#and none of you thought to share this with me?

[trashytracktales]

Heyy girliee, first of all I want to say that your writing is absolutely amazing. I’ve been reading your Lando fics for the past couple of days and “endings, beginnings” had me feeling butterflies in my stomach 🫢 I wanted to ask you if you could write something about lando and reader being friends but constantly having sexual tension building up between them. Maybe they flirt with each other but never think of it as something so serious and one night after a party they completely destroy each other. I fully trust you with this and how you’ll develop the story haha and don’t hold back. Thank youuu :*

Think twice | LN⁴

💌 REQUESTED by anon ──── Thank you so much for the love on Endings, beginnings & I appreciate you for taking the time to share this. Hope you like it 🤍🎀

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𐙚 summary ──── What starts as a chill party, where they sit in their old habits, ends with new boundaries crossed and a heavy tension they can no longer ignore.

𐙚 pairing ──── Lando Norris x she/reader

𐙚 rating ──── explicit

𐙚 category ──── F/M

𐙚 warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, descriptive language, swearing, mentions of alcohol and drinking, friends to lovers, bit of jealous!Lando, smut, slight teasing, praising, fingering & oral (sit on it), multiple orgasms, unprotected sex.

𐙚 word count ──── 4.8k

𐙚 date ──── Jan. 21, 2025

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THE TWO OF them are always standing next to each other, no matter the room they’re in. The context, just like the reason why this happens, is redundant. Plus, they don’t even do it on purpose; rather, they are unconsciously drawn to each other like two magnets.

The party has finally slowed to a lazy hum, the music just a tolerable background noise now. People linger in clusters around them, their voices a distant murmur blending with the faint bassline of a forgotten playlist. The living room is dim, lit mostly by the glow of a string of fairy lights drooping across the ceiling.

It was supposed to be a small gathering, but then a friend told a friend, and that friend told their friends. And now, it’s almost impossible to find a private spot to catch your breath without breathing someone else’s air.

Somehow, they did. They are tucked into the corner of a couch, their space a small bubble of comfort. Her legs are draped over his lap, bare skin warm against the fabric of his black jeans. He’s cradling her calf in one hand, his thumb absentmindedly stroking her skin.

Her fingers thread through his curls at the back of his head, twirling them lazily. It’s a casual gesture, but it sends a shiver through him every time she does it.

Their conversation shifted into easy gossiping about a mutual friend — someone they both think is trying a bit too hard with their Instagram posts.

“It’s fucking obvious he’s fishing for attention,” says Lando, sounding almost conspiratorial.

“I know, right? The cryptic ass captions, the mirror selfies. He thinks he’s smooth with it, too,” she replies, giggling at the thought.

Lando grins, his thumb still tracing circles on her leg. The banter feels safe, the kind of effortless connection they’ve always had. But underneath it, there’s a quiet tension that neither of them is ready to address. Because they are, maybe, a bit tipsy, or because none of them has ever had the courage to take it further, for some reason.

“Alright, I need to pee,” she announces suddenly, getting ready to stand.

But Lando tightens his grip on her legs, his lips twitching in a smirk. “No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do,” she insists, half-laughing, half-exasperated. “If I don’t go, I might pee on you.”

Lando shrugs, “Go ahead. Then I might discover a new kink,” he encourages her.

“New?” she laughs. “That implies you already have at least one.”

Lando winks at her without saying a word, the corners of his mouth curling into a mischievous smile.

She rolls her eyes, smiling back at his immature behavior. “My God. You’re actually the worst. Move.”

He doesn’t. Instead, Lando, just stares at her with an expression that’s visibly different. His usual playful gaze has shifted to something more intense, and she tells herself he’s just a little... intoxicated. Still, it makes her heart skip a beat, because he looks so adorable when his eyes focus on something so intently. And so hot, that it makes her almost forget why she wanted to get up in the first place.

“Lan, I’m not joking, I actually have to go,” she whispers, her voice softer now.

He exhales, loosening his grip but not before giving her leg a small, reluctant squeeze.

“Don’t get lost,” he says, the words carrying more weight than they should.

She shakes her head, slipping off the couch and disappearing into the hallway. Lando watches her go, his eyes trailing after her like he’s afraid she might actually not come back.

Which is ridiculous, because he should not care. There are lots of other girls that he can take home tonight if he wants to.

Want, being the keyword.

Leaning back against the couch, he sighs, running a hand through his hair. He’s always known she was the embodiment of the perfect girl for him — funny, kind, and loyal. But tonight, there’s something else in the air that makes his mind wander. The way she carries herself, her laugh, the way she makes everything around her seem brighter.

Lando realized long ago that he wants to he in her presence. The truth hit him like a punch in the gut. And he still feels that punch sometimes, especially when he sees her interacting with other people. Especially men.

He’s had thoughts about her before. Many thoughts. Wild fantasies he brushed off as nothing more than fleeting curiosity. And they’ve joked about it, too, their drunken ‘if we’re single at 35’ pact a favorite running gag. But tonight, it doesn’t feel like a joke — he might actually marry her if she keeps letting him invade her personal space like that. Except she wouldn’t have let Lando do that if she didn’t want him there.

He finds himself smiling at his own thoughts. But then, an unwanted stiffness claws his body.

She’s on the way back when a guy leaning against the wall near the bathroom is blocking her path. He’s tall, too close for Lando’s liking, and he is gesturing animatedly. She’s always too polite, smiling as she talks, but Lando notices the way she shifts her weight, edging away slightly.

Something close to jealousy ignites in his chest, but he manages to tame the feeling by looking away, and forcing himself to take a slow sip of his drink. She can handle herself, he knows that. But he’s also ready to step in, just in case he needs to. Most men don’t take ‘no’ for an answer, and he’s aware of how insistent some of them can be.

When she finally returns, Lando’s mood has shifted drastically, and she notices it the second she looks at him.

“Hey, you good?” she asks, plopping back down and swinging her legs over his lap again.

“Yeah,” he says shortly, his hand resuming its absent stroking on her shin.

Her brows knit together. “Not you lying to me. Come on, Landinho, what’s with you?”

“Nothing,” he insists, but his tone is clipped, and his eyes won’t quite meet hers.

She punches his arm lightly, trying to break through whatever wall he’s just put up. “You sure?”

He looks at her then, and the vulnerability in his gaze takes her breath away. “Sure,” he says. But his hand tightens slightly on her leg, like he’s holding onto her in more ways than one.

Her heart clenches. Lando is her friend, the one person she can always count on, but in this moment, she feels the air between them growing in different direction. It’s not the first time, and it doesn’t make her uncomfortable, but it’s not easy for her to sit in it, either.

“You’re being weird,” she states, trying to lighten the mood, but her voice wavers.

“Yeah, sorry,” he mutters, forcing a small smile. “Just tired,” adds Lando, but there’s something he hides behind his eyes, something that makes her chest ache.

She studies his face, her teasing words dying on her lips. His eyes are heavy-lidded, the usual spark dulled by the late hour and maybe one drink too many. His movements are slow, lazy, his thumb still caressing her skin.

“I can see that,” she says gently, sliding her legs off his lap. “Up. Come with me?”

The sudden loss of contact pulls him out of his haze, “Where?” asks Lando, his voice faintly slurred with exhaustion.

“Do you trust me?” she replies with a knowing smile, standing up and extending a hand to him. “My god, Lando. My friend gave me keys to one of the rooms upstairs in case I wanted to crash.”

He hesitates, glancing at her outstretched hand before finally letting out a soft laugh and taking it.

They make their way upstairs, the faint thump of music growing quieter with each step. The room isn’t far, tucked at the end of a hallway. She unlocks the door, revealing a small but cozy space. The room is dimly lit, with a single bedside lamp casting a muted glow over the single bed that’s pressed against one wall, a small dresser, and an armchair in the corner.

Lando steps in behind her, the faint hum of the party fading as the door clicks shut. His gaze sweeps over the room, taking in the space. She lingers by the door for a moment, turning the key with a soft click, locking them in; the sound feels final, and heavier than it should.

Lando notices the bed immediately, his eyes narrowing briefly before he rubs the back of his neck, a gesture that betrays his unease. His voice is low and uncertain as he says, “You know what, I can crash on the couch downstairs. It’s fine.”

She tilts her head, her lips curving into a small smile as she watches him fidget. “You can,” she agrees, knowing that Lando has the superpower to fall asleep anywhere, no matter the place or how loud the background noise is. “Unfortunately, I locked the door,” she adds with fake concern in her voice.

Lando glances at her, his expression caught somewhere between playful and wary. “Yeah. You can unlock it, though.”

“But I won’t,” she replies, her smile softening, her words carrying an unspoken challenge that Lando catches immediately.

His lips part, and for a moment, he says nothing, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. Then, quietly, his voice dipping lower, he says, “Then don’t.”

His words linger between them, and she feels the weight of his gaze as it shifts to her. There’s no teasing in his expression now, no trace of the lighthearted Lando she’s used to.

She lets her arms fall to her side, her pulse quickening.

Lando’s chest rises and falls steadily, though there’s a tautness to his posture. His gaze darts back to the bed, then to her, and she swears she sees a flicker of something in his eyes — fear? Desire? Anticipation?

His jaw tightens, his eyes searching hers, and she feels the weight of everything left unsaid pressing down on them both. Every glance, every touch, every joke that lingered a second too long — it’s all there, bubbling to the surface.

The tension between them that has simmered for months, maybe even years, suddenly feels unbearable. Lando’s eyes meet hers once again, and the quiet resolve in her gaze breaks something inside him. And then, suddenly, a glance he catches from her it’s all it takes. The restraint he’s held onto for so long snaps like a rubber band stretched too far. Before he knows it, he’s closing the gap between them, his hands cupping her face as his lips crash against hers.

She responds instantly, her hands tangling in his curls as she pulls him closer. The kiss is all-consuming, months of buried feelings and unsaid words spilling out in a rush. It’s intoxicating, a heavy blend of alcohol and the faint sweetness of her cherry lip balm. His lips are soft, impossibly so, molding against hers like they were made to fit. The taste of him is dizzying, a perfect balance of warmth and want, and each movement of his mouth sends sparks of heat rippling through her.

It’s overwhelming, the way Lando kisses her — gentle, but with a growing intensity that leaves her breathless, her heart pounding as if it’s trying to match the rhythm of his. His fingers trail down to her neck, squeezing lightly and pulling her against him as they stumble backward toward the bed.

“Do you know how long—” he begins against her lips, his voice rough with need.

“Too long,” she cuts him off with another kiss while her fingers are rushing to tug at the hem of his shirt.

Lando groans as they tumble onto the bed. Their breaths are loud and uneven, filling the small space as their lips crash together again, need and desire fueling every movement. Her palm presses against the small of his back, coaxing him between her legs. He instinctively follows her guidance, his body lowering against hers until his forehead rests on hers. At that, Lando sighs, not with frustration but a soft exasperation that halts them both.

“Are we… okay?” he asks, half-amused and half-concerned. “We shouldn’t—we should not do this. Not like this.”

She doesn’t release him, her hands still on his sides, her legs loosely wrapped around him. “We are,” she assures him, her voice calm but insistent. “It’s just us, Lando.”

His brows furrow, his lips parting in disbelief. “I know. I just don’t want you to wake up tomorrow and—”

Her hands move to his face, cupping it firmly and forcing him to look directly at her. “Regret it?” the girl asks, her thumbs stroking his cheekbones. “Don’t be silly. You know this isn’t about tonight. I’ve wanted you for a while now. I know you do, too.”

His eyes flicker with something raw, and he swallows hard. “I do,” he agrees. “But. It’d be such a waste to mess it up.”

The weight of his confession settles over them, and he falls onto the mattress beside her. For a moment, they both stare up at the ceiling, their fingers brushing tentatively before intertwining. It’s quiet, save for the hum of the party faintly bleeding through the walls.

And then, “You’re such a good kisser, by the way,” she finally breaks the silence.

He lets out a chuckle, visibly affected. “You’re not making it any easier.”

“I’m already messed up because of you, Lan,” she confesses, turning onto her side, her fingers finding his arm and tracing slow patterns along its length. “I trust us. No matter the outcome.”

Her hand travels to his chest, her fingers brushing lightly over his collarbone before moving to his jaw. She traces the line of it, her touch light but electrifying. Finally, her thumb brushes over his bottom lip, her gaze following her movements so closely, as if she wants to devour him.

Their thoughts run wild, revisiting every stolen glance, the tension, the want — it’s always been there. Every moment brought them here.

And now?

“Do you, really?” asks Lando, his voice laced with curiosity.

She nods, her hands sliding down to rest over his, her fingers curling around his. “Completely. I trust us to figure it out as we go. Don’t you?”

He lets her words settle, a warmth spreading through his body. He does. But he still has to think twice before agreeing to something so drastic, especially when he is faced with something he wants so badly that it makes him burn with impatience.

Finally, Lando sighs, looking at her.

“It’s not a big deal, right?” she says with a quiet laugh, her voice tinged with both affection and relief. “We’ve always been good at just... being us.”

He smiles at that, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. “That’s true. We’re pretty fucking great at that.”

Lando’s breathing hitches as she guides his hand to her ass, pressing it against her curves with an undeniable confidence. His grip tightens instinctively, and she drapes a leg over his waist, pulling herself closer. Their eyes lock, her fingers tracing his features, as if committing every contour to memory. They’ve never been so close to each other, and the intimacy of the moment makes his heart race, while hers almost melts under the warmth of his body.

“You’re going to ruin me,” he admits matter-of-factly.

Her lips curl into a faint smile. “Hopefully,” she whispers, her hand traveling south, to work on unbuttoning his jeans.

Lando swallows hard, his gaze darkening as he grips her tighter. “If I fuck you tonight…” his voice drops, laced with a possessiveness that makes her shiver. “I won’t be able to let another guy come anywhere near you again.”

Her eyebrows arch in surprise, finally able to put the pieces together, understanding why Lando was acting so strange earlier.

“Are you jealous, Lando?” she teases, though there’s a flicker of curiosity in her tone.

Lando’s response is silent; instead, he leans in, his lips finding the soft curve of her neck. He sucks lightly, then harder, leaving a blooming hickey that makes her gasp.

When he pulls back, his voice is firm, “No, I just want people to stay away from what’s mine.”

Her breath catches, and before she can stop herself, the word escapes her lips in a near-whisper. “Yours.”

The corners of his mouth twitch, but he doesn’t say anything, letting the intensity in his gaze speak for him. She pushes at his chest, making him fall back against the mattress with a soft laugh, and crawls on top of him, her thighs straddling his hips.

Impatiently, her hands work on his shirt, pushing it up his chest. “Off,” she demands, tugging until he lifts his arms and lets her pull it over his head.

His hands waste no time, slipping under her skirt and pulling at the lace of her panties. “These,” he says quickly, his breath warm against her collarbone, “are in my way.”

With a sharp pull, he slides them down her thighs, and she shivers as the cool air kisses her damp skin. She leans down, burying her face in the crook of his neck to hide her embarrassment as he guides her hips forward, her bare core pressing against the warmth of his abs. The firm ridges of muscle beneath her send a jolt of pleasure through her body, and she lets out a soft moan.

Lando’s hand tightens on her hip, his thumb brushing over her skin. “Look at that,” he breathes heavily, “What got you so excited, hm?”

She whimpers at his words, the heat pooling in her cheeks as much as between her thighs. “Don’t—” she mumbles into his neck, her voice muffled and shy.

He chuckles softly, the vibration of it against her skin making her shudder. “No, that’s so hot,” he teases, moving her hips just slightly so she drags against him. His own breath catches, and his hips shift upward, pressing the hardness of his length against her thigh. “You feel what you’re doing to me? It’s mutual.”

She lifts her head, her eyes meeting his as she lets her fingers trail down his chest. Next, she adjusts herself as her hand slides lower, brushing against the waistband of his pants before she pushes them down just enough to free him. His cock springs free, and she bites her lip at the sight of it, her own arousal growing as she reaches out to wrap her hand around him.

Lando groans, his head falling back against the pillow. “Fuck,” he breathes, his voice rough and full of longing.

As she leans down to press her lips to his chest, her tongue flicking over his nipple, a sound escapes him that’s somewhere between a gasp and a moan. She glances up again, amused. “Well,” she teases, her voice playful but sultry, “I think I just found your new kink.”

Lando lets out a weak chuckle, his hand tangling in her hair as he pulls her back up to kiss her. “Shut up,” he speaks over her lips, but the way his hips buck against her hand tells her she’s right. “Everything you do is my kink,” he whispers, the rawness in his voice making her heart race.

Her cheeks flush a deeper shade, and with a playful glint in her eye, her hand squeezes his cock lightly, eliciting a sharp inhale from him. “Sorry,” she giggles, feigning innocence, “I just wanted to make sure.”

He scoffs, shaking his head with a smirk before his hands cup her ass firmly, pressing her harder against him. His voice is rough and dripping with need as he almost begs, “Come sit on my face.”

The unexpected plea is leaving her breathless, painting her face in confusion. “What?” she stammers, her voice nearly swallowed by the thrum of arousal coursing through her.

“Yeah, you heard me,” Lando assures her, his tone insistent, his eyes ablaze with anticipation.

Without waiting for her to argue, he pushes her skirt up around her waist, revealing the soft skin of her thighs, and pulls her closer to his face. She hesitates for a moment, her nerves warring with her desire, but when his strong hands guide her gently and his lips press a teasing kiss against her inner thigh, she gives in. The first swipe of his tongue against her entrance makes her gasp, her hand flying to the wall to steady herself.

Lando groans as he tastes her, the sound vibrating against her core and sending shockwaves through her body. One arm wraps tightly around her thigh, anchoring her to him, while his free hand drifts down to his cock, stroking himself in tandem with the rhythm of his tongue. Her moans spill into the air, mixing with his as Lando’s mouth works her over like a man starved, warm and wet and utterly relentless.

“Lan,” she breathes, her voice shaky as the intensity builds. Her hips jerk against his mouth instinctively, and he responds by pulling her even closer, burying his face deeper between her legs.

His tongue flicks, swirls, and presses in all the right places, and she can barely keep herself upright. She has to press both of her palms on the wall, but even then it’s not enough to keep her grounded. Not when Lando laps at her clit, his fingers digging into her thighs to keep her still as her body begins to tremble.

“You taste so fucking good,” he informs her between strokes of his tongue, his words muffled but clear enough to make her toes curl.

As her breaths turn shallow and erratic, she feels the pressure coiling tightly in her abdomen. Lando senses it, too, and his grip tightens, his movements growing more fervent. “Wanna come for me?” he asks as impatient as she is.

Before she can even process his question, her climax crashes into her like a tidal wave, her thighs trembling around his head as her moans echo through the room. Lando doesn’t stop, his mouth and tongue coaxing her through every pulse and tremor until she’s gasping for air.

In one swift, effortless motion, he pulls her down onto the bed and flips her over, positioning himself above her. His lips are slick, his gaze heavy-lidded with lust as he pumps two fingers into her, the wet heat of her still clenching around him.

“That’s it,” he encourages, his thumb brushing against her sensitive clit as his fingers curl inside. “Let me feel you.”

Her body arches off the bed as another wave of pleasure crests over her, Lando’s name spilling from her lips in breathless cries. The sheer intensity of his touch and the quickness of it all leave her spinning, her mind barely able to keep up as he drives her over the edge once more.

By the time her breathing begins to steady, Lando leans down, his lips brushing hers in a lingering kiss, tasting her satisfaction on his tongue. He grins against her mouth, utterly smug but entirely captivated.

“See how fucking delicious you are?” he whispers, and she can only nod, still lost in the aftermath of him unraveling her completely.

Seeing the pleasure etched across her face, Lando can barely hold it together. His hands tremble slightly as he shoves his jeans and boxers down for good, freeing himself at last. His cock, heavy and flushed, rests against her thigh, the warmth of her skin giving him goosebumps. He breathes heavily, his chest rising and falling in sync with hers as he pauses for just a moment, meeting her gaze with a mix of vulnerability and pure lust.

“Are we really gonna do this?” asks Lando, his voice hiding too much desire under its raspy tone.

His eyes search hers, looking for any hint of doubt. Luckily, there is none. She just nods frantically, her hands sliding down his back to cup the firm muscles of his ass.

Her touch sends electricity through him, and she guides him where she needs him most, her body arching in anticipation. “I want you. Please.”

Without breaking eye contact, he sinks into her, and the world stops for both of them. His head falls forward, a low groan rumbling from his chest as he feels her warmth envelop him, her slick heat drawing him in effortlessly. Her body opens for him so easily, so perfectly, that it steals his breath. The tension that had coiled tightly in her frame melts away as her legs wrap around his hips, pulling him closer.

Her arms encircle his shoulders, holding him tightly while she gasps Lando’s name. Her voice is music to his ears, and he presses his forehead against hers, the connection between them both overwhelming, yet grounding. Her fingers slide into his curls, playing with the strands at the nape of his neck as her hips shift instinctively, adjusting to his size.

“God, you feel…” he trails off, unable to find the words. Instead, he lets his body speak for him, drawing back before thrusting forward again. His movements are purposeful and powerful, each one making the bed creak slightly beneath them and pushing her up and down the sheets.

Her lips part with soft cries, her fingers tightening in his hair as her body meets each of his thrusts. “Lando,” she moans, her voice full of need and adoration, spurring him on. “Yes, that feels so good. Don’t stop.”

He catches her mouth in a searing kiss, swallowing her sounds as his hands wander over her body. His fingers hook under the hem of her t-shirt, and he tugs it upward, breaking the kiss momentarily to pull it over her head. The sight of her bare skin, flushed and glistening, takes his breath away. Her breasts are adorned with black lace, and the contrast against her skin ignites something primal in him.

“Stunning,” says Lando just as his hand drifts to her chest, brushing over the delicate fabric.

The way she arches into his touch, her nails scraping lightly against his shoulders, drives him wild. His thrusts deepen, his hips moving with purpose as the room fills with the sounds of their bodies meeting, her moans, and his ragged breaths.

“Fucking hell,” he rasps. His jaw clenches as he feels her tightening around him. “You’re killing me. So tight and—”

Before he can finish, she pulls him into a kiss. It’s shallow, their lips barely meeting as they breathe each other’s air. Her nails dig into his back, her legs trembling as she holds him as close as humanly possible.

“You’re so good, Lando,” she murmurs, her voice quivering, her praise like gasoline on his fire. “My favorite boy.”

Her words send him over the edge of control, his hips stuttering as he thrusts deep inside her, feeling her walls begin to flutter and clench around his cock. Her back arches, her head burying into the pillow as her orgasm crashes over her like a tidal wave. Again.

Her moans are unfiltered, and she clutches him like he’s her lifeline, while Lando stills inside her, groaning low and long as her body grips him so tightly that knocks the air out of his lungs. He presses his forehead against her chest, their breaths hurried as her aftershocks pulse around him so sweetly. Her nails scrape lightly down his back, grounding them both, continuing to whisper his name like a prayer.

It’s enough for Lando to surrender to his own orgasm, his body trembling as wave after wave of release takes him over. He stays buried inside her, unwilling to part just yet. The warm tightness around him makes him shudder, his hand gripping her thigh to anchor himself.

When he finally pulls out, he hesitates before pressing his knee between her legs, feeling the slick warmth of their combined arousal smearing against his skin. She squirms against him, her overstimulated body trembling, her hips shifting involuntarily as aftershocks ripple through her.

Lando watches her, his eyes dark with satisfaction, his voice husky as he whispers, “Forget 35. Let’s get married tomorrow.”

She exhales sharply, a laugh bubbling out of her. “I’m down,” she teases, her tone light but affectionate. “Let’s book the venue now.”

He looks at her, gaze softening, filled with something deeper as he reaches behind her and, with one measured motion, unclasps her bra. The suddenness of it catches her off guard, her eyes widening as he tosses it aside like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Before she can say a word, Lando leans over the side of the bed, fishing for his shirt. He finds it, holding it up, then tugging it over her head, the oversized fabric swallowing her frame.

“Perfect fit,” he says softly, his fingers brushing against her arms as he helps her adjust it. The gesture makes her chest tighten, her heart swelling with an ache she doesn’t fully understand yet.

After that, Lando slides back into his boxers and pulls the covers over both of them. The bed is small, forcing their bodies to press together in a tangle of limbs. It doesn’t feel awkward, though. It feels like a new home, safe and peaceful.

He rests his head on her chest, his breath warm and steady against her, while his hand absently caresses her through the fabric of his shirt, his fingers brushing over her nipple. Everything about the moment feels somehow so normal, like they’ve been this way forever.

The silence stretches on, so comforting, until she suddenly breaks it with a soft groan. “I have to pee again.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MASTERLIST . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Thank you for reading!

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© trashy track tales, 2025

[darkmatilda]

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

[nocturnalnella]

I love this idea ! I’m going to use every prompt , starting with : Asking the other one to marry them, before even being together or having confessed their love for each other.

An unexpected proposal 💍

Warnings : None - Fluff. SFW.

Pairing : Thorin Oakenshield x female reader.

The air was thick with smoke and the bitter scent of singed stone as Y/N stood among the ruins of Lake-town. The remains of the once-proud city lay scattered, a reflection of both destruction and hope. Just moments ago, she had fought alongside Thorin and the rest of the Company to rid Middle-earth of Smaug, the dragon whose tyranny had suffocated so many lives. Now, as the dust began to settle, a deafening silence cloaked the aftermath of their triumph.

Y/N glanced around, her heart pounding not just from the adrenaline of battle but from the overwhelming weight of what had just happened. Briefly, she thought of all the friends they had lost, but her thoughts were interrupted when Thorin suddenly stood before her. A fierce determination clouded his features, his blue eyes blazing with an unyielding intensity.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice a command, not a request. “Marry me.”

Her eyes widened, taken aback by the sudden proposal. “Thorin, what—”

He held up a hand, the silver ring glinting in the dim light. “We fight, we lose friends, we rebuild. But in the midst of all that, I want you by my side. As my wife. My battle-axes may break, my armor may shatter, but I will never leave your side again.”

The words tumbled from his lips like a fierce battle cry, unyielding and unwavering. She stared at the ring, stunned, her mind racing as the full weight of what he asked for crashed against her.

And yet, with a spark of realization, she remembered all the quiet moments they'd shared, the stolen glances, the whispered conversations that hinted at a deeper connection they dared not acknowledge. The memories flooded her thoughts like a warm wave of comfort.

“Thorin,” she said softly, her voice trembling, as she gazed back at him. “Of course, I will marry you.”

Thorin's face lit up with unbridled joy, his eyes sparkling like the stars on a clear night. He slid the ring onto her finger, his hand warm and steady, the touch sending a shiver through her. And as he did, his voice took on a husky undertone that caught her off guard.

“Then let us seal this promise, my love. Tonight, in the shadows of this ruined city, let us forge our own legend. One that's not made of fire and destruction, but of passion and love.”

Y/N's cheeks flushed at the sensual tone of his voice, the words weaving a spell around her heart. She met his gaze, their eyes locking in a fierce, burning connection.

“Tonight,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the pounding of her heart.

Thorin's smile deepened, revealing that spark of mischief and passion in the depths of his eyes. With a low chuckle, he pulled her close, his lips crashing against hers in a kiss that left her breathless and wanting more.

And in that moment, amidst the devastation of Lake-town, their love became the flame that would illuminate their darkness, a beacon of hope in a world still scarred from the dragon's wrath.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

True Idiots in Love

Asking the other one to marry them, before even being together or having confessed their love for each other

Being in a really healthy and nurturing relationship that people love to witness - without realizing they actually are in a relationship

Living together for some time, being engaged to get married, and still questioning if the other one actually really likes them or if they're just being nice and a good friend

Both trying to ask the other one out on a date, thinking the other one is talking about dating someone else

One of them breaking the news that they got together to their friends and family, excited that it finally happened - but their partner missed the memo, completely misunderstood their "getting together" story, and is still thinking their love is unrequited

Being a couple is an inside joke for them, casually "joking" about being each other's wife/husband, even in front of people who don't know it's a joke, and that make them realize that it never really was a joke

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[luvether]

FABRICS OF BATH SALTS & MILQUETOAST

summary, establishing and sharing casual intimacy and innocence with him and relishing in each other’s presence.

phainon x gn!reader. fluff + sensual (?) content, tender touching + physical touch. really intimate. sweet devotion. unlabeled relationship. innocent love at its finest. minor world-building for Grove of Epiphany and its academias. self-indulgent asf, enjoy ‪‪❤︎‬ [3.6k wc]

Thinking about Phainon and his acts of love for you.

You’ve known the pale-haired hero enough to learn that there’s a fabric over his cordial mannerisms. You dare not prod him of his past nor his hometown but even someone like you—a Helkolithist scholar from the Grove, you knew something was on his mind when he starts to trace a finger absentmindedly through the lines of your palm, a delicate touch that holds a crown of affection and deep satiated yearning. Maybe it’s because you are proficient with your studies of mental acuities that you manage to find a pattern of behavior within the hero, piquing your interest.

So it also came as a surprise to you when Lord Phainon took an interest in you the first time around, to the point of seeking such comfort in you despite the many rumours surrounding the people of the Grove—narcissistic, haughty, ascetics, exclusionist and many more. Even with your incessant excuses the first few times you’ve met briefly, Phainon finds every loophole in your pretexts to spend time with you.

When you told him you were busy translating slates for your academia, he would nod his head—oh, but the hero will not leave. He would make his way across your office and settle on one of your guest sofas, ensconced by reed-filled pillows and wool blankets he would pick up a random scroll from your floor and peruse its text in silence.

You spare him a look. “I was under the impression my Lord dislikes convoluted knick knacks.”

Those sea-deep eyes of his drag over to you, blinking. “Convoluted knick knacks, you say?”

Your finger is tracing the carved characters on the stone. “Those scrolls on the floor originate from the Lothophagist school, it's of no use to me.”

“Why are there so many in your office?”

“...My office was said to be an apothecary before I claimed it.” A brief seconds of silence. “I thought of airing the room when I got it, but judging from our current predicament—I thought those scrolls will be useful one day, in case someone gets hurt, at least there’s still notes of medicines somewhere in here.”

Your eyes remain on the slate in your hand, but Phainon’s gaze on your person is heavy—it did not feel uncomfortable, but you cannot help the burn on your cheeks knowing he was looking at you.

“You’re very kind.” Those were the words that left his mouth, and it jolts you because this was the first time someone has called you as such.

You take your stare off the stone and onto those blue eyes, dissecting his expression to find even a hint of fallacy, even a bare of falseness with his words but you found none.

Lord Phainon was genuine with his declaration, what decorated his face was the softest tips of upturned lips and wide honesty encased in those pupils.

Your fingers falter, oh how your heart burned beneath that ocean eyes of his.

Maybe it began that day, that you allowed Phainon to hang around you if he so pleases. And maybe he noticed your change in behavior and your lessening aloofness but he does not question nor tease you of it. Even if he comes by from time to time to visit the Grove, you're grateful that he’s not overbearing with his frankness. You’ve noticed that about him, the way he teeters between being approachable and reserved out of respect. He does not bother you when he sees you immersed in something and he does not pull you away from your work, preferring to bask in the atmosphere you created. He’s like a guest in your own quiet garden, but you had long promoted him to be a companion, someone that was welcomed into your bubble at any time of the day so long as the dawn Kephale carries.

That’s when you developed an art of noticing with him,

The length of his eyelashes, the arch of his eyelids, soft white bangs that hang over his eyes, the gentle exhales he lets out when he relaxes himself on your sofa, the reflection of the ornaments on his attire and the goldeness of his sun-shaped tattoo that painted the left side of his neck, stretching down to the prominence of his collarbone.

You press your lips against your knuckles, after a while Phainon feels the heavyweight of your stare on him.

He smiles at you, “is something on my face?”

You lowered your hands, leaned back against your seat. “You’re restless.”

Phainon seems surprised at your statement. “Why do you say so?”

“Since you’ve arrived you have not stopped moving.” you say. “Your leg wouldn't stop bouncing when you’re seated and you seem…more agitated than usual?”

The hero does nothing but chuckle heartily. “It seems like I've finally caught the attention of the infamous Helkolithist sage, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

You prayed that your cheeks were not noticeable to him, heated from his teasings. Even if he noticed, you were immediate with your response. You stand from behind your desk, picking up the scarf resting behind your chair, “Please speak up when you feel uneasy next time.”

Phainon stands up when he sees you walking to the door.

Everytime you feel like you achieved something with him, the hero surprises you again and again, especially when the next thing you felt was his very presence from behind. Phainon’s gloved hand comes to gently circle around your wrist, hindering your approach towards your door.

You turn to him and it's the first time you see his face fall in a worried frown. “Where are you going, did I perhaps irate you with my teases?”

Despite the smooth glove that serves as a barrier between your hands, it does not stop Phainon from tracing his bare fingertips from your wrist to the center of your open palm. You don’t know what he wanted to achieve with this, maybe it was to console you? Or console himself? But his actions drive your heart to pound in rhythms in your chest.

You doubt he’s cheeky enough to intentionally fluster you like this. He's playful but not presumptuous, and you can slowly feel your composure chip away at such a simple action.

It's just a mere touch of comfort, don't get ahead of yourself. Your mind sterns you so. When you find your bearings, you reach out to him, this is your first time touching him too.

Phainon’s eyes flicker and your eyes soften, crushed under a mortar and pestle. “No you did not anger me in any way, Lord.”

His skin is cold under your touch, your fingertips drawing a soothing pattern on the ungloved parts of his hand—which were his fingers, you rub them in your open palm softly. “Do you want to take a stroll with me? I feel a little stuffy after reading a handful of case studies.”

You see the way he perks up at your request, but he tries to hide his excitement. He cambers his head, a slight tilt to show puzzlement and you find it adorable.

“Are you certain?”

You tilt your head up in his direction. “Of course, I was the one who invited you. Come now, Lord Phainon, if we are fast enough the Academia’s parlor is giving away free coffees to both students and staff.”

When you dare spare a look over your shoulder you briefly catch his smile—a smile that seems to have shaved a part of the sun—because the upward tilt of his lips is so radiant and beautiful.

“If we missed the free coffee, will you throw me out of your office?” he grins playfully.

“Depending on how you pace yourself, I’ll be the judge of it.”

You wrestle the door handle and exit your office with a good-spirited Phainon trailing behind you. Completely unaware of your wavering stare and flushed tipped ears and cheeks.

It did not take long for the two of you to drop the formal salutations between one another. He stopped being Lord Phainon and hero to you, instead he was just Phainon—even if it was not his birth-given name, it was still a name he addresses himself with, a name that you loved to enunciate and shape vowels of. And to him, you stopped being the Helkolithist sage or the strict lecturer from the Grove. Rumours and nicknames that once plagued your many titles completely vanished with him and Phainon found mild joy in taste-testing your name in his lips. Every chance he gets, he calls you by your name and you’re a sudden victim to such a simple folly, turning every time you hear him say your name despite the situation you’re in, despite how hushed or quiet he calls you.

Whether or not your other colleagues noticed it, whether or not those avid looks Anaxagoras gives you, you ignored it because you secretly liked the way he addresses you; romantic intentions aside, he spoke of your name with such gentleness and ease, without intentions and tomfoolery, without the motive to manipulate information from you and without the definition to ask you of anything. Phainon called out to you simply because he likes to, he says your name without connecting it to formality upon your status.

He tastes the name on his tongue and calls you with a certain crave that is far too different from others.

With the formula of names already established, the next that came with your unlabelled relationship with Phainon were the touches. Months have passed by now, Phainon enters and exits your office at his own leisure, you became his companion for his conversations, someone that he can confide in with topics that he cannot bring up with Lady Aglaea, his teacher Tribbie, Miss Castorice or even his rival and brother-in-arms Mydeimos—not that the crown prince of Kremnos is even elated to share a conversation with him.

You were that person to him, his person that he comes to when he needs a hint of comfort at times where he finds himself at a loss.

Even if Phainon finds himself in one of his quiet moods of contemplation and wants nothing but solitude, he knows that the moment he enters your office he will be indulged by the quiet atmosphere you created—smelling that hint of herbs from your bookcases, seeing you hunched over your desk too concentrated in your texts to converse—not that he minded, because you would always look up when he enters, nodding your head in acknowledgement or look at him whenever he wants anything. He is grateful you don’t pester him for answers, but today is different.

Phainon is flooded with the thought of holding you.

He excuses it for his loneliness and feeling the heavy burden of the Deliverer on his shoulders—he wants to engulf you in his arms, to shape you in his embrace and reminisce in such a presence. So he stands, uncharacteristically so, his motive? to approach you now that your back is turned to him. You’re not sitting down at your desk, Phainon would sometimes follow you with his eyes as you buzz from the seat, to the bookcases, your seat then back to the bookcases—on extremely rare occasions, you would make your way to your window and tug the curtains open to aerate the office.

You were standing in front of a bookcase filled with case studies or imageries of tendons and ligaments, you told him a week ago you were working on studying about mesomorphic body habitus especially for the combatant individuals who will be in need to fight titankins around the cities, Phainon could feel nothing but a swell of pride by your passion to help the people despite your position. He hears you murmur something out, unaware of his approach but he makes sure he does not startle you.

He sees you try to reach for something from the upper shelves, so to ease you he takes the scroll that barely grazes your fingers.

The atmosphere is suddenly drenched with undeniable tension.

You spin to face him and Phainon has you caged between his arms, gripping the rough texture of the shelves beneath his hands.

“Phainon?” your voice holds question and you see his face folding in once again, his brows furrowed and lips pursed, as if he’s battling with inner conflict.

You’re not a scholar that specializes in remedies or medicines, despite the many boxes of scrolls regarding health in your office you cannot seem to wrap your mind about it, but deep down you craved to help Phainon—a man who battles titans as his duty and to help people in need—it must've been really hard on him to handle such a task all on his own, so you lift a palm and cup his cheek with it, hoping to ease his worries a bit even if it’s just a simple touch of a flattened palm on his face.

You should not jump to conjectures regarding his feelings, but when Phainon leans into your touch with fervor you cannot help but let your mind wander. You were both quiet and somehow you were unaware that he had discarded his gloves somewhere on the couch mere minutes ago until you felt his skin on yours, a searing feeling washes over you and he presses his hand to the back of yours as if to bury his face into the touch you gave him willingly, as if he’s calling your palm his homage.

He’s scared to let you go, and at this point Phainon has backed you against the bookcases fully, you feel the shelves on your back and his chest on your front and he leans down with his arms around your waist pulling you impossibly closer, so close and so fulfilling—you are finally in each other’s embraces and the boundary of that is thinning at the seams. You don’t reject his touch and find your arms wrapped around his shoulders, the softness of his white hair on your cheek and you inhale, the scent of the sun parades with him in every direction his future follows and you’re lucky enough to be a bare witness of his simple glory, his humanistic craves.

Phainon’s affections for you are intentional, it always was. From the moment you first met to your current relationship, he's been the barest with his manners, he has always been direct with your companionship and quality time you both spent together between the four corners of your office in the Grove of Epiphany. It was never prophesied by his fate to be this close with you but the humanity within him wishes to be more selfish, especially when it comes to you.

So when Phainon heard that you and a selective other scholars were ambushed by Nikador’s titankin, he finds his heart seizing. He has always been like this, fragile in the heart, maybe that’s why despite her usual coldness Aglaea tries to soften her tone when she announces it to the rest of the Chrysos heirs. Phainon could feel the quick look overs from his companions, Tribbie and Castorice lingering longer in concern for him.

He truly wears his heart in his sleeves, Mydei would comment when Phainon would turn away and leave the chamber with impatience. Despite his snides, the prince would still tag along and give him company.

Maybe his wishes for your safety have been answered, because when both Phainon and Mydei reach the destination of the clinic in Okhema City, you were the one kneeling down, clumsily wrapping your colleagues’ scraped knees to the best of your abilities. Phainon’s chest is heaving, having to run down Marmoreal Palace with such a chaotic mind truly exhausted him. He finds himself leaning against the frame on the open door before his ears are laid bare to Mydeimos’ click of a tongue, irritated. ”I told you to calm down, didn't I? The party wasn’t severely injured, they had Kremnoan people assisting them.”

“I…apologise.” Phainon heaves. “For showing such a side of me.” He addresses the people in the room, most of them were your affected party and a medic or two. The room seizes its pause, words of reassurance for the nameless delivery come fluttering into his ears and Phainon physically relaxes. He spares a look at Mydei, only to find him already looking. His honey eyes remain stoney, however he tips his chin in your direction and Phainon smiles at the gesture.

Everyone goes back to their own business but Phainon’s heart remains erratic with both the fear and the adrenaline.

He feels someone in front of him and his eyes open, landing on you.

Your fingers inch towards him, fixing his collar and the front of his attire. “It’s crooked.” you tell him and his blue eyes gentle like the psalm.

“I came here as fast as I can.” he breathes out. “I thought—” he stumbled on his own words. “You, I—”

“I made you worried, didn't I?” Your brows are pinched.

Phainon reaches out to touch your hand, the one lingering by his collar fabric and intertwining his fingers with the back of your hand. He lifts your palm to his face, his breath on your wrist as he feels your warm pulse on his lips.

“I’m just glad you’re safe.”

You cannot help the muddled fluster from painting your cheeks. “Phainon, we are…” we are in public, you wanted to tell him. But then your thoughts stumble, his intentions were always clear with you. He’s well-aware you two are under public gaze and yet he still showed such fondness for you.

It’s his public declaration of love.

You flinch when you hear Mydei’s heavy sigh. “Oi, Deliverer. I talked with the medics already, the situation here has been handled. I'll report back to Aglaea so get out of here.” His stare drags over to you, “Both of you.”

You would’ve turned and apologized to the prince if it weren’t for Phainon interlacing your fingers together and slipping out the clinic. Okhema’s dawn bathes your figure in gold and you tighten your hold on his—Phainon squeezes your palm as a response.

The pale-haired man turns to a secluded corner and immediately gathers you into his embrace. You chuckle at his clinginess, your fingers reaching out to tangle on the hairs behind his neck.

“Phainon,” You muse. “I’m okay.”

“I miss you.” Phainon’s voice is on your neck. “I’ve missed you so much I wanted to visit you, it’s been a week since I’ve seen you and now—I thought you were hurt.”

“I’m sorry.” You pull him closer. “I was the one that proposed this research expedition. I suppose I failed to take into account the dangers of visiting Janusopolis at this time. Because of me, my colleagues were injured.”

He has your face on his palms, blue eyes enough for you to sink into its depths like an anchor. “It’s not your fault.”

You closed your eyes. “I know.”

You cannot help the heat on your cheeks when Phainon pulls you into another hug, you relish in his golden presence. It has been a habit of his to start tracing your skin with his pining hands. When he pulls away, his thumbs brush over the pillows of your cheeks before travelling towards the arch of your eyelids, lingering slowly to the curvature of your lips then down the base of your neck. You nuzzle into his wrist when you find his hands on your head, rubbing through the roots of your tendrils. That’s when he speaks up, a bottled sort of rasp leaving between his lips.

He suggested that you stay with him in the city for a few more days, and you don’t see any reason to reject his offer. When the day grows gradually, you find yourself inside of a private room with Phainon—after the whole ambush your attire is caked with gravel and grime and you want nothing more than to take a long bath and rid yourself of the dirt.

“The water is warm now.” Phainon enters the room. “I placed a basket beside the pool with the oils. Just let me know if there’s anything else you need.” You cannot help but smile at his accommodations.

You see him freeze, blue eyes blinking at you.

You tilt your head. “Is something on my face?”

“You smiled.” He simply says. “I don’t think I ever saw you smile before.”

He hasn't? You pondered a bit, frowning. You could've sworn you smiled at him before.

Phainon calls out your name.

You turn to look at him, and his cheeks are flushed and rosy. He’s blushing red.

It did not take long for him to eat up the remainder of the gaps between the two of you, dissecting his expression—he looked like a mess. His eyes held a certain twinkle, his lips were pursed and his cheeks were ruddy.

Smitten beholds his eyes, then he holds your face again so delicately.

“Please, do it again.” Phainon asked you. “For me? You’re beautiful when you smile.”

His requests make your cheeks burn, but nonetheless you smile at him again, and again and again. Because at this very moment, you knew that Phainon—once just an imperfectly perfect hero to Okhema—was now someone who cannot stop being on your mind, his every tone and texture, every dip and curve of him has woven into your soul and you breathed him.

He was your very own warm sun encased in flesh and bones.

And you knew that Phainon felt the same way, for he had finally leaned down and pressed his tenacious lips against your own. Finally, finally expressing the fact that you too plagued his mind and he loved you so, so much with every waking fiber of his being.

[redeemingvillains]

of magic & mayhem - mattheo riddle

summary: the strongest wizard of your age also happens to be hogwarts' playboy, and when he sets his sights on you, you realize neither of you have a choice in the matter.

word count: 3k

a/n: this is like nine of my concepts all mashed into one! heavily influenced by my re-read of fourth wing in preparation for onyx storm coming out, anyone who wants to scream about that in my inbox, please do <3

The Great Hall echoed with the excited chatter of friends and classmates and the general cacophony of breakfast; the sounds of scraping cutlery and the clink of dishes and goblets. You and Pansy sat in genial silence as you read your book and she eyed the gossip column of the Daily Prophet.

You were so totally transfixed on your book that you didn't see the looming figure in front of you until he placed his hands on the oak table and leaned casually across it into your airspace.

"Good morning" he drawled smoothly in a deep voice that caused you to glace up only to see Mattheo Riddle's large amber eyes twinkling at you, matched with a smirk that made you feel like you had pixies in your stomach.

You could smell his cologne from this distance, an undeniable mix of woodsmoke, evergreen and cinnamon that made you feel heady.

"Pansy" he acknowledged, nodding at her as she glanced up at him with a surprise that matched your own.

"Mrs. Riddle" he said, acknowledging you as his electric gaze found yours. You felt a deep blush on your cheeks, even as your face scrunched in confusion and your eyes searched his face for a hint of a joke, finding none.

"What did you just call me?" you asked, cocking your head. As much as you tried to supress it, a small smile graced your lips, which didn't go unnoticed.

"What?" he said in mock surprise. "You don't like it? I think it's perfect."

A pause.

"It suits you" he said confidently. He winked at you as your eyebrows shot up and he turned and walked away without another word.

You turned to look at Pansy who was open-mouthed gaping after him before turning to look at you.

"What was that!?" she exclaimed, excited, like you knew something she didn't.

You shook your head and rolled your eyes despite the hammering of your heart in your chest.

"He's a complete flirt, Pans, I'm not putting a lot of weight in whatever he's woken up and decided to say today."

But even as the words came out of your mouth, you couldn't help but feel excited that you'd caught his attention, even if you knew how delicately dangerous it could be.

"But Mrs. Riddle?! Please. I am dying oh my gods!" she said.

"No, we're not even thinking about this. Not unless you want to listen to me cry myself to sleep in three weeks when I've completely fallen for him and he's moved on to someone else. We all know how this goes and I'm not stupid enough to fall for it."

Pansy pursed her lips as she bounced in her seat with excitement, like she was going to explode.

"Okay, but maybe, just hear me out—" she started.

"—No" you said emphatically, as much to her as to yourself.

She stuck her tongue out at you and you returned the gesture.

It was no secret you were sought after; you had your fair share of dates and suitors. And it was no secret that Mattheo Riddle took the concept of incredibly hot fuckboy to another level, which is why, despite his comment and increasingly insistent stares you kept your distance.

Try as you might to forget what he said, or the way his dark eyes had twinkled mischievously as they drank you in, you found your thoughts drifting to him more times than you'd care to admit, and he had no intention of making it any easier for you, because now every time he saw you, he made a point of using your new nickname.

"Good morning, Mrs. Riddle" he said as he passed you in the Great Hall the next day.

"Have a good day, Mrs. Riddle!" he shouted from the opposite side of the common room, which garnered a significant amount of attention and whispers.

"Let me get the door for you, Mrs. Riddle" he said, pushing your classmates out of the way to do so.

"Mmm, gorgeous as ever, Mrs. Riddle" he whispered walking by you in the library in a way that felt like the words themselves danced over every inch of your body.

Pansy was nearly inconsolable over the situation, egging it on eagerly and even picking it up herself.

"Good night, Mrs. Riddle" she said to you as you crawled into bed in your shared dormitory.

"Lay off it, Pansy! Gods" you replied, even as you grinned like an idiot to yourself.

But then she wasn't the only one.

After less than a week of it, the rumor spread like fiendfyre and now Mattheo's friends were smirking at you in the corridor, waving teasingly to you in the common room and offering you every ounce of preferential treatment befitting of the name: knocking Potter off his chair when he took your seat in Potions, forcing a first-year to stand outside your dormitory holding your favorite latte every morning, and ensuring you had a coveted first row seat at their quidditch matches, including the House Cup, which you were excitedly getting ready for when Pansy burst into your room.

"You will never guess what I just heard" she said, grabbing you by the shoulders.

"What's that?" you asked, humoring her frenetic energy.

"Astoria Greengrass having a sob in the girls lav. You know how she and Mattheo have hooked up a few times?—"

You didn't, in fact, know that and couldn't help the pang of jealousy that gripped your chest.

"—Well I heard her telling Penelope Clearwater that he says he doesn't want to anymore and he told Harmony Norman and Maria Warner the same thing!"

Your face tangled in disgust.

"How many girls is he hooking up with? And why do you look so happy about it? What a mess…" you said, sighing as you turned to resume your makeup.

"Why, all of a sudden is he breaking all of them off, hmm?" she said, cocking an eyebrow at you in your mirror.

"I don't know" you said shiftily. "Maybe he's trying to be a better person?!—"

"—Or maybe he has his eyes set on someone else?!" she said insistently. "You know, someone he's given a special nickname to, his name to?"

You opened your mouth to argue with her but you couldn't deny the logic of her statement.

The boys pulled it off, sweeping Gryffindor in the House Cup for the first time in years and the ensuing celebration was electric.

The music in the common room was loud enough to sway the chandeliers in the ceiling, to feel the bass vibrating in your body.

Every Slytherin you knew and quite a few friends from other houses were there, the normally cavernous room filled in a way that made it feel like some sort of night club, bodies covering every inch of space, melding and weaving between each other and raising the temperature of the normally dank dungeon air.

You couldn't help but search the flashing lights and otherwise utter chaos for Mattheo and you didn't have to look for long the way he stood a head taller than almost everyone in the room, even surrounded by his large teammates; not to mention the way they were walking around like kings, taking turns chugging champagne out of their trophy, raucous, rowdy and loud as people cheered around them.

Mattheo himself was in rare form, his handsome curls were slightly askew and his cheeks were rosy from the alcohol and general liveliness of the night. He was dressed in a fitted black tshirt and dark pants and was exuding an energy that was magnetic, even from where you were standing; undeniably, your heart thumped in your chest at the sight of him.

Had you gotten a little dressed up? Of course. It was a celebration, an occasion, why wouldn't you? But as you wound through the sea of bodies, fingers twined in Pansy's, you garnered enough stares and double-takes that had you thinking you may have slightly overdone it.

"Oh, okay queen!" Pansy had said the minute she'd seen your outfit, the way you'd done your makeup and styled your hair, knowing, perhaps, exactly what or who had been on your mind.

You stopped to grab a drink and your cup had barely touched your lips before two guys came up to you that you recognized vaguely from the year below you. They were admittedly cute and you smiled as they compliment you and chatted with you. You leaned in closer to hear them over the music and the crowd and the one closest to you ducked his head toward you when you felt a tingle run from the base of your neck down your spine and a large, warm hand wound its way around your waist, pulling you firmly backwards into what felt like a pliable brick wall. You were startled for only a moment until you caught the undeniable scent of evergreen, of cinnamon.

"Brian is it? Blake? Blaire? Why don't you go get a drink, buddy?" his voice rumbled near your ear, more of a command than a suggestion as Bradley's eyes shot up over your shoulder to the shadow looming there and nodded quickly, retreating.

"Aww" you pouted sarcastically as you turned around. "He was nice, we were having fun!"

You met Mattheo's eyes which were so dark they looked nearly jet black as they glared at you. Had he been jealous?

And like he could read your mind his lip twitched and he rolled his eyes.

"Even if he had a chance with you, which, let's be very clear, he doesn't, he wouldn't know what to do with it."

"And, let me guess, you would?" you asked teasingly.

"Care to find out?" he asked matter-of-factly.

You felt a wave wash over you from your head to your toes, your body tingling with his proximity, with the way his eyes met yours directly, unfaltering despite the myriad distractions around him.

Gods yes you thought, even as you bit your bottom lip, teetering on the edge of a decision you knew you couldn't come back from.

His eyes shamelessly fell to your lips and you suddenly realized that his hands had never left you as they flexed at your waist, his fingers pressing into your skin like he was holding onto you for purchase.

"C'mon" he said, not waiting for a coherent reply from you, which you may never have been able to form had he kept looking at you that way.

His hands left your body only long enough to tangle his fingers in yours and hold them tightly, pulling you behind him as he headed into the sea of bodies on the dance floor, weaving between some as others offered him a wide berth and a congratulations when they realized who he was.

Then, like he was moving in slow motion, he turned to face you, twining your fingers further in his as he pulled you into him, guiding your hand over his shoulder so you were flush to his chest, and his other hand found your waist again, his grip firm and unyielding as he held you to him as if you would argue or try to be anywhere but right here.

You could feel every dip and curve of his body against yours as you moved against each other in a way that felt perfect and also not nearly enough, even though you couldn't get any closer.

You let the hand on his shoulder wander to the back of his neck, your fingers tangling into the curls there and even though the music was loud enough that you could barely hear yourself think, you could feel as much as hear the growl that released in his chest as his hands tightened on you in a way you were certain would leave a bruise.

The lights flickered for just a second, and a few people stopped dancing and shouted but his eyes never left yours, the only acknowledgement he offered, a small grimace on his face, which made you want to kiss his lips back into his irritatingly perfect smirk.

He leaned in, pressing his cheek to yours as his lips hovered to your ear.

"You look stunning, Mrs. Riddle."

He leaned back and you could see his signature smirk gracing his lips again. You opened your mouth to reply as your eyes met his, but your head was swimming at this point. Everything was him all at once, his body against yours, taught and warm to your touch, his breath on you that smelled like cinnamon gum, his cologne, you felt yourself melting into him at his words, closing the only remaining inches between your hips as your hands came to his face and your noses brushed — and then the lights went out in earnest, drowning you in complete darkness.

"Fuck" you heard him mutter strongly before grasping your hand in his as he started to pull you through the imperceptible forms of people who were yelling and shouting, blazing a path through them, pushing people aside brusquely where necessary. He was on a war path and your feet moved quicky to follow him as he cleared most of the crowd and headed directly for the boys dormitory.

He pulled you into a maze of adjoining corridors before swiping his hand causing an approaching door to fly open as he pulled you in behind him. You were barely through it before he swiped his hand again and it slammed closed behind you, forcefully, the energy pouring off of him in a way that reminded you just how strong of a wizard he was, and exactly why absolutely nobody fucked with him.

He turned to you finally, his chest rising and falling as he gripped your waist and pushed you gently against the closed door with a thud. He let his other hand rest beside your head, caging you in. The look of lust on his face was still there, tangled with the same grimace from before, like he was angry, like he was holding something in.

"Mattheo...?" you whispered and he ducked his head away from you, his eyes squeezing shut as the hand at your waist squeezed again, the touch sending an electric tingle up your side that made you gasp.

His gaze came back to you and then he was leaning in, his nose brushing yours again and your hands came to wind around his neck. You caught a glimpse of a smile on his lips as they hovered over yours, barely grazing them, and you could feel static electricity there between you, the air itself alight with energy, vibrating. The temptation was driving you mad, your chest visibly rising and falling against his own and then his lips fell to yours, warm, soft and urgent.

He took your face in his hands and pressed you into the door and you hummed against him. The lights in the room flickered once, then twice, and then rapidly like you were in a horror film before they went out completely, drenching you both in a velvet darkness that was somehow welcoming, like you could feel the shadows themselves dancing over your body, caressing you, enveloping you.

You felt his tongue against your bottom lip and you opened up to him. Your tongued flicked against his and a freezing gust of wind blew papers, books and quills off his desk, hurling them to the ground with a clatter and bang. Mattheo never stopped, his tongue continued to glide over yours and he kissed you like it was the last godsdamn thing he'd ever do.

He hoisted you up so your legs wrapped around his waist and he pressed you back into the door before releasing your lips just long enough to trail kisses down your jaw to your neck that he lavished in a way you were certain there would be a violet bruise in the morning.

Your eyes fluttered in pleasure, lost in him for a moment until you caught sight of the room around you and you froze.

It was midnight black but for the moonlight coming through the window which cast everything in a ghostly shade of white, but what caught your eye was that every object in the room was floating, adrift in the air, the bed, the desk, the bookshelf, all hovering feet off the ground. Lightweight objects like clothing, quills and his books floated higher and higher and then you realized that it was cold enough to see your breath in front of you.

"Mattheo" you breathed, trying to get his attention. Your hand carded through his curls and the chair in the corner took flight.

Wait. Was this him?

"Mrs. Riddle?" he murmured in your neck.

"Mattheo" you said again, a stronger urgency in your voice causing him to relent and look up at you with a puff of air of his own.

"Fuck" he said. "It's – yeah. That's me. Well, that's you actually."

"What?"

"S'no secret that my magic is ... strong. And I'm well practiced at controlling it. With... one exception."

He took your hand and placed it over his chest where you could feel his heart hammering.

You searched his eyes and his eyebrow quirked until he gestured to his room. As if to say 'see?'

This boy had quite literally lost his control at your touch.

"Wait, the lights? The music?" you asked, a small smile on your lips at the realization.

"When you touched me, I just—" he shook his head, exhaling another puff of cold air. "—See what you do to me, Mrs. Riddle?" he said.

"Gods, when are you going to stop calling me that?" you laughed, even as you looked at him and traced a finger over his lips.

"When it's true" he said simply.

You looked confused for a moment until he leaned into you again, his magic radiating off of him.

"What?" you breathed.

"When you're mine, and it's official and I won't have to spend all of my free time reminding everyone you're mine, they'll know. Until then, I'll hedge my bets."

He kissed you.

"Mmpf, but what if I didn't want you to stop?" you murmured against him.

He pulled back to look at you, scanning your face for any sign of a joke, and finding none as your eyes connected with his and his lip quirked in a smile.

"Well, princess,” he whispered against your lips, ghosting them with his, teasing you before biting your bottom lip gently in a way that sent a shiver through you that had nothing to do with the freezing air.

“Whatever Mrs. Riddle wants—” he murmured, kissing you fully, luxuriously, “—Mrs. Riddle gets.”

ˋ°•*⁀➷ I have the tiniest little epilogue that I'll post soon, let me know if you want to be tagged!

taglist: @kenjikishimotoswifey @mattiesgf @sleepiibunniiii @darlingshecried @girllblogging777 @foivetimesacharm @clar2aa @broadwaybaby123 @slytherinscreamqueen @chelawrites @loverliner

[desperate-gay]

Kristie mewis x reader panic attack or maybe a little relapse with reader and Kristie is there as her girlfriend .

Safe With You

Kristie Mewis x fem!reader

summary: during a girls’ night out, you encounter someone you never thought you’d see again, triggering a panic attack. Your best friend Kristie helps you through it and later helps reveal true feelings

“Ooo, this one right here!” Kelley yells, pointing out the downtown club. Some of the gotham girls, along with you, decided it was a beautiful night out and since you didn’t have any responsibilities the next day, it was a perfect time to go out.

“How many more do you think we’re gonna go to?” You ask, leaning over to Kristie’s ear so no other pondering friends can listen in.

“Let’s hope this will be the last.” Kristie huffs, wrapping her arm around your shoulder and dragging you along with the group.

None of the girls are drunk but most are definitely tipsy. You have only had about two and a half drinks within the past couple of hours, so you’re not feeling any effects while Kristie has only had three.

Kelley is the most drunk out of everyone, even the younglings, and when Kelley is drunk, she never wants to stop partying. Many of the girls are not protesting considering this is the first free day they have had in weeks, especially Ali with having to take care of her kids.

The group finds a table somewhat in the corner of the bar, and a few of the girls go to the bar to order drinks. Kristie and you both sit on the high-top chairs across from Midge and Jenna. Kristie and Midge are in a heated discussion on what’s the best way to style and take care of your eyebrows while you and Jenna watch them with amused smiles.

Suddenly, a prickling at the back of your neck makes you turn around and flit your gaze nervously across the crowded room, almost as if a sudden fog made its way into the bar. As much as you look, you can’t seem to find anything out of the ordinary.

Relief washes over your face when Lynn arrives with hands full of drinks, sparking cheers around the table. Sure you haven’t drank much yet, but that just gives you reason to drink more now. Once you get a hold of your drink, you begin to take multiple large gulps, shocking the girls around you.

“Damn girl, the drink isn’t going anywhere.” Lynn teases while the other girls laugh along.

Kristie just stares at you in bewilderment, not being used to this side of you. You blush under everyone’s gaze and look around the dance floor to try and remove the unwanted attention.

Within minutes, many of the girls are pulled onto the dance floor, leaving you with Kristie and Midge at the table.

“How about you? What was the last date you had?” Midge asks you since you’re the only one who hasn’t shared. You shift a little uncomfortably at the two girl’s stares, especially one being your best friend who you have grown attracted to within the past year.

“Umm, it was a blind date set up by my friend a few months ago. He was sweet and all, but I just didn’t see it going anywhere.” You shrug, taking another sip of your drink.

“What did he do? Profession wise.” Midge wonders, intrigued by your love life you barely share any detail about.

“A lawyer.”

“So let me get this straight. He was sweet, a lawyer, and a good friend of your friend. Was he ugly?”

“No, he wasn't ugly at all, it’s just, I don’t know honestly.” You exhale, rubbing your hands on the glass cup sitting on the table.

“There has so got to be more to that story, but I’ll let you off the hook. For now.” Midge teases with a daunting glare directed at you.

You didn’t even realize how silent the blonde next to you had become. You couldn’t say the real reason as to why the blind date didn’t become a second one when the reason is sitting next to you. Around the time of the date, you began to feel new feelings about your best friend, and you’re still trying to depict them.

“You never told me about that date.” Kristie states, finally speaking up.

“I didn’t think it was that important.” You say, tensing your shoulders up subconsciously at the scene. Kristie just hums, not believing you for a second but deciding to let it go.

Soon Kelley returns to the table, drunk and ditsy, claiming everyone is such party poopers. You all roll your eyes at the girl but chuckle, and soon the blonde next to you is dragged by Kelley to the dance floor.

Kristie looks at you with pleading eyes as her arm is getting tugged off, begging for you to get her out of it, but you just shrug with an entertained smile. You notice the midfielder lipping something at you with a glare, but you’re too tipsy to understand.

“So, about that lawyer.” You laugh at the younger girl’s persistence, shaking your head with a disbelief look.

“Midgey, like I told you-”

That’s when you hear it. That booming, raspy laugh just a few feet away from you. You thought you’d never have to hear that ugly sound ever again, but of course, you’re proven wrong.

You slowly turn around, and when you do, you catch eyes with someone you haven’t seen since Boston College. His sinister smirk stretches across his face as he takes a sip of his beer, eyeing you up while the fear in your eyes grows.

Pins and needles spread through your limbs, leaving you numb. The glass in your hand feels distant, as if it belongs to someone else. Your ears become muffled, blocking Midge’s worried calls out for you. And then your heartbeat. It starts to speed up five times its usual pace, causing your breathing to match its fast rate.

“Midge, what’s going on?” Ali asks, having come back to rest from all the dancing.

“I have no clue, one second we were talking and the next we weren’t.” Midge furrows her eyebrows with a worried expression, trying to figure out how to help.

“Here, help me take her outside.” Ali demands, continuing to try and grab your attention and ask if it’s okay if she touches you.

When you don’t answer, Ali softly touches your arm and when you don’t react, she wraps your arm around her shoulder to support your weight. Midge wraps her arms around your midsection once Ali stands you up, and you can’t even feel either touch.

The girls get you so close until you suddenly become deadweight in the corner of the bar, dragging the two girls down with you so you don’t get injured. Your knees curl up to your chin, and your arms wrap around your legs. Your whole body feels like TV static, numbing your mind along with it.

“What do we do? She’s clearly panicking!” Midge begins to freak out, becoming extremely worried at your state, watching tears run down your wide eyes.

“Go get Kristie.”

“What?”

“Go grab Kristie! Now, Midge!” Ali doesn’t mean to yell, but she’s not sure how long you’ll go without passing out. Midge nods her head determinedly and runs onto the dance floor through the sweaty bodies to find the midfielder.

You never thought you’d run into that pathetic excuse of a man again. The beginning of your relationship was great sophomore year, but then it began to grow more tense. Arguing about the future, miscommunications, and disagreements turned into pushes, then slaps, and finally full-on punches.

It took you getting a concussion to finally put an end to what was happening. Kristie was there from the beginning, constantly trying to get you to move in with her and leave him, but you just couldn’t. Despite the abuse, you felt as if he still loved you.

Then a few months after the breakup came the stalking and threatening. He would follow you to classes, work, and even practices just to scare you. Along with that, we would make burner accounts and threaten to lie to the dean to get you kicked from school, and show explicit photos to your friends and family.

It took Kristie speaking up for you to finally file a restraining order. Ever since then, you haven’t seen or heard a peep from the man.

“What’s going on!” Kristie’s voice cuts through the loud air, approaching your curled-up body.

“We don’t know.” Midge admits, biting her lip anxiously at the scene of Kristie trying everything to get your attention.

“Well, what the hell happened!” Kristie’s voice raises, absolutely terrified at the state you're in and wanting to do whatever she can to get you out of it.

“One second we were talking and then the next she looked around and went into this!”

“Looked around?”

The midfielder quickly glances around the room, attempting to follow in your footsteps, and that’s when she sees it. More like sees him. That same smug smirk she remembers seeing years ago.

“Kriegs, I need you to go grab security. Quickly.” Without any hesitation, Ali runs to look for bouncers while Kristie turns her glare from the man over to you with a softened look.

Your eyes are looking everywhere and nowhere all at once. They’re moving yet you can’t focus or see a thing, but when you hear that familiar soothing voice, your vision begins to unblur.

“There you are.” The blonde states, watching your gaze finally make contact with hers.

Within seconds, your breathing begins to slow, reverting back to its original pace as soon as it can, helping your body relax and unnumb. Just the sound of Kristie’s voice and the soft touch of her hand have helped tremendously, although you aren’t in the clear.

Your breaths have slowed down from before but it’s still rapid compared to the normal rate, and most of your body remains dizzy.

“What can I help you with, ma’am?” The bouncer asks, approaching you two with Ali right next to him.

“I need you to get that man out of here.” Kristie demands, pointing to the cause of all this chaos.

“We can’t kick him out without cause. We haven’t heard any complaints.” The man asserts with furrowed brows, but Kristie doesn’t seem to take it.

“Is a restraining order enough? Escort him out or I will, sir.”

Many of the girls who have now gathered around, not too close to overwhelm you, eyes widened with impressed looks and smiles as they watch the bouncer scram to escort him out.

“Wow. Don’t wanna mess with Kristie and her girl.” Nealy mumbles to a nodding Jenna.

Meanwhile, you’re finally making progress on being able to talk, hear, and breathe normally. A lot of your body remains tingly along with weakness, but the blonde girl alongside you helps you with everything.

“Here she is.” Kristie murmurs softly, her voice cutting through the haze in your mind like sunlight breaking through a curtained window. Her steady tone anchors you, and your frantic gaze finally meets hers.

“You’re okay, you’re safe. I’m right here.” She calmly says, her touch is gentle but firm, hands rubbing slow, deliberate circles on your arms.

Your chest heaves as you fight to regain control of your breathing, each inhale catching like a hiccup in your throat. But her words, her presence, they’re a lifeline. Slowly, the static buzzing in your body begins to fade, replaced by a dull ache and a tingling warmth where her hands rest on your arms.

“That’s it.” Kristie encourages, her eyes locked on yours. “Breathe with me, okay? In and out.”

You nod shakily, mimicking her deep breaths. Your lungs still feel tight, but the rhythm she sets calms the chaos in your chest. Gradually, the room sharpens around you; the distant thrum of music, the faint chatter of the girls nearby. It’s overwhelming, but Kristie keeps your focus tethered to her.

“There you go.” she says when your breathing finally steadies. “You’re doing so good, honey.”

Your heart stumbles at her words, warmth spreading through your chest despite the lingering fear. You manage a small nod, though the effort feels monumental.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, your voice hoarse and shaky. “I don’t know what happened. I saw him, and-”

“Stop, you don’t have to explain right now. It’s not your fault.” Kristie interrupts gently, shaking her head.

“She’s right, Y/n. None of this is your fault.” Midge steps closer, her face lined with concern.

You exhale shakily, the pressure in your chest lightening as you take in their words. Slowly, with Kristie’s help, you rise to your feet. Your legs wobble, lightheadedness threatening to pull you down again, but her arm is already around your waist, holding you steady.

“Easy, I’ve got you.” She says softly, her steady grip grounding you.

Her closeness, the protective strength in her touch, is almost too much to bear. Your cheeks flush a deep red, and you glance away, hiding the way her presence affects you. But Kristie notices, of course she does. Her hand lingers on your waist as her gaze searches yours.

“How about we head home, yeah?” The older girl suggests with a small smile.

“Yeah.”

—

When Kristie suggested going home, you both decided to just stay over at her apartment. It was close and for some reason comfier than yours in your opinion.

The midfielder was quick to offer you her clothes to sleep in which included a t-shirt and shorts. You were so relieved to take off the tight pants you had on along with your bra that felt like it was pushing your breasts all the way into your back.

You’re both cuddled together on the couch watching some sitcom on the TV. Cuddling isn’t new to you two, but ever since you realized your feelings for the older girl, your chest tightens and your cheeks flush whenever she gets this close.

Within minutes you’re asleep on the blonde’s chest, your cheek resting on her grey sweater and hair splattered across your face. Kristie is not too far behind, having soothed herself to sleep by threading her nails through the top of your head while the show in the background plays lightly.

The night passes in a peaceful blur, and when morning comes, sunlight streams through the window, warming your face. You squint against the brightness, groaning softly as you blink yourself awake. The warmth of Kristie’s arm draped over you lingers, grounding you in the moment, but you still try to sit up as well as you can without waking the girl.

“Good morning, beautiful.” Kristie rasps, her voice low and husky from sleep, with a sleepy grin spreading across her face as she stretches her arms over her head.

If you were half asleep before, you sure as hell aren’t now. The sound of her morning voice, paired with the pet name, sends a shiver down your spine. You’re not used to this side of her, so confident, so close. It makes your pulse race in ways you’re not sure you can control.

Kristie immediately notices the change in your posture despite only being up for a few minutes. She slowly sits up next to you, watching the side of your face and observing your reaction to her getting closer to you. When you turn, you slightly jump having not actually seen her move up close to you.

“Hi.” You manage a shaky smile, your heart still racing from the sudden closeness.

“Hi.” The girl’s lips curl into a soft grin, her blue eyes flickering between yours as if searching for something unspoken. The way she leans closer makes your breath hitch.

A new tension rises between you two as you both stare at one another with longing eyes, wanting so much more but not making a move. You don’t want to pull away. Maybe this is when something can happen between you two, but you’re too afraid to make the first move.

Suddenly, Kristie’s voice breaks the air with something unexpected.

“Please tell me to stop if I’m doing something you don’t want or like.”

Your breath catches in your throat as her words hang in the air. Kristie’s voice is quiet, almost hesitant, but there’s a certainty in her tone that makes your pulse quicken once again. Her gaze remains locked on yours, searching for any sign of hesitation.

You should say something. Anything. But all you can do is stare at her, your heart pounding in your chest like it’s trying to escape, too nervous to do something wrong.

“Kristie.” You finally whisper, unsure of where the courage to speak comes from.

Her name falls from your lips like a plea, and that’s all the confirmation she seems to need. Slowly, carefully, she closes the small space between you.

Her hand brushes against yours, the touch featherlight, as if she’s giving you the chance to pull away. You don’t. Instead, your fingers curl slightly, brushing hers in return.

“Is this okay?” She asks softly, voice trembling just enough to betray her own nerves.

“Yeah. It’s more than okay.” You nod, barely able to speak.

A small smile tugs at her lips before she leans in, her forehead resting lightly against yours. Her breath is warm against your skin, and you swear the world outside her apartment melts away. It’s just you and her now, caught in this fragile, perfect moment.

Her hand lifts to your cheek, her thumb tracing the crevices of your skin. The touch sends shivers down your spine, and for the first time, you realize just how much you’ve wanted this. Just how much you’ve been concealing these emotions.

And then, finally, she kisses you.

It’s gentle at first, her lips brushing against yours like a question, but when you don’t pull away, when you kiss back, it deepens. Your hands find their way to her shoulders repositioning and anchoring yourself to her as her fingers tangle in your hair.

Time slows. The sitcom that played throughout the night fades into white noise. All you can feel is her warmth, her touch, and the way she makes you feel like the center of the universe.

When she finally pulls back, her cheeks are flushed, and her grin is sheepish.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while.” She admits, her voice barely above a whisper.

You laugh softly, your own face warm.

“Me too.”

For the first time in what feels like forever, the tension between you two isn’t uncertainty. It’s the start of something new.

[thiswasachoice]

All true and delightful, but you should really report your cash tips. Not because it's the right thing to do or it's the law or any of that jazz. But because you will absolutely get fucked over on your social security payments later in life (or earlier if you become/are disabled) if you do not.

Social security works by taking the top 35 years of your employment and using that, with some arcane graphs, to calculate how much you will receive when you hit 67. If you don't have any reportable income for a year, say because you took all of your payments in cash and didn't report it on your taxes, you get a zero. If more than 25 of those years are 0s, i.e. if you have reported less than 10 years of income, YOU WILL NOT GET ANY SOCIAL SECURITY. Period. None. Not even if you contributed enormous amounts in the other 9.5 years. It will all be gone and you will not be eligible for any social security payments, even if you become disabled or would be eligible for survivor's benefits. (Yes these rules have exceptions and details based on ages and categories, but this is a general rule.)

But Jack, you might say, I have basically no money! I can't afford to pay taxes on what I do earn!

How do you know my name, and why are you in my house, I will reply.

But in all seriousness, if you have basically no money, you are exactly the person who should be reporting it! If you have very low income:

1. You will likely pay low or no taxes and may be eligible to receive payments instead, which you can only get by filing. If you are in the bottom 20% of earners, on average social security taxes will cost 8.3% of your income but tax credits will return 9.3%, leaving you ahead now and in 35 years years, just by filing.

2. Social security has a minimum benefit amount based on years in the workforce. If you retired today after 35 years of paying 5$ a year in social security taxes, congratulations you're now entitled to $1,066.50 per month! That's the best investment you could ever make!

3. You can report and pay taxes on your own income, even if your employer doesn't report or you do freelance or other non-employee work.

4. If you have an employer who does give you a W-2 and they try to get you to take your tips under the table or take a portion of your pay on the side they are trying to fuck you out of your social security. Why? Because the employer pays the same amount into your social security as you do and if they don't report your actual salary, they don't get taxed on the full amount and you don't get their payments credited.

People don't know these things because they aren't taught them. When I was a kid, I made $7 an hour working as a secretary in a church office for four hours a week. My parents made sure I reported every penny of it and paid taxes. The same thing happened for every summer job and student worker position when I was in college. As a result of that, at the age of 24 I had fulfilled my 10 year social security requirement and if I became disabled or couldn't find a job, I would still be vested in the program. If I get hit by a bus, my wife will collect a survivor's benefit. It probably cost 300$ over the course of ten years. I thought it was stupid at the time, I wanted the extra money, I thought taxes were bullshit when I made so little, but that was the best thing they could have done for me. The system is set up in such a way that it benefits those who understand it. I didn't, but I was lucky enough to be in the care of those who did.

There are people who tax evasion benefits. Those people aren't working part time jobs, waitressing, caddying, or doing housework though. They are evading tax bills larger than your yearly salary. And one of the ways they do it is to convince you to do it, so they don't have to pay their fair share of your benefits. And you know what all of those folks have in common, even as they dodge taxes across jurisdictions and try to convince you to take cash under the table? They all pay their fucking social security taxes.

STOP assigning pre-modern characters the trait “would commit tax fraud” without understanding how hard tax fraud was back in the days when a tax collector would physically come to your estate and assess your sitch. Do you have any idea how easy kids these days have it? You can just claim a few fake deductions or lie on a form and be a tax criminal. Your ancestors and fantasy faves had to work for those pennies.

Look at this house. This house has no mortar so it can be collapsed or moved to avoid taxation. That’s the sort of innovation I need to be seeing before you can call anyone in a feudal society a tax fraudster. They need to be hiding warehouses of goods, shoving grandpa in the basement to dodge the censusman, starting small regional wars, fleeing their villages in a constant semi-nomadic race against the forces of government, registering twins as a single child, or putting their life on the line to sell blackmarket bread. Come back when you have some tax fraud I can respect, not just a guy who looks kind of sleazy and sometimes does paperwork.

[sluttylittlewaistenthusiast]

╰┈➤ 18+ none of these stories belong to me! this is a masterlist of all the fanfics i’ve read and reblogged! just thought it would be nice to have them all in one spot! (if your fic is on here and you wish not to be, please let me know!) some will have summaries if provided <3

ᡣ𐭩 how you can help palestine . fic recs m.list . m.list one

@amethystarachnid

⭒ Bet

When Bucky Barnes suddenly starts talking to you you don't think much of it and when he asks you out on a date you couldn't be happier, Bucky truly is everything you could ever want in a man, a man that really loves you...At least that's what you thought until you discovered that it was real all just a bet.

@embbarnes

⭒ Roasted Chestnuts

Bucky takes to sleeping in the living room, you comfort him with hot cocoa.

⭒ Sugar Plums

The soldier has an attachment to you.

@brunchable

⭒ My Neighbor Is A Pornstar

part one | Your coworker peer pressured you to look up SergeantBarnes in Pornhub, reason? Because apparently you're missing out.

part two | Though you've become oddly close to SergeantBarnes, it's still difficult to act normal around him.

⭒ I Don't Want You Like A Best Friend

part one | Bucky can't decide if the universe loves him or hates him. Maybe it loves to hate him. Maybe it's mischievous. Because he’s in love. He’s madly, deeply, painfully in love with a girl that he knows he’ll never have. Because the heavens created arguably the most perfect creature in their repertoire, dangled you in front of him for his entire life, and chose to rip you away before he had the chance to tell you how he felt.

part two | It's only been a few hours since you've become official and Bucky want to show you just how much you mean to him.

@rinasauruss

⭒ Magnetic Mishap

you bought magnets for Bucky's arm, forgetting that vibranium is not magnetic

@lanabuckybarnes

⭒ Secrets That Bite Back

For the longest time America’s star spangled Captain, or as you know him as Steve, has kept a little secret. A secret he thinks he guards well yet the rest of the Avengers seem to know already. Biting the bullet he decides to share this information with you but you have a secret of your own who isn’t too pleased about it.

@retrosabers

⭒ From Me, To You

as bucky’s secret santa, you’re determined to give him the best christmas present he’s ever received.

@vintagebuckybarnes

⭒ In Vino Veritas

It all started when you and the Avengers enjoyed drinks during the afterparty back at the Avengers Tower. There, Tony revealed one of your deepest secrets, and even though you wish it had never come to light at first, you’re glad it did when the man you love stands on your doorstep, ready to start the rest of your life together.

[angelofthenight01]

The witch's secret

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

genre: fluff  ||     warnings: none

Summary: You're best friends with Pietro and Wanda is avoiding you as much as possible.  Little do you know that the reason is that the witch is falling in love with you.

The stale, recycled air of the Avengers training room hits you like a damp rag as you step inside. You wipe the sweat from your brow with the corner of your shirt, already feeling the familiar ache in your muscles. It’s been a long morning, dodging energy blasts and deflecting vibranium projectiles, all courtesy of your best friend, Pietro. He’s leaning against the wall, a smirk playing on his lips as he examines his nails like some haughty prince.

"Took you long enough," he crows, pushing himself off the wall and stretching his arms high above his head. "I was starting to think you’d finally given up on keeping up with my god-like speed."

You roll your eyes, already used to his theatrics. "Yeah, yeah, whatever, Quicksilver. Some of us need sleep." You grab your water bottle, taking a long swig. You’ve known Pietro since… well, since forever. You met at one of those weird, half-way houses run by the government when you were kids. You’d bonded over shared experiences and the inability to understand why everyone was so obsessed with being “normal”. You’d been inseparable ever since. And, naturally, that meant you’d gotten to know his twin sister, Wanda, very well too.

She’s… different. A chaotic storm wrapped up in a quiet demeanor. She’s a puzzle you’d gladly spend a lifetime trying to solve. However, lately, solving her has been like trying to catch smoke with a butterfly net. She’s been avoiding you, and not in a mild, subtle way. This is avoidance of Olympic proportions. If you’re in the kitchen, she’s suddenly urgently needed in the library. If you’re on the training floor, she’s busy meditating on the roof. It’s as if you’ve suddenly become radioactive.

"So," Pietro says, breaking your thoughts. “What’s the workout for today, oh, mighty planner of our pain?”

You shrug, pulling out the tablet and swiping the screen. "I was thinking a bit of hand-to-hand, maybe some sparring. What do you think?"

"As long as it involves me winning spectacularly, I'm in." He flashes that trademark grin, and you can’t help but chuckle.

You spend the next hour getting pummeled by Pietro’s ridiculous speed and impressive strength - but you also get some good hits yourself. You know, he may be fast, but you have been learning from the best. As you’re catching your breath, you hear a door open behind you, and your heart skips a beat, just like it always does.

It's not Wanda. It's Kate Bishop. She's leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, and a look on her face that spells trouble. You like Kate, she’s funny, quick-witted, and a total bad-ass with a bow and arrow. She's also Wanda's best friend, which is why you’re sure she’s about to deliver some cryptic message or distraction.

"Hey, guys," she says, her tone a little too casual. "Wanda needs my help… with… uh… quantum physics equations."

Pietro raises an eyebrow. "Since when does Wanda dabble in theoretical physics?"

Kate's face is a picture of forced nonchalance. "Since… now? Yeah, she’s on a real quantum kick. Anyway, gotta go, quantum stuff, you know." With that, she’s gone, leaving you and Pietro alone again.

“Quantum physics,” Pietro says, shaking his head and chuckling. “That girl is so awkward. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she’s trying really hard to avoid you.”

You almost choke on your water. “Avoid me? Why would she avoid me?” you ask, trying to sound casual, as if you hadn’t noticed.

Pietro shrugs. “Beats me. Maybe you smell.” He wrinkles his nose dramatically, making you laugh.

The next few weeks continue in the same vein. Every time you try to talk to Wanda, she vanishes as if she's a figment of your imagination. You find yourself increasingly frustrated, not just because you have no idea what you did to annoy her, but because you really miss her company.

One afternoon, you’re attempting to meditate in the common room, hoping to find some inner peace when you hear footsteps. You open one eye to see Kate Bishop walking towards you, a determined set to her jaw. You see the mischievous glint in her eye, and brace yourself.

"Okay, look," she says, grabbing the cushion next to you and sinking down. "This whole thing has gone on long enough."

You raise an eyebrow, wondering if she’s finally about to let you in on what’s going on.

"Wanda likes you," Kate blurts out, her cheeks turning a shade of pink.

Your eyes widen. "Likes me? Like… as in a friend?" you ask, even if you already know the answer.

Kate groans. "No, as in, she’s completely head-over-heels smitten with you. She’s been losing her mind about it ever since you saved her from that rampaging Ultron drone last year."

Your stomach does a backflip. “Wait, what? But why is she avoiding me?”

Kate sighs. "Because she's Wanda. She’s not good at this whole 'feeling' thing, especially when they're feelings of the lovesick variety. She's terrified you’ll find out, and then laugh at her or reject her, or whatever other dramatic scenario she's conjured up in her head. So, she decided the best course of action is to run away."

You shake your head, a smile playing at the corner of your mouth. "That's... incredibly Wanda." Something warm blooms in your chest, partly from the revelation, partly from the fact that, if Kate is to be believed, your feelings for Wanda are reciprocated.

"So, what now?" you ask.

Kate grins, that mischievous glint back in her eyes. "Now, we set a trap. She has got to face this. And maybe… she could actually go on a date or something? She’s been miserable, poor thing.”

The "trap," as it turns out, involves a suspiciously placed book in the library, a strategically timed fire alarm, and a very confused Pietro. You find yourself facing Wanda by the garden, which, somehow, you’d been guided to under the pretext of a "minor training accident".

She's standing by the rose bushes, her back to you, her shoulders tense.

"Wanda," you say softly, approaching cautiously.

She turns, and her eyes are wide. She’s beautiful. As always. And your heart is about to burst.

"I… I…" she stammers, looking like a deer caught in headlights.

You take a deep breath. "I know," you say.

Her brows furrow. "You know?"

"Yeah, Kate told me. About… everything."

Her cheeks flush a vibrant red. "Oh, no. I'm so sorry. I’m so embarrassing. I didn’t want you to know. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. I just… you're so… I…" She trails off, unable to form a coherent sentence.

You step closer, reaching out and gently brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Wanda," you say, your voice a low hum. "I'm not uncomfortable, I'm… I’m glad. Because… I feel the same way. I’ve been… completely, overwhelmingly, kind of in love with you since forever.”

Her eyes widen further, and a small, hopeful smile flickers across her face. "You… you do?"

You smile, nodding. “I do.”

The silence stretches between you, charged with an energy you both feel. You lean closer, and she does too, and then you’re kissing. Her lips are soft and sweet, and the world disappears around you. It’s perfect, and magical, and everything you’ve ever wanted.

As you pull away for air, you hear a snort behind you. You turn to see Pietro standing nearby, his face a mask of exaggerated disgust.

"Oh, for the love of all that is holy," he groans, putting a hand over his eyes. "I’m going to be sick. My best friend and my sister? It's disturbing, revolting, and completely not acceptable. I need to go drink something and forget I ever saw this.” He is clearly overdoing it, and you end up bursting into laughter, which is soon joined by Wanda's giggle.

You look at her, and your heart flips over again. This is it. This awkward, beautiful mess of a romance. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[logans-whore]

Hi~

I was reading your old man logan one-shot and mwah chief kiss

Can I ask for some more old man logan and young reader?maybe he's unsure of whether he should give into his desire or keep pushing her away but when he saw her laughing at her phone or talking to a boy friend of hers he loses it?

Or anything like that love yaa

I swear I'm working on my other requests, but holy hell, this caught hold of my brain like a dog with a chew toy and it didnt let go. This can be read as a prequel to this fic, but can be read as a standalone too! Also this turned out way fluffier than I thought it would, but oh well. I hope you like it!!!

https://www.tumblr.com/logans-whore/773031900713451520/may-i-please-ask-you-to-write-something-for-old?source=share

Logan is fully aware that he's too old for you. He's too aware, if you're the one being asked.

The two of you were the only ones to survive the Westchester incident, him because of his healing, you because you hadn't been at the mansion on the day of the incident.

So you, him, and Charles move in together, hiding away. Later, Caliban joins you.

Now, you've had a thing for him for years. But seeing him there, caring for you, for Charles, being protective, and providing? Yeah, that scratches the lizard part of your brain just right.

And he notices, sees the way you look at him like he's the only thing you'll ever want. And he turns you down, over and over again, keeping you away. He's way too old for you, and starting to look it too. You deserve someone young. Someone good, and kind, and caring and perfect, like you.

And you're not the kind of girl to push it. To force a relationship with someone who doesn't want you. (Or so you think. He wants you. Very much. He's just an idiot)

So you put yourself out there. You've been working as a waitress to help pay the bills. And a customer gives you his number, and he's sweet and funny and cute, and you say yes. Thinking this is your chance to get over Logan, to move on, find someone new to love. You start texting him, and he seems great. You really like him, and you think, with time, with patience, maybe you could grow to love him. Not the all encompassing, full body experience that loving Logan is, but maybe a simpler, less painful love.

Logan on the other hand, sees you texting. All the damn time. After several pointed remarks on phones, and how young people should get off them and have a conversation, he finally asks who you're texting.

When you tell him about Adam, the cute guy from the diner, his heart drops. He's grown to love you, to love your kindness, your compassion, the way you look at him, how absolutely fucking stunning you are. And thinking about you with anyone else? Hell no. You're his. Not that you belong to him, but you're his, and he's yours, the way only people in love are each others.

And he can't lose you, he realizes with startling clarity. He just can't.

So the next morning, as you make breakfast, about to start your shift, he slinks iinto the kitchen, looks you dead in the eyes and says. "I love you."

You nearly drop the spatula you're using, choking on your own spit. "W-what?" you sputter, surprised and confused.

"I love you" he says again. You look at him for any sign of him joking, of him playing some fucked up prank. You find none.

"I'm sorry I didn't say it before", he continues, like he hasn't just dropped the emotional equivalent of an atomic bomb on you. "I'm sorry. But I love you, honey. And I don't want to see you with anyone else but me. I know-" he hesitates, but continues. "I know I said I'm too old for you. Know I said you should find someone your own age. But I'm taking it back. And I'm asking you, not to fall in love with him. I want you in love with me."

You stare at him, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. "You- you're serious?"

"I just gave you the cheesiest goddamn speech I've ever given in my life, of course I'm fuckin' serious" He grumbles, and you can't help but laugh, before crossing the distance to stand in front of him and kissing him stupid

"I love you too," You murmur against his mouth, and feel him beam against you, smiling into the kiss. "I'm not gonna fall for him. I'm already in too deep with you"

Hours later, when he's fucking you into the mattress, you cry his name over and over again, and he knows, warm and safe in your arms, in your heart, that you mean it. That you're his, and he's yours.

Logan is full aware that he's too old for you. He loves you anyways.

[justarandomllamacorn]

"One!" They put on their backpacks.

"Two!" He grabs his water bottle.

"Three!" The tent flap goes down behind them.

"Four!" She adjusts her cap and they walk towards the woods at the end of the camp.

"Wait I'm not ready!"

"Good grief Terry!"

" you must be kidding me!"

"It's okay, I'm here! I'm here! Five!" They take off on the path.

For an hour they kept on the path, before the captain said to take left. An hour again they walked and the terrain started shifting. The trees were denser, the grass grew more sparse and they started going up.

"One", he took a step.

"Two", the rocks rolled away beneath their feet

"Three", she spits out some dirt.

"Woah look at this mushroom! It's so tiny", came a squeal at the end of the line.

"For the love of", "Shut. Up. Terry." Interrupted the lieutenant.

"Okay, geez. Five", he said dejected.

"We were at three, not four!", groaned another.

The lieutenant stood next to the captain and they started talking. After a few minutes, the team went back on it's way, turning right at the big tree, going down 20 meters to the south and up 15 degrees to the east.

This mission was of utmost importance, shapeshifters were rumoured to roam around the camp. Some said they even tried to take away a chariot full of food no later than last week, before running off in the forest. That is why they were cavorting around in the woods, searching for a creature none of them had ever seen. Terry's couldn't help but wander on this harduous journey. The beauty of the nature surrounding them was too distracting compared to their monotonous dialogues consisting mostly of calling out your number. Terry was at the very end of the line and he had to shout "Five", right after Andy who would call out " Four" and Mhéirí who said "three" and Ryan and Mikey who were respectively two and one.

As he rounded up a tree, Terry couldn't help but notice a beautiful bird, perched on a branch above them. He turned around to tell everyone but Mikey gestured at him to be silent.

"I know", he whispered conspirationally, " this bird is beautiful. But if you want to observe it longer, you have be discreet ".

Terry thought Mikey had a nice smile. He was always gentle when he talked to him and he would sometimes share a few sweets with him.

"Although", spoke again Mikey, " I have never seen such a bird before. Especially not in the hills of the Jourdain". Slowly, he drew up his bow, when the captain turned to them. He had a grave look on his face, Terry would know because that's the face he always wears whenever he catches him doing anything. "Like he couldn't believe the extent of my clumsiness", nodded Terry sagely. But this time, the captain's look of aggravation wasn't caused by Terry. They had just received the order to go back to camp immediately.

"One!" One by one they turned around.

"Two!" Together they pulled their backpacks on.

"Three!" Mickey had gone back to the front of the line.

"Four!" Mhéirí had grabbed Andy's hand and she, in turn, extended hers to Terry.

"Five!" On the road, back again, with no thoughts of birds or trees or mushrooms.

The night was already there by the time they reached camp. The air was fresh and they could smell the roast from miles away. Yet no sooner had they broken out of the woods, that they were ambushed by shadowed figures.

"What's the meaning of this?", asked the lieutenant struggling against his bounds.

"At ease." the commander said, calmly. "One of you doesn't belong. Only five left this morning. Six have returned."

You are a soldier in a team of 6 who have been sent to investigate shapeshifter sightings, but return to base after finding nothing. On your return, however, all 6 of you are detained and your commanding officer points out that there was only 5 members of your team when you left.

[8mks1tm]

my baby!

release date - 8:30 am, 1/21/25

tags - soft!mingi x reader

warnings - none just fluff

wc - 1.04k

genre - fluff

dividers by - @bernardsbendystraws

a/n - intro being released today!

There’s nobody mingi prioritized more than he did that of you. his baby, to say the least. sure, some could say his behaviors were a bit over dramatic in the way he protected you like glass everywhere you went. but, in his opinion, there were way more than just five love languages. he thought his ‘overbearing’ and protective ways were a love language in itself, and nobody could tell him otherwise.

one day, the two of you are preparing to go out. nothing seems to be out of the ordinary when he’s helping you get your heels on, or when you’re driving to the restaurant. not even when you guys are ordering your food or eating it. in mingi’s eyes. the night was going to end as normal, and there was nothing to worry about.

but, as the two of you are leaving, you tell him that you want to get a few drinks at the bar before you head out. mingi shakes his head. “i have to drive us home, baby. i can’t have any drinks.” “well, at least let me have a few. you can have a virgin martini and i can have a… martini martini,” you argue, tilting you head. you tug slightly on mingi’s shirt sleeve. “c’mon, one drink can’t hurt.”

mingi can’t help but give in, ‘specially not with you looking at him like that. “fine, go on. i’ll pay.”

so mingi walked over to the bar with you, without a second thought. “hey, two martini’s. uh, make one virgin, please,” mingi muttered to the bartender. The bartender stood there for a second, and then looked over at you. “and what can i get you, pretty girl?” he says, leaning on the counter. he was so clearly hitting on you, ineffectively of course. “uh…” you look at mingi anxiously. “he’s ordering for both of us.” the situation should’ve ended there. the bartender should’ve just made the goddamn drinks, and then they should’ve just left. but of course it didn’t.

“mmm, i’m sure you can order for yourself. something better than a virgin martini, yes?” mingi could see that you were getting over whelmed, so he stepped in immediately. “the virgin martini’s for me. because i’m driving my girlfriend home to our shared apartment,” he says, making it very clear that you were taken. “wasn’t askin’ you, bro. let the pretty girl speak for herself, hm?” “if she did, she would tell you to your face that she doesn’t want you,” mingi snarks. “now do your damn job and get us those martini’s, you creep.” the bartender turns away and starts to make the drinks with a grumble, but then you cut in. “no, that’s okay. i don’t trust his drinks anyway.” mingi follows you out with sharp eyes, making sure to take note of everything, just in case some other creep tries to make a move on you.

he notices how upset you seem when you get in the car, and he knows he should say something about it. “is something wrong, princess?” you roll your eyes, sighing. “i was just… y’know, kinda excited about those martinis. its been awhile since we’ve gone out and shared drinks. i just wanted to have that again, and that guy ruined it.” “aw, my baby…” mingi coos, resting a hand on your knee, rubbing it a bit to comfort you. “hey, we can make martinis when we get home, ‘kay?” you shake your head, looking out the window at the stars outside. “i appreciate it, but it’s just not the same, you know?” mingi sighs. he wants to help, but he doesn’t know how. there’s no point in trying to go to another bar, because that mood is definitely ruined at this point.

“i’m sorry, baby. i wish i could help somehow.” you smile at mingi. “it’s okay, mingi, ‘s not your fault. I just hate it when creeps like that ruin our night.”

when the two of you got home, mingi tried his best to cheer you up, and you were trying your best to make it clear that you weren’t upset with him specifically. and of course he knew that. but that didn’t make the night any easier to get through. “hey, princess, you wanna watch a movie… or something?” you looked at him with tired eyes and he immediately regretted even asking that. “no, baby, i’m just gonna go to bed.” mingi sighs and gets up from the couch wrapping his arms around your waist gently and nuzzling into your neck. “hey, ___?” you bring a hand up to his hair. “...yeah?” “i’m sorry. for all this. for ruining your night, for ruining your mood. this, this is my fault. should’ve shut that guy down before he even had the chance to go that far.” you immediately shake your head. “don’t apologize. none of this is your fault. i’ll be in a better mood in the morning, i’m sure.” mingi kisses your shoulder, and then looks up at you with big boba eyes. “i can take you shopping tomorrow, princess. d’you think that’ll cheer you up?” you smile as you look up at him - i mean, who wouldn’t. “you don’t gotta do that, babes.” he nods. “i know. i still want to though. just to make you feel better, yes?” you laugh, reaching up to hold mingi’s fluffy cheeks. “yes, of course.” you can’t help but stare into each other’s eyes, and mingi swears he falls for you again, looking into your eyes like that. “alright,” mingi says with a breath. “let’s get to bed, hm?”

the two of you are laying together in bed, you’re scrolling on your phone whilst mingi is cuddled against your side, eyes closed and breathing slow. you weren’t paying much attention to him, fully engrossed in your phone. pinterest, tiktok, youtube, maybe a video game here and there.

though mingi told you not to have too much screen time before bed, you really couldn’t help yourself. i mean, come on, that amazon cart wasn’t going to fill itself, now was it?

you would’ve believed that mingi had already fallen asleep, with the way he was steadily breathing as he squeezed the air out of you if you didn’t hear him muttering;

“my baby…”

[novaursa]

Legacy (friends at heart)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Note: Be aware of unspecified time-jump.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: the others

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @luniaxi @alkadri-layal @butterflygxril @urdxrling

Jon Snow sat at the head of the table, his grey eyes scanning the faces of his siblings. Sansa, regal yet weary, sat to his right, her hands clasped in her lap as she gazed pensively into the fire. Arya, ever restless, leaned back in her chair, idly twirling the point of a knife against the table’s surface. Bran, seated at the far end, looked calm but distant, his eyes fixed somewhere beyond the room, as if seeing things none of them could.

The weight of their discussion pressed heavily on all of them.

“How did they get through the Wall?” Arya asked, her tone filled with disbelief. “The Wall has stood for thousands of years. It was supposed to be impenetrable.”

Jon exhaled, his jaw tightening as he looked toward Bran. “That’s what we’re trying to figure out.”

Bran, sitting unnervingly still, finally spoke. His voice was soft but carried an unsettling certainty. “The Wall was not built to last forever. The magic that held it is ancient and fragile. Something… someone… broke it.”

Sansa frowned, her brows furrowing. “If the Wall has fallen, then we’re truly out of time. Winter is here in full force, and now the dead march freely.”

There was a heavy pause, the crackle of the fire the only sound in the room.

“I wish Mother and Father were here,” Sansa said softly, her voice breaking the silence. “I wish they could see us together like this. They would have known what to do.”

Jon’s expression softened at her words, his dark eyes filled with unspoken emotion. “They would have,” he agreed quietly. “And so would she.”

Arya glanced at Jon, catching the shift in his tone. “Y/N,” she said, her voice tinged with curiosity. “How is she? You’re the one who saw her last.”

Jon hesitated for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts. “She’s... the same as she always was,” he said finally. “Strong. Fierce. But…” His voice trailed off as he looked into the fire, his expression clouded. “There was something heavier about her. It’s been years since she’s been here, and I think she carries that weight with her.”

Arya’s gaze softened as she set the knife down, her fingers brushing against the table’s edge. “The last time I saw her was at High Heart,” she said, a faint smile playing at her lips. “She arrived on the back of a dragon.”

Sansa glanced toward Arya, her own expression softening. “I last saw her at Joffrey’s wedding,” she murmured, her voice heavy with memory. “She tried to keep me close, but there was nothing she could do. It wasn’t safe.”

Jon looked between them, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at his lips. “She never stopped trying to protect us.”

Arya’s voice was quieter now, her gaze fixed on Jon. “Do you think she’s happy? With her new family?”

Jon nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. “She has two sons now. Damon and Maelor. She loves them fiercely.”

At the mention of Damon and Maelor, Sansa’s expression warmed. “She always wanted a family of her own. She deserves that.”

There was a pause before Arya leaned forward slightly, her eyes narrowing. “Do you think she ever misses us?”

Jon’s lips pressed into a thin line as he considered the question. “She does,” he said finally. “I know she does.”

The room fell silent again, the weight of their shared history hanging in the air. Bran, who had been quiet for most of the conversation, finally spoke, his voice calm but certain.

“You’ll see her again, Jon,” Bran said, his gaze fixed on his brother. “One more time.”

Jon turned toward Bran, his expression unreadable. “What do you mean?”

Bran’s gaze seemed to pierce through him. “You’ll see her again before the end.”

The cryptic nature of Bran’s words left the room feeling colder, the fire’s warmth doing little to chase away the chill that had settled over them. Jon held Bran’s gaze for a long moment before finally looking away, his thoughts his own.

Sansa sighed softly, her voice breaking the tension. “We should rest. There’s much to do tomorrow.”

Jon nodded, his jaw tightening as he rose from his seat. “You’re right. But this isn’t over. We’ll figure this out.”

As the others began to leave the hall, Jon lingered for a moment, his gaze fixed on the fire. The memory of the woman who had raised him, the woman who had been his mother in every way that mattered, weighed heavily on his heart. No matter what came next, he knew Bran’s words would linger with him.

“One more time,” he murmured to himself, the flames casting shadows across his face.

The night was blacker than pitch, with no moonlight to pierce the endless winter darkness. A brittle wind swept through the craggy terrain surrounding Casterly Rock, howling through the narrow passes and scattering dry snow across the frozen ground. Beric Dondarrion dismounted his weary horse, his breath visible in the icy air as he surveyed their makeshift camp.

“Here,” he said gruffly, his one remaining eye scanning the area. “It’ll do for tonight.”

The others in his small company, five in total, nodded silently, their movements stiff from days of hard travel through the frostbitten landscape. Thoros of Myr dismounted as well, his red robes standing out starkly against the snow. He adjusted the sword strapped to his waist, his usually jovial demeanor replaced by a grim focus.

“The cold gets into your bones,” Thoros muttered, rubbing his hands together before pulling a flask of firewine from his belt. “A drink might keep us warm, eh?”

Beric shot him a look. “Save it. We’ll need your wits about you if anything finds us out here.”

Thoros smirked faintly, his weathered face lined with exhaustion. “What could be worse than what we’ve already seen?”

“Plenty,” Beric replied darkly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

One of the other men, a young scout with a face partially obscured by a scarf, began gathering sticks from the sparse brush nearby. “Should we light a fire?” he asked hesitantly, his voice muffled.

Thoros glanced at Beric, who frowned but nodded. “A small one. We’ll need it if we’re to keep from freezing.”

As the scout worked to kindle a flame, Beric crouched low, examining the map he had spread out on a rock. The flickering light of the fire illuminated his face, highlighting the scarred flesh and the tired determination in his lone eye.

“How much farther?” asked Lem Lemoncloak, his gruff voice cutting through the quiet as he tightened his cloak around himself.

“Half a day’s ride, maybe less,” Beric replied, tracing his finger across the map. “Casterly Rock isn’t far, but the roads are treacherous.”

Thoros crouched beside him, taking a swig from his flask before offering it to Beric, who shook his head. “Do you think they’ll even let us through the gates?” Thoros asked, his tone skeptical. “Lannisters aren’t exactly known for welcoming the likes of us.”

“They’ll let us through,” Beric said firmly. “Lady Y/N will see to it.”

Lem scoffed, leaning against a tree. “And you’re so sure she’ll even remember us? It’s been years since High Heart. She’s a Lannister now more than a Targaryen—married still to the man who all but destroyed her family.”

Beric’s gaze hardened. “She hasn’t forgotten what she saw. None of us have.”

There was a moment of silence, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air. The memory of the visions Y/N had witnessed at High Heart—the endless night, the armies of the dead, the dragons circling above—was seared into their minds. They had followed her then, believing she was key to what was coming. Now, they sought her out again, hoping to lend their swords to the fight they knew was inevitable.

The fire crackled softly as Thoros leaned back, staring into the flames. “That dragon is with her,” he mused. “And not just any dragon—a dragon clad in Lannister armor, if the rumors are true. Do you think she’s changed?”

Beric’s expression was unreadable as he replied, “She’s changed because the world has changed. But she hasn’t forgotten who she is.”

“And what about her husband?” Lem asked, spitting into the snow. “Tywin Lannister doesn’t strike me as the kind of man to entertain a band of outlaws.”

“He doesn’t have to entertain us,” Beric said evenly. “We’re not going for him.”

The wind picked up again, sending a chill through the camp. The men huddled closer to the fire, their faces shadowed and tired. For a moment, the only sound was the crackling of the flames and the distant howl of the wind.

“You think she’ll even let us fight?” Thoros asked quietly, his voice almost lost to the wind. “She has a dragon. What could we possibly offer?”

Beric turned his gaze toward the horizon, where the faint outline of Casterly Rock loomed in the distance. His voice was steady as he replied, “Faith. Resolve. A sword is only as strong as the hand that wields it. She’ll need us—just as much as we need her.”

Thoros nodded, though his expression remained thoughtful. “Let’s hope you’re right.”

As the fire burned low and the men settled in for the night, the darkness pressed in around them, bringing with it an unsettling quiet. Beric sat with his back against a tree, his sword resting across his knees, as he stared out into the shadows. Somewhere in the distance, a low, guttural sound echoed—a reminder that the night was far from safe.

He didn’t wake the others. Whatever was out there, it wasn’t coming for them yet. But the unease lingered, a constant reminder of the world they now lived in.

The night passed slowly, the fire burning down to embers as the men kept watch in turns. Morning was little more than a pale night light barely breaking through the heavy clouds, but it was enough to get them moving again.

As they mounted their horses and set out toward Casterly Rock, the wind carried with it the faintest scent of smoke—an omen, Beric thought grimly, of the battles yet to come.

The warm glow of the hearth cast flickering shadows across the grand dining hall of Casterly Rock, making the dark stone walls seem almost alive. The long oak table was set with an array of dishes—roasted meats, fresh bread, and steaming bowls of hearty stew, a rare luxury in the enduring winter. The room was quiet save for the gentle clatter of cutlery and the occasional laugh from your children.

Damon sat to Tywin’s left, his small hands gripping a spoon as he eagerly dug into his stew. Maelor was seated to your right, his little legs swinging beneath the table as he munched on a piece of bread. You sat across from Tywin, your gaze shifting between your sons and your husband, a soft smile tugging at your lips.

“Slow down, Damon,” you said gently, watching as your eldest son wolfed down his food. “You’ll make yourself sick.”

Damon paused, looking up sheepishly with a smear of stew on his chin. “I’m just hungry, Mother.”

Tywin, seated at the head of the table, raised an eyebrow, his tone stern but not unkind. “Your mother is right. Eat properly, Damon. A future lord must have composure, even at the table.”

Damon straightened in his chair, nodding solemnly as he picked up his spoon with a bit more care. “Yes, Father.”

You hid your amusement behind your goblet of wine, exchanging a knowing glance with Tywin. Despite his strict demeanor, there was a warmth in Tywin’s eyes as he observed his family.

Maelor, meanwhile, was busy tearing his bread into small pieces and dipping them into his stew. “Mother,” he piped up, his voice bright, “when can I ride Viserion?”

You chuckled softly, leaning over to brush a strand of Maelor’s hair from his face. “When you’re older, my sweet. Dragons are not toys.”

Damon, ever curious, chimed in. “But Father rode Viserion, didn’t he? You told me.”

Tywin glanced at you, the faintest twitch of a smile on his lips. “I didn’t ride her. I simply climbed on her back to avoid being eaten by those creatures in the dark.”

Damon’s eyes widened. “That sounds brave.”

Tywin’s gaze softened ever so slightly. “It was necessary, not brave.”

You reached for your goblet again, your eyes glimmering with fondness as you looked at Tywin. “Your father is underselling himself,” you teased lightly. “He’s braver than he admits.”

Tywin gave you a look that was both exasperated and amused, and for a moment, the weight of winter and responsibility seemed to lift from the room.

The conversation turned to lighter topics—Maelor’s eagerness to ride horses, Damon’s growing interest in history, and stories of your youth. Laughter filled the hall, warming the cold air like a fleeting glimpse of summer.

But the warmth was interrupted when the heavy doors to the hall creaked open. A pair of Lannister guards entered, their expressions grim as they approached the table.

“My lord, my lady,” one of the guards said, bowing deeply. “Apologies for the intrusion, but a group of men has arrived at the gates. They claim they’ve come to offer their services to Lady Y/N.”

Your brows furrowed, and you exchanged a glance with Tywin, whose expression darkened slightly. He set his goblet down with deliberate care. “Who are these men?”

“They didn’t give names,” the guard replied. “Only that they’ve traveled far and wish to speak with Lady Y/N directly.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line, your mind racing. “How many are there?”

“Five or six, my lady. They seem... weathered. Warriors, perhaps.”

Tywin’s gaze turned to you, his tone firm. “We’ll see them together. I’ll not have strangers wandering into my home without scrutiny.”

You nodded, your expression thoughtful. “Of course.”

Before rising, you turned to your sons, your voice softening. “Damon, Maelor, stay here with the servants. Finish your dinner.”

Damon’s brows knit together in concern. “Are you going to see those men, Mother? Are they dangerous?”

You smiled reassuringly, leaning over to press a kiss to Damon’s forehead. “No, my darling. Stay here with your brother. We’ll be back shortly.”

Tywin stood, his presence commanding as he adjusted his cloak. You rose beside him, brushing your fingers over Maelor’s hair as you passed. “Eat your stew,” you told him gently. “We won’t be long.”

As the guards led you out of the hall, the laughter and warmth of the meal seemed to fade, replaced by the chill of winter seeping through the castle walls. Your mind buzzed with questions as you made your way toward the gates. Whoever these men were, they had chosen a perilous time to make their journey.

And as always, Tywin’s keen gaze missed nothing. “You have an idea of who they might be,” he said quietly, his voice low enough for only you to hear.

You glanced at him, your expression unreadable. “Perhaps,” you murmured. “But we’ll know soon enough.”

You stepped into the cold night air, the stars barely visible through the dense clouds, as you prepared to meet the unexpected visitors.

The chill of winter clung to the courtyard of Casterly Rock, the snow crunching beneath boots as Tywin and you stepped into the open space. Torches lit the area, casting low light on a group of riders standing with their horses near the gate. The wind carried the faint scent of frost and the sea, the air biting against exposed skin.

Your gaze immediately locked onto the group of men, their weathered faces illuminated by the torchlight. There was something familiar about them—the way they stood, the way their eyes scanned the courtyard with quiet vigilance.

And then your breath hitched as recognition struck. Beric Dondarrion stood at the forefront, his one-eyed gaze fixed on you, his battered armor bearing the marks of countless battles. Beside him, Thoros of Myr held the reins of his horse, his red priest’s robes looking as worn as the man himself. Others stood behind them, cloaked figures with hardened expressions and the quiet confidence of those who had seen too much of war.

“Beric,” you breathed, stepping forward before you could think better of it.

Beric inclined his head, his voice gravelly but warm. “Lady Y/N.” He glanced at Tywin, then back at you, a faint smile playing on his lips. “It’s been some time.”

Tywin’s gaze darted to you, and his tone was cool as he spoke. “You know these men?”

You nodded, your voice steady despite the flood of memories. “Yes. These are the men I rode with in the Riverlands. When I was… missing, all those years ago.”

Tywin’s lips pressed into a thin line, his expression unreadable, though you caught the faintest flicker of something—irritation, perhaps jealousy—in his eyes. “You never mentioned any men,” he muttered, his tone low but unmistakably pointed.

You glanced at him, your brow arching slightly. “There wasn’t much time to recount every detail, Tywin,” you said evenly. “But yes, I owe my life to them. They sheltered me after wounds from riding Viserion started to get worse.”

Beric stepped closer, his gaze flicking between you and Tywin. “We came to offer our aid, my lady. The Long Night is here, and we remember what you told us at the High Heart. What we saw.” He glanced at Thoros, who nodded solemnly. “We believe it’s time to fulfill that promise.”

Tywin’s expression remained impassive, though his eyes betrayed his calculating mind. “And what promise would that be?”

Thoros of Myr spoke this time, his voice deep and steady. “To stand against the darkness, Lord Lannister. To fight for the living.”

Tywin’s gaze sharpened. “A noble sentiment, but not one I take at face value. You come uninvited to my gates in the dead of winter, claiming allegiance to my wife. What exactly are you offering, and what do you expect in return?”

You placed a gentle hand on Tywin’s arm, your voice softening as you spoke. “They’re here to help, Tywin. They’re not our enemies.”

His gaze flicked to your hand, then back to Beric, his jaw tightening slightly. “Help,” he repeated, the word laced with skepticism. “And how do a handful of men plan to help against creatures we’ve barely managed to hold at bay?”

Beric’s one good eye met Tywin’s unwaveringly. “We’ve faced them before, my lord. And we’ve lived to tell the tale. You may find we’re more useful than you think.”

There was a tense silence as Tywin considered Beric’s words, his mind weighing every possibility. Finally, he inclined his head, though his tone remained cold. “We’ll discuss this further inside. For now, you and your men will be fed and given quarters. I trust you’ll behave accordingly.”

Beric nodded. “We’ll not give you reason to regret it.”

Tywin turned on his heel, his cloak billowing behind him as he began walking back toward the castle. You lingered for a moment, your gaze meeting Beric’s. “Thank you,” you said quietly. “For coming.”

Beric offered a faint smile. “It’s the least we could do, my lady.”

You gave a small nod before following Tywin, who was already a few paces ahead. His silence was heavy as you walked, and you could feel the unease radiating from him.

When you reached the castle’s inner halls, Tywin finally spoke, his tone clipped. “I don’t trust them.”

You sighed, glancing at him. “I understand. But they’ve earned my trust, Tywin. They’re good men.”

His gaze flicked to you, his expression unreadable. “Good men or not, they’re an unknown variable. And I don’t like surprises.”

You reached out, placing a hand on his arm to stop him. “I wouldn’t have survived without them. They helped me when I was lost, when I was vulnerable. That has to mean something.”

Tywin’s eyes softened slightly, though his jaw remained set. “I don’t doubt their past actions, but their presence here complicates things. We’ll see if they’re as honorable as you believe.”

You gave him a faint smile, your hand lingering on his arm. “Thank you for allowing them to stay.”

His gaze held yours for a moment before he nodded curtly. “Don’t thank me yet. This isn’t a courtesy—it’s a test.”

You couldn’t help but smile despite his tone, knowing that beneath his guarded exterior, Tywin’s decision to allow Beric and his men to stay was, in its own way, a gesture of trust in you.

The soft glow of the torches lit the chamber where Tywin Lannister sat at the head of a long table. The room was quieter now, with the bustling noise of Beric’s men settling into their quarters fading into the background. The air was warm, unusually so for the middle of the relentless winter. Across from Tywin sat Beric Dondarrion and Thoros of Myr, their rugged appearances stark against the polished surroundings of Casterly Rock.

Tywin’s gaze was sharp, his presence as commanding as ever, as he leaned forward slightly, clasping his hands on the table. “Your men have been given food and shelter, but I expect discipline. My castle does not tolerate disruptions.”

Beric inclined his head, his expression neutral but respectful. “You have my word, Lord Lannister. My men understand where they are and the gravity of the times.”

Thoros took a swig from a flask he’d kept at his side, his eyes scanning the room. “You’ve got a strange warmth here, my lord,” he remarked, his deep voice tinged with curiosity. “Unusual for such a winter.”

Tywin’s expression didn’t change, but his tone carried a measured edge. “It’s not unusual when you understand the cause. There are two dragons sleeping beneath this castle, warming the Rock with their presence.”

The room fell silent, the weight of Tywin’s statement hanging in the air. Thoros set his flask down, his brow furrowing. “Two?” he repeated, his tone quieter now, almost reverent.

Beric leaned back slightly, his one good eye studying Tywin closely. “So it’s true, then. Not one, but two dragons sleep beneath your home.”

Tywin met Beric’s gaze, his voice steady. “You’ve heard correctly. The larger of the two is Viserion, my wife’s dragon. The smaller one hatched inside Dragonmont years ago from one of Viserion’s eggs.”

Beric’s lips pressed into a thin line as he exchanged a glance with Thoros. “And the second dragon—has it bonded with anyone?”

Tywin’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Not yet. It’s young, temperamental, and untested. But it remains here, under my control.”

Thoros chuckled softly, though there was no humor in his voice. “Control is a fragile thing, especially when it comes to dragons. They answer to no one unless they choose.”

Tywin’s gaze sharpened. “You misunderstand. I don’t need to command it. Its presence alone is enough to deter threats. Dragons are weapons, and I wield them as I would any other.”

Beric leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table. “Weapons they may be, but they’re also fire made flesh. They’re alive, with wills of their own. Do you believe you can truly keep them beneath the Rock forever?”

Tywin’s jaw tightened, though his expression remained impassive. “The dragons are not your concern, Dondarrion. They serve my purposes, nothing more.”

The anxity in the room grew thick as Beric studied Tywin carefully, his gaze unwavering. “I don’t mean to question your methods, my lord. But the fire beneath your castle is a reminder of what’s at stake. If the Long Night has taught us anything, it’s that we cannot take such power for granted.”

Tywin leaned back slightly, his cold green eyes never leaving Beric’s face. “I don’t take anything for granted. That’s why I’m still here, holding this castle, while others crumble.”

Thoros chuckled again, this time with a hint of warmth. “And yet, it’s the dragons that make this place a haven in the dark. The warmth, the life—it’s not entirely your doing, Lord Lannister.”

Tywin’s lips twitched into something resembling a smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Perhaps not. But I know how to use the tools at my disposal. That’s the difference between survival and ruin.”

The room grew quiet again, the crackle of the torches the only sound as Beric considered Tywin’s words. Finally, he nodded slowly. “You’ve prepared well, Lord Lannister. But preparation only takes us so far. When the true storm comes, we’ll see if even dragons are enough.”

Tywin’s expression hardened, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. “Dragons are enough, as long as they’re wielded wisely. And here, they are.”

Thoros picked up his flask again, tipping it toward Tywin in a mock toast. “Then let’s hope your wisdom holds, my lord. The Long Night is not kind to those who falter.”

Beric rose from his seat, inclining his head toward Tywin. “Thank you for your hospitality, Lord Lannister. We’ll do what we can to aid you in the days ahead.”

Tywin stood as well, his gaze cool and assessing. “See that you do. You’ve been given a chance to prove your worth. Don’t waste it.”

As Beric and Thoros left the chamber, the weight of their words lingered in the air. Tywin remained standing, his mind already working through the implications of their conversation. The warmth of the dragons beneath the Rock was a source of power, but it was also a reminder of the unpredictable forces at play in the world—a world growing darker with each passing day.

The cold, dark void of the endless winter stretched across Damon’s dreamscape like a suffocating shroud. Snow blanketed the ground, heavy and unyielding, as he wandered through an unfamiliar forest. The towering trees loomed above him, their skeletal branches twisting into grotesque shapes against the starless sky. The air was heavy, thick with an unnatural stillness that pressed against his small frame.

Damon's breath came in shallow gasps, his feet sinking into the snow with each hesitant step. His heart pounded in his chest, the only sound in the oppressive silence. Somewhere in the distance, faint whispers danced on the icy wind. They were unintelligible but sinister, wrapping around him like tendrils of shadow.

“Mother?” Damon called out, his voice trembling. “Father?”

No answer came, only the rising chill that gnawed at his skin. The whispers grew louder, now resembling mocking laughter. Fear rooted him in place as a shadowy figure emerged from the darkness. At first, it was unrecognizable—a towering form cloaked in swirling blackness. Then the shadows receded slightly, revealing Tywin’s face, his piercing green eyes devoid of life, staring at Damon with an unseeing gaze. Blood trickled down from a gaping wound in his chest, staining the pristine snow at his feet.

“Father!” Damon screamed, his small hands reaching out, but Tywin's figure crumbled into ash before his eyes, the wind scattering it into nothingness.

“No, no, no!” Damon’s cries echoed in the void, but they were swallowed by the darkness. He spun around, searching for something, anything, to ground him. His mother’s voice—soft, soothing—called his name from somewhere far away.

“Damon...”

The sound filled him with fleeting hope, and he ran toward it, the snow beneath his feet now feeling like ice-cold quicksand. Each step grew heavier, the effort immense, but he pushed forward. The voice grew louder, clearer, until he saw her. Y/N, his mother, stood a few paces away, her silver hair gleaming even in the bleakness of his dream. Relief washed over him.

“Mother!” he cried, rushing toward her.

But as he approached, her form shifted. Her warm, comforting expression twisted into one of pain and terror. She reached out to him, blood dripping from her fingers, before her body collapsed to the ground. A shadow passed over her crumpled figure, and Damon’s eyes snapped upward to see a monstrous spider, its grotesque legs spanning the entire forest. Its countless, soulless eyes glimmered like dark stars as it descended upon her, its fangs dripping with venom.

“No!” Damon screamed, his voice breaking. He tried to run to her, but the ground beneath him gave way, and he plummeted into a pit of darkness. His mother’s scream echoed in his ears, merging with the guttural growls of unseen creatures.

He fell endlessly, surrounded by whispers, laughter, and the sound of snapping jaws. Just when he thought the darkness would consume him entirely, a thunderous roar shook the void.

Viserion.

The she-dragon’s roar shattered the oppressive silence and chased away the darkness, her powerful cry like a beacon of light in the nightmare. The shadows recoiled, retreating into the void as Damon felt himself pulled upward, the chill replaced by warmth and the suffocating stillness lifting.

With a start, Damon’s eyes snapped open, his small body drenched in cold sweat. His chest heaved as he sat up in his bed, his heart hammering against his ribs. The faint glow of moonlight filtered through the frosted window, and the familiar warmth of the castle walls slowly brought him back to reality.

Another roar echoed in the distance, fainter this time but unmistakable. Viserion’s presence seemed to reassure him, her cry a reminder that she was near, guarding them.

Damon’s wide, frightened eyes darted around the room, settling on Maelor, who was fast asleep in the bed beside him, his small form rising and falling peacefully under the blankets. Damon swallowed hard, his throat dry, as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He clutched his knees to his chest, trembling as the vivid images of his dream lingered in his mind.

“Mother... Father...” he whispered, his voice shaking.

He couldn’t shake the sight of their lifeless forms or the monstrous spider that had loomed over them. The fear gnawed at him, but deep inside, a spark of resolve flickered. He couldn’t let those nightmares become reality.

Outside, the faint cry of the dragons echoed once more, a comforting sound that kept the darkness at bay.

[ahotmesswithprivilege]

Ocean Eyes

paring: Bob Floyd x female!bartender!reader

wordcount: 2642 (scandalously short for me, I know)

prompt: “It’s like you never really see me. I’m standing right in front of you and you don’t see me!” requested by @gretagerwigsmuse (I am sorry this took so long. I hope it was worth the wait)

note: I couldn't write so I started cleaning up my WIP folder and I found this. I forgot that it was practically done and so I thought, let's share my Bob debut with the world. I hope you'll enjoy it.

Trigger Warning(If I forgot something or you want me to add to the list, my inbox is wide open. You are responsible for your media consumption, so proceed with caution, you know the drill): none, I think. Unless you consider canon Hangster one. Also idiots in love.

|| Masterlist ||

divider by @sweetmelodygraphics banner by @firefly-graphics

Reblogs, comments and constructive criticism are always welcome

!!!Minors do not interact; empty/ageless/minors will get blocked!!!

You love Bob Floyd. It’s pretty obvious to anyone who has eyes. At least that’s what you always hear from your best friend and yet he showed never any interest in you at all. There is a part of you that realises that this could only mean one thing but acknowledging the hard truth would hurt more than anything. So you ignore it and keep living in the blissful illusion that maybe one day Lieutenant Robert Floyd will wake up and finally see you.

That is until tonight when that hope should be shattered for good. The night at the Hard Deck when you are dealt the final blow.

“Is that Baby on Board in that booth? Flirting with a woman?”, Hangman is leaning against the bar waiting for you to get a fresh round of drinks ready. The question is directed at Rooster to his right and your gaze follows his and you see Bob sitting in a booth with an absolutely gorgeous redhead.

“Yeah. Phoenix set him up with her old college friend”, Rooster answers, giving you that kind of cautious look that he always sent your way whenever he thought you were in a fragile state and could implode any second. And as if to justify his worries you slam their beers down a little harder than intended and when your gaze meets his, all you see is pity in his pretty brown eyes.

“Rooster”, your voice is barely there, more a growl rumbling in your chest than anything else. It's a warning for your best friend to keep his fucking mouth shut and leave you be.

Not that it would help.

It's something you both love and hate about Bradley Bradshaw. He was not someone who gave up on people. No, he stayed even when shit got hard and you knew he'd be right there by your side through it all, holding your hand and keeping you close because that's just who he is.

And considering the look you get from his worse half, you know the same is true for him. The irony that fucking Jake Seresin would one day be one of your best friends was not lost on you. Especially considering how the two of you started off, but having Hangman cover your back was apparently a perk that came with being Rooster's best friend.

"Don't"

But Brad just lifts his hands in surrender and then they head over to the pool tables where the others are already waiting for them, leaving you behind the bar with the feeling that the shards of your shattered heart were just digging deeper into your flesh with every breath.

“Hey, sunshine”, your head snaps to the side and there you see him sitting at the end of the bar smiling at you the way he always did. The way that made your heart skip a beat and you hated that fucking traitor of an organ. And then your brain intercepts and reminds you of the images of last night. The way she had her hands all over him, turning him into a blushing mess as they stumbled out of the bar.

You have to shake your head or you'd lose focus and you cannot afford that. Not on a Saturday night.

It's not like you need to wait for him to order something, you know it all by heart, so you set his usual virgin drink in front of him and put some nuts in a bowl. Both containers are hitting the bartop a tad bit harder than necessary and before he could get another word in you were already gone.

Your behaviour took him off guard. His eyes are still following you when you already busied yourself with the order of another patron at the other end of the bar as if you wanted to get as much space between you and him as you physically could and he couldn't help the unsettling feeling that crept up on him.

This was so not you. There's a reason why they call you sunshine and that's not just because Rooster introduced you like that. You were always sweet and kind and won over the position of the patron’s favourite from Penny within the first week. You always had a lovely smile on your lips and a nice comment for everyone.

But the thing he had always liked most about you was how protective you were, looking out for the people around you. You were just the kind of person who truly cared and didn't just turn it into a performance.

The longer you are lingering on the other end of the bar without giving him even as much of a glace the more uneasy he becomes ultimately deciding to pick up his things and make his way over to the quiet corner by the pool tables that had been dubbed his even back during his Top Gun time. And from over there he has the perfect view of the bar without the hustle and bustle that would only distract from his actual mission. Figure out what was wrong with you.

You seemed tense and your interactions were colder than usual even with people that he knew you loved to bits.

Dave, one of the veterans who frequented the bar had made it a habit to propose to you whenever he saw you. It was a running gag between the two of you but even he couldn't bring an honest smile to your face.

That sure as hell was a first.

Maybe something happened?

Had someone hurt you?

Or did something happen with your family?

The best way to find out was to talk to Rooster.

He was your best friend after all and if someone knew what was going on, then it would be him.

So, Bob waited patiently until he took a break from the pool game before approaching him.

“Is something wrong with sunshine?”

Rooster arches his brow at the question, stops drinking mid-swig and puts his bottle back down.

“What should be wrong with her?”

Bob tilts his head while he studies the other's features.

He couldn't be serious about that question. Rooster always claimed to know you best of them all and he honest-to-goodness wanted to tell Bob he didn't see what was going on.

“She’s curt and tense. She didn’t even smile at Dave's proposal”

Rooster’s brow arched even more.

God for someone as observant as Robert fucking Floyd he was pretty goddamn blind when it came to you.

“Even if there was something it wouldn't be my story to tell”, he raises his bottle back up and takes a sip of his beer, watching Bob’s mind running  100 miles an hour while he tried to figure out how to proceed.

“If you wanna know what’s going on there is a simple solution”, he prompts him. He had sworn to keep his mouth shut about your feelings for Bob but helping him figure it out on his own was not breaking that promise.

At least not in his book.

“And that would be?”

“Fucking ask her, Baby on board”

Jake groaned over from the pool table and rolled his eyes.

He was so done with this kindergarten bullshit. Watching you and Bob was worse than his dance with Rooster pre-uranium mission and he knew they had been unbearable to watch.

His boyfriend shoots Hangman an angry look as if to remind him of their promise but he just rolls his eyes and sighs.

Hangman likes you, a lot. Some might even go so far as to say he loves you. Very much platonic but it's love nonetheless.

You were a major part of Rooster’s life and therefore you became a fixture in his and if he had to listen to you crying yourself to sleep one more goddamn night over fucking Baby on Board then he’d be the one going on a bloody rampage.

So Jake stalked over to Bob and stared him right in his blue eyes, his green gaze cutting like a knife.

“That wasn’t a suggestion Floyd”, he growled, nodding over to where you handed out drinks at the bar, doing everything within your power to not look their way.

Bob had no idea why the other ganged up on him like that but he couldn’t remember the last time Hangman had been this mad. With his gaze flittering between the two men and you at the bar he decided it was indeed probably smartest to talk to you as soon as possible.

“Can you please get a box of whiskey from storage?”, you barely hear Penny’s voice over the constant chatter of the bar and the music coming from the jukebox when she hands you the key.

You had tried to keep your brain busy all night and lucky for you, the Saturday had provided you with enough to do to grant yourself a small reprieve from the pain that had settled in what was left of your heart after last night.

You nod at Penny and weave through the crowd in front of the bar, attempting to smile at the patrons that greeted you but you knew that this was just a facade and considering the many concerned looks, they knew too.

When you finally got to unlock the door of the storage closet stepping inside and pulling the door closed behind you as you were heaving a sigh the muffled sounds of the bar were still echoing in your ear. You loved this place and the Hard Deck had always felt more like home than the house you shared with Rooster and Hangman. You close your eyes and take a deep breath. The air was stuffy and full of dust but it was the closest to a break you could get just about now.

That was until the sudden creaking of the door made your heart rate pick up.

"This is for staff only", your eyes are wandering around to find something to use as a makeshift weapon just in case one of the guys got so drunk he forgot his manners and basic human decency. You find a large vodka bottle, pick it up from the shelf as you turn around, almost dropping it when you are met with blue eyes.

"Fuck Bob, you scared me", you place your free hand over your heart, putting the Vodka bottle on a small table.

"I'm sorry, sunshine", your eyes wander over him and it's only then that you see how he's not really daring to look into your eyes and he's fidgeting with his hands.

"What are you doing back here Bob?", you are crossing your arms over your chest and take another step back from him, almost making you hit the shelves full of liquor behind you.

He had never seen you so distanced and borderline standoffish around any of the daggers. You were someone who needed to be close, someone who thrived on touch and physical forms of affection, but you were fleeing from him and he couldn't have imagined something as simple as a step back to hurt that bad.

"I... I was wondering...", he started and then you were the third person today looking at him with an arched eyebrow and he felt like a first grader who's supposed to take his SAT.

"What were you wondering?", you said, the tense edge still audible in your voice sent a shiver down his spine.

Bob had never met this cold version of you and he hated every second of it. He loved your warmth, the way you were lighting up even the darkest room. You were the embodiment of a sweet summer day, full of sunshine and blooming flowers with enough of a breeze to make it perfect but right now you rivalled the worst arctic winter.

"Why are you so cold with everyone?"

"I am not"

"Of course you are. You didn't even smile at Dave's proposal", he sees the way your eyes get wider for only a moment before you put that facade back in place. So the real you was hiding somewhere behind that mask you put on.

"Yes I did"

"No, you didn't. Not for real"

The fact he had actually noticed took you by surprise, but the dull ache in your chest reminded you that just because he happened to notice one thing today it didn't mean that anything changed.

The silence hanging between the two of you was deafening and the longer it lasted the more nervous Bob got.

You two had never had an issue with talking. You were probably the one person he always felt like he could talk to even if he didn't feel like interacting with anyone else. But now it felt like you were two ships in the night, drifting farther and farther away apart.

"Please. I just want to...", his voice sounds pleading and the way he reaches his hand out for you prompts you to take another step back. You cannot handle his touch, that much you know but in your desperate attempt to keep the tears from running down your cheeks you forget that you have a mouth too.

“It’s like you never really see me", the words are spilling from your lips before you even realise it, hands flying to your mouth to stop yourself. The tears that were pricking at your lashline before began to run down your cheek when you see the way his eyes widen mouth opening and closing a few times before he finally finds his voice again.

"There hasn't been a single day when I didn't"

You force your eyes shut to stop the tears from running, shaking your head as you hear him take step after step closer into your space and crowd you against the shelves.

"I don't think I couldn't"

"Then why does it feel like I’m standing right in front of you. and you don’t see me?”, your voice is small and quiet, almost drowned out by the muffled sounds from the bar but once they sink in, Bob's eyes are darting all over your face, trying to figure out what you truly meant.

You open your eyes, tears still glittering as you look up at him. He sees so many emotions swirl in them ranging from pain and fear to something softer. Something he never dared to dream of finding in your eyes when you looked at him. And then he caught your eyes wandering from his to his lips and back up.

It was not much more than a flicker, something easily missed if he had blinked at the wrong moment.

"I always see you, sunshine", his voice is soft as he takes another step closer and leans down, slow and cautious as if he's trying to gauge if he had gotten what you implied right, but you stayed frozen in your place, closing your eyes again until you feel his nose brushing against yours and your foreheads touching.

"And what about last night?", you feel like you are caught up in a dream, fearing the moment your alarm would go off and you'd have to get up and back to a reality where Bob dated someone else and you were damned to only stand there and watch.

"Jolene is nice but all she's ever seen is the uniform and the glasses. She never bothered to really look at me. She didn't see me", he lifts his hands and rests them on your cheeks, thumbs gently caressing your skin as his eyes search yours for any sign that you do not want this.

"Not the way you did when we first met", you feel like you are getting lost in the endless blue of his ocean eyes, warm breath fanning over your face as you lean in to kiss him.

reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated as always

If you want to read more you can find my masterlist here

[itstheghostofmypast]

Sugarplum

Husband Choi San x (F) Reader

Summary: So he loved HIS ROLLS HUH?!

Genre: Fluff

Rating: SFW

Word Count: 1 K

Est. Read Time: 5 min

Warnings: None

Networks: @cromernet @k-labels @illusionnet

"IDIOTS!-"

Sitting up straight the man squinted at the dimly lit room, trying to blink away the sleep as he pushed off the soft quilts, the pads of his feet tingling at the feeling of the cold floor. A feeling he did not like but had to endure because his little sugarplum wasn't in bed with him. Well, technically you had not gone to bed with him, instead the two of you had argued about something before he retired off to bed- mind you, it was not his fault, it was the world that was against him today…or maybe he should have been more careful? There was no real defense, but he did not expect to find you at home, glaring at him as soon as he had entered the apartment, declaring his arrival on the top of his lungs.

“Oh look Byeolie, a cheater.”

“I-Excuse me?” he squeaked, staring at you standing there in the living room with your hands on your hips, wearing a messy apron, glaring at him.

“Come on Byeol, we don’t need to engage with cheaters.”

That statement had led to march into the kitchen and stared at his wife teary eyes, “W-what do you mean? Love, what’s wrong? I-I’m sure there's been a misunderstanding!” he’d never do something like that to you, especially not when he started courting you the moment your father had hired him, a college student in his first year, and you had to supervise him, even though you two were almost the same age. From the way you would help him with everything, cleaning, mopping, teaching him how to knead dough, how to use a frosting pipe, and how to make a perfect cup of coffee- he really should thank you for that more.

Though for some reason you didn’t budge, he noticed the way your expressions softened, but you said nothing and only turned around to face the scattered baking items on the counter, taking a deep breath as you mumbled, “I’ll bring you dinner.”

After a silent lonely dinner, he had gone to place his plates in the dishwasher, glancing at you for some kind of reaction but you kept avoiding him, too busy doing something else, even Byeol had decided to give him the silent treatment. He honestly couldn’t figure out what he had done? Even when he hugged you from behind, whispering, “Let’s…go to sleep.” You had slipped out of his hold and cleared your throat, “I’m not tired…you go on ahead.”

Oh…right, he had gone to bed alone too- but why weren’t you there with him?

He had thought of talking to you about it, when you were to come to bed, but he had work in the morning and he was tired, and somewhere between the ticking hours, he had fallen asleep, snuggling with your pillow.

Giving one last look at your shared bed, feeling something brew within him, he continued to walk out to the room, wanting to clear it out no matter what it was, your relationship was stronger than this, you two had gone through worse- but he knew that you were also someone who’d quiet down when you were unsure of something. Like the time he had to quit working at the bakery, simply because he was done with college and needed to pursue a job in his designated profession.

“You're….quitting?” You had mumbled, staring at the letter of resignation your father had signed to let him go with pride. You had watched him appreciate San's success, though you only stared at him blankly before going back to work, and much like now, when he had approached you, you had brushed him off, mumbling, “Bye”.

Only back then he had let you go, nodding and leaving, though over the years he had realised his mistake, the world had shaped the young boy into the same man who had barged into the bakery four years later, admiring the way how you, the new owner since your father had retired, was busy as a bee. That is until he had grabbed your hand and dragged you into the office and kissed you without question, which was stupid because as soon as he had pulled back you had giggled, “What if I said I'm married?” His world had come to a halt at that, the thought of being a homewrecker tearing at him for a good 10 minutes until you burst out laughing at his stupidity.

So, that's what he was gonna do now to, kiss it out of you, he was going to sit you down after and explain to you how if he had never met you back in the bakery, his twink era, he would probably never have found love-

“GOD, I HATE MEN!”

He peeked into the kitchen, flinching at the clang of the pot you had slammed on the counter, it was ironic how Byeol who was curled up on your cardigan that was bunched up on the bar stool, next to the one he was now sitting on, chin in palm.

You turned around and gasped, hand pressed against your heart, taking a deep breath, “I-God, you scared me- s-sorry, did I wake you up, Sannie?”

‘Sannie'- guess the anger had subsided.

Shaking his head he gave you a small pout, “Woke up cause you weren't there- are you…do you wanna tell me…what's going on?” He mumbled, staring around at the several cinnamon roll trays that were lying around the kitchen, the pan filled with the white cream sauce, some that had made its way onto Byeol's tail.

“I…nothing… its stupid.” You mumbled, as you began to clean up, trying not to look at him when he made his way to you and grabbed your hands, pulling you closer, “You signed a contract with stupidity when you married me.”

Closing your eyes at his stupid comment, you mumbled like a child, “I saw you having the Cinnamon rolls from Jung's bakery.”

“What.” He frowned, trying to hear you better, “You saw me having Wooyoung’s what?”

“HIS CINNAMON ROLLS!”

You shoved him away and pointed at the mess, “You bastard! U married me!” You pointed at yourself, “And then you have the balls to go and have his stupid rolls!? And” you picked up a roll, “His recipe is so stupid! Men are so stupid! Why is everything measured according to ‘just wing it gurl’- what does that even mean!?” He blinked at you, watching you screech like a hawk at 3 am, “That bastard! I told him I'd trade my strawberry tart recipe with him if he gave me his cinnamon roll recipe that YOU apparently love-”

The slight pressure on your lips cut you off, as you to fisted his shirt in frustration, tugging him closer until he cupped your face to create some room to take a breath- he'd have to piss you off more if that's the kind of kiss he’d get- “I…” he panted, resting his forehead against yours, “Only had them because your bakery was closed today…remember?”

“...”

“I love you, my sweet little sugarplum-”

“Shut up and help me clean, Choi.”

[blue-arkhamknight]

SKETCHES.

Warning: None. (Damian, Jon, and reader are age ten to make the story a bit more sweeter.)

── .✦

── .★

School wasn’t so bad! If you look at it from Damian’s perspective it’s awesome. He gets to learn AND play music. He’s a very tasked kid, playing about 5 instruments. Impressive isn’t it? Violin, guitar, trumpet, viola, and harmonica. Let me say, he’s proud.

For his age the boy shared a love for classical music. A habit of scrunching his nose when he heard some of the school bands play harsh music. It wasn’t like an abomination or something, but just not his cup of tea. Jon, his friend really was just the opposite. From insulting Mozart to shredding his messy and loud electric guitar in his main solos.

Lunch was one of his favorite parts of the day. The food he got to eat and practicing of his instruments, sounds of the bow hitting the strings of his perfectly tuned instrument. Truly it was heavenly to his ears. “You messed up again.” a voice he had memorized rang in his head like an echo, immediately looking embarrassed with the biggest frown. “I certainly do not mess up. Clean your ears.” he told you with a scowl.

You looked up at him from your sketchbook, doing a sketch piece that you forgot as homework in lunch time while you listened to him play. “But you did- you played C minor instead of D.” you said and pointed at his music sheet. Damian huffed and looked where your finger pointed. “Yeah, I knew that. I was just testing you.” he said, his tone betraying him and saying in a hidden way ‘Yeah I messed up.’.

The assignment you had wasn’t difficult, hence to why you forgot to do it. The instructions were: ‘Draw someone or anything as many times as you liked, but you had to fill the whole page.’ your teacher had spoken in class. Damian tried to peek at your page, failing. Your arm was hiding it like a person who wouldn’t let anyone cheat off their exam. He fairly came to the conclusion that it wasn’t fair. You never showed him your art! He always showed you his paintings and musical errors without hiding them!

He still made no fuzz, no matter how much he wanted to look at the sketchbook he respected that maybe you didn’t feel comfortable with sharing your drawings. Damian understood how most artists were embarrassed of showing their works and that was normal. He continued playing his violin, from playing his piece to playing Howl’s Moving Castle. For a moment you stopped with the pencil strokes.

You mentioned many times before Howl’s Moving Castle, though they were mindless thoughts and some homework doodles. Damian had taken his time to memorize the famous melody in his violin. His gaze was torn between you and his fingers on the violin strings and his other hand on his bow. The gaze was intense, like a stoic way of saying ‘Hey! I learned this for you.’. Other students and teachers paused to look at Damian, ones impressed and others recognizing the tune. Equally, your gaze fixated on him also.

Soon your hand moved on the paper once again, calm with the familiar melody as you drew the familiar boy in front of you with his violin. The drawing wasn’t an exact copy of the moment of course, but it was very clear it was Damian Wayne. That was the reason you didn’t show him your drawings. It would be weird to show your friend he’s secretly your muse. The stop of the music made you look up, his face scrunched up in a way of silently saying that you should be excited. In a quick panic you just clapped your hands, making others that had heard clap along.

It was priceless. His red face full of embarrassment. The claps died down and his face went back to normal slowly. He frowned at you and gave you a huff, “I wished to be appreciated, but not from the whole school.” he stoically stated, exaggerating in the slightest. “Sorry, Wayne.” you said back apologetically, only getting a “Tt.” from him.

────

“I will walk today, Pennyworth.” the boy addressed the man through the passenger window the butler had rolled down. Alfred was indeed surprised. “Alright, Master Damian. Are you sure you will not even drop your violin in the vehicle?” his father’s butler asked, making Damian open a door and leave the violin case securely on the seat and closing the door again. He ran to his friends (whether he liked to admit it or not, you and Jon were his friends.), stopping right in front of the guitarist and artist.

After a while of friendly banter, Jon waved and walked away. Now being alone with Damian he took a notice of the hour. “I will walk you home.” he stated. Not even a ‘Can I walk you home?’. You didn’t comment on it since you didn’t have a ride home. “Okay, Damian.” you spoke with a grateful nod.

He walked with you to your home, making small talk and getting a few laughs and smiles out of you which were secretly his goal. Damian also carried your lunchbox. It was a habit he got from the first day of school, which you guys met. You had teasingly asked him to carry your lunchbox and he surprisingly did it. Grumpily, but he still did, after that he developed a habit of doing it. As you stepped foot in front of your door step you turned around, looking at the boy as he made a call for Alfred to pick him up. You dropped your bag mindlessly and companied him in front of your own house to wait for his ride.

“Thank you for walking me home.” you thanked, earning a nod from him. “No problem.” he brushed off, setting your lunchbox next to your bookbag and without you noticing he grabbed something from your bookbag and closed the zipper quietly, putting the item on the inside his jacket. “You okay?” you asked after seeing his rapid movements. “Yes, I am alright.” he said looking over at you and pretending to fix the cuffs of his jacket.

Alfred arrived after about 10-20 minutes, stopping right in front of your house. “Bye Damian! See you at school!” you said with a smile and a wave. He returned the wave and a small “Yeah, bye.”. He hopped in the back seat of the car and Alfred rolled down the window. “Thank you for waiting with him.” Alfred said gratefully, “No problem, Alfred. See you soon!” you responded. You knew the Wayne family for a bit now, Alfred and Bruce being very fond of Damian having another friend aside Jon.

You got inside your house when you took your backpack and lunch box and Alfred made sure. The car got out of view once he made sure you were safely inside. Now that Damian was alone he took out the thing he had taken. Your sketchbook. He knew he was doing something very wrong, but curiosity killed the cat. He flipped page through page of your art assignments. There were studies and all, but he mainly saw himself. Damian realized that, one; your drawings were awesome, two; he felt- happy? How would he work this out? …

How would he tell you that he was Robin?

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I wrote again!! I need to add more dialogue to my stories and better them. I don’t know if i should continue this.