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luvergirl-866 · 2 days ago

Text

dreams, fairytales, fantasies

pairing - paige bueckers x azzi fudd

word count - 7.9k

c/w - language, drinking, fluff, and ofc smut (sub p, sub a, strap, eating, fingering��it’s a lot) (also heavy usage of pet names bc i am a sucker for them)

a/n - this is just a real depiction of what happens when lesbians go two weeks without sex 😔. no but fr, i hope yall enjoy!!! (feedback much appreciated, esp bc this is not edited) (also, im majorly crediting the smut queen @basketball-lesbians bc ease and stiff changed the way i write smut forever).

The much anticipated make-up sex doesn’t happen until a week later, which is about six days after they’ve actually made up—which they manage without the involvement of sex. And that’s a great thing for them, considering they have a history of resolving arguments via orgasm, but they also can’t give themselves the credit because the no-sex thing wasn’t really their decision. (If it had been up to them, Azzi would have jumped Paige’s bones that very night they made up).

That day, though, was spent talking, reliving their breakup and the horrible year afterward for the sole purpose of truly processing it. They had continued talking during that time, of course, claiming to be ‘best friends’, but they meticulously danced around the topic of their high school relationship and the fact they were both miserable once it ended, grieving it in their own ways. They talked for hours, and both of them quickly came to realize that there was so much they hadn’t told each other. Azzi was shocked to hear that Paige spent her entire freshman year moping around, never getting out and having fun like Azzi wanted her to do. (“Seriously? I thought you hoed around?” she said when Paige gave her this information. Paige shrugged and said, “I told you I did, so I didn’t seem lame. But yeah, no. I smoked a lot and looked at our pictures and that’s—well, yeah, that’s pretty much it.”)

Paige was just as shocked when Azzi told her she tried going on a date with someone else, just to get the breakup off her mind, and they kissed at the end of the night and she went inside and cried for a long time. (“I didn’t know you went out with anyone,” Paige said, not particularly jealous, just a little hurt because even though they were exes that year, they were still best friends, and they usually told each other everything. Azzi picked her thumbnail, eyebrows drawn at the memory. “It hurt too much. I didn’t even tell my mom.” That, if possible, made Paige feel even worse).

Anyway, by the time they talked everything through (with some crying involved, and maybe a little kissing, too), it was late at night and they were both emotionally exhausted from the day. They’d gotten ready to sleep and laid in Azzi’s bed and murmured about how much they’d missed each other for about two minutes before they promptly assed out.

And then it was the week, their time consumed with classes, homework, practice, and even grownup things like grocery shopping. They spent as much time together as they could, practically magnetized to each other, attached at that hip when they were in the same vicinity. But they were both swamped with homework and while they tried to do it together that Monday, they quickly realized that it was impossible to focus around each other. Or at least, Azzi did. (“C’mon, we’re doing okay,” Paige said, at approximately 1 A.M., when they had been at it for four hours and had gotten absolutely nothing done. “I wouldn’t say that, P,” Azzi mumbled, slinging her bag over her shoulder and pecking a sulking Paige on the lips. “No more school around each other, ‘kay?” She couldn’t help but be amused at Paige’s exaggerated pouting. “I think we’ll be okay. See you tomorrow, baby.”

That night, her phone had blown up with messages from Paige, most of them silly selfies of her pouting at the camera as she sat at her desk with schoolwork laid out in front of her. Even that was enough to distract Azzi from her work).

So, no, it’s not until Saturday—the night of their second-first date—that the make-up sex (that can’t really be considered make-up sex anymore) happens. But, as the saying goes, good things come to those who wait. And that must be true because that night turns out to be very good indeed.

It all starts before the two of them are even together, with Azzi picking her outfit for their date. She’s never been good with decisions, and this is a big one in her book. She needs to wear the perfect outfit—something sexy and cute and romantic and alluring all at once. An hour into choosing the outfit, Caroline is beginning to regret offering to help.

“Okay, you’re just overthinking it now,” she says, exasperated, watching as Azzi frowns at herself in the mirror.

“If I don’t overthink it I’ll end up looking ugly,” Azzi says, turning this way and that in the mirror, making sure the outfit looks good from every angle. But when she takes a step back, leans her head to the side just so, and turns to the left, the shirt suddenly makes her look atrocious. With a frustrated sigh, Azzi takes it off, tossing it onto the ground.

Caroline groans, flopping onto Azzi’s bed. “What was wrong with that one?”

“Everything,” Azzi replies, going back to her closet to try again. “Has my wardrobe always been this bad?” she mutters to herself.

“You look good in everything, Az,” Caroline says. “And your clothes are cute. Paige is going to love you in whatever you decide to wear.”

Which is true—Azzi could be wearing jorts and a flannel and Paige would still swear up and down she’s the prettiest girl in the world. But love and want are two different things. After two weeks of no sex Azzi needs to be wanted.

“You know what your problem is?” Caroline asks as Azzi rummages through her clothes.

“What?” Azzi asks, sort of desperately.

“Your bra,” Caroline says simply.

Azzi looks down at her bra, then turns to Caroline, a little confused. “It’s a cute bra, though?”

“Yeah, it’s cute,” Caroline concedes, leaning back on her hands and giving Azzi an up-and-down look. “But I thought you were trying to get laid tonight?”

Azzi nods, because duh she’s trying to get laid tonight. It’s all she’s been talking about all week.

Caroline wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. “Then, this isn’t really about your outfit. It’s about what’s underneath.”

As she stares at her genius best friend, Azzi nods slowly, starting to get it. “I need lingerie.”

“Yup.” Caroline smiles, satisfied. “As soon as you put some sexy panties on, I promise you, girl, you’re gonna feel better about yourself.”

Azzi is already reaching back into her closet, opening her special drawer and rifling through it. “Should I wear one she hasn’t seen before?”

“Yeah, for sure,” Caroline agrees, standing up and walking over to Azzi, peering over her shoulder at her array of underwear. “And don’t tell her you’re wearing it, either. It has to be a surprise.”

Azzi pulls a few sets out, but none of them particularly catch her eye, and it isn’t until they’ve been searching for a few minutes that Caroline reaches into the closet and grabs a still-sealed box, the logo of a designer lingerie brand on the lid. “What about this?” she asks.

It takes a moment for her to remember what the box contains. She’d bought it just a month ago, on a whim, and while it had cost her a fortune she also couldn’t not buy it. She’d, of course, had Paige in mind when she’d bought it, but they haven’t exactly had lingerie sex in awhile—with their busy schedules, they’ve only had time for spur-of-the-moment quickies and lazy mouths and fingers in the mornings before practice.

But this—this is going to be post-date, make-up sex. The absolute perfect occasion to wear insanely expensive lingerie catered specifically for Paige.

With an excited smile, Azzi (with the help of Caroline) gets all laced into the set. And once it’s on, it becomes surprisingly easy to choose the perfect outfit. Because Azzi knows, by the end of the night, Paige will forget all about what she’s wearing, the memory replaced by what she’s not.

———————————————

Paige, of course, tries to fuck her multiple times before they even get to the restaurant. It starts immediately, when she comes to pick her up and they share a chaste hug and kiss, and Azzi takes the flowers from her hands and turns to find a vase to put them in—Paige’s eyes trail down to her ass and stay there for longer than she’d like to admit. And then Azzi is carefully arranging the flowers, talking about how excited she is for their date, when Paige comes up behind her and holds her tight. It’s a gesture that Azzi thinks is innocent until Paige kisses her neck and murmurs, “You look good, Az. Makes me wanna make us late for our reservation.”

Azzi’s entire body heats at that, but she playfully shoves Paige away, not about to let their hormones get in the way of this date.

But then, it happens again, in the car on the way over. Paige’s hand rests on Azzi’s thigh while she drives, which isn’t unusual, and Azzi doesn’t question it—that is, until her fingers trace a slow but sure path between her legs. Azzi lets it go farther than she probably should, only pulling Paige’s hand away once she’s fully touching her clothed center. Laughing, Azzi returns Paige’s hand onto her side of the car. “Your thigh-touching privileges are revoked for that.”

Paige groans. “I didn’t even do nothing, don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Just keep your hands to yourself, weirdo.”

And when they get to the restaurant, Paige opens her door for her, guides her in by the small of her back, pulls out her chair. It reminds Azzi of a more mature, experienced version of the Paige she dated in high school, and it reminds her exactly why their relationship was so perfect back then. It also reminds her of the aching need between her legs, the one that’s been there for two long weeks and that now practically burns in anticipation. But, she forces herself to ignore it, to just focus on the romance of it all. Paige decides to make that difficult by running a foot up and down her calf, and when she hisses at her to stop, Paige laughs and says, “You’re imagining things.”

It’s not five minutes later that Paige picks up her phone and begins typing. A flash of annoyance comes from the side of Azzi that thrives off attention, more particularly Paige’s attention, and that’s so used to constantly having it it’s a little off-putting when she doesn’t. But then, a moment later, her own phone buzzes, and Paige sets her’s down with a satisfied little smirk.

Azzi rolls her eyes. “You’re stupid.”

“Look at your phone.”

“That’s rude,” Azzi teases. “We’re on our first date.”

“We’ve been on a million dates before,” Paige says, which is technically true. “Look at it.”

Amidst the usual lighthearted, joking tone of Paige’s words, Azzi also catches a hint of something demanding, something that leaves no room for argument—at least, not without repercussion—and it makes it impossible to focus on the setting they’re in without also thinking of the events that will occur when they get home.

She picks up her phone, and there’s a text from one ‘P Boogs 💗’. When she opens it, she finds a stupid, horny text, nothing short of what she expected: can we go fuck in the bathroom or??

Rolling her eyes, and a little relieved that Paige didn’t actually write anything sexy (because if she had, Azzi’s not sure she would’ve been able to resist), she kicks her under the table and sets her phone down. “No, Paige. What’d I say about no more public restrooms?”

Reminiscent of a small child, Paige crosses her arms and slumps back in her seat. “I rebuke that.”

“You don’t know what that word means,” Azzi waves her off, before motioning to their plates. “Now eat before your food gets cold.”

Azzi has only two glasses of wine, so by the time they’re driving home she’s the perfect amount of tipsy. Wine also tends to make her horny, which doesn’t hurt the situation.

“You’re really okay?” Paige asks for what seems like the millionth time. “Because if you’re even, like, a little drunk, we don’t have to—“

“Paige,” Azzi says before she can finish that god-awful sentence. “I’m mostly sober. We’re all good.”

Paige glances over at her, and when she sees the firm look in her eyes she nods, relaxing into a sly smile. As she focuses back on the road, she says, “Good. Because I have an empty apartment tonight.”

The thought of it—the thought that Paige asked her roommates to clear out for the night, knowing what was to come—makes Azzi shift in her seat. The ache between her legs is crossing into painful territory at this point.

By the time they get inside Paige’s apartment, every instinct in Azzi’s body tells her to jump Paige’s bones as soon as the door is locked behind them. But Paige doesn’t really give her a chance—first kicking off her shoes and then immediately heading towards the kitchen. Azzi trails behind her as she opens the fridge.

“Hungry?” Azzi asks, a little confused considering they just had a fairly large meal at dinner. But Paige shakes her head, reaching into the side drawer of the fridge and pulling out a seltzer.

She waves it at Azzi with a smile, though it’s a little unusual—almost wavering? Not the familiar one Azzi’s used to. “Wanted a little drink.”

“Okay,” Azzi says slowly, leaning against the counter, watching as Paige cracks the can open. She shouldn’t be surprised—she herself is tipsy and it’s only fair that Paige would want to catch up after she had to drive. But Azzi has been a little blinded by the filthy thoughts that have been playing through her head all night, and was under the impression they’d fuck against the front door the minute they got home.

She’s already waited two weeks, she reminds herself. Paige only needs a drink or two—they don’t want to be drunk, not tonight—so what’s a couple more minutes?

“It’s kinda hot in here,” Paige says abruptly, and when Azzi looks at her, her cheeks flush. “Isn’t it?”

Azzi’s a little warm, but it’s mostly a mix of the alcohol and pure horniness, so she shakes her head. “Feels okay to me.”

“Oh,” Paige says, and then takes a long swig of her seltzer. She offers up that strange, wavering smile again.

Azzi studies her. This is her best friend, the girl she knows better than she knows herself. Paige is practically an extension of her at this point, it’s that easy for them to read each other. But right now, Paige is acting strange in a way Azzi can’t quite place. She’s been flirting like normal all night, but now that they’re alone she’s putting space between them. And that’s not to mention the blushing, the weird smiling, and the need for a drink.

As Paige takes an extra-long gulp of seltzer, it finally clicks where Azzi has seen this behavior from her: Back in high school, not long into their relationship, the first time they had sex.

She’s nervous.

But, no, that can’t be it, can it? They’ve slept together countless times in the four years since then. Paige knows Azzi’s body like the back of her hand. There’s no reason to be nervous.

Sure that she’s got it all wrong, Azzi crosses over to Paige, watching the way Paige’s gaze falters as she sidles up to her. “Hey,” she says, wrapping her arms around Paige’s neck, “you good?”

Paige blinks, then swallows thickly. “Me? Yeah, I’m all good.” She takes a sip from her drink. “Why you asking?”

Azzi hums, bringing a hand down to guide Paige’s free one to her waist—something she usually never has to do, as Paige tends to be pretty handsy. “You’re acting…weird, all of a sudden.”

Paige gives her a long, hard look, and Azzi thinks she’s about to deny it again but then Paige is sighing and setting her drink on the counter behind her, wrapping both arms around Azzi’s waist. “I guess I feel a little…nervous, for some reason?” she shakes her head, locks her hands behind Azzi’s back as if to steady them. “I’on know, bro. It’s stupid.”

Azzi shakes her head, playing with the baby hairs at the nape of Paige’s neck. “It’s not stupid.”

“Kinda is,” Paige says, chuckling at herself but it’s a shaky, breathy sound.

“Hey,” Azzi says gently, bringing a hand up to brush a stray strand of hair from Paige’s face, “if you’re not up to it, we don’t have to.” (Even though she spent the entire night suffering through a thong up her ass. The things we do for love.)

But Paige firmly shakes her head, gripping Azzi’s waist more tightly just to show how much she means it. “No, I don’t—you have no idea how much—“

“Yes, I do,” Azzi says incredulously. “I really fucking do.”

Paige’s breath hitches, and her gaze flicks down to Azzi’s lips. Azzi does the same, allured by the shiny gloss there, knowing it’s vanilla flavored from their previous chaste kisses tonight. She wants to taste more of it. Wonders if Paige’s lotion is vanilla, too.

“P,” she murmurs. Paige’s eyes don’t waver away when she hums, “Yeah?”

“Don’t be nervous,” she says quietly, bringing a hand down to cup her cheek, which gets Paige to look at her. “You know me,” she almost whispers.

Slowly, Paige nods, and when she leans down to connect their lips, Azzi nearly groans at the slight contact. It’s chaste to the point of innocent but it’s something, and they’re alone, and god does Paige look so good in this outfit. Paige readjusts, shifting so their legs are slotted together as she deepens the kiss just slightly, and Azzi reminisces on how she’s been waiting for this all night. Since that fateful night at Ted’s, really.

With Paige’s leg between her thighs, Azzi takes the opportunity to bare down, just slightly, only enough to increase the tension between her legs more than relieve it. But Paige groans into her mouth at the feeling and it lights her senses on fire.

They found a good dynamic years ago, and it’s one in which Paige often leads, allowing Azzi to follow without giving her the responsibility of being the first to move, to make decisions—something she’s always been more hesitant with. The past six months they’ve experimented some, stepping out of the comfort zone they had in high school and trying new things. But they still found that, for the most part, Paige prefers to lead, and Azzi prefers to be led—it just works.

But, even now, as Azzi dips her tongue into Paige’s mouth and brushes it against her’s, Paige still seems a little withheld. It’s obvious that she’s overthinking this, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out why—this is big for them. They’ve talked about their feelings and gone on their first date and this feels a little like the last step in a routine that will throw them back into that all-consuming, intense relationship they had in high school. Which is exciting, and it feels natural, like it’s only the right thing to do—but it’s a little scary, too. And, knowing she’s being expected to lead, Paige is worried about getting it wrong. Messing up, somehow.

So when Azzi pushes against the fabric of Paige’s blazer, letting it slip off her shoulders, it’s not really a conscious thought that she’s taking over this time. It’s just—something she needs to do. And, if the absolute fire in her belly says anything, it’s something she wants to do, too.

Opening her mouth a little wider, Azzi sucks Paige’s tongue gently between her lips, drawing it out slightly, and when she pulls off it she opens her eyes to find Paige with her mouth wide open, tongue out, barely five minutes into kissing and already looking so desperate for her.

The sight makes Azzi groan a little, her eyes trailing from Paige’s lips, to the curve of her jaw, to her slender neck, and without thinking about it she slides her hands around Paige’s throat, squeezing experimentally. It elicits the right reaction, Paige’s eyes widening, hands sliding down to Azzi’s ass.

Pulling her close again, Azzi ducks down, moving a hand to the side to kiss sloppily at the skin revealed there. Paige sighs, always having liked being kissed on the neck, and Azzi mutters, “Marks?”

There’s a slight pause, Azzi’s lips hovering just shy of kissing the skin of Paige’s neck, and as soon as Paige hums out a noise of affirmation, she’s basically attacking her, tongue soothing over skin as she sucks hungrily. Her hips grind instinctively down on Paige’s knee as her hands slide lower, down her chest to squeeze her tits through her thin tank. Paige gasps, using her leverage on Azzi’s ass to pull her down harder on her leg. At this point, she’s sure she’s soaking through her fancy lingerie just listening to the little noises Paige is making, and suddenly, Azzi feels hungry. The kind of hungry that tends to be insatiable.

As soon as the thought comes to her, her hands fly to the button of Paige’s jeans, staring down to watch her hands work it open. Paige watches, too, then brings a hand up to Azzi’s cheek. Azzi halts her movements, looking up at her, searching her face for any sign to stop and finding a little hesitancy there. “Hey,” she says, “you good?”

Paige nods, then glances furtively down at Azzi’s hands. “I don’t think I’m ready for—your fingers.”

Soothing her hands across Paige’s hips, Azzi nods, pressing a tender kiss to her cheek. “I know, baby,” she says—Paige has always needed a good amount of buildup before any actual intrusion. “Wasn’t gonna use my fingers.”

Paige blinks, thoughts obviously a little sluggish as it takes a moment for the words to register, but once she does, she nods eagerly. “Shit. Okay.”

With one last peck on the lips, Azzi’s fingers get back to work, and as she slides the jeans down her legs she goes down with them, dropping slowly to her knees. She helps Paige step out of the pants and then tosses them to the side, looping her arms around her thighs and urging her to widen her stance. She presses a few comforting kisses to Paige’s pelvic bone and across her hips, breathing in the familiar scent of her as her kisses stray lower. As she licks up the inside of a thigh, her eyes open, glancing at the girl’s boxers and the wet patch growing on them. Feeling quite proud of herself, she smirks, biting at her thigh and relishing in the way Paige hisses.

“Stop messin’ with me,” Paige breathes, bringing a hand to Azzi’s head and trying to move her closer to her cunt.

“Uh-uh,” Azzi says, using a hand of her own to move Paige’s firmly away. When she looks up at her, Paige looks wrecked, which does amazing things to Azzi’s ego considering she hasn’t even touched her yet. Loving the expression on Paige’s face—lips slightly parted, eyes fluttering, the picture of submission—she decides to try and coax more out of her. “No touching,” she adds, something Paige likes to do whenever she’s being particularly needy. When Paige starts to protest, she moves her hand to her clothed clit and rubs harshly, cutting her off. “You heard me, baby.”

Paige’s eyebrows furrow, either from pleasure or annoyance or, more likely, both. “Azzi, please—“

“Shh,” Azzi soothes, removing her thumb and licking a stripe up her boxers—the faintest taste of her already addictive. “Be patient.”

She expects more resistance—the few times they’ve switched roles like this, it takes at least an orgasm for Paige to take her commands. But today must be different—is different—and Paige dutifully shuts up, using her hands to brace herself against the counter as she tilts her head down to watch.

Pleased, Azzi removes her boxers, salivating at the pretty pink peeking out from between her legs, and it’s all she can do when she uses her thumbs to spread her open, groaning when she gets a good look at the familiar, dripping folds. “So pretty,” she can’t help but mumble, leaning forward to press a kiss against her, licking her lips to taste the arousal left there. Paige’s hips buck, and Azzi gives her a sharp slap to the thigh. Paige nearly whines, which is kinda new—they’ll have to experiment with it later. “What’d I say, hm?” she asks, unable to keep herself from pressing her tongue between her cunt lips and licking upward, eyes nearly rolling into the back of her head at the taste. “Be patient.”

“Fuck,” Paige gasps above her.

It takes every ounce of self-restraint in Azzi’s body to not just dive in and devour her like a woman starved. It’s been far too long since she went down on Paige, even before their two weeks of celibacy, and she wants nothing more than to push her tongue inside and draw out as much slick as she can. But she also knows all too well that Paige likes to be ate slow. So, slow it is, as she licks up around her folds, tongue dragging delicately over her clit.

Her eyes fall shut, focusing on how wet Paige is against her tongue, dipping just slightly into her hole where the taste is the strongest and reveling at how good it is.

When Paige makes a high-pitched noise in the back of her throat, Azzi looks up at her, watching her reaction as she gently sucks her clit into her mouth. Paige is leaning back against the counter, cunt pressed into Azzi’s face desperately, and it’s obvious she’s trying to keep still. But when Azzi’s tongue flicks against her clit as she sucks, Paige can’t help but gasp, hips bucking just slightly.

With painted nails, Azzi squeezes her thigh just enough to get her attention. When Paige looks down at her, she pulls off her clit with a wet noise and says, “Hold your shirt up, babe.”

It’s amazing how quickly Paige obeys, rucking her tank up to reveal her bare chest, nipples pink and hard. Azzi doesn’t even try to stop herself from reaching up to play with one of them as she dives back into her pussy.

Her clit is already puffy, sensitive to her every touch based off the way Paige moans when she flicks her tongue against it. She licks little shapes, taking note of which ones draw the most sound out of the older girl. It’s mostly for her own benefit when she traces the letters of her own name on her pussy, but Paige whines high-pitched and needy like she knows.

Azzi pulls away just enough to see that her clit is an angrier pink now, twitching almost imperceptibly, and she gives it a break, moving lower to suck around her hole, drinking the copious juices she’s teased out. When she presses her tongue inside, she finds much less resistance than last time, and her fingers itch to be inside her.

This time, when she pulls away, Paige whines again—the sound a mix of frustration and desperation—and Azzi soothes a hand up the inside of her thigh. Paige’s eyes are hooded now as they lock with Azzi’s, and Azzi smiles up at her. “Hey,” she mutters.

“Uh-huh,” Paige breathes, nearly panting at this point.

“Think you’re ready?” Azzi asks. Paige gives her a quizzical look and she holds up her right hand in explanation. “Wanna finger you.”

As if on their own accord, Paige’s hips jerk forward. When she says, “Yes,” it’s nothing more than a breathy little sigh, but it’s enough.

Nodding, her eyes go back to Paige’s cunt, gaze immediately going to her hole, clenching around nothing. She brings two fingers up and dips inside, then drags them through her pretty folds, making sure they’re plenty wet. And then, without another warning, she plunges into her pussy, moaning as she’s immediately swallowed by wet heat.

Paige’s reaction is visceral, hips pressing down to meet her halfway, hands falling to her head, previous no-touching rules forgotten. Azzi decides to let it go, though, as she watches Paige’s features contort beautifully, pleasure etched into every sound she makes.

Azzi pulls out, presses deeper. Does it again, and then stays inside long enough to push up against her walls.

It’s then that Paige starts talking.

“Oh, fuck, Azzi,” she breathes, still generally pretty quiet, something Azzi plans to have changed once she’s done with her. “You feel so—good, Az, fingers feel so fucking good.”

“Yeah?” Azzi coos. She loves it when Paige gets to the babbling stage of fucking, and is quick to egg her on. “You like that, huh?”

“Mm-hmm, missed it—needed it—I don’t—“ she chokes on her sentence when Azzi plunges particularly deep. “Oh, baby, right there. So fucking good at that.”

“I know,” she murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to Paige’s clit. “You missed me, right? Missed this?”

“Of course I—“ she gasps, arches forward, “did.”

Suddenly, Azzi speeds up, filthy squelching sounds filling the room as her fingers move relentlessly inside Paige, palm coming to meet her clit again and again. Paige mewls, shifting a little, and Azzi uses her free hand to hoist her leg over her shoulder, allowing for a better angle.

“Oh!” Paige cries out, hands gripping Azzi’s head for leverage. “Oh, oh fuck. Baby, baby—mm, so deep—Azzi, more.”

“More?” Azzi asks, pulling her eyes away from where she’s wrecking Paige’s cunt to double-check. Paige usually can’t take more than two.

“Uh-huh,” Paige nods fervently.

Azzi doesn’t slow down, concern about hurting the other girl cutting through her own haze of pleasure. “You sure?”

“Yes,” Paige says, exasperation filling her voice.

“I just don’t want to hurt y—“

“Azzi, if you don’t give me another finger right now I swear to God—“

That’s all it takes for Azzi to pause her movements, pulling out enough to add another finger, and finding it surprisingly easy when she slides back in again. It’s not long before she builds up to her earlier rhythm, Paige’s hips moving against her hand, and then wet sounds are filling the room again, slick trailing down Azzi’s wrist.

Somewhere between Paige’s high-pitched moans and desperate little whines, she calls Azzi’s name. Azzi presses a kiss to her belly and says, “Yeah?”

“Can you—?” there’s hesitance in her tone that gives Azzi pause, movements slowing once again to look up at her.

“What’s up?” she prompts, gently as possibly through the arousal scraping rough against her vocal chords.

“Just, come here,” Paige finally says, hands moving from Azzi’s head to her shoulders, urging her up.

Azzi softens, mind becoming a little less cloudy at the request. Carefully, she eases Paige’s leg off her shoulder, then works up to her feet, keeping her fingers firmly inside Paige all the while. As soon as she’s up, Paige’s arms go around her shoulders, pulling her in, and Azzi smiles softly at the absolutely fucked-out, but undeniably lovesick, look on the other girl’s face.

Pressing a kiss to Paige’s cheek, she starts moving again, staying close so that Paige’s lips are right by her ear, hearing every sound she makes.

“I love you,” Paige mutters, forehead dropping onto Azzi’s shoulder.

Azzi presses a smile into Paige’s hairline, the gesture so innocent compared to the hand between her legs. “Love you, too, P.”

At that, Paige chokes on a moan, only just managing a feeble, “I’m close.”

Azzi nods, doubling her efforts. “Take your time, baby.”

“Mm-hmm,” Paige hums, but then she’s reiterating, “oh, fuck, Azzi, I’m really fuckin’ close.”

To be honest, Azzi is, too. It wouldn’t be the first time she’s come untouched, deriving pleasure from the simple act of giving it to Paige. But she holds back, forces herself to focus on the girl in her arms, running her free hand up and down Paige’s waist. “Yeah? About to come?”

Paige grasps her tighter, too fucked out to respond, but her following whines are answer enough.

“Give it to me, P,” she urges, knowing words are always the last thing Paige needs to tip her over the edge. “Wanna feel you coming all over my fingers, okay? Need you to show me how good I make you feel.”

Paige nods, and Azzi coos a, “Good, girl,” into her ear, and that’s all it takes for Paige’s hips to stutter, abs tightening as she spasms around Azzi’s fingers, crying out her name like it’s the only word she remembers. And at this point, it might be.

It takes awhile for her to come down, letting Azzi continue to thrust slowly for another minute or so before finally pushing her away. “Too much,” she breathes.

“Okay, baby,” Azzi says, pulling out slowly, bringing her hand up to Paige’s lips once she’s done. Paige doesn’t hesitate to take them into her mouth and suck, and it’s as she runs her tongue between her fingers that Azzi is reminded of just how magical her mouth is. Trying to sound casual, Azzi takes her hand back and says, “Hey, you all done?”

Paige is panting, hands going down to hold Azzi by the waist, looking as if she can barely hold herself up—but still, she shakes her head. “Nah, I can go for more.”

“Good,” Azzi says, stepping out of Paige’s grasp with a sly smile. Paige opens her mouth to protest but then Azzi swiftly pulls her shirt over her head, revealing her lavender lacy bra which leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination. Whatever Paige was about to say dies in her throat. “I may have planned for this when I was getting ready.”

Her pants are still on—Paige hasn’t even had the pleasure of seeing the garter yet—but already her jaw is practically on the floor. “Oh, shit.”

“Uh-huh.” Reaching out, she takes Paige’s hand in her own, leading her down the familiar path to Paige’s room. “You can thank Caroline, by the way. Was her idea.”

“For real?” Paige asks as they enter the bedroom. She plops down on the edge of the bed, watching as Azzi locks the door behind them. Her eyes rake not-so-subtly over her frame as she watches her. “I’ll send her a card and flowers for this shit.”

Azzi laughs breathily, leaning against the doorframe.

Paige raises her eyebrows and then reaches behind her head, pulling her own shirt off and discarding it on the floor. “Aight, I think I can feel my legs again. Lay down, mama.” She smiles deviously. “I’m bouta get you right.”

—————————————

Paige has never been a good liar—which is clear, considering twenty minutes later she has her head between Azzi’s thighs, making her legs shake as she eats her relentlessly.

She’s already put on the strap, and this is her way of getting Azzi ready—alternating between eating her slow and then absolutely devouring her, pulling away every time she gets close to the edge, overstimulating her without even making her come.

“Paige, please,” she basically cries out for the nth time since they started. “I need you.”

Paige only smirks from between her legs, quite cocky considering she just got fucked into oblivion less than an hour ago. “What was it you said to me earlier? About being patient?”

Azzi rolls her eyes (though it may be more from the way Paige sucks on her folds than how annoying she is). “Mm—shut up, you liked it.”

Paige sure as hell isn’t about to admit that. Of course, though, she had enjoyed it, had reveled in the pleasure she took from giving up control, letting herself be told what to do. But now it’s Azzi’s turn, and she needs to regain control of the situation-hence, the edging. “Do you want me to fuck you?” she asks, muffled in Azzi’s pussy. “Or not?”

Azzi can’t say no to that, obviously, but still sounds a little ashamed when she lets out a meek little, “Yes.”

Paige quirks an eyebrow up at her. “Yeah? You done bossing me around?”

Azzi doesn’t respond to that, lips forming into a cute little pout that’s also reminiscent of the face she makes when she gets bratty. Chuckling, Paige shakes her head, pressing a lingering kiss to her clit. “I’on think so, baby. You had your fun.” Slowly, she crawls her way back up the bed, Azzi scooching up with her. “Now you’re gonna tell me watchu want. And you’re gonna be polite about it.”

The demanding tone in Paige’s voice is usually enough to set Azzi right, but she must’ve gotten too big a head after her little stunt earlier because now she doesn’t say anything, just looks at Paige a little defiantly.

Admittedly, she looks adorable, and Paige wants to kiss that look off her face. But she can’t let Azzi think that this is how it’s gonna be now. “Alright, pretty girl. If that’s how you’re gonna be, I’ma get right back down there and make you come on my tongue. You won’t get no strap tonight.”

At that threat (which is baseless, considering Paige is absolutely going to strap Azzi down one way or another tonight) Azzi’s eyes widen, and she shakes her head. “Okay, okay, no, I’m sorry, I don’t—I need you inside, Paige. Please?”

Grinning, Paige leans down and kisses her forehead. “That’s what I thought.”

Taking the silicon in her hand, Paige balances on one elbow as she drags it slowly through Azzi’s folds, taking extra care to bump the head against her swollen clit. When Azzi gasps, her eyes flit to her face, checking that she’s okay. “You ready, baby girl?”

Azzi hesitates, looking down at the toy between them. “It’s bigger than the last one.”

It’s true—this is a new strap, one Azzi herself actually suggested, claiming she wanted to try something bigger. They still have their last one, just in case this doesn’t work out, and Paige is about to remind her of that when Azzi shakes her head to herself and says, “It’s okay, I’m good.”

“You sure?” Paige asks suspiciously. “Because if it’s too big…”

“Nope. I’m sure.”

“Babe, we don’t have to do anything you don’t wanna.”

Azzi’s eyes move down to follow the cock, watching as Paige moves it methodically through her soaking folds, and her eyes grow a little wider. “Yeah, okay, I’m definitely sure.”

Amused, Paige watches as the younger girl stares, incredibly hungrily, at the toy. “Okay, princess. You gotta tell me if it hurts, though, okay?”

“I will,” Azzi promises. With that, Paige guides the tip down to her entrance, pushing her hips forward and against the resistance she finds there, studying Azzi’s face carefully.

After a moment, the head slides in, and Azzi gasps, wincing a little. “You good?” Paige asks, taking her hand off the cock to stroke Azzi’s cheek.

“Good,” Azzi confirms, swallowing thickly as her eyes meet Paige’s. “Just—go slow.”

“‘Course,” Paige says, leaning forward to press their foreheads together as she pushes in further. “Sweet girl,” she murmurs, mostly to distract her, “y’look so pretty like this, mama.”

She’s about halfway in at this point and Azzi gasps again, breathing out a word that sounds enough like a stop for Paige to halt. “Too much?”

Azzi’s knees are bent, feet flat against the mattress as Paige lays between them, but now she readjusts, wrapping them around Paige’s back for better leverage. “Okay,” she says once she’s done, giving Paige a little nod. “I’m good, keep going.”

Not loving the bossy tone of her voice, Paige makes a face at her. “Manners, princess.”

Azzi frowns but still lets out a little, “Please,” anyway.

With that, Paige jerks her hips, burying the dildo inside to the hilt. Azzi cries out, surprised and left breathless from the sheer stretch of it. “Shit,” she breathes, “so much for going slow.”

“Mm,” Paige hums, ducking down to kiss into Azzi’s neck. “‘S what you get for being bratty.”

“Yeah, okay,” Azzi sighs—Paige can’t tell if she’s being sarcastic or actually conceding—and her head falls to the side, allowing more access to her neck, which Paige already marked up earlier.

“I good to move?” Paige asks.

“I think so,” Azzi replies, breath still caught from the sudden fullness.

Paige rocks her hips back, eyes flitting from Azzi’s face to her pussy, unable to keep from watching as she slides back in, eyes widening as she watches her cunt swallow it whole, basically sucking her in.

When she does it again, a little more smoothly this time, Azzi fists the bedsheets so hard her knuckles turn white. “Mmph—so deep, P.”

“Yeah? Feel good?” she asks lowly, rutting her hips flush into her when Azzi nods, building a steady rhythm. Her eyes land on Azzi’s face, contorted with pleasure, then rove down over her body—her neck, her tits, her stomach—until she lands back on the strap. The sight has her leaning down on her elbows, heart racing as she breathes deep to steady herself.

Picking up the pace just a little, Paige lifts herself up, watching as Azzi’s eyebrows furrow, her fists tight in the sheets. The bed is starting to squeak now, which just turns her on even more if that’s possible, and she nuzzles her nose into the crook of Azzi’s neck, muttering, “Hold on to me, baby, it’s okay.”

Azzi’s arms come up to loop around her neck before she’s even done with the sentence, and Paige smirks, pressing a few kisses into her cheek. “How’s it feel, hm? How deep am I?”

“So fucking deep,” Azzi breathes, and it shouldn’t come as a surprise how close she sounds considering Paige has been working her towards the edge for awhile now.

Paige brings a hand down between their bodies, using it to rub a few tight circles against Azzi’s clit, stopping when she starts whining. And Azzi makes a sound of protest but it’s quickly cut off by a moan when Paige’s hand moves instead to press against her lower abdomen, pushing down hard enough to feel the strap moving inside her.

“Baby, baby, please,” Azzi slurs, crying out in time with Paige’s thrusts, “right there—keep doing that, fuck.”

Who would Paige be to tell her no? There’s that whiny edge to her tone, all desperate and needy, a telltale sign she’s getting close. Pressing down a little harder on her stomach, Paige speeds up significantly, angling her hips up in an attempt to hit that spot deep inside.

Based off the high-pitched moan Azzi let’s put, it works.

“Shit, look at that,” Paige says when she looks between them again. The strap is soaking now, and so are the bedsheets, a mix of Paige and Azzi’s arousal leaking down onto them. Angling her hand down, Paige uses her fingers to spread her lips open, groaning as she gets a better view of Azzi’s cunt swallowing the entire dick. “Taking it so good, mama. Fuck, that pussy crying for my dick, huh?”

“Paige, fuck, yes,” Azzi gasps, clawing almost desperately at Paige’s shoulders.

“Close?” Paige asks, trying to gauge where she’s at based off the way her legs are beginning to shake, noises becoming less breathy, more insistent.

Azzi nods, maybe all she can manage at this point, and Paige rocks forward deep, pleased with the way Azzi’s mouth falls open, tits bouncing with each thrust.

They’re silent for a few moments, nothing but the sound of the bedframe fighting for its life and Azzi’s pussy squelching around her cock filling the room. “Hear that?” she asks, using her fingers to rub harshly against her clit, only adding to the filthy sounds in the room. “Best pussy in the world, baby. And it’s mine, huh?”

Azzi only manages a pathetic “uh-huh”, and that’s just not good enough for Paige. “Nah, you gotta tell me, princess. Tell me whose pussy this is and I’ll let you come, okay?”

It takes Azzi a moment, probably trying to gather her scattered thoughts, before she whines out a needy little, “Yours, fuck, my pussy’s all fucking yours.”

Nodding, Paige presses a kiss to Azzi’s parted lips. “That’s right, mama. You wanna come?”

Tears are gathering at the corners of Azzi’s eyes when she nods, and it only spurs Paige on further. “Go ahead, pretty girl. Come all fuckin’ over my dick. Lemme feel it, baby.”

And that’s all Azzi needs, her back arching off the bed, moaning all high-pitched as she comes, pussy clenching around the dildo, nails scratching down Paige’s back, leaving her shuddering. She doesn’t stop, though, rolling her hips deep into Azzi’s through every tremor, only stilling when Azzi shakes her head, tapping against Paige’s hip.

She gives her a moment to catch her breath before saying, “Can I pull out?”

“Uh-huh,” Azzi sighs, throwing an arm across her face as Paige slowly eases out of her. She manages to get the strap off and tosses it onto the floor, a problem for future them to deal with, before laying next to Azzi, pulling her into her chest. She chuckles at Azzi’s blissed-out expression, and Azzi’s eyes open at the sound, peering at her a little sleepily.

“You laughing?” she asks, no real accusation in her tone.

“At you? Never,” Paige jokes. Azzi slaps her chest, collapsing back onto it, sighing as she wraps a leg around Paige’s waist. She’s not the touchiest person in general, and Paige finds it endearing how snuggly she gets after sex.

Her hands begin to run up and down Azzi’s bare back, and when she hears Azzi sigh, she’s quick to speak, trying to catch the younger girl before she inevitably falls asleep. “Hey,” she says, “you okay?”

“Mm,” Azzi hums.

“Was it good?” Paige asks, even though she already knows the answer.

“Very,” Azzi replies, cuddling closer into Paige’s neck. “Missed you.”

“Two weeks is too long,” Paige agrees. Azzi chuckles softly, and Paige angles her head to look at her, only to find that her eyes are closed and her lips are slightly parted.

“Why are you tryna sleep,” Paige very nearly whines.

Azzi lifts her head lazily, resting her chin on Paige’s chest to raise an eyebrow at her. “Because you just fucked the shit outta me. I’m tired.”

“I did, didn’t I?” Paige sighs dreamily.

Rolling her eyes, Azzi lays her head back down, settling back into her. “Lemme sleep, okay? I need some energy for the morning sex tomorrow.”

“F’real?” Paige can’t keep the excitement out of her tone at this.

Azzi shrugs coyly, yawns. “If you’re good.”

Internally, Paige vows to be the absolute best. Even if it means no yapping.

Her silence only lasts a few moments but, surprisingly, it’s Azzi who speaks. “And, babe?”

“Yeah?”

“You’d better ask me to be your girlfriend tomorrow.”

(Paige does, in fact, ask Azzi to be her girlfriend ‘again’, as she puts it. Azzi, of course, says yes.)

(Oh, also, Caroline does receive a thank you letter and a bouquet of flowers in the mail a few days later. Confused, she opens the letter, to find it reads, “Thx for helping azzi pick that fit for our date. you’re a g mama carol. p.s. the sex was ridiculously good.” Caroline sends a photo of it to Azzi, wondering why she needed to know about the sex. Azzi replies with a shrugging emoji and a, “She’s not lying though”.)

#pazzi #azzi fudd #paige bueckers #pazzi fics #uconn wbb #wcbb #wbb #paige bueckers smut #azzi fudd smut #pazzi smut #lilah’s works #that’s so true pt 2

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anhedoniawrites · 1 day ago

Text

it’s not a date, we just kinda fuck around.

gif by @reidgif

june baby - victoria canal

Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU Reader.

summary: the two youngest BAU agents go on a first date

genre: fluff💌

word count: 8.5k

warnings: no use of y/n, proofread, none! (this is all foreplay for the smut that’s coming)

masterlist!

You never thought Spencer Reid would actually work up the courage to ask you out. Yet here you were, standing in your apartment with only ten minutes to spare, staring at your closet like it held the answer to life itself. Nothing seemed good enough, and you still had no idea what to wear. If you’d had even the slightest inkling that this day would come, you would have pre-planned outfits for every possible scenario—a casual coffee shop, a romantic dinner, even an impromptu museum date. But you hadn’t, because as much as you’d daydreamed about it, you never thought it would happen.

Spencer Reid had always been a harmless work crush. Brilliant, kind, and charming in his uniquely awkward way, he was the type of man you admired from a distance, assuming he was far too shy—or uninterested—to make a move. Yet somehow, against all odds, you were, nervously getting ready to go on a date with him.

The memory of how it all unfolded still made you smile. You’d been in the work kitchen, fixing your usual afternoon coffee, when Spencer had wandered in with his signature blend of distracted focus and nervous energy. You glanced up as he approached, expecting nothing more than a quick hello and maybe some small talk about the latest case. Instead, he surprised you.

“Hi,” he said, his voice softer than usual, almost hesitant. He stood a little too close to the coffee pot, fiddling with the lid as if it held the courage he needed.

“Hey, Spencer,” you replied, smiling warmly.

They chatted about nothing in particular—books, coffee, the endless intricacies of caffeine preferences—until, without warning, he blurted out the question.

“Would you, um… would you ever want to get coffee together? Like, outside of work?”

Your heart skipped a beat. It wasn’t a grand gesture or a sweeping declaration, but it was undeniably Spencer—quiet, earnest, and completely endearing. You’d barely managed to contain your excitement as you said yes, feeling like a teenager with a crush all over again.

Now, standing in your room, you glanced at the clock. Seven minutes. You grabbed a dress—something simple yet flattering—and slipped it on, your mind racing. You’d been waiting for this moment since the day you joined the team, and now that it was yours, you couldn’t help but wonder how the evening would go. Would he be his usual awkward self? Would he surprise you again with something bold and unexpected?

Whatever happened, you knew one thing: Spencer Reid had already managed to surprise you once.

Seven agonising minutes—each second stretched out like an eternity. The silence was suffocating, gnawing at you from the inside out, until the sudden knock at the door broke the tension. Your heart leapt in your chest. He was here. Spencer was finally here, and your nerves threatened to spill over.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, before opening the door with a forced smile. The sight of him standing there, his hands fidgeting nervously, only made your own anxiety rise. He looked just as uneasy, maybe even more so. His usually confident posture was slightly hunched, his eyes darting to the floor, avoiding yours for a moment before he met your gaze.

“Hey, Spence,” you greeted, your voice trembling slightly despite your best efforts to sound calm.

“Hey, I- um…” Spencer hesitated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. His voice was soft, uncertain. He stepped forward, pulling a bouquet of lilies from behind his figure. The delicate white flowers were a perfect match for your taste, and you couldn’t help but smile, your nerves easing just a little. “These are for you.”

You felt a flutter in your chest, your smile widening. “Spence, you shouldn’t have,” you said, reaching out to take the bouquet, feeling a warmth in your fingertips as you touched the smooth, delicate petals. The scent of the lilies was intoxicating, and for a moment, you were lost in the fragrance.

He shifted awkwardly, his eyes darting around as if searching for something to say. “I, uh… I thought you’d like them.”

You stepped aside, gesturing for him to come in. “You thought right. Come in, Spence.”

He followed you into your apartment, his presence oddly comforting despite the tension still hanging between them. You quickly moved toward the kitchen, trying to focus on something, anything, to distract yourself from the storm of emotions churning inside you.

As you walked, you couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed. The apartment was far from pristine. The cluttered coffee table, the dishes piled up in the sink—it wasn’t the welcoming space you’d imagined showing him. “I’m so sorry the place is a mess,” you said, your cheeks warming with self-consciousness. You carefully set the lilies down on the counter, your hands trembling slightly as you arranged them.

Spencer’s eyes softened as he glanced around, a small, understanding smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “It’s fine,” he reassured you, his voice gentle. “You should see my place.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, the sound soft and nervous. As you filled a vase with water, you thought back to the little things he had taught you, like how to properly cut the stems of flowers to help them last longer. You carefully angled the scissors and snipped each stem at a diagonal, the sound of the cut echoing in the quiet kitchen. You remembered him telling you that the angled cut would help the flowers drink better, and you did it now without thinking. The thought of him lingered in your mind as you worked, a smile playing on your lips.

The bouquet was finally settled in the vase, its elegant white petals standing out against the cool glass. You stepped back, admiring the flowers, but it was Spencer’s presence in the room that made everything feel just a little bit brighter.

“Much better. Thank you, Spence,” you said, your voice soft with appreciation as you glanced at the flowers on the kitchen counter. Their vibrant white petals stood out against the cool, clear glass of the vase, the room suddenly feeling a little warmer, a little brighter. You grabbed your bag from the chair, the familiar weight of it grounding you. You turned to face him, your nerves still fluttering, but your excitement growing as the moment approached.

“You ready?” you asked, your voice light but with an undercurrent of anticipation.

Spencer hesitated, his gaze flickering to the floor for a split second. He wasn’t sure if he was ever truly ready, especially not when it came to dates. His stomach twisted in knots, but that nervous energy was overshadowed by the excitement of being with you, of sharing a moment like this.

“Yeah, absolutely,” he replied, a nervous but genuine smile tugging at his lips.

With that, they were out the door, stepping into the crisp air of Washington. The city felt alive around them, the hum of the streets, the distant chatter of people, the soft rustling of leaves in the wind. They strolled side by side, both holding their coffee cups, yours an iced concoction with a splash of cream, his steaming hot with a swirl of cinnamon. He wasn’t usually one for aimless wandering, but as he looked over at you, he realized that this moment was worth it.

Your face, illuminated by the golden afternoon sun, was pure contentment. Your eyes sparkled as they took in the world around you, lighting up at every little thing. Whether it was a street performer, a stray cat lazily sunning itself, or the way the city skyline framed the horizon, you had a way of making the mundane seem magical. And he, well, he would do anything to keep seeing that smile on your face, to be the reason your eyes shone with that infectious joy.

As they passed a little street corner, your gaze drifted across the road, and your eyes lit up once again. There, nestled between a café and a bookstore, was a small record store with a neon sign flashing softly in the window.

“Can we go in?” you asked, your voice filled with excitement, your fingers already tugging gently at his sleeve.

Spencer followed your gaze, his heart doing a little flip at the eagerness in your voice. You had that effect on him—the way you made even the simplest moments feel special. “Of course,” he said with a smile, his voice soft but sincere. “Lead the way.”

And just like that, they crossed the street together, the world outside fading into the background as they stepped into the warmth of the record store. The air smelled faintly of old vinyl and coffee, and the soft hum of music played in the background, creating the perfect atmosphere for them to lose themselves in.

“Smell that?” you asked, your nose lifting to the air as you inhaled deeply, a mischievous grin tugging at your lips. “That’s the smell of the best way to listen to music.” The scent of aged vinyl, dust, and nostalgia filled the space, wrapping around them like a cozy blanket. You laughed at yourself, a light, airy sound that seemed to match the atmosphere of the record store perfectly. Spencer couldn’t help but join in, his laugh a little quieter but no less genuine, his eyes softening as he watched you.

“You spend too much time with Rossi,” Spencer teased, his fingers flicking through the rows of records, his gaze scanning the colourful covers. He was looking for something—anything—that caught his attention, but his mind was more on the way you lit up in places like this, surrounded by things you loved.

You raised an eyebrow, feigning offence as you met his gaze, your hand pausing mid-air over a stack of albums. “I am offended by your words, Dr. Reid,” you replied, your tone playful, your eyes sparkling with a teasing edge.

Spencer smiled, the edges of his mouth curling up into something warmer as he continued flipping through the records, pretending to be serious. “You should be. That’s a direct quote from Rossi himself,” he said, holding up a record sleeve and giving it a quick glance before setting it back down.

Your laugh filled the space again, bright and free. You pulled another record from the shelf, this one with a faded cover you recognised from years ago. “Well, if I spend too much time with Rossi, then I guess I’m doomed to become a vinyl snob,” you joked, flipping the record over to check the tracklist. You ran your fingers over the edges of the sleeve, feeling the familiar grooves of the cover, the little imperfections that only came with time.

You glanced over at Spencer, watching him for a moment as he flipped through his own stack. There was something so easy about being with him here, in this small, dimly lit shop filled with memories and melodies. “I mean, how else are you supposed to listen to music?” you asked, raising an eyebrow dramatically as you glanced down at the album in your hands. Then, with a theatrical flair, you placed your free hand on your hip and tilted your head back, doing your best (and rather exaggerated) impersonation of Rossi. “It’s the only way to really appreciate it. The crackle, the warmth… it’s like you can feel the music,” you said, making a show of puffing out an imaginary cigar and letting the smoke trail into the air.

Spencer’s laughter was immediate, loud, and genuine, as he looked over at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Oh my God,” he chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “You are way too good at that.”

You grinned, clearly pleased with yourself. “I’ve been practicing,” you said, striking a mock pose, your hand still poised as if holding the cigar, before you finally broke into another fit of laughter. Spencer couldn’t help but join you, his smile wide and full of affection. “Rossi would be proud,” he teased, his voice light, but there was a fondness in the way he looked at you.

You winked, a mischievous glint in your eyes. “Well, if I’m ever in need of a new career, I think I’ve got this down.”

By the time you reached the end of your long search through the endless rows of records, you had carefully chosen a couple you were willing to splurge on. Cradling the records against your chest, you joined the line at the register, the buzz of the store humming around you.

When your turn came, you placed the records on the counter, chatting casually with the cashier as you fied through your bag for your wallet. Your voice was light, a touch distracted as your fingers rifled through your belongings.

Unbeknownst to you, Spencer had stepped closer, the faintest hint of a mischievous smile on his lips. Without a word, he slipped his card onto the reader. The machine beeped, signalling the completed transaction just as you finally found your wallet and looked up.

Confused, your gaze darted between the cashier and Spencer, who was already sliding his card back into his wallet with an air of nonchalance.

“Spencer!” you gasped, stepping out of line with him as they headed toward the exit. You gave him that look—the one that said he didn’t have to do what he just did. Your lips parted to speak, but he beat you to it.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you said softly, your voice laced with both gratitude and protest. Your hazel eyes darted to the floor for a moment before flicking back to him, catching the warm, self-assured look in his own. You didn’t like people spending money on you when you had plenty of your own. The records weren’t cheap, either.

Spencer, however, shrugged it off with a quiet confidence that surprised even himself. “I wanted to,” he replied simply. His voice was calm but firm, the corners of his mouth quirking up into a gentle smile. “I asked you to come out with me, didn’t I?”

You sighed, your protest melting into a small, affectionate smile as they stepped out into the crisp air. It was such a Spencer thing to do—thoughtful and kind, but completely unnecessary. Yet, as they walked side by side, you couldn’t deny the warmth his gesture left in your chest.

You glanced up at him, your eyes twinkling with a playful edge as you broke the silence. “You’re lucky I agreed,” you teased, a grin tugging at your lips.

Spencer chuckled softly, glancing down at you. “Oh, I know,” he said, his voice low but filled with humor. “Trust me, I’m very lucky.”

They continued to walk aimlessly, the crisp evening air brushing against their faces as they strolled. Spencer was mid-thought, caught up in some internal musing when your voice broke through.

“Oh my God, Chinatown, Spencer!” you exclaimed, your voice brimming with excitement, like a child spotting a candy store.

Your eyes lit up as they landed on the colourful archway marking the entrance to Chinatown. You couldn’t quite explain it, but Chinatowns had always been your favourite places to visit. Maybe it was the vibrant atmosphere, the intricate details of the buildings, or the way everyone seemed to know one another, creating a sense of community that felt warm and welcoming. You loved every bit of it.

Without realizing it, you grabbed Spencer’s hand and tugged him along with you, your excitement bubbling over. Your grip was firm but warm, and Spencer—despite the suddenness—didn’t resist. In fact, he found himself smiling as you led him toward the bustling street.

Your face glowed brighter than he’d ever seen as you took in the sight of the ornately decorated gate ahead, its vivid reds and golds shining under the string lights that crisscrossed above the street. He didn’t know if it was your enthusiasm or the way your joy seemed to radiate outward, but he was utterly mesmerized, trailing behind you like he was under a spell.

“We should get noodles—if you’re okay with that?” you asked, snapping him out of his thoughts.

Spencer blinked, realizing he’d been staring at you with a soft, almost dreamy expression. The way you looked at him then—like he was the best person in the world just for being here with you—made his heart skip.

“Yeah, of course,” he replied, his voice steady but his heart racing. Without thinking, he gave your hand a gentle squeeze.

Your cheeks flushed at the small gesture, and Spencer caught the faintest flicker of a smile as they continued walking hand in hand. The streets were alive with energy, from the scent of freshly steamed buns wafting from carts to the hum of chatter in the air.

Eventually, they stumbled upon a quaint bakery that led to an underground noodle bar tucked just below it. The combination was irresistible. As they waited for a table, your eyes lit up when you spotted cheese-filled mooncakes in the bakery display.

“I have to try one of these,” you said eagerly, placing your order while Spencer watched you with quiet amusement.

Moments later, you held the warm pastry in your hands, your face glowing with anticipation. “This is going to be the best cheese pull you’ve ever seen,” you declared, laughing with a childlike excitement that made Spencer’s chest tighten.

You took a bite, and as you pulled back, the melted cheese stretched from your mouth to the mooncake, just as you had promised. Your eyes widened with delight, and your laughter rang out, light and contagious.

Spencer couldn’t help but laugh too, shaking his head in amazement. You were like a child in the best possible way, unguarded and full of joy.

“You were right,” he said, still chuckling. “That’s definitely the best cheese pull I’ve ever seen.”

Your grin widened, and for a moment, Spencer forgot about the bustling streets around them. All he could see was your—glowing, carefree, and absolutely captivating.

The waiter called out, “Sī bīn sài Ruì dé?” his tone polite and slightly accented as he scanned the small crowd in the restaurant’s waiting area. Spencer Reid’s head lifted, recognizing the sound of his name rendered in Mandarin. He gave a small, sheepish smile, adjusting his scarf as he turned to look at you.

You arched an amused brow, gesturing toward the waiter with a tilt of your head. “That’s you, Dr. Reid.”

Spencer nodded, his hand lightly brushing against your lower back as he led the way down the narrow staircase into the cozy, warmly lit restaurant below. The rich scent of soy sauce, garlic, and sesame oil wafted through the air, mingling with the quiet murmur of diners enjoying their meals.

The waiter guided them to a private booth tucked into the corner of the room, its dark wooden walls offering a sense of intimacy. Spencer gestured for you to slide in first, always the gentleman, before settling across from you.

The two opened their menus, the glossy pages filled with enticing photos and descriptions of diyous written in both Mandarin and English. Spencer scanned the list with the precision of someone cataloging data, while you took a more casual approach, letting your eyes linger on the pictures.

“What are you thinking of getting?” Spencer asked, glancing up at you. His hazel eyes held a mix of curiosity and hesitation, likely calculating the probabilities of making the wrong choice in an unfamiliar culinary landscape.

You smiled, leaning slightly over the menu to point at the dishes you had your eye on. “I was thinking Beef Noodle Soup and maybe a fried rice platter. If you wanted to share?”

Your suggestion was casual, but you knew Spencer well enough to recognise that sharing food might not be his first choice. The germaphobic tendencies you’d seen surface in the past made your offer feel like a gamble. If he declined, you’d simply adjust your order—no harm, no foul.

Spencer’s brow furrowed slightly, his fingers drumming lightly against the edge of the menu. “Sharing…” he began, his tone thoughtful. “It’s not usually my preference, but—” He paused, studying your face as though weighing the pros and cons of stepping out of his comfort zone. “I think I could make an exception. Just… no double-dipping,” he added with a faint smile, his attempt at humour not lost on you.

You chuckled softly, your shoulders relaxing. “Deal. I’ll even promise to use the serving spoon if it helps.”

His smile widened, the corners of his mouth quirking upward in a way that made your heart skip a beat. “That would be appreciated.”

As the waiter returned to take their order, Spencer let you take the lead, quietly observing your interactions. The way you spoke with ease, your smile lighting up the space between them, was something he never grew tired of.

After the waiter left, the two settled into conversation, the hum of the restaurant serving as a comforting backdrop. You caught him glancing at you from time to time, his expression soft and unguarded.

“Two Beef Noodle Soup and fried rice,” he mused after a moment. “Good choices. Did you know Beef Noodle Soup is considered a national dish in Taiwan? There’s even an annual festival where chefs compete to create the best version of it.”

Your eyes sparkled with interest. “I didn’t know that. How do you even know things like that off the top of your head?”

Spencer shrugged, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “I read a lot.”

You laughed, leaning forward slightly. “Of course you do. But that’s one of the things I love about you, you know. You always have the most random, fascinating facts tucked away in that big brain of yours.”

His blush deepened, and he ducked his head slightly, fiddling with the edge of his napkin. “I’m glad you think so,” he murmured.

Their food arrived not long after, the diyous steaming and fragrant, the aroma instantly making your stomach rumble. You reached for your chopsticks, but before you could start serving yourself, Spencer gently took the plate from your side.

“Allow me,” he said, his tone soft but resolute, as though he had been planning this move.

You blinked in surprise, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Wow, chivalry isn’t dead after all. I was starting to wonder.”

Spencer shot you a mock-offended look as he carefully portioned out some of the sizzling stir-fry onto your plate. “Hey, I can be chivalrous. I just… don’t get much practice. Sharing food isn’t exactly in my top five skills.”

You laughed, nudging his arm. “You don’t say. Should I feel honoured or concerned?”

“Definitely honoured,” he replied, finishing your plate with an exaggerated flourish. “This is a rare occurrence. Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

“Oh, I’m definitely documenting this,” you teased, pulling out your phone and snapping a quick photo of him mid-serve. “The great Dr. Spencer Reid, putting others first. What’s next, you’re going to offer me the last bite?”

Spencer smirked as he served himself. “Let’s not get carried away.”

As they began eating, you picked up a particularly long noodle with your chopsticks and dangled it in front of your face. “Do you think this could double as a jump rope for ants?”

Spencer nearly choked on his bite of rice, laughing. “That is… an incredibly specific visual. Why ants? Why not, I don’t know, mice?”

“Too predictable,” you replied, twirling the noodle like you were considering its durability. “Ants have more finesse. They’d appreciate the artistry.”

“Ah, yes, the ant gymnast community,” Spencer said, adjusting his glasses and leaning forward as though about to deliver a lecture. “You know, ants can actually carry up to fifty times their body weight, so a noodle would be the perfect workout tool.”

You grinned, using your chopsticks to make the noodles “jump” across your plate. “You’re making my case for me. Ant Olympics, here we come.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Thank you,” you said brightly, slurping the noodle up with a playful flourish.

Spencer raised an eyebrow and then, without a word, picked up a dumpling with his chopsticks and held it in front of his mouth. He narrowed his eyes, suddenly serious. “If I were an ant, this would be like carrying a wrecking ball.”

You burst out laughing, nearly dropping your chopsticks. “You’re so weird!”

“Only because you bring it out of me,” he replied, popping the dumpling into his mouth with a small, triumphant smile.

They continued their meal, each taking turns to make the other laugh with increasingly absurd food-related jokes. Spencer even attempted to balance a broccoli floret on his nose, which ended with you snorting and him losing the floret mid-laugh.

By the time they finished, your sides ached from laughing, and Spencer looked more relaxed than you’d seen him in weeks. As he reached for the bill, you caught his hand and grinned.

“See? Sharing isn’t so bad,” you teased.

He smiled back, his eyes warm. “Only with you.”

Once they left Chinatown, the streets of Washington, D.C. buzzed with life, but Spencer and you were lost in their own little world, laughing uncontrollably over the events of the day. Every inside joke and playful jab sent them spiraling into fits of laughter, their shared energy a bright spot in the bustling city. For Spencer, the date had already been perfect, but he wasn’t ready for it to end just yet. He had one last plan to cap off the evening, though it wouldn’t come into play for hours. Until then, he just needed to keep you distracted.

You nudged him playfully as they strolled along. “Alright, something you never got to do as a kid but always wanted to,” you said, your tone suddenly serious despite the twinkle of curiosity in your eyes.

Spencer hesitated, the question catching him off guard. He rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish smile creeping across his face. “I don’t know,” he began, his voice soft. “I’ve always liked reading books and spending time with my mom.” He glanced at you, embarrassed by how ordinary his answer sounded.

You gave his hand a gentle squeeze, grounding him. “That’s sweet, Spence,” you said softly. “But come on, there’s gotta be something.”

He exhaled a small laugh, his gaze shifting to the pavement as he admitted, “Well, I always wanted to play Laser Tag.”

You stopped in your tracks, your hazel eyes wide with disbelief. “Wait. You’ve never played Laser Tag?”

Spencer shrugged, his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets. “I mean, no, not really. It just never came up.”

You were already shaking your head in mock horror. “That’s unacceptable. We’re fixing this right now.”

“It’s fine. We don’t have to—”

But you were already tugging him along with determined speed. “Nope. This is happening. You’re about to experience the childhood you missed out on, and it’s going to be amazing.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle at your enthusiasm, your energy was contagious. Before he knew it, they were standing at the counter of a nearby arcade, you grinning ear to ear as you requested two tickets for Laser Tag.

Spencer tried one last time to protest. “Really, you don’t have to do this—”

“Consider it my treat,” you interrupted, handing over your card to the cashier. “A thank-you for the best day I’ve had in a long time.”

The sincerity in your voice silenced his objections, and he felt his heart swell. As the cashier handed them their gear, you turned to him with a mischievous glint in your eye.

“Alright, Dr. Reid,” you teased, strapping on your vest. “Let’s see if all that genius-level intellect helps you out on the battlefield.”

Spencer laughed, shaking his head. “You’re going to regret this. I may not have played before, but I’m pretty sure I’m about to win.”

“Bold of you to assume,” you shot back with a smirk, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the arena.

As they stepped into the dimly lit room filled with neon lights and fog machines, Spencer felt an unexpected rush of excitement. You turned to him, your face illuminated by the glowing lights, and he couldn’t help but smile. Maybe he’d been missing out, but with you by his side, he was more than ready to make up for lost time.

The neon lights flickered, casting an otherworldly glow over the Laser Tag arena. Fog swirled around Spencer and you as they ducked behind barriers and navigated the maze-like layout. The sound of distant footsteps and laser beams zipping through the air made it feel like they’d stepped into a sci-fi movie.

Spencer crouched low, trying to strategize his next move, but your sudden battle cry made him jump. You darted out from behind a glowing pillar, your laughter echoing through the arena as you fired your laser, landing a direct hit on his vest.

“Gotcha!” you shouted triumphantly, your grin wide and uncontainable.

Spencer stumbled back in mock defeat, his hands raised. “Okay, okay, truce! I’m still learning!”

You rolled your eyes, playfully wagging a finger at him. “No mercy, Reid. You’re my bitch now.”

You turned to sprint away, but Spencer surprised you by diving behind a barrier and quickly firing back. The red lights on your vest lit up, signalling a hit.

“Ha! Who’s the genius now?” he teased, standing up with a victorious smirk.

You clutched your chest dramatically, pretending to be mortally wounded. “Betrayed… by my own date!” you gasped, collapsing onto a nearby barrier.

Spencer burst into laughter, his usually reserved demeanor completely melting away. “You’re ridiculous,” he said, shaking his head as he helped your back up.

“And you love it,” you quipped, sticking your tongue out before taking off into the maze again.

The game continued, a back-and-forth of sneak attacks, exaggerated reactions, and endless laughter. Every hit was met with playful banter, and every moment felt like peeling back the layers of their guarded hearts. Spencer, who had always been so serious and calculated, found himself letting go, caught up in the pure, childlike joy of the moment.

At one point, they both ended up crouched behind the same barrier, breathless and laughing so hard their sides hurt. You leaned your head against his shoulder, your face flushed from running. “Okay, I admit it,” you said between giggles. “You’re pretty good for a first-timer.”

Spencer glanced at you, his hazel eyes sparkling in the dim light. “I had a good teacher,” he replied softly.

For a moment, the chaos around them faded. They were just two people, sitting side by side, finding solace in each other’s company.

You nudged him gently. “See? Childhood dream fulfilled. What’s next on your list?”

He chuckled, his gaze dropping to the glowing floor. “Honestly? I think this might be enough for one night.”

“Enough?” you teased. “We’ve barely scratched the surface! Next time, we’re doing bumper cars.”

Spencer laughed, the sound light and genuine. “I think I’m going to need a lot of next times with you,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your expression softened, and you reached out to take his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Then we’ll make that happen,” you promised.

As the game timer buzzed, signalling the end of their session, Spencer and you made their way out of the arena, still laughing and teasing each other. A leaderboard lit up on the screen near the exit, and Spencer froze, his eyes widening.

“No way,” he murmured, stepping closer to the display.

You leaned over his shoulder, squinting at the screen. Your jaw dropped when you saw his name at the top of the list. “You won?!” you exclaimed, grabbing his arm and shaking it excitedly. “Spencer Reid, first-time Laser Tag champion! I’m so proud of you!”

He turned to you, his grin almost bashful but undeniably proud. “Beginner’s luck, maybe?”

“Absolutely not,” you said, your face lighting up with genuine excitement. “You crushed it out there! I mean, I’m a little salty that you beat me, but still—you’re officially a Laser Tag legend.”

Spencer laughed, the sound bubbling out of him with pure joy. “A legend, huh? I’ll take it.”

You playfully bumped your shoulder against his. “You better. This is a big deal! You’ve got bragging rights now.”

As they stepped out of the arcade into the cool night air, you looped your arm through his, your energy still electric. “Okay, next time we’re teaming up. Imagine what we could do together!”

Spencer looked down at you, his heart warm and full. “I think we’d be unstoppable,” he said, his voice soft but confident.

As they walked down the busy streets, still laughing and recounting the best moments of the game, Spencer couldn’t help but feel like he’d won more than just Laser Tag. With you by his side, he’d found something he hadn’t even realized he’d been missing—a piece of joy, of freedom, of connection that made him feel whole again.

As they continued down the lively streets of D.C., Spencer’s smile lingered, a quiet sense of contentment radiating from him. You were still buzzing from the Laser Tag victory, your hand resting comfortably in his as they walked.

“Alright, Dr. Reid,” you said playfully, looking up at him. “What’s next on this magical mystery tour of a date? Because if it’s as fun as Laser Tag, I might actually burst from happiness.”

Spencer chuckled, his hazel eyes glinting with mischief. “Well,” he began, his voice soft but teasing, “I do have one more thing planned. But it’s a surprise.”

Your eyes widened with curiosity. “A surprise? Spencer Reid, you’re full of secrets tonight. What is it?”

He shook his head, his lips curving into a sly smile. “You’ll see. Just trust me.”

“Always,” you said with a grin, letting him guide you down a quieter street.

The hum of the city faded as they walked, replaced by a peaceful stillness. You tilted your head, trying to guess where he was taking you, but Spencer kept quiet, his excitement barely contained. Finally, they rounded a corner, and your breath caught as the grand façade of the National Gallery of Art came into view, illuminated beautifully against the night sky.

“Spencer,” you whispered, awe in your voice. “The art museum? It’s closed right now.”

He smiled, his fingers lacing tighter with yours. “Not for us.”

As if on cue, a side door to the museum opened, and a man in his mid-thirties stepped out, waving at Spencer.

“Dr. Reid!” the man called warmly. “Right on time.”

“Thanks, Jacob,” Spencer said, his voice full of gratitude. He turned to you, his expression soft. “Jacob’s a curator here. He agreed to stay late and let us in. Just us.”

Your jaw dropped as you looked between Spencer and Jacob. “You’re kidding. We get the whole museum to ourselves?”

Spencer nodded, his heart fluttering at the pure joy on your face. “I thought you might like it. I know how much you love art, and, well… I wanted to do something special for you.”

You blinked back a sudden wave of emotion, your chest tightening with affection. “Spencer, this is… this is incredible. Thank you.”

He smiled, a little shyly. “You’re worth it.”

Jacob opened the door wider, gesturing them inside. “Enjoy yourselves. I’ll be in my office if you need anything.”

As they stepped into the museum, the quiet echoed around them, amplifying the beauty of the vast, empty halls. The dim lighting highlighted the paintings and sculptures, making it feel like they’d stepped into another world.

You turned to Spencer, your eyes shining. “This is the most thoughtful thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

He ducked his head, his cheeks tinged pink. “I just wanted to give you something memorable. Something… magical.”

You reached out, taking his hand in yours. “You’ve done more than that, Spence. This is perfect.”

He smiled, his heart swelling at your words. “Come on,” he said softly, leading you toward the first exhibit. “Let’s explore.”

And together, hand in hand, they wandered through the museum, the art and the quiet intimacy of the moment weaving a memory neither of them would ever forget.

The museum was humour, the kind of quiet that invited reverence and reflection. Their footsteps echoed faintly as they moved through the halls, pausing here and there to admire a painting or sculpture. Spencer’s hand lingered at your lower back, a subtle gesture to guide you but also to stay close, as if the intimacy of the space demanded it.

They came to a room filled with sculptures, the soft lighting casting long shadows that danced on the walls. Your attention was immediately drawn to a particular piece—a sculpture of two women, one older, one younger, the younger standing on the shoulders of the older as if reaching for something just out of sight.

You stopped in your tracks, your breath catching slightly. Spencer noticed your stillness and took a step back, letting your take in the piece without interruption. Your expression shifted, your usual brightness giving way to something quieter, deeper.

After a few moments, he couldn’t help but break the silence, his voice soft so as not to disturb the moment. “How does it make you feel?”

You didn’t turn to him right away. Your eyes remained fixed on the sculpture, your hands loosely clasped in front of you. When you finally spoke, your voice was low but steady, carrying the weight of your thoughts.

“Seen,” you said simply, then paused as if to find the right words. “In a weird way. I don’t think I’d be who I am without my mother, and this piece proves it in a way. It makes me feel less alone too, like I’m not the only one who sees myself this way.”

Spencer tilted his head, his gaze flickering between you and the sculpture. He could see it now—the younger woman’s outstretched hands, the older one’s steadying stance. The balance between them spoke volumes about trust, sacrifice, and love.

“You feel like you’re standing on your shoulders,” he said softly, almost to himself.

You nodded, finally glancing at him. “Yeah. Every step I’ve taken has been because you let me stand on your foundation. Even when things weren’t perfect, you were still there, holding me up.” You smiled faintly, a bittersweet curve of your lips. “It’s nice to see it represented like this, you know? It’s like… someone else understands.”

Spencer took a small step closer, his voice gentle. “You’d be proud of you. I don’t think anyone could look at what you’ve built for yourself and feel anything less.”

You turned fully to face him now, your hazel eyes soft but shining. “Thank you, Spence. That means a lot.”

He gave you a small smile, his hands in his pockets as he glanced back at the sculpture. “It’s beautiful. Just like the way you see the world.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “You’re such a charmer, you know that?”

“Not really,” he admitted with a small chuckle, “but I mean it.”

For a while longer, they stayed there, side by side, letting the sculpture’s quiet power wash over them. In that moment, it wasn’t just art—it was a connection, a shared understanding that went deeper.

The weight of the moment lifted as they moved on, wandering into another section of the museum. The air between them felt lighter now, a quiet understanding still lingering but giving way to the playful energy they always seemed to share.

It started with a chuckle from you, your hand covering your mouth as you stopped in front of a sculpture of a stern-looking man with an exaggeratedly large nose. “Okay, tell me that doesn’t look like Hotch when he’s annoyed,” you whispered, your eyes sparkling mischievously.

Spencer glanced at the sculpture and bit back a laugh. “It’s the eyebrows,” he said, nodding in agreement.

You gasped, pointing. “The eyebrows! Yes! It’s like he’s about to say, ‘Reid, stop overexplaining.’"

Spencer laughed, his face lighting up in a way that made your heart skip. “Okay, okay, but look at this one,” he said, leading you to a nearby bust of a man whose face was frozen in a hilariously exaggerated scowl. “Tell me that’s not Rossi after someone forgets to bring him coffee.”

You burst out laughing, clapping a hand over your mouth to muffle the sound. “Oh my God, it’s perfect!” you managed between giggles.

They moved from sculpture to sculpture, pointing out ridiculous expressions and coming up with stories for each one. Spencer, ever the genius, concocted elaborate backstories for the pieces, each one more absurd than the last.

“This one,” he said, gesturing to a marble figure of a man dramatically clutching his chest, “was probably just told that his favorite gelato shop ran out of pistachio.”

You doubled over laughing, your cheeks aching from smiling so much. “Stop, you’re going to get us kicked out!” you said, though your laughter made it clear you didn’t mean it.

“You’re the one who started it,” he teased, his grin wide and unrestrained.

They rounded a corner and found themselves in front of a statue of a cherub with a particularly mischievous expression. Spencer tilted his head. “This one’s definitely plotting something. Probably planning to steal cookies from the other cherubs.”

You wiped a tear from your eyes, still laughing. “You’re too good at this. Have you been secretly practicing?”

He shrugged, a playful glint in his eye. “What can I say? I’m a natural.”

As they continued exploring, their laughter echoed softly through the empty halls, their joy filling the quiet space. For a little while, they let themselves be kids again—carefree, silly, and completely immersed in the moment.

Spencer, usually so reserved and composed, felt freer than he had in years. And you, watching him let loose, felt your heart swell with happiness. It wasn’t just about the art or the laughter—it was about being together, sharing a moment that was uniquely theirs.

When they finally paused to catch their breath, leaning against a wall in between fits of giggles, Spencer looked at you with a soft smile. “This might be the most fun I’ve ever had in a museum.”

You grinned, your eyes shining. “I told you, you just needed the right partner in crime.”

He nodded, his expression warm. “I think I found them.”

And with that, they set off again, hand in hand, ready to see what other treasures—and laughs—the museum had to offer.

As they wandered back toward the grand central hall of the museum, the playful energy between them began to settle into something softer, quieter. The warm lighting of the space casts a golden glow over the room, highlighting the details of the sculptures and paintings around them. You paused by a large marble statue of a couple intertwined in an eternal embrace, your gaze lingering on the delicate way the sculptor had captured the curve of their hands and the tilt of their heads.

Spencer stopped beside you, his eyes following yours to the statue. He said nothing, but the air between them shifted, heavy with unspoken thoughts. The laughter from earlier seemed to hang in the distance, replaced by a gentle stillness.

You turned your head to look at him, your expression soft, your lips parted slightly as if you wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words. Spencer’s gaze flickered from the statue to you, his heart stuttering as he caught the way the golden light played on your features.

Neityour of them spoke. They didn’t need to.

Spencer’s hand reached out, slow and hesitant, his fingertips brushing against yours. The touch was featyour-light, but it sent a ripple through both of them, grounding them in the moment.

Your eyes searched his, questioning, yet trusting. He took a step closer, the space between them shrinking until it was almost nonexistent.

Your breath hitched, your heart racing as his face hovered close to yours. The world around them seemed to blur, the art and the quiet fading into the background as the only thing that mattered was him—his eyes, his presence, the warmth of him so close.

Spencer hesitated, his gaze flicking to your lips and back to your eyes, as if silently asking for permission. You gave him the faintest nod, your lips curving into a soft, encouraging smile.

It was painfully slow, the kind of moment that stretched on forever, but neither of them rushed it. Their foreheads brushed first, a tentative, intimate touch that sent shivers down your spine. His nose bumped yours lightly, their breaths mingling in the small space between them.

And then, finally, achingly, his lips met yours.

The kiss was soft, and unhurried, a perfect balance of tenderness and curiosity. His hand cupped your cheek gently, his thumb brushing your skin as if you were something fragile, something to be cherished You leaned into him, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt to steady yourself as your heart soared.

Time seemed to stop entirely. There was no overthinking, no second-guessing—just the quiet certainty that this was exactly where they were meant to be.

When they finally pulled back, their faces still close, neither of them spoke right away. Spencer’s eyes searched yours, his expression a mix of wonder and disbelief, as if he couldn’t quite believe what had just happened.

You smiled softly, your thumb brushing over the back of his hand. “That felt… right,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Spencer nodded, his lips curving into the faintest smile. “It did,” he agreed, his voice equally quiet.

And as they stood there, bathed in the golden light of the museum, they both knew they’d just shared a moment they’d carry with them forever.

Hand in hand, they made their way back toward the main entrance of the museum, their fingers still entwined as they shared quiet smiles and the lingering warmth of the kiss. The halls, now empty of their playful laughter, seemed to hum with the remnants of the night’s magic, a soft kind of peace wrapping around them.

When they reached the front, they were met by Jacob, who was standing by the gift shop, a welcoming grin on his face.

“Did you two enjoy the private tour?” he asked, clearly amused by the soft glow in their expressions.

“It was perfect,” You replied, your voice light with contentment. “We couldn’t have asked for a better night.”

Spencer gave Jacob a small nod of thanks, and they made their way toward the gift shop. Of course, you, ever the curious soul, immediately started scanning the shelves, your eyes lighting up as you spotted a section of artist books and unique prints.

Spencer stood back a little, letting you take it all in. It was clear from the way you were absorbed in the display that you were in your element. Your fingers traced the spines of the books, your eyes lingering on the vibrant art, the words, and the stories behind them. It was a rare thing to see you so lost in admiration, and he couldn’t help but smile as he watched you, appreciating the way you connected with the world through art.

You picked up one of the books, flipping it open to the first page. “Spence,” you called softly, turning to him with a gentle smile. “Which artist was it who made that sculpture of the two women?”

Spencer walked over to you, his gaze following yours to the shelf where the artist’s work was displayed. He didn’t need to think twice. “Julie Rrap,” he replied.

You nodded, your fingers brushing the cover of the book titled Body Double. You seemed almost hesitant at first, as if deciding whether or not to pick it up. But then, with a quiet sense of reverence, you carefully opened the book and placed it in your hands, holding it close to your chest for a moment before glancing back at Spencer.

“Thank you,” you said softly, your voice filled with gratitude. There was something in your eyes—something that said this moment meant more to you than you could express.

Spencer smiled warmly, his heart swelling a little. “I’m glad you like it.”

You ran your thumb along the edges of the book, your gaze still soft as you flipped through the pages, your eyes drinking in the art and the words. It was as if the world had slowed down again, and they were both wrapped in the quiet, intimate moment of shared appreciation.

“I think I’m going to get this,” you said, your voice thoughtful, almost to yourself. “It’s… I don’t know. It feels important.”

Spencer nodded, his gaze still on you as you carefully placed the book in your arms, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “It’s yours. You deserve it.”

Spencer reached into his pocket as they approached the counter, his hand finding yours once more, giving it a reassuring squeeze. He placed the book and a few other items you had picked out onto the counter. Jacob, who had been standing nearby, gave them both a knowing smile as he rang up the items.

“You two seem like you had a good time,” Jacob said, his tone light and friendly.

Spencer smiled, pulling out his wallet. “It was a perfect night, thanks to you.”

You turned to Jacob with a grateful expression, your eyes bright. “Thank you for letting us stay after hours. It really made the evening special.”

Jacob nodded, giving you a small wink. “Anytime. Glad you enjoyed it. You two have a good rest of the night.”

After Spencer finished paying, he gathered the items and handed them to you, who accepted them with a soft smile. “Thanks again,” you said, your voice warm.

With a final wave to Jacob, they left the gift shop and stepped into the cool night air. The city was quieter now, the streets bathed in the soft glow of streetlights. As they walked toward Spencer’s apartment, the evening felt like a perfect bookend to a day full of laughter, art, and unexpected moments of connection.

Spencer, his arm casually draped over your shoulder, pulled you closer as they walked. “So, what do you think? A quiet night in to wrap things up?” he asked, a playful note in his voice.

You smiled, your eyes glinting with excitement. “Sounds perfect.”

They continued down the sidewalk, their footsteps in sync, the world around them fading away as they looked forward to whatever came next—together.

thank you for reading!

please like & reblog if you enjoyed!

part two!

masterlist!

252 notes · View notes

fear-is-truth · 2 days ago

Note

dare i say ur the best squid game writer?? the namgyu hcs was def the most accurate depiction of his character ive seen ! showed his insecurities so well. chefs kiss. speakinggg of if ur taking requests from him. what abt reader finally breaking up w him? like tired of all the toxicity. how would he react?

BREAKING UP WITH NAM-GYU / PLAYER 124

a/n. omg tysm for the kind words !! i loved the idea for your request, and i hope i did it justice ! thank you again for trusting me with it ♡

at first, nam-gyu’s reaction would be pure deflection. he’d scoff, roll his eyes, and act like he doesn’t care. “fine, go,” he’d say, his tone dripping with venom. “you think i can’t live without you? watch me.” his pride wouldn’t let him admit how much it hurts, so he’d lash out, throwing barbed words your way in an attempt to make you second-guess yourself. it’s a classic manipulation tactic—turning the blame onto you, acting like you’re the one overreacting or being unreasonable.

but as soon as you walk away, he’d start spiralling—anger would segue into panic. he’d start analysing on all the moments he pushed you too far. there would be some level of guilt, but instead of owning up to it, he’d try to convince himself it wasn’t his fault—or worse, blame you for “giving up on him.”

when hours or days pass without a word from you, he’d start calling or texting, alternating between anger (“don’t you dare ignore me”) and desperation (“just tell me what you want me to do”)

when he realises you’re serious and not coming back, he’d oscillate between two extremes. on one hand, he’d try to manipulate you into staying by pulling every card he can think of: guilt-tripping, love-bombing, even reminding you of the good times to make you question your decision. he’d say something like, “you’re just gonna throw all of this away? after everything i’ve done for you?” or, “no one else will care about you the way i do.” not because he doesn’t care (he does care. a lot) it’s because he doesn’t know how else to express his desperation.

on the other hand, he’d also act like he doesn’t give a fuck to protect his ego. he’d put on a front, telling you to go and that he’s fine without you. he’d go to work, or use loads of drugs, just to prove (to himself more than anyone else) that he doesn’t need you. but deep down, he’d feel hollow. every time he numbs himself, it’d just make him think of you more.

if he’s really desperate, and you’ve been ignoring his attempts to get your attention, this might be the moment where he shows an almost childlike side of himself. he’d show up at your door, completely disheveled, and beg you to stay. he’d get on his knees if he thought it’d work, his pride be damned.

after the breakup, if you don’t take him back, he’d probably spiral even worse. he’d rely heavily on unhealthy coping mechanisms—drugs, drinking, or surrounding himself with people who don’t actually care about him. but no matter how hard he tries to distract himself, his mind would always drift back to you. he’d fixate on what he did wrong, though he wouldn’t know how to fix it.

if you did give him a second chance after all this, he’d try to be better, but it’d be a slow, messy process. nam-gyu doesn’t know how to handle his emotions or build a healthy relationship, so even his attempts at improving would be kinda flawed. but the fear of losing you again would drive him to at least try—though whether or not he can actually change is another story.

#nam gyu #nam gyu x reader #player 124 #player 124 x reader #nam gyu x you #nam gyu x y/n #squid game #squid game season 2 #squid game s2 #squid game headcanons #squid game x reader #nam gyu headcanons #squid game fanfic #namgyu #namgyu x reader #namgyu x y/n

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dcxdpdabbles · 6 hours ago

Note

Always the bridesmaid never the bride

I'm not going to lie. I forgot if this was a prompt or a response to something I posted since I got it back before Thanksgiving. But if it's the former then:

Danny says this to Bruce at Clark and Lois' wedding. He is convinced Bruce is in love- or in lust, at the least- with Clark because the wealthy man constantly popped up at their office for important "business" and "private exclusive" interviews.

Now, Danny won't lie and say he's a better journalist than Clark or Lois- those two are the top two of the Daily Planet. There is a reason almost all Superman stories are covered by them- but he's darn good himself. After retiring from protecting his town from Ghosts, he's only ever used his powers scarcely, but they have helped him with a few articles here or there.

His career as a reporting journalist was mainly made by his ability to stumble across trouble alone! Danny had won awards for his articles. He has been included in a city time capsule project.

Danny got the scoop on Jason Todd being alive story way before everyone else. After realizing the boy was in witness protection, he hadn't even exposed it without speaking to Mr.Wayne first. The man was nothing like the tabloids had one believe. Danny found him a severely intelligent man with a deep love for his family and city. He just distracted people with his razzle and dazzle, hiding his beautiful soul in plain sight.

It had been an eye-opening conversation. The duo made a deal to wait until Jason was safe to be announced; Danny waited three whole months before he was greenlighted to release his story. Jason Todd had officially "returned" from the dead with an exclusive interview with Danny Fenton.

Danny honored and protected his dignity by writing a story that made the public love the returned young man. He hated reporters who only dragged people's names through the mud because that wasn't real investigation; that was just accepting the latest gossip on the streets.

Bruce was so grateful that Danny hadn't put his son in danger that he even gave Danny a business card that went to his home office!

And yeah, okay, Clark had Bruce's personal cellphone, but Danny just couldn't understand why the billionaire was so hung up on Clark Kent. It wasn't like the guy was Superman!

And maybe he was overly happy to find out Clark and Lois were an item. Sure that someone as good as Bruce, for all his facade of being a party boy who never grew up, would never chase a taken man. Danny had been right, too, because Bruce Wayne appeared less and less around the Daily Plant office.

It was.....sad not to see him, but Danny was a very busy journalist. He was grateful that the distraction had finally taken the hint and scurried off somewhere. What irked him in the following year and a half of Clark and Lois dating was how often Perry signed the two to cover Gotham News.

Mostly at one of Bruce Wayne's extravagant parties! Yeah, it was sort of cool that most of Bruce's parties were charity events. He had checked the numbers himself, finding that Bruce's efforts were honest and working to better his city. How many billionaires actually kept their word when wanting to be a philanthropist?

Of course, Danny had to write a piece on it. The people needed to see the positive change Bruce was making. Sometimes, it felt like people forgot how much he gave to the city. The article went viral, and people on the other side of the world were praising the good man Bruce.

Perry had given Danny a raise for it.

Clark had ruined that significant mark on his record by placing a wrap present on his desk with a wide grin. Apparently, the two had gone on a yacht trip together without Lois or Bruce's significant other. Whoever that was. "Bruce wanted me to give you this as a thanks."

Ugh, the smug asshole was just rubbing it in Danny's face that he was still friends with his ex. The present had been a shitty ship in a bottle that Danny had placed beside his writing awards in his living room. You know it would be a waste to just throw it out.

Or let it get dusty. Or not stare at and wonder if Bruce knew he liked pirate movies, so the fact he had a model replica of Captain Jack Sparrow's Black Pearl made for Danny was really no big deal.

Then Bruce came by the office after buying out the Daily Planet, giving Clark a month's vacation paid due to some "family emergency."

Danny had been worried about Ma Kent and Pa Kent- the pair had visited the Daily Planet and were the nicest people to ever walk the planet- so like the well-mannered man his mother raised, he had gone to the farm with some of his Dad's famous fudge. Only to find the Kents unaware there was an emergency in the family until Danny reminded them.

He had been a journalist long enough to call bull on their meaningful glances. Danny knew that neither Bruce nor Clark would dare cheat on Lois. They were both too good for something as sleazy as that- and honestly, Lois would kill them- but that didn't stop Bruce from obviously still carrying around a torch for Clark.

Which meant he gave him unfairly favorable treatment in the workplace. Ugh! Perry didn't even seem to care, stating that Bruce had signed their paychecks, and as long as he wasn't forcing Clark into anything harassment-worthy, Danny just had to deal with his coworkers having friends in high places.

That meant they got away with different things. He just had to suck it up and accept it.

But now, Clark and Lois tied the knot. Bruce had to back off. He would never overstep a friend's relationship like this. Danny might have seen him sneak a few glances at the dancing couple- not that he was staring at Bruce Wayne! But the man was one of the hottest topics to write about, and he never knew when a good story would pop up.

It was rather sad, really. How Bruce forced himself to come to a celebration of the man he loved marrying and choosing someone else. Danny had dedicated a drink to his heartbreak- from clear across the room.

He wasn't on a personal cellphone number basis with Bruce Wayne, let's allow a "Drink your broken heart sorrow away with me" basis. And maybe Danny had a few too many. Perhaps he lost count after realizing it was an open bar because, surprise surprise, Bruce was footing the drink bill for all guests.

Danny doesn't remember what made him think he could cross the room to Bruce or why he found the courage to point a finger in his face before slurring, "Always the bridesmaid, never the bride, eh Brucie?"

He does remember those piecing blue eyes locking him in place, brow folding in concern as Bruce replied. "Mr. Fenton, are you alright?"

"Me? Oh yeah! Just enjoying the party." He throws his arm up, spilling some of the alcohol out of the cup. He doesn't mind since the DJ starts to play one of his favorite songs, and he just has to sway to the beat. "This is a fun party. Are you having fun? I'm having fun!"

"I think you've had a little too much," Bruce says, helping Danny to his feet. When did he fall? Oh, right, when he was dancing. He laughs again, curling up on Bruce's chest. He feels it shift with the vibrations of the other man's voice. It's rather nice. "Did you come alone? Is there someone I can call for you?"

"Can I tell you a secret, Brucie?" Danny mutters, leaning forward to whisper into the man's ear before he can respond. "I live alone. I have no one to take care of me. I can't even drive."

"I see. I can have my driver take you home then. Can I see your wallet? I want to read the address-"

Danny has a second to think Oh no before his stomach lurches, and vomit falls out of his mouth all over Bruce Wayne's fancy suit that probably costs more than his house. Danny's eyes water. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I don't usually drink, and I feel terrible, and I-"

"It's alright. " Bruce says, smile still perfectly kind, understanding, and slightly dizzy. Danny knows he's lying, though- his reporter eyes can see right through that facade. He's pissed that Danny threw up on him. Understandably.

He starts sobbing, apologizing even more, and pointing out how he knows Bruce is actually upset.

Bruce looks mildly surprised before throwing one of his arms over his shoulder and helping him out of the hotel ballroom. The reception had started hours ago, and despite it not being anywhere near over, no one would bat an eye at them leaving early.

They were walking down the hallway. Danny found himself leaning on a counter, laughing into his hands about a potted plant, while Bruce chatted up the lady at a computer. He told the pair that Bruce should rebound with a man instead of a woman if he wanted to get over Clark but was ignored by them.

Rude.

Then suddenly, Danny was being pressed into a soft mattress on his back while someone was taking off his shoes and losing his tie. When did he get home? How had he moved that quickly?

This didn't feel like his pillow. Danny has a special one. He can't sleep with it. He packs his pillow when he travels, even if it's just one night he plans to stay. Danny has used the same pillow for years now.

"I'm sorry, I can't get your special pillow, but I can give you lots of water." A man says, making Danny blink and open his eyes. His eyelids feel so heavy that it takes him a moment to stay open.

Above him, Bruce is carefully unbuttoning his suit jacket. The billionaire had removed his own coat, but the vomit-covered white shirt remains. Danny feels ashamed at the sight even as Bruce pulls his arms out of the jacket sleeves.

"Sorry," He whimpers. "About the vomit."

"It's alright. You needed to throw up. Do you feel better?"

Danny nods, closing his eyes and feeling a warm towel run along his face. He sighed as the sticky, gross feeling around his mouth was gone, and he sank further into the Not Right But Comfty pillow.

"Sleep well, Mr. Fenton," Bruce says, tucking the blankets around Danny once he finishes cleaning him up. Danny hums, already half gone, when he whispers.

"You're a good man. No matter what you present to the world. No matter if you believe you're not, I know you're good."

There is a moment of silence before Bruce replies. "I paid for the hotel room. It comes with a free breakfast, so when you're feeling up to it, come down for food tomorrow. Have a good night, Mr. Fenton."

"Stay?"

"I'm sorry. I never intended to stay; I just wanted to get you somewhere safe. Going home in your state would have been a bad idea."

Danny's words are nearly too slurried to be understood as he slowly slips away: "Always the bridesmaid, never the bride, Fenton. Bruce would never want you."

He wakes up with a killer hangover, confused about where the hell he is, and almost has a heart attack when he realizes he crumpled up the suit pants he rented. All that is so hard to process in thirty seconds that he nearly missed the written note on the nightstand.

Call me xxx-xxx-xxxx

XOXO

Bruce Wayne

What in the world happened at Clark's and Lois's wedding!?

#dcxdpdabbles #dcxdp crossover #Never the Bride #Part 1 #spirt halloween ship #Danny is a reporter at the Daily Planet #Develops a crush on a celeberity he interviewed #Bruce never paid attention to Clark's coworker #Until the wedding #Now he can't stop thinking about him #misunderstandings #Bruce and Clark were just doing JL stuff #TW: Blackout Drinking

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antinousletmehit · 3 days ago

Text

˚₊‧꒰ა Chapter 22 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

୨୧┇pairing: Telemachus x reader

୨୧┇warnings: Telemachus is VERY freaky in this chapter, no direct nsfw but like there’s a lot of suggestive comments.

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

Telemachus leaned over the edge of the ship, gazing out at the endless horizon with a wistful sigh. The salty breeze tousled his hair, but it couldn’t distract him from the ache in his chest. “I just can’t stop thinking about her,” he said, his voice drenched in longing.

Acrisios, who was adjusting the sails nearby, rolled his eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t fall out of his head. “You’ve been thinking about her since we left Ithaca. Gods above, Telemachus, give it a rest.”

Telemachus turned to his friend, clutching the railing dramatically. “But you don’t understand, Acrisios! She’s… she’s everything. Her smile, her wit, the way she gets all flustered when she’s trying to argue with me—it’s like I can still hear her voice in the wind.”

Acrisios groaned and ran a hand down his face. “No, Telemachus. That’s just the wind. Or maybe the sound of the crew wishing you’d stop talking. Or if we’re lucky enough it’s the sound of Poseidon approaching and killing us all so we don’t have to hear this.”

Telemachus ignored the jab, pressing his hand to his chest as if it might ease the ache. “Do you think she misses me? Or do you think she’s furious that I left without telling her sooner? Oh, gods, what if she’s already forgotten about me?”

Acrisios threw down the rope he was tying, finally fed up. “Telemachus, she hasn’t forgotten about you. How could she, with how obsessed you are? I bet she’s just trying to enjoy some peace and quiet now that you’re not there to constantly harass her.”

Telemachus frowned. “That’s not funny.”

“It wasn’t meant to be,” Acrisios shot back, crossing his arms. “Look, I get it. She’s amazing, she’s perfect, you’re in love, blah blah blah. But if you don’t stop yapping about her, I swear I’ll jump overboard and swim to Pylos myself to get away from you.”

Telemachus narrowed his eyes. “You’re just jealous you don’t have anyone waiting for you back home.”

Acrisios barked a laugh. “Jealous? No, I’m grateful. I don’t have to pine like some lovesick poet while there’s actual work to be done.”

Telemachus sighed again, turning back to the sea. “You’ll never understand what we have. She’s my other half, my reason to keep going.”

Acrisios shook his head and muttered under his breath, “I’m about to make her my reason to push you overboard.”

“What was that?” Telemachus asked, not looking back.

“Nothing,” Acrisios replied with a smirk, grabbing the rope again. “Now get your lovesick self together before the crew throws you over for real.”

Telemachus grumbled but stayed quiet, though he couldn’t help but trace the outline of Y/N’s face in the clouds above. Telemachus paced the deck, gesturing wildly as he rambled. “And then there’s the way she wrinkles her nose when she’s annoyed, like she’s trying so hard not to smile, but you can tell she wants to. It’s adorable, Acrisios. Adorable! Don’t you think so?”

Acrisios sat on a barrel, his head in his hands. “I don’t even remember what she looks like, Telemachus. I couldn’t tell you if she’s adorable or a Gorgon in disguise. And at this point, I don’t care!”

“But her hair—” Telemachus began, his voice dreamy.

“Enough!” Acrisios shot to his feet, his patience finally snapping. “I swear by the gods, Telemachus, if you say one more word about Pandora, I’m throwing you overboard myself!”

Telemachus blinked, taken aback. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, wouldn’t I?” Acrisios growled, storming toward him.

Before Telemachus could respond, Acrisios grabbed him by the shoulders and began dragging him toward the edge of the ship. “You’re going to learn to shut up, one way or another!”

“Wait, wait, wait! Acrisios, this isn’t funny!” Telemachus yelped, flailing as Acrisios pushed him closer to the railing.

“Neither is listening to you talk about her every single second of this cursed voyage!” Acrisios barked, giving Telemachus a little shove that made him teeter precariously over the edge.

A group of crew members rushed over, alarmed by the commotion. One of them, a burly sailor named Dorios, grabbed Acrisios by the arm. “Hey! Calm down, Acrisios! You can’t just toss Odysseus’s son into the sea!”

“He’s not acting like Odysseus’s son—he’s acting like a lovesick fool!” Acrisios retorted, though he let Dorios pull him back a step.

Another sailor, Andros, held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Alright, alright, everyone breathe. Telemachus, maybe tone it down with the gushing. Acrisios, put him down before you get yourself thrown overboard.”

Telemachus, still dangling half over the railing, scowled. “I wasn’t gushing!”

“Yes, you were!” the entire crew shouted in unison.

Dorios hauled Telemachus back onto the deck, shaking his head. “Gods save us, this is going to be a long voyage.”

Acrisios pointed a finger at Telemachus, his face red with frustration. “One more word about her, Telemachus. Just one. I dare you.”

Telemachus straightened his tunic, glaring at Acrisios. But after a moment of silence, he mumbled, “Her eyes really are perfect, though…”

Acrisios lunged, but Dorios and Andros grabbed him just in time, dragging him away as he shouted threats.

Telemachus sighed, brushing himself off. “You’d think they’d understand. True love is a gift, not a curse.” The crew groaned in unison, and Acrisios’s muffled yelling could still be heard from the other side of the ship.

——

The gentle sway of the ship rocked the cabin as Telemachus and Acrisios shared a small bunk, the tight quarters forcing them to sleep back-to-back. Acrisios was already irritated at having to share a bed with Telemachus, but exhaustion from the day’s work had him drifting off regardless. That is, until Telemachus stirred in his sleep and mumbled, “Y/N…”

Acrisios’s eye twitched, but he ignored it. Moments later, Telemachus turned over, flinging an arm around Acrisios and muttering again, “Y/N… my sweet…”

Acrisios groaned, his patience hanging by a thread. “This cannot be happening.”

But Telemachus snuggled closer, his grip tightening as he whispered, “Y/N… your hair… your eyes…” That was it. Acrisios sat up abruptly, shoving Telemachus off him and onto the floor with a loud thud.

“Get off me, you lovesick idiot!” Acrisios snapped, glaring down at Telemachus, who was groaning on the floor and rubbing his head.

“What was that for?” Telemachus protested, sitting up.

“For this!” Acrisios gestured wildly. “Even in your sleep, you’re obsessed with her! Do you know how disturbing it is to wake up to you clinging to me like I’m your precious Y/!?”

Telemachus blinked, his face turning red. “I-I wasn’t clinging to you!”

“Oh, yes, you were,” Acrisios shot back, crossing his arms. “Muttering her name like I’m some stand in for your little lovebird.”

Telemachus scrambled to his feet, his embarrassment quickly turning to indignation. “It’s not my fault! I can’t control what I do in my sleep!”

“Well, control yourself now!” Acrisios snapped, jabbing a finger at him. “Find another bunk, or I’m throwing you overboard—again!”

“There’s nowhere else to sleep, Acrisios!” Telemachus retorted, throwing up his hands. “And if you’d just let me dream about Y/N in peace—”

“In peace?!” Acrisios interrupted, his voice rising. “You were practically whispering sweet nothings into my ear!”

Telemachus huffed. “You’re being dramatic.”

“And you’re being unbearable!” Acrisios growled, throwing himself back onto the bunk and turning his back to Telemachus. “One more peep about Y/N—even in your dreams—and I swear I’m sleeping on the deck next time.”

“Fine,” Telemachus muttered, climbing back into the bunk. But after a moment of silence, he mumbled under his breath, “She really does have the softest hands, though…”

Acrisios groaned, grabbing his pillow and smashing it over his head to block out the sound. “I can’t take this anymore.”

——

The morning sun painted the ship’s deck in gold as the crew bustled about their duties. Acrisios leaned lazily against the mast, a mischievous smirk tugging at his lips as Telemachus passed by.

“So, Telemachus,” Acrisios began, loud enough for the other crew members to hear, “I’ve been thinking. Y/N might be better off with a real man, you know? Someone who isn’t always whining about her like a lost puppy.”

Telemachus stopped in his tracks, narrowing his eyes. “What did you just say?”

“Oh, come on,” Acrisios said with a shrug, his tone dripping with mockery. “I’m just saying, she’d probably appreciate someone with a bit more… experience. Someone who can handle himself without tripping over his own feet every time she bats her eyes.”

A few of the crew chuckled, but Telemachus didn’t join in. Instead, his jaw clenched, and his fists balled at his sides. “Acrisios, you’re walking on thin ice.”

Ignoring the warning, Acrisios pressed on, clearly enjoying himself. “I bet if I showed up with flowers and actual charm, she’d forget all about you in a heartbeat. She deserves a man who can sweep her off her feet, not some boy who spends half the time whining about how much he misses her.” The other crew members exchanged wary glances as Telemachus’s face darkened.

“Shut your mouth,” Telemachus said, his voice low but filled with warning.

Acrisios smirked, leaning closer. “Or what? Are you going to cry? Maybe I’ll send her a message when we get to Sparta—let her know she has better options.”

That was the final straw. Telemachus surged forward, grabbing Acrisios by the collar and shoving him back against the mast. “Don’t you dare talk about her like that again,” he snarled, his face inches from Acrisios’s.

Acrisios’s smirk faltered as he saw the fury in Telemachus’s eyes. “Whoa, whoa, it was a joke!” he said, holding up his hands defensively.

“It wasn’t funny,” Telemachus snapped, his grip tightening. “You can tease me all you want, but leave Y/N out of it. Understand?”

“Alright, alright!” Acrisios said quickly, trying to pry Telemachus’s hands off his collar. “Relax, lover boy!” Telemachus released him with a shove, glaring as Acrisios straightened his tunic and muttered under his breath.

The rest of the crew stayed silent, pretending to focus on their tasks as Telemachus stormed off. Acrisios watched him go, rubbing his neck. “Man, he really is whipped,” he muttered, earning a few nervous chuckles from the crew. “He must get that pussy on a daily for him to be this desperate.”

But none of them dared say it loud enough for Telemachus to hear.

——

The sea breeze was calm that afternoon, but the deck of the ship was anything but. Telemachus leaned on a barrel, staring wistfully at the horizon while Acrisios attempted—unsuccessfully—to ignore him, fiddling with a loose rope knot.

“And then, right before I sailed, she hugged me,” Telemachus sighed for the hundredth time. “I can still feel it. It wasn’t just a hug, Acrisios. It was the hug. Like a promise, you know? A silent promise.”

Acrisios groaned, pulling tighter on the knot. “If I hear the word ‘Y/N’ one more time, I’m going to jump overboard.”

“But you get it, right?” Telemachus turned to him, his eyes shining. “The way she looks at me, the way her voice sounds when she says my name—”

“Telemachus,” Acrisios cut him off sharply, glaring. “I will physically throw you overboard myself and make sure no one will hear you this time.”

“Wow, someone’s cranky,” Telemachus teased, smirking. “Maybe you just need a girl of your own to obsess over.”

“I don’t obsess,” Acrisios muttered, turning his back to Telemachus.

“You totally do,” Telemachus shot back. “I bet there’s someone waiting for you back in Ithaca, huh? Some girl who’s just dying to see you again?”

“Nope,” Acrisios said quickly, too quickly.

Telemachus’s eyes narrowed. “Wait a minute. You hesitated. You hesitated! Acrisios, you do have someone!”

“I don’t,” Acrisios said firmly, his face starting to turn red.

“You so do!” Telemachus practically leaped to his feet, pointing at him accusingly. “Tell me! Who is she? Is it someone from the palace? Someone from town? Is she—”

“It’s no one,” Acrisios snapped, pulling the knot so tight the rope frayed.

“Come on, Acrisios,” Telemachus pressed, his grin widening. “You can’t hide it from me. I’m great with secrets! Is she—”

“It’s Lethea, alright!?” Acrisios blurted, then immediately froze, realizing what he’d just said.

There was a beat of silence. Then—

“LETHEA?!” Telemachus squealed, his voice practically cracking. “Your father’s friend’s daughter?!”

“Shut up,” Acrisios muttered, his face now beet red.

“But she’s gorgeous!” Telemachus exclaimed, his hands flailing dramatically. “And sweet! And—oh my gods, does she know?!”

“No, and she’s not going to,” Acrisios grumbled, glaring at Telemachus.

“But you have to tell her!” Telemachus insisted, bouncing on his heels. “She’s amazing! And you’re—you’re….Acrisios…I guess? She’d totally fall for you anyway.”

“I said shut up,” Acrisios growled, his glare darkening.

Telemachus, of course, ignored him entirely, already lost in his matchmaking fantasies. “You could totally win her over. You just need a plan. Oh, I could help you write a love letter! Or no, wait—”

“If you say one more word,” Acrisios interrupted, grabbing the rope and holding it threateningly, “I will tie you up and leave you at the next port.”

“Alright, alright,” Telemachus said quickly, holding his hands up in surrender. But the mischievous sparkle in his eyes betrayed him. “Still, Lethea, huh? I never would’ve guessed…”

Acrisios groaned, burying his face in his hands. He knew he’d never hear the end of this.

——

The ship rocked gently against the waves, the creak of wood and the occasional splash of water the only sounds filling the cabin. Acrisios lay sprawled on the bed, arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling. Beside him, Telemachus shifted for the third time in as many minutes, clearly restless.

Acrisios sighed, turning his head slightly to glance at his friend. “Alright, out with it. What’s wrong this time?”

Telemachus hesitated, staring up at the dark ceiling. He fidgeted with a loose thread on his tunic before finally mumbling, “It’s nothing.”

Acrisios raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You’ve been squirming like a fish caught in a net for the past hour. Doesn’t seem like ‘nothing’ to me.”

Telemachus groaned, covering his face with his hands. “It’s stupid.”

“Most things you worry about are,” Acrisios quipped, smirking. “Come on, just say it.”

There was a long pause before Telemachus finally blurted out, “I’m not ready to meet Y/N again!”

Acrisios blinked. “What?”

Telemachus groaned again, turning to face Acrisios, his expression a mix of panic and embarrassment. “I mean—what if she expects… things from me? What if I disappoint her? I don’t—I don’t know how to… properly sleep with a woman!”

Acrisios stared at him for a moment before bursting out laughing, clutching his stomach. “Are you serious? That’s what you’re worried about?”

Telemachus’s face turned bright red. “It’s not funny!” he hissed, shoving Acrisios’s shoulder.

“Actually, it’s hilarious,” Acrisios said between chuckles, wiping a tear from his eye. “Gods, Telemachus, you’ve got to stop overthinking everything.”

Telemachus sat up, running a hand through his hair. “I’m serious, Acrisios! What if she thinks I’m… inexperienced? What if I mess everything up? She’ll think I’m a joke.”

Acrisios rolled his eyes, sitting up as well. “First of all, I don’t think she cares about that. She’s probably more worried about you coming back in one piece than how ‘experienced’ you are in bed.”

“But—”

“Second,” Acrisios interrupted, placing a hand on Telemachus’s shoulder, “you’re putting way too much pressure on yourself. Women aren’t looking for perfection, alright? Just… be yourself. If you care about her, and you treat her right, that’s what matters.” Telemachus looked doubtful, but Acrisios gave him a reassuring smile.

“And third,” Acrisios added with a smirk, “if you’re that desperate for advice, I could always give you a few pointers.”

Telemachus’s eyes widened in horror. “No, gods, no! I don’t want to know what you do with women!”

Acrisios laughed, clapping him on the back. “Suit yourself, but don’t come crying to me if you’re awkward on your first night.”

Telemachus groaned, flopping back onto the bed. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet, you keep me around,” Acrisios said with a grin, lying back down.

Despite his teasing, Acrisios’s words stuck with Telemachus, and as the ship swayed gently beneath them, he found himself feeling a little less anxious. Maybe Acrisios was right—maybe he just needed to stop overthinking.

——

The soft glow of dawn filtered through the cabin window as Acrisios stirred awake. He stretched lazily, rubbing his eyes, when an unusual rustling sound caught his attention. Blinking groggily, he propped himself up on one elbow and turned toward the source of the noise.

What he saw nearly made him fall off the bed.

There stood Telemachus, butt ass naked, clutching a pillow against his chest. His face was an intense mask of concentration as he awkwardly shifted his hips and muttered under his breath, seemingly practicing… something. Acrisios stared in stunned silence for a good ten seconds before bursting out into uncontrollable laughter. He clutched his stomach, doubling over on the bed as tears streamed down his face.

“Gods above!” Acrisios wheezed. “What in Hades are you doing, Telemachus?!”

Telemachus froze, his face turning a shade of red so deep it could rival the evening sun. He scrambled to cover himself with the pillow, spinning around to face Acrisios. “I—I wasn’t—It’s not what it looks like!”

Acrisios laughed even harder, practically choking on his breath as he pointed at Telemachus. “Not what it looks like? You’re naked, grinding on a pillow, and talking to it! What else could it possibly be?!”

Telemachus groaned, clutching the pillow tighter and burying his face in it. “I was practicing, alright?!”

That only made Acrisios laugh harder. He rolled onto his back, pounding the bed with his fist. “Practicing! Oh, this is priceless. You’re pathetic, you know that?”

Telemachus glared at him, his face still burning. “I didn’t ask for your opinion!”

Acrisios sat up, still grinning ear to ear. “Oh, I’m definitely telling Y/N about this when we get back to Ithaca. ‘Oh, hey, Y/N, did you know your dear Telemachus spends his mornings seducing pillows?’”

“Don’t you dare!” Telemachus yelled, his voice cracking in panic.

Acrisios leaned forward, smirking wickedly. “Oh, I will. She deserves to know the man she’s been pining over is a lunatic who thinks pillows are practice partners.”

Telemachus groaned, throwing the pillow at Acrisios’s face. “You’re insufferable!”

Acrisios caught the pillow with ease, still laughing. “And you’re pathetic. Don’t throw that at me! I don’t know where that pillow has been. Now, for the love of the gods, put some clothes on before the crew sees you like this. I don’t think I can explain this one to them without dying of laughter.”

Telemachus stomped over to his discarded clothes, muttering curses under his breath as Acrisios continued to snicker.

“Honestly, Telemachus,” Acrisios said, wiping a tear from his eye, “this trip is worth it just for moments like these.”

Telemachus glared at him but said nothing, his dignity in tatters. It would take a lot of convincing—and possibly a bribe—to make sure Acrisios kept this embarrassing moment to himself.

@procrastination20 @jackiepackiee @barrythestrawberry041 @blessedbyahuntress

@f3r4lfr0gg3r @permanently-nothere @eyuunho @jackintheboxs-world

@simpingmyassoff @sunshinewhosketches

@sugarlillycookie @kaguraaaa @doodle-with-rhy

@0anodite0 @cocosparkel @tati-the-fangirl

@dazedemery @xo-cuteplosion-xo

#epic the musical #epic the musical x reader #epic telemachus #telemachus #aphrodites gamble #telemachus x reader

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gloomwitchwrites · 1 day ago

Text

Tattoo Artist Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings: fluff

Word Count: 553

A/N: Epilogue of Ink & Needle

Simon reflects on the life before him, and the future is bright.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

ao3 // main masterlist // ink & needle masterlist

One Year Later

Simon runs his gloved hand over the transfer paper. It adheres to your skin, the temporary stencil bleeding through the flimsy film as it sits.

“Ready?” he asks, glancing up.

Anticipation is a tightly wrapped coil. It weaves around the bones in his chest, twisting until it’s all he understands. It’s not anxiety or fear or a sense of impending doom. This anticipation is steeped in joy—of a bright future.

Your answer is a smile, one so full of affection that Simon temporarily loses himself in your beauty. Finally. Finally. He’s inking your skin in more than just his kisses and touches.

“Ready,” you affirm.

Slowly, Simon begins to peel back the paper, leaving a temporary stencil behind. “Have a look.”

Shifting in the tattooing chair, you slip off and approach the full-length mirror. You turn several times, admiring it from all angles. While he’s trying to remain professional, he’s far too distracted by how you’re beaming. Elation and excitement are clear in the way you carry yourself.

“Can I show them?” you ask.

As if Simon would deny you anything.

“Course, love,” he chuckles.

With a gleeful giggle, you rush over to Evie. “What do you think?”

Evie, engaged in conversation with Johnny, turns. Eyes widening slightly, she leans in as you show off the stencil. “I love it.”

“What about the placement?” you ask. “Should it go somewhere else?”

Evie shakes her head. “I think it’s lovely.” She glances at Johnny. “What do you think?”

And Soap blushes—actually blushes under Evie’s attention. “Looks good.”

Lillian sits on the floor at their feet, lightly tugging on Bravo’s ears. The German Shepherd remains passive, allowing her to crawl all over him.

“Dog,” she says. “Dog.”

Bravo gives her little fist a lick, sending her into a giggle fit.

Simon observers this small group of people. The family is not complete, and yet there is wholeness in Simon’s heart—a sense of relief. Contentment.

As you return to him, Simon cannot help but offer up his hand, the need to touch you—even for a moment—is far too precious a thing to ignore. When your hand slides into his, Simon’s thumb lightly brushes over your ring finger. It’s empty. For now, at least. One day soon, he’ll ink your skin there, and you will do the same for him.

“Happy with this?” asks Simon as you slide back into the tattoo chair.

“Very,” you beam.

All that work, hours of sketching, of not knowing what you might like. To drafts, references, and back to drafting again. But you’ve selected one, made a decision, following through on that offer you made all that time ago when you first arrived back into his life.

How grateful Simon is.

A treasure.

All his.

Tugging the rolling cart closer, Simon flips on the tattoo gun, the subtle buzzing filling the air. He dips it into the ink, ready to bring it to skin.

“Ready Mrs. Riley?”

Simon’s voice is a gentle tease, a soft thing that’s only meant for you. It’s a snapshot. A flash of a moment. Everything he hopes for, and the future the two of you will share together all wrapped up in a few words and a name.

You soften then upon hearing your new last name.

“Ready.”

taglist:

@glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @lialacleaf @creamwhxre @theshrikeandcanary

@knight4xmas @jupiternighties @corvusmorte @darling006 @carma-fanficaddict

@emmylous-world @i-feel-violated @mileyraes @miaraei @cherryofdeath

@ferns-fics @tulipsun-flower @miss-mistinguett @ninman82 @waves-against-a-cliff

@eternallyvenus @cinnabeanz @beebeechaos @no-oneelsebutnsu @marispunk

@smileykiddie08 @whisperwispxx @chaostwinsofdestruction @weasleytwins-41 @randomgurl2326

@webmvie @aykxz98 @xxkay15xx @saoirse06 @unhinged-reader-36

@ravenpoe67 @sageyxbabey @mudisgranapat @lulurubberduckie @leed-bbg

@yawning-grave81 @azkza @nishim @voids-universe @iloveslasher

@talooolaaloolla @sadlonelybagel @haven-1307 @itsberrydreemurstuff @kylies-love-letter

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fandom-lover2 · 2 days ago

Text

Actions Speak Louder Than Words

Miko has a bad day, and Optimus learns what body language is.

Word Count - 3040

-image not mine-

Today was… normal.

As normal as one could get when their guardian is a 20 foot tall metal warrior from another planet, but today hadn’t been any different than the others.

Woke up, got ready for Saturday (Ratchet’s favourite day because we were at the base all day) and hitched a ride with Bee and Raf to base.

We were the first humans here. Ratchet and Optimus were already hard at work at the monitors, scanning for energon and logging reports and doing whatever it was that they continuously did at those computers.

After exchanging greetings and brief conversation, Raf and I settled down while Bee waited for Bulk so patrol routes could be run.

It didn’t take long for the roar of a motorbike’s engine to fill the tunnel and Jack was rolling in on Arcee, Miko and Bulk close behind.

“Thought you had work today?” I called down to Jack, not moving from my spot at the desk with the human monitors where I was preparing to start my history essay on the similarities between Ancient Greek mythology and Shakespear (don’t judge, I find it interesting).

“Schedules got moved around. Apparently I’m ‘Working too much’ and they don’t want to pay me.” Jack replied, beginning up the stairs.

What followed was the sound of two Autobots transforming, and then silence.

I glanced over my shoulder, making sure Bulkhead had actually brought Miko. There she was, walking up the stairs behind Jack. I frowned, but turned back to my papers.

“Where to today, boss?” Bulkhead questioned.

“Once you have restocked your energon, we are going to northern Alaska. Our scanners have sensed an energon signal.”

“If it’s black, fight back. If it’s brown, lie down. If it’s white, goodnight.” I warned jokingly to Jack and Miko, not looking up from my textbook.

For mid-April, Alaska would be warm enough now that they could go along and maybe not freeze. That also meant the bears would be out and about.

Me personally, as much as I wanted to tag along, this essay would take a while and with spring break around the corner, I didn’t have time to go off on excursions.

That’s why I came here to work on it, Ratchet would keep me from getting too distracted. I’d texted last night asking as much.

“Eh, I have some homework to catch up on.” Jack answered, and I heard him pull out the chair at the desk near the couch and get settled. Beside me, Raf was already lost to the world of coding and typing away on his laptop with ferocity.

I waited for three breaths, and then frowned when there wasn’t a reply. I spun in my wheelie chair, and watched as Miko sat down on the couch.

Ok, what was up?

Firstly, she didn’t sit anywhere, she flopped. And secondly, she never took up only one end of the couch. Usually, she dramatically lounged across it while whining that it was taking forever for Bulkhead to get ready so they could head out. And also, what was with the silence. Not even a sarcastic greeting to Ratchet.

Something was up with her. It wasn’t her birthday, wasn’t a Japanese traditional holiday she was missing, wasn’t school related cause yesterday she had a good day.

I glanced over at Jack and he was turned in his seat too, looking just as confused.

He caught my gaze and gave the ‘you see it too?’ look.

‘Yeah. What’s up with her?’ I shrugged subtly.

Jack raised his brows slightly, ‘I don’t know. She didn’t say anything to me.’

I rubbed my lips together, my go to for thinking.

‘You should talk to her.’ Jack prompted, jerking his chin just a bit.

‘Me? Why me?’ I frowned.

‘Well I can’t. I’m a guy.’ Jack answered, looking down at his chest and then back up to me.

‘Fine.’ I agreed, rolling my eyes. Men are such weirdos.

With a sigh that didn’t need to be that dramatic, I got off my chair and made my way to Miko. On my journey, I happened to glance over and found Optimus watching me with an intense stare.

It was almost enough to make me stumble over my own feet.

I had long since given up trying to understand Optimus, mostly because there wasn’t much to understand. He was a simple guy, someone who carried a lot of weight on his shoulders and had only made it so far in life by concealing his emotions.

If he was pissed, you’d know it in the way he spoke. If he was at ease, he’d hang around a little longer in the common area before heading off to wherever it was he went. If he was stressed, he’d assign himself the longest patrol route so he’d have more time to get away. Easy as that.

This, open and intense studying, was a new one. A part of me wanted to ask, but I was on a mission already. Sky and ocean blue would have to wait.

As I got closer, it was obvious something was wrong. She sat hunched, eyes glued to the floor and hands folded in her lap. Her eyes were puffy and a little red, and she sniffed when I got close.

Crying, hunched over, hands in good posture… oh god. She was going back to Japan.

“Hey Meeks.” I greeted, sitting on the sofa beside her.

There was the long approach, of asking how she was, and then going through all the small talk. Or, I could ask it upfront and get this going. Knowing her, the only way to get it out was to hit her hard.

“What’s wrong?” She looked up at me, and as it always happens when someone asked ‘Are you ok?’ when you already aren’t, the water works started.

“They won’t let me dye my hair.”

Between the beginning to cry breaking her voice and the fact that she lunged at me, I only got some of the words before she was burying herself into my chest and sobbing. My arms wrapped around her, shuffling forward so I could pull her into my chest and cradle her closer.

“What?” I asked, needing to hear that again.

“My host parents.” I could faintly make out. “They won’t let me dye my hair.”

Her outburst had caused everyone to look at us, and Bulkhead was rushing over from the supply station, an adorably confused face that suited a toddler better than all 18 feet of him looking to me for the answers.

Either he didn’t know how to start this conversation, or he’d not seen something was wrong on the ride over. Either way, I was now being watched like the one with the answers.

Miko sobbed into my shirt again and I realized I was supposed to be doing something.

Ok, let’s back up to what she said. Her host parents wouldn’t let her dye her hair. Well, the pink was starting to wash out a little, leaving only the bleach behind. And, her hair had grown out a bit since our first meeting. And, based on what she’d told me about her host family, they did seem very ‘stick up the ass’ about this kinda thing.

Still, not letting her dye her hair. Come on, assholes. It’s part of who she was, her personality. It was just hair dye.

Miko sobbed again, and I continued to hold her close.

It was just hair dye, and yes it made her seem like a delinquent, but in the land of Freedom, let her live. No one was getting hurt.

“So fuck them.” I spoke, plain and simple.

“Kristin!” Jack chastised.

“What?” I demanded.

Miko had released me in her shock and was now sitting upright, wiping her tears.

I turned to Optimus. “Mind if I pull Bulk for a couple hours?”

He didn’t take long to consider it. “You may.”

I smiled back at him in thanks, standing and heading for my bag, which was left by my books. I paused just briefly, but then slammed my textbook closed and slung my bag onto my shoulder. I could do it later.

“Coming?” I asked Miko, making my way to the stairs and skipping down them.

“Where?” Miko asked, hesitant to follow.

“To buy hair dye.” I called over my shoulder.

I heard her gasp, then scramble to rush down behind me. Bulkhead transformed, opening his front doors for us.

Miko reached me as we got to the bottom of the stairs, slamming into me from behind and encasing me in a hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” she repeated over and over.

“Yeah, yeah. Get in.” I redirected, shrugging her off.

“Bulk, play something awesome!” Miko instructed, rushing to get into his passenger seat. A moment later, something metal and ear assaulting blasted from his speakers.

I regretted this already.

---

I, thankfully, got to choose the music on the ride back, so Elle King announced our arrival back to the base.

Bulk pulled to a stop and we jumped out his cab, me pulling the two plastic bags with us.

Miko took off into the base, not a glance back as she shouted “Come on!”

I had one pit stop to make before we commandeered the bathrooms.

“Jack!” I called, jerking my head for him to meet me halfway as I started up the stairs.

He did, and I handed over the second bag.

“What’s this?” he asked, glancing inside to find soda, candy and some bags of chips.

“Do not disturb tax. We’re having a girl’s day.”

Spinning on my heels, I marched back down the stairs and made my way into the base.

---

I flopped onto the old chair with a groan, my back protesting. Three hours of standing was not easy.

But hey, Miko has bright pink ends and was currently kicking Raf’s ass at Mario Cart, so it was worth it. Kinda.

This shirt had been one of my favorites and now it was bleached to all hell. And my ears were still ringing from the speaker we’d used.

But hey, karaoke was the bomb. Totally worth it.

I moved my hands to rest on my back, using them to lean backwards and stretch my spine.

Primus, what time was it anyway?

Jack had left a couple hours ago for his shift and said his mom had made us stuff for dinner that’d he bring back. Miko and Raf would be getting ready to head home soon.

Jack and I would probably spend the night. June had nightshift and my parents were out of town again so there wasn’t a reason for either of us to make the trip back.

Spinning the chair around, I opened my textbook again. Interlacing my fingers and giving them a crack, I started up my laptop and got busy.

At first I struggled to find a point to start on, but once finding a cool quote online, the words started flowing and flowing.

I apparently missed Raf and Miko’s goodbye and Jack’s arrival because the next thing I knew, Ratchet was using a digit to cover my screen.

“Oi!’ I turned to glare up at him.

“I understand all the well putting your health aside for a project, but you need food and sleep.”

I glanced down at my phone and tapped the screen, 11:34pm shining back at me.

Oh scrap, I had been here for almost 4 hours. How was that even possible?

I looked around the base. Optimus was watching with just as much concern as the medic, Jack asleep on the couch already. Well that explained why my eyes were burning and why my stomach ached so fiercely.

“Yeah, ok.” I conceded, rubbing my eyes. “Lemme just save this quick.”

Ratchet relented, moving his digit so I could quickly save the document before gently closing my laptop.

Standing, almost every bone and joint in my body cracked. Ratchet cringed, having verbally stated his hate when I did that many times before.

Barely having enough energy to shuffle, I made my way to where ‘dinner’ sat cold. Eh, lasagna was better cold anyway.

Grabbing a plastic fork, I ate straight from the glass dish, barely able to keep my eyes open. Ratchet wished me a goodnight and I returned the sentiment between yawns.

I had just finished all I was going to eat and was preparing to get settled on the smaller sofa when Optimus walked over and held out his servo for me. No need to tell me twice.

I climbed abord and let him carry me to his room. When we got there, he sat on his berth, and then swung his legs over and got settled on his back while I situated myself on his chestplates.

The pillow and blanket that were left in his room for occasions like this were brought up for me and I thanked him, curling in onto him.

Yeah, I slept on his chest when I slept over. And yes, it was extremely dangerous but he was yet to roll over in his sleep and kill me so we’d keep doing it.

“Y/n,” he started.

I hummed in the form of a reply for him to continue, fluffing my pillow.

“You planned to do your school work earlier, but then when Miko confessed her distress, you abandoned your work to help her. Why?”

What kinda question was that?

“She needed me.” I answered simply, shifting slightly so I could look him in the optics. “I could always do the work later. She needed me then.”

Optimus seemed to accept that answer. “How did you know she was in trouble?” I went to answer, but he continued. “And those actions you and Jack exchanged, almost as if you were having a conversation, but without words. How was that possible?”

I huffed a laugh, getting settled once again and closing my eyes. “Body language. We could read each other through our actions, and those translated into words. Same thing with how Miko was acting. She wasn’t talking, sitting by herself, hunched into herself. She was sad. Jack shrugged, meaning he didn’t know why.”

I paused, thinking of how I could possibly explain it any further and found there really wasn’t much more I could say. Body language just was.

Thinking back on it, the bots never really did speak through body language. All conversations were verbal, and I’d never seen them silently gesture to one another before.

There wasn’t really a way to explain it to someone. You could explain some of the actions, but it was so ingrained in human culture, it was never a need explain. It was the universal language, though now I guess it was only the human language.

“I’ll teach you sometime.” I said through a yawn, settling down further into his warm metal.

“Rest well, My Spark.” Optimus agreed, bringing up his servo to settle over me.

I drifted off to sleep moments later, the sound of his spark beating steadily in my ear.

----

“You are… cold.” Optimus finally settled on his answer, which was so far from the correct answer Miko and Raf dissolved into giggles.

Jack looked wounded. “Am I that bad at acting?” he lamented, giving up and walking away.

The intended action was bored, or uninterested, but to the Cybertronian warrior, somehow sitting with a sigh and resting your head on your fist meant being cold.

These lessons were taking a lot longer than I thought they would, and apparently more coaching than I’d imagined.

Body language was seriously something none of the bots knew. In fact, Ratchet had laughed at the concept until I’d explained to him some of the common actions we did.

He then grumbled about how these pointers would have been helpful when dealing with Agent Fowler, like it was our fault no one debriefed him on human mannerisms.

“Bored. He was bored.” I answered, standing too. This was not going well.

“He is not the only one.” Arcee mumbled.

I turned to glare over at her. “No one asked you to join in.” I muttered even softer than her quip.

“You don’t like Arcee.” Optimus blurted out.

Jack barked out a laugh so hard he missed the chair he was aiming for and hit the floor. Miko and Raf dissolved into more giggles.

“Well that only took 6 months.” I sighed. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea anymore.

The blue and pink stabby stabby femme turned to look at me, her optics narrowed. I looked away to avoid her gaze.

No doubt this would come back to bite me in the ass later on.

“You are embarrassed.” Optimus helpfully decided to test his knowledge.

He wasn’t wrong, but I wasn’t too embarrassed. I wasn’t trying to hide my dislike for her. But being called out in front of her by him was a little harsh.

“Good work, Optimus.” I rewarded his observation. The proud little smile he awarded himself was too adorable.

All jokes aside, we were making some progress. And once I’d see the bots use some of our gestures when they’d been sneaking up on ‘Cons and couldn’t talk.

In some ways, us humans were actually helping out there. And teaching these ancient bots something new.

And Optimus was like a little puppy, so excited to learn more and prove his skills, which were still in development but he was getting there.

We still had to work on his ability to read the room, and when to keep his observations to himself.

But we’d get there.

To save everyone from the embarrassment, the tones sounded for energon signals being picked up.

“Time to roll!” Miko cheered, like she going to go anywhere.

“Sit down.”

“You are authoritative.”

“Optimus, just go out… there, somewhere!” I snapped, gesturing to the opening portal.

This was seriously turning into something I regretted.

The Prime walked over to his screen, and made a plan with his team, and then just before slipping through the groundbridge, he turned to me and said, “You are annoyed.”

“Optimus!” I picked up an empty soda can and yeeted it towards him.

I seriously needed to rethink this decision.

#tfp optimus x reader #tfp optimus prime #tfp optimus #optimus x reader #optimus prime #tfp #transformers prime #transformers x reader #tfp x reader #tfp ratchet #tfp arcee #tfp bulkhead #tfp bumblebee #tfp jack #tfp miko #tfp raf

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wingedshadowfan · 2 days ago

Note

A loving relationship where she was struck by caitlyn's rifle without hesitation when she didnt want a child to witness/ get accidently shot. Vi's identity/ past trauma with prison and enforcers put in the back burner just for her to reclaim by going down on her knees after self harming in the very same cell moments before. Clearly she is not in a right state of mind.

thanks for the ask!

i'm not sure if your problem is w/ what i said, w/ what caitlyn and/or vi did, w/ caitvi as a concept or w/ the choices of the writers of arcane - i am just a fan who agrees w/ their vision in this specific regard and i obv have no control over their work, but let me address this piece by piece anyway:

"she was struck by caitlyn's rifle without hesitation when she didn't want a child to witness/get accidentally shot" is true but it's also ignoring the larger context of what happened and why it happened, which i've discussed before, but many others i've interacted w/ on here have as well, perhaps even more extensively, but the short answer: caitlyn was very much not in her right mind either. she hallucinated jinx before that, she fought sevika for her life, she was in an extremely high pressure situation and didn't seem to be registering what vi was telling her (vi was also abt to get her brains blown out by isha) before she physically interfered, the vents almost blew them away, and ofc let's not forget jinx is a thing of caitlyn's nightmares. we can clearly see caitlyn repeatedly hit the wall w/ her rifle and put her forehead to it after the fight is over?? is that normal headspace behavior to you? she tries to leave and remove herself from the argument w/ vi (in which vi likens her to her mother(and coworlers)'s killer and her torturer), vi catches her arm to stop her, and that's when caitlyn snaps and hits her - literal fight or flight (for the vi defenders: you may also see how this mirrors what happened between vi and powder, and perhaps even between vander and silco if you think age should've been a factor in these circumstances, and not trauma triggered by/mixed in w/ intense emotions)

"vi's identity/past trauma with prison and enforcers put in the back burner just for her to reclaim [by having lesbian sex in a prison cell]" this isn't jinx hate but who locked vi in that cell again, bcuz i thought your issue was w/ caitvi's loving relationship? how is the sex scene happening in the prison cell caitlyn's fault or her choice when vi clearly initiates it and remains in the cell after caitlyn unlocked it? not to mention this happening there is symbolical to their first meeting and a metaphor for how vi has always been caged by the identity of the protector until she was let out by the only person she loved that she never had to protect/feel that same responsibility for. furthermore, vi doesn't talk abt her prison trauma and the first person she opens up to abt her past who actually listens and gives her compassion is caitlyn. close enough. caitlyn who, at her lowest as commander, forbids the use of the kind of cell vi was kept in. besides, i don't know what you wanted caitlyn to do differently in that moment: she came, she unlocked the door, she noticed vi's knuckles, she walked in and stood next to vi, she tried to make a joke to distract vi from her self-deprecating spiral (and in doing so she basically admitted how well she knows vi, that she accepts her the way she is, and how much her actions were motivated by her love for her), she clearly didn't expect vi to forgive her, let alone decide to kiss her right there, in that moment so it's not like she planned it to or had a say in the circumstances. and yes, perhaps vi reclaimed something, be it her prison trauma or her ability to make choices for herself and put her own needs first, for once without running after others to protect them and take responsibility for their actions

"going down on her knees" there's not many other ways to give oral to a woman standing up without anything to sit/lie down on and if you see pleasing your partner (not just by choice, but eagerly even) this way as inherently demeaning, degrading or "dirty work" that puts you below your partner in your power dynamics, then irdk what to tell you other than maybe get checked for misogyny and/or lesbophobia?? (a post abt this here)

"after self harming in the very same cell moments before" why do you think she self harmed? she basically had only two people left: she thought she'd lost jinx (that she'd ran away like before and didn't want to be found bcuz she didn't want to help, not necessarily that she was going to off herself) and that she'd lost caitlyn by letting jinx out - vi says very clearly exactly what she's blaming herself for, and when caitlyn unlocks the cell, she walks in with vi. ofc caitlyn doesn't have any prison trauma, but this is a very clear show-not-tell that she believes her place is next to vi if that's what vi wants. and she proceeds to (imo by making a bad joke that she believes is funny lol) tell vi that she facilitated vi's choice to free jinx, aka that she implicitly trusted vi and her judgement, that she understood and accepted that vi would keep choosing family, that she was ready to let go of her revenge and atone for her mistakes - and we can see the effect of this realization on vi's face in real time. vi realizes she hasn't lost everyone, she still has caitlyn, the old caitlyn - from before her trauma, anger and grief swallowed her

"clearly she is not in a right state of mind" much can be said abt whether she was or not bcuz she'd been stabbed so badly it took 3 doctors to patch her up and i assume she'd been in a coma/asleep for at least a few days, jinx had just locked her in a cell and ran away again (traumatic on multiple levels), she thought she'd lost caitlyn too, that she was only there to goad her and say she told her so, etc (caitlyn has been consistently defying vi's expectations since they first met lol) and i can argue that what caitlyn did and told her neutralized/put many of those factors into perspective for her but even if you don't care for my analysis on why what vi did was in character and not a moment of insanity (albeit maybe impulse): vi stayed. she could've left forever if she'd realized she'd just been impulsive or high off her meds or whatever during the prison scene and she didn't actually love caitlyn or want to stay w/ her. but she was there w/ mel, jayce and caitlyn during battle strategizing, she fought in the war, and remained next to caitlyn in the aftermath. i think that's a loving relationship??

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vivitur-moritur · 3 days ago

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Sha Hualing i love you so <3

(if tumblr could stop fucking w/ my vibrancy & quality that would be GREAT)

close-up and design notes under the cut, for some reason it's kept those a better color

second one is from when i got distracted partway through lineart to start coloring... what can i say the thought that i should cover her in blood actually occurred and i thought "oh i gotta do that now actually"

Anyway book says her hair entirely braided but honestly she doesn't have time to do that and I don't have time to draw that, so she gets SOME braids, but not a full head. Book also says she wears Literally Just Scarves and also silver jewlery, so. That's what she gets?

Next time I draw her, I think I'll stray further from MXTX's description, though. I want to give her some cool hairpins in a Tang style, (I really should have even in this ver, because WHAT is holding her current hairstyle up???) and wrap her top differently. I'd also like to figure out how tf I want to do her skirt because AUGH. It's really difficult to find historical ref to base her on because skirts simply were not that short in history, and then that's especially a problem if I want to put svsss in the Tang dynasty because skirts generally sat just above or below the breast then, and so that won't work at ALL for historical basis bc her oufit is two-piece and shows her midriff. I think what I want to do there is Maybe have something layered? Potentially giving her something like flowy shorts beneath a longer skirt-type thing.

Anyway maybe this was a bit long, but if you're reading this, you DID click on for design notes, I guess?

#sha hualing #svsss #the scum villain's self saving system #scum villian self saving system #scum villain #scum villain fanart #svsss fanart #my art

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secriden · 3 days ago

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Oh!! I think-- I think I just had a revelation:

So this moment?? I think it shows us that Fadel thinks that the core of why he's so hurt and angry is that Style was "work[ing] for the police" and "fooling me and my brother". I'm drawing attention to the wording specifically, because it suggests that (to Fadel) the betrayal was about Style getting to know him to find proof of his crimes. That the issues between them are grounded and tied up in the whole hitman/killer secret. Specifically, this focus distances Fadel's pain from being a personal betrayal between just Style and himself.

And yet even when Style confesses that he worked for the police and was tasked by Kant to distract him, Fadel remains relatively calm and collected in his anger.

The thing that does get an almost out of control emotional response, though? It's Style's declaration that his love for Fadel was genuine. This, Fadel could not handle; this, was agony so deep and so profound that it caused a reaction that is the only time we see Style genuinely afraid of Fadel.

But I think this is why Style hasn't bothered to clarify that (a) that he only found out about Fadel's secret after they became boyfriends, (b) that he didn't technically work (directly) for the police and (c) that their initial meeting truly was a coincidence. I've seen a few people wonder why Style continues to allow Fadel to misunderstand these aspects of the circumstances -- and while I'm sure part of it is just the writing/pacing choices of the show, on a character level I wonder if Style isn't defending himself because the distinction does not matter.

Style understands that Fadel's hurt stems not from whether Style approached Fadel because of a genuine attraction at first OR whether Style was working for the police -- but at the centre of Fadel's agony is the simple fact that he thinks Style faked who he was, and that this false display was so utterly perfect that Fadel's tumble into love nearly shattered him to pieces.

(God, the way Fadel has this almost involuntary reaction of confused agony every time Style refers to him as faen. ;A;)

It's why Fadel is constantly trying to see beyond what he thinks is another mask, and why Style devotes himself to being exactly who he is to an almost obnoxious degree. I would argue that more than any other episode -- more even than Episode 1 or 2 (because he did, actually, have ulterior motivations then) -- we are seeing Style as he truly is: not just unfiltered or unedited, but with a purposeful lack of pretension.

This is also why all his focus this episode was to show Fadel that Style truly does know Fadel and is choosing Fadel with his eyes wide open to all that he is.

But this isn't new; Style has been doing this ever since he could, ever since Kant told him the truth and Style had to decide if he was going to keep pursuing Fadel. Because by the end of episode 5, we get this:

[Style] pours the secrets of his knowing and choosing Fadel anyway into the way he presses his lips onto Fadel's skin. [...] Style's kisses contain a purpose that Fadel's kisses couldn't in Episode 3 because in all honesty they were relative strangers back then. -- quoted from this post comparing the storeroom scene with the one in Style's bedroom.

Style knows that everything Fadel fell in love with is still here, still untainted and genuine; because Style fell in love with the truth of Fadel, not the lies, and so all Style really needs to convince Fadel of is the sincerity of his own love. The timing of it doesn't matter, nor does the technicalities of whether or not Style was working for the police through Kant. None of it matters more than Fadel understanding that neither of them fell for each other's masks.

So Style chooses not to defend himself, chooses wordless surrender and instead takes the moments offered to him to press tender kisses to Fadel's hurts -- an intentional callback to the last time Style met all of Fadel's vulnerability with nothing but love and adoration -- and hopes that in so doing, Fadel will see that Style's heart was true and that he has already chosen to give it, unreservedly, to Fadel.

#the heart killers #fadelstyle #thk ep 8 #thk meta #fadelstyle meta #hui talks thk #hui talks thai bl #style choosing to kiss fadel's hurts again because it directly calls back #to the time he made the choice to love fadel despite knowing that fadel was actively lying to him #i'm fine; i say as i lay in a puddle of my own tears

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kismetlotts · 9 hours ago

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cw: angst, mentions of sex, best friend Simon Riley, mentions of knives, mentions of hurting yourself but no implications of actually doing so or having done in the past, mentions of cheating, mentions of alcohol, clueless Simon Riley, crying in each others arms, helping out your best friend, reader is self less

part 2 of Best Friend Simon Riley Angst (I recommend reading part one first to understand certain elements better)

You woke up in the morning, daylight shining through your curtains and you already knew it wasn’t sunshine- bound to be nothing but grey clouds out there, flooding the sky like a polluted ocean. Your nose and head ached in the silent flood of last nights memories, your crying, your actions and worst of all, your best friend.

Oh Simon, what a dickhead you were. Why did you have to come here?

Your body flushed against the cold sheets behind you, a weightless bed, giving you the impression he’d done a runner. Typical him honestly- you wouldn’t be surprised if that was what initiated their breakup; the same breakup that was at fault for all of this.

He was always so forward, front and confrontational within the field. The notorious ‘Ghost’ that installs fear in every enemy he has to face. He’s a fighter at work but ironically, in life, all he knew was how to retreat. Pull away before he can cause anymore damage, pull out before the mess gets bigger.

You flung the covers off you, their pretty, pink, innocent pattern already making vomit surface in your throat. He’d flopped down on that bedding countless times in the past: memories which made it hurt more came to mind. The knives that were already jammed in your gut, heart and what’s seemed as your brain, twisting a little deeper before freezing up in place.

You remembered the times when his body would accidentally fling you around the mattress, grunting and smirking while he settle down and got comfy. You remembered the way his fingers tapped on the cotton as he leaned over to see what you were looking at on your phone. Nosy but never prying in too much.

Imagining how you looked when you watched his hand sweep across the duvet on movie night, pushing every crumb onto your bedroom floor with a laugh and an apology leaving his lips. His hands, shooting into the air as he surrendered in playful shame. Not really paying attention as your voice scolded him for eating in your bed.

Your fingers stripped the bedding from its covers. Tossing them into a pile on the floor beside your laundry basket, the sheets so stained with both of your sweat and dirt from the situation, your nose scrunched up at the sight. You left it there ready to put in the wash later.

Though, a part of you can’t help but wonder if they will ever feel as clean as they did before.

If they’ll ever give you the warm, comforting sensation you got every night before nodding off to sleep. Would you ever hear their soft cries to slip back in bed when you wake up early for work? The covers flopped back in agony, silently pleading for you to come back and have five more minutes?

No. Now they just feel like you never got out of that bed, the duvet still wrapped around your body keeping you hostage and forcing you to go about your day. The weight of everything on your shoulders enough for you to trip and fall on the material.

You’d burn them if they weren’t so big.

The whole thing was absolutely ridiculous, why the fuck did you let it happen anyway? The sex with him wasn’t anything like you’d wished or dreamed of nor would it have never been.

He didn’t love you but something inside you obviously can’t comprehend that. Every chance you get to show or pretend that the two of you were more than what you were- you’d leap for it: eyes sparkling with the same hope a lost kid has.

He used you last night and you let him like the pathetic, lovesick loser you always were. It wasn’t sex, it was nothing more than a mere distraction and waste of time. A waste of his time, more hassle just for him.

Your fingers wrapped around your smooth doorknob as you pushed open your bedroom door, trailing into the kitchen before an aroma of pancake batter and fresh baking gripped you by the throat. Your big eyes meeting Simons, his familiar, large figure pressed against your kitchen counter as he sucked on his bottom lip.

His face was pale and his brown pupils never left the plate of fucked up pancakes, left on a placemat on the table.

You laughed. You laughed because you couldn’t trust anything else to come out- You couldn’t trust that you wouldn’t break down crying, that you wouldn’t scream or hurt yourself in front of him, that you wouldn’t wince at this- idiotic gesture.

Was this an apology? Was this all you meant to him? A plate of sweet treats you’d have to force yourself to eat, to swallow down and help you forget everything bad that happened. Maybe, or perhaps it was pure coincidence it summed up his perspective of the night; perfectly.

“Did you make me pancakes?” The tremble and nerves in your voice was apparent and he nodded slowly, gesturing to the massive bag of groceries on the countertop.

“With berries and sugar on top. I’ve got some other things here though, chocolate- all kinds, some syrup and honey and other fruit in that bag if you want any. I just added berries because I know they’re your favourite.” He rambled on.

“When did I tell you that?” Your head turned to the side, twitching in uncertainty as you sat down in front of the plate. Eyes squinting as you bit the inside of your cheek.

“You said when we…-oh.”

That’s not her, Simon.

His hand lifted to his eyes, rubbing them to avoid looking anywhere. The rise and fall of his chest grew faster and you just knew how is heart felt, flooding with guilt and embarrassment at his own actions.

Staying mad at him was hard when you knew him so well. Mistakes get made and feeling get trampled on but he wasn’t a bad person. That’s why you fell for him all that time ago.

The knife in your hand cut through the pancakes like butter, your posture up straight and distant from the plate while your appetite warned you not to bite. Your eyes flickered over to Simon again, seeing his hands still firmly placed over his eyes, broad shoulders retracted inwards as his body jolted in silent cries. The metal rattled against the table as you put the knife down and jumped out of your chair.

“Simon don’t do this-“ You spoke comfortingly, lunging over towards his body. Your soft skin met with the roughness of his arm but before you could say another word he shoved your body away from him.

A voice you’d never heard before coming out loud and brute, as you took a step back from his harsh rejection.

“Can you just fuck off trying to make me feel better constantly- I know i’ve fucked up and I know i’ve upset you. Stop acting like everything is alright when it isn’t, you do this every time- i’m not a kid!” His fist clawed at his shirt. Pulling it away from his chest as if he wanted to rip his heart out to stop the torture he was suffering.

Spit flew from his mouth and his eyes looked red, sunken with despair. Your voice died in your mouth, tongue soaking up all your saliva and you tried to swallow.

He was lost. He ruined the thing he needed the most- fucked about and caused chaos with his lifeline. You were his saviour and always had been. He didn’t need for you to fix his relationship or his problems, he needed you to fix him. He didn’t sleep with you to use you intentionally, it was a drunken mistake and a shitty timing.

He inhaled through his mouth, his throat croaking as he gripped the counter for stabilisation. Face was locked down to the floor, glued and staring at his shoes on your kitchen floor.

The drops of his tears on the black leather of his boots and the drops on your tiles reminding him of how pathetic he was being. He was a man, he worked in the military. He had slept with people before, cheated, and ruined relationships but nothing hurt like this hurt. Nothing knocked him down so hard he was afraid to get back up, he was afraid to lose you. Simon was scared.

“I made a mistake and I’m so fucking sorry. I don’t know what I can even do to make it up to you- fucking pancakes- it is stupid I should know better and I should know what to do but I-” The whiteness in his knuckles disappeared as he lessened his grip on the counter. Hands falling to his side as he broke down on the spot.

The hard armour he lived in unraveling like flimsy pieces of ribbon. His wet eyelashes hitting his cheeks as he wiped his nose and face on the back of his wrist.

“I can’t think. I can’t be me without you here and I don’t know what to do, please, i’m so sorry just please come back to me. I know i’ve lost a part of you and I will fight until the end of day to get it back, but for now just let me have the rest back. I need my best friend back.” His hands met your lower back as you flung your arms around his neck, your own eyes dripping with tears of outrage and hurt but above all you needed Simon too.

You sobbed silently into his shoulder as he held you close to him finally getting his breathing back to normal. You bit your lips shut and breathed slowly so he couldn’t feel your body shake for air. You didn’t want him to realise how much you were struggling in his arms- how lost and abused you felt. You didn’t want your emotions to worsen his because he had to come first.

He’d lost the love of his life and he needs someone to be strong for him, help him get on his own feet. Be beside him with wide arms and a welcoming face. It wasn’t him being selfish, it was something you had to understand Simon to understand.

The two of you stayed like that for a moment before you hesitantly sat down and talked. It was a long talk hidden by cheap smiles and forced laughter but of course, he didn’t catch on. You let him speak, you gave him advice- hugged it out and as weeks passed by, the two of you were back to normality again.

He’d found a new girl quicker than you thought he wouldn’t, pretty girl and ironically she your figure and eye colour. The more you watched them interact the more they seemed to happy together, kissing, hugging, buying each other gifts. It felt just like how it was before.

Back to Simon and his lovesick best friend that will always be there for him even if he’s never there for her. Back to Simon and his awful dating life as he hops from one awful breakup to the next because they all are missing something.

All he wants, is girl with your hair colour. A girl with your eye colour and your smile. All he longs for is a girl that he can hold hands with but can also roll his eyes at when she teases him for being too cheesy. He wants a girl who can laugh and joke with him but still support him and by there for him in more ways than one. Not just a girlfriend but almost as if a best friend at the same time. That’s all he wants and asks the world for but for some reason she just isn’t out there for him.

And until he realises why he looks for you in every girl he meets. Until he steps back and opens his eyelids to everything right in front of him. She won’t ever be.

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winternightswren · 17 hours ago

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From Under The Desk

JaycexFem!Reader

Modern College AU

You have a paper due at midnight. A very important one. You absolutely CANNOT afford to be distracted.

Jayce distracts you.

Warnings: 18+ (this is basically just smut without plot tbh.) Reader is AFAB. Oral sex, cunnilingus, descriptions of genitalia. Small age gap? Like, only a year or two. Does that count? Idk let me know if i missed something <3

You scrubbed a hand across your face, exhaustion tugging at your eyes. It wasn't actually that late- it was only about seven pm. But, you'd stayed up all of last night writing this damned paper, only to go and spend a full day in class afterwards. And now here you were, hunched over your desk like a vulture pecking at your keyboard.

Getting the words down was the easy part. It was making them make sense that made your brain hurt. The amount of words you'd back-spaced over was probably comparable to the ones you'd actually kept.

You took a swig of your energy drink, wincing as the carbonation hit the back of your throat. You don't know why you bothered honestly; it wasn't doing anything for you at this point.

It was then that you heard the lock on the front door click, and the telltale shuffling sounds of someone entering your tiny apartment.

"I'm home!"

You heard Jayce's muffled voice through your bedroom door, but you made no effort to tear your attention away from your computer screen.

"Hon?" You heard him call again, "You home?"

More shuffling. Then, he knocked softly on the door before opening it. "Hon?" He repeated.

"Hey," you said automatically, fingers still flying across your keyboard.

"Hey, you." You could hear the smile in his voice, and it made your stomach flutter a little. "I picked up some takeout for dinner- I even got those little crab rangoons you love."

In your head, you meant to say something like, 'Wow! Thank you, my love. Im so excited to eat my favorite food with you!' But you didn't, leaving only an awkward pause in the back and forth you could barely call a conversation. You scrolled back to the top of your paper to re-read it, skimming for mistakes. Ah- there's a typo here. It should be "perceived", not-

"Hey, are you okay? Did you hear me?"

"What?" You bristled a little bit, annoyed to have been interrupted. You finally turned around to acknowledge him, trying to hide your chagrin. "Oh...sorry. Um, thank you. That was thoughtful."

It had taken a moment to force your eyes to focus on him, after staring at a bright screen for so long. When they did, you found he looked significantly more chipper than you felt. That made sense, you supposed. He had been freed from the confines of student life already, no longer bogged down by trivial things like homework and exams. Lucky bastard.

His eyes grazed across your face, then the rest of your body- and stopped when he found something interesting.

"You're wearing my hoodie,". He said. Irritation clawed at your stomach, and you swallowed the 'so what?' rising in your throat. You really just wanted to get back to work.

"It's comfy," you said instead, shrugging. "Sorry. I hoped you wouldn't mind. Do you want it back?" He shook his head, starting towards you.

"No, it looks good on you. Keep it on." He leaned down to peck you on the cheek, and you smiled tiredly at him. His hair was slightly tousled from a long day at work, and his chiseled cheekbones were smeared with grease. His cologne was mixed with the smell of coal and something vaguely chemical. Truthfully, what you really wanted was to yank off the hoodie, and his clothes too, and pull him into the shower with you- but there was no time for that now. You swiveled your chair around again, going back to your work.

"Im sorry," you said, "This paper is due in a couple of hours and I need to get it done. You should go ahead and eat if you're hungry. You don't have to wait. And please take a shower."

"What?" He teased, "You don't like the smell of hydraulic fluid?" He wrapped his arms around you and dropped his chin on top of your head. You found it difficult to keep yourself upright under his immense weight.

"No, I don't," you huffed. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be rude, but I need to focus on this. But once I'm done, I'm yours for the rest of the night, okay?"

The weight was lifted as he moved away from you, chuckling. "Alright, Alright. I'll leave you to it. God, it's kinda hot when you're mean to me. Maybe you should do that more often."

You swatted his arm, staring incredulously, and he ducked away as he laughed again. "I'm not being mean to you. I thought I was being pretty polite all things considered."

"You are mean to me," he whined. "You wont even let me give you my love and attentioonnn." He gave you fake puppy dog eyes, and you snatched a pencil off your desk, holding it up like you were going to chuck it at him.

"Get out," you warned. He held up his hands in surrender and backed out the door, eyes full of mirth.

"I bet you'd be nicer to me if you ate something."

You threw the pencil as hard as you could, but he shut the door before it reached him, and it bounced off the wood instead. You heard him cackling on the other side, before you heard his heavy footsteps move away.

You huffed, running your fingers through your hair. It was greasy, and in need of a good combing-through. You hadn't really had time for a shower yourself; but it could wait a little longer. You went back to your pecking.

Too soon, you heard the bedroom door open again. "Back already?" You asked mechanically.

"Already?" He repeated. "It's been like an hour." You glanced at the clock on the bottom corner of your screen. He was right. You'd been so focused that you didn't realize how long it had been.

"Whoops." You still didn't cease your typing.

You felt his weight upon you the same as before, forcing a wheeze from your lungs. "Why are you so heavy?" You huffed.

He chuckled, and you felt the vibrations against your back. The two of you stayed there like that for a moment, and you rubbed your eyes again. His warmth was comforting, and dangerously cozy. You were going to fall asleep at this rate. You shrugged, trying to get him to move off of you- but he didn't budge. Instead, he pressed his face into your neck, and his hair tickled your cheek. It was still damp, and you could smell his shampoo- like mint, and something darker, more earthy. You tilted your head to kiss the top of his own, breathing in the scent; but never taking your eyes away from your computer.

"Your food's getting cold, love." His breath tickled your skin, giving you butterflies again. "You should come eat something. You'll feel better."

"Can't," you muttered. Even if you wanted to, the caffeine you'd been chugging all day dampened your appetite, despite your empty stomach. He was probably right, but if you stopped now, you might not be able to start again. You had to capitalize on your focus; you couldn't afford to lose it.

Jayce brushed his lips against your jaw, pressing little kisses into the bone, and down your neck. He trailed a hand down your arm, the one opposite to him, and slipped it across your thigh, into the space between your legs-

'What do you think you're doing?" He stood up straight, taking his hand back. You glared at him, half annoyed, and half aroused. It was only now that you realized he wasn't wearing a shirt- just a pair of sweatpants that accentuated his girth in just the right way. You could see every muscle he worked so hard to build on full display, and your breath hitched. His tanned skin was just as damp as his hair, still shining with water. You wondered if he'd even bothered to dry off when he got out of the shower.

"I'm sorry. I can stop if you really want me to," he said gently. He looked down at you with something on his face you couldn't quite read. He wasn't frowning, nor smiling. His eyebrows were quirked upward just slightly, eyes half lidded. His expression was somewhere between lust and fatigue, you decided. Maybe he'd had a long day, too.

You blinked, trying to keep your eyes open. Maybe you didn't want him to stop- but you had to get this done if you had any hope of graduating next semester. You couldn't afford to fail this class. You looked away from him, feeling torn. In the corner of your eye, you watched him kneel beside you, and felt the weight of his head in your lap. He slid his hands around your waist, one of them between you and the back of your chair, and the other across your lap.

"You don't have to stop," you said quietly. "But I can't, either. This is important."

"Is that what you want though? For me to keep going, I mean?"

You nodded, swallowing thickly. "I do. I just need you to understand that I'm not ignoring you to be mean; I don't want to hurt your feelings because I'm not being an active participant."

He lifted his head, shifting himself between your legs. He had to duck and curl himself up awkwardly to fit himself underneath your desk- it was kind of cute, actually, watching him trying to fit his giant shoulders and long legs into such a tight space.

"I don't think that at all," he said when he was finally comfortable. "I know this it's important to you." He slid his hands up your thighs, letting one of his thumbs land on the spot where he knew your clit to be. He stroked it gently through the fabric of your pants, and you bit your lip to stop the gasp trapped in your throat. His other hand grasped your hip, massaging the soft malleable flesh of your curves with his thumb. He rested his cheek on your knee, looking up at you lovingly.

"You just seem so stressed," he said. "I wanna help you relax." He punctuated his words by swiveling his hand around, sliding his fingers under the curve of your pelvis. Well, 'relaxed' isn't the word you would use to describe yourself right now. A coil had wound itself inside your stomach, and your legs were tense with anticipation. In his hands, you were putty. You couldn't think straight anymore. You tried to focus, tried to keep your eyes on the prize. You were almost done here. Just a couple more paragraphs to go, and then you could-

"Oh-" you gasped involuntarily, something girlish and high pitched. Your face burned with embarrassment- you'd never made a noise like that before. But you couldn't help it- not with the way he was sliding his fingers into you now. You hadn't even realized he had managed to tug your pants down enough to expose you to him.

His other hand, previously on your hip, had slid up your sweater. It was on the small of your back now, pressing you forward. He drew his fingers out of you, slowly, and you bucked your hip forwards with a groan. He was moving so, so slowly. He was being so gentle and sweet, you thought your teeth were going to rot and fall out of your skull. He leaned forward, kissing your stomach, moving down to the side- to your hip, in the crease of your skin where your pelvis met your thigh. You shivered; his lips brushed you so lightly it tickled a bit. Your fingertips buzzed with electricity as you tried to keep typing. But then you felt his tongue sliding between your folds and you couldn't do it anymore.

You let your eyes flutter shut, letting him finally overtake your thoughts completely. You buried your face in your hands, trying to control your ragged breathing as he moved his tongue up, and down, slowly, gently. He pushed his tongue inside of you, lapping at you like he hadn't had a drop to drink in days. You whined, sliding a hand under the desk to grab his hair, to bring him closer to you. You could hear him panting, feel his breath against your pubic mound. His movements grew more desperate at your touch, ever eager to please.

You laid your other arm on the table, resting your head on it like a pillow. You really couldn't stop the sounds escaping from you now. Every gasp, moan, and whimper from you only seemed to further spur him, urging him to move faster. He alternated between fucking you with his tongue, reaching as far inside of you as he could manage, and moving back up to lick tiny circles around your clit.

You moved your hips with his rhythm, desperate for more friction as you felt yourself growing closer and closer to the edge. "Jayce," you whispered shakily, "I-I'm really- mmmfh- close-"

He didn't let up even a little bit, even when you leaned back, pushing his head against you so hard you were worried he'd suffocate. You were almost blinded by pleasure, the coil winding itself tighter and tighter- until it finally snapped.

You cried out his name like a prayer, over and over again as you shook. You clamped your thighs around his ears, wrapping your legs together over his shoulders. You tugged on his hair like it was a lifeline, feeling every crashing tidal wave of your orgasm in full force as your back arched away from your chair. You practically sobbed, your eyes watering. You couldn't help it. It was so good.

He finally stopped when he sensed you'd had enough, slumping in your chair like a rag doll as exhaustion racked your brain through the afterglow. He pulled back, his face shiny with spit and slick. You smiled at him, before letting your head flop back as you closed your eyes.

'That was hot," he whispered. You snorted, not opening your eyes. You felt his fingers brush your skin as he pulled your pants back up, and shivered slightly when the cold wet fabric of your underwear met your overly-sensitive groin. You pressed your toes against the floor to push your chair from under the table so he'd have room to get out.

"That didn't take very long, either" he teased. "You must have been pretty pent up." You heard shuffling as he stood, and you finally opened your eyes when you felt his lips brush against your forehead. You flicked his shoulder.

"You're just good at what you do."

He smiled, his eyes flickering across your face. You reached up to rub your thumb across his chin, trying to wipe off some of the remaining fluids. He grabbed your wrist and pressed a kiss into your palm before you could withdraw it, never taking his eyes off of you.

"Come eat something, please," he whispered. You sighed and glanced at the clock again, considering it- it was almost 9:15. There was still time.

"Alright, alright," you resigned. "Give me five minutes, and I'll be right there."

Jayce made a face you couldn't discern, and let go of your hand. "Okay," he said, and stepped out of the room.

He came back ten minutes later to find you still at your computer. "I couldn't wait any longer," he said- making you jump.

"Augh, I'm sorry, Jayce," you said- and you meant it.

"It's okay," he shrugged, "I had a feeling this might happen. You get so sucked in sometimes. It's endearing, actually."

He set two styrofoam boxes next to you, and opened another for himself. "I thought I would just bring dinner in here. Maybe I could help you edit? Make things go a little faster so we can get you in the shower?" He smirked, sitting on the edge of the bed. It was lodged into the corner of the room, with the desk beside it like an oversized nightstand. There'd be no room to move about, otherwise.

You cracked open the first box, choosing to ignore his quip, and your mouth watered at the sight of your favorite food inside. Ugh, even cold it smelled amazing. You shoveled it into your face with the flimsy plastic fork, newfound hunger making itself evident. You looked to Jayce, intending to thank him for the meal; but you found he was looking at you expectantly.

'What?" You asked through a mouthful of food.

"Did you want my help?"

Oh.

You swallowed.

"Sorry. Um, yes. That might be nice honestly. I could use a break."

He set his food aside, chuckling. "The first one wasn't enough?" He teased. You scowled, only pretending to be upset.

"Whatever man. Switch me places." You stood up to give him your chair, and he complied- though he had to pull the lever under the seat to lower it, to make room for his mile-long legs.

"Alright, let's see, here..."He squinted as he read your work, and you took the opportunity to admire him. God, he really was incredibly handsome. His long, calloused fingers looked enormous over your keyboard compared to your own. His bulky shoulders hunched forward, pulling the skin of his back taught over his muscles. You bit your lip, feeling your arousal coming back through your fatigue. He glanced at you, and you blushed when you caught him staring; as if you hadn't been together long enough by now that this wasn't embarrassing. But he still never failed to give you the warm-and-fuzzies so to speak. He smiled, laughing through his nose.

"What're you looking at?"

You twirled your hair with exaggeration. "Oh, yknow. Just this cute guy I have a crush on, or whatever," you flirted. He rolled his eyes, still grinning to himself.

"Eat your food, dork." He looked back to the screen, and you did what you were told.

It didn't take long. You wolfed down your dinner so fast you even surprised yourself. You stood to collect your trash, and kissed the top of Jayce's head before heading to the kitchen to dispose of it properly. When you came back, he was already standing up to stretch.

"It looks good to me," he said- with his arms over his head, his obliques were in full view and it made you just about weak in the knees. "I think it's ready to submit, if you're happy with it."

You thought about re-reading it one more time- just to be sure- but your brain was so foggy with exhaustion (and maybe some arousal). You trusted Jayce's judgement, too. He'd graduated summa cum laude last year, after all. You were sure he knew what he was talking about.

"Thank you, love. I really appreciate your help." You patted his chest with a weary smile, and sat down to submit it. When you were finally able to click your laptop shut, you were just about to collapse. You looked over to find Jayce already waiting for you in bed, and he opened his arms for you.

"C'mere, you," he crooned softly. You complied, shutting off the table lamp before you crawled across the blankets to meet him. He pulled them over the two of you, pressing a gentle kiss on your forehead. You buried your face in his chest, breathing in the scent of mint and clean bedsheets. You suddenly felt self conscious, remembering you had forgotten to bathe.

You sat up. "I'm gonna take a shower real quick actually-" but he yanked you back down before you could move, burying his nose in your hair.

"Nooooo," he mumbled. "Stay with me."

"Jaaaayce," you whined, "I smell terrible. Wouldn't you rather I got cleaned up before bed?"

He didn't move, keeping you pinned between his arms. "Mmm, girl stink."

"You- what?" You sputtered, laughing at the absurdity. You tried to move, but he was already snoring softly. You couldn't tell if he was faking it or not, but you gave in anyway. You tangled your legs with his, letting his warmth overtake you and carry you to sleep at last.

#arcane #arcane fanfic #jayce talis #fanfiction #arcane jayce #jayce league of legends #jayce x reader #wattpad #writing #arcane smut #smut #Jayce wants to help #boy does he #this may or may not be based off my real life husband WHO SAID THAT

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ithilien-writes · 3 days ago

Note

Hiii I love your recent ficlet of buddie running into Abby and I was wondering if you could do one of them meeting bathena on a date night :)

aaah thank you! 💜 i decided to go with secret relationship buddie and as much as i appreciate everyone's headcanon that bobby is the og buddie shipper i personally think oblivious/frogboiled!bobby is just funnier 🫶

(to anyone reading: this was written really quickly and without much editing, so please take it in that spirit. i'm past the block that sparked the original call for prompts, but you can still always feel free to send me some more!!)

---

Just Like That [buck/eddie, bobby/athena, G, ~700 words]

Bobby is feeling pretty pleased with himself as they enter the restaurant, he has to say. It was not an easy reservation to get and Athena is practically glowing, absolutely stunning in a brand new dress she bought just for the occasion that Bobby is valiantly trying his best to enjoy without jumping straight to imagining it on their bedroom floor at the end of the night.

He's... at least partially successful.

But he's definitely distracted enough that it's no surprise he misses them at first. So it's Athena who ends up pulling him slightly away from where the server had been leading them, stopping in front of a different table entirely.

"Well, look who it is," she says.

Her voice is warm, but her eyebrow is also raised slightly. And sure enough, there's Buck and Eddie, both dressed in dapper suits and looking up at them in surprise.

"Ah, Cap!" Buck says, he and Eddie both standing to greet them. "Athena. Hey! This is- that's so-"

He looks to Eddie, who smiles in way that Bobby might almost call a grimace if he didn't know better.

"It's great to see you both," Eddie says. "Date night?"

"It's our anniversary," Bobby tells him.

"Congratulations," Eddie tries to say, but Buck's voice cuts in at the same time, talking over him a bit.

"We were just- just hanging out, n-no special occasion here."

Athena's other eyebrow raises to match the first, but Bobby just chuckles slightly, unfazed. The server coughs discreetly behind them and Bobby nods his head, his hand moving to the small of his wife's back to gently steer her back towards their intended table.

"Well, you two have a nice night," he tells them, and Eddie gives him that same grimacing smile again.

"Oh, yeah, we- uh. You too!" Buck says as they turn away, both he and Eddie moving to sit back down again.

It's not until they're seated at their own table across the restaurant that Athena reaches over and hits Bobby on the shoulder. Hard.

"Ow," he says. "What was that for?"

"When were you gonna tell me about that little development?" she asks, and Bobby tilts his head slightly, still rubbing at his shoulder.

"What?" he asks again, eloquent as ever.

His wife rolls her beautiful brown eyes at him.

"Buck and Eddie," she clarifies. "You could have told me they were dating."

Bobby can't help it, he laughs a little, though it turns into a bit of a cough when he sees Athena's unimpressed glare.

"Sorry," he says, after a moment, "it's just- honey, they're not dating."

Athena's eyebrows both return to her hairline.

"You saw that just now, right?" she says.

Bobby nods, bringing his hands up in a slightly placating gesture, still chuckling a little despite himself.

"Trust me, that's just how they are," he tells her. "I have to work twenty-four hour shifts with those two, remember? I think I would know."

"Bobby, sweetheart, I love you," Athena says, somehow making the words sounds like, you are so dumb, "but this restaurant has a six-month waitlist for reservations. No one is taking a friend here for a casual hang out, and that's not even to mention Buck acting like a teenager caught with his pants down just now."

"That's just... how Buck is," Bobby tells her - determinedly not thinking about the time he actually caught Buck with his pants down.

Athena sighs deeply.

"I'm not even gonna touch that," she mutters, as the server comes over to take their drink orders.

Once the server leaves again, she takes his hand across the table.

"It's our anniversary, so I'm gonna let this go for now," she tells him. "But after your shift tomorrow, I'm gonna need us to circle back so you can tell me how right I am."

Bobby smiles.

"So just an average Wednesday then," he teases, and Athena's responding scoff is ruined by the way she grins into it, clearly pleased.

And well- Bobby should really know better by now than to bet against his wife. But given the way the rest of the evening goes for him - because God, that dress really does look even better on their bedroom floor - he'll gladly take the 'I told you so' he has coming with grace.

#fic prompts #rainbow-brigayde #buddie #bathena #buddie fic #911 abc #laura writes #my first time writing bobby pov !!#what a great excuse to thirst after athena tbh

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maybenotjaybe · 11 hours ago

Text

WHOOPS

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PAIRING : jayce x reader

SUMMARY : after a long day, you sneak into jayce’s lab when it’s just him there and ended up distracting the both of you

REQUESTED : X

CW & TW : making out, slight touching, suggestive, getting caught, female reader, secret relationship

A / N : had this idea at like four am while changing my medical supplies lol - requests are open !

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the lab was in full chaos.

theres jayce sat at the desk who is struggling with an equation that he can’t solve for a new invention, and then viktor is standing next to the chalkboard, literally solving the same problem.

“this is actually unsolvable.” he muttered, the frustration in his body growing by the second. he was gripping the pencil so tightly that it could snap in his hands any minute now.

viktor glanced over at jayce, noticing his disappointment and he let out his own sigh. “you have to add the velocities together.” he chimed in, trying to see what the piece of paper in front of jayce said from afar.

jayce turned his head to where viktor was standing, noticing the solved equation written on the chalkboard. that caused him to let out a small huff of air, shaking his head before bringing his gaze to the sheet of paper sprawled out on the desk. “my god.” he grumbled to himself, erasing part of the equation.

he could hear a sudden chuckle from viktor, shaking his own head as he turned his own body back at the chalkboard. “you should’ve known that by now, jayce.” he mocked, starting to write down more equations on the board as the sound of the chalk scraping the board filled the room.

jayce couldn't help but laugh at viktor's teasing, knowing he was smart enough to know something that simple. “i know, now shut it.” he barked back playfully, a small smile on his face while he wrote numbers down on the paper.

another small chuckle has escaped viktor's mouth, trying to hide his smile by rubbing his hand down his face. viktor often teased jayce whenever he had forgotten such a small part in an equation, knowing it gets on his nerves sometimes.

after a while, the sound of viktor letting out a small sigh fills the room, with him placing the piece of chalk on the nearby desk as he spoke. "right, well i will be leaving now." he called out to jayce, making his way to the exit with the help of his cane.

at the sound of viktor's voice, jayce turned around in the chair to see him leaving, a small teasing smile on his face. "i still can't believe you're actually going home for the night." he stated, watching him leave.

viktor shrugged his shoulders, glancing back at jayce with a small smile. “goodnight, jayce.” he called out to him, making it towards the door.

jayce’s smile has widened slightly, leaning his back against the chair he was on as he gazed at him exit the lab. “goodnight.” he said in return, a small breath escaping his lips.

now the lab was empty around jayce, the silence filling the room as he let out another small breath of air. he turned around in his chair and started to work on that equation again on the paper in front of him.

these moments alone made jayce calm down, the soft sounds of the lab roaming around his sight. it made him think about his life and how far he came with hextech. he was proud, which is what others would say.

as the minutes went by, jayce started to think about a certain someone, and that person was you. he missed you, a lot more than he could admit out loud. since the both of you were in a secret relationship, you two had to be careful in public areas.

"jayce?" you suddenly called out to him, your body at the entrance as you observed him at the desk of the lab room.

the sound of your voice made jayce flinch out of shock a bit, shifting his body back around in the chair to face you standing at the door. his eyes widened scarcely at the sight of you, not expecting you to just show up at the lab out of nowhere.

“what are you doing here?” he asked out of shock and as well as slight irritation. he rose from the chair and started to walk towards you. “you know you're not supposed to be here unless you want to get caught-”

“i know, now shut up.” you cut him off, meeting him halfway and bringing a hand to the back of his head, tugging him down and colliding your lips into his.

the sudden kiss initiated by you caught him by surprise, a tiny gasp escaping his lips before he fully melted into your touch, moving his mouth against your own passionately and without hesitation.

the kiss was anything but neat, the smacking of lips filling the room as well as the soft sounds the both of you were making. his hands were gripping your waist, probably gonna leave a remote bruise later but that was the least of his worries.

your free hand went to wrap around his torso, pulling him closer as one hand held onto the back of his jacket, and the other onto his hair. you felt like you were in heaven from jayce’s touch, a soft sound of pleasure from you entering his mouth.

after a while, you pulled away from jayce’s lips, resting your forehead against his own as you tried to catch your breath. you kept your eyes shut for a second, feeling your heart racing in your chest the moment you opened your eyes and gazed into jayce’s.

the two stared at each other for a moment, trying to process what just happened. “sorry,” you started off, your voice breathless and hushed. “i wanted to do that for a while.” you confessed, a small awkward smile tugging onto your lips.

jayce couldn't help but laugh at your words, the sound soft and filled with delight. “it's okay y/n.” he told you quietly, his thumb stroking your waist gently.

you listened to his reply, nodding at them as you gazed into his eyes lovingly. you can notice all of the details of his face, his tan skin, the shine in his light brown eyes, and the small gap in his teeth that you adored.

after a few moments, you heard Jayce's voice break the silence.. "did anyone see you?" he asked, staring into your eyes as he kept his forehead pressed against your own.

you instantly shook your head in response to him, feeling his breath against your lips as you spoke to him. “no.” you murmured, your gaze flickering between his eyes and lips.

you could feel jayce let out a sigh of relief, closing his eyes for a moment. “thank god.” he mumbled, leaning forward once more and crashing his lips against yours.

at the sudden feeling of his lips on yours, a small groan escaped your mouth and entered his, immediately moving your lips back against his in a desperate and messy kiss. the both of you knew you two needed this, from the stress of jayce’s work and the mess piltover was at the moment.

while the two kept kissing, jayce’s hand slid down from your waist to under your thighs, lifting you up in his grasp before he started to carry you toward the lab table. once he got there, he placed you down to sit at the edge, his lips still locked on yours in a passionate kiss.

the sudden lift of your body has taken you aback, but you adapted to it while jayce sat you down on the table. your legs wrapped around his body, pulling him closer until your bodies had no space at all.

it took a few minutes for the kiss to end, but jayce kept his lips moving towards your jaw and down your neck, creating a small path of hot and wet kisses. the feeling of his lips on your neck made your head hang back, loving the sensation of his actions.

“i forgot how good you were at this.” you mumbled to him, your breathing a bit ragged as you felt the pleasure of his lips on you. your hand stayed in his hair, raking your fingers through the black strands as you let him do his work.

jayce couldnt help but let out a small chuckle against your neck, the sound rumbling through his throughout. “you did, huh?” he breathed out, his tongue darting out to coat your skin.

your lips parted as a small gasp escaped your mouth, trying so hard not to make any sounds that would be noticeable from outside of the lab. “uh huh.” you let out, your hand on the back of jayce's head tugged it back so you can lean in and press your lips back to his.

he immediately obliged your actions, a small groan fleeing from his mouth while his lips moved against yours frantically and full of heat. one hand that was on your thigh started to trail up your his, gently stroking your breast before cupping your cheek, a shaky breath escaping his mouth and entering yours.

you could feel his hands travel up your body, a shiver going through your spine at his touch. as the kiss continued, your mind went to other places, like how you just wanted to take off his clothes and-

“jayce, is my notebook still in-” the sound of viktor's voice cut through the moment, causing the both of you to pull away quickly and glance over to see him staring at the two of you in shock.

your eyes widened at the sudden presence of viktor, your hands still holding onto jayce’s body and your legs wrapped around him. you could tell that the both of you were in a slight panic at the fact that you two were caught by him, froze in the same position as before

viktor stood there for a moment, trying to process what he just witnessed in front of him. “i-i’m gonna come back later.” he said in a hurry, quickly turning around to exit the lab, closing the door behind himself with a loud slam.

now it was just you and jayce left alone again, your gaze still pointed at the closed door as you realized what just occurred. “do you think he's gonna tell anyone?” you asked jayce, your voice breathless and slightly nerve.

at the sound of your voice, jayce turned his head back to face you, noticing the slight distress on your face from getting caught. he shook his head at your question, a small shaky breath leaving his lips. “no, he’s not the type to do that.” he answered, his hands sliding back down to your waist

you nodded at his words weakly, a small smile tugging at your lips. “oh my god.” you mumbled, leaning your head against his shoulder.

jayce couldnt help but laugh at your words, leaning into your touch while his hands started to caress your waist gently. “did you forget to lock the door?” he asked suddenly, a wide smile on his face as he stared down at you.

“i wasn't thinking about that!” you defended yourself, leaning back to stared up at him in return, a small laugh leaving your mouth.

another laugh escaped jayce, shaking his head while he stared down at you with adoration in his eyes. “of course you weren't.” he mumbled to you jokingly, placing a chaste kiss to your forehead before resting his cheek on the top of your head.

a small giggle left your lips, leaning into his touch while you closed your eyes, enjoying the peaceful moment with just the two of you. you both knew that you would have to talk to viktor later, but you didn't wanna worry about that right now, not at all.

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#arcane #arcane league of legends #arcane x reader #jayce talis #jayce x reader #jayce talis x reader #jayce arcane #jayce talis arcane #jayce talis league of legends

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