#all of a sudden it's there and he's like—what is this what do i do with it

[whokilledsamara]

Hello! I don’t usually make requests but i have one could u pretty please if u have time? 🥺

Anyways the request would be like homocipher boys (especially my bbg Mr Crawling) pussy drunk. Pls.

PUSSY DRUNK

a very short fic for a few of the Homicipher boys. {Mr. Crawling, Mr. Scarletella, Mr. Silvair, Mr. Gap, Mr. Hood}. Homicipher x afab!reader.

warnings! : each are different so a bit of violence, neediness, switch!reader, smut, porn, PORN NO PLOT!!! almost all of them are cunnilingus

{an: if you meant a fic with all of them in a gangbang sense, you can send in another request}

MR. CRAWLING

"Not now Mr. Crawling, im busy." you say softly, gently petting his head as he tugs at your skirt. "Please..", he practically begs, his lips turned into a pout. he was always so desperate to please you, stopping at nothing as long as it made you happy. his eager face made it so hard to resist, and with a sigh, you gently part your legs before continuing to use your hands with what you were doing. almost as soon as you do so, his face is shoved as far as it can go, a whine leaving his lips as he has to pull away to remove your underwear. a giggle escapes you while you watch.

...

"mngh.. fuck, please.." the words slipped so effortlessly from your lips, Mr. Crawling's head so deep between those legs of yours that you couldnt think straight. your hand was fisted in his hair, tugging often. whines left him almost constantly, his hands holding up your thighs on his shoulders and off the chair. "Me want, More" he states softly, his voice muffled as he stares up at you, the lower half of his face still stuffed between your thighs. as you nod softly, he hums and shoves two of his long and slender fingers inside of you, effortlessly curling them upwards towards your g-spot. "a-ah..!" your voice hits a high peak at the sudden intrusion, legs trembling as yet another orgasm rips through you, despite how many you had previously. as overstimulated as you were, the man between your legs gives a few more licks to your clit, slowly pulling away. as he sits up, Mr. Crawling stares up at you with a cheeky grin, his chin covered in your juices. "Good." ..... "Big, Good."

MR. SCARLETELLA

as usual, he was feeling needy. every since you pretty much marked him as your "slave", he has been near you at all times, getting upset whenever you interact with others instead of him. this time in particular though, you watched tears fall from his eyes as he stared up at you with a desperate expression. despite the cold look on your face, and the amount of times you rejected him, he still pleads. "Please." he whines, his hands trembling against your thighs. "Please what..? not this again." you ask, glaring down at him. his hands grab at your raincoat, face a pleading mess. "Need, You." he begs. you think for a second, a long exasperated sigh leaving your lips before you finally do what he always dreamed of. you roll your eyes, head tilting to a nod. that was all the conformation he needed.

hours had gone by, your unfortunate yet aching cunt so desperately clenched around his tongue, his hands clawing at your thighs. his skilled tongue circled your clit an uncanny amount of times, his pace never slowing. "A-ah wait.. wait i cant.. fuccckk.." another orgasm ripped through you and then, only then, did his pace falter. "You, Like?" he asked, pulling his face up from your legs with an uncanny glare. you nod many times, his smile only growing wider. his lips lean in and press against yours, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue. as much as you denied your feelings for the man, you couldn't think of anything but how good he felt and tasted. with a thoughtful groan, you wiggle your finger at him, signaling for him to stand. immediately he obeys, face flushed and juices dripping down his chin. your eyes are locked on his for a second before you speak in a demanding tone.

"Take off your pants."

MR. SILVAIR

he was NEVER needy. so why was today different? one of the other residents had managed to piss him off so much that he couldn't think straight. his usually calm demeanor shifted completely dark, not even a hint of his usual smile on his face. even Mr. Chopped seemed worried, asking softly if he was okay. Mr. Silvair ignored him, his gaze fixated on your eyes. he nods his head to his "research room", silently instructing you to go. he follows closely behind you, the heavy door slamming shut and locking you both in the room.

...

a huff leaves his lips as his hands angrily lift you up and slam you on his examination table, ass up for him, with little to no way for you to escape. "W-what are you doing? Whats wrong?.. Mr. Silvair-!" you ask hurriedly, hands scrambling to find something to grab. he ignores your pleas and hikes up your raincoat, forcing off your panties with one quick motion. you couldn't see him as you tried to look behind you, but you felt him sink to his knees."H-hey- ah..!-" your words are cut off with a moan as his long, snakelike tongue slips between your folds. Mr. Silvair's strong hands keep you spread with ease, giving him full access as he greedily eats your pussy like its the last meal on earth. "Stop Squirming." his usually calm voice turns dark, his fingers digging a touch deeper into your hips as he keeps you held up for him. as hard as you can, you attempt to keep your hips still. his tongue reaches as deep as it can reach, making you harshly bite your lip and see stars, juices running down his face as you finally orgasm. "A-ah right there--fuck! please.." your begs go unnoticed as he releases you and stands, walking out of the room without another glance. seemingly, this little outburst would hold him down for a while.

be glad it was only his tongue this time.

MR. GAP

a while after you got used to your residency at the complex, you learned your lesson about walking near the gaps. the man who always seemed to appear at the worst moments, would mainly only mess with you. usually, it would only be a small poke as your ankle as you walked by, a tug at your hair when you had your back turned, or small scares he would pull off. eventually you learned to ignore it, or altogether stay away from the walls, but unfortunately for you, today was a day you slipped up. as careless as it seemed, you were walking on your own, tiredness taking over your expression. the day was hectic, having to deal with more than one entity at a time.

a sudden yelp escapes your throat as you are yanked by your arm into a small opening in the wall. your back ends up pressed against the nearest wall, Mr. Gap's face level with yours with that sick, uncanny expression he always has. you huff and use your hand to push at his face, the ever so sassy man rolling his eyes and grabbing your wrist. "You're No, Fun." he grumbles, hands fumbling with your shorts. "The fuck are you doing?" you mutter as a hushed yell, eyes glaring at his. the grin on his face grows wider as he shoves off your pants, before suddenly dissolving into nothing. your eyes dart around, confusion evident in your expression until a sudden whine leaves your lips at an unknown feeling hits your core. looking down, you find Mr. Gap nose deep in between your legs, eyes locked on yours as he smirks into you. your hand shoots down to grab his hair, attempting to pull him away as embarrassment fills your expression. though unluckily for you, or luckily depending on how you take it,, he doesn't move. instead, he groans into your hand, his hands tighten on your thighs as he pushes his face deeper, licking and sucking anything he can manage.

after many failed orgasms, and many tears from his constant edging, finally after everything he lets you cum, sucking hard enough on your clit to have a loud moan escape you, thighs clenching around his head.

though something tells you he isnt done.

MR. HOOD

as mono tuned as the man was, and as little as expressive as he was, he couldn't help his built up tension. while no, he didn't understand the concept of love, or at-least he wouldn't admit it- he knew and felt the need for touch. he often would allow you inside of his coat, usually just chilling in there or whatever you called it- but you never saw it as anything more than companionship. or so he figured. the moment he felt you experiment by placing your hand just above his crotch, his views changed.

with little to no effort, Mr. Hood plucked you out of his coat, setting you gently on the nearest table. he stared at you for a second, chest heavy. he could definitely sense your confusion- but as he kept his gaze on you, he reached out to grab your leg, his oddly feeling hand sat calmly on the inside of your thigh. "May, Touch?" Mr. Hood asked, an almost worried tone in his words. quicker than he could get his words out, you were nodding. his body stilled for a second, almost as if he was debating his life choices, but ultimately decided to continue. gentle fingers reach under your raincoat, tugging down your panties with ease. and while he would never admit it, he quite greatly enjoyed the small sounds you made when his fingers traced your lips. he hesitates for a second, before pushing a single ghostly finger inside. it was oddly cold, but felt so good inside of you as he worked his way in. a long moan leaves you, your hands reaching out to grab his arms. one of his tentacles shoots out, replacing his finger that instead opted for your clit, rubbing in tight, hard circles. "Oh fuck.." you breathe out, legs trembling at your embarrassingly close orgasm. "I-im gonna c- mmngh!!" a hushed scream leave you as the tentacle curls, thrusting hard at your G-spot. it sends you over the edge, your juices flowing down your thighs and around the appendage. with a sigh, he pulls out, seemingly pleased.

"Turn Around."

{ made by @whokilledsamara }

[pucksandpower]

Your Love Is My Drug

Oscar Piastri x Norris!Reader

Summary: Lando’s teammate is behaving strangely, so of course the logical assumption is that Oscar must be on drugs (the truth ends up being so much worse … for Lando)

The McLaren garage buzzes with activity as mechanics scurry about, preparing for the upcoming race weekend. Lando leans against the wall, his brow furrowed in concentration as he observes his teammate from across the room.

Something’s off about Oscar today. Actually, if Lando’s being honest with himself, something’s been off about Oscar for weeks now. The usually composed Aussie seems ... different.

Fidgety.

Distracted.

As if on cue, Oscar lets out another of those odd little giggles he’s been prone to lately. Lando’s eyes narrow.

“Oi, Piastri!” He calls out, striding over to where Oscar is hunched over his phone. “What’s so funny, mate?”

Oscar’s head snaps up, his cheeks flushed a deep pink. “Oh, uh, nothing,” he stammers, hastily shoving his phone into his pocket. “Just ... just a meme.”

Lando raises an eyebrow. “A meme? Since when are you so into memes?”

“I’ve always liked memes,” Oscar protests weakly.

“Right,” Lando drawls, unconvinced. He watches as Oscar shifts uncomfortably, tugging at the waistband of his jeans.

A sudden, horrifying thought strikes Lando. No ... it couldn’t be. Could it?

“Hey, Oscar,” he says slowly, trying to keep his tone casual. “You feeling alright? You’ve seemed a bit ... off lately.”

Oscar’s eyes widen slightly. “Off? What do you mean?”

Lando shrugs, aiming for nonchalance. “I dunno, just ... different. Distracted. You keep laughing at nothing and your face is all red.”

“Oh, that’s ... that’s nothing,” Oscar says, waving a hand dismissively. “Just, uh, excited about the race, I guess.”

Lando’s not buying it. “Excited, huh? Is that why you keep fidgeting with your pants, too?”

Oscar freezes, his hand stilling where it had been absently adjusting his waistband. “I ... what?”

“Your jeans,” Lando repeats, gesturing towards Oscar’s lower half. “You keep messing with them. What’s that about?”

“Nothing!” Oscar yelps, a bit too quickly. “They’re just ... new. Still breaking them in.”

Lando’s eyes narrow further. He remembers something, vaguely, from one of the few health lessons he’d managed to stay awake for back in school. Something about drug users and fidgeting ...

No. Surely not. Not Oscar.

But the more Lando thinks about it, the more it starts to make a twisted kind of sense. The secrecy, the mood swings, the constant flush on Oscar’s cheeks ...

“Oscar,” Lando says, his voice low and serious. “I need you to be honest with me. Are you ... are you on something?”

Oscar’s jaw drops. “What? No! Of course not!”

“Because if you are,” Lando presses on, ignoring Oscar’s protests, “I need to know. As your teammate. As your friend. This isn’t just about you, mate. It’s about the whole team.”

“Lando, I swear, I’m not on anything,” Oscar insists, his voice taking on a pleading edge. “I don’t know where you’re getting this idea from, but-”

“Then explain the giggling!” Lando demands, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “And the blushing! And the fidgeting! Something’s clearly going on with you, and if you’re not gonna be straight with me-”

“I can’t!” Oscar bursts out, then immediately claps a hand over his mouth, looking stricken.

Lando’s eyes widen. “Can’t what?”

Oscar shakes his head, looking miserable. “I can’t ... I can’t tell you. I’m sorry, Lando. I know I’ve been acting weird, but I promise it’s nothing bad. I’m not on drugs or anything like that. I just ... I can’t explain right now.”

Lando stares at his teammate, torn between frustration and concern. “Oscar, come on. We’re supposed to be friends. Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

Oscar’s phone chimes, and he jumps, fumbling to pull it out of his pocket. His eyes widen as he reads whatever message has just come through, and a small, dopey smile spreads across his face.

“Sorry,” he says distractedly, already typing out a response. “I’ve gotta go. We’ll talk later, yeah?”

Before Lando can protest, Oscar is hurrying out of the garage, leaving Lando staring after him in bewilderment.

“What the hell was that about?” Lando mutters to himself.

He’s still pondering Oscar’s strange behavior when his own phone buzzes. It’s a message from you.

Hey! Surprise — I’m at the track! Want to grab dinner?

Lando grins, momentarily distracted from his worries about Oscar. Absolutely, he types back. Meet you at the hotel in a few hours?

Later that evening, Lando’s sitting in the hotel restaurant, drumming his fingers impatiently on the table as he waits for you to arrive. His mind keeps drifting back to Oscar’s odd behavior, and he’s half-tempted to text you and ask if you’ve noticed anything strange about his teammate lately.

Before he can act on the impulse, you breeze into the restaurant, a bright smile on your face. “Lando!” You exclaim, rushing over to give him a hug.

“Hey, trouble,” Lando says fondly, returning the embrace. “What brings you to the race? I thought you were busy with work.”

You shrug, sliding into the seat across from him. “Oh, you know, just missed my second favorite brother. Thought I’d surprise you.”

Lando narrows his eyes playfully. “I finally won a race and I’m still not your favorite?”

“You can’t win everything,” you say with a grin. “Wouldn’t want your head getting any bigger than it already is.”

As you settle in and start perusing the menu, Lando can’t help but notice that you seem ... different. There’s a certain glow about you, a sparkle in your eye that he hasn’t seen before.

“You look happy,” he observes. “Something good happen at work?”

You bite your lip, looking suddenly nervous. “Oh, um, not really. Just ... life in general, I guess.”

Lando’s about to press further when his phone buzzes. He glances down to see a message from Oscar.

Hey, mate. Sorry about earlier. Can we talk?

Lando frowns, torn between his curiosity about Oscar’s situation and his desire to spend time with you.

“Everything okay?” You ask, noticing his expression.

Lando sighs. “I don’t know. It’s Oscar. He’s been acting really weird lately, and I’m worried about him.”

Your eyes widen almost imperceptibly. “Weird how?”

“Just ... off,” Lando says, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “He’s all giggly and distracted, his face is constantly red, and he keeps fidgeting with his clothes. I’m worried he might be ... you know ...”

You lean forward, your brow furrowed in concern. “Might be what?”

Lando lowers his voice, glancing around to make sure no one’s listening. “On drugs,” he whispers.

To his surprise, you burst out laughing. “Oscar? On drugs? Are you serious?”

“It’s not funny!” Lando hisses, feeling defensive. “I’m really worried about him. He won’t tell me what’s going on, but something clearly is.”

You sober quickly, reaching across the table to pat his hand. “I’m sorry, you’re right. It’s not funny. But Lando, I really don’t think Oscar’s on drugs. Maybe there’s another explanation?”

“Like what?” Lando demands.

You open your mouth to respond, but before you can say anything, Lando’s phone buzzes again. Another message from Oscar.

I’m in the lobby. Can we talk now? It’s important.

Lando looks up at you apologetically. “It’s Oscar again. He says he needs to talk. Do you mind if I ...”

You wave a hand, looking strangely nervous. “No, no, go ahead. I’ll wait here.”

Lando nods gratefully and heads for the lobby, his mind racing. What could be so important that Oscar needs to talk right now?

He spots his teammate pacing near the elevators, looking agitated. “Oscar?” He calls out.

Oscar’s head snaps up, and Lando is struck again by the flush on his cheeks. “Lando! Thanks for coming. I ... I need to tell you something.”

Lando crosses his arms, trying to look stern despite his worry. “Yeah, I’d say you do. What’s going on with you, mate? And don’t try to tell me it’s nothing, because-”

“I’m dating your sister!” Oscar blurts out.

Lando blinks, certain he must have misheard. “I’m sorry, what?”

Oscar takes a deep breath, steeling himself. “I’m dating your sister,” he repeats, more slowly this time. “Y/N. We’ve been seeing each other for a few months now.”

Lando’s mind goes blank. He opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again. No sound comes out.

“I know it’s a shock,” Oscar continues, words tumbling out in a rush. “And I’m sorry we didn’t tell you sooner. We wanted to make sure it was serious before we said anything. But I really care about her, Lando. And I hope ... I hope you can be okay with this.”

Lando’s brain is still struggling to process this information. “But ... but the giggling,” he manages to stammer out. “And the blushing. And the fidgeting.”

Oscar’s blush deepens. “Ah, yeah. That’s ... that’s because of Y/N. She’s been sending me these ... messages. And pictures. Really cute ones!” He adds hastily, seeing Lando’s eyes widen in horror. “Nothing inappropriate! Just ... you know. Flirty.”

Lando holds up a hand, feeling slightly nauseous. “Please, I really don’t need details.”

“Right, sorry,” Oscar says sheepishly. “Anyway, that’s why I’ve been acting weird. I was trying to keep it a secret, but I guess I’m not very good at hiding how I feel.”

Lando’s head is spinning. His teammate and his little sister. Dating. It’s too much to process.

“Lando?” Oscar’s voice sounds concerned. “Are you okay? You look a bit pale.”

Lando opens his mouth to respond, but the world suddenly tilts sideways. The last thing he hears before everything goes black is Oscar’s panicked voice calling his name.

When Lando comes to, he’s lying on a couch in the hotel lobby, with you and Oscar hovering anxiously over him.

“Oh thank god,” you breathe as his eyes flutter open. “Lando, are you okay?”

Lando groans, pushing himself into a sitting position. “What happened?”

“You fainted,” Oscar supplies helpfully. “Right after I told you about ... you know.”

The memory comes flooding back, and Lando groans again, this time for an entirely different reason. “So it wasn’t a dream, then? You two are really ...”

You nod, looking nervous but determined. “We are. I’m sorry we didn’t tell you sooner. We wanted to make sure it was, you know, real first.”

Lando looks between the two of you, taking in Oscar’s anxious expression and the way your hand is clasped tightly in his. Despite his shock, he can’t deny the genuine affection he sees there.

“Well,” he says finally, his voice rough. “I suppose this is better than you being on drugs.”

Oscar lets out a startled laugh. “You really thought I was on drugs?”

Lando shrugs defensively. “What was I supposed to think? You were acting so weird!”

“That’s just because he’s head over heels for me,” you say teasingly, bumping Oscar’s shoulder with your own.

Oscar grins dopily, and Lando has to resist the urge to roll his eyes. “Clearly,” he mutters.

There’s a moment of awkward silence before you speak up again. “So ... are you okay with this? Us being together?”

Lando looks at you, his beloved little sister, then at Oscar, his teammate and friend. He sees the happiness radiating from both of you, the way you lean into each other unconsciously.

He sighs dramatically. “I suppose I’ll have to be,” he says, unable to keep a small smile from tugging at his lips. “But I swear, Piastri, if you hurt her-”

“I won’t,” Oscar interrupts, his voice firm and sincere. “I promise, Lando. I’ll take good care of her.”

Lando nods, satisfied for now. “Good. And for the love of all that is holy, please keep the flirting to a minimum around me. I really don’t need to see that.”

You and Oscar laugh, the tension finally breaking. As Lando watches the two of you together, he can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this might not be such a bad thing after all.

But he’s definitely going to need some time to get used to it. And possibly some therapy.

[luveline]

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝

You try to break up with your boyfriend. Aaron just wants to know why. (And what he can do to fix it.) [4k]

c: fem, stripper!reader, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff epilogue, suggestive themes mdni. requested here 

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

I don’t want to see you anymore. 

The text doesn’t compute at first. He reads it twice. Reads the sender’s name, his heart stopped clean in his chest. 

He puts down his pen.

The idea that the text wasn’t meant for him crosses his mind, but that might further break his heart. He knows you have clients, but you don’t contact them outside of the club. 

His second thought is that he’d been a client unknowingly, but he made it clear to you those few months ago that he liked you as you, not as a service provider, and not as something to be bought. You thought he was trying to acquire you as a private escort. He explained it as what it was truthfully, if vulnerably.

He’s being broken up with, he surmises. Over text. By a woman he adores, who he’d thought was happy. Aaron opens his phone to call you, clicking your contact, bringing it to his ear. You don’t answer. He calls again and he’s clearly declined three rings in. 

He puts his phone down and has a few minutes of unbreathable heartbreak. Just a few minutes, his hand to his stomach, trying to think of things as reasonably as he can. 

Aaron doesn’t care that you’re a stripper. He might’ve at first. Denied his attraction to you, because of course he had feelings for you when you were standing against the side of the club in your dancing lingerie, who wouldn’t fall in love with you? Every fool lucky enough to see you undressed must assume the same thing. He thought it wouldn’t work, and that you’d never be interested in a man like him. 

Interviews for information lended themselves to rare moments of conversation. He liked how you talked, how your eyes moved to his, the way you watched his mouth. Your unusual friendship with Spencer drew you closer, and activated a rare seed of jealousy within him that helped him place you in his life. He had real, tangible feelings for you. 

And now it’s over. 

He scrunches his eyes closed and gets up from his desk. Puts his coat on, but leaves his things where they are on his desk. 

“Hotch?” Morgan asks as he descends the steps down from his office into the bullpen. 

“I’m not sure when I’ll be back.” 

“What happened?” 

Aaron turns to Morgan, hiding his panic as well as he’s able to. “I have a small emergency. It’s fine. Can you make sure things are okay here?” 

“Hotch?” Morgan asks again. 

Aaron keeps on going. He tries your number again on the way down. Three times, a fourth by the time he’s at the parking garage. 

The fifth time, you answer. 

He almost breaks the phone, its plastic body creaking in his hand. “Honey?” he asks. 

“I don’t want to see you anymore, Aaron. Is it hard to understand?” 

He’s taken aback. Some part of him had held onto the hope that it was a mistake. “Yes,” he says slowly, struggling to pull his keys out as his car comes into view, “it is.” 

“I don’t want to be with you.” 

“Have I upset you?” 

“Would that make it easier?” 

“No. I don’t think anything would make it any easier. Honey, this feels so sudden. Can’t we talk about it?” 

“I don’t want to see you.” 

“Please.” He can’t imagine never seeing you again. Just a few days ago he was sitting at the dinner table with you laughing opposite, your socked toes brushing his ankle. “Please, give me the chance to fix this.” 

“Aaron, it’s not really fixable. Please don’t call me again.”

“Y/N,” he says, firmer now. Anger leaks into his tone —what’s going on? “Let me come over. We need to talk about this.” 

“No–”

“It’s not fair to me for you to do it over the phone.” 

“…Okay. Fine. I’m at home, but I have work at six.” 

“I’m on my way.” 

He hangs up. Your terse allowance is all he needs to get in the car and drive, checking his watch. There’s plenty of time between now and six. He can figure out what’s wrong and hopefully change your mind.

He thinks about it more seriously as he’s parking outside of your place. Perhaps he doesn’t want to change your mind. You aren’t acting like you, none of your kindness can be found in such a swift dismissal, but he thinks of your foot under the table, your sock rubbing along his ankle without comment. 

He takes the stairs to your apartment. It’s not the nicest place to stay, but it’s far from a slum, either. He doesn’t worry about you when you’re home beyond the usual everyday fears: Is she eating? Sleeping? Having a good day? 

Now he’s thinking, What did I do? 

He gets to your apartment and pauses at the threshold. After a moment's deliberation, he knocks. 

“Come in, Aaron.” 

He pulls down the handle and lets himself in. You’ve mail piled on the sideboard and your shoes tucked under it, a coat rack further in bragging scarves and coats and jackets of all different colours. He’s always liked the interior of your apartment. It doesn’t feel as cold as his own, parts of your personality peeking in through everything, from the flowered tiles in the bathroom to the glass lampshade in the bedroom. 

You’re sitting in the kitchen with the light off. “Hey,” he says, voice already laden with relief he doesn’t mean to share. 

“Hi.” 

“Can I sit down?” 

You gesture for him to do as he likes. 

Aaron sits down at your table. It’s a small square just big enough to share dinner, plain wood edged in a darker slate grey outline. Sometimes when you’re feeling especially pretty, you’ll lean heavily on an elbow and grin at him, enticing him in for a kiss.

“What’s this all about?” he asks quietly. 

“I just think we’re… at the end of our relationship.” 

You don’t sound truthful. He knew there was something strange in your voice over the phone. 

“What’s making you feel that way?” 

“Does it matter?” 

Again, avoiding and evasive. 

He meets your gaze unflinchingly. “I care about you. I love you,” he says. “I know I can’t be who you pictured for yourself, and if you really can’t see a future for us, then… I’ll have seen it alone. I just wish I could understand this sudden change. Did I do something wrong?” 

“You’re not who I picture for myself,” you agree. 

“No?” he asks. 

“No. You didn’t do anything wrong, but I can’t see us together. We’re not the right fit.” 

You twist a ring around your middle finger. He thinks he’s starting to understand. “Do you think we’re not the right fit?” 

“Please don’t use your psychoanalysis on me.” 

“It’s not psychoanalysis, sweetheart, it’s– I know you.” He grimaces. “I’d like to think I do. And I’m allowing myself the audacity to believe you were happy with me just a few days ago. What happened between then and now to change your mind?” 

You stare at your two-toned table. Your mouth opens to talk, little but air making it out. Your shoulders begin tightening like you’ve been keyed between them, twisting and twisting. 

“What do you want me to say?” you ask. 

Dramatic, he’d hope you could say you don’t love him, or don’t care about him enough to let him convince you the rest of the way. “Is this really what you want?” he asks instead. 

Your staring turns to squinting. With a start, he watches a small tear drip from the corner of your eye to your nostril, to your cupid's bow. 

“No,” you say carefully, “it’s not what I want. I don’t like you being against me.” 

“Then what’s making you feel this way?” 

You cover your eyes with one hand. “I wanted to do this over the phone,” you say in a squeeze. 

He reaches for you but doesn’t touch. “I couldn’t let you.” 

“I just want you to be happy,” you say, so high he can barely understand you. “I’ll never be like you, Aaron. You’re so smart, and you’ve done so much. You’re a hero, and you must look so stupid with me. What do you think people say when they realise what I am?” 

“It doesn’t matter to me what they say. I know you, and they don’t.”

“What about what I think?” 

“What do you think?” 

You wipe your face roughly, eyes lit with an anger he’s unprepared for. “I told you, don’t psychoanalyse me. I don’t want to have to explain it, I just want to say what I have to say. I don’t want to be with you because you won’t be happy, and neither will I.” 

Aaron isn’t too prideful to recognise when he needs to fight for what he wants. He reaches over the table and takes your arm into his hand, picking it up, feeling down The length of it until he’s curled his hand over your smaller fingers. “We are happy,” he says softly, giving your hand a small shake. “I understand where you’re coming from. When we first met, I couldn’t have predicted that I’d be here with you now. I do wonder what people think when they ask me what you do and I tell them you’re a performer. I know we agreed to it, but there are moments where I feel like I’m being cruel to you. But just because there’s a stigma surrounding what you do, it doesn’t mean that you’re any lesser than me. You’re not less intelligent, or less accomplished. We chose different paths and I’m glad we did. If you weren’t a dancer I never would’ve met you.” 

“Do you know how it feels for me to come home to you sometimes?” you ask weakly. 

“I’d hope it feels as it does for me. Every time I see you, I’m relieved.” 

“Aaron, I get this rush of safety, like you’re– I’m finally safe. I can take care of myself, you know that, but now I have you it’s that I don’t even want to. And that’s stupid. I know that that’s stupid.” 

“What I’m thinking,” he says, soft, not as worried about being without you now as he is of the horrible way you’re feeling, “is that you’ve thought about all of this a lot. I’m glad you’ve taken time to reflect on us and your life, but I wish you’d thought more about what we both want.” 

“I want you to be happy,” you argue, as you had a few moments ago. 

“And I’m never happier than when we’re together.” He shrugs. “Love isn’t about work. Your job shapes you as mine shapes me, but you have to know that who you are is what’s important.” 

“I don’t know who I am…” 

“I know exactly who you are,” he says, rubbing a loving thumb over your knuckles. 

“I’m… I’m sorry for the way I spoke to you, on the phone. I knew if I talked to you like this I’d be too much of a coward to really see it through.” 

“I see. You’ve planned my heartbreak weeks in advance.” 

You shake your head sadly. “Aaron, we’re not good for each other. You make me this awful, weak version of me, and I’m no good.” 

“We have been nothing but happy since we met.” Aaron pulls your hand up and kisses the side of your wrist. He isn’t ashamed of you. He doesn’t make you weak, you aren’t. “I don’t know how to explain it. Sometimes it feels like we’re from different worlds, but it’s not that melodramatic. You’re my partner. I love you. It’s hard not to think about what others think of us, but I know exactly what I think of you, and I know what you think of me, too.” 

You share a look. 

“I’ve never heard you talk so much,” you say, your frown fading. “I’m sorry.” 

“You haven’t done anything wrong.” 

“When I thought I couldn’t get any more embarrassing,” you mumble. 

“You aren’t embarrassing. Please, put the thought out of your head.” 

“Thought out of my head,” you repeat, still mumbling as you flex your fingers, pushing them between his and intertwining your hands. You bring them linked to your forehead and take a heavy breath. 

“Do you really want to break up?” he asks softly. 

Your breath warms his arm. “No.” 

“You can have the things you want, you know? I imagine that there are people who laugh when I tell them about you, but you have to know that their opinions would never matter to me.” He pulls his hand from your head to encourage you to meet his eyes. “No one else matters but me and you. We don’t have to factor in other people. We can just be together.” 

“I’m not worth all the fuss,” you say under your breath. 

“What, this fuss? Honey, a few weeks ago you cried in my lap because I got you that cake from the bakery. And you know what? I didn’t want you to cry, but getting to rub your back?” He chances a smile. “That made my night.” 

“You like making girls cry.” 

“Yes,” he says, trying not to grin like a fool as you stand from your chair and put yourself in front of him. He is no saint. He pulls you onto his thighs and wraps an arm around the small of your back, your legs either side of him. “That’s my goal in life, sweetheart.” His voice falls to a whisper as you hang your head against him, tip of your nose to a rough cheek. “Making you cry…” 

Your arms creep to his neck. Resting on him, rather than hugging. He doesn’t mind, he’ll do the hard work. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmur. 

“It’s okay.” He turns your face with his to press his lips to your cheek. “It’s alright, honey, bumps in the road happen with everyone.” 

“All my fault.” 

“Maybe next time, if you feel so strongly about something, you can just extend me that little bit of faith and… know that I’m here for you. Even if it did mean we wouldn’t be together, it doesn’t have to be that you’re alone, making such a big decision. Valiant,” he adds, enjoying the warmth of you seeping into his shirt, his face, his neck where your wrist is laid against it. “You’re not a coward. But I wish you wouldn’t be this brave about breaking my heart.” 

“Stop making me feel guilty.” 

His laugh is a breath against your cheek. “No, it’s fine, isn’t it? Use me and abuse me.” 

“Shut up. Stop, what is this weird guilt tripping you’re doing?” You laugh at his absurdity. “I’d never abuse you.” 

“I know. Just step on me a bit.” 

“Stop, stop,” you mumble, your voice turning slowly from self-pitying to honey, all that love for him he knew you still had like threads of gold shooting through it, “I don’t wanna step on you, I never would…” 

“Just rough me up a little.” 

“Never.” You press your face to his neck. “Thank you for not letting me do it.” 

“I won’t let you go so easily.” His hand trails up your back, feeling the softness of you beneath your t-shirt. Fat, muscle, all of it familiar, and treasured by his touching. 

He squeezes you rather tightly, then, but you don’t complain, you just sigh. 

“It’s not that you’re not who I picture for myself, like I said before,” you confess, leaning all your weight against him, barely held up by your legs either side of him. “You weren’t, but I didn’t realise that I could have you. I didn’t really know men like you existed. I should’ve known I was looking in the wrong age bracket.” 

“That’s not very nice. In my line of work they call that a feedback sandwich, honey. Something cruel between nice things to distract me.” 

“Sorry. Just had to get it in.” 

He considers your teasing a return to normalcy, guiding your head away from his with a hand to the back of your neck. “If this was a ploy to make me leave work early, consider it successful.” 

“I know your attention usually falls to other places, Mr. Hotchner���” You burst into giggles as he pinches the back of your neck, but it’s only to pull you in for a kiss, smiling against your parted lips as your laughter fades away.

You scrunch his shirt in your hand and kiss him nicely. 

“Sorry,” you say. 

“Forgiven.” Even if he did almost go into cardiac arrest at his desk. “I like begging to stay. It builds character.” 

“How long will you be like this?” you ask, shaking your head slowly, your smile poorly hidden. 

You’d needed a reminder, is all. Aaron isn’t solely business and sternness, he’s an idiot, your idiot, who likes to tease you, and doesn’t care who knows that. When he’s working he’s one person, and when he’s with you, he’s another. Both have their qualities and faults, but only one version is the one he needs to be with you. 

“At my age it’s perfectly normal to have a young and beautiful wife,” he says. “You’ve seen some of the other Section’s worker’s wives.” 

“I’m not that young,” you say. 

“So you admit it?” 

You reward him with a tired sigh, cuddling into his collar. 

—

…I'll never be your beast of burden. So let's go home and draw the curtains…

Aaron’s humming from the bedroom. He knows every classic rock song to exist, every word to every Beatles song. When the chorus comes, he sings under his breath, but you can hear him regardless. “Am I rough enough, am I rich enough? I’m not too blind…” he fades off. 

The music hums under your feet. Record player open on the floor, his Some Girls vinyl on the plate. 

You press a hand down your side. 

To inspire less worry on your part, you and Aaron are trying to be more open about the other sides of your lives. His work feels alien to you, and you worry that yours is dirty to him, despite reassurance that a job is a job. You know that already, but you can’t make yourself believe that he’s as happy as he could be if you were, say, a checkout girl. 

You’d make a cute checkout girl, he’d said. 

This is cute, too. Babydoll lingerie with feather edgings, starkly white against your skin. You fluff out the ends and neaten the crotch of your panties. Nothing is on show that shouldn’t be, but it’s still lingerie. It’s meant to excite. 

“Honey,” he says, dulcet tone carrying to the bathroom, “are you stuck again?” 

You laugh. “I bet you hope so.” 

“That’s accusatory in nature.” 

“I’m coming.” You give it a last glance in the mirror and head into the bedroom. 

Aaron’s sat against your headboard, flowery pillowcases behind his head and back. He discards the little figurine he’d been playing with out of boredom and looks you up and down, corners of his lips curling. 

“Home only,” he says. 

“I knew you’d say that.” 

“You look stunning.” His eyes seem darker. All pupil. 

“I have to wear some of these at the club, Aaron, that’s why I bought them.” 

Something in your voice makes him smile. “You said I could veto the ones that are too beautiful.” 

“I said too slutty.” 

“Honey, they’re all revealing in their ways. And I don’t have a problem with it…” He takes a breath. “Much. But some of these are meant for…” 

“The man who loves me?”

“Exactly.” 

He’d said something similar about the light blue set with darker flowers, the black set that showed the curves of your chest, and especially about the pink one-piece with white ribbons. That one gave him pause. 

“Spin?” he asks. 

One day it might bother Aaron that you dance, but for now he’s gently approving. Just wants you to be happy. So you do a little spin without any attempt to be sexy and beam when he whistles. 

“Beautiful. Really, honey, that’s the nicest so far.” 

“I have a confession.” 

“Yeah?” 

“This one was for you.” 

He’d know if you were lying. “For me?” he says, in that tone bordering stern, as much of his professionalism as you’re used to hearing these days. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Don’t,” he says, seductions gone as he tips his head back into a pillow patterned with lavender and peony. “Unless you’re done trying those on, I don’t want to hear it.” 

“This is the last one.” 

“In that case.” He covers his face with a cushion. 

You look down. Your stomach is a little bloated from lunch, and you have a shaving rash on your left knee, but Aaron won’t mind. He never does. Without worry, you tread to the side of the bed and climb onto it, one leg over his lap. The last time you’d been sitting in his lap, you’d been teary-eyed and regretful. Fuck, what was I thinking? you ask yourself, slipping a hand under his rising shirt to feel his abdomen. It’ll never not be weird, the FBI man and his stripper girlfriend, but it doesn’t have to make sense to anyone but him and you. 

You ease the pillow down his face. 

“Are you blushing, Aaron?” you ask. 

“Not purposefully.” 

“You look a little… hot.” 

“That makes two of us.” 

It starts slowly. The heat of you atop him, the pillows moved out of the way. You didn’t expect him to stay unbothered as you paraded your new spoils, but his willpower is remarkable, and he only breaks when you let yourself settle on his lap. His big hand cups your face. 

“That’s funny.” You lift up enough to be in kissing range, but don’t kiss. You just wait for him to react, holding your weight off of his chest. 

He finds the small of your back and drags. Your gasp isn’t your own, a breathy, excited thing as he brings your face to his for a kiss. Your lips almost immediately part in anticipation of his eagerness, of his hand on the back of your neck, and the unflinching heat of his mouth as he turns his head. Your noses brush. He wades in deeper, his own breath already failing him as the bridges of your nose press hard. 

They aren’t rough kisses, but there’s something desperate there. He holds you to him until he can’t, ushering you onto your back, his weight bearing down sudden and steady. 

“I can’t believe I nearly lost you,” he utters, stroking your cheek, edging back in to kiss you before you can reply. 

You wrap an arm behind his back and hike your leg, soft thigh naked and waiting for his touch. You didn’t nearly lose me, you think. To be lost, you’d have to be something worth losing, and you’re not sure you are, but Aaron? 

“I don’t think you could,” you mumble, forcing him to kiss your cheek, your jaw, the line of your throat. He nips at your neck, a shudder racing through you. 

“I have no intent of letting it come that close again, sweetheart.” 

His hand dances up your side to the soft hill of your chest. 

You hold the hair from his face and let him kiss you. He’s here to stay, no matter how odd a pairing you might make. You love him. That’s all he cares about. 

“Want me to do that thing you like?” you offer softly, mildly playful. 

He laughs into your neck. “No,” he says, “I think tonight is about you, hm? You’re all dressed up. I think that deserves a reward.” 

You knew he’d like the white babydoll. 

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

[darkmatilda]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐥𝐭𝐞𝐫 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you got used to running away from the consequences of your actions, but it turned out to be incredibly difficult when the consequences are your coworker and their name is spencer reid.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x fem!baureader, canon typical violence and topics, season 1/2 reid, GLASSES REID, queen elle greenaway herself, gideon being a little creep (as usual), reader clearly ovulating lmao, mention of a trauma connected with drowning, mention of one night stands of the reader, inspired by taylor swift song "the bolter", dominant reader (mostly), spencer being awkwardly sweet

𝐚/𝐧: i should be doing my history assigment now instead of writing another freaky long fic but here i am

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 10k

Fuck, you thought the moment you realized you’d woken up in someone’s arms.

Double fuck, you added as it dawned on you that this wasn’t some random guy you met at a club, the kind who’d bought you a drink, whose name you hadn’t even tried to remember, and whose life you could easily disappear from without a second thought. Instead, you were lying in the bed of a coworker—a teammate you saw almost every single day.

Triple fuck.

Maybe even quadruple, because of how much you liked it. That is, lying next to his bare skin. In a position where one of his arms was wrapped around your body, his face buried in your hair, in the curve of your neck. His breathing steady, occasionally tickling you. Pleasant. It was pleasant.

You were up to five fucks already, and you hadn’t even left the bed yet.

There was no doubt in your mind that you were going to do it. By the time Spencer Reid opened his gorgeous, chocolate-brown eyes, you’d already be gone. Long gone, behind the wheel of your car, speeding at the maximum legal limit with the window cracked open, despite the icy gusts of winter air rushing in.

You’d been perfecting this strategy for years. First, you’d lose yourself in strangers’ sheets with moans and gasps, only to slip away in the early morning, filled with a thrill even greater than what you’d felt just a few hours before. Why? A very good question. You wished you had the answer to it.

This situation shouldn’t have been an exception, though theoretically, it already was. After all, you’d never even considered doing this with people you knew so well. People you couldn’t just ghost without consequence. People you—leaning over to check the clock on the bedside table—were supposed to see again in less than an hour!

You rubbed your sleepy face with your hand, silently cursing yourself. If only you’d been drunk the night before. People dodge the consequences of far worse actions than having a sex with a coworker simply by blaming it on alcohol. But no—when all of this started, you’d been completely sober and fully aware. Incredibly turned on, it’s worth mentioning.

Before the memories of the previous night could start ambushing you, you scrambled out of the bed. First, of course, you had to untangle yourself from the mess of limbs—carefully, so as not to wake him. You gently moved his arm aside and adjusted the blanket over his hips. Where this sudden care and tenderness came from was yet another very interesting question.

Tiptoeing around the bedroom, you gathered your clothes. Your panties and bra you shamelessly clutched in one hand, intending to shove them into your jacket pocket later. Before heading for it, though, you paused for a brief moment in front of the bed, in front of the still-sleeping Reid.

The blanket, pushed low, revealed the upper half of his lean body—his prominent collarbones and the smooth, even tone of his delicious skin. His chest rose and fell steadily, his hand resting in the spot where you’d been lying just moments ago. As if you were still there.

What a shame it was only a one-time thing.

Some people, looking at his innocent appearance, had no idea how much he had to offer. Their loss, you thought, leaving the apartment on shaky legs, feeling soreness in most of the muscles in your body.  When you finally got inside the car and the wind began to cool your flushed face and cheeks, the guilt faded away. You didn’t feel as good as usual, your heart wasn’t racing, and the adrenaline wasn’t surging through your veins the way you craved. Strange. Did it have something to do with who your one-night lover was? You shook your head, trying not to dwell on it.

You’d had a really great time together that one night, but that was it. You were officially leaving it behind, forgetting it.

Just like you always did.

It wasn’t an exception, you told yourself, as you took a quick shower in your own apartment.

It wasn’t an exception, and the fact that you worked together didn’t change a thing.

It wasn’t an exception, you kept affirming, crossing the threshold of the office with still-damp hair and the buttons of your fitted black shirt unevenly fastened.

“Are we not greeting each other anymore?” someone’s question snapped you back to reality.

Lost in thought, you realized you’d passed your friend Elle’s desk without even nodding at her. She was sitting on the edge of it, arms crossed over her chest, her dark eyes seeming to pierce through your skull, sifting through your memories. She was sharp—sometimes, too sharp. With nothing more than a sly smile, she let you know she knew something was going on.

"Sorry. I'm still half asleep," you said, approaching her for a hug. You let out a chuckle. "Or maybe I'm completely asleep if I missed such a hot chick in my path."

Elle pushed you away by a finger’s length, her eyebrows raised in a challenge.

"You think you're gonna distract me with compliments? Better start talking—who's the guy?"

“What guy?” someone asked, surprisingly not you, but Derek, who stepped into the room with a massive cup of coffee, nearly dropping it as he tried to greet both of you. You loved the laid-back atmosphere of the early mornings at work, when you had a moment to chat about whatever. “Well, good morning, ladies. From the looks on your faces, I’m guessing you had a nice weekend?”

"From that huge cup of coffee, I’m guessing you did too, if you need that much caffeine. Partying on a Sunday night, you should be ashamed," you replied sarcastically, eyeing your coworker. 

His eyebrows shot up.

"Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed," he whistled.

"She's just trying to change the subject," Elle informed him. "I was just interrogating our little bolter. 

You rolled your eyes at hearing that nickname again. They’d started using it a while ago, as soon as they found out how you handled things with guys. There was nothing judgmental about it—they just really liked to tease you.

It took Morgan a moment to piece together what was going on. When he did, laughter burst from his lips.

"Is that why your hair is still wet? You left in such a rush you didn’t even have time to dry it?"

"She was afraid the sound of the hair dryer would wake the guy up," Elle snorted. "And, heaven forbid, they’d actually have to talk to each other."

“Oh, screw you both,” you muttered, aiming to act your age—in this case, by flipping them off. Before you could, Derek caught your hand, stopping you from spinning on your heel and stomping back to your desk.

“You know,” he said, suddenly a touch more serious, as if the question genuinely intrigued him, “I can’t help but wonder why you actually do it. For me, personally, waking up next to a lovely lady who made the night worthwhile is kind of the best part...”

"Are you asking about the psychological aspects behind it?" You raised an eyebrow. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Elle tilt her head slightly, clearly intrigued. "I don’t know. Something from childhood, probably. Everything stems from there, doesn’t it? Or maybe the reason is something else," you lowered your voice to a near conspiratorial whisper, leaning in closer to their faces as if about to reveal some great secret. "I simply enjoy it. As they say, you don’t pry into people’s bedrooms or wallets."

"That rule doesn’t apply to our friendship, sweetheart."

You chuckled at the remark; sometimes, you really did share a lot with each other. In any case, your response had nothing to do with modesty or shame on those topics. You chose to answer evasively because you didn’t feel like describing how addictive that feeling of escape was, how much control it seemed to give you. How your heart would race in those moments, and how all your fucking lives seemed to flash before your eyes then. 

It was sick, many people have already told you that. Still, you couldn't stop.

"Good morning, everyone." Suddenly, JJ burst in, clutching a briefcase the size of an encyclopedia under her arm. "Hotch wants to see us all in five minutes, we have a new case. You'll find out everything in a moment, but I’ll say right away that it looks like a little trip is in store. Bring warm jackets."

"Mercy, not another case from Alaska..." Morgan started, rolling his eyes.

"Not this time. By the way, has Reid already arrived?"

Elle glanced around and shrugged.

"I don’t see him. Besides, if he were here, he’d already be telling us everything about the weather conditions in Alaska."

"Strange," Derek muttered under his breath. "I can’t remember the last time he was late."

You fixed your gaze on your shoes, as if there was something fascinating about them.

"It’s not like him," JJ agreed, a little worried. "Maybe I should call him..."

"He’s definitely stuck in traffic," you interjected quickly, forcing yourself to sound casual, though you tensed up involuntarily. The thought of confronting Spencer slightly scared you, though you wouldn't admit it to yourself. "I’m almost 100% sure. Anyway, shouldn’t we be heading out?"

You changed the subject, nodding toward the exit with your chin. And then, by accident, you made eye contact with Elle.

Elle, who knew you better than anyone.

Elle, who always, always knew when you were lying or hiding something. And whose eyes widened when she realized.

Feeling the blood rush to your ears, you subtly shook your head, silently pleading for her not to speak. But she, to your horror, opened her mouth.

"You two, go ahead," she directed at Morgan and JJ. Then she fixed her intense, demanding gaze directly on you. "We’ll join you in a minute. I need to have a word with our girl, privately."

Barely were you alone when she exclaimed:

"Did you sleep with Reid?!"

"Goddammit, Elle, could you say it any louder?" you hissed, glancing toward the door where your colleagues had just disappeared moments ago.

"Why not? So, you had sex with Dr. Spencer Reid...!"

"FOR GOD'S SAKE..."

"...our genius boy and a member of the same team?!"

"I’m fucking sure even Strauss heard that in her office," you sighed. "But yes, I did it, I regret it, and most importantly, this has to stay between us. Not a word to Derek, JJ, or Penelope, understood?"

To your surprise, Elle burst into laughter and raised her hands in a defensive gesture.

"You know I wouldn’t tell anyone without your permission. I was just playing around Anyway..." she sighed. "I find it hard to believe. You two? Honestly, there’s always been something between you…”

"No," you interrupted her sharply. The words left a ringing in your head. "There was nothing between us."

"So, you decided to sleep together just like that, out of boredom?"

"We need to go, Elle. The rest is probably waiting for us."

You moved forward, your friend trailing right behind you, like that little voice in the back of your mind urging you to order pizza at midnight.

"Oh, one more thing. You said you regret it. So, what, our genius didn’t meet your expectations..."

"End of discussion..."

"Last thing, you told me not to mention it to Garcia, Morgan, or JJ. What about Hotch? Can I tell him?"

You couldn’t keep up the seriousness any longer and burst into laughter, joined by Elle.

"Tell me what?" a voice called from behind you.

Fuck multiplied by twelve thousand seventy-nine.

Somehow, your boss appeared in the same hallway, probably heading to the same room where you were going to be briefed on your next case. You noticed how all the amusement disappeared from Elle’s face. You both exchanged a look, like teenagers caught smoking a cigarette by their parents.

You both turned, silently negotiating through eye contact—arguing, really, over who should speak up and save the situation. It fell to you.

"Um... we were wondering... if we should tell you... that we absolutely love your tie. It's so... red and... long..." It was only then that you noticed it was a gray tie. "Not that one. Another one. Absolutely stunning. And I’m actually looking for a birthday gift for a friend. He’s... a huge fan of... ties."

You tried not to look at Elle, fearing she might burst into laughter. She already seemed like she was suffocating inside. Improvisation was never your strong suit; you always had to say too much.

"So, I hope you don’t mind me asking where you bought it. That’s exactly the kind of tie I’m looking for. Red..." You bit your tongue before you could say long again. "Good quality. One that you’d just want to untie..."

Hotch’s completely stoic expression didn’t help.

"Oh." Suddenly, you realized you hadn’t even greeted him. "Good morning, boss. Are you having a good day?"

"Average," he replied, completely ignoring your whole tie spiel.

Silence fell. Elle stared at the floor, and the corners of her mouth twitched dangerously.

"Let’s get to work," Hotch suggested, clearing his throat. He extended his hand, gesturing for you to go ahead. As soon as you turned, you squeezed your eyes shut in embarrassment. "I got it from Hailey," he spoke to you in a quieter tone, opening the door to the room where the rest of the team was already gathered. "But if you really care, I can ask her where she bought it."

Sometimes you had a hard time figuring out if the guy was serious or just messing with you.

"I’d be greatly appreciative," you managed to say, quickly passing him and taking a seat at the long table.

You heard Elle whispering to Morgan something that started with "You won’t believe this…” and contained a combination of the words red, long, and untie.

Actually, saying that all the team members were inside wasn’t entirely true. One of them was missing.

"Reid’s late?" Penelope wondered, just as your gaze fell on his empty seat.

"Let’s start without him," Hotch decided. "This can’t wait. JJ?"

She handed out the case files to everyone and moved to the screen, where the most important details and photos related to the case were being displayed.  Before he could even say a word, a late Spencer burst into the room.

"Sorry, really, sorry..." he said frantically. "I know this never happens, but I overslept..."

He stopped mid-sentence as soon as his eyes met yours. It felt like he might as well have shouted, Hey, you know we had sex last night? and it would have been less suggestive. Or maybe it was just your inner paranoid voice talking.

"You could’ve informed us you’d be late," Hotch said.

Reid was still desperately trying to catch your eye, even though you were determinedly focusing on everything except him. It wasn’t until a moment later that he realized Hotch had said something to him, and he sighed in surprise, snapping back to reality.

"Oh... yeah, I should have. Definitely. Actually... I actually sent a message to y/n."

At that moment, all eyes turned to you. You furrowed your brow. There was no way he had written or called you — you would have heard it… which, of course, didn’t mean you would have replied. Your hand went to your pocket…

"I forgot my phone."

Only then did you look at Reid, your expression should have given him the message you intended. I left my phone at your place...

“I’ll look for it for you,” he offered. He immediately panicked, probably realizing that you'd rather keep your night together a secret. “I mean, I’ll help you look for it. If you want…”

“Reid, please, sit down,” Hotch stopped him from completely humiliating both of you. At that point, you had a burning desire to bang your head on the table. “And close the door.”

“Right…”

He followed the order and took a seat next to JJ, across from you, sending a small, uncertain smile. You didn’t react, your face remained unreadable, even irritated by how much he was giving away about what had happened between you.

Still, seeing his slightly wrinkled shirt, the same one he wore the previous evening when he opened the door for you, you couldn’t help but let your mind wander. Those small imperfections in the fabric were, of course, from how hastily you had removed it and tossed it to the floor, where it had stayed all night…

The first time you had met outside of work, as two ordinary friends and not colleagues, was a few weeks ago. You had to drop by his place in the evening to pick up some documents you needed for the next day at work.

“Thank god,” you sighed as the door opened. “Elle isn’t picking up at all. I have no idea what she’s doing or where she is, and I seriously need this. If I don’t bring it, I can pretty much say goodbye to BAU.”

Only then did you lift your gaze to the man standing in front of you, too absorbed in your panic over the missing papers to actually take a good look at him. One hand rested on the doorframe, dressed in a sweater vest with the collar of a shirt peeking out beneath it.

“I’m glad I could help,” he replied. Thin-framed glasses rested on his nose, which he only wore occasionally for work. It was a shame because they suited him well. “But I’m sure Hotch wouldn’t throw you out just for being one day late.”

“I’ve been putting it off for three weeks.”

“That definitely changes things. Are you coming in? I need to... check if I have everything. “I’m really sorry, but you actually called just a moment ago and I didn’t manage to…”

“Don’t worry about it,” you waved a hand reassuringly. “I should’ve reached out earlier and not bothered you at this hour. But since you’re inviting me, I’m coming in. I’ve never been to your place before.”

“You’re not bothering me at all,” he assured you as you both walked further into the apartment. The lighting was dim, creating a cozy and relaxed atmosphere.

You stopped in the living room when a familiar sound reached your ears—a melody you knew all too well. Without a second thought, you followed it to its source.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you huffed in surprise, coming to a halt in front of the glowing TV screen, its bright light cutting through the dim surroundings.

“What?” Spencer finally noticed you had wandered off and joined you a minute later. “Oh, sorry. I was watching it earlier and forgot to turn it off…”

“No!” You stopped him before he could reach for the remote. “Don’t you dare. History’s Mysteries is my favorite show.”

Spencer looked at you as though he expected you to burst into laughter any second and admit you were joking. But no, you genuinely, wholeheartedly loved that program. Especially the episodes about extraterrestrial life—deep down, you’d always been a bit of a nerd.

You crossed your arms over your chest, pretending to be annoyed.

“What?” you challenged, raising an eyebrow. “You think just because I’m hot, I can’t have any intellectual interests?”

He widened his eyes, shaking his head.

"Don't put those words in my mouth. I’d never say—or even think—something like that."

"That I’m hot?"

"No! What? I mean… I wouldn’t assume you couldn’t have intellectual interests just because you’re…"

"Hot," you finished for him, letting out a laugh. "Relax, Reid, I’m just messing with you. By the way, you have a really nice apartment. Honestly, I kind of expected, I don’t know, a lab or something."

"Well, so far, you’ve only seen the living room," he replied.

"And I'd love to see the rest of it," you announced, rocking slightly on your heels. "But I haven't seen this episode yet, and I'm very curious about what it's about."

You noticed him hesitate, clearly unsure how to respond.

"Unless, of course, you don’t want me to stay. Maybe you're expecting someone. A girl or a guy?"

"No, no, I’m not expecting anyone," he replied quickly, swallowing nervously. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth—barely noticeable, but it was there. "You’re absolutely not bothering me. Actually, it’ll be... it’ll be nice to have you stay. But, um... the documents. I should—I'll go get those ready for you. Would you like something to drink?"

 "...Four bodies were retrieved from a hole in the ice of a completely frozen lake. All the victims were young girls, aged thirteen to nineteen and each of them was involved in prostitution."

You were brought back to reality by JJ's words. You felt someone's gaze on you, surprisingly not from the direction you had expected. It was Gideon, and you were sure he had noticed the strange tension between you and Spencer. That was likely the reason behind his scrutiny. You had always thought he was a solid guy, but at times, he scared you. He looked at people as if he could see their original sin, not just theirs, but also that of five generations back in their family.

You shuddered, but for another reason. The subject... frozen lake, bodies pulled out... even though so many years had passed, and you could barely remember the event, the chill still crept down your spine, and your heart raced like you were running away.

"Wait a minute," Derek said, furrowing his brow thoughtfully. "How thick could the ice be on that lake?"

"Given the current almost extreme temperatures, probably around 50 inches. That's thick enough for even cars to move safely on it," Reid explained without hesitation.

You sighed, trying to hide a fleeting smile. You just... sounded like a fetishist, but you couldn't deny that it was a little exciting when he did that. He delivered long, flawless explanations, all while looking genuinely fascinated by the topic. It didn't matter what you were talking about.

Elle raised an eyebrow. You decided to ignore her.

 “Doesn’t it make you wonder how he managed to cut a hole in the lake, in such thick ice, without anyone noticing?” Morgan continued.

 “Actually, he didn’t have to do it personally,” Reid replied again. He took off his glasses and thoughtfully turned them in his hands. “Under different weather conditions, we might consider that, but these were most likely holes made for other purposes. Fishing, mostly, but also to test if the ice can support vehicles, for example. The unsub could have simply shown up, discarded the body, and that’s it.”

You all started the discussion on the topic without your input. You should have stayed focused, but you couldn't help but keep glancing back at his long fingers, holding the glasses...his touch so delicate and skilled…

The door opened once again, just like every Sunday, when the two of you caught up on the weekly episode of the show. After you stayed over at his place once to watch it together, it simply became a tradition. An unspoken one.

With each meeting, you talked less and less about work. It was still kept in a purely friendly atmosphere—otherwise, you wouldn't have shown up. You weren't looking for a committed relationship, but lately, the usual physicality wasn't enough, and you needed a new conversation partner on a deeper level. The range of your topics was vast, from casual chatter to deep analyses of the content you watched (you could talk for hours about conspiracy theories), or serious yet comforting conversations about life and the world.

"Where's my pillow?" you asked, pointing to the spot on the left side of the couch where you always sat.

"I spilled coffee on it, by accident. It's in the laundry. Sorry."

"Did you really just apologize for taking your pillow from your own apartment?"

"Sorry, It’s just my thing”

You both burst out laughing, sitting side by side on the couch.

"I miss something to rest my head on," you complained after just a minute. "I’ve got neck pain from sleeping on the jet."

"So, you should definitely sleep on a flat surface," he teased. "See, I took the pillow out of concern for you."

"Ladies and gentlemen, Spencer Reid before you. The man who will always find a scientific reason to make your life harder. Maybe I should just sleep on a bed of nails instead of a mattress, huh?"

“I just suggested a slightly flatter surface! Where did the nails come from?”

“That’s the same to me. I need softness.”

Spencer shook his head.

“I can bring you a pillow from my bedroom.”

“The episode is starting.”

“I’ll be back in a second…”

“Oh, and then you’ll complain you can’t talk about the plot because you missed the first minute, and so much probably happened,” you stopped him from getting up, grabbing his wrist. “Sit. I’ll survive the neck pain. Or… or I’ll just lie down here.”

Saying this, you simply rested your head on his lap, settling comfortably on your side.

 “What did the autopsy reveal?” Elle asked. “Did the victims die from drowning, or were their bodies just dumped in the water with a different cause of death?”

You should have focused on the case at hand, but you couldn’t shake the discomfort this topic caused you. No wonder your thoughts kept straying to more pleasant places as you tried to distance yourself from it. Still, you read through the case files, knowing you had to stay focused to solve this. Lives depended on it.

“They were all alive when they were thrown into the water,” JJ said with tightly pressed lips. “And each of them suffered a heavy blow to the head.”

“That’s how he abducts them,” Derek summarized. “Knocks them unconscious with a strong hit. Maybe he pretends to be a client, and once they leave with him, he strikes.”

“The question is, why specifically the lake’s ice hole?” you mused, tapping your nails on the table in an anxious gesture. “Is it purely practical? Did he think it was the easiest place to dispose of the bodies?”

You couldn’t take your eyes off the photos of the drowning victims—it felt like self-inflicted torture. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Reid staring at you differently than before. Once, you’d told him a story about something that happened to you as a child, more like a casual anecdote than a heartfelt confession. Even so, you thought you saw some worry etched on his face.

For the first time since he walked through the door, you met his eyes directly, responding to his desperate attempts to catch your gaze. Surprised that you finally looked at him, he froze, his slightly parted lips emitting a short sound as if he wanted to say something but forgot what it was at the last second.

"No... I don't think so," he finally said, drawing out the syllables absentmindedly. The slight furrow in his brow suggested he was deep in thought. "Bathing in water symbolizes cleansing from sin in many religions, both physically and spiritually. For example, in Christianity, baptism washes away original sin. Prostitutes are often the targets of serial killers who believe they’re purging society in some way. Since we’ve ruled out a sexual motive, maybe this is where we should focus our attention."

"That’s a good lead," Hotch agreed, as the rest of the team considered the analysis in silence. "In that case, we’re likely dealing with a religious fanatic. Such perpetrators often believe they’re acting in the name of God or some higher good. Worse still, they see their actions as morally justified, which means they feel no remorse."

"And that, in turn, means they won’t stop killing until they’re caught," Gideon concluded.

"Then there will soon be another victim. We need to move now," your boss decided, quickly straightening his papers against the table before tucking them into his briefcase. "See you on the jet in fifteen minutes."

Throughout the meeting, you'd laid out the victims' photos in front of you, studying them closely. Preoccupied with gathering them up, you could hear everyone heading toward the door, convinced you'd been left alone in the room.

But when you looked up, you found yourself face-to-face with none other than Reid. Your breath hitched for a moment. You knew this confrontation was inevitable, but you'd worked so hard to push the thought of it away…

"Hey," he greeted with a small smile on his lips. He seemed almost excited about the conversation. "I just wanted…to ask how you're doing."

You shrugged, forcing indifference.

"Fine, I guess."

You finished sliding the photos back into the case file, closed it, and pressed it to your chest.

"We should get going. Hotch gave us fifteen minutes, but the sooner we leave, the better..."

"You don't even want to talk to me?" he asked unexpectedly, shaking his head slightly in genuine disbelief. He swallowed hard and added, "About last night?"

You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment. You hated this—hated it with every fiber of your being. That awful moment when you had to tell someone you'd spent the night with that it didn’t mean anything to you, that you didn’t want to keep seeing them, let alone get involved. And it was so much worse this time. This wasn’t some random guy. This was Spencer—your friend, someone you genuinely cared about, whose friendship you couldn’t afford to lose, especially since you worked together.

Your body was conditioned to run, to escape. Waking up in someone else’s bed always signaled an immediate sprint to the finish line. But this time, it felt like you’d tripped over an untied shoelace barely a meter in.

"There’s nothing to talk about," you replied. The strange tension of being in the same room with him again, just the two of you in this small space—so much like last night—settled over you. "Actually, wait. There is. I think I left my phone at your place, though it might’ve fallen somewhere in the car. Could you look for it when we get back?"

He didn’t respond. You weren’t sure why, but you kept your gaze fixed anywhere but on him—his shirt, the space behind him, anything to avoid his eyes. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe you should look directly at him, let your words carry the weight they were supposed to.

Spencer suddenly let out a short, sharp laugh, filled with shock and maybe even… sarcasm?

"Did it really mean so little to you that you can't even look at me?"

You gave in and lifted your gaze. His head tilted slightly to the side, his brow furrowed. He looked somehow hurt even though hurt seemed too strong a word.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean how you disappeared this morning. I thought maybe you were in a rush or didn’t want to wake me, but when I got there, you barely even looked at me. Sorry—actually, you looked at me only once”

"What did you expect, that I’d throw myself at you and kiss you?"

"No, I expected that we’d talk about it like normal people."

"But there’s nothing to talk about. It happened, and that’s it. I don’t see any reason we should have to debate about it..."

Spencer wasn’t angry, like others might have been. He was simply stunned.

"I don’t understand this," he finally confessed, adjusting his glasses on his nose. It was as if they suddenly became a bother, so he adjusted them again, then, after a moment of hesitation, took them off. "Do you regret what happened?"

“No,” you answered quickly, it was the first honest thought that came to your mind. You pinched the bridge of your nose, unable to find the right words. “Well… I don’t regret it in the way you might think. It’s just… I’m not sure what you expect from me now. We spent one night together, it was amazing, but I don’t have anything more to offer you.”

“I don’t want you to offer me anything,” he said, irritation beginning to creep into his voice, though it didn’t seem to be directed at you. “The only thing I want is… to understand where we stand now. Look, we’ve been spending a lot of time together lately, I thought you liked me…”

“Because I do like you,” you interrupted him mid-sentence. "Let me be honest with you, Reid. I don’t do relationships. And just so you know, I don’t usually sleep with my friends either, but it happened, and I can’t undo it, nor would I want to. Because I enjoyed it, I like you, and I have a great time when I’m with you. And up until now, I’ve really enjoyed how things have been between us. I don’t want anything to change."

You summed up what had been weighing on your heart, hoping with all sincerity that he’d understand. Spencer leaned his hands on the back of an empty chair, turning his body slightly toward you.

"So," he said, letting out something between a chuckle and a pained sigh. "Maybe you shouldn’t have gone to bed with me."

"Listen, sex doesn’t mean anything. It’s just a physical act, it doesn’t affect our friendship in any way."

 "Do you really believe that?"

“Yes, I do,” you insisted stubbornly, refusing to let yourself even blink. Spencer turned his face toward you, looking for signs of a lie or uncertainty in your expression.

He wouldn’t have been able to find any, even if he tried with all his might. Because you were a brilliant actress. And it wasn’t that you hid your feelings so well. It was more that everything about you was so contradictory that it created a whole range of possible interpretations. And Spencer, with his deeply rooted need to hurt himself and test his own worth, chose to settle on the one that would guarantee him that.

“Well, good for you,” he finally replied, before leaving the room completely, not even turning back over his shoulder.

For a moment, you stood in silence, unable to identify what you were actually feeling. In truth, your earlier words had been honest. You cared about your friendship, the connection, the conversations, and the time spent together. But at the same time, you couldn’t deny that he simply attracted you. Just yesterday, you had convinced yourself it was probably just curiosity. Sometimes people wonder what it would be like to try something with a friend, they do it, and then all those similar thoughts fade away.

But was it the same for you two?

Your head and shoulders had been resting on his lap for a while, your cheek comfortably pressed against his thigh, and the glow of the TV occasionally lit up your focused face when something brighter appeared on the screen.

Spender seemed tense about the position for just a minute, then, for the next five, he was simply surprised. Although you focused your attention on the program, you could feel his gaze falling on your figure from time to time, stopping on it for a moment. After ten minutes, you were both lying comfortably, with mutual ease, and after an unknown amount of time, one of his hands was resting on your side.

Every now and then, you spoke to each other, exchanging short, often sarcastic comments about the episode. During one of these interactions, something caught your attention.

"Where are your glasses?" you asked. You turned onto your back, resting the back of your head on his lap instead of your temple and cheek.

You could look up at him from that amusing, lower perspective, from which everyone looks particularly unflattering. You smiled at his expression when he tilted his head to look at you.

"Oh, I have them here," he replied, lifting the glasses he must have set on the couch.

"But why aren’t you wearing them?" You could swear that when you started watching, they were on his nose. You had noticed because you really liked how he looked in them.

He shrugged.

"You’re straining your eyes. Put them on," you asked.

Spencer moved his hand as if he wanted to reach for them, but at the last moment, he hesitated.

"I... I don’t exactly like how I look in them," he finally confessed.

After those words, you stared at the ceiling for a moment, then pushed yourself up on your elbow, almost aggressively. His eyebrows shot up at that.

"You must be joking."

"What?"

"I said, you must be joking. You look great in them. They really suit you," you assured him, sitting up. "You know, when I was a teenager, I always wanted to wear glasses. I even envied the girls with poor eyesight."

"You know, I’m fully aware you’re saying this just to get me to wear them?"

"True, you got me. Did it work?"

"Not really."

You bit your lower lip, thoughtfully considering a certain idea.

"Okay, give them to me for a moment," you asked, extending your hand. "I’ll tell you something that will convince you to wear them. From now on, you’ll even sleep in them. Well, maybe especially sleep in them."

He tilted his head, trying for a moment to read your intentions from your face, but he couldn’t. He sighed and handed you the glasses.

"Don’t..."

"Don’t grab them by the lenses, I know that," you finished, rolling your eyes. "I’m not some animal."

With his glasses in hand, you changed your position on the couch, kneeling so that you were more or less facing each other.

"I’m waiting for your arguments," he said, his voice sly, to which you raised an eyebrow.

"Well, this will be an argument combined with a little presentation," you clarified. "Have you ever heard of the glasses theory?"

"Is that an actual concept in human psychology, or something you just made up? If it’s the latter, I’m afraid I haven’t”

Listen, it’s very simple, but you’d better focus on me," you demanded, ignoring his previous remark.

"I’m focused."

Indeed, he was. His gaze was fixed on you with such intensity and engagement, as if you were about to deliver a speech that could change the fate of the universe. Or maybe it just seemed that way because you were so close to each other.

"Forgive me for the unacademic language, Doctor, but I don’t like to complicate things too much. This theory says that with glasses, you can only look one of two ways: smart or hot."

Spencer had already chuckled, ready to jump in with a sarcastic comment, but you pressed your finger to his lips, moving even closer.

"Don’t interrupt me for now, I’m not done yet. This theory also says that your look in glasses will always be the opposite of your usual, everyday look. So, if without them you look like the typical intellectual who knows the meaning of every word in the dictionary, then in them…" You paused, tilting your head to the side. Up until now, your finger had been resting on his lips, which it had landed on by chance, but you couldn’t stop yourself from trailing it along his chin and jawline. He didn’t take his eyes off you, which only made it harder to stop. "In them, you look really, really attractive. Like, you know, sexually attractive”

You felt his chest rise. You felt it because one of your hands was resting on it as you sat on his lap, though you had no idea how you had ended up there. Spencer had been entirely focused on your face until now-on your speaking lips, not on how your bodies were positioned in relation to each other. He exhaled, loudly, far too loudly for comfort, the breath he'd been holding in. The sound escaped as you settled your full weight on his lap instead of just hovering above it.

“Do you really mean that?”

Yes, you wanted to respond briefly, right into his ear.

“That’s the theory. And I… I agree with it. I even have another example. You won’t deny that I’m hot, right? It’s just something people think when they see me. A statement of fact. So… when I put on glasses…” Saying this, you slid his glasses onto your own nose. Your entire field of vision blurred slightly, making it hard to see his reaction. You could only feel how his body responded..“Well? How do I look?”

He didn’t answer. His breathing grew deeper, his pulse quicker. You knew this because your hand, which had been exploring every corner of his face, had already made its way to his neck and decided to stay there for a while.

“Spencer,” you prompted, “I asked how I look.”

He lowered his head, the top of it brushing against your sternum, lingering there for a moment. When he straightened again, his eyes were in constant flux, like those of someone torn by too many desires at once.

“Smart,” he replied, his voice barely audible, the word catching in his throat. “Now you look really smart.”

You shifted higher on his lap, drawn to him by the pull of his voice.

“Smart,” you repeated with a laugh, your tone edging toward a whisper, slipping between the two of you and filling the small space like liquid poured into a vessel. “That confirms the theo—…”

You broke off when his lips finally surged toward yours, impatient and pushed to the very edge of restraint. His jaw pressed against yours, forcing your entire body to tilt back. You swayed on his lap, both of his hands falling tou your hips, his fingertips pressing firlmy into your skin to hold your body at the same place, right next to him, close, closer. 

The kiss, born of desperation, quickly transformed into the release of a long-hidden hunger shared by you both. It was equal on every level, matched in intensity and force.

In the midst of it all, you lost your breath, repeatedly pulling your lips away from his to gasp for air, only to reconnect moments later. One of those brief pauses drew a wretched, urging whimper from him.

It was around then that you felt the pressure, growing stronger against your core.

An involuntary smile spread across your lips, breaking the kiss, during which you briefly took control, tilting his neck back for better access. Pulling away by barely an inch, you managed to notice that his barely open eyelids were still fixed on your lips, glistening with saliva and flushed with desire.

“Spencer? What is it? “

After asking that question you pressed yourself to his hips, pointing to the obvious hardness. His eyes widened, as if all the previous actions had taken place far beyond his body, to which he had only just returned. He inhaled sharply, his fingers gripping your body firmly and decisively as if trying to slide you off his lap. Something in the intensity of his touch and his attempt to take control only made you cling to him more.

“Didn’t expect you to be that hard after a kiss, but maybe it’s my fault” You muttered a joke under your breath, your lips briefly marking the space along his jawline, chin, and finally his lips. In the meantime, while one of your hands remained firmly on his neck, the other decisively reached its target. Then, griped it through the fabric of his pants. His lips parted, b loout no sound came out; it seemed to have been swallowed by his surprise. “Do you want me to take care of it?”

Your hand remained still, waiting for an answer. At first, he was silent, focused on his own breathing, not looking at your face, which you found quite unsettling.

"Spencer, I want you to answer me."

When he hesitated again, you gently brushed your lips against the lobe of his ear. But before you could repeat your request, he unexpectedly pulled both of you to the side, positioning you beneath him.

You gasped, surprised by the shift in dynamics.

“I want this” he whimpered into your ear, covering it with his mouth along with the space around it. “I really, really want this, please…”

But was it the same for you two? 

You repeated the question in your mind and recalled how, arched like a bow, you placed the glasses on his face, wanting to see him wear them as he made you come. 

You stood there in the empty room, replaying that moment in your head, well aware that you should join the rest of the team, but not so sure about the answer 

*

"Please don’t tell me that those fifteen minutes when you were alone..."

"Disgusting, Elle, you’re just disgusting."

Your friend, sitting across from you on the jet, smiled as if you’d just given her a compliment. The rest of the team either engaged in conversation with each other or reviewed the case files once more, looking for new clues. Reid belonged to the latter group, though his absent expression didn’t suggest he was deep in thought about the case. But you made an effort not to look at him, feeling a bit guilty for how things had unfolded.

"What exactly did you tell him?"

"That I don’t date and I’m not looking for anything serious."

"You just told him that?"

"What was I supposed to do, draw him a picture?"

"It’s not about that, it’s just..." Elle hesitated, unsure of what she wanted to say. She didn’t seem as cheerful as before. "I guess you didn’t say it that directly, right? Don’t get me wrong, but it’s kind of... cruel."

Her gaze briefly shifted toward the subject of your conversation, looking concerned.

"Would you have come to that conclusion if it were any other guy you didn’t know?"

She sighed.

"Probably not, and that’s why I think I’m having some sort of moral crisis."

You fell into a bit of an unpleasant mood for the rest of the flight. Unsure of what else to do, you decided to think a bit about the case and the murders. You even came to a conclusion and were about to stand up to discuss it when it hit you that you wanted your conversation partner to be...Reid. You sighed and stopped halfway, not knowing if he was ready to talk to you again.

Soon enough, you arrived in the small town where the murders had taken place. Naturally, you headed straight to the site where the bodies were discovered. Bundled up in thick down jackets, the crunch of deep snow underfoot accompanied your every step. You busied yourself talking to the local police, deliberately keeping your distance from the lake. The vast expanse of frozen water seemed to glare at you, challenging and mocking, as though daring you to come and play. Every glance at the ice awakened an inexplicable urge to sprint to its center, to feel the chills coursing through your body and surrender to a reckless exhilaration.

Rain drummed against the bridge like a barrage of tiny bullets, sharp and unrelenting, as if determined to pierce straight through you. You stood huddled beneath an umbrella with Reid, but both of you were already soaked to the bone, shivering from the relentless cold.

“Where the hell are they?” you asked through chattering teeth.

As part of your investigation, you and Reid had been sent to a nearby high school to interview the teachers of a missing teenager. The rest of the team had been assigned different tasks, and someone was supposed to pick you up at the agreed-upon spot and time so you could regroup and share your findings. But the wait was dragging on far longer than expected.

“I’d just like to remind you that you laughed at me when I took this umbrella, saying there wasn’t a single cloud in the sky and it definitely wouldn’t rain,” Spencer remarked, switching the umbrella from his red, cold hand to the other one he had been keeping warm in his coat pocket.

You looked at him with envy. Your jacket didn’t even have pockets, and you started wondering why you’d even bought it in the first place.

“This is not the time to point fingers at me,” you retorted. “This is the time to make sure I don’t die of hypothermia. Come closer. And don’t stand so close to the railing.”

“We’re nearly two meters away from it,” he pointed out, but still followed your request and stepped forward. You took the opportunity to shove your hands into his coat pockets for even a momentary bit of warmth. His coat smelled like rain, and your nose accidentally brushed against it. Your hands touched his in one of the pockets.

“Jesus, it’s like touching an ice cube,” he muttered.

“You still have feeling in your hands?”

“Still do, but I’m afraid it’s only a matter of time,” he replied.

“They’ll freeze and have to be amputated. We’ll be the only two handless FBI agents. Hotch will never send us on an assignment together again,” you joked.

He chuckled softly and shifted the umbrella to his other hand once again. For a moment, you both stood in silence—him staring at the river flowing beneath the bridge, and you gazing toward the direction where you hoped your rescue would arrive.

“Can I ask you a question?” he broke the silence, looking down at you.

You were standing so close, your hands buried in his coat pockets, that you had to tilt your head back significantly to meet his gaze.

“Sure, go ahead.”

“Are you afraid of water?”

You stared at his face, taken aback by the question. His wet hair was plastered to his forehead, and for some inexplicable reason, you felt a sudden urge to push it back.

“Why do you ask?”

He shrugged.

“It’s just something I noticed today—though, of course, there’s a possibility I’m wrong. But we’ve been standing on this bridge for twenty minutes, and you haven’t looked down once. And you keep telling me to step away from the railing.”

“I’m just looking out for your safety, klutz,” you teased, lowering your gaze. He wasn’t wrong about the water, and it surprised you that he had even picked up on it.

“When I was six, I almost drowned in frigid water,” you admitted, the words spilling out before you could stop them.

Spencer’s brows furrowed with concern.

“At least, that’s what I’ve been told,” you added before he could say anything. “Apparently, my dad took me and my sisters to a lake to go ice skating. He used to go there as a kid with his siblings, and the ice was always thick enough that no one even considered it might break. But that was twenty years earlier. He didn’t account for climate change. The ice cracked right beneath me.”

“God,” he sighed. “You know… maybe it’s for the better that you don’t remember it. At least not exactly.”

 “Maybe. Apparently, I spent the next two weeks in the hospital with pneumonia, but I don’t have a single memory of that. Still, it doesn’t change the fact that I shudder at the mere sound of water.”

 “Your body must remember what your mind suppressed. But wait, didn’t you have to pass a swimming test to get into the FBI?”

 “I did. But it was in a pool, where the water was calm and not trying to kill me. Hey, do you see that car? Isn’t that for us?”

After a few hours, you began to appreciate living in a state where winters were mild. Your hands were even colder than they had been that time on the bridge, despite wearing leather gloves. The hood over your head muffled the sounds around you so much that the first time Hotch called your name, you didn’t even hear him. You only approached him when you noticed him waving in your direction.

Something in his expression made you quicken your pace.

“We have the unsub’s identity,” he said before you could open your mouth to ask what had happened.

The rest of the team had already gathered. Reid’s cheeks were red from the cold, and he wasn’t wearing his glasses. He wasn’t looking at you, so you avoided looking at him.

“What?” you blurted, surprised. “How?”

“He abducted another victim, but this time he wasn’t as careful, and one of the cameras caught him. Using the footage, Penelope tracked down his information. She also found out that he came from a very poor family, and his sister turned to prostitution at the age of fourteen to support both of them.”

“I don’t understand. Then why does he kill young girls, just like his sister, who sacrificed herself for their survival?” Elle asked, suddenly appearing behind you.

Her question echoed in your mind.

“He thinks that by drowning them in freezing water, he cleanses them of the sin of prostitution—a sin he believes was unjustly forced upon them because of poverty,” you said suddenly, the chill biting into your body far more sharply than before.

“The unsub might even think he’s doing them a favor,” Reid added, animated, picking up your line of thought. “That he’s their savior, granting them a departure free of that sin.”

His eyes met yours, a flicker of admiration glinting in them. But then, as if reminded of everything, he quickly looked away. You felt like sighing. So this is how every single one of your interactions was going to look from now on?

“We need to catch him before he drowns another victim. We don’t have much time; it’s getting dark,” Hotch issued commands quickly. “Gideon, me, JJ, and Elle will head to one lake, Morgan, Y/N, and…”

“I should go with you,” Reid interrupted. “Elle can go with Morgan, and…”

“This is not up for discussion,” Hotch replied in a firm tone, a flicker of surprise crossing not just his face but everyone’s. When it came to time, his decisions were final. You all knew that. "Go," He commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument.

Before you knew it, you were in the speeding car. The tension and sense of mission always left you silent, focused, and most of all, determined.

“He’s here. Do you see him? He’s dragging her toward the hole in the ice!”

Throughout all of it, not once did it cross your mind—the obvious fact that you’d have to set foot on the frozen lake. Before you even had a chance to react or fully realize it, Reid unexpectedly grabbed your sleeve, pulling you toward him. He seemed surprised by his own action, his eyes darting with adrenaline across your face.

“The ice won’t break, do you understand?” he said, not letting go of your arm. “It’s thick enough that cars can drive on it. “It’s safe, trust me. And if you feel like you can’t do it, just stay behind,” 

His voice was surprisingly steady, offering a sense of comfort that you hadn’t expected. You listened, almost stunned, not just by the care in his advice, but also by the fact that he was even speaking to you at all.

You didn’t have time to respond or even nod; the car came to a stop, and every second counted. Somewhere deep inside, though, you felt a surge of gratitude for his gesture and words. Because as soon as you set foot on the ice, it was as though your senses vanished. All that mattered was the water—cold, sinister, and waiting for you deep beneath the blue surface.

Morgan and Reid moved ahead of you, with the latter turning his head over his shoulder. You saw it, even as the darkness quickly closed in around you.

“If you feel like you can’t do it, just stay behind,” echoed in your mind.

But you couldn’t just stand there and watch while the victim’s life was hanging by a thread. Focusing entirely on his words and voice, you moved forward, gripping your weapon tightly, yet with a steady hand.

And it was your shot, fired in a moment of desperate resolve, that brought the unsub down, giving Morgan the chance to catch the unconscious victim in his arms and rush her to the shore as quickly as possible.

You stood there, breathless, still holding the gun high, completely unaware of it until someone gently touched your hands, guiding them downward.

“It’s me,” Reid said quietly as you flinched. Only then did it start to sink in that you were standing on the ice. Your imagination began to feed you the feeling of the bone-chilling cold, the water pressing against your body with all its might. After all these years, still so vivid. You grabbed onto his arms tightly, your legs suddenly slipping beneath you. Why hadn’t they slipped before?

“Hey, careful. The ice is thick, remember? It won’t break,” he reassured you.

He held you tightly, offering you support as you both made your way to the shore, taking small, uncertain steps. You could barely breathe, let alone speak. Yet, a question loomed in your mind, one you were desperate to ask: why was he even still with you? Why hadn’t he just left you there, maybe for some internal satisfaction? 

Finally, you were on solid ground, no longer gripped by panic. Still, your breath was rapid, every cell in your body shaking in spasms, but not in that teasing, playful way it had when you played the role of the bolter. 

“Why did you do it?” you asked, still holding onto him like a lifeline. “I thought you were mad at me.”

Before answering, Reid studied you in silence for a moment.

“I could be furious with you, but I wouldn’t leave you there, alone and scared,” he said.

You opened your mouth, a warmth spreading across your chest, something that felt almost like a comforting embrace. But before you could say anything, the rest of the team reached you, with Elle hanging onto your shoulder, her voice full of concern as she asked how you were feeling.

In the darkness and the flood of emotions, his face blurred, along with the faces of the others. You closed your eyes for a moment, surrendering completely.

It was only then that you began to calm down, though it would take many hours before your hands stopped shaking.

*

You nervously paced around the office, two pairs of eyes watching you with clear amusement.

"Do you think he called me in because of that whole tie incident?" you asked, nervously biting one of your nails. "Shit, it’s definitely about that. It was so inappropriate, he’s probably going to fire me."

"Calm down," Derek said to you, the corner of his mouth constantly rising and falling. "First of all, if Hotch were going to fire you for every dumb thing that comes out of your mouth, you'd be gone after a week. Second of all, it probably has nothing to do with that. Knowing you, it’s probably some overdue paperwork..."

"You’re not helping," you said, raising a warning finger.

Elle’s laugh mixed with her yawn.

"God, I’m exhausted from this day. I’m out of here. Call me later and let me know what this was all about," she kissed your cheek as a farewell.

You briefly hugged her with one arm.

"Keep your fingers crossed," you asked them as they walked away.

Both of them raised their hands, making the gesture.

It was evening, and you had just returned to the office after closing the case. You had hoped to head home and sleep off all the emotions from the day, but then you found out that Hotch had called for you. And you had no idea why.

Before opening the door with his name on it, you crossed yourself in your mind.

"Listen, Hotch, about that tie, it was really just some messing around," you blurted out, before even fully stepping inside.

The man sitting at his desk raised an eyebrow. He wasn’t alone—across from him, in a chair, looking like a student called to the principal’s office for punishment, sat Spencer, looking just as confused as you felt.

"Did you want to see me now? Or did I mix up the time or the days...?"

"I wanted to see both of you," he replied, pointing to one of the two chairs next to Reid.

You exchanged a brief glance with your colleague. Since your last interaction on the frozen lake, neither of you had spoken a word, but the atmosphere wasn’t as tense as before. That didn’t, of course, mean that everything between you was back to normal.

"Listen, I’m just as exhausted as you, but I need to have this conversation with you now so we can resolve it as quickly as possible."

You shook your head in confusion.

"Resolve what?" Reid asked.

"Whatever happened between you two," Hotch started seriously, his gaze moving between your faces. "Any argument, I don’t care what it was about or how serious it is, it cannot affect your work or professional relationship in any way."

You couldn’t help it and let out a laugh. You imagined Elle’s expression on the other end of the phone when you’d tell her the real reason behind this summons…

 "Hotch, there was no argument," you assured him, maybe not entirely honestly, but in an attempt to wrap up this somewhat, let's be honest, embarrassing conversation as quickly as possible.

 Spencer nodded enthusiastically.

 "Absolutely none. Never."

 "I'm not blind or, as you’re both well aware, stupid," Hotch continued, his gaze shifting between you both. "I can see what's going on, and I’m telling you now—I don’t want any conflict in my team."

You let out a snort.

 "So what are you going to do?" you asked challengingly. "Force us to shake hands and make up? If we do that now, can we finally go home?"

 He met your gaze, his expression as stoic as ever, but you were certain—absolutely certain—that deep down, he was amused by it all. To your surprise, he suddenly stood up from his desk.

 "No, I'm going to do something more effective," he declared. "I'm leaving you two alone for ten minutes. No one leaves this office. When I come back, everything needs to be settled. Understood?"

"Isn’t this some sort of elementary school method of discipline?" Spencer asked, raising his eyebrows, but out of the corner of your eye, you saw that beneath his amused expression, there was also a hint of concern.

"Exactly how it sounds," you agreed, briefly meeting his gaze before shifting it to your boss with a pleading look. "You're not our father, Hotch. We're adults, stop treating us like children..."

His hand landed on the doorknob without a moment’s hesitation.

 "Then stop acting like children and talk to each other," he said, glancing at his watch. "I’ll be back in ten minutes."

You could’ve sworn there was a subtle smile playing on his face as he left.

 You watched his figure disappear in disbelief.

 And then, you turned to Spencer, who was already staring at you.

[fluffylino]

serpent hybrid hyunjin 2 🌱🐍

his venom doesn't have the effects to kill you, instead you find your body craving for him...and his eggs

@seo--changbin gave me brainrot

reblogging > liking

part 1

-contains mature themes (idk wtf possessed me while thinking of breeding and monster cocks aaaa)

its been a while since changbin's come over to your apartment. the rabbit hybrid had grown buffer. stronger, with his muscles quite literally bulging from his armsleeves.

hyunjin and him being the best of friends. an unusual friendship between a serpent and his prey.

lithe and tall versus buff and small.

you couldn't help but ogle at bin's wide upper body, sipping on some tea while you listened to their conversation.

it only lasts for a few minutes, and you stare at hyunjin. taking in the sight of your boyfriend. his scales shining under the light. the newly grown scales on his collarbones giving him a sleeker appearance.

you gulped, watching his long slender tail swish around mindlessly on the floor. eyes wandering to the way he sat on the couch.

legs parted and maybe...just maybe you could see the outline of his length. well his 'lengths'. mentally slapping yourself as you tried to look away.

"hyun...need your help" you say, already going to the kitchen. smiling at changbin. hearing hyunjin saunter into the other room without even questioning why you were calling him there.

"you look too handsome. kiss me."

grabbing his collar, pulling him down to kiss you. a surprised noise leaving him but he laughs. giving you a firm kiss.

"should we buy some pizza for dinn-"

you cut him off, with another kiss. looping your arms around his neck to jump on him. he holds you up, groaning at the sudden eagerness.

firmly squeezing your thighs. pulling away to press a palm over your mouth.

"whats up with you?" he cocks an eyebrow. truly confused with your behaviour.

you bring your hands up to touch his lips. poking his canines. they had grown longer, much sharper.

"not now. later." he lets out. and you feel your mind shut off with how sternly he warns you. whining into his neck.

its only when bin leaves that you realise why you're feeling so desperate.

were you ovulating?

was it just him being hot?

a part of you wondered if it was because he playfully bit you in the morning?

"come here." hyunjin calls out after an hour. finding you sprawled out on the bed with no thoughts in your brain.

standing at the edge of the bed, with his hands on his hips.

"i think you made me horny..." you mumble, staring at the ceiling. lower abdomen burning with want.

he hisses softly.

"this is not normal horny...this is horny on another level..."

glancing at him and you close your thighs. panties soaked. every part of your body screaming for him.

"is it cause i bit you?" hyunjin asks.

his tail wrapping around your ankle casually. and he pulls you closer to him. the display of strength leaving you breathless.

"you're a black mamba. shouldn't i die if you inject me with venom?" you whisper, unconciously spreading your legs apart.

watching as his eyes go down to your panties. the shirt you had on was his.

"so you're saying my venom is actually a 'fuck me please' aphrosidiac ?" hyunjin lets out, letting his finger prod over your panties. feeling how wet you were getting.

"hyun....give it to me"

"give what to you, baby?"

"give me it all"

"what all do you mean, sweetheart?"

"your babies...your e-eggs"

and hyunjin chokes on his spit. the grip his tail has on your leg tightens. watching you with a sharp gaze. tongue peeking out every few seconds . tasting the air.

"god, whats wrong with you" and he pulls you closer.

using the tip of his tail to push your panties to the side. hissing at how you're practically dripping. a mess between your thighs.

"h-hyunjinnn"

"mh?" tail slipping and sliding against your slit. bumping into your clit. chuckling at the way your legs close around it. but he continues poking at your cunt.

"hyunjin!" you whine, awkwardly trying to grind onto his appendage. gasping when he forces your legs apart.

the same musky smell filling the room. his tongue growing longer, fangs peeking through.

"fuck. my heat's creeping up on me" he groans, dropping his head down to exhale heavily. his scales appearing more bolder.

"your smell...you smell fucking delicious" and you whimper. watching as he tastes the air, eyes closing.

"are you gonna eat me mister snake?" you tease nervously. squeaking at the expression he makes.

obviously turned on with you acting so hopeless.

a predator and his prey.

.

.

.

writhing at the mere slide of his girth against your insides. bumps on his length hooking onto your walls.

forcing him to thrust into you with short movements. gripping your thighs with clawed fingers. leaving his marks on your body.

"yeah? i don't usually fuck my prey before eating them whole" the serpent grunts.

a long hiss slipping past his lips. throwing his head back at the feeling of your cunt pulling him in. squeezing his dicks and coating them with arousal.

"h-hyun" you cry, body overheating with how much you wanted. this wasn't enough. you needed to feel him in your cervix.

this wasn't how you'd act. was it really his venom?

"shhh~" as he sits on his haunches. fucking into you harder. his pupils turning into pretty slits. taking in the sight of your body reacting so well to him.

shivering when he places a claw on your breastbone. gently sliding it down to where your uterus would be. and he draws slow circles over the skin.

"want me here, don't you~" and you nod aggressively, not expecting him to slide his finger lower.

placing the pad of his calloused finger over your clit gently. his thrusts having you slide up on the bed and back down.

"you'll take my eggs like a good mate would, won't you, my precious.."

gathering your slick and pinching at your swollen bundle of nerves.

grinning lazily when you let out a little scream. squirming at his tortorous teasing. cooeing as you beg for him.

hands flying down to weakly hold onto his wrist. but he's strong and only flicks your clit meanly.

.

.

.

to say its a weird sensation is an understatement. his hand intertwined with yours, calming you down as one of his dick throbs.

stuffed so deep inside you that when you feel the first egg, its another sensation of fullness.

filling you with more cum while he pumps another into you. maybe soft shelled eggs weren't that bad.

the third egg, however makes you whine at the stretch. a tinge of discomfort.

gasping at how his tail seems to have a mind of its own. wrapping around your ankle and quite literally spreading your legs apart. hooking your left leg over his shoulder.

"m'here. f-fuck taking me so well" hyunjin praises. pressing down on your lower abdomen. revellling in the way you keep it in.

"no venom for you next time" he chuckles, and you breath heavily. overwhelmed with everything. body buzzing with pure pleasure and satisfaction.

"m-more" you tease. laughing at how his eyes widen. going back to normal.

"MORE?!"

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

plz i love snakie hyunnie so much. its an obsession at this point. soft serpent hyunnie drabble coming soon hopefullyyyy

[raestromboli]

plug!chris helps you with a certain predicament. ♡

there’s a pout embedded on your glossed lips as chris closes the door behind you, not noticing how he stares you down with confusion and a slight humorless expression.

“a’ight, the fuck you called me for? i was busy.” chris grumbles. his words are slightly mumbled since a joint rests against the corner of his lips. blue eyes trail over your body while you plop down onto his couch with a furious stupor, brows furrowed and your arms crossed under your chest.

“i can’t cum!” is all you whine out. your pout only curls deeper when all chris does is side eye you, lips parted in surprise. he doesn’t respond immediately—just eyes you down like you told him something extremely stupid.

“. . . i don’t get how that’s my fuckin’ problem.” his brows raise expectedly while his voice narrows down into something you’d typically use when talking to a child that’s teetering over the edge of throwing a fit. chris doesn’t really seem to care anyway, because he sits back down onto the couch next to you and resumes counting the wad of cash that lays on the table in front of him.

you huff, uncrossing your arms and showcasing your hands to the boy next to you. chris lets out a begrudgingly sigh as he inspects your hands. by all means, they look perfectly normal—a little on the smaller side—but he had taught you how to reach those special spots with those short fingers, so what the fuck do you mean you can’t cum?

“i can’t read minds, kid. you look fully capable of makin’ y’erself cum.”

you stare at him through your lashes, “my nails, chris.”

chris just glances at your long, square acrylics, and it hits him. a dry chuckle falls from his lips as he then watches you cower a little in embarrassment.

“you serious? came all the way over here ‘cause those nails ain’t doin’ it for you?”

you timidly shrug when you feel your cheeks heat up, “i’ve been trying, but it doesn’t feel good. ‘need you to make me cum.” a relieved sigh falls out your lips when chris puts his cash down, pinching the joint from his lips and passing it to you.

“jesus—fine. hold this, and take your pants off.” and you do exactly what he says, but not without squealing excitedly and kissing his cheek. it surprises you a little when chris gets off the couch and gets on his knees, grabbing you by the thighs and tugging you closer to his face. you gasp under your breath at the sudden aggression and you grow to be embarrassed when he roughly spreads your legs apart. a sick grin spreads along his pretty face when he spots the comically large wet spot staining your pink panties.

“chriiisss.” you grumble quietly, huffing and puffing impatiently before he gets sick of hearing it and decides to shut you up by wrapping his large hand around your wrist, guiding the joint to your lips. your lips envelope it begrudgingly and you take a hit.

“shut the fuck up for a sec’, a’ight?” he sasses. his low eyes are dead set on your clothed pussy as he hooks a finger around your panties, sliding to the side to showcase your sensitive mess. god, he could never get used to such a pretty sight. your hole constantly leaks and chris is eager to lick you clean, tongue lolled out completely as he dives right in.

you couldn’t even speak—this was exactly what you needed. chris becomes an animal once he gets his mouth on you; whimpering and groaning against your soaked pussy like he was on drugs. the bottom half of his face is already glossy when he comes back for air, glancing up at you with hooded eyes and a small smirk when he sees how completely fucked out you are. you whimper when chris spits onto your cunt, your free hand flying down to grip onto his soft hair before he licks his saliva up with a groan. his plush lips wrap around your clit and sucks on it gently, making you pant and gurgle out his name while the joint sits lazily on the corner of your mouth.

and his head was always so sloppy, you could literally feel how his saliva mixed with your arousal drips down onto the couch. chris is practically drooling onto your cunt as he alternates with flicking his flat tongue across your puffy clit and suctioning his lips around it with a guttural whine each time. his large hands splay flat on your thighs to prevent you from closing around his head, and his biceps flex when you start thrashing and grabbing onto his wrist helplessly.

the vibrations from chris moaning directly into your cunt made your hole clench around nothing—momentarily pulling a choked cry out of you. he guides his tongue lower to collect the creamy nectar that pools at your hole, obscene squelches bouncing off the walls when the tip of nose bumps against your clit. it’s then that the coil in your stomach tightens, broken whines of the boy’s name falling past in your lips in warning.

“mmph—ch-chris . .” you keen lowly, fisting the boy’s locks as your lips parted to let out little ah’s. chris hummed in response and continued to play with your nub. he pulled away for a second to glance up at you, smirking with his lip tucked in his teeth.

“ya’ happy now, kid?” he rasps, maintaining eye contact with you while he kitty licks your throbbing clit. you let out whimpers every time the tip of his tongue catches onto your pussy, nodding wordlessly, “good.”

and when chris directs his attention back onto your cute cunt, you knew you weren’t going to last any longer. he sticks his tongue out and begins to lick a thick stripe from your drooling hole to your little nub where he wraps his lips around, grunting boyishly. suddenly, your fist tightens around his hair and all you can do is whimper helplessly. your hips buck up, thighs straining as you attempt to close around his head, but his large hands stop you from doing so.

your orgasm hits you like a train—you barely have any time to warn chris when your stomach tightens, your poor pussy sensitizing within seconds. whimpering noisily, you try to push his head away, but he doesn’t let up. no, instead, he takes a hand to grab onto your wrist, pining it to your thigh. you earn a glare in which you pout, hips bucking frantically as you cum. all you can see is white. you let out strings of chris chris chris like a mantra as he repeatedly swipes his tongue over your pussy, dipping down to lick your sweet cum.

and even when you come down from your high, he doesn’t stop. you have to use your free hand to push chris away, whining that you’re too sensitive. luckily, he listens and comes up for air, panting loudly as he licks his lips clean. his eyes look even lower than when he was smoking on that joint that sits prettily on your lips, and he rises up to sit down next to you, you following suit which leads you to straddle his lap. he looks at you, lips parted and pussy drunk, and snatches the joint from you to take a deep hit.

“ya’ satisfied?” chris asks, quite unimpressed as if he wasn’t going ham on your pussy just seconds ago. you smile nonetheless, taking account of the rough denim poking your bare mound as you place a kiss on his stubbly jaw.

“can you fuck me now?” you hum, a little giggly when you see the face chris makes at you.

“y’er doin’ all the work, kid,” he shrugs, “supplier’s comin’ in ten and i gotta count the rest of this cash, so hurry the fuck up . . .”

notes: can we bring back dealer!chris i barely see fics ab my man anymore💔💔

[motorsportbarbie13]

The Yapping Hour Is Upon Us - The Royal Wedding

In which you and Max tie the knot.

Warnings: just fluff. a bit of anxiety talk but nothing Max can't fix. Pairing: Max Verstappen x Podcaster!Reader Word Count: 5k

- The Yapping Hour is Upon Us - The Yapping Hour is Upon Us - Part 2 - The Yapping Hour is Upon Us - Part 3 - The Yapping Hour is Upon Us - Part 4 - The Yapping Hour is Upon Us - Bonus Sessions - Master List

After getting engaged, there were two things that you and Max almost immediately agreed upon: first, because so much of both of your lives were already available for public consumption, you wanted to protect the peace and privacy of your wedding as much as possible. And second, you didn’t want to wait until the next summer break to get married. 

Growing up, it was a cliche fact but a fact all the same, that you often thought of what you wanted your wedding to be like. You were even very much guilty of having secret wedding Pinterest boards set up all through high school and college. But the moment the even presented itself in real life, you suddenly felt choked by the weight of what a big wedding could entail. 

It had been Max that had suggested the solution in the end, his idea passed by you casually one night as you walked hand in hand back to your hotel after dinner before the race in Italy. He had sensed your hesitation around hosting such a big, over the top wedding that everyone seemed to assume you wanted. The spark in your eye faded just a bit when Alex and Carmen had started talking about wedding venues and guest lists and he hadn’t missed the way your shoulders hitched up a bit more towards your ears as you listened to your friends ramble. 

“What if we just eloped?” He works to keep his tone causal, not wanting to give away how appealing that idea sounds to him. He wants you to choose the kind and scale of wedding you want all on your own because he knows you’d do anything for him, right down to agreeing to plan a wedding that doesn’t suit you at all. 

You stop dead in your tracks, Birkin bag swinging wildly at your elbow from the sudden halt. “What?” 

Max sticks his hands deep in the pockets of his khakis, giving you a knowing smile. “You heard me. What if we just said ‘fuck this’ and ran off to the beach and got married by some old fishing captain. Captains can legally marry people, right? That’s a thing?” 

Not for the first time in your relationship, you’re stunned into silence at something your soon-to-be husband says. For a moment all you can do is blink at him, trying to figure out if he’s fucking with you or not. “You’d…you’d want that?” 

Max steps forward, earnest look on his handsome face. “Baby,” He murmurs, framing both sides of your face with his strong hands. “Baby, I’d marry you in an alley way in the middle of New York City. I don’t care where or how, all I care about is that we come out at the end of this married and tied together for life. I don’t care about the wedding, I care about the marriage.” 

Max watches as your pupils blow wide, shy smile tugging at your lips. “That might be the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.” 

Max’s forehead rests on yours and he lets out a breathy chuckle. “Well, it’s true. I want you to have the wedding of your dreams because I know that will make you happy but other than that, I don’t care.” 

He’d do anything to make sure you were happy, knowing it was just this side of obsessive the way he took you into consideration with every decision he made. Standing opposite of the man who consumed your entire soul, your stomach dipped low, the pleasant swooping sensation something you’ve become accustomed to over the last year. “I just feel so overwhelmed. Both of our lives are already so public and under scrutiny. I want this to be something that we can cherish without any of the potential tarnish of what it means to be so public.” 

You shake your head, feeling a little silly and what you’re feeling. “I love our lives and know we’re privileged to live like this but sometimes I just want to have something that’s just ours. I want to share our love and relationship with everyone but maybe we could just shield some of it from the world?” 

An idea forms in Max’s head then. “What if we eloped somewhere just the two of us and then have a party to celebrate with everyone after?” 

You nod, “Have is quietly ours for a while before sharing the news with everyone?” 

Max reaches for you, enjoying the way you press against him with ease. It’s a warm Italian summer night, the scent of perfumed flowers and left over sunshine hung heavy in the air and you wanted to snap this moment into something that stayed with you forever. Max’s hands heavy on your hips, digging into the flesh there as if he can’t get enough of you despite not leaving your side for the last 24 hours. 

Ever since getting engaged, you’d hated spending any length of time away from Max, almost like your soul had already started to twin itself to him. It made leaving difficult but returning was always so sweet. You had this weekend in Italy before you had to leave on another trip but you’d been considering ramping down your travel over the next few months. But, that was another conversation for another day. 

“Where would we go? And when?” The more you thought bout it, the more the thought of what Max was suggesting appealed to you. 

Max releases you before taking your hand as you two start back towards your hotel, feeling a bit lighter at seemingly solving the problem that had been weighing on you for a few days. 

“We could do it this winter? There’s always a total shut down of everything that week between Christmas and New Years. We’d see our families for Christmas and escape saying we were just taking a trip the two of us.” 

You grin up at him, liking where he was going with this. 

yourpersonalinsta posted

129,938 likes liked by yourdad, assistantshannon, maxverstappen1, and others yourpersonalisnta sun, sand, and a very cute finace kikagomes is this that place in Mexico you were talking about?! It looks so pretty! >>>yourpersonalinsta yes!!! it is gorgeous. you and P need to come here some day. alexandrasaintmleux gorgeous gorgeous girl >>>yourpersonalinsta love you bby user029 dream life fr user0092 looks like paradise! tell max congrats on his 5th title for us!!

December, 2025 

The warm ocean breeze fluttered through the wide open doors of the villa behind you as the bright December sun heated your skin where you laid on a lounge chair. Next to you, Max was sprawled out on on the chair next to you, snoring softly as he took what you thought might just be his third nap of the day. 

Ever since the pair of you had arrived in Mexico a few days ago, you hand’t done much beyond sleep, eat, and fuck. The 2025 season had been the most stressful, chaotic, out of control season Max had ever had and while he had managed to clinch the championship on in Abu Dhabi from Lando, but it had been a difficult ride to get there. So when Christmas had been celebrated and you had jumped on the jet to fly from Monaco over to Mexico, you couldn’t help but continually breathe a sigh of relief. 

The fight had truly weighed on Max, the hollows underneath his eyes growing more and more prominent as the race weeks ticked by. The only relief he had gotten had been your midseason trip to Thailand when he had proposed. When Jensen had asked him what had gotten him through the difficult second half of the season during an interview after he won the championship, his immediate answer had simply been you. 

Much to the disappointment of your fans, you had decided to really ramp down the amount of travel and work you had done following the summer break. Max had been resident at first, not even wanting to entertain he conversation at first when you had brought it up shortly after it had been decided you were going to elope. He didn’t want to even think of you putting your career on hold for him, to take care of him, to follow him. Not because he didn’t want you around. It was the exact opposite. Just the thought of you spending more time traveling with him instead of the insane schedule you’d been keeping over the last year had relief flooding through him. While he was tired from his schedule and the pressure of winning a 5th consecutive world title, he knew you were tired too. There were many times you both went weeks without setting foot in your shared apartment and sometimes you’d go weeks between seeing each other too. 

No, it wasn’t because he didn’t want you around. It was because he didn’t want you to resent him one day down the line that you had given up your career for him. He couldn’t bare the thought of being the cause of any resentment or heartache for you and despite how much he wanted you by his side every possible moment. 

In the end, reason had won out as you had explained that you weren’t taking a break because of him. He was certainly part of it, but like him, you were exhausted. You reminded Max of Brazil last year, how you had slept for so long the day after the race there that Max had postponed your flights home for another week he was so worried about you getting sick. 

You had done a few interviews since the engagement, mostly with people in the motorsport world: Susie and Toto Wolff, Natalie Pinkham, and of course Lewis being your biggest interviews. In addition, you had done some post race interviews and coverage for F1TV, which allowed you to have even more of a reason to be in the paddock week in and week out. You weren’t sure where your podcast was going in the future, but for now, you were content with the schedule and where you were professionally, despite what some of your critics might be whispering. 

All of this works through your mind as Max begins to stir beside you. His eyes blink open eventually and when they do, they immediately find you. “Hi baby.” He whispers, voice rough with sleep. 

“Good morning, sleepy head.” You grin, setting your book down beside you as Max rolls over onto his side, creating some space for you on the oversized lounge chair, beckoning you to join him. 

As you snuggle deeper into his chest, Max slots his thigh between your legs and slips his top arm over your waist, pulling you closer. “You looked deep in thought. Everything okay?” He murmurs before his lips ghost over your cheek. 

“Hmmm, of course. Just thinking about this year and how good it feels to just breathe.” 

Max could tell when you got in one of your thinking moods just by the way your body language shifted. In those few moments between when he had woken up and you had noticed his eyes open, he had watched you staring out over the villa’s lawn. Your shoulders were relaxed, the usual pinch between your brows completely absent and with legs crossed at your ankles as you read your book, you had looked the picture of relaxed. 

“You still feeling okay about tomorrow?” 

Just the thought of what tomorrow would bring made your heart rate pitch up a bit. The first morning after your arrival, you and Max had gone over to the concierge in the main reception building to tell them of your plans for an elopement. They had, of course, been ecstatic and ready to help you in whatever way you wanted. After a few hours of discussion, you had everything planned and the concierge snapped into action. 

“I am…unless you’re not?” It occurs to you that Max has been awfully quiet this morning, a soft reflective mood taking over his usual energetic attitude and suddenly, anxiety pinches in your chest. You desperately search Max’s face for any sign of hesitation or regret, not knowing what you’d do if he suddenly got cold feet before tomorrow. 

Max shakes his head before pulling you even closer, fingers digging into the bare flesh of your hip, covered only by the little string of your bikini that you’ve been living in since you got here. “Lifeje, stop that. You know I would have married you the moment after I proposed to you months ago.” 

Something settles in you at his words, having just needed that little bit of reassurance from him. As hard as you tired and as much as Max made sure to never leave any doubt in your mind that he was all in with you, you sometimes still found your anxiety getting the best of you. Scenarios about how Max was having second thoughts, how he didn’t really want to marry you, how this was all in your head sometimes ran rampant in your head. You were getting better at controlling them, especially after he had proposed but that was the funny thing about anxiety, you couldn’t always control it. 

“I know.” You whisper, fingers trailing up and down his toned arm that was wrapped around you tightly. 

“Anxiety?” It was almost spooky how well Max could read you from just a shift in your tone of voice. All you could do was nod, suddenly feeling silly. Max rolled his hips into yours, pulling your lower half closer. “Do you feel what you do to me?” He asked, pressing his already half hard cock into your center. “Do you feel what you do to me just laying here? All you have to do is look at me and I’m a goner. There isn’t a single second thought in my mind, love.” 

“I’m sorry I’m hard to love sometimes.” Tears prick at the corner of your eyes as Max lifts your chin so he can have a better look at you. “I’m sorry you have to constantly reassure me despite not giving me any reason to doubt you. I know  it can’t be easy.” 

You had spent most of your adult life being told how difficult you were to love. How hard it was to deal with the constant reassurance you needed when the anxiety crept in, telling you you weren’t good enough. It was unnerving sometimes when Max loved you so easily and effortlessly because how did he find it so easy to do when no one else before him had? 

Max pulls back so he can get a good look in those pretty eyes of yours. It made him rage internally knowing how insecure you were. Not because he faulted you. Oh, absolutely not. He raged at the people that made you feel like you were inferior and hard to love because that was something that he simply didn’t see. Loving you and being with you was the easiest thing he’d ever done in his life. 

“I want you to listen to me, okay?” He waits, brows raised, until you nod. “I will gladly spend the rest of my life telling you how much I worship you whenever and however you need or want me to. When I take those vows tomorrow, I mean it with every bit of my soul, schatje. For worse or better, you’re mine and I’m yours from tomorrow on, okay? You are not hard to love and I am so lucky I get the privilege of telling you every single day how much I love you.” 

Your mind settles a bit at his words as you let the sensation of having Max so close to you wash over your anxious nerves. “How did I get so lucky to have you?” 

“Oh, sweet girl it’s not you that’s lucky.” Max leans in, pressing a kiss to your lips as you sigh into him. “I’m the lucky one that somehow coincided you to love me back.” 

There were only two people in your lives besides you and Max that knew what you two were really doing in Mexico. GP because Max was physically incapable of keeping anything from his race engineer and your assistant Shannon. GP had called Max out on his sudden change in demeanor in Italy after the decision to elope had been made, asking Max what had happened in the previous 12 hours to make him not so grumpy when he showed up to the track that morning. Max being a terrible liar when it came to GP had been unable to think quick enough to come up with an excuse and when he had simply looked at GP with a deer in the headlights look, he had fessed up and spilled the beans. When you had found out that Max had told GP you had sworn the race engineer to total secrecy, telling him you’d cut off a very important body part of his if it got leaked. 

Shannon was the other person that knew and it was only because you had needed help with choosing and figuring out how to sneakily order, tailor, and pack a wedding gown without anyone getting wind of it. You knew if the paparazzi had caught sight of you leaving a bridal boutique with a dress in hand nearly a year before you had told everyone else that you were planning on getting married, people would talk. So, with Max’s approval, you had enlisted the help of your personal assistant who had honestly turned into one of your closest friends over the time that she had worked with you.

 It had been Shannon that helped you choose the dress that you wore the morning you married Max, the white lace clinging to every curve and valley of your body. It was just going to be the two of you, the officiant, and the photographer there and the utter quiet and simplicity of getting ready in complete silence and peace was something you would cherish for the rest of your life. Max had left the villa about an hour ago, telling you he had a few errands to run before the officiant would turn up for the ceremony. What kind of errands could he be doing in the middle of a luxury resort in the middle of the Mexican jungle, you had no idea but you hadn’t asked any questions because you wanted the time alone to get ready. 

You’re just slipping on the second thin strap up over your shoulder when there’s a knock at the villa door moments before it swings open. Max comes bustling in, wearing the khaki pants and white linen shirt you had chosen for the beach nuptials. He’s got a fresh haircut and shaved face, his bright blue eyes looking for you the moment he walks in the door. In his hand dangles a little black bag with silver ties that doesn’t look big enough to hold much more than a small box or two. 

“Lifeje, where are -” Max stops in his tracks when you round the corner out of the bedroom and he sees you for the first time. His hand goes straight to his sternum, rubbing at the place that is suddenly aching at the mere sight of you. He had thought he’d been prepared to see you in your wedding dress but what he saw in front of him made every coherent thought tumble right out of his head. If he had thought you were the prettiest woman he’d ever seen before, seeing you standing there before him in the white lace dress with it’s plunging neckline and fabric clinging to your every curve, just confirmed that he was the luckiest person in the entire world. “Christ.” He whispers, unable to move from the spot he’s rooted to. 

You let out a little uncertain giggle, tucking a piece of hair that you had left out of the sleek low bun you had styled your hair in for the day behind your ear. “Do I look okay?” 

Max finds the ability to move then, crossing the room in just a few strides, suddenly needing nothing more than to touch you. He had to know what that lace felt like under his fingers, had to know if your skin looked as radiant up close as it did when he had first walked into the villa. 

“I am so glad I wrote my vows down because there is no way I’m remembering anything while I look at you.” He croaks, voice becoming totally unreliable with emotion just seeing you dressed like this solely for him brings up. “I’ve never seen anyone more beautiful in my entire life, schatje. ” 

And it was the truth. Max had never seen anyone as gorgeous as you were standing there in that white dress, veil tucked into the top of your bun so it cascaded down over your shoulders. The dress pools at your feet and dips low in the back, showing off the tanned and toned body you work so hard for. At your ears wink the diamonds Max had gotten you for Christmas just a week earlier. A diamond and sapphire necklace set in platinum sits at your throat, also a gift from Max for your one year anniversary earlier in the year. Seeing you wearing the jewels that he’s bought for you does something to Max, a possessive streak proudly zipping through him at the thought of you dripping in expensive baubles that he’s bought you. 

“What’s in the bag?” You ask as Max settles his hands low on your hips, still checking you out with absolutely no shame whatsoever. 

He seems to remember that there’s something else in the room other than you then, holding the bag out to you with a sly grin on his face. “I know we said our wedding bands were going to be our presents to each other but I saw this the other day when we were out shopping in that little jewelry store and had to go back to get it.” 

You raise a brow but know better than to argue about Max spoiling you. It’s a lost cause at this point and you settled for just accepting the pretty things he liked to give you simply because he loved seeing you in them a long time ago. You take the bag from his hands and reaching in, you pull out a long, slender velvet box. 

When you open the box, you barely stifle a gasp at the delicate bracelet sitting on the black satin. It’s the diamond and pearl tennis bracelet set in platinum that you had casually looked at yesterday when you and Max had gone into town to do some shopping and had mentioned in an off handed comment that you had liked how the pearls and diamonds worked so well together, although you had ultimately decided not to get it because of the price tag and the fact that you thought you’d never have anywhere to wear it. 

“Max.” You whisper, gaze darting up from the box to Max’s own eager look. “It’s…it’s so pretty I don’t have the words. You spoil me.” 

“And I’m going to continue to spoil you for the rest of our lives, lifeje. Now, can I put it on you so you can be dripping in diamonds for our wedding day, please?” 

You laugh a little, somehow unsure of how you got this lucky to be here in Mexico marrying the man that literally worships the ground you walk on. 

“Now, I understand that you both have written your vows for each other. Max, would you like to go first?” 

Later that afternoon, the two of you stand barefoot on the beach, a gentle breeze teasing the veil at the back of your head, while the officiant the hotel recommended stands before you. The atmosphere could not be more perfect. The sun hangs low in the sky, sunset just an hour or two away so the golden rays cascade over you and Max. Behind you, the photographer you hired snaps discreetly away. The fact that it’s just the four of you on the beach witnessing this could not have been more perfect. 

Max stands opposite you, large hands swallowing your smaller ones, and takes a deep breath. You can see the emotion playing plainly on his face and know he’s going to have a hard time getting through these words. For the outside world, Max Verstappen is a hardened competitor that takes no shit and will do anything to win. But here? On the beach with just you and 2 others as he professes his love and adoration to you, he’s as soft as kitten and almost more emotional than you are. 

He couldn’t have been happier at his decision to write down the words to his vows because the emotions that swirled in him then, as he stands there looking at you in your wedding dress is so overwhelming he can barely put together a coherent thought. Here he was, the man that has won five world championships and zips around a race track at 200 miles per hour regularly, completely unable to speak he’s so happy. 

The paper is a bit crumpled when he pulls it out of the pocket of his khakis but it’s fine all the same. He clears his throat nervously and then begins. “When Melissa suggested I go on your podcast, she said it would be an amazing PR opportunity for me. I think I told her no five times but on that sixth time, I agreed because GP said he thought I’d like you and then he sent me that interview. And then I walked into that studio on that cold, rainy April and have never thanked GP and Melissa so fast. That first time I saw you, I felt my entire world shift beneath my feet. Having the childhood I did ruined the idea of love for me for most of my life but the moment you waltzed into my life, schatje, I knew that you were going to show me how wrong I’d been. I love you endlessly and will forever be thankful that you’ve shown me what the meaning of real, true, unconditional love is.” Max takes a breath, swiping at an errant tear that falls down his cheek. 

Across from him, you grip at his hands, desperately trying to commit this entire moment to memory. You’re endlessly glad you both had written your vows so you’d be able to look back and remember what was said today on this beach. 

“I promise to love, honor, cherish, and spoil you,” He pauses when you chuckle and roll your eyes, but just squeezes your hand before continuing on. “Whatever you need, you’ll have. Whatever you want, it’s yours. I promise to spend the rest of my life making sure you never want for anything ever again, both material wants but also emotional wants. You are my number one priority from here on out and I vow to never ever stop living up to these promises. I never believed in soulmates until I saw you for the first time and words can’t accurately describe how much I love you. Having the title of your husband is worth a million and one world champion titles and I promise to spend the rest of my days proving that to you.” 

The emotions ripple over you as Max concludes his vows. The officiant turns to you, dipping his head to let you know it’s now your turn. Max squeezes your hands together and you drown in the watercolor blue eyes looking back at you for a moment. 

“I stopped believing in soulmates a long time ago. That is until you walked into that recording studio and looked at me like you’d known me for our entire lives. I tried so hard not to get ahead of myself for so long, but it was that first time you flew me down to Miami two weeks after meeting you that I knew. I knew that you were it for me, that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. We’ve been through so much in such a short time and I know there are so many people that are going to think we’re criminally insane for doing this. But it’s nearly impossible to put into words what you’ve done to my soul in such a short time, Max. I know it’s beyond cliche but you’ve altered who I am at my very core. I’ve never been with someone so unwaveringly supportive of everything that I am and everything that I do.” You draw in a shaky breath then, needing a moment before you can make the rest of your words materialize. 

“I promise to love you so unconditionally and strongly for the rest of my life. I promise to be by your side during the highs and lows of your career, on and off the track. The life we live is so fast and so difficult sometimes but just knowing that you’re on the other side of that plane ride, waiting for me to come home to you, makes everything we do worth it. I promise to give you whatever you need no matter how difficult it may be. You are my life now and I will spend the rest of my life showing up for you. Soulmates are real and you’re mine. I’m so thankful that I found you, Max. I love you.” 

A quiet settles between you and Max then, the vows cementing the bond you’ve been building since that first day in the recording studio. The officiant and photographer seem to sense it too, their soft smiles playing on their lips as they give the vows that were just exchanged a chance to sink in for each of you. 

Rings are exchanged and before you’re able to get a handle on things, the officiant declares you and Max husband and wife. The feeling of sheer relief and excitement washes over both you and Max as you’re told to seal the vows with a kiss. And what a kiss it is. Max pours his entire soul into the first kiss he shares with you as your husband. Everything he said in his vows being repeated by the way his lips cover yours, working over your mouth in such a way that has your knees buckling. 

“I love you so much, wife.” Max murmurs against your lips just before breaking the first of many kisses between husband and wife. 

maxverstappen1 posted

1,309,292 likes liked by yourpersonalinsta, redbullracing, assistant shannon, and others maxverstappen1 she's stuck with me forever now danielricciardo EXCUSE ME BUT WHAT THE FUCK user028 did they ELOPE??? Without telling ANYONE??? OH MY GOD??? HELLO??? user448 somehow, this feels very on brand for the both of them >>>user432 i was just thinking the same thing. charlesleclerc I'm sorry, WHAT??? yourpersonalinsta love you, husband >>>user0299 oh my god, i cannot be normal about this landonorris kinda heartbroken I didn't get to be the flower boy, ngl >>>user998 this is such a lando comment oscarpiastri wow! didn't even know you were engaged! congrats. man! >>>user332 why is this the most Oscar Piastri comment I've ever read??? >>>user948 HAHA OSCAR

yourpersonalinsta posted

1,029,398 likes liked by yourdad, maxverstappen1, assistantshannon, and others yourpersonalinsta wife>>>fiance user0298 the HAND PLACEMENT in that last photo. Max, my maaaan. user918 they eloped and didn't tell a single soul. i fucking love this so hard. kikagomes OH. MY. GOD. Congratulations gorgeous girl!!! >>>yourpersonalinsta love you pretty girl! user8892 my man wins his 5th world championship and then gets married in secret, max is winning at life rn assistantshannon so happy for you boss lady. you and max deserve the world. love you!!! >>>yourpersonalinsa so thankful i had your help with this, sweet girl. user827 are we just going to ignore the TATTOO on Max's wrist??? HER??? >>>user0291 oh my god oh my god

tag list: @shelbyteller @formulaal @martygraciesversion381 @longhairkoo @samantha-chicago @dark-night-sky-99 @luckylampzonkland

[tbaluver]

hold on tight- sylus x reader

pairing: dragon!sylus x fem! reader wc: 2.5k cw: MDNI, reader receiving head, p in v, monster fucking-ish(?), making out and kisses genre: fluff/ romantical af then smut a/n: the beginning was inspo from the trailer as well bc they're both in the skies ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა i neededd to write it before i forget so here you go ! it's not well proofread so i apologize if there's all lot of mistakes (╥﹏╥) enjoy reading ! (ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)♡ any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

it was late at night as you peered outside the entrance of the cave. your eyes traced over the dark skies, stars scattered over this blank canvas. you haven’t touched the ground ever since you entered sylus’s lair, not that you could even climb down on your own. but honestly, you no longer had the desire to leave. you wanted to stay, stay with him.

the beginning of your relationship was a rocky start but looking back at it, it was worth it in the end. something you had never imagined to be growing between the two of you.

“are you ready?” his voice broke through your thoughts. you could feel his gaze behind you.

he had told you the night before that he had a surprise for you tonight, not sparing you any hints. you didn’t know what it could be but you felt the curiosity stir in your chest as you slept beside him the entire night before.

you followed him to the outside of the cave’s door. the lights of the distant village twinkled far away and the thick forest spread out far beneath you both. without a word, he unfolded his wings, stretching them out. the sight of them never fails to leave you breathless.

“do you trust me?” he asked, quirking a brow, his lips curling into a playful smirk.

you blinked in confusion, “wha-?”

“let’s go out for the night. you deserve it, more than anything.” his voice was soft, tender. he stepped closer as he extended his hand toward you. you could feel the butterflies fluttering in your stomach, a strange mix of excitement rumbled within you.

you trusted him. you had learned to trust him ever since you had stayed in the cave. but the sky? that was entirely something else.

nervously, you reached out and took his hand, allowing him to pull you toward him. he guided your hands to rest gently around his neck while the other wrapped around his waist. your leg instinctively hooked around his side for more security.

“hold on tight.” he murmurs in your ear. for a moment, he stood there as you heard his wings flutter or rather- stretch. you could feel his fast pacing of his heart and the heat of his chest.

with a sudden shift, he leaps from the mountain edge, earning a surprised yelp escaping your lips as the ground disappears beneath you. you didn’t expect the sudden plunge and the sharp drop that left your stomach behind. with the powerful pull of his wings, he soared upwards. your heart raced as the mountain and the world below you grew smaller and smaller.

to him, this was slow, casual even. but to you this was a dizzy rush. it was as if you were plummeting into the unknown or it felt like what the scientist in the town described what going to space must feel like.

you buried your face into his neck, the familiar scent of him filling your senses. your body trembled from the speed and from this new experience.

a low breathy chuckle escaped his lips, his breath tickling your ear as he murmured. “you can look now. it’s okay, i’ve got you. i promise.”

you hesitated for a moment, your heart pounding in your chest but with a small, shaky breath, you lifted your head from the safety of his neck and dared to look.

you gasped. below you, the world was a masterpiece in this perspective. the village was a patchwork of glowing lights while the forest stretched out beneath you as if it were the sea from how the trees swayed gently in the breeze.

you felt like you were part of it all, as if you could reach the stars- maybe even the heaven themselves in arm’s reach. it felt as if you were weightless, floating between the earths and the heavens.

you couldn’t help but smile, an awestruck grin spreads across your face from the beauty of it all. how the world looks from up here and how the sky stretches endlessly.

he smiled too, unable to hold it in the moment he saw the joy spread across your face. “i’m glad you're here,” he whispered softly. the wind in the sky tousled his fair, causing it to flutter around his face. 

“i’m glad you’re with me, thank you for this.” both your eyes become half lidded as you both pull in to kiss. his hands that wrapped around your back, snakes upwards to the back of your head to pull you in deeper to the kiss.

-

sylus soars with you through the sky. he weaved between towering mountains and with each turn and dive, he showed you the freedom of the skies.

the sound of your laughter was music to his ears. he loved the way it bubbled out of you and the way you seemed to lose yourself in the moment. he could have stayed like this forever, knowing that for as long as he held you, everything was perfect. your joy, your trust, your love, they were his everything. no. you were his everything.

as much as he longed to stay in this moment with you, the night was slowly slipping away. there was one last thing he wanted to share with you before the night ended.

he guided you gently down from the clouds, flying past towering mountains. his descent was smooth, something you have gotten used to for the past hours.

sylus slowly folded his wings, disappearing completely from his back. he sank down onto the soft grass and with a gentle tug, he guided you to sit with him. once you settle into his lap, his arms wrapped around you.

“i wanted to show you this place,” he murmured, “a place just as beautiful as you are.”

you felt a flush creep to your cheeks and for a moment you couldn’t quite meet his eyes. instead, you let your gaze fall to the soft delicate flower in the grass, picking one up and twirling it.

suddenly, you felt the soft pressure of his armored claw snake behind you and before you could react, he gently pulled you down with him, guiding you to lie on top of him.

he chuckled softly, “don’t hide from me sweetie,” he teases, his claw reaching up to trace the curve of your cheek, gently caressing it.

you swallowed, your voice barely above a whisper as you dared to meet his eyes. “i’m not hiding,” you murmured softly, a small smile tugging at your lips as you placed the flower in the crook of his horn. “just...not used to being the center of attention.”

his smile deepened, reaching up to gently brush the flower you’d place against his horn. “you are the only thing i see, my lady.” 

he reaches down, carefully plucking a delicate flower from the grass. “you and this flower,” he murmured softly, gently tucking it behind your ear. “can touch me here.”

his claw traces the curve of your jaw before his finger moves gently to the center of your bottom lip. with slow movement, he closed the small distance between you, connecting you two as his lips met yours.

it was slow at first as your lips meld together. you opened your mouth slightly to allow his tongue to slither in, exploring the hot cavern of your mouth before tangling his tongue with yours.

one hand grips his leather belt while the other intertwines the locks of his hair. you tug his hair when you feel his lips stray away from yours as they trail along your jawline before settling in the crook of your neck. you can help but let out needy whines escape your lips as his hot mouth sucks and nips your skin.

he rolled you both over so he was on top. “are you alright with going further?” he murmurs against your skin, his hot breath tickling your skin.

“yes, gods please-” you breathlessly replied, desperately trying to unbuckle his leather belt.

that was all he needed to hear, his claws gliding effortlessly through the strings of your corset. the constriction loosened, making it much easier for him to slip it off.

he teases your nipples until they stand begging for more attention. desperate whines escape your lips as he laps and sucks at the small bud while he pinches and tugs at the other. he couldn’t help but resist biting them, letting his fangs graze over your soft skin.

you watched him, absolutely enthralled by the way your body seemed to come alive under his touch. his crimson eyes watched you, noting every gasp and reaction he pulled from you as his hands and mouth explored every inch of your body.

though his claws were rough and imposing, sylus was always gentle when it touched you. his sharp fingers trailed up to the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, spreading them wider to see it all in its glory.

his hot breath teasingly danced along your inner thigh as his mouth grew closer and closer to where you ached for him. your breath hitches as you feel something warm against your folds and drag up. sylus groans into you as he repeats the movement again and again.

his hot tongue circles your entrance before dipping inside, burying it inside your core.

his name slips out of your mouth in a breathy moan as both of your hands anchor themselves to his horns. he lets out a pathetic whine against your core, his horns being one of his sensitive spots. 

he continues as he is anticipating one goal, making you feel good. his tongue moves in and out of your fluttering core as you bucked against him once more, his mouth following your every movement.

“so fucking sweet.” he groans in between your wet laps against your folds, lapping up your juices like a starved man-dragon. sylus’s tongue flattened against your core, his nose pressing against the bud between your legs. you cried out his name, hips bucking against his movement.

you grip tightly on his horns like your life depended on it and this seems to please the dragon as you attempt to keep his face latched against your core. his tail flickers from your new grip, ignoring it as he knows you’re close to coming undone. he uses his free hand to grip your hip, pressing you even closer to his face, making you wonder if he could even breathe. not that he would ever mind.

it was all becoming too much. the lewd sounds of wet slurping echoed in the field and in between groans of his made you hotter as you lost yourself to the sensation. your orgasm was building up as your legs shaked as you chased your release. “sy-!” you cried out as you came, your juices coating his lips and chin.

he sat up, his eyes drinking the divine glow of your body. though your vision was blurred and a faint ringing in your ears, you could still make out his crimson eyes and the faint sound of his belt unfastening.

“we do not have to continue further if you’re tired.” he reassures. “i can handle this myself.”

with half-lidded eyes, you sit up and trace the sharp, rough edges of his tail with your fingers, watching as his eyelids flutter shut and his lips part slightly in response. “i’m not tired,” you murmur, as you shift to sit up. “kiss me.”

his breath catches, quickening as he closes the distance between you. soft lips moved softly against your own, tasting your own juices. it was not enough, you pressed forward, tilting your head to deepen the kiss with him, your teeth tugging at his bottom lip in silent request.

sylus opens, your tongues dance together, both of you sighing deeply into the other as you both breathe each other in.

the dragon held your heated gaze as he removed his leather bottoms, revealing his lower half. your eyes lowered over his nude body, cheeks flushing as it continued to lower. it’s not like you haven’t seen him nude before but this time it was much more different, more intimate before. you two were alone in your own world, no other humans to bother you both.

you lay back down on the plush grass as he hovers over you, his knee wedging between yours to help guide your legs open. your breath catching in your throat as his weight settled against you, hissing at the feeling of the tip of his cock, brushing against your slick folds.

as he slips in slowly, letting out a strained groan from deep within his throat. “g-gods.”

his tail wraps around your body to keep you still so he can go deeper. 

“p-please sy, more.” you moan, clenching your eyes shut.

he leans further in, burying himself in the crook of your neck. sylus moved slowly, his hips rolling into yours, his cock pushing deeper and deeper into your walls.

your hands return back to his horns, fingers curling around them with a gentle and firm grip. the sudden touch makes his tail twitch, its sharp and rough edges grazing your skin and you can’t help but let out a soft whimper.

“sylus i need you, i need more-” you whispered breathlessly, your eyes squeezing shut.

“is that what you truly want?” he asks, his breath hot against your ear. the only response that comes out of your mouth is a whimper, your grip tightening against his horns. “hold on tight then sweetie.” he shifts your legs so they wrap around his hips.

his lips crashed down against yours as he began to thrust into you with a steady rhythm. you pull away, your breath ragged as your mouth struggles to form any words or thoughts.

he continues to build his rhythm, each thrust hitting you so deep. your moans grew louder, the only sound in the open field. that warm build up in your lower body was building up as sylus’s length began to twitch within you.

he growls, one of his claws sinking into the grass, making sure not to prick your skin- or worse, while his other hand, pulls you to meet his thrusts. his hips are beginning to become faster against you.

you couldn’t let out any comprehendible words from the new profound speed he was going at. it was overwhelmingly good that you lost your ability to form words.

the dragon lets out a loud groan as he pushes a final deep and hard thrust, his cock pulsing in your walls. it didn’t take him long to finish deep inside of you, his cum leaking down your inner thigh but he didn’t pull out just yet. he wanted to make sure not all the drop of his seed wasn’t wasted.

both of you were panting heavily, catching your breaths. his tail loosens its grip on you, unwrapping from your body. as he sits up to admire you, he notices the faint marks left behind. he leans in, gently licking each one before pressing a kiss on it to speed up it’s healing while whispering soft praises to you.

once he finished, sylus lays himself back into the solitude of the crock of your neck, licking and savoring the sweet taste of your sweat and the scent of your body. he could feel himself softening inside of you, wanting this moment of being close to you to last for an eternity.

[daisymbin]

[00:24] - jeon wonwoo

a/n: amidst the sadness, an idea came and I just had to 🤷‍♀️ not proofread!!! + I am drowsy, hopefully there's not too many errors.

check out my masterlist! // wonwoo's m.list

"wonwoo," you whispered as you forced your eyes to peek open despite the exhaustion, "will you still read me to sleep when we're both 80, old, and grey?"

wonwoo chuckles, he closes the book in his lap shut, putting it on the bedside table as he removes his glasses and places them on top of the book & dims the lights. "i think the better question is if I can still see when I'm 80, or if I'm even alive!" he laughs a sound so deep your stomach flutters.

"wonwoo! why would you say that?" you whined as you lightly pushed his hand away in faux defiance.

"what?—I'm just being realistic!" he said a little too defensively, but wonwoo cant help the biggest shit-eating grin that makes its way to his face when he watches as your eyes light up in annoyance.

"do you have to be like that all the time? can't we play pretend? that we're 80, old and grey and healthy?" you asked as you turn slightly to look at him.

"if that's the case, then..." he trails off as he pulls you a little closer, just a little, just enough to close the gap between the two of you. he slides his hand down your arm till they reach your hand, interlocking your fingers, "I'd read to you every night 'till death do us apart."

you're certain you can trace the small curve on wonwoo's lips despite the dim lights.

"till death do us apart," you whispered it like it was a sacred promise.

"till death do us apart." wonwoo echoes, as if acknowledging this sacred promise.

a smile tugs at your lips when you feel the soft warmth of wonwoo's lips against your racing temple; your thoughts scatter away with the night wind.

"I love you," you both say at the same time, a sudden freeze in the room.

"I love you too," you both say at the same time.

wonwoo laughs as he pulled the blankets up and tugged you flush against his warm body. an arm goes around you as you settle your head on his chest; the steady rhythm of his heartbeat hypnotising you instantly.

"goodnight, wonwoo."

"goodnight, sleepyhead. I love you, so much."

a kiss on his cheek is the last thing wonwoo feels against his skin as he closes his eyes and moves to cuddle you fully, a smile on his lips as he snuggles further into your hair, breathing you in. & "i love you, wonwoo." is the last thing wonwoo hears before he drifts off to sleep.

[thesecondhandwoman]

A SISTER’S SACRIFICE

Vi x f!reader

Summary: Vi had watched Jinx’s death, loosing her again despite finally getting her back. As you look for her after the battle, you find her on her knees and shattered by her sister’s sacrifice, rushing in to comfort her.

Request: @hallowed-hauntings

The battle was over, but Piltover was in shambles. Smoke rose into the dim, grey sky, casting a suffocating haze over the city. The streets were littered with the wreckage of both man and machine, the aftershocks of Viktor’s twisted Arcane creations still reverberating through the earth beneath your feet. The fight between Noxus and Zaun’s reluctant defenders had left the city broken.

And yet, nothing felt as broken as the woman you had finally found.

Vi was on her knees in the heart of the destruction, at the edge of the Hexcore’s wreckage, right where it all happened. You slowed as you approached, your chest tightening at the sight of her. Her broad shoulders trembled, her hands clenched into bloody fists against the ground. Her gauntlets—those indomitable weapons that had always seemed like extensions of her fiery will—were discarded nearby, cracked and useless.

But Vi herself looked even more fractured.

“Vi,” you called gently, your voice soft but unsteady as you stepped closer. She didn’t respond, her head hanging low, her pink hair tangled and streaked the black dye at her roots. Her back heaved as though she was trying to catch her breath, but there was no relief in sight.

You glanced down and saw it—the remains of Jinx’s signature monkey bomb. Its grinning face was barely intact, the edges scorched and jagged from the explosion. Your stomach turned. You didn’t need to piece together the rest.

Jinx was gone.

The memory came back in flashes. You hadn’t seen it directly but had heard both the bomb and the sudden murmurs while people recovered as you searched for Vi in the chaos. Vi had been cornered, battling Warwick—the monstrous, Arcane-corrupted beast that Viktor’s creation had unleashed. He had been too strong, too fast, it had thrown Vi completely off guard, especially since she thought Warwick was dead. But when his large form jerked up, Jinx didn’t hesitate. Not at the slightest.

She had saved Vi. Pushed her out of harm’s way. Forced her sister to let go. And then detonated her final monkey bomb, taking Warwick with her into the abyss.

You crouched beside Vi, hesitant at first. Her knuckles were raw, bleeding from where she’d slammed them into the metal again and again. Her entire body shook, each shudder a silent scream that didn’t make it past her lips. You reached out, gently placing a hand on her shoulder, but she flinched violently at the touch.

“Don’t—” Her voice was raw, ragged, and trembling with grief. She finally lifted her head to glare at you, but her expression crumbled almost instantly. Her bloodshot eyes, rimmed with tears, searched your face as though she was begging you for answers you couldn’t give. “Don’t… touch me. I let her fall, I let her fall before even realizing she took out the fucking Crystal.”

Her words hit you like a blade to the chest, the shock hitting first, followed by an aching pain.

“No, Vi,” you said firmly, your own voice breaking under the weight of your emotions. “You didn’t let her fall. She—she made her choice.”

Vi shook her head furiously, a choked sob tearing from her throat. “She didn’t give me a choice!” she yelled, though her voice wavered, more plea than accusation. “She just… she just shoved me away and smiled. She smiled at me. Like it was nothing.” Her hands clenched at her sides as she let out another anguished cry. “I should have saved her! I could’ve saved her, but—”

“But she saved you,” you interrupted, your tone soft but unwavering. You couldn’t bear to see her like this, drowning in guilt that wasn’t hers to carry. “She saved you, Vi. She knew what she was doing. She wanted to protect you.”

“She was my little sister,” Vi whispered, her voice breaking completely as tears streamed down her face. “I was supposed to protect her. Not the other way around.”

And before you could say something to retort against her statement, her hands moved to cover her face as her sobs finally broke free. They were raw, guttural sounds, ripped straight from her soul. You didn’t hesitate this time. You wrapped your arms around her, pulling her close despite the way her body shook violently against you. She resisted for a brief moment, her muscles tensing like she was about to push you away, but then she collapsed into your embrace.

Her fingers clawed at your back as if holding onto you was the only thing keeping her together. You buried your face in her hair, pressing soft, soothing kisses against her temple as tears stung your own eyes.

“I’m here,” you murmured over and over, your voice trembling but steady enough to ground her. “I’m here, Vi. You’re not alone. I’ve got you.”

She clung to you like a lifeline, her sobs shaking both of you. You could feel her grief pouring out of her, raw and unrelenting. For so long, Vi had forced herself to be the unbreakable one—the fighter, the protector, the one who always got back up no matter how hard she was hit. But now? Now she was just a woman who had lost the last piece of her family, and it was more than anyone could bear.

“I wanted to bring her back,” Vi choked out between sobs. “I thought—I thought maybe we could fix things. That we could be sisters again. But now she’s gone, and—and it’s my fault.”

“No,” you said firmly, pulling back just enough to cup her tear-streaked face in your hands. You made her look at you, made her see the truth in your eyes. “It’s not your fault, Vi. Jinx… Powder… she loved you. She chose to save you because you meant everything to her. Don’t take that away from her. Don’t let her sacrifice mean nothing.”

Vi’s face crumpled again, and you pulled her back into your arms. The two of you stayed there for what felt like hours, kneeling in the ruins of Piltover as the world slowly moved on around you. You didn’t let go, not even as your legs began to ache and your heart weighed heavy with your own grief.

Eventually, Vi’s sobs quieted, though her breathing remained uneven. Her voice was hoarse when she finally spoke again. “She’s really gone, isn’t she?”

You swallowed hard, your throat tightening. “Yeah,” you whispered. “She’s gone,Vi.”

Vi remained still before slowly nodding against your shoulder, her arms still wrapped tightly around you. “I don’t know how to do this without her,” she admitted, her voice barely audible.

“You don’t have to do it alone,” you promised, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple. “I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Vi didn’t say anything, but the way she held onto you spoke volumes. The weight of her grief was unbearable, but you would carry it with her. Whatever it took, you would help her through this.

Even if it meant piecing together the fragments of her heart one jagged shard at a time.

[soleilapproves]

you condition your roommate, Gojo Satoru, into expecting a forehead kiss every time he leaves for work.

Notes: gender neutral reader

masterlist (tumblr isn’t letting me paste the link </3)

It all started on a Monday morning.

You had read about classical conditioning the night before- when a stimulus is linked to an action that is done routinely. You were feeling cheeky so you decided to test it out on your roommate who you knew had been trying to ask you out for the longest time.

You’ve been waiting for him to explicitly say how he feels but he’s chickened out way too many times. So as revenge, you played mind games with him. You’d be lying if you said that it wasn’t satisfying to see his shocked expression.

“Satoru, before you leave-“ you skipped to him before he could grab the door handle, and grabbed his arm to turn him towards you.

“-don’t forget this.” You pulled his tie down and kissed his forehead.

The white haired man’s eyebrows reached high enough to almost touch his hairline. “Wha-“

You pushed him out before he could utter another word. “Bye, you’ll be late!”

Soon after that fateful morning, you’d kiss his forehead before work. It became so ingrained in both your routines that he’d simply walk up to you while you were making breakfast and you’d slip him a quick peck.

You almost conditioned yourself to it too. Whenever Satoru would move his hair away from his forehead, your mind would automatically make you lean in towards him. It confused him the first couple times you did it and then you caught yourself on after that. You were the one playing mind games. Not him.

It had been three weeks of giving him forehead kisses when you decided to stop the action.

Your morning started the same way as it always did- you woke up, showered, made your coffee, and then sat down to eat your breakfast. However, it was the opposite for Satoru. He had slept late the night before and woke up with only fifteen minutes to get ready so to say that the apartment looked like it was hit by a hurricane was an understatement.

You saw a flash of white go towards the fridge as you calmly stirred the berries in your oatmeal. “Huh, I was wondering if you had taken the day off.”

“I didn’t. Manager Yaga gave me some intern’s report last minute and I had to correct the whole thing. I was up until three am.” You felt bad over how he was rushing to spread jam on his toast so you pulled out a tumbler and began to prepare his coffee as he liked it (so sweet that a hypoglycemic person could be cured).

You could see the effects of sleep deprivation on him- tie crooked, bag half-zipped, shirt tucked out of his slacks and of course, crumbs of bread all of his face. The man looked like a walking mess.

You walked him to the door, handing his tumbler over to him and muttering a small ‘goodbye’ as he shoved his feet in his black leather loafers.

You were about to close the door on him when he stopped you. “Did you forget something?” You innocently asked as you leaned your head to the side while folding your arms.

“No, you did.” He haphazardly moved his hair away from the center of his forehead and pointed at it.

“Why are you doing that?” You wanted to laugh at him so bad but you pinched your arm to prevent it. “What do you mean? You always kiss my forehead.”

“Yeah, but I don’t feel like doing it anymore.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. Do you want me to keep doing it?”

“Yes, I’m way too used to it!” You almost jolted at his urgency. The man was clearly yearning for a forehead kiss.

“But why? It’s weird- only couples do something like that. I don’t know why I did it in the first place.”

“Wow, NOW you care if it’s something couples do?”

Gojo sighed and rubbed his temples with his forefinger and thumb. “Look, I’m really late right now and I don’t have time to explain myself. All I’m gonna say is this- you, me, date at seven tonight. And you best believe I won’t be late for that. Now give me my kiss.”

Your face was flushed after his sudden boldness and you quickly leaned in to press your lips against his sweaty forehead (you had worked him up with your little prank). “I’ll be waiting.” You grinned.

And he had walked right into your trap.

Gojo scoffed at you before closing the door with a small slam. You began jumping as soon as he was out of your vision but your celebration was soon stopped when the door opened

“What now?” You groaned.

The man simply pulled you towards him by your elbow and left a sweet kiss on your cheek. “This.”

—

Trust me when I say that playing mind games like this is a lot of fun. My ex situationship can’t listen to Childish Gambino without thinking of me 🙏

[mellowdiplomattrashpsychic]

It's funny with all the sudden parents and all, but think about how Danny being Calico is an open secret. It has so much potential.

Like- everyone knows. They dont say, nobody arrests him, but everyone knows and he knows that they know. It a Gotham secret.

And its just- imagine that it helps cover up the bats' identities? Because Bruce adopted WAY too many by now for people to not make any connections.

I bet the only thing holding them off is bad picture quality, stress of surviving everyday, simply not caring, and/or fanfiction. You can't tell me that people haven't shipped Bruce/Batman. You know how hard-core fans could be.

But now? Now it's "more concrete" that Bruce isn't Batman and the kids aren't the other vigilantes. After all, why would Batman keep a rogue as a child?

It's a stupid thing to think about considering Red Hood is still around and Robin (Damian) has a sword. But really, imagine it?

And its hilarious because people are actively cheering on the chaos gremlin. This is what they want! Sure, Bruce does great things with his charities, mass donations, and the WE stuff going (the last one they think is credited more on Tim and Damian though).

But it's not enough. Legal stuff is slow. Inventing and innovating things is difficult. The whole system is corrupt for fucks sake! It takes a hell of a lot more time to get shit done. I mean- look at the parks and plants around! Barely any, and Poison Ivy was out there killing because of all that pollution and plant killing!

Red Hood was making a difference. Sure, it was still dangerous in Crime Alley, but there was a huge difference from back then. It even impacted outside territories, too. So he didn't only help Crime Alley, but Gotham in general with the whole killing thing.

They needed more anti-heroes that made that large-scale change. And that's what Danny provided as Calico.

Also, the original post had "daylight vigilante turned dark" in it. Phantom is an obvious choice to think about but... but what if he wasn't?

Think about it. What other name could he have that he could commit to the bit to?

I just think it would be funny if he had another name. Not related to bats, birds, or (now) cats, but something like Signal in a way. Definitely a change of wardrobe. Probably uses the Phantom alias for big problems (alien invasions, Darkseid, big world catastrophe shit, ghost or magic stuff)

What if he did deal with magic? He's slowly getting rid of the curses in Gotham which is easier in the day since light weakens them (maybe).

That got off track, but yeah, imagine the drama he could cook up with not 1, not 2, not 3-

With 3 aliases!

(Familiar to anyone? Sorry, had to do it)

Just, just about the chaos he could brew. Duplication isn't that hard now that he has time to practice with decent enough sleep ;)

"And? What did you decide on?" Duke asks, fork slipping from his mouth and chewing, focused on Danny.

The boy in question hums. "Oh yeah, I'm totally joining in on the nightlife."

The statement has all of them stopping in their tracks, blatantly staring at the still eating boy.

"This will be my emo arc, daylight vigilante turned dark."

Tim snorts, Jason gives a smirk, nudging the eldest sibling next to him from his frozen state.

"Ooooh," Steph leans forward. "Have you decided? Bat or Bird?"

"New name?" Cass jumps in on the questioning with a small smile, eyes crinkling.

"Will you be joining us tonight then, danyal?" His twin speaks up for the first time during dinner, eyes narrowed and calculating.

"Yes." Is the short reply, with the way damian's lips turn down and displeasure makes itself clear, the intention of giving such a short answer has been met.

"Danny," Bruce gains the attention, leaning forward with his fingers interlocked and brows furrowed with what must be worry.

"Are you sure? I don't want you to feel pressured into this just because everyone else is—"

"I'm more than sure, B!"

The man sighs. "And I won't be able to stop you?"

"Mhm." He gives a nod.

"Okay," his shoulders sag in defeat. "Do you have everything then—?"

"Yep!"

"Even—"

"B, I'm pretty sure I got everything, you can, if in your opinion I am missing something, give it to me later!"

Danny grins, pushing himself up from the table and rounding around towards the door.

"Besides! My whole get up will be a suprise!! So stay awake folks because I'm gonna blow ya all away."

As he leaves, Steph and Duke make sounds of anticipation, curiosity eating at all of them.

(They dont know whats gonna hit 'em.)

"I'm betting 50 bucks that he's gonna be a bat."

Alfred shakes his head at the newfound excitement.

—

What an exciting night.

There is still no sight of their newest, despite oracle's teasing, having apparently already been included in the suprise.

"Well well well," a sly, yet teasing voice makes itself into the open. Catwoman, in all her glory, walks up to the group of bats and birds.

"If it isn't the bat, what's with the gloomy face?"

Batman gives her a nod. "Cat."

Her eyes roam the group and she tilts her head. "Everyone seems to be here tonight." She comments.

"We're waiting," the man shares. "Our newest decided to be more secretive about his debut."

Catwoman gives him a smug smirk. "So I have heard," a chuckle. "I've come here to introduce you to someone, truthfully."

"Oh? Who is it?" Nightwing perks up, having finally decided to join in.

"Me."

Some yelp, whip their head around and away from the lady in black, gasps and cooing (particularly from steph) fill the roof and Danny joins them.

He wears black combat boots, they're heavy just from the look, but make no sound as he jumps around. The front of the boots look like cat paws, they're reaching up to his knees.

Then comes the baggy black pants, knees protected by poleyn and his belt acting as a cats tail. The hoodie he is wearing is also black, with fingerless gloves (only the middle finger is covered) and reaching up to his neck.

Instead of a domino mask, he wears a hood with cat ears and a dark face mask. Cass claps, knowing fully well he took inspiration from her own get up.

The whole outfit is detailed with orange spots, some parts brown and others grayish.

"Meet my new mentee, Calico."

Danny, Calico, waves.

[moonselune]

Hi! Could I request something? I just saw you accept new request again! I was thinking of yearning. Them yearning for oblivious tav.

I just love a good old yearning prompt

yesssssss the yearning the pining the dramaaa

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Karlach:

Karlach was trying her best to keep it together. As she sat by the campfire, her eyes kept drifting toward you, her massive frame leaning slightly forward as if she could somehow close the gap between you just by willing it. You were tending to a few weapons you’d scavenged earlier in the day, completely oblivious to the way her molten eyes lingered on you, the way her hands fidgeted with a piece of stray leather to distract herself from the ache in her chest.

Wyll, sitting nearby with a mischievous grin, had noticed. Of course, he had noticed. The Blade of Frontiers had a knack for picking up on unspoken emotions, and Karlach was as subtle as a roaring forge.

“You know,” Wyll began, his voice low and teasing as he leaned toward Karlach, “if you keep staring at them like that, you’re liable to set the poor one on fire.”

Karlach froze, her cheeks flushing as embers flickered to life along her horns.

“What?” she whispered sharply, her voice cracking. “I wasn’t staring! I was just—”

“Yearning?” Wyll supplied with a grin, leaning back casually.

“I don’t yearn,” Karlach snapped, though her voice lacked conviction.

“Oh, come now,” Wyll said, his tone smug. “The sighing, the pining, the tragic glances when he’s not looking—it’s downright poetic.” He tapped his chin theatrically. “It’s almost enough to compose a ballad.”

Karlach shot him a glare, her flames flaring slightly around her shoulders. “Wyll, I swear, if you don’t shut it—”

But it was too late. Her embarrassment sent her infernal engine into overdrive, and the flames on her body surged. The sudden flare caught your attention, and you glanced up from your work.

“Karlach?” you called out, your voice filled with concern as you stood and crossed the campfire toward her. “Are you okay?”

The sheer earnestness in your tone made her heart lurch painfully in her chest. She quickly tried to wave you off, her hands fanning at her shoulders as if she could dampen the flames.

“It’s nothing! Just—hot, you know?” she stammered.

“Well, yeah, you’re always hot,” you said, grabbing a nearby waterskin. “But this seems worse than usual.”

Karlach froze, her eyes going wide at your words. Did you—did you just call her hot? Surely, you didn’t mean it like that, right?

“Here, let me help,” you said, uncapping the waterskin.

“No, no, really, I’m fine—”

Too late. You doused her with a splash of water, and instead of calming her flames, it only made things worse. The steam hissed around her, mingling with her rising panic, and her flames flared even brighter.

“Gods, I’m sorry!” you exclaimed, looking horrified. “Did that make it worse?”

Karlach buried her face in her hands, groaning loudly. “No, no, it’s fine, just—don’t worry about it.”

Wyll, watching the scene unfold, laughed openly now. “You’re really outdoing yourself, Karlach. I think the entire camp will see those flames soon.”

You shot Wyll a confused look. “What’s he talking about?”

Karlach peeked through her fingers, her flames dimming slightly as her mortification reached its peak.

“Nothing! He’s just… being a prat,” she said quickly, glaring at Wyll, who only grinned wider.

“I’d call it encouragement,” Wyll said lightly. “After all, someone here needs to take a hint.”

You blinked at him, clearly puzzled, but before you could ask what he meant, Karlach stood abruptly, the ground under her feet crunching as her weight shifted.

“I’m gonna, uh, go check on—anything else,” she muttered, stomping off toward the edge of camp.

You watched her go, bewildered, before turning back to Wyll. “Did I do something wrong?”

Wyll chuckled, shaking his head. “Not wrong, no. Just oblivious. Don’t worry—you’ll figure it out eventually. Maybe.”

You frowned, glancing back toward where Karlach had disappeared into the shadows, her flames still faintly flickering in the distance. You didn’t know what you’d missed, but something about the way she’d looked at you before she left lingered in your mind, warm and unexplained.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Minthara:

The campfire crackled gently, casting a warm glow across the assembled group. You sat on a log, sharpening your blade, blissfully unaware of the undercurrents running through the evening.

Minthara, sitting a few paces away, had her sharp red eyes trained on you, a faint furrow in her brow. Her usual composed demeanor was slightly off tonight—her movements a touch too deliberate, her glances toward you lingering just a second too long.

Shadowheart, one of the resident camp gossips, noticed. She always did.

“Why don’t you just say something, Minthara?” Shadowheart drawled lazily, her lips curling into a smirk as she toyed with a loose strand of her hair. “It’s not as though subtlety is your strong suit. Or theirs, for that matter.”

Minthara’s sharp gaze snapped toward her, irritation flashing across her face.

“I do not need your advice, cleric,” she said coolly.

“Oh, I think you do,” Shadowheart said, undeterred. “Because whatever it is you’ve been doing clearly isn’t working. They haven’t even noticed.” She tilted her head toward you, who were now carefully oiling your weapon, oblivious to the tension building around you.

Minthara’s grip on her dagger tightened, her knuckles turning white. “They have other matters to attend to. The fault lies not with my approach but their… distraction.”

Shadowheart chuckled. “Distraction? They’re so dense they probably think the moonrise is flirting with them. You’ll have to carve it into the side of their tent before they catch on.”

That was the last straw. Minthara stood abruptly, her dark cloak billowing behind her as she marched across the campsite toward you.

“Minthara?” you said, startled as her shadow fell over you.

Before you could say another word, she grabbed you by the front of your tunic and pulled you to your feet with a surprising amount of force. Her crimson eyes burned with frustration and something else you couldn’t quite place.

“You,” she snapped, her voice ringing out across the camp, “are impossibly blind.”

“W-what?” you stammered, your mind racing to figure out what you’d done wrong this time.

“I have fought by your side,” she began, her voice rising. “I have trusted you, protected you, respected you. I have given you every sign imaginable, and yet you remain oblivious to the fact that I—” She stopped abruptly, taking a deep breath, as if even saying the words aloud were a battle she needed to win. “That I desire you, you fool!”

The camp went silent. Even the fire seemed to crackle a little softer as everyone turned to stare.

You blinked, utterly dumbfounded. “You… you desire me?”

Minthara groaned, her head tipping back in exasperation before she fixed you with an incredulous look. “Yes! Must I spell it out further? Or perhaps I should inscribe it on your blade since that seems to be where your attention is always focused!”

Shadowheart, who had been watching the entire exchange with barely suppressed laughter, finally burst out into an uncontrollable giggle.

“Oh, gods, this is better than I could’ve hoped,” she said, wiping a tear from her eye.

Minthara turned her glare on her, her lips curling in irritation. “If you say one more word, Shadowheart, I will—”

“Okay, okay,” you interrupted, holding up your hands. “Everyone calm down.” You turned back to Minthara, your voice softening. “I’m sorry if I missed the signs, Minthara. I honestly didn’t realize.”

Her anger seemed to waver, replaced by a flicker of vulnerability.

“How could you not?” she asked, almost to herself. You hesitated, then placed a tentative hand on hers, still gripping your tunic.

“Because I’m an idiot,” you admitted, a small smile tugging at your lips. “But I’m an idiot who’s honored and… maybe a little thrilled by what you just said.”

For the first time that evening, Minthara seemed at a loss for words. Her lips parted slightly, her sharp demeanor softening as she searched your face.

“Thrilled, you say?” she murmured, the barest hint of a smirk returning.

“Thrilled,” you confirmed, your cheeks warming under her intense gaze.

The tension in the air shifted, no longer charged with frustration but with something warmer, something promising. Minthara released your tunic, smoothing it out almost absently. “Then perhaps next time, you won’t require such… dramatic measures to understand me.”

Shadowheart made a kissy noise behind you, and you shot her a glare over your shoulder. Minthara, however, ignored her entirely, her focus solely on you.

“Now,” she said, her voice back to its usual measured tone. “Shall we continue this conversation somewhere with fewer interruptions?”

You nodded, feeling a grin spread across your face. “Lead the way.”

As you walked off together, Shadowheart’s laughter echoed behind you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. For once, the fog of obliviousness had lifted, and you were exactly where you wanted to be—at Minthara’s side.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Lae'zel:

Lae’zel had always been a force of nature—her sharp tongue, battle-hardened demeanor, and unyielding confidence left no room for doubt. And that’s exactly how she preferred it. To anyone observing her, she was the epitome of githyanki discipline and control. But deep down, behind the steel exterior and fiery eyes, she was at war with herself.

She had a massive, undeniable crush on you.

It was maddening. Every time you smiled at her or even so much as glanced her way, her heart would race—a sensation she would have sworn was impossible for her kind. She had tried everything to make her interest known: sparring sessions where she pushed you to your limits (and a bit beyond), blunt declarations of your 'adequacy' in her eyes, and even offers to 'crush your enemies together in glorious combat'. But somehow, none of it seemed to land.

Instead, you remained oblivious, flashing her that infuriatingly kind smile and treating her like a valued ally rather than someone she desperately wanted to claim as her partner.

One day, during a training session, Lae’zel’s frustration reached its peak. She had you pinned beneath her, her blade at your throat, and instead of fear or admiration, you chuckled.

“Nice move,” you said, your grin wide. “I’ll have to remember that one.”

She grit her teeth and growled, pressing the blade a little closer—not enough to hurt, but enough to make her point.

“You do not take me seriously!” she snapped.

You raised an eyebrow. “What are you talking about? You’re one of the most serious people I know.”

“Not in battle, fool!” she snarled, pulling back and stalking away, her blade sheathed with a sharp clang, as you walked bewilderdly back to your tent.

From a short distance, Halsin, who had been watching the training with an amused glint in his eye, stepped forward to intercept Lae’zel. She stopped abruptly, glaring at the druid as if daring him to speak.

“Lae’zel,” Halsin said in his calm, measured tone, “may I offer you some advice?”

Her eyes narrowed. “You may offer. I will decide whether it is worth hearing.”

He chuckled, unfazed. “I’ve noticed your… interest in our leader.”

Her nostrils flared, and she crossed her arms. “And what of it?”

“You are a warrior, and I admire your strength,” Halsin began, “but perhaps your methods of courtship are… misplaced.”

“What nonsense is this?” she scoffed. “I have made my intentions clear. I have praised their competence. I have challenged them in combat. What more is required?”

Halsin smiled gently. “Perhaps a softer touch. Words that reveal your feelings without the shield of aggression. A gesture that shows your care rather than your strength.”

Lae’zel looked utterly baffled, as if he had just suggested she surrender to a mind flayer.

“Softness is weakness,” she spat.

“Not always,” Halsin countered. “Sometimes, it takes more strength to be vulnerable than to wield a sword.”

She opened her mouth to retort but found herself at a loss. Instead, she grumbled something unintelligible and stalked off, leaving Halsin shaking his head with a knowing smile.

The next morning, Lae’zel approached you at camp. There was an uncharacteristic stiffness to her posture, as if she were preparing for battle, yet her hands were empty.

“Leader,” she began, her voice clipped but quieter than usual.

You looked up from your map, offering her that same smile that never failed to undo her. “What’s up, Lae’zel?”

She hesitated, the words catching in her throat. For a moment, she considered abandoning this foolishness and returning to her usual methods. But Halsin’s advice echoed in her mind, and she forced herself to continue.

“I… value your presence,” she said, the words sounding foreign and awkward.

Your brows furrowed in confusion. “Uh, thanks? I value yours too.”

“No, you do not understand,” she snapped, then took a deep breath to steady herself. “I… value you. Your strength. Your wit. Your… idiotic charm.”

Your confusion deepened. “Lae’zel, are you feeling okay?”

She growled in frustration, her hand twitching toward her sword out of habit before she forced it to her side. “Do I need to spell it out for you, fool?”

“Apparently,” you said, still clueless but clearly trying to follow.

She stepped closer, her amber eyes burning into yours. “I desire you, leader. As my equal. My partner. My… lover.”

The words hung in the air, and for the first time, you saw Lae’zel in a new light—not just as a fierce warrior, but as someone deeply passionate and utterly vulnerable in this moment.

“Oh,” you said, the realization dawning on you. “Oh.”

Her jaw tightened, and she crossed her arms defensively. “If you find this amusing, I will—”

“I don’t,” you interrupted, a small smile playing at your lips. “I just didn’t think—well, I didn’t know.”

“Because you are blind,” she muttered, though there was no real venom in her tone.

You stepped closer, reaching out tentatively. “Lae’zel, I’m flattered. Truly. And… I’d like to see where this goes.”

Her eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, she looked as though she didn’t quite believe you. Then, with a sharp nod, she straightened her back and let a rare, genuine smile grace her lips.

“Good,” she said simply. “Now, let us prepare for the day. We have enemies to slay, and I will not let them distract you from what is ours.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, warmth blooming in your chest. Lae’zel might not have mastered the art of softness, but in her own way, she was perfect.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Shadowheart:

Shadowheart had always been composed, her expression a careful mask of neutrality, but recently, every time she caught sight of you, her calm façade wavered. Her chest tightened, her thoughts scattered, and her usually sharp words became softer, laced with an uncharacteristic warmth. She knew the truth of it: she had fallen for you. Hard.

And yet, despite her every effort to show you her feelings, you remained utterly oblivious.

At breakfast that morning, Shadowheart decided to take another approach. She brushed past you as you prepared the fire, the faint scent of lavender trailing in her wake.

“Good morning,” she said, her voice soft but laced with what she thought was a hint of allure.

You looked up, smiling warmly. “Morning, Shadowheart. Did you sleep well?”

She nodded, sitting beside you with deliberate closeness. “As well as I could, knowing what awaits us each day. And you?”

“Fine, thanks. Just trying to get this fire going,” you replied, your focus returning to the task at hand.

She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a murmur. “You’re very skilled with your hands. It’s… admirable.”

You blinked at her, utterly missing the meaning behind her words. “Thanks! I guess all those years of camping have paid off.”

Her shoulders slumped ever so slightly, but she refused to give up. Throughout the morning, she found small ways to stay near you, brushing her fingers against yours when you handed her something, complimenting you with what she thought was a sultry tone, and even laughing at your jokes—some of which, she had to admit, were terrible.

Still, you seemed completely unaware.

By midday, Shadowheart was frustrated beyond measure. She found Karlach near the edge of camp, inspecting her weapons, and stormed over.

“Karlach,” she said, her tone clipped but tinged with exasperation.

Karlach looked up, her fiery heart pulsing warmly. “What’s up, Shads?”

"Please don't call me that," Shadowheart crossed her arms, her frustration bubbling over. “I don’t know what to do. I’ve been dropping hints—no, practically throwing myself at them, and they just… don’t notice!”

Karlach blinked, then grinned, clearly enjoying the situation more than she should. “Wait, you’re talking about—?”

“Yes,” Shadowheart snapped, her cheeks tinged with pink.

Karlach let out a hearty laugh, her flames flickering slightly brighter. “Oh, this is rich. You? Pining? I never thought I’d see the day.”

Shadowheart glared at her. “This is not amusing. I need advice, not mockery.”

Karlach wiped a tear from her eye, still chuckling. “Alright, alright. Let me think. So, you’ve been… what, flirting?”

“I’ve tried everything,” Shadowheart admitted, throwing her hands in the air. “Compliments, proximity, even subtle touches. And nothing! They treat me the same as everyone else.”

Karlach hummed, tapping a clawed finger against her chin. “Maybe they’re just really dense. Or, y’know, not used to someone as… uh, mysterious as you.”

Shadowheart raised an eyebrow. “And what do you suggest I do? Write it out in blood on their tent?”

Karlach snorted. “Hey, that might actually work. But no, maybe you need to be more direct. Like, ‘Hey, I think you’re cute, let’s share a bedroll tonight.’”

Shadowheart stared at her, aghast. “I am not saying that.”

“Your loss,” Karlach said with a shrug. “But seriously, just talk to them. Be honest. I bet they’d love it.”

Shadowheart sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Honesty. Of course. The one thing I’ve been avoiding.”

“Hey, they like you for you,” Karlach said, clapping her on the shoulder. “Well, they would if they had half a brain and knew what was good for them. Go get ’em, tiger.”

Later that evening, as you sat by the campfire, Shadowheart approached you with purposeful strides. She was determined to take Karlach’s advice, even if it made her heart pound and her palms sweat.

“Can I join you?” she asked, her voice steady despite the storm inside her.

“Of course,” you said, shifting to make room for her.

She hesitated for a moment, then sat beside you, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

You turned to her, your expression curious but kind. “What is it?”

Shadowheart opened her mouth to speak, but the words caught in her throat. Instead, she let out a shaky breath and looked into the fire.

“I… I care about you,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled, completely misunderstanding. “I care about you too, Shadowheart. You’re a great friend.”

She groaned inwardly, pinching the bridge of her nose. “No, I mean I care about you in a… different way.”

Realization dawned on your face, your eyes widening. “Oh.”

“Oh?” she echoed, feeling both vulnerable and absurdly exposed.

“I didn’t—Shadowheart, I had no idea,” you said, your voice filled with genuine surprise and warmth.

“I noticed,” she muttered, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips despite herself.

You reached out, gently placing a hand on hers. “I’m sorry if I’ve been clueless. I guess I just… never thought someone like you would feel that way about someone like me.”

She looked at you, her expression softening. “And why wouldn’t I? You’re… remarkable.”

The sincerity in her voice made your heart skip a beat, and you couldn’t help but smile. “Well, I guess that makes two of us, then.”

Her eyes widened slightly. “You… feel the same?”

“Yeah,” you said, your cheeks flushing. “I guess I was just waiting for a sign.”

Shadowheart laughed softly, the sound lighter than you’d ever heard from her. “Apparently, I need to be less subtle.”

As the fire crackled between you, the tension that had been simmering for so long finally gave way to something warmer, something real. And for the first time in weeks, Shadowheart felt at peace.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Jaheira:

Jaheira was not a woman who pined. Or so she told herself. A High Harper, disciplined and pragmatic, she had weathered countless battles and heartbreaks. Yet, here she was, sneaking glances at you across camp, her chest tightening whenever you smiled or laughed. It was maddening. How had you managed to worm your way so deeply into her thoughts?

Despite her years of wisdom, Jaheira found herself at a loss. She didn’t know how to bridge the gap between the two of you, not without risking her pride or the delicate balance of your group.

The worst part was your complete and utter obliviousness. She’d tried subtlety—lingering conversations, offering you extra help with tactics, even sharing stories of her youth that she told no one else. You simply smiled warmly, thanked her, and went about your day as though her heart hadn’t been laid bare in every word.

One evening, after another frustrating day of yearning and getting nowhere, Astarion finally had enough.

“Jaheira, darling, may I have a word?” Astarion said, sidling up to her as she sharpened her blade near the fire.

“What do you want, Astarion?” she asked, her tone brusque.

He smirked, clearly unbothered by her irritation. “Oh, nothing much. Just to offer my… expert services in matters of the heart.”

Jaheira blinked, her sharpening stone pausing mid-stroke. “What are you talking about?”

Astarion gestured dramatically toward you, where you sat chatting animatedly with Karlach. “I’m talking about your obvious pining for our dear leader. It’s positively tragic to watch.”

Jaheira’s cheeks flushed, and she quickly turned back to her blade. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, please,” Astarion said, rolling his eyes. “You practically glow whenever they’re around. It’s adorable, really. But I must say, your approach could use some… finesse.”

Jaheira scowled at him. “I am not some lovesick fool, and I certainly don’t need advice from a vampire with more charm than sense.”

“Perhaps not,” Astarion said, unfazed. “But consider this: have your current tactics worked? Have they so much as noticed your affection?”

Jaheira’s silence was answer enough.

“I thought so,” Astarion said smugly. “Now, listen closely. You need to be bold. Direct. Use your natural charisma and authority to your advantage. And if all else fails, a little flirtation never hurt anyone.”

Jaheira narrowed her eyes. “I am not a charlatan like you, Astarion. I won’t lower myself to cheap tricks.”

“Who said anything about cheap tricks?” Astarion replied, feigning offense. “Think of it as… a strategic maneuver. After all, you wouldn’t hesitate to outwit an enemy in battle, would you?”

Jaheira sighed, considering his words. As much as she hated to admit it, he wasn’t entirely wrong. “Fine. I’ll listen. But if this backfires, I’ll hold you personally responsible.”

“Splendid,” Astarion said, clapping his hands together. “Now, let’s start with a little more confidence in your approach…”

The next morning, you noticed something strange about Jaheira. She was… different.

She approached you with a faint smile that seemed just a touch too practiced, her movements deliberate and graceful in a way that reminded you of someone else.

“Good morning,” she said, her voice smooth and measured. “Did you sleep well?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Uh, yeah. I did. And you?”

“Perfectly,” she replied, her eyes lingering on you in a way that felt… odd. “Though I couldn’t help but think of our conversation from yesterday. You truly have a fascinating mind.”

You tilted your head, trying to piece together what was happening. Something about her tone, her body language—it was familiar. And then it hit you.

“Wait a minute,” you said, narrowing your eyes. “Why are you acting like Astarion?”

Jaheira froze, her carefully crafted façade slipping for just a moment. “I… what?”

“You’re doing the thing he does,” you said, mimicking a dramatic hand gesture. “The suave, overly charming thing. It’s not like you.”

Jaheira’s cheeks flushed, and she quickly turned away, muttering something under her breath.

From across camp, Astarion burst into laughter, doubling over as he clutched his stomach. “Oh, this is too good!”

Jaheira shot him a withering glare before turning back to you, her expression softening. “Perhaps I’ve been… trying too hard. Forgive me if I seemed unlike myself.”

You smiled, your warmth cutting through her frustration. “You don’t need to try so hard, Jaheira. I like you just as you are.”

Her breath caught, and for a moment, she didn’t know what to say. Then, with a small, genuine smile, she nodded. “Thank you. That means… more than you know.”

As she walked away, Astarion approached, still grinning. “Well, that could have gone better, but at least they noticed you.”

Jaheira shook her head, a wry smile tugging at her lips. “Never again, Astarion. Never again.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Gale:

The late afternoon sun hung low, painting the riverside in warm golds and soft shadows. Gale, waist-deep in the cool water, had his arms crossed in front of him as if the sheer act of holding himself together could quell the maelstrom of feelings raging inside. His crush on you was a storm that refused to abate, leaving him with sleepless nights and days filled with longing glances.

From the riverbank, Minthara watched him with a look of abject irritation. Minthara had ordered him to take a dip in the cold water after he had decided to unleash his love-filled ranting unto her ears as they collected water. She assured him she would be fine to take the water back by herself, and when he thought she had left he keenly stripped and waded into the water. But Minthara had not left, no, Gale's lovesick demeanor had created a vendetta against her and she decided to take action.

"Pathetic," she muttered under her breath. She didn’t think it was possible for wizards to get worse, but Gale was proving her wrong. With a smirk, she moved silently to where Gale had left his clothes folded neatly on a nearby rock. With the swift efficiency of a seasoned tactician, she gathered them up and strode back toward camp.

You were enjoying a moment of quiet when Minthara approached, holding a bundle of robes in her arms.

"The wizard is by the river," she said bluntly. "It seems he’s in need of assistance."

You frowned, glancing at the clothing. "Assistance? With what?"

Minthara’s lips quirked into a thin smile. "He appears… indisposed. Perhaps you should go and see for yourself."

Before you could ask more, she tossed the robes into the fire and strode away, leaving you thoroughly puzzled but intrigued. You could have sworn those were Gale's. With haste, you made your way towards the river and when you arrived at the riverbank, you called out, "Gale? Everything alright?"

Gale startled, his head whipping around to face you, his hair slicked back and glistening in the sunlight. Clearly he had been searching for his robes. "Ah, no! I mean, yes—yes, everything’s fine!"

You raised a brow, stepping closer to the water’s edge. "Are you sure? Minthara said you needed help."

At the mention of her name, Gale groaned. "Of course, she did. And I suppose she also absconded with my robes?" He shot a wary glance toward the shore, clearly trying to maintain some distance.

"Unfortunately so. What’s going on?" you asked, scanning the area. Then you noticed the way his face burned red, his expression a mix of embarrassment and frustration. "Why are you still in the water? It’s getting late. and the river's current is about to pick up, you need to get out, now."

He hesitated, his fingers flexing nervously beneath the water’s surface. "It’s… complicated."

"Complicated how?" You looked around, spotting no immediate danger apart from the increasing current. "Do you need a hand getting out? I can lend you my cloak."

"You don’t understand!" Gale blurted, his voice cracking slightly. "This isn’t about the cold—or the current. It’s…" He trailed off, visibly warring with himself.

You tilted your head, curious and slightly amused. "Then what is it about? You’re not exactly making it easy to help you."

Gale sighed deeply, sinking a little lower into the water until only his nose and eyes peeked out. Then, in a low, hurried tone, he confessed, "I’m afraid my feelings for you have… manifested in a rather inconvenient manner."

Your brow furrowed. "Feelings for me?"

"Yes!" Gale said, his voice growing more desperate. "Feelings. Strong feelings—romantic, longing, entirely improper feelings for someone as… exceptional as you."

You blinked, the weight of his words settling over you like the warmth of the setting sun. "You—wait. You like me?"

"Yes," he muttered, his face practically steaming despite the cool water. "Which is precisely why I can’t leave this river at the moment."

The realization dawned slowly, but when it clicked, a grin spread across your face. "Oh," you said, fighting back laughter. "Oh."

"Yes," Gale grumbled, his mortification complete. "You see now why this is problematic."

You couldn’t stop the chuckle that escaped. "So, let me get this straight. You’re saying your feelings are… visible at the moment?"

Gale pinched the bridge of his nose. "If you insist on phrasing it that way, then yes."

You laughed harder, the sound bright and unrestrained. "Gale, that’s not the end of the world."

"Easy for you to say," he muttered. "You’re not the one at risk of a compromising exit."

Still laughing, you crouched by the water’s edge, your cloak in hand. "Come on. I promise I’ll look the other way. Just wrap this around your waist - tightly, and let’s get you back to camp."

Gale hesitated, clearly torn between his pride and the practicality of your offer. The river was rising, and the current becoming less forgiving. He didn't know what would be worse, coming out in this state or having to have you rescue him whilst he was in this condition. Finally, he sighed. "You’re infuriatingly kind, you know that?"

"Only to people I like," you teased, winking at him.

That earned you a small, genuine smile, despite his predicament. Slowly, cautiously, he edged closer to the shore, his blush never fading. You diligently kept your eyes closed, but there was that little devil inside you willing you to take a peak. He wrapped the cloak around his waist, only for you to hear a small, defeated sigh.

"You cannot laugh at me, but please may I request that I carry your shoes back to camp?" He asked, and you couldn't help but laugh.

"Wow you must really like me-"

"-The shoes please!"

Still giggling to yourself, you took off your shoes and passed them to him, allowing him to use them as a shield to his nether region.

You were finally able to look at him, his cheeks flushed beet red as he murmured, "I am going to kill Minthara, or at least try to."

"You know, Gale, I think Minthara might have done us both a favor."

Gale groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Never speak of this again. And especially do not encourage her behaviour."

"No promises," you said with a grin, walking beside him as you both headed back to camp. "Perhaps, I might want to get caught short with you."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Astarion:

Astarion was not accustomed to being ignored, least of all by someone who had managed to captivate him so thoroughly. Yet here you were, brushing off his every flirtation, every lingering glance, every word dripping with a charm that could make others fall at his feet.

You were different, infuriatingly so. Every smirk, every sly compliment, every touch of his hand to your arm was met with a polite laugh, a nod, or—worse—a casual thanks before you moved on as though he hadn’t just thrown his best seductive lines at you.

For someone like Astarion, whose every move had been meticulously calculated for centuries, this was unbearable. He was practically seething with frustration as he watched you across the camp, laughing at something Karlach had said. He sighed dramatically, slumping onto a nearby log, the perfect picture of a man whose heart was in shambles.

It wasn’t that he didn’t understand why you might be cautious around him. He wasn’t blind to his own past or the scars it had left on his soul. But this? This obliviousness wasn’t caution—it was sheer ignorance of his very obvious yearning.

And so, out of options and desperately needing help, he did something he never thought he would: he sought out Gale.

Gale was sitting by the fire, absently flipping through his spellbook, when Astarion approached him. The vampire’s usual smirk was replaced with something that looked suspiciously like a grimace.

“Gale,” Astarion began, his voice unusually subdued.

Gale looked up, raising an eyebrow. “Astarion? To what do I owe this… peculiar honor?”

Astarion waved a hand dismissively. “Yes, yes, spare me the preamble. I need your help.”

“My help?” Gale blinked. “What kind of apocalyptic disaster requires my assistance? Surely not something involving a certain someone we both know?”

Astarion’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Yes. Them.”

Gale set his book down, his interest piqued. “Ah, I see. You’re pining.”

“I am not pining,” Astarion snapped, though the blush creeping up his pale cheeks betrayed him. “I am… strategically pursuing. Subtly, I might add.”

Gale snorted. “If by subtle, you mean utterly transparent, then yes. You’ve been as subtle as a fireball in a wheat field.”

Astarion scowled. “They don’t see it that way. They think I’m just… charming. Which, of course, I am, but there’s more to it than that.”

“And you want my advice?” Gale leaned back, crossing his arms. “Me, the man you’ve spent weeks mocking for my ‘tragic romanticism’?”

“Yes, yes, revel in the irony if you must,” Astarion said impatiently. “But you’re annoyingly good- most of the time, at all this grand gesture nonsense, and clearly, I need a new approach.”

Gale chuckled, a little too pleased with himself. “All right. Let’s see. The key here is sincerity. You can’t just charm your way through this one. You have to show them how you feel.”

Astarion frowned. “And how exactly do I do that?”

“Think of something meaningful to them,” Gale suggested. “An act that demonstrates you understand them, that you care about them deeply. And,” he added with a smirk, “maybe tone down the smirking and innuendo for five minutes.”

The next day, Astarion put Gale’s advice into action—or at least, his version of it. You were sitting by the riverbank, enjoying a rare moment of peace, when Astarion approached you, holding something behind his back.

“Ah, there you are,” he said, his tone softer than usual.

You smiled up at him. “What’s up, Astarion?”

“I, uh… I noticed something the other day.” He cleared his throat, looking uncharacteristically awkward. “You mentioned how much you missed those silly little biscuits from Baldur’s Gate, the ones with the sugar glaze.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “I did?”

“Yes, you did,” he said quickly. “And, well… here.” He produced a carefully wrapped package and handed it to you. Inside were a handful of the biscuits, slightly crumbled but still intact.

Your eyes widened. “How did you…?”

“Don’t ask questions,” he said, his smirk creeping back despite his best efforts. “Just enjoy them.”

You looked up at him, touched by the gesture but still utterly oblivious to the deeper meaning. “Thanks, Astarion. That’s really sweet of you.”

He stared at you for a moment, waiting for something—anything—to click. When it didn’t, he sighed dramatically and flopped onto the grass beside you.

“Are you truly this dense, my beautiful fool?” he muttered under his breath.

“Hm?”

“Nothing,” he said, flashing you a too-bright smile. “Enjoy your biscuits, darling.”

From a distance, Gale watched the exchange with a shake of his head, muttering, “Some people are beyond help.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Wyll:

Wyll was not used to being ignored, especially when it came to matters of the heart. He prided himself on his charm, his courtly manners, and his ability to woo with a single smile. Yet, when it came to you, all his gentlemanly gestures seemed to bounce right off you like a deflected blade.

He would offer you his hand to help you over rough terrain, only to receive a simple "Thanks, Wyll!" and a cheerful pat on his shoulder. He’d bring you breakfast, perfectly arranged, and you’d compliment him on his “team spirit.” He’d even tried a few subtler lines, but you always brushed them off as his natural charisma, as if his feelings weren’t entirely focused on you.

So, after one particularly frustrating evening where you didn’t even notice how his gaze lingered on you by the firelight, Wyll decided he needed help.

And who better to consult than the camp’s most direct and fearless member, Lae’zel?

Lae’zel was sharpening her sword when Wyll approached, his usual confident demeanor slightly crumpled under the weight of his unspoken affection. She glanced up, her sharp eyes narrowing.

“Wyll,” she said bluntly, “you look as though you’ve swallowed a blade sideways. Spit it out.”

He cleared his throat, glancing around to make sure no one else was in earshot. “It’s about… them,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Lae’zel’s expression didn’t change. “Ah, the object of your obsession.”

Wyll winced. “It’s not an obsession.”

“Call it what you will,” she said, shrugging. “You pine for them like a fledgling seeking a mate. What of it?”

“I don’t know how to… tell them,” Wyll confessed, his usual eloquence failing him. “They seem entirely immune to my advances.”

Lae’zel snorted. “Perhaps because your ‘advances’ are weak. Soft. You dote on them like a mother hen, not a warrior. If you want their attention, you must assert dominance.”

“Assert dominance?” Wyll repeated, looking increasingly alarmed.

“Yes,” Lae’zel said firmly. “Challenge them. Best them in combat. Show them your strength. Then, when they are weak and trembling, you proclaim your intent to claim them as yours.”

Wyll’s face turned scarlet. “That’s—That’s not how courtship works!”

“Of course it is,” Lae’zel said, waving a dismissive hand. “You prove your physical and sexual prowess through battle. What better way to ensure compatibility?”

Wyll sputtered, his composure unraveling. “I—I don’t think they’d appreciate being ‘claimed’ like a prize after a fight.”

“They would respect it,” Lae’zel insisted. “And likely find it arousing.”

“Lae’zel!” Wyll’s voice cracked, and he buried his face in his hands, his flames of embarrassment rivaling Karlach’s.

From across the camp, you noticed the commotion and Wyll’s obvious distress. Concerned, you got up and made your way over. “Wyll? Are you okay?”

Lae’zel’s smirk widened as Wyll’s blush deepened. He scrambled to his feet, fumbling for words. “Ah—Yes! Fine! Everything is fine!”

You raised an eyebrow, glancing between the two of them. “Are you sure? You look like you’ve just lost a sparring match.”

Before Lae’zel could open her mouth to make things infinitely worse, Wyll quickly grabbed your hand and pulled you aside.

“Just a minor… disagreement,” he said quickly, his voice cracking again. “Nothing to worry about.”

You gave him a curious look, but his obvious flustered state distracted you from pressing further. “Okay, if you’re sure.”

Lae’zel watched you go with Wyll, shaking her head and muttering, “Coward. They would have respected a proper duel.”

Meanwhile, Wyll was doing his best to calm his racing heart and come up with a less mortifying way to tell you how he felt—ideally without Lae’zel’s "help."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Halsin:

Halsin prided himself on his control, his connection to nature, and his ability to remain grounded in even the most chaotic of circumstances. But when it came to you, all of that composure seemed to dissolve like frost under the morning sun.

You were utterly magnetic to him—your presence so compelling that his heart would stutter every time you entered the same space. He found himself enchanted by the curve of your smile, the warmth in your voice, the kindness in your touch. And it was unbearable. Literally, because every time you touched his arm or leaned in to speak to him, his instincts would flare wildly out of control.

The first time it happened, you’d brushed some stray leaves off his shoulder after he returned from foraging. “Halsin, you’ve brought back half the forest,” you joked, smiling up at him.

Halsin opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, a rush of heat overtook him, and— bam—he was suddenly a large, startled elk.

You jumped back with a yelp of surprise, staring wide-eyed at the animal in front of you. “Halsin?”

The elk gave a deep snort, its head hanging low as if mortified.

It happened again not long after, when you touched his hand while passing him a flask of water. This time, he transformed into a wolf, looking up at you with ears pinned back, practically radiating sheepishness.

“Halsin,” you laughed, kneeling down to scratch behind his ears, “you’ve got to warn me if you’re going to do that.”

By the time the third accidental wildshape happened—this time as a squirrel after you had simply smiled at him—Jaheira had had enough.

The older druid cornered Halsin after dinner, arms crossed and an unimpressed look on her face. “You’re a leader, Halsin. A figure of strength and wisdom. Yet here you are, hiding in fur and feathers because of a crush.”

“It’s not just a crush,” Halsin muttered, his deep voice unusually uncertain. “It’s… consuming. Every time I try to speak to them, I lose myself. They are radiant, Jaheira. I can hardly stand near them without—”

“—turning into livestock, yes,” Jaheira interrupted, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You’re a druid, not a child. Get a grip, Halsin. They won’t notice your feelings unless you make them clear. And for the love of Silvanus, do it without shifting.”

Halsin sighed heavily but nodded. “You’re right. I must face this head-on.”

Jaheira clapped him on the shoulder. “Good. Now go before you sprout wings or something ridiculous.”

Halsin found you sitting by the campfire, a jar of honey and a piece of bread in your hands. The firelight danced across your features, and Halsin felt his heart thrum painfully in his chest.

“Is everything okay, Halsin?” you asked, looking up at him with a concerned smile.

Halsin cleared his throat, forcing himself to remain steady. “Yes, I… there is something I need to tell you.”

You tilted your head, some honey glistening on your lips. “Of course. What is it?”

And that was it. The sight of your lips, the gentle curve of your expression—it was too much. Despite every ounce of willpower he had summoned, Halsin’s body betrayed him. With a flash of light and a muffled groan, he was suddenly a massive brown bear, sitting heavily on the ground.

You blinked, staring at him for a moment before bursting into laughter. “Halsin! You did it again!”

From across the camp, Jaheira let out a long, exasperated groan, throwing her hands up. “I give up!” she muttered, stalking off.

The bear lowered its massive head, letting out a low huff of frustration. You reached over and gently placed a hand on his fur.

“It’s okay, big guy,” you said, grinning. “You’ll figure it out eventually.”

If Halsin could have blushed, he would have. Instead, he let you pet him, resigning himself to the fact that his feelings were much harder to control than he’d ever anticipated.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

This was so so so so so much fun to write !! Especially Gale's icl hehehe. Hope you guys enjoyed it ! - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

[love44lew]

everywhere, as long as its with you

彡drivers franco colapinto

彡genre spanish speaking reader! x franco colapinto, fic/smau

彡summary your boyfriend became an f1 driver, now you travel the world with him

彡notes im still pretty new to making smaus so please excuse the lack of order ToT.. i was also thinking about turning this into like a mini series since i ended up liking the plot more than expected while wring. let me know what you guys think!! other than that, thank you for reading ♡︎

you’re sitting on the knitted hanging chair outside your boyfriends argentina home, the sunset view was always so beautiful from this view—especially because he lived in the mountains where you could see everything. theres not a place in the world you would rather be. with your digital camera you snap a photo of the sunset, the quality of the camera giving the view a nostalgic feel. you close your eyes and take in the breeze brushing past your skin.

———

yourusername

location: puerto iguazú, argentina

yourusername digital camera in 🇦🇷❣️

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francolapinto ahh taking pictures behind my back !?

yourusername @/francolapinto sorry baby 🤫❤️

———

then you hear loud heavy footsteps scurrying from inside the house, causing you to open your eyes open again, glance around, roll them and then close them again. you sat peacefully for a total of five seconds before a frantic franco screams your name from inside the house, causing you to wince at the sudden noice.

“come!! quickly!” franco rushed you into the house. the two of you sat at the dinner table, you still didnt know what was happening but franco was getting a phone call and his leg was bouncing anxiously. “que??” you questioned, he quickly shushed you as he picked up the phone. you rolled your eyes, why did he call you all the way here if he was just gonna want you to be quiet. but also if he did, it must be a really important call.

he put the phone on speaker and placed it down on the table.

“is this franco alejandro colapinto?” a calm soft voice spoke from the other line.

“yes, this is him” franco said in his best english he can muster.

“you are being summoned by williams to attend the british grand prix, you will be driving in fp1.” franco silently looked at you with complete and utter shock in his eyes.

“are you available to attend?” the person asked from the other line in contrary to francos silence.

he searched for reassurance in your eyes, you nodded your head at him pointing to the phone.

“uh.. y-yes!—mm” he cleared his throat “yes, i am” he rephrased in a more collected tone. he couldn’t believe this was happening, after everything he’d gone through—everything he’s sacrificed, everything his family sacrificed, to get to this point. he’d finally made it, even if it was just for fp1, it could possibly lead to him being in a seat one day. franco finished up the phone call, his composure holding on to a thread the whole time until he finally hung up.

immediately he stood up and scooped you into his arms. he tightly held you, taking in your scent and everything you are. he’d finally done it, and he couldn’t have without your help and encouragement. when times got tough, when it felt like he’d never make it, there you were to push him on and make him feel good about himself again. he genuinely doesn’t know what he’d do or where he’d be without you. he cupped your face, his lips clashing with yours into a passionate and loving kiss. the way he kisses you always sends tingles down your spine—the softness of his touches compared to the way his mouth moves against yours. you could feel how much he loves you in every kiss, touch, or words he speaks. his love for you is only in the purest form.

“té quiero, mi amor” his eyes gazed lovingly into yours as your lips detached from each other, his thumbs softly caressing your face, taking in every feature that he loved so dearly.

“im so so proud of you papasito” you wiped the incoming tears that dared to flow down his rosy cheeks. your heart has always been with him and his goals, to see him succeed like this—even if its as little as free practice, it was another door opened for your talented man.

“venga conmigo” franco proposed, the heat of the moment seeming like a perfect time. he couldnt just leave you behind, after everything you’ve done?? he’d want you to be there the most.

“wh- what!?? thats crazy!!” you halfheartedly giggled, only response you could muster from how insane his suggestion was.

“why not? you’re always there for everything else, why not be there for the most special moment? cmon.” his puppy dog eyes are ones you could bear to refuse, his cheeks and nose reddened from all the excitement and happiness he feels. so, you agreed to go. youre his rock in all this, his biggest supporter. why wouldnt he want his favorite cheerleader to go and continue to push him on? plus, youve never been to london.

———

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—

franco went on to place p11 in his first race after london, which you were extremely proud of him. to be so close to points in a backmarker team was, to say the least, impressive. you always knew he had it in him but for his first time ever racing as an f1 drivers against the other 19 best in the world? a blessed experience.

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

hi !! i was thinking about logical by olivia rodrigo when she sings "said i was too young i was too soft, can't take a joke can't get you off" and it got me thinking of rupert campbell black x younger!reader getting into a huge argument about something and he says that to her in the heat of the moment and then maybe they end up having make up sex idk

thank you <33

February Sky.

The highs are so high, but the lows are so low.

rupert campbell black x female reader

warnings - smut. cursing. age gap. angst. so much use of the word darling. this might be a tiny bit toxic, but...

word count - 2.3k

authors note - title taken from logical by olivia rodrigo (which fits him so well, by the way). thank you for this request, erica!! it works so beautifully. I tried not to make it too toxic, but I think rupert is a tiny bit toxic, regardless. oops. and yet we love him anyway.

masterlist. inbox.

“What’s the matter?”

You’re curled up in the armchair by the fire, cup of tea warming the palms of your hands as the flames warm your toes. You’re still wearing your ballgown, hair still pretty in its updo and makeup still perfectly done.

“Darling,” you hear come from the kitchen, where he’s no doubt pouring himself a whiskey.

You stay quiet, taking a sip from your mug and sitting in your frustration.

Rupert appears in the doorway, leaning against the frame and taking in the sight of you. The first thing he observes is how cosy you look. The second thing he observes is how annoyed you look.

“Darling,” he repeats, walking over to kneel in front of you. “What’s the matter? Did you not have a good time?”

You’ve gotten very good at picking your battles with Rupert. Sometimes, you let go of whatever’s bothering you to save yourself the aggravation of an argument. Other days, much like today, you just can’t seem to keep a lid on your anger.

“I was having a good time until you made me feel stupid in front of everyone.”

“W-what? What are you talking about?”

You look down at him, his wide eyes staring up at you with genuine confusion painted across them.

“When I told that story about the horses, at the dinner table. I saw that look you gave Bas. It was like you were laughing at me, not with me.”

“I wasn’t trying to make you feel stupid. You know I wouldn’t do that.”

“Do I? You did the same thing a few weeks ago at Lizzie’s. You so easily undermine me when I’m speaking with a look or a laugh. That’s all it takes, and you don’t even realise.”

“Darling, I’m just joking with my friends. I’m not sure why you’re taking this so personally. It’s a non issue that you’re making into an issue.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Well I could argue that it’s not fair that you’re telling me that I make you feel stupid. That’s an accusation that’s not fair.”

He gets up, moving to stand by the fire with his glass in his hand.

“I feel like you’re just dismissing me,” you say quietly, squeezing the mug tighter in your hands.

“Because you’re acting like a child.”

“You’re treating me like a child,” you retort quickly, sitting up straighter in your chair.

“Look, darling. Maybe this is just our gap in life experience rearing its head. You’ve got a lot to learn, and sometimes it shows.”

“You know, our age gap only becomes a problem when you make it a problem. You want a sweet, young girlfriend until she acts her age, and then it’s an issue.”

“Because you can be so mature, and then all of a sudden you’re throwing a tantrum like a child,” he fumes, placing his glass down on the mantelpiece and folding his arms over his chest. “You’re young and you’re soft, I’m not oblivious to that. But sometimes you can’t take a joke - or sometimes you miss the joke completely. It’s not my fault if you twist that into me making you feel stupid.”

You put your mug down onto the side table, willing yourself not to get upset. You stand up so you’re no longer below him, still keeping a distance between the two of you. Breathing in deeply, you exhale shakily in an attempt to keep yourself and your composure together.

“You’re acting like my age is something that came up later, Rupert - and that’s not true at all. You knew how old I was when we met. You knew I was significantly younger than you.”

“Yes, I did. Maybe I just wasn’t aware of how often it would come up as a point when we argued.”

He leans against the fireplace wall, sharp features illuminated by the light of the flames. All that can be heard are the sounds of wood crackling and two sets of lungs heaving for breath.

“You’re making me feel like I’m insane,” you burst suddenly, sick of biting your tongue. “You’re acting as if everything is all my fault. When will you take some responsibility, Rupert? When will you hold your hands up and say ‘do you know what - I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done it’, hmm? Why do I always have to apologise?”

“Darling-”

“No, I’m sick of it. One minute, you’re telling me our age gap doesn’t matter because we’re in love and I’m mature and intelligent and everything you need - and the next minute you’re treating me like some sort of virginal lamb that doesn’t know the difference between left and right. Make up your mind, because you’re making me dizzy.”

“If you’re so sick of it, why are we doing this? If you are so sick of it, you know where the door is, darling. I’m not forcing you to stay here.”

That’s all it takes for the tears to start falling, hot and heavy down your cheeks. Your sadness seems to be uncontrollable, stemming from your chest and humming through your veins. You’re surprised you’re not turning blue, a perfect personification of sorrow.

You stand your ground and cry in place, refusing to move to him for comfort. Eventually, he breaks first, unable to watch you sob any longer.

“My darling,” he soothes, striding across the space to wrap his arms around you. “My sweet girl.”

His nicknames only make you cry harder, burying your face in his crisp white dress shirt and undoubtedly getting makeup all over it. He doesn’t care, one hand gripping the back of your neck while the other wraps around your waist to pull you closer.

“That was really mean,” you blubber into his chest. “Do you actually want me to leave?”

“No,” he reassures, rocking you in his arms gently. “No, darling. No. God, that’s the last thing I want. Honest.”

“Why did you say it then?”

Your voice is muffled, face still pressed against him. He smells so familiar and masculine and Rupert that it only makes you cry more.

“I… I don’t know,” he confesses, squeezing you tighter. “I shouldn’t have. You know me, I- I say things I don’t mean when I’m angry.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Your fingers are gripping the back of his shirt, holding on for dear life.

“I know, darling. I know.”

You sniffle as you pull back slightly to look up at him, surprised to see his eyes teary and glistening.

“Do you love me, Rupert? Because, because- if you… if you really wanted me to leave… you’d tell me, wouldn’t you?”

“Sweet girl,” he breathes, cradling your face in his hands. “Of course I love you. The fact you even have to ask breaks my heart. I don’t want to you leave - I love having you here. And god forbid, if something bad did happen between us… we both know we wouldn’t stick around and pretend that this is something it’s not.”

Part of you knows that he’s good at this - saying exactly what you want and need to hear. The rest of you is stupidly relieved, letting his words wash over you like a balm on a scrape.

“I didn’t like it when you laughed at me tonight. One, because it made me feel stupid, and two… because I don’t want people to doubt us. You know what they’re all like. They see the tiniest crack and dig their fingers into it until it’s a gaping wound that they can all gossip about.”

“You’re right, you’re right,” he murmurs as he sweeps his thumbs back and forth across your cheekbones. “I shouldn’t give them any ammunition. I’m sorry, darling. I didn’t realise it would upset you so much. There was no malicious intent on my part, I swear - it was just a joke between friends. You know Bas adores you.”

“I know,” you half chuckle. “He tells me every single time he sees me.”

“Exactly,” Rupert grins, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. “But no one adores you the way I do. I can promise you that.”

You nod, wrapping your arms around his middle and resting your head against his chest. The top few buttons of his shirt are undone, meaning you can feel his warm skin against your cheek, comforting and familiar.

“Rupert?”

He hums, encouraging you to continue.

“Will you stop bringing up my age when we argue? I don’t ever mention that you’re older than me, but you’re so quick to call me young or inexperienced or a baby.”

“Yes, darling. I’m sorry that it seems like a focal point for us - it’s not, I swear.”

“You kissed me.”

“Hmm?”

“You kissed me, that day in the garden. Not the other way around. You made the move first. I’m not some innocent girl chasing after you because I’m naive and too young to know any better.”

“I know that. I kissed you because I thought you were the most magnificent girl I’d ever met. I still do.”

He tightens his arms around you, gently rocking you like a child again.

“I don’t want to argue anymore,” you mumble, sighing deeply.

“Neither do I, darling. We’re finished with the arguing now. Promise.”

Rupert takes half a step back, to give him a better look at you. You still look beautiful, even if you do have mascara running down your cheeks and lipstick smudged across your face.

“I love you,” he murmurs as he leans in to kiss you.

“I love you too,” you manage to mutter against his lips, kissing him back as hard as you can.

He kisses you carefully, methodically, as if he’s worried he’ll spook you and you’ll take off running. He’s keeping you close, hands gripping your hips to plaster your body to his. You tangle your fingers in his hair, tugging the dark locks with a little too much force, which he doesn’t seem to mind.

Rupert walks you both towards the fire, lips never parting from yours. His hand finds the back of your dress, pulling down the zip in one smooth movement. It falls to your feet, kicked to the side in disregard. He sits down in the armchair and pulls you with him so you’re straddling his lap, legs on either side of his hips and arms thrown around his neck.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispers, fingers tracing patterns up and down your bare back.

You press kisses into his neck and down his chest, the hair there tickling your face as you do it. Your hips have slowly started to move against his, both of you out of breath as the stakes get higher and higher.

He undoes the zip on his trousers, smirking when you whimper at his knuckles brushing your wet core. He pulls them down just enough to free himself, not worried about getting completely undressed.

“I want these off,” he instructs, pulling at the waistband of your underwear. “Now, darling.”

You wiggle them down your legs, kicking them off one foot in the direction of your dress. You’re fully naked in his lap, while he’s still wearing his shirt unbuttoned with his trousers halfway down his thighs. You both look debauched, more scandalous than you could ever imagine. You wish for a moment that you had a mirror, desperate to watch the way you need each other.

You take matters into your own hands and line him up, sinking down slowly so you can savour the stretch. It burns just right, the slight ache a welcome intrusion.

“Shit, darling. That’s it. Good girl.”

Tangling your fingers into the back of his hair, you start to wind your hips up and down - gently at first, and then with more vigour. Rupert lets his head loll back into the chair, exposing that gorgeously tanned neck of his. You nip at it with your teeth, grinning when he groans all low and slow.

He cups your tits, squeezing and pinching as he begins to buck his hips to meet yours. You’re determined to do all the work yourself, but he can read your body language like a book, whether you like it or not. He knows you’re getting tired, but will point blank refuse to admit it.

One of his hands slinks between you to rub firm circles onto your clit, both of you moaning when you clench down around him. He can tell you’re almost there, just needing the tiniest push to throw you over the edge.

“There we go, good girl. My good girl. All mine.”

That’s all you need, back arching and legs shaking as you reach your climax. Yours triggers Rupert’s, the most delicious groan leaving his mouth as he comes. He looks like a Greek God, all chiseled and glistening in the firelight.

Burying your head into the crook of his neck, you breathe him and try to calm your pounding heart. You can feel his heart battering against his chest where it’s pressed against yours, bodies tangled together in the armchair.

The two of you catch your breath for a while, revelling in the warmth of the fire and the company of the other. Eventually, Rupert carries you upstairs, murmuring sweet nothings into your ear and stroking your hair as he does it.

I was wrong, earlier, you think as he tucks you into bed and immediately climbs in next to you, plastering himself to your back. No one could love me like Rupert does.

i’ve said it before and i’ll say it again, even if I sound like a broken record…

reblogs are gold dust to writers!! reblog the fics you read and enjoy, and your favourite writers will keep writing them for you!! it really is that simple!! <3

[tenebrius-excellium]

This is an incredibly uncomfortable post (because I love Toothless and want to keep loving him), albeit on a topic that we might finally need to have a conversation about.

Toothless is very sure of himself because he is naturally powerful. He knows he's the special one. He knows he's the king of dragons even before the sequels or the show, and he enjoys that humans fear him. He doesn't really defend other dragons or people except for Hiccup and the ones Hiccup specifically asks, pleads or commands him to. He only kinda ever reacts to things when it's Hiccup's life on the line or when something is important to Hiccup. He assumes power in an almost lax way, but not even because he feels much responsible for his fellow dragon or anything... he only steps up to a larger dragon or political dilemma, if Hiccup gets hurt when he doesn't do it.

As a predator animal, Toothless, on his own, mostly chills. Because he can. Nothing attacks him. He doesn't know what it feels like to fear being hunted, because usually, he is the hunter. But that in turn means that Toothless doesn't have a whole lot of natural compassion. He cannot really be bothered by other people's or dragons' issues, because he is not directly being affected himself.

I believe Toothless never encountered the meaning of true kindness until Hiccup shot him down and he was suddenly at the mercy of someone truly good. I believe Hiccup's goodness humbled Toothless to a degree, causing him to become fascinated with it, because in Toothless' world, there exists only the law of the stronger dragon. And he is the strongest.

So to meet Hiccup must have opened up a whole new worldview to Toothless the Night Fury, the proud Unholy Offspring of Lightning And Death Itself. For the first time, he realizes: "Oh, physically weak creatures require kindness to get along., and that works better than intimidation." It was only sudden physical weakness that caused Toothless to become a limitedly social creature, aware of something like right and wrong. He was always the abstract other, a lone wolf, equipped with incredible strength that alienated him from his peers because he couldn't fathom needing grace or help.

But Toothless then proceeds to cling to Hiccup as if Hiccup is the only thing preventing him from forgetting kindness again. Stoick, Astrid, Hookfang and the Skrill would all have bitter feuds with Toothless until death if it wasn't for Hiccup standing between them.

The not-so-pretty truth here seems to be: Toothless is a bully without Hiccup, because he's never had to think beyond himself without Hiccup, even AFTER their friendship blossomed. Toothless keeps struggling with looking after others and with caring about someone other than himself. He is only capable of tolerating those that Hiccup instructs him to. That's mere basic consideration for others.

But one thing Toothless knows: He needs Hiccup to keep him in check like that. He wants Hiccup in his life more than he wants to be the most powerful creature, because Hiccup is GOOD. And so he asks Hiccup to ride him again WITH the prosthetic fin in Gotnf, lest his regained independence will make him unkind and asocial again.

The missing tailfin is, unfortunate as it seems to be, the only thing which keeps Toothless, who perceives himself to be the deserved lion among dragons, kind. And he knows it and has the sense to admit that he is actually in constant need of this reminder.

Because Hiccup is the only one who ever overpowered him in an even battle, fair and square, Hiccup is his conscience.

I like to think the rest of Berk, kinda continue to be wary of Toothless. They like him, they know he’s not going to hurt them. But they also know the only reason for that is Hiccup. These people have grown up not even knowing what a nightfury looks like. All they know is that you do not engage one, you don’t try to kill it, you hide and you pray. They know that when that scream is heard, something is getting destroyed, every time. Because it does not miss. They know the unholy offspring of lightning and death itself. And they know Toothless is capable of all of that. Toothless is that. So while they get used to the dragons being around, the nightfury is always going to be a little different. It always was.

But they’re all nice to Toothless. Because who could dislike him, and because he’s Hiccup’s dragon. And maybe a bit, because they really do not want to end up on the bad side of the nightfury. When he’s with Hiccup - which fortunately, he is most of the time - it’s alright. But no one want’s to be alone with the nightfury. He’s different then. He’s a bit colder. A bit more distant. They can tell they’re being tolerated. Even the rest of the riders, while Toothless does like them, have a healthy amount of…let’s just call it respect, for Toothless.

And Hiccup pretends he has no clue. If someone ever mentions how Toothless’ entire presence can change when Hiccup is gone, he’s just like ‘What? This little guy? Scary? Please.’ But he’s very much aware. He also knows that sometimes Toothless does it on purpose. And maybe, he doesn’t mind that. Maybe he kind of likes it. Maybe he likes for people to remember what kind of a being they’re dealing with and what he’s capable of.