#aside from that I like where it's going so far

[mumblingsage]

Since making this post, I've found myself swinging like a pendulum between "I was too absolutist in the OP, there probably are some people who have gotten some form of trauma through reading or watching a movie" and "I still don't believe anyone has been traumatized through reading or watching a movie because I haven't seen any evidence of that happening, nor an explanation of how it would happen." Certainly, if someone stumbles away from a book/movie/podcast/etc with trauma symptoms, they deserve full support and recovery. But from everything I know about trauma (I am not an accredited expert and don't know everything), that isn't likely to happen. I'm not convinced our brains don't make clear distinctions between being in life-threatening danger and sitting in a comfortable chair with our eyes on a page or screen. The edge cases I've been presented with have usually had a pretty clear real-life culprit aside from, or at least in strong addition to, the book/movie (abusive family won't let you turn the horror movie off-->this is a context for trauma even if the movie was a comedy).

Nobody owes me information about their personal health and if, after reading my post, someone goes "Yeah, we shouldn't use 'traumatized' as an exaggeration or term of condemnation for media, but I really am traumatized after reading Bridge to Terebithia and I'll keep using that word," more power to them. Several people, though, have responded with more general claims, as you have, that amount to "But fiction can cause trauma," without backing this statement up. (This is the part where the hornets' nest swings back: don't worry, I'm a swarm of very lazy and pedantic hornets.) To tell me, in effect, "Your brain can't tell the difference between watching 2012 and surviving an actual earthquake," you're asking me to make a pretty big shift in my understanding of how brains and people work, and I'm not willing to go that far just because someone tells me so. There's a chapter early in The Body Keeps the Score where Bessel van der Kolk talks about brain scans he did with two survivors of a car accident to measure the physical impact of PTSD, and at this moment in time, I don't believe the same brain rewiring has ever happened as a result of reading about a car accident.

(Someone brought up vicarious trauma, but all the examples I can find of vicarious trauma relate to media coverage or secondhand experience of real-life tragedies. To speak very briefly from personal experience, a loved one's sudden death can cause/be a vicarious trauma even if you don't witness it firsthand. Reading Bridge to Terebitha isn't equivalent to having a real person in your life die suddenly. It's actually very significant that when you close the book, your friends and loved ones are still alive!)

I'm wondering if, as a society who cares about vulnerable people, we could stop saying "traumatize" when we truly mean "upset"?

I am sick of hearing sad books or movies "traumatize" their readers. I simply do not believe that happens. A traumatic experience might be adjacent to books (I have vivid memories of books I was reading around certain experiences and even how the contents of those books affected my processing of the experiences). But it's not caused by the book. And, y'know. The weather is Christofascist Censorship Attempts outside.

Meanwhile from the other side I continue to be surprised at just how badly people fail to understand trauma and traumatic experiences in general. Watering down the term isn't helping. Find other hyperbole to express that The Bridge to Terebithia gutted you, chewed on your heartstrings, and made you cry your first pair of contact lenses right out of your preteen eyes.

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

I saw your post about Rafe and Reader on a family vacation, and I liked it! So could you maybe do another part to that, like maybe they are at the beach or shopping etc and Rafe and Reader are being really touchy etc?

thank youuuuuu

🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷

Reqest: more rafe + family shenanigans

Warnings: Rafe being inappropriate, no smut,

—

‘’There you are!’’ Wheezie exclaimed the moment you and Rafe strolled into the cabin, twenty-seven minutes behind the rest of the family. ‘’We’ve been back for almost half an hour. Where did you go?’’

‘’We got lost,’’ Rafe said coolly, taking a long sip from his water bottle, as if it was no big deal.

Beside her, Sarah wasn’t buying it. She crossed her arms and tilted her head, giving the two of you a pointed look. ‘’You got lost?’’ she repeated, her tone full of doubt.

You nodded, stepping in to back Rafe up. ‘’That’s on me. My lace came undone, and Rafe stopped and waited for me, but when we tried to catch up to you we took a wrong turn. Luckily we found our way back.’’ 

Rafe glanced at you, impressed by how you could lie on the spot so well. You even sprinkled some truth. You did take a wrong turn, but it wasn’t an accident. 

Being younger — and far more innocent — Wheezie was easier to fool with your lies. But Sarah wasn’t stupid, and neither was Ward, who was standing behind the kitchen counter and prepping for the barbecue tonight. He knew his son too well to be easily deceived. 

‘’Do you need help with the vegetable, Mr. Cameron?’’ you asked, your tone light and polite as you moved closer to the counter. It was an attempt to shift the conversation, redirect the attention away from your little detour.

Ward glanced up, giving you a small smile in thanks. ‘’Sure,’’ he said, stepping aside and gesturing toward the cutting board. ‘’You can chop these carrots and the bell peppers.” 

You slid into place, picking up the knife and getting started. 

‘’I’m gonna go shower,’’ Rafe declared. He came up to you and kissed the side of your face, his hand lingering on the small of your back. ‘’You’re welcome to join if you get bored with the carrots and bell peppers.’’ 

Sarah wrinkled her nose, having unfortunately heard. ‘’You’re disgusting.’’ 

He didn’t say anything, but you could feel his smirk behind you. 

‘’Rafe, come on. Wheezie’s here…’’ Ward reprimanded tiredly for the umpteenth time. 

Fortunately, the younger Cameron had her nose deep in her book and didn’t pay attention to what Rafe had said. 

You were good for Rafe, but your relationship was very physical. And with that came Rafe’s unfiltered mouth — much to his family’s dismay. They were happy for him, but they could do without the constant smacking and grabbing of your ass or any other non-PG display of affection.  

‘’What? I just want to save water, like you said we should. The planet and all,’’ he defended, playing the innocent card and talking out of his ass.

Unfortunately for him, Sarah didn’t buy it. Rafe never cared about the environment. 

‘’I’ve been doing good things to help lately. We even stopped using con—’’

‘’Rafe!’’ you cut before he could finish, your cheeks flaming up.

—

OBX taglist: @moralina@eudximoniakr @toylewestinnyc @rottenstyx@sweeterheartxamerica  @jordierama @viridwityy @izzy-laufeyson @kenzi-woycehoski @lilaconner @Katsukis1Wife   @hawkegfs @mommyruuetrue   @acornacreacure @snownjune @nmedina8611 @slvtherinseeker   @slvtherinseeker @poppet05 @1stevelacyfan @illf4iry @withbeautyandrage   @maybankslover @sunflowerziva @laylasbunbunny @Honey-marvel15 @leoluvsur-pappy @slytherhoes @kcskye123 @outerbanksacc   @pedrosprincess   @mikaelsonsstuff  @skyesthebomb   @a1mzcruml3y @iluurmom   @popeheywardssecretgf  @madelynie  @loverofdrewstarkey   @radiant-whore  @outsider-at-hogwarts @luci1fer @bbycowboi @rafecameronsbadussy @urbfsbitchlol @nomorespahgetti @bloodyhw @Veescorneroftheworld   @papayaboyluvr @slytherinambitious @darylscvmdumpster @tommysaxes @johannelis2302nely @lynbubble   @straberryshortcake143 @beth-gallagher22 @doestalker @rubyliquor @theflcwer @angelxxrose @sierraluvzz @cruzgrecia @evelestrange @sunnysunny133696  @under-seasoned-pasta @hoeforsirius   @buckyswhxre @emerald-09   @simonessolarsystem @rehead1180 @stvrkey  @ynmunson @riddle18  @love4ldr @withfireandbl00d @wonderland2425 @blublock404 @eddieslut69

[azzifuddslover]

off the court

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

themes: angst, pining, light jealousy

word count: 3.6k

tw: swearing, talks of alcohol use

a/n: very proud of myself for finishing this as quick as i did. ngl i was so giddy writing this chapter, it might be my favorite so far! please lemme know how y’all are liking it, enjoy! 🩷

CHAPTER FOUR

paige wakes up in her bed, in the same clothes as the night before. her pounding headache is evident, and her memory is foggy. she recalls drinking far too much, but there’s still a gap in her mind regarding the last few hours. how did she end up in her dorm?

she came to the conclusion that nika or aubrey had brought her back home. i mean, they did witness her drinking more than she should on a thursday night, so it’s a solid assumption.

paige reaches for her phone; there’s three missed calls from nika, two from aubrey, and one message from coach auriemma. fuck. she’s late for practice.

the memory of azzi rejecting her floods her mind, which makes paige contempt staying in her bed for the remainder of practice.

as paige scrambles to get dressed and head out, she’s physically off balanced, still dizzy from all the alcohol she had consumed. she grabs an advil and quickly shallows out before throwing her basketball bag on and rushing out the door.

heads turn to look at paige as she strides through the gym door, already out of breath.

nika is the first to pull paige aside; “girl, where were you? are you good?” she questions, concerned.

paige fakes a smile, “i’m good nik. i just overslept.”

“you sure you’re okay? you were drinking a lot yesterday.”

“really, i’m okay.”

nika gives paige a reassuring squeeze on her shoulders, “alright. if you say so.”

paige begins to walk to the lockers rooms, purposefully avoiding coach, who calls her over anyway.

“where were you?” he asks, clearly furious at paige’s absence.

“i’m sorry coach, i overslept.”

“you should know better, paige,” he says firmly, “everyone, run 10 laps.”

loud groans come from each of the players. coach auriemma’s eyes widen in challenge, “don’t like that? make it 20.”

paige’s lips curl; she receives dirty looks from her teammates, annoyance bouncing off them. she desperately wants to run away, go anywhere but here, yet she sets her bag down and runs with her team.

practice is the slowest it’s ever been for paige. and the pounding headache she continues to have doesn’t help one bit. she remains out of sync, constantly missing easy layups and wide open 3 pointers. all she wants is for this damn practice to end so she can sleep the rest of the day away.

she’s been intentionally avoiding azzi, not meeting her eyes, building distance between the two, not even passing her the ball, regardless if she was open or not.

but when azzi throws a soft glance at paige does she meet her eye contact. azzi wears a concerned, light expression on her face, with an ounce of sadness in her gaze.

paige shoots a glare at the younger girl as she remembers the events of yesterday. azzi and paige’s bodies flush together. their lips inches apart. azzi’s rejection. azzi running away from her.

paige is first the break eye contact, going back to shooting. or atleast, attempting to shoot.

once practice comes to an end, everyone is eager to leave. it’s been a long day, and they all needed rest.

as azzi was about to exit out the gym door, paige pulls her into the locker room, quickly and swiftly.

“jesus, paige-“

paige places her hand on azzi’s forearm, “look, azzi. about yesterday,” she begins.

azzi’s cheeks flush, “paige-“

“listen, i was drunk out of my mind. i didn’t realize what i was doing or who i was doing it with. i hope you’d know i would never do that sober.”

pain hits azzi like a brick. she knew paige would regret it in the morning.

although azzi had been the one to pull away, it didn’t mean she didn’t want to kiss paige- she did. she desperately did. she still does.

“i.. okay,” azzi whispers, eyes flicking to the floor.

paige pulls her hand away from azzi’s arm, while continuing to look at the brunette.

“alright then,” she nods, “we good here?”

azzi opens her mouth, then shuts it and nods as well.

paige flings her bag over her shoulder and casually moves for the door. azzi’s not far behind her, placing her bag on her own shoulders and leaving the locker room.

the two girls walk in opposite directions, not bothering to glance back. paige closes her eyes as regret strikes her hard. she had lied to azzi. she wanted to kiss her yesterday, still wants to, but what else could she do? azzi pulled away. she pulled away. she had to at least try to act like it was a mistake.

later that evening, paige is in bed, with her phone in her hand. ever since practice earlier in the day, she had been completely worn out, still suffering from a terrible headache.

paige scrolls on tiktok for while, before switching over to her favorite app, instagram. she views her teammates stories and likes a few posts. she sees caroline posted a photo dump, and as she scrolls through the photos, observing each one, she notices azzi in the last photo.

it was a picture of her and caroline in one of their dorm rooms, arms around each other, and azzi’s lips on carol’s cheek, in a friendly manner. it doesn’t settle the blinding jealousy paige feels, though. her fingers tighten in her hands, causing marks on her palms.

god, azzi looks so good in that photo. her hair was loose at her shoulders; she had on a bright pink hoodie paired with black leggings. paige never wished more to be someone else in this given moment.

paige clicks on caroline’s photo, causing azzi’s instagram page to pop up. she quickly hits it to reveal lots of posts from throughout the years.

she scrolls through all her posts, way back to 2015, and she’s reminded of USA basketball days. when azzi dmed her about accidentally liking an old photo of hers. red covers her cheeks in embarrassment.

she views azzi’s most recent photo dump; it was a few pictures of her playing basketball and some with their teammates.

with a slip of a finger, paige likes the photo. again.

“god fucking dammit!�� paige exclaims, shifting up in a sitting position while nerves stir in her stomach.

she shuts her phone off and tosses it on the bed. paige covers her face with both hands, shaking it head at her stupidity.

her phone buzzes against her bed; paige already knows what it’s going to be. and as expected, it’s an instagram dm.

i’m getting deja vu, it read. paige’s lips tilt up, somewhat pleased that azzi still remembers their interaction from years prior.

would u believe me if i say it was another glitch? paige texts.

anxiously waiting for azzi’s respond, paige fiddles with her fingers, a nervous habit of hers.

i’d say these glitches are awfully convenient, aren’t they?

a soft giggle escapes the older girl’s lips, as she swiftly replies.

they most definitely are, she sends.

after a couple minutes, azzi finally replies: sooo watcha doing?

paige arches an eyebrow, surprised to find azzi continuing the conversation.

laying in bed, what about u? she types almost instantly.

yeah same, i’m so bored, azzi’s message read.

an idea arises in her mind: same. wanna maybe come over? dorka isn’t here rn.

minutes pass without a respond from azzi. was that too much? does azzi not want to hang out with her? does azzi still hate her?

and do what? azzi finally sent.

paige tilts her head- what would they do? she hadn’t thought that far ahead.

not really sure. we could watch a movie or something, whatever you want.

seconds later azzi responds. sounds good, i’ll be there in 5.

paige scurries off her bed, frantically trying to make her room look somewhat presentable for the younger girl. not that she wanted to make an impression, or anything.

she stuffs dirty clothes in her bed, throws away old water bottles and miscellaneous wrappers before lowering the lighting to appear slightly darker.

as she replaces her current hoodie for a cuter one, she hears a quiet knock at the door. her head whips in that direction while nerves erupt in her stomach.

she opens the door to reveal a smiling azzi. she has on a simple white sweatshirt, baggy black sweatpants, with a pair of nike slides.

“hey,” azzi says, looking into paige’s eyes.

“hi,” paige replies, holding eye contact, “come on in.”

paige moves to the side, allowing azzi to enter her dorm room, cautiously. azzi observes her room better than she previously had when they were first in here alone, taking in the posters, books, decorations. it was all so paige.

paige gently shuts the door before going to sit back on her bed.

“you played really well yesterday, you know,” paige compliments.

azzi’s smile grows, revealing her dimples that paige loves a little too much, “thank you. that means a lot.”

blush reaches paige’s face, “yeah, of course. but i’m sure you already knew that.”

azzi arches a brow, “what do you mean?”

“how coach compliments your game all the time. you’re the team’s princess, practically,” paige notes.

“well, i wouldn’t-“

“not that i can blame him, though. your skills are undeniable, az,” paige cuts her off, the tips of her lips lifting.

azzi brings a hand up to cover her wide grin at paige’s compliment and the use of her nickname.

“getting soft on me, bueckers?”

paige playfully rolls her eyes, “you wish.”

paige shifts over on the bed, making enough room for azzi to sit as well. “you can come sit, y’know.”

azzi is hesitant, but regardless, walks over to paige’s bed and sits alongside the older girl. their thighs brush against each other’s, sending butterflies to azzi’s stomach.

the two girls settle on a movie, the notebook, to watch for the evening.

“want something to drink?” paige offers.

“um, water is fine, thanks,” azzi answers.

paige simply nods and walks out the bedroom, out to the small kitchen her and dorka share. while she’s gone for a quick moment, azzi decides to get more comfortable, allowing herself to lay out in paige’s medium sized bed.

paige comes back to the room and brings herself to a halt. god. azzi laying on her bed was not one she’d imagine actually happening, but is damn grateful it is.

“thought i’d get more comfortable for the movie,” azzi says, like the answer is obvious.

“that makes sense,” paige replies, breathlessly. she sets down azzi’s requested water and her own on the bedside table, while she carefully crawls in bed next to azzi, laying out as well.

the two girls bodies’ are side by side, full on touching one another’s. and paige couldn’t be happier.

“y’know, you’re a really great player too, paige,” azzi whispers, a couple minutes into the romantic film.

“thank you,” paige begins, “i thought i’d never hear those words come out of your mouth.”

azzi snorts, “yeah, well, me either to be honest. i’ve always hated you.”

paige’s lips turn slightly downward, yet is unsurprised at azzi’s comment. she knew azzi had hated her, ever since USA basketball. she hated azzi, too. well, tried to hate her.

“i hated you, too,” paige lies right through her teeth.

azzi turns her body to face paige, “do you still hate me?”

paige scoffs, because how could she, or anyone for that matter, ever hate someone like azzi? paige shifts her body, facing the brunette’s; “i don’t know, my opinion on you changes everyday,” she teases.

azzi smiles- her brown eyes roam paige’s face, then drop to her pink lips. she knows better; paige literally said mere hours ago she would never kiss azzi sober.

“i’m kidding. i don’t. i could never hate you,” paige mutters, barely loud enough for azzi to hear.

just as azzi’s about to respond, exhaustion washes over her, causing her to drift to sleep. in paige’s dorm. in her bed.

paige’s eyelids flutter open as the remnants of sleep faded. the warmth of her bed surrounds her as she was the first to wake. she glances at the body in front of her, taken aback at the sight of the curly headed brunette. her breathing is steady and peaceful, lips slightly ajar. paige lays motionless for a moment, listening to the gentle rhythm of her own heart, before carefully, slowly reaching around to grip her phone.

paige’s eyes widen as she views the current time- 3:01 am in the morning. they had been asleep for several hours at this point, right alongside of each other.

paige looks over at dorka’s empty bed and is surprised not to see her. she figures she’s staying at one of their teammates room.

paige sets her phone back on the bedside table, takes a swig of water, before returning to her laying position in front of azzi, who remains asleep. she slowly reaches her hand out to graze azzi’s cheek, then twirl a loose curl around her finger, careful not to wake the younger girl.

minutes later, with paige continuing to stare at azzi, her eyelids finally open. she stretches slightly, lets out a faint yawn, before making eye contact with the blonde.

“hi,” azzi whispers, still dazed from her long rest.

paige gently smirks, “hey.”

“we fell asleep?”

“guess so. i don’t think i watched past 10 minutes of the movie,” paige laughs.

“same,” azzi shares the laughter.

the two girls shift into a sitting position, not caring enough to move when they touch one another.

“pass me my water?” azzi asks.

paige nods, grabbing azzi’s water bottle, as well as her own.

“thanks,” azzi says once paige hands it to her. she downs the entire bottle as paige silently watches in admiration.

“thirsty?” paige teases.

“you have no idea,” azzi replies, out of breath, “can i have some of yours?”

paige’s eyebrows rise, kind of surprised at the question. “yeah, ‘course.”

she passes her water off the azzi, who gratefully takes it. she takes several sips.

“what time is it?” azzi questions the older girl.

“3 am,” paige replies.

azzi turns her head at paige in surprise, “are you joking? we slept for that long?”

“i know right,” paige says, equally as shocked.

“i should probably get going then,” azzi says, beginning to get off the bed.

paige turns her head to azzi, “what? you don’t have to. it’s the middle of the night, azzi.”

“you want me to stay?”

paige looks away, flustered, “um, i didn’t say that. i’m just saying you’re allowed to stay if you want to. dorka’s probably at one of the girls’ room, so we have enough space.”

“alright then,” azzi nods, “do you have a shirt i can borrow? i hate sleeping in sweatshirts.”

“didn’t seem to have a problem with it earlier,” paige notes, “but yeah, i do.”

the blonde rises off her bed, scrambles in her messy closet, blocking it with her body to avoid azzi seeing the clutter. she pulls out an old USA basketball t-shirt that she figures azzi would be fine with.

“this good?” paige questions.

glancing at the shirt, azzi’s lips turn up, “that’s great. thanks, paige.”

she throws the shirt to azzi, who also pushes herself off the bed, easily catching it. paige exits the room, going to get more waters for the two of them. azzi lifts off her sweatshirt, tosses it to the ground when paige quickly returns.

paige nearly drops the bottles of water at the sight of azzi’s bare back. her eyes widen, her breath hitches. she wasn’t wearing a bra this entire time?

azzi pulls on the t-shirt paige kindly let her borrow, before turning around, noticing paige staring at her with her jaw dropped.

“i- i’m sorry…” paige stammers, shaking her head at herself.

azzi’s heart is basically beating out of her goddamn chest. she smiles gently, “you’re fine.”

paige finally moves from her spot at the door and places the bottles down. she stares at azzi, wondering if they’d continue to share the bed or if one of them would move to dorka’s.

azzi stares back at the older girl, thinking the same think but not voicing it.

eventually, paige breaks the silence. “i can sleep on dorka’s bed.” she walks over to the empty, made bed, slightly disappointed azzi isn’t protesting against it.

panic soon sets in for azzi, “what? no, it’s your bed, paige. you should sleep it in.”

“really, it’s fine, i don’t mind,” she lowers herself on the bed.

“paige, cmon. i’m not making you sleep in a different bed,” azzi argues.

“okay then..” paige says, confusion setting in.

azzi plops back onto paige’s bed, moving over so there’s enough room for the older girl, “just come back over here.”

paige’s cheeks blush against her will, a smirk settling on her face. “if you insist.”

the two girls get comfortable on the bed, legs touching ever so slightly.

“night,” azzi whispers.

“night, az.”

azzi, this time, is first to wake. paige is much, much closer to her than she had been when they first fell asleep. azzi suddenly feels an arm wrapped tightly around her waist that has her pulled practically flushed against paige’s body. paige’s hand is underneath azzi’s shirt, on her bare back. azzi allows herself to admire a sleeping paige for a quick moment.

she checks her phone- 8:30 in the morning. azzi carefully takes paige’s arm and places it gently on the bed, then crawls out of the warm bed, trying her best not to disturb the blonde.

with her phone in her hand, she glances back at paige, and exits the room.

later that day, in the afternoon, the entire uconn women’s basketball team is scattered in paige and dorka’s room. there’s players on both beds, on the small couch, on the floor. azzi is planted against paige’s bed, while paige is seated on the couch.

the team had been chatting about a variety of things when kk comes up with an idea for the girls.

“guys, we should play spin the bottle!” kk announces, loudly.

“what are we, 10?” paige scoffs, rolling her eyes at the game idea.

“cmon, p, don’t be blame. plus, i’m so bored,” kk whines.

“i’m down,” nika agrees.

“same, why not,” jana says.

soon, each player agrees to a game of spin the bottle, even though paige is convinced it’s a stupid idea. they all sit in a circle, tight enough so they’re all touching, due to the size of the dorm. kk places a bottle in the middle of the circle and gives it a gentle spin.

it lands on aubrey and lou. nika lets out a soft chuckle, causing aubrey to laugh as well.

“pucker up, lou lou,” aubrey smiles before swiftly placing a kiss on lou’s lips, not lasting more than 2 seconds.

the bottle is once again spun, fast this time. it lands on nika and jana, who smirk and touch lips.

paige shifts in her seating, silently wondering if the bottle would ever land on her. she doubts it.

kk gives the bottle a good spin, making it travel faster than before. paige anxiously watches the bottle, fidgeting with her fingers as nerves take over her body.

the first spin lands on azzi. oh jesus. whoever this next spin lands on should consider themselves lucky, paige thinks. she then takes in account that azzi still is wearing her USA basketball shirt.

it’s azzi’s turn for nerves to overpower her. her heart quickens, palms begin to sweat in anticipation for whoever she’s about to kiss.

the next spin seems to last an eternity. paige swears it goes in slow motion. but eventually, it points directly at the blonde.

azzi’s eyes practically bulge out of socket. her jaw drops as she locks eyes with paige, who looks equally as surprised.

ignoring the o’s and ah’s she receives from her teammates, paige makes her way over to the curly headed brunette, careful not to show how nervous she is to kiss azzi.

the older girl settles comfortably in front of azzi. her gaze roams azzi’s flushed face, which causes paige to smirk knowingly.

there is a heavy silence, the air between them electric, both eager and tentative. slowly, paige places her hand on azzi’s hot cheek, and leans in. when their lips finally brush, it was gentle- hesitant at first- but the warmth between them quickly grew, the kiss only deepening as both hearts speed up. a soft, trembling sigh escapes azzi’s mouth while paige’s deepens the kiss even further. she slips her tongue into the younger girl’s mouth, swirling and testing the waters.

after what feels like forever but not nearly enough, paige pulls away, disconnecting their lips. she removes her hand off azzi’s waist- which uncontrollably moved there from her cheek- and crawls back to her original spot, besides dorka and jana.

she glances back at azzi, who’s lips are pluffy and a darker shade of pink, while her cheeks are a softer pink.

the room continued to buzz with energy, the laughter of her teammates echoing from the game, but all paige could hear is the steady of her own heart. her pulse quickens when azzi meets her gaze, heat and want in her lingering eyes. for a moment, the noise of their friends fade away, leaving only the weight of a shared silence between the two.

the blonde didn’t take her focus off azzi. she didn’t smile, didn’t do or say anything. just watched.

azzi clears her throat, trying to act as casual as possible, but her hands betray her, nervously fiddling in her lap. she quickly flicks her eyes to the ground, but not before noticing paige’s lips twitch softly, as she was fighting off a grin.

then, without a word, paige turns her attention back to the silly game her teammates were continuing to play, yet azzi couldn’t shake the warmth in her chest or the growing electricity still intensely present between them.

[darkmatilda]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐥𝐭𝐞𝐫 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

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

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

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

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 10k

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

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

Triple fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just like you always did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His eyebrows shot up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Elle glanced around and shrugged.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Elle, who knew you better than anyone.

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

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

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

Barely were you alone when she exclaimed:

"Did you sleep with Reid?!"

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

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

"FOR GOD'S SAKE..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"End of discussion..."

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

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

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

Fuck multiplied by twelve thousand seventy-nine.

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

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

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

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

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

Hotch’s completely stoic expression didn’t help.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I forgot my phone."

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

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

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

“Right…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He widened his eyes, shaking his head.

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

"That I’m hot?"

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

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

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

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

You noticed him hesitate, clearly unsure how to respond.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Elle raised an eyebrow. You decided to ignore her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sorry, It’s just my thing”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Spencer shook his head.

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

“The episode is starting.”

“I’ll be back in a second…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shrugged, forcing indifference.

"Fine, I guess."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What do you mean?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "Do you really believe that?"

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

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

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

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

But was it the same for you two?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shrugged.

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

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

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

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

"You must be joking."

"What?"

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

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

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

"Not really."

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

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

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

"Don’t..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I’m focused."

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you really mean that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Spencer? What is it? “

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

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

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

"Spencer, I want you to answer me."

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

You gasped, surprised by the shift in dynamics.

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

But was it the same for you two? 

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

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

*

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

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

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

"What exactly did you tell him?"

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

"You just told him that?"

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

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

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

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

She sighed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You still have feeling in your hands?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure, go ahead.”

“Are you afraid of water?”

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

“Why do you ask?”

He shrugged.

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

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

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

Spencer’s brows furrowed with concern.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something in his expression made you quicken your pace.

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

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

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

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

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

Her question echoed in your mind.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

Elle’s laugh mixed with her yawn.

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

You briefly hugged her with one arm.

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

Both of them raised their hands, making the gesture.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shook your head in confusion.

"Resolve what?" Reid asked.

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

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

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

 Spencer nodded enthusiastically.

 "Absolutely none. Never."

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

You let out a snort.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 You watched his figure disappear in disbelief.

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

[simpjaes]

ELABORATE ON OBSESSED!WORSHIP THE GROUND YOU WALK ON!HOUSEHUSBAND JAKE PLEASE!!!!!! MY MIND IS GONNA EXPLODE – byeol

i'll be the husband jake plug no worries. warnings: jake is suppppppppperrrrrrrr needy omg.

It's normal, natural to him to do these things.

You're so tired after a long day, he gets it. the days feel longer to him sometimes though, despite your tired feet and aching back. You're his wife, he needs you.

So what if he's unemployed? He's employed to you. Will do anything for you. everything for you. happily and willingly, with so much love in his eyes every single fucking time he hears that lock on the door click open.

Time to reiterate. He needs you.

It's been weeks. He gets it. Stress, big promotion you're going for or something. He can't say he cares too much lately due to the neglect he's been dealing with.

After all the cleaning, he massages you, bathes you, tucks you in, kisses you gently, and doesn't dare ask for more from you. After all, you're expected to do so much, from so many people. Not him. Not ever. Until now. He's a man. For three days now he's been trying to remind you. Trying all sorts of subtle tricks. Some blatant ones too. Generous groping that goes rejected. A few heavy makeouts dwindling to a pop kiss and a tired "goodnight." More subtle ones, where he simply tries to dress well for you, clean far better than usual, make your favorite foods. He knows it's not because you don't want him but...you're so stressed. He could kill two birds with one stone if you'd just... "Baby." He had said last night, sinking under the blankets and prying your legs apart. "Just rest, this is all i need." He continued, implying that he would be perfectly happy helping you relax with some bedtime head. You had closed your legs on him, pinching your brows together with the same stressed out face. All day today, his brows have been equally knitted together. Stressed. Fucking horny. Is it cringe for him to do this? Yes. Does he care? No. Fuck no. And so, you come home just like any other day to the smell of dinner. It's sweet smelling, which is an indication that your husband wants something. Never does he serve dessert for dinner, but tonight feels like a welcome change because everything else just started not only feeling, but tasting too mundane. You were more surprised when you werent greeted by Jake at the door. He didn't take your things, or slide your jacket off of you. Which, that's fine. You don't need him to wait on you hand and foot. He just tends to like doing that for you anyway... You search in curiosity for him, following the sound of clanking pots and pans. The sound would give you a headache if it weren't for the image of him as you enter the kitchen. There he is. Hair pinned back with one of your headbands, apron on... only an apron. Cock lending quite a large tent as he turns to you. You know he's trying to smile genuinely, but you see a hint of pain behind his eyes. Desperate pain. Almost like he's begging you for something. Anything. And he is begging. Only when he drops to his knees and looks up at you with those eyes do you recognize how terribly you've been neglecting him. So much so that you didn't even let him eat you out, which wouldn't have expected anything on your part aside from an orgasm. This moment feels almost emasculating for him, you can imagine. Like you've deprived him of everything he needs from you in order to maintain order in this household. Arguably, you have deprived him. You can tell by how big his cock looks peeking from the hem of the apron, and those sad glassy eyes looking at you as if this is a last resort. "Baby, ple-" Jake starts to plead on the floor, the dessert he was cooking long forgotten. You're speechless at the image, finally feeling a tingle between your legs for the first time in months. You feel so apologetic alongside the tingle, realizing how much suffering he must have gone through to be doing this. After all, there's no way in hell you could have satiated this need within you without him. How he's managed to do it all this time is beyond you. ''Jake," You interrupt him, dropping your hands to his cheeks and tilting his face further up to you. "What do you need?" You see those glassy eyes become more tearful, probably from happiness by now. No words and no apologies need to be said at this moment. He sees your realization, and understands the lack of seeing to his needs to an extent. But this... this can't happen again. Nothing is to be said after that when Jake immediately goes for your pants, missing the taste of you so badly. He was right in knowing that even just the smell of you could satiate him. And it does, his cock heavy and leaking just from the sensation of the apron rubbing against him paired with the scent of your pussy that has been long neglected.

And he devours you, getting off at least twice there on the kitchen floor with his palm desperately working himself to each high. You could tell he didn't want you to feel like you needed to do anything for him but...let him. God, fuck, you feel so guilty.

So you make up for it. Right here, sliding down on him raw, letting the mess he's made of himself make a mess of you too.

"Baby, wait-" Jake chokes, working against his words by helping you slide down on him entirely. "Fuck, you're-"

"Shh." You sigh deeply, realizing how much you needed this too. "Just keep going," He does. Fucking you so desperately that you believe he cums in you at least twice from you adjusting alone, messing your thighs with sticky fluids, the kitchen floor, and himself. So much of it, you're so full of it already. Plan B isn't such a difficult thing to buy anyway. Especially after he chooses to keep fucking you, as if he worries he'll never get to do it again.

[p0orbaby]

I have a possible blurb request for mary earps please??

r still lives in england and mary’s over with psg. mary comes back from paris for international duty and finally gets to see r again.

maybe mary surprises r by coming back a day early and comes home to see r in mary’s psg shirt

-

The flat is too quiet, but you’ve learned to live with that. Mary’s voice used to echo through the place—she’s not exactly subtle when she’s home—but with her in Paris, it’s been quieter. Not lonely, exactly. Just… quieter.

Now, the only noise comes from the hum of the kettle and the faint tinny sound of some reality TV rerun you’ve half-watched four times already. You’re standing in the kitchen, her oversized PSG shirt hanging off you, half-distracted as you wait for the water to boil. It’s the away kit—black and gold—soft from too many washes. She left it behind, and you’ve convinced yourself she wouldn’t mind.

The kettle clicks off. You pour the water over a tea bag, take a sip too soon, and immediately regret your life choices.

It’s fine. It’s all fine. You’ve survived this long-distance thing so far, even if it’s been weeks since you’ve had so much as a proper hug. Mary texts, she calls, she sends voice notes when she’s bored on team buses, but it’s not the same. You keep busy—work, friends, this new phase of your life where you apparently cosplay as a PSG superfan when no one’s looking.

Then there’s a sound. A faint jingle of keys.

You freeze.

No one else has keys.

“Don’t freak out,” comes a voice from the door. Familiar. Dry. A little smug.

Your tea sloshes onto the counter as you whip around, heart hammering.

Mary’s standing there, suitcase at her feet, coat hanging off one shoulder like she’s just walked out of a bloody rom-com. Except this is your kitchen, and rom-com Mary probably wouldn’t be grinning so much at the sight of you in her shirt.

“You’re back,” you say, because your brain is apparently still catching up.

“Early,” she clarifies, stepping inside. She looks far too pleased with herself, green eyes glittering as she takes you in. “Nice shirt, by the way”

You look down like you’ve forgotten what you’re wearing. “Oh, this old thing? Found it lying around”

“Hmm. Looks better on you, honestly.” She sets her suitcase aside and crosses the room in two strides, pulling you into her arms before you can think of a reply.

The hug is as good as you remembered. Maybe better. Her warmth seeps into you, and you breathe in the familiar scent of her—something clean, fresh, with an undertone of cheap hotel shampoo.

“God, I missed you,” she mutters against your hair.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming back early”

“Yeah, well.” She pulls back just enough to look at you, hands still on your waist. “I thought a surprise might be fun. Looks like I was right”

You laugh softly, looping your arms around her neck. “You were right. For a change”

She tilts her head, grinning. “This time? How often am I wrong?”

You don’t answer, just kiss her instead. It’s been too long, and judging by the way she immediately tightens her grip on you, she feels the same.

When you finally pull away, you’re both a little breathless.

“So,” she says, voice lighter now, “are you going to keep that shirt on, or do I get my wardrobe back?”

You raise an eyebrow. “What makes you think I’m giving it back?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she says, her grin turning cheeky as she leans in, voice dropping just enough to make your heart stutter. “I might have a few ideas to convince you”

Your tea goes cold on the counter, but you don’t really care.

[h50europe]

Beg my pardon. You can't compare comic relief Brad to Tommy. Seriously? Didn't Mr. Showrunner brag about his genius strike to bring Tommy back as Buck's LI because he's connected to the whole team, which brings many possibilities? And now he is putting him on the same level as Brad? That's not quite adding up.

Aside from the fact that this meta plot was introduced as something to be on the side, it took quite a lot of room, ate up a lot of screen time in some of the eight episodes so far and wasn't as nearly as popular as Tevan (BuckTommy).

What did Brad offer as a plot device to any story? If we want to go down that path. Not much. Maybe someone should have a sit down with himself and mull over what was said back in season 7 when Tommy was installed as Buck's boyfriend up to the early interviews for season 8 where he said the words couple, thriving and hurdles. Hurdles are usually overcome. He should have better mentioned hitting a brick wall at full speed, which came with the retconning of the character and a poorly written break-up that left most viewers in a WTF-was-that state of mind. While I dare to say many didn't even bat an eye when Brad left the building.

Thanks for reading. Sorry for the long post. But I felt like a pressure cooker with lid issues...

[wingedshadowfan]

⚠️arcane s2 act iii spoilers // criticism ⚠️

i kind of hated the end of arcane. hear me out.

i don't wanna rain on anyone's parade but we can all agree season 2's pacing was super breakneck. not a lot got explained or was given the proper time to develop or be addressed (at least in front of us, the audience, that is - but even then, some things could've been hinted at better) and this goes for both lore, motivations and interpersonal character relationships. (and i can give many examples such as the black rose, maddie's true motivations, caitlyn and vi's fight, jinx rallying up the undercity, viktor and ambessa's plans diverging, etc. but instead, i'll tell you what i think went wrong with what we got to see in the last three eps)

seeing where ep 7 left us made me think "okay ep 8 will start from the same exact spot and we'll see from there" and ofc my expectations were defied but that's not my main problem. i needed to know what happened to ekko, jayce and heimerdinger but even more than that, i wanted to see jinx grieve isha in her own way (by herself and not through being asked or guilt tripped to help someone else's agenda bcuz she clearly had little intrinsic motivation to unite the undercity over a common goal after silco's death) and internalize what she'd meant to isha - and that becoming jinx's catalyst to rally up the undercity. i wanted her to understand why this orphan from the undercity's mines sacrificed herself to save jinx - the symbol of a cause greater than her. i needed her to see what unifying zaun and making tangible institutional change to the undercity would mean in a way sevika never would've been able to show her. it would mean no more powders, no more ishas. not one more. breaking the cycle of violence, poverty, oppression, somewhat like what silco said in ep 9 (which she interpreted as 'you're the problem, so kys' and she attempted to until somehow ekko convinced her to help. how, why and did she even unite the undercity at all or just make her big hot air balloon late-to-the-party entrance with the firelights to a stray kids banger while sevika did all the work down in zaun?).

anyway, ep 8 threw us in for a loop in an alternative universe (and i loved it, don't get me wrong, but considering there were only 2 normal length eps left, it scared me just as much). instrumentally to the plot, we got to see ekko's main ability develop, and we saw jayce's reasons for shooting viktor. the main conflict of the show, the piltover/zaun one, if those 1,5 seasons so far were anything to go by, just got set aside for the time being. over halfway through the season, we've got a new big bad - the possibility of everyone getting possessed by the viktor/hexcore and becoming part of The Glorious Evolution™. it felt like a movie about racism and police brutality added aliens in the last 5 minutes to force oppressed and oppressors to (not all that successfully) work together, massive losses were suffered by everyone, and then the overarching motif wasn't about love or humanity or rebuilding (things that have come up repeatedly in other episodes, including the one ep literally called 'the messege hidden within the pattern'), it was "bad things happen sometimes, but good things happen sometimes too. it is what it is. i guess." like. duh?? as a viewer, this was quite the disappointing ending takeaway from such a masterpiece of a show but more on that in a second.

narratively, we saw a butterfly effect situation in ep 8 that answered the question of 'what could've been?' but even that answer confused me. the undercity was already oppressed and in socioeconomical peril before jayce's hextech - vi's death during that last job (which makes me believe zaun was the same in both universes because why else would they be poor enough to steal from piltover?) prevented it from being invented and thus stopping other things in piltover from happening but how did it lead to progress in the undercity? what happened and what was the key to it all along? why did shimmer not get invented, how did zaun and piltover seemingly unite, why were zaunites all of a sudden seemingly so much materially and culturally richer and better educated in just a few years? (that aside, i love ekko's determination to get back and save his universe's zaun. i loved the alternative jinx and i loved how everyone was wearing vests 10/10)

then, ep 9 felt like a bunch of confusing things happening one after the other to the point it almost overwhelmed me and i was left thinking i didn't understand a single thing from it (except maybe that one scene - that, i understood spiritually). and the first maybe 90% of ep 10 felt like i was just repeatedly getting hit, and again - no time to breathe, no consolation, no resolve, just receiving bad news after bad news, like getting beaten to the ground with stones.

and at the very end, after some of the ends get tied, caitlyn has her speech, which to me, sounds more depressing and hollow than anything else. she talks ambiguously of history and of ups and downs and of a story not yet over, but there's no promise for the future, no motivation to keep going, no bigger picture, no lesson learned. we're not shown much work being done either (and i'll make a separate post examining why it felt that way to me and a separate one abt how i interpreted her conversation w/ vi at the very end). i was left a bit confused, somewhat unsatisfied, and very, very sad.

did anyone else feel that way too? what did i miss, did i misinterpret or misunderstand something? please i'm going insane i had two different friends tell me they had no idea what i was talking about and that the ending was everything they wanted and more

[der-schweizer]

This is a little idea about the post of @proneterror204 make sure to hit them up for the og post.

Danny was somewhere between bored, tired (which he almost always was) and generally not okay. How his parents had managed to draw the attention of Wayne Enterprise and get invited to a Gala that Bruce Wayne himself was hosting, was beyond him.

Granted he hadn't even known about it until about three days ago. Honestly he should be used to getting utterly blindsided by his parents ‘Come on, Danny. We are going to drive for the next three days. It's going to be fun’-type of surprises.

They had just left him enough time to lock down the portal, something his dad should have done, grab his suit that Vlad had gifted him. (As much as he dislikes the Froot Loop, Danny wasn’t stupid enough to throw out a multi-thousand Dollar suit.) And then they were off.

He managed to sneak in a few texts to Sam and Tucker on the ride. So now he was here, halfway bored out of his head. He had already been talked to multiple times, and each time got mistaken for one of the Wayne kids.

Danny could see it honestly. Blue eyes, Black hair, decent build body and an air of exhaustion that hung around most of them like a cloak. It was probably the reason why they kept coming to him. Thankfully he managed to shake them off rather quickly.

He had finally found a quiet corner where he could lurk and eat some of the finger food that was laid out on the buffet. Going for thirds was tempting as everything was very tasty but sadly not very filling.

“Man, I could go for a burger.”

A snort came from next to him, which nearly startled him. The girl that had been in the corner before was putting a hand over her mouth in clear embarrassment.

“Uhm. Hi?” Danny gave an awkward wave, not knowing how he should talk to her. In turn she said a quiet “Hello” whilst also signing it. Danny of course immediately picked up on it.

“Sorry to ask but are you…” he gestured towards his ears, signing himself in case she was deaf. The girl looked at him with surprise before smiling softly. “No, I don't like talking.”

“Ah, perfectly understandable. I do know ASL, one of my friends is almost deaf but she got those fancy implants that let her hear everything.”

In lieu of the answer all he got was an “Mhh.” He went quiet after, having no fucking idea what to talk about. Danny quietly wondered what the fuck he could even talk about, the weather? Either rain or fog. The city? Rockbottom in every poll except for crime. Thinking about it gave him an idea.

“Say, who is your favorite Vigilante?”

The question got her attention, making her think for a moment before quietly saying. “Like Wing. Yours?” Danny mused for a second, humming loudly.

“Hmm, I think it's Orphan. I mean, have you seen her move? Just pure grace and elegance. I bet she is an immortal Vampire that simply got bored and decided to fight crime.”

He didn’t see how she blushed, “No.”

Danny just scoffed, “Are you kidding me? She moves with far too much elegance and grace to be mortal. Credit to the other bats but they move like mortals. She dances around both rogues and vigilantes!”

She turned away for a moment, trying to hide that she was blushing but it didn't really work. “Orphan. Is. good. What about others?”

“Oh, hmm.” Danny looked up whilst tapping a finger against his chin. “Well there’s Red Hood and Stabby Robin. Both are top tier, which should be a no brainer.”

She tilted her head in thought. “Why?”

“Well. Stabby robin practices the art of the sword, a forgotten art in modern times. And Red Hood shoots pedophiles! Who doesn't like that?” Danny set his empty plate aside, looking around for a waiter with drinks.

Her answer drew his full attention back to her. “Batman.”

Danny scoffed at the name. “Yeah, of course he doesn't like that. I mean have you looked at the costume of the very first Robin? Doesn't take much imagination why he dislikes Hood offing pedos.”

A crackle in her ear drew Cass’s attention away from him. “Red Robin here, Lantern and Superman are moving in to arrest his parents. Can you keep him distracted for a while longer?”

“Mmm. You still want burger?”

“Huh? Uh, yeah? Do you know a good place?” The question itself caught him absolutely off guard.

“Yes, take me out?” She tilted her head, giving him a cute look. Danny just shrugged, “Sure, my parents are going to take hours to explain everything anyway and they keep getting sidetracked whilst doing so. I fully expect to still be here tomorrow. Might as well spend the time with a cute girl.”

She blushed visibly, then stuck out her hand. “Cass, we date now.” He grabbed her hand, flushing a bit as well. “I’m Danny.”

“No, not Danny. You boyfriend.” She hooked her arm with his and pulled him along. Danny quickly went along with it, not saying no to it.

In Cass’s ear Red Robin spoke again. “Uh Cass? That wasn't the plan. You don't have to date him. Cass? Please don't make me explain this to B.” A click was heard as another com went to the same line. Batman growled out a simple. “Follow. Them.” before it went off.

Cassandra just put a bit more pep into her step as she pulled her new boyfriend towards her personal favorite Bat burger.

Nightwing clicked his comm on, “Found them. They are in the parking lot at main and fifth street.”

He spent a moment taking a picture of them. It showed them sitting on a concert divider, with Danny pointing up with his left whilst holding a half eaten burger in his right. Cass was sitting next to him,a bunch of fries sticking out of her mouth whilst she was grabbing a bunch more. She is also starring right at the camera. Her look perfectly said ‘if you ruin this date, i will end you’.

Batman's voice echoed in his ear, “Keep your eyes on Danny. He might have the same ideology as his parents. Oa and the lanterns are already moving in on the Ghostly Investigation Ward. We might have to take him into custody if things turn bad.”

Dick was just about to answer when Cass abruptly stood up, dranging Danny up and then away.

“Hold on, they just started moving again.” Nightwing got up from his perch and followed them quickly.

Tim worked on cutting through the strange rope, “Okay. Just to make sure I got everything right. Danny and Cass went to Batburger and had some takeout, then went for a walk in the park whilst you followed them, right?”

Dick who was trying not to wiggle, nodded. "Yeah."

“Then some weird ass shadow creature jumped you, tied you up and hung you from this tree, right?”

“You are forgetting the part where I described it as a lady from the eighteen sixties, and the part where she said to leave ‘the king of kings’ in peace. Other than that you got it spot on.”

“You know, I would make fun of you for that but considering that there is no knot in this rope and its tough as hell I will believe you.”

“Great. Do we know where they went after I lost them?”

Tim looked him right in the eyes. “Steph found them, and considering how red she was when she came back, it's best to wait until morning.”

Dick opened his mouth to ask why before it clicked in his head. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

Danny woke up groggy, his eyes were crusted over and his limbs felt heavy. For a moment he just laid there, then did a full body stretch, stretching from toes to fingertips.

After it he laid there for a moment listening to noises in the room. He could hear cars and their horns. Some shouting down the hall and the shower in the bathroom.

That prompted the memories of last night which caused the ‘i got laid’ grin. He let out a satisfied noise, before crossing his arms behind his head.

After a moment Danny wondered if Cass would be up to ‘share’ the shower only for him to freeze at the sight of the Batman in the room.

“Uuuhhh.”

“Daniel James Fenton.” Batman growled out. “You are hereby placed under investigation by the Justice League for potential violation of interdimensional rights. Your parents have already been arrested and are awaiting their trial. Do you have anything to say to that?”

[yandere-daydreams]

Daytrip Illumi my beloved... and poor Darling. You capture how unnerving and unsettling he should be so well!

Illumi should be Strange and Uncanny even at his mildest(? not sure if an Illumi in love could be 'mild', but idk if it could be called volatile either. Darling was right, you can't ever tell with him); man was cosplaying Pinhead for a week. He could talk the whole time but just literally rattled at people. And poor Ghost, my stomach just dropped because everything so far was downright too tame and too thoughtful for a Yandere.

Aside from the porn, I was waiting for that drop. Darling really can't have nice things, can't she? Or rather, she can't have anything he's not able to take. Whether a Darling is defiant (Obedience Training, Ingress) or submissive (Daytrip) he's always going to pile on the trauma.

But the moment he started mouthing and groping at her in the car, I knew he was out of patience. Everything else that day was window dressing and foreplay, and the bit where she picks a cute, frilly, puff-sleeved dress really sold the toy and doll comparison later, she was so right at the observation that Illumi took her as a ballerina for his music box. In the end, the daytrip really wasn't for her to enjoy: he ripped up her dream dress, dashed her hope that her cat was doing well without her, and didn't get to eat anything at the picnic aside from the morsel he gave her. Girl couldn't even enjoy the scenery cause he blocked it off with himself. The end was so despondent in comparison to the beginning where she resolves to take any out that presents itself, falling asleep and giving into the dark (Illumi) swallowing her.

And meanwhile, Illumi's just had an epiphany on why his parents kept having kids even after the designated heir Killua. And also patting himself on the back cause he checked off all the boxes on his 'perfect romantic date to-do list', and gotten the *ideal* ending of having finally lost his v-card. 10/10, Great Day. Would do again sometime (but not too soon).

The juxtapostion between her opinion of how the daytrip went and his opinion of how it went must be... something. I almost don't want to know, and I don't know how to properly describe what this made me feel, but it's visceral.

i love it when you people treat my silly little fics like they need to be studied under a microscope,,,, i will be living on this ask for weeks thank you anon <3

illumi just makes me,,, yeah. i feel like there's so little you can do to actually fight against him (running's not an option when he has you under surveillance 24/7, fighting a seasoned hitman won't end well, etc.), but good behavior only makes him more likely to proceed with the awful things he would've done anyway, had you spent every minute from your inevitably kidnapping kicking, screaming, and cursing his name. he's got a running checklist of uncomfortable positions he'd like to see you in, and it's less a question of when you'll be ready for it and more what he'll have to do to make you compliant enough to be, if not a willing participant, than a docile one. i think he does care about your feelings and you loving him back, but your priorities are so drastically different that you two are never actually going to end up on the same page. in his mind, he's done his research (i.e. played roughly a hundred hours of the most popular dating sims he could get his hands on), been a good partner, and taken very good care of his beloved doll/pet/captive. in yours, you've been violated and abused by the man who both kidnapped you and admitted to killing your cat without blinking, and there's very little reconciliation from there.

[sage-nebula]

The more I've thought about it over the past several days, the more disappointed I am with Mel's arc in season 2 of Arcane. Aside from how she was sidelined for most of the season (given that she spent most of it imprisoned), I feel like her magical abilities are actually a step down for her in terms of power -- that they're flashy and bright and meant to impress, meant to say "look, she can hold her own in battle now!" but that they exist at the expense of taking away the strength and power that Mel did have previously.

In season one, Mel's establishing character moment is when she's looking over a selection of items, and ends up choosing one that she is told is nothing more than a children's toy. In her next scene, she presents it to a fellow councilor as a birthday gift, and he is delighted, thinking that it is an intricate and complex puzzle that only the most brilliant minds can solve. This is such, such a strong characterization moment for Mel; it shows us that she is not only intelligent, but clever, able to work the people around her to her advantage without them noticing it.

And while the fandom has been nasty to her ever since season one aired, I don't think Mel being manipulative in this vein is at all a negative character trait. I think it is a strength. It shows how competent she is in her field, which is politics. And what's more, it's necessary for someone like her, who is a.) a foreigner, given that she only came to Piltover after being exiled from Noxus, and b.) quite young by political standards, given that she's only in her early 20s in act 1 of season 1.

We see this strength of Mel's continuously in season one, though not in the way her most ardent haters (and Jayce in act 3 of season 2, because of bad writing) believe. No, she did not pull the wool over Jayce's eyes and force him to make any decisions. He was a grown man who made choices all on his own, and choices that Mel supported him in making, at that. But she was able to see the potential in hextech, and help both Jayce and Viktor navigate and clear road blocks that would have otherwise impeded their progress. Jayce comes to her complaining that Heimerdinger is blocking progress of their research using the power of the council, and so she gets him on the council, for instance. And this was a feat; Jayce was seen as the "man of progress," but being a scientific innovator does not a politician make. But Mel was able to put him there, in a place where he (of his own volition!) called for the vote and made the speech that got Heimerdinger ousted from the council. Not that Mel was going for that -- she is clearly shocked in the scene and only raises her hand after Jayce nods at her for her support -- but still, it goes to show how Mel was able to influence situations around her, and navigate a political field that, by many measures, was set against her.

(Because while Mel was obviously not sent to Piltover with nothing, and therefore was undoubtedly housed in the luxury part of Piltover even in the early days of her exile, let's not make any mistake: she was still a foreigner to Piltover, and a child at that, when she arrived. Though her wealth gave her a leg up, she still had to work to get to where she was, and work hard; she had to shed whatever childhood innocence she still had in order to be able to navigate the political landscape of Piltover to get herself onto the council. No doubt Piltovan natives on the council wouldn't have wanted a foreigner sat among them, but she still managed it. And she managed it due to her own intelligence and inner strength.)

So in season one, we see that Mel is a powerful character in the narrative. She may not be participating in combat, but that is far from the only type of strength. Mel affects how things in the narrative go; she has agency in her own decisions, and she can move the narrative along due to the choices she makes and the actions she takes. She's one of the strongest pieces on the board in this respect.

Season two . . . takes that away from her.

Before her kidnapping, she's still in a position of power, albeit one that is slipping due to Ambessa partnering up with Salo in order to fight against Mel on the council. It doesn't help that a good chunk of the council is dead, and Piltover is shaking after Jinx's attack on the council building. Mel's position, of still wanting peace between Piltover and Zaun, is precarious. But she is still holding it. She holds against sending hextech weaponry against Zaunites (in order to protect Jayce's dream, of which he himself betrays not too long after). She stands against her mother and Salo. She's doing the best she can in the position she has and is still, however diminished her position may be from people (including her own boyfriend!) undermining her, affecting change.

But this changes after she gets kidnapped. Not only is she completely removed from the Piltover and Zaun plot for at least half the season (if not more), after she finally gets free and returns to Piltover in season three, it's as if all of her political savvy and sway has been stripped from her. We don't see her making any meaningful decisions regarding the future of Piltover. We don't see any indication that she has anything to do with Piltover's reconstruction and reformation of the council following the big battle. In said battle, she does fight (and kill) her mother using her shiny new magical abilities -- but that makes her just like any other combat-ready character on the show, able to kick ass in the physical arena. Yes, her abilities themselves are different, but the effect? Particularly when the abilities themselves strip Mel of not only the life she built for herself, but her home since her childhood, I can't be happy about them.

Because that's the crux of it. Yes, Noxus is where she was born, and where she spent early childhood. Yes, it's where her family is from. But your home is not necessarily where you were born. Mel was exiled to Piltover as a child, and she built a life there. She had her home, she had friends, she had a boyfriend. And while Elora, Jayce, and Viktor all died, I find it hard to believe that Mel had no other friends, even if we didn't see them. At the very least, she was friends with Caitlyn. At the very least, I believe she would have been an ally to Sevika on the council, given that she knows how it is to be a foreigner on that stage (Zaun is treated as foreign -- look at the way the other councilors glared at Sevika when she took her seat). And hell, her work on that council was dedicated into making Piltover a better place to live. It isn't as if she was just passively living in Piltover as her home; she was actively working to make it better.

But that is taken away from her at the end of the season, because she got these shiny magical powers that allowed her to kill her mother, and that means she has to return to Noxus. She has to return to a country that is as foreign to her now as Piltover was when she was exiled, completely alone, expected to lead a military when that isn't where her strength was. Her strength was in politics, not military command. But none of that matters now, because Mel was completely ousted from the position where she held her strength and power, with the show claiming it's okay because look, she can fight now!

(Also, side note, but I hate that fucking body suit she's in after she unlocks her mage powers. It feels grossly sexualized. Anyone who knows me knows that I fawn over Mel's beauty, because I am a lesbian and she is drop dead gorgeous, not to mention I love color contrasts and that gold with her dark skin and hair? OHKO on me. But although Mel was always designed to be gorgeous, I never felt she was designed in a sexualized way until that body suit. Something about the way that the implication is that it's just grafted onto her skin after she awakens her mage powers (because she wasn't wearing it before, but now she's wearing something so skin tight it looks painted on) makes it feel like she would be naked if the TV-14 rating would allow it. The way it exposes parts of her breast and her back don't help this. It feels like a, yeah, Mel has these incredibly strong new magic powers, but she also looks like more of a sexual object to take gratification in. Like they're "powering her up," but also powering her down at the same time. It feels very video game character design of them, compared to how beautiful and empowering all of her previous outfits were. Maybe I'm the only one to feel this way, but I just really hate it.)

This isn't a formal essay and so I'm sure my thoughts are all over the place, but ultimately, I just can't be satisfied with Mel's arc. I can't be satisfied that she was removed from the plot and allowed to affect so little of it after that was her greatest strength (and made her a truly standout character!) in season one. I can't be happy that she loses the life and home she built for herself in Piltover, to be sent back to a country she didn't want to return to alone. I can't be happy that the excuse for removing her from the plot was to give her magic powers so She Can Fight Now, when plenty of other characters already fight and so it doesn't make her stand out. I can't be happy that Jayce was made to spew anti-Mel talking points that the fandom had been putting out for years, none of which were true. And I really can't be happy that they put her in that ugly fucking body suit, which feels really demeaning for reasons I don't think I explained properly.

Mel deserved better. Point of fact, she deserved better. I'm happy she didn't die, but god, she was still done dirty.

[monayen]

awawawa tysm! (*/∀＼*) then i'll req smth for 17 yo randal w a fem reader! like he's been ignoring reader because he's too busy playing lol or being an asshole on reddit so reader tries to get his attention in other ways--- ( ￣▽￣)

x_thedarkprince_x | Randal Ivory (17ndal)

➷ Paring - Randal Ivory (17ndal) x Fem!Reader [Randal's Friends / Ranfren]

➷ CWs - oral (m. receiving) / blowjobs, pet play, he stink *_*

a/n - i forgot how much i love this freak... i was gonna write him stinkier but im sick with an eye infection and im 90% sure me writing him infected me somehow. also i have never played league but i do watch arcane and play val so i think that's good enough. 'pologies if i got anything wrong in that aspect (not really) also header is @/tapi_taro_ on twt !!

A rhythmic clicking echoed against the dark walls of Randal’s room. It was late — far too late for him to be hunched over his computer, his eyes fixed on the flickering characters on the screen.

He knew it too. Luther had made it clear he wasn’t supposed to be playing this late, even threatening to confiscate his expensive setup if he caught him awake again. Yet here he was, ignoring every warning.

Your legs dangled off the side of the coffin he should've been in hours ago with you, tired eyes flickering at the blue light of the screen. Or more importantly, Randal. 

His long orange hair was disheveled, sticking up in all directions, unbrushed and greasy.  A string of drool hung from the corner of his mouth as he muttered curses under his breath, his razor-sharp teeth glinting in the glow of the monitor. Far too engrossed to even blink.

You sighed, crossing your arms over your chest. It had been days since Randal had given you more than a passing glance. A new season of LoL had started, and you were pretty sure his ass was permanently welded to his chair. The only times he left it were to use the bathroom or grab more soda. Has he even eaten?

Sleep was impossible with the constant noise. The rapid clack of his fingers on the keys, the drag of his mouse across the desk — it all kept you on edge. Even when you managed to drift off, there was always a sharp bang against the side of the table or a shout of some obscene curse, loud enough to snap you awake. And then, you’d have to fight to fall asleep all over again.

You huff in frustration, sitting up from where you’ve been laying against the coffin. “Randal?”

He doesn’t even flinch, his eyes fixed on the screen. For a moment, you wonder if he’s deliberately ignoring you, but the garbled voices from the game blasting through his headset make it clear that he just can't hear. 

You repeat yourself louder, and only then does he push one of his headphones aside, “What?” 

You make a face at his almost exasperated tone, his eyes still not moving towards you, “It's really late.”

He shrugs, lips pressing into a thin line as he shakes his head, barely glancing your way. “Yeah, well, I can’t pause. I’ll be there in a bit, sweetieee.” He drags out the last word with a teasing giggle before adjusting his headphones and continuing playing.

You stand up from the coffin, stretching your arms above your head. Your joints pop and crack, and you wince at the sudden movement. It's been a long day, and you're exhausted. But sleep isn’t going to happen unless he gets off the game.

You take a step towards him, your bare feet padding softly on the carpet. He's so focused on the game that he doesn't even notice you approaching. You lean over his shoulder, peering at the screen. 

He's losing, the game isn't even close. The string of chat logs of him and his teammates arguing in the corner catch your eye. You watch as Randal scowls, quickly typing something in chat. An IP address, but you’re pretty sure it's actually just a random string of numbers. 

Tilting your head, you ask, “Won't you get banned for that?”

Randal doesn't respond, too focused in the game to acknowledge you. You sigh again, a reaction would at least be nice. You're tired of being ignored, desperately wanting some type of attention, affection, anything to make you feel wanted. You're also just tired in general…

You place your hands on his shoulders, kneading the tense muscles. He tenses slightly at your touch, but doesn't pull away. You start to massage his shoulders, working out the knots that have formed from his terrible posture.

"Randal," you say softly, leaning down to whisper against his neck, even though he can't hear you, "You can play with something else…”

He shivers at your breath on his skin, but still doesn't turn to you. You huff, frustrated. 

You drop to your knees, crawling under the desk. You can see his feet, clad in mismatched socks, tapping impatiently on the floor. You reach up, running your hands up his calves, his thighs, until you reach his crotch. 

Taking a deep breath, you began to graze his crotch, him immediately shaking above you, "What are you – hey!" Randal finally noticed your actions, but he made no move to stop you as you continued to rub the fabric of his sweatpants. 

He lowers his headset, leaving them around his neck as he hunches over. “Bad girl! I’m literally about to derank!” 

You feel him stiffen under your touch. "Randal," you murmur again, your hand stroking him slowly. "I want to make you feel good."

Randal let out a shaky breath, his hips twitching forward. "I'm busy," he grumbled, but there was a note of desire behind his pitchy voice.

He makes a strangled noise when you squeeze, finally tearing his eyes away from the screen. He looks down at you, his black eyes lidded. “Fuck… my elo." he breathes, his hips bucking into your palm.

You smile, satisfied that you finally have some of his attention. You tug down his bottoms, freeing his cock. It's hard and hot in your hand, pulsing with need. You swiftly wrap your lips around the head, sucking gently.

Randal groans, his fingers tightening on the mouse. He's still playing, well… attempting to at least. His eyes keep darting back down to you, hands shaking against his keyboard and mouse. 

His thighs tremble more once you begin sucking on the sensitive tip harder, his focus faltering to groan, “C’mon – you can go deeper than that pet,” One of his hands leaves the desk, moving to grip the back of your head.

He groans, hips bucking into your mouth as he pushes your head down, "You're gonna make me lose." It's almost a whine, like it's a genuine bother for you to be down on your knees for him. But he doesn't stop you. If anything, he's pushing you down further, encouraging you with soft, desperate sounds. You take him deeper, tongue swirling around the length of his cock.

You moan around him, sending vibrations through his shaft. He gasps, fingers tangling in your hair.

"Shit, shit, fuck," he chants, voice rising in pitch. His thighs tremble, muscles tensing under your hands.

His free hand still clicks around on the keyboard, your eyes narrowing at the not-surprising ridiculousness of Randal still trying to play the game despite his dick being down your throat. 

You pull off his length with a pop, tilting your head sweetly, "Come on, Randal," you tease, stroking him slowly. "Is the game really that important?"

Randal whines, head thudding back against the chair. With a giggle, he nudges your head back down onto his erection, "I just told these virgins I’m getting my dick sucked, kekeke.”

You bob your head, taking him deep, swallowing around him. His fingers tighten in your hair, pulling sharply. “Hah, keep going pet.” he groans rocking his hips, fucking your face with shallow, needy thrusts. You double your efforts, sucking harder and taking him deeper in your mouth. 

"Fuck, fuck, swallow it–" he cuts off with a strangled cry, hips stuttering. You can feel him throbbing in your mouth, his body tensing. A quick pulse follows before he's flooding your throat. Quickly, you gulp, swallowing his cum down and not letting it leak out your mouth. 

He pants, a lazy grin spreading across his face. He looks down at you, his eyes half-lidded and hazy, slumping down slightly on the chair. 

Randal moves his hand from the back of your head to cup your cheek, his sharp teeth biting his lip, “Goooood pet.” 

Blushing at the praise, you finally crawl up when he moves his chair back, giving you space to get out from under the desk. “Are you sleepy now?” You ask, a cheeky smile on your face as you lean in closer to him. 

Randal lets out another strange giggle before leaning in to plant a quick, wet kiss on your lips.

“Gah, I can taste myself,” he grimaces, pulling back slightly. “Did I burn a hole in your stomach?”

You stifle a laugh and shake your head. “Randal.”

He catches the hint in your voice, finally giving in. With a dramatic sigh, he tucks his soft dick in and pushes up from his chair. “Turn off the monitor then, pretty please?”

You nod, watching as he scratches his ass before collapsing onto his coffin, immediately drifting off to sleep.

Turning to the monitor, you notice a bright red DEFEAT screen glaring back at you. Glancing at the chat, you see the last message a teammate sent before the game ended —

‘GGS report x_thedarkprince_x for throwing’

[thequeenofsastiel]

Man, fuck all these GoT prequels, I want a damn sequel. I want to see how big Drogon gets. I want to know what he did with Daenerys' corpse. If he's capable of changing his sex so that he can lay eggs, and spawns a new age of dragons. I want to know if slavery returns to the Bay of Dragons once the former slavers get wind of the fact that they'll no longer have to fear Daenerys coming after them.

I want to know if the cold in the north diminishes to the point where there's no more snow and everything is green like it was when the Children created White Walkers in the first place. Are cold and snow purely a byproduct of the creation of the White Walkers, and only exist in Westeros? After all, we didn't see anywhere in Essos have anything resembling cold weather. True, nowhere in Essos is as far north as the North in Westeros, but even Braavos, which geographically is about as far north as the boundary between North and South in Westeros, didn't seem to be cold at all by the time Arya left, even though it was snowing in the Vale over two years earlier. Will seasons go away? Will it just be that the cold goes away in places where there is cold, or will the South become uninhabitable because of an increase in heat? Putting that aside, if the cold does go away, how does that affect the population of the North? Will there be a massive influx in population? How will the loss of the cold affect Jon and the Free Folk? After all, Tormund didn't like that it was even slightly less cold south of the wall.

What ended up happening to the Dothraki? Did they stay in Westeros? And if they did, did they have the same attitude about roaming from place to place, sacking cities? How did the population of Westeros deal with that? And what did Arya discover to be west of Westeros?

Idk, I just feel like a continuation of GoT(with better showrunners) would be so interesting.

[faithshouseofchaos]

Daniel’s first thanksgiving— Daniel Ricciardo x fem!Reader

Word count 631

Fluff

Daniel Ricciardo stood on the wraparound porch of his girlfriend Y/N’s family home, taking in the crisp southern air. The house was alive with the sounds of laughter, a country playlist humming from a Bluetooth speaker, and the clatter of pots and pans from the kitchen. Thanksgiving in the South was something he’d only ever seen in movies, but experiencing it firsthand was a whole other beast. He tugged at the collar of his button-down shirt, already feeling like the center of attention before he even stepped inside.

The moment he crossed the threshold, the teasing began.

“Well, well, if it ain’t the Aussie we’ve been hearing about,” Y/N’s cousin Billy drawled, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk. “What’d you do to trick our girl into bringin’ you down here?”

Daniel grinned, running a hand through his messy curls. “Must be my accent, mate. Works like a charm.”

“Oh, honey,” Y/N’s mom chimed in from the kitchen, peering at Daniel over her glasses. “That accent’ll only get you so far. We’ve got high standards in this family.”

“Ma,” Y/N groaned, shooting her mom a look as she grabbed Daniel’s hand to lead him further in.

“I’m just sayin’!” her mom called after them. “Don’t want him thinkin’ he’s got it too easy!”

At the table, her dad sized Daniel up like he was studying the competition in a poker game. “So, son,” he began, “what exactly do you do? I heard somethin’ about you drivin’ cars real fast.”

“Yes, sir,” Daniel said, sitting up a little straighter. “I’m a Formula One driver.”

Her uncle snorted, leaning back in his chair. “Ain’t that just goin’ in circles all day? NASCAR’s where the real talent is.”

“Uncle Joe,” Y/N groaned, but Daniel chuckled, rolling with the punches.

“Close enough,” he said with a wink. “But I’ll give NASCAR a go if you think you can teach me a thing or two.”

The room erupted in laughter, and Uncle Joe slapped the table. “This one’s quick, I’ll give him that!”

But the teasing didn’t stop there.

“Y/N said you can cook,” her little sister, Maddie, piped up, leaning her elbows on the table. “That true, or are you just pretty to look at?”

Daniel raised his brows, looking to Y/N for help. She only grinned, enjoying every second of it.

“I can cook,” Daniel said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “But I wouldn’t put me in charge of the turkey. Maybe the mashed potatoes?”

“Oh, we’ll put you to the test next time,” Y/N’s grandma said with a sly smile, her Southern drawl thick. “But don’t you worry, sugar, you can just sit there and look pretty today.”

By dessert, Daniel was laughing as hard as everyone else, fully embracing the playful chaos. He didn’t mind being the butt of their jokes—especially when he caught Y/N’s dad giving him an approving nod across the table.

As the family filed into the living room for football and post-dinner naps, Y/N pulled Daniel aside onto the porch, the soft glow of string lights above them.

“They really like you,” she said, leaning into him.

Daniel smirked, his arm sliding around her waist. “Oh, I got that loud and clear when your grandma called me ‘sugar.’”

“Yeah,” she laughed, resting her head against his chest. “They only tease the people they like.”

“Well,” he said, tipping her chin up to meet his gaze, his smile warm, “good thing I like them, too.”

From inside, her uncle’s voice rang out. “Hey, Aussie! We’re throwin’ the football—don’t wimp out on us!”

Daniel laughed, pressing a kiss to Y/N’s forehead. “Guess I’ve got another round of initiation to pass.”

She grinned. “Welcome to the family, Ricciardo.”

[ivystoryweaver]

A Date, Then? - Steven Grant

Steven + Cup of tea + Holding hands + Reading

Fall Fluff Masterlist | Steven Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Notes: GN!reader celebrates Thanksgiving, tw food (but it's not a Thanksgiving day fic). Reader is SMITTEN

Word Count: 1k || for @vintagegirl01's request Steven Grant x reader enjoying a cup of tea and holding hands as they read together (Kinda like how Carl and Ellie from Up did in the Married Life Montage where they are in their designated seat reading their own book and holding hands). (I'm not posting your actual ask message yet bc I want to keep the Marc part in my inbox bc I love it & want to revisit it)

"Knock, knock," Steven sing-songs after you've clearly already opened the door. "Hiya."

"Steven, come in," you warmly greet your neighbor, noticing the stack of books tucked haphazardly under his arm. "You can set those anywhere."

"Right, thanks." He nods to your apron. "Cooking something?"

"Mm-hmm, turkey and all the trimmings for Thanksgiving."

"Right, sorry. Thanksgiving Day is tomorrow, innit? Sorry to disturb you." His cheeks flush as he grants you an apologetic wave.

"No, you're fine. I wanted to host a Friendsgiving or maybe a Neighbors-giving? But I only know you so far," you explain, leading him toward the kitchen. "Maybe next year, after I've met more people. I thought maybe you would like some leftovers, if nothing else."

You go on to explain that, aside from turkey, you're making yams with vegan marshmallows on top and using non-dairy items and vegan butter in the stuffing. You're also working on some green beans, cranberries, and of course, rolls.

"You have to work tomorrow, right?"

"Off at 5:30."

"Would you..." you bounce on your toes apprehensively, your tummy flip-flopping. "Would you like to come over for dinner? I understand if the turkey's a dealbreaker, no worries."

"Could I?" He breathlessly returns. "That would be so lovely, actually."

"Perfect," you beam at him, realizing you should have just asked him in the first place.

"So I guess I'll let you carry on," Steven says, stuffing his hands into his pockets and shifting from foot to foot. He nods toward the stack of books he's returning to you. "Loved those. Thanks for the recommendations."

"You already finished them?" You gasp disbelievingly.

"Had some time on my hands."

"Do you have to go? You seem kind of in a hurry."

Steven pauses, confused. "I thought you were cooking."

"No, I was just doing some prep work. We're supposed to read tonight, right?"

"Right." His shoulders relax. "Unless you need help cooking?"

You assure Steven it's all right, putting on the kettle in the process. "Which tea? Blueberry black, white tropical or cinnamon plum?"

"Blueberry black," he decides, reaching with familiarity into the cupboard to retrieve his favorite cup and yours, along with saucers. You gather the spoons, sugar, non-dairy milk and honey.

"You're sure I'm not keeping you?" He politely asks one more time.

You stop in front of him, setting your tray aside. "Steven, it's Wednesday. Eight o'clock. Book time." You smile at him sweetly. "Highlight of my week."

Steven's dark eyes shine with hope and intrigue. "Yeah?"

"Yes. I love our reading dates."

Inching closer, his hands fidget, gaze flickering away from yours before he clears his throat. "So...a date, then?"

"I don't know." You ease toward him, wishing one of you knew how to make an actual move. "Is it?"

The kettle's whistle grants you the reprieve neither of you were actually seeking.

Finally, you settle into to cozy chairs in your living area. Sometimes you read together at Steven's Library - your affectionate nickname for his flat. But typically, your place is more organized and calm. That, and Steven loves your oversized twin chairs.

Since he picked the tea, you would pick the music. Then you grab your current books and settle in. You cozy up with your dark purple cable knit blanket, draped over the back of your chair. Steven tucks his "reading pillow" close to his chest - a mushroom shaped pillow he finds particularly amusing and very you.

Then comes the best part - the most distracting, delicious part of reading date night: when Steven reaches for his glasses. It's a procedure you have memorized. First, he tosses his curls away from where they fall over his eyes. Then he puts them on, biting his bottom lip, before stealing a glance at you.

Busted. Every time.

Your cheeks heat as your eyes dart back to the book you haven't really started reading. Steven opens his book, clears his throat, shifts in his seat and you glance over every time his finger reaches to turn the page. You notice every twitch of his jaw, every time his corded neck bobs when he swallows, every curl that tumbles across his forehead.

It suddenly occurs to you that not only do you have a crush on your neighbor, you're actually quite smitten.

"You alright, love?" His eyes meet yours before he nods down to your book. "Don't think you've read a thing."

"Oh...could you read out loud?" You quickly recover, closing your book and shrugging helplessly. "Must be going cross-eyed from reading those recipes."

"'Course I can." He beams. Steven likes to read to you, and you find the sound of his voice equally thrilling and calming.

Scooting his chair closer to you, he sets aside the mushroom pillow and moves his book into a good position for you both to see. Then he proceeds to make his non-fiction historical perspective sound like a Grimm's fairy tale.

You reach for your tea, realizing you should have brewed something herbal and calming because your heart flutters every time his arm brushes yours when he turns the page. The cadence of his voice lulls you under a spell somehow.

Placing your tea back down, you resist the urge to lay your head on his shoulder or something equally embarrassing, but you want to somehow be closer to him, so you reach for the page next time he needs to turn it.

"I'll help," you whisper as your hands clumsily brush.

Steven almost drops the book, but quickly recovers, covering your hand with his own. "This alright?" Warm brown eyes lock onto yours.

You quickly nod, fighting your nervousness and squeezing his hand to let him know how badly you want this.

Eyes still fixed on yours, he pulls your joined hands to his chest, smiling at you adoringly. He raises the book to continue reading as you bring your opposite hand up to help him hold it in place.

Eventually your head does make its way down onto his shoulder.

You don't know what to say and maybe he doesn't either. But he's holding your hand and you're thankful for that.

Fall Fluff Masterlist | Steven Masterlist | Main Masterlist

[kathlare]

reckless realizations

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: In the quiet aftermath of an intimate moment, Amelie and Lando share playful banter and tenderness that reveal their growing connection. Between teasing remarks and gentle care, the simplicity of their bond deepens, leaving Amelie grappling with an unexpected and overwhelming realization about her feelings for him.

Wordcount: 0.9 k

Warnings: just fluff

March 30th, 2024 - Indianapolis, IN

The room was dimly lit, the glow of the Indianapolis skyline filtering through the blinds of Amelie’s apartment. The air was thick, still laced with the electricity of what had just transpired between them. Amelie lay sprawled on the bed, her blonde hair messy against the pillow, a satisfied grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. Lando was propped on one elbow beside her, watching her with that lazy, boyish smile that always made her heart flip.

—You look proud of yourself,— she teased, still breathless, her fingers brushing the edge of the blanket he had lazily tossed over her legs.

Lando chuckled, his voice low and rich. —Well, I’m not the only one, am I?— He leaned down, pressing a kiss to her shoulder, the gesture tender despite his teasing tone.

She rolled her eyes, but the grin stayed on her lips. —You’re impossible.—

—And you like it.— His smirk was cheeky, his dimples deepening as he reached for the hair sticking to her temple and tucked it behind her ear. His fingers lingered there, his thumb brushing her cheek.

Amelie sighed contentedly, feeling the warmth of his hand on her skin. —You’re so smug. It’s infuriating.—

—It’s part of my charm,— he replied with mock seriousness, sitting up and stretching. The sheets pooled around his waist, and Amelie didn’t miss the way his toned shoulders flexed. He caught her staring and wiggled his brows. —Enjoying the view, are we?—

She snorted, throwing a pillow at him. —Shut up. Go get me water or something.—

—Bossy, bossy,— he muttered, climbing out of bed. He didn’t bother to grab anything to cover himself as he sauntered to the kitchen, and Amelie couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of her.

—God, you’re such a show-off,— she called after him.

—For you, always,— he shot back, his voice echoing from the kitchen.

While he was gone, Amelie pulled the blanket up to her chest and stared at the ceiling. It still felt surreal sometimes, having Lando here, in her space, in her life like this. They’d come so far from where they were years ago. She didn’t want to think about those messy, complicated days. This... whatever they had now, it felt different. Better.

Lando returned a moment later, a glass of water in one hand and a damp cloth in the other. He handed her the water first, sitting beside her on the bed.

—Drink up,— he said softly, watching as she took a sip. When she was done, he placed the glass on the nightstand and unfolded the cloth. —Now, hold still.—

Amelie arched a brow. —Are you seriously about to baby me right now?—

—Absolutely. Someone’s gotta take care of you, and clearly, you won’t do it yourself.— He gently dabbed the cloth against her skin, starting with her face. The coolness was a sharp contrast to the lingering warmth between them, and Amelie shivered slightly.

—You’re such a dork,— she muttered, though her voice lacked any real bite.

—And yet, here you are, letting me do this,— he quipped, his eyes meeting hers briefly. There was something so soft in his gaze that she had to look away.

He moved the cloth lower, wiping away the sheen of sweat on her shoulders and collarbone. His movements were deliberate, unhurried, and Amelie felt her chest tighten. How was he so gentle, so patient? It was infuriating in the best way.

—There,— he said after a while, tossing the cloth aside. He leaned down, brushing a kiss to her forehead. —Good as new.—

Amelie rolled her eyes, but there was a warmth in her chest that she couldn’t ignore. —You’re insufferable.—

—And yet, you keep me around. Wonder why that is?— He settled back onto the bed, pulling her against him. She rested her head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

—Maybe I’m just waiting for you to stop being annoying,— she teased, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his skin.

—Good luck with that. I’m a lifelong project,— he said with a grin, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

When the room settled into silence again, Lando shifted, resting his chin on the top of her head. —Alright, your turn.—

Amelie raised an eyebrow, pulling back slightly. —My turn?—

—Yep. Fair’s fair,— he said with a cheeky grin, leaning against the headboard and crossing his arms. —Go on, take care of me.—

She rolled her eyes but grabbed another washcloth, mimicking his earlier actions. —You’re such a baby.—

—And you love it.—

She froze for a split second, her heart skipping a beat. The word hung in the air, unspoken but heavy. She pushed the thought aside quickly, focusing on wiping the smirk off his face instead.

When she was done, he caught her wrist, his thumb brushing her skin softly. —See? Wasn’t so bad, was it?—

—Shut up.— Her voice was softer this time, almost fond, as she leaned into him.

They made their way back to bed, the sheets cool against their skin. Lando pulled her close, and she tucked herself against his side, her head resting on his shoulder.

The quiet returned, but Amelie’s mind was racing. She traced lazy circles on his chest, her thoughts swirling in every direction, all leading to the same overwhelming conclusion.

It hit her like a wave, sudden and all-encompassing: she was in love with him.

Her breath caught, her hand stilling on his chest.

—You okay?— Lando’s voice was soft, laced with concern as he tilted his head to look at her.

Amelie forced a smile, her heart pounding painfully in her chest. —Yeah. Just... tired.—

He didn’t look convinced but pressed a kiss to her forehead anyway. —Alright. Sleep, then. I’ll be here.—

She nodded, closing her eyes, but sleep didn’t come. One word echoed in her mind, loud and terrifying in its simplicity:

Fuck.