#air passenger knowledge

[fanciedfacts]

The misconceptions Of Airplane seat location safety

Seat safety during a crash landing is not what you need to worry about. Instead, the preparation for a rough emergency landing

[doromoni]

On the Defence | LN4

Part 2 of Off Time

Ships : Lando Norris x F1 Presenter! Reader

Genre : Angst, Fluff

Subtags : She fell first; He fell harder, Misunderstanding, Mutual Pinning, Groveling

A/N : Dude this was supposed to be just a two part story 😭 Lmao be ready for a mini series folks!

Summary : You have pursued Lando's affection, yet he doesn't seem interested. Till your patience wavers and Lando realizes it too late. Will there be a right time for the two of you?

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Lando was used to being at the top of the world. To be always at the fastest speed possible. He was hard-wired to be quick both on track and off track, his pace in life had never had the chance to just slow down and appreciate the small things in life.

Until he lost you. Lando had never noticed how big of an impact you’ve made in his life. The small gestures you made that went unnoticed till it was gone. The minuscule moments with you that seemed to be irrelevant, Lando now craved.

It started with tea and snacks.

“Uh, John… the tea tastes weird. Also, I liked the old biscuits better, why did you change them?” Lando said disappointed, as he examined what was in front of him. The tea was way off like it was watered down yet still unbelievably bitter. And the biscuits… Lando couldn’t explain it really, it just felt like it lacked … love. If that made sense

Lando then set his eyes on his manager, still disgruntled.

John popped his head into the driver’s room, surveying what the Brit was moaning about.

“Oh, that. Yeah, Y/N stopped sending stocks of the tea … last race was our last batch and when Y/N came by she didn’t drop off any cookies for you this time” John answered, sending a rueful smile.

Lando’s attention was suddenly caught at the sound of your name. You were the one who sent the tea? Lando had always thought that McLaren was the one to make the effort to supply his favorite tea.

Now the knowledge that it was you, made his heart speed up and his stomach fluttered— but then it came crashing down like a glass house instantly when Lando realized past tense… it was past tensed. You no longer did that for him.

“Wait. What do you mean by not dropping any for me? Did Y/N give her cookies to someone here?” Lando had fully processed what John had said.

“Yeah, I saw her come by early this morning with cookies in the lobby and Oscar came to get her” John uttered casually as he checked his schedule looking through Lando’s calendar.

Lando’s heart then fell to his stomach. The worst suddenly came into his mind. You and Oscar? When did that happen? He knew that he was jumping to conclusions, but he couldn’t help it. He may have been blind to your beauty and brilliance, but he knew that others were not. How can they not? You were the sunshine in the storm. You were a breath of fresh air in the ethanol-tainted atmosphere of Formula 1.

Then came the overly silent or the overly deafening car rides, there was no in-between—the peace was gone. It was either no sound at all or it was EDM booming in his speakers. You were no longer there to provide a sense of calm, Lando had deeply and truly felt the emptiness that your absence left.

He regretted complaining to Flo and his parents when they insisted that he gave you rides everywhere. Was he an idiot? He thought so now, especially when he recalled always saying “She can handle herself, why do I need to drive her?” Because now he would give anything to have you sitting on the passenger seat of his car. He used to hate it when you left your hair ties or claw clips in his car, now your hair ties resided in his arm like a bracelet and your hair clips in his bag��� just in case you needed them.

Lando knew that the longer he waited the faster he’d continue to lose you and he saw his chance. The post-race interviews had concluded and Lando was in his car, reversing out of the driver’s only parking lot. Then he saw you typing away at your phone beside the door that connects the building and the parking spaces. Lando saw his opportunity.

The English driver hastily drove his car in front of you, parking beside the curb and making his way towards you.

Your eyes opened wide at the sight of Lando Norris right in front of you, looking fidgety and uncertain, but he looked determined. You didn’t know what to do or react, so you waited for him to start.

“Y/N! Hi. I didn’t see you in the Motorhome after the race” Lando started talking trying to act as casual as his speeding heart could muster.

“ Uhm, Hi Lando. Yeah… I had to finish some paperwork back at Sky ASAP. “ You replied, smiling lightly at the driver not having the courage to fully look into his eyes head-on for the entire conversation.

“ I get that. Are you heading somewhere? I could drive you if you’d like” Lando offered earnestly, hoping that you’ll accept. He just needed time alone with you to talk without restrictions.

Lando gauged your reaction that cycled around, shock and contemplation. Till you sighed and declined, distinguishing his hope and continuing to crush his heart.

“Thank you for the offer, Lando. But, Osc already promised me a ride” You gave a pained smile at the English driver. Lando was about to refute when the both of you turned towards the sound of a car horn.

It was Oscar who was waving inside his Artura.

“ I got to go, It was nice talking to you Lando,” you said as you proceeded to walk towards the car, not before being stopped by Lando.

Your eyes went towards the hand that held your elbow gently. You then met the sorrowful eyes of the English McLaren driver, catching you off guard.

“Y/N can we please talk? Sometime maybe? I’m sorry … I- I. Please I just need a few minutes of your time” Lando was practically begging you, his eyes showing more emotion now than the entire duration you’ve known him.

You could only nod, as you detached yourself from the grip of Lando — looking at the defeated driver one last time before entering his teammate’s car right after.

“You know that Lando wants to fix things with you right?” Oscar nudged your shoulder as he drove away from the circuit.

You could only sigh and close your eyes, your hand running through your hair.

“ Osc, I wished I could believe you. It just hurts so much you know? I mean you saw him with Magui right… I don’t want to step on any toes and make things complicated for them” You said tired and frustrated. Lando was already too hard to let go, now he’s making it extremely difficult to forget.

“Y/N, have you seen her in the paddock recently?” Oscar questioned you further

“Well, no. But that doesn’t mean they’re over. Alex even said that she heard from Kika that they’re planning to make it serious.” You felt the tears build up, yet you fought it back. You would no longer cry for a boy if you could help it.

“Ok, you out of all people should know what’s credible information or not. Miss journalism, what happened to never fully believing he said - she said?” Oscar was right of course, you loved and hated his logical thinking.

“I know, I know. It’s just so fucking frustrating… can we please eat ice cream. I need sugar pronto!”

“Whatever you say, Pooh” You couldn’t help but smile a little at your nickname given by the Australian driver.

“Thanks, Pingu,” You said settling further into Oscar’s car. You knew that Oscar allowed you to change the subject but you got what he was saying. Talk to Lando, you will! You didn’t know if you were ready just yet.

That was the start of Lando’s starvation for your presence and the start of his spiral of doubt and regret. Because no matter how much he tried, you seemed adamant to avoid him.

“Beautiful” came into Lando’s mind when he saw you from afar. Every time that you walked passed through, the smell of you lingered in the air — was it your perfume or your shampoo? Lando was not sure, but he loved it nonetheless. Every time you waltzed inside the McLaren Motor home to hang out with his teammate, Lando couldn’t help but imagine it was him that you were with, that it was him that you were smiling and rolling your eyes at. Lando wanted back how you used to have that look only for him.

He couldn’t help but stop and stare longingly for what might’ve been if he hadn’t taken too long.

The times when you were shown in the broadcast during the races — when he knew that he was supposed to be locked in and be focused on the track. Lando can’t seem to take his eyes off you.

His parents and sister noticed the change in the driver and they could only look with pity to their son and brother. It seemed that the tables had turned because now it was you who avoided the English Driver at all costs. Every time Lando caught a glimpse of you, you were suddenly turning the other way or you were suddenly busy with who knows what. And the Norrises didn’t hold it against you— No, because they loved you still and they supported your every decision.

Lando couldn’t stand the fact that he could only get you to look and talk to him during after-race interviews in the media pen and even then you remained detached and so excruciatingly professional — you no longer joked around and teased the McLaren driver. And it killed him when he saw you so carefree and open to other drivers.

“So Lando, that was an amazing drive! Congratulations on the P2 by the way. McLaren is showing amazing and consistent results so far, I bet the team feels proud no? And the car has been quick at every track!” Y/N said into the mic with a practiced tone and just the right amount of enthusiasm — just enough for the media and the world not to notice the tension between you and Lando.

Being indifferent was difficult, especially when Lando continued to gauge your attention and tried catching your eyes. And behind those eyes held promise and regret… which you only believed was in your imagination. You always thought some things present that weren’t there, and this one was only one of them.

You didn’t think that Lando was trying his best to make things up to you. No, now to you that seemed impossible. Just keep your distance and everything will be alright and your feelings will pass. Or that was what you keep telling yourself.

“Just the car?” Lando cheekily uttered, biting his lip from nervousness as he tried to make you react or at least get you to joke back. But to his dismay, you remained professional and just proceeded with the calm and cool facade.

“Oh, the driver too of course. Anyways, are you feeling optimistic about the next race?” You said to read your question cards, not give anything to Lando.

To Lando’s dismay, your interaction was still not enough but he had to move on as another driver was waiting for their turn. Lando had tried to lengthen his time with you but his PR manager needed to drag him elsewhere. But not quick enough that Lando caught the ears of your next interview.

It was with surprise, surprise… Oscar Piastri. Lando knew that he shouldn’t be thinking negatively about one of his teammates — a teammate who had never done him wrong. Was he being paranoid? He absolutely was. However, Lando despised how his teammate casually called you by your nickname while you giggled and called him by his.

“Ah~ Pooh! Always a pleasure to see you every race week…. every. single. week”

“Thanks for the sarcasm, Pingu” You continued to banter with the Austrian driver clad in papaya.

***

Another race week came and you were walking outside the Motorhome of McLaren with Oscar in tow, you were both headed towards Ferrari to meet up with the rest of the Leclerc family— Oscar pleaded to join as he said he was an adopted Leclerc. As you walked out the glass door, you felt eyes following your every move. You told this to Oscar, who only shrugged and was clueless as usual.

However, your instincts were right of course, as Lando continued to observe your retreating form. Since when did you start getting comfortable enough to loop your hand around Oscar’s waist? And since when did you let Oscar wrap his arm around your shoulder?

The sinking feeling in Lando’s gut continued to deepen. It felt like a ton of bricks right on his chest, so heavy he couldn’t breathe. Was this how you felt when you saw him with other girls? Was this the same feeling you had when he paraded his monthly flings right in front of you? Did he hurt you this much?

He was so preoccupied with thoughts that Lando didn’t notice the events around him then suddenly he was moving with the rest of the drivers in the parade car. The rest were paired up, doing their usual routine of gossiping and catching up.

Lando’s eyes surveyed the vehicle as his eyes turned to his teammate talking with Logan and Alex. His eyes then turned to Lewis talking with Charles, a few steps away from him.

“Mate, is it true? Is Y/N seeing someone?” Lewis couldn’t help but gossip and hear the details of their favorite presenter.

“I’m not sure, but my girl told me that another driver was showing interest in Y/N!” Charles eagerly joined Lewis in this conversation.

As Lando eavesdropped on the 2 Future teammates, his ears piqued when he heard your name. Then his breath staggered and his ears rang when he heard what the 2 race winners said.

Lando didn’t care if he was rude, as he barged into their conversation with a huff.

“Who is it? It’s Oscar right?” Lando pressingly asked as his jaw clenched, teeth gritting with force a glare piercing the Australian.

Both drivers were surprised by Lando’s suddenly intense intrusion. They were even more perplexed at his sudden interest in you. When did Lando start caring about you?

“Uh, no? I asked Alexandra if it was Oscar since they have been close these days… but she said it was another driver” Charles answered

It was then that Lando admitted fully that he was a jealous man, seeing or even just thinking of you interacting with another man that held an interest in you made his blood curdle.

Lando needed to do something and fast. Even If you weren’t talking to him now, he needed others to know that you were off limits. Lando knew just how to do that.

He took his phone and dialed

“John set me an appointment with Hermes. I need an order for a customized Birkin”

Anyone interested to be added to the taglist? Drop a comment or DM me!

Maintaglist : @myescapefromthislife @peterholland04 @charlottef1 @fangirl125reader @mel164 @gnarlycore

Series Taglist : @f1fantasys @chezmardybum @hwalllllllelujah @qzmef @bingussthirdtoe @lilypat @cmleitora @willowpains @wobblymug @dramallama9 @gigicisneros @yawn-zi @vickykazuya @loloekie @radiator101

[txrii]

But Daddy I Love Him - Tyler Owens

Pairing: Tyler Owens x fem!reader

based on the song but daddy i love him by taylor swift

word count: 2,131

warnings: mentions of storm/tornado, like one swear word, also not edited at all lol

summary: Tyler Owens has a reputation around town for being reckless. People call him wild for going into storms the way he does. They think Y/N is just as, if not crazier, for falling for someone like him. Her father is no different than them, fearing his daughter may one day be hurt or even killed by Tyler's wild excursions. That is, until he has a change of heart when he does just the opposite.

a/n: it's been such a long time since i've wrote, especially x reader. over three years! shoutout to @bright-molina for letting me spout off fic ideas until i finally decided to actually sit down and write one. also, my knowledge of tornadoes is very very slim, so i’m not sure how accurate my portrayal is. i hope you all enjoy!

The adrenaline was coursing through her veins. The chase had gone well, and Tyler and his crew had been able to pull off their latest wild stunt with ease. As Y/N looked over to the driver’s seat of the truck, Tyler still had a huge smile plastered on his face. She could tell he felt the adrenaline as well. He always did, no matter how many chases he had gone on. 

Y/N wished they could stay like this forever. But, as they turned into the downtown square of her hometown, she knew what awaited them. Eyes turned immediately to the truck as it made its way down the road. Tyler had a reputation in this town. Everyone knew what he did for a living, and they thought he was crazy for it. When they found out Y/N had fallen for him, they thought she was even crazier. 

As they pulled into the long driveway of the farmhouse Y/N called home, a man was seated in a chair on the porch reading a book. Y/N sighed as she looked down at her fingers intertwined with Tyler’s. She knew what was to come when she got out of the truck. She knew her father didn’t like Tyler, and he made sure to make it clear. When the truck reached the end of the driveway, Tyler got out and headed to the passenger door. He opened it and Y/N hopped out, fingers once again intertwined with his. She smiled as she reached up to plant a kiss on his cheek. He bent down to plant one on the top of her head, whispering, “See you later, sweetheart.” Y/N dropped Tyler’s hand as she made her way to the porch. Tyler glanced over at Y/N’s father who was still sitting on the porch, tipping his hat in his direction as he moved to get back in his truck. Y/N’s father gave no response other than pursed lips. 

Tyler pulled away as Y/N made it to the top of the steps. “Hey, daddy,” Y/N said with a smile as she faced her father. He let out a sigh, setting his book on the porch table, “When are you going to let that boy go, huh?” Y/N pursed her lips. She sat down in the empty chair next to him, feeling defeated, “I really wish you’d give him a chance, daddy. It’s been almost a year. He’s not as bad as the town makes him out to be, really. If you just got to know him -” 

She was cut off by her father’s sharp reply, “I know all I need to know about him, Y/N. Come to your senses and see what’s really going on. He’s crazy with all these stunts.” Y/N smiled slightly. Everyone said the same thing. She tried again to get through to her father, “I know he’s crazy, but he’s the one I want. I just wish you’d just have one conversation with him, then you’d see he really isn’t that bad.” Her father was not having this. He stood up angrily, “Y/N, you’re going to get hurt, or worse. One of these days you’re going to go out on one of these chases,” he emphasized “chases” with air quotes, “and you’re not going to come home. I wish you could see just how dangerous this really is.” Y/N stood up to face him once again. The adrenaline from the chase was still running hot through her veins. Tears began to form in her eyes as she yelled, “Daddy, I love him! I wish you could see that!” As the tears began to fall, she made her way into the house and to her room, putting her father’s pleas behind her.

Tyler had a reputation around the town before the two had even met. Everyone knew of the infamous “Tornado Wrangler” and the crew that followed him around. Being from an area where storms were common, they made multiple appearances in local bars and motels to celebrate chases and rest up after them. That was how the two met. Y/N bumped into him - quite literally - as she was leaving a restaurant next door to a bar he and the crew were just entering. He invited her along for a drink, and the rest was history. When someone found out they were together, the news spread around the town like wildfire. No one could believe it. Y/N Y/L/N was a quiet, introverted local girl; Tyler Owens was chaos, he was revelry. The two were polar opposites, and according to this small town, that should never work. Whenever that red, overly-modified truck rolled into town there were whispers and stares, and they were only amplified when Y/N began appearing in the passenger seat. But the whispers couldn’t be heard over the loving stares and the screeching tires of the truck.

The news of the storm scheduled to hit in a town about an hour away was plastered over every news station. They said it was supposed to be one of the biggest the town had seen in a decade. This just piqued the interest of Tyler and the crew. And, of course, Y/N wanted to tag along. She darted through the house, getting a small pack of supplies ready for the chase. It didn’t take long for her father to catch on to what she was doing. He stood in front of her in an attempt to block her from packing any more, “Y/N Y/L/N, don’t tell me you’re seriously thinking of going out there.” Y/N huffed as she slipped through an opening between the man and the wall. “Daddy, I’ll be fine. You may not realize it, but Tyler wouldn’t let anything happen to me. He wouldn’t get us into anything he knew he couldn’t get us out of.” Her father turned to face her once again, crossing his arms. “Y/N, I just want what’s best for you. I’m tired of hearing about this boy and his stunts…” The girl tuned him out as she could hear the familiar purr of the engine pulling up the drive. She grinned and hoisted the bag she was packing up onto her shoulder, headed down the stairs. Her father, of course, followed her, voice becoming more frantic. 

Y/N swung open the door, and there he was, the man she loved, standing at the bottom of the porch steps. He grinned back at her, once again tipping his hat at her father. “I’ll take good care of her, sir,” Tyler said, hoping to ease the man’s mind. It, of course, did not. He once again tried to plead with his daughter, but began directing his anger toward Tyler when he realized she still wasn’t listening. Tyler gave a subtle sigh, pursing his lips, as he extended his hand toward Y/N, who followed him to the truck. When the two were settled in, Tyler turned to Y/N, “You ready, baby?” Y/N gave a grin, “Floor it, Ty.” And then they were off.

The news channels got one thing wrong, the storm was much worse than they had expected. The crew were only a couple miles outside the town they landed in when they realized it. They turned right around, they had to make sure they got everyone they could to safety. They split up when they got back, in order to cover as much ground as possible. Tyler would not let Y/N out of his sight; he promised her father he’d keep her safe, and he knew her father would never forgive him if anything happened to her. He wouldn’t be able to forgive himself.

Tyler and Y/N had gotten everyone they could to safety, now it was time for them to get there themselves. They ran towards one of the shelters they had ushered people into. The closer they got, the more the wind picked up. Objects began to fly left and right. Tyler did everything he could to block them from Y/N, earning himself a few cuts and bruises. Finally, they made it to the shelter. Tyler helped Y/N in then climbed in himself, shutting and securing the doors behind him. Y/N was shaking as she lowered herself to the floor and took cover. Sure, she had been in storms herself, but nothing to this extent. She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping that would somehow make time go faster. Tyler, who had just taken cover next to her, reached out to try and give her some sort of comfort. He pulled her close, trying to give her more protection with his own body. They listened to the roaring sound, like a train was passing right above them. After what felt like hours, but was probably only a few minutes, the sound quieted down. It was over, they were safe. Tyler gave Y/N’s shoulder a squeeze, planting a kiss on the top of her head. “You can open your eyes now, sweetheart. It’s done, it’s gone,” he whispered in her ear. Someone had already opened the shelter and light streamed in. Only a few buildings still stood, the rest diminished to a mass of rubble. Y/N and Tyler shared a glance before finding the rest of the crew and getting to work helping however they could.

Tyler and Y/N drove home nearly in silence. Y/N was still extremely shaken up, and Tyler knew that. He would try to make conversation here and there, but he knew Y/N was probably not in the headspace to make jokes. Halfway through the drive, Y/N spoke over the soft country music playing in the truck, “What are we going to tell my dad, Ty? You heard what he was saying before we left. There’s no way I’m going to change his mind about you now.” Y/N had tried to call her dad numerous times, but was unable to pick up any service. Tyler sighed, reaching his hand out for her to grab, “I’m sure he’ll understand, sweetheart.” As Y/N laced her fingers with his, he lifted their hands up to place a kiss on the back of hers. 

Y/N’s father had never once been happy to hear the roar of the engine of that truck pulling into his driveway. But today, he knew that only meant one thing, his baby girl was okay. He burst through the door just as Tyler had made his way to the passenger door to let Y/N out. The man ran down the porch, almost stumbling and falling, and wrapped his daughter in the biggest hug he had ever given her. There were tears forming in his eyes as he exclaimed how happy he was that Y/N had come back safe. She laughed a little bit as he let go, “Hi, daddy.” Tyler was standing off to the side, wanting to give the two some space, but also preparing for what the man might say to him. He was well aware Y/N’s father did not care for him much. Tyler saw Y/N gesture his way, and her father’s eyes found him, gesturing for him to come over. Tyler approached, ready for whatever may come from the man. To his surprise, however, the man reached a hand out for him to shake. Tyler shook his hand, relieved. He’s once again caught off guard, however, as Y/N’s father wraps him in a hug almost as big as the one he gave his daughter. He kept muttering thank yous as Tyler stood there, shocked and stiff as a board. Y/N giggled at the sight. But, hey, at least her father finally properly met Tyler.

A few weeks later, after Y/N had almost shaken off everything that had happened, she took Tyler and her father out to lunch. The sun was warm and beautiful, not a storm in sight. Turns out, just as she had thought, her father loved him as soon as he got to know him. The townsfolk looked at the three sitting on the restaurant patio, dumbfounded. Y/N looked at them and giggled, adjusting the strap of her dress that had started to fall slightly, “Oh my God, they should see their faces!” Tyler and her father joined her in laughing, and Tyler reached for her hand. The two laced their fingers together. Tyler gave a glance at their audience and then back to Y/N, “Fuck ‘em. You’re my lady, and that’s all we need.” He placed another kiss onto the top of her hand. 

Y/N smiled back at him, “Me and my wild boy.”

[solelifauna]

Definitely NOT Invincible (Yandere Invincible & Reader)

Pt.4

Where (Y/n) becomes an A to C student. It's not her fault tho! Blame it on the trauma.

ALSO, THANK YOU TO @oof-spoof FOR PRACTICALLY FUNDING THE INVINCIBLE SERIES!!! EVERYONE GIVE THEM SOME LOVE!!!

Mark grabbed the keys, sliding into the driver’s seat without a word, and you followed suit, exhaustion settling deep into your bones as you slumped into the passenger seat. As you buckled your seatbelt, he turned the ignition, the radio flicking on as he scrolled through channels until he landed on the familiar one, 96.5. The quiet drive began, with Mark’s fingers tapping lightly on the steering wheel in time with the music, a rhythm that seemed at odds with the tense atmosphere filling the car.

You stared out the window, letting the passing scenery blur before you. Houses and shops you once thought would stand forever flew past, their vibrant facades a painful reminder of all you’d lose in the next five months. This town, this life—it was doomed.

Mark’s fingers slowed, and his eyes flicked toward you, his voice slipping in smoothly through the silence. “You seem a bit… off,” he said, his tone deceptively casual. “Stayed up late or something?”

You forced yourself to meet his gaze, masking the churn of emotions beneath a neutral expression. “Just tired,” you replied shortly, hoping that would be enough.

He gave a low hum, a hint of amusement lacing his tone. “You sure?” he asked, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly as they scanned your face. “You’ve been acting different lately. Jumpy, kind of… paranoid, maybe?”

The subtle accusation prickled at your nerves, and you tore your gaze away from him, fixing your eyes back on the road. “It’s just school,” you muttered. “And the tests. No big deal.”

But Mark’s voice didn’t lose that sharp edge. “Right,” he said, drawing out the word, as if savoring the slight tension in your voice. “Because that’s totally you. Ignoring me and Dad, breaking down in the arms of your friends you see in school everyday, and sitting at the dining table like a vegetable for hours.”

You tightened your grip on your seatbelt, willing yourself to stay calm. “Maybe I just need sometime to myself,” you replied, forcing yourself to sound nonchalant.

Mark didn’t respond right away, but you felt his gaze linger, heavy and assessing. You were painfully aware of his scrutiny, and each second under his gaze felt like it stretched into eternity. Then, he leaned back, lips curling in a faint smirk.

“Whatever it is,” he said softly, almost a whisper, but there was a chill behind his words that sent a shiver down your spine. “I’ll find out, (Y/n).”

The words hung in the air, charged with unspoken promises. You could feel his eyes on you, searching, prying, as if he were peeling back the layers of your mind to uncover whatever secrets you kept hidden. You forced yourself to look straight ahead, but his words echoed in your mind, sinking in like a thorn you couldn’t dislodge.

As you pulled up to the school, you felt as though you could barely breathe. Mark turned off the car, watching you with that same intense, unnerving gaze. “Don’t go doing anything you’ll regret,” he added, his tone light, almost playful, but the underlying menace was unmistakable.

With a tight nod, you opened the car door and stepped out, feeling his gaze bore into your back as you walked toward the school entrance. The hollow ache in your chest grew heavier, the knowledge that your own brother was already suspicious clawing at you. You had five months left before everything fell apart—and now, Mark was already starting to close in.

The moment you stepped out of the car, you quickened your pace, your feet carrying you across the parking lot toward the school entrance where Hallie, Connor, and Weston were waiting. You could feel Mark’s gaze burning into your back, heavy with suspicion, his presence like a dark cloud that followed you no matter how fast you walked. You forced yourself to keep your head down, ignoring the instinct to turn around and see if he was still watching.

As you neared your friends, a breath of relief slipped from your lips. Hallie caught your eye, giving you a small, knowing nod, and Weston nudged Connor, who was hunched over his phone. They could see the strain in your expression, the tension lingering around you, and immediately closed the distance, creating a small, protective circle.

“Everything okay?” Hallie asked quietly, her voice low but filled with concern. You managed a quick nod, brushing it off as best as you could.

“It’s… fine,” you said, though the slight tremor in your voice betrayed you.

They didn’t press further, but you could tell they were already on edge. They knew you well enough to sense when something was wrong, and your silence said plenty.

A few feet behind you, Mark had come to a stop, his arms folded as he leaned against the side of the car, watching you with that same unsettling intensity. He made no effort to hide it, his gaze fixed, sharp, studying your every move. A casual onlooker might not notice the tension in his stance, but you could feel it, the way he observed you with the quiet patience of someone biding their time.

Then, in a calculated move, Mark shifted his attention to a group of boys loitering by the side of the building—his so-called friends. They were loud, boisterous, and clearly thrilled to see him approach, clapping him on the shoulder and making crude jokes, the type he always pretended to enjoy. But you knew him too well; you saw the way he tolerated their company with a thinly veiled disdain, a quiet irritation masked by a charming grin.

One of the boys slapped Mark on the back, laughing too loudly at something Mark hadn’t even responded to. Mark flashed a smirk, humoring them, but his gaze darted back to you, subtle but piercing, as if ensuring you knew he was still watching. He laughed at some joke, a hollow sound, but his eyes never lost that calculated look, a hunter keeping track of his prey while biding his time.

Your shoulders tensed. Even surrounded by his friends, he seemed hyper-focused on you, as though he could sense your discomfort. You knew he was letting you go for now, but his patience wouldn’t last forever. Mark was never one to let things go unchecked, and with each passing second, his suspicion was sharpening, honing in on you.

Connor’s hand brushed against your arm, bringing you back to the present. “You good?” he asked, his voice a murmur, keeping it low so no one else could hear.

You forced yourself to breathe, nodding again. “Let’s get inside.”

Together, you and your friends made your way into the school, the familiar hum of voices and shuffling footsteps drowning out the tension outside. But even as the walls closed around you, shielding you from Mark’s stare, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d already set his sights on you, and he wouldn’t stop until he’d unraveled every secret you fought so hard to hide.

As you made your way through the bustling hallway, you leaned in close to Hallie, whispering, “We need to talk. Later.”

She nodded in agreement before heading off to her first class, Weston following in tandem. 

With that, you and Conner head to your first class, nerves jolting and wired. For some reason your fight-or-flight was kicking in, pumping needless adrenaline through your body (it seemed like your body was always in fight or flight mode, never really stopping or calming down). 

As you and Connor slipped into your seats, you forced yourself to look as composed as possible, even as your insides churned with anxiety. The entire classroom felt distant, almost surreal, as if you were watching it all through a fog. Your hands clenched the edge of your desk, a small attempt to ground yourself, to stop the insistent rush of adrenaline flooding your veins.

It was almost maddening, this constant state of vigilance, like your body couldn’t accept that, for now at least, you were safe. You knew Mark was out there somewhere, probably already listening with his enhanced hearing, his sharp ears tuned in for the slightest slip-up. He could be in any room, any hallway, eavesdropping without you even realizing it.

Soon, your math teacher, Mrs. Barnes entered, her heels clacking against the linoleum floor, as she began to set up for the day’s lesson. You took a shaky breath, forcing your focus on her as she scrawled equations across the whiteboard, her voice drifting around you as she launched into a review of yesterday’s formulas.

But as you tried to listen, to grasp the material, you hit a wall—a terrifying, absolute void where your memories of math should have been. The numbers blurred, sliding off your mind like water, and no matter how hard you focused, the information simply wouldn’t stick.

Panicking slightly, you scanned the board, hoping that maybe a familiar formula or concept would spark something. But it was like staring at a foreign language. The frustration gnawed at you, each failed attempt to remember only heightening your sense of dread. You looked over at Connor, your pulse racing, and found him already watching you, a look of shared panic in his eyes.

You could tell he was struggling too. He shook his head slightly, his mouth set in a grim line. He leaned down, pulling out his notebook and scribbling something quickly. Glancing around to make sure no one was watching, he slid it over to you.

Do you remember any of this?

You hesitated, your hand trembling as you wrote back. 

Nothing. I can’t remember a single thing. It’s like…

You couldn’t bring yourself to finish the sentence. It was as if everything you’d learned here—the academic knowledge, the normal parts of life—had simply been erased. Your mind was so conditioned to survive, to fight and endure, that it had discarded everything else. In a terrifying way, you were no longer the student you once were. You’d been reshaped entirely by the trauma of the last life.

Connor swallowed, looking down at the note. You watched as he took in the implications, his face growing paler with every passing second. Mrs. Barnes continued her lesson, unaware of the silent panic that rippled between you and Connor. The words she wrote on the board may as well have been gibberish. You didn’t even recognize half the terms she was using anymore, the definitions blurred or completely forgotten.

You turned your gaze to your textbook, flipping the pages with trembling fingers, hoping that something, anything, would stick. But all you could focus on was the sensation of being cornered, of being hunted. Your mind kept flitting back to those dark days in the resistance, to the endless battles, to the snap decisions you’d made just to stay alive. It was like your brain had rewired itself, discarding anything that didn’t serve the immediate need to survive.

Connor nudged you, snapping you out of your spiraling thoughts, and he quickly scribbled another note.

This is bad. What are we supposed to do if we can’t even remember the basics?

You tried to take a calming breath, but it came out shaky. He was right. You were barely keeping up this façade of normalcy as it was. If you couldn’t handle school, you’d stand out even more. Mark would notice. Your parents would notice. Teachers would start asking questions. People would wonder what had happened to you.

We’ll figure something out, you wrote back, though even you weren’t convinced.

It seems like you’ve said that same sentence too many times though with no real solutions.

But before you could come up with a more reassuring answer, Mrs. Barnes turned toward your row, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the classroom. Your heart skipped a beat, and you quickly shifted your gaze to the board, hoping she hadn’t noticed the exchange.

“Connor, (Y/n). Is there something you’d like to share with the class?” she asked, her tone pointed.

You straightened in your seat, forcing a tight smile. “No, ma’am. Just—trying to catch up.”

She held your gaze for a moment longer than you liked, suspicion flickering in her eyes, but eventually she turned back to the board, resuming her explanation. You exchanged a glance with Connor, both of you silently relieved.

But the relief was short-lived. The void in your mind loomed larger, a terrifying reminder of the life you’d left behind—and the life you couldn’t fully return to. It was becoming painfully clear that you weren’t just out of practice or distracted, no, something fundamental had changed inside you. You were something else entirely now, someone forged in battle and scarred by the horrors of survival.

The lesson droned on. You could only hope that whatever pieces of your old self remained would be enough to keep everyone safe, long enough to figure out how to stop the coming shit show.

Finally, the bell rings, a sharp burst of sound cutting through your thoughts, you quickly gather your things, grateful for the temporary reprieve from your spiraling thoughts. You and Connor exchange a brief, tense look before parting ways. You both have too much to figure out, too many gaps to fill, but there’s no time now.

Your next class, Entry Biology, is in another part of the building, tucked into a quieter wing. The halls are buzzing with students, their voices overlapping in casual conversations that feel alien to you, like a language you no longer fully understand. You keep your gaze down, trying to blend in as best as you can, making your way through the sea of faces and finding your classroom near the end of the corridor.

You step inside, spotting a seat at the back of the room. With no assigned seating, you slip into it, hoping it’ll give you some measure of privacy. As you set your bag down, you can’t remember if this was your usual seat or not. The details of your day-to-day routine from this life feel like a distant memory, blurring with the harsh reality of your previous one. If someone had taken this seat before, they’d just have to ask you to move. For now, you’re hoping they’ll leave you alone.

The room gradually fills with students, but no one seems to notice or care that you’re there. You breathe a small sigh of relief, your mind still reeling from the earlier realization that your memory has turned selectively barren. Biology… you struggle to recall the basic concepts, things that should be easy.

Mitosis? Ecosystems? Even the Cell Cycle feels slippery in your mind. The memories just won’t solidify. Your mind instinctively drifts back to the knowledge that does stick, but it’s all survival tactics, the hollow echo of combat drills, the weight of loss, and the survival instincts that you can’t shake.

Your teacher, Mr. Halloway, enters the room, adjusting his glasses as he sets down his materials on the desk. He’s a calm, unassuming presence with an easygoing manner that normally might have put you at ease. But today, you find it hard to focus, the anxiety lingering from earlier gnawing at you as he begins writing on the board.

“Alright, class, today we’re going to dive into cell structures and the basics of cell function,” he says, the chalk scratching faintly as he writes. “Let’s start with the organelles—things like the mitochondria, nucleus, and chloroplasts in plant cells.”

Okay! You knew about the Mitochondria: powerhouse of the cell.

You stare at the board, the words and diagrams meaningless in your mind, like someone dumped them there without context. There’s a flicker of recognition, but it feels shallow, inaccessible. You remember how cells look under a microscope, how textbooks diagram them out with labeled parts, but the function of each organelle slips through your grasp. Your heart sinks as you realize it isn’t just math—you really don’t remember anything.

You fish your phone out of your bag, concealing it beneath the desk, and quickly type a message to Your group chat.

(Y/n): Can’t remember anything from class feels like my brain’s wiped

A few seconds pass before Weston’s reply comes in.

Westy My Bestie: Same here

Can’t remember jack shit

Halligator: This is bad

Geometry is my best subject and now i can't even remember simple theorems

     Ppl r gonna get sus

You read their responses, your grip on the phone tightening. At least you’re not alone in this, but it doesn’t ease the gnawing anxiety that your memories are failing you. The bell signaling the end of class is a lifeline, and you’re the first one out the door, weaving through the crowded hallway with your thoughts spinning.

The final bell rings for lunch, and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. Your last two classes so far, AP Human Geography and English I, had been easier to handle, but that gnawing feeling of something missing never left.

Geography was more about concepts, patterns of human behavior, and interactions rather than memorized facts, so you managed to piece together enough to get by. English, luckily, was more focused on analysis than strict recall, so your rusty memory didn’t hinder you as much. But the underlying dread still weighed on you, a nagging reminder that anything concrete, anything involving details you should remember, seemed out of reach.

You step into the hallway, the crowd surging around you, and immediately spot Weston waiting outside his classroom. He raises a hand in greeting, a familiar face amid the chaos, and together, you head toward the cafeteria. The line’s already growing, students chatting and joking around.. You scan the serving trays, landing on the day’s special: some sort of chicken sandwich with fries and a bag of chips.

A smile tugs at your lips despite the morning you’ve had; after living off scraps and rations in your past life, a hot meal—even a school cafeteria one—was a blessing. The memory of tearing open a ration pack, forcing down tasteless blocks of compressed food, flashes through your mind, and you’re struck by how strange it feels to have choices again.

Once you’ve paid for your food, you and Weston make your way through the bustling cafeteria and out into the open-air courtyard. It’s refreshing to be outside, where the air feels less claustrophobic and you can catch glimpses of the autumn leaves turning golden, the first hints of fall in the cool breeze. You spot Connor and Hallie already sitting at your usual table, near the far edge of the courtyard, both of them eating like they haven’t seen food in days.

"Hey," you greet them, sliding into the seat beside Connor while Weston sits across from you. You unwrap your sandwich, taking a hesitant bite. The flavors hit your taste buds, far better than anything you’d had during the rebellion. It was still a cafeteria meal, but right now, it might as well have been gourmet.

Hallie looks up from her sandwich, barely swallowing before launching into conversation. "God, you guys have no idea how weird today’s been." She glances around, ensuring no one’s within earshot before she continues. "I feel like I’m flunking every single class. I don’t remember anything useful."

Connor nods in agreement, his expression grim. “Same here. It’s like my brain’s refusing to do anything academic. Anything beyond survival skills… it’s just blank.”

Weston, who’s been munching on his fries, glances up, his face thoughtful. "Maybe it’s some kind of psychological thing? Like, we’re all for sure traumatized and now that we’re back, we’re struggling to fit in? Doesn’t the brain forget non-vital info under extreme stress or something?"

You nod, considering his theory, but it doesn’t offer much comfort. If this was some side effect of trauma, it was leaving you dangerously exposed. 

"It makes sense," you admit, trying to keep your voice steady. "But it’s going to be hard to keep up the act if we can’t remember even basic things. Especially with…” Your voice trails off, not wanting to say his name out loud.

But Connor catches your drift. “Mark,” he mutters, a tense silence settling over the group. “He’s been watching you, hasn’t he?”

"Yeah," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. "He knows something’s up. He hasn’t figured out what, but he’s… suspicious."

Hallie’s eyes narrow, and her jaw clenches as she takes a sharp breath. "We need a plan, and fast. It’s one thing to keep low in class, but Mark? He’s not just anybody. If he thinks there’s something to find out, he’ll find it."

Your stomach twists as you think back to his words from that morning: “Whatever it is, I’ll find out, (Y/n).” You remembered the look in his eyes, the way he seemed to study you, his gaze cold and calculating, false care in his voice, like you were nothing more than a puzzle to be solved.

"Maybe," Weston says slowly, breaking the silence, "we could take a more passive approach. You know, let him think he’s figured you out. Act dumb or, like, make mistakes on purpose. Lead him onto a false answer."

Connor raises an eyebrow, considering it. "Might work, but it’s risky. If he thinks he’s being played, he won’t hold back.

You nod at Weston, “I think its worth a shot. We’re all screwed either way, so what's the harm?”

After your statement, everyone falls into a comfortable silence; most likely retreating into their own minds.

You continue eating in silence, the sounds of laughter and conversations around you feeling distant, like a world you’re no longer part of. Each bite you take tastes more and more hollow.

Finally, Connor breaks the silence again. “We need to figure out how we’re going to warn the Guardians. Without tipping off Mark or Omni-Man.”

You nod, your mind already spinning with ideas and doubts. 

“We have to get a message to them somehow. We could use anonymous tips, maybe? Something that won’t trace back to us?” Hallie shoots out.

Weston shrugs. “Anonymous tips work in movies, sure, but this is real life. They’ll get curious, and then the government and Guardians will find out it was us. Plus, Omni-man and Invincible are two highly respected and trusted heroes, there's no guarantee they’d even believe the warning we send.”

“Weston has a point,” You say. “But, it doesn't matter. If they believe us or not, at least they’ll have the thought in the back of their minds. Even if it comes back to us, at least the Guardians will know.”

Because in a world where the clock is ticking, and survival is the only option—there’s no time left to be selfish over your own lives.

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

Toto Wolff with wife reader. Doing a hot lap together with him driving. (You choose which circuit) Thanks!! :)(

Hold on tight

Word count: 1.1k

Pairing: Toto Wolff x wife!reader

Summary: Toto and Y/N Wolff’s Nürburgring hot lap showcases Y/N’s hilarious reactions to Toto’s driving, with Jack adding his adorable excitement.

Because I thought it was very similar to the other Fics I’ve written I made this one in to part four of the social media Toto Wolff x wife!reader fic series

Part one: Unscripted Moments

Part two: A guide to modern slang

Part three: Getting It Right (and Wrong)

________________________________________________________

The sun was shining brightly over the Nürburgring, casting a golden glow on the iconic circuit as you and Toto prepared for yet another video, the third in a series that had quickly become a fan-favorite. The sleek Mercedes-AMG GT gleamed behind you, the anticipation of what was to come buzzing in the air.

Standing side by side, you and Toto exchanged playful glances as the camera crew set up. This wasn’t your first rodeo; the first video had been a fun “This or That” challenge, where you’d both revealed surprising things about each other. The second video had tested your knowledge of Gen Z slang, which had led to a lot of laughs—and a few hilarious misinterpretations on Toto’s part. But this time, things were about to get a lot more intense.

As the camera began to roll, you and Toto turned to face it, ready to introduce what was sure to be a wild ride.

“Hello, everyone!” Toto greeted the camera with his signature grin. “Welcome back! For those of you who’ve been following along, you’ll know that we’ve done a couple of fun videos already—first, a ‘This or That’ challenge, and then we tried to guess some Gen Z slang. Both were… let’s say, very educational,” he added with a wink in your direction.

You chuckled, nodding in agreement. “Educational is one word for it. I think we both learned that Toto is definitely not up-to-date with the latest slang.”

Toto laughed, shaking his head. “True. But today, we’re doing something completely different. And a bit more in my territory. We’re here at the Nürburgring, and we’re about to do a hot lap in this beautiful Mercedes-AMG GT.”

You turned to the camera with a slightly nervous smile. “Which means I’m going to be the terrified passenger, holding on for dear life, while this guy here,” you nudged Toto, “drives like a madman.”

Toto put his arm around your waist, grinning widely. “She says madman, I say skilled professional.”

“Tomato, tomato,” you replied with a smirk, earning a chuckle from the camera crew.

One of the cameramen stepped forward, asking, “So, Y/N, on a scale of 1 to 10, how nervous are you?”

You didn’t hesitate. “Eleven. Definitely an eleven.”

The cameraman then turned to Toto. “And how excited are you?”

Toto grinned, his eyes lighting up with excitement. “A solid twelve. I’ve been looking forward to this.”

You rolled your eyes playfully at the camera. “Well, there you have it. I’m nervous, he’s excited, and we’re about to take off. Wish me luck!”

Toto opened the passenger door for you with a teasing flourish. “Your chariot awaits, madame.”

You took a deep breath and slid into the seat, glancing up at him with a mix of affection and exasperation. “Just remember, we’re doing this for the fans. And don’t forget—I’m holding on to whatever I can if you scare me.”

Toto chuckled as he settled into the driver’s seat. “I’ll try to keep it interesting. Ready?”

“Not really,” you admitted, your voice a mix of nerves and excitement as you buckled your seatbelt.

With that, Toto started the engine, and the car roared to life. He shot you a quick grin before hitting the accelerator, and the Nürburgring immediately became a blur around you. The speed and intensity of the hot lap were unlike anything you’d ever experienced before, and as the car whipped through sharp turns, you instinctively reached out, gripping Toto’s arm.

“Toto, langsam!” you yelled, slipping into German as the adrenaline took over. “Du bist wahnsinnig! Scheiße!” ("Toto, slow down! You're insane! Shit!")

Toto only laughed, clearly enjoying himself. “Liebling, bitte,” ("Darling, please,") he replied with mock seriousness, the grin on his face widening as he expertly navigated another sharp corner. “This is just getting started!”

“Fucking hell,” you muttered in English, switching between the languages as the car sped through another tight curve. “I’m holding on to you whether you like it or not!”

As the car took a particularly steep turn, you instinctively grabbed onto Toto’s leg, holding on for dear life. “Verdammt, Toto! Du bist verrückt!” ("Damn it, Toto! You're crazy!")

Toto glanced down at your hand on his leg and shot you a teasing look. “Oh, holding onto my leg now? Didn’t know you were so eager, Schatz.”

Despite the fear coursing through you, you managed a glare. “Not the time for jokes!”

He just laughed again, thoroughly enjoying your flustered state. “You know, there are other times when I wouldn’t mind you holding onto me like that…”

“Toto!” you exclaimed, your face flushing as the car finally began to slow down, signaling the end of the lap.

Toto brought the car to a smooth stop in the pit lane, turning to you with a wide grin. “Well, that was fun, wasn’t it?”

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. “Fun is relative. I think I just aged ten years.”

As you both got out of the car, the camera crew was still filming, capturing every moment. One of the cameramen walked over, grinning. “That was amazing! The fans are going to love this. You two are hilarious together.”

Toto chuckled, clearly pleased. “She’s the best co-driver I could ask for.”

Before you could respond, you heard the sound of little footsteps running towards you. Jack came charging over, his face lighting up when he saw you.

“Mommy!” Jack called out, reaching up for you as he ran to your side.

You bent down, scooping him up into your arms, feeling a wave of relief and joy as you held him close. “Hey, sweetheart,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to his hair. “Did you have fun watching?”

Jack nodded eagerly, his eyes wide with wonder. “You were so fast, Mommy! Like a race car driver!”

Toto walked over, wrapping an arm around your waist and giving Jack a playful ruffle of his hair. “Your mom was very brave, wasn’t she, Jack?”

Jack nodded again, looking up at you with wide, admiring eyes. “Yeah! But why were you holding onto Daddy’s leg?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, your face flushing as you glanced at Toto, who was grinning mischievously. “Well, Daddy was driving really fast, and it was a little scary.”

Toto leaned in close, his voice low and teasing as he whispered just for you to hear, “I didn’t mind it at all, you holding onto me like that… Maybe we could try that again later?”

You blushed, swatting at him playfully. “Behave yourself.”

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Can’t promise that, Schatz.”

Jack giggled, oblivious to the teasing between his parents. “Can I come with you next time, Daddy?”

Toto smiled, his hand gently squeezing Jack’s. “Maybe when you’re a little older, buddy. For now, let’s keep your mom safe from my driving.”

You laughed, leaning into Toto as you held Jack close. “Yes, let’s do that.”

[inklessletter]

Thinking about Eddie using an old trick his father taught him when he was eleven years old to sneak in any big place by just carrying a ladder and looking like a worker, to get Steve in a concert that had been sold out for weeks.

Thinking about Steve complaining all the way there, calling Eddie irresponsible, reminding him that he followed the rules, that he's a good guy, telling him that they were going to be caught, that it was stupid and wasn't going to work.

Thinking about how hard Steve rolls his eyes when it actually works and Eddie is just one breath away from his "I told you so," but it never comes.

They actually get to see for free that show of Tears for Fears and Steve expects Eddie to complain about shitty music, or how lame Steve taste was, or even Steve's lack of faith in his poor soul.

And again, it never comes.

Everything in Eddie's behavior is so nice that something must be awfully wrong, and Steve spends the whole concert trying to get a reaction out of him, spiraling, thinking that maybe he'd been ungrateful by spending all that time complaining and that he very much earned that silent treatment (not really a silent treatment, more like a not 'in your fucking face, Harrington' treatment), so immersed in his own thoughts he barely enjoys the concert.

Thinking about a comfortable silence in Eddie's end, when they're driving back to Hawkins, and Steve breaking it by finally muttering a soft "I'm sorry."

Thinking about Eddie puzzled about whre that apology came from and asking why he's sorry, and pulling over when he just glances at Steve's troubled face when he can't actually answer.

Thinking about the heaviness of Eddie's voice when he asks a second time, looking Steve in the eye, why is he apologizing, and Steve breathing that he doesn't exactly know, for whatever he did that Eddie's mad, he guesses.

Thinking about Eddie pulling every bit of knowledge about Steve Harrington together, and finally, finally realizing where Steve's coming from.

Thinking about Steve's face when Eddie tells him softly "I just wanted to do something nice for you. Just wanted to make you happy."

Thinking about the ten seconds of full silence, ten seconds both of them staring at each other, the air feeling heavy, Steve's shallow and fast breathing, and his whispered "but why?"

"Because you deserve to be happy. You really, really do, Steve."

Thinking about every fiber in Steve's body yelling "that's a lie", and Steve having no energy to actually discuss Eddie's estatement. Steve looking down, then away, then swallowing around nothing. Steve just saying "uh, okay," in a shaky, whispered voice.

Thinking of Eddie finally hitting the road again, with his eyes ahead, his heart in the passenger seat, and his head replaying the chorus of Head over heels in repeat (and he's shocked to his core that he's actually liking it.)

[wintersoldierwhore]

bucky as a girl dad

Bucky finding out you were pregnant was another thing entirely, you were completely avoidant and you hadn’t said more than a word until later that night when he cornered you after dinner. 

You couldn’t help but break down into tears, hands shaking as they shielded your eyes from him. His hands, so gently, wrapped around your wrists willing you to remove them. You just stepped around him to reach for your purse, handing him the stick you tested on that morning.

Bucky was silent, taking in the two solid pink lines on the stick, understanding his life was about to change forever. “Oh, my God.”

“I’m sorry,” you cried, avoiding his gaze and sitting back down at the kitchen table, where your dishes still sat. 

“Sorry for what?” He questioned, kneeling down in front of you with his hands cradling your face. 

“This wasn’t planned, we’re not ready.” You sniffled, but you couldn’t help but lean into his touch. His skin on yours felt like everything was going to be okay.

“Nobody is ever ready for a kid, doll. We’ll do it, we’ll do this. Me and you.” He countered, his voice so warm and soft, feeling like a conversation only understood between the both of you.

“We’re going to do it,” you whispered, smiling through your sniffles. Bucky nodded, a grin on his face and his thumbs wiping the tears brimming your eyes.

You’d gone to bed before Bucky that night, whilst he dealt with the dishes and had a shower. He’d still made you your nighttime tea, always accompanied with two cookies. And once he’d closed the door to your bedroom, essentially tucking you in that night, he immediately reached for his phone.

“Sam, what the fuck do I do?” He asked, voice still quiet as he jogged down the stairs. He needed to be reassured, and usually he’d go to you, but with news like this, he knew he had to be the one to see you both through it. 

Bucky spent a whole hour on the phone to Sam, who had actually brought Sarah into the conversation. Bucky wrote things down, asked questions, took every bit of knowledge Sarah had to offer him. 

It was safe to say the conversation had soothed him, he believed he could do it, and there was nobody else he’d rather do it with. He’d thought about it before, the prospect of kids, and his mind would occasionally drift off thinking about you as a mom.

Now pregnant you was another ordeal. Bucky believed you shouldn’t have to lift a finger whilst carrying his child. At first you believed it was guilt, for making you throw up every morning, for wanting to do nothing but sleep. But it really was just care for you and your unborn child. And it was adorable, to say the least. 

When he’d caught you locking the front door, bag and car keys in hand, when coming back from his run, he wanted to carry you back to the couch and wait on your every need. 

“Buck, honey,” you sighed, reaching out for his hand, “I just want some fresh air. To go for a walk around the market, I’m still a human even if I'm growing a child.”

He couldn’t argue with that. “Can you at least wait for me?”

So you did, you sat in the passenger seat of his car, patiently waiting for your husband to finish showering.

The two of you browsed the weekend markets, picking up food, and Bucky grabbing some pink and blue posies. It was the best you’ve felt for weeks, walking around with your small bump and your hand in Bucky’s.

Bucky was quickly to accompany you everywhere after that. To the store, for a walk, to see friends, and to buy decorations for your upcoming baby shower. Bucky wasn’t aware of the new trend of announcing boy or girl to everyone. But you were and he’d do it all for you. 

You’d decorated your garden, lots of lights and various items of either blue or pink. Tables stacked with food, drinks, and little snacks. And flowers, everywhere. 

Friends were arriving, and Bucky would stand separate from the crowd in the garden, 

practically hugging the fence, and would watch as people’s smiles would elevate as you spoke with them. 

Their hands placed gently on your bump, arms thrown around you with happiness. There wasn’t another soul in this universe or the next that was better suited to himself than you.  

It came down to the colour of the cake, and you had your wine glasses at the ready, smashing them into the beautifully decorated cake.

Eyes closed, Bucky’s arm was around your waist and he could feel his hand trembling as it held the wine glass full of cake, and he could hear the cheering of your shared loved ones.

After a countdown, your eyes opened to reveal the pale pink sponge. You thought you were doing well to maintain your tears, until you’d looked at Bucky.

He was quick to bring you into him, your baby girl sandwiched between you. Your family beginning with a precious girl. 

“How’re you doing, Buck?” You spoke softly into his shoulder, not quite comprehending it yourself. You could feel your knees weaken at the sound of your family and friends cheering next to you. But it was just you and Bucky in this moment.

“I can’t believe it,” his voice was hoarse, on the edge of breaking, “our baby girl.” 

Through sore backs, fatigue, cravings, heartburn, and sleepless nights, Bucky was there for as much as he could be.

Missions were short, and he’d become unresponsive to friends and colleagues after every mission, to soak up the time left of just you two. And whilst most of the time you were not feeling your best self, you’d enjoy watching Bucky build the furniture, and renovating your spare room into a nursery, watching your dream come to life. 

He looked more ready than you did, you’d often catch him gazing down the baby clothes aisle when grocery shopping, falling asleep clutching his phone with Top 10 baby-safe stuffed animals to buy in his browser. But in all honesty, he was terrified.He had only felt like he belonged once settled down with you, freshly married and house hunting. And now knowing he had his own child to be responsible for, it felt like a lot.

This feeling stayed for the both of you, until you’d woken up at two in the morning in what felt like a puddle and an intense squeezing sensation in your womb. 

You groaned, sounding more like a growl as you pry yourself out of bed and towards your wardrobe. There was no way you were going to the hospital in soaked pajamas.

“Buck,” you breathed, gripping onto the wardrobe door as the sensation passed, “get up. Now.”

“Oh, fuck.” He exclaimed, eyes widened and hair a mess on his head. You’d never seen him move so fast towards you, his hands reaching for your hair and brushing it away from your face.

“Help me change.” You sighed, eyes squeezed shut as another contraction came around. Bucky slid your pajama pants off and replaced them with some sweatpants, and some slippers, before ushering you out of your bedroom.

He’d quickly reached for your phones, and the hospital bag, whilst assisting you with contractions. He felt accomplished when driving to the hospital, seemingly managing this stress well. 

“You got this, doll.” He’d occasionally say to you, keeping you breathing and squeezing his hand. And despite being a super soldier himself, the strength a birthing woman had was another level. 

Getting out of the car and whatever else happened before getting a room was a blur to you, whilst being too focused on the contractions and trying not to throw up. No pain you’d ever been through matched or exceeded this, but it would be worth it in the end. Right?

“Tell me this is worth it.” You whispered, another contraction passing as you rested your head against Bucky’s arm. 

“It will be, our beautiful girl will be worth all of this.” Bucky responded, his fingers combing over your tangled hair. The both of you were tired, timing contractions, and Bucky’s attempt at trying to lighten the room was failing miserably.

And after being told you were only 3cm dilated, you wanted to launch Bucky’s arm at the wall. However, they were allowing you to keep the room as long as there was some progression in the next few hours. 

Bucky had very quickly left the room to grab some granola bars for the both of you, not wanting to miss a minute of this.

And it was a long few hours of waiting, contracting, feeling sick, before you’d fallen asleep. Bucky in the armchair beside you, his hand safely nestled under your neck and grazing the area under your ear.

Fully dilated, active labour in full swing, Bucky giving you words of encouragement and his metal arm to squeeze this time, all whilst you cry and push with all your might. You were exhausted, ready to sleep for a straight week, until you both heard that small cry. 

You looked up at Bucky, tears streaming down both of your faces as a midwife handed you your baby girl. Her bare skin against your own, your trembling hands holding her against you, it was everything you needed.

Bucky just stared at the two of you, tears melting from his waterline and down his cheeks, he could hardly believe the life he was living. He never thought it to be true.

They’d taken your daughter away to clean her up and check on her, leaving the two of you to recover. 

“You did so good, my girl. I’m so proud of you.” He whispered against the skin of your cheek. He was still in total shock, and even when they brought her back in, wrapped up neatly in a white blanket. 

He couldn’t believe this tiny human was his own. And he spent hours just looking at her and her tiny features. He sat on your bedside, one hand brushing your cheek as you slept, and the other gently grazing your daughter’s cheek. 

After a lot of debate over her name for nine months, you’d both agreed you’d settle on a name once she was born. 

And you settled on Lucy. It was simply sweet. 

Bringing Lucy home and seeing dad bucky in full swing was much more fulfilling than you thought. He’d wake up and stay up during the night feeds with you, he’d suggest walks with the stroller around the block to get you all out of the house, and the way he’d carry her. You’d been sent to Heaven and back.

When the two of you would relax on the sofa for the evening, he’d have her on his chest, his right hand rested on her back and he’d just listen to her cooing. More often than not, he’d doze off with her.

But you loved when he’d cradle her when walking around the house, she’d be laying on his arm belly down, and he’d gotten over his fear of hurting her, so he’d walk around casually with her asleep in his arms. 

He’d fully settled into life as a dad, and the pair of you could wait till tea party age. But for now, you were soaking up every minute of your baby. And it wasn’t long until Bucky was begging for another one.

[its-crowning]

Too Late Roommate, pt. 1

having a roommate that—at first—you think is just gaining weight. watching their belly press up against their shirt, their appetite getting almost aggressive. watching them try and fail to fit into their clothes, watching them get more and more out of breath from doing things they used to do with ease. you think they’re just gaining weight…until you catch them standing with the bathroom door open, shirt lifted up, inspecting a very round swell in the mirror. you stop in your tracks. it’s an unmistakable bulge. there’s even the beginnings of a vertical line, running right down the middle. that’s…

you can’t help it. you speak before you think it through. “are you…pregnant?”

they don’t look at you. they poke their belly, and then cup it. there’s a bit of fear in their expression. “i’m too busy right now, but i’ll terminate soon. i can’t have a baby.”

one look at their ripe belly tells you they’re far beyond the time for that.

it’s two entire months later that they waddle out of their room and ask you, wide-eyed, if you can take them to the clinic. one hand is on their back, and the other cups their protruding belly. something tells you they just felt it kick—like a good, serious kick, not flutters they can call indigestion—for the first time, just had the reality hit them.

unfortunately for them, it’s long been too late.

you take them to the clinic anyway. you don’t know why you do any of the things you do—you act stupid around them, now. it’s like you’re sharing their denial, but all because you’re intrigued. how long can they drag this out? how long before they pop?

you darkly hope it happens in your apartment.

you touch yourself, in secret, to the idea. you touch yourself to the glimpses you steal of them struggling to bend over and pick something up. of how they jump whenever the thing moves a little inside them when you’re both watching TV, and then try to play it off. of the soft crying at night you can hear through the wall.

they shock you by coming right back out of the abortion clinic and getting back in the passenger seat, head hung low.

their belly is still very pregnant, poorly hidden by their parka. their face is streaked with tears.

“so…”

“they wouldn’t let me.”

“okay.”

the rest of the drive home is in silence. the weight in the air—the shared knowledge you both have that this baby is real, and going to be born soon—hangs heavily, just like their belly lately.

you go back into the apartment, and your roommate is already out of breath. they huff and puff and sit down on the couch with a big “hooo…” kind of noise, groaning at their pregnancy. you just start making the two—or three of you, rather—some sandwiches in silence.

“i’m sorry,” their quavering voice breaks the tension at last. you eye them, but don’t speak. they can’t meet your eyes. “i know…i know this…it’s gotten out of control. but i didn’t think it was…”

“how far along did you think you were?” you ask, with a patronizing bite that slips out of your mouth before you can stop it. they wince a little, and look warily at their prominent bump. it gets really big when they sit like this, sitting high and jutting out. imposing. impending.

they’re terrified. “i don’t…l…”

“how far along are you?”

“I didn’t find out. they wanted to…give it…an ultrasound, but…i can’t…”

“do you have a plan? who’s the father?”

they don’t answer. you can tell they’re about to cry.

you should leave them alone. you hand them their sandwich, taking a bite out of your own. they take it tentatively, but then lurch a little bit. another big kick, surely. they seem to have lost their appetite, and try setting it down on the coffee table.

they struggle to reach. to sit upright at all. you have to help them.

this action seems to finally break them. they start softly weeping.

you sit down beside them on the couch, abandoning your sandwich as well.

“once it comes, you can give it up for adoption—“ you start to say.

“I didn’t know you could get pregnant on the first time,” they sob, holding their belly. “I don’t know anything. My parents…they’re going to…”

they haven’t shared much with you about their home life, but you know it was incredibly strict. perhaps religious, but they haven’t clarified. they just cry, and look down at their swollen womb. for the first time, you notice that they’re wearing their jeans completely unbuttoned and unzipped. they haven’t bought maternity jeans.

“I can’t have a baby.”

something in you snaps.

“But you will,” you say, standing up. they look up at you, teary-eyed, but don’t say anything. “You’re going to get even bigger, and you’re going to push that thing out—probably here, in our bath tub. You fucked, and now you’re going to have a baby. Soon. Stop denying it.”

There’s a heavy silence between you, until your roommate heavily picks themself up. you try to help, but they push your hand away.

“Listen, I’m sorry, but you need to make a plan—“

They waddle away, unable to control their sniffling as they begin to cry again. they carry the heft of their belly with both hands as if the baby will fall out of them otherwise. And they disappear into their room.

—

You don’t see them much after that. It’s clear they’re avoiding you. You can’t say you don’t understand. You try to put your nerves aside—this is their problem. Their burden in their belly. You’re not the one who’s pregnant, you shouldn’t worry about it.

The crying at night continues.

But in the middle of the night, maybe two or three weeks after the clinic visit, you wake up with a start. you don’t think anything of it at first, until you hear it again. the sound that woke you up. it’s a bit muffled, but it’s a low moan. Like a cow.

Dread spears through you. It’s time.

[just-trying-to-fangirl-in-peace]

Tides of fate (Sauron x fem!Elf!reader)

-> in which your newly returned husband is unsure of the path ahead, and the sea itself tries to deter you from the one you choose together

Warnings: evil!reader, smut (sneaky handjob in a public place, brief descriptions of p in v), probably inaccuracies of canon geography/lore to suit the fic, somewhat repentant Sauron stands a teeny tiny chance of being better but reader is an ‘I can make him worse’ kinda girl

Note: part of the evil!reader collection. If you’re new, reader has been married/soulbound to Sauron since before Adar killed him and infiltrated herself in Eregion as a smith while she waited for his return, but came to find him when his presence became strong enough through their bond again.

Mature content below the cut—minors DNI!!!

Halbrand.

Whilst the other passengers on the ship are asleep, he lies awake with his new name and his new face, heading into what is to be a new life. He has yet to decide whether it should be different from the one before, but one thing he knows beyond all certainty—you shall be by his side, body and soul, until existence itself is no more.

You lie in his arms as he sits reclined against a pile of cargo, with your head resting upon his heart. Even aslumber, you seem to cling to him, your fingers ever so slightly curled in the ragged shirt he wears. Halbrand himself refrains from tightening his hold around your waist to the point where he might wake you, and contents himself only with soft caresses of your hair as he cradles you close. Weeks after you had nursed him back to his solid form, there are still times when you feel you must convince yourselves that you are together once more, and the long wait is over.

It had taken a while for the frenzy to pass, once he had been remade. For his newly woven flesh to find relief, if only in part, from the yearning with which it burned for yours.

The first time he’d had you in this body is a blur in his mind, nothing left of it but white-hot flashes of rampant breathing, wails and growls, skin slapping against skin. No sooner had he breathed the air into his new lungs than he had claimed your mouth, fell with you to the ground on the very spot where his new feet had first touched it, and begged to have his wife. A beast rutting into his mate in the snow is what he had been reduced to. On an open trail, beneath the open sky, he had ploughed into you with wild abandon, searing the pleasure of every thrust into his soul as if it would be the last he ever tastes.

He had not known, when last you had been by his side before Adar’s betrayal, that you would be out of his reach for centuries to come, that the very memory of his beloved’s embrace would slip from his grasp with the long years, sunk into the black depths of a rudimentary shape which had forgotten what it was to feel at all. And so the moment he had at last regained a form that could, he had grasped, seized, clawed the feeling of being one with you back into himself.

And you had sunk your nails into his new flesh, christened it with scratches, marking it as yours. He remembers your tight heat, your shrill moans, your tears as you begged him for more, even after your peak. He remembers his frustrated curses when his fresh, tragically human form had softened beyond his control after spilling inside you only once, and your sweet laugh in his ear, nowhere near judgmental as you reassured him that with time, his Maia prowess shall return to spare him such tedious whims of a mortal’s flesh.

“You are still extraordinary, my love,” you had praised with an adoring nibble of his humanly round ear. “A true mortal man as starved as you would not have even made it all the way inside.”

It was, perhaps, for the best. For you might have fucked the very life out of yourself on his cock in those first few days, if not for the occasional need for respite. His partial oblivion, though nothing short of agonizing, had stripped him, at times, of the knowledge of what he was missing. Your longing for your husband had shredded your heart through every single moment of the centuries you had been apart, vivid as ever in your mind and soul. The hollow in your bond had never subsided into anything less than a freshly severed limb, forever bleeding from an open wound. The only reason you had not withered away was that last glimmer of feeling, barely there but undeniably real, that your husband had not passed beyond your reach completely and forever.

For weeks you had remained in those woods, unwilling to do anything but be together. Even if you weren’t making love, you were hardly ever not touching, and it cost you even to pry yourselves away to hunt or gather wood—an effort that much greater since his prowess did gradually return, as you had been most certain that it would.

As you lay in his arms, you spoke to him of the world, all the ways it had changed and all the ways it had not. The dealings of Elves, Dwarves and Men nowadays. The life you had secured for yourself in Eregion, the opportunities it held. A power over flesh. All it did was remind him of the last words he had spoken to Adar’s wretched Orcs before they had butchered him, and the only power he found himself craving was that of feeling your flesh, beneath, against and around his. And you were oh so willing to grant it to him.

The last night before your voyage, you had looked so beautiful, bathed in moonlight and the warm glow of the fire beside you as you rode your husband slowly, savouring every drag of his cock within you. He sat up, holding you close, watching in awe as you took what you needed, and gave him all he craved. His tears do not spill easily, but they had burned behind his eyes as you threw back your head and cried out your release, bringing forth his own. You were everything. His wife. His soul.

His Queen.

He had once sworn he would not rest until the whole of Middle-Earth had been brought to its knees to worship the pair of you, side by side. That nothing less would ever be enough.

Lying beside you by the fire, he was not so certain anymore.

“My love,” he had whispered as you ran your fingers through his unruly hair, “where do you wish to go?”

It was the first time either of you had spoken of your heading, rather than acting as though where you were now was all there was.

You had frowned ever so slightly, as though surprised he even had to ask, and murmured, “With you.”

The following morning, you began your journey. Eregion was your destination, as you had anticipated all throughout his long absence. To follow his weak presence through your bond and find him in Forodwaith, you had left your false life with the Elves claiming to be visiting distant kin. He had yet to spin a tale justifying his joining you upon your return, and he found it more difficult than usual to do so when he didn’t seem to be sure of his goal once you had reached the Elven kingdom. You noticed, of course, but kept your mind at a thoughtful distance, knowing he would speak his in his own time.

When a group of Men crossed your path, it was the first time since his return that you were in the presence of others. With the bit of shape-shifting ability received from your husband upon the forging of your bond, you had made the pointed tips of your ears recede into a round shape to match your husband’s current one. You were to pass as human travellers, unworthy of a second glance.

But an old man, whose name Halbrand had later learned to be Diarmid, halted to inform you of the danger ahead. You must have spent longer in Forodwaith than you thought, for you had not encountered the armies of Orcs described by Diarmid when you had come seeking your husband. The man had spoken of embracing the uncertain tides of fate in hopes of a brighter future—a sentiment embodied, in his view, by a piece of heraldry he wore which had belonged to kings long gone, whose mighty path had crumbled as easily as a less fortunate one might prove to lead into a better place.

This belief of the man touched something in Halbrand, birthed a dim spark of a feeling akin to hope. You, on the other hand, did not seem as affected by his words, or his warm invitation for you and your husband to join his people on their intended voyage to a new life across the sea. No sooner had he moved on than you began to scheme.

“A symbol of royalty with no one left to claim it? That might prove useful,” you said under your breath as the two of you remained standing by the passing group of Men. “We could take it, and their ship. Sail to Lindon instead of risking a run-in with Orcs on the way to Eregion. I have quite enough connections there as well.”

You didn’t need to speak the details for him to know the exact intent behind your words. He was stronger in his power now than he had been when this body was fresh, and you were a force to be reckoned with yourself. The two of you fighting as one could cut through the humans like butter, leaving only enough to man the ship to your desired destination under your forceful command. It would have been easy enough, nothing you hadn’t done before.

“Or perhaps we might sail with them,” Halbrand suggested instead, driven by a sudden impulse.

“Into the West?” you asked quizzically, trying to figure out a purpose of which he was not sure himself. “Is there something you wish to achieve in Númenor, or thereabouts?”

“What I wish,” he said, meeting your eyes, “is for you to come with me.”

Like you’d said you would.

And you did. With but a curious look and a slight furrow of your brow, you placed your hand in his and joined him on this new path, though neither of you was sure where it would lead.

After the weeks—or had it been months?—spent in a near perpetual embrace in the wilderness, the lack of privacy on the ship proved quite the challenge. For plain communication, your bond would have sufficed, but even there a certain veil of concealment had fallen between you. For the more you began to suspect where his intentions might be straying, the less eager you were to breach the subject.

But you hardly ever left one another’s side, and spent each night in the closest embrace appropriate to the rather crowded circumstances, as you are doing now. He never sleeps, and pretending to do so would be a most tedious chore for the sake of avoiding suspicion, if it weren’t for his wife nestled comfortably within his arms. Some nights, however, he finds himself too deep in troubled thoughts for his eyes to remain closed, and that hasn’t gone unnoticed.

“Nightmares again?” Diarmid questions, lifting his head from his own makeshift pillow closeby. He lowers his eyes to you as he says with a knowing lilt, “One would think such a warm embrace can bring peace to even the most troubled of minds.”

His remark lacks any trace of envy, his gaze on you admiring without coveting, and so Halbrand is not enraged by either. He looks down, his eyes following the soft trails drawn by his fingers as they caress your hair.

“She is all the peace I know,” he murmurs.

“But you are haunted still.”

His fingers halt, resting upon your head.

“I’ve done evil,” he confesses. We have done evil, would be the more truthful statement. But so charming and joyful you had made yourself appear to your fellow passengers, he would be taken for a liar. He can only imagine how loved you are in Eregion—how loved you would be anywhere.

“All of us have done things that we care not to admit,” Diarmid replies, seemingly unfazed by Halbrand’s grim admission. How naïve for a mortal man of his age, the Maia thinks, to so easily give the benefit of his doubt to a near stranger.

“Not like I have,” he presses on. What is the purpose of this conversation, he wonders? To test whether he would be cast out? To hear the man lie again, that there is another path for him than that of suffering he has known so far?

Is that a lie?

Diarmid ponders his words. “Your wife,” he says then, as if in answer to his inner musings. “How did you come to be wed?”

You had maintained that much truth in your façade, for obvious reasons. It is a piece of truth Halbrand reveals now as well.

“We were undone,” he says in a dark rasp, “and we remade ourselves by swallowing each other whole.”

A hoarse chuckle escapes the old man. “What a way you have with words, lad. Isn’t that a most dreary manner of saying you have healed one another?” When Halbrand looks at him, guarded, he thankfully knows better than to insist upon the details. “And she knows of this... evil you say you have done?”

Halbrand gives a nod.

“And yet,” Diarmid says, voice softening with a kind of wise tenderness, “she looks at you as though you hold the very sun above her head in the palm of your hand.”

A most uninspired metaphor. Sunlight had become too bright for your eyes, after years spent in the dark heat of Morgoth’s fortress. You do not thrive in it, but rather under grey skies, with cold air caressing your cheeks. But the sentiment he means to express is perfectly true.

“And it is plain to see,” Diarmid adds, “that you love her a great deal as well.”

There is not a single false word in that sentence. You give the lightest stir in your husband’s arms, softly nuzzling his shirt in your sleep, and Halbrand, Sauron, Mairon—everything and everyone he had ever been burns with adoration as he holds you just that little bit closer.

“You cannot imagine,” he murmurs, with nearly as raw a sincerity as only you can draw from him.

Diarmid laughs warmly. “Oh, I can, lad,” he says with a trace of wistfulness. “I can.”

His eyes drift to the distance, as he no doubt remembers some past love of his. And a great one it may have been, but he shall never know what it is to bind his very soul with another’s, to be so inextricably intertwined as the pair of you have made yourselves to be.

Halbrand says nothing, leaving the old man to his imaginings. But Diarmid soon returns from them, and gives his supposed younger a sage look.

“So, you see,” he goes on, “whatever you’ve done in your past, she has forgiven it. Now, you must find forgiveness within yourself. You are alive, holding the woman you love in your arms, because you have chosen good.”

“What of tomorrow?” Halbrand asks, almost a challenge.

“You have to choose it again.” Diarmid gives a small chuckle, as though the answer is most obvious. “And the next day, and the next, until it becomes a part of your nature.”

His nature. Good had been his nature. Once.

He wonders, had you met him as Mairon, whether your souls would still be as one now. Whether you might have lived as Melian and Thingol did, rulers over a kingdom of light, protectors against Morgoth’s darkness rather than partial cause of its spread.

But it feels like a betrayal to imagine a love any different than the one he has known with you, even if it’s still a version of you with whom he contemplates such a thing. Because in the end, it would not be you. Morgoth had stripped you of the Elf you had been as brutally as he had disposed of the once Mairon, though with the Maia, he had made the pain seem so much sweeter in the beginning. You had not fallen in love with songs and poems, with you dancing in a field of flowers and him finding himself struck dumb by your beauty. Your bond had been forged in the hottest and cruellest of flames, and was all the stronger for it. This all-consuming passion, this ruthless obsession of yours, which scorches everything and everyone in its path—nothing less would ever suffice.

Seeing that Halbrand has become lost in thought upon hearing his words, Diarmid gives him one last friendly smile and pat upon his shoulder, then turns away to settle back to sleep. Not long after, quiet snores begin to leave him.

That is when you give a light hum, and shift so that your cheek rests on your husband’s shoulder and your eyes meet.

“What a way you have with words, lad,” you tease softly.

The slightest smile tugs at Halbrand’s lips. “It isn’t proper to eavesdrop.”

“It seemed as though you were having a moment.” Your teasing smile dims as you add, even more quietly, “It seemed as though you wanted it.”

You bring your hand to his cheek, brushing your thumb through the light stubble that now adorns it. You seem to like this form of his, imperfectly human as it is, and nothing pleases him quite like pleasing you. His eyes fall shut as he leans into your touch, taking your wrist in a gentle hold and pressing his lips to the palm of your beloved hand.

“My love...” he begins, but you rest your fingertips upon his mouth.

“I know.” You sigh, letting your hand fall back to his chest. “I know. You’ve been... different, since you have returned. Not only in body. After all this time, what you have endured... I know you are faltering. That you lack direction.”

“And yet you followed me blindly.”

“Always,” you smile, though it’s short-lived. “But... if forgiveness is what you seek... from them...” Your brow creases, voice becoming pained as you lift your head from his shoulder to meet his gaze properly. “My love, we have been here once before.”

“I know,” he says firmly, wrapping your hand in his. “I would not take such a risk again.”

Like he did at the end of the First Age. When, in the wake of Morgoth’s defeat, he’d had a mind to seek pardon from the Valar rather than await their retribution. He had witnessed their might as they decimated his master’s dark forces, and Sauron himself now lacked an army with which to retaliate, should they seek him out. All he had was you, and in his wish to keep you, and in the haze of his new-found freedom from Morgoth’s clenched fist, he had entertained the thought that perhaps the Valar might consider your union, a defiance of Morgoth in itself, to be proof of your renouncing his authority even since before his defeat. Surely, they could be persuaded that all, or at least most of your vile deeds, had been for the sake of each other, to spare your beloved from Morgoth’s wrath. And to a certain extent, it was true.

But the opposite happened. The Valar had deemed your bond unnatural, volatile, forged in too deep a darkness to be anything but a force of destruction. If you truly wished to be pardoned, you were to allow it to be undone. He was to return to Valinor whilst you remained in Middle-Earth, serving to rebuild what Morgoth had destroyed until you had proven beyond doubt you had put your foul ways behind you. Only then would you be allowed passage into the West to be rejoined with your husband, should your love endure such prolonged distance and transformation from the beings you had been when you met.

Servitude would already have been nigh impossible to swallow. But separation—that was unfathomable. It was cruelty beyond imagining, from beings who had the audacity to claim they were righteous and fair. You and your husband had been left with no choice, then, but to seek out a power which would make you gods in your own right. Power over flesh, power over Middle-Earth.

Separation came anyway, only in a different form, the path you had most wanted to evade forced upon you by Adar’s treachery instead of the Valar’s so-called justice. But as great a blow as it might have been, the aftershocks of it spanning over so much time, it didn’t break either of you beyond repair. As Sauron, he has known many setbacks, failures, betrayals. He is not afraid. Even when he sought pardon before, he tells himself, he was being cautious, practical.

But he is, perhaps... tired. So tired.

“You told me you have no wish to return to your life with the Elves,” he breaks the silence you had let fall between you, patiently awaiting the further words you sensed he had to say. “Númenor is said to be a paradise, ripe with opportunity. A smith of great skill and his equally gifted wife are most likely to thrive in such a place.”

Though he speaks in statements, you hear the question they conceal. You had long suspected he had been harbouring such thoughts, and your eyes shift uneasily upon hearing them.

“I can’t say I haven’t thought of it,” you confess in the end. “That perhaps we might simply... be together, as so many others are, and that would be enough. But even if we could find it in ourselves to put Middle-Earth behind us and let Adar go unpunished for what he did...” Your hand grips his painfully as you shut your eyes for a moment, striving not to raise your voice above a tense whisper. “I cannot bear to live in fear any longer. Wondering whether or not the Valar will finally deem us worthy or harmless enough to leave us be. Seeking to appease a higher power whose breath is constantly at the back of my neck even when I cannot see it, like... like he was. Is that not why we put such thoughts aside before, and sought to claim the power that we did? To gain control, bring about a new order—our order?” You lean in closer, the despair in your eyes giving way to determination as you stare into his with each and every searing word. “You know we are meant to be more than this. The Valar may not favour us, but fate does. It’s why our paths crossed in the first place, and why we found our way back to each other time and again, despite Morgoth, and Adar, and all who would have seen us apart. It’s why we will prevail.”

It’s so taxing, keeping the intensity of your words’ sentiment quiet, that the release comes in the form of tears slipping from your eyes. Your husband’s brow creases, leaving your hand to lie upon his quickening heart as he cups both of your cheeks.

“All this time...” he whispers, thumbs brushing your tears like they are priceless gems, “all these centuries, you have kept your faith in our vision. In us.”

He knows all too well how strong you are, how ruthless in your resolve, but sometimes, the sheer might of your devotion to him still knocks the breath from his lungs.

A teary chuckle escapes you. “Had you not spent all those centuries as a barely sentient liquid, I’m sure you’d have done the same. Not to mention,” you add, seeking to lighten the mood with a touch of coyness, “you promised me a crown, my love. And I shall not let you rest until you have put it upon my head, and I have known what it is to be a true Queen, worshipped by all beings,” you lean so that your lips ghost over his as you whisper alluringly, “and by her King most ardently of all.”

He gives in with a subdued groan, catches your lips in a fleeting kiss—then presses a thumb to the soft flesh beneath your chin to better his hold on you and keep you at bay.

“My love,” he rasps out in warning, eyes roving over your face, “do not tempt me so when I cannot have you as I please.”

A wicked smile spreads across your lips, and your softly-spoken words are the sweetest siren song, calling him to his doom. “You can have me, my love. We can have anything we wish.” Your hand begins a most audacious journey down his chest and along his tensing stomach, disappearing beneath the blanket covering the both of you above the waist. “They are nothing,” you go on, nimbly working open his trousers. “What they see, what they think of us now, will be nothing once we have brought them under our rule.”

Even with the blanket covering you, if someone were to look closely, they would likely be able to discern the precise location and intent of your hand. Quite frankly, Halbrand cannot bring himself to care if they did notice either, not when his wife takes his flesh in a nearly cruel grip. His cock grows and hardens in helpless answer to your beckoning, and this, he thinks for the one thousandth time, is the sole kind of helplessness which sets his blood aboil with desire rather than rage. It takes but a few strokes, dry and curt, and he is swollen, aching, the veins in his neck straining as he bites back a growl.

As for you, it’s a struggle not to rub yourself against his leg like a warg in heat. But it is his pleasure you wish to achieve, not your own. You press your lips to those captivating lines of tension on his neck, and swipe a thumb over the tip of him to find it wet. He remains discreet in sound, if not in expression, but you feel the spike of his pleasure through your bond as you keep caressing that most sensitive part of his cock. All of a sudden, his hand is at the back of your neck, and he pulls you down so that your cheek is pushed into his chest, his chin resting the slightest bit too heavily upon your head. Like this, you feel his rampant heartbeat, his ragged breathing, the tremors you send throughout his body with each and every stroke of his length.

It’s an illusion of control, he knows, crushing you to his chest whilst the heart within it contorts and threatens to unspool back into a pile of black slime, taken apart by your words and touch. He lets you break from his hold the moment you rebel out of it, and plant your chin upon his shoulder.

“I kept my faith, because I could see us,” you whisper, your hot breath in his ear plunging straight to his cock as you pump him into a silent frenzy. “I can see what we will become, and it is so... so beautiful. Do you see us, love?” you all but whimper, as though your words alone bring you as much pleasure as the glide of his length within your fist does him. “Can you see your Queen, spread upon our throne... wearing nothing but the jewels you have given me and the crown upon my head... as your tongue swears fealty between my legs? Can you see me do the same, on my knees before my Lord and King?”

Oh, he can. So many times he’s had you, in so many ways, but the thought of you worshipping each other whilst you are being worshipped across all of Middle-Earth, taking pleasure in one another as well as the symbols of your power... That had always wrought a particular kind of havoc upon his loins, proportionate in might to the high brought by the prospect of victory in itself. And you know that damn well, as well as all the right ways to caress and graze and squeeze and knead to play his body like a harp into the very melody you wish to elicit, regardless of the form he takes, for you might as well be nestled beneath his skin, living and breathing among the strings you so deftly pluck with your ruinous fingertips. Your touch, your words, moulding his mind as you please—is this what one feels like, he wonders, when Sauron the Deceiver slithers his way into their unsuspecting thoughts?

But this is no deceit. This is his wife, his soul, reminding him of his true self, just as you did when you first found what had been left of him in Forodwaith, and put him back together. His hips jerk into the movements of your hand, seeking you out, uncaring of the people who might wake and see him being undone by your touch. You are right. They are nothing. You are all there is, and all there ever shall be.

You chuckle as he chases his breath, and bite his earlobe—hard. It may not be the sensitive tip of an Elf’s pointed ear, but the jolt of pain lights a fire beneath his skin that scorches everything in its path, and no amount of control over his form could have prevented him from spilling his seed right there and then. The growl he lets loose would have surely roused those sleeping closest by, if not for your sudden grip on his throat and lips covering his, swallowing his rough breaths. He spills and spills as you stroke him through his release, until the exquisite throbbing in his cock has finally run its most fulfilling course.

To think there was a time he knew not what it was to crave another, nor did he care to know—and then he had known you. The pleasure of his flesh might as well have your initials engraved into it.

You loosen your grip on his throat as you break the kiss, and that hand goes instead to tenderly brush a lock of dark hair from his temple. You seem awfully pleased with yourself when he opens his eyes into yours, and he doesn’t shy away from admitting that you very well should be. The hand with which you had pleasured him emerges from beneath the blanket with his spent glistening on your fingers, and you hold his gaze as you rest the digits on his bottom lip. The tip of his tongue darts out slightly, tasting what you have done to him. What you always do. He wraps his lips around your fingers, scrapes them lightly with his teeth, and something softens in your eyes.

“I want more,” you whisper, nothing short of a goddess reduced to her most vulnerable self. “I want everything. But I need only for you to want me.”

His new heart lurched in his chest. As if he could ever stop. As if there could ever be more, be anything, if there was no you and him.

He knows much better than to take your words as an admittance of defeat, however. If he truly were to demand that you renounce your aspirations, you would be furious. You would fight and fuck him in every way you could think of to change his mind, but you would follow him wherever he went. As he would you. There is no such thing as choosing to leave one another’s side, unless you have reason to believe that your temporary separation shall serve to make you all the more fruitful in your shared endeavours upon your reunion.

Your shared endeavours is what they still are. What they always have been. He sees that now, clearer than ever.

Having released your fingers, his mouth claims yours in a bruising kiss. You moan into it, too loud, too desperate, but neither of you cares. He truly abandons all caution, pulling you into his lap by your waist, and you grind your clothed core into his newly hardening cock as soon as you are astride him, and damn these people, damn your ruse, he is going to have you, fully and unrestrained, right here in their midst. It matters not, for most will be dead soon either way. For you will take the ship for yourselves, just like you first suggested, and sail back to Middle-Earth to claim it as your own. And he means to tell you this whilst you ride him, just as you are reaching your peak, and send you careening into it with this sweetest promise like you had done him—

Something’s wrong. Even in the heat of passion he feels it, and every muscle in his body stiffens. You break away at once, alarmed by his alarm.

“Hold on to me,” is all the warning he has time to give you.

Not a soul on the ship remains asleep when it takes the first hit, water flooding into the hull through shattered wood. It’s everywhere, bursting through holes in the walls and pouring down the stairs from the deck, and you barely manage to scramble to your feet before the next blow lands, and the next. You do try to keep your grip on each other, but end up bracing yourselves against the pile of cargo on which you had been resting so you don’t get knocked off your feet. At the very least, he manages to hastily refasten his trousers. Not that anyone would care if they caught a glimpse of a man’s privates at a time like this—but in his flailing circumstances, it isn’t quite the power move it would have been if he were shamelessly buried to the hilt inside you for all to see.

“Was that—?”

“Yes,” he answers you gruffly. “Sea worm.”

“Is that a problem?” you ask urgently, ever so pragmatic even as your chest heaves through the sudden panic.

He isn’t sure. He feels recovered enough, but he can’t say whether his ability to sway the creature’s mind is good as new until he’s come face to face with it. He’s about to go and find out, when a voice screams, “Help me!”

It’s Diarmid who cried out, trapped beneath a wooden beam that had collapsed upon him. Bleeding from a head wound, he looks to Halbrand in despair. No one else even stops to look, the other passengers scurrying around in a frenzy, as if there is anywhere to run.

Halbrand and you make no move. Your gazes meet as you wait with bated breath for his choice, even in the midst of chaos.

Whatever you’ve done in your past, she has forgiven it.

If anything, you should forgive him for ever faltering in his resolve. There is no such thing as a man called Halbrand, or as you and him disappearing in the crowd. You shall be everywhere, standing above everything and everyone, as you were always meant to.

He leans over Diarmid, grabbing hold of the fallen beam atop him—only to snatch the pouch bearing a king’s symbol from his neck, the Maia’s pitiless eyes staring into the man’s terrified ones. He turns to the beautiful sight of your smile, proud and relieved, and a smirk blooms on his own lips. Screams fill the ship as it is ripped to shreds, but you put your hand in his and pull him towards the deck with an exhilarated “Come on!”, and for a moment he suspects this feeling in his chest might be akin to what a young man would experience, if he were being whisked into the unknown by a rebellious first love.

And like the folly of such youth, it doesn’t last. Your hand slips from his as the ship falls apart, swallowed whole by the ocean, and he is submerged into an underwater field of shattered woods and floating bodies. He has lost you from his sight, but he knows you’re alive. He knows he is still lord over beasts as well, when the sea worm obeys the command in his eyes and abandons its attack, swimming away. Perhaps the effort of imposing his will on such a great creature is still too taxing. Perhaps that’s why the pulse of your life is as vivid as ever within your bond, but feels further away. The water is dark, and you are strong—he feels is. You are soon to surface.

But when he emerges from the sea, grabbing hold of a floating piece of wood, you are nowhere in sight.

He waits. Waits, then dives back in.

The bodies he finds are all corpses.

You are alive.

But you are gone.

His scream is lost in the black depths of the sea.

*****

As soon as you break through the surface, gasping for air, you know something is terribly amiss.

For one, there is no one in sight. No ship, no people, no sea worm. Then, there is the rising sun, when moments ago it had been little past midnight, and land in sight when you had been most certain you were in the middle of the sea. And most poignant of all, there is distance—great and sudden, between you and your husband.

He is well, though, and even more so now that he has felt you reaching out to him. The spark of relief echoing through your bond is the only reason you do not immediately despair. You have an inkling of what might have occurred. But you save your energy for swimming towards the distant shore, channeling your ire into each kick of the water.

How do the Valar expect you to renounce your bitterness towards them, when they do their very best to fuel it with every given occasion?

*****

He breathes easy at last. He had known you were alive all along, but the gnawing emptiness where your consciousness should have been had not ceased to churn within his chest until he’d felt you, aware and present in your bond once more.

For you to have drifted away, so quickly and so far... it was no natural occurrence.

There’s a presence he’d felt. A watching. Sickly familiar, and he knows not how, but—they knew. Perhaps you had invoked them one too many times, and Ulmo himself had reached out with a watery tendril of his power to snatch you from your husband’s reach. Whether in punishment or warning, it matters not. For in his haste to part you, the Vala had failed to prevent a great opportunity from landing right into his great enemy’s lap—or rather, swimming her way onto his raft.

Galadriel.

He knows her name. How could he not? Sister of Finrod, daughter of Finarfin. A mighty Elven warrior, hailed as the fairest of Elven women, the very light of the Trees of Valinor supposedly snared in her tresses. It’s hard to tell, with her golden hair soaked and clinging to her shoulders. But her beauty concerns him little. Once he has taken Middle-Earth, he thinks, he shall have the tongue of any being who dares suggest another might be fairer than his Queen.

You’ve reached the shore, he senses, back in Middle-Earth. To Galadriel, he speaks half-truths of hateful Orcs that chased him from his homeland, but within himself, he smiles. So, they dare not kill you, still, especially after they were proven right to hesitate in doing so before—when the Orcs had robbed him of his form, his power had burst from the remains of him with such anguished fury, Forodwaith had been reduced to an icy wasteland. Should your bond be severed as violently, there is no telling what horrors that gaping wound might unleash. The Valar have revealed their fear once more, and it serves to remind him why the two of you have nothing to fear.

You were right, my love, he thinks. The message may not reach you word for word, but he knows it will be crystal clear in your mind. Though some may seek to part us, the tides of fate are flowing ever in our favour. Make for Eregion. Await me there. I shall return to you soon, having made great progress towards our end.

From you, there comes the anger and the grief of your parting, which he shares—but stronger than that is your faith in him, further solidified by his determination.

“Around your neck,” Galadriel says. “Is that the mark of your people’s king?”

She had noticed, then. He’d been careful to fiddle with it earlier, tucking it into his shirt when she thought he hadn’t seen her scrutinizing him. You had been right, of course—that pouch would prove useful, after all.

Thank you, my love, he thinks fondly to you. For reminding me who I am. Who we are.

Your devotion caresses his soul, and the Deceiver begins to worm his way into an unsuspecting mind once more.

Previous fic with same reader -> Remade

Next fic with same reader -> Reunion

[zombiefiilm]

It’s Cold Out Here

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

summary: spencer reid has just the plan to keep you warm in the car while you wait for a suspect

warnings: some mentioned with the unsub, classic cm type violence mentioned, no use of y/n, nsfw - 18+ only, making out, car sex(ish?), fingering, handjob, male oral, getting interrupted

word count: 2.1k

When you agreed to wait outside the suspected unsub's house with Spencer Reid, you did not expect it to turn into a several-hour stakeout.

You had pulled up just around the corner from the old house that looked like it was rotting from the inside out, with a perfect view of the front porch from where your black car sat, expecting the man who lived inside to leave the house to find his next victim and allow you to follow him.

His victims were all over the place, young and old, men and women, various financial status'. It just hadn't made any sense from the start and there was barely any bones to the profile at all, the only thing you all knew was that he was a man, likely between the ages of 30 and 45, who had a comprehensive knowledge of the human body and that he was somehow able to take his victims from public places in broad daylight. There didn't seem to be any sexual behaviour in these killings, the unsub killing each victim with a single gunshot to the head and cleanly taking out a different organ from each victim.

The only reason you even had a suspect in the first place was two witnesses stating that they had seen a blue Volvo Sedan that seemed to have driven off in a hurry from the locations the victims were being taken from at a similar time. Thankfully, one of the witness statements had included a partial plate, which Garcia was easily able to track down.

Prentiss and Reid had knocked on the front door earlier in the day, hoping to talk to the unsub with the premiss of him being a witness, but to no avail, the door never opened and with every curtain drawn, they had no visual of inside the home either.

Eventually, the plan had become to wait out the unsub, to follow him and pounce once there was any sign of suspicious behaviour, but it was taking significantly longer than expected.

Since the BAU had landed in Missouri, the unsub hadn't made a single move. While it was fortunate that there had been no more victims, it made it quite hard for you to get closer to finding out who he was. Through his patterns though, you were hoping that tonight would be the time for him to find his next victim.

You had gotten to your spot at around 4pm, Spencer driving and you in the passenger seat, and the blue car was still parked in the driveway. You set yourself up, expecting to be waiting for 4 or 5 hours maximum, but as the clock hit 11pm, alongside the command of staying at your 'stakeout' spot until someone walked out of that front door, you knew you were going to be in for the long haul.

Armed with a box of ritz crackers and beef jerky, you both indulged in the most depressing meal you had in a while.

"One of us should try get some sleep and the other can stay awake and watch, just so we're not both out of our minds tired tomorrow" you told Spencer, wrapping your jacket tightly around yourself, attempting to battle the cold air in the car.

"You can sleep first, I want to read through the files again, see if we've missed anything" he brushed a stray hair out of his face as he reached around to the back seat and grabbed one of the thick folders.

"Alright" you replied, tilting your seat back as far as it could go and wrapping your arms around yourself. "Wake me up in an hour".

"Got it"

"Night Reid" you closed your eyes, desperate to get some rest.

"Night".

You weren't sure how long you had been asleep, but you woke yourself up with your own shivering. The car had somehow gotten even colder in the time you were out. You groggily rubbed your eyes, turning around to see Reid engrossed by what he was reading.

"How long was I asleep?" you sat up, still shivering.

Spencer looked over at you, and then down at his watch. "About two hours".

"I told you to wake me up" you hit his shoulder, "you need to sleep too".

"I'm fine, plus you've been complaining about not sleeping well since we got here, you needed it"

You smiled at him, a little giddy over the fact that he was showing how much he cared about you.

You sat up fully now, taking another folder from the back of the car and opening it up. You knew you wouldn't be able to get back to sleep and there was no point in trying.

As time passed, you hadn't even noticed that your teeth had started clattering with the cold.

"Are you okay?" Spencer asked, putting down the papers in front of him. "You've been shivering for a while".

"Yeah, just really cold" you answered simply, glancing up at the house again to see nothing had changed.

"You can have my jacket" he quickly shrugged it off "I run hot".

"Are you sure? I don't want you to be cold either"

Without answering, he just leant over the centre console, and wrapped his jacket around your shoulders but stopped when his face was right in front of yours.

It felt like an eternity where you both looked into each other's eyes without a single word. Right as he went to sit back in his seat though, you grabbed his arm to stop him. You weren't even sure what your plan was but you just knew you wanted him to stay that close.

Neither of you were unfamiliar with looking at each other like that. with longing looks across the office and always sitting across from each other on the jet, it was quite clear to everyone on the team that you both felt like more that coworkers.

"I do know another way to warm you up" he gave you a bashful smile, looking anywhere but your face.

"And what's that?" you whispered, the words almost getting stuck in your throat.

He briefly looked into your eyes, and then down to your lips. You took that as your sign to lean in, gently pressing your lips to his. He almost seemed taken aback, but he quickly kissed you back, opening his mouth and slipping his tongue into your mouth.

The kiss was gentle, warming, as his hand slowly trailed from your knee up to your inner thigh. You wouldn't have expected him to be this forward, but before you knew it, his large hand was resting right over your heat, through your jeans.

He broke away from the kiss, both of you panting lightly "Is this okay?" his question was genuine as he waited for your okay before doing anything.

"Yes Spencer, please, please touch me" you hadn't expected yourself to be so desperate but the thought of his slender hands down your pants had you squirming in your seat.

The smirk that planted on his face at your desperation would be stuck in your head forever. He quickly unbuttoned your jeans and helped you tug them down to your mid thigh, quickly followed by your underwear.

The moment he saw your cunt, he practically moaned to himself, making quick moves to touch you. His fingers slowly gathered up the slick from your slit before his finger gently caught on your clit, making you jolt.

"God, you're so wet already" he whispered to himself, lifting his finger up to the light to get a good look at your juice on him. He moved his hand back down again, this time gently circling your clit.

His movements had you falling into him already, long forgetting about the freezing temperature of the car, your head resting on his shoulder as his finger travelled down to your hole.

He slowly slid his finger inside and you gasped quietly, the way you were already clenching around the single digit had Spencer rutting into the console he was leaning over.

Pumping in and out of you, he quickly added a second finger. You couldn't help but moan in his ear, your attempts to keep quiet waning as he began to curl his fingers, hitting your g-spot right on.

"H- holy shit Spence" you whined, as his fingers perfectly moved against your spongey walls. With your verbal reassurance spurring him on to please you more, he began to circle your clit with his thumb, in time with his quickening thrusts of his fingers.

All of his moves seemed thought out and calculated, like he was studying every single one of your reactions. He pressed his lips against yours once again, his tongue licking into your slack mouth in time with the movements of his hands.

It only took a few minutes before you were a mess, gentle whimpers slipping from your lips, your hips desperately jerking against his hand, desperate for your release, your hands gripping onto his forearms for stability.

As soon as he added a third finger, you knew you were done for. You squirmed in his hold as his fingers sped up, the slick sounds of your cunt filling the humid car as the coil in your stomach tightened.

"God- Fuck Spence, please, I'm gonna"

"Go on, cum for me, please" he groaned, his thumb circled faster around your clit as he pressed his own hips harder against the car, desperate for some form of release.

It was as if your body obeyed his words, seeing white as the pressure in your stomach released.

Your hips jerked into his hand as you came down from the high, Spencer's fingers still pumping in and out of you to help you ride out your orgasm.

Once you finally came down, you feverishly kissed Spencer, desperate to taste him again. You whined into his mouth as he pulled his fingers out of you, quickly missing the feeling of being so full.

As you separated again, Spencer placed his fingers in your mouth, making you taste yourself on his fingers. Once you licked his fingers clean, he pulled his hand back and kissed you again.

"God, you taste so good" he muttered, sloppily kissing you. It was then you noticed his shifting, desperate for stimulation on his cock.

"Let me help you now" you pushed him back into his seat, palming the crotch of his trousers.

He looked up at the door of your potential unsub, ensuring that he was still inside the house before giving you a nod. You desperately unzipped his trousers, pulling them down just far enough for you to pull out his cock.

You quickly pulled his erection out of his boxers, practically drooling at the sight. God.

The tip was red, precum smeared all over his tip, and it was big in every way.

You eagerly wrapped your hand around him, allowing a glob of your saliva to fall onto his tip before you pumped your hand up and down in small movements. You periodically swiped your thumb over his tip, spreading the pearly white liquid around.

Spencer was gripping onto the car door at your movements, his knuckles white as he desperately attempted to stop himself from bucking his hips into your hands.

Then, you decided you desperately needed to taste him. You leaned down, gently taking his tip into your mouth and swirling your tongue around it.

Spencer, in that moment, thought he had died and gone to heaven. He couldn't stop the moans from spilling out from his mouth.

Then, you took pushed your head down as far as you could, tickling the back of your throat as the hair at the base of his cock just-about brushed against your nose. Spencer was on the verge of biting through the skin of his lips to stop himself from fucking your face.

You moved your head back up before taking him entirely in your mouth again, but then Spencer tapped your shoulder and began to lift you off of him.

"The door, the door" his words stopped you in your tracks as he rubbed some of the condensation off of the windscreen in front of him. You got off of him, straightening yourself up in your own seat and pulling up your pants as he tucked himself back into his own trousers.

"I'll get you back" you half whispered as he started the car "later".

You could see him blush lightly as he started to follow behind the unsub. Maybe getting stuck in a car with Reid for 10 hours wasn't such a bad thing.

[lefteagleblizzard]

𝔖𝔱𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔯𝔢𝔩𝔦𝔢𝔣

Mike Schmidt x male reader

Summary: After enduring an incredibly stressful exam, you finally breathe a sigh of relief as it comes to an end. Mike does everything in his power to help you unwind and relax.

Tags: Part 7 of this series of Mike Schmidt x male reader but can be read as a standalone with no problems. Age-gap (5 years) between you and Mike (reader is 20 years old). Male reader. He/him pronouns used towards the reader. Fluff. Slow paced smut. Top Mike. Bottom reader. Rimming (R receiving). Anal sex.

Suggested by a really nice person. Hope you like it and sorry it took me this long.

Words count: 4000

Can also be found on wattpad and ao3

Part 1-Part 2-Part 3-Part 4-Part 5-Part 6-Part 8-Part 9-Part 10-Part 11-Part 12-Part 13

You spent every night leading up to the exam reviewing notes, revisiting past papers, and checking your study materials for any gaps in knowledge. It felt like everything you'd learned had evaporated, leaving you with only vague recollections of concepts that once seemed clear.

Sitting in the exam hall, the quiet rustle of papers, the ticking of a clock, and the occasional cough or sniffle from fellow students only heightened your awareness. You found yourself hyper-focused on everything except the exam itself. It wasn't until the final minutes were called that you felt a burst of clarity, rushing through the last few questions with a determination you hadn't felt since the beginning.

Afterward, your body felt drained, as if the weight of your anxiety had been released all at once. All you wanted to do was collapse and forget about everything for a while.

You squinted against the bright light outside, blinking as your eyes adjusted to the late afternoon sun. The campus was buzzing with life. Students milling about, laughing, talking, some excited, others looking just as worn out as you felt.

And then, through the haze of exhaustion, you saw him.

Mike.

He was standing by his car, a short distance away, clearly trying to blend in, though he stood out like a sore thumb among the groups of teenagers loitering around the area. He leaned against the side of his old, beat-up car with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his head tilted slightly down as if trying to avoid eye contact with anyone passing by. His posture was casual, but the subtle tension in his shoulders betrayed how awkward he felt, standing there in the middle of campus, surrounded by people younger than him.

He had always been a little uncomfortable around large crowds, especially when it involved people he didn't know.

Despite the awkwardness, the second Mike's eyes landed on you, his whole demeanor shifted. The tightness in his face softened, and his shoulders relaxed just a little. A small grin tugged at the corner of his lips. It wasn't big or flashy, just a subtle, tired smile.

He straightened up a bit as you walked toward him, though his hands stayed buried in his pockets, his eyes never leaving yours.

As you reached him, the familiar scent of his worn leather jacket and the faint smell of coffee lingered in the air around him. "How long have you been waiting?"

Mike shrugged, the motion almost too casual, like he didn't want to admit he'd probably been standing there for a while. His eyes flickered toward the students walking by, and he gave a small shake of his head. "Not too long. Though I'd get here early, make sure I didn't miss you."

You smiled at that, feeling a pang of affection for him.

"C'mon," Mike said, gesturing toward his car with a slight nod of his head. "Let's get out of here. You look like you could use a break."

You followed him to the passenger side, and he opened the door for you without a second thought.

The silence in the car wasn't uncomfortable. In fact, it was the opposite. You let your head fall back against the seat until you reached yours and Mike's home, your eyes half-closed as you watched the world blur past outside the window.

The house was quiet, with only the soft hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of the old floorboards underfoot. Mike sat on the bed, looking at you as you sank into the mattress with a tired sigh. He couldn't help but watch you, taking in every small detail of your stressed state, and yet somehow, to him, you still looked perfect.

His mind swirls with a mix of emotions. Relief that you were here, disbelief that you were with him, and something else, something deeper. It was the same overwhelming protectiveness he felt for Abby, the kind that made him want to shield you from everything bad in the world.

"How do you think it went?" Mike asked, his voice a little hoarse from the long day. He could still see the remnants of anxiety lingering in your expression, though the worst of it seemed to have passed now that it was over.

"It went okay," you replied, your voice soft but tinged with relief. "I don't know if I aced it, but at least I didn't fail."

Mike smiled faintly, reaching over to brush a strand of hair away from your face. "I'm sure you did fine," he said, his tone reassuring. "You always do better than you think."

"Maybe," you muttered, still clearly uncertain but a little more at ease.

Mike let out a quiet grunt, the corners of his mouth tugging up in a small, tired smile as he laid back, letting his body relax into the bed. His hand, which had been resting on your arm, moved down slowly, absentmindedly tracing soft patterns on your skin. It wasn't intentional at first, just a natural gesture of comfort, but as the moments passed, he found himself more aware of the warmth of your skin beneath his fingertips, the subtle tremble that ran through you every time his touch lingered a little longer.

"When I was your age, I could barely keep it together for anything, let alone school. You're doing a hell of a lot better than I ever did." Mike said after a while, his voice low and thoughtful.

You turned to him, raising an eyebrow. "You went to college, right? You told me you were going before... you know, before everything with Abby happened."

"Yeah," Mike muttered, a little gruff, as memories of those years surfaced. "I did, for a bit. But I was a mess. Dropped out before I could make anything of it." He shrugged, his tone nonchalant. "Sometimes life happens, I guess."

You were quiet for a moment, processing what he'd said, before replying softly, "But you're taking care of Abby now. That's what matters. I think you've done more than anyone could've expected."

Mike smiled again, a little more genuinely this time. "You always know how to say the right thing," he murmured, his voice low. His hand drifted down your arm to your thigh, his fingers brushing over the fabric of your pants.

You didn't seem to think much of it, though, still lost in the conversation as you turned your head to face him more fully. "I don't know about always saying the right thing," you teased, "I almost caused a fight with your aunt at one point."

Mike chuckled, the sound low and tired, his breath warm as he leaned in just a little closer. "Yeah, but I liked that about you," he said, his voice softer now, his hand resting lightly on your thigh. "You always stand up for me, even when I don't deserve it."

"Of course. You deserve it," you replied quickly, almost defensively, which only made Mike smile more. His heart swelled a little at how earnest you were, how fiercely loyal you had been from the start.

As you spoke, Mike's hand drifted a little higher, his fingers now tracing light circles on your thigh, just barely brushing the skin beneath the fabric. He could feel the warmth radiating from you, and it was almost instinctual the way his body responded, his movements slow, deliberate, but still subtle enough that you didn't seem to notice right away.

He listened as you kept talking, your voice filling the comfortable silence of the room as you rambled on about the exam, your friends, and random things you'd seen at college. Mike didn't say much, just murmured responses here and there, nodding as you spoke, his tired eyes half-lidded as he watched you.

Without even thinking about it, he leaned in a little closer, his lips brushing against your cheek as you continued talking. You didn't seem to notice, too wrapped up in your thoughts, and Mike used that to his advantage, pressing soft kisses to your cheek, almost absentmindedly. The urge to be close to you growing stronger with each passing moment.

You didn't react much at first, though he noticed the subtle way your breath hitched just slightly whenever his lips lingered a little longer. He smiled against your skin, letting his hand drift further up your thigh, his fingers gently tracing along the hem of your pants.

He shifted a little closer, his body pressing lightly against yours as he kissed your cheek again, this time letting his lips linger longer before pulling back. It was clear you hadn't realized what Mike was doing, at least not fully, and that only made his heart race faster.

Mike shifted slightly, moving closer to you on the bed. His hand slipped from your leg to your waist, his fingers gently tracing the line of your hip. You were so warm, so soft, and he couldn't get enough of you.

You kept talking, unaware of the way Mike' thoughts were becoming less and less innocent. His hand slid up your side, his fingers brushing against the hem of your shirt, and for a brief moment, he hesitated. Was this too much? Was he pushing too far?

"How was your day? Did everything go okay with Abby?"

Mike blinked, momentarily surprised by the question. His mind had been so wrapped up in you that he had almost forgotten the rest of the day existed. "Yeah," he said slowly, his voice still soft. "Abby was good. She's been drawing a lot lately. She made something for you, actually.”

Your eyes lit up at that, and Mike's heart skipped a beat at the sight. God, you were so adorable when you got excited like that. It was little things like this that made him fall for you all over again, every single day.

"She did?" you asked, smiling widely now. "What did she make?"

Mike chuckled, his hand still resting on your side as he spoke. "It's a drawing of the three of us. You, me, and her. She was really proud of it."

You let out a soft laugh, leaning back against the pillows with a contented sigh. "That's so sweet. She's such a talented kid. I'm really lucky to be a part of her life."

Mike's chest tightened at your words. He knew how much Abby adored you, how much she looked up to you, how much she trusted you. It meant the world to him that you felt the same way.

Mike's kisses became more frequent the longer the conversation went on, his lips brushing against your cheek, your jawline, your temple.

"You're lucky?" Mike asked softly, his voice laced with disbelief. "I'm the lucky one. You're... I don't know how I got this lucky."

You tilted your head slightly, your cheeks a shade of red as you looked at him with a curious smile. "What do you mean?"

Mike's throat tightened as he tried to find the right words.

"You could be anywhere, with anyone. But you're here, with me. And I don't know what I did to deserve that." Mike told you, his voice faltering slightly. His hand moved up to your shoulder, his fingers gently squeezing as he looked down at you.

You looked at him for a long moment, your expression softening into something tender, something affectionate. "Mike, I'm here because I want to be. I'm here because I love you."

To Mike, those words meant everything. They were everything.

And at that moment, Mike couldn't hold back any longer. He leaned in, his lips brushing softly against yours in a kiss that was slow and tender. You kissed him back just as softly, your hand reaching up to rest on his arm, pulling him closer.

Mike's heart raced as the kiss deepened, his hand moving from your cheek to your waist, pulling you against him. There was something about the way you melted into his touch that made Mike's mind spin. You were his. You had chosen him. And he couldn't quite wrap his head around it.

His lips found your neck, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses against your skin. Your breath hitched as you finally seemed to realize what was happening.

"Mike..." you breathed, your voice soft, a little hesitant, but not pulling away.

He didn't stop. He kissed his way down the side of your neck, his lips warm and gentle.

"Just relax," Mike muttered, his voice low and rough, as he kissed the sensitive skin of your collarbone, his teeth grazing the flesh just enough to make you gasp.

You were still, your breath coming in shallow bursts as Mike's lips moved up and down your neck, his hands now fully exploring your body with a slow, deliberate intent.

"You deserve it," Mike whispered against your skin, his lips brushing against your ear before he pulled back slightly to look at you again.

God, you were so handsome. He had thought it from the moment he first met you, but now it was different. Now he knew you, knew how kind and patient you were, knew how much you cared about him.

He wasn't in a rush. He didn't want to rush this. You were so precious to him, so important, and he wanted to savor every second of this moment.

Mike's lips found your collarbone, and he kissed his way across it, his teeth grazing your skin as he left small marks.

His hand moved lower, resting on your stomach, and he felt you tense slightly under his touch. But then you relaxed, your head falling back against the pillow as Mike pressed another kiss to your neck, this one slower, more deliberate.

As Mike's hands gripped your waist with a gentle firmness, he marveled at how perfectly you fit beneath him, as though you were made just for him.

His lips left slow trails along your body, his movements deliberate and unhurried. He lingered at your collarbone, his teeth grazing the delicate skin before biting down just enough to leave a mark. Your soft gasp in response spurred him on, and he grunted low in his throat as his lips traveled down your chest, nipping and kissing as he went.

You could feel the heat of his hands against your skin, the anticipation building as he slowly worked your pants down, his eyes never leaving yours. You turned around on your stomach to make it easier for him.

When your pants were finally off, Mike took a moment to just look at you. The sight of you, laid out beneath him, flushed with a mix of nerves and desire, was enough to make his breath hitch in his throat.

Mike's hands gently parted your legs, his touch firm yet tender, as he settled between them. His lips pressed softly against the inside of your thigh, leaving a trail of wet kisses as he moved closer to where you wanted him most.

He paused for a moment, his lips hovering just above you, his breath warm against your most sensitive area. The wait was torturous, and you bit your lip, barely able to contain the soft whimper that escaped. The sound of your need fueling him as he gently pressed his tongue against you, starting slow, teasing.

He took his time, savoring the way your body reacted to his touch. His tongue moved in long, slow strokes, exploring every inch of you with an almost lazy precision. He could feel the way your muscles tensed beneath his hands, the way your hips instinctively shifted, trying to get closer to him. But he was in control and he kept the pace slow, drawing out every sensation, every soft gasp that fell from your lips.

His hands gripped your hips, his thumbs brushing over your skin as he held you in place, preventing you from squirming too much beneath him. The taste of you, the way your body responded so eagerly, had him groaning softly against your skin, the sound reverberating through your entire body.

As his tongue explored you, he started to add a little more pressure, his movements becoming more focused. His lips wrapped around you as he gently sucked, his tongue swirling in deliberate circles. Every stroke of his tongue, every gentle graze of his teeth, was designed to make you lose yourself in the sensation. He just loved the way you reacted, the way your hands gripped the sheets in an attempt to ground yourself.

Mike slowly pulled back, his lips swollen and wet, his breath heavy as he looked up at you.

"Relax," he murmured, his voice low and rough, as his hands slid beneath you, cupping your butt softly. His fingers gently squeezed, his touch firm yet tender, as he spread you open, exposing you completely to him.

His tongue was on you again, gently circling around your entrance and moving in slow, deliberate strokes, gradually pressing deeper, pushing past the tight ring of muscle with a groan of satisfaction.

You couldn't hold back the moan that escaped your lips, your body arching slightly as Mike's tongue worked deeper, exploring you from the inside out. His hands gripped your hips tighter, holding you steady as he pushed further, his tongue curling inside you in slow, rhythmic motions. You could feel the heat building inside you, the pressure growing as Mike took his time, thoroughly preparing you.

His tongue moved in and out of you with practiced ease and an almost lazy precision, his exhaustion only adding to the unhurried pace. He was tired, yes, but the need to please you kept him going.

His fingers gently massaged the soft flesh, squeezing and kneading as his tongue worked deeper inside you. The sensation was overwhelming, the combination of his hands and mouth driving you closer and closer to your limit.

Finally, when he could feel your body trembling with anticipation, Mike pulled back, his lips swollen and wet, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. His eyes met yours, and the look in them sent a shiver down your spine.

With a low, tired groan, Mike leaned back slightly, his hands moving to the buckle of his jeans. His fingers working slowly as he unfastened his belt, the leather sliding through the loops of his jeans with a soft, familiar sound. You watched him, your heart pounding in your chest as he finally undid the button of his jeans, his fingers slow and deliberate.

The sound of his zipper sliding down filled the quiet room. His hands moved with laziness, pushing his jeans down just enough to free himself from the tight constraints.

His boxers followed, his hand tugging them down as he freed his aching length, already hard and heavy with need. You swallowed hard at the sight of him thick and swollen, the tip glistening slightly in the dim light of the room. Mike's hand wrapped around himself, giving a slow, lazy stroke as he positioned himself between your legs, his eyes never leaving yours.

For a moment, he just stayed there, kneeling between your thighs, his hand moving slowly over his cock as he watched you.

"You ready?" Mike asked, his voice rough and low, the exhaustion evident but laced with desire.

You nodded, your breath catching in your throat as you spread your legs a little wider, offering yourself to him completely. Mike groaned softly at the sight, his hands moving to grip your hips again as he positioned himself at your entrance. He paused for a moment, just long enough to let you feel the weight of him, the heat of his cock pressing against your entrance, teasing you with the promise of what was to come.

Slowly, almost agonizingly so, Mike began to push forward, his cock slipping past the tight ring of muscle with a low, guttural groan. The sensation was overwhelming. The way your body stretched to accommodate him, the way he filled you completely, inch by inch.

His movements slow and deliberate, wanting to make sure you felt every second of it. He could feel your body trembling beneath him, the way your breath hitched in your throat as he finally seated himself fully inside you.

"God, you feel so good," Mike murmured, his voice low and rough as he stayed still for a moment, letting you adjust to the feeling of him inside you. His hands moved to your waist, holding you gently but firmly as he leaned down, his breath hot against your neck.

He began to move, slow and steady, his hips rocking against yours with a lazy rhythm. He slid in and out of you with ease, the heat of your body enveloping him completely. Mike grunted softly with each slow thrust, his head dropping to the crook of your neck as he focused purely on the feeling of you around him. His warm breath comes in short, shallow bursts against your neck.

His hands stroked your waist, your hips, occasionally trailing down to your thighs as he continued to move inside you. The slow, lazy rhythm sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body, and you couldn't help the soft moans that escaped your lips with each thrust. Mike grunted softly in response, the sound of your voice driving him to push deeper, to take you harder.

His teeth grazed the sensitive skin of your throat, biting down gently just enough to make you gasp.

His hands moved lower, his fingers finding their way between your legs as he stroked you in time with his slow thrusts. The added sensation sent a shiver down your spine, your body arching beneath him as the pleasure built inside you. Mike groaned softly, his hand working you with the same lazy precision as his hips, his fingers stroking you in slow, deliberate movements that matched the rhythm of his thrusts.

Mike's breath was hot against your skin, his soft grunts filling the quiet room as he moved inside you, his body shuddering with each movement.

He was tired, his muscles aching from the slow, methodical pace he had set, but he didn't care. He wanted to make this last, to make sure you felt every bit of love and affection he had for you.

The slow, lazy rhythm started to shift the more the time passed. The pleasure building between the two of you became too much to ignore, and Mike's thrusts grew a little harder, a little faster, his hands gripping your hips more tightly as he buried himself deeper inside you. The soft grunts that escaped his lips became more frequent, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he picked up the pace.

His hips snapped against yours with more force now, his hands gripping your waist as he thrust deeper, faster, chasing the pleasure that had been building between you.

Mike groaned loudly, his head dropping to the crook of your neck as he thrust into you with more urgency. His fingers stroked you faster, more urgently, as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

"Come on," Mike muttered, his voice strained as he thrust into you harder, his breath hot and ragged against your neck. "I want to feel you come for me."

He groaned loudly, his hips snapping against yours with more force as he finally reached his peak, filling you completely.

The sensation of him filling you, the heat and pressure of his release, pushed you over the edge. Your body tensed, your breath catching in your throat as the pleasure washed over you, your muscles clenching around him as you came hard, your release coating his fingers as he continued to stroke you through it.

Mike groaned loudly as he felt you tighten around him, his hips stilling as he buried himself deep inside you, his breath rugged and uneven as he rode out the waves of pleasure. His body shuddered with the intensity of it, his hands gripping your waist tightly as he stayed buried inside you, his chest rising and falling with each shallow breath.

For a long moment, the only sounds in the room were your heavy breathing, the soft rustle of the sheets beneath you, and the faint hum of the world outside. Mike stayed still, his body pressed against yours, his cock still buried deep inside you as he caught his breath. His hands gently stroked your sides, his touch soft and affectionate now, as though he was grounding himself after the intensity of what had just happened.

Slowly, reluctantly, Mike pulled out, a low groan escaping his lips as he did. He collapsed beside you, his arm draping over your waist as he pulled you close, his body still trembling slightly from the aftershocks of his release.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice low and hoarse, still laced with exhaustion.

You nodded, your breath still coming in shallow bursts as you turned to face him, your body warm and heavy with the afterglow. Mike smiled softly, his tired eyes half-lidded as he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

The room was still warm with the heat of your shared intimacy, your bodies entangled beneath the sheets, bathed in the soft glow of the dimmed light from the bedside lamp. The air was thick with the scent of sweat. Both of you lay there, your breathing gradually slowing, coming down from the high, your bodies sinking into the comfort of the mattress.

Mike was next to you, his arm loosely draped over your waist, his chest rising and falling with heavy, tired breaths. His skin was still flushed, a light sheen of sweat covering his forehead.

You reached up to brush a strand of hair from his face, your fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw, and Mike's lips parted slightly, his breath hitching at the gentle touch. There was a kind of awe in his eyes, like he was still in disbelief that someone like you was here with him. He didn't say anything, but he didn't need to. The way he looked at you said it all.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. You simply lay there, staring into each other's eyes.

He didn't respond with words, Instead, he leaned in and kissed you, soft and slow. The kiss deepened, but it wasn't rushed. There was no urgency. It was all about savoring the moment.

You felt yourself sinking into him, your bodies molding together as the tension from before dissolved into a quiet, comfortable intimacy.

You felt the weight of exhaustion slowly pulling you under, your eyelids growing heavy as your body began to relax into the warmth of the bed. Mike seemed to feel it too, his arm tightening slightly around your waist as if to pull you closer. His hand gently stroked your skin, his thumb tracing lazy patterns across the marks he had left behind.

You were just about to drift off, your eyes fluttering shut as the drowsiness overtook you, when you suddenly felt Mike tense beside you. His body stiffened, his hand freezing mid-motion, and for a brief, disoriented moment, you weren't sure what was happening. You blinked, trying to shake off the fog of sleep, and turned to look at him, confused.

"Shit," Mike muttered, his voice low and strained, his eyes wide with sudden realization. "Abby."

It took a second for his words to register in your mind. Abby. The school. Mike was supposed to pick her up.

"Oh god," you groaned, the realization hitting you just as hard as it had hit Mike. "What time is it?"

His body jerked up from the bed as he searched for his clothes. He glanced at the screen, his face paling even more as he saw the time.

"She's going to kill me," Mike muttered, his voice laced with panic as he quickly pulled on his shirt, the fabric sticking slightly to his still-damp skin. "I'm so late."

You sat up, the sheets pooling around your waist, your own exhaustion forgotten in the sudden rush of urgency. Mike was already halfway dressed, his hands fumbling as he zipped up his pants, his expression a mix of frustration and panic. You couldn't help but smile slightly at the sight of him.

"Hey," you called softly, catching his attention just as he was about to bolt out of the room. You swung your legs over the side of the bed, still completely naked, your body covered in the marks that Mike had left on you.

He froze, his eyes widening slightly as he took in the sight of you, his gaze lingering on your naked and marked up body. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his eyes darkening with something you recognized all too well. For a brief moment, it seemed he was considering staying, the sight of you was almost enough to make him forget his panic.

"She's going to be pissed at you" you teased, standing up from the bed and walking over to him, your steps slow and deliberate. You reached out to cup his face, your thumb brushing over his cheek as you leaned in to press a soft, lingering kiss to his lips.

Mike blinked, momentarily stunned by the kiss, his lips still parted slightly as he stared at you. His eyes roamed over your body again, taking in the marks he had left on you, the way you stood there, so completely unashamed, so completely his.

"You look..." Mike's voice trailed off, and he shook his head, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "You're perfect."

"So perfect" Mike murmured, his voice rough with emotion, his eyes still locked on yours. His hand reached out almost instinctively, his fingers brushing over the marks on your neck.

You leaned into his touch, your lips curving into a soft smile.

"Go," you said softly, your voice teasing but affectionate. With a resigned sigh, he gave in. He leaned down, pressing one last kiss to your lips, slow and lingering, before pulling away.

"I'll be back," he promised, his voice low and filled with affection. "Don't go anywhere."

You smiled, giving him a playful push towards the door. "I'm not going anywhere, Mike. Now go."

If you liked this story please leave a comment, I love reading them <3.

[breezeflows]

The Long Road (Stanford Pines x Reader)

Summary: You’ve finally set out to finalize your divorce with Stanford Pines after seemingly “moving on”. But what will happen when you seek him out and he’s nowhere to be found? Time to pack your bags and head out to your once hometown, Gravity Falls, to find out.

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EEEE it’s finally here!! This is by far one of my favorite fics I’ve ever made, and I’m stoked to work on it more in the future!!

Thank you everyone so much for the support so far, and a huge thank you to my sister for always supporting me and my works!

THEMES: Angst (this chapter is honestly kind of sad), (LOTS OF YEARNING BECAUSE READER AND FORD DONT KNOW HOW TO EXPRESS THEIR FEELINGS), Arguments, Emotional Conflict and mentions of Divorce :,)

With that being said, enjoy the first chapter of The Long Road!

Chapter 1

A soft sigh escapes you as you drive through the windy backroads of Oregon, a sense of familiarity and nostalgia filling you with each tree you pass. Autumn was finally in motion, bright colored leaves falling from the trees and coating the grounds below in a warm, yet damp, glow.

It was your favorite time of year, but you wished you could be visiting your once-hometown on different circumstances. The papers labeled: "DIVORCE AGREEMENT" flapped gently in your passenger seat as you glanced down at them, the chilly air seeping in through the cracked windows of your car.

 You were headed towards Gravity Falls, a town you once held near and dear to your heart. It was the place you and your former husband, Stanford Pines, had moved to after the two of you got married. It was everything you wanted, small, quiet, and isolated. Ford even had a cabin built for both of you out in the woods, and although some of the designs were questionable, you didn't mind a single bit. You were just happy to be alongside him. You had known him almost your whole life, practically growing up alongside him and his brother, Stanley, who he had eventually cut off all contact with after Stanley practically stomped on Ford's chance at a lifetime opportunity in high school. (womp womp)

Regardless though, everything was perfect, until it wasn't.

Ford always had a thing for the supernatural, and you knew that. After all it was one of the things that had drawn the both of you to this town. He had intelligence beyond comprehension, and it was one of the many traits you admired about him. You supported him and his work, always helping where you could or if you were given the chance. Whether it was chasing pesky eye-bats or bringing him a hot cup of coffee to keep him caffeinated during his late-night lab sessions, you were always there for him, even when he was engrossed in his studies and missing from your shared bed. Your unwavering support never faltered, not until Ford came clean to you about some sort of "Muse." He described him as a powerful interdimensional being, one that went by the name of Bill Cipher.

"He is truly a force to be reckoned with, Y/N. His unparalleled knowledge is unlike anything I've ever encountered, and he holds the key to improving the very fabric of our world. His power is crucial in unlocking newfound potential for our realm and beyond. He is the reason why I must keep moving forward."

Ford spoke excitedly as he cupped your cheek with one hand, the other resting firm, but gently on your shoulder.

You remembered the determination in his eyes, and the eagerness in his tone. Although you on the other hand, were less than thrilled. Your heart sunk at his words, and though you wanted to be excited for your husband, the concern you felt for him was overpowering as realization set in. The weird window designs in the cabin, the tapestries covered with curtains, it was all making sense. Your husband practically worshipped this thing, and it bothered you.

The night ended with conflict; you explained to Ford how you trusted him deeply, but his Muse? Not so much. It all just seemed too good to be true. Not to mention how it felt like a punch in the gut that Bill was his motivation to push forward in his studies, but not you.

One disagreement led to another, and Ford eventually found all his time spent down in the lab while you remained upstairs. You no longer brought him coffee or kept him company while he worked. The two of you had grown distant, and while it felt as though your heart was ripping in two, Ford never showed the same concern. Hell, you barely even saw him nowadays. The only times he’d emerge from the lab was to grab more coffee filters for the machine, which was soon moved downstairs. He no longer returned to your shared bed on late nights, opting to sleep downstairs in the lab instead. He was practically a ghost now.

You exhaled gently through your nose as you sat at your shared dining table, the fresh cup of tea you prepared swirling with wisps of steam that fogged up your glasses. It was early morning, and the sun was just beginning to rise in the sky, casting the room in a warm glow. You hadn’t gotten much sleep last night, tossing and turning with reoccurring nightmares that plagued your mind. They didn’t make any sense to you. They started out with a blue flash, followed by a yellow flash, and always ended with you and Ford finally calling things off with a bad argument. You presumed the last part of your dream was there due to your constant worrying that that was the direction your relationship was headed. Either way it troubled you deeply. At this rate things weren’t going to end well, it only being a matter of time before one of you snapped.

You’re pulled from your thoughts as you hear a familiar pair of footsteps making their way up the creaky steps, the noise echoing quietly through the house. Part of you wants to retreat to your bedroom, contemplating if you’re ready to have an encounter with him this early in the morning. It’s been a week since you guys’ last crossed paths, and you barely managed to maintain eye contact with him the last time. Your stomach churns with anxiety, and your fingers tighten around the handle of the mug filled with lukewarm tea. Suddenly, movement in your peripheral snaps you out of your thoughts, your vision glued to the liquid before you. Ford steps into the doorway of the kitchen, seemingly taken back by the sight of you there. You slowly turn your gaze towards him as he stands in the doorway, his face partly shadowed in the dim lighting of the room. He stands a few feet away from you as his eyes study you intently, as if he’s searching for something. There’s an air of fatigue about him, evident in the bags beneath his eyes and the disheveled state of his usually tidy appearance. He seems to hesitate for a moment before finally speaking as he steps forward, his voice low and rough from the lack of use. “Good morning.”

A mix of emotions stir in you as you take in his appearance, a pang of concern in your chest at the sight of his exhaustion. A small part of you wants to reach out and comfort him, but the distance that’s grown between you over the past few weeks makes you hesitate, resulting in you replying with a simple, “Good morning.” your tone neutral.

Ford then moves to take a seat at the table across from you, his fingers drumming against the wood in what seems like a nervous gesture. He looks at you intently before speaking, his voice slightly strained. “I wanted to inform you that Fiddleford will be coming to stay for a while, to help me with my research. I’ve been working on something big, something I cannot do alone.”

Your gaze softens at the mention of your old friend from college, someone you and Ford had spent a lot of time with. Back in those days you always had two cups of coffee on hand, never just one.

“I see...” Your vision retracts back to the mug as a sense of betrayal fills you. Did Ford feel as if he couldn’t come to you for help anymore? Did he just not care? Your grip tightens as you speak once more.

“Is that all you came up here for?”

Ford notices the subtle change in your tone and the way you avoid his gaze. There’s a pang of guilt in his chest as he notices your reaction, but he pushes it aside, reminding himself that this is for the greater good.

“No, that’s not all,” he says, his voice slightly softer. “I also wanted to talk to you about… us.”

You’re unable to hold back a frown as your stomach sinks, still avoiding his gaze. You manage to hold back tears at the mention of what you assume is going to be a very hard conversation. “Oh.”

Ford notices the tears welling up in your eyes, and his heart aches from the sight. But he pushes on, knowing this conversation needs to happen.

“I know things have been… rocky between us lately,” he continues, choosing his words carefully. “I know I haven’t been around much, and I’m sorry for that. But I want to talk about what’s been going on.”

You bite the inside of your lip as your fists clench, the tears welled up in your eyes now threatening to spill over as you finally meet his gaze.

“What do you mean things have just “been rocky” Ford? I feel like I’ve been living with a ghost for the past month!” Your voice betrays you as you speak, revealing your hurt. “And now you’re reaching out to someone we haven’t seen in literal years for help instead of your own wife?”

Ford’s heart sinks as he sees the tears welling up in your eyes and hears the hurt in your voice. He knew he had been distant, but hearing you say it out loud was like a shot to the chest. He flinches at your words, and guilt washes over him.

“I… I know I’ve been distant, Y/N. And I’m sorry,” he starts. “But the research I’m working on… it’s important. It’s bigger than the both of us. I need someone with specific skills and knowledge that you may not have.”

The wound in your heart deepens as you stand from your chair, the legs of it screeching against the wood as it’s scooted back. You point a finger towards him harshly as the tears brimming in your eyes begin to spill.

“But what about us Ford? Our relationship? Is it not important to you anymore? I barely see you now!”

His heart sinks even further as he sees the hurt and vulnerability in your eyes. He feels like he’s been slapped as you point a finger at him and ask him why he’s been isolating himself.

“Of course our relationship is important to me,” he protests. “I love you, Y/N, more than anything. But this research, it’s something I need to do…” he pauses a moment, before speaking again.

“It’s bigger than our relationship.”

Ford runs a hand through his messy hair, frustration and regret evident on his face as you stand there. Words fail to come out of you as you stand there, trying to process the words that just shattered your fragile heart. He wants to apologize, to take back his words and soothe your pain, but his research was too important to him.

“Y/N, please don’t cry…” Ford pleads as he stands, reaching a hand towards you. The hand rests softly against your arm as you tremble, your attempt at hiding your pain feeble.

“I wish things could be different, but this research is my life’s work. It’s all I’ve been working towards for decades.”

You remain tense and quiet as you keep your gaze down towards the table, the silence so thick you could hear your own tears hit the wood below. Although a sudden knock at the door breaks the tense silence between you both, and Ford turns his head to look towards the door. He hesitates for a moment, torn between continuing the conversation with you and attending to Fiddleford’s arrival. He glances back at you, seeing the tears still streaming down your cheeks and he feels a pang of guilt in his heart. But he pushes it aside, knowing that once again, his research takes priority.

“I’d better get the door..” he mutters as his hand slips softly from your shoulder, making his way to the front door of your shared home. You slouch back into the chair, defeated, as you raise a shaky fist to your mouth. Your tears seem to be unending as you sit there, lost in thought even after the front door creaks open. Ford and Fiddleford’s voices echo throughout the halls as they make their way to what sounds like the entrance of the lab.

“Is Y/N here? I’d love to see her.”

“Uh, no she’s uh… out in town, at the moment.”

This was going to be a rough couple of months.

RAHHH thank you so much for reading the first chapter of this fic! Please feel free to leave your thoughts and comments, I’d love any feedback!!💕

[reiderwriter]

hii! could you write smut where spence and reader are bestfriends and one day shes in his car and he snaps and is like “I LOVE YOU” and like they have sex in the car (like with sub spence) and can you include spence getting bj THANKYOUUU

A/N: Car love confessions always remind me of the electric love tiktok "I kissed my best friend" trend that I was OBSESSED with two years ago, and my GOD was this a full-circle moment for me.

Warnings: sub!Spencer, semi-public sex, slight voyeurism, oral sex (m recieving), slight cum play, car sex (bj only), like this was slightly self-indulgent and I had to post it right after I finished writing...

The air outside was cold, but the car had been running for an hour now as you listened to Spencer Reid talk about his day. Whether your cheeks were flushed from the heat coming from the fans or from his subtle attentions, you couldn't discern. 

Spencer, your best friend of nine years, who had been around the country saving lives and facing the most horrendous criminals in the world, was currently sat in the passenger seat of your car excitedly mumbling about Star Trek. 

“I can't believe you decided to watch it, and you did it without me,” he smiled at you, his body angled to face you just ever so slightly. 

He'd started by filling you in on the case he'd just returned from, then moved onto books he'd read recently (a conversation you could absolutely contribute to, being a college librarian yourself, and the source of many of his books). 

And then he'd asked you about your day, and you'd spilled about watching a few episodes of classic Star Trek, and all of his joy and knowledge had bubbled up to his lips without even a thought of pushing it down at all. 

“I've been hounding you for several years, and you decide on a whim to watch it today?” He'd meant for the question to come out with an annoyed tone, but he couldn't hold back the smile passing over his lips as you laughed at him. 

“Spencer, it's a TV show. We can watch it again together. In fact, why don't we do just that? Drive to mine, and we can sit through as many episodes of Star Trek as your heart desires.” 

“I wanted to see your initial reactions, though. I wanted to tell you all the behind the scenes knowledge only true trekkies know about.” 

You laughed loudly at this, especially as you saw the pout on his lips as he mumbled the word “trekkies.” 

“Hey, stop laughing,” he said, but his chest was heaving with a chuckle of his own. And for the life of you, you couldn't. He was sitting there pouting because he wanted to see how much you'd enjoy his favorite TV show, and by god, did he look adorable. 

“I'm sorry, Spence, I-” you tried to cover your mouth, but found your hands were both needed to hold your stomach instead as the laughs that wracked your body veered on painful. 

“Y/N, really!” He said, fully grinning now, pout abandoned. But you didn't stop.

Nothing in the air changed or paused at that second, as his head swooped closer to you, but your body instantly reacted to his closeness. 

It was as if all the hairs on your body stood on end as he tipped up your chin and quickly stole away all the oxygen in your body. 

Before your mind could react, your hands were already tangled in his hair, making sure he couldn't pull away. But you felt him smiling into the kiss, and you knew he wouldn't ever want to pull away now that you'd accepted him. 

With empty lungs, you finally had to separate, and to your surprise, a giggle still flittered from your lips. This time, you did clap a hand over your lips, though. 

“You're laughing still? I just kissed you to shut you up, and you're still laughing.” He said, tucking the few strands of hair behind your ear but still refusing to move too far away. 

“You should've seen your face. You were pouting and adorable and-” 

“I love you.” 

Your heart, that had previously been beating remarkably fast after his kiss (and likely from the fit of laughter preceding it), stopped at his words. 

You'd heard people describing butterflies in their stomach before, but this was more intense. It was more like your heart was a pinball that had just been launched back into the machine and was bouncing around in your ribcage hitting objects and trying desperately not to detach from your chest and jump into his arms. 

“I love you, Y/N.” He smiled, and it was sweet and simple, and even if you were not simple people and life had never been particularly sweet to you, you allowed your happiness to soar as you leaned back in and pressed your lips against his. 

Maybe it was the nine years of waiting (though had you been asked, you'd have been totally oblivious to your quite obvious feelings for the man). Maybe it was again the heat in the car. Maybe it was perhaps the two weeks in which you'd not seen him that led you to venture a step further than you usually would. 

But within seconds of tangling your tongue with his in his mouth, sending him reciprocated confessions with each passing breath, you somehow found the energy to pull yourself up and onto his lap. 

“Y/N, we're in a car-” his protests were weak as you suckled your way down his neck. 

“It's dark outside, and I love you.” His hands gripped possessively on your hips as you continued to shower him in affection. 

“What if someone sees us?” He whimpered as you loosened his tie, discarding it so you could pop his buttons open and trail more kisses across his beautiful collarbone. 

“Then I hope they understand enough to walk away and leave us alone to love each other.” 

You'd managed to get all of his buttons undone and sat squirming in his lap as your fingers brushed across his pert nipples. His head was thrown back to allow you access to the part of his neck that, when you'd run your tongue along it, had him gripping your ass and rubbing your core along the now obvious tent in his pants. 

“Y/N, please….” He panted, and you again returned your lips to his face, brushing over his eyes, his nose, his jaw, and his lips. You were blind and discovering your whole new world through your lips, mapping his features inch by inch. 

His whimpers grew louder, more urgent. He was almost becoming whiny, and that pout from earlier shadowed across his face again, so delightful that you'd immediately wanted to kiss it away from him. 

Dry humping in the passenger seat wasn't going to be enough  you decided, and reluctantly drew away from him quickly. 

“Y/N, what-” He weakly gripped the material of your pants, his quiet protests from earlier forgotten as he begged for your touch to return. 

“Trust me, I love you,” you winked at him again, marvelling in his flush, the hand he wiped across his face to hide his quiet joy. 

You shimmied yourself down so your face was hovering just above his cock, straining through his pants. You slowly undid the buttons and let his cock spring up, wrapping a firm hand around it when it was fully released. 

His hand came down to cover yours, even as the other covered his flushed cheeks and eyes in embarrassment. 

“Spencer, let me see your face. I want you to look at me, please, Spencer.” You cooed at him as you quietly removed your hand from under his, instead moving it to his so you could control his movements. 

You let your breaths hit his cock as you controlled his hand, helping him to slowly jerk off as he gave into the pleasures you were so desperate to gift him. 

“Spencer, please, for me. Show me your fucked out face, I want to see it so bad.” 

With each slow stroke, his body seemed to grow heavier with lust until the hand on his face eventually fell, and you could lock eyes with him once again. 

You smiled brightly at him and, without missing a beat, took him into your mouth. 

The angle was awkward, but you only needed to see that shock and just in his eyes briefly, so you manoeuvred your head into a better position and began fresh. 

You held his hand, holding his cock, and sunk your lips down as far as they'd go, before lifting slowly off. You did it again, and heard the hiss from his lips as he enjoyed the pressure. 

You sped up slightly and felt his discarded hand land on your hair. It wasn't domineering or controlling, but more comforting, as he tugged your hair behind your ear, eventually bundling it up into a gentle pony tail to keep it out of the way of your task. 

“Y/N, I love you so much,” he whimpered and moaned, and you squeezed his hand in response, intensifying the pressure on his cock while also responding to his confession. 

You were going to show him just how deeply you loved him by giving him as much pleasure as you could muster. 

“Pull off, Y/N, please, I'm going to-” He bit his lip, biting off the sentence, almost as if he were afraid of speaking the vulgar words into existence. You could feel his muscles going taut underneath your hands, though, knowing exactly how close he was to losing all control and giving into passion. 

And you certainly weren't pulling away. 

Instead, you pushed your head down once again, going further than you'd managed thus far, nose tickled by his pubic hairs as he shot his load down your throat. 

You gagged, of course you gagged, and he let out a guttural moan, sensitivity apparent in each of his twitches and ragged breaths. 

You made sure to keep as much of him inside your mouth and rose off his cock, looking up at him again through eyes half-lidded with lust. You made sure he was watching as you smiled and swallowed a mouthful of his cum, making sure to lick your lips after and watching his throat bob as he processed the entire scenario. 

You again climbed into his lap, but this time, you just pressed your head to his bare chest, wrapped your arms around his neck, and listened to the thrum of his heart. 

“I love you, Y/N,” he said again. You hummed a response and waited for him to say it  again and again. Hopefully, for the rest of your lives. 

[morbidology]

Juliane Koepcke was born in Lima, Peru, on October 10, 1954, to German parents who were both biologists. Raised in the lush environment of the Amazon rainforest, Juliane was familiar with the challenges and dangers posed by the wild, an experience that would later prove crucial to her survival.

On December 24, 1971, 17-year-old Juliane and her mother, Maria Koepcke, boarded LANSA Flight 508 in Lima, heading for Pucallpa, a city in the Peruvian Amazon. They were traveling to join Juliane's father for Christmas at the family’s research station. The flight, however, was doomed.

Midway through the journey, the plane encountered a severe thunderstorm. Lightning struck the aircraft, causing it to break apart in mid-air. Juliane, still strapped into her seat, plummeted approximately 10,000 feet into the dense Amazon jungle.

Amazingly, Juliane survived the fall, likely aided by the thick foliage that cushioned her descent. She awoke the next morning, disoriented and injured, but alive. Her right collarbone was broken, she had a deep cut on her leg, and her right eye was swollen shut. Alone in the vast and unforgiving Amazon, Juliane had to rely on her wits and the survival skills she had learned from her parents to stay alive.

Despite her injuries and the traumatic experience, Juliane remained calm and determined to survive. She had no food and only a small bag of candy that had fallen with her. Drawing on her knowledge of the rainforest, she sought out water, knowing that following a stream would eventually lead her to civilization. For the next 11 days, she trudged through the jungle, battling extreme heat, exhaustion, hunger, and the constant threat of predators.

Juliane’s knowledge of the rainforest played a crucial role in her survival. She knew not to drink stagnant water and avoided poisonous plants. Her injuries became infected, and maggots began to infest the wound on her arm, but she pressed on. Along the way, she encountered evidence of the crash, including other passengers who had not been as fortunate as her.

On the 11th day of her ordeal, Juliane stumbled upon a small boat moored near a makeshift shelter used by loggers. She used gasoline from the boat's fuel tank to clean her wounds, a painful but necessary measure to rid herself of the maggots. Exhausted and on the brink of collapse, she waited by the boat, hoping that its owners would return.

The next day, loggers arrived and found Juliane, amazed that she had survived such an ordeal. They took her to a nearby village and then to a local hospital, where she was treated for her injuries and dehydration. After her recovery, Juliane was reunited with her father, who had feared the worst after hearing about the crash.

Out of the 92 passengers and crew aboard LANSA Flight 508, Juliane was the sole survivor. The discovery of her survival was a miracle, and her story quickly became international news.

Her life after the crash was marked by a combination of fame and trauma. The media attention surrounding her survival was intense, but Juliane preferred to maintain a low profile, focusing on her studies and rebuilding her life. She went on to study biology, following in her parents' footsteps, and eventually earned a Ph.D. She dedicated her career to the study of mammals, particularly bats, and continued to work in the field of conservation in Peru.

In 1989, Juliane married and took the surname Diller. Despite the passage of time, she remained haunted by the memories of the crash and her mother’s death. It wasn't until many years later that she felt ready to speak publicly about her experience. In 2011, she published her memoir, When I Fell From the Sky in which she detailed her ordeal and reflected on the profound impact it had on her life.

[millersgirl80]

Summer Break ch.3

Masterlist

I’m A/N: The next chapter will be where it starts picking up! I’m trying to put out a new chapter every couple of days.

Summary: It’s the day of Joel’s annual bbq

Pairing: Joel Miller x reader

Word count: 3.5k

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The vibration of my phone pulled me from a fitful sleep. I groaned, rolling over and squinting at the screen. It was him.

Joel.

A knot tightened in my stomach, a familiar mix of anticipation and anxiety swirling within me.

“Hey,” the message read. “Just wanted to see how you’re doing after our talk. You okay?”

Okay. Was I okay? That was a loaded question.

Last night, we’d finally put words to the unspoken tension that had been simmering between us. A tension fueled by undeniable attraction, yet bound by the uncomfortable reality of our circumstances. He was older, significantly so, and to make matters even more complicated, he was a friend of my dad’s. It was a tangled web, woven with affection, regret, and a whole lot of “shouldn’t be’s.”

I had danced around the issue for so long, the casual touches lingering a little too long, the stolen glances carrying a weight that went beyond friendly camaraderie. Last night, though, the dam had finally broken. I’d confessed something for him, something I had fought against for a few years, something that made him deeply uncomfortable. And I, caught in the crossfire of my own emotions, brought that onto him.

The conversation had ended with a painful, yet necessary, understanding. We couldn’t be together. The age gap, the friendship with my father… it was simply too much, too wrong. Yet, the idea of severing ties completely felt unbearable.

“Yeah, I’m… alright,” I typed back, hesitating before hitting send. “Just a bit tired.”

“Good. Listen,” his next message popped up almost immediately. “I know things are weird, but I still want you around darlin. Today’s the BBQ, and I could really use your help. Think you can handle it?”

My heart skipped a beat. But knowing the undercurrent that now flowed between us, it felt like so much more. A test, perhaps? A way to prove that we could navigate this new reality without succumbing to the pull that threatened to consume us.

“Yeah,” I replied, my fingers trembling slightly. “I can help. What time?”

He told me he’d pick me up at 10 am. I barely slept the rest of the early morning, replaying our conversation in my head, wondering if I was making a terrible mistake. Was I being naive? Was I setting myself up for more heartbreak?

Before I knew it, it was close to 10. Joel should be here any minute. I dressed in a pair of well-worn jeans and a simple t-shirt, trying to appear casual and unfazed, even though my insides were a tangled mess of nerves. When I saw his truck pull up outside, I took a deep breath and walked out to meet him.

He looked tired, the lines around his eyes a little more pronounced. But his smile, when he saw me, was genuine and warm.

“Morning,” he said, his voice rough around the edges. “Thanks for doing this.”

I just nodded, climbing into the passenger seat. The familiar scent of leather and engine oil filled the air, a scent I’d come to associate with a sense of comfort and a quiet kind of adventure. Today, however, it only amplified my unease.

The drive to his house was silent, punctuated only by the crackle of the radio. I kept my gaze fixed on the passing scenery, trying to avoid his eyes. The landscape was familiar, the rolling hills and scattered farms of our small town. Yet everything felt different now, tainted by the knowledge of our shared secret.

When we arrived, the scene was already bustling with activity. His daughter, Sarah, a vibrant teenager with her father’s stubborn streak, was setting up tables in the backyard. Tommy, Joel’s younger brother, was wrestling with the charcoal grill, muttering under his breath.

“Hey, you made it!” Sarah greeted me with a cheerful smile, oblivious to the tension that crackled in the air. “Dad said you were coming to help. Awesome!”

I forced a smile in return, feeling a pang of guilt. How much did Sarah know? Could she sense the awkwardness between her father and me?

“Good to see you too,” Tommy said, flashing a grin. “You’re a lifesaver. I’m about to lose my mind trying to get this damn grill to cooperate.”

The presence of Sarah and Tommy was a welcome distraction, forcing me to focus on the task at hand. We spent the next few hours setting up for the BBQ, hauling tables, arranging chairs, and prepping food. I helped Sarah with the salads, chopping vegetables and mixing dressings. Tommy, after finally conquering the grill, started marinating the ribs. Joel, meanwhile, circulated, offering guidance and keeping everyone on track.

Despite the busyness, the unspoken tension between Joel and me remained palpable. We avoided direct eye contact, our conversations clipped and impersonal. Every accidental brush of hands, every fleeting glance, sent a jolt through me, a reminder of the feelings we were trying so hard to suppress.

At one point, while I was rinsing lettuce, Joel came up behind me. I could feel his presence before I even saw him.

“Thanks for being here,” he murmured, his voice low and close to my ear.

I didn’t turn around. “It’s no problem,” I replied, my voice barely above a whisper.

“It means a lot,” he continued, his hand brushing against my arm. “Especially after… everything.”

I finally turned to face him, my heart pounding in my chest. His eyes, usually so warm and inviting, were filled with a mixture of longing and regret.

“I don’t know if this is a good idea, Joel,” I said, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. “Being here, pretending like everything’s normal…”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I know,” he said. “It’s not ideal. But I can’t just… cut you out of my life. Not completely.”

His words were both a relief and a source of renewed anxiety. He still wanted me around, but in what capacity? As a friend? A helper?

Do you want to talk about it?” he continued, his tone careful, tentative as if he were testing the waters. My heart raced at the prospect, but the idea of rehashing my feelings felt suffocating.

“Not right now,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “I think I just… need to focus on the barbecue.”

Empathy cloaked his expression. I could see the understanding etched across his features; he didn’t want to pressure me, but he was just as trapped in the web of our shared emotions as I was.

As we worked side by side, I found myself stealing glances at him, thinking of all the moments we had shared over the years until I left—game nights, backyard talks about life, those quick fleeting touches that sent electric shocks through my body. In some small ways, it felt as though we were still dancing around the edges of what we could be. Or I was.

I looked at the clock. “12:00” I washed my hands off and setting everything to the side. “I should head home and get ready.” I say turning to face Joel. Joel nods “Come on, I will give you a ride back.” For a fleeting moment, light danced in my chest at the thought of spending more time with him. But, as if a bucket of cold water had splashed across my aspirations, reality struck. “Thanks, but Tasha is picking me up,” I said, my voice strained as I tried to maintain a casual tone. I hated the disappointment I saw flicker across his face.

“Alright, no problem,” he replied, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Lifting my spirits, I waved him off as I turned to the door.

Moments later. Tasha's bright red car is pulling up. She was always the sunshine on a cloudy day, and tonight was no exception. Joel walks me outside. “I’ll see you tonight, right?” He whispers, his hand on my arm. “Yea of course.” I smiled. Joel offers a smile back nodding as he opened the car door helping me inside. Watching us pull off.

As I put my seat belt on, I was met with Tasha's big grin inching across her face, a testament to her insatiable curiosity. “What’s the deal with you and Joel?” she asked, waggling her eyebrows like a cartoon character.

I sighed, rolling my eyes playfully. “It’s not like that. Trust me. He’s “too old for me.” And plus he’s my dad’s best friend.”

“Come on, that’s just an excuse!” Tasha chided, her enthusiasm bubbling over. “You cannot tell me that you didn’t feel something tonight. I saw the way he looked at you while you were talking. There is definitely something brewing there!”

I felt my cheeks flush. “I don’t know, Tasha. I mean,I told him last night how I felt and he completely shut it down.” The words tumbled from my mouth, deep down, my heart ached at the conversation.

“Let’s put a pin in that,” she said dramatically, flipping her hair back, “because tonight we are on a mission — a shopping spree for the BBQ!”

Energized by her enthusiasm, I felt a spark of optimism as we drove toward the small outdoor shopping district. The vibrant colors and lively atmosphere lifted my spirits as I turned my focus to finding the perfect outfit.

Tasha had an eye for fashion, always keeping things fun and fresh.

We flitted from parlor to parlor, darting in and out of clothing stores, fabric rustling under our fingertips. I found a light sundress that floated around my knees, simple yet elegant, but deep within me lingered a desire for something bolder. “I need something that will give me courage,” I said as Tasha rifled through a rack of swimwear.

“A bikini!” she shouted, as though she had solved a great mystery. “There! Try this one on.” She tossed me a cheerful two-piece, adorned with bright floral patterns that made it scream summer.

I examined it hesitantly — it was cute, but would it really convey confidence? “Do you think I can pull this off?” I asked, feeling a mix of excitement and dread.

“Absolutely! Just remember, confidence is the best accessory you can wear.” She winked, pushing me toward the changing room, all while squealing about how much she loved it.

Moments later, I emerged from behind the curtain, clad in the bikini beneath my sundress, feeling both empowered and terrified. Tasha beamed, clapping her hands together. “You look amazing! Wear this to the BBQ; this is going to make waves — literally!”

With the sundress and bikini in tow, we enjoyed the rest of our evening immersed in laughter and girl talk. But amid the fun, I couldn’t silence my conflicted feelings about Joel. I told Tasha about our earlier conversation, a whirlpool of emotions spilling from me.

“What if he’s right?” I wondered aloud, twirling a loose strand of hair. “What if our age gap really does matter?”

Tasha shook her head emphatically. “That’s for you two to figure out! My point is this: just because he’s close to your dad doesn’t mean you can’t explore what’s there. If you want to, go for it. Life is too short to tiptoe around feelings! And what if he’s just scared to go there, maybe he needs a little push?”

As I reflected on her words, I felt a sense of clarity washing over me. Tasha was right. I wouldn’t allow fear to consume me — I owed it to myself to at least find out if there was genuine chemistry with Joel.

As I stood in front of the full-length mirror in my room, I couldn’t help but admire the vibrant yellow sundress I had chosen for the day. The fabric flowed like summer’s sun, perfectly complementing the floral bikini I had tucked underneath. There was an electric thrill in the air, a feeling that today would be one of those days etched into memory forever.

Beside me, Tasha was busy applying sunscreen and fixing her hair. She wore a cheerful crop top that hugged her figure perfectly, coupled with high-waisted shorts that showcased her slender legs. Tasha was nothing if not confident, and I admired her for it. I caught a glimpse of the bright blue bikini peeking from under her crop top, promising a day of fun in the sun.

“Ready?” I asked, tossing my hair back over my shoulder as I reached for my bag. Tasha gave me a huge grin, one that reflected the excitement I could feel bubbling up inside both of us. Today was not just any day; we were finally headed to Joel's barbecue.

As we made our way down the stairs, the sound of laughter and chatter drifted towards us from the living room. I felt a flutter of anxiety as we approached the kitchen, where my stepmother Melissa lounged, a glass of wine in one hand and a disapproving glare plastered on her face.

“Look at those two,” I heard her say to her friend Angie, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “I mean, is that really appropriate for a barbecue full of men?” I felt my cheeks flush, but I quickly brushed it off. Melissa always had something to say about my choices, but today felt too good to let her ruin my mood.

“We’re just having fun, like any other day,” Tasha whispered encouragingly as we walked past, ignoring the snarky whispers. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Melissa rolling her eyes, and I could practically hear Angie chuckling on her behalf. “Are you going Melissa?” Tasha asked sweetly. “No, I have more important things to attend too.” Melissa snarked. “Oh thank god, no one will be miserable over there.” Tasha gasp placing her hand on her chest, causing Melissa to stomp off.

As we made our way to Joel’s, the familiar sights and sounds of the neighborhood greeted me. The smell of grilled food wafted through the air, mixing with the laughter of friends. The vibe was palpable, electric with anticipation.

When we finally pulled up to his house, my heart sank slightly at the sight before me: the backyard was alive with activity. Laughter cascaded like music, and the vibrant colors of the decorations made the space feel like a summery oasis. I noticed Joel immediately; he was standing by the grill, flipping burgers, laughter spilling out of him like he was the life of the party. But what made my heart race was the way he looked at me, his eyes lighting up as they met mine. In that moment, nothing else mattered.

“Over here!” Joel called, waving me over. I felt a rush of exhilaration as I made my way through the crowd, elbowing my way past old friends and unfamiliar faces. Tasha quickly caught up with me, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

As we approached, I could see Joel was flanked by my dad and Tommy, both of them holding cold beers and chatting animatedly. The sight of all the familiar faces felt comforting, yet a bit skewed. Joel’s eyes remained glued to me, a spark between us that felt electric.

Tommy leaned over to Tasha, “Hey, you want to check out the DJ set-up I made? I think I’ve got a few tracks you’d love.” I shot Tasha a teasing look, but she merely smirked and nodded enthusiastically.

Before I knew it, they had slipped away, leaving me standing there with my dad and Joel. I felt a flutter of uncertainty as I wondered if I should have gone with them.

A reassuring smile from Joel put me at ease. “You look amazing, by the way,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “That dress is perfect for you.” I felt a flush creep up my cheeks, and as we exchanged more conversation, I realized that my worries were unfolding into laughter and light-hearted moments, erasing all strangeness from the air. I made my way around greeting some old friends from the neighborhood making my way inside for a drink.

Just then, my heart dropped as I felt a familiar presence. I turned slightly, and there he was: Josh, my ex-boyfriend. He was leaning against a wall, a casual smirk on his face, and in that moment, I felt as if the air had been sucked out of the space around me.

“You look great,” he said, and even though I tried to act nonchalant, I could tell that my heart was pounding. I hadn’t expected to see him here, and the memories started flooding back, colorful yet tinged with a bittersweet edge. After a calming breath, I forced a smile and replied, “Thanks, Josh. It's good to see you.”

Clearly, he was feeling the atmosphere, too. “Looks like you’re having fun,” he said, his eyes scanning up and down my body. “I was thinking about grabbing something to eat and then heading out.”

“Yeah, you should,” I replied, trying to maintain my composure while my mind raced. “The food is great here.” I can feel the discomfort wrap around my shoulders like a heavy shawl.

Josh stands with his arms crossed, his body language screaming hostility, his piercing gaze and overbearing presence can silence a room. The way he draws in his breath, as if the very air around him bends to his will, stirs familiar feelings of discomfort within me. I remember the way he used to manipulate me, twisting my thoughts until I couldn't tell up from down. Perhaps that's why, after our toxic relationship ended, I found the strength to run from him, despite the scars left on my heart. “Leave with me, let’s go have some fun like old times.” Josh smirks running his hand down my spine causing me to shiver with fear. “I can’t tonight Josh.” I say stepping away.

The conversation took a turn as Josh leaned closer and revealed his feelings, his words hanging thick in the air between us. “I’ve always cared about you. I think it’s about time we stop pretending.” My mind was racing, grappling with how to defuse the situation.“Josh, I… I don’t feel the same way. I think you're mistaken about what we have.”

The look on his face shifted, the disappointment morphing into frustration. I could see anger brewing in his eyes, yet I felt the gravity of my confession settle in. “You don’t get to choose who I feel for, Darlin! It’s you I want, and it’s time you accept that,” he asserted, his voice laced with desperation.

My pulse quickened at the simmering tension, and I could feel the atmosphere shifting precariously between us. “I don’t think you should be here, Josh,” Joel’s voice cut through the air like a clean knife, deep and commanding.

I felt a rush of adrenaline as I recognized the protective note in his tone. I held my breath, bracing myself for the inevitable explosion. After everything Josh had put me through, I needed someone like Joel on my side, someone who wouldn’t cower in the face of Josh’s overbearing presence.

“Oh please, like you have any say in my life,” Josh snapped back, dismissing Joel with an air of disdain, which only heightened the tension. I could sense the fight brewing between them like a storm ready to break.

“Maybe I don’t,” Joel replied evenly, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to the heat rising between Josh and me. “But I’m telling you—leave now. You’re not welcome here.”

Josh laughed, a harsh, ugly sound that made the crowd pause for a moment. “What are you going to do, Joel? Protect her from me?” His mocking tone only served to raise the stakes, igniting Joel’s temper further.

“Walk away while you still can, Josh,” Joel said, stepping closer to Josh. I could feel my heart pounding in my ears, desperate to drown out the memories of manipulation and fear that Josh had ingrained in my very being.

“And what if I don’t?” Josh leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low growl. “What are you going to do about it?”

His eyes darkened, and I saw the flash of anger simmering just below the surface, a wild boar beneath a veneer of civility. “You think you can just walk away from what we had? I’m not letting you go that easily.” He looks at me.

In a moment of clarity, I stepped forward, my heartbeat steadying as I met his gaze without flinching. “You can’t keep pulling me back into your chaos.” I felt the warmth of Joel’s presence behind me, bolstering my resolve.

The room felt charged, and though everyone’s eyes were trained on the scene unfolding, I felt an unexpected sense of power surge within me. Josh turned to face Joel, ready for a fight that would no longer include me.

“Just remember,” Josh hissed before backing up a step, his body language radiating a threat. “I won’t forget this.”

He turned abruptly, slipping through the crowd, leaving a void that echoed loudly in his absence. Joel reassured the guest everything was okay and food was done. I ran a hand through my hair catching my breath. Joel reached out for me. “Come on.” Joel grabbed my hand pulling me upstairs.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Taglist: @lostboys1987girl @tikosblogg @untamedheart81 🤍

[royalpicaro]

So, to go off of the Fast Food AU, I got an idea from a comment by @livmightlive about a headcanon. What car does each Link drive and what state are they in? So, this is that post.

Photos included of each car.

|Time|

A Crisp 2014 Chevy Silverado 1500

Color: Blue Granite Metallic

- This truck is his baby

- It's been reliable for many years, and he's always fixed it himself.

- His knowledge of cars is standard Dad™ knowledge so he calls up Four when he doesn't know something

- He keeps it clean most of the time.

- He'll sometimes have trash in the passenger seat or on the floor of the passenger seat, but he'll grab it when he's getting out of the car to go into the store to throw in the outside trash cans.

- The bed of the truck has seen better days, but it's not in terrible shape.

- Some of the paint on the bed door is chipping off, but you can only see it if you get close enough.

- Loves taking it through the car wash

- He has those little dice that hang off of the rear view mirror.

- There's occasionally dirt caked on the bottom, but it doesn't stay there long

- The smell is nice because its from the Black Ice air freshener Malon buys and reminds Time to put in there.

- He likes it and has tried to buy other air fresheners but he likes the Black Ice one the best.

|Twilight|

A muddy 2019 Ram 1500

Color: White

- Loves this truck

- Jfc clean this poor thing(on the outside)

- The picture looks clean but in reality, the truck is muddy and it's because he always forgets to take it through the car wash or goddesses forbid he takes the hose to it.

- On the inside, it's a little dirty on the floorboards, but nothing too bad. A little shake should do them some good.

- He keeps it pretty free of trash because he likes to make sure it looks nice despite his baffling logic for the exterior.

- He definitely has a carabiner keychain that he clips to his pants everywhere he goes.

- It's no longer a thought, he just clicks that hoe on the second he takes them keys out.

- He's that shift lead that you can identify right as he comes through the door. *keychain clicking together* Bro has a precussion anthem each time he decides to move

- Carries gum with him wherever he goes.

- Perfers 5 gum but will get whatever he can grab

- Definitely sits in his trucks on his breaks

- He'd rather people not have feet on his dash

- Can parallel park as easily as a chicken can fly

- His car smells like a mix of mint and lawn clippings.

|Sky|

2019 Subaru Crosstrek

Color: Maroon Red

- This is the family car that he got as a hand me down

- It's reliable

- Sometimes, it makes a funny sound, but Sky likes to ignore it

- The aux cord is always Sky's

- It's a little dirty

- Some candy wrappers here and there

- The back seat has some books in a box that will move between the back seat and the truck back and forth

- It smells like bird feathers and some mysteriously vague cologne

- He loves bird imagery so its literally all over his car with ornaments, stickers, etc.

- Will sometimes bring his bird in the car with him(It's an african grey named Chloe who likes to sing September. He also hadls a cockatiel named Issac)

- The car's seats are ripped in places by his birds picking at them

- There's a mark on the driver side dash from when Legend let Sky smoke for the first time and he ended up wiping some of the ash off on the dash and now its just there

- Legend thinks it's hilarious

- Sky finds it embarrassing

- "Do NOT put your feet up on the dash!"

- Has slept in his car on break and will do it again

- Very comfy

|Wars|

A very well cared for 2016 Dodge Challenger 2D

Color: Baby Blue

- The love of his life

- He found this car in a used car lot and HAD to get it

- Wasn't cheap

- Likes to remind the others that it wasn't cheap when they make fun of him for it.

- He is BIG on decorating his car

- Not as much as Legend is, but he likes his car to feel nice

- Smells DIVINE(Like a really high end cologne, but just enough to not be too much)

- Has a work backpack that stays in the car

- Likes funny little things like the cupholder coasters

- Please be nice to the car

- He does drive like a maniac if he's given the chance to.

- Has constantly asked Wild to race him.

- Doesn't hang out in it on breaks

- Keeps it clean and tidy

- I'm talking he wipes down the car twice a week on the interior and takes it through a car wash once a week, two if needed

- is really proud of his car

- There's some chips and a small dent in the back bumper, but its barely noticable

- he might cry if you call it ugly

- Rarely eats in his car

- The main reason why he likes it so much is because of how the exterior looks. Its satisfying.

|Wild|

Venom x22GT 250cc

Color: Midnight Black

- Motorcycle homie 🤙

- Someone always asks who's motorcycle it is

- He's proud of it

- He loves how fast it goes and how free he feels

- He gets pulled over pretty often, but is usually apologetic

- Gets scared around bigger vehicles

- Hates being beside 18 wheelers

- Parks it where he can see it from the back door

- Is paranoid about it being stolen

- doesn't race people

- Has a bit of an ego about it

- Loves finding stickers he can put on it

- the little keychains that fit on the little bits and don't get in the way? OH! Loves em

- Overall, pretty chill about it but will try to impress someone and likely fail if they show interest in him or wanting a ride on it

|Legend|

1985 Coachman Camper(Modified)

Color: Beige and Brown

- Van lifer

- He loves being on the road, freely going where he wants, and doing what he wants

- He will camp out in the back area of his work since it's mostly a dirt area no one is using

- Will walk around to nearby areas if its a nice day because he loves exploring

- Finding new things is a hobby

- He will hang out at Warriors or Time's place if he really needs people around him.

- Loves to decorate seasonally

- Hoarder

- No literally, dude hoards so much shit that he has to give it to Ravio to keep at his place cause he doesn't want to get rid of it but has no place in the van

- I originally thought he'd have a concrete place, but I felt like it would be better this way because it fits his vibe.

- I imagine he was really closed off and stayed in the van for a long time after he lost Marin, but Warriors really helped him out by letting him crash at his place

- He decided he was going to go to van life as a change of pace after losing Marin and Ravio happened to show up just as he was about to end his lease.

- He lost Marin early in the year that he bought the van, hoping for a van life because they talked about how fun it could. He crashed with Warriors later that year.

- Ravio stayed in the place and signed the lease and now Legend is living his best life

- Will only ever invite people in if he trusts them

- Spotify 24/7

- Somehow, everyone is surprised when they find out.

|Hyrule|

A dying 2010 Honda Accord LX-P

Color: Auburn Brown

- Has been in the family since 2010

- Ol' Reliable

- Shudders when he starts it up

- Loves it anyway

- Comfortable asf

- Him decorating it in fairy aesthetic just makes so much sense to me

- It fits and he loves it and he's not ashamed

- He makes a lot of friends off of his decorating choices

- Has a satchel that he carries that has everything anyone could need.

- Pain meds? Got em. Allergy meds? He's a walking pharmacy.

- Want some acid?

- Experimental

- Hippie coded

- Like Legend is on one end of the hippie spectrum and Hyrule is on the complete opposite side

- Bro will sleep in his car and come back as if he had a moment with Hylia

- Scares him to hell and back when it starts making funny sounds

- Will go to Four as soon as he knows something is wrong.

- It's his baby 🥹 He likes the vibes he has with the car

- "I'll give up on her when she gives up on me."

- Ride or die fr

|Four|

2016 Volkswagen Jetta

Color: Pure White(the site said it and I have doubts)

- A gift

- The mechanic of the group

- He's fixed his car multiple times so he usually fixes the others cars or tells them whats wrong and how to fix it/where to go to get the best price

- Helps Time with stuff he doesn't know.

- He doesn't really decorate it cause he can never decide HOW to

- He keeps it clean though and likes to go to those car wash vaccum places

- Is a safe driver

- Not 100% of the time

- Does not like being in his car more than he has to.

- He'll eat in his car if he's really hungry

- Overall, not too crazy about his car to really do much to it.

- Is usually a good person to call if you need a last minute pick up

- The Sane One™

- Aux cord is an option

- He's a radio kind of guy

- Will hang out with Legend in his van if he just wants to destress

- HATES driving in the snow

- HATES other drivers

That's pretty much it :3

I TOTALLY didn't forget to put the name on each one like I did with Time's :D

BAAAAHHHHYYYYEEEEE!♡