t stand a chance btw

p: damn way to kick a girl while shes down az

AZ: sorry?

*****

AZ: happy birthday paige

AZ: you’re so old

p: shut up

p: thank you azzi

*****

p: happy bday az

p: yOu’Re sO oLd

AZ: ok i had that coming

AZ: but thank you :)

*****

p: just saw the clip

p: hope you and your knee are ok <3

p: rest up azzi

AZ: thanks p

AZ: looks like we’re both gonna be on the bench next week

AZ: we’re still beating you guys though

p: well see bout that

*****

AZ: told you so

p: i couldnt even play bro

AZ: and i could??

p: whatever

p: we beatin you in march idc

AZ: sure p sure

*****

Azzi sighs, stretching her thumbs again where they hover over the keyboard on her phone. She’s laid out on her parents’ couch, legs propped up on a pillow, feeling utterly ridiculous as she tries to muster up the courage to send a text to Paige. She scrolls back up through their conversations from the past few months for what must be the eighth time today, overanalyzing every word.

It shouldn’t be this difficult, really—it’s hardly the first time this year that she’s been the one to reach out and text Paige. And she’s literally just trying to ask her if she’s going to a party. It’s an extremely low stakes conversation topic.

And yet here she is, practically ripping her hair out at the thought of pressing "send."

In all honesty, it’s a pretty good way to sum up what this year has been—so much more difficult than it ever needed to be.

And to say it’s been a weird fucking year would be an understatement.

After a disappointing tournament run in March, Maryland’s team changes significantly, so much so that Azzi has a hard time keeping track of it all. Graduations, transfers out, transfers in, new freshman—they're basically an entirely new team by the time the season starts up again in the fall.

And then she meets a girl, Maya, late one night in February when she’s cramming for an exam in the student union. She’s on the track team—a sprinter—tall, and devastatingly pretty. She’s unwaveringly confident, too, sitting across the empty table from Azzi and striking up a conversation with her easily. They end up talking for so long that night that the cleaning staff have to kick them out.

Things just click after that.

It's nice. It’s safe. It’s fun.

It’s sneaking into team housing well past curfew. It’s study dates at their favorite coffee shop on campus. It’s stolen hoodies and cold winter nights, huddled together for heat. It’s good luck kisses and lingering hugs before away games or meets. It’s late-night FaceTimes when there’s hundreds of miles separating them. It’s flower bouquets and greeting cards left on kitchen counters.

It’s something that feels a lot like the beginning stages of love.

And, above all, it makes Azzi happy.

There’s just one persistent, unavoidable problem—there's never enough time. Differing practice schedules. Basketball games and track meets. Press conferences and weight training. Midterms and March Madness. Conference championships and long flights across the country.

And it’s unfortunate, really, because a big part of Azzi thinks things could’ve been different. That maybe in another life—one where they met at a different time—things might have stuck. Things might have been long-term, could have worked out.

But in this life, they don’t.

After that it’s fairly quiet. Some random hookups here and there over the summer. A couple dates that fizzle out by the end of the night.

In the end, nothing she really regrets, but nothing that's as real as those few months were with Maya.

And then she reinjures her knee in December, forcing her to be sidelined. An unfortunately familiar seat on the bench with her name on it.

And then, of course, there's this weird situation with Paige. One that Azzi herself more or less created when she first reached out in August after Paige tore her ACL. It isn't like texting a stranger, but it also isn't like texting the old best friend she once knew. It's something in between, some strange acquaintance-like relationship that leaves Azzi entirely confused as to what she should or shouldn’t say.

Even if it is a bit strange, and maybe not quite ideal, she has to admit that it's still nice to have Paige back in some capacity. And enough time has passed, enough people have come and gone, that Azzi's just starting to warm up to the idea of someday calling Paige her friend again. Just a little bit.

Oh, and maybe Azzi also still finds her to be incredibly attractive.

But that's hardly relevant.

Her phone vibrates in her hand, catching her so off guard that she nearly drops it on her face. Her heart starts pounding in her ears, her stomach fluttering with anticipation—

Damn, it’s just from Diamond.

Azzi groans, clicking the notification.

d💎: you text her yet

Azzi rolls her eyes at her friend’s impatience.

AZ: almost

d💎: you’re actually killing me here

d💎: gimme her number

d💎: i'm gonna text her if you don’t

AZ: absolutely not

AZ: i regret telling you anything

d💎: no you don’t

d💎: now quit stalling and text. her.

AZ: oh my god FINE

Azzi swipes out of their conversation and taps back into her one with Paige.

Here goes nothing.

AZ: hey, you going to that stupid party again this year?

She turns her phone off immediately and slams it face down into the couch cushions, bringing her hands up to cover her face.

Her phone chimes not more than 30 seconds later, and Azzi half expects it to be another text from Diamond asking for updates.

But it isn’t.

p: yo

p: the one at that football players house??

p: maybe. ion know yet

“Oh my God,” she mutters, fingers already flying over her keyboard.

AZ: dude

AZ: it’s literally tomorrow

AZ: how do you not know

p: dude

p: ima busy person

p: my time is valuable yk

p: wbu tho

Azzi tries to fight the smile that’s forming on her face. She thinks for a minute, deciding to answer honestly.

AZ: i was thinking about it

Azzi watches with bated breath as the three dots on the screen disappear and reappear several times.

p: then maybe i will

Azzi sighs, closing her eyes and pressing the side of her phone into her forehead.

I’m never getting a straight answer out of her, she concedes.

*****

If anyone were to ask Azzi, she would argue that a cropped cami tank top with a pair of ripped jeans is perfectly reasonable attire for a casual house party in early January. The below-freezing temperatures are simply irrelevant.

It, of course, has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Paige is likely to show up tonight. Azzi doesn’t think about how Paige had hugged her from behind and mumbled, “Looks so good, baby,” the last time she wore this shirt in front of her. She also doesn’t think about how Paige always seems especially distracted when she wears her hair up in a bun like this, blue eyes constantly straying to the lines of Azzi’s neck and collarbones.

She absolutely does not, under any circumstances, think about that. At all.

Azzi just likes to feel and look good is all. She’s got the former down easily, and she thinks she’s managed the latter, too, if the number of people who have come up to her tonight is any indication. Guys, girls, people she recognized and people she didn’t—it didn’t really seem to matter. It felt like there was an endless stream of drinks being offered, numbers trying to be given out, and suggestive conversations directed at her. It was flattering, sure, but none of them had the right tint of blonde hair, the exact shade of blue eyes, the correct build of muscle she had been searching for all night.

She downs the last of her drink, crushing the plastic cup in her hands and tossing it in the trash can behind her. She pulls her phone out of her pocket, checking the time. No texts.

Lifting a hand up to rub at her eye, she yawns and scans the room one more time, debating whether she should just call it a night at this point.

And then she feels it—the soft graze of fingers along her lower back, just above the waistband of her jeans. A warm, featherlight touch, then the familiar scent of vanilla and sandalwood and a low voice in her ear.

“Azzi.”

She spins towards her quickly, her breath catching in her throat at the proximity of Paige’s face to hers, just inches away. Azzi leans back a bit, mostly to give herself a chance to breathe, and feels the hand on her lower back slide to lightly press on the side of her hip.

Azzi drags her eyes over Paige then, unable to help herself, taking in the tech fleece pants hanging low on her hips and the black fitted T-shirt straining against the muscles in her arms. Azzi’s a bit surprised to see that she’s wearing her glasses—it’s not something she does very often. Paige is smirking, her blonde hair hanging loose around her shoulders, and Azzi swears she must have gotten taller since the last time she saw her.

She manages to catch her breath for a moment, flashing a smile that she hopes doesn’t reveal the nerves that she’s feeling. “Hi, Paige.”

Neither of them seems to know what to do after that because, honestly, what are you supposed to do in this type of situation?

To Azzi’s surprise, Paige makes the first move, stepping into Azzi’s space and snaking her other arm gently around Azzi’s waist. It takes Azzi a few seconds to respond before she leans into Paige and circles her arms around her shoulders. Azzi’s heart rate picks up even more when she feels Paige’s breath being released heavily against her, the tension leaving her shoulders.

“This okay?” Paige asks, her breath hot against the outside of Azzi’s ear. Azzi hums in agreement, settling her head to rest on Paige’s shoulder.

It probably should be awkward, and it is for just a second or two, but muscle memory kicks in and it ends up being more comforting than anything. It’s a hug after all, something they’ve done probably hundreds, if not thousands, of times over the years.

They could be there for a few seconds or a few minutes—Azzi really isn’t sure. At some point she feels someone bump into her as they walk by and that snaps her out of it, makes her realize that they are still at this party and people are definitely looking. She takes a step back and clears her throat, patting Paige’s shoulder once before dropping her arms to her sides.

“You look good, P,” Azzi admits, smiling softly.

Paige coughs and looks over her shoulder for a second before turning back to face her and—

Is she blushing?

She coughs again before saying, “Thanks. You do too, Az.”

Azzi smiles appreciatively, looking down at her hands. “Couple people here seemed to think so, too.”

Paige chuckles. “Yeah, saw ‘em all lined up for you.”

“You been talking to anyone else here?”

“Nah, not really,” Paige replies, waving her hand, and Azzi glances up to meet her eyes. Paige shrugs. “Only really came here for one person, you know?”

Azzi doesn’t have to ask her who that person is—the way Paige’s eyes are trailing across her face tells her everything she needs to know.

“Is that so?” Azzi crosses her arms in front of her, a smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth.

“Mhm.” Paige glances around the room before leaning into Azzi’s space again. “Hey, wanna get outta here? We can go somewhere else or somethin’.”

“I guess I can swing that,” Azzi agrees, hoping she comes across as indifferent as possible.

“Aight, cool.” Paige pats her pockets, searching for her keys. “You take your car here?”

Azzi shakes her head. “No, I walked.”

Paige raises an eyebrow at her, an incredulous look on her face. “No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did,” Azzi tries again, patting her own pockets to prove that they're empty.

“You walked here,” Paige repeats, still disbelieving. “In this weather.”

“It was only, like, 20 minutes.”

“There’s no way.”

“It’s better for the environment!”

“You’re insane.”

“Oh my God, can we just take your car or not?” Azzi rolls her eyes.

“Always the passenger princess.” Paige remarks, looking smug. “But, yeah, let’s go.” Paige beckons for Azzi to follow her to the coatrack. Paige holds the door open as they pull on their coats, both of the waving their hands over their shoulders as some people call out to them.

The short walk to Paige’s car is quiet, the occasional crunch of footsteps on snow the only sound. Azzi slips into the passenger seat and clicks her seat belt on, watching as Paige does the same in the driver’s seat. Paige drums her fingers quietly on the steering wheel, and Azzi glances out the window to look back at the house they just came from.

“So, uh, where to?” Paige asks, breaking the silence.

Azzi thinks for a moment before turning to Paige with a grin.

“Slushies?”

“Oh, fuck yeah.”

*****

“There’s just no way he said that,” Azzi giggles, readjusting her feet where they rest on Paige’s dashboard. They’re parked outside of Azzi’s parents’ house, heat blasting through the vents, SZA playing softly through the speakers, conversation flowing freely, half-drunken slushies melted and abandoned in the cupholders between them.

“I swear it’s true!” Paige promises.

“He for real told you that you have ‘the shittiest shooting form he’s ever fucking seen’?”

“On God, he did,” Paige laughs, running a hand through her hair. “Coach can be ruthless when he’s pissed off, man.”

“And you wanted me to come to UConn because?”

“Oh, c'mon, Az. You know no one can stay mad at you.” Paige reaches out and pokes at Azzi’s cheek. “Not with that face.”

Azzi pushes her hand away, flustered. “Shut up, P.”

“You know I’m right.”

“Whatever.”

A comfortable silence stretches on then, the two of them taking a moment to enjoy each other’s presence.

Azzi glances down at her watch. “I should probably get going,” she admits regretfully, turning around and rummaging in the backseat for her coat.

“Lemme pull up for you,” Paige insists, putting the car in drive and turning into the driveway.

She feels Paige put the car in park again just as she manages to find her jacket. “Thanks,” Azzi starts, pulling the door handle—

It’s locked.

What the hell?

Azzi yanks on it twice to be sure before turning to level her a stare. There’s a mischievous glint in Paige's eye that she doesn't trust. “So, are you letting me out or what?”

Paige keeps smiling widely at her, not moving or saying anything.

“Paige.”

Azzi watches Paige nod her head towards the front of the house, and Azzi follows the motion to see Curry and Stewie poking their heads through the curtains, their barks echoing off the window. Azzi shakes her head and glances back at Paige. “What is it?”

Paige shrugs, bringing her hands up to rest on the wheel again. “You gotta at least let me see my kids, Azzi.”

“Are you inviting yourself inside my house?” Azzi feels her eye twitching.

“Please,” Paige begs, and then she honest to God pouts at Azzi. “Think I’m due a visitation.”

“You are actually so annoying.” Azzi leans her head against the cool glass of the car window, closing her eyes.

“Is that a yes?” Paige asks, her voice lifting excitedly.

“It will be if you unlock this.” Azzi pulls on the door handle repeatedly.

“Ha, let’s go!” Paige exclaims, pressing the "unlock" button immediately and sprinting out of the car. She’s on the front porch and jumping in place before Azzi even has the chance to close the car door behind her.

“Alright, chill out,” Azzi mutters, brushing past her and turning the key into the lock. Paige pushes the door open the rest of the way and stumbles through the doorframe, kicking her shoes off. She makes it about five feet into the house before she drops to her knees and starts petting and hugging the two dogs racing around her.

Azzi locks the door behind her, and she can’t help the smile that overtakes her face when she sees Paige laid out on the ground, Stewie and Curry clambering over her to lick her face.

“My kids,” Paige coos, cradling Stewie in one arm and scratching Curry’s chin with her other hand. “Don’t worry, Daddy’s home now.”

Shaking her head, Azzi tears her eyes away from the scene and flops onto the couch. She pulls her phone out of her pocket and makes herself comfortable.

Paige stands up after a few minutes and stretches her arms above her head, groaning dramatically. Azzi catches a glimpse of her shirt riding up and her boxers peeking out before she pulls her phone closer to her face, fighting the heat creeping up on her cheeks. Paige doesn’t seem to notice, or if she does, she luckily doesn’t say anything about it. She moves to peek her head in the kitchen and the hallway before she reenters the living room.

“Nobody home?” Paige asks, waggling her eyebrows suggestively.

Azzi grabs a throw pillow off the couch and hurls it at her, but Paige catches it easily. “Stop. They went to a family holiday party thing I think.”

“And how the hell did you get outta goin’ to that?” Azzi feels the couch shake as Paige hops over the back of it and settles in across from her.

She puts her phone down and looks at Paige more fully then. “Like you said, no one can say no to this,” she explains, flashing her signature dimpled smile and pointing at it with both hands.

“I was jokin’ when I said that,” Azzi thinks she hears Paige grumble as she hugs the pillow she’s still holding to her chest.

Azzi goes back to scrolling on her phone, and she sees Paige throw the pillow up in the air and catch it a few times in her periphery.

She hears a heavy sigh, but she ignores it, opting to respond to a few texts from her teammates instead.

Then there’s another sigh, somehow more emphatic than the last, and the push of a foot against her own.

“Azzi.”

Maybe if I ignore her for long enough, she’ll stop, Azzi considers.

“Azzi.”

Just pretend you don’t hear her.

“Azzi Fudd.”

When has that ever actually worked, though?

“Azzi, please.”

Oh my fucking God, why did I let her in my house?

She clicks her phone off and drops it at her side, glaring daggers at Paige. “What?”

“Dude, I’m bored,” Paige complains.

“Dude, you literally do not have to be here,” Azzi points out.

“Entertain me, please.” Paige is practically begging now. “Aren’t you supposed to do that for your guests?”

Azzi closes her eyes and throws an arm over her face. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re extremely annoying?”

“Yeah, you. Multiple times today, actually.”

“I was so right about that.”

“Okay, but can we do somethin’?” Paige asks again, kicking at her foot. Azzi kicks back, sliding her arm off her face.

“2K?” she suggests, gesturing to the controllers on the coffee table.

Paige’s eyes light up and she’s up in a flash, grabbing the remote to turn the TV on. “Fuck yes. Imma be the Lynx, though.”

“Whatever you want.”

*****

“Damn, you letting me win now, Paige?”

“Bro, ‘course not.”

“What’s your excuse this time?”

“Not my fault you keep distractin’ me, Az.”

“Not my fault you can’t keep your eyes off me, P.”

“Shut up. One more, I swear. Then we can quit.”

“Only if you win though, right?”

“Bro, just play.”

“Fine.”

*****

It’s many, many, games later—the clock on the wall having ticked over to the A.M. hours long ago—before Azzi has to tap out, eyes bleary and energy drained.

“Alright, I’m done,” Azzi sighs, tossing the controller on the coffee table and standing up slowly to stretch her back.

“Finally givin’ up?” Paige challenges, raising her eyebrows at her. Amazingly, somehow, she doesn’t look tired in the slightest.

“No, I’m not 'giving up.' I’ll literally fall asleep if we play one more.”

“If you say so.”

“Paige,” Azzi whines, pouting at her. “I just want to go to bed.”

“Aight, let’s be done then,” Paige agrees, setting her controller aside and standing up to stretch out.

“Are you awake enough to drive home?” Azzi questions.

“Me? Imma be just fine,” Paige assures her, moving toward the door. She bends down to pick up her shoes and pulls the curtain aside with a finger to peer outside. “Yeah, it’s no problem—oh, shit.”

Azzi strides over, reaching for the curtain to open it. “What is it?”

“Uh, well,” Paige starts, voice slightly muffled behind the thick fabric. “There’s a—”

Azzi grabs hold of the curtains, yanking them away to reveal the scene outside. Her jaw drops.

“—blizzard,” Paige finishes.

A fresh layer of snow, several inches deep, covers the ground. The wind lifts it up, blowing it around wildly, creating near whiteout conditions. Azzi can barely see Paige’s car parked in the driveway, a mere ten feet away.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Azzi mutters, staring disbelievingly out the window.

Paige furrows her brow, seeming to think something over for a minute. “Nah, I’ll still drive home.” She sits down on the recliner, untying the laces on her shoe.

“Like hell you will,” Azzi scoffs.

Paige looks up at her, pausing her movements. “Bro, chill. It’s, like, a couple blocks.”

But Azzi is persistent, moving to guard the door, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m not letting you go out in that.”

“I can drive slow.”

“I don’t think you’re capable of that,” Azzi retorts, readjusting her arms. “Just stay, please. It’s too dangerous.”

“If you’re sure,” Paige concedes, tossing her sneakers behind her.

“I am.”

“Cool,” Paige stands, stretching her arms again. “I got the couch then.”

Azzi rolls her eyes, punches Paige’s shoulder playfully. “Don’t be stupid, P.”

Paige brings up a hand to rub at the spot Azzi hit, wincing in mock hurt. “Ow. Stupid ‘bout what?”

“You can just sleep in my bed. You are a guest after all,” Azzi points out, referring back to what Paige had said earlier.

Paige wiggles her eyebrows for the second time tonight, and Azzi considers punching her again, harder this time. “You want me that bad, huh?”

“Oh my God, stop. Look, I’ll take the couch, you take the bed? That fine?” Azzi offers, rubbing at her eyes.

“That’s dumb. You’re not gonna sleep in your own bed?”

Azzi throws her arms up in the air exasperatedly. “What do you suggest then?”

“I’on see why we can’t both just sleep in the bed,” Paige shrugs, not really meeting Azzi’s eyes.

How the hell did we get here?

“Whatever, sure,” Azzi relents, even though every fiber of her being is urging her to do the exact opposite. “I’m too tired for this. My family is gonna be home soon and I wanna sleep at least a little before they barge in.” She turns away and starts dragging her feet down the hallway to her room, hearing Paige padding quietly behind her. She pushes the door open with her shoulder and immediately goes to her closet, searching for something more comfortable to change into.

In the corner of her eye she spots Paige, shuffling about the room, eyes roaming over her pink bed sheets, the assortment of unicorn stuffed animals on her desk, the rainbow decals on her mirror. “Haven’t really changed much, huh?

Azzi grabs a pair of fleece pajama pants and a T-shirt, chuckling. “I don’t exactly live here anymore.”

“Good point.” Paige nods her head, running a finger along Azzi’s trophy shelf. Her eyes spot one item in particular and she takes it off the shelf. She flips the medal over to study the engraving on the back. “‘2018 Minnesota State Tournament: Class AAAA Champions’,” she reads with a scowl on her face. “Still can’t believe you guys beat us.”

Azzi walks up to her and snatches the medal from her, setting it back in its place. “Still can’t believe you’re not over it. This was, like, five years ago.”

“Aw, c’mon now. That last foul call was bullshit and you know it,” Paige grumbles.

“I think you’re just mad I dropped 30 points on your ass,” Azzi teases.

Paige frowns, crossing her arms. “No one was helpin’ me on defense.”

“Uh huh. Look, I’m gonna get dressed and stuff,” Azzi calls over her shoulder on her way to the bathroom. She pauses in the doorway and points a finger at Paige accusingly. “No touching anything else.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Paige promises with a mock salute.

Azzi changes into her pajamas and gets ready for bed as quickly as her fatigued body will allow, which is to say not very quickly at all. By the time she’s done, she’s so drained that she’s sluggishly dragging her body back to her room.

She’s rounding the corner into her room, dirty clothes from the party in hand, when she happens to look up. She chokes on air, clothing falling out of her hands, and stumbles to regain her balance.

Paige is sprawled out on her bed, hair splaying across her pillows, the light of her phone screen lighting up her face.

But none of that is the issue here.

The issue here is that Paige is wearing a sports bra and pair of boxers and that’s it.

The lines of her hips are visible, her abs pulled taut, and Azzi suddenly feels like she needs to cover her eyes, unless she wants to start choking on air again. “What the fuck are you doing?” she squeaks out, hands covering her face.

She hears Paige laugh. “It’s hot as hell in here. I’on know why you keep the temp at, like, 75 degrees all the time.”

“So you had to take your clothes off?”

“It’s nothin’ you haven’t seen before anyways.”

“Paige.”

“Azzi.”

Azzi leans against the wall, dropping her hands from her face but keeping her eyes screwed tightly shut. “Can you—God, can you at least put a shirt on or something?”

I’m not sleeping a wink tonight if she doesn’t.

She hears the bed creak slightly and assumes Paige must be sitting up now. “If I gotta.”

Azzi takes that as agreement and blindly feels her way to her closet, searching for the closest T-shirt she can find and pulling it off the hanger. She tosses it behind her in the direction of the bed.

“Okay, Imma get ready too then, I guess,” Paige is saying, the sound of her footsteps becoming more distant as she exits the room.

Azzi expels all the air out of her lungs, finally allowing herself to open her eyes. With shaky legs she makes her way to the bed, tucking herself under the covers. She takes a few more steadying breaths.

Pull it together, Fudd.

Paige is back sooner than Azzi is ready for her to be, but she stops a few feet into the room and gestures at her shirt. “This funny to you or somethin’?”

Azzi takes a moment to actually look at the shirt she unknowingly picked out for Paige and barks out a laugh, her hand coming up to cover her mouth.

The shirt has "St. John’s – State Champs" written across the chest in bold letters, her old high school’s logo below it.

“Okay, I promise I didn’t mean to pick that one,” Azzi swears, unable to contain her laughter.

“I’on believe you,” Paige grunts, sliding into the empty side of the bed. “You know I’d get beat up if anyone saw me wearin’ this, right?”

“Good thing it’s just me then, huh?”

“Guess so,” Paige grumbles, pulling the sheets up to her chin.

“Don’t worry,” Azzi says, smirking. “Your secret is safe with me, Cadet.”

Paige glares at her before rolling over and turning her back to Azzi. “I’m actually done talkin’ to you. Night.”

Azzi turns her bedside lamp off, encasing the room in darkness, save for a few bands of a dim streetlight poking through her blinds. “Night,” she echoes, settling to lay on her back.

She wills herself to sleep then, waiting for the exhaustion she’s been feeling for the past few hours to finally take over.

It doesn’t come.

It shouldn’t be this difficult.

But Azzi’s mind is racing, all thoughts on her former best friend stretched out beside her. Paige, lying in her childhood bed, clad in one of Azzi’s old basketball T-shirts and a pair of boxers, the warmth radiating from her enough to scorch Azzi’s skin even from half a foot away.

“Hey, P?” Azzi whispers, her gaze still glued to the ceiling.

She sees movement in her periphery, Paige angling her head back slightly in her direction. “Hm?”

Azzi swallows hard, attempting to dislodge the lump forming in her throat.

There’s been one question turning itself over and over in her mind all day. A thought that wouldn’t leave her head no matter how hard she tried to shake it out.

God, this is such a bad idea.

“Did you have a New Year’s kiss this year?” she hears herself ask.

Everything is silent then, and Azzi can’t think of many other times in her life where she’s felt as vulnerable as she does now.

The quietness stretches on for an agonizingly long amount of time. It lasts for so long, in fact, that part of Azzi begins to wonder if Paige might have fallen asleep.

“Nah,” Paige mumbles, breaking the silence. She turns fully back onto her side to face Azzi, resting her hands together underneath her head. Azzi feels her heavy stare piercing through the darkness and shivers. “You?”

Azzi shakes her head, sighs, “Me neither.”

She moves to face Paige, mirroring her position, her heartbeat thumping wildly in her ears.

Azzi wets her lips, locks her eyes onto Paige’s.

Fuck it.

“Did you want to have one?” she breathes out.

She doesn’t know what she’s expecting. Maybe for Paige to shove her playfully or smile at her or something like that.

But Paige brings her bottom lip into her mouth, waits a beat, then nods her head.

Oh.

She wants this, too.

Azzi isn’t sure which of them is leaning in, but suddenly Paige’s face is just inches from her own, her breath warm against Azzi’s lips.

“Are you sure?” Paige whispers.

Am I sure I want this?

Absolutely.

Am I sure we should be doing this?

Well...

Despite her doubts, Azzi swallows and nods her head.

Paige is the one to close the gap between them, hesitant, at first, and gentle, just the soft press of her lips against Azzi’s own. A tentative reunion, two aching souls finally coming back home to each other.

And then the kiss turns needy, hungry, and Paige is bringing a hand up to cup her face, sliding the other down to Azzi’s waist. Azzi does the same, tugs slightly to bring Paige to hover slightly over her. Paige is kissing her hard now, pressing her into the bed, exhaling heavily, making Azzi’s heart flutter uncontrollably.

Azzi makes a decision then, pulls back just slightly and uses her tongue to part Paige’s lips, shivering when she feels Paige sigh against her mouth. The action seems to spur Paige on further because she’s shifting again, slipping her leg in between Azzi’s, applying just a hint of pressure, building up a low heat there.

Paige is relentless, kissing her with such fervor that it makes her head spin. Azzi feels a thumb dip below the waistband of her pants, caressing against her hip, and for some reason that snaps Azzi out of the dizzy haze she's found herself trapped in.

Azzi breaks the kiss, lightheaded, because if she doesn't do it now she thinks they might never stop.

Paige rests their foreheads together for a moment. She leans back, shifts her body off Azzi’s, her pupils blown out and her chest heaving.

“There,” Azzi hears herself say, breath uneven. “Happy New Year.” Then she rolls away from Paige, heartbeat still erratic in her ears, shaking hands pulling the covers back over herself.

She feels the bed shift a minute later as Paige wordlessly turns away from her.

Azzi brings her fingers up to touch her mouth, the sensation still lingering there.

It’s hours before sleep finally finds her.

*****

Azzi wakes to the afternoon sunlight hitting her square in the face, and she pulls a pillow over her head to block it out. Groaning, she blindly sticks an arm out beside her, feeling for a warm body next to her to shake awake.

Her hand comes up empty.

She shoots up in her bed, panic swarming her as she scans across the empty room. Her chest tightens, her throat constricts.

Fuck, she’s gone.

Tears are just starting to prick at the corner of her eyes when the sound of boisterous laughter bounces off the walls of the hallway.

Curious, Azzi follows the sound, finding its source relatively quickly.

The sight is strange enough to raise Azzi’s eyebrows—her dad and Paige, seated on opposite sides of the dining table, laughing over empty breakfast plates.

Paige notices her first, nodding her chin towards her in acknowledgement. “Hey, Az.” She pats the chair next to her. “Sit.”

Azzi doesn’t move, eyes moving skeptically between her dad and Paige. “Hi. What are you guys talking about?”

“Oh, it’s nothin’,” her dad says, but the snickering between the two of them afterwards is saying something completely different.

“This.” Azzi points a finger back and forth between the two of them. “This I don’t like.”

“C’mon, we’re just messin’,” Paige assures, still grinning devilishly.

“Oh, I’m sure you are,” Azzi responds sarcastically, opening the fridge door and sticking her head in it, searching for something to settle her rumbling stomach. “So, what are we doing today?”

“Packing, I guess?” Paige replies.

Azzi picks her head up at that and closes the fridge. “Huh, why?”

“Got a flight to Connecticut in the mornin',” Paige shrugs, and Azzi’s heart drops to her stomach.

“You do?” she asks, failing to keep the sadness from creeping into her voice.

Paige looks apologetic, casting her eyes downward. “Yeah. I’m sorry. Forgot to mention it. Speakin’ of, I should head on out soon.” She stands, putting her dishes in the sink before clapping Azzi’s dad on the back. “Good to see you as always, Tim.”

He smiles up at her fondly. “You too, Paige.”

“Imma grab my stuff,” Paige says, brushing past Azzi into the living room. Azzi moves on autopilot, trailing behind her.

It takes Paige all of three seconds to get ready, having only really come here with her phone and the clothes she wore yesterday, which she must have changed back into at some point. Azzi watches her pull her sneakers on, shrug into her jacket.

“Guess this it then,” Paige starts, eyes looking anywhere but at Azzi.

Azzi wrings her hands together, trying to figure out where to go from here. “Well, uh, I guess I’ll see you around then, P.”

Azzi is going to leave it at that, moving her arms to give Paige a quick hug, but then Paige is grabbing her arm and pulling her in closer, lowering her voice. “Don't we need to talk 'bout somethin'?”

“Last time you said that you broke up with me.” Azzi pries Paige’s fingers off her arm.

Paige bristles at that, rubbing at the back of her neck nervously. “Okay, but still. We need to talk.”

“About?” Azzi asks, even though she already knows where this conversation is going. She looks at Paige expectantly.

“We kissed, Azzi. You don’t think we should talk ‘bout that?” There’s a crease between her eyebrows. “I mean, like, what does it mean, you know?”

There are two ways Azzi can play this. She can be honest, tell Paige that she lost hours of sleep over it, that it’s the only thing she’s thought about since she woke up, that it shifted her world off its axis. Can tell her that all those feelings she tried to push down have risen rapidly back to the surface, demanding all of her attention. Can lay it all out in front of them, knowing it could be months before the next time they see each other again.

And then there’s a second option.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” Azzi is saying, shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly.

Maybe it's time for the ball to be in Paige's court now.

Paige shakes her head exaggeratedly, her face screwed up in utter confusion. “It doesn’t?”

“Not unless we want it to,” Azzi continues, making her expression as unreadable as possible.

“Well, do you?”

Azzi hums noncommittally, looking down at her nails. “Probably easier if we just forget about it, right? I mean, it was only one kiss.”

There’s conflict painted clear across Paige’s face, her mouth opening and closing several times like she can’t quite figure out how she’s supposed to respond to that. She bites her lip hard, so hard that Azzi is a little concerned that she’s about to draw blood.

“I—I, uh,” she stutters, and Azzi can’t remember the last time she saw her look this flustered. “No, yeah. For sure. Just a kiss.” She nods her head once, like she’s trying to convince herself.

“Good, I’m glad we agree,” Azzi replies, even if she doesn’t really mean it.

Paige scratches at the back of her neck again, clearly not anticipating the conversation to go like this. “Yeah. So...maybe I’ll see you in March or somethin’?” She offers a smile that doesn’t quite meet her eyes.

Azzi shrugs. “Maybe you will.”

*****

She doesn’t.

[shrimpybbq]

a timeline of rafe cameron and obx actress!reader’s character’s relationship (+ their real life one) pt 2

season 2: the yearning

season 2 is where rafe's obsession with iris really grows

he's constantly wondering about her, and how she feels about him. he's so convinced that she hates him and will never speak to him again, but he has this feeling that she won't report him

after john b and sarah 'died', iris spends more of her free time with the pogues. she comforts jj, and often seems to end up bailing him out of trouble

but they don't know that rafe's managed to get her phone number, and he keeps sending her messages trying to explain what happened on the tarmac - she doesn't respond

he even tries to go to her work, but she's not working that day

as rafe spirals, he genuinely feels she's the only one who would be able to understand him

he messages her before he goes to the bahamas

r: "hey, i'm gonna be gone for a few days, but i still really need to talk to you, ok?"

r: "please, i need to explain"

r: "just give me a chance to explain"

r: "please"

iris has him under his first initial in her phone, just in case any of the pogues happen to see her notifications. finally, she decides to respond, if only to understand more (and to get him to stop texting her)

i: "ok"

rafe literally shouts with joy seeing her response, no matter how dry it is. she's finally acknowledged him

while he's away, iris goes to see barry. her mom has been getting worse, and in a way, barry understands what she's going through. he's surprisingly good to talk to and the pair end up smoking together more than once, venting about their lives

in his deluded state, rafe truly thinks he will be able to win iris over with the gold. he's dreaming about paying for her mom's medical bills, winning her favour and looking after iris, living their happy little lives together forever

iris and rafe finally talk at tannyhill, rafe pleading that he was just trying to protect his dad. surprisingly, she listens intently, and lets out some small 'hmms' and 'mhms'. they get back to neutral ground, though she's still torn between what to do, but inside, she knows rafe shouldn't go to prison for a mistake

side note: ward oversees the pair talking, noting his son's wildly erratic hand gestures and decides to keep an eye on whatever is going on between the two

they're good for a few days, and then the pogues return to kildare with a very much alive sarah and john b, and everything changes once again

iris was so busy working that she hadn't had much to do with the gang, until jj texts her that john b had been arrested, and that rafe had tried to shoot them all - safe to say she's disappointed

oh but she's so mad when she hears of him trying to drown sarah, and she fully ices him out again

rafe kidnapping iris was not his finest idea, but she won’t listen to him after she hears and he’s just so mad. he’s got her in his car on the side of the road, just trying to get her to listen but she keeps telling him she “knows what he did”

rafe doesn't register what he's done until the sound of her sobs cut through his internal monologue, shamefully apologising and dropping her home, not even trying to say anything more

he’s just mean mean mean in this season bc he's hurt, but also he wants iris so bad and when she won’t even look at him, he can't control his actions

iris hears from the pogues that there is a warrant for his arrest and can't help feel concerned for him, only to be both shocked and concerned at the sight of ward cameron blowing himself up, her being the one to console sarah on the pier

everything is awkward between the pogues now, but it only gets worse once they see the texts on iris's phone following rafe's release from jail, him asking to see her...

they completely shut her out, refusing to even speak to her, and it only serves to push her further into rafe's (extremely willing) arms

he wants her to stay with him for the next few days, unknowingly about to bring her into all the drama with the cross

iris and rafe end up kissing for the first time just before he manages to get the cross for himself, and from then on, it's on between them - they're all over each other. think making out against the wall, in bed, on the couch

they both understand each other, able to see through the tough facade they put on and be vulnerable around each other. at their core, they’re just two hurt kids clinging on to each other

rafe literally thinks he will combust if she ever tries to leave him after he got a taste

unfortunately for him, he tries to get her to come along with him to guadeloupe, but she refuses

"Rafe, I can't leave my mom…. she can't survive without me," Iris whispered.

"No, no, c'mon, we can go together and I'll make sure she's got a carer and everything, the best medical treatment, ok? I just - I just need you with me for this," Rafe pleaded, desperation seeping through his tone.

"I'm sorry Rafe, but I can't."

and just like that, the beginnings of their relationship crumble, leaving rafe feeling betrayed, hurt and angry, spiralling as he lost something he barely had, and leaving iris all alone on kildare once the pogues get lost at sea, vulnerable and hurting

season 2: behind the scenes

heheheheehhehe

season 2 is where rafe and iris get closer, and the flow on effects are felt between drew and obx actress!reader

the kisses they share on screen are so steamy it has fans freaking out, especially at the quick glimpses they get of their tongues melding together. even people from outside the fandom start resharing videos of the kiss with hashtags like #wantthis #hot #menext

like i'm talking hands in hair and 'rafe' gripping her waist like he's about to be torn away, pulling away panting, red lips, etc.

drew and obx actress!reader had both spent time looking forward to the kiss, each secretly reminiscing on the kiss at jd's party. neither objected when they had to redo the take multiple times

the lingering touches shared between their characters are also picked up on, with rafe often touching iris and keeping her close by the end of the season

drew and obx actress!reader spent more time together this season working to develop their relationship after the directors told them more of the series plans, growing their bond even more

the attention on season 2 is greater this time around, with more fans and more people interested in the actors personal lives

obx actress!reader posts a few behind the scenes pictures, but nothing that really gets tongues wagging

it's a picture posted by madison bailey that does, with drew and obx actress!reader lying next to each other on a yacht, the pair side by side as they appear deep in conversation. fans go crazy from all angles, from the tiny bikini she was wearing to drew only in his swim trunks

the pics of them getting clingy and touchy later on in the evening don't ever make it out however….

the cast just sigh, having flashbacks to the 'friendly kisses' the pair always seem to share after a few drinks

in interviews, fans learn of obx actress!reader spending christmas at drew's and they just go wild, convinced the pair are in a secret relationship

with rafe and iris becoming more important characters in season 2, interviewers are lining up to film with the two of them alone, and for the few that manage, the views on the clip are sky high

it's literally just drew and obx actress!reader flirting and giggling the whole time with each other

obx actress!reader 100% simps for drew, complimenting his new look to the interviewer and saying he looks so handsome. drew can only blush and look down at his hands, all shy and cute

ok but lets talk about the bloopers!

it's the scene where they're in the car, rafe begging iris to listen to him after trying to drown sarah, and drew is waving his hands around wildly and accidentally hits her in the head. drew is instantly all over her, tenderly brushing her hair away from her head, checking in on her and apologising so much. it's quiet, but the microphones pick up on drew whispering "are you ok, baby? 'm so sorry"

but yet, they're not in a relationship??? and then drew starts filming hellraiser and people become convinced he's dating odessa??? and everyone is just so confused (including drew and obx actress!reader)

but then? there's pictures posted by paparazzi of drew and obx actress!reader together in new york, seeming far too close to be platonic and cuddling up against each other? queue even more confused fans

hehehe

Q: if i were to give obx actress!reader a love interest to spice things up and build some more angst, who would you want to see???

[reallyromealone]

Title: party

Fandom: DC

Characters: DC characters (justice league flavoring)

Fic type: fluff

Pairings: superbat wallydick

Warnings: male reader, reader insert, child male reader, fluff, good dad Bruce

Notes:

Summary: Bruce begrudgingly invites the league and by proxy their children to his house and his three year old does not know what to do with so many new people

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

It was quite uncommon for Bruce to allow the league to his home, his home being the only one big enough to deal with both the league and the children that came with due to being friends with Bruce's children. (Name) Watched from the railing to the second floor, the toddler shy about the new people though he did recognize a few faces from cartoons and the friends his brothers brought around.

"There you are..." (Name) Looked up with his pacifier in his mouth, his papa smiling with a tall man with glasses on "I have people I want you to meet" lifting the tiny boy up, (name) looked at the stranger curious "oh he's adorable!" Clark commented and waved at the tot who glared at him when he got too close "oh I definitely see the resemblance now" he chuckled while Bruce sighed fondly "he doesn't play with stranger danger"

"(Nickname), this is clark" Bruce whispered to his son who looked back curiously "he's daddies boyfriend and I heard... He knows superman" Bruce whispered and (name) looked curious at that, the three year old LOVED superman much to the delight and headache of the rest of the family "I do know him, you a fan?"

(Name) Nodded and Bruce took out the pacifier knowing what was going to happen.

The three were walking down the stairs as (name) spouted utter nonsense, the Wayne family knowing what the boy was conveying based on context clues but everyone else watched in fascinated confusion.

"(Naaaame)!" Wally called out to the boy, saving Clark from nonstop toddler talk "wee!" (Name) Immediately disregarded Clark and wiggled out of his dad's hold to run over while dick stood behind his boyfriend, pleased with how close the two have gotten.

Bruce and Clark watched the little one cling to the speedster "he's an angel" Clark commented, happy to finally meet the youngest Wayne "we work hard to keep him out of public eye and... Out of the line of work we do" Bruce didn't get much of a say with his other kids but (name)... " I want him to have as normal as a childhood as I can" Clark admired that, looking around to see the rest of the league and by proxy the titans and young justice league chat and have fun, snacks and finger foods set around for people to enjoy and games to play for the younger ones to play.

"You're doing great so far"

"I try..."

Though Bruce was curious how long it would take for the tot to have a tantrum, he was a sweety but he was still a child after all.

(Name) Eventually wandered off from Wally and Dick, looking for his other siblings who were chatting away but being so small and so many strangers made it difficult to say the least. "Are you alright?" A voice asked and (name) looked up to see a tall woman with black hair "I'm Diana, want me to bring you to your father?" Her voice gentle and (name) fidgeted at the other, she seemed trustful enough "I work with your father, do you think you would let me pick you up to bring you over?" He's just by the fireplace"

Hesitantly (name) let her lift him, at this height he could clearly see his siblings chatting away and Tim nodded at him, as to say 'youre safe' which calmed the boy down "(name), are you alright?" Bruce asked when he caught sight of him and (name)s lip wobbled, clearly overwhelmed and reaching towards his dad "papa..." He whined, Bruce knew it was a matter of time and took the boy who clung helplessly "come on... Let's go somewhere quiet.."

Clark watched on while (name) was taken away, the boys eyes watery.

"No more tears, little bird" Bruce whispered, swaying slowly to comfort the boy "that was overwhelming wasn't it?" (Name) Nodded against his shoulder "how about we get a snack and you and I go watch your show..." A good Segway to bed time if Bruce thought so himself. "Oweo?" (Name) Asked softly and Bruce chuckled "of course, baby" going to the kitchen, Damien and Jon were hanging out and eating snacks "is he ok?" Jon asked, worried over the teary eyed tot and Damien looked the boy over "he dislikes crowds, his lack of height is a great disadvantage" he explained simply, watching his brother with a softer expression.

Damien was soft to the little one, (name) looked at him like he hung the moon and frankly that boosted Damien's ego enormously. "We're just grabbing some snacks and having tv time before you know what" code for bedtime which all Wayne's knew to never bring up because little (name) hated nap and bedtime. Grabbing the treats and a carton of chocolate milk, the two went to Bruce's room where he changed the boy into one of Bruce's old shirts, too lazy to go get him some pajamas. (Name) Snuggled into his dad and enjoyed the treats, the cartoon playing in the background and not a single care could be had.

Bruce texted Clark while his son's breathing evened out, the kriptonian making his way up to check on them.

At this point (name) was tucked in and asleep, clinging to Bruce's sweater like a stuffed toy "oh he's too cute" Clark cooed and Bruce looked at his son with pride "he liked you"

"He did?" Clark was a little surprised and Bruce nodded "he liked your glasses" Bruce teased and Clark gave that sweet farm boy smile "well I think he was pretty great too, has your glare" Bruce huffed amused and the two left, letting (name) rest.

"Before you know it, he will want your attention too" Bruce teased and Clark grinned "can't wait" he was gonna step dad the shit out of that tot, treats and all.

He just needed to get a ring first.

[dustpages]

PornMum

I opened the front door of my flat with a loud bang. I was pissed, the shooting was called off last minute and I had travelled for two hours to reach the location.

" Hi, Mum." my little boy greeted me from his bedroom. 

It was the middle of the summer and the only thing he had been doing so far was reading and playing video games, I was aware he didn't like to socialize with his peers. I was his only parent, his father left us when he was just born.

" Honey I'll be to you in a second.” I yelled across the house walking to the kitchen to get myself something to drink. I was thirsty and sweaty, even though I had dyed my hair blonde and I was wearing just a top and skirt the heat was unbearable. 

I took some cold water from the fridge and drank it at once.  

I put the glass back in its place and headed to my son’s room, knocking softly before entering. He looked up from the screen and smiled. "How have you been?" I asked him sitting beside him.

He shrugged. "Alright, just read some manga."

"You need to go out more." I opined, trying not to sound too harsh but concerned about him being stuck at home all day long without seeing anyone else. 

He swiftly dodged my gaze and sighed deeply. " Whatever. Why are you home so early today?" he questioned. 

I sat on his bed. " My last schedule was cancelled last minute." I explained without giving him too much information.

He was just 12 years old and being told I was one of the most successful, requested and appreciated JAV actresses in Japan wasn't something I would share with him. He knew me as Mina, the kind and loving mother who always cooked delicious dinner for him. Not the one that was an adult film actress. 

"Oh, what happened then?" he asked innocently. 

I tried to explain my situation without making any reference to the industry I worked for. " The director told me they wanted to postpone it. So I came home." 

He nodded. " I see."

I glanced at him, looking him in the eyes. " Hey, do you want to eat something? I'm hungry, let’s prepare something together." I suggested with a smile. He agreed.

We went to the kitchen hand in hand, he was still short and thin for his age. But his blue eyes made up for it. We both loved cooking and baking, especially him since he enjoyed eating sweets, I did my best to make sure he had a balanced diet.

While we were cooking some of the tomato sauce for the spaghetti landed on my clothes, staining both top and skirt. 

" Dammit." he cussed. He has stirred the sauce with too much energy causing the little mess on my outfit.

" Do not worry, honey." I reassured him and got off my skirt and top right there in the kitchen. His eyes widened in surprise.

"What are you doing, mum?!" he said, sounding embarrassed.

I giggled and caressed his cheek. " Don’t be silly, this is nothing. You’ve seen my butt many times before." I teased him, bending over to clean the stains from the floor. 

My ass was on full display for him and I could feel him staring at my cheeks, so plump and round, my pussy lips covered with just my small panties. It was nothing new for him to see me almost completely nude since I rarely wore anything around the house but his reaction was strange, he looked flushed and nervous. 

“ Mum... Are you going to take your underwear off as well?" he stuttered. 

I turned around to look at him. " What?! No! Of course not." I laughed nervously. " Unless you asked for it."

He became red as the tomato sauce. " I don't know what you are talking about." he ran out of the kitchen and into the living room.

I sighed and turned off the stove. Slowly I made my way to him, who was sat the sofa fidgeting with his hands on in lap.

" What's wrong baby?" I asked him sitting next to him.

He didn't say anything for a good minute, busy in deep thought. " I do have a problem in my underwear," he affirmed not sparing a glance to me.

"  How come?" I inquired.

" They're wet." he whispered so low I barely heard it. " And it doesn't stop leaking." he continued. 

His words sent shivers down my spine, I couldn't believe it. 

" Let me see." I gently pulled him to stand and unbuttoned his trousers. His briefs were soaked through with precum. 

" This is normal honey. All boys your age leak precum now and then. Especially when they see a hot girl." I told him trying to reassure him. He blushed again.

"It never occurred before." he panicked.

"Well, maybe you liked what you saw earlier." I mused.

 " Maybe you liked your mum’s body." I added teasingly. 

" That’s ok honey, it’s normal to think your mother is sexy." I encouraged him.

He seemed to relax a bit. " But it’s not appropriate." he complained.

I stood up and cupped his face. " Nothing is wrong, honey. You’re my son, but also a boy." I comforted him, feeling somehow attracted to him.

" Now, if you excuse me I'm going to change. You can stay here or join me." I winked at him. His eyes fixed on mine for a few seconds before nodding in agreement. 

As soon as we were inside my bedroom I closed the door and locked it. Then I stripped from my bra and panties. My son looked at me wide-eyed, taking in my naked form.

" Come here." I said walking to him. I felt him tremble as our bodies touched. My hands caressed his back, slowly descending to squeeze his bum. 

"Do you like it?" I asked him. He nodded shyly.

I kissed his neck softly, moving my hands to grab his cock through his trousers. He gasped as I stroked him over his pants. " Take it out for me." I commanded him. 

He obeyed me pulling out his dick. It was bigger than expected for a boy of his age, yet far from the ones I had to deal with at work. I gave him a few strokes while kissing his neck and biting his earlobes. He moaned in pleasure. 

" Mum, my member doesn't get soft." he affirmed worriedly in between moans. 

"  It’s ok honey. I'll make it soft." I assured him. I knelt in front of him, licking the tip of his penis. His legs wobbled.

" Mum..." he moaned my name. I took him fully in my mouth sucking and bobbing my head, tasting him for the first time.

I worked shipped his dick for less than 2 minutes and he shuddered in front of me. "I- I'm feeling a warm sensation spreading all over my body." he stated worried. " What is happening?"

I chucked releasing his dick from my mount and enveloping it into my hand. " You are cumming." I explained stroking faster.

" Am I supposed to feel something like this!?" he shouted losing control over himself.

I kept stroking until he exploded all over my breasts, covering them with his load. He fell on the bed exhausted, breathing heavily. 

I wiped my chest clean using some tissues and lay next to him. " See, it’s ok baby. There is nothing to be ashamed of." I told him smiling. He nodded still catching his breath.

" Mum can you explain to me what just happened?" he questioned me shyly.

" You see,  honey, you reached orgasm. Your member released semen and it felt good." I explained to him.

His eyes widen in shock. " Does it happen to women as well?" 

I laughed at his ingenuity. " It does, you made me  so horny that I want to have sex right now." I confessed.

He blushed but said nothing. Instead, he stared at my breasts. I could tell he wanted me to. 

" You want to fuck me, don't you?" I asked bluntly, biting my lower lip.

He looked at me puzzled. " What does it even mean?" 

I chuckled. " Let me show you instead."

I climbed on top of him and started grinding against his thighs. He hardened instantly. 

I knew I should have gone easy on him. It was his first time and me being used to dealing with men more experienced and older than him was a risk for him, if I did go to ride him the same way I usually did with other cocks he would break in half. But I couldn’t help it, I craved him so much. 

I was horny to stop and he looked so cute under me, so innocent. I needed to fuck him, I needed him to fill me and stretch my insides.

I rubbed my slit against his hardness, feeling the head of his dick poking me. 

" What are you doing?" he whimpered.

" I'm riding your dick baby." I moaned. I aligned myself perfectly with his member and impaled myself on it. He let out a sharp intake of air as he felt himself inside of me. 

The feeling was satisfying, he wasn't big enough to give me any issue stretching my pussy. I started to move my hips up and down, feeling his cock hitting my cervix each time I lowered myself onto him. I was moaning loudly and panting hard.

He was enjoying it as well, he held my waist firmly with his hand. I leaned forward and kissed him, feeling his tongue dancing with mine. Our teeth clicked together as I bounced on him harder and harder.

As I was expecting his member throbbed inside of me after a few minutes. I had to play smart not to make him feel bad about his performance, even though I was enjoying it thoroughly. 

" Baby, I can't take it anymore." I lied. " Please cum."  

His eyes lit up. " Really?"

I nodded and kept bouncing on him, not letting him stop thrusting into me. " Yes, cum inside of me." I begged.

He gasped at my words and buried his face into my neck as he unloaded himself deep into my womb. His arms wrapped tightly around my back, holding me close to him.

When he finished pumping his seed into me we collapsed on the mattress, panting and sweating profusely. " Did I do a good job?" he asked me shyly. I kissed his forehead. " Perfect."

I couldn't afford to tell him I wanted to keep going all night long." You can sleep here, tonight." I informed him. 

He hugged me tightly. " Thank you mum."

I wrapped my arms around him as well, feeling how his heart was still beating fast and strong.

The next few days flew like always, I had been called for a few shootings and my baby kept staying in his room days in and days out. 

It was a tiring Friday night, I plopped on the sofa wearing a white top and a matching pair of shorts. I had worked all the afternoon filming different scenes.

" Baby, I'm back." I called my son.

He came into the living room carrying his laptop, he was dead serious. " We need to talk." his blue eyes made me shiver more than the air conditioner. 

" Wha.." I tried to speak, but he cut me off. " Hear me out first."

It was unusual for him to be this cold with me. " I was doing some of my homework today and one of the requests was to look on Google for some information about our relatives and guess what happened as soon as I entered your name?" he was slightly losing his temperament. 

"  I don't understand." I said confused.

" All the results were about you and your career as AV Idol!!" he exclaimed. " All those fucking films you've done! And how people call you 'JAV Queen' because you are the most requested actress!" 

I stared at him shocked. " Well.."

" Well, what?" he interrupted me again. " You told me while we were fucking that you couldn't take anymore, and yet your last video that hit the charts was you begging a man with an 11 inches dick to keep fucking you and filling your tight pussy!"

My jaw dropped. " Um... I didn't want to lie to you." I stammered. I wanted to hide under the rug.

He shook his head. " Of course, you didn't!" he yelled. His little body was shaking in anger.

" Baby let me explain." I talked in a lower tone.

" Alright." he affirmed. " Explain to me the reason why you lied to me during our first time."

I sighed, hoping for the best. " Because I wanted to make you feel good about yourself." 

He glared at me. " If you cared about me you would have told me the truth." he huffed.

" Baby!" I pleaded. " You have seen in my videos how wild I am, I didn't want to break you or to scare you. And I wanted you to have a special time with your mother, no matter the circumstances."

He crossed his arms and pouted. " Is it true you love other men more than me?"

I shook my head. " Absolutely not! I love you more than anything in the world, but I enjoy sex with them."

" I'm well aware of that now, no need to remark it." he spat.

I sighed and walked in front of him. " What do you want me to do to make it up to you?"

I raised his chin defiantly. " Tell me."

He avoided my gaze. " Have you saved enough money?" he questioned. 

" More than you and I can spend in a lifetime." I replied honestly. " Why?"

He stared at me dead in the eyes. " I want you to retire, to leave that disgusting industry behind you and be just my mother, the one who is just special to me. Just my mother."

I looked at him, feeling conflicted. " Baby, money aside, how are we gonna deal with the lack of affection I crave for?" I asked him softly.

His eyes flamed. " I crave for you. I'm young and you could mould me as you please to fulfil all you need." his voice was firm.

I smirked widely. "  You do, huh?". " Yes." he nodded.

" Show me then." I challenged him. 

And he did, he proved to be more eager and greedy than any other man I had ever met. He ate me out like he was starving, making me scream and squirt in his mouth.

" Bed." I moaned, my legs were trembling from my climax. He took my hand and walked to my bedroom. 

" Baby, we are not done yet. You know, right.?" I asked him kneeling in the middle of the mattress. 

He nodded and crawled towards me. I reached down and grabbed his dick into my hand.

" I'm gonna make you ready." I stroked his length slowly and licked his head, taking him into my mouth and sucking hungrily. " You taste so sweet, baby." I praised him, feeling his precum leaking on my tongue. 

He moaned in delight and grabbed my head with his hands, pushing me down on his cock. I gagged a bit as he fucked my mouth.

After a few minutes, I pushed him away from me and lay down. " Fuck me now, baby." I urged him.

He positioned himself in between my thighs, lining up his member to my pussy and pressing it into me. He filled me, his thickness stretched my inner walls and I screamed in pain and pleasure.

" Harder, baby." I egged him on. His thrusts were slow at the beginning but became rougher as he gained confidence.

He slammed into me furiously and I let out screams of joy. He grabbed my ankles and placed them on his shoulders, pounding me relentlessly.

I felt him pulsing inside of me and squeezed my muscles around him.

" Cum, baby." I demanded.

He let out a strangled cry and released himself into my hole. I felt his hot seed coating my insides and it was glorious, so much so it triggered my orgasm and I climaxed around him. He collapsed on top of me, spent.

" That was great baby." I purred satisfied, stroking his head.

" Can we do it again?" he asked curiously.

" We will. Soon." I promised him. " You’re gonna be the king of this house from now on." 

He laughed. " Funny. Are you gonna retire for real?" he questioned. 

" I will, but there is one last shot I need to do the day after tomorrow that I cannot cancel so out of the blue." I replied. " But I want you to be on set with me, to see how everything goes." I proposed.

" Ok." he agreed. I cuddled with him and drifted away, thinking of all the dirty things I wanted to do with him. 

The day of the shoot arrived and I was nervous but excited at the same time, not only because it would be my last scene but also because my son would be present to watch it. 

We drove to the location which was a luxurious mansion, I had shot here a few times already and I knew exactly where I would find my colleagues and the crew. 

We reached the dressing room and my son followed me in, watching as I undressed and put on the costume chosen for the occasion. It was a black dress and a pair of high heels.

" It's not bad." he commented as I spun around to check how my dress fit me from behind. 

I looked at him amused. " Just not bad?" 

He looked on the floor. " You are extremely sexy." he mumbled.

I laughed. " You're such a good boy." I praised him. I leaned down and pecked his forehead, noticing as he blushed. 

I cupped his chin. " Remember, this is all for fun, and you need to remember that."

He nodded solemnly. " I promise to behave." 

" Good boy." I kissed him again.

The producer of the film came into the room to fetch me. " Hey Mina, we are all ready for you outside. This will be your last scene, do your best.

I grinned. " Of course." I waved at my son and left the dressing room. 

I stepped on set and found my partner for the shoot, the famous 11-inch dick named Jax.  He was a tall guy with broad shoulders, dark brown hair and hazel eyes. His cock was so thick that the guys on set used to compare it to a cucumber. 

" Hello, Mina." he greeted me with a smile.

I returned it. " Nice to meet you again."

" So, we will be playing as lovers cheating on their spouses and we end up having passionate sex." the producer explained.

" Sounds perfect." I approved, already knowing the script. 

" Action!" the director shouted. 

The scene began with us dancing and drinking alcohol at the party hosted in the house. It went smoothly until we reached the part where we were meant to kiss passionately and start fooling around. 

Everything changed when he slipped his hand into my dress and grabbed my breast. My eyes darted to my son standing behind the camera, he looked surprised by the sudden touch but not upset. He had an odd expression on his face, a mixture of confusion and lust. 

The scene proceeds with us groping each other. Jax pinched my nipples and slid his hand up my thigh and to my mound, caressing it through the fabric of my panties. I gasped in pleasure.

I glanced at my son again, he had a hard time hiding his boner and I felt sorry for him. " Sorry honey." I mouthed to him, hoping he could read my lips. 

He didn't seem bothered and gestured for me to continue.

We moved to the sofa and the director ordered us to remove our clothes. I obliged stripping out of my dress, leaving me bare apart from my bra and panties. Jax followed my example.

"  Let's try some foreplay, Jax can you eat her out." the director said, addressing my partner.

Jax didn't need to be told twice, he pushed me onto the sofa and settled himself in between my legs. 

His tongue was very skilled and had me writhing in pleasure within seconds, he licked my labia and my clit, sucking on my nub greedily. I moaned loudly as I felt myself nearing my release. 

My hand pushed him deeper into my folds, urging him to go on. He lapped at me eagerly, sending sparks through my body.

I looked at my son again and found him touching himself through his trousers, his face was red in embarrassment. I felt sorry for putting him in that position, but at the same time, it was arousing to see him so affected by the sight of me getting eaten out. 

Jax stopped suddenly and my gaze snapped back on him as he kneeled in front of me, holding his throbbing member. " She tastes wonderful." he complimented. 

I spread my legs further inviting him to enter me. He plunged into me, stretching me like a rag doll. I arched my back at the sudden invasion and moaned. 

" Mina, you have a tight pussy." he grunted. " I'm not even halfway in."

He began thrusting, slowly at first, allowing me to adjust to his size. Once he was fully seated in my channel he picked up his pace, pounding me fiercely.

I moaned at his ministration, my hands clawed at the cushion of the sofa.

" Oh god!" I shouted in pleasure. " Yes! Fuck me like that." I cried out as he hit my spot, rubbing it repeatedly.

My body trembled as he kept ramming me, I was at his complete mercy. My orgasm came overbearingly, causing me to convulse wildly. 

He fucked me through my climax, not stopping in the slightest. 

He was proving himself to be one of the best actors in the business. " Change position." the director ordered. 

We ended up in a reverse cowgirl. My legs were still trembling from the aftershock of my climax but I managed to sit on him, impaling myself on his cock.

I started to bounce on him, rubbing myself against his pelvis. His hands grabbed my tits from behind and kneaded them roughly. 

I was getting close again he rubbed my clit with his big fingers, making me clench around his shaft. " Yes!" I screamed, reaching another orgasm.

I collapsed on him, feeling exhausted from the intensity of my climaxes. He lifted me from his member, causing me to whine from the loss of him.

He pushed me face down on the sofa and entered me doggy style. 

His thrusts were savage and violent, he pounded me relentlessly. I loved it, the feeling of being owned by him. My body shook as he slammed into me, my tits jiggling.

His hands gripped my waist, keeping me still and preventing me from escaping his onslaught. 

" Fuck yes! Give it all to me." I screamed as he drilled into me.

"You adore my fat dick, don't you slut?" he groaned in my ear. I nodded eagerly.

Suddenly he slowed his thrusts and his member started to twitch inside of me. " Ahhh! Cum inside of me!" I shouted, squeezing him tightly.

He moaned and spurted his load into me, coating my insides with his seed. His movements were becoming slower and slower until he stopped entirely. He pulled out of me leaving me empty.

" Cut!" the director announced. 

I felt dizzy from the number of climaxes I had reached and tired from the scene. Jax helped me stand up and I thanked him. My gaze wandered searching for my son, finding him sitting far behind the camera and staring at me with an unreadable expression. 

He approached me with hesitant steps, avoiding eye contact. " So, you liked it, huh?" I teased him. 

" At first yes, while you were still making eye contact with me." he asserted. " But not at all while you two got lost fucking like animals." 

I chuckled and patted his head. " Baby, you gotta understand  that sex is not all about romance, sometimes you just wanna get lost in the act."

He avoided responding to me and walked back to the car. I pitied him, he must have been hurt by the way I acted during the shoot. 

I got cleaned and bid my farewell to all the cast, I found my baby boy playing with his phone while leaning on the car. He barely acknowledged my presence when I sat next to him. I drove back home, not daring to ask him how he felt.

" I'll order some dinner and we can watch a movie together, how does it sound?" I proposed as soon as we were in the safety of our house. 

He shrugged and kept on his phone. I decided to give him space and not bother him for the rest of the evening. 

I woke up to the sound of a knock on the door. " May I come in?" his voice was low and tender.  

I sat up and opened the door. " Of course baby, what are you doing here so late?"

He walked into my room and closed the door behind him. I could smell his cologne, a scent so fresh and enticing. " Can I sleep here tonight?" he asked shyly. 

" Of course." I welcomed him.

He hesitated not moving a centimetre. " Baby, if you want to be my partner you gotta be more confident within yourself." I began. 

" I quit as you requested, now let me show you how good I am." I added signaling him to lie with me on the bed.

He complied and snuggled next to me. I cupped his face. " Don't you want me, baby?" I whispered seductively. 

"I do." he confirmed. I kissed his lips, tasting his sweetness.

" Good. Now, let’s take off these pesky clothes." I cooed.

He stripped quickly, showing me his lean body and his hard dick. It was still impressive considering he hadn't hit puberty yet.

I removed my shirt and panties and straddled him. " Show me what you can do." I dared him.

He held my hips and guided me onto his dick, impaling me easily, I squeaked in shock. He moved his hips under me and I bounced on him, my tits swaying wildly as he pumped into me from below. 

I leaned forward and kissed his forehead, feeling the sweat droplets forming on his skin. I pressed my chest to his and kissed him passionately as he fucked me.

He reached up and played with my tits, fondling them gently. I moaned at the pleasure of it all. His finger traced circles around my nipple causing me to shudder.

He picked up speed and his thrusts became more intense, slamming into me repeatedly. I cried out in bliss from his ministrations. 

" You are gonna came me cum." I told him staring into his eyes.  

His eyes darkened. " I know, you are." he affirmed.

" Yes, baby." I moaned. I rubbed myself against him feeling his thickness fill me.

He grasped my waist and rolled us over, putting himself in control. He pinned me beneath him and fucked me savagely, his thrusts powerful and deep.

" Ahhh!" I cried out, my body shivering in ecstasy. " Make me yours." I begged.

He grunted, his expression twisted in pleasure. " Mine." he muttered. " Only mine."

His body tensed and his cock pulsed inside of me. He growled and spilt himself into me, filling my hole with his load. 

I orgasmed around him, squeezing his dick and milking him for more. 

We stayed connected for a few moments, breathing heavily, sweat dripping on our bodies.

I rolled my hips around his sensitive length. " You did good, baby." I made him moan. " But mommy demands more." 

He sighed happily but concern. " I'll do my best." he promised.

" Oh baby, I won't let you do anything less than your best and more." I rolled us once more. " You stay still and let me take care of you." 

He nodded. " Whatever you want."

I began to move my hips slowly, rotating and grinding around his semi-erect cock. His breath hitched in response. 

"You want my mouth again?" I teased. He nodded vigorously. 

I crawled down his body and took him into my mouth, sucking and licking his head and shaft.

His member grew bigger in my mouth as I pleasured it with my tongue. His hips bucked up as I sucked him, eager for more of me. 

He gasped and claimed me on him, I aligned him at my entrance and sank onto him, taking his length in one go. 

He cursed at the feeling of my inner walls gripping his hardness. His eyes roamed my body, drinking in the view of me on top of him. 

I rocked my hips, taking him deep into my core. His hands kneaded my ass as I bounced on his dick. 

I leaned down and kissed him, moaning at the feeling of his tongue in my mouth. He sucked my bottom lip and nibbled on my neck.

I moved my hips faster, increasing the pace of our coupling. His hand reached down and rubbed my clit, causing me to moan louder. 

" Yes!" I shouted as he rubbed my bud with his fingers. " You know how to make me  feel good."

His hand felt magical on my body, playing my clit. I rode him harder and harder, feeling my orgasm approaching rapidly. 

" Baby, try to hold back." I warned him, my body gave in and gushed out a torrent of liquid all over his stomach and cock.

I kept grinding on him through my climax, my muscles clenched around him.

He grunted in pain and pleasure. " Mommy!" he cried out. 

I held him still inside of me during my climax. 

I leaned in, kissing his lips eagerly. " Bravo, you didn't come yet." I praised him. " Now do all you desire to  me." 

His eyes darkened in desire. " Turn around." he demanded. I complied, crawling on my hands and knees in front of him.

" Spread your legs." he ordered. I did as told.

" What a beautiful ass you have." he complimented, slapping my cheeks lightly. 

I moaned at the sting. " Harder, baby. Spank it."

He obliged smacking me harder, reddening my skin. 

" Now, fuck it." I demanded. He didn't hesitate to plunge into me from behind, driving his cock deep inside of me.

His thrusts were brutal and relentless, he slapped my ass every time he bottomed out into me. My pussy clenched around him in pleasure.

" Ohhh!" I screamed.

His grip on my hip tightened as he fucked me wildly, his balls slapping against my thighs. His grunts were becoming more desperate and loud.

I leaned forward, bracing myself on the headboard. He bent over me and grabbed my tits, fondling and twisting them. His hot breath brushed against my ear.

" You like this?" he panted. " Being fucked by your son?"

"Yes." I breathed out. " More." I pleaded.

His fingers found my clit and rubbed it vigorously. I was close to reaching my climax again. 

" Cum with me." I ordered.

He didn't argue. " I'm going to cum!" he shouted and slammed into me one last time before he emptied himself inside of me.

I squeezed his cock as he released his seed, milking him for all his worth. He collapsed on top of me, spent. 

We remained there for a few minutes, his weight pressing down on me and his breath on my skin. His member still inside of me. 

" That was great baby." I praised him.

He rolled off me and we cuddled in bed. " Thanks." he replied.

" You deserve it." I caressed his cheek. " I love you." I admitted. 

"And I love you too, mum." he answered me. His eyes were heavy with exhaustion, his eyelids drooping shut. I watched him fall asleep, lulled by the rhythm of my heartbeat. I wrapped my arms around him and fell asleep too. 

I woke up by the tip of his fingers tracing different paths on my body, his eyes looked at me with utter devotion.  " Hi." he greeted me.

We cuddled for a bit, he got more clingy and affectionate than ever. " Baby, you gotta think to find a girlfriend sooner or later." I stated.

He frowned and squeezed my flesh in his hand. " Do not say blasphemous things." he hissed. " I won't leave you alone NEVER."

I smirked. " That's my boy." 

Flesh pressed on flesh, as we explored each other’s bodies with carnal abandon. Together we steadily built to a crescendo of ecstasy. Our faces contorted with bliss,  our breaths quickened, and our bodies tensed. We were one being, united in our mutual pleasure.

We crested the wave of rapture together. I cried out, overcome with euphoria, as he filled me with his essence. His cries mingled with mine, creating a symphony of passion.

As our bodies calmed, he collapsed on me. We shared a tender kiss, savouring the remnants of our climax. We basked in the glow of our union, our souls entwined in love.  Our embrace was eternal, a testament to the depth of our bond. We knew that nothing could ever sever the ties that bound us together.

In the silence that followed, we shared a moment of pure understanding. Our connection transcended the boundaries of familial relations, and we were one in spirit and flesh. Our love was pure, untainted by the judgement of others. We had discovered our brand of heaven, right here on earth.

Together, we embarked on a journey of endless exploration, driven by the burning fire of our desires. Every day brought new experiences, fresh adventures that fueled our passion. Our love thrived in the secrecy of our sanctuary, free from the world's prying eyes.

In our hidden paradise, we indulged in a life of hedonistic pleasures, surrendering ourselves to the whims of our hearts. We revelled in the ecstasy of our love, secure in the knowledge that we were truly, madly, deeply in love.

[ethankyou]

I don't think we have ever had a canon confirmation that this is make-up or not, but they've supposedly confirmed it outside the show:

Though I couldn't load that tweet. It might have been deleted or the account privated. I also found this nugget:

...and went "Oh boy Garak's doing makeup now too? 👀" Rewatching the episode he does have a some blue applied to the spoon in the scene where he's having lunch with Odo (and the next scene or two he's in). Neat!

I also remembered that Ziyal appears without any blue marks. I can't find any pictures of Ziyal wearing blue - if we saw a canon picture of her wearing blue on her spoon at some point, that would just about confirm it.

And before anyone else mentions that she is only half cardassian, I'm aware. But if the blue colouration was sexually dimorphic instead of makeup, we should expect to still see some colouration either on the spoon or neck. Though I will admit we don't know that for sure.

When I was pouring over pictures of Ziyal I did find this though:

Which was labelled as Ziyal in a fanwiki of some sort, but this is just a shot of Kira in the episode Second Skin. So still notta for Ziyal. Interesting they dabbed some blue on that thang before they woke Kira up though! Maybe this weakens the make-up theory, idk!

But for now at least I feel that the blue being makeup is about as conclusive as it can be without having a character say "I applied blue pigments to my spoonamathing and neck rufflidges!"

Now as far as blocking out certain wavelengths of light, that is possible! So as I said before, the blue pigment would block everything except for blue light.

If we presume that is the purpose, we have to ask two things:

What benefit does blocking all light except blue on a parietal eye give cardassians?

Why do females (typically) apply this pigment and not males?

But first we gotta talk about something I mentioned previously, which is the cardassian sun.

Our sun in the sol system is a yellow dwarf sun and gives off a majority of light in the visible spectrum. Is that lucky for us being creatures that just so happen to be able to see this light? No it's not luck! We see this light because we evolved from species who adapted to the light given from our sun over millions of years!

Astrophysics is not my field, but I understand that other types of suns would still give off light in our visible spectrum, but may produce a majority of light in other wavelengths. So a sun that produced more infrared light (such as a red sun) would produce nore infrared and less visible (to us) light. Light with shorter wavelengths are cooler colours (purples, blues) while longer wavelengths are warmer (reds, oranges).

But "visible" light of course is a very human-centric perspective as even on earth there are many organisms who can see outside of our visible range (and some who struggle to see our visible range at all!). We just evolved from organisms who adapted to the light that was the majority produced by our sun.

If humans were to have evolved on a planet with a different kind of sun, such as an orange sun, then we might have adapted to view whatever range of light was the majority produced. This would probably lean more into the infrared compared to our yellow sun and our vision would be adapted for that. If you took this hypothetical human who has adapted to a visible light spectrum that has leaned towards infrared, they might have a harder time seeing shorter wavelengths of light - what we perceive as blues & purples.

Now researching the cardassian sun, low and behold it's an orange sun!

So would you look at that, the Cardassians are our hypothetical humans!

But I'm not sure there's any evidence to suggest that they perceive colours differently from us, or that they perceive infrared or other longer light wavelengths than we do, despite their different sun. On the contrary, we know Cardassia Prime is dark. What does that actually mean for a planet to be dark? Well its a hot planet so they can't be far from the sun. It's a humid planet ao there might be a lot of cloud cover. But if the more of the light the sun gave off was outside of the visible spectrum, the planet would certainly appear darker to us and them.

So unless evidence is given to the contrary, we'll have to assume they perceive the same visible light spectrum that we do.

Now. What benefit does blocking all light except blue on a parietal eye give cardassians?

The best working theory we have about the spoon is that if it has a function at all, it functions as a parietal eye. That is the assumption I will be making here.

In species on earth, the parietal eye detects the presence of light and uses this to regulate circadian rhythm. Some species can also use it for navigating or to detect predators (if it's light above you and then suddenly dark, you might be about to be eaten!), but I'm not sure that's relevant to this question. Or rather we don't have a way to explain, test, or find supporting evidence for it. So I wont.

The parietal eye is basically a cluster of photoreceptors, usually rods (black & white) but sometimes also cones (colour vision). A blue pigment would filter out everything but blue light. If their parietal eye was just rods, then a blue filter means it would only detect the presence of light if it was blue spectrum. If their parietal eye was rods and cones, or just cones, then it might distinguish between multiple wavelengths of light, but the blue filter would restrict all but the blue spectrum.

If blue light has the same disruptive effects on cardassians as it does us, then this blue filter would not protect them. In fact it would ensure that is the only light that affects them! So what are the disruptive effects then?

Blue light acts as a signal to our brain to stay awake longer. Our brain does this by suppressing the production of melatonin. All light does this to some extent, but studies have shown blue spectrum light has a much stronger effect on this than other spectrums of light. It's also been theorized that blue light can have damaging effects on our eyes, which is why little devices held up to your face - such as the one I keep writing out these theses on speculative cardassian xenobiology - can cause eye strain and thus damage as well. Try to remember to take lots of breaks from your phone and don't forget to blink folks!

So will the blue pigment protect from this? Well, no because blue light is the only light getting through. But even if it was an orange-yellow pigment to block out blue spectrum light, kind of like our blue-blocking glasses, it probably still wouldn't help. Studies have shown our blue-blocking glasses don't seem to do the things they claim to do.

Either the technology isn't there for us yet or there's more going on with light and our bodies than we understand. Who would have thought, we are complicated biological machines afterall!

If we assume that blue light has a similar effect on cardassians as it does to us, perhaps there is a benefit to just allowing blue light through? Blue light messes up our sleep but put another way it reduces fatigue - what better way to stay awake than to bombard your eyes with the Stay Awake Beam? There is also some evidence to show that blue light can increase attentiveness, but there's not a large enough body of evidence to say this conclusively, but we're already speculating about the theoretical organ of a fictional alien species so sure, we can have a little unsubstantiated claims as an treat. So dabbing that thang with some blue would allow this to happen. But you know what would also allow this to happen? Not dabbing that thing with some blue! Having no filter means just as much blue light would pass through, but it also means that other spectrums of light would pass through too.

So perhaps spectrums of light other than blue have the disruptive effects on cardassians that blue light has on us. We can speculate on that but that's pretty much all we can do. So what else might be happening?

We said Cadassia Prime has an orange sun. If we are assuming that cardassians see the same spectrum of visible light that we do, this means their orange sun would produce less purple snd blue light. Still some, but less than our yellow sun. If there is less blue light produced overall, perhaps having a filter that allows you to detect the presence of blue light at all, might have a benefit in the environment they adapted in. What that benefit is, we can only guess. But if there's less of something that you want to find, having an enhanced ability to detect it would be an advantage!

But if it's an advantage, why do females (typically) apply this pigment and not males?

As I've mentioned before, cardassians are an intelligent and ruthless people. If dabbing that thang with blue would give them an advantage men would do it too. So why don't they? Except for Elim Garak.

There could be a sex difference in how light is perceived by the spoon between males and females. But if there is, then we don't have any evidence to back that up. Sadly we can count on our hands how many female cardassians we meet through the whole of star trek and it ain't many.

In fact I'll do it off the top of my head!

There was Gul Ocett, girlboss, and i believe first cadassian we see with blue on the neck ridges. There were those two female cardassian scientists. There was that one cadassian that put O'Brien on trial. There was Natima Lang who also had a little chest spoon that we haven't seen before or since (though we don't see a lot of cadassian chests). She also had a female student. There's the cardassian that Kira was gaslit into thinking she was. There's Ziyal, of course. And who could forget Elim Garak's nanny. There's certainly more I missed, but the fact of the matter is there isn't many! All of which (except Ziyal) have blue on their forehead spoon. Some have blue on their neck ridges, but that seems to be less consistent.

We can speculate about how wavelengths of light might effect females differently from males, but beyond the presence of blue pigments, we don't have any evidence for differences between the cardassian sexes. But even if we assume there is a difference, and that the blue pigment serves a function on the spoon, why do some cardassians then also dab a little blue on their neck ridges too? Certainly there can't be parietal eyes there too, and if there's some other special organ what are the odds that an additional pair of theoretical organs on the neck would benefit from the same blue pigment as the head spoon.

The simplest explanation is of course, it's just make-up. Without some evidence to suggest that there's a sex difference, if dabbing blue gave some kind of advantage males would use it just as commonly. Garak is the only male we have seen dab that thang and it goes unremarked the single time we see it.

That might also seem like the boring answer, but it's interesting to think about what social dynamics or pressures may have led to them dabbing some blue. Is blue associated with arousal and this is like a blush situation? Is this ornamental, but just something that females do (and also Garak), like when women from earth wear different colours of eyeshadow and other makeup? Is this a hierarchical thing that female cardassians do and this is why the neck ridges are inconsistent? Why only blue? Are we just dead wrong in assuming it's make-up and it's actually a dimorphic trait? Still lots to speculate on even with the "boring" answer! But perhaps that's more the realm of specualtive xenoanthropology than specualtive xenobiology.

The funniest explanation to me however, which I've needed this whole post of background just to reach, is that perhaps cardassians just cannot see blue - we established on their orange sun planet they may have shifted their visible spectrum of light - and the pigment they dab on is just some sort of "colourless" salve or ointment that is used more by females. It goes unremarked by other cardassians because it blends in with what they perceive as fleshtone, and it goes unremarked by everyone else because no one wants to ask the ladies the insensitive question of "why you got blue up on there?" Which leads to countless starfleet debates on the social or biological purposesnof the blue, but the reality is just like "sometimes the spoon and neck gets itchy."

As a quick but important tangent, a lot of cardassian uniforms also seem to emphasize a tear or diamond shaped mark on the chest right where Natima Lang's was. This might imply that all cardassians have another spoon right in the chest. And if they do have a matching chest spoon to their forehead spoon... It kind of begs the question of why? If it's another parietal eye (i guess it would be more like... A thoracic eye?) they don't mind covering up so it certainly doesn't have any function that cardassians care about. The reality of all this is the killjoy one that i mentioned at the top if my last post, which is that a lot of this stuff was just designed in the 90's without a thought about functionality.

However I would like some to write me a 4-5 page essay on the function of the chest spoon next. Chop chop!

And for the love of the prophets people it's not a bullet or phaser hole... They don't even use bullets anymore unless evil Picard packs a six shooter just for executions...

I have been thinking about gul dukats skull all day and I need a moment alone with the cardassian lovers to discuss why the spoon would have a Hole. Its like the soft spot of a babys skull… what are the anatomical implications here…

[toxicanonymity]

forest floor

(early) raider!Joel x f!reader - 1360 words

A/N: Can read alone, but in series context, this answers, when sweet pea escapes, what if Joel finds her before fedra does? The smut is greatly enhanced by this media. Ty anon. I also wanna shoutout those asks who wanted this before.

WARNINGS: 18+ angst, pursuit, inner conflict, manhandling, dubcon unsafe piv, hair pulling, spit, choking adjacent.

You can't take anything from Joel Miller. When he sees you're missing, his stomach drops. His face gets cold, all his muscles tense.  His nostrils flare as he takes a deep breath, then cracks his neck with a sharp tilt of his head. He can't believe you would do this. Someone must have taken you. He has half a mind to go into the house and do a head count, see who else is missing. But there's no time for that. Not a second to waste.

He scans the treeline. That's where someone would go if they were smart. That's where they'd take you if they didn't want the wrath of God, and worse - the wrath of Joel. With his rifle on his back, arms pumped up, he heads into the woods, stalking you like an animal - eyes wide open, cursing his impaired hearing.  He'll find them. Them. You couldn't have run, that's not how things are. He takes care of you, protects you, and you know it's for your own good. He can tell by the way you tilt your hips for him, push back on him, and sigh. He can tell 'cause in your sleep, you feel safe in his arms. You'll even lay your little hand on his arm sometimes.

When Joel the hunter calls out, "Stop right there," you're not running as fast as you can. Not even close. "Don't wanna hurt ya," he booms. "But I will if I have to."  You don't want to run, not really, not from Joel. It was a look from Jackson that put you over the edge. You'd already heard him talking about you with his buddy. And then, when Joel was occupied, he came over and stared you down, head to toe. Wet his lips and bit his teeth. "You aren't supposed to look at me," you reminded him. He snickered quietly, took a step back, looking at your body, then turned and left you alone.

You want to believe Joel can protect you. But the feeling that you *should* run still pulls at you. How could you willingly stay, surrounded by all these disgusting men who look at you like a piece of meat to carve up?  You *have to* run, just this once. And if you aren't meant to escape, you'll get caught. And you'll be good for him. If he lets you, you realize and your mouth goes dry. Your stomach twists at the realization that if he can't have you, surely no one can.  You stumble and trip on a fallen branch.

You start to get up, and hear a click that makes you sick. Hit with a tsunami of regret, you hang your head. Why'd you do this? The snap of twigs under his heavy boots looms closer. You collapse into the ground and he says, "Stay." 

His faint shadow eclipses you, obscured mostly by the forest, but you can make out a tilt of his head before he drops to his knees, straddling you. His hand clamps around the back of your neck. “What the hell are ya doin’? Tryin’ to get bit or worse?”

I'm sorry,” you choke out into the leaves tickling your mouth. 

“Don't you move an inch.” He grabs the back of your shirt as though it's the scruff of your neck, and when he's lifted your chest up, he wraps an arm around it. He gropes your breast, and desire swells in your loins. Maybe he'll just fuck you, if you're lucky. 

He manhandles you, flipping you over into your back, then wraps his hand under your chin. Not a full-on choke, but a threat. His head hovers over yours with eyes like dark thunderheads. A breeze rustles the leaves and it feels like the wind of a storm. 

“I'm sorry,” you repeat. 

He studies your face and repeats, “you're sorry,” with a dismissive nod.

“God *damnit*, sweet pea.” The pet name gives you hope. He squeezes a little tighter. Even then, it doesn't feel like he wants to hurt you. You even wonder if he knows he's putting pressure in just the right place to feel a little good. But his eyes tell a different story - it's not about making you feel good. His voice becomes calm, but grave. "You ain't gonna try this again," he warns.

"I won't," you whisper. "I wasn't thinking straight." His nose twitches with a snarl as he searches your eyes. He punctuates the warning with a tighter squeeze, and you cough.

His hand leaves your neck and urgently undoes your pants. “How sorry are ya?” He asks darkly as he yanks them down. 

“Real sorry,” you answer, “I dunno what I was thinking, I-”

“Lost your goddamn mind,” he answers as he pulls your pants off, and your panties along with them. He throws them aside with disgust that he even has to mess with them. He lets you keep the shoes, and it makes you wonder if he’s not going to let you put your pants back on. Is he going to take you back to the house like this? Your shirt will probably cover you, but...

"There's dangerous people out here," he says.

Joel pulls down his own jeans, freeing his fat cock, mostly erect. You bend your knees up and make room for him. By habit you expect to earn a good girl, but you don't deserve one, not right now.

He slams all the way into you with a grunt, propelling you back a couple of inches, leaves clinging to your hair as your head slides across them. You wince with the burn, but you're wetter than you think you should be, and it doesn't take long for your body to catch up, even though he allows you no time. He lets out an animalistic grunt with each thrust. His first few thrusts aren't fast but they're sharp and deep, so deep, like he's stabbing you with his cock. He pauses and dick throbs against your tight walls and further stiffens, grows, full mast.

Then he picks up the pace and doesn't let up on the power. As he fucks you, he gets even stiffer, louder, more animalistic. He pounds you hard and rough, balls slapping against you. He's feral and loud. He looks down at your body, not at your eyes. He slows down only to pull your shirt up over your tits and watches them bounce with each thrust. When he does look at your face, he scowls. He grabs a fist full of your hair, holding it tight in his fist with his forearm braced on the ground. He growls, "you're mine."

Then he bottoms out brutally and his other hand squeezes your jaw so your mouth opens. He spits, and you nearly choke on his spit. As you swallow, he says, "don't you ever forget it."

He growls and grunts and pounds you deep and sharp, unrelenting in pace and power. Your walls give a warning twitch, and you're torn between letting yourself cum or not - on one hand, maybe it'd calm him down. On the other hand, you're ashamed--too bad, turns out you can't help it. You hold your lips together as it begins then release them with a sigh as your climax continues.

He doesn't let up at first. But as you squeeze his cock, his breathing changes, and soon his grunts turn into moans as he erupts. Even his moans are animalistic, vibrating like the growl of a bear. His face is still mad, but begins to soften as he finishes, leaving your insides warmly coated with his seed.

He pulls out right away and quickly puts it back in his pants, before putting yours on, nothing gentle about it. He gets up and manhandles you to your feet, and with a firm hand around your arm, he marches you forward, back up the hill toward the house. His voice is dark - "We'll talk about this later."

You can feel it - there's something worse to come. You can't take anything from Joel. Can't ever take anything that's his. Especially not yourself.

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Thank you so much for reading! Your feedback means a lot to me if you're able 🙏🏼 your casual comment could help give me the energy and confidence to write my next fic. Love y'all. 🖤

[lexirosewrites]

I sent in angst on accident but I'm here to deliver the fluff as well!

Eddie starts courting Steve completely subconsciously. He's always been the kind of Alpha who is determined to push back against prescribed gender roles, especially when it comes to the idea that an Alpha always has to be with an Omega and that Omega's should be courted and treated gently while Alpha's protect and take charge. It's been the subject of more than a few of his tabletop rants, especially when the prom and homecoming seasons come around.

One way or another he starts hanging around Steve more often. He's determined, though, not to fall for a pretty scent and a pretty face and become one of those Alphas obsessed with an Omega...even if that Omega is really nice, and pretty, and smells like fresh gingerbread, and has shiny hair and a dorky laugh and nice hands and-

The point is he's not doing it! He's not!

But really, Steve can be so easily distracted sometimes. It's safer, more convenient really, to herd him along when they're at the mall or walking down Main Street. He's just making sure Steve doesn't fall into the street or knock into one of the displays at the grocery store. He's just being a decent guy.

And Steve is always whiny when he's cold. He gets all pouty when he doesn't bring a warm enough jacket because it doesn't match his outfit. Eddie needs to give him his hoodie so he stops complaining.

And the little knick-knacks and bedding Eddie brings from time to time for the Omega are just a natural reaction to seeing Steve's room. The thing is truly an abomination of the highest order and when Steve told him his mom picked it all out and wouldn't let him buy anything new for it, well he's just doing the world at large a favor by trying to remedy that whole situation. It absolutely has nothing to do with the way Steve's scent went sour when he was talking about it and the way it made him want to eat drywall.

Steve knows what Eddie is doing the entire time. He thinks it's cute how down bad his Alpha is for him without even being able to acknowledge it and he knows that at the end of the day, he's going to get what he wants. A mating bite on his neck and a pup in his belly.

(I do think Steve will have to go to drastic measures to get Eddie's head out of his ass though. Namely, flirting with one of the Alpha's at the Hideout to make Eddie jealous enough to make a move)

they’re so cute😭💕

[sweetpupii]

tw: non-con, somno, fingering & cunnilingus ( r!receiving ), reader cries just a little, praising, overstimulation, abby being the sweetest girl ever ( pretty ironic ) | 1.6k words.

having long nails is great.

they look cute, you can match them with your outfit and your makeup, you get some compliments, they're amazing at scratching and all that.

“wanna know what's frustrating though?” you start, mindlessly scrolling on your phone while abby looks at your new set of nails, her own unmanicured hand holding yours. “not to be, you know, nasty but I feel like I'm gonna slash my pussy open if I try to stick a finger in there the wrong way.”

only a low hum of agreement can be heard from the blonde as she leans back against the couch of your shared apartment, tracing the design that's beautifully decorating the nail on your middle finger. yeah, that looks like it would hurt real bad.

“then get a toy. there is more stuff you can use.”

“of course I know that, but I don't have time either. at this point I feel like a nun!” a ( kinda whiny ) sigh escaping your lips at the mere thought of all the weeks spent unsatisfied. coming home late and tired didn't give you much time to even grab a toy like abby suggested.

but luckily, you have a very thoughtful roommate!

this woman would do anything—and I mean anything—to see you happy because that's what friends are for. helping and supporting each other during tough times and, let me tell you, being sexually frustrated definitely counts as one.

“abby? what the fu—mhggm” her hand quickly went over your mouth to stop your protests to get louder and more panicked while the other worked to keep your legs and arms from pushing her face away. why are you acting so surprised to see her in between your legs when she's just trying to help? it's not like you would be able to push her away but jeez, didn't expect such an ungrateful response.

yes, she woke you up by making out with your pussy but you were basically asking for it earlier.

“gonna make you feel good.” she promised before she kept lapping at your cunt like a starved woman. slurping you up like you're her favorite dish. feeling the vibration of your desperate, muffled sounds against her palm made her speak again. “shh, I won't hurt you.”

taking off your underwear while you sleep, holding you down, forcing your mouth shut and your legs open doesn't hurt! not if you stay still, at least.

her plan was simple.

if she made you feel good by eating you out, using her own fingers to reach places you currently couldn't ( and probably have never been able to ) reach while you slept then you would surely wake up in a good mood and thank her with that precious smile of yours and maybe even a kiss.

but noooo, you decided to wake up in the middle of it and panic. ugh, just when your body was responding so well to her touch. she had seen the way your cunt was glistening when she started to slowly kiss it. the moonlight slipping through your curtains making the sight even prettier, and she'll be lying if she said the thought of taking a picture didn't cross her mind.

but a little crying from you won't stop her, even if she feels the hot tears against her skin.

she's still holding your legs open so she can continue to suck and lick at your clit, tongue tracing each fold and sensitive bit. your hips bucking into her face—but she's not sure if you're liking it and want more or you're trying to push her away.

“don't scream, okay baby?” she whispered against the soft skin on your inner thigh, peppering small kisses, while looking up at your watery eyes, “I'll be so gentle. trust me.”

actually, what other choice do you have? this woman can literally bench press 205 lbs. you get on her bad side and a single smack takes you back to your mother's womb. she has a mean right hook too, those punching bags stand no chance.

but again, it's abby who we're talking about.

the blondie that cuddles you to sleep anytime your bed feels too cold, who makes stupid jokes to cheer you up even if she cringes so fucking hard immediately after, who lets you try to count every freckle on her skin without even asking why, who can listen to you talk for hours and pay attention to every word, the one that drunkenly tells you how glad she is that you're her roommate and friend while kissing your shoulder even if deep down she wishes for more than that and stares at you as if you are the most important thing in the world—because to her you truly are.

so maybe she really just wants to make you feel good...

the second the fear and confusion in your eyes turns into something more calm, seeing the slow nod of your head, the small hiccup and your legs no longer struggling, she pulls her hand away from your mouth to trace the other set of lips, gathering the mixture of her saliva and your fluids on her fingertips before gently pushing one inside. “there we go…nice and slow.”

she might've been wrong for not asking first but how was she supposed to resist the feeling of your warm, tight walls squeezing her fingers just right as she curls them inside. soaking her knuckles in a shiny coat of stickiness that makes her want to dive in face first again and taste it until it becomes the only flavor she'll ever remember.

once she's sure that you're wet and comfortable enough, another thick digit slides in, the stretch earning a moan from you that has abby feeling like angels are singing and welcoming her to heaven. god, she has waited for so long to hear those sounds out of your lips—sounds caused by her, not your vibrator nor whoever you used to invite over thinking you two were quiet. ( she could hear you every.single.time… and honestly? it was so good to get a free show. )

even if her pace was somewhat slow, the thrusts of her fingers still managed to produce soft, wet noises that filled the room as they combined with your heavy breathing.

“told you I'd be gentle.” she cooed against your abdomen, trailing her kisses up your torso until she finally reached your lips. the same lips she has been dreaming of kissing since she moved in, since she first saw you smile, since you finally laughed at something she said, since the first time she saw them in a pretty shade of lipgloss. it's better than she ever imagined and she knows she'll ask ( beg ) for more from now on.

she's head over heels if you couldn't tell already.

“a warning would've been nice.” your quiet words bring a sheepish smile to abby’s face as she sighs, pulling her face away just a little, “sorry, you looked so stressed lately, I figured you wouldn't mind…”

abby aims to please even if she doesn't realize how bad her impulsive thoughts are before she acts on them. but look at the bright side; from now on you have a girl who's willing to drop to her knees and bury her face between your thighs at your own home almost 24/7!

after a bit, she starts to notice that the clenching and throbbing around her fingers gets more frequent and your moans louder, meaning she can finally speed up the pace. burying herself deep into your cunt to reach all the perfect spots she knows you've been missing. “fuck, you're so pretty. I wish you could see yourself…dripping all over the bed.”

she’s breathless as if she was the one getting touched, her own underwear damp just from seeing and pleasing you. can you blame her? she feels like a child on christmas morning.

“that's it, doing so good.”

oh, how she adores the way your hips tremble underneath her. making a mess on your bed sheets as you throw your head back—which she takes as an invitation and buries her face there. inhaling your scent like it's the only thing keeping her alive, like you're the oxygen she needs.

“gonna come? I can barely move my fingers with how tight you are.” liar. no matter how much you squeeze she's pumping them in and out without a single bit of effort. working out daily really pays off in the most satisfying ways. plus, you're too wet and it slides in and out very easily.

and god, her words make the flutter in your lower belly even worse. your hand gripping at her forearm, nails digging so hard she takes it as “it's too much.” when in reality she had fucked you so dumb with her fingers that reaching for abby was purely out of instinct.

she can't even understand the words ( babbles ) coming out of your mouth, all her pussy-drunk mind is able to register is the whiny tone tone in your voice because yes, she's as fucked out as you are.

the loud cry that escaped your puffy lips while repeating her name over and over definitely woke up a neighbor or two and just the thought of it makes abby's ego go up to the roof. who's making the prettiest girl in the building come? abigail motherfucking anderson.

her fingers continue their movements, a bit sloppier than before, but they keep going nonetheless. thumb circling your sensitive clit to add more stimulation.

she shushed your whimpers with soft kisses on your your temple and held you still to keep the overstimulated jerking off hips from pushing her away.

“you can take a little more, you're a big girl.”

and she's an insatiable woman.

masterlist ♡ taglist — @1ckyporcelainbunny @patronagrona