#and cause she absolutely leans into the bit

[thedemoninme141]

The Maiden Of Death Part 3

Pairings: Wednesday x Female reader. Wordcount: 9K-ish

Part 1 -- Part 2-- Part 3

Summary: Wednesday finally gets a glimpse of your power.

Warnings: Wednesday starting to fall? JelousWednesday! Everyone loves Enid.

(Author's note: This is a very long chapter, and ALOT OF THINGS happens in this chapter, and also had to change some things here and there which is why it took me a lot of thinking and time writing, so any feedback will be helpful!)

As Wednesday entered the quad during Lunch period, her gaze immediately fell on her usual table, where Enid was enthusiastically gesturing as she spoke to—you.

Eugene sat on one corner of the table, Enid said something particularly exuberant, causing you to stiffen visibly. Eugene, in turn, shot Enid a panicked look that screamed, Please stop talking before you get us all killed.

As Wednesday reached the table and took her seat across from you without a word, her gaze landing on Enid, who greeted her with a wide smile.

“Hey, Wednesday! Guess what?!” Enid began, her excitement practically vibrating off her.

“I would rather not,” Wednesday replied flatly.

Enid turned her attention back to you. “So, like I was saying, the Poe Cup is coming up, and I’ve been thinking—Last year we barely won but it’s time we totally crush Bianca’s team this year. And you, Y/N, would be perfect for—”

You didn’t bother looking up from your plate. “No.”

“You didn’t even let me finish!” Enid said, huffing dramatically but quickly recovering with a smile. “Okay, but seriously, you’d be perfect. We need someone like you—someone who can strategize and, you know, scare people."

“I don’t care.” Your tone was sharp enough to cut, but Enid either didn’t notice or chose to ignore it.

“Come on! You and Wednesday on the same team would be unstoppable! Seriously, we could destroy Bianca. She wouldn’t stand a chance!” Enid leaned closer to you, her smile widening as if sheer enthusiasm could wear down your resistance.

“Let me clarify,” you said, your focus still on your plate. “No. As in, absolutely not. As in, I’d rather eat broken glass than subject myself to whatever nonsense you have planned.”

Eugene shifted uncomfortably in his seat, darting a glance between you and Enid like he was bracing for an explosion.

“That was a bit harsh, But I promise you’re gonna love it once you try it!” Enid barreled on, her voice impossibly cheerful. “And imagine—Wednesday and Y/N! You’d wipe the floor with everyone.”

You set your utensils down with a quiet clink, turning to Enid with a gaze sharp enough to cut glass. “Do you ever stop to think before you speak?” you asked coldly, your tone a knife's edge. “Or is it your entire personality to be this relentlessly irritating?”

Enid blinked, her smile faltering for just a moment before she recovered. “Wow, okay, someone’s cranky. But I get it! You’re under a lot of pressure or whatever.”

“Pressure has nothing to do with it,” you replied, your tone colder still. “You’re insufferable. You don’t listen, you don’t think, and you certainly don’t understand the concept of personal boundaries. Take a hint: I’m not interested in whatever childish game you’re dragging me into.”

Enid’s bright demeanor faltered, her smile slowly dying... The table fell silent. Even Wednesday, who often found Enid’s enthusiasm grating, felt an unexpected pang at the harshness of your words.

But Enid didn’t retreat. Instead, she tilted her head as she unleashed her ultimate weapon.

The puppy eyes.

“Well,” Enid said after a beat, her voice quieter and sadder. “That’s a really mean thing to say. But I’m not giving up. Because deep down, I think you’re not as awful as you want people to think.”

You stared at her, unblinking, as though calculating the odds of her ever leaving you alone. Wednesday found herself watching the exchange with acute interest, her gaze flicking between you and Enid.

Wednesday stiffened. Even she wasn’t immune to Enid’s maddeningly effective weapon. She braced herself for your response, curious to see if you’d succumb.

You let out a tired sigh. “Fine,” you said at last, your voice heavy with exasperation. “I’ll join your team. Just stop talking so I can eat in peace.”

Enid let out an excited squeal and, before you could react, threw her arms around you in a side hug. You froze completely, your body going rigid as though you’d been petrified on the spot.

Wednesday felt something shift in her chest—a faint, unpleasant pang that she quickly dismissed as indigestion. Her fingers tightened around her fork as she watched Enid cling to you, her head resting against your shoulder...

You didn’t push her away, but your voice was low and measured as you began counting down. “Three… two…”

Enid immediately released you, sitting back with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, sorry! I just got excited. Thank you so much for agreeing, though! You won’t regret it, I promise!”

"I already do." You muttered, returning your attention to your plate with the same calm indifference you always exuded. But Wednesday caught the faintest flicker of something in your eyes—a weariness, perhaps, or a resignation you couldn’t quite mask.

Enid, oblivious as ever, turned her attention back to Wednesday. “Isn’t this great, Wens? With Y/N on our team, we’re totally going to win this year!”

Wednesday didn’t reply immediately. Instead, she studied you for a moment longer, her mind churning with thoughts she couldn’t fully articulate. Finally, she turned back to her own meal.

"We will see." She said, still feeling something unrecognizable. Whatever it was, she would not allow it to distract her. Not now, not tonight. Behind the greenhouse. After the sun falls. You had given her a directive, and she intended to follow it, not out of curiosity, of course, but because she refused to let you maintain the upper hand.

After the rest of the classes ended, Wednesday found herself in a disconcerting state of reflection. The day's events gnawed at her, though she maintained her usual stoic demeanor. Your words echoed in her mind, sharp and cutting, like the blade you so clearly wielded with mastery.

"You’re not worth wasting my time."

Though she would never admit it aloud, those words struck her. A part of her dismissed them—what could you possibly know of her worth? But another part, the one she rarely let surface, couldn’t help but dwell on the sting.

Wednesday Addams had faced monsters, both literal and metaphorical, yet here she was, feeling... unsettled. Not afraid. No, Wednesday Addams was never afraid. But the thought of meeting you, alone, made her feel something she couldn't entirely recognize.

She briefly considered informing Enid of her impending meeting with you. Not out of fear, of course. Fear was an emotion beneath her. It was a matter of logic, of ensuring someone knew her whereabouts. But as soon as the idea formed, she discarded it. No, involving Enid would complicate matters, and the thought of explaining herself to her overenthusiastic roommate was unbearable.

Instead, she opted for a more discreet confidant.

“You’re to keep an eye on the time,” she instructed Thing, her voice even but firm. “If I’m not back by ten, assume the worst.”

Thing’s fingers scrambled into a questioning gesture.

“Do not be ridiculous,” she snapped, rolling her eyes. “I am not afraid. Merely cautious.”

Thing’s tapping turned into a sarcastic drumroll, but Wednesday ignored him, brushing past to retrieve her coat.

The path to the greenhouse was empty, obviously no one would be out here at this time.

As she rounded the corner, she spotted you immediately. You were seated on the ground, your back against the glass wall of the greenhouse. A katana rested beside you, the blade gleaming faintly in the dimming light.

Did you summon it? Wednesday wondered.

You looked up as she approached, your gaze steady and unreadable. “You’re on time.”

Wednesday ignored the comment, her eyes flicking to the katana. “Are you finally going to show me?”

"Katana techniques aren’t something you can master by watching. It requires precision and patience, I know you fought some old wizard, but I highly doubt that would be enough."

Wednesday’s expression hardened. "That 'old wizard' was Crackstone."

“And?” Your tone was flat, unimpressed, as if the name meant nothing.

Wednesday rolled her eyes. “Fine. We’ll do it your way. What do I need to do first?”

You reached down and picked up the katana beside you, holding it out for her. Wednesday accepted the sword with both hands, one curling around the scabber and the other around the handle. It was heavier than she expected—not unmanageable, but noticeable. Still, she adjusted quickly, refusing to let any hesitation show.

She stood, focusing on the sword, attempting to summon a vision. She hoped for even a glimpse of your history, your purpose, your motives. Nothing. The blade remained silent in her hands, its secrets as tightly guarded as yours.

Her reverie was broken by your voice. “Do you know how to unsheathe it without losing your fingers?”

Wednesday met your gaze, her tone sharp. “Of course. Just because I haven’t fought with a katana doesn’t mean I’m ignorant of its basics.” She demonstrated, flawlessly unsheathing the sword with a precise motion.

For a moment, she paused, her gaze lingering on the blade. Its sharp edge felt almost hypnotic.

“Now sheathe it again,” you instructed.

Wednesday hesitated, the command catching her off guard. “I just took it out,” she muttered annoyed.

Still, she attempted to comply, but the process proved unexpectedly awkward. She struggled to align the blade with the scabbard, her movements uncharacteristically clumsy. She half-expected you to smirk or make a biting comment, but your expression remained impassive, devoid of mockery.

Instead, you conjured your own katana, the same one she had seen in the Nightshade Library, and unsheathed it with effortless grace. “Watch,” you said simply. With practiced ease, you demonstrated the technique for resheathing the sword, pushing the scabbard forward while maintaining balance.

Wednesday observed intently, her sharp mind immediately grasping the mechanics. “I see,” she murmured, attempting the motion again. This time, her execution was far smoother, and the blade slid into place with satisfying precision.

“Good,” you said, your voice still emotionless.

From there, the lesson progressed. You guided her through a series of foundational techniques, demonstrating precise footwork and the fluidity required to wield the katana effectively. Your movements were deliberate, almost mesmerizing in their precision, and Wednesday found herself silently admiring your mastery. She didn’t smile. She didn’t laugh. But she felt something.... something she felt while grave digging... is this what Enid called... "fun"?

Still, she kept her expression neutral, unwilling to give you the satisfaction of knowing she was... pleased by this... would you even care if you knew?

By the end, her muscles ached pleasantly, but her mind was sharper than ever. She sheathed the katana with practiced ease, turning to you as you prepared to leave.

“Here,” she said, holding out the weapon.

You took it, and as soon as it was in your hands, both katanas vanished into thin air. Wednesday’s eyes narrowed slightly, but she said nothing.

As you turned to leave without any , she felt a sudden, inexplicable pang of dissatisfaction. This wasn’t enough. Before she could stop herself, she blurted out, “Wait.”

You paused, glancing back over your shoulder. “What is it?”

She struggled for a moment, the words eluding her. Finally, she asked, “Why did you agree to show me these techniques?”

You didn’t answer immediately. Instead, you looked at her with that same unreadable expression. “Goodnight, Wednesday,” you said, your voice softer than she expected.

You turned and walked away, leaving her standing there, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts. It wasn’t until you had disappeared into the shadows that she realized something—this was the first time you had used her name. And for reasons she couldn’t fully explain, it mattered.

As Wednesday pushed open the door to her shared dorm, her eyes went to Enid sprawled across her bed as she animatedly whispered to Thing, who was perched on her pillow like her sidekick.

As she stepped further into the room, she felt Enid’s gaze snap to her. It tracked her every step, as though waiting for some kind of confirmation.

“What?” Wednesday snapped, her tone as sharp as a blade.

Enid sat up, crossing her legs and hugging a pillow to her chest, a smug little smile spreading across her face. “Nothing,” she replied, her tone far too innocent to be genuine. “Absolutely nothing.”

Wednesday narrowed her eyes, peeling off her coat and hanging it neatly on its hook. “You’re staring at me."

Enid gasped, her hand flying to her chest in mock offense. “Staring? Me? No! I’m just... thinking."

"Thinking what, exactly?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Enid drawled, leaning forward with a grin that only grew wider with each passing second. “Maybe observing how you’ve been spending an unusual amount of time with a certain someone lately?”

Wednesday stiffened, her fingers pausing mid-motion as she adjusted the lace cuffs of her shirt. “I have no idea what you’re babbling about.”

“Sure you don’t,” Enid said with a giggle, hugging the pillow tighter.

“Choose your next words carefully, Enid.”

“What were you doing with Y/N?” Enid sat up straighter, her eyes practically sparkling with curiosity.

Wednesday’s brow twitched. “That is none of your concern.”

“See, now you’re making it sound suspicious,” Enid teased, her grin widening. “Were you two, like, out in the woods doing something spooky? Summoning ghosts? Practicing dark magic? Or was it something more... romantic?”

Wednesday’s glare deepened. “Romantic?” she repeated, “Do you genuinely believe I would waste my time on such frivolity?”

“Well, I mean,” Enid said, tapping her chin thoughtfully, “you do waste your time digging up graves"

Wednesday ignored her as she walked out to the balcony. She needed air. She needed quiet. She needed to expel whatever it was that Enid’s incessant prattling had stirred within her.

The cello waited in its usual spot.

Without hesitation, Wednesday settled into her chair, the bow fitting naturally into her hand. She began to play.

The bartender wiped down the counter with practiced ease. His face was friendly, his demeanor warm as he smiled at the hooded girl sitting before him.

“Yeah, I get it,” he said, his tone easy and warm. “Sometimes we need some alone time away from family.”

The customer remained silent, her head tilted downward.

As Wednesday’s fingers danced over the cello strings, her mind drifted. She hadn’t meant to think of you, but it was impossible not to. The memory of your eyes, a depth that hid so much.

Why did you haunt her so? There was a quiet pain in your gaze, a barrier that dared anyone to come closer. What had happened to you? What had made you so guarded, so indifferent to the world?

The bartender smiled as he wiped a glass, his voice light. “You know, I love my family too. Even when they drive me insane.” He chuckled, setting the glass down. “Wouldn’t trade them for the world.”

Wednesday’s music swelled again, the melody turning wistful. How could she know more about you? Was it even possible?

The bartender glanced around the empty bar, shrugging. “It’s pretty quiet here this time of night. Honestly, I feel more like I’m on guard duty than actually working. Not that I’m complaining—it’s nice to have a slow shift every now and then.”

Wednesday’s bow trembled slightly, though her playing remained flawless. Her thoughts shifted, unwillingly, to you again. She couldn’t shake the questions that gnawed at her. Your precision, your coldness, the way you had spoken to her and yet spared her just enough... that made her understand, there was more to you than you allowed anyone to see.

The bartender leaned closer, his elbows on the counter. “Yeah, no, I get it totally. We all make mistakes. We’re human at the end of the day.”

The customer let out a low chuckle that seemed to echo unnaturally in the small space. It sent an involuntary shiver down the bartender’s spine.

“Are you?” the customer asked, her voice smooth yet chilling.

The bartender blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

The customer slid a card across the counter. His breath hitched the moment his eyes landed on it.

“Are you human?” she repeated, her tone dangerously calm.

As the final note hung in the air, fading into the night, she exhaled slowly, setting the bow down with measured care. The music hadn’t helped as much as she’d hoped. The unease was still there, coiled in her chest, lingering like a shadow that refused to leave.

Still, one thing was clear. Whatever this was, whatever you were, it wasn’t over.

Finally, she set the cello aside, her movements slower than usual, weighed down by an exhaustion she couldn’t name.

When sleep finally claimed her, it brought something.

Fire. It was everywhere.

And Wednesday was standing right where she fought Crackstone last year.

Enid’s scream, filled with desperation. “Y/N, no!”

The flames seemed to dance around you, as if you were their master rather than their victim. For a moment, you turned your gaze toward her, your eyes, darker... souless.. and then you nodded at Wednesday... as if.. thanking her.

"I know what I have to do now." you said.

The scene shattered like glass, and Wednesday jolted awake, her chest heaving as she sat up in bed. The room was still dark, the faint light of dawn just beginning to creep through the window.

Her fingers curled into the sheets as she struggled to steady her breathing. Dreams were not foreign to her, but this... this was different. It had felt too vivid, too real.

Was it a vision? No. Her visions came with a sharp, distinct pain, an undeniable clarity that marked them as something more than mere dreams. But this... it was murky, fragmented, like a puzzle with too many missing pieces.

She exhaled quietly, watching as the darkness outside softened with the rising sun. What were you? That question gnawed at her, more relentless than any puzzle she’d faced before. You didn’t fit neatly into any category of person she’d encountered. Why did her mind seem so determined to orbit around you?

Wednesday despised the thought of being consumed by anyone or anything, yet here she was, watching the sun rise while her thoughts were plagued by you.

She rose from her bed without making a sound and slipped into her black uniform.

Enid stirred in her bed, her sleepy form stretching lazily beneath her colorful blankets.

“Morning, Wends,” she mumbled.

Wednesday grabbed her coat and headed for the door without sparing her roommate a glance. The door clicked shut behind her before Enid could say anything more.

By the time she reached the quad, the space was still empty. Most students were still tucked away in their dorms, waiting for the breakfast bell to draw them out.

But her eyes found you.

You were sitting beneath a large tree at the far end of the quad, your back against the trunk, your eyes were closed, your features relaxed in a way she had never seen before. You seemed... at peace? It was unsettling to see you like this, so different from the guarded, vigilant person she’d encountered before. This version of you felt unfamiliar, almost vulnerable.

For a moment, she hesitated, her boots rooted to the ground as she watched you from afar. Why was she hesitating? Wednesday Addams didn’t hesitate. She was decisive, certain, unflinching. Yet here she was, caught in some inexplicable limbo. It infuriated her.

Finally, she forced herself to step forward. Each step felt heavier than it should, as though an invisible force was pulling her back. By the time she was only a few steps away from you, your eyes opened.

You looked directly at her.

Wednesday froze. The intensity of your gaze was unsettling, not because it was intimidating, but because it was so direct, so unflinching. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence stretching taut between you.

“Why are you here?” you asked, your voice low and even.

Wednesday blinked, her composure snapping back into place like a well-worn mask. “I could ask you the same question.”

You regarded her for a moment, then shifted slightly against the tree. “Resting,” you said simply. “Breakfast isn’t ready yet.”

Wednesday tilted her head. “And I suppose you decided that lying on cold earth was preferable to staying in your dorm?”

You shrugged. “It’s quiet.”

Wednesday didn’t have a retort for that. She understood the value of silence more than anyone.

You studied her now, and she hated the way it made her feel. Like you were seeing something she hadn’t meant to show. “You don’t seem like the morning exercise type,” you finally said.

“I woke up early,” was all Wednesday offered.

You didn’t question it. You didn’t push. You didn’t even invite her to sit, which was something she had somehow expected.

She frowned at herself. Why did she expect that? You weren’t the kind of person who invited anyone to sit beside you, and Wednesday certainly wasn’t someone you would extend such an offer to. She wasn’t special in your eyes, nor should she be.

The realization irritated her more than it should have.

The silence between you stretched, not awkward but Wednesday won't call it comfortable either. “Do you want to spar today?” she asked.

You blinked at her, then nodded.

She almost wished you had asked why. Maybe then she could figure out the answer herself.

Her mind drifted back to the dream. You had always been dark, just like her. But in the dream, it was different. You were worse. Your eyes weren’t yours.

She exhaled, not realizing she had until the sound broke the quiet.

You noticed immediately, your brow furrowing as you turned back to her.

“Something on your mind?” you asked, your tone cautious.

Wednesday straightened, her mind scrambling for a response. She couldn’t tell you about the dream, not yet. She needed more time to understand it herself. Instead, she blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“Poe Cup.”

You frowned, tilting your head slightly. “What about it?”

“Since you and I are on the same team, I thought you should know more about it,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact.

You raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “It’s a simple boat race that lacks bound rules to keep the students from harming each other. That’s all I need to know. Works fine for me.”

Wednesday smirked, a small, fleeting expression that you might have missed if you hadn’t been paying attention. You had no idea about the costumes. The mandatory, humiliating black cat ensemble that had tortured her the first time she’d participated. It was only fair that you endured the same indignity. She decided then and there not to tell you about it. Let it be a surprise.

The quad was beginning to fill now, “You should join me for breakfast.”

You raised a brow at her.

She added, “Enid will drag you there anyway. It will save you the effort.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue, following her as the two of you made your way toward the dining hall.

And Wednesday, for reasons she refused to name, felt a little more at ease.

Wednesday had expected you to leave.

As she sat on the bench, you settled across from her, your posture as composed as ever, shoulders relaxed but gaze sharp, always aware. She observed you from the corner of her eye, waiting for that moment where you'd inevitably get up, bored of the company. But you didn’t move.

You stayed.

That was new.

"Oh my god!" Enid's half yell pulled Wednesday from her thoughts.

“You’re sitting here willingly,” Enid launched herself to the seat beside you, grinning wide as she nudged your arm. “By yourself. No threats, no bribery, no blackmail—at least, I don’t think Wednesday blackmailed you. That’s progress, right?”

You merely hummed, not confirming nor denying anything.

Enid let out a dramatic gasp. “That was almost a response. Oh, we are making so much progress.”

Wednesday rolled her eyes. “Must you be so insufferable this early in every morning?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Enid shot back, flashing her a grin before turning her attention back to you. “You should sit with us more often. Now that we are a team!"

Before you could respond—not that you looked like you were going to—another voice cut in.

Bianca.

“So this is where the brooding duo gathers now?” she said, arching an eyebrow.

Enid turned to her, smirking. “Oh, come on, B. You’re just mad because Y/N’s on my team. You’re so screwed.”

Wednesday caught the way Bianca’s eyes narrowed, assessing. You, however, didn’t even acknowledge her. Not a glance. Not a shift in posture. Nothing. Bianca didn’t seem sure whether to be annoyed or impressed.

“Huh,” she muttered, tilting her head. “Guess it’ll be fun to have a challenge for once.”

Wednesday smirked, her voice dry as she leaned forward just slightly. “And lose badly again?”

Bianca shot her a glare, but before she could retort, another voice joined the conversation.

Xavier.

“Uh… morning,” Xavier said, rubbing the back of his neck. His gaze flickered to you, but you still didn’t acknowledge him. He swallowed. “Mind if I join?”

“You’re asking that after joining in without permission,” Wednesday said flatly.

Xavier hesitated, then sat beside Bianca, opposite Enid. He looked like he wanted to say something to you but wisely decided against it.

Understandable. He was still shaken after whatever had happened during his last encounter with you.

Then came Eugene, who looked like he regretted his decision the moment he saw how crowded it had become—especially when his eyes landed on you.

He hesitated, clearly debating whether he should turn back. He probably would have, had Enid not noticed him first.

“Eugene!” she called out, “Come sit!”

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath before reluctantly shuffling over.

And to make matters worse—for him, at least—the only available seat was right beside Wednesday. Which, unfortunately, placed him directly across from you. He slid into the empty spot, making sure to position himself as far from you as possible.

Trying to lighten the mood, Xavier leaned forward, his attention shifting to you.

“So, Y/N,” he started, flashing a small grin. “We barely know anything about you. What’s your deal? Hobbies? Interests? Are you into art? Music?”

You said nothing.

Xavier tried again. “Come on, there’s gotta be something that gets you to loosen up a little.”

Silence.

Wednesday saw it then—the faintest flicker of amusement in your eyes, but it was at Xavier’s expense. You weren’t entertained by his charm. You were entertained by his failure.

Enid snickered. “Damn, Xavier, she hates you.”

Xavier groaned, throwing his hands up. “I’m just trying to be friendly.”

“More like failing to be friendly.” Bianca corrected, smirking.

Wednesday scowled. She didn’t like this. The way Xavier was blatantly trying to get your attention, the way he was—pathetically—trying to get a reaction out of you. And she especially didn’t like that, for a second, you looked... entertained.

Before she could dwell on it further, Yoko arrived, sliding onto the bench with her usual laid-back energy. “Wow,” she remarked, surveying the table. “This is a weird mix of people.”

Wednesday half expected you to get up and leave, to remove yourself from the growing number of people surrounding you. But you didn’t.

You remained where you were, though your shoulders tensed slightly, and there was a subtle shift in your expression. You weren’t uncomfortable. You weren’t guarded.

But here, among all these people, you seemed slightly irritated, but human.

And for some reason, that made her feel something she couldn’t quite place

Wednesday felt it all, the way she always seemed to end up beside you—walking through the halls, settling into her seat during class.

She told herself it was nothing. A strategic choice, you were an anomaly, and she was merely studying you, trying to make sense of that dream, trying to make sense of you.

You didn’t question it. You didn’t ask why she was beside you between classes, why she sat near you when she had the chance, why she existed in your orbit like it was simply the way things were meant to be.

And Wednesday… Wednesday felt something almost like satisfaction in that. She wasn't sure why she felt… privileged.

It wasn’t as though you had declared her presence welcome, nor did you ever seek it out. You simply tolerated it. And somehow, that felt like enough. She had seen how you interacted—or rather, how you didn’t interact—with others. You kept your distance. You tolerated Enid. But beyond that, you were an island. Unreachable.

So why was she the exception?

The thought was infuriating. She didn’t like questions without answers.

And even in the dull monotony of school, she felt it, you never let your guard down entirely.

Except for one moment.

The fencing class.

She had been looking forward to it. She had been looking forward to you.

And you didn’t disappoint.

Wednesday had challenged you again. And, as expected, she lost. But this time, it was different. This time, she fought harder, adapted quicker. This time, she made you work for your victory.

And this time, she swore she saw something new in your expression—a flicker of exertion, a moment where you had to focus just a little harder.

She was getting better. And that meant something.

For once, she wasn’t entirely bitter about the loss.

By the time the final bell rang and students were retreating to their dorms, she found herself once again at your side. Neither of you spoke at first.

She felt a strange tightness in her chest, something akin to anticipation. It was an irritating, foreign sensation.

She cleared her throat. “I intend to continue our training this evening.”

You hummed.

That was it. Just a hum.

Wednesday frowned. “Is that a yes?”

You didn’t glance at her. “Maybe.”

She exhaled sharply. “I dislike uncertainty.”

You shrugged. “Then that’s your problem.”

She bristled. You had a talent for being insufferable. And yet, for some inexplicable reason, she found herself anticipating the evening regardless.

You reached your dorm, unlocking the door and stepping inside without another word.

You didn’t invite her in.

She hadn’t expected you to.

But she didn’t leave immediately either.

Her eyes flickered over your room, drinking in the details—or rather, the lack of them.

It was empty.

Not physically, of course. The furniture was there, the walls intact. But there was nothing personal. No photographs, no decorations, no trinkets that suggested someone actually lived here.

It was cold, soulless.

Just like you.

Like you weren’t meant to stay.

Wednesday’s gaze snapped back to you just in time to see you shrug off your blazer, revealing the toned muscles underneath.

That was—

She swallowed, fingers twitching at her sides.

You were strong. She had already known that, felt it in every spar, every clash of weapons. But seeing it like this, under normal lighting, without the rush of battle—

It was different.

She forced herself to look away, scanning the rest of the room instead. That’s when she noticed the bed. Singular.

“You don’t have a roommate?” she asked.

You barely glanced at her. “Wasn’t safe.”

Before she could question further, you reached for the door.

And then—

Slam.

No goodbye. No parting glance. Just the door shutting in her face.

She should have been angry. She should have been irritated at the sheer audacity of you brushing her off so effortlessly.

Instead, she was intrigued.

Again.

Not safe?

The Poe Cup was fast approaching. Preparation was necessary, and while Enid was all too excited about the event, Wednesday was far more interested in ensuring Bianca suffered another humiliating loss.

Her mind should have been occupied with tactics, strategies—ways to dismantle the Siren’s chances at victory.

Instead, it was occupied with you.

No matter how many times she tried to redirect her thoughts, they circled back to you.

Wednesday’s grip tightened around the paintbrush. This was unacceptable.

She had no reason to be thinking about you right now, yet you had embedded yourself into the crevices of her mind, refusing to be dislodged. Your movements, your words—or lack thereof—haunted her in ways she couldn’t quite explain.

It was infuriating.

Why were you always so quiet? Why did you refuse to let anyone in? And why did Wednesday want to be the exception?

The brush in her hand stopped mid-stroke.

A slow, creeping sense of realization settled over her.

She did.

She wanted to be the exception.

The thought was both disturbing and—

“Wow,” Enid said suddenly, snapping Wednesday from her thoughts. “You’ve been at that same spot for like, five minutes.”

Wednesday blinked, turning her head slightly. Enid was watching her, "You're all distracted and moody, well, more moody than usual. And you still haven't come up with a dozen of ways to beat Bianca so that says alot."

Wednesday tightened the rope harder than necessary, the material digging into her palms. "Perhaps you should concern yourself with decorating the boat and leave my thoughts alone."

Enid gasped dramatically. "So you admit you’re thinking about something else?"

Wednesday clenched her jaw.

There was a beat of silence before Enid's tone shifted, becoming far too smug for Wednesday’s liking. "So, what is it? What did she do? Did she say something? Did she look at you in a way that made your little goth heart go all boom boom—?"

"Enid." Wednesday’s voice was sharp, and for a moment, it seemed like Enid might actually drop it.

She didn’t. "Face it, Wednesday. You’re obsessed."

Wednesday stiffened.

The words hit closer than they should have.

Because the truth was, she was obsessed.

With figuring you out.

With understanding why you were the way you were.

Why you made her feel—

No.

She wouldn’t entertain that thought.

Instead, she inhaled sharply and said, "If I did want to learn more about someone, how would I do it?"

Enid blinked.

"You’re seriously asking me this?"

Wednesday rolled her eyes.

Enid grinned. "Well, you could just stalk them, but let’s be real, we both know that’s not going to work with her. She’s, like, the most un-stalkable person I’ve ever seen. Perhaps you should umm.. how would you say it 'Try courting her.' "

Wednesday blinked.

“What?”

“You know, court her,” Enid said, beaming. “Spend time with her, get to know her more. Talk with her. Maybe even—” she wiggled her eyebrows “—text her at night.”

Wednesday narrowed her eyes. “Why at night?”

“Because,” Enid said, “that’s usually when people let their guard down.”

Wednesday stared at her, utterly still. This was absurd. Completely absurd. And yet… A horrifying thought took root in her mind. Would it work?

Wednesday tightened her grip on the rope.

She was going to kill Enid Sinclair.

Wednesday was finally done coloring their boat.  Now her mind was finally where it should be—on strategy, on victory, on humiliating Bianca once again.

And then you arrived.

You carried the boat paddles, your expression unreadable as always.

Wednesday set her brush down, folding her arms as she eyed you. You placed the paddles beside her without a word.

“Let me guess. Enid forced you.”

“I don’t get forced to do things.”

Wednesday raised a skeptical brow. “So you willingly volunteered to help paint these?”

A beat of silence. Then, a flat, “No.”

Wednesday almost smirked. Almost.

You sighed as if resigning yourself to your fate, rolling up your sleeves. “Let’s get this over with.”

Wednesday wordlessly handed you a brush, watching as you dipped it into the paint. You worked with smooth, deliberate strokes, methodical in your approach. For a moment, there was nothing but the soft shh-shh of bristles against wood.

“You handle a brush like you handle a sword,” she said eventually.

You didn’t look at her. “And how is that?”

“Precise. Controlled.”

You were quiet for a beat. Then, “So do you.”

Wednesday paused mid-stroke.

It was such a simple remark, devoid of any weight or hidden meaning, but for some reason, it lodged itself into her thoughts like a splinter.

She turned slightly to glance at you, only to find you focused entirely on your task. As if the words had been nothing more than an observation.

Her mind was racing, but she refused to let it show. It was infuriating how easily you unsettled her, how effortlessly you took over her thoughts.

This was not supposed to happen.

And yet, it was.

She needed to say something—anything—to break the tension creeping into her chest.

“Why do you never ask questions?”

You paused mid-stroke, finally glancing at her. “What?”

Wednesday met your gaze. “You never ask anything. Never pry. Why?”

You studied her for a moment before looking away. “I don’t see the point.”

Wednesday tilted her head. “Curiosity is a natural human instinct.”

“I’ve never been particularly human.”

Wednesday’s fingers twitched again. That statement—it was too familiar. Too close to something she would say.

Before she could think of a response, footsteps approached again, breaking the moment entirely.

Enid and Yoko had arrived.

“So, are we finally making a battle plan, or are we just winging it?”

Wednesday exhaled slowly, “Yes,” she said, rising to her feet. “We’re discussing strategy.”

Enid perked up. “Good, because I just got some inside info—Bianca’s adding shields to her boat this year. That means last year’s spear trick won’t work.”

Wednesday clenched her jaw. The race was tomorrow, and she had yet to come up with an alternative strategy.

She had been too—

Distracted.

Enid leaned over the boat, frowning. “We need something else.”

Enid and Yoko began listing potential alternatives, but every suggestion was quickly met with a countermeasure that Bianca had likely already accounted for.

Nothing felt right.

Nothing seemed enough.

And then—

“Your focus is misplaced.” you spoke.

All three of them turned to you.

You remained seated, still painting, still looking entirely uninterested in the conversation.

“You’re too fixated on Bianca,” you continued. “There are other teams in this race. You’re underestimating them.”

Enid blinked. “Wait, what?”

“Focus on them,” you said simply.

Enid frowned. “And Bianca?”

“Leave taking Bianca’s boat down to me.” you said as you finished the last stroke of paint on the paddle.

Wednesday rolled her eyes. “And what guarantee do we have that you can take her down? The water is her field.”

Your gaze met hers.

Emotionless. And Wednesday can see it... the darkness building in your eyes.

“I don’t fail.”

A slow smirk curled at the edges of Wednesday’s lips.

Because suddenly—

Suddenly, she knew exactly how they were going to win.

Wednesday adjusted the black cat ears on her head with all the enthusiasm of someone fastening a noose around their own neck.

This was humiliating. She loathed every aspect of it. But, she supposed, she loathed losing more.

With a sigh, she pulled on the last piece of the outfit and stepped out of the Black Cat’s tent.

And there you were.

Standing a short distance away, arms crossed, staring at Enid and Yoko like they had personally insulted your ancestors.

Your expression was twisted into something resembling mild horror as you looked them up and down. Almost as if you felt her presence, your eyes flicked over to her.

And then—

Disgust.

Your face didn’t change much, but Wednesday caught the subtle narrowing of your eyes, the barely-there curl of your lip.

She had seen this expression on you before—when you were unimpressed, when you found something utterly beneath your standards.

And now you were looking at her like that.

Wednesday was already plotting different ways to murder Enid for putting her in this position.

“I’m not wearing that.” you said.

“Oh, what?” Enid gasped. “You didn’t know?” She turned to Wednesday, hands on her hips. “Wednesday didn’t tell you? This is compulsory.”

You turned to her, a glare so sharp it could cut steel.

She held your glare, unwavering, refusing to be intimidated by whatever silent death threat you were sending her way.

But—strangely—her pulse quickened.

Not out of fear.

Out of something far worse.

Something she refused to name.

Without another word, you grabbed one of the dreadful uniforms from the pile and disappeared into the changing tent.

The second you were gone, Enid turned to Wednesday, eyes practically gleaming.

“This is kinda romantic,” she mused.

Wednesday narrowed her eyes. “What part of this is remotely romantic?”

"The way you two had a telepathic deathmatch to see who comes out on top right now."

Wednesday ignored her and crossed her arms, waiting.

The minutes stretched, and with each passing second, an odd anticipation settled in her chest.

The tent flap opened and you stepped out.

Her mind stuttered.

There you stood, in the same ridiculous, skintight, fur-trimmed uniform as the rest of them.

Except—

Somehow, on you, it wasn’t ridiculous at all.

The tight fabric outlined every curve, every muscle. The high collar made your shoulders seem sharper, your stance more imposing. And somehow, somehow, the absurd cat ears didn’t make you look silly. They made you look…

Wednesday clenched her jaw.

Absolutely not.

She refused to acknowledge whatever this was.

You had the same unimpressed, vaguely murderous expression you always did, but now it was directed at Enid.

“Try to hug me and I’ll gut you.”

Enid, unbothered, clasped her hands together. “Awww, you’re so cute when you threaten me.”

Wednesday barely heard them.

She was too focused on regaining her composure.

Luckily, Enid was already moving on. “So this is it. You ready?" she asked.

You nodded and strode toward the competition’s starting line. Wednesday followed a moment later, trying very hard to bury whatever the hell had just happened to her brain.

Wednesday gripped her oar with steady fingers, her mind already calculating all the different outcomes, all the scenarios.

Enid sat in the front of their sleek black boat, all grins and bubbling excitement, her fingers twitching with the urge to start rowing before Weems even gave the signal. Yoko was just behind her. Then there was herself, positioned in the middle, strategically placed for control, for observation.

And finally—

You.

Right behind her.

The final and most unpredictable element of this entire race.

She had spent so much time observing you, studying you, trying to untangle the mystery of who you were. And now, here you were, closer than ever, a mere breath away from her.

It made something restless twist inside her.

To their right sat the Amontillados, Xavier's team, who was currently staring at the their boat with open amusement. No—

Not at the boat.

At you.

Wednesday stiffened as Xavier leaned forward, his mouth already curving into that insufferable smirk.

“Wow,” he mused, voice just loud enough for you to hear. “Never thought I’d see you in something like that. Gotta say, it’s a look.”

Wednesday’s grip on her oar tightened.

She knew Xavier well enough to recognize that tone, that smug attempt at charm. He tried it on herself last year. He was flirting. With you.

Wednesday felt something snap. A cold, sharp irritation slithered through her chest. She resisted the urge to throw him overboard.

Your reaction, as always, was infuriatingly unreadable. You didn’t acknowledge Xavier, didn’t look at him, didn’t even blink and Xavier chuckled, clearly amused.

She would drown him.

She would personally drag him to the bottom of the lake and drown him.

Before she could act on the impulse, the sound of Principal Weems clearing her throat brought her back.

“The annual Poe Cup is a tradition that has stood since the founding of Nevermore Academy,” Weems began, her voice carrying across the water. “It is a test of teamwork, strategy, and endurance.”

Wednesday resisted the urge to scoff.

Weems continued, glancing between the competing boats. “As always, the rules are simple. Each team must paddle across Raven’s Island, retrieve their team flag, and return to the starting line without being sunk. First team across with their flag—wins.”

Weems lifted the revolver high.

“Let the best team win.”

The second the gunshot rang through the air, the boats shot forward, Bianca’s team took the lead almost immediately, her boat gliding through the water with practiced ease, her team moving in perfect sync with her commands.

Wednesday focused. Bianca wasn’t their immediate concern.

Not yet.

Enid paddled furiously at the front, Yoko, right behind her, was more controlled, keeping pace with Wednesday’s calculated movements.

And at the very back, you were eerily calm as you paddled.

Silent.

Watching.

It was infuriating how unfazed you looked while the rest of them exerted themselves, muscles burning as they fought against the current.

But Wednesday had no time to dwell on it.

Not when she caught movement to her left.

Wednesday snapped her head toward them.

The Pit and the Pendulum’s boat was creeping up at an angle, dangerously close, their team moving with clear intent. And then she saw it—

A glint of metal.

The Pit and the Pendulum’s boat jerked to the side, revealing the hidden mechanism at their center.

A massive swinging axe, And it was falling. Right toward them.

A normal person might have panicked.

Enid let out a startled noise, already moving instinctively to the side—

But before the axe could make contact—

It should have split their boat in half.

But it didn’t.

Wednesday had barely registered the movement before she saw it.

You.

Your sword was there.

Your conjured katana, held in one hand with a casual ease, intercepting the massive axe mid-swing.

The force alone should have sent you staggering—should have sent you reeling back—but you stood firm. Your grip never wavered, the katana steady as it held the axe at bay.

Wednesday felt something crawl up her spine.

Admiration? Fascination? Something else? There wasn’t time to dissect it.

She had to move. Now.

With the axe momentarily stalled, Wednesday yanked at the mechanism near her foot—a concealed lever.

The Black Cats’ trap sprang into action.

A weighted net shot out from the side of their boat as it latched onto three of the Pit and the Pendulum’s oars, entangling them, causing them to lose their balance. Their boat wobbled dangerously and then, they tipped.

Wednesday didn’t look back. She wasn't the one to revel in the small victory. Neither were you.

Because the race wasn’t over yet.

Ahead, Bianca’s boat surged forward, sleek and unhindered, cutting through the water like a blade. She had taken an early lead, and despite Wednesday’s best efforts to focus, irritation prickled at the back of her mind.

Not because Bianca was winning.

But because her own mind—her own cursed thoughts—kept slipping back to the girl at the rear of their boat who was silent as ever.

Bianca’s team had reached the island first.

Wednesday grit her teeth, adjusting her grip on the oar. Each stroke sent a sharp pull through her muscles, the effort burning in her arms, but she refused to relent.

Enid panted in front of her, “We’re almost there!”

Yoko, ever composed, nodded. “Push harder. We need to close the gap.”

Bianca’s team had already beached their boat, Bianca going for the flag while the rest stayed behind to defend the boat against any sabotage.

Wednesday didn’t hesitate.

The moment their boat scraped against the shore, she jumped out, boots sinking into the wet sand. She knew the way.

She had walked this ground before.

But so had Bianca. She moved quickly, heart pounding not from exertion, but from the quiet thrill of the challenge. When she reached their flags Bianca was already taking her's. Wednesday narrowed her eyes, stepping closer.

Bianca said running past her, “Try not to take a cat nap this time, Addams.”

“I could take one and still win," Wednesday said yanking their flag off.

As soon as she returned back to the shoreline, she spotted her team already waiting in the boat. Enid was already waving frantically from the boat.

“Hurry!” she yelled. “They’re getting ready to launch!”

Wednesday barely slowed as she reached the water’s edge. The boat rocked as she jumped in, but her balance remained steady. She shoved the flag into the side compartment before gripping her oar.

They were back on the water.

And Bianca was still ahead.

The race was now in its most critical moment. The return.

Bianca’s boat cut through the waves, her team paddling with brutal efficiency. But then— Bianca’s team made their move.

Wednesday saw it before the Amontillados did.

Dark shapes slithered beneath the water, just barely visible beneath the surface. Sirens.

Wednesday watched as Xavier’s boat lurch violently.

His teammates flailed, oars slipping from their grasp as hands dragged against their boat, pulling them off course.

The Amontillados didn’t stand a chance.

Xavier and his team barely had time to react before the boat tipped, sending them plunging into the lake.

“Bianca with her damn sirens again,” Yoko muttered. “She took out the Amontillados. We’re next, get ready!”

“I will cut their arms off if they touch this boat.” Your voice was even, void of emotion. “They know that,” you continued, “So they won’t. They probably have some other strategy to take us down.”

Wednesday believed you.

She wasn’t sure if the sirens feared you because of what you could do, or because they had seen you do it before.

They rowed and they rowed.

The finish line loomed ahead, the cheers from the shore swallowed by the sound of paddles striking the water and the waves.

Bianca’s boat was ahead, but not by much. The Black Cats were closing in, their speed a perfect, deadly rhythm, Wednesday just needs to slow it down. She got ready, this was her time, her hand tightened around the crossbow, the one you had given her, or more accurately, conjured for her. It was light, too light, yet it fit in her hands as if it had always been meant for her.

She positioned herself, lifting the crossbow, lining up the shot. One bolt. Just one hole in that boat and the black cats are winning this.

She exhaled, steadying her fingers on the trigger—

Then froze.

A sound curled through the air, slipping into her mind like a wisp of fog curling around her thoughts. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t forceful.

It was beautiful.

Her aim faltered.

Her vision blurred at the edges.

Bianca.

Bianca was singing.

Wednesday clenched her jaw, forcing her grip to stay firm, her finger pressing against the trigger. She blinked, forcing focus, forcing precision—Then fired.

The bolt sliced through the air, cutting towards its target. And then....

Then it missed. No, it didn't miss, it went through Bianca's boat, or more like.. the fake projection of the boat Bianca created in her vision, just behind their actual boat.

Wednesday gritted her teeth. Bianca’s smirk was sharp, knowing.

Then the real attack began.

The siren’s song grew louder, crashing over them like a tidal wave. It wasn’t just in her head anymore—it was in the air, vibrating in her skull, pressing against her ribs.

“Shit—” Yoko’s voice was strangled as she tore her hands from the oar, slamming them over her ears.

Enid whimpered, her claws scraping against the boat’s side as she did the same.

The song grew stronger, insidious. Not just a suggestion, but a command.

Jump.

The word coiled around them like a serpent tightening its grip.

Wednesday felt it seep into her thoughts, her fingers twitching at the oar. Her arms burned as she struggled to paddle alone, the boat swaying against the current.

Bianca’s gaze locked onto hers, triumph in every line of her expression.

She had won. She knew it. And so did Wednesday.

The edges of her vision darkened, the melody still tugging, pulling, commanding, and then—

Bianca’s face twisted. Her smirk faltered.

The song stopped.

A scream.

No

Multiple screams.

Wednesday knew screams.

She had heard them before—raw, agonized, desperate cries that filled the halls of her mind like a sweet melody.

But this—

This was different.

It wasn’t just pain.

It was terror.

Pure, unfiltered terror.

Wednesday’s gaze snapped to Bianca’s boat.

Bianca’s team was writhing, clawing at themselves, their mouths open in bloodcurdling shrieks. Their fingers tore at their skin, their bodies convulsing as if set ablaze by something unseen.

One of them lurched forward, eyes wide in horror as he let out a strangled gasp—

Then flung himself into the water.

Then another.

And another.

Bianca was the only one left.

And she was shaking.

Slowly, she turned looking at their boat but her eyes weren’t on Wednesday anymore.

They were looking behind her.

Enid and Yoko turned first.

And then Wednesday followed.

You weren’t there.

The space where you had been sitting was empty. They immediately turned back, looking at Bianca.

Bianca’s expression was frozen in something Wednesday had never seen on her before.

Fear.

Not apprehension.

Not wariness.

True, genuine fear.

Then Wednesday saw why.

You stood on Bianca’s boat.

No sound, no splash, no indication of movement. One moment you had been with them. The next, you were standing before Bianca, staring at her as if.., as if you were the bringer of death itself.

Then, with a flicker of motion so quick it was almost imperceptible—

Your katana materialized in your hand.

A sharp whistle of air as the blade cut through space—

Bianca flinched, her arms flying up in reflex, but the strike never touched her.

Instead—

A sharp crack echoed through the water.

A split second later, Bianca’s boat lurched violently.

A clean, perfect slash—

Straight through the hull.

The boat split in two, water rushing in, swallowing it whole.

Bianca barely had time to react before she was sinking, her body hitting the water with a sharp splash.

Wednesday steadied her breath.

Her fingers curled around the oar, her grip firm.

She turned back.

And there you were. Sitting in your seat.

As if you had never left. As if nothing had happened.

“Start rowing.” Your voice was emotionless, cold. Commanding.

Wednesday’s fingers twitched against the wood. She had never been one to follow orders. But she didn’t hesitate to follow this.

[End note: Yeah, that took me too much time to even copy paste from doc to here lol. Comment how was it]

[Also comment if u wanna be added to the taglist because the updates will take a bit time because of the length.]

Taglist: @rqizzu @sevyscoven @kingoftheracoons @kingofthings2 @masterofpuppets-10 @alexkolax @ognenniyvolk@mally-ka@protozoario@machyishere@freakshow2501@101rizzlrr @casbrawel

[oscinhaslandito]

could you do some taking care of you on period stories!!

alright so kinda sorta inspired by max and lando's latest stream there wasn't a specific driver request so i chose lando cause the stream was on my mind hope that's okay so yeah anyways enjoy!!!!

(p.s.: he's so adorable in this clip😭)

It had been quite a bit since Lando and Max had streamed from the same room. Finally after weeks of back and forth they stumbled on one date. So, here they both are streaming from Lando's apartment in Monaco, the chat going absolutely feral, seeing them together.

Y/N had been looking forward to a cozy evening while Lando and Max entertained the internet with their usual chaotic stream. She had taken a warm shower, ready to curl up in bed and scroll aimlessly on her phone. But just as she was drying off, she felt the unmistakable cramp and the dreaded realization hit her.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," she muttered, sighing as she reached for her supply of pads.

Now, wrapped in one of Lando’s oversized hoodies, she lay in bed with a heating pad pressed against her stomach. She scrolled through her phone, trying to distract herself from the cramps. She could hear the distant sounds of Lando and Max laughing from the streaming room, their voices slightly muffled by the walls.

Meanwhile, in the other room, Lando and Max were in the middle of a heated debate about who was better at Tarkov.

"Mate, you are so bad at this," Max laughed. "I swear, you run in circles half the time."

"Nah, you're just jealous of my skills," Lando shot back, grinning.

A notification popped up on Lando’s second screen, signaling they had been streaming for a while. “I’m gonna grab a drink. You want anything?” he asked Max, standing up.

Max waved a hand. “Yeah, just get me whatever you’re having.”

Lando nodded, stretching his arms before heading out of the streaming room. As always, before making his way to the kitchen, he took a detour to check on Y/N. It was a habit now—every time he had a moment, he’d sneak in to give her a quick kiss or hug, just because he could.

When he walked in, he immediately noticed her curled up in bed, heating pad pressed against her stomach. His playful smile softened. He knew what that meant.

"Babe, you on your period?" he asked softly, sitting beside her.

Y/N let out a dramatic sigh. "Unfortunately. It’s a nightmare."

Lando leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. "I’ll be right back, okay?", he said exiting the room, leaving the girl confused.

He made his way to the kitchen but instead of grabbing just drinks, he started rummaging through the pantry. He knew Y/N's go-to period snacks: chocolate, some chips, and—oh, he had bought her favorite cookies last week! Score!

When he returned to the streaming room, Max looked up. "Took you long enough—wait, what’s all that?"

Lando placed the drinks on the desk but held onto the snacks. "Y/N’s on her period. We’re ending the stream."

Max blinked before nodding. "Oh. Yeah, fair enough. She needs the comfort package."

Without hesitation, Max turned to their viewers. "Alright, lads, that’s it for tonight. Emergency calls."

The chat flooded with confusion and questions, but they ignored it, quickly shutting everything down. Once everything was offline, Max followed Lando to the bedroom, where Y/N was still curled up.

"Brought you some goodies, love," Lando said, placing the snacks beside her. "And we ended the stream, so now you have our full attention."

Max flopped onto the bed dramatically. "I’m here for moral support."

Y/N laughed softly, shaking her head. "You guys really didn’t have to end your stream."

"Nah, you’re more important," Lando said without hesitation, climbing into bed beside her.

Max smirked. "He’s so whipped."

"Shut up," Lando muttered, wrapping his arms around Y/N. "Let me cuddle my girlfriend in peace."

Max, shaking his head, let out a small chuckle at his best friend. "Alright, alright, I'll leave you two to it. Take care."

Y/N smiled softly. "Thanks, Max. And sorry you had to end your stream because of me."

Max scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. "Nah, I was getting tired of your whiny boyfriend anyway."

Lando gave Max an unimpressed look while Y/N burst into laughter, making Lando pout. "Wow, the betrayal."

Max grinned, backing away towards the door. "Get used to it, mate. See you in the morning—if you survive the clinginess."

With that, he slipped out, leaving Lando and Y/N wrapped up in each other, completely content.

As soon as the door shut, Lando tightened his arms around Y/N, burying his face into her neck. "Finally, alone time."

Y/N giggled, turning slightly to nuzzle against his curls. "You’re so dramatic."

"Shhh," he mumbled. "Let me be clingy."

She smiled, running her fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp lightly. He let out a hum of approval, his whole body relaxing against hers. "You're literally the best boyfriend ever, you know that?"

Lando lifted his head, grinning sleepily. "Say it again."

Y/N rolled her eyes playfully but complied. "Best boyfriend ever."

He kissed her cheek, then her nose, then her forehead. "I love you."

She melted into his embrace. "I love you too. Even when you’re extra."

"Especially when I’m extra," he corrected smugly, pulling the blanket over them. "Now let’s get comfy. Movie? Nap? Or just more cuddles?"

"Mmm, all of the above."

Lando beamed, pulling her even closer. "Perfect."

And just like that, he stayed wrapped around her for the rest of the night, whispering sweet nothings and making sure she was as comfortable as possible. If there was one thing he was sure of, it was that he’d always be there to take care of her—no matter what.

[lnfours]

focal point ☆ chapter 6 | l.n

summary: 'she was like a shot of espresso' - andrew garfield (but also lando norris)

warnings: art student!reader, best friend/college student!oscar, college student!lando, slight enemies to lovers!au, slight grumpy x sunshine, language, finally finding out who lily's chem guy is (!!!!!), fluff to the max for our lovebirds (we're finally getting somewhere)

message from jordan: 2 chapters in one week?? who am i??? also life without f1 is so boring can we put these cars on track already 😩😩😩

series masterlist | listen to the playlist

"can you sit still for just five seconds?"

"i am!" he laughed softly, now used to the way your hands had repositioned his head to go back to the pose he had been holding.

"well, try harder." you laughed back at him, causing him to shake his head. the two of you had been at this for about two hours now, the room filled with giggles, small talk, and the low music playing from his laptop.

"let's take a break, yeah?"

you nodded, "yeah, sounds good."

you placed your project down and are taking it in for a moment. you were proud of the outcome you had so far. it was looking far better than you had imagined it to be.

but nearing the end of your project, and nearing the date of his econ exam made an unsettling feeling arise. were the two of you just going to stop hanging out after all this? when you both got what you wanted?

you used to pray for that day to come quick, but now you didn't want it to come at all.

you stretched out on the mattress, letting out a soft sigh as your body loosened from the previous position you had been sitting in for far too long. he leaned over to check the time on his phone, "you hungry? i can order us something,"

you hummed, hugging a pillow against your chest, laying on your tummy, "'m down for whatever."

"pizza?" he asked and when you twisted your face he hummed, "mm, thai? italian?”

“you like sushi?” you asked and the face you received as an answer, let’s just say he was more than offended. you laughed as he looked at you like you had three heads, “i’ll take that as a ‘no’ then?”

“it’s an ‘absolutely fucking not’,” he laughed with you, “you like eating raw fish? what’s wrong with you?”

“have you ever even tried it?” you asked, a small amusing smile on your face.

“i know i don’t like fish, so no need to try it.”

“what about the ones with crab? or shrimp?”

“yeah, but they’re near a fish!”

“oh my god,” you laughed, “okay, fine, sushi is off the table.”

the two of you went back and forth trying to decide what to order before finally settling on something as he placed the order on his phone.

"wait! let me grab my card," you said, leaning over the mattress with your torso hanging off as you fished around for your wallet inside your bag.

"no, i've got it," he replied.

"you paid for our breakfast last time!" you huffed, sitting back up with your card in hand, but he wouldn't take it no matter how many times you tried to shove it in his hand, "just take my card."

you watched as he tapped on his phone with a smirk, clearly not listening to you. when you tried to take the phone away from him, he just kept lifting it higher out of your reach, which made you pout and fold your arms.

accepting defeat was something you weren't necessarily fond of.

you hadn't noticed the fact that your legs had managed to straddle his hips, or the fact that his free hand was holding onto your hip, fingers pressing into the slightly exposed skin due to your t-shirt riding up in effort to get the phone from him.

he smiled and placed the phone down on the mattress, "should be here soon,"

"at least let me venmo you," you sighed and he shook his head.

"don't want your money."

"lando,"

"okay, fine, how about you get my coffee the next time we study. how's that?"

you nodded, satisfied with the fact that he let you pay for something, even if it was just for his double shot of espresso over ice.

you bit down on your bottom lip, now fully aware how awkward the position you were in was. he was trying not to think about it, too. sure, maybe he was looking way too hard for way too long at the features on your face, but he couldn't help it. you were the most beautiful thing on earth to him.

you were like a shot of espresso or being bathed in sunlight. he hadn't really believed in love at first sight until he met you.

"you have an eyelash," he gestured to your cheek. you reached up to wipe it away, but he chuckled softly and shook his head.

"missed it," he said, gently reaching up to your cheek, "'ve got it,"

your breathing slowed as he swiped his thumb against your cheek gently, holding out his thumb to you instead of just shaking off the eyelash like normal. you sent him a confused look.

"make a wish,"

you hummed, thinking of something to wish for. all that you could think of was him. the same guy who unexpectedly plagued your mind and took over your dreams.

now he was taking over your wishes.

you gently blew on the eyelash, laughing softly after. you had realized his hand never fell back to his side, instead it reached out to your cheek cautiously.

you leaned into his touch, smiling down at him which got you one of those smiles that made your heart clench in return. no matter how many times he had smiled at you, each time it made you giddy inside.

"y/n," his voice was low, scared to speak up, almost like it would startle you if he spoke above a whisper.

god, you loved the way he said your name.

"yeah?"

"please tell me you feel this too," he said, his eyes searching yours for any sign to be a silent tell that you've been wanting this as long as he has, as much as him, "whatever this is between us."

you nodded, "i do,"

a soft breath of relief came from his nose, but the tension was still thick enough to cut through with a knife, "can i kiss you?"

you nodded again, whispering back to him, "please."

he didn't waste a single second after, his lips meeting yours. he poured every single ounce of pining and longing as he could into the kiss and you reciprocated it right back.

you hummed when he pulled you closer against his body, leaving no room for air between the two of you, your hands wrapping around his neck and playing with the soft curls at the nape of his neck. the same ones you had imagined running your fingers through.

you only pulled away due to the lack of air in your lungs, the both of you smiling against each other's lips and your noses bumping.

"'ve been wanting to do that for so long." he mumbled and you giggled, smiling so hard you were sure your cheeks were going to hurt by the end of the night.

you brushed over his now wild curls, flattening them out with your fingers. you bit down on your lower lip, stopping yourself from laughing at the fact the curls only got wilder, "i might've just made it worse,"

he shrugged, shaking his head with not a single care in the world, his lips coming back to brush against yours, "don't care,"

you laughed into his lips, kissing him once more. and again. and maybe again.

and so many times you lost count.

that was, until the door to the apartment closing made the two of you seperate. the slam of the door was followed by a pair of familiar voices.

"oscar?" you asked, you and lando listening to the conversation in the other room.

he nodded, "yeah, but i can barely hear the other person."

then there was a laugh, a laugh you could've recognized anywhere. the high-pitched noise was engraved in your brain and it only belonged to one person.

you hit his shoulder and he raised an eyebrow, "what? he's just invited a girl over?"

"not just a girl," you said, "we called it! at the diner the other day!"

he looked at you, eyebrows furrowed, clearly not following what you were saying.

until, it all clicked.

"oh, no way!" he said and you nodded.

"it's lily!"

[hoetachi]

HAPPINESS OVER EVERYTHING (H.O.E) — J. TODD

suggestive themes

I hope she don't think, that I think that she's some kind of hoe

A SOFT KNOCK graced the dark oak and he already knew whom it would be. without words being exchanged, he heard the chambers turned followed by a slight creak. there you were… in your newest ‘outfit’. off the record, this was your skimpiest outfit by far (which he loved a little too much by the slight tent in his slacks) and just knew you were getting tipped well for it.

jason relaxed a bit in the chair, umbrella twisting lazily between his fingers whilst keeping his shielded eyes on your figure. a mischievous smirk graced your glossed lips as you pressed your back to his door, which he picked up on the chambers turning again. you locked it.

time for your scheduled ‘cat & mouse’ game.

you pressed yourself free off the oak and switched your hips towards his desk. “5th time this week, doll” he pointed out as you inched closer. you now was right before him leaning over, pushing your breast together slightly whilst your perfume invaded his senses. sweet as ever, a scent he’ll never get a enough of.

“they say you pickin’ favorites mista hood” you finally spoke, your hair falling over your shoulders while you stared at him doed eyes. he always liked how you said ‘mista hood’ with your slightly hidden brooklyn accent. you don’t know it, but you’re the only one who’s allowed to refer to him as that. for everyone else it’s either ‘boss’ or ‘sir’

he exhaled, “i don’t do the favoritism bullshit.”

“then what do you do?” you asked, circling his desk. ghosting your hand over the nape of his neck, if he didn’t achieved the self control he currently had, he would’ve shuddered from the ghost of your touch without hesitation. he sees why bruce stayed up on those rooftops now, the mere thought about going against your own code for desire was a thrilling experience

“i treat people how they deserve to be treated” he stated curtly. he was never the one to sugarcoat the truth, that’s what most of the staff secretly disliked about him.

if he wanted to say ‘fuck off and rot in ditch’ he had nothing holding back, absolutely no remorse. he knew everything about everyone who worked under him and knew majority of them weren’t kind people in their day to day, so why would he treat them how he would like to be treated if they were mere scum?

“so if they wanna act like gossiping schoolgirls, i wouldn’t take their comments seriously”

“is this why you’re lingering in my office instead of… displaying your talents?”

you finally made it back before and leaned again on his desk. you pretended to think about for second. how cute you are “maybe… maybe not” another cheshire smirk graced your lips

“so.. how do i deserve to be treated, mista hood?”

“i’m letting you avoid working right now for one. two between you and i, i pay you more than your coworkers out there, even though you’re here less” he chuckled at your face at the little jab towards your absence around the lounge

“you know why though” you rolled your eyes at the jab. he loved to push your buttons, your reactions were just the cutest thing to him plus he knew you couldn’t really stay mad at him.

“how’d your exam go?”

“i feel that i definitely scored the lowest on it. im way too over my head with this veterinarian thing”

he used the hook of the umbrella he’s been twirling with to pull the strap of your bikini top and snapped it back, causing a yelp from you. you dropped your head and pouted as you rubbed the suddenly aching spot between your breast, however the same hook tilted your head up.

you were meant with crimson lens and from the looks of it, he wasn’t too happy with your comment. “don’t say that. do i look like i hire idiots?” he questioned coldly, you parted your lips to answer but realized it was a rhetorical question and thought best to not say anything. “you passed that entrance exam with flying colors, which is amazing considering there’s an 9% acceptance rate so don’t dare discredit that mind of yours”

“are you intelligent!?” he raised his voice, causing you to straighten your back with a flinch before nodding your head rapidly, “say it y/n!” he raised his voice again, “i’m intelligent” you said rapidly, making you stand up straight with your gaze falling to your feet. he mentally scolded himself for his outburst. he knew better to always watch his tone with you knowing you already get enough shit while on the clock from the others. “im sorry for yelling,” he apologized

“it’s okay, mista hood” you reassured, giving him a sheepish smile. “i just don’t ever want to catch you beating up yourself. you’re a good woman” he complimented with a much softer tone

“hmph, some woman i am” you huffed, twirling the end of your hair between your fingers unamused

his brows knitted at your comment, “what did i just say, y/n?” he scolded

“i know i know im sorry, but cmon mista hood. look where i work at?”

“it’s a fixer upper… i see potential still” the last part more for himself than the actual lounge. he’ll give credit to cobblepot, he took good care for the place but it was better under jason’s ownership.

“no man wants a woman who flirts their way into their pockets” you whispered whilst looking out the tinted window towards the vip section. the urge to cup that pretty face of yours and have those hypnotized eyes on him and him only came in droves. the fight with temptation around you could make him weak than any fight with the toughest rogues in gotham.

“speed dating ain’t workin’ out for you?”

“after the compliments and pleasantries, they don’t quite stick around once the question of what i do shows face” you joked half heartedly. no matter how much of a front you put on, he knew you wanted someone to take care of you and not just try to take you home for night

“doesn’t sound like men to me”

“then what does it sound like?”

“boys trying to play big man. someone’s way of paying the bills shouldn’t define them, so don’t let them define you. this is temporary, y/n just like those boys”

“you definitely know how to flatter a lady mista hood” you smiled softly, walking around his desk and he scooted back some to make some space for you to hop up on his desk to sit

he shrugged, feeling a bit more relaxed with you closer to him. “i’m just telling the truth”

“or maybe the truth is, you’re a really good ladies man..” there was a sudden glint in your eyes and he knew it was finally time to test how strong-willed he was against his own desire

“y/n…” he warned once you brushed your leg against his

“am i toeing the line?” your voice dripping in playfulness and your eyes shadowed with seduction, he was more than thankful for the tints on goggles how he had to close them to control his urges. how did the old bat do it with the cat for so long is all he could think about. you two barely even touched and he already so bothered

disregarding his caution, you continued your pursuit of him. “i would expect you of all people to love a bit of risk every once in a while”

“don’t start something you can’t finish” that was his second warning for you

“you see, mista hood, that’s the problem”

“you won’t let me finish. got me thinkin’ you may be into edging” you moaned, pulling in your bottom lip. he almost put together how sweet the actual melody of your moans would sound and that alone practically put him closer to the edge

“i don’t mix business with pleasure”

“it didn’t seem like a problem with liz and all the other girls” he watched again as you tried to your best not to roll your eyes at the name. liz wasn’t nothing to him nor others, if he had a rough night, he knew they’ll do anything to get even a smudge of the attention that he gives you

“they throw themselves”

a pout formed on your face and god, he could’ve been putty right in your hands. “am i not throwing myself hard enough?” you batted your lashes towards him.

“you’re better than that, doll”

you giggled as you placed a hand over your chest dramatically being flattered, “you think too highly of me, mista hood”

“i do, but who can blame me of thinking of you”

“and that’s your other problem too” he watched as you smirked. pushing yourself off of the desk, you moved the umbrella aside and decided to find a more comfortable spot to sit. you slowly sat yourself on his lap, making sure he had the perfect view of your arched back before looking over your shoulder with an innocent expression. “is this spot taken by chance?” throwing your legs over his knee, really settling against his tailored suit. you were going to be his second death for sure

he exhausted exaggeratedly, you’re the only woman he has set of rules for himself.

he can’t touch you. you can comb your fingers through his hair, acrylics scratching his scalp comfortingly and he has to fight the urge to nozzle into your touch.

he can’t taste you. he’s tempted every time you leave a glossy kiss on the corner of his mouth because knowing your love for toeing the line, he’s just curious how’d you react if one day he just captured those plump lips and explored that sweet mouth of yours and pull a moan from the depths of your core

you’re completely right

you’re his biggest problem

part 2?

[look-at-the-stars-tonight]

the number of times my coworker friend gets referred to as my mom by other people who have met her a grand total of Once 😭😭

[thebleedingeffect]

Thinking about Arno again and just how rarely he smiles or laughs once the plot of the game begins and it just makes me want to lay down and cry. He's still very much his sassy, attitude filled self, but there's a definite somberness that he carries with him at all times that seems to stop him from letting himself feel any sort of happiness or joy. In the game, besides the intro part, the only times he ever smiles is when he's with Elise, but afterward? After she dies? There's an even heavier veil of sorrow around him that's just so incredibly heartbreaking because he's so guilt and grief ridden :(((

It just makes me look at Arno like... I wanna help my guy... I wanna make him feel better .... can you please smile and laugh again please please please please-

[writersdrug]

Bartender!Simon accidentally running into Waitress!Reader while she’s carrying a bunch of drinks for a table, causing them to spill all over herself 👉🏻👈🏻

Even more bonus points if she’s dressed in a white shirt, iykyk 👀

You're onto something here

Also, combining this with the ask about reader snooping through Simon's flat on the 3rd floor

Warnings: NSFW, slight humiliation, Simon goes from gentleman to having nasty nasty thoughts

It's a busy night - when mid-September rolls in, the nights get colder, and people gravitate towards the warm lighting of the bar through the street-front window. You still have a couple of hours left on your shift, which means Ghost still has a while, too.

He can't remember how many beers he's poured tonight. The noise of the shaker is drowned out by the buzz in his head. Mack wants another PBR. Table eleven still needs their shots and two Martinis. He's in the zone, pouring liquor and juices and bitters with practiced skill. He catches every word from the patrons at the bar - at least, every order. He mumbles out a quick "step back, please" when a gaggle of girls tries to stand near the end of the bar, waiting for their drinks. The bar is completely seated, people stuffing themselves between chairs to place their orders. Somon's got half a mind to tell them to clear out and get the fuck back, but he has to be civil. It won't be this hellish for too much longer - Price texted Simon that he'd be there in a bit to help.

Simon's more concerned about you: you're running around, delivering food and drink, bringing condiments and refilling waters - you're weaving between tables, maneuvering around bodies with a quick "sorry" or "scuse me"... you're at one table, and in the blink of an eye, you're at another. Simon sometimes doesn't realize you went into the kitchen until you're busting the door open with plates of food. You're covered in a light sheen of sweat, your usual chipper attitude dampened by the Friday night rush. Simon doesn't miss the way you scowl when you hear a table calling for you, when both of your hands are full.

You push yourself through the crowd of girls hovering by the end of the bar. You huff, grabbing a tray and some glasses. "Is it national 'Go to a Bar' day?" You mumble, squeezing behind Simon and heading to the free soda gun.

He barely makes an effort to reply. "Must be." He grunts, pulling several bottles from the shelves and setting them on the counter. He's snatching this and that - you fill your glasses with water, sliding behind him and grabbing the various drinks on the end of the back and stacking them on your tray.

A man elbowed his way between the patrons at the bar. "Can I get another DogFish IPA?" He says, sticking his glass across the bar.

Simon groans internally, but he keeps a stoic face. He quickly leans to his left and reaches for the glass - right as you were picking up your tray, now stacked with drinks. You stumble back, not expecting Simon to be so close to you, and bump into one of the girls that crowds by the bar's entrance.

Simon feels his stomach drop when he sees each of the glasses topple over. You're instantly drenched, alcohol splashing across your eyes, which you have squeezed shut from the onslaught of fluids. Your shirt is absolutely soaked; a few of the glasses fall to the ground and shatter upon impact, alerting the entire bar and making their heads turn to you - the man who handed Simon the glass is ogling at you shamelessly, and the girl you'd bumped into turns around with a simple oh…

You're frozen, eyes wide and your entire front soaking. Your white shirt is practically see-through, clinging to your skin and providing little coverage for your pink, lacy bra. You look mortified and on the verge of tears. Your panicked stare drifts to Simon - you think he's going to yell at you, or worse: give you the silent treatment for the rest of the night because he's too frustrated to speak.

Simon is trying to keep his own staring under wraps – your tits look absolutely tantalizing, hugged so tightly by your wet shirt – but he snaps out of his daze when he sees your teary eyes. He drops everything - you're the most important person in the room right now. He quickly takes the tray from you and sets it aside.

"Here-" he shoves a fresh rag into your hands. "Cover up with that." He says, taking you by your shoulders and leaning down to your level. "Third floor, there's a dresser on th' left side, second drawer has shirts. Go dry off 'n get a new shirt, I'll clean this up."

You're too stunned to cry. You're angry, embarrassed, frustrated... there's so much happening around you, so many eyes staring at your fuck-up, but Simon's eyes keep you from losing control of your emotions. He doesn’t seem angry or irate – he’s worried about you. Shouldn't you help him clean up? It's your mess after all. "But-"

"Hush. Go on, luv - you're practically see-through." He quickly turns you around and gently shoves you into the crowd, and you hurry away to the stairwell without protest, holding the rag close to your chest.

Simon sighs. The pub slowly starts to return to normal, though people aren't trying as hard to get their drinks. A sense of shame seems to hang around everyone’s heads, though there was only one party at fault, here. He stares daggers at the girls who are still hovering by the bar. The one you ran into is gawking back in fear - she knows she messed up.

"Get the fuck back." Simon seethes, storming over to the POS. They all scramble away and press against the wall, afraid he might start swinging at them. "Finish ya drinks and leave. 'M closin' your tab. You're done."

They dissipate back into the crowd, right as Soap pops his head out of the kitchen. "Heard a crash, ye alright?"

"Fuckin' wankers can't understand simple orders." Simon grumbles, grabbing a broom from the corner and sweeping up the glass. "Slag couldn't get her ass out th' fuckin walkway and made bird spill a tray."

"Christ, she ok?"

"Upstairs. Changin'. Shirt nearly disappeared when it got wet."

"Need me tae check up on-"

"Got a fuckin' kitchen t' run, don't ya?"

Johnny scoffs and disappears back into the kitchen. Simon continues sweeping - he spots Price jogging up to the building throught he street front window, and he sighs in relief.

Upstairs, you do just as Simon instructed. You're topless, your bra still a bit damp after you tried to towel-dry it with he rag Simon gave you. You're sifting through his drawer, face scrunched as you shuffle through and inspect each shirt. You're a bit miffed at how many plain, black t shirts he has - has he ever stepped foot into an Old Navy? - but, eventually, you hit the jackpot.

You pull a shirt from the very bottom of the drawer. It's army green, a bit worn over the years, with a bit of a natural, masculine musk clinging to it. The right front chest has a skull, a sword, and wings, along with the table "Task Force 141". On the back, in large letters: "LT. RILEY".

A smile creeps its way onto your face. He never said which shirt... he said any shirt. And this is the one you want.

Your bra comes off quicky, the fabric still wet and uncomfortable. You toss it somewhere on the bed behind you – you’re sure Simon wouldn’t mind if you hung it over the back of his chair, right? Can’t be wearing a wet bra while you’re running around the restaurant; you’d have a bra-shaped water stain on your shirt. Or, worse – you’d get sick. And you know for a fact (though he’s never said it to you) that Simon would kick himself if you got sick on the job.

You quickly pull the shirt on - it swallows you, both in size and scent. It smells just like him - the bodywash you catch a whiff of when you pass him, the slight muskiness that surrounds you when he reaches above you to grab something - it's all there, just tenfold. You stand up and pull it down; it covers your thighs down to your shorts, almost making it look like you weren’t wearing any to an unassuming person.

You take a peek around the room: it’s quite cozy, even with a lack of real décor. The bed sits against the middle of the wall, with Carolina blue sheets and a grey comforter. The pillows look rather worn, but there’s at least three of them. There’s a television on the dresser that faces the bed, and a small bookshelf in the corner next to an antique-looking chair, except the shelf is filled with mostly keepsakes and memorabilia. Any books in the room are stacked on the edges of the two bay windows, embedded in the brick wall that faces the street. The only lighting comes from three lamps: one on the nightstand by his bed, a taller one next to the clothes rack near the bathroom, and a lantern-looking lamp that he’s somehow attached next to the door.

Curiosity gets the better of you – discovering anything about Simon that he hasn’t already told you is like striking oil. You pad over to the shelf, leaning down to inspect the various objects. A balaclava, rolled up and tucked behind a box. In said box is a medal, bronze and dull, with a fist tightly holding a blazing torch. A worn-down pair of sunglasses lay next to a ring. A green stone sits on a silver band, nestled between two ivy vines. There’s a picture of the four of them: Simon, Johnny, Price, and even Kyle – you had assumed they had met Kyle through the restaurant industry, but there they all were. Dressed in military uniforms, holding guns and posing with stern faces in front of a helicopter. Simon was wearing a rather terrifying skull mask, the rest of him completely covered by his uniform. You were only able to recognize Simon from his brown eyes, but the man in the photo looked entirely different from the bartender downstairs.

Fuck! You completely forgot that you were a waitress, sniffing around your manager’s office when you should be tending to your tables. You turned on your heel and left Simon’s room, running down the stairs two at a time.

Simon was still in the eye of the storm – barely a word had been passed between him and Price, other than a simple hello when he had first hopped behind the bar. Simon was keeping an eye on your tables, which were currently satisfied for the time being – but damn, what was taking you so long? Were you showcasing all of his shirts? The thought of that would’ve had him biting his cheek to prevent a boner, but he was too busy to be anything but concerned for you.

On cue, you come bounding down the stairs, throwing yourself back into the busy crowd as you tie your server apron around your waist. Simon pours a tap, barely able to make out your form flitting through the crowd, making sure your tables are well-off and happy. Price calls your name over the din of the crowd, and you squeeze yourself through the mass of people to collect the drinks sitting on the end of the bar.

“Sorry!” you exclaim, setting your drinks on a tray. “Had to mop myself up a bit with the rag. Did anyone order anything from my tables?” you ask, looking at Simon.

He’s… occupied. His eyes are trained on your shirt. His shirt. That army green that brought up so many old memories, ones he hadn’t thought of in a long time,..

His shirt. Covering your body – and, fucking Christ, you’re not wearing a bra. You’re completely naked under that shirt.

You’re confused. He’s staring at you with such a shocked, glassy pair of eyes that you wonder if you’ve shot him in the leg. You look down at what he’s staring at – oh, right. The shirt. A part of you heats up in embarrassment, and a part in… something else. Yes, I took your shirt. I’ve got your name on my back. If he’s thoroughly upset by this, he’s not expressing it. And if you’re mistaken in the thought that he looks aroused (you wouldn’t be surprised to find him drooling behind the mask – you know how delicious you look right now), you’ll give him the shirt back eventually and pretend this never happened.

“Thanks for earlier.” You spoke over the noisy chatter around you. “This, uh- I hope it’s ok, it was the first shirt I saw.”

Bullshit. He knows he buried that thing deep in his drawer. He did it on purpose. “’S fine.” He mumbles, still dazed.

You glance at him as you carefully balance the tray on your hand. The printer is dealing ticket after ticket of drinks as Price enters them – the man looks at Simon with a frustrated, tight-lipped glare, working double-time to push orders through.

“I’ll be back to grab the rest.” You say quickly. You scurry off, careful to avoid slamming into anyone this time. Simon nearly has a heart attack when he sees his last name across your back. You might as well have his bite mark branded onto the side of your neck.

This opens up a nasty can of worms for him. He’s a goner – he’s thinking about chasing you around the bar, after hours, while all you’re wearing is his shirt; snatching you up and slamming you down on the bar, shoving his face in between your thighs; what you sound like when he pumps you with his fingers; pounding you against the wall in the office, hips crashing into yours as he growls and grunts in your ear, “wanna wear my fuckin’ name, baby? hmm? wanna make sure everyone in this fuckin’ pub knows you’re mine? I’ll gladly fuckin’ help you, fuckin’ tease-“; god, he needs you, he needs to know what you feel like wrapped around his dick, what you sound like when he’s reaching those spots, he needs your nails in his back and your palm smacking him across his face and your teeth on his neck-

“Simon!”

John’s- no, Captain Price’s voice shuts off the movie playing in his mind. He looks at him, barely recognizing the growing frustration in his eyes – Simon’s fighting his own demons right now, and he isn’t even sure if his Captain’s wrath can save him.

“Stop thinkin’ with your Pork Sword and get your arse back on bar.” Price barks – a few of the regulars laugh at that, and Simon realizes he’d had an audience.

He clears his throat and grabs a ticket, quickly reading it and grabbing a glass. He forces himself to let go of the fantasy – he’ll have all night to think about it once he closes. That, or he’ll be hating himself for even thinking of you in that way, especially when the situation wasn’t in your favor. For now, though, he’s got a job to do. He continues to pour and stir and shake drinks left and right, occasionally stealing glances at you, prancing around with his title.

He knows one thing’s for certain – your bra is still somewhere in his room.

[pencil-n-pen]

ALL I DO IS TRY, TRY, TRY

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

post prison! spencer x genius fem! reader

masterlist | ko-fi | next

summary: all your life, you’ve been second-best. Even now that you’ve been chosen to be an agent of the BAU, you’re just a replacement for Spencer Reid. What could change now that’s he’s out?

cw: there is a bit of an age gap, i imagined reader in her early to mid 20’s, nevermind how it isn’t accurate for working at FBI. this is a criminal minds fic, so there are graphic depictions of violence, as well as implied/referenced child neglect/abuse in readers childhood, reader is somewhat a genius

tropes/tags: slowburn on readers end, Spencer is flirting from the beginning, HURT/COMFORT, angst, bit of a sick fic in one scene, bit of soft dom! spencer as a treat

a/n : this came to me in a prophecy. full disclosure i haven’t actually seen the prison arc yet so if there’s any inaccuracies shhhhhh look at the fluff

also !! this is a LOOOOONG one. strap yourselves in. grab snacks and drinks

slipped in some very slight father figure Hotch bc that’s my crack

title taken from Mirrorball by Taylor Swift

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

Spencer Reid is absolutely nothing like you’d thought he’d be.

From how the team talked about him, you’d been expecting a short, slight man. Someone quiet and meek and non-threatening.

And Dr. (Agent?) Reid was quiet. But not in the don’t-notice-me way, but in the I-know-what-I’m-doing-and-don’t-need-to-say-it way. He quietly commanded attention and respect. One look at the man told you he was not somebody to fuck with.

He was also really, really, really hot.

It was unfortunate and difficult, truly, because he’s your senior agent, someone who’s got more than a few years on you in both field experience and general age. He’s a genius- insanely good at what he does and there’s no refuting that.

But most of all, he’s kind and respectful and just genuinely a good person. And also good looking. Did you mention that yet?

He clicks seamlessly into place with the team in a way you’ve never managed to do in the time you’ve been with him. And after all, why would you? You’re just the rookie transfer with a bit higher than average IQ. Nothing to brag about. Nothing like Spencer.

You were a data analyst with the FBI before your boss told you: “The BAU is looking for a temporary genius. I put your name in the ring. Hotchner must’ve been impressed with something, cause he picked you. I know you’ve completed the training courses for their team, so pack your desk. You’ve got a new assignment.”

And just like that, every single one of your dreams came true. And then promptly burst into flames and burned to ashes when you realized what exactly your position on the team was: Temporary and replacing.

It makes sense, you guess. The team grew to rely on Reid’s quick wit and intellect. And beyond that, they’re an agent short. And you fit the bill well enough: swift and intelligent. Nothing more, nothing less. It became clear during the first few weeks that no one on the team had any intention of liking or particularly getting to know you beyond a professional capacity. And you get it, you really do. You don’t name the dog you’re gonna get rid of.

With the exception of Penelope. But you don’t think she has the ability to ignore someone without a clear reason.

So you did your job and you were good at it. Held the team at arm’s length even when they warmed up to you. Kept your head down, stuck to yourself. This way, it’s easier to stop yourself from leaning into JJ and Prentiss’s jokes, or to stamp down the glow in your chest from Hotch’s approval.

All of this hard work goes sailing straight out the window and spattering on the concrete below when Reid comes back. Because all it took was one case together- one. And then you’re hopelessly in love with the guy you replaced.

And it’s all kinds of terrible, because it’s Reid. He’s not only your coworker —soon to be ex, because now that he’s back you’ll be out of a job— but he’s also so incredibly out of your league it’s not even funny. But he keeps smiling at you and including you in conversations and saying hi to you and asking your opinion on things during cases as if you would have more to add than he does.

It’s very hard to keep him at arms length. And because Reid is Reid he drags everybody else over with him and then you’re bonding with a team you have a week left with, maybe two.

Spencer Reid has weaseled his way into your life one stupid smile at a time.

—

The case is going terribly.

What started as a run-of-the-mill serial killer case in some nowhere town turned into huge investigation because Spe— Reid figured out its relation to a cold case from a neighboring town decades prior. And then, to top everything off, just so happens to be near enough to your hometown that your mom saw you on the news when JJ was giving a statement.

And now she won’t stop calling.

Prior to this, you haven’t talked to your mom in about seven months. Now? She’s calling upwards of twelve times a day.

“Mom,” You say, tucked in one of the police stations back rooms, pinching the bridge of your nose, “I’m working, I can’t just come out to see you—“

“But you’ve never visited! And your finally in town, and—“

“I’m not in town, I’m a four hour drive away from town.”

A sigh crackles through the line, her voice tinny. “You know, your brother always made time to visit family, and your younger brothers—“

“Are younger than me and more successful, yes mom, I’ve heard it all before. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m trying to catch a serial killer.”

You snap the phone shut before she can protest, effectively ending the call. You sag against the wall, sighing deep and weary. Exhaustion clings to your bones. It’s not just your mom. This case, being physically close to your hometown, everything— it’s weighing you down. You spend more time in the hotel bed tossing and turning than sleeping.

Even Em— Prentiss had shot you look when you’d came in this morning- though jury’s still out about whether or not it was an are-you-okay look or a you-better-be-good-for-the-case look. You’re hoping it’s the former.

The room you’re in is empty- the precinct that called for the team went under renovation and remodeling last year, so some of the rooms have fallen into disuse, apparently. It’s dusty, and filled with boxes and papers and weirdly, one or two condom wrappers. You wish you were surprised.

Your phone has been put strongly on silent, and you’re not expecting anyone to find you for at least twenty minutes. Of course, you don’t need twenty minutes. You just need five.

You just need to collect yourself for a moment. A few minutes to breathe, to get your mom’s words and the unpleasant memories they bring out of your head; to will the shake out of your hands and the cold creeping in your lungs.

So when the door opens, you nearly jump out of your skin.

Spencer walks in, phone clasped in one hand and a worried expression on his face.

“We’re getting ready to give the profile.”

“Oh,” You peel yourself off the wall, discreetly wiping at your face. You hadn’t noticed the frustrated tears carving lines down your face, “Sorry, I’m coming.”

He frowns as you come closer, and panic begins to beat like a drum in your chest.

“Is Hotch upset? I just had to take a call, I thought it would—“

“Slow down,” He says, raising his hands. “Hotch isn’t upset. Is something wrong?”

“No,” You say quickly, too quickly, because his frown deepens.

“You’ve been taking a lot more calls recently and you’re always upset after they’re over. Is someone bothering you?”

You sigh, rubbing at your face. “My mom. We’re a four hour drive away from my hometown. She saw me on the news when JJ gave her statement.”

Something flashes in his eyes when you say your mother, but it’s gone before you can decipher it.

“You don’t want to see her.”

He says it flat-toned and blank. Like it’s a fact.

It is a fact.

“No,” You confess, “I’ve never been close with my parents. I haven’t spoken to her beyond a text in years, and I haven’t texted her in months. Then she sees me on the news and I’m back on her radar again.”

You chuckle, but there’s no humor in it. “Oh, the folly of the disappointing daughter.”

He tilts his head, questioning. “You’ve made something of yourself. You’re a special agent. That’s not nothing.”

“Yeah, well. It’s not Doctor or Lawyer or C.E.O or anything else my brothers or cousins have made of themselves, so,” You shrug. “Disappointing.”

“Well that’s stupid,” Spencer says, a small curl to his lips, “You keep all of those stupid people safe by catching serial killers.”

“You’re a doctor. Did you just call yourself stupid?”

He shrugs, mimicking your earlier action. “I’m not that kind of doctor.”

You look down to hide the smile on your face but he ducks down, catching it anyway.

“Hey,��� He says, eyes catching yours, “If you want to talk, you know where to find me.”

You (hesitantly) look up to meet his gaze. “Thanks, Reid.”

His face does something weird. Contorts at the words, just for a second. Like he just bit into something sour.

And then it’s gone.

“Of course.”

—

For the rest of the case, everytime your phone rings, Spencer looks at you. You’re getting close to just throwing the damn thing off a roof, if it’ll convince him to stop looking at you like that. You don’t know what to do with it. The look he gives you tastes like worry, and you don’t know what to do about Spencer Reid worrying about you.

You never meet his gaze. You know he’s looking, but you never look back.

Finally, the case comes to an end. Actually, it goes out in a literal blaze of glory— the unsub lights his kill shed on fire.

All of it would have burned to ash if you hadn’t run into the structure and and snatched the murder weapon and the most damning pieces of evidence: the printed photographs the unsub took with the victims.

It’s a win because you saved the evidence.

It’s a loss because Hotch looks pissed while the paramedics check you over.

Well. You assume he looks pissed. You’re staring resolutely at your shoes.

Finally, the paramedic gives you the all clear —just some minor burns here and there, you got lucky— and you no longer have a human buffer and excuse to avoid talking.

The silence stretches out between you two. Eventually, you cave.

“Hotch, I’m sorry—“

He holds a hand up and you clamp your jaw shut.

“Did you not hear me give the order to stay back?”

“I just thought—“

“We are a team, agent. I need to be able to trust not only that you’re going to follow my orders but be able to work together with the team. Now, you’re not doing either of those things.”

You frown. “I do follow your orders.”

He sighs. “You didn’t today. And more importantly, you’re not acting like a member of this team. You don’t call for backup. You don’t ask for help. You do good profiling work, agent. But if you can’t work with this team then we might need to reconsider your position here.”

That… doesn’t make any sense.

Hotch catches the confusion on your face. “Something wrong, agent?”

“I just— I was under the impression that I would only be working with the team for a few more weeks…?”

Now it’s his turn to look confused. “You may have been hired at an inopportune time, and until the first year is over it is a probationary basis, but pending review, you are and always have been a permanent member of this unit.”

You blink. “Oh.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “You didn’t think you’d be staying for long.”

You shake your head, your world turned on its head.

He hums. “You should buy earplugs. Rossi snores.”

You drop your head into your hands.

“And agent?”

You look up.

“You did good work today. You have a team. Learn to use them.”

He walks away, leaving you to process this crisis-inducing information.

So. You’re not leaving the team. You’re a profiler. Forever. This is your job now.

So does that mean you weren’t replacing Spencer? So why were you hired? Anything you can do multiple people on the team can do better. Why would Hotch pick you?

You stare at the pavement, which gives you a perfect view to watch Spencer’s shoes walk into view and hear him settle next to you.

“You’re a little young to be having a mid-life crisis.”

It takes you an embarrassingly long time to respond, partly because you’re not sure what to say, but also, the length of his thigh is pressed against yours and it’s hard to think when he’s emanating warmth and you can’t stop yourself from thinking about how it would feel to touch, skin to skin.

“Well,” You croak, “I did just get some pretty big news.”

He leans back on his hands, raising an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Looking up at him was a mistake. Bathed in the glow of the ambulance and the light from the moon, you can see just how long his eyelashes are, and how his lips move when he says your name.

Oh shit.

“Sorry, what?”

His face twitches in a smile. “I asked if you were okay. You were staring.”

You flush from your neck to the tips of your ears. “Sorry. It’s been a long day. I’m fine. I was just thinking.”

“About?”

See, he always does this. Most people would end the conversation there and move on. And that’s fine. It’s normal. But Spencer asks. Like he’s interested.

You shrug. “I thought… I thought I was leaving the team in a few weeks. Turns out i’m staying.”

He starts swinging his legs on the edge of the ambulance, though where his almost brush the ground, yours swing several inches above it. “Why did you think you were leaving?”

You laugh softly. “My boss told me the position was temporary. And in my excitement of getting it I may or may not have… not read the paperwork?”

He clicks his tongue. “Oh, honey.”

The tips of your ears burn. “I was excited!”

“To get a job staring at gruesome crime photos?”

“To help people.”

“What? Data analysis not helping people enough?”

“Do I even have to answer that?”

He snorts, his body shaking against yours. “You’re a consulting analyst. That’s the big leagues.”

Now it’s your turn to huff. “Is there a big leagues for data analysis?”

He leans his head down to look at you. “Well, maybe miss smarty-pants over here made a league of her own.”

The shade of red you turn must be visible, dark and bad lighting aside. “You have an IQ of 187. Can you really call me a smarty-pants?”

He tilts his head, giving you an assessing look. You recognize it. He gives case files the same look.

A faint shudder runs down the length of your spine at that precise, clinical gaze.

It should concern you, unnerve you.

It doesn’t.

“No, I’m positive. You’re a smarty-pants.”

You look away, unable to hold the intensity of his gaze.

“Hey, no. Come on, you gotta own up to being a smarty-pants. Otherwise you ruin the effect.”

“Am I supposed to start wearing sweaters and Converse, then?”

“Well, that wouldn’t be owning the smarty-pants look.”

“Do we have to keep the smarty-pants thing going?”

“Took your mind off the burns, didn’t it?”

You blink, realizing that you haven’t noticed the dull sting of the minor burns littering your body for a few minutes now.

But that has less to do with Spencer speaking and more to do with the fact that he’s here. Touching you. If you focus really hard, you can feel the chords of muscle lining his arm.

“Uh,” You stutter, momentarily flabbergasted by the way he’s looking at you. Like it’s important to him— you not being in pain. “Yeah, yeah, I guess. Well. I feel them now.”

“Oh, shame. I guess we’ll just have to keep talking.”

You furrow your brows. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be? Shouldn’t you be helping finish wrapping up the case?”

He shrugs. “I’m right where I want to be.”

That’s a decidedly very loaded statement that are not going to unpack.

You’re not going to unpack to jolt of pure electricity you feel from it, either.

—

You may or may not have lied about just how sick you were, exactly.

“You know,” Rossi says after you hack a cough into your elbow for what has to be the fiftieth time in as many minutes, “That’s starting to sound less like the plague and more like desperation.”

You sniff harshly, taking a swig of cough syrup and praying this isn’t the king with codeine in it. You didn’t read the label very well. “What do you mean?”

Prentiss raises an eyebrow. “He’s saying that most people on their veritable death/bed opt to sleep comfortably in their own beds in their own homes rather than on a plane to hunt down a violent killer.”

You think if your apartment— it’s cozy, at least, but still a glaring reminder of the reason you told Hotch you were fine to come in- loneliness.

You have heated blankets and warm lighting and books and tea —boxes and boxes of tea— and all manner of things that make you happy. But no amount of things can replace, tangible human connection.

You knew the ache of spending the day in your apartment would sting worse than the cold. Fever, Whatever you have.

“I’m thinking of a word,” JJ says, mock tapping her chin thoughtfully, “Starts with work, ends with holic.”

“I am not a workaholic,” you wheeze. “I am fine.”

“Yes,” Prentiss says, raising her other eyebrow. Oh no. Not the double eyebrow raise. “Because this is exactly what the picture of health looks like.”

To avoid answering, you take another swig of cough medicine.

“Just do you know,” Spencer says, “You’re about one tiny sip of that away from overdosing. I’d cool it on the cough syrup.”

“But I’m still coughing.”

“Have you given it any time to work?”

“It’s been thirty-ish minutes since I took the first dose.”

He levels you with a look at your usage of dose. “Why don’t you wait a little longer before committing suicide via shallow breathing and seizures.”

You wave a hand. “It’s fine. I know how to take care of myself when I’m sick.”

“Is your version of taking care of yourself just continuously taking medicine until the symptoms become bearable?”

“You’re un-bearable.” You snort at your play on words, but grow quiet because when you look up, the entire team is looking at you. “What?”

“You never joke.” JJ says.

“And I think I’ve heard you laugh exactly two times, and I’m pretty sure one of them was a sneeze.” Rossi says, a look of vague disbelief on his face.

You squirm in place. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Uh, yeah it is. You’re definitely too sick to be on a case if you’re laughing.”

“Come on, it was barely a chuckle—“

Spencer looks around. “Yeah, what’s the big deal? I’ve heard her laugh before.”

JJ and Prentiss snap their heads to him in tandem. “What?”

Now he looks vaguely uncomfortable. “I just don’t get why it’s such a big deal.”

“That’s cause you showed up late to the party,” Em- Prentiss says, “You didn’t meet her when she first came. She was all genius consulting data analyst.”

“I wouldn’t call myself a genius—“

“Yeah,” JJ chimes in, “I only ever saw her smile to be polite.”

“Wait,” Prentiss says, brows pinched, “You heard her laugh and you didn’t tell us? You knew we were trying to see who would make her break first.”

“You guys were trying to make me laugh? Is that what was happening all that time? I almost called Hotch like, thirty times because I was concerned for you guy’s mental wellbeing. I thought you’d had a nervous breakdown.”

JJ snorts. “Nope. Just tried to see if the rumors were true about all data analysts being robots.”

You cough into your elbow. “You guys make it seem like I was some sort of frigid bitch.”

“Frigid, yes. Bitch, no.”

“Hey!” You retort, then wince as the volume of your own voice makes your head pound harder and makes your throat sting worse, “I wasn’t that bad. Also, I was nervous! I’m the youngest person here by like, a long shot. I wanted to be professional.”

“I for one enjoyed it,” Rossi cuts in, “It was all blunt business. Straight to the point. No beating around the bush or gossiping. A few people here could learn a thing or two.”

“See?” You gesture. “Rossi agrees with me.”

Just about everyone on the plane gives you the exact same look. Hotch especially, who’s stayed silent during the entire exchange, looks troubled.

Once you land (an ordeal that normally doesn’t bother you, but today, had you worshipping the porcelain altar) Hotch pulls you aside.

“Agent,” He says before you climb into the car that’ll take you to the police precinct, “I can’t have an agent not at peak performance on this case.”

You frown. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying you’re too sick to work this case—“

“No, no, I can work, I can do it—“

“—In the field. You’re working from the station until we wrap up. Understood?”

You sigh, knowing when you’re beat. “Understood.”

He gazes at you for a second. “You might want to call out of work entirely the next time you’re sick, you know. The less time you spend resting the longer it’ll take to get better. I expect to see you taking care of yourself at the precinct.”

You blink. “Are you… dad-ing me?”

He almost smiles. “Well, I am a father. It’s bound to come out sometimes.”

The joke soothes your concerns of him being upset with you (again.) You suppose it would’ve been warranted —Hotch never gets upset without a reason— but still. He’s the only one you occasionally struggle to read.

The good news is by the time you make it to the station, your medicine has kicked in.

The bad news is when you get to the station your medicine has kicked in.

“Spencer,” You say, spinning in a spinny chair and staring at his blurry face. “Did you know that elephants have prehensile—“

“Do not finish that sentence.” He says, glancing back at the team, all in various stages of concern, disgust, amusement, and annoyance. “Did you take non-drowsy cough medicine?”

“Yes! I didn’t want to be tired.”

He scrubs a tired hand down his face, then nudges a sealed water bottle across the table to you. “Drink that.”

You wrinkle your nose. “But my throat hurts.”

“Drink it anyway.”

You snatch the water bottle, grumbling the whole time as you crack the seal and gulp down the water, not realizing how thirsty you were until this very second.

You lean your forehead on the table head still pounding from the pressure in your sinuses. You feel a prickle in the back of your neck, signifying that the team is still staring at you.

With great effort, you lift your head, tilting your chin up and trying to summon all the self confidence you don’t actually have.

“I am making a fool of myself. Please disregard my actions until I am no longer ill. This won’t happen again.”

Words are hard. Speaking is hard. With a groan, you drop your head back on your arm.

“Ah, there she is.”

“Knew that laugh had to be a fluke.”

“Cold medicine must be working.”

There are other mutterings about stubborn geniuses and workaholics and data analysis and Spencer staying at the station and—

You snap your head up. “I’m fine. I don’t need a baby-sitter. Spencer would be most useful in the field. He’s one of the best shot’s on the team.”

“And when it comes to needing a marksman I won’t hesitate to get him,” Hotch says, “But for now, I need my two geniuses to put their heads together to solve this case.”

Feeling cowed, you avoid Spencer’s gaze as the team files out of the room you’ve all set up in, instead grabbing a file from the center of the table. You really are being stupid. You should’ve stayed home, now you’re a liability, not to mention a walking biohazard. Fuck, why couldn’t you just think before you—

“I can hear you spiraling from over here.”

You lift your gaze, eyeing Spencer who hasn’t even put down the case file he’s reading.

You look back down. “I wasn’t spiraling.”

“You’re really going to lie to a profiler?”

“We’re both profilers.”

“Yeah, well, you have an obvious tell when you’re worrying about something.”

“I do not!”

You hear the quiet shuffling of papers.

A sigh leaves your lips, and you press the heels of your hands to your eyes. “I’m really sorry, Spe— Reid. I didn’t mean to drag you here with me.”

If he notices your slip up, he doesn’t give any indication of it.

“Who said anything about dragging?”

“I know you’re a germaphobe, and I’m a walking biohazard, and now you’re stuck here going over case files and, and I’m a liability right now—“

“Slow down,” He says, interrupting your slew of word vomit. His voice has dropped an octave, gaining a richer note. You should stop thinking about his voice. “I’m fine. You’re fine. The team is more worried than upset. You’re not the first person to come to work sick. And you won’t be the last.”

“They keep staring at me.”

“Because your current state and manner of behavior are disrupting their pre-conceived notions and set opinions of your character.”

You scrunch your nose. “Don’t get all clinical on me,”

You hear a small huff of laughter across the table. “I’ve come to work far worse than hopped up on cold medicine, believe me. Don’t worry about it. Just focus on working the case.”

Slowly, the itching under your skin settles, and you manage to swallow the lump in your throat. Eventually, you peel your hands away from your face and do what he says.

Hours pass by in a blur of text and you and Spencer occasionally either bouncing ideas off each other or making small breakthroughs. Spencer handles the relay of information because you can’t really go more than three full sentences without hacking up a lung. Seriously, what is cough syrup good for?

Sometime past midday, you start flagging. The words start blending and smushing together and your head gets harder and harder to hold up. You’re jolting yourself back awake every five minutes, forcing your body to just bear through the illness for the sake of productivity. You got yourself into this mess, you deal with the consequences.

You’re just… so tired. Maybe you’ll close your eyes, just for a few minutes. To get energy. And then you can get back to the case.

Just for a few minutes.

—

“She out?”

“Like a light. Powered through for a lot longer than I expected. But dextromethorphan gets us all in the end.”

A low whistle. “Poor kid. The ‘proving yourself to the team’ phase is rough.”

A hum. “I think it’s more than that.”

A beat passes.

“You got her?”

“Yeah,” Something soft and good smelling, like pine and coffee and something almost rich settles over your shoulders, “Yeah, I got her.”

—

When you wake, your neck is sore but you’re not cold, which is strange considering you remember falling asleep in a table.

Oh god you fell asleep on the table.

You jackrabbit up in place, knees knocking against the underside of the table. Hissing in pain, you tug the warm thing further around your shoulders which is—

Holy fucking shit it’s Spencer’s sweater.

Said man is nowhere to be found, and the conference/briefing room you’re in is dark. Not only did someone turn the lights off (you’re pretty sure you can guess who) but it’s dark outside. Meaning you didn’t just take a short nap.

You slept the entire day away.

Cold dread seeps into your shoulders. “Oh my god I’m so fired. Oh shit. Fuck, Hotch is going to be so pissed—“

The door opens and you stand, whirling around to face the doorway and then instantly regretting it when spots dance across your vision and your head swims.

You stumble, grabbing the edge of the chair for support and squinting at the figure in the doorway.

“Hotch?”

“Nope,” Spencer’s voice rings out in the room, “Guess again.”

You groan, sinking down into the chair. “Am I fired?”

He snorts. “Seeing as Hotch bet that you’d fall asleep before dark, I’d say no.”

“He bet against me?”

“Actually, everyone else thought you’d only last an hour. He bet for four.”

“How long did you bet for?”

He sets a mug in front of you, steaming tea wafting up and warming your face. “Three hours. You metabolize cough syrup better than I thought.”

You take the mug in your hands, warming your fingers but not actually taking a sip. “Mmm. Told you I’ve done this before.”

“I don’t think that’s the brag you think it is.”

You chuckle, which quickly turns into a cough.

“Drink your tea,” He commands softly from across the table, sleeves pushed up around his elbows and papers spread about him.

You dutifully take a sip, something restless growing calm in the back of your skull.

You eye is forearms, hoping the look-over you’re giving them is subtle. (It probably isn’t, but come on. A button down with the sleeves rolled up while you’re wearing his sweater is practically sinful.)

“Do you… want the lights turned back on? I’m awake now, so.”

He flips over a piece of paper, then scribbles something on a sticky note. “You were sleeping. And you have a headache. I can see just fine.”

“My headache isn’t that bad, really, I’m fi—“

He levels you with a look, and you sink a little lower in your chair. “Do you at least want your sweater back?”

“No. Keep it.”

“Careful, maybe I’ll just keep it forever,” You joke.

“I’d be fine with that.”

What. The. Fuck.

You stand, pushing out the chair with a loud screech. “I’m just gonna— bathroom,” You splutter, your face blazing and stomach doing a gymnastics routine, “I’m gonna use the bathroom. Bye.”

You’re screaming internally the entire way to the bathroom, and once you get there, open-mouthed silent screaming in the privacy of a stall.

Because. He said. He didn’t even look up. He just. And he. Maybe he—

No, no, no. You are not about to entertain that notion. Not again. He was just being nice. That’s all. That’s all.

Collecting yourself takes about five more minutes, and then you’re walking back to the conference/briefing room when you realize you never took the damn sweater off. He watched you scramble out of that room to the bathroom he has to know you weren’t using, with his sweater on.

This is the end for you, then. That’s it. It’s over.

You mentally slap yourself. Get it together. It’s fine. It’s fine. Everything is fine.

You re-enter the room marginally calmer than you left it. You slide into your seat, sip your tea (that he made you!) and keep working on the case.

You pretend you can’t see him smirking from across the table.

—

The case doesn’t last too long. The team catches the guy in the act of beating his next victim. Thankfully, you manage to save the poor woman before he finishes his plan, and with being caught red-handed, it’s fairly open and shut. Case closed. Which is great, because you really aren’t sure how many more nights you can suffer through trying to sleep in the hotel bed.

You have this thing, when you’re sick. You can’t sleep anywhere but the couch. Your couch. You figured (apparently foolishly) that it wouldn’t be too bad, since the crux of the issue is that you hate sleeping in your bed when you’re sick, but no. You’d spent every night of the case tossing and turning and coughing yourself out. Your lungs were tired. Your body was tired. You were tired.

Spencer raises an eyebrow at you when you board the jet. “You haven’t been near-overdosing on cough syrup again have you?”

“No,” You grouse, rubbing your face with your hand. “I’m like, not even sick anymore. I just didn’t sleep well.” For several nights in a row.

“Mmm,” He hums, non-committal.

You practically collapse into your usual seat on the jet, hunching in yourself and attempting to make yourself comfortable in the seat.

You blink your eyes open when you feel the seat jostle next to you. “Reid?”

He’s already pulling out a book. “What?”

“This isn’t your seat.”

“We don’t have assigned seats.”

“No, but you always sit over there.”

“And now I’m sitting here.”

You narrow your eyes at him, trying to decide if you want to argue him on the point or not. You decide against it, because arguing will draw attention to the fact that you’re sitting next to each other having this conversation at all.

You settle back into your seat. “Whatever. Hope you’re not a loud page-turner.”

“Is that even a thing?”

You shrug, eyes falling shut again.

After a few minutes, you shiver, unconsciously scooting closer to the warmth of the person next to you, your sleep-addled brain barely processing the fact that it’s Spencer you’re pressing your shoulder into.

He repositions next to you, shoulder jostling you. You grumble, dropping your head to his arm. Now much closer, your nose fills with the smooth, all encompassing smell that is Spencer.

The dull chatter that fills the plane, the warm body next to yours, and, despite your earlier complaints, the quiet, gentle page-turning lull you into an easy sleep.

—

“Are you drugging her or something? I’ve seen her sleep more this week than I have in her entire time on the team.”

“The only drugging she���s done was voluntary.”

“Her neck is going to be so sore when she wakes up.”

“Sore? Mine would be broken if I did that.”

“Ah, the joys of youth.”

A beat passes. Then another.

“She’s a bit young, don’t you think?”

“Emily don’t start—“

“Just saying, Spence. HR would get a kick out of this.”

“Not like it never happens. We’ve all walked into supply closet B at the wrong time.”

“This isn’t meaningless sex though.”

“…No.”

Silence.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

A deft hand re-adjusts your head to a more comfortable angle. “I will be.”

—

Landing jolts you into wakefulness and off Spencer’s shoulder. It’s not embarrassing. It’s not. It’s only weird if you make it weird.

When you’re all back at HQ, you pull Hotch aside.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?”

He nods. “In my office.”

You stalk up the stairs, aware of the eyes following your back. You step into the office, shutting the door behind you and pretending it doesn’t feel like sealing your doom.

He sits, gesturing for you to do so too, but you shake your head.

“I won’t be long. I just wanted to apologize.”

He blinks. “For?”

“I shouldn’t have come in. I was a liability, and it was unprofessional. Next time I’ll act with more discretion.”

Selfish, Your mother’s words echo in your head, your father’s words following suit: Try harder.

He laces his fingers together, resting him on his desk.

“Do you know why I chose you?”

“Because Reid was gone, and you needed a ge— someone smart.”

“Every member of my team is intelligent. That’s not why I chose you.”

He reaches down, opening a desk drawer and pulling out a newspaper clipping.

Your breath hitches when you read the words on it.

“Garcia found it,” He says, scanning the piece of paper. “‘Professor’s Assistant saves college class from school shooter’. You were sixteen.”

You look down at your shoes. “It was the scariest moment of my life. I didn’t— he came in, and I was behind the door getting paper, and he didn’t see me. He… I knew people would die if I didn’t do something. I tackled him. He shot me twice before I managed to kick the gun away. I almost bled out.”

He nods, putting the clipping down. “That’s who I chose. Not the genius. Not the consulting data analyst. Someone who wants to help people.”

He puts the clipping back in his drawer. “I’m not going to write you up for not having a healthy work-life balance. No one in this bureau does, and if they say they do, they’re lying.”

You sigh, rubbing at your face. “Now I look stupid for asking to talk.”

“It’s not an imposition. You’re a member of my team. That makes your wellbeing when you’re on the job my responsibility.”

Unable to form a response to that, you manage to stutter out a thank you, and then flee from his office, collapsing into your chair at your desk with a sigh.

A mug is set in front of you. Different mug, same tea, same hand.

“I think you need to reevaluate your opinion of Hotch and what kind of person you think he is.”

You take the mug with a glare. “I was reasonably concerned.”

“You thought you were going to get written up for coming to work sick?”

“It was a logical conclusion to draw,” You pause, taking a sip of the tea, which is just as good as it was last time. Actually, it’s slightly sweeter, and it soothes your throat more. “And stop profiling me. What’d you put in this?”

“Stop being so easy to profile,” Spencer says, crossing his arms. “Honey. They didn’t have any at the station.”

It’s quiet for a few moments: him staring at you, you pretending he’s not staring and sipping your tea.

“You should go home.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re still sick. Don’t tell me you just can’t wait to write all this paperwork.”

“Maybe I am.”

“No you’re not,” He picks up your jacket from where it’s hanging off the side of your cubicle and plops it in your lap. “Go home. I’ll sick Hotch on you.”

You stand, shrugging your jacket on and pointing an accusing finger at him. “You’re a cruel man.”

“Mhm. Sure. Go home.”

You grumble all the way to the door, but quiet when you look back to see him watching you fondly. He gives you a little two finger wave, and with the sheer amount of heat that rushes to your cheeks, you have no choice but leave immediately.

Stupid genius co-workers.

—

The next week brings wellness and a lull in cases.

Unfortunately, that also means you don’t have an excuse to put off your paperwork any longer.

Spencer taps the top of it with a slender finger. “Did it get bigger since the last time I saw it?”

He’s hanging around your desk for… some reason. He came to drop off paperwork from your last case, and then stuck around for some unknown purpose.

“No,” You groan, setting your mug of coffee aside and grabbing the first paper off the stack. “Still the same pile I’m procrastinating on.”

“Good luck,” He huffs, finally turning and walking back to his own desk. It’s still in your eyeline, if you crane your neck a little.

You sigh, grabbing your earbuds from your desk, knowing you can’t put the paperwork off any longer. You’re pretty sure Records is going to start sending you death threats soon.

Making your way through the pile is slow going. It’s terrible. The only part of working with the BAU you hate is the paperwork. It’s tedious and never-ending and it always gives you a headache.

The only times you get up are to use the bathroom and get more coffee. JJ kindly tells you that you should probably leave your mug in the break room after your sixth or so trip. Spencer, somehow, appears in the room, and rattles off the symptoms of caffeine overdose.

You leave the mug there.

You continue working well after everyone else leaves. It gets dark, people go home, office lights go off, and while the pile has largely decreased in size, it’s still not finished.

You have to finish. Hotch had made an offhand comment about turning in your paperwork on time and now you have to finish it. To show him you’re not lazy.

You’ve only got a little bit of paperwork left when a hand taps you on your shoulder.

You yank your earbuds out, blinking blearily. “Wha?”

Spencer’s face swims into view. “Come on, time to go home.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Making sure you didn’t fall asleep and forget to go home. They do lock the doors at a certain point. Ask me how I know.”

Your brain is moving like sludge, and it takes you several minutes to process what he says. He continues standing in front of you, patiently waiting for you to respond.

“But… the paperwork.”

“Will be here tomorrow. Come on, up we go.”

You whine as he takes your hands, hauling you to your feet. You attempt to scrub the sleep out of your eyes while messily moving papers about so your desk doesn’t look like a copy machine threw up all over it.

He pushes your jacket into your hands and you shrug it on, grumbling all the way through the doors and out to the parking lot, Spencer in tow. He follows dutifully behind you, and everytime you look back at him to voice your complaints all he does is smile.

“It’s cold.”

“That does tend to happen in winter.”

When you get to your car, he reaches out, tugging on your wrist.

“Hey,” He says, looking down at you, eyes deep pools of some emotion you can’t identify, “Drive safe, okay? It’s icy.”

“My commute isn’t that bad. And I’m,” You break off with a huge yawn. “Not even that tired.”

“That doesn’t inspire much confidence, smarty-pants.”

“Oh, so we’re locked into the smarty-pants thing, huh?”

“Yep.” He says, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets and popping the P.

“Well then what am I supposed to call you? Robot-Reid?”

“How about Spencer?”

His words hang in the night air, mingling in the puffs of air from both of your mouths.

“…What rhymes with Spencer?”

“Sensor, denser, dispenser—“

“Dis-Spencer,” You say, smiling to yourself. “I like the sound of that one.”

“You know dis comes from—“

“The latin word dis, and the prefix is used to denote a reversal of absence of an action, expressing negation, or expressing completeness or intensification of an unpleasant or unattractive action.”

He chuckles, smiling down at his shoes. “That’s why you’re the smarty-pants.”

“Oh please. You know all of that and then some.”

He shrugs. “Maybe, maybe not.”

You both stand in the cold of the parking lot, neither willing to leave yet.

Before you can think better of it, you dart forward, throwing your arms around Spencer’s neck and mumbling “Goodnight, Dis-Spencer.”

You step away quickly, awkwardly giving him a small wave before hurrying into your car and driving away.

Smooth.

—

The next case is… really rough.

Two spree killers, working as a team. A father and a son; the son was groomed into the lower position.

Not anything you haven’t seen before. Trained for. Studied.

No amount of studying could have prepared you for the cold grip of dread that gripped your throat like a vice when you finally confronted the unsubs, and heard eerily familiar words uttered from the father:

“You’re a good for nothing son! I wouldn’t have had to do this if you weren’t such a disappointment of a child! Why couldn’t you have just been more like your siblings?”

The son was killed before anyone could intervene.

Wrapping up the case left you shaken— you’d watched with hollow eyes as the boy’s body was zipped in a body bag.

A hand landing roughly on your shoulder shoves awareness back into your body and you flinch, hard, whirling around with your shoulders raised to meet the oncoming threat.

Only it’s not a threat. It’s Hotch. And he looks concerned.

You force your body to relax. “I’m sorry, I’ll go help question the rest of the family—“

“Are you okay?”

You blink. “What?”

“Are you alright?” He asks again.

“Yeah, I’m, I’m okay. It just… reminded me of something.”

Hotch purses his lips but doesn’t say anything. He looks he’s going to say something, but then decides against it.

“Help Reid get the last of the evidence. Once you two are finished head back to the station. We’ll meet you there.”

You nod, inwardly relieved about not having to deal with the family members. You might start actually crying.

You sidle up to Spencer who’s tagging blood splatters on the carpet. He wordlessly hands you a pair of gloves. He doesn’t ask. You don’t tell.

You work side by side for the better part of two hours, occasionally conversing with the local police or helping the crime scene investigators tag evidence.

If he knows what’s bothering you, he doesn’t say. You wouldn’t have an answer anyway. You’re far too gone in your own head.

You follow Spencer to the break room back at the station, watching him quietly make two mugs of tea. He presses one into your hands with a gentle command to let it cool for a few minutes. The mug is warm in your hands. Spencer is standing next to you, a mug of his own in his hands. Your parents aren’t here. You’re fine.

You chant this mantra in your head while you wait for the rest of the team to come back.

Your parents aren’t here. You’re fine.

Spencer doesn’t ask before sitting next to you on the jet. He just does. He hands you a book, then opens his own.

You don’t read a single page. He must know. Still, he says nothing, just presses a little closer to you when he sees your hands shaking.

The team gives the two of you space when you finally land. You stumble off the jet, trip backpack slung over your shoulder, legs wobbly and breath uneven.

You’re not sure why the case upset you this much. Your parents don’t upset you this much. They just— they make the same kind of comments, and so did that father, except now his son is dead because he killed him—

“Hey,” Hotch approaches you slowly, makes sure you can see him. You hate that he feels the need to do so. “Take tomorrow off. Stay home. Recuperate.”

“I’m fi—“

“We all have tough missions and I would do the same for any agent,” He says, clasping you gently on the shoulder. “Besides. We both know you haven’t been sleeping well.”

Your lips twitch. “Isn’t there a rule against profiling each other?”

“That rule is for all of you. Not me.”

He gives your shoulder one last squeeze before departing.

You manage to haul yourself into HQ and out to the parking lot, cursing as your cold fingers fumble with your keys. Frustrated tears begin to well in your eyes and you press the heels of your hands to your face, sucking in a shuddering breath and begging it all to just stop.

Someone gently pries your hands open, pulling your keys out of your clenched grip. Your shoulders shake as you heave, gasping for cold night air that burns on the way down.

A hand finds its way to the back of your head, pressing it forward into something warm and solid. Another arm wraps around your waist, keeping you close, while the hand on your head drifts down to your neck, squeezing and rubbing intermittently.

“I’m sorry,” You cry, rubbing your face and smearing your tears across your hands, “I don’t know why, it just—“

“You don’t need a reason,” Spencer says, spreading his hand out wide so it covers the entire nape of your neck, “Sometimes it all just gets to you.”

You nod into his chest, lowering your hands from his face to wrap around his torso, clutching it like a lifeline.

“I don’t want to go home tonight,” You whisper, ashamed. “I’ll dream of it. And them. And it’ll be cold and alone—“

“Come home with me,” He says, voice a little breathless while he holds you closer, “Come home with me.”

He says the last part a little desperate.

You sniff. “Okay.”

You hesitantly pull away from the hug, but not before Spencer’s hand moves from your neck to your face, his thumb brushing away the tear tracks on your face. He drops his head down, and you feel the gentlest brush of lips against the skin in between your eyebrows.

“Let’s go home.”

He tugs you along by the hand, helping you into his little old car, tucking your bags into the backseat. He lets the radio play softly while he drives, loud enough to quiet your thoughts a bit but not so loud as to overwhelm you.

He helps you out of the car when you arrive to the apartment building, carrying one of your bags up the stairs- you’d insisted on carrying the rest of your stuff.

He unlocks the apartment door, ushering you into the warmth and comfort that is Spencer’s home.

It’s exactly like you pictured, if not tidier. A bit more modern than you’d imagined. Books are everywhere of course, but so are knick-knacks and trinkets and other little bits of things that are so decidedly Spencer. There’s even a quilt on the couch.

He sets your bag down by the door. “The shower is down that hall to the left. Use whatever products you need to. Do you have any clothes to change into?”

You chew on the inside of your lip. “In my luggage, yeah, but they need to be washed.”

“I can put them in the wash while you shower. In the meantime, you can borrow something of mine.”

You shuffle in place. “I don’t wanna impose—“

“Please let me do this for you.”

The raw, rough edge to his tone makes you pause. You nod in acquiescence.

He takes your hand in his again, tugging you into his bedroom. With one hand, he opens drawers, handing you his smallest pair of sweatpants, and a large, worn, and incredibly soft Caltech sweatshirt.

“I’ll have to cuff these,” You mumble when he hands you the sweatpants, “My legs are half the length of yours.”

“You’ll make it work, I’m sure. Now shoo. I’ll have laundry and food finished when you get out of the shower.”

The bathroom, like the rest of the house, is clean and neat, and to your relief, houses more than just a five-in-one in the shower. Spencer actually owns multiple products for you to choose from and it hits you while you’re lathering the body wash you chose because of how good it smelled that you’re in Spencer’s shower, showering with his body wash, about to put on his clothes.

You’re going to smell like him. His clothes will smell like him. Everywhere in the apartment smells like him.

You decide to blame the near permanent flush on your cheeks on the heat from the shower.

When you exit the shower, fresh and drowning in Spencer’s clothes, he’s standing at his kitchen island, putting the final touches on two bowls of soup.

You almost tear up again. “You made me soup?”

“It’s widely regarded as a comfort food for people who are ill or otherwise sad, and is most commonly made in the wintertime.”

He gives you a little jazz hand, gesturing to the soup as if saying ta-da!

You really do tear up then.

He’s in front of you in an instant, hands poised to help. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong? Do you not like soup? I can make something else, or we can order in, or—“

You scrub at your face with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. “You’re just, you’re just really sweet.”

His face softens. “Oh, honey.”

He envelops you in the second hug of the night, except this time you’re crying in earnest now. Your crying about your parents, about the nights you went to bed hungry because your Dad told that you were smart, and to figure something out, but you were too young to work any of the kitchen appliances. You’re crying about your first best friend, who ditched you the second your brother asked her out. You’re crying about all the classes and friendships you missed out on while you were in the hospital with gunshot wounds. You’re crying about how your parents didn’t visit you once. Not even when you were in the ICU.

Spencer holds you through it all, a steady rock against the battering waves crashing in your head.

After a few minutes, you wear yourself out, quieting down to sniffling, your shoulders hitching.

He pulls back, studying your face. “Are you ready to eat some soup now?”

You nod, blinking the final tears out of your eyes. “I got snot on your shirt.”

“That’s why we invented washing machines.”

He keeps up a stream of idle chatter while you eat, explaining all the different major soups in the world and where they came from. It’s a balm against your weary mind, lulls you into peace and safety.

Or maybe that’s just the effect Spencer has on you.

When you finish your food, he takes your bowl, deposits it in the sink, and then takes your hand and leads you to his bedroom.

“I don’t have a guest room, so you can take the bed,” He says, voice soft. “There’s extra blankets in the closet next to the bathroom if you get cold.”

He turns to leave, but a stab of panic slices down your chest, and your hand is reaching out and grabbing his wrist before you can stop yourself.

He pauses, turning back around. “You want me to stay?”

You take your lip between your teeth. “I don’t want to be alone.”

He studies you in the dark of the room— clad in his clothes, face puffy from crying.

The muscles in his jaw work.

“I can’t do this platonically. If we do this—“

You surge up on your toes, grabbing his face and smashing your lips together so quickly your teeth clack.

He goes rigid, then kisses your right back, hands coming up to cup your face, squeeze your neck, smooth over your shoulders.

You pull away first, looking at him through your lashes with hazy eyes. “I can’t do this platonically either.”

He traces the planes of your face with his thumb. “You have no idea how long and how much I’ve wanted to have you right here, just like this.”

“Crying and sad?”

“Dressed in my clothes, in my apartment, in my bed.”

You pause. “You know, tonight, I can’t, I’m not going to have—“

“I’m not interested in sex with you tonight,” He says, reading your mind, “I just want to get that empty look in your eyes gone.”

“Just?”

“Well,” He says, tugging you down onto the bed with him, crawling under the covers and covering you both, “There are other things. A lot of other things, Like this,”

He presses a kiss to your forehead.

“And this,”

He pulls you flush against him under the covers, tucking your head under his chin.

“But mostly this.”

He presses one last kiss to the crown of your head.

“Really?”

“Really.”

It’s quiet for a moment before his voice breaks the silence.

“After I got out, all I wanted was something soft and gentle. Having something, someone soft and lovely to hold was all I looked forward to. And then I came back and I met you, with your polite introductions and the way you care so deeply about so much and I knew. I knew who I wanted to hold.”

“Wow,” You breathe, “Yours sounds so poetic. Mine is much less so.”

“Mmm,” He hums, “And what might that be?”

You press your face against his chest and mumble so quietly you’re wondering if he can ever hear you:

“I just wanted you to choose me. I wanted to be someone’s first choice.”

He’s so quiet after that you think he must not have heard you.

You’re on the verge of sleep when you hear his whisper:

“There couldn’t be anyone else for me.”

જ⁀➴

EDIT: if you want to be tagged in the sequel when it’s posted, please comment “tag me please!” or some variation of THE POST LINKED HERE !! if you comment asking for a tag on this post, you will not be added to the tag list. tag lists are hard to keep track of, so please keep them all in one place !! :)

[graciedollie]

Humorous

pairs: ambessa medara x wife!reader

summary: It was a pretty hectic you had to endure and you didn’t have the best attitude—it especially didn’t help that you’re wife pestered on about asking what was your deal. She watched with amusement as you practically snapped at her—already knowing what she had in store with you.

warning(s): lots, LOTS OF DIRTY TALK, some praises, spanking 😛, hair pulling, fingering, use of the hexstrap, pussy slaps (OMLLLL), and just ambessa being mean tbh, she’s chill at first but…YOU’LL SEE, also brief mention of edging :p

A/N: i love women. that is all.

Today was a shitty day for you. It was utterly hectic and things were NOT going for you. Let’s just say, you’re weren’t a happy camper. First, you woke up with a headache that did not go away—even after you ate, then you were constantly being followed around by soldiers that your wife ordered to do so, and overall, you just had a bad, bad attitude.

But anywho, you were now in the bedroom and straightening a few things as you found that cleaning helped you relax a bit, but not even that was helping. Your ears picked up heavy footsteps of your wife, feeling her strong arms wrap around your waist.

“Hello, My Sweet..”

A small sigh fell from your lips as her lips trailed down your neck, slowly pulling away from her as you grumbled, “Hi honey..”

She raised a brow at your distant behavior, wondering what could be troubling her dear wife. She settled down on a nearby chair, manspreading comfortably as she leaned back with an amused expression while she continued to poke you—wanting to see what was really the matter.

And, boy did she.

Your body tensed as your head snapped at her, pointing a finger at her with a scowl written on your face; absolutely snapping at her with your irritated tone. Your face was scrunched up, brows furrowed, and voice strained with irritation and frustration—which Ambessa found humorous, especially with the fact you just snapped at her.

She sat there, patiently and leisurely, listening to you rant and fuss at her as you rambled on about your shit day that you’ve terribly endured. She was honestly so quiet that you wondered if she was even listening to you.

“Are you even listening to me, Ambessa?” You snarled at her as your eyes flashed with annoyance, placing your hands on your hips.

“Oh, of course I am, sweetheart, but you know how I am with the attitudes, My Dear….you know that. I suggest—“

“I don’t have an attitude.” You interrupted her with a stern voice as your face scrunched up with irritation at her words, only adding gasoline to the fire.

Her brows raised in slight amusement, leaning back in the chair with a calm expression as she nodded a swift nod, “Oh really?”

You knew that tone of voice. Yeah, you were in for one..

You definitely fucked up. Internally cursing yourself for snapping at her with your attitude—knowing how she felt strongly about attitudes. So here you were now. Completely naked. Completely sprawled out. Face messed with tears as her hand came down on your soaked cunt with a slap, causing you to jerk your thighs closed.

Your wife shot you a warning glare, quickly opening your legs back up before she said anything—letting her resume her torture. Her hooded eyes gaze down at the sticky mess between your thighs, chuckling at the downright pathetic sight, “This is quite the sight..”

A whine bubble in your throat at her words, looking up at her with pleading eyes as chest rise and fell quickly with each heavy pant—causing your tits to jiggle. Another slap after another, another, and another—causing you to be a complete sobbing mess.

“What’s with the tears now, little one? Where’s that fiery bite you had earlier?” When her question was answered, a particular firm slap landed on your clit, making you jolt.

“When I ask a question, I expect an answer. Do not. Make me repeat myself.”

“I’m sorry! Please, baby, ‘m sorry…so sorry…didn’t mean to, I swear..” Your voice was whiny and shaky with tears, sniffling and whimper as your hips bucked up to her touch.

She could only let out an unamused chuckle at your desperation, only finding it humorous to her. Her eyes gazed down at you before grasping your cheeks, making your lips pucker together in a pout. “Mm…you’re sorry? You’re sorry, My Love?”

Her voice was uncharacteristically soft and gentle—as if she wasn’t just slapping your cunt just while ago. Her eyes stared into your teary ones, taking notice of the slow nod of your head. “Yes…’m sorry, please..”

Her thumb grazed over you bottom lip, cooing softly at the sight of her precious wife in such a state before a slap came back down on your cunt—crying out in pain before she grasped your cheeks firmly.

“I’ll show you sorry.”

And boy, did she?

You were on all four. Arms struggling to hold you up. One of her warm, large hands on your hip to steady you as the other was preoccupied with fucking you with her fingers; filling you to the brim with just two. Tears were trailing down your cheeks as you sniffles and whined—occasionally yelling as her hand came down harsh on your ass.

She smirked with amusement at your pathetic state—though you couldn’t see the smirk, but you can practically hear it in her voice. “Mm, I do wonder on where that chatty mouth of yours went. Do you think you’ve proven to me that you’re sorry, Dear?”

You nodded your head frantically at her low words, feeling your body seize at the upcoming orgasm—though it was ruined when she slipped her fingers out and her hand came down hard on your ass.

“Words.”

“Yes! Y-yes—I’m so sorry, baby! Please…I swear!” You cries out as your thighs trembled as you were edged for the fourth time during this moment of torture. A pleased smile tugged at her dark lips, soothing the stinging pain on your ass with a gentle rub before slipping her finger back inside you with a lewd squelch—earning a choked moan from you.

“Good. Seems you’re getting better at listening instead of running your mouth with such a nasty attitude.”

Your brain was so clouded you could barely even comprehend of her words, only focusing on the way her thick fingers pumped in and out of you with quick, deep thrusts—though you could hear the lines of:

“Feel how deep I am? Filling you up so nicely, aren’t I?”

“Squeezing my fingers so tight…such a greedy girl..”

“Practically drenching my fingers at this point, Love. Such a mess..”

You’re so close, aren’t you? Maybe I should pull away and just leave you here—aching for my touch.”

“You’re lucky I’m giving you such pleasure with the little stunt you pulled—move your hand.”

The pleasure became utterly overwhelming—having that your other organs were denied and this one feel so intense—and you couldn’t help, but reach back to her wrist.

“Please—Bessa…too much! Please, baby…”

Your voice cracked with a whine as her fingers hit that same spot that made your toes curl and vision cloud with stars repeatedly. She didn’t respond, only pinning your arm down on the small of your back—leaning close to your ear as her breath was hot against your skin.

“You’ll take whatever I give you..”

Your mind was completely clouded. Your hand gripped at the sheets tightly as your knees threatened to give out. Mouth hung open with broken moans and weak whimpers leaving as tears trailed down your cheek. Squelching noises filled the room as she was brutally thrusting into your soaked cunt over and over with her ruby red strap—hitting that sweet spot dead on.

A yelp fell from your mouth as you felt your hair being tugged back, forcing your arch to deepened and the angle to become better for her thrusts. Your eyes fluttered with tears as your body jerked with the harsh slap of her hand against your ass.

“What was all that talk about ‘too much’? It doesn’t seem that way with how tight you’re gripping me in—almost as if you don’t want me to pull away..”

The way her hand repeatedly kept slapping your ass caused you to cry out in pain, but also pleasure as her thrusts became quick and deep gradually. You felt drool trickle down your chin as your mouth hung open with punctured mewls—spewing her on more.

“Oh, my sweet girl….taking me so well, hm? That nasty attitudes all gone, just needed me to fix it, hm? Oh, I know, Honey…”

Your eyes rolled back as her words made your pussy throb, jerking your hips back as you practically fucked yourself back onto her—earning a low chuckle from your dear wife.

“Look at that…’ts funny how you declared it was too much not too long ago, My Dear…but I know you wanted this, baby.

Funny how things change so quickly, am I right?

you could probably tell the ending was rushed lowkey 🥲hoped you enjoyed it tho <3

[hypnagogics]

THE WAY YOU WRITE IS JUST SO YUMMM so yeah🧍🏻‍♀️can you write something about streamer ellie <33

☆: IM SO SORRY FOR THE WAIT. definitelyyyy hasn't been...months...anyway. positive this is one of the worse things i've written, but didn't wanna leave you hanging forever! ngl it's pretty filthy..heh.

◇: 18+ pretend those twitch guideline things don't exist. remote control vibrator use, orgasm denial, sub-ish!ellie?? plot twist at the end bc i think im so funny. 1.6k wc. don't mind the layout of this idk what else to do...

You watch your girlfriend stream her game from your fluffy and comfortable spot on your shared bed—you observe how focused she was on her screen, how her skilled fingers were flying across the keyboard and mouse. It would certainly be a shame to disturb her in such a high tension moment but you think it over, running your finger over the small buttons of the sleek little remote in your hand.

"Yeah, yeah, got 'em! Look at that guys, I fuckin’ aced that!" Ellie rejoices in her victory, and gleefully boasts to her viewers, adjusting her microphone closer and leaning back in her chair.

You're glad you were far off camera, her fans didn't even know she was in a relationship—Ellie made it clear she wanted you to be separate from her hobbies, not because she wanted to keep you a secret, but because she wanted to keep you safe. And you enjoyed watching her stream from the sidelines like this, you saw how her personality captivated viewers and how much fun she really was. But you also enjoyed messing with her on the occasion. Like today.

"Can I watch tonight's stream again?" You asked her eagerly. "Yeah, why not? I'll be doing some tournaments and stuff though, so no distractions." Oops. You bit back a laugh. Ellie immediately sussed out the mischievous look on your face and she sighed, expecting the worst.

Then you showed her the box you've been hiding, "Please let's try, I won't click it too much, I promise." She stared at you for a whole minute, maybe more, before sighing and reluctantly agreeing, rubbing her hands all over her face. "God, fine. Just 'cause I love you. Damn you're evil."

Fast forward to now—the device was snugly inserted inside her pretty pussy, tested out to prove it does in fact work, and works well at that.

So off Ellie went to play her game, getting so caught up in everything she seemingly forgot about the device entirely. In between games she was talking to the viewers, reading the chat and joking back and forth. You decided it was a good enough time to click it so you pressed the button, only for a miniscule zap.

She jerked in her seat, gasping, but quickly recovered with a strategic cough. "Phew sorry guys, something got caught in my throat." You saw a bright berry blush spread across her face, and the way she fought to turn and throw a glare at you. This was going to be fun.

"Alright, the next round’s gonna start, we gotta lock in! Hopefully nothing pops up and this goes smoothly. I can taste the win already.” She put a certain warning tone to her voice in the last part of her sentence, you knew it was meant for you, but were you going to listen? Absolutely not. "Oh yeah chat fun fact, this old area of the map was inspired by ancient ruins just of—ah!" As if her body had a mind of its own, she squirmed in her seat and she clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle a moan when you hit it again, but this time you didn't turn it off right away. You kept it going for a few more seconds, to prolong the terribly delicious sensation.

She screwed her eyes shut tightly and held her breath until you turned it off, mumbling to her viewers about "having hiccups". "The game is starting now, so we really gotta get serious." Her voice had an unsteadiness to it only you could hear, she was keeping her composure rather well so far. But likely wouldn't be able to keep up the act for much longer. Even she has her limits.

As her match went on, she got quiet when she was focused, mashing the keys with a speed fast as sound. Of course, you hit it again, just a short one, causing a choked "guh" to escape from her lips and she twitched when you did so, her facade starting to crack. The effort to keep her voice stable was showing, she was huffing and struggling to get her words out clearly, they were laced with obvious irritation.

"Fuck missed the shot, dammit. Yeah I don't know, somethings up today, sorry guys...off my game." You decided to be nice to her until the game ended, not pressing it further or adjusting the intensity. She played for a little while longer before losing the match, leaning forward on the desk with her face in her hands. This was the perfect moment, so you cranked it up, increased the intensity to maximum, and held the button for the longest time yet, making her whine—a low, drawn out sound she couldn't stifle this time.

You could hear lots of messages being sent, pings in rapid succession, they were probably clipping that moment. Perverts, you thought. 

Her chest was noticeably heaving up and down, her legs spread as she rocks her front against the chair, and she kept her head lowered until you decreased the intensity but didn't turn it all the way off. Her hands were shaking, and her face was a vibrant cherry red, the screen even reflected the sparkle of a couple tears in her eyes.

“What? Oh, I'm just so sad about the loss guys, we were so close—hnn- so…so closeahh—I mean, we should've gotten that…” She trailed off, chewing on her bottom lip and tapping her fingers on the desk’s wooden surface. “Y’know what, I'll be right back.” She paused the stream, made triple sure her camera and microphone were turned off, then whipped around in her chair to face you, glaring silver daggers your way.

You just giggled innocently and turned the device off again. “What the fuck is wrong with you, this shit is not- not light on you at all.” Her voice was breaking, her pretty features contorted in a beautifully needy expression, eyebrows furrowed and eyes all watery. Nearly as wet as the mess in her pants. You feigned innocence and shrugged at her, “Well I didn't know it was that strong.” “You knew damn well.” She's fed up with your antics, but you have fun playing with her. She covers her face and leans back in the chair, the embarrassment in her voice the only thing you could hear, “Fuck you...turn it up again, wanna cum.”

You couldn't contain the laugh that burst forth from your chest, then said, “Only if you stream it.” The shock that flickered across her face was priceless, you wish you could have snapped a photo.

“What the fuck do you mean by that, nah forget it.”

“Hey, you gotta finish your stream either way, they're waiting. Would you wanna be so awful and deprive those darlings of your presence?”

You flash her a sugary smile, and she shoots you a murderous look again, before wordlessly scooting back to her setup, fanning herself briefly and readjusting her coppery hair.

Then she turns the stream back on. “Sorry guys, I had to get up for a second. Anyway, let's play one more game. I'm getting kinda tired today. Let's make this one count, lock in like never before.” She takes a deep breath, cracks her knuckles, and begins smacking away at the keyboard buttons. You're able to see the way she looks tense, on edge, anticipating your devilish interruption.

You debate whether you should torture her, but the answer quickly becomes clear. Click.

“Ah—fuck!” She sputters, and roughly slams her fist on the desk. The pleasure was hitting her with full force, she was in her own, lewd, world now. Her head is thrown back, back arched and hips stuttering, the release was about to sneak up on her.

You watch the scenario unfold, licking your lips and pressing your thighs together to deal with the pressure between them. Her unapologetic moans get louder, but for a second she snaps out of the trance to sit back upright, turn the stream off, before the peak hits her like a truck.

“Holy, fu—hah!!” With a squeal she cums, not caring about how fucking loud she was being, wanting to be selfishly absorbed in ecstasy.

She started to jolt around in her seat, the throes of overstimulation making her whimper like an animal in heat, it truly was a sight to behold. You wish you were in between her legs, lapping up her sweetness straight from the source, but in a way, just watching from the sidelines was satisfying enough. You'll clean her up afterward.

Finally you turned it off once and for all, and gazed at her, she was panting heavily, the post-orgasm glow making her rosy skin shimmer in the low light.

“Hmmm, thanks babe, that was so good…” She tried to talk, her head was in the clouds, but she looked at peace.

“You're a whore.” You chortled, and you two shared a laugh.

Although, a flurry of shrill sounds brought you both out of the fantasy. Ping, ping, ping.

Unfortunately she wasn't able to enjoy the aftermath of a mind-numbing session, because her eyes shot open and she began scrambling to find the source of the sound. Your stomach dropped as you watched her panic, her neuroticism infectious.

She looked at you, her eyes wider than saucers, nothing but fear in her voice, “I wasn't able to turn my mic off…”

What was she going to do now?

if you'd like to be tagged in my fics, click here! thank you for reading. asks, reblogs, and comments are appreciated more than you know. ♡

tags: @andersonfilms @ch6douin @aouiaa @sapphic-ovaries @astro-cat2 @paqerings @r3starttt @littlefallenangel111 @sinfulprayerss @lvlymicha @sunnsh1ine @anniee333 @pinkcwake @marsworlddd @caszzine @saturnsdrafts @ashaynep @mascdom @xysbree @liddysflyer @fortune777 @brunaedn @bunnitewsilly @mimasroom2 @deliriousrn @infiniteinquiries @thekill3randthefinalgirl @kissyslut @elliesapple

[shawtuzi]

request: ‘Can you please write a Toji x (blk)fem reader smut but she like one of those earthy girls with all the waist chains/beads and he like obsessed with her style and all the jewelry she wears. boho/earthy girls don’t get enough love.’

i hear you anon and i see you so here you go <333

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ cw include: drug usage (weed), oral m receiving, unprotected sex, riding, slight pussyjob, toji likes her sm so a lot of praise, PUSSYDRUNK TOJI!!!, sex outdoors (no one can see them hehe), creampie, an ‘i like you’ confession bc i’ve been watching a lot of rom coms lately///not proofread sorry :(

‘it’s a lot of lust not a lot of love’

you hummed along to the song as you made out with toji, your tongue swirling against his. your bracelets jangled against your wrist as you tugged on his soft locs, a low groan rumbling in his chest as you did so. “slow down toji, s’no rush,” you mumbled against his lips, teeth biting down the tiniest bit on his bottom lip.

toji tried to distract himself by toying with your waist beads, but it just wasn’t working. between the two blunts you both shared, along with a couple sips of wine—courtesy of you, there was just no way you expected him to be in his right mind enough for him to go slow. “i don’t want to go slow though,” he groaned, grabbing a handful of your ass over your skirt.

you kissed your teeth, now pulling away from the pouting man. you pushed him down against the blanket you had crocheted yourself, your hands now resting on his pecs. “you’re so impatient you know that? need my pussy that bad hm?” you giggled cocking your head to the side. toji gulped, his eyes finding it hard to stay locked on yours. eye contact with you was always so intense.

“yes….yes i am impatient and yes i need your pussy that bad.”

you smiled at his words, now leaning down to give him a slow kiss. you kissed your way down his jaw, to his neck, and finally down his chest. “damn….you got this worked up over a little kissing?” you teased, cupping toji over his jeans, earning a deep groan from him. toji didn’t respond, instead he just gave you the finger, too fucked out already to even come up with a proper comeback.

toji hissed when he felt you finally undo the button to his jeans, his leaking dick now free from its confinements. “go slow m’feelin’ a little sensitive,” toji grumbled and all you did was laugh, taking his throbbing dick in your hands. you gave the tip a soft squeeze, licking your lips. “now you wanna go slow? that’s funny,” you snickered, bringing his dick to your mouth, suckling the tip softly.

you ran your tip along the underside of his dick, fighting the urge to laugh again when you felt toji buck his hips up. toji wanted so badly to just push your head down, but you had just gotten your hair done a few days prior and he’d hate to cause you any discomfort. it was your first time getting passion twists and he was absolutely enamored with the way you looked with them.

“deeper—please go deeper y/n,” toji finally lifted his head up, now making eye contact with you but he reallyyyyy wishes he hadn’t. the way you were looking at him with those low, red eyes; eyelashes fluttering shut each time you took more of him in your mouth had him wanting to bust right then and there. toji felt his face flush, cheeks burning hot at the way you looked at him like he was the most precious thing to ever grace this earth—which in his opinion he wasn’t, far from it honestly.

toji’s eyes rolled back when he felt his dick hit the back of your right throat. “mmph fuck yeah—that’s that shit,” he groaned, bringing his hand to rest on the crown of your head. he didn’t grip it or apply any pressure, he just sat there and let you do what do best—suck the soul outta him.

the wind began to pick up, giving toji’s flaming cheeks a nice breeze to cool off. you made him so…so…beside himself. i mean for god sakes you had him fucking in the middle of a field of flowers, blazed out of his mind—it’s safe to say the grip you had on him was the most annoying shit ever.

“keep sucking me like that baby, f-fuck, take it deeper. be a good girl and take it deeper f’me,” you listened without protest, taking the last few inches of him in your mouth. toji was beyond fucked out, praises flying past his lips left n right and it only egged you on to turn him into even bigger pile of mush than he already was.

you pulled off of his dick with lewd pop! now paying attention to his swollen balls. toji’s body jerked, his heavy hand gripping onto your shoulder. “w—hah! w-wait y/n,” toji hissed, his jaw clenching impossibly tight. you lifted your head up, puffing air through your cheeks.

“i’m sorry i—”

“just shush toji.”

you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand before crawling up toji’s body, your lower half hovering over his twitching dick. you pushed toji down gently by his shoulders, humming to yourself at just how damn good he looked beneath you.

“you’re fuckin’ unreal,” toji sounded damn near breathless as he said it, his chest puffing up with each deep breath. his hand reached up to tug down your olive green, cropped tube top; his rough hands immediately latching onto your breasts.

“you really mean that or you jus’ fucked up?” you knew he meant it with all his heart, you just wanted to hear him say it. you blindly reached for the end of your skirt, tugging the soft material up your thighs. just as you pressed your panty clad pussy against toji’s dick he whispered the three words ‘i mean it’ in your ear, his teeth nibbling at your lobe.

the words ‘i like you’ were sitting so heavy on his tongue but he just couldn’t find the courage to tell you how he felt.

toji—a grown ass thirty four year old man who’s literally served time in the slammer was scared to tell you, a twenty something year old woman who was the literal embodiment of a fawn how he felt about you. what a joke.

“what are you thinking about?” you spoke softly, running your thumb over the stubble on toji’s jaw. toji shook his head, bringing his rough hands to your petal soft love handles.

“s’nothin.”

“liar.”

“i said it’s nothing.”

your breath hitched, mouth dropping open slightly at the feeling of toji’s dick pressed against your bare pussy. he felt so hot and soft against you and toji could certainly say the same thing about you. with one harsh tug toji ripped your thong off, tossing the semi soaked material to the side. you rlly should’ve known better with that one—toji hates whenever things are in his way.

“you’re such a liar toji,” your laugh was breathless as you began to slowly grind your pussy against toji’s dick. he sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, his brows furrowing in annoyance but mostly pleasure. he was already so close it was so fucking embarrassing. pre dripped from his throbbing tip and onto his clenching abs, creating an even bigger mess between the two of you.

toji bucked his up, puffing air through his cheeks to silently tell you he was more than ready for you. you gave him a small smile, your tooth gems glistening in the afternoon sun. “can i confess something toji?” you asked, lifting yourself up to balance your weight on your feet. you grabbed toji’s dick, swiping his tip between your folds before slowly inserting it.

you both gasped in unison, toji’s eyes fluttering shut at the warmth that enveloped his cock. “w-what do you need to confess you fu—hucking brat,” he growled, his fingernails digging in the soft flesh of your thighs. in one swift movement you sat all the down, toji’s balls now pressed snugly against your backside.

“i really, really like hanging out with you toji,” your voice was a little high pitched, rightfully so because you practically feel the trembling man below you in your stomach. you pressed your hands against toji’s chest, bouncing on his dick like your life depended on it.

you brushed a stray hair out of toji’s face, cradling his jaw in your palm that still smelled of the shea butter you applied before your outing. “you like hanging out with me too toji? you like me?” your tone was coming off a tad desperate but you could’ve cared less. toji’s adam’s apple bobbed, a pathetic whine bubbling in his throat.

“yes.”

“yes what?”

toji wrapped his arms around your waist, his feet planting into the ground before fucking up into you. “yes i fucking l-like you y/n, could you not—shit! fucking tell? jesus christ your pussy is so good,” toji couldn’t help the drool that slipped past his lips, it was impossible to keep his mouth shut at this point. your hands found themselves in toji’s hair, tugging roughly at the soft strands.

“i knew you did i just wanted to hear you say it. i like you too toji.”

i like you too toji.

toji halted his movements, his dick now in you to the hilt. you suddenly felt a warm sensation in your lower half and knew immediately that toji was in the process of cumming. you circled your hips as best as you could, milking him for all he was worth.

“hah f-fucking shit i can’t stop fucking cumminggg,” he groaned, burying his face in your sweet smelling neck; the scent of vanilla and caramel had him feeling more dizzy than he already was.

after giving toji a few minutes to catch his breath you sat up, his dick still sheathed inside of you. “look how messy,” you spread your lips, giving toji a mouthwatering view of your overly stuffed pussy. toji licked his lips, reaching over to down the rest of the wine that was in your abandoned glass.

“lemme clean you up.”

[evieelyzabethh]

"lacy"

⭒"i see you everywhere, the sweetest torture one could bear"⭒ Arcane characters when jealous {fem reader}

cast ✧ Vi, Ekko, Jayce, Viktor, Mel

cw ☞ slight angst but they all have a happy ending, kissing, and the usual stuff (slightly pervy Jayce)

♞Vi♞

♞Making Vi jealous is a terrible game. She is about that action and absolutely loves to fight, nothing beats that flow of adrenaline as she chases someone down to bash their face in. I feel like she would also get a bit mean. Jealousy is a nasty thing, it bites, and she bites back harder. The pit it creates in her stomach tries to swallow her whole and sometimes she wants to bring you down with her

♞She doesn't understand why you would want or need the attention of anyone else when you have her. Chiefly at the beginning of your relationship, it would cause a rift, intention or not. Vi doesn't have a proper education, she’s constantly guilt ridden about her childhood and her sister, she's broke, and an absolute hot mess. She's already constantly questioning why you're with her in the first place and the last thing she needs is some random coming up and flirting with you and you even bothering to dignify their presence with a response.

♞She would go dead silent, brushing you off for what feels like weeks, stewing in her increasingly negative thoughts. She doesn't even think you're cheating, but she feels like it's only a moment of time before you realize there's something better out there. Always the one to make the wrong decision, she pushes you away for a bit. She's very short with you, brushing off your attempts to make peace, playing a mean game to see if you're gonna give up on her so she can use it against you. This is definitely her biggest red flag.

It's dark and rainy out, rain pelting at the ground, seeping and sliding into its cracks to rehydrate the already soft foundation. It was supposed to be a calm night out at the Last Drop involving a few drinks to get Vi out of her current terrible mood, bookended by an unstable walk home as you both barely support each other under your weight and constant fit of giggles. Instead, Vi was a few paces ahead of you, hands shoved into her pockets, her head down rather than putting her hood up to keep her head dry from the rain. Every time you approach her, she slightly leans away. At first you thought it was an accident, maybe she was trying to avoid stepping on a rock or into a puddle, but after the umpteenth time it happens, the message becomes clear. She's avoiding you. As argumentative as she is, you may even be worse. "What the fuck is your, problem?", you bark, the alcohol in your veins curving the embarrassment of passersby clearly tuning into the argument they think is about to break out. "You've said some choice things and have been awfully rude these past few days, and I really don't appreciate it, Violet." But she doesn't have it in her to make a big scene. It's definitely the alcohol, because she's genuinely scared that if she starts a screaming match with you right now, she'll cry. She turns to you swiftly, hair dripping wet, stray dye rolling down her cheeks and down the slope of her nose. You had just dyed it together a few days ago, back before she decided to be mad at you for who knows what reason. "Look at me", she grabs your chin before you even get the chance to break eye contact with her. Petty, pissed, and unable to jerk your face out of her grip without giving yourself whiplash, you close your eyes. This pisses her off even more. "What, you don't have any more charity work left in you? You can giggle with what-his-face for hours, but you can't even look at your girlfriend?" That gets you to open your eyes, at first confused as to what the hell she was talking about then glittering with amusement that causes her to immediately let go and continue her fast paced walk back home. She isn't far enough to escape your light voice, cheery with the realization that you finally broke her down and occupied with what you think is the silliest thing in the world. "Oh, my gods, you're jealous about that guy from last night! Vi, you're so ridiculous, I don't even remember his name." And she is still teeming with anger, but that anger will dissipate soon after that last admission. Once you sober up, you don't find it as funny, but she's at your every beck and call trying to convince you it won't happen again.

♞After a little while together, she feels more stable in the relationship. Trust, she still gets jealous, but it usually looks like a smirk on her face before she pulls you into a heated kiss in front of whoever is bothering her. She makes a real show of it too, prying open your mouth to slip her tongue inside, her hands squeezing your sides and hiking up your dress, knee pressed firmly in between your legs. She continues long after the person leaves, before shrugging and sarcastically wondering where they possibly could've gone off to. You often scold her for this. You've never been to jail, and you'd hate to go for a public indecency charge.

★Ekko★

★Ekko doesn't really get jealous, like out of everyone I think he would get the least jealous so most of this section would be about his complete lack of jealousy. He doesn't believe in getting into relationships without trust first and it's because of this confident trust that he wouldn't get jealous. If anything, he wouldn't be jealous as in feeling like your relationship was in danger but jealous when it comes to your time. Like he would get slightly pouty if he felt like you were spending too much time with your friends, and it was significantly cutting out of your time together. Even then, he wouldn't really act on it.

★Ekko would be a "I don't care what my girlfriend wears, I can fight" kinda guy. Especially because he likes picking out your outfits, he does it with the intention of showing off the goods. He likes looking at you, he knows the world likes looking at you, he sees it as doing a favor to society. He is the first to tell you your tits look scrumptious in that top.

★Same concept with you being approached or flirted with. If they have the gall to do it in his direct presence, he has a great many words to say about it, but if he's watching it go down, he likes to watch it happen. He'll get involved as soon as he gets the feeling you are uncomfortable, but for the most part he sits amused a few feet away laughing at the glances you give him as the conversation goes on.

★I feel like if anyone was to get jealous, it would be you. Ekko spends a lot of time with a lot of different people which leaves space for certain people to not know that he's spoken for. I think he would be less aware of this than you. You are always at the forefront of his mind; he cannot fathom giving his attention to other people. Especially because he talks about you so often, he makes it quite clear that he is not single and when people choose to ignore that fact, he doesn't notice.

Warm light flitters into your shared room through half open blinds that reveal the orange and yellow that the blue sky had faded into. Ekko had just gotten home eager to strip down into some old, tattered tee shirt and some boxer shirts. Instead, he was met with a slightly agitated girlfriend, and he notices this immediately. He gives you space at first, greeting you at the door and asking you how you were and listening to your expectedly short answer. He only lasts a few minutes of this passive aggression before sliding beside you on the couch, sliding his arm around you and pulling you in close. You reluctantly lean in, trying to ignore how inviting he smells and how warm he feels. "Baby," he draws out, scooping you completely into his arms to straddling your thighs over his waist, his large palms remaining on your upper thigh. He's trying to whittle down your resolve and it is working. "Don't you wanna tell me what's wrong?" You rolled your eyes. "I've already told you what's wrong." He thinks it's cute that you're jealous. He likes the way your arms cross over your puffed chest, and you furrow your brow to try and appear serious but all you look like to him is a rabbit about to thump its foot. "And I have already told you, I am completely yours." It's cheesy and he knows it and he amps it up by scattering kiss all over your face, even as you try to evade his touch. "I don't doubt that, it's just..." He derails your sentences as his kisses move lower and his hands get more adventurous, exploring your upper thigh and the curve of your ass and the small of your back from underneath your shirt. "Hey!", you snap, "I'm being serious, Ekko." He pauses, withdrawing his hands to the fat of your hips and, reluctantly, his lips from your neck. "I'm listening, baby." "I've told you I don't know how many times that I do not like that girl. She is all over you." His mouth opens to try and protest, but you cut him off. "I can literally smell her perfume on you." He gets slightly defensive at this. "You don't think I'm cheating on you, do you?" A look of hurt flashes across his eyes. "Of course, I don't, Ekko. I'm not questioning you; I'm questioning her. I know she knows we're together and she just doesn't care, and you don't shut it down. Why else do you think she kept you out this late? What were you two doing?" Nothing. A whole lot of nothing, actually. The girl you were referring to, Thalara, had been a topic of conversation before. She was new to the commune, which landed her the benefit of the doubt with you, but it's been months now and she still hasn't laid off. Ekko, ever trusting of his people, never assumed malintent, but you saw right through her. You cup his head in between your hands, looking him in his eyes to make sure that the message is clear. "I love you, and I'm not mad at you, but she's pissing me off. You need to make it very clear that she needs to leave you alone or I will send the message for you." And you meant that. He makes it very clear to her the next day that he has absolutely no interest and comes back to you the next day beaming in accomplishment.

★Jealous you turns him on so incredibly much. Whatever you say goes, he is not one to turn you down when you're in a jealous mood.

❂Jayce❂

❂I feel like you would both get jealous, but he would get far more jealous than you do. While he is far from someone who would tell you to change what you're wearing, he does try and tag along with you when you're wearing something low cut. Like babe, what do you mean you don't want him to join girls night? Are you sure you're not cold?? You must be cold; your ass is hanging out, why won't you take his jacket?? Please take his jacket!!! Because of this he walks behind you, making it much harder for those undeserving to stare at you like he does.

❂While he loves showing you off at fancy events, ain't shit funny if you look too good. If you're lucky enough to make it out the house on time (he insists on helping you zip up but then gets confused which way zippers go), being there is a struggle. He likes staring at you and did not have the forethought to think other people would enjoy staring at you too. Let someone make a comment too, he is glued to your hip for the rest of the night.

He waits anxiously for the stupid gala to be over. Had he been more of a drinker, he would've been content to have a few glasses of the fancy champagne they brought around, but he hates the ethanol aftertaste it leaves behind and that is the last thing he needed after already feeling nauseous. He was trying so hard for you, he knew he had to give you your space, and he knew you were excited to go out to his Hextech showcase to show your support. He's being bitter and he hates it, he hates biting his tongue while watching you giggle with a councilman and the fact that he feels like a petulant child watching some other kid play with his toy He's been getting better with his jealousy, honest! That's why he's self-aware enough to know that his urge to go after you, sling you over his shoulder, and carry you home himself is childsh and silly and that you would chastise him over it as he looked at you like a kicked puppy. Gods, this was stupid. But he puts a smile on his face anyway, making his way over to you from the balcony he was just standing on, and sliding his hand on your shoulder. You look over at him, startled for a second, but relax when you see his amber eyes and slightly gapped smile. And then you say the magic words. "Oh, I was just about to go looking for you. Are you ready to go?" He cannot say yes fast enough. After he has you all to himself, he is insatiable, kissing you deeply as soon as you step foot in the carriage taking you home, losing balance and nearly sending you both toppling onto the floor of the moving vehicle. The seats are awkward and not long enough to properly lay you down, but he's too desperate to care about the discomfort, his hand cradling the back of your neck to make sure you are as comfortable as you can be. He's ruthless, the force of his kisses knocking the breath out of you and you can never catch up. You're almost dizzy, his desperate whispers nearly going through one ear and out the other. "You love me, right? Me and only me? You don't need anyone else.", and he's trying to find your zipper again, but his hands are clumsy and cold, and it only serves to arch your back further into him, not that he's complaining. When you do come to your senses, you giggle, running your nails through his hair as he looks up at you with wide eyes. "How long have you been holding that in." He looks at you sheepishly, fighting the urge to hide his embarrassment in the crook of your neck. "All night." You shake your head at his ridiculousness, pulling him in for a slower kiss, properly savoring the moment, before pulled away to peck his nose. "You are the only one for me, handsome, I don't know how many times I have to say it." He shrugs his broad shoulders. "A few more times wouldn't hurt." You roll your eyes and ask if he wants a collar, and he does not look as adverse as you expected.

❂He is so incredibly unhinged when it comes to jealousy. He doesn't act on it, but his mind goes to wild places. In a modern AU, if you dare not reply to a text in ten minutes he's asking, "What position he got you in?" Even worse, he knows he's being senseless, it's his way of asking for reassurance in a joking way. It's so absurd, you don't take him seriously which slightly frustrates him because he wants you to reaffirm him on what he already knows.

❂He gets really pouty when jealous too. He'll usually try and thrust himself into his work to occupy his mind and get it back to a rational place. Viktor calls you immediately because he ends up talking to him about it and he thinks the entire ordeal is unreasonable and doesn't have time to be asked at the ass crack of dawn "I know she loves me, but what if (insert insane scenario here)." He is a chronic overthinker and sometimes you just have to shut his brain off.

☽Viktor☾

☽Viktor is another one who doesn't get super jealous, but when he does, it usually stems from insecurities surrounding his leg. It doesn't happen often, but sometimes, especially as his condition gets worse, he gets frustrated that he can't do the things as easy as he used to be able to. However, he is entirely too proud to admit it or act on it. You probably wouldn't even notice, to be honest, and he wouldn't want you to.

☽I think he would absolutely throw himself into work when jealous. He's already at the lab damn near day and night, but unlike usual when he'll try for conversation here and there and be more lively, he's throwing himself into it out of necessity. It is one of his pride and joys, when his ego takes a hit, work is his refuge. This, of course, hardly ever works because he does not get good work done when it's being forced. He'll usually end up staring at the photo he keeps of you at your desk and feel lonely.

☽He'll invite you around to his lab more, though he is uncharacteristically stiff and rigid. He's trying too hard to focus but he just can't. His leg is tapping furiously beneath the table, he's biting the inside of his cheek, his hand is running through his hair every couple minutes. Things just aren't computing like how he wants them to and he hates it. His pride is a double-edged sword here, jealously is Jayce's thing. He thinks he is leagues above it and he gets frustrated with himself when he feels that green sickness in his heart.

☽He would be the type to address it head on. Once again, he's very analytical. He will tell you what exactly got him upset, why exactly it upset him, be very clear that he isn't blaming or upset at you, and silently hope you go overboard with affection for the next few weeks for the sake of his ego. After he does, he likes to ignore it even happened. Him? Jealous? You must have him confused with another ridiculously attractive, impaired, Czech-accented man. Jealous isn't even in his very extensive vocabulary, he has no idea when or why you dreamed of this completely fictitious scenario. He wouldn't try and gaslight you that it never happened, but he is petty enough to get selective hearing when it comes to mentions of it

For the first time since...ever, Viktor is home before the sun goes down. To say it catches you off guard is an understatement, so unused to the doorknob jiggling before the wee hours of the morning, you had a knife in your hand before you heard his keys in the door. You had been making dinner, and the smell alone makes his heart skip a beat. He hardly ever gets a warm dinner and for a minute, he deeply regrets being in his lab all the time. He slides off his shoes and loosens his tie as he pads over to you in the kitchen, wrapping one hand around your waist and the other gripping the counter for support. "You're home early.", you chirp, turning around to face him to peck his lips. "I was just making dinner, you want a taste?" Though he would never say no to that, you already have the spoon to his lips with a hand under to catch anything that might fall before he can even answer. He indulges, of course, and as the warm liquid soothes his throat, he hates that lab even more. Soup is one thing; but warm soup is to die for. "It's delicious, tchotchke." You smile as you turn back around. "Any reason you're home so early." He looks back the new ceiling fan you called Jayce over to put up and lets out a sardonic chuckle. He understands why you called him; he'd need to get on a ladder to put it up and have to abandon his cane for however long it took to hold the thing up and take care of the wiring. He wouldn't be able to balance himself and if he came down, the fan was coming down with him, probably on top of him. And yet, he still would've rather done it himself than you call Jayce to do it. "Yes, but it's admittedly a very stupid reason." You cannot fathom this. You remove the pot from the stove and onto a folded cloth on your counter and desert the stove. "Did something happen?" And he can't handle the look of concern on your face over something he knows to be trivial. "It's just that..." when he realizes he can't put it off any longer, he sighs. "I got jealous of Jayce." Had it not been for the serious look on your face, you would've burst into laughter. Those words had never fallen out of his mouth in that order before. "I know it's absurd, but it started when he put the fan up and it bothered me more than it should. I don't like that there are some things I can't do around the house, and it's been this way my whole life, but it's different with him. He's just always "the guy" and I hate the thought of him being "the guy" to you. It's irrational and a leap in logic, I know, but I hate it." And even better than pity, you just smile at him. In a way it's better that you want to laugh at him, he wants to laugh at him too. The thought of Jayce replacing him is maybe even more of an impossibility for you than it is for him. "So, next time I should just call a guy." He chuckles. "Yes, please."

☼Mel☼

☼I feel like she would be very calm about her jealousy, but also have a slight inclination to anger, albeit a silent one. She doesn't fear the betrayal of a potential cheating, but rather the embarrassment. If she were to see you get too chummy with someone, rather than approach you, she would watch from afar to see what you'd do. This is also a big reason why she usually doesn't take action herself; you never disappoint her when it comes to letting people know you're taken.

☼She is a bit clingier when jealous, but more than that she would insist on doing more couple things together. If she feels it is not known enough, she will make it known that the two of you are together. This often means gifts like expensive jewelry that only she could afford you, a new outfit that conveniently matches with one of hers, or even just letting you borrow bags or earrings of hers. It's her way of scenting you almost. She's too classy to try and "stake her claim" in a more showy way, so she does it in a more inconspicuous way.

Waking up alone wasn't something you were completely unused to. Mel was a very busy woman, and you were content with the nights you had together and rare mornings. These mornings were made extra bearable when you woke to a box on your nightstand, wrapped in a silk ribbon with a note in your girlfriend's handwriting slipped under the bow. 'From my heart, to my darling', it read, a lipstick mark beneath where she had signed her name with an elegant flick of her wrist. Perhaps just as eager to be opened as you were to open it, the ribbon fell loose as you gently picked up the box. It was too small to be a dress and too large to be a ring but large enough to contain maybe a fancy watch or a necklace, but judging by her unusually clingy demeanor last night, you had a feeling you could pretty accurately guess what was inside the ornate jewelry box. Unsurprisingly, within it lay a gold and pearl necklace, pearls that must’ve been rare due to their black hue rather than their usually pale pearlescent coloring.  The chain felt light in your hand, the heaviest part sinking into your palm as you stared at. Your first initial and an M. No matter which way it was taken, the M to be her first name or her last, the possessive message was clear, not that you minded. Mels smile was bright when she saw you for the first time that day, and even brighter when she saw what decorated your neck. She excused herself from the councilmember she was talking to before walking over to you, practically gliding on air. She takes your hand, kissing the inside of your wrist then your knuckles then pulls you by your hand into her. "I take it you're enjoying your gift?" Your hand still in hers, she spins you, taking you in at all angles for the first time that day. "It's beautiful, but I can't help but wonder what inspired the decision." She knows you know exactly how she works, and she doesn't mind admitting she's jealous. "Am I wrong to give my pretty girl a gift?", she says, mocking the comment you received last night. She rolls her eyes and her face gives away her impending rant. "Am I wrong to give a pretty girl a compliment? I still can't believe he said that to you last night. He only did it to piss me off, you know." You bite your lip to hide your laughter, but it eventually slips from you. "I hope I'm more entertaining than Salo was last night." She can't even feign annoyance, not with the sound of your laughter filling her ears and her name around your neck. She laughs herself, with how much the two of you talk shit about the man, you'd think anything he did could never affect her, but she had been biting her tongue since last night. "Shall I list to you all the ways you're better than Salo?" She waves the idea off nonchalantly. "No, my darling, I should hope I never need an ego boost that desperately."

☼You would definitely get jealous far more often than she does. She's gorgeous, smart, well spoken, rich and affluent, and perfection embodied in a person, there is much to be jealous of. Especially as someone who is on the council where part of the job is being great at sweet talk, I feel like you would get your feelings hurt sometimes. You catch more flies with honey, and she may be the sweetest honey there is. She does tease you for your jealousy though, she finds it utterly adorable.

☼She wouldn't allow you to be jealous long. She is very good at reading you and your emotions, she seems to always know exactly how you're feeling. You couldn't even hide it from her if you tried, she'll always find a way to corner you and help you talk your feelings through. She tries very hard to make sure that you can never question who she loves the most.  

[sunshyni]

— my oh my. Johnny Suh

A leaked message stating the obvious about Johnny was enough for you to finally have him.

johnny x Reader | Fluff but suggestive 🤭 | w.c: 1k

— Oh my God, those jeans are killer — Jaehyun started, practically squirming on the couch in the living room of the frat house where he, Johnny, Doyoung, and a few other guys lived. It was crazy how magnetic your presence was; every eye in the room turned to you when you walked in, like it was automatic. — What's her deal, huh?

— Aww, are you like this ‘cause she turned you down? — Johnny asked, sipping a beer and watching you, not like a creep, just admiring. You really were stunning, not only in looks but in brains, too. You worked part-time at a luxury store at the airport and were always looking flawless, though Johnny figured you’d still look flawless even with messy hair.

— Go on, alright? Everyone knows she’s into you, lover boy — Jaehyun pouted, which made Johnny grin and pinch his cheek like he was a little kid; with that look, he actually did look like a baby.

— Don’t play the victim. You’ll have plenty of girls chasing you — he rolled his eyes, and Johnny gave him a couple of gentle pats on the shoulder, then walked over to you, touching your waist softly when he reached you, his hand brushing against your soft skin peeking out from your crop top. — Hey.

— Hey — you practically choked out. Johnny grinned, leaving you a bit speechless. Your natural hair and the low-rise jeans you wore made you look absolutely perfect, but the blush on your cheeks, even before you’d had a drink, gave you an angelic vibe Johnny found himself totally obsessed with.

— You were amazing in the seminar today — he had to say something. You knew that now everyone knew about your crush on him, thanks to that accidentally leaked message to the whole school. It wasn’t anything sexual, but it did make him sound like some Greek god, which Johnny found funny and cute, even if he was already confident in himself. It was the first time someone had complimented him like that.

— Ah, I had to take a shot just before it started so I wouldn’t stammer — you admitted, suddenly unsure of what to do with your hands. How close were two people supposed to be when they weren’t actually a thing? Because right now, you felt incredibly close to him and wanted to laugh nervously. — John… about those messages, I didn’t mean…

— Nuzzle your face in my chest? You can do that — you couldn’t help it and laughed, covering your face with your hands like a shy little girl. You’d vented to the wrong person, that was clear, or your messages wouldn’t have been leaked, but everyone agreed with your words, including Johnny himself. He held you, guiding you back until your back met the wall. — What else do you want to do that you didn’t describe in those messages?

— Should I say it? — you smiled playfully, and Johnny smiled back, hooking a finger through the belt loop of your jeans, pulling you closer. Maybe it was the drink, or maybe it was the green light you gave for him to touch you, but he pulled you a bit closer by the waistband and leaned down to kiss your neck, licking the skin, sucking, and lightly grazing his teeth.

A quiet sigh escaped your lips before you realized. You definitely loved flirting, touches, and making out; you’d never gone all the way, and you felt nervous about how skilled Johnny seemed to be with his mouth, his hands, his whole body, honestly.

— I’ve been wanting to get close to you for a while but always thought you were kinda untouchable — Johnny admitted against your skin, and you practically burst at his confession. You had a confident air, like you didn’t care about anyone’s opinion, but all you wanted was for Johnny to feel the same way.

— Maybe for other guys… but not for you — you said with a smile, and Johnny moved even closer, kissing your cheek, the corner of your lips, but never quite reaching where you wanted. He was teasing, and you knew it from the little smirk he’d flash between a firm squeeze and a soft press of his lips against your skin. — Oh, for heaven’s sake, John.

You grabbed his silver chain that peeked out from his shirt, pulled it free, and kissed him, hard, filled with want, like you were devouring each other against the wall near the frat house door. Johnny tangled his fingers in your hair and pulled back gently, letting you catch your breath, both of you breathing heavily.

— Come on — he said, taking your hand and leading you up the stairs. You followed, weaving past people with drinks in hand, bumping into a few on the way. Johnny opened his room door, which he likely shared with another guy, given the second bed on the right side.

It looked like a typical high school guy’s room, which was kind of cute. Johnny had a shelf full of comics, and his room had its own bathroom; on the doorframe, there was a pull-up bar you couldn’t help but admire, picturing the sight of a shirtless Johnny using it. You felt like a little girl, and maybe, with him, that’s exactly what you were.

— Astroboy? — you asked, playing with a little figurine on his shelf.

— It suits me, doesn’t it?

— Definitely, you’re a star.

You smiled, watching him sitting on the single bed, then followed, sitting across from him, kissing him slowly, your hands exploring his chest with calm. Somehow, Johnny got you to wrap your legs around his waist, and you had to kick off your shoes in the process, which made him chuckle against your lips. Johnny caressed your back as his mouth explored your neck, kissing your skin so delicately it felt like his lips were velvet.

— Johnny… — you began, and he immediately met your gaze. — Hold on, it’s all good. It’s just that… I’ve never…

— Never? — he knew exactly what you meant.

— Only once, almost… but I freaked out, and… — Johnny left a soft kiss on your forehead.

— It’s okay; we don’t have to do anything tonight.

— But I love making out — you said, pressing your bodies even closer, and Johnny grinned, thinking you were way too perfect to be real.

— Me too. So much.

@sunshyni. All rights reserved.

[cheriladycl01]

Kinktober 21/10/2024 Lando Norris - Cockwarming

Plot: Clingy Lando will do absolutely anything to feel close to you, even when he’s streaming.

Warnings: Kinktober, SMUT, dry humping, Cockwarming, p in v etc 18+ Minors DNI

You get home after a long gruelling day of modelling for Calvin Klein, you were in and out of a super cold dressing room infront of the hot lights and camera and you were exhausted and really just wanted a massive cuddle from you boyfriend.

However, once you got further into yours and Landos apartment you could hear the sound the familiar sound of your boyfriends laughter and his loud voice shouting the apartment down. You were happy Lando had the money to soundproof the outer walls but the whole apartment you could hear everything through, which made steam by night when friends where staying over a bit of an issue for you, Lando of course never cared and was happy to show all his friends how well he treated you.

From the short conversation you could hear before he got to the door you could make out that he was streaming with Ginge and Max. You knock on the door pretty loudly and things go quiet until you hear the roll of his chair wheels and the padding of his feet.

“Ahhhh baby, you’re back! How was your day?” He says kissing your head before pulling you back to look at you. And immediately a frown comes over his face when he sees yours.

It was one thing you loved and hated about your boyfriend. He could read you like a book and he always knew when something was wrong.

“What’s wrong, what happened?” He asks sorry evident in his tone.

“Nothing, just a long day. Pretty tired and I just wanna be with you” you say softly smiling at him shyly.

“Come in and sit with me then. You can talk to Ginge and Max too” he offers and you shake your head. You didn’t really feel like socialising with anyone but Lando, you were too exhausted from all the people and the hustle and bustle they had caused at the studio today.

“Don’t wanna see anyone, just you. I don’t wanna be on camera either. Just wanna be close to you right now” you admit with a sigh and he nods. He holds his finger up to indicate to wait there and he comes back only 20 seconds later.

“I turned the camera off and you don’t have to speak to anyone. You can just sit in my lap yeah?” He asks with a smile and you nod, a smile finally gracing yours. You walk in with him seeing his game is paused on one monitor and chat going so quickly you can hardly see what people are saying just catching a few

Camera gone? 🥹

What happened? 🙁

Where did bob go?

He takes a seat in his chair and pats his lap, you join him sitting on his lap, facing the desk watching his monitor as his arms comes round either side of you to reach mouse and keyboard.

“WHERE ARE YOU” you can hear Ginge’s voice through the headphones making you stifle a laugh. Lando unmutes and kisses your shoulder.

“Sorry, Y/N came home and she’s had a bit of a bad day guys and she wanted to come sit with me” Lando explains chat starting to floods with your names and various comments of asking to put the ‘pretty woman’ which is apparently you, on screen for them too see.

“No chat. She’s not feeling her best today, so she’s just sitting with me until I’ve finished for the day. So you all need to behave” he explains and chat floods with nice and kind messages for you telling you to get better and hope you have a better day tomorrow which you know you will as you and Lando will have you ‘rot day’ as you both like to call it.

Eventually it gets too hard sitting in Landos lap normally, your hair was in the way of your arms were pushing him back in the chair and so he asked you to spin round so that you were straddling him.

You straddle his lap leaning into him, so your head was laying in the crevice of his neck and shoulder and just listen to him stream. You always loved his voice it was so flaming to you.

Eventually you start to get a little needy. Whether it was because you hadn’t seen him in so long or it was the way you were straddling him. And you knew it was bad, so bad but you couldn’t help it when you shifted forward and heard a small little groan from him. It was a natural one that could have been put off a him getting annoyed with the game. So you tested it again.

And again and again, working yourself up.

He just smiles at you, watching your movement. And you wanted more of a reaction from him, you needed him and you wanted to feel closer to him. Skin to skin contact was something both you and Lando loved and right now there was too much in the way for that.

You continue going in at a better angle and he nearly moans but covers it with a cough, that was suspicious and before he can get away with it of course Ginge queries it, having been present to yours and Landos clinginess in person.

He explain that he just had something caught in his throat just as he died which everyone seems to believe. He mutes his mic, trying to look at you with a teasing look on his face.

“Be a good girl okay? If you want to be closer for it, go for it but no noise okay and you stay still until I say so” he says and you nod, a happy grin on your face.

You slip his cock out, pulling your own panties to the side before you sink down onto him, your thighs burning at first from holding you up at this angle but once you finally bottom out a sigh of relief comes from you.

Lando shifts only once to help himself get into a comfort position knowing he’s in this for the long run and that he’ll be like this for a while longer before he unmutes and goes back to talking to his friends and playing his game.

The feeling of his cock inside you, just sitting there makes you incredibly happy. You can’t even describe that close feeling you get. You and Lando actually loved to cockwarm. Whenever you were home watching a movie and cuddling his dick would just happen to slip inside you and stay there until the credits rolled. Or like now when he was streaming… it was just something so pleasurable and nice that didn’t require any effort at all.

You could feel every crevice and vein that was against your walls. Your head remained in the crevice of his neck while you stay sat still in his lap, breathing in and out slowly. Your breathing regulates and eventually you fall asleep on top of him.

As far as Cockwarming had gone you usually had some kind of entertainment and you weren’t this tired and so you never had actually fallen asleep with Lando where he was inside you. Moving every now and then when he got a kill and he celebrated, a hand coming onto your bum as he lurched forward with a cheer of glory.

In your soft slumber you can barley hear him having fun with his friends your just letting the day escape from your mind and being in the arms of your favourite person.

You wake up as a forceful jolt sends Landos dick up into you, hitting that soft spongey place you liked a groaned moan coming from you.

“Ah oop that the princess awake. I’m going to have to cut it here guys as I think it’s time for dinner” he says as he ends the stream, leaves discord and shuts of his PC all while you wake up.

“Wanna take this to the bedroom sweetheart?” He asks and you nod, wanting to feel him immediately.

And let’s just say, that night ended much better than you’d anticipated.

Taglist:

@littlebitchsposts @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @eiraethh @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount

[chrrymlks]

୨୧﹕ photoshoot .ᐟ oneshot

pairing ; nicholas chavez x fem!reader contains ; yearning , tension , professional environment a/n ; new white boy of the month! summary ; as a professional photographer, y/n deals with beautiful people all the time, models of all statuses and charm. however, photographing nicholas chavez was not as easy when you can get lost in his eyes.

HAVE YOU EVER looked into someone’s eyes and known what they were thinking? even at the slightest glance? well, y/n could tell as soon as nicholas chavez looked into her lens, the way his gaze softened, or his pupils dilating slightly as he looked her way. it was nothing like she’d seen before. yeah, there were models in the past that had tried to subtly show off in front of her, flexing their muscles and giving the camera a sort of ‘look of lust’ — which was always extremely obvious, anyways. but nick, well, he seemed in awe.

although he was the one all ‘prettied up’, laid on a bed in front of her, shirt unbuttoned, nicholas was the one admiring her. there was something he found so beautiful about her concentration for her passion: when her eyebrows furrow as she looks through the lens, or even when she praises — not only him, but herself — as they get a good shot.

well, he may think she’s concentrating. in reality, y/n is getting increasingly annoyed at her wandering mind. with every look at the camera, or when their gaze meets for a split second, it almost feels as though she’s melting. his dark brown eyes were like a universe in itself, it was easy to get lost in them, especially when he is looking at her so desperately. it seems as if he is almost yearning for her — ‘wow’ she thought ‘he must be a good actor’.

along with that look, the position nick is in does not help. he sits on the edge of the bed, manspread whilst he leans back on his elbows. although he looks so desperate, his body language gives him some sort of dominance, unintentionally giving y/n butterflies.

“you’re very beautiful” nicholas says unexpectedly, catching y/n off guard, but not in a way that would creep her out, it seemed genuine.

she lets out a slight giggle before responding, “thank you” she says, continuing to take pictures.

she got closer, in need of some close up shots, too, and nicholas cooperated. however, forgetting to look at the camera, he starts to examine her face, “no, really. you should be the one in front of the camera” he laughs.

“you’re kidding” she rolls her eyes playfully as she smiles at him.

nick smiles back before nodding towards her camera, “come on”

“absolutely not” she laughs, backing away with her camera, “i cannot trust you with this”

“come onnn” he repeats, dragging out the last word, playfully pleading.

the two look at each other for a few seconds. he gives her a knowing look before putting his hand out, waiting for her to give him the camera. y/n thinks for a bit before rolling her eyes once more and handing him the camera and sitting down on the bed, “this is so unprofessional”

“shh” he responds jokingly, “i’m in charge now”

y/n laughs before sitting herself down onto the bed, “tell me what to do then, photographer”

“first of all, jacket off” nicholas points, “second of all, pose how you want”

“yes, sir” she responds sarcastically, taking off her jacket and throwing it behind him, revealing the white sundress she has been wearing underneath. unsure of what pose to do, y/n kept sitting on the edge of the bed, legs crossed as she leaned back on her arms.

nick began taking photos in a very playful matter, screaming “yes!”, “wow!” enthusiastically with each shot. y/n laughs, causing him to take a few serious shots whilst she’s in the moment. nicholas stops for a second, looking through the photos he just took, with a look of awe on his face and a slight smile, before looking up at her once again.

he then sits down next to her, showing her one of the photos: she’s grinning from ear to ear, eyes shut as sun-rays from the windows hit the sheets behind her, “see, beautiful” he says.

y/n smiles before looking into his eyes once more, realising that they look even better this close, and slowly, without even realising, they close the gap between one another with a soft kiss.

[moon-my-beloved]

neighbors (tf141 x fem! reader)

part I: first impressions

tw: mentions of crappy parents, angst, and reader being absolutely terrible at socializing. that’s all babes - xoxo

you really weren’t sure why you were so.. anxious.

ever since encountering your (undeniably ethereal) neighbors arrive, you became a little more self-conscious when getting out of the house. that same day, you had carefully and quietly made your way towards auntie lotties house once you were in the clear that the men would not be coming outside any time soon.

“oh dear! what’s got you in such a hurry, luv?” auntie lottie had said in shock, letting you into the comfort of her home and ushering you to sit down while she got you a glass of water.

“i think I’ve just made a fool of myself,” you said in dejection, telling her of the shit show you just did upon meeting your neighbors. a hearty chuckle making itself known once the older woman came back with the glass of water she had promised.

“don’t be silly, they probably didn’t even see you! besides, you will eventually talk to them sooner or later.”

you didn’t even want to think about the possibility of bumping into them any time soon. what would you even say? ‘hey I’m your neighbor from across the street. sorry you caught me peeping at you all like some fucking creep.”

in hopes of just keeping your mind off of the men that have been haunting your thoughts, you asked auntie lottie if she had any new ideas for her next recipe in which you were grateful for when the woman spent most of your stay ranting about a new sponge cake recipe she had seen.

you spent most of your evening with auntie lottie and the sun had already set down by the time you bid your goodbyes to her. the crisp, fresh air blowing on your skin making you sigh in containment as you make your way back home. the sky was clear today, lifting your head up just enough to see how the stars twinkle against the night sky and how the moon cascaded a small glow over the land with how bright it looked. you don’t realize you’ve already arrived to your destination before another rush of cold air snaps you out of your haze.

living by yourself feels great, there’s no questioning that. but you can’t help at times feel that daunting feeling of loneliness claw its way to your mind and make your heart ache in wanting to at least come back home to someone. that desire to be wanted.

your family was a lost cause. practically forgetting all about you once you turned eighteen and went to college. no text messages or phone calls were ever heard from them throughout all those years. small christmas cards being sent here and there that read, “we hope you’re doing well. - mom and dad. friends? they were all living their own lives. building themselves an actual family with their soon-to-be husbands or wife’s. some of them already having kids of their own. you were too scared, too aware of yourself to taint them with any unwanted things. you were never good with people.

god you sound pathetic.

shaking your head a bit, you make your way up the small steps and take out your keys, daring to take a small glance at the house across from you. your eyes catch a small light coming from one of the windows, the silhouette of people walking by visible even though the curtain.

you wonder what they did for work. lottie hadn’t mentioned anything of what they do. from the looks of it, it’s definitely something that keeps them away from home for long periods of time.

your brainstorming is cut off short, eyes widening a bit when someone from the other side of the window suddenly stops in front of it. without a second to waste, you hurriedly make your way inside. your heart pounding out of your chest as you lean your back against the door.

fucking hell.

you had been avoiding them like the plague. successfully staying away from any unwanted attention even when you sometimes caught glimpses of chocolate eyes and mohawk taking their morning run while getting ready for work. ignoring the way your face burned up in shame.

or even at times when you would see skull face reading a book with mutton chops. tea on their sides as they enjoyed the sound of birds chirping and wind chimes bumping against each other with every gust of wind.

they all looked so.. content. and for some reason you just knew they were a family. one with each other with the way they maneuvered themselves with one another. so natural.

nevertheless, you were doing a great job… until you weren’t.

you had been getting off your shift when you decided it was a good idea to do a small grocery run. with the holidays coming and the weather becoming increasingly colder by the days, you needed to stock up before there was nothing left.

so here you were. a coat over your shoulders, still in your work clothes and heels digging into your feet uncomfortably. pushing a cart and checking off items from your list as you went.

stores were busy during this time of year. christmas songs were played through the speakers along with decorations filling every corner of the store. kids bustling around their parents in excitement with every toy they pointed out to.

by the time you were done checking off the last item from your list, you were exhausted.

“maybe a small treat would be nice..” you mutter to yourself, making your way to the snack aisle and barely making it past the corner before a scottish accent calls out your name.

you pause abruptly, turning your head to the sound as your eyes widened in utter shock when realization dawns at you.

two of your neighbors were standing there, just a few feet from you. mohawk giving you a wolfish grin while waving a teasing hand at you. the other man sending an apologetic smile your way for his friends behavior. god he was so much prettier up close.

“that’s ye right?” only being able to nod as his large body makes its way towards your direction. ocean eyes pinning you down in place with the way they roam around you, analyzing you. he wore a leather jacket, white shirt underneath that did nothing but enhance the way his chest stretched over the material. he wore a nice pair of jeans, topping of his outfit with a pair of black boots. he definitely had that bad-boy style look to him.

“way to make a lady feel comfortable mactavish. I’m sorry about him, luv. auntie lottie had mentioned us having a new neighbor and wanted to put a face to the name. I’m kyle, by the way, and this dog here is johnny.” the pretty man said, earning a small scoff from johnny, grumbling something about kyle not being any better than him. he wore a nice umber coat accompanied by a black turtleneck underneath. black slacks adoring his legs and a nice pair of chelsea boots. you would not even question if he was a model.

shit, you had been staring for too long, barely finding your voice before uttering something that sounded at least somewhat normal.

“I’m sorry for not introducing myself sooner, I don’t really get out much.” a nervous chuckle making its way past your lips as you try so hard to not make it so obvious of how you’ve been the one avoiding them this whole time.

“‘na need tae apologize bonnie. jus’ glad we caught ye jus’ in time. a’m sure tha’ other lads would love tae meet ye.” a mischievous twinkle in his eyes that can only be described as up-to-no-good with the way he’s staring at you.

“what he means is if you would like to come over some time, meet the rest of the team.” a charming smile plastered against his perfect lips that you don’t have it in your heart to say no. (not like you were going to in the first place)

you exchange numbers with johnny and kyle not missing the way their lingering gazes stay on you even after they leave.

sweet treat long forgotten.

a/n: we finally meet half of the boys RAAAA. i hope you guys like this chapter and if there’s anything that should be fixed like my god awful interpretation of scottish accent, please let me know! 😭 enjoy mis amores! <3