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darkmatilda · 3 months ago

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𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: your relationship is still very new, and you're getting ready to tell the rest of the team about it. in the meantime, you find yourselves again in another unusual hotel...where suddenly spencer starts acting very strangely?

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐰: glasses spencer reid x newbau!female!reader, fluff, intimacy conversation, spender being adorably shy

𝐚/𝐧: 'matilda how many more times are you gonna write that one bed trope' AS MUCH AS I CAN TILL I DIE btw i wrote this fic over a pretty long period of time, had a main idea (supposedly), but in the end i'm not happy with how it turned out—kinda all over the place. anyway, enjoy

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 4.8k

"My five dollars"

Spencer sighed and reached into his jacket pocket to pull out the slightly crumpled bill. You closed it in your hand, a triumphant smile on your face.

"Let's make bets more often, darling," you suggested.

When you used that nickname, his gaze briefly flickered over your face, as if studying whether it had been said purely in jest.

"You’re puffing up like you just invented the wheel," he said, gently shaking his head from side to side. "And just to remind you, all you did was park parallel."

"Parked parallel, indeed. And my coffee?"

He also handed you the paper cup he’d been holding while you performed those incredibly complicated car maneuvers that the bet was about. It was morning, the first day back at work. January, the first days of the new year. You had just arrived at the office parking lot in your car, after spending the night at your place. Everything around you still seemed to smell of that melancholic blend of the past mixed with the fresh scent of the coming months. And coffee, bought at the café on the way.

You took a tiny sip of the hot drink. Spencer, it seemed, hadn’t touched his even once. Both of you, consciously or not, were stretching out the moment just a little longer. And, truth be told, you could afford to. The parking lot around you was only beginning to fill with cars, suggesting the early hour. It was nice to sit there together, sharing the quiet without any discomfort.

You realized this was supposed to be your first day at work as a couple.

A warm, pleasant feeling spread through you at the sound of that word, even though you hadn’t said it out loud. It still felt a little unreal. You had grown closer during the New Year’s Eve party at your place. It was only after that shared—and not just one—kiss that a new perspective dawned on you about the past months of your relationship, revealing some undefined emotions.

"I was wondering..." Spender suddenly began, his brows furrowed slightly, pulling you out of your thoughts.

His gaze suddenly fell on his watch.

"We still have some time," you reassured him calmly. "Let me guess. You've been wondering what would happen if we crossed the DNA of a jellyfish that can reverse its life cycle with the human genome?"

A small smile flickered across his face, a touch of affection despite the rather serious expression on the rest of his face.

"That too," he admitted, nodding. Then he opened his mouth, with some visible hesitation, as if a particular question was troubling him. You shifted in the driver's seat, preparing for whatever he wanted to discuss, whatever he wanted to ask. "How...how are we supposed to act...you know, towards each other? At work?"

For a moment, your brain didn’t understand what he meant. But then, a fleeting oh escaped you as the meaning of his words sank in, and you realized that it was indeed something worth considering. Somehow, over the past few days, neither of you had brought it up. You had just gone back to work, without any reflection on the fact that none of your colleagues knew about the progress in your relationship. About how it had suddenly taken a step to a completely different level.

Spencer studied your face in silence, waiting for a response. As he looked at you, coming up with a logical solution became incredibly difficult. Before you finally said anything, you let out two half-intelligent mutters, like a fish thrown onto the surface.

"We have to tell them," you finally said, stating the obvious. "Somehow. Maybe...we can meet at my place this weekend. All of us. Or we could go out somewhere, and then tell them calmly."

"This weekend?" Spencer repeated cautiously.

It was Monday.

Suddenly, it became incredibly hard to read the expression on his face. He was facing you, his brows slightly furrowed, a look of uncertainty, almost withdrawal. The air inside your car thickened, making the silence even more palpable. He seemed almost concerned, downcast. You froze, wondering if you had really said something wrong.

"So until then," he started more quietly, "are we just supposed to hide it from them?"

“I'm not sure hide is the right word," you replied with a grimace. "I just...I meant, maybe we should wait. For a better moment, you know? Instead of walking into the office on the first Monday of the year, when half the people are still nursing hangovers, and saying hey, guess what? we hooked up!”

His expression hadn't changed, despite your pretty honest explanation.

"You don't like the idea," you stated, rather than asking. You made sure your voice sounded gentle, adjusting it to the situation. "I can see that, Spencer."

"Okay, you're right, I don't like it," he admitted with a sudden coolness, his lips tightening slightly between sentences. "Because...I don't get your reasoning. Or, maybe I just don’t know if this is really what you mean."

Slightly surprised, you shook your head.

"What else could I—"

"I don’t know if it's really about that, or maybe..." he cut off, looking into your eyes as if hoping you'd understand by now. But you didn't have the skill to read his mind, no matter how remarkable it was—it was also incredibly complex. "Or maybe...I don’t know, you just don’t take it seriously. That's why you don't want to tell anyone about it."

You gasped, finally understanding his behavior. Realizing the hidden concern.

"You’re worried I don't take us seriously?"

Spencer shrugged briefly.

"You know, if that's really the case, I'd rather know now..."

You leaned in to catch one of his hands, which had been clasped over his chest. You broke his defensive stance, pulling him toward you by his long fingers, simply holding it for a moment before speaking again. With a smile. A slightly amused smile.

"Of course, I take us seriously, you idiot," you snorted. A sense of relief washed over you. Earlier, he’d seemed genuinely worried, and you’d been expecting far worse things than the fact that your guy literally paled with anxiety over worrying you weren’t as invested in your fresh relationship as he was. Well, out of context, it sounded like a very serious concern. But the context was, you took it seriously, and you were incredibly happy he did too. "You know what? Maybe you're right. Why should we make idiots out of ourselves for the next week? Let’s just walk in like this."

You motioned toward your intertwined fingers, raising them as if they were a trophy earned through sweat and tears. Spencer followed their movement with his gaze, initially surprised, but then the corner of his mouth twitched, and he tilted his head with a quiet chuckle.

"We can do it your way," he said, taking control of your hands, clasping them with both of his. He looked relieved; your reassurance and the sincerity in your voice clearly calmed him. You smiled too, finally seeing that peace on his face. "I really don't mind waiting a few days. It might even be… interesting. One of us might not hold out and accidentally slip up."

You raised an eyebrow in a teasing manner.

"Another bet, Reid?" you clicked your tongue. You kept eye contact with him, feeling his thumb gently tracing circles on the back of your hand. He seemed so unaffected, as if he didn’t realize he was doing it. "You already lost five bucks about…ten minutes ago. At this rate, you'll be broke within a month, and we'll have to skip that overpriced coffee downtown. Now that would be a real horror story, speaking as a citizen of the first world."

"Didn't say anything about another bet!”

"Too late," you shot back, turning his hand and taking it in a more formal handshake. "Handshakes sealed the deal."

He rolled his eyes, but a half-smile lingered on his face. He still hadn’t let go of your hand.

"I think we should get going," he said reluctantly.

You sighed with the same enthusiasm. You really felt stuck to that seat, right next to him.

"You know, being late on the first day of the new year should be fully justified..."

"We really need to go."

He was right. But before either of you could move to get out of the car, he leaned forward. Gently cupping your cheek, he drew you in, his lips meeting yours in a soft, lingering kiss. You closed your eyes, feeling the warmth of his touch, and for a brief moment, the world outside seemed to vanish—just the two of you, in that quiet, perfect stillness.

His face suddenly turned to the side, noticing something through the windshield. You frowned and looked in the same direction.

"That's Gideon," you remarked out loud, even though both of you had already spotted the silhouette of your coworker stepping out of a car that had just parked a short distance ahead. He wasn’t looking your way yet, but he could at any moment. "Quick, hide!"

Okay, you were completely honest with yourself. It wasn’t about being afraid of getting caught. After all, there was nothing strange about two coworkers arriving at work together in the same car—it was even very eco-friendly. You just liked the idea of shoving Reid under the seat. And the poor thing, so thrown off by the mock authority in your voice and the situation itself, did it without a second thought.

When Gideon finally noticed you, you cheerfully waved at him.

"Fuck," you muttered suddenly.

"What is it?" Spencer returned to his seat, adjusting his glasses on his nose. "Do you think he saw me?"

You shook your head.

"I just realized…this is your car."

"Okay, draw a straw."

"Morgan, how old are you?" You shook your head in disbelief, staring at the man standing across from you in the motel lobby. The place where you were spending the night this time was very tidy, with subdued colors, but, as tradition demanded, there had to be some sort of problem. You had one room for two, but one of them only had a double bed. So, you had to decide which two lucky people would share it. "Five?"

"And a half. Listen, we have to decide somehow. Let fate do it. The two who pull the shortest will sleep together. Simple as that."

Before you could say anything else, Garcia approached, weighed down by her bags. Yes, her—rarely did any case require her to be on-site, but it wasn’t completely unheard of.

"Oh, come on, Sweetie," she muttered to you, setting her luggage down and hunching slightly to catch her breath. "Let him feel like a kid again for a moment. He doesn’t get the chance often."

You sighed in resignation, but before you could pull one of the purple straws (how did he even get them?) that Morgan was holding in such a way that their lengths were hidden, you glanced around briefly. Sometimes you arrived at hotels at different times, some getting there faster, others later. Spencer and JJ had just walked in, both wearing coats to shield them from the cold January air. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him and his fogged-up glasses, which he quietly cursed under his breath—judging by the movement of his lips. However, you quickly composed yourself, returning to a neutral expression. It had only been two days since your agreement to keep the details of your relationship hidden, and so far, neither of you had slipped or forgotten to keep quiet around the others. Well, out of the two of you, you were probably struggling with it more—being a bit of a clinger, sometimes even your body would naturally gravitate towards his when standing next to him.

“Why are you standing here?” Spencer asked, approaching you. “Is there a problem with the rooms?”

“Is there ever not a problem with the rooms?” you responded, laughing. “Some poor souls are going to have to share a bed,” you explained, making brief eye contact with him. You were sure only he could catch the emphasis you placed on poor souls.

Of course, you wouldn't mind ending up in the same room. It wasn't about the fact that you were together—before, you’d shared rooms and even beds, and you were used to it by now. You would've probably offered it yourself, if it weren’t for the potential suspicion and that silly bet, which was starting to lose its point in your eyes. Maybe you should’ve just told them a few days ago?

“Oh,” he said shortly, crossing his arms with a bit of stiffness. His brown bag hung from his shoulder. He held your gaze for a moment, but his expression wasn’t as amused as yours. His brows furrowed slightly as he cleared his throat. “Poor them. Who’s it going to be?”

You slightly puffed out your lips slightly, watching him with a sharp look. What was it that made him so uneasy—the fact that you might not be in the same room this time?

“We were just about to decide,” Penelope replied, glancing at her friend with a teasing smile. “Morgan’s going to show us a game he learned today in kindergarten."

JJ couldn't help but snort.

“Just draw a straw…!”

You couldn’t recall another moment when all of you, every single one, rolled your eyes in perfect unison. But that’s exactly what happened when Derek once again enthusiastically explained the rules, as though they weren’t already ridiculously simple. In the end, each of you reached for one of the straws he was holding.

JJ went first. She pulled hers quickly, and it was of regular length, so it was immediately clear she wasn’t one of the poor souls. She raised her hand in a mock display of triumph, earning a few amused chuckles from the group.

Your turn came next. You approached the task with a certain gravity, as though the fate of the night depended entirely on the straw you chose. You studied each one carefully, as if their lengths could somehow be deciphered from the way they were arranged.

You wouldn’t have minded drawing the shortest straw. But only on one condition.

Morgan looked at you with mock sympathy. Your straw wasn’t even half as long as JJ’s, which seemed to settle things. Now, it was just a matter of figuring out which of the remaining two—Reid or Garcia—would end up joining you.

Spencer reached out with a calculated, deliberate motion, his eyes immediately darting to yours when his straw turned out to be...one of the longer ones.

You shot him a look of bitter disappointment before your gaze shifted to your soon-to-be roommate. Penelope didn’t seem disheartened—on the contrary, an enthusiastic smile lit up her face. She opened her mouth to say something, but you caught the fleeting shift in her expression and the subtle flicker of her eyes.

“Oh no,” she suddenly gasped, her voice filled with exaggerated horror, even though she’d just seemed perfectly content, or at least not displeased, at the idea of sharing a room with you. “No, absolutely not. There’s no way I’m sleeping in the same room with her. Do you guys even know how loud she snores?”

Lies! You wanted to yell, but stopped yourself as realization dawned. Garcia was a good actress—you had to give her that—but her flair for dramatics always bordered on overkill, making it far too easy to catch her in a lie.

“I’m not used to traveling as often as you guys are,” Penelope continued in the same over-the-top tone. “I barely get a wink of sleep in a new place when it’s quiet, let alone with someone next to me snoring like a steam engine…”

“Love you too, Pen,” you muttered dryly.

“Someone has to switch with me, please,” she concluded, clasping her fingers together in a dramatic plea and pulling off the best puppy-dog eyes you’d seen in a long time. Well, at least since the time Reid had tried to coax you into reciting one of your old, cringe-worthy high school poems—the existence of which you’d only ever confessed to him.

“JJ?” Penelope turned her hopeful gaze toward her.

“Not a chance. My straw was the longest,” JJ replied, smug and immovable.

“Don’t even think about asking me,” Morgan chimed in before anyone could so much as glance in his direction.

And so, all eyes inevitably fell on Reid.

He awkwardly scratched the back of his ear, not looking directly at you.

“Well, I always carry earplugs with me…”

“Then it’s settled!” Garcia declared, hoisting her luggage with sudden determination. One of her heavy bags was thrust into Morgan’s arms so abruptly that he staggered backward under its weight. “Sweet dreams, everyone! Don’t let the bedbugs bite, and may the sheep you count tonight be extra fluffy and adorable. Goodnight!”

Just before she fully turned to leave, she sent you a quick, knowing wink.

You shook your head in disbelief, but the faintest smile danced on your lips. You didn’t even bother questioning how she knew. Only one conclusion circled your mind. Penelope could be really impossible. Thankfully, being impossible didn’t disqualify her from also being the best friend under this vast, sprawling sky. Period.

"What do you think about starting a tier list for all the hotels we stay in?” you remarked as both of you crossed the threshold of the room. Your eyes immediately landed on its unexpected feature. “Or at least the weirdest ones. Like the one with walls the color of cat pee where the power went out in the middle of the night. That one’s definitely at the top..."

"I don’t really get the point of a mirror on the ceiling," Reid said after a pause, looking over his shoulder at you. He was standing a few steps away, near the bed in the glaring white room with birchwood floors. "Who wants to look at themselves while trying to fall asleep?”

You raised an eyebrow, unsure if he was joking or not. He raised an eyebrow too, not understanding why you did that. Okay, he wasn’t joking.

"You know, the main point isn’t really to look at yourself while falling asleep," you explained, with a bit of amused pity. Your gaze also briefly lingered on the glass surface above the bed, designed to reflect the bodies of people lying in bed. You thought it was a surprising addition but weren’t planning on spending too much time on it for now. You just wanted to get your shoes off—shoes you’d been wearing since sunrise—and finally lie down on something soft. "By the way, I’m taking a shower first."

Spencer only muttered something under his breath in response. Before disappearing behind the bathroom door, you cast one last glance at him. He seemed quiet—strangely quiet. Not that you were expecting his usual chatter after a long day of work; it could weigh on anyone and leave them feeling subdued. Maybe he just needed an extra moment to unwind, and that’s where his restraint came from.

Anyway, you took a quick shower. The pressure of the hot water nearly scalded your skin, which meant you’d be spared the bitter complaints, grumbling, and dramatic resignation threats from Morgan the next day. You felt too tired to linger under the stream for long. After a few minutes, you stepped out of the shower, changed into your sleepwear, and gathered the clothes you’d worn all day from the floor.

You and Spencer passed each other in the doorway without a word.

Glancing back over your shoulder, you frowned. The bathroom door shut behind him, and some concerned question froze on your lips. For a moment, you stood still, debating whether you should ask it. But then the sound of running water reached your ears, and you figured he probably wouldn’t hear you anyway.

Instead, you decided to climb into bed, wait for him, and ask about it then. Whatever it was clearly weighed on him, and the fact that something was bothering him bothered you. Funny how that worked, right?

You spent that moment lying on your back, eyes wide open, afraid you might accidentally fall asleep if you closed them. A comfortable bed during a case—it felt like pure luxury. You were waiting for Spencer to finally emerge from the bathroom so you could curl up next to him, fall asleep to the fresh post-shower scent of him, and the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.

Just like you had spent half the day after the New Year’s party at your place—wrapped around each other, arguing over who would get up to make coffee and whether you should start cleaning up the mess from the night before.

You tucked your arm beneath your head, gazing at your fully-covered form reflected in the ceiling mirror.

“Did you find a portal to another galaxy in there or what?” you finally called out, impatient. He’d been in there way too long. And coming from you—a known lover of long, indulgent baths—that was saying something.

“Sorry,” he murmured as he finally emerged from the bathroom, wearing a gray t-shirt instead of his usual neat work attire and tie perfectly knotted at his neck. He still had his glasses on, which he might’ve forgotten to remove, judging by the way he slid into bed to your left without taking them off.

You watched him closely, rubbing at your tired eye. The shower had managed to wash away about half of the tension from Spencer’s face, but the other half stubbornly remained.

“You didn’t have to wait for me,” he said softly.

“I didn’t have to,” you admitted simply, watching as he carefully adjusted himself, finding the right position. The lamp on his side of the bed cast a warm glow over his skin. You were both half-sitting, you comfortably propped up against the soft pillows, and him barely leaning back against them. “But I wanted to. We really lucked out with this room, huh? Penelope is one of a kind.”

"Did you tell her about us?"

"I didn’t say a word. She's just more observant than the rest”

He nodded, agreeing with you. You thought he might say something else about it, maybe make a joke about the bet, but he didn’t. You yawned.

"You seem tired.”

“How did you figure that out, Sherlock?” you asked, your sarcasm light, without a hint of malice. “You too, by the way. Although, it’s not just that you seem tired—you are tired, at first glance. Or maybe something’s bothering you. Or maybe both. Am I right?”

He shrugged slowly.

“No, as far as I know.”

“Oh, come on,” you muttered, rolling your eyes. You pulled your knees closer to your chest, shifting into a full sitting position with slightly bent legs. You leaned forward just enough to gently take his glasses off and fold them, your fingers brushing briefly against his cheek. He didn’t look at what you were doing, his gaze fixed on your face under the soft fall of his lashes. The wonderful color of his eyes, the slight hesitation in your movements as you moved a little closer to kiss him—a fleeting, tender press of lips.

“Something’s going on, and you can tell me about it.”

“Or we could just go to sleep,” he suggested quietly. “It’s been a long day. You must be tired, I mean, you yawned a little while ago.”

You tilted your head, studying him thoughtfully. Was he really trying this hard to dodge the topic? How could you get him to open up?

“I know blackmail isn’t exactly healthy for relationships,” you started finally, turning his glasses over in your hands, “but I’m not giving these back until you tell me.”

Both corners of his mouth twitched at once.

“Oh no, what am I going to do now?” he replied with feigned concern, gently shaking his head. Then he lowered his voice. “This is exactly what I’d say if I didn’t also have contacts with me.”

"Sometimes I just want to…ugh."

"Violence isn't too healthy for relationships either."

"Just like not opening up. Remember what we talked about a few days ago in the car? You were worried I don't take you seriously. How else am I supposed to prove I'm serious if I don’t ask what’s wrong when I can tell something’s off?"

Your explanation sounded a bit jumbled, but he had to get the general idea. The reference to that specific conversation and his own words seemed to hit a sensitive spot.

"I didn’t want you to feel like you have to prove anything to me," he quickly corrected, swallowing hard. His chest fell, and the sigh felt like surrender. "I'm sorry. I just don't want you to worry about it. It's nothing serious. I’m just tired...and a little stressed."

"Stressed?" you repeated, surprised. "You're stressed? But about what?"

He hesitated for a moment.

"Just... about this," he said vaguely, his gaze shifting from you to your reflection in the glass ceiling. "Us, I mean."

"What do you mean?" you asked quietly, still confused, gently shaking your head. "We've shared rooms before, so if it’s about that, I really don’t get it."

"Yeah, but never like this. In a room with a king-sized bed and a huge mirror right above us," he explained, his voice tinged with embarrassment, clearly wishing he could just stop talking. "Okay, I know this sounds dumb, I know it does, but I don’t know why it’s messing with my head like this. I just...I kinda thought maybe you'd want to..."

"Spencer," you interrupted, saving him from going any further. You saw a flicker of relief in his eyes. You weren’t sure what emotion was bubbling up inside you now—whether it was still confusion or just pure amusement. "You were worried I’d want to have sex with you?”

You didn’t even need to wait for his answer to know you’d hit the nail on the head. Considering how your relationship had grown out of friendship, slowly evolving over time and shared experiences instead of a sudden burst of passion, you weren’t surprised you hadn’t yet taken that step together. It was something special in its own way—there had never been any pressure, and you hadn’t expected that he might feel the exact opposite.

So when you finally figured out what had been bothering him all this time, you couldn’t help but laugh, the sound light and genuine.

"You were right, you know. It does sound kind of dumb," you said, unable to keep the smile from your face. His expression remained unreadable, his posture betraying a hint of anticipation as he waited for the rest of your reaction. "But also…I don’t know, kind of adorable? But seriously, Spencer, we don’t have to do anything if you’re not ready."

"It’s not that I don’t want to at all," he clarified quickly, almost too firmly. "I mean...it’d be our first time. Together. That’s what I mean. And I guess I just didn’t expect it to...happen tonight, here, of all places."

"I didn’t either," you admitted truthfully, the smile still lingering on your face. Unlike him, you didn’t feel even a hint of embarrassment. "I figured we’d just go to sleep, especially since we both already admitted we’re exhausted."

"Fair point," he mumbled.

"Honestly, this has to be the biggest example of overthinking I’ve ever seen anyone put themselves through, Spencer," you teased lightly, shaking your head.

For a moment, he stayed silent, but it felt like he was letting out a breath he’d been holding.

“You’re gonna have to get used to that,” he admitted finally, his voice soft. But then, you caught the faint glimmer of a smile tugging at his lips.

He even started to laugh, a quiet chuckle filled with a sort of amused self-awareness. Meanwhile, you leaned out of the bed to place his glasses on the nightstand on your side. If he wanted them in the morning, he’d have no choice but to reach right over you.

“But just for the record,” he began after a moment, as you reached for the edge of the blanket that had slipped off you earlier, pulling it back up to wrap around yourself. Your head was only inches from the pillow now. You gave him a questioning nod. He, too, was getting ready to lie down, finally looking genuinely relaxed. “How pathetic do you think that was, on a scale from one to ten?”

You just rolled your eyes, not even dignifying the question with an answer.

“In the interest of science,” he pressed, “one to ten?”

“Pathetic enough that you’ll need to redeem yourself a little in my eyes,” you sighed dramatically. “Go on, I’m waiting for your ideas.”

“I think I might have a few,” he replied with a soft chuckle.

You prolonged the kiss, savoring the deep sense of comfort it brought you. The two of you lay face to face, and you gently brushed a few still-damp strands of hair from Spencer's forehead, though they stubbornly fell back into place. Eventually, you gave up with a soft sigh against his lips. Spencer kept his eyes closed, lost in a quiet bliss, even as you pulled back just slightly, leaving only an inch of space between you.

"Can I turn off the light now?" you asked, as always. The question had become a tradition since you'd learned about his complicated relationship with darkness.

He hummed in agreement, nodding faintly. Leaning over him, you reached for the bedside lamp on his side. The room was instantly bathed in darkness, your reflections in the mirror above fading into obscurity.

You didn’t fully return to your original spot. Instead, you shifted closer, resting your head comfortably against his chest. The hotel pillows were unbelievably plush, you had to admit, but that night, you chose this over anything else.

"You’re not asleep," he noted gently after about fifteen minutes. He cleared his throat. "During sleep, a person’s breathing becomes slower and more regular. You know, if you’re uncomfortable here, you don’t have to…"

"I’m listening to your heartbeat," it slipped out of you. Though it was true, you hadn’t planned on admitting it out loud. "Nothing sinister, just to be clear. I’m not planning to rip it out of your chest or anything like that. It just works for me."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Like those videos that imitate the sound of a crackling fireplace. Pretty calming."

"My heartbeat reminds you of the sound of a fireplace?" he said, a glint of confusion in his softly hoarse voice.

You sighed, in the darkness, he couldn’t see the faint smile painting itself on your face, pressed against his chest.

"Sweet dreams, silly."

tag list: @she-wont-miss @mggslover @nyeddleblog @dylanobrienswife0420 @wmoony

@heddgie @khxna @marauder-exe-old @yujyujj @charleyreid @kitty-kai @sp3ncelle @pleasantwitchgarden @beesin03 @misserabella @re1dsb1xch @trulymadlydarling @cynbx @penelopegarciaismygf @awordsmith

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid fanfic #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spence reid

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daechwitatamic · 6 days ago

Text

You Think You Might - Chapter 1 || csc

(banner by @itaeewon)

You Think You Might (masterpost) Seungcheol x fem!reader angst smut fluff fake dating!au, kind of sort of exes to lovers? Fake exes to lovers? I guess?

NSFW - minors DNI

Summary: Seungcheol agrees to be your fake boyfriend at your sister’s destination wedding, under the condition that it “stays there”. You didn’t expect it to hurt when he holds you to that promise.

WC: 54k total, this chapter 8.5k

Warnings: angst, reader working through some Stuff, language, drinking, Soonyoung is reader’s biological little brother, family drama, kissing, scoups and his ex are mutually toxic when together but neither is villainized, full warning list on the masterpost A/N: thank you to @sailorsoons and @eoieopda for beta-ing, and @kkaetnipjeon for naming almost every background character and teaching me about the Levels of Noona.

May

“Noona? Hello? Are you in there?”

It takes you a second to realize that your little brother Soonyoung is calling you, not snapping out of your reverie until he nudges your knee with his socked foot.

“Huh?” You focus back on the room around you - Soonyoung’s living room, cast in blues from the LEDs along the ceiling’s perimeter and the television, which is currently flashing brightly as his friends Seungcheol and Wonwoo work the controllers in their hands furiously over on the couch. “Sorry, what?”

Soonyoung gives you a little frown. “Chan asked if you want a beer.”

In the kitchen, Chan - Soonyoung’s roommate who is essentially a second little brother to you - waits for your answer, the refrigerator door held ajar.

“Oh. Sure,” you say belatedly. “Thanks.”

Soonyoung’s frown deepens. “You’re being weird today,” he accuses.

“Sorry,” you say immediately, taking a deep drink from the cold beer Chan placed into your hand on his way back to where he’d been sitting. Both Seungcheol and Wonwoo complain loudly - “Yah! Get out of the way!” - as he passes between them and the television screen.

Soonyoung watches your face carefully for a minute, and the scrutiny makes you itch.

“I’m fine,” you insist. “Stop looking at me like that.”

His eyes narrow knowingly. “Is this because of keun-noona?”

He’s got you. Your mind wanders back to the reason you’re so distracted tonight: a thick, silky-feeling, navy blue envelope with silver embossed lettering.

An invitation to your older sister Nayoung’s wedding.

You haven’t seen Nayoung in person in years, nor have the two of you held a conversation of any length since you were a child. A good deal older than you and Soonyoung, she’d moved out for college when you were nine and never looked back.

Part of you doesn’t blame her.

Part of you resents her for getting away before things got bad.

Most of you hates her for including you in the things she chose to leave behind.

You hadn’t opened the invitation, just left it on top of the pile of bills and advertisements, a problem for future you.

“Yes,” you admit. You’re aware of Soonyoung’s friends in the room, but Seungcheol and Wonwoo are deep in their video game and probably not listening.

Chan is, though.

“Are you talking about the fancy wedding?” he asks, perking up.

You roll your eyes. “You got your invite too?” you guess.

The question is for Soonyoung, but Chan answers instead; you’re used to this.

“Yes!” he whines. “I want to go! Did you know she’s paying for the whole family and their dates to stay at the resort? You only have to buy your plane tickets!”

And the dress, and the shoes, and the accessories, and the food, and the drinks, and…

You keep your mouth shut, keep your negativity to yourself. The deal is generous - you’re just salty. “I did know,” you admit. But not because you’d opened the invitation - because your mom had been bragging about it on the phone for weeks now, ever since Nayoung told her the plan.

On the coffee table, a rattling vibration startles everyone, and Seungcheol leans forward to pick up his phone. His expression darkens and he mutters, “Be back in a sec,” before disappearing through the sliding glass door onto Soonyoung and Chan’s tiny balcony, the door sliding closed behind him.

You all exchange looks - you’ve seen this routine for years. Jieun. His on-again-off-again ex, the gift that has kept on giving for years now. You’d all gone to university together, and this was nothing but par-for-the-course.

Chan clears his throat. “Noona, you’re not excited for it? The resort looks really nice.”

You drink more of your beer, suddenly very aware of everyone’s eyes on you. You’ve become the center of attention at guys’ night, and you don’t like it.

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” you say quietly, lowering your gaze to the carpet beneath you.

Chan opens his mouth like he’s going to push the issue, but Soonyoung interrupts.

“Okay,” he says easily. “Hey, did anyone hear about the comet that’s coming?”

“Oh yeah,” Wonwoo says, snapping his fingers once as he leans forward to join the conversation, since he’d paused the game when Seungcheol stepped out. “I heard about it at work today. They said it’s a once-in-a-lifetime event.”

You send your brother a grateful smile, thankful that he changed the subject for you. Soonyoung is a good kid.

He’s only a year younger than you, but it’s always felt like more. He’s always been your baby brother, yours to protect from everything until he got big enough to fend for himself. Even though he’s taller than you, and weirdly muscular now, it’s hard not to see him as the little boy you’d drag under your bed with you when your parents’ fighting led to door-slamming and plate-breaking.

It was you dragging him away from the noise and the anger, always you - never Nayoung. You held this truth like a bitter little treasure in your greedy hands: you’re the sister who was there with him, you’re the sister who held his hand through it. Where was Nayoung during those fire-fed years? Long gone - off living her new life, away from it all. Away from you. Away from you both.

And now you’re supposed to fly across the fucking ocean to watch her - this sister you text happy birthday once a year to fill your annual communication quota - marry some guy you’ve never even met?

You only know the wedding is across the ocean because it’s all your mother has talked about for the last week: Nayoung’s destination wedding at the beach, and how generous it is of her and her rich fiancé to pay for her family’s stay at the resort, and how beautiful her gown is, and -

Your sullen tirade is interrupted when the sliding glass door opens again, and Seungcheol slinks through, taking his place on the couch and picking up his discarded controller like he’d never even left.

The guys just stare at him, waiting. It takes a minute for him to realize everyone is frozen around him.

“What?” he demands, though there’s not much bite to it. When everyone just stares back at him, he deflates with a sigh. “What?” he repeats, but it’s much more resigned this time.

“You heading out?” It’s Chan who asks this, and so delicately that you’re surprised. Chan isn’t usually the one who handles the delicate conversations. Then again, you’ve always thought Seungcheol had a particularly soft spot for his younger friend.

“In a little bit,” Seungcheol admits, and you can feel the tension in the room, thick and uncomfortable.

“We were talking about the comet,” you pipe up, hoping to diffuse it. “Did you hear about it?”

His eyes flash to you, grateful. Soonyoung had gotten the attention off you minutes ago - you might as well pay it forward.

“Yeah,” he says, as Wonwoo restarts the game they’d paused. “You think we’ll be able to see it from here?”

Soonyoung hums like he’s considering this. “I’m sure we can see it,” he finally says. “But I wouldn’t argue that the view would be better from the countryside.”

“We should rent a place,” you say, though you know it’s a fantasy that won’t come true - Soonyoung’s group of friends (yours, by proxy) have such different schedules and financial situations and travel preferences that they’d never once made any kind of friendcation work out. But it’s nice to imagine getting out of the city together to somewhere slower and quieter, laying out in the grass with the people you’re closest to and watching something that you don’t fully understand pass your little planet by.

“The good places probably booked up weeks ago,” Wonwoo says, not taking his eyes off the tv screen. “Everyone’s gonna have the same idea.”

“True,” you sigh. “Well… it was a fun thought.”

Seungcheol’s phone buzzes on the table again, and he visibly rolls his eyes, jaw tightening. This time he steps out into the hallway instead of the balcony. You can hear his voice, loud and angry, but you can’t make out exactly what’s being said. You don’t need to - this is old news. The only time things are actually calm for Seungcheol are the weeks or months where he and Jieun aren’t speaking. Once they’re speaking, whether they’re actually back together or just fighting again, it’s always like this.

“This is probably it for the night,” Wonwoo says, a little glumly, tilting his chin at the wall that Seungcheol’s phone call is hidden behind. He closes the game they’d been playing and starts looking around to gather his things. “Thanks for the beers.”

“Yeah,” Soonyoung says easily. He fist-bumps Wonwoo goodbye on his way out. As the door opens you can hear Seungcheol’s voice, loud again, and then it’s gone as the door clicks shut.

You and your brother and Chan look at each other in silence for a second. Then, Chan gives a little sigh and starts picking up discarded beer cans from the table, heading past you into the kitchen.

“Hyung, I’m going to use the shower, okay?” he asks, as he disappears into the kitchen.

“No problem,” Soonyoung says, and waits for Chan to disappear down the narrow hallway before turning back to you. “Did you open it? The invitation?”

“No,” you mutter. “I’m pretending that if I don’t open it, I don’t have to go.”

“You don’t have to go,” Soonyoung says easily, like this is actually true. For him, it could be true. He could get away with not attending. After all, he was only eight when Nayoung moved out; he has even less of a relationship with her than you do.

“I wish that were true,” you grouse. You flop backwards, resuming the position you’d abandoned earlier - starfished on his living-room floor, staring at the ceiling fan. “Mom would never forgive me if I didn’t go.”

Soonyoung watches you, a tiny frown on his face. “Will it really be that bad?” he asks, and you know that he wants to understand but genuinely doesn’t. “At the end of the day, it’s a free stay at a beach resort.”

“It’s different for me,” you explain, not for the first time. “You just get to show up and be the cute baby brother and drink and dance and relax and go home again!”

“And you have to build a village with your bare hands?” He raises an eyebrow.

You toss your empty beer can at his knee, but miss. It skids next to the couch and you both leave it there.

“There’s a lot more pressure on me,” you insist. “Mom doesn’t use you as her emotional crutch the way she does to me. With her and Dad both there… she’s gonna be on her worst behavior, and I’m going to be the one responsible for cleaning it up.”

Your brother grimaces. “I’ll try to help,” he offers. “I can try to keep Dad on the other side.”

You purse your lips to display your doubt that this will be enough - but it’s nice of him to try, so you don’t say anything contrary. Instead, you add, “Plus all the distant family - people ask you about college, and your dance crew, and what you want to do next. They ask me why I’m not married with two kids. Like something’s wrong with me.”

Soonyoung winces. He knows it’s true.

You heave a frustrated growl, getting yourself worked up as you imagine the days of family events leading up to the wedding. “When I show up dateless…” You trail off. You don’t even have a good description for how all the aunties and cousins will treat you. You wish you could just be invisible - there in spirit, but immune to the looks and backhanded compliments.

There’s also a sick, tiny part of you that wants to show up Nayoung - look, I turned out great. Look, it doesn’t matter that you left us, I have everything I want. Look, I did just fine without you, look how good I’m doing.

Soonyoung shrugs. “Bring a date, then. Bring Chan!” He snaps his fingers like he’s just solved every problem.

You give him a look. “That’s worse. Can he even drink legally?”

Chan’s voice, muffled, floats down the hallway, shouting something defensive.

“Okay, not Chan then.” Soonyoung is eternally unbothered. “But, seriously - bring someone! They’ll be a lot more chill if you’re there with a boyfriend.”

You hadn’t heard Soonyoung’s door open again, but suddenly Seungcheol is flopping back onto his spot on the couch, his expression dark. You feel yourself flush immediately, embarrassed that he may have heard any of this conversation, and you try to shoot Soonyoung a warning look to drop it.

Unfortunately, the damage is done.

“Boyfriend?” Seungcheol repeats, and you wish the floor would swallow you whole.

You cover your face with your hands as Soonyoung fills him in. “I’m trying to talk noona into taking a date to Nayoung’s wedding.”

Seungcheol looks at you with a small frown; you peek back at him between your fingers.

“You can’t go alone?” he asks. “It’s 2025. Strong, independent women and everything?”

You sigh, uncover your face, and sit back up. This conversation is clearly happening.

“My family are vultures,” you try to explain.

He raises an eyebrow at you, perplexed. From down the hall, something buzzes, loud and demanding. Next to you, Soonyoung pushes himself to standing.

“That’s the laundry,” he says apologetically. “You guys good for a few if I go -?”

“Of course,” you say easily. “Can’t let everything get all wrinkly.”

“You get it,” he says sagely, and vanishes down the hallway, past the kitchen. For a minute, there’s no noise in the apartment except the faint sounds of Chan singing in the shower.

Then, Seungcheol says, “So. Vultures?”

You flush again. “We don’t need to talk about it,” you say. “You’ve got your own shit going on. I can handle my problems.”

He shrugs. “I don’t mind. I’d rather hear about your problems than think about my own right now, actually.” He chuckles dryly at this.

You chew on your bottom lip for a second, unsure.

“What harm can it do?” he asks. “Worst case scenario, you’ll feel better for getting it off your chest. Best case scenario, maybe I’ll have some advice.”

You consider this. It’s vulnerable, letting him peek into your family dynamic, showcasing the parts that hurt you, pointing out the bruises.

“I don’t really know where to start,” you admit. “It’s… there’s some context.”

"So," he says, "start at the beginning."

You take a deep breath. And then you do as he says.

You tell him how Nayoung left when you were nine and Soonyoung eight. How, after, she'd become a once-a-year figure in your life, as elusive as Santa Claus. You tell him about your parents' ugly divorce when you were eleven, the years of broken porcelain and promises that preceded it.

You tell him the truth: that your extended family blames your mother for the split, and (whether it’s true or not) they see your singlehood as evidence that you're just as fundamentally fucked up as she is.

Your voice chokes a little when you say it, and you realize this is something you’ve never articulated to someone else before. But you’re alone in Soonyoung’s familiar living room, and Seungcheol’s gaze on you is serious and careful. It just feels… okay to let this thought out.

"Soonyoung said that if I could get someone to agree to..." You struggle with what word you want. "…to pretend with me, he'd help uphold the lie. Just to, like, make this slightly less shitty for me."

Seungcheol doesn't speak for so long that you get self-conscious. You worry at your bottom lip with your teeth and then murmur, “Sorry. Was that… too much?”

He shakes his head. "I'm just thinking," he explains. Then, he taps his fingertips on his unlit phone screen. “Want me to do it?”

You almost choke on your own spit. “You to - what? To be my pretend boyfriend?”

“Yeah,” he says, lips downturned as he seems to turn this possibility over in his mind. “I mean, you can say no. I’m not trying to be presumptuous. I’m just saying… if you need a friend to help you out, I could.”

You let out a disbelieving little laugh. “Why would you do that? Why - for me?”

His eyes find his phone, as if this is an answer. And, in a way, it is. Jieun. What would this be, for him? Just an escape, a distraction? A way to make her jealous? All of the above?

“We’re friends,” he says, even though before tonight you’re not sure you would have called him your friend - you would have called him Soonyoung’s friend. “You need someone to help you. I think I could handle it.”

You lapse into silence, looking at each other, both thinking.

“I don’t know, Seungcheol,” you say finally. “I really appreciate the offer, but it feels like a big ask. We’d have to like… really fake it. Like, pull out all the stops, not make it weird when we have to act all in love or whatever. I’m not sure I feel comfortable asking that of you.”

He’s looking at you, but the corner of his mouth ticks up, like he’s amused.

"If you think about it,” he says, “It’s actually a pretty good deal. All I have to do is pretend we're in a relationship and pay for my airfare?"

"You probably need a tux," you add quietly.

Seungcheol taps on his mouth as he thinks. “Honestly,” he says slowly, “the idea of four days at a beach resort is really appealing right now.”

“I feel like there’s a but coming.”

Seungcheol smiles, something sheepish about it, like he didn’t mean to let it slip, his dimples peeking at you as he glances sideways as he appears to cross a street.

“But," he says playfully, “I mean, I’m assuming you want to be convincing… I’m figuring it’ll be more than sitting next to you and holding hands sometimes. Right?”

“Yeah,” you admit, thinking about this. “We’d probably have to… kiss and stuff.” You feel like your face is on fire. You clear your throat and then add, “Is that going to make things weird with us? Or with you and Soonyoung? I don’t want to…” Mess everything up.

“I’m not worried about that,” he admits. There’s something in his tone that you latch onto.

“What are you worried about?” you ask, eyes narrowed.

He nods, looking at his hands instead of at you for a minute. “When we come home, it’s back to normal, right?”

The question takes you aback. “I mean, yeah,” you say uneasily. “That’s the whole point. It’s pretend, just for a few days.”

“It’s just,” he huffs, pulling the black beanie off his head and ruffling his hair so that it falls to frame his face before pulling back on, “it’s important to me that we agree ahead of time - all that stuff stays there. It stays pretend.”

This makes you frown. “I think I’m offended,” you say seriously. “What, are you scared I’m going to fall in love with you, Seungcheol? Please. I’ve heard you fart, right here in my brother’s living room.”

He drops his phone and goes scrambling for it, and behind you Soonyoung re-enters the room with a basket full of laundry. He plops it down in front of the chair he’d been in earlier and starts folding. Out of habit, you reach over and grab a few items to help.

“If any of this is Chan’s,” you say seriously, “I don’t want to know.” Out of the corner of your eye, you watch as Seungcheol straightens back up, phone back in his hand, his face somehow both mortified and outraged.

You think about his offer. Could it work? Doesn’t this always, always go wrong? Doesn’t it always start with “don’t fall in love with me” and end with someone crying? Even if that didn’t happen - could you fake being lovey with Seungcheol?

Could you hold his hand, kiss him in front of your family, call him oppa and make googly eyes across a table? Could you ever go back to normal after that, or would you want to go up in embarrassed flames forever, every time you saw him again?

Probably. Right?

You regard him calmly with one eyebrow raised. “It stays there,” you tell him. “It’s only four days. We should be okay.”

Soonyoung looks back and forth between you, something knowing dawning on his face.

“Alright,” Seungcheol says finally. “I think I might be in. Text me the dates?”

“Sure,” you say, adrenaline starting to rush through you, along with relief. "And… thank you.”

Soonyoung’s head still looks like he’s watching ping-pong.

“If you wanna repay me,” Seungcheol says, a sneaky smile crossing his face, that dimple deepening, “you can cover half of my plane ticket.”

A laugh startles out of you. “Done,” you agree.

Soonyoung’s eyebrows fly up, and he’s able to suppress himself no more. “You’re doing it?” he asks, looking at you even though the question is worded for Seungcheol. “You’re going together?”

“I guess?” you say. “Maybe?”

“We can talk more about it,” Seungcheol says, but this is directed at you. He stands, sliding his phone into his back pocket and grabbing his keys from the coffee table. “I have to go, but… I’ll text you tomorrow.”

“Okay,” you say. “Sure. Thanks.”

He gives you a quick smile, knocks Soonyoung’s shoulder in goodbye, and heads out.

In the silence he leaves - Chan’s done singing down in the bathroom, apparently - you let out all your breath and flop back onto the carpet. You can feel Soonyoung’s gaze on you, so you peek sideways at him.

“What?” you snap.

“What?” he asks innocently, shaking out a pair of slacks and folding them along the seams.

You shake your head. “I really don’t know about this.”

He scowls at you. “Don’t be like that. It would take some of the pressure from the aunties off, and you might actually - gasp - have fun some of the time.”

You scowl back. “None of this is going to be fun.”

“Not with that attitude, it’s not,” he quips. Then, “I think Seungcheol-hyung could really help. And you know I won’t blow your cover.”

And do know that. He’s a good kid.

You leave the envelope unopened. Work gets busy; you lose yourself in your routine until your mother brings up Nayoung’s nuptials again, letting you know that she received her invitation and inquiring if you received yours.

You don’t tell her that it’s sat unopened on your kitchen table for over a week.

June

You text Seungcheol with some regularity for a few weeks. You send him screenshots of plane times and ticket prices, he sends you tux options, you send the resort’s website, he sends memes. Then, as the actual logistics get settled and handled, it slowly drops off until you’re back to not texting at all.

When you can delay it no longer, you fill out your RSVP card and send it back to your sister, indicating that you and your plus-one will both attend. You should have expected her to rat you out, but you’re somehow caught by surprise when your mother calls five days later and demands, “So who exactly is this date you’re bringing to Nayoung’s wedding?”

Panic floods you. “What do you mean?” you ask, mostly to buy time. You take a big breath, will your heart to quit pounding, and try to think clearly. The best way through this is to stay calm and immoveable.

“You sent in your RSVP card indicating you are bringing someone named Choi Seungcheol?” your mother asks, her syllables clipped and irritated. She’s mad, you’re sure, that she doesn’t know who this is.

You’re about to make her more mad.

“Yeah?” you say, trying to keep your tone light, as if you’re confirming something obvious. “What’s the question?”

Your mother lets out an aggravated huff of breath. It crackles through the phone, makes you wince. “Well, who is he?”

You let a silence fall between you - as if you’re confused by the question. “Mom,” you say finally, acting like you’ve never acted before, your tone just bordering on confused, “that’s my boyfriend.”

Now the silence on the line isn’t forced. It lasts for so long that you eek out a timid, “Mom?”

“Your boyfriend,” she repeats, flatly.

“I thought you knew,” you say, trying to sound unbothered.

There’s another long silence, one that you don’t like at all.

“Sweetheart,” she says finally, and you almost shiver from how threatening the endearment is. “You don’t have to lie to me.”

“I’m not lying,” you retort hotly, and the feeling of indignation is so strong in you that it’s easy to forget that… yes, you are.

You can hear her roll her eyes.

“You’ve never mentioned a boyfriend,” she says flatly now, and you hear it for the accusation it is.

“You didn’t ask,” you point out.

Another silence. You wait this one out. When she speaks again, voice still cold, she says, “Well. I look forward to meeting this young man.”

“We’re looking forward to it, too,” you say, and then silently congratulate yourself for the automatic we, something that you’d probably do with a serious boyfriend.

She doesn’t talk to you for the next six days, but you take what you can get.

Then, about a week and a half before the trip, Soonyoung texts you.

Brother of mine: so how did you and hyung start “dating” Brother of mine: whats the story

You stare at your phone blankly, part of you wondering how you hadn’t realized you’d need to get your story straight, and the other part wondering how your dumb little brother did.

You: it has been brought to my attention that we might be asked questions about… “us” Seungcheol: 🤔 You: idk things like how we “got together”, how long we’ve been together, that kind of shit Seungcheol: youve been secretly in love with me since freshman year of college, obviously You: sure sure but when YOU realized you were secretly in love with ME how did you make your move? You: weren’t you worried that my brother would kick your ass? Seungcheol: TELL ME THAT’S A JOKE

You catch yourself laughing out loud. Then you send, “so how long have we been together? six months? a yr?”

Seungcheol: let’s say it’ll be ten months soon? feel like thats less suspicious You: you gonna propose soon? Seungcheol: ok calm down

You laugh again, then flush with embarrassment as if anyone were there to catch you.

You: we saw each other around soonyoung’s place a lot until you finally asked me out? Seungcheol: why do i have to do it You: my family knows i’m a chicken lmao

You nail down the details of your first “date” (an outdoor concert and then a walk along the river, complete with food from the streetcarts), as well as a few other key details.

Seungcheol: your mom won’t think it’s weird that she didn’t know you were dating someone? You: seungcheol… are you admitting that you’re a mama’s boy?? Seungcheol: i told my mom about you after the first date 🥲 You: she asked me about it when I sent in our rsvp card, actually. I told her you’re my boyfriend but she didn’t ask any follow-ups. You: honestly i dont think she fully believes me but… we can handle it Seungcheol: lay it on extra thick around your mom, got it Seungcheol: my mom LOVES you, by the way

You catch yourself snickering again and try to school your face back into neutrality, scolding yourself silently. You never knew that talking with Seungcheol could be this easy - you seem to be much on the same wavelength. It’s pleasant, and kind of interesting.

You: if we get asked anything that we didn’t cover, just let me answer Seungcheol: what if i’m alone You: oh that’s easy You: never leave my side :)

July

“Fancy meeting you here.”

You turn in your seat at the airport bar just in time to see Seungcheol drop into the empty spot next to you, dropping a black backpack into the small space between your seat and his.

You can’t help but smile at his teasing. “Flying makes me nervous,” you admit. “And before you start to tell me that flying is safer than driving or whatever, I’m not scared of the plane crashing. It’s just all the people. I hate crowds.”

He squints at you a little, reaching up to push his hood back an inch on his head. “I’m starting to think I’m just here to be your people buffer.”

You squint back, mocking. “I thought I made that very clear. Certain people specifically.”

You keep up this pretend face-off until the bartender comes over, and Seungcheol orders a beer.

“You’re also here so I’m not drinking alone,” you say, smiling. “How was the traffic?”

He laughs and shakes his head. “There was an accident or something… we were just sitting there. My Uber driver literally jumped a curb to get us around it.”

“Jeez. I’m glad you made it.”

“I take my people buffer duties very seriously.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. You sip at your drink, looking at him out of the corner of your eyes. He looks good today, as usual, and you wonder how awkward it will be when you have to start the fake shit.

When your boarding time rolls around, you amble together towards the gate, patting your pockets and checking for phones and airpods and wallets.

“Got everything?” you ask, as you join the back of the line of your boarding group.

He nods, popping in one of his earbuds, fixing his hoodie absently. Then, he reaches the other bud towards you, an offering.

Giving him a tiny smile, you reach out and take it.

You’re about halfway down the plane when you find your row. You glance at the boarding pass on your phone and realize you’re the aisle seat. You glance behind you, where Seungcheol is keeping a polite distance, his eyes scanning the row numbers.

“Hey,” he says suddenly, coming a little closer, “do you mind if we switch? I like to be on the aisle - the inside feels too cramped.”

You slip into the row and take the window seat as requested, fighting a little smile as you slip your bag under the seat in front of you.

“What?” he asks as he slides in next to you, clocking your little smile.

“Nothing,” you say. But you’d been about to ask him if you could have the window. He’d beaten you to it.

When the plane takes off, your stomach swooping as the earth detaches beneath you, you lean back against your seat and close your eyes happily. Bass-heavy music thumps in your left ear, and you glance over at Seungcheol, grateful for all of it - his companionship, his music, his presence.

“Hey,” you say.

He glances over, one eyebrow quirked.

“What’s your favorite color?” you ask.

Seungcheol laughs quietly, aware of the people around him. “You think someone will ask you that?”

“Probably not,” you admit. “But I realized I don’t know.”

He indulges you for a little, trading little details - dark blue. jajangmyeon. winter. gaming. seventeen, but I tell people fifteen. - until you lapse back into silence. You look out the window for a while, fingers tapping on the tops of your legs to the music playing in one ear, watching the light at the end of the plane’s wing flash on and off in a steady rhythm.

You don’t notice when Seungcheol falls asleep, but when you glance at him after a while he is - eyes closed, mouth open just slightly. You smile - it’s kind of cute - and when the snack cart rolls by you ask for a second packet of pretzels in case he wants them when he wakes up. You’re surprised into stillness when he shifts in his sleep, his shoulder coming to lean heavily on yours, but you don’t move away. You just flick a finger up the lone earbud he’d given you, turning the music up one notch, and close your eyes, still smiling faintly.

—

Seungcheol’s sleepy blinks when the plane touches down - jostling you both so hard that you grab his arm for a second before letting go just as fast - make something flutter below your diaphragm. You staunchly ignore it, instead offering him back the earbud he lent you so he can slide it into the case with his own.

It takes a long time to actually deboard the plane, and you both walk in silence through the airport, following the baggage claims signs. He’s quiet because he’s still waking up, you think. You’re quiet because you’re one step closer to seeing your family, and your heart is starting to thump in advance.

You two exist quietly through the whole process - waiting for the bags to come out on the carousel, waiting for a driver to pick up your ride, the twenty-minute drive to the resort during which you can’t see anything outside the car’s windows due to how dark it is outside.

You text Soonyoung that you’re pulling in as your driver pauses at the resort’s security booth, giving the name of Nayoung’s fiancé. The gate lifts and the car glides in, coming to a stop at the front door.

“Room’s under your name?” Seungcheol asks quietly, as you thank your driver and head through the resort’s main entrance.

“Mhm,” you say, glancing at your phone to see if your brother has answered. He hasn’t.

You go to the front desk, where you’re greeted brightly. You give your name, and then your credit card for incidentals. Once the front desk worker has talked you through everything you need to know - breakfast hours and location, how to connect to the wifi, etc. - you lead Seungcheol to the elevator bay. You don’t realize you’re showing your nerves, but he must catch the way you exhale slowly to expel your anxiety, because he bumps you with his elbow.

“You good?” he asks.

You smile sheepishly, embarrassed at being called out. “Nervous, I guess. It’s starting. We’re here. It’s too late to say just kidding - we have to go through with this.”

The light comes on above Elevator 4 and you shift closer to the metal doors. The elevator slides open and you both wheel your bags inside. Once the doors are closed, Seungcheol meets your eyes in the mirrored wall.

“What are you most nervous about?” he asks, something almost gentle in the question.

Getting caught in the lie, you think immediately. Getting called out on it. My family seeing right through the bullshit because they know I can’t be someone’s partner, not the way we’re pretending.

You simplify. “Getting caught,” you admit.

He nods, like this is very fair. Maybe it is. “We won’t get caught,” he says.

He sounds sure, but you know he can’t promise that. “You don’t know my family,” you say reproachfully.

“We’ve got this,” he promises. Then, inexplicably, he reaches for your hand and gives it a squeeze. “I am fully planning to wife you up someday, and not a soul here will doubt it.”

The shock of this makes you laugh, and that’s all it takes for the anxiety to release its death grip on you, to simmer down into something more ignorable. You shoot him a grateful look. “Are you prepared to talk me down for three more days?”

“Two and a half, I think,” he teases, as he releases your hand. “You’ll be okay once we head to the airport on Sunday.”

“That’s true,” you agree. “I might actually be fun by then.”

“You’ll be fun before that,” he says, giving you a small, sideways smile. The elevator dings, the doors slide open, and the moment dissipates. You take a breath and grab your bag, heading into the brightly lit hall.

Inside, the room is great, with a bathroom bigger than you have at home and an oceanview balcony. The only setback is the bed - one solitary King-size - but you’d both known this ahead of time and had talked it out, agreeing on making a Blanket Wall in the middle and being grown-up about it.

You unpack a little bit - plugging in your tablet, tossing your toiletries bag onto the bathroom counter, and then wander to the sliding-glass door that leads to the balcony. You crack it open and slip through, greeted by the sound of crashing waves.

You feel instantly more at peace. Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you check it to see that Soonyoung and his date (whom you realize you know nothing about) are at one of the resort bars on the main level. You text him that you might join, and go back to breathing in the salty sea air, feeling calmer than you have in the last six hours.

“Hey,” Seungcheol says, and you realize he’s hanging halfway through the doorway, holding onto the doorframe for balance. “Neither of us had dinner. Should we try to find food?”

Your stomach growls on cue.

“Soonyoung is down at one of the bars,” you say. “Want to see if their kitchen is still open?”

You change shirts in the bathroom just to get the airplane smell off, and then the two of you wander back to the elevators, following signs that lead to the bar.

This particular bar has some indoor seating but seems to open out onto the resort’s private beach. You spy Soonyoung perched on the outside half, a drink with a pineapple slice and a little blue umbrella in his hand. Then you spy who’s next to him and you stop short.

“You brought Chan?” you yell.

Beside you, Seungcheol is giggling wildly. “Bro, I thought you two were joking!”

Soonyoung is laughing so hard that he’s snorting as you approach. The two of them, idiot roommates, are practically laying across each other they’re laughing so hard. You wonder how many pineapple-garnished drinks they’ve each had already.

“What else was I gonna do, bring a Tinder date?” he asks, still chortling.

You and Seungcheol settle in next to them, the guys immediately launching into a conversation that doesn’t necessarily interest you, and you scan the food menu instead.

You feel much better after you eat, perking up considerably. Soonyoung talks you into one of the umbrella drinks (it’s fucking delicious), and Chan orders a round of shots for the four of you (“only one, I have to function tomorrow,” you insist). By the time you order one final cocktail, you’re feeling fully unfurled in a good way - nice and loose, relaxed and almost happy.

It lasts until you hear a vaguely familiar voice call your name, and then your brother’s. You all swivel to see your cousin Mijin heading towards you, her husband - whose name you don’t remember- in tow behind her.

“Fuck,” you whisper. Then you point a sharp finger at Dumb and Dumber and hiss, “Don’t fuck this up. Remember - Seungcheol and I have been dating for almost a year. Let us answer any questions she asks about it.”

Chan and Soonyoung both stare at you, wide-eyed and glassy, which doesn’t instill much confidence in you. But Seungcheol scoots his chair closer to yours, snakes an arm around your waist and tugs you minutely closer to his body, and says assuredly, “We’ve got it under control.”

Mijin greets you with open arms, a big smile, and shriek that you aren’t sure you deserve - you’ve never been close - but you swivel in your seat to return the hug, feeling Seungcheol’s arm retract from around you in the mess of limbs.

“You remember Jiseong?” she asks, as she backs up from the hug, nodding her head behind her. You reach forward to shake her husband’s hand.

“A little bit,” you say, as she moves on to hug Soonyoung, cooing over how he’s grown since she saw him last. “When did you get in?”

“We landed this morning,” she tells you, coming to take empty seats on Chan’s other side. “How about you?”

“We just got here a few hours ago,” you say, and then realize you haven’t introduced anyone. “Oh, this is our cousin Mijin and her husband Jiseong. This is my boyfriend, Seungcheol, and that’s Soonyoung’s best friend Chan - all four of us are friends from college.”

Mijin’s smile doesn’t shift but her eyes sharpen. “I didn’t know you had a boyfriend,” she says, voice light. “Have you been gatekeeping him from your socials?”

You shrug and let yourself laugh. “Kind of,” you say, like you’re admitting something. “You know how nosy the family is.” You let yourself smile sideways at Seungcheol, who winks at you, smirking. “I kind of like keeping him to myself.”

She looks between you, that smile plastered in place. Seungcheol casually sips at his drink and reaches an arm around your shoulders, unbothered. Or, pretending to be.

“Well,” she says finally, her voice bright. “So happy for you! Soonyoung-ah, how’s your dance team doing?”

With the heat off of you for a minute, you sip on your drink and sneak a glance sideways at Seungcheol. His body language is relaxed - he’s settled back in his chair, that one arm still draped around you, and he watches the conversation with friendly interest. When he catches you watching him, his mouth quirks and he bumps your knee with his.

We’re fine, he seems to say. Or, maybe, lighten up and have some fun.

“So, not to be nosy,” Mijin says, turning her attention back to you, and beside her Chan visibly grimaces, “but what’s the story with you two? Have you been together long?”

“Just shy of a year,” Seungcheol says, before you can answer. “Big anniversary coming up. How about you - how long have you been married?”

The tactic works - Mijin sends her husband a sickly sweet smile over her shoulder and launches into their own history. Hidden behind the bar, you reach over to Seungcheol’s knee and give it a grateful squeeze. He doesn’t acknowledge this, but one of his dimples pops.

When Mijin’s drink becomes only clinking ice cubes, she turns to look at her husband. “Ready to head in?” she asks, and he nods amiably. They rise, telling your group goodbye and heading up the lit path back towards the rooms.

You wait until they’re out of sight and then mutter, “One down, six hundred to go.”

“I think that went fine,” Soonyoung says.

“I feel like I’m waiting for someone to straight up tell me sounds fake, but okay,” you admit.

Soonyoung snickers. “Only Mom would just say it like that.”

“And she might,” you point out darkly.

“I honestly don’t think anyone is looking that closely,” Seungcheol tells you seriously. “Your family isn’t examining us for cracks, you know?”

“I assure you, my mother will be,” you grumble, and Soonyoung nods, lips twisted. He knows.

You all nurse your drinks in silence for a little, and not much later Soonyoung and Chan rise from their seats, claiming they saw the sign for an arcade room inside.

Left alone, you and Seungcheol take in the newfound quiet. The ocean breeze carries the smell of salt past you, and Seungcheol sighs happily. “It’s so nice out,” he remarks, his eyes on the beach beyond the bar. “Do you want to walk a little before we head up?”

“That sounds really good, actually,” you admit.

You carry your shoes, reveling in the soft, silky sand running over and under your feet as you walk. Seungcheol stays close, his hands shoved in his pockets.

“What’s the plan for tomorrow?” he asks.

You shrug. “We’re supposed to have breakfast with Mom tomorrow - you and me and Soonyoung. And Chan, apparently. But you don’t have to go if you’re uncomfortable, I can say you don’t feel great after the flight and you wanted to sleep -”

“What’s the point of me being here if I don’t go to the things with you?” Seungcheol argues lightly.

“Yeah. I guess that’s true,” you say quietly, turning your head to watch the stars flicker above the ocean. You can hear the faint thumping of club music - there must be a place for dancing somewhere on the sprawling resort property.

“Brunch will be harder than tonight,” you tell him, a warning. “My mom will be trying to poke holes in the story - she’s already accused me of fabrication.”

“Fabrication,” Seungcheol echoes, his voice wavering with a laugh.

“What?” you ask defensively, but you’re smiling too.

“Just say lying,” he says, smiling over at you. “This is a conversation, not an entrance exam.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “Leave me alone,” you complain.

“Mmm,” he says, mock-thoughtfully, “I’m pretty sure that’s the direct opposite of my directions this weekend. So what’s the game plan for her? What’s our strategy?”

You laugh a little. “You have such a gamer brain,” you observe.

“It’s going to work in your favor,” he promises.

“Just be ready for a barrage of questions,” you tell him. “Try not to get defensive. Try not to let me get defensive.”

He nods, then asks, “How much of a show are we putting on?”

When you look at him blankly, he clarifies, “Do you want me to, like… walk you into the dining room holding hands? I guess like - how much of a show do you want? What are the boundaries? If I’m acting like your boyfriend, I guess I need to know what you’re okay with. Like… should we kiss goodbye and stuff?”

You stop walking. He gets two more steps and realizes you’re not next to him and he stops too. It’s very dark on the beach, but you swear you see a bit of a blush on his face.

“Can I just say,” you say slowly, “bless you for even asking me first? You’re a good kid.”

“I’m older than you.”

“By four months.”

“Still older.”

You smile at him, enjoying this little game. You laugh when he pretends to scowl at you, and then you get serious, thinking about his question. “I guess we probably should. If you’re okay with that.”

He holds your gaze and nods seriously. “Okay,” he says, and then neither of you say anything else.

“Should we… kiss now?” you ask, heart suddenly thumping against your ribs.

His held tilts. “No one here to trick,” he points out. But it’s not no.

“Yeah, that’s my point,” you explain, hearing how breathless you sound and hating it. “Maybe our first kiss shouldn’t be… in front of an audience? So if it’s weird, we can deal with it now?”

He licks his lips. You don’t think he realizes he does it. “I think…” he says slowly, “I love the way your brain works.”

“Don’t flatter me,” you manage to breathe, before his hands are cupping your jaw, his mouth meeting yours firmly, not shy or hesitant in the slightest.

It’s good - nothing weird about it. He tastes like the shot you’d all had back at the bar, and his hands feel amazing - strong - as one cups the back of your neck and the other slides to the dip of your waist. You fall into it, barely holding back a noise as his tongue sweeps across your lips, seeking entrance.

You clutch at his biceps as you open for him, knees going weak when your tongue meets his. His mouth is firm against yours, moving in ways that make you want to gasp for breath, your skin tingling when he leaves your lips and trails his teeth and tongue along your jawline.

When he pulls away, breathing a little heavily, he murmurs, “There. Won’t be weird next time.”

You breathe out a quiet laugh. “No,” you agree. “It certainly won’t.” You realize you’re still clutching his arms and you relax your fingers, stepping back.

The sea breeze suddenly feels a whole lot colder, a foot away from his tall form, and you shiver.

“We should go back,” he says, and it warms your cheeks to hear that he’s a bit hoarse.

“Sure,” you say. “Big day tomorrow.”

And even though there’s no one here to fool, he leads you by the hand back towards the hotel’s glittering lights, your fingers intertwined with his. You hold tight until you’re in the elevator - just in case you run into anyone from your family again.

No other reason.

—

Back in your room, you stand near the foot of the bed, trying to decide what you need to do.

“I think I’ll take a quick shower,” you think out loud. “I smell like airport.”

“You smell fine.”

“Sure.”

“I’ll go after you,” Seungcheol says easily, and flops on one side of the bed, his phone in hand. “Don’t use all the hot water.”

“Maybe I will, just because you said that,” you tease.

Is this flirting? Part of you wonders. And if it is, is that wise? Will it help your mindset, help with the bit? Or will it complicate things down the line?

And if it is flirting, why? Did a single kiss get beneath your skin so quickly? Or is this just normal for you and Seungcheol, the natural rhythm of what friendship with him would look like? You’d never spent time alone together - he had always been Soonyoung’s friend, just your acquaintance.

You tap the shower knob bit by bit until it’s almost too hot to bear, the questions burning off your skin and slipping through the drain.

When you emerge, in pajama bottoms and a hoodie, Seungcheol is in the same position, except with a little grey toiletry case next to him.

“Your turn,” you tell him, and he glances at you gratefully as he rises and heads into the bathroom. When you hear the shower turn on, you turn off all the main lights in the room and close the curtains over the balcony door, sliding into your side of the bed. It feels like heaven to stretch out and lay down, and you very nearly doze off, startled awake when Seungcheol turns off the bathroom light and re-enters the main room.

“Sorry, were you sleeping?” he asks quietly.

“Not entirely,” you say, and then notice that he’s hovering awkwardly near the bed. You guess at the reason for his hesitation. “Time to make the Blanket Wall?”

He laughs a little, like he’s embarrassed to be caught. “Yeah. What do you want to use, the sheet?”

Once you have it all figured out and situated, Seungcheol climbs into his side.

“You can do whatever,” you tell him. “Like, if you wanna watch tv or be on your phone, it won’t bother me. Don’t feel like you have to be quiet for me, okay?”

“I’ll probably be on my phone for a while,” he admits. “But I’ll use my airpods.”

“No problem,” you say, reaching to turn out your little light, leaving the room cast in blues from his phone screen. “Sleep well.”

“Sleep well,” he returns quietly.

You lay there for a while, settling in, adjusting to having a person near you in bed. You’re facing away from him, and you feel hyper-aware of his presence behind you, just inches away, separated only by a sheet rolled up like a taquito. Eventually his movements, every tiny shift or heavy breath, stop alarming you, and you feel yourself starting to drift off. He smells good, some defunct, mostly-asleep part of your brain observes. Then you’re pulled under, the thought barely registering at all.

Next ->

thank you for reading!!! Chapter 2 will go up next Friday, April 18th!

335 notes · View notes

toiletclown · 2 months ago

Text

reciprocation.

spencer agnew x f!reader, enemies to lovers for anon.

mostly fluff, but there is angst (in my opinion)

summary: it started innocuous. a well-meaning question from your best friend. it all spiraled from there.

there are some things in life that are universally true and agreed upon. the sky is blue. the grass is green. and you and spencer agnew hate each other. when your closest friends grow tired of this nonsense, they hatch a plan. it's unlikely, silly, even. but it works.

word count: 13.6k (yes i'm posting this as a one-shot, not multi-chaptered, sorry lol)

────୨ৎ────

"does the whole 'hating spencer' schtick ever get tired to you?" angela asked one day, while the two of you were out to lunch.

it was a sunny day, as usual, and you started sweating through your tank top just a little harder. perhaps the sun came out from behind a stray cloud.

"i'm sorry?" was your response, followed by a forkful of pasta.

"y'know, this weird bit you guys have going on." ang stared at you, analyzing your face, looking for a reaction.

all she saw was confusion. "i'm not... sure what you mean? we don't have 'a bit'. we aren't friends. kind of hard to have an inside joke when you only spend time together on camera. and half the time i drown him out anyway," you shrugged. neither of you liked each other, and that was fine. you were used to it, and the familiarity was nice. smosh was a very busy and ever-changing job. being able to rely on that was kind of nice. you were never a fan of change, anyway.

"wait, so you and spencer actually dislike each other? like, for real?" your best friend looked genuinely taken aback. you weren't sure why, you had thought it was fairly obvious that the two of you didn't get along.

"yes, we actually dislike each other 'like, for real', angela. i thought that was clear, you've seen the way we interact." you were gathering up another forkful of pasta, and angela started laughing. "why the fuck are you laughing?"

"because it's comical? i thought it was a bit! i thought you two were friends and it was just, like, a long, drawn-out joke, honestly."

"why on earth would you think that it was a bit, ang? i'm a good comedian but i'm not that great of a liar. i wouldn't be able to keep up a conspiracy like that. i fear that’s too much work for me." you ate your forkful finally. angela was still looking at you in disbelief, a few small cackles escaping her now and then.

"yeah, that's fair. crazy bit to commit so hard to, i guess. wait, so why don't you like him?" the brunette had abandoned her pasta at this point, bowl pushed slightly out of the way so she can gesticulate with freedom. "and why doesn't he like you? are you secretly middle school rivals? rivals in some niche video game scene? did he outbid you on a guitar on ebay and now you've vowed to ruin his life?"

you rolled your eyes, lovingly. your favorite thing about angela was how far she could take a joke. picked it up and ran with it. you leaned in, your voice barely audible. "you want to know a secret?"

her eyes widened, leaning in and matching your whisper, "yes, please spill!"

you shifted your eyes from left to right, as though looking for someone who could overhear and ruin your life. you took a deep breath in, preparing to spill… the truth.

"i don't actually know why we hate each other," you whispered, shrugging before sitting back in your chair with an air of finality.

"what?!"

"shh, oh my god, shut the fuck up--"

"what do you mean you don't know?" angela was moving her arms wildly at this point, "why do you still hate him then? does he know? what the fuck?"

"babe, i need you to calm down, we are still very much in a public restaurant--"

"and? spill, bitch, or you're paying the full bill."

"fine! god. i genuinely cannot tell you why we hate each other. yes, we do really hate each other. yes, he knows i hate him, and yes, i know he hates me. that has been the only thing we have ever agreed upon in our entire time at smosh. no, we aren't secretly hate fucking. no, i don't have his number, we only talk at and about work so we use slack. no, i don't know why the hate is mutual, i just know that it is. no, i don't plan on trying to change that any time soon. happy?"

before she could respond with what was likely another barrage of questions, your server came to the table and sat the bill down in front of angela.

"they always assume that i'm paying, what the hell?"

you were glad for the distraction.

✰ .ᐟ

"hello and welcome to you posted that? you posted that is a show where we embarrass our guests with their old, cringy, insane social media posts!" the room filled with cheers as ian intro'd the show, and you were so excited to finally be on it. but you also were nervous to see what they dug from the depths of your twitter.

"joining us today..." ian faked a drumroll on the podium, "our first guest is trevor evarts!"

"please don't bring up any of my rhett and link tweets," he said with a wave.

ian drumrolled again, "second up, we have shayne topp!"

"glad to be here, steve."

"and last but not least, y/n!"

"i am terrified." you said, being sure to stare down the camera, a look of anxiety on your face. you were playing it up, but it was definitely real to a degree. you had said a lot of cringy shit in your younger years. not to mention the not-so-uncommon complaints about a certain coworker. ian wouldn’t do that to you, though. right?

"terrified?” ian scanned the contestant's faces. “is anyone else feeling terrified?"

"not really, steve. i'm proud of what i've done and said and i'll stand by it no matter what. if i don't stand up for myself, who will, you know?" shayne said, clearly doing a character. a slightly intoxicated, far too excited game show contestant. you kind of loved it.

"my name is ian, and i think you know that, shayne. why are you terrified, y/n?" ian turned to you, egging you on.

"i was a shit head as a kid, i don't know how far back you dug!"

"alright then, let's get into the first round." ian explained the rules of the round, and each of you listened intently despite knowing them well.

"trevor. you tweeted, 'my two [blank] need to [blank] before i [blank blank blank].’ and i will give you a hint, this was a tweet from about a year ago."

"why does he get a hint right away!" you called out.

"he's not very bright, y/n, i'm sure you understand." ian replied, prompting trevor to make a few noises.

"be nice to me?"

ian turned back to trevor, mischievous glint in his eye. "y/n's not very bright, trev, i'm sure you understand."

"be nice to me?" you all started laughing, and once it died down trevor made his guess.

"okay, i'll take 'my two coworkers need to fuck before i explode them both' for five points, alex!"

"i remain ian, but let's reveal that tweet!"

"holy fuck," you said under your breath, realizing he got it right on the money. "how did you manage to remember the exact wording? i don't remember what i had for breakfast yesterday. oh my god, i'm gonna lose so hard at this!" you weren’t even playing it up now, you were actually getting worried. you were going to lose, and by a lot. hopefully you can attribute your lack of skill to the now-infamous gas leak.

"because these two coworkers still haven't fucked and i still want to explode them, honestly," trevor breathed out, seemingly annoyed at the two coworkers in question.

ian giggled behind the podium, a strangely worrisome sound, and you and shayne glanced at each other in shared horror. "trevor,” ian paused, multiplying the level of suspense you were already feeling. “for an extra fifty points, do you want to tell us who the coworkers are? we'll bleep it."

"fifty points?!" shayne yelled, playfully incensed by this rule breaking.

"just take me out back like ol yeller, i beg." you set you head on the podium, which wasn't exactly a comfortable angle, but this wasn't going to be as fun as you thought if ian was going to play dirty the whole game.

the room erupted in laughter as trevor pondered his choice. "no, i won't. i don't want to start anything, fifty points is nothin' compared to my pals at smosh!"

you all booed him, lovingly, and ian giggled again. "shayne, for an extra fifty points, can you guess the coworkers trevor's tweet is about?"

"do you know who it's about?" shayne asked, confused.

"oh, i think everyone in this room does," ian's grin was devilish, relishing in the chaos he was causing. he's been watching too much game changer.

"okay, i'll guess for fifty points. is it angela and amanda?" the room erupted once more, angela's laugh heard loud and clear on every mic.

"incorrect! okay, let's see your post, shayne!"

"wait, i don't get to guess?" you cut in, feeling a little bit excluded from the joke.

"would you like to?" ian asked, earnest, though that devilish smile was still fixed to his mug.

you thought about it for a second. "actually, i'm good. i think my choices are too controversial. y'all aren't ready for my vision."

everyone laughed, and the game moved on.

"shayne. your tweet says: '[blank] is overrated. [blank] is cooler.'"

shayne's silence dragged on, and ian asked if he had a guess. after a beat, shayne stood stock straight up, ready to answer.

"steve, my answer is. 'steak is overrated. chicken is cooler.' for five points."

"let's see..."

ian revealed the next slide, and a slide whistle sound effect played. “oh, that’s too bad shayne. the correct answer was ‘penis is overrated. dick is cooler.’ so close, so close. alright, y/n, it’s your turn!”

you were feeling a little better now that shayne had gotten his wrong. maybe trevor would win, but it didn’t have to be a huge blowout, right?

“y/n, your tweet says ‘i need [blank] to [blank blank] or i will [blank] in [blank blank].’ this seems evil, y/n, if i’m being honest.” ian’s wicked smirk was still firmly planted; he was playing dirtier than you ever thought him capable of.

“what’s genuinely crazy is i’ve been so worried that i would not remember anything i’ve ever tweeted, but i actually do remember this one!” you laughed hard and loud, but then you remembered you did in fact have to tell everyone what it said. you could lie, but they’d just reveal it after anyway, and you had made a big stink about knowing it now… all you could do was fill in the damn blanks. “okay, it says ‘i need noomf–”

“you need what?” shayne asked, incredulous.

“noomf, it means ‘not one of my followers’ instead of oomf, which is ‘one of my followers’. anyway, ‘i need noomf to fuck off or i will piss in his kickstart’.” you covered your face with your hands, genuinely embarrassed. this would all be a good laugh after shooting wrapped, but in the moment you just wanted to scream a bit.

ian decided to go full little shit mode and not even make a comment, just click to the next slide showing that you were correct. every word. “five points for y/n!”

“oh, fuck, i forgot i was getting points for that. i’ll stop moping now!” you laughed, pushing yourself back into your camera persona, bright and light and happy. you could feel spencer’s daggers in the back of your skull all the same.

✰ .ᐟ

everyone broke for lunch after the finishing the shoot, and angela and courtney were the first to harass you.

“bro, you tweeted that you would piss in his kickstart?” courtney started.

“you guys don’t follow each other on socials?” angela then asked.

court took another turn next, “do you guys not talk outside of work at all?”

“no! they only talk about work so they always talk through slack!” angela was kind enough to explain your point from lunch the other day.

you stood there, tapping your foot. a bit comical, but a flair for the dramatic never hurt anybody, especially not in this industry. “are we done here? can i go get my food now?” you asked, no venom. “here, let’s just eat together and you can ask all your silly little questions. can’t promise i’ll have an answer for everything, but i’ll do what i can.”

you all lined up at the catering tables and grabbed some food, then found your way to an empty table to start this awful discussion.

you decided some rules needed to be put in place, because as much as you loved angela and courtney, you really didn’t want this to blow up into some ‘big thing’. coworker feuds happen in every office setting, it’s inevitable. it doesn’t need to be a whole situation, in your opinion.

“okay, before we start i’m going to lay some ground rules. you can ask whatever questions you want, but i’m allowed to not answer certain ones. whatever is said at this table, remains at this table, forever. and finally, i beg y’all to speak at a normal volume and not freak out for no reason. i do not need the whole company knowing my business. i’m sure you understand.”

they both nodded, and you decided to get courtney up to speed in case they had a question angela had asked you at lunch the other day, which was likely. now that you thought about it, angela was the only person you had really talked about it with. no one else you worked with seemed to mind, or care, so you didn’t think you’d ever need to answer any questions about it.

“court, before we start, angela actually ambushed me about this the other day so i do already have a few frequently asked questions answered. no, it isn’t a bit. we don’t have any friendship at all. we do not speak outside of work. i’ve never seen him outside of work. we do not have each other’s numbers. we do not follow each other on social media. we aren’t secretly dating. yes, we do hate each other, and, yes, it’s mutual. but… no, i don’t have a reason why.” you were fairly out of breath by the end of your rant, and courtney gave you a moment to catch back up.

“you don’t have a reason why? how can you both hate each other for no reason?” their voice was soft, caring. it burned.

a sigh escaped you. “as far as i know, neither me nor spencer have a ‘reason’ for hating each other. but it’s just a truth at this point. we hate each other, so we don’t interact outside of work. we play nice for the camera, but only because it wouldn’t really be entertaining if we didn’t. some truths are just truths. the sky is blue, the grass is green, and me and spencer hate each other.” you took a few bites of the salad you grabbed from the line, surprised at how good the dressing was. “holy shit, this dressing is fantastic,” you mumbled, hoping, in vain, to prompt a conversation change.

“like i said, i thought the bickering you guys did on camera was an inside joke. i didn’t know there was real anger behind it,” angela said, seeming a bit sad at this revelation.

you realized once again that you hadn’t actually had an honest conversation about this with anyone. you had never taken the time to flesh out this charade you were playing. “i’m not even sure the anger is real.” you said solemnly, quiet as a mouse. “i think it started as a bit. i’m not sure when it turned real, but it is. i guess.”

angela put her arm around you, sensing your mood drop. “hey, hey. it’s alright. you going to be okay, babe?”

courtney put their hand on yours, which you held. you felt like you were naked on a stage – feeling too vulnerable all too suddenly. after a second longer, you pulled yourself away from both of them. “i’m okay, it’s okay. can we change the topic, though? i… guess i’m not ready to talk about it, or something.”

you zoned out for the rest of the conversation.

✰ .ᐟ

when the day had finally ended, you felt the most immense relief you’ve felt in all your damn life.

finally. time to go home and dick around on your guitar. today provided a lot of feelings for a hopeful writing session.

everyone at smosh knew you played guitar, but no one knew you wrote original music too. it was the easiest way to process what you were feeling. and if it sounded bad, then it sounded bad. at least you felt better afterwards. you never recorded anything you wrote, because it was a form of therapy for you. you let it all out, you cry, you scream, whatever. then you worked on healing. this was your process, and you loved it.

you were planning out some verses mentally when shayne caught up to you on the way to your car. “hey, y/n! i have a strange question.”

you turned, surprised by his appearance. “sure, shayne. what’s up?”

“are you seeing anyone right now?”

“why, are you and courtney looking for a third?” you raised an eyebrow, which had shayne giggling. you continued, “no, i’m single. why?”

“no reason!” shayne yelled, and promptly sprinted away.

“okay, see you tomorrow, i guess!” you shouted after him, knowing he probably couldn’t hear you. for such a small man he had a seemingly large stride. he was already halfway across the parking lot when you finished your sentence. “what the hell is this job, anyway?” you muttered, trying to find the melody you had thought of earlier in the day as you drove home in blissful silence.

✰ .ᐟ

alex: yoooo

spencer: what’s up?

alex: kiana’s friend is so your type it’s criminal

spencer: ok?

alex: i’m serious dude she’s like your dream girl!!

spencer: ok?

alex: hi spencer this is your best friend kiana, you have a date with my friend tomorrow at 7pm at our fav chili’s, ok love you!

spencer: i’d rather not

alex: she said shut up and be there or she’s dumping your kickstart stash

spencer: you are both evil.

alex: <3

✰ .ᐟ

you slept like shit last night. again. the past few nights were just not kind to you, and you could tell it was obvious.

“whoa, y/n… do you need to borrow some concealer?” courtney asked upon seeing you in the kitchen this morning. “i’m sure someone has a shade match in the building.”

“gee, thanks, court.” you laughed weakly to yourself, knowing she had nothing but good intentions. “i’ve been having trouble sleeping lately, not sure what’s going on.” you turned around and sighed into your coffee mug, exhausted. “maybe my body is trying to tell me something.”

courtney smiled, then came to lean against the counter next to you.

“you’re single, right?” they questioned, eyes bright.

you sighed again. “yes, just like i told your husband yesterday, i am single.”

“do you have plans tonight?”

“other than sitting on my couch with my guitar, probably not. perhaps i’ll watch a movie. who’s to say? the world is my oyster.”

they rolled their eyes at you, but leaned in closer to whisper. “our favorite chili’s, tonight, 7pm. you’re going on a blind date with someone i know very personally, who is perfect for you.”

she was out of the kitchen before you could pick your jaw up off the floor to protest.

✰ .ᐟ

you stood in your bathroom, staring at yourself in the mirror. what the hell was going on. courtney had sent you a text fifteen minutes ago, a reminder of why you were standing in your bathroom, staring at yourself in the mirror. you had a blind date at chili’s in 45 minutes. what the hell was going on.

if you were in an alternate universe, perhaps all the dots you were connecting in your brain would turn out to be correct. you felt like that bit in buzzfeed unsolved.

i’ve connected the dots.

you haven’t connected shit!

in an alternate universe, your friends beating the truth out of you about your feud with spencer, then turning around and orchestrating a blind date for you would mean something. and it would mean they were setting you up with spencer. just for a moment, just a sliver of a second, you imagined that universe.

you imagine it all working out.

but then you pull yourself out of it, and start actually getting ready for your date.

he was probably just another improv actor with a nose ring. and he was probably nice. cute, even. but you couldn’t stop thinking about brown curly hair, piercing eyes, a hydroflask full of kickstart.

a green smosh hat. a carhartt jacket. stubble. glasses. you loved his glasses, and secretly cursed him when he would wear his contacts. spencer.

your phone vibrated against the counter, painfully reuniting you with reality. “shit.”

you fumbled to answer the call, still feeling lost in the syrupy haze of that alternate universe of yours. “hey, court.”

“are you on your way? find my friends says you’re still at your place!” they rushed out, and you pulled your phone away from your face to see you had less than 15 minutes to be ready and out the door.

“shit! sorry, i didn’t realize how late it got. i’m finishing up now, i’ll be on my way before you know it.” the silence on the other end was deafening. “i promise! but i have to get off the phone to get ready, okay?”

“fine. please send me a photo of your outfit before you leave. i love you! bye!” courtney ended the call, and you sighed.

“let’s get this over with.” you mumbled to your empty bathroom.

✰ .ᐟ

spencer was pissed. if his friends didn’t suddenly decide to meddle in his love life, he wouldn’t be on a random side street, a mere three miles from chili’s, replacing his flat fire. at 7:08 pm. he didn’t even want to go on this date, but he also didn’t want to be a dick and show up late. alex and kiana didn’t share any info about this mystery girl so he couldn’t text her to let her know. he decided to call alex as he was getting ready to hoist the spare tire out of his trunk.

“aren’t you on a date right now?!” alex shouted down the phone, no greeting. spencer rolled his eyes.

“chill, i got a flat tire. i’m down the road, like eight minutes max if traffic is kind to me. can you please let my date know i’m not standing her up, i just have to throw the donut on my car really quick.” he was fiddling with the tire iron while he spoke, suddenly nervous and upset at the prospect of hurting this mystery girl’s feelings. he shoved the emotion down and nestled the phone between his ear and shoulder, a smidge tighter than before. “please just let her know.”

“okay, okay.” alex took a breath in, and spencer could tell they’re relieved that the date isn’t a disaster, but only getting there kind of is. “i’ll let her know.”

they said goodbye, and spencer got back to work on the tire.

elsewhere, alex texted courtney.

alex: hey spencer got a flat tire. should be there in like 10-15

courtney: ok i’ll let y/n know!

alex: he called me and i nearly shat my pants

courtney: understandable lol if she called me 10 mins in i’d also be panicking

alex then texted kiana.

alex: spencer is late bc he got a flat tire i’m gonna bomb him

kiana: now, now!! it will work out in the end, grasshopper

alex: dont be weird

kiana: says u

✰ .ᐟ

you looked at your phone again. 7:20. you were on your second glass of water, munching on your chips and salsa and sighing. people were starting to stare at you. look at that poor girl, sipping her water, waiting for someone who isn’t showing up. surely she knows, they thought, surely she knows he’s isn’t coming.

unfortunately, you were still holding out hope. for some reason. you didn’t even want this, your friends just dropped it on you. but now that you were here, you felt hopeful.

most people who know you wouldn’t exactly call you a romantic, but somewhere buried deep inside you, you longed for companionship. everyone did, to some degree – it was human nature. so you decided that at 7:30, you’d leave.

even if tearing yourself from the booth would burn like wildfire.

you looked at your phone once more. 7:22. you’d been brooding in silence, alone at this table, and alone in this world. a vibration startled you out of it.

courtney: hey he’s almost there!!! he got a flat tire he should be there in about five mins, ok?? i’m so sorry and so is he!!

your heart rate picked up, that hope reigniting and spreading a warm fire throughout your body. you weren’t being stood up. good.

y/n: ok! thank you for updating me <3

courtney: of course bb i love you sm! have fun! text me all the deets!

as you smiled and steadied your fingers to type a reply, an all too familiar voice rang out. “are you being stood up at chili’s?” it asks.

you involuntarily rolled your eyes, all too easily sliding into this role you play. no one could say you weren’t a good actor. because here you were, slipping under that mask that fit so comfortably. playing a character. because an hour ago, you were hoping it would be him. you wanted it to be him. but now, he was here. which meant you had a role to play, and you would play it well. you’d give him an oscar award-winning performance.

“please explain how my activities outside of the office are any of your business, spencer.” you deadpanned. it didn’t hit like you wanted it to. “he’s late.”

“scoot. i’m hungry.” he says, and you stare at him.

“i’m sorry?” you admonished.

“scootch over. have you ordered yet?” he asks, casual as all get out. like this was normal, or reasonable.

you both know your roles. you know your lines. you’ve been off-book for years. what was he doing? he was going so far off script, ad-libbing, completely disregarding the words written for you, the ones you’d both studied and memorized. you were an improv comedian, and yes and-ing was never something you struggled with. but this wasn’t supposed to be improv. this was scripted. heavily. this was not reality tv, this was not whose line, this was a 40-minute sitcom with strict character archetypes, and you both knew your roles.

while you waited in vain for the non-existent director to yell ‘cut!’, you found yourself moving over and letting him slide into the booth. it didn’t occur to you to just tell him to sit on the opposite side, which was empty.

despite the warmth of the evening and the restaurant, you felt a shiver up and down your spine.

your server, carissa, came back to the table, and she looked relieved that your ‘date’ had finally arrived. she was probably about 20 years old, and her whole vibe said, “if he doesn’t show up, i’ll kill him for you.”

“took you long enough, dude,” was her greeting of choice. spencer looked surprised, which caused a laugh to escape you. “what would you like to drink?”

spencer seemed a bit lost for words, but managed to say “just a water, please,” after a not-entirely inaudible swallow.

carissa turned her attention back to you, “did you want to order now? or does mister late as fuck need some more time?” she gestured at spencer with her pen, her voice full of humor. it was entirely opposite of the darker voice she used on spencer.

you loved this girl. “easy on him, carissa. i’m sure he has a good reason.”

spencer looked at you, and you realized you probably should have specified that he actually wasn’t the person you were waiting on. your mind drifts back to that slice of an alternate universe, the one you wanted to slot yourself into for longer than just a fleeting moment. your heart quickened its pace once more, and you silently willed it to calm down.

he doesn’t like you, you thought, solemnly. he likes chili’s. he’s probably here to meet kiana or something. the thought of kiana joining you at dinner was a happy one, usually. you loved her. she was bright and bubbly and she was incredibly smart. you loved listening to her talk. but right now, it almost felt like that little alternate universe and the universe you’re currently stuck in were overlapping for a moment. you wanted to keep this feeling. hold it close.

you zoned back in when spencer started talking, both of you unsure how long you had been looking at each other for. it might have been the first time you both really looked at each other. the glancing and the glaring around the office was short lived. never more than a few seconds. this look felt like it stretched on for years, unending. this wasn’t just the first time you both looked at each other, it might also be the first time you really saw each other.

and, if you were just a bit more unhinged, you’d have said that it felt like home.

“i had a flat tire. i was right down the road but i had to put the spare on, so i’m much later than i wanted to be. i try to be early to dates, but it seems like the world was betting against me tonight.” spencer looked at his lap, sheepish, all of the sudden. it was cute. a soft expression you had no clue he was even capable of. it suited him, emotion. or, emotions other than anger.

“see? that’s a perfectly reasonable excuse,” you replied, which prompted a gasp from spencer.

you find the roles shifting, no longer are you and spencer coworkers trapped in an office, glaring at each other and attempting niceties on camera. now, you were stepping into the roles of love interests in a rom-com with 80s flair. the quiet, misunderstood girl, and the edgy yet likeable boy. fake dating for some reason or another, only to fall in love for real in the end. the it was always you trope.

you could play this character just as easily as you could play the hateful coworker. maybe this role would win you a sag award. you set it next to your academy award on your imaginary awards shelf.

“it’s not an excuse! it’s a reason. an explanation, if you will.” spencer said, faux-horror in his voice.

“and i will.” you shot back, playing into it. you could fit so comfortably here.

carissa faked a yawn, and you ask her for a triple dipper – mozzarella sticks, big mouth bites, and chicken tenders. spencer had no comment on this, which made you quite happy, oddly enough.

once carissa had walked away, spencer turned his body to face you a little more, and you felt closed in in the best way possible. he was suffocating you with his presence, but it felt good. safe, even.

you settled into the booth, a little taken aback by his sudden attention. honestly, you paid more attention to him around the office than you would ever admit to anyone. you both had desks in the same pod so you were in proximity at all times, and you looked. a lot. and maybe you pined. maybe… just maybe, you had been pining this whole time.

“what’s goin’ on up there?” spencer asked, nodding toward you.

“i don’t know,” you replied. it was the truth. you weren’t sure what was going on in your brain, just that you had no urge to stop it. more like an urge to give in.

carissa reappeared with a glass of ice water for spencer. he whispered a soft “thank you” in her direction, but his eyes never left yours. she walked away without a response.

“y’know, i was actually supposed to meet someone here tonight. i should probably tell alex what’s going on.”

your ears perked up at the mention of alex. “why would you tell alex?”

“they’re my best friend?” spencer said, eyes now on his phone. “also, it was a blind date. i don’t have her number,” he explained, frowning. “or her name.” his thumbs were flying across the keyboard, and you watched in silence. you were suddenly enraptured by his hands.

then, it clicked. “oh my fucking god!” you groaned, which caused spencer to turn his focus back on you.

“what? what’s wrong?” there was genuine concern in his voice, something you had never heard from him. it stoked the fire inside you, pulling it back up to a dangerous roar. this chili’s would erupt in flames if this continued on for much longer.

in lieu of a response, you simply grabbed your phone off the table, calling courtney and putting the call on speaker.

“hey! how’s it going?” courtney asked, speech stilted with nerves.

“what’s my blind date’s name, courtney?”

you heard spencer mutter something under his breath.

“you’ll know him when you see him! like i said, he had a flat tire. wait, it’s been, like, forty minutes, why isn’t he there yet?” their sentence got quieter as they moved through it, processing in real time.

spencer leaned in, clearly only getting closer to the mic so courtney could hear him, but you’d like to think he wanted to be closer to you, too.

“i’m here, courtney.” was all he said.

“neither of you sound happy…” they moped.

you rolled your eyes affectionately. they meant well, and you said as much. “i know you meant well, honey, but me and spencer have absolutely no chemistry.” there it was again. you switched back to your original role, the one you had spent far too much time in, the one that was closer to home. “this wasn’t a good idea and i think you know that.”

you dared to peek at spencer, who was looking right at you, forlorn. “yeah, court. i appreciate the team effort, but unfortunately me and y/n are just not compatible.” his voice was tight. angry. and just like that, spencer was also back in his original role. perhaps it felt like home to him too, and he also didn’t care for change. some things are just true. the sky is blue, the grass is green, and you and spencer agnew hate each other.

for once, you found yourself wishing it wasn't true.

✰ .ᐟ

once you and courtney hung up, you asked carissa for the triple dipper to be to-go, and you and spencer went your separate ways. the whole drive home, the car was silent and so was your brain. normally you’d be crafting melodies and writing bridges, ever the artist. but tonight your brain was turned off. you had to keep it that way, purposefully silencing the thoughts that threatened to burst through. you couldn’t think about the looks spencer gave you. you couldn’t think about the smell of his cologne when he leaned close to talk to courtney. you couldn’t think about the way he apologized.

i’m sorry about this, y/n. i know that we don’t like each other but i wouldn’t wish this on anyone.

this?

the whole, blind-date-with-my-enemy thing.

spencer, why are we enemies?

i don’t know, y/n. but i think we both know it needs to stay that way.

it seemed like he had been mentally policing his word choice. careful, stoic. there was emotion in his voice, but not in his face. his jaw was tight. spencer felt bad. despite it all, he didn’t want to hurt you. this was a rejection, plain and simple, but he was being merciful. though, it also felt forced. like this isn’t what he really wants, but it’s how things have to be. a law of the universe, at this point. an intrinsic truth. we can’t be anything other than coworkers and enemies. anything else would be disastrous.

you felt silly, catastrophizing like this.

as you turned your key in the lock of your front door, your guitar called to you from the corner of the living room.

let it out, it seemed to say, feel your feelings, so you can move on.

and so you did. you changed into some sweatpants and an old crewneck, sat yourself on the floor of your apartment, and got to writing.

perhaps you would one day add a grammy to your little imaginary awards shelf. an academy award for your coworker enemy character, the breakout role. the sag award for your little lovesick puppy character you got to play tonight, at chili’s. and a grammy. for you. no character, no facade, just you.

but you’d have to record yourself to achieve that. and now wasn't the time for bravery, now was the time for processing and moving on.

✰ .ᐟ

the next morning, you woke up to a small barrage of messages. mostly courtney apologizing. an apology from shayne as well. a text from ang asking if you were okay. alex, kiana, and amanda also messaged you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to keep scrolling. until your eyes caught on something new. an unsaved number, who had texted you a mere minute before you woke up.

unsaved: hey. sorry again about last night.

your heart leapt into your throat, and that fire under your skin was back. you put your phone face down on your nightstand and promptly took a shower.

upon your arrival at work, you were reminded of how fucking gossipy this damn office was. people were throwing you apologetic looks all day, clearly informed on the situation. thirty minutes before your first shoot, ian pulled you to the side.

“hey, y/n. um, is there anything you wanted to talk about? or let me know about?” ian asked, clearly uncomfortable.

you looked at him in confusion, head tilted to the side. “i… don’t think so?” you said it like a question, because it kind of was one. surely one blind date arranged by other coworkers that didn’t even result in a relationship wasn’t cause for concern, right?

“okay, i’ll just ask then. are you and spencer in a relationship? it’s okay, if so, but there’s a lot of paper–”

you cut him off, astounded he even thought to ask such an insane question. “whoa, whoa, whoa. me and spencer are not dating. why on earth gave you that idea?”

ian blushed, and it was quite cute. he clearly felt a little out of his depth, which is silly considering the amount of coworker relationships at smosh. he’s done this at least three times, you think he’d be better at it.

“well i've heard whisperings around the office that you two went on a date last night,” he said.

“and you thought that a date between us would end well?” you asked, a bit astounded. “i'm not even sure why court and them even set it up, it's fairly well known that we don't like each other in the slightest.” internally, you were thinking about the low tone spencer had when he was next to you. boxing you in, commanding your attention. maybe you had been pining this whole time. but that was not anyone else’s business, so you would continue to keep those feelings behind a quadruple-padlocked door, far in the back corner of your brain.

“y/n, can i talk to you as a friend and not as a boss or coworker?” ian dropped his voice, a soft smile on his face.

“of course, ian.”

“i think you know damn well that you and spencer are made for each other.”

“i–”

he cuts you off. “you might have everyone else fooled, and you might even have yourself fooled. but to a degree, i think there’s a part of you that wants that. and it’s okay to want that. to want spencer. it’s okay to want. but if you ask me–”

“i didn’t–”

“but if you ask me,” he bulldozes, committing to saying his piece. “i think it’s also okay to have. it’s right in front of you for the taking, and as much as you can deny it, i think you also know that.”

you were quietly stunned by this emotional, introspective, hopeless romantic version of ian. “i know i can want, ian. i know more than well enough what wanting feels like.” a sigh escapes you, suddenly exhausted. “but i can’t have. not this time, not this one. i can have something else, later down the road. but i can’t have this. i’m not allowed to have this.”

“why not?”

you stayed silent. you hadn’t thought about the why not of it all. it was another one of those things. spencer was an enemy. spencer was off limits. he was forbidden. prohibited. a thing you could want, but never, ever have.

“i just can’t, ian.” you sighed, resigned. you were getting tired of fighting this battle, but it wasn’t like you had a choice.

“okay, y/n.” his voice is soft, and he puts a hand on your shoulder. “well, when you can, i’m sure he’ll be waiting for you.”

“i’d never ask that of him.”

“you don’t have to.” ian wrapped you in a hug, and then walked back to whichever office he came from, leaving you in a pile of emotions at the end of the hall.

“what the fuck is happening,” you whispered to yourself. the world was turning upside down, and you were starting to get quite motion sick.

you sat down on a nearby sofa, checking the time. you had to get your mic pack set up in about five minutes, so you tried to use that time to regulate your breathing. in, two, three, four. out, two, three, four. you knew you were shooting a pit video, but you couldn’t remember what it was or who was going to be in it with you. was it a reddit stories today? no, that was thursday…

“y/n?” erin dougal called. your head snapped up, your thoughts finally simmering to a normal volume. a distraction was welcome, and erin was always up to something.

“yeah, what’s up?” you replied, hoping for some sort of insane tiktok pitch that tommy dreamt up, or some gossip about the caterer she had a thing for.

“ready for the shoot?” right, your job. guess those five minutes passed faster than you thought. at least you had calmed down substantially.

“oh. yeah, sorry. what are we shooting again?” you hoped she wouldn't rag on you too much for forgetting your shoot schedule. surely she was aware of your current goings-on.

she gaped at you in response. “seriously? we've only been gearing up for this shoot for, like, two months.”

fuck. today was courtney’s hide and seek shoot. fuck. you had been so wrapped up in the bullshit of this week you had forgotten to even plan a place to hide.

“oh! right, sorry. not sure how i forgot that.” you stood up, trying to collect yourself, embarrassed.

you followed erin into the small parking lot right outside the office, where everyone was waiting to be let inside. she debriefed you on the general rules, which have been the same since the first hide and seek video. you nodded along, and tried to figure out where the hell you were going to hide.

before you knew it, everyone was rushing inside. you decided to go up into the weird little attic space duran usually hides in, knowing he wasn't set to be in the video. it was a guaranteed easy find, and you didn't really want to be alone with your thoughts for very long. you had a history of being found extremely early on, and you weren’t planning to break that streak. especially not when you had so many other things to deal with right now.

but the universe was never on your side. you climbed up the slightly unstable ladder, using your phone’s flashlight to look for a spot, when you saw him. spencer was already up here, because of course he was.

“no.” was all he said.

“c’mon, this week has been shitty enough. i don't have any other ideas.” you whispered, knowing there wasn't much time left. “i can't find another spot, there's only, like, 20 seconds left.”

“no, y/n.” he was firm in his answer, but you were just as stubborn.

you gathered a bit of courage, and made your way over to him, ducking in the tight space. you sat down right next to him, a fraction of a fraction of a centimeter between you. “yes.”

he rolled his eyes and rested his head on the painted cinder block wall behind him, lids fluttered closed, too tired to fight. you understood that feeling all too well. “fine.”

✰ .ᐟ

turns out, courtney miller is exceptionally terrible at hide and seek. you’d both been waiting in silence to be found for over thirty minutes. if you had known how long you’d have to sit in such close proximity to spencer, you’d have made several different choices. starting with calling out of work today.

“jesus, court.” you whispered. then, turning to spencer, you spoke just a tad louder. “we’re supposed be recording confessionals, you know.”

“i'm aware,” spencer said. no malice in his voice, though you could tell he tried. his mask was slipping.

you pulled out your phone and clipped your little selfie light onto it. “hey guys, y/n and spencer here. it’s been over thirty minutes at this point, and i don't think courtney’s even entered the kitchen, let alone this fuckass room.”

“fuckass is crazy,” spencer says, in that giggly, drawn out way he always does. you always liked when he did that. it made your stomach do somersaults, for a reason you could never pinpoint.

“are we allowed to hide together? i know lisa and jeremy technically did in shayne’s hide and seek video.” you ask, purely for the content of it all. you couldn’t care less about any of the rules right now. you were next to spencer, and it felt right. fuck the rules.

“i'm not sur–” a noise erupted from the kitchen, and spencer paused. “they’re hereeee,” he singsonged. he was disgustingly cute.

“gotta go!” you said, quickly ending the recording and putting your phone away.

spencer looked at you, and you looked at him. faces mere inches apart. you both heard the door to the kitchen closing, signifying courtney’s exit. you were both safe, for now. no need to stay quiet. but neither of you spoke.

the silence carried on, seconds to minutes. you started to really look at spencer, dissecting his beauty.

the shine in his eyes, even in this dim, unflattering light. the ghost of a smile on his face. he's the first to turn away.

“y/n,” spencer near begged. “please.”

“what?” you asked, genuine.

he looked back at you. then he leaned in, so close you could feel his breath when he spoke again. “you're killing me, y/n. you know what you're doing.”

you angled your face, just so, closer than you've been to anyone in a long time. closer than you've ever been to spencer agnew. “oh? what am i doing, spencer?” you batted your eyelashes at him.

he inched closer, prompting your noses to touch. it sent a shooting pulse of sparks through your blood. “tell me to stop, y/n.” he whispered, borderline tremulous.

“why?” you didn’t retreat, and you certainly didn’t oblige him.

“please, tell me to stop.” he was still staring into you, through your eyes and deep into that corner of your mind. the quadruple-padlocked door. he held every key, and you could see it all play out: him unlocking every single one with ease. blatant disregard for the consequences of his reckless actions.

you let him. no, you encouraged him. “why can't you stop yourself, spencer?”

you knew full well courtney could burst in at any moment. you're acutely aware that you're both at work right now, in the middle of a shoot. you couldn’t seem to find the strength to give a fuck.

“because you're in charge, y/n. you always have been. i’ve been following your lead since day one. so tell me to stop.”

you moved your eyes to his lips, finally tearing away from that gaze. “go,” you whispered.

that was all he needed to crash his lips into yours.

it’s not a great kiss. it never is when you're both this pent up. it's either too aggressive or too soft, never exactly what you're expecting, or wanting. but it enveloped you in that now familiar fire, and you didn’t even care. this could be the worst kiss of your life and you would still think of it fondly years down the line. because it's spencer. and you wanted spencer. and he, seemingly, wanted you too. so you want. and you have. just for a moment.

your brain finally rebooted and you immediately started kissing back, forceful. spencer’s hands found your body, and they wandered. he set them on your hips, then moved one to your neck. then one in your hair and the other on your face. you only pulled back from lack of oxygen. out of pure necessity.

as you both sat there, foreheads pressed against each other, chests heaving, you started to think about what you've done. he didn't just unlock that door, he blew it off the hinges. you weren’t sure you could ever deny yourself the feeling of kissing spencer agnew. not anymore, not now. you've become addicted on the very first hit, and you couldn’t find it in yourself to care.

a loud bang on the opposite side of the wall had both of you separating. only an inch or so between the two of you, knowing you're about to be caught. you willed your heart rate down. trying to breathe slow, deep breaths. “time to be found i guess,” you whispered.

spencer’s head finds its place on the back wall again. he seemed defeated. tired. but happy. “yeah.”

✰ .ᐟ

two months passed and neither you nor spencer spoke about what happened during courtney’s hide and seek shoot. there's still animosity all around, and you expect that your oscar will be stripped away due to your performance. it’s exhausting, keeping this fucking thing going. you had the one thing you always denied yourself, for just a moment, and that’s all you’ll ever have. you’re well aware of this, and were doing what you could to fully come to terms with it.

but spencer. he seemed so unbothered. like it was nothing to him, like you were nothing to him, like this was all just an elaborate prank. cut the fucking cameras.

tell me to stop, y/n. please.

christ. your alarm had been turned off five minutes ago, but you remained in bed, under the covers. showing up at work was never a thing you dreaded. you fucking loved your job. and all your coworkers, who were now your friends and your family. you even loved the fans, deranged as they are.

but these days, it was weighing on you. getting up, going in and pretending you don’t know the taste and rhythm of spencer agnew’s sinful fucking mouth. it was hell. you wanted more, and he wanted nothing to do with you. and maybe you should have expected that. maybe this was all on you, for getting your hopes up for even a moment.

you’re in charge, y/n. you always have been.

you pulled yourself out of bed and into the shower. you turned the water as hot as it could go, grateful to experience a different kind of pain for even a few minutes.

i’ve been following your lead since day one. so tell me to stop.

once your skin had been sufficiently burned, and your actual shower duties were complete, you decided to dress a little nicer today. even though you knew the only plan you had was answering emails, editing scripts, and some social media stuff.

the shower really helped. the day seemed different, brighter. you felt a little less trepidation about work. you weren’t sure what magic was doled out by your rinky dink shower head, but you were thankful for it all the same.

✰ .ᐟ

pretty much every cast member greeted you at the door. suddenly, that trepidation was back. “what’s going on?”

“did you not check your phone?” shayne asked, a laugh tumbling out of him.

you thought about it. you hadn’t, actually. you turned your alarm off, showered in silence for the first time in a long time, then drove to work in silence as well. “i guess not. why? is everything okay?”

angela let out a gleeful scream. “you and spencer have the fandom in a tizzy!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands with joy.

your brain went all fuzzy. “me and… spencer?” your mind drifted back to the kiss, and you felt the heat rising on your face. that was embarrassing. everyone was here, and they were all looking at you, and you knew that your blush was violently visible.

“from the hide and seek video!” chanse added, as though there were any other point of reference.

you started to get a bit light-headed, and you sat down. “i’m confused.”

“why?” courtney asks, coming to sit next to you. it seemed everyone could sense your discomfort, so they dissipated, leaving courtney to work their magic.

“why would anyone care about me and spencer?” you asked. in your defense, you hadn’t watched the video. you couldn’t. you didn’t even watch back the single confessional you recorded, just sent it over to andre. you didn’t delete it though. it sat in your camera roll, heavy on your mind, and taunting you every time you opened your photos app.

they laughed, a soft sound, reassuring. “babe, i need you to watch the video.”

you groaned in response, feeling like a petulant child. like you were going to stomp your feet and cry if you didn’t get your way. “i don’t want to, courtney. i don’t need to see how fucking red was my face was. i don’t need to see how pathetic i look.”

you hadn’t told a single soul what happened in that little attic crawl space. you didn’t want to – it was a blissful secret. it was easier to hold it in, the truth that you kissed him and it felt like flying and dying and living and breathing and everything all at the same exact time. because if you ever admitted that out loud, you think you’d pass away from the sheer amount of love in your voice when you say it. he was turning you into a hopeless romantic, and you’d barely said seven words to the man since he completely ruined your life.

because that’s what he had done, wasn’t it? you were ruined for anyone else. how could you move on, how could you kiss someone else when spencer agnew made alpha centauri appear behind your eyes. a star system, exploding to life. and you knew, somewhere inside, that that was the only time in your life you’d ever be able to feel something like that. you weren’t even sure you’d want to feel it again. it’s been nothing short of agonizing.

“y/n, can i ask you something?” they questioned, ever patient.

“yes.”

“why do you keep denying yourself good things?” her hand was on your thigh, a soft comfort to offset the sting of her question. “please, i'll show you the clip right here, and i’ll be next to you the whole time. if you want me to turn it off, i will. but will you try for me? please?”

you had never struggled with watching the videos you were in. granted, you usually could just focus on someone else in the shot. this was just you, and spencer. courtney would be there in the background, maybe brennan. but mostly it was you and spencer. and if you didn’t look at yourself, you’d look at him. you weren’t sure which was worse, but you agreed.

“rip the fucking band-aid off already, i beg of you.”

she let out a small squeal of excitement, opening her phone. you were only mildly surprised to see the clip was already pulled up.

courtney pressed play on the video, and they handed you the phone. you watched, captivated. you decided to look at yourself. your blush was evident, and once you noticed that, you couldn’t bear to look any longer, so you looked at spencer. he was staring at you, while you stared ahead, giggling at whatever courtney said. his eyes were fixed on your profile, a smile bursting at the seams of his mouth, threatening a chelsea grin. he was smiling. he begged you to stop him, to stop this. spencer begged you not to feed the fire, but you had thrown gasoline right into it.

the thought… excited you.

“oh, hey,” courtney chirped happily, causing you to tear your eyes away from the screen of her phone. she paused the video and slipped her phone back into her pocket. “i’ll leave you to it,” they stood from their chair, pushing it in and giving you a look of hopefulness. you smiled back, halfheartedly.

“hi, spencer.” you murmured, finally meeting his eyes.

“hi, y/n.” he parroted, walking slowly toward you. he seemed hesitant, but… hopeful? maybe you felt the same way. “can i talk to you for a moment?” he gestured to the recently vacated chair on your left, and you nodded. you couldn’t trust yourself to talk at the moment.

he sat down next to you, entirely too casual. he’s slouched in the chair, hands in the pockets of his jacket. “seems like we did a number on a few people, huh?” he started. still too casual. you braced yourself for impact: we still can’t do this, though. we’re not friends. let alone lovers.

what he actually said, though, hit you harder than 400 asteroids. “you certainly did a fucking number on me.”

“uh, what?” is all you could muster, confused, adrenaline pumping through your veins.

he sat back up, then leaned into your space. again. he likes to do that. normally, you’d feel too caged, too claustrophobic. but for some reason, it felt like a blessing. a near-familiar comfort in this whirlwind you were caught up in. “y/n, do you remember our first date?”

your defense mechanism, sarcasm, clicked on in your brain. “if you call that a date, i’m embarrassed for you, spencer.”

“so you do remember it.”

“yes, spencer. i remember when you accosted me at chili’s.”

he laughed, and you know that it’s such a beautiful sound, but it still hurt. “and do you remember what i told you at the end of the night?”

“you said you didn’t know why we were enemies, but that we both knew it needed to stay that way.”

“exactly. y/n, do you know why i refuse to sit next to you in videos? or why i very frequently cut you off when you’re talking? or why we’ve never been the guests on reddit stories together?”

“no,” you breathe out, honest. “no, i don’t know why.”

“it’s because of what happened in that godforsaken hide and seek video. because i knew, given the proximity, i’d do that. i’d stare at you, zoned out of whatever conversation was happening around me. smiling like a fucking idiot.”

you didn’t speak, feeling overwhelmed at his sudden confession.

“i have a cool guy persona that i try quite hard to keep up, and i didn’t want millions of people seeing me, fucking, splayed out like that. all my feelings on display in 4k. since the day you walked in that fucking door, i’ve been forcing myself to hate you, forcing myself to be your ‘enemy’, playing along with this stupid fucking charade we both seemingly crafted out of nowhere. being that close to you, it makes that whole game a lot harder to play.”

“spencer,” you said, attempting to alleviate some pressure. “you don’t have to–”

“i’m serious, y/n. i’m not mad, i’m not even upset. frankly, i’m relieved. it’s out there, people have seen it, and i’m happy about it. i’m tired of this stupid cat and mouse game, y/n. this shit makes me feel like sisyphus. i’m tired of pushing the stupid fake hatred boulder up the mountain. and i think you are, too. i’ve seen it. i’ve felt it.” he whispered the last part, like it was meant just for him. he was thinking about the kiss. reliving it, the tension, the heat, the closeness. his lips on yours, his hands in your hair. he was thinking about it, and he wasn’t thinking it was embarrassing or gross. he didn’t regret it. he didn’t regret you.

you leaned into him, bringing your nose right up to his, face closer than need be for a conversation between two people who claim to hate each other. “tell me to stop, spencer,” you tried.

he looked at you, eyes wide and shining again. his gaze flickered down to your mouth, then back to your eyes. “fuck it,” he stated, and then his lips were on you.

you were once again kissing spencer agnew, and you were once again doing it at the fucking office. but you didn’t care about that, couldn’t care about that, because he was kissing you, and this time it was different. it wasn’t nearly as clumsy, or aggressive. the angle was perfect, and his hand was resting on the back of your neck, a soft cradle. your brain didn’t need to time to load, or reboot, and for once it didn’t even blue screen. you immediately kissed spencer back, with more fervor than you thought you had in you.

a small moan slipped out of your mouth, and you didn’t care about that either. you knew your coworkers were probably watching you both from around the corner, phones out to record the momentous occasion, hushes being thrown at others who dared to speak.

but right now, the only thing you cared about was making sure spencer knew you weren’t going to play this fucking godawful game anymore. you kissed him like you were serious about it, because you were. you were serious about spencer agnew. as serious as a heart attack, which you felt like you were on the verge of.

you attempted to pull back for a moment, but spencer wouldn’t let you go. he’s starving, and you are a delicacy he intends to gorge himself on, gluttonous. you gave in, and continued to kiss him back. it’s the most blissful feeling, reciprocation.

no more games. no more lies. no more feuds.

no more enemies, or hatred.

some things in life are universal truths. the grass is green, the sky is blue, and you and spencer agnew loved each other. you always had, and both of you were equally tired of pretending otherwise. pushing back against the universe was always a losing game.

so you both gave in.

and it was heavenly.

“please, y/n,” spencer pined, pulling back but still staying close. “don’t make me wait another two months to do that again.”

a laugh surged out of you, loud and honest. “have you been thinking about doing it again?”

“constantly. it’s a problem.”

you bit your bottom lip, unsure of how you got here. “oh my god,” you put your head in your hands, remembering your first tweet from you posted that. “i’m sorry i threatened to piss in your kickstart.”

this time, spencer was the one who laughed. hard and loud, honest, just like you, a moment ago. like you were still doing, because hearing spencer laugh made you laugh. a contagious happiness pouring from his lips, filling your very atoms.

“it’s okay, i understand. i wanted to piss in your lattes.” he set his forehead against yours, a form of intimacy he seemed to love. just like two months ago, he was invading your space and you couldn’t get enough of it.

“i’m sorry it took so long to get my head out of my ass,” he spilled, remorse heavy in his voice. “to think we could have been doing this so long ago…” his sentence faded away, and you couldn’t help but smile even harder.

“hey, my head was also up my ass. it’s okay. we have time.”

“yeah, we do.”

✰ .ᐟ

the remainder of the week went off without incident. you told ian you would fill out any and all paperwork, but not until you and spencer were ready. not until he formally asked you to be his girlfriend. it was still the very early days, and while you were beyond happy, you didn’t want to jinx it. watching this love grow was a privilege, not a right, and you intended to keep it.

you both graced the infamous white reddit stories couch, the episode themed around coworker drama. it was nice to be able to laugh with him openly, and it was nice to hear his thoughts on the stories. spencer was incredibly well articulated when he wanted to be, and it was incredibly sexy to watch him be so emotionally mature and vulnerable. he was more understanding than you would have ever expected, and it only made you want him more.

you hadn’t had a real, formal date yet. that was tonight, once shooting wrapped. he refused to tell you anything about it, just insisted you dress comfortably.

and you were comfortable, here on this couch, with spencer. you both had to be reminded not to sit so close together, several times now. shayne and courtney ragged on you a bit, but they promised to give you tips on hiding the relationship if that was what you chose to do. that was a conversation for another time, but it was nice to know everyone at smosh would always be in your corner.

you pulled yourself out of your head to concentrate on shayne’s voice, and you even threw in a few comments mid-narration. you didn’t like doing that often, it felt rude to interrupt. but hearing spencer break out in a fit of giggles at a shitty joke you made only pushed you to be more confident.

✰ .ᐟ

“where the fuck are going, spencer?” you questioned for approximately the fifteenth time. once shooting had wrapped, everyone bid you and spencer farewell and good luck on your first official date. you went to the bathroom to change into your favorite sweatpants and an old hoodie, and when you reappeared spencer was holding a blindfold in his hand.

without thinking, you had popped the first joke that came into your head. “oh, we’re already getting freaky?”

he had laughed, and insisted it wasn’t anything like that. “but it can be, eventually.” he raised an eyebrow, suggestive and suave.

well, fuck.

as spencer directed you through the office – presumably to take you to one of the stages? – you let the lack of sight relax you. he wanted to surprise you, which means that he planned something. or set something up. you were rapidly falling in love with this man, and you weren’t sure if that was scary or exciting. probably both. you were free falling out of a fucking airplane, the cords on your parachute stuck, but it felt good.

“okay, you can remove your blindfold,” you heard his voice from behind you, as he finally brought you to a stop.

you slowly reached up to pull the blindfold off, and you couldn’t stop the tears that started to form.

spencer had set up a place for you to record music. he had moved a bunch of props and furniture around on the games stage, and set up a tiny little nook with pillows and blankets and bean bags. somehow, your guitar was there, propped next to an amp. there were several pedals splayed out, a wide array of effects for you to choose from. it was all hooked up to your macbook, which had fl studio pulled up on it.

“spencer…” you whined. the tears were silent, but they fell in waves.

he moved to stand in front of you, and you knew you would never get tired of being able to be this close to him whenever you wanted. he was yours to hold.

you tried to stop the tears, tried to speak, tried to thank him and apologize. all you could do was let the small, silent sobs wrack your body.

“y/n, please please tell me that these are happy tears,” spencer pleaded with you. his hand wiping a tear away from your cheek.

you nodded furiously, and found your voice again. “y-yes. yes. they are happy tears.” you took a deep breath in, stinging in the best way. “thank you so fucking much, spencer. i don’t know what to say other than thank you.”

“i know that you write music, but i know you never record it. i didn’t know if that was because you were worried about it not being good enough, or if it was simply the inability to record. either way, i can keep all of this set up here for you. whenever you want, as long as the stage isn’t needed, of course. i was hoping we could have a little jam sesh.” spencer laughed, light and airy.

you surged forward, wrapping your arms around him and hugging him tightly. “thank you,” you said again.

✰ .ᐟ

you and spencer spent three hours holed up on the games stage, playing around with different effects pedals and different fl studio presets. the time flew by, and you hadn’t even actually recorded anything, but you didn’t need to. you’d remember every second of this night for the rest of your life. you didn’t show spencer any of the songs you’d written these past few weeks, all of them about him. you would one day, when you were ready, but right now all you wanted was to be in this moment with him.

“it’s crazy how far we’ve come in such little time,” spencer said quietly, once the instruments had been retired and you were both stretched out on the extra large bean bag.

you smiled, agreeing. “yeah. it sucks that we lost out on so much time, but i’m grateful that i get to have you at all.” it was more vulnerable than you had meant to be, but spencer didn’t let it linger in the air too long.

“you have me for as long as you want, babe. i’m not leaving until you kick me out.”

a soft laugh, “i can’t imagine a world where i’d ever kick you out, spencer.”

“it’s like i told you. you’re the one in charge, y/n. i’ll follow your lead wherever it takes me.”

“even if it takes you off a cliff?” you japed, adding some levity to this conversation you weren’t quite ready for.

“yes,” spencer replied, no hesitation or thought. “wherever you go, i’d like to be with you. if you’d have me.”

you turned fully onto your side so you could look at him again. his hair had gotten so long, and you were hoping he wouldn’t cut it yet. you liked how wild and windswept it looked at this length. you also wanted to pull it.

“what are you saying, spencer?” you were egging him on.

“will you be my girlfriend, y/n? we can go as slow or as fast as you’d like, we can do it all at your pace. we have time,” he assured you. “i know this is only our first date, and normally this might seem like jumping the gun a little bit.” spencer sighed, but it was wistful, not sad. “but i’ve been sure about you for years now, and now that you’re finally giving me the chance, i don’t want to wait. i don’t want it to slip out of my hands.”

you let out a breath you didn’t notice you were holding. this side of spencer – no, just spencer – you were so unaware of him and everything he had the capacity to be and do and feel just a few months ago. sure, you’d been pining for awhile, and you’d been watching him for a bit. not in a creepy way, just observing him when he wasn’t putting up the goddamn shield he always forced up around you. seeing spencer for who he was, as he was. you had no idea that he could be so eloquent, so romantic, so fucking perfect.

“christ, you’re going to kill me, charles spencer agnew.”

“is that a yes, y/n? don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind already!” spencer laughed again, and you realized just how often you made him laugh. almost like your specific brand of comedy was tailor made for him. maybe it was.

“yes, spencer, i will be your girlfriend.” you smiled at him, a toothy. unabashed grin. “thank you for this.” you gestured around the nook. “seriously, this is so fucking sweet of you. i really, truly appreciate it.” most people didn’t put so much effort into the first date. this would, normally, be a fifth date kind of thing, probably. not that you had much practice. but it was your first real date, and spencer did all this work just to spend a few hours making shitty hyperpop mixes out of the silliest guitar sounds you could manage.

“don’t get used to it, this was a lot of work.”

your smile dropped instantly, a cold rush hitting you. fuck, was he making fun of you? you felt tears well up again, this time decidedly unhappy tears.

spencer shot up in an instant. “hey, hey. it’s okay, love. can i touch you?”

you cried harder, realizing that not only was spencer not making fun of you, but that he was listening. he always was, he always had been. because he knew not to touch you when you were crying, he knew to ask. and you had never told him that.

you had said it in a reddit stories video once. the story had to do with panic attacks, and you felt like you had to give your two cents, daring to be vulnerable on beyoncé’s internet.

“i actually hate being touched when i’m upset. people always jump straight to hugging me or patting my head or some shit. bro, i’m fucking freaking out, please do not touch me!”

courtney laughed, agreeing with your sentiment. “no, exactly! like, i’m crying all over myself and i’m snotty and gross. please get your hands off me. you can clearly see i’m overwhelmed, why is your first thought to add to that?”

it was refreshing to be understood by someone.

“i have never once seen someone in emotional distress and thought, ‘hmm, i should hug them super tight! that’ll help!’ like, what the fuck are we doing, guys? however, i do remember one time i started having a panic attack, and my friend looked at me and held her hands up, then asked ‘can i touch you?’ which, like, just broke me out of it. i was so thankful that she asked to touch me instead of just doing it that i was immediately calmed down. she’s great.”

the emotions were a sudden flood, and you shook your head no. spencer sat still in his spot, respecting your decision. for some reason, this only prompted you to cry harder.

basic respect had you sobbing. this was fucking embarrassing.

“i’m so sorry,” you said through tears, trying to explain yourself.

spencer was patient, and you knew he would wait for you to collect yourself. it was a small gesture but it really did mean the world to you. this meant not only did he listen to you when you were talking on set, but also that he watches the videos that you’re in. he wasn’t on that shoot, he had a con to go to. he wasn’t even in the state of california when you had said that. you had said that nearly a year ago, and he had watched the video when it came out. then committed that piece of you to memory.

“spencer?” you let out softly. “i have a question.”

your voice was small, almost upsettingly so. you didn’t mean to sound so timid, but projecting your voice when you’re feeling this many emotions was something you could only do in front of a camera or a live audience.

“yes?”

“how long have you known that you didn't… y’know. hate me?” you sighed, glad to have the weight of the question off of your shoulders, but worried about how heavy the answer might weigh on you.

“i never hated you. i never even disliked you, y/n. i thought you were smart enough to figure that out.”

“are you negging me, babe?” you asked him, trying out the pet name. it felt nice, especially because you meant it. and because this time, you knew he wasn't being mean. he was just being spencer.

once again, spencer’s laugh graced your eardrums, and you knew you’d never tire of the way it made you feel. unstoppable. like if you could make spencer agnew laugh like this, you could do anything in the world. maybe even be brave.

“can i show you something that i've been working on?” you asked, your eyes trailing up to meet his, which were already fixated on you. as always.

“of course.”

you grabbed your guitar, turning ever so slightly to the side. you didn't want to hide, but you also didn't want to be on full display. spencer understood your movement immediately; he looked down at his hands for a moment, silently reassuring you that it was okay, that you were safe.

it was refreshing to be understood by someone.

you plucked the chords you had burned into your brain at this point. you had written this song the evening of the hide and seek incident (trademark pending).

you let your eyes fall shut, playing from memory, as easy as 1-2-3. as you began the first verse, you dared to glance at spencer. he was looking at you, but through his periphery. still trying to give you that space, but unable to deny himself. it made you burn bright with pure, radiant joy.

you glided into the chorus, your eyes fully open at this point. spencer had long since abandoned his resolve, and he was watching you intently. instead of being scared, or nervous, or overwhelmed, you just felt seen.

in every sense, you felt seen. he was looking at you, into you, and not through you. he was seeing your heart on your sleeve, stitched permanently on every cardigan you owned. he was seeing all of your emotions, all the anger, all the sadness. and he understood your emotions, because he had felt them, too. he had gone through it all, too.

how lucky you were, to be loved by someone so observant. and maybe it wasn't love yet, but you knew the potential was there. you knew, as you finished up the bridge and moved on to the outro, that the seed had been planted. you would be sure to water it diligently.

“can i kiss you?” spencer blurted out, as soon as the final note finished ringing out in the otherwise silent stage.

“always.” you met spencer halfway, another crashing, aching kiss. his hands immediately found your hair, as they always did. your arms fell around his shoulders, a loose hold.

after a moment the kiss was less crashing and danger and speed, slowing naturally to a sensual pace. lightly pulling and pushing, his hands now gripping your hips. not angry, not painful. it was a tight grip, but it wasn't mean. it felt scared, almost, like if spencer didn't hold on to you, you’d be gone.

you think you liked that feeling. the feeling that your partner wanted you all the time.

you spent another hour lazily kissing, and ended up falling into a blissful sleep.

✰ .ᐟ

you woke up about an hour after you had crashed. you hadn't meant to, you were just so fucking relaxed and happy. with the way your sleep had been, you weren’t going to turn down a nap.

spencer mumbled something, and you were suddenly hyperaware of the fact you were still in the office. you groaned, unintentionally.

“you okay, y/n?” your boyfriend – you loved that – asked, his voice soft and scratchy from the nap.

you smiled down at him. “yeah, sorry. i just realized we've only ever kissed at the office.”

you watched in amusement as the cogs turned in his head. “oh, jeez. well, that’s just unacceptable. hey, apropos of nothing, i'm out of kickstart. do you want to run to the corner store with me?”

spencer held out a hand, as if to say ‘join me on this adventure?’ and you weren’t sure how you could decline his offer.

♡

#richie txt #richie writes #spencer agnew x reader #smosh x reader

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ginnsbaker · 8 days ago

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All Of Your Pieces (21 - The Autumn Singes)

Chapter Summary: It was very childlike—how she went about her day doing the most innocent things. And yet—

You couldn’t stop thinking about how she felt pressed against you. How soft her lips were when you kissed them. How wet she’d been that night, soaked from the rain and from wanting you. Since moving to Scotland, neither of you had brought it up—not once. And every time you thought about circling back to that moment, you realized you still couldn’t find the right time. Sometimes the memory of it felt like a distant dream, and you were left questioning whether it really happened or not.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader Chapter word count: 5.1k+ | Chapter Tags: First time, fluff, smut

A/N: Things finally align for Wanda and Y/N. More importantly, smut is back. But it's so tender and loving and sappy so be warned! // More author's notes here.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

The first thing you did when you and Wanda arrived in Scotland was clean up the small, nondescript apartment Natasha had directed you to. It smelled of dust and damp wood, and the wallpaper peeled at the corners, stained with colors you’d rather not think too hard about. But underneath it all, the bones were solid. Sturdy. It was something to build on.

Most of all, it was yours now.

Yours and Wanda’s.

As you scrubbed the counters and unpacked the meager belongings you brought with you, you told her the truth. Natasha had helped you acquire a new identity, complete with forged documents, a thin but convincing backstory, and a job that surprisingly appealed to you. You couldn’t help but smile when you told Wanda it was the job of your dreams—and how it was also a chance to start fresh, doing something that mattered to you. And, because Natasha never did things halfway, she’d also arranged for a second job offer. One you’d held out to Wanda, despite knowing she probably wouldn’t take it.

She didn’t. Wanda had looked at you, her lips quirking in that soft, amused way she had when she wanted to be polite. “I’ll figure it out on my own,” she said, leaning against the counter, watching you work. She’d always had this way of saying no without making it feel like rejection, like her refusal wasn’t about you at all.

You glanced at her, pausing to wipe your hands on a towel. “Are you sure? I mean, it’s not glamorous, but it’s something.”

She smiled faintly. “I’ve been careful with my money. And besides,” she added, her voice breezy but not dismissive, “I’ve survived worse.”

Wanda was careful with her money, you learned quickly. Frugal, almost to a fault. Where you had your savings tied up in an account you couldn’t even access without some bureaucratic headache, Wanda had cash. Actual, physical cash—small bills tucked into an envelope she kept in a knapsack. You’d teased her about it once, back when things between you were still easy and new. She’d shrugged and said, “Pietro and I didn’t keep bank accounts back then. Force of habit, I guess.”

There had been instances when you’ve been short on money, and well, you always found some bills tucked in your socks every now and then.

—

Your first day as a security officer at the library began with a shirt that sat stiff on your shoulders and a badge so heavy it tugged awkwardly at the fabric where it was pinned. The library itself was grand but weathered—arched windows, polished wooden counters, and a faint smell of old paper and mildew that you’ve always found comforting.

You spent the morning being introduced to everyone: the head librarian, a stern but kind woman named Marion; two younger assistants, Callum and Fiona, who proudly professed their caffeine addictions and carried them around like marks of pride; and a janitor named Angus.

It surprised you how easily they folded you into their world. Callum and Fiona took you out for lunch that day, leading you to the Subway shop down the street. You almost said no and thought of some excuse about needing to check the perimeter, but something about the way she said, “Come on, it’s tradition,” made you cave. You sat awkwardly at the corner of their little table, your new uniform chafing against your skin, wondering if they could smell the fraud on you. But they didn’t. They talked about books, weekend plans, and the eccentric patrons who frequented the library.

It was bittersweet—the way they welcomed you without hesitation, without suspicion. They didn’t know who you really were. They had no idea you’d saved the world more times than you could count on both hands—or that you’d taken lives in the process. They didn’t know your face was plastered across Interpol’s most-wanted list, with a bounty large enough to make anyone who recognized you instantly rich.

You reminded yourself of that constantly. This wasn’t permanent. You weren’t supposed to get attached. But somehow, lunch became routine. Three of you, sometimes four, depending on who could slip away from their duties.

It was a fragile little slice of normal, and you couldn’t help but hold onto it, even if you knew it wasn’t yours to keep.

—

Wanda, on the other hand, moved at her own pace.

She wasn’t working—not officially—and at first, it bothered you. Not because you thought she should be working, but because you weren’t sure if she was acquainting herself with a new town and a new identity just fine.

To you, it looked like she was doing nothing. But that wasn’t fair judgement. Wanda filled her days in her own subdued way.

You’d asked her once, while she stirred something on the stove, what she did all day. She’d shrugged without looking at you. “I walk. I try new cafés. I watch people.”

“Watch people?” you asked, curious.

“People tell stories without saying anything. You just have to pay attention.”

Sometimes she went to museums, or sat in parks with a sketchbook you didn’t know she had until one day it was casually left open on the coffee table—a half-finished drawing of a tree, delicate lines forming branches that reached out like arms.

And then there was the TV. Wanda didn’t watch mindlessly; she absorbed. Old sitcoms, cooking shows, documentaries about things you knew she already understood. You’d catch her staring at the screen sometimes, eyes glassy, like she was somewhere else entirely.

Back at the compound, she rarely had time for movie marathons. You figured it was partly because Vision probably discouraged it, and partly because the constant training and meetings left everyone too exhausted by day’s end.

It was very childlike—how she went about her day doing the most innocent things.

And yet—

Sometimes the memory of it felt like a distant dream, and you were left questioning whether it really happened or not.

—

You got your first pay today—a thin envelope instead of a digital deposit—and it brought this unexpected rush of pride. It wasn’t even a tenth of what you used to rake in from Stark Industries, but somehow it felt more gratifying.

On your way home from work, you made a quick stop at a takeout place. You’d been craving greasy noodles and sticky-sweet dumplings all day, thinking about sharing them with Wanda. But you wanted something more to celebrate with, and you took your time wandering around town for a clue.

It wasn’t until you were riding the subway, head leaning against the cold metal pole, your first paycheck stuffed—and a little forgotten—in your pocket, that you started to feel… stupid. You’d been walking around for over an hour, takeout cooling in your hands, looking for something to celebrate this milestone and coming up empty.

You were close to giving up when you heard it.

Music.

At the far end of the car, three musicians had set up—an older man with a violin, a woman with a cello balanced delicately between her knees, and a teenager, maybe seventeen, strumming a guitar with steady hands. They weren’t playing anything you recognized, but it was something slow and aching, and it made you close your eyes as you let yourself sink into it.

That’s when the image of Wanda’s hands hovering over strings, her brow furrowed in concentration, the soft tilt of her head when she found the sound she was looking for, came to you. You’d never told her how much you liked hearing her play back at the compound.

By the time the subway screeched into your stop, the idea was fully formed. You hopped off the train, take-out bag swinging at your side, and made a beeline for the nearest pawn shop you could find.

—

Wanda opened the door before you even had a chance to fish out your keys, her face breaking into a smile so wide it almost made you worry.

“You’re home!” she exclaimed, breathless and a little flushed. She wore an oversized dress shirt that skimmed just above her knees—normally paired with sweatpants, but tonight her creamy legs were bare for you to admire.

You swallowed dryly and instinctively hid the gift you’d bought for her behind your back. You hadn’t expected her to greet you like this—she was usually curled up on the couch with her feet tucked beneath her, engrossed in Modern Family, her latest obsession from last week.

She bounced on her toes, practically glowing. “I have news,” she said, fingers tugging at the hem of her shirt. There was a glimmer in her eyes—like she’d been holding onto this all day, just waiting for you to walk through the door.

You nudged the door shut behind you. “What is it?”

She bit her bottom lip, trying to hold back a smile but failing adorably. “I found something I want to do. Well… it’s not exactly a job—more like volunteer work.” Her voice wavered between pride and nerves. “At a foster home. I checked it out this morning. I start next week.”

A grin broke across your face before you could stop it. “Wanda, that’s amazing!”

Without even thinking, you wrapped your arms around her and pulled her in. It happened so fast that you weren’t sure she’d welcome the sudden embrace, but her arms came around you just as tightly. You felt her breathe you in, and a small shiver ran through you. For a while you both just stood there, holding each other with your eyes closed.

That’s when you remembered the present you left outside. Carefully, you pulled away, an excited grin lighting up your face. “Oh! I almost forgot,” you said, moving back to the hallway to retrieve your gift.

Wanda blinked, confused—until her gaze landed on the guitar case. Her eyes widened. “Wait—what…”

You popped the latches and opened the case with a flourish, revealing a glossy, warm-toned acoustic guitar. “Ta-da!”

She lifted a hand to her mouth. “Wha—Y-You didn’t have to—this must’ve cost a fortune!”

You shrugged, grinning. “I absolutely had to,” you said, throwing her a playful wink. “First paycheck.”

Wanda looked from you to the guitar, her eyes glassy with emotion. “You’re too much,” she whispered, fingers brushing the strings. “This is... perfect. Thank you.”

You lifted the guitar from its case and handed it toward her. “Come on, let’s see how you look with it.”

She laughed as you guided her to the couch, placing the guitar strap over her shoulder. It didn’t matter if she knew only two chords or none at all—she'd learn them again, now that she had the means to do so.

“I still can’t believe this,” she murmured, settling her fingers on the fretboard and plucking at the strings.

“You’re going to do great with this,” you said, settling beside her. “And you’re going to be amazing at the foster home. Those kids are going to love hearing you play.”

Wanda laughed. “I’m not so sure about that.”

“Play something for me?” you asked, leaning forward with your elbows on your knees.

She glanced over at you, head tilted, a soft smile on her lips. “You sure you don’t mind if I play my favorite?”

You shook your head, eager. “Not at all. I’d love to hear it.”

She seemed thoughtful for a moment, then began to play a melody that made your breath catch. It only took a few seconds for you to recognize it—the Sokovian lullaby she used to sing late in the night when she thought everyone else had gone to sleep. You’d heard her hum it to herself every once in a while, sometimes so quietly you weren’t sure she even realized she was doing it.

The melody she was making was so beautiful, but when her voice joined the guitar, you were enchanted for good.

We’ve been waiting for you

'tie mi t͡ʃaˈjaɫəm

Now you are here

ˈʃiɪdeŋ ˈti e ��ʃte

More perfect than I imagined

ˈdrage wo t͡sto ˈmisliɫəm

Our house is now a home (our house is now a nest)

ˈdom naʃ ˈʃiɪdeŋ ˈgnieʒdo

No matter where you go

bez veˈdeɪ̆ doˈkude ˈjit͡ʃiʃ

Sunlight shines on you

ˈʃiʒa ˈsunt͡so nad tiˈe

When she dragged out the final note to its ending, you clapped, a broad grin spreading across your face, and Wanda’s cheeks reddened.

This girl really was amazing—in every sense.

“It’s not much,” she whispered bashfully.

You swallowed the rush of reverence rising in your chest. “It’s everything,” you murmured, voice thick. “I think it might be my favorite now, too.”

Your applause faded as you noticed the way Wanda was staring at you—intently, unblinking, her green eyes darkening with an intent that made your pulse thump against your rib cage. You opened your mouth, the start of a question on your lips—“Wanda, what’s—”

Before you could finish, she carefully set the guitar on the floor beside her, and then—

And then she launched herself at you.

You barely had time to react as she straddled your hips, her legs on either side of your hips, pressing you back into the cushions. The momentum of her body made your head spin, and any question you had died on your lips as her mouth crashed onto yours.

She kissed you like she couldn’t get close enough, like she was starved for contact. You tried to match her pace, but it was near impossible—her urgency was overwhelming. Your hands found her waist, gripping the soft fabric of her shirt as you let yourself get lost in the taste and feel of her.

A small sound escaped you when her fingers went to the buttons of your uniform, fumbling but dead-set on getting them undone. One by one, she tugged them loose until your shirt hung open, exposing the rise and fall of your chest beneath a black bra.

You caught on quickly, your hands dropping to your belt, fingers trembling slightly as the task suddenly felt far more complicated than it should have. Any focus you had shattered when her mouth found your neck, her teeth sinking into your skin before her tongue followed, soothing the sting.

“Wanda—”

She pulled back just enough to yank her own shirt over her head, and your breath caught in your throat—she wasn’t wearing a bra. The sight of her bare skin sent heat flooding through your veins, and then, in a heartbeat, she was leaning in again, her mouth finding yours with that same consuming hunger.

You broke away from her lips just long enough to tilt your head down, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses across her chest. A soft groan slipped from Wanda’s lips, and you felt her tug insistently at the ponytail keeping your hair tied back. The band snapped under her fingers—or maybe under a subtle flick of her power—and suddenly your hair was free. She ran her nails over your scalp, scratching gently as you placed a wet kiss over the swell of her breast.

“God, you have no idea how many times I’ve thought about this,” you breathed, trailing your lips up to the sensitive peak of her nipple. You dragged your tongue across it, earning a sharp gasp from her. “You’re so beautiful,” you murmured, voice thick with want.

She let out a breathy laugh, her hands tightening in your hair as you drew a hard nipple into your mouth, sucking softly. The taste and feel of her made your head spin, and you lost yourself in the sensation for a moment, swirling your tongue around the bud.

“Oh God…” she moaned helplessly. “You too, you’re so…”

Wanda’s sentence ended in a needy whine. You switched to her other breast, giving it the same slow, deliberate attention, sucking softly as you let your palm caress the one you’d just left. Wanda’s lips parted on another helpless sound, and you couldn’t help but smile around the warm skin in your mouth.

Her impatience soon got the better of her. “Off,” she demanded, pushing at the waistband of your pants. “These… off.”

“Yes, ma’am,” you breathed, trying to move your hands to the fly of your trousers. But before you could start, you felt a shimmer of Wanda’s power surge around you. With her magic, she unclasped your belt and pushed your pants down your thighs in one swift motion.

A surprised laugh caught in your throat. “Show-off,” you smirked, but there was no mistaking how grateful you were for her ability to make things happen quickly. You wriggled your hips, kicking your pants off the rest of the way. Wanda’s eyes never left you, dark and hungry as she watched every awkward shuffle, every moment of clothing leaving your body.

Wanda’s hands slid up your shoulders and found the clasp of your bra, fingers fumbling only for a second before snapping it free. She tossed the garment somewhere behind you, too impatient to care where it landed. A fresh rush of heat bloomed on her cheeks as she let her gaze linger on your bare chest, and she reached out to touch you almost reverently.

“Are you okay?” you asked softly, noticing the awe in her eyes and the hesitant way her hands cupped you.

She swallowed, nodding once. “I—I’ve never actually been with a woman before…”

You smiled at her and guided her palms against your breasts, covering her hands with your own so she could feel how you liked to be touched. Your breaths grew shallow and ragged when Wanda’s warm fingers brushed over your taut nipples. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, watching your reactions as she tried different pressures and strokes.

“You’re making me feel good,” you managed to whisper between soft gasps. “So fucking good.”

Wanda’s cheeks burned deeper at the praise, but she didn’t look away. Emboldened, she kneaded your flesh in slow circles, and each pass of her palm sent a fresh wave of wetness between your legs.

Your own impatience stirred, drawing you to the junction of her thighs. You pushed her panties to the side, and your fingertips traced her slick heat. A low groan escaped you at how soaked she was—she practically pulsed under your touch, swollen and undeniably turned on. The fabric of her panties was ruined, dampness seeping through in the most delicious way.

And then you remembered her confession from weeks ago—she’d never truly come. The thought sent your heart racing, but you fought the urge to ask more questions this time. You didn’t want to make this a test or some sort of milestone. This moment was for her, on her terms, however it played out.

“Let me take care of you, okay?” you murmured, brushing a thumb gently along her jaw.

She gave a shaky nod, her eyes fluttering shut. You gently took Wanda’s hands off your body, shifting your grip to guide her onto the couch. She followed your cue, sitting down with a slight tremor in her legs, her breath already coming in short, uneven bursts. Her cheeks were flushed, and she kept her knees pressed together, almost like she was trying to make herself smaller under your gaze.

You took a deep breath as you slipped off the couch and knelt on the floor between her legs—only you were still high enough that you were at her eye level, able to see the nervous excitement crossing her face. She swallowed hard, then let out a shaky exhale, unclasping her hands where they’d been gripping each other in her lap.

“Hey,” you said softly, sliding your palms along the outsides of her thighs. “Is this okay?”

“I…” Her voice wavered, and she forced herself to meet your eyes. “I trust you,” she finished softly.

Those three words meant everything to you—maybe even more than the other three words Wanda hadn’t said back. Words you weren’t expecting her to say, not anytime soon, maybe not ever. You loved her, and whether or not she loved you in return didn’t change that. Loving her felt like a privilege, something rare and fleeting, and it was enough. More than enough.

Wanda nodded, swallowing hard, then loosened her legs so you could settle closer. With careful hands, you reached for her hips, hooking your thumbs under the waistband of her damp panties. You felt her muscles tense, then slowly relax as she lifted her hips just enough to help you. Bit by bit, you slid her underwear down, revealing soft, warm skin beneath. The garment peeled away, clinging for a second where it was soaked, before slipping past her knees and down to her ankles.

“It’s alright if you want to stop, or slow down,” you reminded her, giving her thigh a gentle squeeze, your nails pressing in just a little more than necessary.

“I don’t want to stop,” she whispered.

That was all you needed. Leaning in, you placed a soft kiss on her mons pubis, feeling her shiver at the contact. You moved slowly, pressing a trail of gentle kisses lower, letting her adjust to each new inch of intimacy. Wanda exhaled a trembling sigh, her hands bunching up the couch cushion on either side as she braced herself.

You kissed every inch of skin in your path, taking your time with her body as you made your way closer to her center. Wanda’s breathing grew more erratic, her thighs trembling under your touch. When you reached her most intimate place, you couldn’t help but pause, taking her in.

Just above her clit, a neat patch of hair framed her perfectly, her clit already engorged and peeking shyly out from beneath its hood. You couldn’t help but smile—she was so beautiful, so vulnerable, letting you see her this way. You brushed your nose lightly across her vulva, pressing a soft kiss nearby as her breath caught. “So stunning…” you murmured against her skin.

Below a whisper, you added a single word—“Mine”. It was possessive, a fleeting slip of thought that you couldn’t hold back, even if you never intended for her to hear it. Wanda seemed completely unaware, lost in the slow rise and fall of her own breathing. She parted her legs a bit more, silent permission for you to continue.

Gently, you began to massage the area around her pussy, your fingers moving in slow, soothing circles to help relax her muscles while simultaneously teasing her.

When she opened her mouth to ask, voice trembling with anxious need, “What’s taking you so long?” you finally dived in and gave her a tentative lick, starting from her entrance and dragging your tongue slowly up to her clit.

Wanda’s whole body jolted, and she let out a sharp, unrestrained curse. “Fuck!”

You repeated the motion, slower this time, savoring her shudder and gasp. Her hands gripped the cushions as your tongue explored her—deep, then up to her clit.

Her thighs twitched against your shoulders, your name falling from her lips in a broken moan. Encouraged, you let your tongue move lazily, caressing her in slow, deliberate strokes. It wasn’t long before Wanda began to move on her own, hips rolling, pressing herself against your mouth—chasing every bit of pleasure, fucking herself onto your tongue.

You pressed a hand against her lower belly to keep her grounded, your fingers splaying across her skin as you worked her with your mouth. Each time your tongue dipped into her entrance, you felt her pulse around you, her arousal so obvious in the way she grew wetter with every movement.

“Y/N—Y/N….” She kept calling your name in broken syllables.

Soon enough, Wanda's movements grew more desperate. Her hands, which had been clutching the cushions for support, moved to your head. Fingers threaded through your hair, tangling and pulling gently at first, then with increasing firmness. It was clear she was finding her rhythm, her own way of expressing what felt good, what she needed more of.

You didn’t resist. Instead, you surrendered to her, letting her guide you. Wanda’s hips rolled with purpose now, pressing herself against your mouth. The pressure of her hand on your head left you still, no longer moving on your own. Her clit throbbed against your tongue, and you adjusted subtly, letting the flat of your tongue glide over her sensitive bundle of nerves each time her hips surged forward.

“Y/N…” she gasped, her voice heavy with need. “Don’t stop. Please—don’t stop.”

You couldn’t have stopped even if you wanted to. You dug your hands into her hips, holding her steady as she fucked your face with abandon, her moans turning into cries that bordered on incoherent.

Wanda’s movements became more erratic, driven by a strange, swelling pressure that coiled in her lower belly. You sensed her confusion when she stiffened, her hips momentarily faltering.

“I—” she managed, voice shaky, “something’s—”

Wanda looked almost scared, and you’ve rarely seen her afraid.

“What’s wrong?” you murmured against her, worried you’ve done something she didn’t like. You kept the stimulation on her clit, massaging it in rough circles with your fingers.

She shook her head, her brows knitting together. “It’s tight,” she admitted. “In my stomach. It feels like… like it’s going to—

You could tell she was right at the edge of truly losing control, so you decided to help tip her over. You replaced your fingers with your mouth once more, sucking softly on her sensitive bud, and then, with careful intent, you eased a finger into her soaked entrance—just one at first, letting her body adjust.

“You’re close,” you said, before blowing over her clit in relief and excitement that she’s about to come—and you’re the first to get her there. “Just let it happen.”

“I don’t know…” she whispered, biting her lip, her hands hovering restlessly near her stomach as if she could stop it from happening.

“You’re safe,” you promised in between licks while curling your finger inside of her. “I’ve got you, okay? Let it happen. I’ll be right here.”

“Y/N,” she whimpered, her voice high-pitched and shaky. “I—I think I’m…”

“You are,” you affirmed gently. “You’re about to come, baby, come for me.”

Her hips jerked spasmodically, and you could feel her clench around your finger. With a few more deliberate strokes, focusing on the rhythm that had her moaning loudest, you felt her body suddenly tighten in a drawn-out moment of suspense.

And then, with a long, keening wail, Wanda finally let go.

She sobbed your name as her orgasm overtook her, her body tensing and releasing in time with the rippling pleasure. It was raw, overwhelming, and utterly beautiful, and you couldn’t look away as she experienced it for the first time.

The fervor in her eyes melted into awe and disbelief, as if she were unsure she’d actually reached the peak she’d been chasing. She let out a disbelieving laugh, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. “Oh god… I can’t believe I…”

You gently took your finger out, continuing to stroke her softly with your tongue as you helped her ride out the tail end of her orgasm, her body shuddering with each aftershock. But as the last wave of pleasure rolled through her, Wanda whimpered and tried to push your head away, squirming under your mouth. You relented, pressing one last kiss against her inner thigh before sliding up onto the couch.

A grin tugged at your lips as you climbed over her, feeling more than a little proud of yourself. She was still catching her breath, her flushed skin tempting you again. You placed a hand at her waist and urged her to lie back fully on the cushions, legs tangling together until you were hovering above her.

Leaning closer, your face inches from hers, you smirked. “So… was that to your satisfaction, Maximoff?”

Wanda’s cheeks turned impossibly red, her lips parting in shock before she let out a breathless laugh. She reached up, her fingers grazing your cheek before resting on the back of your neck, pulling you down until your foreheads touched.

“You’re very good,” she whispered softly.

An amused laugh escaped you. “Comes with experience,” you teased, wiggling your eyebrows dramatically—though not without a certain smugness.

Instantly, you noticed how Wanda’s face changed. A shadow of something like annoyance passed over her features, and for a brief moment, her eye twitched in an unmistakable display of jealousy. It was almost too cute that it had you bursting into a breathy laugh, earning a small frown from her.

“Oh, don’t laugh,” she huffed, swatting at your shoulder. “You say that like you’ve… you know, done this with a bunch of people.”

You snorted. “A bunch? Hardly.” You hesitated, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. “Besides… I’m out of practice. I haven’t been with anyone since I met you.”

“Really?” she murmured, eyes searching yours for the truth.

“Really,” you said, your tone serious—though you couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed. Because honestly, the moment Wanda entered your life, no one else even registered. Down bad didn’t begin to cover it.

Wanda shifted slightly beneath you, her knee coming into contact accidentally with your soaked underwear. That’s when she realized that the past several minutes had been all about her, and a flush crept up her neck.

“You haven’t…” she began.

You noticed the faint droop of her eyelids, the way her head tilted slightly forward, almost resting against your shoulder. “Wanda,” you said, caressing her cheek in a way that coaxed her further into her exhaustion. “You’re tired.”

She blinked, like she was trying to push through it. “No, I—”

“You should get some rest.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, fingertips resting just below your ear. “You could’ve—” Her cheeks pinked. “I mean, I’m not the only one who should feel good tonight.”

“Hey,” you cooed, “it’s alright. There will be another time… right?” The last word lifted slightly—turning it into a question. You didn’t want to assume anything. For all you knew, this could’ve been a one-time thing. The last thing you wanted was to trap her in expectation.

She gave a heavy-lidded smile and nodded. “I was looking forward to it,” she murmured, then, a beat later, she looked into your eyes with a quiet determination as she added, “I love you, Y/N…”

The world stopped for a second, the moment stretching into something infinite. Then you pressed your lips together, exhaling slowly. “You love me,” you said at last—not a question, but a statement.

A certainty.

“And you love me too?”

It was almost ridiculous that she had to ask—but you’re more than happy to give the answer. “I do.”

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jellofish-plant · 3 months ago

Text

Raindrops & Red Hood

Pairing: Jason Todd (Red Hood) x Reader

Summary: After a late-night diner run in Gotham’s pouring rain, you and Jason share a single umbrella as he walks you home. Between warm laughter, stolen glances, and the rhythm of rain against the pavement, the night ends in a way neither of you will forget.

Warnings: Slight language, fluff, mutual pining, soft Jason moments, a very sweet kiss in the rain.

[Masterlist]

The neon glow of the 24-hour diner flickered in the puddles along the cracked Gotham sidewalk. The air smelled of wet asphalt, fresh rain, and the faint lingering scent of coffee and grease from inside. Jason pulled a few bills from his jacket pocket, tossing them onto the counter before nodding toward the door.

"Come on," he murmured, his voice low and warm, an unspoken promise in the simple gesture of grabbing his jacket.

You hesitated, glancing at the downpour outside. "Jay… do you see that? We’re gonna get drenched."

He only smirked, reaching behind him and pulling out a black umbrella, popping it open with a flick of his wrist. "I came prepared, sweetheart. What kind of Gothamite would I be if I didn’t?"

A laugh bubbled up in your chest as you slipped out into the night beside him, pressed shoulder to shoulder beneath the small canopy. Jason held the umbrella slightly tilted toward you, letting the rain hit his side more than yours a subtle, unspoken act of care.

"You’re getting wet," you pointed out.

Jason shrugged, glancing at you with that damn half-smirk. "I’ll live."

The city was quieter at this hour, save for the occasional distant siren and the rhythmic patter of rain against concrete. The streets shimmered under streetlights, and you could hear your own breath mix with Jason’s as you walked slow, unhurried, like neither of you really wanted to reach your destination.

Then, without warning, a sudden gust of wind ripped the umbrella from Jason’s grasp. It flipped inside out and tumbled down the sidewalk.

"Shit," he muttered, watching it bounce away like a lost balloon.

You burst into laughter, the sound ringing through the empty street. Jason turned to you, his expression a mix of amused exasperation and something softer, something he’d never quite put into words.

"Guess we’re running," he said, reaching for your hand.

You didn’t think, just grabbed onto him, fingers threading through his as you both took off down the street, splashing through puddles, the rain soaking through your clothes. Jason was faster, but he slowed to match your pace, his grip never loosening, his warmth grounding you against the night’s chill.

By the time you reached your apartment steps, you were breathless, drenched, and grinning like an idiot. Jason stood in front of you, shaking out his wet hair, droplets clinging to the curve of his jaw.

"You’re a mess," you teased, swiping water from his cheek.

Jason caught your wrist before you could pull away, his fingers gentle but firm. His expression shifted, the teasing glint in his eyes softening into something else, something more dangerous.

"You look beautiful," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart stuttered. The air between you felt charged, like lightning just before it strikes. And then Jason leaned in, just enough for you to meet him halfway.

The kiss was soft, slow, rain-soaked and electric all at once. His lips were warm against the cold night, his hands sliding to your waist, pulling you closer like he couldn’t bear to let go. The world melted away no Gotham, no rain, no crime-ridden city just Jason, just you, just this.

When you finally pulled back, he let out a breathless chuckle, resting his forehead against yours. "Guess I should lose umbrellas more often."

You laughed, hands still tangled in his damp hoodie, completely lost in him.

"Yeah," you whispered, smiling against his lips. "Maybe you should."

And then, just because you could, you kissed him again.

239 notes · View notes

dilemmaontwolegs · 1 year ago

Text

Not A Verstappen: Away We Go {3}

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!driver!reader x Lando Norris Summary: It’s winter break and silly season 2024/25 which means drama (and officially the end of the series). Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, angst, fluff WC: 4.1k F1 Masterlist NAV: Sibling Rivalry || One || Two || Three NAV: Gridlocked || One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine NAV: A New World || One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine || Ten NAV: Lights Out || One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || 6.5 || Seven || SMAU || Eight || Nine NAV: Away We Go || One || Two || Three

With the final three races of the season a triple header you hadn’t been home in weeks. You had missed your own space and knowing where everything was unlike the hotel rooms you had spent almost a month living out of. What you hadn’t missed was the pile of mail to sort out. Three stacks were neatly comprised on the kitchen table: one each for Lando, Charles and you. A quick skim through them found most were the usual culprits - bills, fan mail and junk - but two stood out.

A thick brown envelope had a return address for Oxfordshire, England and you tore it open with a squeal. “I got it!”

Your shouts had Lando and Charles dropping the suitcases in the bedroom and even Autumn looked up from where she was playing with her toys in the living room. “Guess who’s back on the grid, baby!”

Your feet were lifted off the floor as you were bear hugged from the front and back, kisses peppering your cheeks that ached from the wide smile.

“Congratulations, love.”

“Knew you would do it, amour.”

You couldn’t keep still as you reread the welcome letter and the others picked through their mail.

“Huh,” Lando huffed as he opened an envelope similar to one you also received. “That’s weird.”

“It’s not another pair of panties, is it?” you asked, the item making an unfortunately common appearance in their mail.

“No, it’s from the Vegas Chapel.”

You tore open your envelope too and skimmed over the letter that confirmed the marriage to Lando had been successfully submitted to the State of Nevada, and accepted. “Wait, that’s not right. Who submitted it?”

Charles rushed through his pile searching for the same envelope but there was nothing for him. His brows furrowed and he grabbed the two letters, holding them side by side to see for himself. “What about me?”

A lump formed in your throat and you curled your arms around him. “We’ll figure it out, baby, it’s got to be a mistake.”

It wasn’t a mistake.

Well, it wasn’t a clerical mistake but the human kind, where the minister's assistant had missed the conversation about the marriage not being legal. She had submitted the paperwork with the rest of the chapel weddings and since yours and Lando’s document was on top it was processed first. The other two were rejected.

You were legally married to Lando, for better or for worse.

–

“We should get ready,” you murmured, not really feeling in the partying mood but Max had returned from the FIA awards and wanted to celebrate his championship win.

In the week since getting the letter, things hadn’t been the same. Charles was withdrawn, Lando was full of remorse, and you were left trying to figure out a way to reunite your family. Even Autumn was picking up on the tension in the house and was fussier than usual.

“You can tell Max I am sick,” Charles muttered from the couch he sank into, clutching a cushion to his chest so he could rest his chin on it.

“You’re not sick.”

“I feel sick.”

“We all feel sick,” Lando added before curling a finger your way and you followed him down the hall to the office. He had spent most of the day locked in the room, talking with lawyers about the best option. It was too late to annul the marriage, he found, and neither of you really wanted to go through the paperwork for a divorce - but if it saved the relationship with Charles then that is what you would do.

“Steph can draw up the documents,” he said after closing the door and dropping into his computer chair. “We just need to go through our assets and figure out whose is whose.”

“Even though we aren’t actually breaking up?”

“Yeah.” The one word held so much defeat and Lando scratched at his head before tugging the curly strands. “I fucked up, love, I should have just kept my mouth shut and none of this would have happened.”

You followed his eyes to the picture frames that were still stacked in the corner of his desk. It would have been rubbing salt in the wound for Charles if they had been hung as planned in the bedroom. Taking a seat on Lando’s lap, you brushed his hair back into place and kissed the frown away from his forehead.

“What if there is a way to show Charles that he is as much a part of this family, without a divorce?” The marriage so far had been kept quiet but a divorce would become public, something you would rather avoid given your seat signing hadn’t yet been announced.

Lando perked up with hope and you took a deep breath. “How do you feel about changing your name?”

–

Winter break hadn’t got off to the best start but you were trying to remedy that with the two documents laid out on the kitchen table.

“Charles, can you come here please?”

Lando fidgeted with his necklace as footsteps padded down the hall. Charles had locked himself away in the gym and his grey shirt was damp with sweat as he looked between the two of you waiting for him.

“Family meeting, sit,” you ordered. You had taken Autumn over to Max’s so there would be no interruptions and she had enough bottles of milk to last the day if needed. “Christmas is coming and I am not having anything ruin this for Autumn’s sake.”

With less than a week to go, the house had nothing to show. There were no decorations hung and the Christmas tree was still in a box in the storage closet. You couldn’t even bear to think about going to the ski resort with everyone and having to put on a brave face.

“We are going to fix this today,” Lando said with a serious tone.

Charles scoffed, clearly not believing him, but he dropped into the seat at the head of the table and looked down at the papers and pens. “What’s this then?”

“Your choice.” You pointed to the left, and a much thicker stack. “This one is for a divorce. Everything would hopefully go back to the way it was before, but since it will need to be filed in the US it will be publicly accessible. Nothing we can’t handle with a PR team statement, if that’s what you want.”

Charles fingers the pages but didn’t try to read them before turning his attention to the smaller document. “What’s this?”

“A promise,” Lando said, taking Charles hand and trying not to cry when it went limp in his. “You’re my husband, no matter what a stupid piece of paper says, and we are a family. I know how you are feeling, I remember when you two accidentally went public and I thought I was being left behind. But you didn’t, and I won’t ever either. I belong to you.”

“Me too,” you said, taking his other hand. “And we want to show that we are in this together until the very end by changing our last names to Leclerc, if you’ll have us?”

The question hung suspended in the apartment and the only sound came from the clock hanging in the kitchen. The seconds ticked by as Charles quietly contemplated the options in front of him. What he wanted wasn’t a possibility, no matter how hard he wished it was, but he knew he couldn’t continue the way he had been, keeping you both at an arm's length. He could see the bags under your eyes from the restless nights and hated the toll this had taken on everyone.

Charles tried to remember those three short weeks of bliss, the intimate secret that only the three of you knew about, and he sighed as he realised he hadn’t kept his promise. Rising from the table he grabbed the thick stack of papers and walked away, the office door closing behind him.

“Well, shit,” Lando muttered. “I always imagined being married longer than Kim Kardashian.”

“I know, but it’s his choice and we have to respect that,” you agreed, hanging your head in your hands. “I suppose I should ring James and give him the heads up.”

You couldn’t muster up the energy to make the call though, you just sat there in silence with Lando. Twice he opened his mouth to say something but the words fell short and the minutes continued to abandon the day as if they wanted it to be over just as quickly.

Strange whirring sounds came from the office and Charles dipped across the hall to the storage closet, then into the bedroom before hard banging echoed through the house. Each bang sent a jolt down your spine and your eyes began to burn at the thought of Charles being so angry he had to break things. You looked and Lando and he looked at you, a little shake of head saying, ‘Leave him be’.

Finally, it all went silent and Charles sauntered his way back into the room and dumped an armful of paper shavings into the table along with a hammer. The mountain of shredded paper spread across the wood and some fell into your lap, the barely-legible name of the attorney spelled out on each strip.

“That was a stupid idea,” Charles muttered as he fell back into his chair and scrambled through the rubbish to find the application forms for official name changes. “You’re not getting a fucking divorce.”

“Uh, okay…” Lando said with a frown, his eyes darting to the hammer and then to the hall. “Should I ask what’s broken or are we just ignoring that?”

“I didn’t break anything,” Charles said, clicking the pens and holding one out to you and Lando. “I hung our marriage certificates up where they were meant to be. Now, are you serious about this?”

“Wouldn’t have offered otherwise,” you said as you took the pen. “Are you?”

“You’re mine, and the whole world is going to know it.”

–

Christmas Eve 2024

The long table was in a state of chaos as parents tried to wrangle the older children and the grandparents watched on with amusement, remembering the days when that was them. You shared a smile with your husbands and knew that next year you would be a part of that chaos but for now you were happy to watch on while Autumn played with a plastic spoon in her high chair.

It had become a tradition to open one present before the meal and a small box sat beside the glass of wine you were indulging in, a group present for the three of you. A larger box was just out of Autumn’s reach and Penelope’s was tempting the young girl with a Christmas cracker balanced on top.

“Who wants to go first?” Adam asked, a chorus of ‘me’s’ ringing out from all the kids old enough to understand.

You leaned in to whisper to Charles and Lando, slyly glancing along the line of adults. “$500 says Kelly’s pregnant.”

Lando looked at Max and Kelly who were busy chatting to Daniil and his eyes widened. “Holy shit, you might be right.”

Charles was just confused. “What is going on?”

You watched Kelly take another sip of her drink before Max refilled it, with water. “See, that is not a gin and tonic.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Charles laughed, shaking his head.

“And they invited Daniil.”

“Exactly, that would be more awkward, no?”

You huffed at fault in the logic until you snapped your fingers excitedly. “Except they want P here for the announcement and it was his year to have her for Christmas. Jesus, I am in the wrong line of work, I should be Sherlock.”

Charles picked up your glass and sniffed the wine. “I think it is you who needs water, amour.”

“Does that mean you are up for the bet?”

“I don’t need the money, but I will enjoy taking it from you,” he teased.

Adam quickly gave up trying to have any organisation and let the kids tear into their presents. Luka and Lio were the first to get through the wrapping paper and immediately wanted to play with the racecars. Mila squealed at the unicorn helmet she got to match the bike she had asked Santa for while Athena hadn’t even attempted to open hers as she was distracted by the cheese and cracker board. It was Penelope who sat in silence as she stared at the shirt she unwrapped.

“What is it, sweetheart?” Kelly asked with a knowing grin and you slapped Charles’ leg under the table.

P held up the shirt and started to bounce in her seat, a wide smile splitting her face. “I’m going to be a big sister!”

“I can also take the $500 in the form of sexual favours,” you whispered.

“Happily, but later,” he said before standing up and congratulating Max and Kelly.

“I’m surprised she could keep the secret,” Max said to Charles, his head nodding in your direction as you sank lower into the seat.

“Hmm, is that right?”

“She kind of figured it out a few days ago when she caught Kelly spooning marmite out of the jar with celery sticks. Cravings, mate, they are a strange fucking surprise.”

Charles laughed in agreement and clapped Max on the shoulder. “Speaking of surprises, we have one of our own too. Don’t worry, it’s not another baby this time.” He returned to his seat beside you and waited a few minutes for everyone to congratulate the two. Finally when the room calmed a bit he picked up his glass and tapped it with a spoon to get the adults attention.

“I just wanted to thank everyone for being here and spending another Christmas with us,” Charles began, his finger tracing the lip of his glass he still held. “Every year the table keeps growing larger and, Max, you finally get to be the reason for an extra chair next year, so big thumbs up for taking that responsibility. My wife thanks you,” he chuckled along with Lando before reaching for the small box on the table, opening it to reveal the wedding bands you had chosen.

“You know, three years ago I would have never imagined being this happy without winning a championship, but I have learned that even if I do get to raise that trophy myself one day it is more important having loved ones to share the experience with.” Charles took the first of two identical rings. Your husband’s rings were relatively simple but it was all they needed - like the necklaces they wore, it was made of three bands woven together. “I can’t wait to experience it all with you,” he said as he slipped the ring on Lando’s finger before picking up yours. Similar to theirs, yours was woven with three bands but yours had a dazzling emerald and sapphire inset to represent them. “Every moment, good and bad, as long as it’s with you.”

You reached for his ring, the last one in the box and placed it on his finger with a smile.

“You’re meant to ask the question first, then give them the rings,” Lorenzo teased as Pascale nudged him to shush.

“That would be a proposal,” Lando laughed, curling an arm around Charles' waist and pulling you in too. “We are actually celebrating what comes next.”

“Wait, what?” Max gaped. “Marriage? You guys are married?”

“So, not quite, it’s, uh, actually a funny story,” you said with a grin. Now that everything had smoothed over you could finally laugh about the situation and the rest of the table found it equally amusing once they forgave you for not telling them. “I should probably update the FIA with my new name. How confusing is it going to be for Crofty to have three Leclerc’s on the grid?”

“Two,” Max corrected, but you just winked. His eyes widened and he stood up, walking around the table to grab your shoulders. “You got a seat?” You nodded and he squeezed the air out of your lungs with a tight hug. “I’m so proud of you, zusje.”

“Season hasn’t even started,” you reminded him. “There’s still a lot of work to be done but the testing looks promising for next year.”

“I know you’ll do great. It’ll be nice to have a little competition again,” he teased Lando and Charles, despite the final results being closer than they had been for a few years.

“The only competition we have to worry about is out on the slopes. I’m not pregnant this year so I will be out there at dawn ready to kick your ass, Verstappen.”

Max smirked at the challenge and raised his glass to tap yours. “You’re on, Leclerc.”

–

Epilogue

The same faces welcomed you back to the grid but the colours they wore had changed. Lewis was at Ferrari and Carlos was at Red Bull, but the most surprising change was Alex who had gone to Mercedes. Albon was meant to be your teammate but he had chosen not to renew his contract and rather than bring in a rookie to start from scratch they renewed Logan for his third year.

The American driver stared at the roof for the team meeting before the first race of the season and you tapped his cap. “You don’t need to worry,” you chuckled. “It’s just a boob.”

The man was born and bred a polite southern boy and still couldn’t bring himself to even look in your direction while you pumped the excess milk out. After finding out the hard way during testing, you knew you had to get at least a bottle out or there would be leaking in your racesuit before you passed the chequered flag. Starting in P6 there were high hopes that you would score some good points and you didn’t want to go to the media pit with two wet patches on your chest.

“I’m not worried, just giving you some privacy,” he said quietly.

“You’re good at that,” you said as you swapped the pump to the other breast. “I don’t think I properly thanked you for not telling anyone I was pregnant.”

He frowned and almost looked your way before turning his attention to the computer screen of data. “It wasn’t my place to say.”

“That doesn’t stop some people, so thank you.”

“No problem.”

“We are having dinner after the race, you’re welcome to join us if you want.”

“Isn’t it your family?”

The flow into the bottle had slowed to a drop so you turned the machine off and packed it away with the bottle, covering your chest back up at the same time. “We can have eye contact now,” you teased. “It’s a long way here, most of our family couldn’t make it so it’s really just a bunch of orphans congregating in our suite. You can bring your girlfriend too, or boyfriend - we don’t judge.”

“Definitely girlfriend,” he admitted before shyly scuffing his shoes on the concrete floor. “How did you know?”

“You’re very private, I figured you’re either in a quiet relationship or a serial killer. I’m really happy it wasn’t the latter.”

Logan loosened up with a laugh and began to relax as he joked, “Innocent until proven guilty.”

The rest of the briefing went quickly and strategies were made for the current weather readings. The mildly warm temperatures at the tail end of an Australian summer were promising from the data and you knew it would come down managing tyre degradation with all the right hand turns. Albert Park was a fun circuit but as Alex learned last season, one mistake and the race could be over in an instant.

“I’m just going to check on Autumn,” you said to James as you walked out of the garage after the driver parade.

The team principal checked his watch and gave a nod. “15 minutes.”

You knew those minutes would fly by so you jogged down the pit lane to Mercedes where Susie was watching over your daughter, when she could get her away from Toto. But it appeared you were the last one to arrive as Lando and Charles took turns having some last minute cuddles.

“I hope you have one left for me, my love,” you cooed as you stole her from Charles. “Mwah, mummy loves you.”

You handed her back and swung the bag off your shoulder. “There’s plenty of milk in here if she runs out, and some yoghurt too.

“Relax, mama, we will be fine,” Susie assured you. “Focus on the race.”

As if to remind you, the bell for the grid opening rang out and you knew it was time to head back. “Okay, focus,” you told yourself before kissing Autumn’s cheek again and inhaling her baby scent. “Love you.”

Lando tugged at your sleeve and you reluctantly let him pull you away or you wouldn’t have had the strength to. “Come on, love, time to go.”

“I know, it’s just…hard.”

“Always is,” Charles admitted, kissing your temple. “See you out there, Spitfire.”

—

Testing was nothing compared to the strain the race put on your body, but it was like riding a bicycle, once you got into the groove you couldn’t even feel it. Your sole focus was on the car ahead and the carbon fibre rear wing that belonged to Lando. Though the Williams didn’t have the down force to compete with a McLaren or Ferrari in the corners, it somehow had great straight line speed. That straight line speed mixed with a classic Ferrari strategy and a slow pit stop by Mercedes had you defending the third position you suddenly found yourself in. It would have been a different story if Carlos hadn’t’ve had a turn one incident with Lewis, but you would take all the luck you could get.

“Wow, what a welcome back,” Naomi cheered as you stepped onto the interview mat and you looked back at your car parked in the third spot.

“It doesn’t even feel like I left,” you admitted with a laugh.

Lando had already done his interview and stepped over to the barriers where Susie’s silver Mercedes uniform stood out in a sea of dark blue Williams mechanics, Autumn squirming to be put down when she spotted her daddy.

Naomi followed your eyes to your husband and she smiled. “But there have been a few changes since we were last standing here.”

“Some things never change though.” You jutted a thumb at your brother who was busy kissing Kelly and P who cheered with the rest of Red Bull for his win. “I was kind of hoping for a repeat of last year since Charles was right on my ass - I mean tail.”

“Three Leclerc’s on the podium would surely have been a historical moment and I apologise to our viewers for that little whoopsie.”

Not wanting to risk another swear word on live tv, the interview ended and you raced over to Lando and Autumn, enveloping them both in a hug. “Wish Charles was here,” you murmured to his chest.

“Me too,” he said, kissing your sweaty forehead. “Ready to go pop some champagne, baby?”

“Also-fucking-lutely.” You kissed Autumn and thanked Susie for watching her as you made your way to the cooldown room. “Remind me to pump and dump later because I am chugging that bottle.”

“You deserve it,” Max said as he entered the room and took Lando’s seat since he had stolen the middle one. “I had to double check you parked in the right spot.”

“Lando’s the one who does that,” you pointed out. “But honestly, it was like the stars aligned, I don’t know how it happened. I mean, testing was good, but everything just fell perfectly into place.”

Lando smiled proudly and took your hand, resting on his thigh while you watched the highlights on the tv.

As the Dutch anthem played you watched the crowd below the stage, your keen eyes finding Autumn on Toto’s shoulders where he stood with your principal and you were certain you saw him wince as she pulled his hair. Finally the last anthem finished and you grabbed the jeroboam bottle, giving it a swirl to really make it fizzy before bringing it down on the stage.

Bubbles tickled your skin as the fountain rained down and you turned it on Lando and Max before tipping it back and savouring the taste after almost a year without it. Floating on the high, you took a seat on the podium and watched the last of the confetti fall to the ground. Sensing the celebration was over, Max joined you, tapping his bottle to yours.

“Told them I’d come back and win in a Williams.”

“You didn’t win, zusje,” Max corrected, lifting the medal that hung around his neck for emphasis.

“Yet,” you grinned, taking another long drink before wiping the excess from your lips. “But it’s only round one.”

#charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris fanfic #lando norris x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #formula one imagine #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you

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ketaundkrawall · 11 months ago

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Keta und Krawall ☽｡⋆ Joost Klein

Summary: a stupid accident leads to something you didn’t expect to happen.

Warnings: 18+ but read at your own risk, smut (lmao), alcohol consumption (mentioned), drug use (don’t do that guys), oral (m! receiving), public shenanigans in a club toilet and I guess that’s it

WC: 1k

A/N: abow guys here we are this is my first EVER published work lmao so pls bear with me. This shits not proofread bc I’m lazy. Also pls bear with me bc English isn’t my first language 👹

18+ under the cut!

To say the music that was blasting through the speakers in club was loud would definitely be an understatement.

“Want another one?” Helen, your best friend, screams over the music.

A nod and she was gone, leaving you swinging your hips to the music alone.

Nights like these were your favorite. Sweaty bodies moving in sync together to the beats of the music, mixing with the feeling and the high of just being free.

The sudden feeling of wetness against your back pulled you straight back out of your little bubble into reality.

Turning around you were met with a pair of blue eyes, widened in shock. “WHAT THE FUCK?!”

You could barely hear him say a sorry, since the music was way too loud.

“Fuck!” Giving him one last glare, you stormed off into the restrooms of the small club you were at.

It was small and definitely looked like it had seen better days. But you didn’t care.

Taking off your soaked shirt you let out a deep sigh, leaking against the sink.

“Hey.”

Startled, you turned around to look at the source of the voice coming from somewhere.

The guy who just poured his whole drink over your outfit was standing there in the doorway, scratching the back of his head. His blonde hair was messy, hanging in his eyes.

Sweat was covering his face as he looked at you. “I’m sorry about- uh that.” He said, nodding at the shirt in your hands.

“Oh it’s fine.”

He could definitely hear the venom in your voice. “Can I make it up to you somehow?”

That was surprising. Eying the man up and down you couldn’t suppress a grunt forming on your red colored lips.

“You’re Joost Klein.” That wasn’t a question.

Joost let out a small chuckle. “Alive and breathing I guess. So? Can I?”

Nodding, you grinned at him. “Actually yeah. Got 5€?”

Taking a small baggy out of your back pocket you looked up at him.

“Uh yeah sure.” Joost did look kinda confused as he looked at the small baggy in your hands while handing you the bill.

“Ever took ketamine?” You asked as you poured out a line on sink.

Seeing his adam’s apple bop in nervousness you knew what answer was coming. “No.”

“That’s okay. You don’t need to.” You said while sniffing the line, throwing your head back and closing your eyes before looking at him.

Holding the rolled bill out to him you grinned. “Unless you want to?”

And he didn’t need to be told twice. Laying out another line, you watched him sniff it.

Biting your lip as he threw his head back, exhaling softly.

The smile on your face didn’t fade as he looked into your eyes, making you both laugh.

When the laughing slowly started to bubble down, neither of you knew what was happening next.

Joosts hands were suddenly on your hips, pulling you into his lap while your mouths clashed together into a heating kiss.

Feeling his tongue on your chapped lips, you opened them, giving him permission to slip it inside, fighting for dominance with your tongue.

And then your brain stopped working.

His growing hard on was suddenly very prominent against your thigh, only being separated by your tights and his jeans.

Pulling away your eyes met his again, silently asking for permission.

“Fuck.” He mumbled. “Go for it schatje (baby).”

Not breaking eye contact you got up from his lap and let yourself fall to your knees in front of him, pulling at his belt and opening it with shaky fingers.

Helping you, Joost opens the button of his jeans and pulls the down to his ankles along with his boxers, freeing his erection.

Your eyes widened in shock. How was that even supposed to fit in your mouth?

“Are you okay?” Joosts voice brings you back to earth.

God, you probably just looked like an idiot staring at his cock.

“O-oh yeah just- fuck!” You exclaimed. “Never had one this big.”

That made him chuckle. “Well then better go for it before someone comes in. Suck my dick bitch.”

Rolling your eyes you wrapped your hand around his shaft, pumping it slowly. Keeping what he just said were lyrics from one of his songs.

He looks even more angelic from the spot you are in right now. His hair still messy, eyes closed and head drawn back against the wall as you worked him in your hand.

Dipping your head down you finally worked up enough courage to take him in your mouth.

The taste of salty precum hit your taste buds instantly, making you moan out around him.

His hands are now both on your head, holding your hair out of your face into a messy ponytail.

“You like that don’t you? Sucking my cock in a bathroom where everyone could just walk in.”

And then he thrusted his hips upward, taking you aback and making you gag in surprise.

Joost slowly starts to fuck your throat. And you liked it.

He slowly gets faster, your hands gripping his thighs, eyes watering as he starts chasing his high.

Letting out a breathy moan, he looks down at you, watching his dick disappear between your lips.

Suddenly he pulls you off. Wrapping a hand around his thick shaft he strokes himself a few more times before spilling his seed all over your beautiful and fucked face. “Here it comes prinses (Princess).”

As the first drops of cum hit your cheek your lips turned into a smile.

Opening your mouth you try to catch some of it before he lets go of you, slumping back against the wall and covering his face.

“I usually don’t do this you know.” The embarrassment was visible in his voice.

Getting up, you take a wipe to clean yourself up. “Neither do I.”

Leaning against the sink again you watched him putting himself back into place. A soft sigh escaping your lips as you turn around to leave.

“Hey.” His voice is soft. “What’s your name?”

Stopping you turn around one last time “Y/N.”

And with that you leave him alone.

The sound of Keta und Krawall by Ikkimel is all you can hear again as you walk back into the club.

—

A/N: if you made it to the end, thank you. Hopefully there’s more to come 🥹

#joost klein #joost klein x reader #joost klein smut #joost klein imagine #justice for joost #joostice

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literaryavenger · 1 year ago

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New Year's Eve

Summary: A game of two truths and a lie reveals to the team a fact about the you that Bucky can’t seem to stop thinking about.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Female Reader

Warnings: Minimal use of Y/N. Language 'cause why not. A lot of fluff. My poor attempts at being funny. Mutual pining, idiots in love. Self-deprecating thoughts.

Word Count: 3.2K

A/N: Happy New Year's Eve! Thanks for all the messages when I was sick, I'm finally feeling better and I'm negative for Covid! I really wanted to post something for New Year's Eve and this came from a fever dream I had when I was sick, lol. I hope it's any good and someone enjoys it! A particular thank you to @ordelixx for helping me with this story!💘I've only started posting here about a month and a half but I'm really enjoying it and feeling more and more comfortable in my writing. I hope I'm also getting better at it. Anyway, I have big plans for the New Year that I hope you'll enjoy! This year hasn't been great for me, but I'm planning on working harder than ever to make sure the next one is a year I can be proud of. I hope you guys have a nice last day of 2023 and an amazing start of 2024! Love you all.💘

Masterlist

“Ok, your turn, Kill Bill. Two truths and a lie, go.” Tony says, referring to the fact that you fight with swords, making you roll your eyes before you join in on the laughter.

“Ok, uhm...” you try not to look at anyone so you don’t give away the answer “I have a teddy bear that I sleep with, I have bungee jumped from the top of the tower and I’ve never had a New Year’s kiss.”

You look back up to the room and wait for their guesses.

It’s a Friday night and the people that remained in the Tower for the holidays decided to have a little game night.

Every year the same people stay around, having nowhere in particular to go, and spend Christmas together.

Clint and Scott usually spend this time with their families, this year Thor decided to go to New Asgard with Bruce and Loki to visit Val and Korg, and Peter decided to spend it with aunt May and Happy.

You usually alternate between going to visit your family and staying in the tower each year, and this one was your turn to go to your first home.

You came back the day after Christmas, never being one to miss Tony’s New Year’s Eve party that’s gonna happen in two days now.

“Well, we know she has a teddy bear.” Wanda says.

“Do we know that?” Tony turns to you, narrowing his eyes. “Do you have one?”

“Yes, she does, we’ve seen it” Natasha answers for you while you glance at Bucky, praying he doesn’t put together that they’re talking about the teddy bear he gifted you for Valentine’s Day this year along with flowers.

Natasha and Wanda were more happy than you when you told them, sustaining that he did it because he liked you until you pointed out that he gave flowers to them too, because he’s sweet and a gentleman and that’s just who he is.

They wouldn’t let up on the fact that neither of them got a teddy bear though, and you would have agreed with them but Bucky never really did anything else about it so you decided to let it go and not read too much into it.

You're brought back to the present by Tony.

“Ok, so she has one. Then it’s gotta be the New Year’s kiss, everyone has had one at least once in their life,” he was looking at your reaction very closely while talking, but you did your best to keep an easy smile and not give anything away.

“Even Captain Virgin over there had one last year.” he adds vaguely waving towards Steve’s general direction.

You crack at the nickname and at the undignified sound Steve made while blushing and glancing at Nat that shared that kiss with him.

“Tony, there’s no way that she bungee jumped from the roof without us knowing, that’s gotta be the lie.” Sam interjects, also watching you closely for any signs of a reaction that you manage not to give.

“Alright, just take your guesses, people.” You say to the group.

“New Year’s Kiss.” Tony all but yelled, Natasha and Wanda agreeing with him.

“Bungee jump.” Sam says and Steve and Bucky agree, then they all seem to hold their breath as they wait for your answer.

It’s not a surprise that even these stupid little games cause a lot of competition amongst the team.

“Neither.”-you finally said and let out a laugh when they all groan in annoyance while taking their shots for guessing wrong.

“WAIT- you bungee jumped off the ROOF? When?!” Steve seems more concerned than anything.

“Well, you know a few months ago when we happened to all be on different missions at the same time?” They nod, not knowing where you're going with this “Clint and I came back first from ours, we were bored and there was no one around to stop us from doing anything stupid so…” you trail off, shrugging while laughing.

Steve looks shocked, Sam is laughing his ass off while Tony immediately goes to look for the security footage.

They all cheered while watching you throw yourself off the roof, Clint's yells and laughter could be heard, and then Steve shakes his head while joining you in the laughter when you see Clint take his turn and scream like a little girl while you fall to the ground laughing on the video.

Once you all composed yourselves, Tony pokes Wanda’s arm “I thought you said she had a teddy bear.” he's looking at her like she brought him on a treasure hunt and then betrayed him and left him for dead on a deserted island.

“She does! She got it from-” you interrupt her before she can finish the sentence, blushing a little and avoiding Bucky’s eyes.

“I do have a teddy bear, I just don’t sleep with it.” you say, shrugging.

“Oh, come on, that’s cheating!” Natasha whines.

“It’s really not, just because I do have one it doesn’t mean I didn’t tell a lie about it” you laugh at her pout.

“Wait a minute, so you’ve never had a New Year’s kiss?” Tony looks at you like you suddenly grew two heads.

“It’s not a big deal. Funny thing is, I have had boyfriends during New Year’s Eve, I just never happen to spend the day with them.” you say absentmindedly while thinking back at all the parties you’ve been to over the years to celebrate the new year.

“Really?” it's so quiet you almost missed it, your eyes snapping up to meet Bucky’s that were already looking at you.

“Is that so hard to believe?” The room seems to go quiet as everybody looks at you two, but you're too focused on each other to notice.

“I didn’t- I mean…” his cheeks started to turn a little pink as he seemed to have trouble finishing his sentence “It’s just you’re very pretty, who wouldn’t want to kiss you?”

You didn’t know what to say to that, you start blushing too while opening and closing your mouth a couple of times, looking like a damn fish.

You settle for a quiet ‘thank you’ with a smile that he shyly returns, neither of you noticing the glances passed by everyone else.

The whole team is convinced that there’s something between you and Bucky, but both of you always deny it and don’t seem to read too much into each other’s actions, always dismissing the glances and lingering touches as friendly affection even though you’re not really that close.

But really what else could it be?

The team lets the moment end and the game goes on, everyone keeps drinking and having fun until it gets really late and you all decide to call it a night.

Bucky goes to his bedroom and gets ready for sleep but he can’t seem to focus on anything else but you.

He really doesn’t understand how can anybody see your pretty self when you’ve just woken up, no makeup and your eyes full of sleep and not want to kiss you, let alone when you are all dolled up in a pretty golden dresses like you do every New Year’s.

Every year it gets harder for him not to just grab you and kiss you, hell every day is pretty much torture to see you around the Compound and not get to be with you the way he wants to.

But he has to keep his hands to himself because there’s no way you could actually like him like that.

He’s even tried to drop hints here and there like giving you the teddy bear for Valentine’s Day but, except for the cute shade of pink that your face turned, you still didn’t seem all that interested.

Still, that didn’t stop him from thinking what it would be like if you did like him and fantasize about being your first New Year’s kiss and maybe even your last first kiss.

At the same time you were in your own room getting ready for bed while your own thoughts kept going back to the moment you shared with Bucky in the living room.

You didn’t know if you were more embarrassed because you actually told the team you’ve never had a kiss on New Year’s Eve or happy because Bucky called you pretty.

If it was anyone else you wouldn’t even think twice about it, but coming from him it just felt like you were being complimented for the first time ever.

Everytime you thought about it you felt all warm and fuzzy inside, and at this point the moment was pretty much on loop in your mind.

The more you think about it the more you feel your face heat up, sleep not coming easily as you slip into Bucky filled dreams.

The next day everybody’s hanging out in the living room, most of them nursing a hangover from last night. You get ready for a last minute shopping trip to try and find a new dress for New Year’s Eve.

When you get to the living room you see Steve grinning at a disgruntled Tony, Wanda, Sam and Natasha who are obviously very hangover and nowhere near as amused as the blonde supersoldier.

Bucky’s attention is on you as soon as you're in his field of vision and no one fails to notice it, except you of course, your own attention on Wanda and Natasha sprawled on the couch.

“Well, I was gonna ask you if you wanted to come shopping with me,” you start watching from one to the other, as amused as Steve at everyone’s inability to contain themselves when drinking. “but I don’t think that’s happening.”

“Bite me, YLN.” Is all Nat says.

Wanda, on the other hand, is a little gentler. “I can come with you, if you want.” she says sweetly.

“That’s okay, Wands.” you smile at her “just rest and drink lots of water.”

You turn around, saying bye to everyone and making your way out. As soon as the doors of the elevator close, everyone turns to Bucky that's not even pretending not to be staring anymore.

Not that anyone could ignore the longing look on Bucky’s face as he watches you walk away.

“Buck,” Steve starts talking, glancing at everyone before setting his gaze back on his best friend. “we need to talk.”

“Okay…” he slowly drags out, unsure if he even wants Steve to keep going.

“Well, we’ve been noticing some things lately…” He’s unsure of how to say this. “Between you and Y/N.”

Bucky’s cheeks start to turn a slight shade of pink, but he’s still not sure where Steve’s going with this so he says nothing.

“So we thought” he gestures around at everybody. “that maybe we should-”

“We know you like her, and we want to help you get with her.” Tony interrupts Steve, quickly getting to the point.

At Steve’s glare, Tony merely raises his hands in surrender saying, “Listen, Capsicle, I’m way too hungover to take the panoramic route. Let’s just get this over with.”

“Yeah, Stark’s right.” Sam says, turning Bucky whose face is fully red now. “You have a weak ass game, man. Let us help you.”

They all look at the brunette supersoldier while waiting for his answer. He chews on his lip while looking at the expectant faces of his friends, before letting out a deep sigh.

“How would you even help me?” He says quietly, neither accepting nor denying their help just yet.

“Well, we know Y/N,” Wanda says.

“Yeah, we can tell you what turns her on.” Natasha smirked, before Wanda flicks her ear making her let out an ‘ow’ with a slight pout.

“What she means is,” she glares at Natasha “we can tell you what she likes, you know. Maybe help you get closer to her.”

Bucky shakes his head lightly “This is not a good idea. And it doesn’t even matter if she doesn’t like me.”

Wanda and Natasha seem to have a silent conversation, ending with Natasha raising her eyebrow at Wanda and Wanda just sighing with a soft ‘fine’.

“She does like you.” Wanda turns back to Bucky.

“She’s just convinced that you don’t like her like that.” Natasha says with a roll of her eyes.

Bucky still wasn’t completely convinced, but he agreed nonetheless. Maybe it was the glimmer of hope the girls gave him, but if there was even the slightest chance you could actually like him, he owed it to himself to try.

So he let the team make a plan to get you guys together, hoping to god he wouldn’t come to regret it.

You come home a few hours later, super excited to have found the perfect dress for the party the next night.

Bucky thought you were just so cute, all smiles and giggles.

Wanda and Nat talked you into having the last girls night of the year, although it didn’t really take much convincing.

And so the plan begins.

You’re relaxing on your bed, Wanda lying next to you, your head on her lap, and Nat sprawled on the love seat near the window close to your bed.

You’re wearing bathrobes, sheet masks on your faces as you watch a cheesy romcom that you’re so embarrassingly into you don’t even notice the girls exchange a look and nod at each other.

Wanda clears her throat and then begins talking, as casually as she can. “So, how come you never told us you never had a New Year’s kiss?”

They had to approach the subject somehow, right?

“I don’t know,” you say absentmindedly and then shrug, your attention still on the Tv. “didn’t think it was important.”

“Sure it isn’t.” Nat said, and her tone took your attention away from the movie for the first time since it started.

“What’s that supposed to mean, Tasha?” she simply shrugs, an innocent look in the face.

“It doesn’t mean anything” she says, her attention seemingly on the movie “I mean, if it doesn’t bother you, it doesn’t bother me.”

“Why would it bother me?” you frown, you don't understand what's so weird about this.

“Well, some people might find it a little…” Wanda trails off.

“Sad?” Natasha ends for her.

“It’s not like I’ve never kissed anyone.” you're starting to get a little defensive.

“We know that, sweetie.” Wanda coos, stroking your hair while you look up at her.

“We really didn’t mean anything by it.” Natasha ends, giving you an apologetic look.

“Yeah, whatever.” is all you say, and you turn your eyes back to the tv, your attention nowhere near it.

Natasha and Wanda can basically hear the gears turn in your head and give each other one last glance.

Part one of the plan is complete.

The next day goes through like usual, the team spending basically the whole morning together.

It’s a tradition, having the last breakfast of the year together, watching the last movie, having the last lunch and so on. Doing all the lasts together.

It’s silly, but it’s a tradition you've all come to be very fond of.

The afternoon comes and you and the girls spend it getting ready for the party, last night’s conversation almost forgotten.

Almost.

As you got to the party the music was deafening before you even stepped out of the elevator and, once you did, you were immediately immersed in a sea of perfume and cologne and, like every other Stark party extravaganza, you didn’t know about 98% of the people there.

You quickly find the team, as outgoing as most of them are, you usually spend most of the night together because it’s the last night of the year, last party and, again, it's your tradition.

You talk, you joke, you laugh but the more you drink the more you keep thinking about your conversation with the girls last night.

Was it really that sad that you’ve never started a new year with a kiss?

Midnight came sooner than you would’ve liked and your teammates decide to ask you a sobering question.

“So, who are you kissing?” Tony asks very casually.

You turn around confused, the team’s eyes all on you. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, nobody told you?” Sam says, looking around him “We’re all kissing someone tonight.”

“I- You- What?” you glance towards Bucky so quickly he almost thought he imagined it.

“Well, Romanoff is kissing Rogers, I’m obviously kissing Pepper and Wanda is kissing Wilson.” Tony said, before specifying while pointing at the last two “As friends, obviously.”

“So, you’re all kissing someone?” You look at everyone except the one person you actually want to look at.

Something inside of you just believes that he would nod too and a beautiful woman that you could never compare to would appear at his side.

“Well,” Steve starts. “not all of us…”

He trails off and, following his gaze, you land on the very pair of blue eyes you were trying to avoid.

Suddenly everyone else scatters and it was just you and Bucky. You don't know what to say, but you feel like you can't look away from him now.

What the hell is happening to you?

You’re talking before you can even stop yourself “You know, we could also kiss. As friends.” you add, realizing what you just said, your eyes wide with your own surprise.

He’s about to say something, but you don’t give him a chance to get a sound out before you’re backtracking so fast you might actually fall out the window.

“You don’t have to. Obviously. It’s not like I’d make you.” you chuckled awkwardly, but you can’t stop yourself from rambling “Unless you wanted to. But why would you want to? It’s not like you’re missing anything. I’m not anything special.”

You can hear the countdown starting, but it sounds distant to your ears as your heart pounds faster. “I mean, I’m sure you’re a good kisser. Why wouldn’t you be? Not that you’re like a lady’s man.”

Bucky glances around him, the team giving him encouraging looks as they near zero and you just keep going “But like you were, you know. Not that it’s a bad thi-”

You're thankfully interrupted abruptly by Bucky’s lips on yours just as everyone yells ‘Happy New Year’ and gold and black confetti starts falling down on you.

You can't even begin to comprehend what's happening but your body does, kissing him back almost immediately.

It feels like forever and also too soon when he pulls away, you can't even hearing the chaos around you anymore.

All that exists is you and Bucky and his eyes and his arms around your waist and yours around his neck and his lips that you wanted to kiss again and kiss forever and never stop.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that” he says after a few seconds. Or maybe days. Weeks? Hours? It doesn’t matter.

All that matters is the bright smile he gives you when you say “Me too.”

He kisses you again, but this time the spell is broken by the team’s whistles and cheers.

When you pull away you’re both blushing a little, you glance around you and see all the smug faces of the idiots you love to death, Bucky’s attention never leaving you.

“And by the way,” Bucky says, gaining your attention once more. “you have more qualities than you think,” he then pointed at your chest “You have this.”

You looked down to where he was pointing before saying “I do have great tits, yes.”

When you looked back at him he was blushing even harder and looked like he was having a hard time maintaining eye contact, while you were more relaxed now that the kiss took away all the awkwardness, but trying hard not to laugh.

“... I meant heart” he said after a few moments of silence.

“Either or.” you answered, shrugging and when you heard the snickers of the team around you, you couldn’t help but join them, followed by a still blushing Bucky.

Yep, this year is definitely gonna be an interesting one.

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