#but in Case they somehow are waiting for a response. as much as i want to drive you mad refreshing my blog and waiting for one

[tiraminesu]

ive been having incoherent horny caleb feelings that i can't smush into a fic so . here's whatever this is

cw pseudocest/incest, one (1) single use of gege bc im a degen, not a fic not a drabble not a headcanon but some other weird fourth thing

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Caleb doesn't want you to get hurt per se but he does like to take care of you. It's been that way since you were kids; him putting bandaids over your scraped knees and smiling softly as your attempt to sniff back the tears already rolling down your face.

"You don't need to act so strong around me," he'd say, holding your tiny hand in his own. "'s what i'm here for."

And without fail, you'd beam up at him in response, stars in your eyes.

Now that you're older though...it's a bit different. You're somehow both too stubborn to admit you need him but also too used to his doting that you expect it anyhow. Case in point: when you injure your hands in a mission gone wrong, you huff and whine all the way back to your apartment about how you don't need him to take you home—yet it's his number that you've got listed as your emergency contact. It's him who you let swaddle you in blankets on the couch, propping your bandaged hands up on pillows at your side before he heads to the kitchen to prepare you braised chicken wings that he feeds to you with all the gentleness you've come to expect of him.

You act like you don't want it, that you don't need it, but he knows better. He notices the glaze in your eyes that softens what you mean to be an indignant glare, how you pout in petulance as he wipes away stray sauce from the corner of your mouth but still watch with rapt attention as he sucks it clean from his thumb.

You huff, eyes averted. "You don't need to treat me like a kid, y'know."

"'Course, I do." An offering of now-boneless chicken meat and rice presses against your lips. You accept, chewing happily in spite of yourself. "What are brothers for, if not spoiling their little sisters?"

What he doesn't say is that this is just as much of an indulgence for him as it is for you. Letting your walls down for him, allowing him into your space so intimately because you trust him to take care of you, satiates the primal part of his brain that needs to have and hold and protect. It's a relief, too, that at least a part of you recognizes him as being the one who knows you best, the one who will take care of you the way you need.

So later, when he's stripping you bare and helping you into the shower, it doesn't come as much of a surprise when you quiver beneath his touch. He knows what you want, what you're waiting for him to do. But he remains diligent in lathering soap over your body, mindful of your hands that you keep raised and away from the spray of water. It's not out of a desire to see you squirm, though your trembling breath and shaky legs affect him a bit more than he's like to admit. No, he wants you to ask. He wants you to know that you can ask.

"Caleb," you whimper, barely audible over the sound of water hitting tile.

His hands span over the width of your thigh, squeezing the flesh there encouragingly. "Mm?"

Your eyes screw shut when his fingers inch closer to where you need him the most. "Please, I—I can't—"

"It's okay," he soothes, palm warm on your hip. "Tell me what you need."

There's a moment where you flounder, unsure of what to say or how to say it. Your mouth opens, closes and stays closed for a few seconds. then slowly, unsure of yourself, you're reaching for his wrist and breathing out a soft, "take care 'f me, gege?"

Anything for you.

[valiantverses]

Tremors II

-

Part I

A therapist's waiting room wasn't exactly the place to have the most engrossing conversations. People were usually jittery, tense, or straight-up despondent. Somehow, you manage to strike a strange sort of connection with the retired military couple that had the Thursday slot just after you anyway.

Trigger Warnings: Angsty. Mentions of medical conditions. Chronic pain discussion. Post couple argument. My characterisations may not be your cup of tea, they can be problematic, but hopefully in a realistic way.

A/N: Not gonna lie somebody sent me an Ask about Tremors and I had this written out the same day I read it lmao my brain is so monke

If you'd like to tag out of the tag list, just message "Tag out" in the notes!

His hands were shaking again. Callouses stretching and wrinkling together as he rested his hand on the doorknob. The metal was biting in the winter chill, but the physical sensation helped drag him back down to reality.

To his home— his actual home. Surreal still, after more than a decade of thin barrack mattresses and rocky dirt beneath thin sleeping bags. The one-story house was quaint in a way he never would've dreamt of living in when he was younger. His home, with its barely managed lawn. Creaking doors. Brick and dark woods— juxtaposed against the hard plastic wheelchair ramp next to the steps.

His home, where Johnny was waiting.

Rough fingers fall away from the doorknob. His head dipped as he exhaled sharply— burning shame, a semi-permanent grimace on his lips.

It had been a bad day for Johnny's chronic pain. A string of them, really. Simon could feel the exhaustion carved into his bones, the weight of caring for Johnny entrenched into his marrow.

Johnny was waiting —barely able to sit up and have breakfast today after waking up wracked with neuropathic pain— and Simon couldn't even bring himself to open the damn door.

Bitter miasma clawed at his gums, self-disgust brewing at his inability to be more human, more empathethic. At his desire to be away. At the way he wanted press pause. Johnny couldn't press pause— he could only wait.

A notification pops up on his phone. He doesn't check, knowing it'd be the therapy appointment app. Life was now just a cycle of doctor's appointments, tests, physical rehabilitation, bills, and therapy. He had gone from the steady drumbeat of barracks life to— this.

With a huff, he forced himself to open the door, as gently as he can manage so as no to wake Johnny in case he had fallen asleep.

They had never argued before the incident at the Channel Tunnel. But now, on bad days, when Johnny was in too much pain and Simon too frayed, tension would spark and light into flame. Ultimately they were former soldiers and fierce words, aggravated outbursts came naturally.

Sometimes the heated words would morph into the heated press of skin on skin, slick bodies and open mouthed kisses as they fought for control. Captured moans as their bodies sought purchase and rutted into each other.

Other times, like today, it would end in the gentle but firm closing of a door. Silent retreat as they distanced themselves. In the quiet of the after, where harsh words were mentally rehashed and their tempers reigned in— Johnny's a storm clearing, Simon's receding tides— the unspoken apologies as they met each other's eyes again, a silent covenant to try and do better.

Johnny was waiting.

The blond eased next to his sleeping form. Even asleep in their bed large enough to fit two well built men, his face was scrunched up in pain. Gently, Simon reaches out and smooths the furrow of his brow, powder- blue eyes opening hazily and meeting his. Then Johnny cracked a smile, leaning into Simon's touch.

"Ello' there. Been waitin'." He murmurs, voice thick with sleep.

Simon's answering chuckle reverberates through both of them "Hi." His chilled, calloused hands card through Johnny's hair. "Feelin' better?"

The hum he receives in response fills him with a quiet sort of relief. Johnny looked more serene now, with that light smile on his face. The last time he looked this peaceful was almost two weeks ago— talking to the pretty little thing at his counsellor's. Johnny had seemed to brighten in their presence, had even mentioned the interaction to the shrink jovially. It was the first time he'd had a proper conversation with a stranger since his brain injury. Simon nursed his pang of regret at cutting off the conversation so abruptly, but he had seen the reticence in Johnny's eyes and had felt his hackles rise, the need to protect so desperate—

The smaller man shifted next to him, voice muffled against the pillow "S'good of ye to run away everytime we have a row. Big of ye." His eyes sparkled with teasing.

Simon huffed, hands roaming against Johnny's skin as he pulls him to his chest, tucking his chin into the crook of Johnny's neck. Simon casually gestures at the shorter man's leg—it had to be augmented with metal bolts after the incident. Johnny could walk, but excess running would trigger his sensitive nerve endings. Simon's breath was warm against Johnny's ears as he spoke.

"Not like you could be the one running, ey, luv'?"

And then his head was being shoved into the pillow, Johnny laughing breathlessly. His arms were full of exasperated Scot as they both guffawed madly, the tension from that morning dissipating.

Later, when Johnny had drifted off again, Simon turned to tap at his phone and confirm their Thursday therapy slot. Unbidden, his thoughts drift to you. To how, inexplicably, you had managed to get Johnny to smile. He selects the same slot they got two weeks ago, hoping maybe it might mean running into you again. Seeing Johnny smile more. Then, his attention turns back to the sleeping Scot beside him.

Johnny was waiting, but he was never truly alone. He would always carry a piece of Simon with him.

[audliminal]

It's Just a Game, Right? Pt 4 Redux

Masterpost

Tim turns his head at the soft their of a grappling hook, and a moment later, Steph joins him on the roof of the building.

"Not much happening tonight, huh?"

"Yeah, I guess," Cars rush past on the street below. The city is as alive as it ever is, but somehow the night feels unnervingly quiet. He knows he should be glad that everything’s calm right now; it meas people are safe, happy. There’s not a single sign of explosions or alarms going off in their vicinity, and that’s the goal.

"You don't sound very sure about that," Steph says, stepping up beside Tim and elbowing him lightly.

"Yeah," Tim watches as a stupidly expensive sports car changes lanes without signaling. The person behind them has to hit the brakes, and the blare of a car horn cuts through the relative quiet. It’s rude as hell, and technically it is illegal behavior, but it’s not the kind of thing a vigilante can solve, so he stays put on the roof.

"Okay, you're being weird,” Steph cuts through the prolonged silence. “What's up?"

Tim shrugs.

"Guess I'm just used to emergencies," He knows Steph wouldn't be weird about him bringing up Bernard, but he feels crazy enough, thinking about Bernard’s game. The last thing he wants is the other bats saying anything about it. And he really doesn’t want to make it sound like he’s compromised.

"Okay..." Steph trails off. "I mean I guess it has been pretty hectic for a while. Takes a bit of time to come down from all that?"

Tim is saved from having to respond by the sound of Oracle cutting into comms.

"Red Robin, Spoiler, looks like a store robbery in progress and you're the closest. Head for the intersection of 25th and Oak."

"Got it," Tim answers with some relief. He doesn't wait for Steph's response; just steps back, and takes a running jump off the building, glad to be on the move again.

Pretty soon they're both dropping in on a pair of goons. One of them is aiming their gun directly at a frazzled-looking employee, who doesn't seem interested in putting up a fight.

Two-on-two makes it an incredibly easy fight though, and it's almost over before it begins, with both of them able to sneak up on the distracted thugs as the cashier hurriedly pulls money out of the cash register. Once they're both in position, it's easy enough to grapple, disarm, and restrain them in a flurry of movement, and the criminals never get a chance to even process the arrival of the bats.

"Not today, I think," Spoiler says as she handcuffs her guy. "Threatening people with guns is a real dick move, y'know?" Tim gets his guy handcuffed and turns to the startled employee.

"Cops on the way yet?" He gets a frantic nod, and Tim surveys the shop as he waits for the sirens. They'll bounce just before the cops get here, but until then, he wants to look around for any signs of something bigger. The two would-be thieves seem too shocked and terrified at the appearance of bats to be proper goons, but they could still be bait, or a distraction of some kind. And the shop itself could theoretically have been targeted. He lets Spoiler guard the thieves, and makes a quick loop of the aisles, scanning for anything of interest, but when he finds nothing of note, he silently falls back in beside Spoiler.

"Right, the police are almost here, so we're gonna bounce!" Spoiler announces, just as Tim returns to her side. "Tell your boss I said you should get hazard pay for the night, 'kay?" and then she bounces out the same way they came in. Tim nods once at the employee and then follows.

He changes directions once he's on the rooftops again, though. He’d felt his wrist buzz approximately six times as he cased the shop, and that many messages means it’s either Bernard or one the Young Justice crowd. Either way, he’d rather check his messages in peace, so he grapples over to a nice out of the way spot, and checks his wrist computer.

Dude

Babe, holy shit

Like seriously

This is fucking crazy

Like I cannot believe they replied to us

Us!!!

Attached to the series of texts is a screenshot of Bernard’s phone, open to the forum he’d shown Tim. Falling back onto the flats of his feet, Tim closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, then looks closer at the screenshot.

At first glance, he can't tell what language it's supposed to be. It looks like it might be Romantic in origin, but a couple spellings look almost Slavic in nature, and there's only two and a half lines, which really isn't much to go off of.

It's certainly an interesting development, to say the least. He should be excited. This is a new clue for the mystery, after all.

No way! Tim sends back.

Yeah! U busy? Comes the immediate response. And like, technically the answer is yes, Tim supposed. But Steph literally just pointed out how calm things are tonight, and he can already tell he won't be able to focus, with this news.

"Um," Tim says into his comm. "I think I'm gonna call it for tonight."

"Something wrong?" Bruce asks immediately, all gruff-batman-voice.

"No, just- it's slow tonight, and Bernard wants my help with something so I thought it would be fine. If you want me to finish my patrol, I can." He can't help it. Even now, he always kind of feels like he isn't doing enough to be a good vigilante.

"Nah, kid. I think we'll be fine without you." Hood answers, unsurprisingly.

"You're sure?"

"Yeah go make out with your boyfriend or whatever."

Tim smiles at Hood's usual snark. It’s familiar in a steadying sort of way. He used to blush furiously whenever the others teased him about Bernard, but now it just feels like an easy constant. It’s maybe the most normal thing in his life, if he’s being honest.

"Okay. I'll make sure to get my report submitted by eight, promise." Tim is already en route to the nearest safe-house where he can change out of the suit, when he remembers he hasn't responded to Bernard yet.

Heading home rn. My place or yours? He hits send and then takes off once more. Excited to see his boyfriend, and determined to work through the newest puzzle.

[rainingincale]

.

[writersdrug]

OOOH bartender Simon when one of the regulars starts making comments about reader at the bar

Yes

Slight nsfw, someone makes derogatory marks about reader

Simon didn't understand why the man chose to be a regular at his bar. He never spoke much to the lad, Mitch, other than the occasional grunt and "'nother round?" Still, the bloke had been coming to his pub every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday night like it was his religion - it very well might've been - spilling his guts over neat whiskey about his failing marriage, his estranged children, and his shitty job. Simon was surprised he managed to keep one, with how much he was drinking on a Sunday night.

"Don't ever get a wife, Simon." Mitch says, fidgeting his empty whiskey glass in his fingers. He'd already come in with a sour expression and droopy eyes - Simon wondered what the topic would be for tonight, but as usual, it steered towards his divorce waiting to happen.

"Already got one." He says, jerking his head to the liquor shelf. "Woodford."

Mitch laughs, letting Ghost take his empty glass and dunk it in the wash basin. "You got anyone waitin' for you after work?"

Ghost clicks his tongue, wiping the condensation off the bar top. "Rather not talk about my personal life 'ere."

"Bah - you need something young n' fresh." Mitch sighs, tapping his fingers against the wood. "Guy like you can't have something too committed, or else your work ethic will suffer."

Ghost grunts as his response. He reminds himself that Mitch was a customer, like everyone else, and he only has to tolerate his yapping for tonight - until next Friday.

Mitch turns his head to look at you, and Simon follows with his eyes: you're standing at a table, bantering with the couple seated there as you take their orders. Hair pulled back into that weird claw clip thingy Simon likes so much, posture relaxed as you leaned on one hip, a soft smile on your face as the couple takes their time placing their orders. He remembers how unfamiliar you were with it all in the beginning, and now it looks like you've been working here for the past ten years. Like you belong in his pub.

"How's she handling the job?" Mitch asks.

Simon shrugs. "Seems t' be managing just fine. Gets away with more shit than I should be allowin' 'er."

Mitch chuckles, looking back at you. "They always do when they look that good." He comments, making Ghost pause. "Price knew what he was doin' hiring her."

He feels his muscles tense subconsciously. "I hired 'er."

Mitch looks back at him, a wicked smile spreading across his face. "Simon, you ol' dog..." he begins, leaning his forearms onto the bartop. "Gotta keep the customers comin' somehow, eh?"

Ghost blinks. "I don't follow." He does; but he's giving Mitch a chance to redeem himself after his insinuation.

"C'mon, was it her face? What she wore to the interview? Did Johhny-boy see her and beg you to hire her?" He leans in towards Simon, who obliges and meets him halfway, just to hear what else the prick will say, so he knows how much damage he can justify.

"I'm telling you - the only reason she probably took the job was, well.." he raises and eyebrow.

Simon waits. "Hmm?"

"You know - three big guys like you lot - not to mention that old brewmaster assistant, Garrick, I know he frequents here... well, any desperate thing like her would be throwing themselves at the opportunity."

He's livid. "Wha' opportunity?"

"Gettin hit from all sides, if you catch my drift."

Ghost nods slowly, biting the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood. He wants to punch a hole through Mitch's chest, but two patrons roughhoused in one week would make Price get on his case. He turns to the bar and grabs a whiskey glass.

"Aww, don't be like that..." Mitch says when he senses Ghost's anger. "I'm sorry. Listen - if you don't want to show her a good time, me and my buddy will. I'll leave my number and you'll give it to her for me?"

"Drink this, sober up, and go home Mitch." Ghost says, slapping the glass of clear liquid in front of the man. Mitch eyes him with a huff as he returns to washing the glasses in the bar sink.

"Fuckin' loser..." he mumbles, grabbing the glass and downing a large gulp - he immediately sputters, the drink spilling all over his front as he coughs and hacks violently. The entire floor looks over at the commotion, you included, standing by the POS and watching with a furrowed brow.

"Fuck- was that goddamn Everclear?!" He rasps.

"I think it's time y' head out, Mitch." Ghost says, leaning both of his hands against the bar. "Call your wife and kids. Stop comin' 'ere every week." He then leans in close, right in front of Mitch's face. "Cuz if I see you back at my bar again, I'm draggin' you out the back myself."

His eyes crinkle with a smile as he claps Mitch on the arm, making him jump from the impact. He quickly gets up off his seat and stumbles towards the front door, sparing one last bitter glance between you and Ghost, before he angrily shoves his way out.

Ghost sighs, putting the Everclear back on the shelf; you walk over right on cue. "What was that about? He ok?"

Simon shrugs, closing Mitch's tab on his POS and assigning an auto-gratuity. "Dunno. Maybe my advice finally got t' the bastard."

[aliteralsemicolon]

I'll wait for your love - 18+

See part 1 | See Part 2 | Part 3 of We can't be friends (wait for your love)

The only thing you’re sure of is that you don’t want things to go back to the way they were and Spencer agrees that change may be for the best.

Spencer Reid X Fem! Reader

DISCLAIMER This story is NSFW and contains graphic depictions + detailed descriptions of adult content. It is intended for mature audiences only, minors do not interact!  You are responsible for the content you consume. Make sure to read all necessary warnings. Please remember this is a work of fiction; if you don’t like it, don’t read. 

WARNINGS: Panic attack mentioned, slight PTSD depictions, case details (barely) mentioned, alcohol mentioned like once. Smut (not the focus at all): making out, nipple play, clitoral stimulation, praise, use of pet names (angel, pretty girl, etc). Proceed at your own risk.

Word count: 10.4K See notes at end for authors note & spoilers.

Avoiding Spencer wasn’t overly difficult on the flight back to D.C. You weren’t entirely sure how to face him after he risked his life for you, so you just pretended to be asleep the whole time. You even took a separate jeep from the tarmac to avoid a car ride back with him, and almost made a clean getaway to your car in the parking lot when Hotch stopped you. 

“I’m sorry to hold you back, but I do need the Anchorage report on my desk before tomorrow morning. It can’t be put off any longer.”

He looked extremely apologetic and you understood. You’re grateful he gave you as much time as he has. That’s how you ended up stuck at work til the later hours of the evening. Besides the few workaholics, security guards and janitors roaming around the corridors, the only other person there with you is Spencer, oddly. Even Hotch has gone home. You’ve spent more time stalking the doctor work through the pile of case files on his desk than you have writing in the one on yours. Only when you're caught do you look away. 

“Everything okay?” The innocent curiosity in his big eyes further reddens the hot embarrassment in your cheeks.

“Fine.” You mutter, dipping your head back down to the open page.

You’re never going to get this damn file done if you can’t get him out of your head, and him being barely three feet away from you doesn’t help. It’s very difficult for you to get your words from pen to paper. Anchorage wasn’t haunting you like it did at first. It was a traumatic event, yes, but alone isn’t the cause of this…block. Obviously the reality that you’re leaving is starting to dawn on you. Somehow your mind has linked this case with your departure and finishing this report makes it more official than your actual resignation. 

Plus, as much as you definitely hate Spencer, you do did care for him. The shock of him almost getting himself killed in front of you is another thing occupying your mind. It’s barely been twenty four hours since then, it’s still fresh. You can see him stand and grab his satchel in your peripheral vision, he’s preparing to leave. There are a lot of memories attached to that brown leather bag. 

Things he would carry in there for you when you forgot your own bag. 

You don’t make it obvious that you’re watching him gather his things in small glances. 

He bought extra hair clips for you to keep in there because you would often forget those too. 

It’s over now. No point in dwelling on it. You shake your head once he’s out of sight, trying to force him out of your thoughts. Now that he’s gone you’re hoping to actually be able to get some work done.

He taught you chess with the mini chess set he keeps in there. You discovered that you actually quite liked chess and would ask to play with him all the time. It was also his ‘secret’ weapon to help you calm down. 

You roll your eyes to push back the tears from the memories that refuse to stop playing. This can wait until you get home, it’s not important. 

It wasn’t the chess set that helped you feel calm. Spencer could win chess against you in just a few moves, but he would deliberately stretch out the game so you could have room to breathe. The longer the game, the more time you had to spend focused on the moves and slow down your thoughts. You could open up at your own pace. He would let you feel in control.

It doesn’t matter if he’s near you or not, Spencer has a way of invading your headspace wherever he is. Your train of thoughts is interrupted with a light thud on your right. You covertly roll the tears away again and turn to examine the source of the noise. A mug of coffee placed on your desk by

“Spencer?” You sputter breathlessly. 

“Sorry. I know you told me to stop. This is the last time I promise.” 

You don’t fully comprehend what he’s going on about, not expecting him to be here at all. 

“I thought you left.”

“I did– was. I was leaving, but I thought I’d make you some coffee before I go. Since you’ve been here a while.” He awkwardly explains. 

You steadily direct your attention back to the mug, reeling in what was happening. 

“Before you get mad, this really is just a cup of coffee from a colleague who thought it might help keep you energised if you’re planning to stay late. There’s no ulterior motive…”

He continues rambling but you’re not mentally present to hear any of it. 

He made you coffee. 

Even though you’ve been nothing short of an absolute bitch. Granted he was a bitch first, but the point is that he’s still thinking of your well being regardless. You can’t hide your tears from him this time. It’s the soft buzz of your name that draws you back to him. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you! I’ll take the coffee–”

His panicked sentiment is cut short when you jump out of your seat and shove past him. The breakdown you’ve been avoiding hits you like a ton of bricks. You run into the nearest empty office and he runs after you, making it past the door before you can lock him out. 

“Spencer p–please get out! I’m fine.” You’re pacing in the same spot, fanning away the stream falling down your cheeks, hyperventilating.

He doesn’t respond to you, instead cautiously taking your hand in his. You’re in too frenzied a state to care. He guides you to sit on the couch against the wall and you blindly go along with it, still trying to get yourself together. 

You want to stop the tears, but you can’t do that until you get your breathing under control. He slowly wraps his arms around you and you slump into him, head buried in his chest. You should try to fight it, you should push him away, but you can’t. Right now, surrounded by his scent, held in his arms, you don’t want to move. It’s not something you can properly explain, but the feeling is so comforting that nothing else matters. All you know is that you’re safe and that’s enough for you to allow yourself to finally break down. 

The first few sobs are loud, like there’s not enough air in the world to stabilise your lungs. They fizzle out into silent whimpers and you grasp onto the fabric of his sweater, balling it in your fist, just letting yourself feel. Spencer still hasn’t said a word. His right hand is rubbing circles on your back and his left hand is gently scratching just above the nape of your neck. 

You stay like that for a while, even after you’ve stopped crying. It’s been so long since you’ve been in this little bubble with him and you don’t want it to end. You pull away when you feel the strap of his satchel across his stomach as your hand drops to his lap. He visually follows every move you make. 

“You’re still wearing your bag.” You sniffle, leaning back. 

“I am.” He whispers, understanding that you no longer want to be touched. 

He stays in his original position; facing you, but now with one arm resting on top of the backrest and the other idly in his lap. You’ve moved so that now you're facing ahead with your back leaning against the cushions, pulling your knees into your chest. You had never found comfort in silence until the first time you experienced it with Spencer. Staying huddled, you divert your eyes towards him. There’s a distinct wet patch on his shirt. It’s less visible on his sweater-vest, but it’s there. 

“Your shirt’s wet now.” It’s almost impossible to make out what you’re saying with your mouth muffled against your arm, but of course, Spencer manages anyway. 

“It’ll dry.” He smiles, tone delicate. 

“But– germs.” You choke a little due to your previous crying. 

“It can be washed.” He’s using his comforting voice again. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

The silence resumes. Neither of you dares to move, trying to freeze this moment. It’s obvious that you didn’t grasp how badly you craved each other’s presence. 

“D–do…” The initial sound grabs Spencer’s full attention again. You take a deep breath, hoping he wants to stay here as much as you do. “Do you still carry that little chess set with you?”

A small, airy chuckle comes out from him. 

“Would you like to play?”

“Please.” 

He creates some more space between you and begins to set up the board once he’s pulled it out of his satchel. You move to accommodate the set up, now facing him with your legs crossed on the couch and shoes abandoned on the floor. You wait for him to make the first move. After the opening moves the game doesn’t seem to get any harder and you know he’s throwing the game. You’re okay at chess, but he’s obviously a lot better. 

“You’re going easy on me.” You mumble.

“Because you’re not even trying.” He replies blithely.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Like I said, you’re making it too easy.” He gently teases.

“Not that. Helping me. You hate me, remember?” You say it like it’s the most casual thing in the world. 

“I don’t hate you.” 

“You literally told me that you hate me.” You chuckle, numb to the hurt that sentence once brought you. 

“So did you.” He counters in defence, trailing your hand as it carelessly moves your queen to her demise. 

“I was angry.” 

“So was I.” He spared your queen, in turn leaving his king vulnerable. 

“It doesn’t matter now…” You don’t finish the rest of your sentence but Spencer still hears it.

You’re leaving soon anyway.

“It matters to me.” If he left something unsaid you choose to ignore it. 

“You’re letting me win.” You whisper, feeling the urge to cry some more, but there’s no tears left. 

He doesn’t make a move, bringing the game to a halt. He’s waiting for you to meet his eyes. You know what he’s going to say. 

“Spencer, don't.” You beseech.

“Why?” If you looked at him instead of the board you’d see the way his eyes are pleading at you. 

“There’s no point.” This time it’s your voice that cracks. 

You're looking everywhere else and it makes you too aware of your surroundings. Like how the couch is lined up directly under a window that anyone could peek into. 

“Leaving is not the only option.” He solicits. 

He regards your discomfort and closes the blinds from where he’s sitting, pulling you back into the privacy of your bubble. 

“There’s nothing that you can say to make things go back to how they were.” You bite the inside of your cheek, fiddling with a random pawn. 

It’s not a proper two way conversation. You’re talking to yourself just as much as Spencer’s talking to you. You’re both trying to convince you of what you’re saying. 

“Things don’t have to go back to how they were.” The squeaks in his soothing tone are starting to melt any resolve you have left. 

“There’s no reason for me to stay.” You oppose, trying to make any argument stick.

“I can think of more reasons for you to stay than for you to go.” 

There’s an underlying tension bubbling. Neither of you notice it over your desperate tug of war. 

“I don’t think there’s anything that you can say to get me to stay.” Another baseless sentence meant more for you than for him. 

“Give me one chance. One chance to convince you.” He can see your internal struggle at his request and he throws out one final plea to sway you. “For nothing more than closure.” 

Closure.

You’ve spent months in turmoil over the hows and the what ifs, trying to conjure answers to questions that wouldn’t stop pestering you. You couldn’t turn him down even if you wanted to. 

“Closure?” You repeat, eyes finally latching onto his.

“Closure.” He whispers back in reassurance. 

“Even if you can’t convince me?” You caution, not wanting to give him false hope.

He doesn’t say anything, thinking over the scenario in his head. He simply nods and you mimic the action, blinking away the blur in your vision and dragging around chess pieces. It takes Spencer a second to figure out that you were moving them back to their default places.

“Okay new game.” You announce. 

Spencer blinks in confusion, waiting for you to elaborate. 

“I can ask you any question I want and you have to answer honestly. If by the end of the game I’m not convinced to stay, you back off for the remainder of my time here.” You pause for him to interject, but he doesn’t. “That means we stay away from each other, only talking when needed for work. Even then as cordially and professionally as possible. No more trying to make casual conversation or bringing me coffee or anything like that.”

“Till the end of the game?” He studies you. 

“Yup.” You smack your lips together. “Til one of us checkmates the other.”

“This means you’ll actually give me a fair shot?” 

“Between the two of us, I’m not the one known for cheating at games.” You jab, trying to ease the tension you could definitely feel now. 

“I meant a fair shot at convincing you. As in you’ll seriously take what I have to say into account.” He discards your attempt.

“No, I know. The opportunity was just too good to pass up.”

He can tell you’re trying to hold back a laugh from the small smile on your lips. It’s as adorable to him now as it was the first time he saw it. 

“Any rules before we start?” He asks, unable to hide his own smile.

“Only that we have to be honest.” You answer, immediately dropping your smile.

“Okay.” He agrees, smiling slightly wider.

“Okay.” You nod again.

When he finally makes the first move it hits you that you don’t actually know where to start. Theoretically, you know what you want to ask, but don’t know how to ask. You don’t know if you should jump straight into the questions or start with some ice breakers. Nothing is said for about four to five moves when Spencer pauses the game. 

“Are you going to ask any questions or have you decided that you just want to play one last game for your closure?”

“Huh?” You snap your vision away from the board. “Oh, sorry. I was thinking.”

“Do you want to return to the game after thinking of a few questions to ask?” He raises his brow and relaxes his jaw.

“No, no, we don’t need to do that. Let’s keep playing, the questions will come to me.” You brush off his suggestion and motion for him to continue with his turn. He doesn’t.

“What?” Your voice raises and you scrunch your nose from perplexity.

“Sorry, it’s just that you’ve put us on a time limit and this is how you’re using our time?” He airs, failing to conceal his amusement.

“Well excuse me if I don’t exactly have a list of questions ready to go for you.” You narrow your eyes in annoyance. 

“Why would you suggest this if you don’t have any questions?” He tries to hold back his laugh and ends up snorting as a result. 

“I have questions!” You jabber, unable to maintain your annoyance. “I don’t know what– where do I even start?”

“Start with whichever one comes to you first.” He shrugs, finally making his move. 

A lot of things come to mind when you think about it. The thing that screams the loudest twitches a nerve and you become instantly irate. 

“Okay.” You nod, tone harsh and flat. “Let’s start with whatever the fuck possessed you on the last case. What was your thought process when you put your life in danger like that?”

He almost gets whiplash from the change in mood, his face literally reads ‘are you serious?’. 

“He was going to shoot you.” He states like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

“I was wearing a vest, I would’ve been fine.” You contend. 

“I wasn’t willing to take that risk.” 

“Risk?! You literally put yourself in danger for no reason!” 

“I think it was a pretty good reason actually!” 

“Spencer that was–” You stop yourself with a grumble, inhaling deeply. 

“It was instinctual, okay?” He softly explains. “I saw him aim the gun at you and I just reacted.” 

“Well it was a stupid reaction!” You whine. 

“I’m not going to apologise for it.”

The glare you give is piercing, you bite the inside of your cheek to hold your tongue before you say something you can’t take back. Spencer throws his head back and sighs. 

“But I will promise not to do it again.” He adds, not fully intending to keep it. 

This was slowly turning into another argument, both of you shooting back too fast with your responses. You aren’t in the mood for another argument. So you redirect your attention to the game. 

“Check.” You mumble, buying yourself time to think of another question. “Why are you here so late anyway?”

“I wanted to finish some work before tomorrow morning.” He replies, moving his king to safety. 

“Yeah, what’s up with that? You could’ve done those tomorrow as well.” Your voice softens out of curiosity. 

“I wanted to get them finished in case there were more tomorrow.” It’s not his best excuse. You don’t know what he means by that. He doesn’t know what he means by that. He’s lying to you. 

You scoff, poking your tongue against your cheek. “Wow. You really can’t not cheat during a game, can you?” 

“Right, sorry.” Spencer clears his throat after the initial confusion clears. Complete honesty, it was your only rule. “I wanted to be here.”

“For…” You egg on, purposely rolling your ‘r’s to prompt him. 

“I wanted to make sure that you were okay.” He admits, looking away from you. 

“Why?” You’re genuinely puzzled at the admission. “You’re the one who almost died. I mean, it was stupid and your fault, but still. If anything I should be checking up on you.”

“Check.” That’s the only response he gives you. He hopes that you don’t push further, but he knows that you will. 

His lack of response only forces you to think about the possible reasons by yourself, using context clues to figure it out. You are a profiler, after all. 

“Is this because of the panic attack?” You note how his jaw twitches when he swallows at the mention. “It is! You seriously chose to spend your night stuck at the office because of that?” 

“What else was I supposed to do? It’s not like you would talk to me, you literally refused to even look at me!” He gripes. 

“Spencer I think anyone would panic if they got tackled to the ground by a six foot man without warning. I’m fine.” You giggle.

“What happened to complete honesty?” It’s his turn to glare at you.

“I am being honest!” You protest.

“Lying by omission is not being honest.” He rolls his eyes.

“Okay Mr. know-it-all, what am I lying about?” You challenge.

“Seriously? You don’t remember?” His approach is doubtful and he just stares at your dazed expression.

“Fucking spit it out already, Spence!” 

Any sarcasm he had geared up for a response dissipates at your use of his nickname. He’s heard it plenty in the last few months, but not from you. For a moment things feel like they never changed. It stings in a bittersweet kind of way. 

“You sc–screamed– uh–” He clears his throat and rapidly blinks, his nose twitches in the process. “During that panic attack, you repeatedly asked me to stay with you. Y–you, uh– you said you didn’t think you could li–”

“Stop. Stop. Stop talking.” Your voice quavers and you hold your hand up, ears burning up. “I don’t wanna know.”

You don’t know why it makes your heart race the way it does, you don’t even remember it. He waits a while before speaking up again, wanting to be careful about how he goes about the topic without you shutting down.

“May I ask you a question?” He voices professionally, trying to make the conversation less personal so you don’t feel cornered. 

You nod, moving your king out of check.

“Is there anybody you will talk to about Anchorage? Without pushing them away?” He keeps the game going as he speaks to provide you with a distraction. 

“Woah– Anchorage? Where is that coming from?” You titter.

“I want you to remember that we promised to be honest and I won’t push if you ask me to stop, but I know for a fact that you aren’t okay.” He waits for you to stop him but you don’t, even though you know roughly what he’s going to say. “Panic attacks aside, your avoidant behaviour around the topic, inability to focus, being easily startled, you’re showing signs of PTSD.” 

“Spence, c’mon. I don’t need to talk to anyone. I already passed the psych evals.” You attempt to make light of the situation with carefully chosen words so you’re not lying. It was a futile attempt, you know he’s not willing to budge when he doesn’t give you anything more than a blank stare. 

“Why does this matter so much to you?” You sigh in defeat. “Whatever happened…that’s a part of the job, you know that.”

“I also know, first hand, that it takes over your life. You can’t run from it, no matter how much you try to.” His tone is soft as he speaks, yet you feel like he’s accusing you. 

“I am not running! Why would you say I’m running?” You object with a high voice, shrugging your shoulders. “And it’s not taking over my life. Also, check.”

“Because that’s what you do when you don’t want to deal with something.” He states point blank.

“Woah– so– that was entirely unnecessary.” You stammer, unable to deny it. 

“I’m not criticising you. I just happen to know you and I know that you have a tendency to run from your problems. And it is taking over your life.” 

“You’re profiling!” You gasp.

“You know that it’s not something we can just turn off! No matter how much we pretend like we can.” He waves his hands defensively. 

You can’t argue with that, your lips twisting to the side. 

“You want me to be honest?” You murmur sheepishly. 

“Always. Please.” He responds gently, wanting you to be as comfortable as possible.

“I don’t want to talk about it. I spend a good chunk of my day actively avoiding thinking about it, but somehow I always end up thinking about it anyway. At times it’s like I can almost feel…” You breathe in instinctively. “This is the first time in months I’ve been able to do anything without it lingering in the back of my mind. Can we please talk about it another time? I would rather talk about other things…”

Another time. 

“...right now.” 

You’ve implied that there will be another time to talk and he definitely caught it, even if he pretends that he hasn’t. You don’t even know if what you said is true, you got too comfortable with the familiarity of his friendship. It was something you said out of habit from back when you two actually were friends. Not even a full hour's worth of conversation with him and he’s already worming his way back in.

“Um–” You drag yourself further back on the couch, creating more physical distance. 

“That’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it at all.” Spencer senses your urgency to leave the situation and jumps into damage control. “It’s your turn.”

“No, um, I should– I should go. Thanks for doing thi– helping me.” You turn away from him, aiming for your shoes and ready to bolt.

“The game’s not over.” He points out.

“Yes it is.” You declare, still in the process of putting on your shoes.

“You said til checkmate.” He huffs, shifting out of his seated position. 

“I forfeit!” You throw your arms out in a shrugging manner, standing up after him.

“I can’t believe this. You’re going back on your word!” He doesn’t even raise his voice. He’s just hurt. 

“What’s the point, Spencer? Closure doesn’t mean anything, I’m still leaving! You can’t magically change my mind!” You yell, getting louder with each sentence. 

“I disagree. I think that you’re running again!” He blocks your way and yells back, maintaining his volume throughout. 

“Maybe you should think less!” You suggest, still yelling. Sarcasm is your defence mechanism when you have no actual defence. 

“You know what else I think?” He continues, emphasising the word ‘think’ every time he says it out of spite. “I think that you agreed to this thinking I won’t be able to convince you, but I am!”

“I don’t care what you–”

“I think you don’t want to finish the game that you started, because you’re afraid to ask the harder questions!”

“Stop.” You command, but it doesn’t deter him.

“I think that you’re scared to hear my answers because then it all becomes too real for you–” 

“Stop!” The words almost get stuck in your throat, but you choke them out. “You’re wrong.” 

“If I’m wrong then prove it. To both of us.” He sits back down and motions to the board. “Ask the real questions.” 

“I don’t need to prove anything, you’re wrong.” You uphold.

“So leave.” He challenges, knowing that you won’t be able to. 

If you truly believed that he’s wrong you wouldn’t feel the need to prove it, but you do and he knows that. You walk back over to the couch, head nodding from irritation, tongue poking your cheek. You kick your shoes off with a bit of force and return to your earlier position across from him. 

“Your move.” He reminds you as you settle in.

You don’t reply yet, but move your rook to set him up for the next move.  

“Check.” He smugly states.

“Who was she?” 

You don’t move, examining him close for any change in his behaviour. He obviously didn't anticipate that question first, snapping his sights back on you. 

“Sorry?” 

“The woman who greeted me at your door. That night at your apartment.” 

“Charlotte.” He replies, holding your gaze to show you he’s got nothing to hide. “We met at the library a week before.”

“Are you guys together?” You break away first, diverting your eyes to the chess board and trying to seem unfazed when moving your knight. 

“No, God, no.” He denies immediately. 

“I don’t know, she seemed pretty cosy for someone you met a week prior.” You don’t mean to sound as snide as you come across.

“No, it wasn’t like that at all.” He shakes his head. 

“You sure? Because I’m pretty sure I saw her mark you up with a kiss on your cheek before disappearing.” You don’t look at him, examining a captured pawn as you wait for him to make his move. 

“Mark me up?” He cognizes it instantly. “Are you…jealous?”

“What? No!” You vehemently deny, your voice rising in several pitches. 

“You are!” His eyes widen. 

“I am not jealous.” 

His jaw slacks and he lets out an amused scoff. He doesn’t say anything, making you feel the need to fill the silence. 

“I only bring it up because…I know you have a thing with…germs.” Your words falter because of your own uncertainty and you want to dissolve into the fucking floor. 

Spencer tries to suppress a smile by poking his tongue out slightly. If the atmosphere was lighter he’d tease you about it, but he doesn’t want to make you take off again. Still, he feels the need to clarify the events of the night. 

“I don’t know why she kissed my cheek, it was completely random.” He takes his time saying it, still fighting a smile.

You swallow nervously and purse your lips to the side in response. One question answered and you only have new ones in its place. Did she stay the night? Did she sleep on the couch or on his bed? Did he see her again? 

“I drove her home right after you left.” He can almost hear your thoughts. 

“Was it a date?” You softly gulp again, unsure if you even have a right to know.

“Yes.” He hesitates. 

“Oh.” 

“I wanted to try out casual dating for once.” He chagrins. “I honestly don’t know how you did it, it’s not even fun.” 

“No it’s not.” You chuckle dryly. “So no second date, I presume?”

“Definitely not. I was just stressed the whole time.” He chuckles with you. 

“Take a shot of tequila before you go next time, it helps settle the nerves.” You joke, jumping to give him advice you hope he doesn’t take. You can’t help it, it’s what you’ve always done. Even if it goes against what you desire. 

“While moderate consumption of tequila can help relax the nervous system, I will not be turning to alcohol for stress relief.” 

“Then blast classical music while you get ready and give yourself a pep talk out loud, it’s actually really efficient–”

“There won’t be a next time. For a really long time, if ever.” He interjects, miffed at your insistence. 

“You willingly plan on committing to lifelong celibacy?” You exclaim with a puzzled look. “Why?!”

Spencer laughs at how raw your reaction is. He didn’t plan on giving out any more details but, with that prompt he decides that it’s now or never. 

“I don’t think any future dates will appreciate me picturing someone else in their place the whole time.” 

Oh. 

Both of you lock eyes at the same time. This is not a road you’re prepared to go back down, even if that’s literally the whole point of this conversation. You’re too stunned to reply and Spencer uses this as an opportunity to be elaborate. He doesn’t want any misunderstandings this time. 

“I couldn’t stop pictur–”

“Shut up.” You blurt out the sentence in almost one word. 

Your heart’s racing like you’re standing on the edge of a cliff. You’re flustered, every part of your body is heated from how terrified you are.

“Y–you don’t have t–t…you don’t owe m–me an explanation.” You try to elaborate, contradicting yourself and stumbling on your words.

“I want to.” He reads that you’re apprehensive but pushes regardless. 

“Please don’t.” The tears that you thought had dried out were building again.

“Why ask if you won’t let me answer?”

You don’t have anything to say to that. Did you want answers? Yes. Still, you didn’t expect how hard they’d be to hear. He whispers your name and you scramble to think of your next move, and not in chess. You’re unable to even think about the game right now. You want to bolt, but you can’t even get yourself to move. So you deflect. 

“Because it doesn’t matter.”

“I disagree.” Although his tone is subdued, the pace of his wording is faster. “I think it does matter and that’s why you’re afraid to hear it.”

He’s right but you can’t bring yourself to agree. This is only going to over-complicate an already complicated situation.

“It’s not enough.” Your voice cracks.

“How can it be if you won’t even give it a fair shot?” 

“Fair?” 

It comes out louder than you intended. His words trigger resentment within you and you snap. 

“Nothing about any of this is fair! I mean, fucking hell, Spencer, four years. That’s how long we’ve been friends. I mean I’ve shared shit that I thought I would be taking to the fucking grave with you! You were my best friend for four fucking years and all it took was like, five seconds?”

You sob, softer than when you were first crying, but the frustration is clear. He reaches out to touch your hand, but you push his hand away. 

“No!” You choke, sobbing harder when you try to compile your thoughts. “Five seconds to destroy all of it! It makes me wonder if everything we shared, our friendship, was it ever even that strong?”

Your anger simmers to sadness, as evident with how your yelling fades into whispering in the last sentence. 

“I can’t even tell you when exactly those five seconds were. I mean, I know…but…I don’t. Where did it go wrong, Spence?” 

“I don’t know.” Is all he can say after a beat of silence.

He knows exactly where it went wrong. 

“Yeah, me neither!” You sniffle, immediately wiping a single tear that manages to escape. “So again, it doesn’t matter.” 

“When you took it back.”

“What?” 

“That’s where everything changed for me. You showed up at my apartment drunk, after your date with Nathan. Your exact words were ‘I mean as an amazing friend’.” His voice strains like he’s forcing himself to speak. 

Your gaze falls, eyes darting everywhere as you try to jog your memory beyond the one sentence you remember. 

“I don’t understand.” You croak.

“You know, if I wasn’t who I am, maybe you could love me the way I love you.” He chuckles bitterly, fighting back tears of his own. “That was– that was, uh, what you said before you took it back.”

“Spence, please…” You whine without sound, tilting your head back and chewing on your lip as a final attempt to stay composed. 

“No, you wanted to know where it went wrong.” He laughs falsely to downplay his tears. “You can say it doesn’t matter all you want, but the fact is, it does matter. It matters to me and I won’t let you run from it anymore.” 

You can’t look at him. Not with tears free falling down your face. You cup your hands together in your lap, pressing your fingers and nails together. 

“You told me that I couldn’t love you.” You struggle to sound your words. 

“I’m an idiot.” Another chuckle, but he sounds defeated. “When you said that, all I could think about was how badly I wanted to say that I do love you.” 

You tearfully laugh at this admission. 

“I only took it back because of what you said. I panicked. I thought I’d ruined things…which I guess, I still did.” Another laugh from you.

Spencer responds with the same regretful sound. 

The irony spurs another fit of giggles amongst you, this one slightly longer and infinitely more rueful than the last. You look anywhere but at each other until it grows quieter. 

“If you loved me, why the fuck would you tell me that I couldn’t love you?” You sound just as, if not more, defeated than him. 

“Love.” Spencer corrects without missing a beat. 

Your brows twitch up and your heart jumps. 

“I was so hung up on every single part of your sentence that I didn’t know what to say first.” He proceeds to answer you without leaving much room to process what he said. “I wanted to tell you that I do love you. I love you as you are. Not as somebody else.”

“But you didn’t say any of that.” You ignore all his admissions, not fully comprehending. 

“Like I said, I’m an idiot. I was in so much disbelief and that was the first thing that came out of my mouth.” He sullenly huffs.

You don’t reply, sniffling with your head down. 

“For like a second, I had everything I wanted. Then you took it back and it was like my whole world had been ripped out from under me. In those five seconds, you’d given me a taste of what I’d spent four years convincing myself I couldn’t have and I just– I couldn’t go back after that.” He adds after a stillness. 

After a short while, your focus shifts from your hands to the board in front of you. The game’s been long forgotten. You’re immersed in the conversation, in spite of how strenuous it is. 

“I understand why you were distant, even mean, at first.” You snivel. “But after a while you just became downright cruel.” 

Spencer doesn’t shy away from your gaze when you do look at him. His skin is as drenched from crying as yours is. 

“I mean ‘I don’t want to see your face’? I know that I don’t really have a leg to stand on anymore, but, what the fuck Spencer?” 

He doesn’t cringe any less with every reminder. He’s truly regretted the words since they left his mouth. 

“I wanted to hurt you.” He reveals. “I thought you were being deliberately cruel and I wanted you to feel exactly how I was feeling.”

“Deliberately?” 

He nods, hanging his head.

“I thought that you knew how I felt and were just trying to be funny or something.” 

“Well I didn’t. I wasn’t.” You cut him off with a constricted voice.

“Even if you did, it’s not an excuse.” His eyes are glistening from the outpour of tears, but he still lifts his sights back to you. “I’m sorry.” 

You don’t know how to acknowledge his apology at all. You’re not even angry anymore, all you feel is sorrow and regret for the way everything happened. An entire friendship down the drain due to an unfortunate set of circumstances. 

“This is so fucked up.” You say with another mordant laugh. “All of this could have been avoided if we just talked about it.”

It stung less when you had somebody to blame for it. Your vision blurs and you make no effort to clear it, letting yourself cry openly. 

“We’re talking about it now?” It’s almost a squeak, the way it’s spoken.

“Yeah, but,” your shoulders slump, defeatedly, and you have to pause to control your sob, “what good does it do now? I’ve already lost the best thing that’s ever happened to me in the most pathetic way possible.”

“I’m right here.” He counters in such a small voice that it gives your goosebumps. 

“Spencer, too many things have been said…”

“When you first joined the team, I instantly knew I liked you.” 

He chews on his lip and darts his eyes around while he contemplates if he wants to continue. 

“I thought it was because of your kind nature. You were so sweet to everybody.” He decides he does, but his voice shakes throughout. “You have this gift…you make people feel so good about themselves. Whenever you spoke to me, I felt like the most important person in the world. It was impossible not to like you.”

You want to pretend like you don’t know where he’s going with this. You want to stop him, but your voice is stuck in your throat.

“It wasn’t until you bought me coffee for the first time that I realised just how much I liked you.” He chuckles again, as he reminisces in the memory. “You didn’t even get my order right until the fourth time, but it was still my favourite cup of the day.”

“You make me sound like a saint.” You finally choke out, attempting to play down the confession so it doesn’t crush your heart. “The only reason I even started bringing you coffee is because you learned how I like my coffee first.” 

“Not a saint, an angel. I’ve fallen so deeply in love with you that there are times where it genuinely feels like I’m in the presence of an angel.” 

It’s stated with such sincerity that it knocks the wind out of your pipes. Your eyes are widened and you’re biting your tongue with your mouth closed, staring at him with your chin tucked. He seems so confident, even with the glistening from previous tears in his eyes.

“I wanted to be in your life in any way you would have me. Even when it meant that I had to accept you with other people. And it was bearable, until…” His reminiscence only ends at the memory of the night that changed everything. “Like I said, I couldn’t go back.”

The last part fades into another whisper, only then do you find the courage to speak up. 

“Exactly.” You stick to your denial. “It can’t go back to how it was before.”

Your heart is so sure of what it wants, but your head is blinded by fear. You’re at a crossroads, except one path, the path that leads to everything you long for, is clouded with a fog of uncertainty. The other path is so painfully clear, you can practically see what’s on the other side. A fresh start, where the risk of fucking up further doesn’t exist. What you don’t see is Spencer.

“Good. I don’t want it to go back to how it was.” 

Spencer’s waiting for you to enter the fog. He’s going to be there holding your hand every step of the way. 

“I’ve already handed in my resignation.”

“That matters less than everything you’ve claimed doesn’t matter.” He leans in, intensifying his eye contact. 

“I’m pretty sure Hotch is really close to confirming my replacement.” You comment half-heartedly. 

You’re trying anything to dissuade both him and yourself from acknowledging the obvious, but he doesn’t plan on letting you avoid it. 

“I love you.” He whispers softly.

“Spencer…” You begin when he takes hold of your hands and whatever you had to say disappears from your tongue. 

“I love you. With every atom that makes up my body.” He repeats himself with further elaboration to instil it in your mind.

“I’m scared.” You whisper back with a sob, finally accepting it. 

“Why?” His voice can’t be any softer, but it still cracks a little.

“Because, you can’t guarantee that it’s going to end well.” You allow your vulnerability to peek through. “And that’s going to hurt more. I’d rather leave now than fall deeper.”

Although you didn’t say it back, it’s an indirect admission that you love him too. And it’s enough for him to fight harder.

“I know that my credibility isn’t the greatest,” he coaxes a small, sad scoff out of you, “but I truly believe that this, us, we’ll work. Because I know that I’m going to do everything I can to make this work.”

He feels bolder when you don’t pull away from his touch, folding your fingers into your palms and cupping over them. You observe the sight as it unfolds in lieu of a verbal response. 

“I’ve spent four years judging any man that comes into your life, wishing I was in their place, swearing I would treat you better than all of them.” 

Spencer feels the need to fill in the silence and he lets honesty guide his confession. He leans in further as if he’s indulging his deepest secret. 

“Four years wasted wondering what could be, cursing out those idiots, but taking no action to make it happen. And that makes me the biggest idiot out of all of them.”

When he speaks like this, with his big, imploring eyes and prayerful tone, it melts your heart to a point where it almost hurts. The more he talks, the more you begin to lean in, opening yourself up to him.

“It took losing you to realise how badly I fucked up and for that I will never forgive myself. I know that I have no right to ask you to waste any more time on me…”

There’s no more resistance against the pull you both physically feel to each other. 

“...but I’m begging you for a chance to do today what I should have done way before yesterday.” 

Your faces grow closer by the second, you can feel each other's breaths against skin.

“And I’m going to spend every tomorrow proving what I said today.” 

The likelihood of him changing your mind with one conversation wasn’t very high, both you and Spencer knew this when you got into it. You’re not entirely surprised when he somehow manages to overcome those odds too. You take the step to close the gap and lightly press your lips to his. 

It starts off soft, there’s no lust, no ulterior motive behind it. It’s a simple confirmation that you’re both present and this is real. Spencer doesn’t shy away from the kiss, not that you’d call this a kiss. It feels more intimate, more unguarded.

Spencer pulls you onto his lap as he shifts and leans back against the backrest to allow more room for you. You wrap your arms around him and the kiss deepens. In the midst of you straddling him, he slides the entire chess board off the couch and the pieces scatter on the floor. It’s only when you feel that the kiss can’t bring you any closer to him does the lust emerge. It fuels a desire to prove that you both whole-heartedly belong to each other. 

There’s no pinpointing when the switch happens. All you know is that the feeling of his lips against yours is no longer enough. You cup his jaw in your hands, swiping your tongue on his lower lip and it causes his grip on your waist to tighten. He parts his lips for you and it starts what you can only call a dance with your tongues. 

Your breathing grows hotter, your hips subconsciously grind against him. There’s a prominent bulge that brushes against your heat and you whine into his mouth. Spencer grunts your name in response and then abruptly pulls away.

“Wait, wait, wait, slow down.” He breathlessly whispers against your lips. 

“What?” You whisper back with concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He gazes into your eyes, afraid that you might regret this later.

“I’ve never been more sure, actually.” You’re confident at first but the look in his eyes makes you pull back further. “Unless…you’re not sure?”

“No, don’t misunderstand me. I want you.” His tone rises just above the previous whisper with his clarification. “It’s just that the last thing I want to do is take advantage of you when our emotions are running high.”

“Four years, Spencer.” You lean in again, just brushing your lips against his. “The only reason you should be making me wait is if you’re not sure.”

He shuts that idea down by crashing his lips on yours. The kiss is so hungry, so desperate, it’s everything both of you have longed for and denied yourselves everytime you’ve been in each other's presence. It doesn’t take long for hands to start to roam. He traces the curve from your waist to your hips, stopping just at the hem of your shirt, tugging it like he’s asking for permission. 

You rush to undo your buttons and he meets you halfway, starting at the bottom. His fingers brush against yours as you two reach the final button and you pull the fabric off yourself. You do the same with his shirt, lips remaining locked, except for the small gasps of air you take in between. It requires a bit more manoeuvring with him, but you’re both soon shirtless. 

His mouth travels to your jaw and you shut your eyes from pleasure as he continues down to your neck. The stubble on his chin tickles your skin. You cup it, gently pushing him away with a giggle. 

“Forget to pack a razor in your bag, Dr. Reid?” Your voice is teasing, more playful than seductive.

He chuckles, airily, hiding his groan. He knows you’re being sarcastic, but the use of his title, with your voice in this context, catches him off guard. You moan as you feel his growing bulge against your heat when his arms tighten around your waist, pulling you into his kiss. You swiftly undo the clasp of your bra, but before you can take it off, Spencer grabs you from just below the hips and lifts you up off him, gently laying you down on the seat of the couch. 

There’s no room for hesitation as his lips find your neck again and he nips at the skin. Every suckle earns him short gasps and the grip in his hair tightens as he travels lower. He stops just above your breast, pulling himself up to sit on his knees. You stare up at him with a heated gaze, the nail of your thumb resting between your teeth with your lips parted to make up for the loss of his lips. 

He reaches for your bra strap and begins pulling slowly, searching your eyes for any signs of you withdrawing consent. All he sees is how beautifully they sparkle when you give him a light nod. It’s been too long since he’s seen the stars that you hold in your eyes, stars he accustomed himself to before he even got to properly know you. 

Gazing into his eyes, you’ve never felt more sure, more safe. You trust him implicitly and you’ve never wanted anything more. His constant need to make sure you're comfortable sends shivers down to your core. He slides the garment off you and Spencer’s beyond grateful that he’s already on his knees, knowing that if he was standing he’d fall to them because of the sight below him. 

His eyes don’t falter once, he’s trying to permanently etch this moment into his brain. He hovers his fingers above your body, thumb brushing against your hardened nipple and you softly whine. He looks awestruck, almost like he doesn’t believe what’s happening. You can’t help but wonder if he thinks your boobs look weird. 

“Beautiful.” The words fall out of his mouth in a whisper, as if on cue. He’s really just thinking out loud.

Before you can respond he lowers down and plants a small peck to your sensitive nub before taking it into his mouth. You gasp again, head lolling back in pleasure. One of your hands goes for his hair, while the other clings to his hand that’s already holding yours. He switches between sucking, pulling and squeezing; rolling it between his tongue and uses his teeth to squeeze ever so slightly.

“S–spencer.” A strangled moan falls from your lips. 

You tug his hair, whining and moaning as your hips roll against the strain in his pants. When your motions become continuous, he lets out his own strained groan and is forced to release your nipple with a small ‘pop’. 

“Angel, I really need you to stop doing that.” He murmurs in your ear with a gentle, gravelly tone.

As soon as the nickname reaches your ears your hips involuntarily buck up again, making his hips automatically push down against yours. His cock presses against your core and you both moan, his head falling against your shoulder.

“Spence, more.” You quietly whine in against his ear. “I need more.” 

“More?” He echoes back, turning his head so that your lips brush past each other when speaking. 

“Mhm.” You nod weakly as he brushes a strand of hair out of your face and weakly connects his lips with yours.

Even when he’s got you vulnerable and at your most compromised, he’s still as gentle as ever. You don’t feel him undo your pants or sneak his hand in them, but you definitely feel him press the pads of his fingers against your clothed clit. Air escapes through your nose in a huff of surprise and you hum in his mouth, hips jolting at his touch. He can feel your slickness through your underwear. 

“Oh, my pretty girl.” He sighs, breaking the kiss and directing his whispers in your ear again. “All wet for me?”

“Please..” Even with your broken whimper you beg him for more. 

“Like this?” His deft fingers swipe your panties to the side, fingers landing directly on the clit this time. 

They feel cold at first. The contrast against your heated body makes you squirm and you groan in a soft, high pitch. 

“What are you feeling right now?” He pries a verbal response from you, circling your bud lightly. “Tell me.”

“Good.” You sigh, eyes shut as you try to savour the pleasure. 

“Good?” His voice is still soft against your ear.

“Mhm.” You nod, one arm draping against his shoulder and the other hand running along his scruffy jaw. “So good.” 

“And this?” He adds pressure to his movements. “Does this feel good?”

Your hips buck again and he feels rewarded when you moan. There’s no doubt that the sound of your voice is his favourite. He especially loves it when it’s directed at him. Whether that be in the form of a laugh or your sweet moans. It makes him somewhat dizzy. His lips attach to the skin just under your jaw in an attempt to coax more. 

It’s very effective. Fingers working your bundle of nerves, circling and flicking while changing the pressure, and mouth kissing and sucking near your pulse. It makes your back arch, hand gripping his shoulder so you don’t float away. He’s careful not to leave any purple traces of him on your neck, mindful of you being bombarded with questions from your colleagues.  

“I love how reactive you are, Angel. You sound divine– fuck.” He can’t help the grunt that escapes him. “You are divine.”

His touch alone is enough to make you feel electric, but the sweet nothings he’s whispering in your ear will be what send you over the edge. It’s a foreign feeling, being reminded that he values you for more than just your body. Just under an hour ago you had incredibly high walls built around you and none of them are left standing as you exposed under him.

Spencer’s not the first man to touch you, but he is the first that loves you. It’s something you’re not at all used to and it feels as overwhelming as it does good. It transcends the want, no, the need for the man on top of you beyond lust or love. You plan to show him just how strong that need is tonight. 

The carpeted floor is littered with your clothes, carelessly thrown around and tiny chess pieces scattered around the abandoned chess board. Spencer’s comfortably lying on the couch, facing the ceiling and you’re lying directly on top of him with your face buried in his neck. 

You run your fingers back and forth along his jaw, scratching his beard in slow streaks. He’s enveloped you in his arms, one around your lower back and the other playing with your hair. It doesn’t feel as peaceful as it seems, both of you are afraid of being the first to speak. You know you can’t stay like this forever and you decide to bite the bullet. 

“Spencer?” 

You only get silence from his end. You know he’s awake because his motions in your hair don’t stop. You push yourself up to face him, trying to study his face. The sudden movement brings him back from wherever he was zoned out to. 

“Hm?” His features jump.

Does he regret it?

“What’s wrong?” Your voice shakes from worry. “You have this look on your face.” 

“Nothing’s wrong. I’m just thinking.” 

“About…?” 

“How bad we are at communicating.” He chuckles. “It’s concerning when you think about how all we ever do is talk.” 

Hearing this makes you snort and you fall into him again. It sends both of you into a short fit of laughter. 

“Oh that’s promising for the success of this relationship.” You giggle, sarcasm evident. 

Hearing relationship makes Spencer inhale sharply. 

“So you’re staying?” 

“Well obviously, Dingbat.” You scoff playfully at the question and shift upright, straddling him. “But we really do need to get better at the communication thing for this to work.”

Spencer mounts his weight on his hands by either side of him and pushes himself up to you, stealing a deep kiss. 

“Yes, we absolutely do.” He whispers, breaking away for only a second. 

The kisses fizzle in you a plethora of smaller kisses. 

“Spencer, I’m– serious.” You voice in between, loosely draping your arms on his shoulders. 

“I am too.” He says in a hushed tone as he pulls away. 

“I want to take it– this,” you motion between the two of you with your finger, “us, slow. Not four years slow, but, like, by a couple of months at the very least.”

“Okay.” He agrees, his eyes scouring your face with complete adoration. It’s not ideal, but he understands where you’re coming from. 

“That means that we start again. Romantically. We have to talk about a lot of things first.” 

He shifts his body out from under you, resting his back properly against the couch and pulls you back into his lap in one swift motion. Both of his hands graze from your shoulder to your wrist.

“How about…you come over this weekend,” He suggests, wrapping his arms around your waist for a hug, “we’ll do snacks, a movie, maybe an actual game of chess.” 

“That sounds like a date.” You wrap your arms around his neck to return the gesture and lean your forehead against his. 

“It’s not a date. Not yet, anyways.” He whispers. “I’m asking you to come over this weekend so we can talk about things properly, because frankly, I don’t think either of us is in the right headspace for it right now.” 

“Should I be offended at that?” You giggle, not entirely sure what he’s alluding to. 

“No!” He snorts with a high tone. “Dopamine aside, our Norepinephrine and Serotonin levels are too high right now for us to have a proper conversation about this.” 

“I’m not saying that you’re wrong, because you’re not, but I also think you’re just using science to try and confuse me, so that I agree to wherever this speech is heading.” 

“It’s times like this where your attentiveness puts me at a disadvantage, because this tactic has a hundred percent success rate on everybody else.” He grins and you chuckle, both leaning in for another kiss. 

“Can we hold off on starting over? Just for tonight.” He reluctantly voices, not wanting to push any boundaries. 

You draw back and raise your eyebrows with your eyes widened. 

“Spence, I have waited for years for this. You’re insane if you think I’m giving that up without relishing in it for at least a night. We’re not starting over until we’re both officially back on the clock.” 

“Okay.” He heaves from relief, leaning in for another kiss, but quickly withdraws with a new question. “Don’t you think the team’s going to be suspicious when we’re not fighting tomorrow?”

“Forget them, what am I gonna say to Hotch when I ask to withdraw my resignation?” You huff out a tiny groan. “He’s gonna hate me for all this paperwork.”

Paperwork reminds you why you’re here to begin with. You audibly gasp, jumping off Spencer and scrambling to put your clothes back on. 

“Fuck! Spencer, get dressed!” 

Spencer doesn’t share your panic, but adheres to your demand. You mutter a continuous line of obscenities as you throw on your clothes and when you don’t seem to be getting calmer, he intervenes. 

“Hey, hey, hey!” He coos as he steps towards you, still undressed on the upper-half. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong is that we’ve been here for hours!” You shriek, now fully dressed. 

You push past Spencer and grab his shirt, deciding that he was too slow on his own. He lets you dress him as he probes further. 

“That’s okay. No one’s going to notice this late.” 

“No– Spence–” You sigh, throwing your head back. “In less than four hours, Hotch is going to walk into his office expecting the Anchorage report on his desk. I’ve barely been able to get half of it done in weeks, how am I going to finish it in four hours?”

You shake your head and begin working on his buttons. He grabs your wrists, urging you to look at him. 

“You’ll have it done in less than one. I’ll help you!” His voice is light, airy, soft and accompanied with a chuckle.

“Spencer, you’ve already been here later than you need to be. It’s okay–”

“Let me help you.” He resorts to pleading, releasing your wrists and cupping your face.

You don’t have it in you to argue, his eyes staring back at you with sincerity. He wants to help. There’s no point in pushing him away, because as scared as you are about being too vulnerable with your trauma from that case, you trust him wholeheartedly. You know he won’t push for more than what you choose to share right now.

“Okay.” You nod and smile into the kiss he leans in for after the confirmation. 

“Okay. Now, you go and start some coffee.” he instructs softly with a wide grin, waving to the scattered chess ensemble. “ I’m going to clean up here and join you.”

“I love you!” You lean for another kiss and hushedly exclaim as you break away, receding towards the door. 

It’s Spencer’s turn to lose his breath. He’s affirmed his love for you countless times tonight and this is the first time you’ve verbally reciprocated it. He knows that it won’t be the last time either. That, to him, makes him the luckiest man in the world. He stops you from going any further by your arm and gently yanks you in his direction, crashing his lips with yours. 

“I love you too.” He whispers after the kiss, letting you go. 

Heat rises in your face again and you struggle to hide a huge dopey smile, one that Spencer has too. You’re floating on cloud nine, finally out of the blurry hurricane you’ve endured for months. There’s still a lot of things that you need to work out, but the thought of them doesn’t make you feel dread like it once did. 

"One word frees us of all the weight and pain in life. That word is Love." - Socrates

Spoilers: Yapperoni (so much dialog in this chapter), BAU! Reader, enemies (kinda) to lovers, hurt, comfort, love confessions (they might be a little too sappy, idk, I was sleep deprived), the praise made me giddy at some point, smut but I edge you by not writing out everything, happy ending.

AN - I have a little tiny fear that people (me) will nawt (I don’t) fuck with this monstrosity, but out of all my drafts, this felt like the most natural course of action. I thought it would be really fun to go from friends to enemies to lovers. Now, literally nobody talk to me about writing fics after this. Uni’s started, so I’ll be very inconsistent for a bit. Casual reminder: I am not Spencer Reid. I don’t have an IQ of 187. Any facts I make him spew could very well be bull-shit and he only spews them for the purpose of the story. I also have no knowledge of how the FBI works and lack a ton of common sense. A lot of things were made up for the purpose of this story.

A comment today keeps semicolon away (from showing up to your house and eating all your snacks).

Thank you for reading!

[maxlarens]

OP: well, that isn't fucking relevant

pairing(s): oscar piastri x mercedes driver!reader

summary: someone tries to threaten your job, oscar has some choice words for him. (OR: the trials and tribulations of being a woman in a male dominated sport)

word count: 2.7k+

an: i kinda hate the white knight trope but i still wrote this lol, it scratches an itch and i think driver!reader did a sufficient amount of defending of herself beforehand. anyway, this is a one shot that's kind of connected to my smau series just a girl. enjoy!!!!! [also standard disclaimer: this does not reflect the opinions of any real life people/companies/organisations/etc. it is fiction. thank you]

You’re no stranger to sexism in Formula racing— you knew going into this that you’d have to deal with thinly veiled remarks about your gender and purposefully obtuse questions from reporters who think they know more than you about the sport you’ve dedicated your life to. You had to deal with it when you were karting, you had to deal with it during your stint in F2, and you have to deal with it now.

The fact of the matter is that some people do not think you belong here, and therefore are entirely unable to integrate the reality that you are very much here to stay, into their worldview. You’re lucky to have somehow earned Lewis’ loyalty, which had brought the Mercedes contract and the support of Toto simultaneously. Mercedes-AMG aren’t making leaps and bounds into the world of feminism, but you’re grateful for the seat regardless. You’re here and not going anywhere if you can help it.

You try your best to stay off the bad parts of social media, so as not to be subjected to the barrage of hate comments and death threats directed your way. You’re tough— but no one’s that tough. It’s fine for the most part. You focus on the racing, how the car feels, your performance and improving it weekend after weekend. You try at least. You’d love to leave your gender entirely out of the mix, you don’t think it’s relevant frankly. But unfortunately, the reporters do. (And so do some choice individuals working on the grid, who just can’t seem to keep their big fucking mouths shut about you.)

It’s disappointing, sure— but not surprising to sit down at a press conference and get a smattering of questions about your rumoured relationships and extracurricular activities when every other driver gets fifty questions practically thrown at them about their performance, or FIA regulations, or the track conditions. The part that bothers you the most is honestly just the lack of interest. It’s like they don’t think anything you have to say about the sport is valuable so they just don’t ask you the same questions they bother to ask the men. That probably is the actual case too.

So— y’know— you’re not that shocked when a reporter from some sports blog you’ve never heard of straight out asks if you “expect to be switched out with another female driver next year?”

The room goes dead fucking silent in a way that you do actually find satisfying. It’s good to know that most of the reporters in the room do know a tactless question when they hear one, or at least that you inspire enough fear in people that they’re waiting with bated breath to hear your response. Next to you, Oscar tenses, you can feel it where your thighs are touching. You can imagine his face right now without looking, that pinched micro-grimace he does. The barest hint of a crease in the bridge of his nose as he tries not to scowl. You want to put your hand on his knee and squeeze it in thanks.

You don’t. Instead, you frown and cock your head to the side, meeting the eyes of the reporter across the room.

Slowly, measuredly, you repeat, “I’m sorry, do I expect to be replaced with another female driver next year? Is that what you said?”

He nods, bringing the microphone closer to his mouth as if you really couldn’t hear him the first time, “Yes, yeah. That is what I asked.”

You hum, pursing your lips as if you’re sincerely considering his question. You can see a few people in the crowd who are cringing already, some of them have been on the receiving end of your tendency to play with your food before you eat it. Your ego feels pretty good about that.

“Why would Mercedes want to replace me?” you ask in your most polite voice, feigning real curiosity to this man who you doubt has done any research at all on you.

“Um,” he errs, some of his former unflappable confidence leeching out of his tone, “Well, to give more women a chance in Formula One—”

You start to speak over him, done with entertaining his ignorance. You bite, “—there are other teams for that, actually. I don’t think it’s presumptuous to say that I’ve earned my seat at Mercedes, or that I’ve proven that I belong here so far this season. In which, I have not qualified or placed below a P7. And I certainly don’t think it’s fair of you to ask if I am going to voluntarily give up my hard-earned seat to another person because you think I am here because of some women’s inclusion effort by Mercedes. And, okay, who knows, maybe I am. But I am not giving up this seat without a fight, nor do I imagine that Mercedes are in a rush to find someone to replace me right now. You’ll have to ask someone to confirm that though.”

You wind down after that, punctuating your point with a firm nod; some of the fight and the fury seeping out as you start to reckon with the potential consequences of your outburst. Mercedes’ PR rep will have something to say surely, you’re just hoping you haven’t crossed some kind of uncrossable line. Another part of you doesn’t quite care as you watch the reporter gape like a fish out of water, feeling rather satisfied that you’d put him in his place.

Eventually, the room recovers and moves on from you. Checo is getting asked his opinion on tyres while you share a furtive glance with Oscar. He smiles approvingly, mouth closed and the apples of his cheeks pushed up into his eyes. You feel the urge to touch his knee again but resist, instead smiling back as covertly as you possibly can. A warm feeling spreads in your chest and you almost forget about the reporter and his stupid question in favour of watching Oscar’s slow-burn smile.

Mercedes is fine with it, it turns out. Apparently, you’re doing the heavy lifting for them in the feminism department and all they have to do is have Toto or someone come out and say a few words in agreement. It suits them fine, they don’t need to take any hard stances and you get the blame if anything goes horribly wrong. That grates at you, of course it does. But you’ve got a seat, haven’t you? You’re not going to give it up because Mercedes are covering their asses like the multibillion-dollar company that they are.

It means you’ve avoided the all-hands-on-deck PR meeting you thought you’d be stuck in tonight, but it’s left you in too sour a mood for this party. It’s some function, fundraiser, something or other and they’ve invited all the teams, drivers and ‘important’ FIA staff. This means there’s an inordinate amount of people here and you’re really not into it.

But you’re still here. You’ve shoved yourself into a cute, strappy, black top, and a denim mini-skirt and you’ve even added some cute jewellery in a feeble attempt to match whatever over-the-top outfit Lewis has arrived in. It’s at least a step up from your usual team polo and leggings, or the Mercedes hoodie that you pull on over it. You’re comfortable. You’re fine.

You pull a hand out of the pocket of your oversized leather jacket as Oscar comes back over with your beer. You smile at the expression on his face as you take the neck in between your fingers. He’s scowling openly, the corners of his lips curled up in distaste.

“Busy?” you ask, then you hold up the beer in thanks, “Cheers, by the way.”

“Hmm, too crowded,” he affirms, “I lost Lando.”

You shrug, taking a swig of the refreshingly cold beer, “Actually? Or did he run off with someone?”

Oscar snorts, “Yeah, no. He got into a conversation with Max.”

You laugh, “Yeah, in that case, I reckon we’ll see Lando in a few hours.”

“Definitely.”

The two of you share an amused smile before you’re back to looking into the crowd because sometimes, it’s hard for you to look at him— like looking directly into the sun. You’re aware of him in your periphery, standing there and rocking back and forth on his heels, occasionally taking a sip of his drink. He looks away for a moment, and you turn to look at him. Taking in the endearing swoop of his hair, the scattering of freckles and moles on the side of his pale face, the long line of his neck disappearing into the collar of his shirt. You shift your eyes slightly to the right of him, to the patchwork of vents and scaffolding in the ceiling, feigning as if you’d only been casually looking his way.

“That reporter was a piece of work,” Oscar says once he’s drifted his attention back to you.

You roll your eyes on instinct, and groan, “Tell me about it, holy shit, Osc. What an asshole. I don’t know if he was just stupid or legit didn’t know a single thing about me.”

“Mm,” Oscar hums in agreement, “and I like how no one asked you a single question after that. Way to go guys, that’s exactly how you show your support.”

You roll your eyes, still smiling a little at the contented feeling you’ve got in your chest, “I know, right. Trust, they all got on their keyboards afterwards to wax lyrical about how deserving I am of my seat. It’d be fucken’ nice if they acted like it during press conferences.”

“Yeaah,” he sighs, half-laugh, half-exhale, “It’s unfair.”

“Fucken' right,” you gripe, tipping your head back and letting a slip of fizzy beer cascade down your throat— the alcohol, though meagre, leaves you feeling loose, a little reckless, “It sucks Osc. God, I just want to be respected. If I had a dick and balls I’d be fucking killing it, dude. This is my rookie season, I’ve been scoring points every race. Except for the DNF, which was not my fault. But, fuck me, they don’t give a shit.”

You squeeze your eyes shut to stave off the angry tears that are sitting behind your eyelids, threatening. When you open them Oscar is staring at you, frowning, his brown eyes huge and sparkling and sympathetic. They’re like a black hole you want to fall into. Your heart squeezes. He’s so— ugh. Quickly, your mind supplies about a hundred answers to that question: sweet, cute, nice, adorable. Something stutters in your chest and you feel your cheeks starting to grow hot. That slow-burn smile of Oscar’s starts on his face, and you watch dimples form on his cheeks.

The moment is quickly ruined by a particularly nasally Italian accent that you vaguely recognise, “You know,” it says, clearly talking to you, “You should make sure to watch your tone. You never know who could be listening.”

Mood thoroughly dampened, you turn to face the interruption. It turns out to be one of the numerous men on the grid who won’t shut up about you, sharing unsolicited opinions left and right. He has his arms crossed against his chest and a smug expression on his face, as if he’s just caught you doing something terrible— instead of simply complaining about the subpar treatment you’re afforded.

He’s not worth your time whatsoever but God you’re angry. Maybe it’s just been too much shit on top of shit today but you cannot deal reasonably with this man right now— and you are not afforded the luxury of not acting reasonably toward someone like this, no matter how much of a dickhead they are. You open your mouth. Close it. Open it again. Close it and bite down on your bottom lip so nothing accidentally slips out. You’re trying to fish a semi-civil sentence out of a sea of fuck you fuck you fuck you on repeat and it’s not working.

“Are you threatening her?” Oscar asks, a dangerous lilt to his tone, and somewhere in the pulse of anger, you think this is the happiest you’ve ever been to hear his voice, “Because, I am pretty sure your team principal would not be pleased to hear that you’re going around threatening one of Mercedes’ drivers.”

He scoffs, trying to play it off, but you think you register a little bit of worry somewhere in there— Oscar can be threatening when he wants to be and McLaren are not exactly nobodies in this sport right now, “Please, I am not threatening her. I am just telling her that she needs to watch her mouth.”

“Right,” Oscar nods, mouth pinching, “Sure. Well, it would be our word against yours and I’m fairly sure your team principal would believe two drivers over you right now. Especially with that history, you’ve got, dude.”

A little thrill goes up your spine as his face goes white as a sheet. Oscar’s talking about the nice little list of comments he’s made that you’ve reported to your team and an FIA representative— which you’ve taken to doing every time anyone starts up a pattern of saying things about you or to you. They’re to cover your ass honestly, so you can’t be accused of making things up if push comes to shove. You’re sure they’ve made their way back to him and his boss; you’re glad they’ve made an impact (but perhaps not enough to stop him outright).

He sniffs, a nervous edge to his words, “I am not threatening her.”

“Okay. Apologise.”

“Excuse me?”

Oscar raises an eyebrow, “If you’re not threatening her, apologise.”

You bite the inside of your lip and grip the neck of your near-empty beer bottle tighter. Alright, Oscar can be scary. Noted. Very much noted.

“I—” He quickly thinks better of protesting and looks at you, lips pursed in a thin angry line, “I apologise.”

He looks at Oscar, Oscar looks at you. You shrug and nod. Good enough. You don’t need him to grovel, you think he’s been sufficiently humiliated already. Although, before he scampers off into the crowd at Oscar’s approval, you manage a dry, “You think I need to watch my tone now?”

He scowls, but says, “No,” anyway.

Then he stalks off into the throng of people.

You relax more the further that he gets away from the two of you. The tension dissipates into something warm and charged with a different kind of electricity entirely. You ignore the unease that tries to take root in your stomach and instead focus on Oscar at your side.

“That was—” you scrub a hand over your face, starting your sentence again, “Hm.”

Oscar sigh-laughs again, “Yeah, what an asshole.”

“Thank you,” you say meaning it wholeheartedly, “No one’s done something like that for me before.”

Oscar looks down at you, frowning, he shakes his head, “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” you answer, feeling bold as you put a hand on his bicep in an attempt to express how grateful you feel for him, for what he’d done for you, “It’s really not, Osc.”

He’s quiet, staring at you with big brown sparkling eyes for a long long moment. A long moment in which you fantasise about reaching upward and pulling his face down to yours, feeling his lips against your own. They’d be soft, you think— his hair would be too. You don’t think about it and you resolutely ignore the tug low in your gut.

“You deserve it,” he says eventually, loud enough that you can hear it, but not anyone else, “You are killing it, by the way.”

You breathe a laugh, “Yeah, I’d better be.”

You squeeze gently at his bicep, feeling the sinewed muscle underneath his dress shirt. Then you let your hand drop, trailing absently down his arm as you do so. Your fingers brush his hand, and he catches yours before it's out of reach at your side. Purposefully, he threads your fingers with his, squeezing firmly and brushing his thumb tenderly over your knuckle. You feel a little lightheaded when he lets go.

You sigh, masking the out-of-breath quality of your voice, “I need another drink.”

“Yeah,” Oscar breathes, “Me too, I reckon.”

🏎️ title taken from this song :)

[itoshiabi]

Four Goals For You

Summary: Childhood friends turned first love—Sae Itoshi challenges you in the boldest way possible: "If I score a hat trick, you're going on a date with me."

💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞

The VIP lounge buzzes with quiet energy, a mix of calm and anticipation hanging in the air. Below, the stadium lights cast a brilliant glow over the field as fans fill the seats, their excited chatter building into a steady hum. Inside, the team is focused on their final pre-match preparations—some stretching, others engaged in casual conversation. The atmosphere is tense but controlled, the kind of silence that comes before something big.

And in the middle of it all, you sit, watching from the sidelines.

You're not just any guest. You're here at the personal invitation of Sae Itoshi himself!

You and Sae have known each other since childhood—family friends, to be exact. He never cared much for friendships, his ego keeping most people at arm's length, but somehow, you did manage to stay by his side. Maybe it was out of obligation, or maybe there was something more that neither of you dare to acknowledge.

But what you don't know is that Sae has been falling for you all this time. His first love—silent, unspoken, yet undeniably real.

Leaving for Spain was difficult for him. He had to leave his parents, Rin and YOU! The thought of someone else taking his place in your life haunted him, even if he never admitted it. And when he found out you're visiting Spain for the summer, he wasted no time inviting you to his game.

Now, as the final moments before kickoff tick away, Sae suddenly stands up.

The room quiets instantly. His teammates turn, curious. But Sae ignores them all, his teal eyes locked onto you. He strides forward, stopping just inches away.

Then, in front of everyone, he speaks.

"If I score a hat trick today, you're going on a date with me."

Silence.

You blink. Around you, the room suddenly erupts.

"What the hell?!" someone shouts.

"Did Sae just confess in the most Sae way possible?" another mutters.

"Wait, wait, hold on—Sae, are you serious?!"

Sae ignores them, his expression unwavering. He isn't joking. Not even a little.

Your heart pounds. "H-Huh?"

His voice is steady. "You heard me. Three goals, and you’re mine for the evening."

Heat creeps up your neck. The way he looks at you—calm, composed, yet utterly serious—is almost too much to handle. The entire team is waiting for your response.

You cross your arms, trying to steady yourself. "…And if you don't?"

"Not happening."

The room explodes again.

"THIS GUY—"

"Who knew Sae could be such a show-off?!"

"Damn, now I actually want to see him miss just to see what happens—"

Sae's sharp glare cuts them off instantly. Then, without another word, he turns and walks toward the exit. "I'll see you after the match."

And just like that, he's gone.

.............................

The match was insane.

Sae played like a man possessed. Every touch, every movement is calculated perfection. His first goal? A clinical strike. The second? A breathtaking free kick. The third? A last-minute tap-in after effortlessly weaving through the defense.

Hat trick. Game over.

And just in case you think about backing out—he scores a fourth.

The stadium erupts, but Sae barely reacts. Instead, the moment the final whistle blows, he jogs toward the VIP section as he always does but this time his eyes are scanning the crowd for someone..... Searching for you!

You're still frozen in shock when he walks up at you. Without any drama he asks in his usual straightforward time "Four goals. No excuses. When's our date?"

Your face burns as his teammates roar with laughter behind him. You fake-huff with annoyance as you look away and mumble "…I was going to say yes after the third goal. Maybe even if you scored none... I still would have agreed." You pout.

A rare chuckle escapes him after seeing your rare pout, something softer in his gaze now. "Good. Because I wasn't stopping at three, anyway."

And in that moment, Sae Itoshi realised—his biggest victory isn't the match.

It's you.

[mournthebird]

Domestic Winter Soldier / Soldat Stuff

warnings: PTSD | Slight self-harm | Mentions past abuse

a/n: Idk I wanted to write this because he deserves some love even when he's the soldier. Various hcs about domestic life with the Winter Soldier. Actual fics in the works. I run four blogs so I try to balance it all. Not edited ignore mistakes.

Soldat is a little awkward with home life at first. He isn't sure what to do, being free from constant control isn't something he can easily adjust to.

He looks to you for commands all the time. Can he sit? Can he go to the bathroom? Can he sleep? Can he eat? Every little thing he does. You have to reassure him that he doesn't need to ask permission for anything, but he still does.

He sometimes gets snappy at you, since he still can't decide whether or not to trust you 100% or not. He can't understand why someone is being so nice to him.

Sometimes he accidentally breaks something and he flinches away from you, or he hides out of fear. You have to coax him out, telling him it's okay and that you're not going to hurt him. He always hesitates.

He struggles to sleep so he comes into your room most nights and stares at you or roughly shakes you to wake you up. "Can't sleep." he speaks lowly, and he grunts and climbs over you into your bed, never waiting for a response. At first he sleeps away from the door, but as time goes on he moves to sleep closest to the door in case any unlucky person breaks into your apartment.

Very much like a cat, he stays back but when he wants attention he sort of just...flops near you and demands it by laying on you somehow, or sitting super close so your bodies are touching.

He watches you cook a lot. He sits down at the counter and watches or he stands over you and watches. Sometimes you have to pull him away from the stove because the oil will burn him and he doesn't bother moving away on his own.

He's much more curious than you'd think. He watches you do a lot of things, almost as if he's never seen anything like it. Something as simple as brushing your hair or doing laundry, he's mesmerized by it.

When he's not watching you do something, you notice that he just stares a lot. He always watches you, at first out of uneasiness, but then...just because. He's always watching you, almost like he's worried you'll disappear.

You help him shower, he doesn't like touching his scars. He tries to rub them away, and he's tries to claw his metal arm off. So you help him clean to prevent him from going into one of those episodes of hurting himself in that way.

He used to get aggressive when you came around him when he was naked, treating you like some big threat, but you realized this was something more than just fear. It took a lot for him to get comfortable enough to allow you to touch him in the shower/bath.

For being so heavily trained as the best assassin, he's quite accident prone. Nothing major, but enough to warrant some kind of care. He feels a little confused whenever he gets hurt by accident, like he never expected the corner of the table to leave a small cut on his flesh arm. He focuses too much on things he knows hurt, that other things go unnoticed.

He learns to cook with you some days, he was tired of just watching. It's a good way to show him you trust him too, letting him handle things like knives or sharp objects without worrying he will hurt you.

You learn he really likes pie. Apple pie especially.

You also learn the alarm on the oven is too loud for him so you use your phone instead.

If you bring him out with you, he's very protective. His head is on a swivel, constantly observing everyone around you. He stays glued to your side, not letting you take many steps away from him.

Gets overstimulated easily.

Sounds that are similar to a blender or electricity freak him out. A bug zapper is also a sound he hates.

Some foods he looks at with newfound curiosity, like he hadn't seen them before. There are things he doesn't even recognize, newer or modernized things, he didn't know what to think. What the hell is an air fryer? How do you fry with air??

Get one and watch how he looks at it with amazement and confusion.

He seeks out spaces where he can be alone a lot, he needs space sometimes and you understand.

During bad episodes he sometimes disappears from your apartment, making you panic a little each time. You find him in alleys or the streets from time to time, he never wanders too far. You are worried sick but your priority is to get him back home.

It's hard for him to show it, but he does appreciate you and everything you've done for him. He gives you hugs from behind a lot, sometimes he whispers a word to you, but mostly he's silent.

He likes puzzles. He likes putting them together. Maybe because he himself feels like there are so many pieces of himself missing and it's satisfying to fill a picture.

One thing that calms him down are fresh cookies. Chocolate chip cookies fresh from the oven, he can go from high strung to calm and docile.

He hates porridge and/or oatmeal. It's too similar to the things he was forced to eat in HYDRA. Tasteless slop, he can't stand the texture.

He loves when you brush his hair. His scalp is sensitive since he had his hair yanked and pulled so much, but you're always gentle. He loves feeling your fingers run through it and it puts him to sleep within minutes.

You're the only one who can touch his scars. Not that he is close to anyone else, but he doesn't fight you when your hand roams over where metal meets flesh.

Watches over you when you sleep a lot, his eyes glued to the door and his ears alert to every single sound. He stays up until he literally can't keep his eyes open.

He's very attached to you and never wants to leave you, ever.

Dividers by @/strangergraphics

[munsonson]

𝐇𝐮𝐫𝐭 𝐅𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏『••✎••』

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝘌𝘥𝘥𝘪𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘴 𝘶𝘱 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯'𝘵 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳. 𝘜𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘻𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘣𝘪𝘨 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘴.

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠(𝐬): 𝘌𝘥𝘥𝘪𝘦 𝘔𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘰𝘯/𝘍𝘦𝘮!𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘚𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦 𝘏𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘵𝘰𝘯/𝘍𝘦𝘮!𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠(𝐬): 𝘈𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵, 𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘺

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.4

This shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. 

Things could’ve ended far worse than they actually did. Hell, most of the couples in their school tended to make breakups as dramatic as possible, normally painting one half of the relationship as some kind if irredeemable monster, if not to paint them as this sympathetic martyr, than just to save face that it actually hurt. 

In her case, Eddie Munson told her they just weren’t a good match and he wanted to be friends again instead. That was as healthy as they could possibly get. And in the best case scenario, too, she’d still be able to have him be a part of her life. She didn’t think she could stand the thought of seeing him in the halls and not being able to acknowledge him. 

She’d fallen hard and fast for Eddie, embarrassingly so. 

Given the heavy duty of designated driver for the little hooligans she’d somehow decided to adopt with Steve Harrington, she’d gotten accustomed to waiting in the high school parking lot, her nose pressed into the creases of her current novel while she waited for them to finish their important campaigns, all procured from the brilliant mind of Eddie Munson. 

She’d known him before then, too, but only in passing. He’d often make a big spectacle of himself in the cafeteria just to bug the other students, and he held the record as super senior. But she’d never even talked to him until she saw him walk the boys out after a seemingly successful campaign, his arms wrapped tightly around Dustin and Lucas’ shoulders as he praised them.

He’d acknowledged her when he got to her car. 

“My fair maiden,” he’d said, “I apologize for the delay.”

She’d blubbered out some kind of half-hearted response, good enough to make him laugh, and that made her heart go a million miles a minute. 

It didn’t take long before she’d gotten the courage to ask him out, even if it was just for coffee. He was surprised, but he agreed. 

It had been nice, he even drove her home after. She probably should’ve seen the signs then because he didn’t suggest a second meet up, she had instead. And he’d agreed.

It was about a month before they made themselves official, in Hawkins High language, practically married. But it really just meant she got to hold his hand between classes and get quick kisses goodbye when it was time to separate, somehow always on her cheek than her lips. 

She’d thought their dates were fun; it was a lot of pressure since he always left it up to her, never having any other idea than lounging about her home and just watching TV. But she was the one who thought of renting movies for horror marathons, figuring it was up his alley. She thought of bowling and drive-in theaters and picnicking near the quarry for its desolate atmosphere, another thing she figured was right up his alley. 

But things came to an underwhelming end when Eddie approached her at her locker on some random Thursday to tell her things just weren’t working out and he wanted to stay as friends. Despite how much even that had hurt, she agreed. She didn’t want to make him do anything he regretted. 

She could still be friends with him, happily so. That meant she could still sit with him at lunch, hear his outlandish tales, and be able to admire him from afar, even if she was no longer able to touch him and hold his hand. 

“Be honest,” she’d heard Gareth say as she approached with her tray, “what really happened? You know, most guys woulda killed to be able to take her out, the fact she stuck around for months is surprising enough.”

Eddie shrugs, chewing absentmindedly on a pretzel he’d brought. She would pack him lunches when they were together since he always forgot and resorted to eating prepackaged things instead. Since they broke up, it seemed like old habits really did die hard. 

“To tell you the truth,” he starts rather dramatically, “no substance. Pretty face, nice voice, real sweet, but God, boring as all hell.” He runs a hand down his face. The other boys seemed surprised. Dustin and Mike share a look, but say nothing, clearly waiting to hear more. Because there was no way it could be just that. There had to be more. They knew her better than anyone, had been through so much with her. What could be the real reason Eddie broke things off?

“And?” Dustin coaxes.

“And what?”

“Dude, seriously?” Mike scoffs. “She wasn’t interesting enough for you?”

Eddie shakes his head. “Look, she’s a great gal. And I know you guys are super close, which is awesome, but we just weren’t the best match. And I felt like shit that she was putting in all of the effort when I wasn’t interested. Now she’s free to...I dunno...find someone boring, too.” He sniggers, elbowing Jeff beside him trying to get him to laugh, too, but he could see how upset Dustin and Mike were. 

Luckily, for her sake, they didn’t notice her standing there, having overheard everything. Spinning right back around, she’d ditched her tray onto one of the trash bins before leaving the cafeteria completely before there was a chance anyone could see her tears. 

God, it shouldn’t hurt as much as it does, she thinks again. He was more than welcome to have his own opinion, but why did it have to be something like that? 

He was right, she wasn’t exactly Chrissy Cunningham or Heather Holloway, being this huge spectacle that made every new day more exciting than the last. All things considered, sometimes too much excitement frightened her. Having risked her life at least once a year for nearly four years now made her yearn for the more simple things. It was stupid of her to think Eddie would want the same. Eddie Munson, who liked to make scenes in the cafeteria and rock out in a bar with his band. He didn’t crave the simplicity of life like she did.

She didn’t go back into that cafeteria for the remaining of the lunch period. In fact, she’d decided to skip the rest of the day completely, knowing she shared three periods with Eddie and right now she really didn’t want to see him. She just wanted to get away, leave herself to her own thoughts to try to calm down. 

Well, that really only lasted for ten minutes because she found herself pulling into the small parking lot into Family Video. She spots Steve’s car at the far end and knows he’s inside. It was childish of her to go running and crying to Steve Harrington, who she knew would take her side and say all the cruel things about Eddie that she couldn’t bring herself to because she really just needed someone on her side right now. Aside from Dustin and Mike, of course. She wouldn’t forget how they jumped to her defense. 

The little bell rings at the top of the door as she walks in, startling Steve into consciousness, who seemed to be snoozing on the edge of the counter, drool pooled across his forearm. He wipes feverishly at his face and blinks unfocused in her direction, trying to situate himself quickly into his customer service face.

“Welcome to Fam-Jesus, you scared me,” he cuts himself off when he at last realizes it’s her. Confused, he turns to glance at the clock hung up on the wall. “Don’t tell me school’s out already? You beat Robin here.”

“No, I’m playing hooky,” she shakes her head, unsteadily moving towards the counter. 

“What? You? I’m sorry, am I still dreaming?” Steve asks dramatically. “Since when do you, of all people, ever skip class? I’d sooner believe Nancy doing it than you.”

“Just...needed a break s’all,” she says with a shrug, looking around. “Keith not here?”

“Nah, he’s off today. Something about a new graphic novel he’s been dying to get. Says he’d have to wait overnight just to get one of the first editions. I don’t know, I don’t really listen to him unless he’s handing over my check,” Steve said. She leans up against the counter, trying to act casual. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t things be okay?”

“Well, for one, having to clarify that things are supposed to be okay when asked if everything’s okay is a pretty big indicator that things aren’t, in fact, okay.” Steve says with a laugh. “So everything’s not okay, then?”

“Everything’s okay,” she lies. “I just...can I ask you something?”

“Yeah?”

She isn’t sure how to come out and say it without sounding stupid. Better, she can’t figure out a way to come out and say it without sounding completely pathetic. But this was Steve, he was the king of asking her embarrassing things. He even called her once at three in the morning to ask how long you were supposed to leave cookies in the oven for. The follow up question was how to get the burnt smell out before his mom came home. 

“Am I boring?”

Steve tilts his head. “Huh?”

“Am I boring, Steve? Am I boring?”

“No? Who gave you that idea?” Steve snorts, like he thinks it was a foolish thing to ask. “Whoever it is clearly hasn’t seen you handle a crowbar.” He was referencing when she’d nabbed a crowbar from the junkyard lot to fend off the demodogs with him, all to protect the little ones in the bus. She doesn’t want to remember that right now, not when it makes her feel cold inside. 

“Nobody, I just...I dunno, I just think that maybe I’m not as exciting as, like...you o-or Rob or Nancy or, hell, even Jonathan.” 

“Nonsense, you’re a badass! True story, you know I wouldn’t say that about just any...” Steve trails off, finally really looking at her. “Hey...hey, why are you really askin’ me that? Something happen? Someone say something to you?”

“No, Steve, I was just asking.”

“You’re lying,” he accuses. “Who was it, was it Byers? Nancy? Not Robin...”

“No! No, Steve, they didn’t say anything, please just drop it. I shouldn’t have asked.”

Steve’s face eventually relaxes, having realized he knew exactly who she was talking about.

“Munson.”

She shakes her head. “Stop it, Steve.”

“What did he say? I thought he just wanted to be friends, where’s all this coming from?” he asked. There were too many questions being thrown at her. She doesn’t want to cry, especially not in front of him, but as soon as she feels her cheek dampen that was it. Soon she was burying her face in her hands and trying to stop the little whimpers from coming out.

She doesn’t notice Steve leap easily over the counter. He pulls her close, shushing her quietly. 

“Hey, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you upset,” he says. She sniffles, wrapping her arms around him. He’s petting her hair, kissing the crown of her head, trying his damndest to get her to calm down and talk to him. He was the perfect person to come to, she now realizes. Her subconscious knew Steve was the answer.

When she finally stopped crying, he at last let her go, giving her some space.

She rubs the tears from her eyes and wipes the tears on her jeans.

“Want me to kill him?” he asks jokingly. She laughs. He smiles again. “What happened? Can you tell me now?”

She told him what Eddie had said, the real reason he’d broken up with her and how she ran from the cafeteria and came here. Steve was reasonably upset, but he didn’t want to make it all about pounding Eddie into a pulp, he knew she needed her friend right now and he was prepared to be just that.

“Hey, screw him,” Steve scoffs, throwing an arm over her shoulders and pulling her back into his chest. “You’re far from boring, believe me, and honestly if you ask me you could do so much better than Eddie Munson. The guy picks his nose. I saw him once. It was gnarly.”

She’s laughing again, playfully hitting him. 

“Thank you, Steve,” she says, “I’m sorry to dump all this on you, I just needed someone to talk to, you know?” 

“Well, you came to the right guy. I can’t tell you it gets much better from public humiliation, but I can tell you that you find much better shit to focus on. Like this obviously stellar job. Robin. My new stereo I saved up for. And...well, you.” He playfully flicks her nose. She wrinkles her nose and swats his hand away. “Eddie doesn’t know what he’s talkin’ about. But I know he’s gonna kick himself in the ass when he realizes he lost a girl like you.”

“Yeah, you’re just saying that ‘cause you’re my friend.” 

“Not true, I also wanna bug you for your famous cookies.” Steve winks.

“I can bring them to you tonight, then.” she said, patting his arm. “I should get going. Um...you clearly are very busy and I don’t wanna keep you from doing your job.”

“I know, such a bad influence. The gateway rebellion was skipping class. Now it’s job defiance,” Steve chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Hey, um...if you want, when you come by tonight, maybe you could stick around? Was gonna rifle through the back, borrow some flicks to waste my evening away. Free to join me if you want? Robin flaked out on me, says she’s doing some band practice with Vicky. Didn’t ask for details.”

She thinks about it and smiles. “Sounds like fun. Girls’ night.”

“Invitation rescinded!” Steve shouts, turning away. 

“No, I’m kidding, I’m kidding, stop!” she protests, giggling. “I’ll bring cookies and pizza, Steve. I’ll be there.”

“Alright, then,” Steve said. “Um...hey, don’t worry about Eddie, alright? He’s just being a dick. And honestly, apart from his relationship with the rugrats, he’s still gonna be a dick. He missed out on a girl like you. Clearly he’s a martian.”

“Doesn’t mean much when I’m from Hawkins. But thank you, Steve. I’ll see you tonight,” she says, squeezing his hand and finally leaving the store back to her car. She left feeling much lighter than she had going in. He was right. Forget Eddie. If he thought she was so boring he clearly didn’t need her around him. She had other friends, friends like Steve.

Smiling to herself, she climbs into the driver’s seat and turns the key into the ignition, hearing the engine roar to life.

Things would be just fine. 

[4rticbolt]

Card DECLINED |Master-List|

Monster Trio+Law x !Fem!Reader, crack, fluff, modern-au, poor core (real), cashier is going THROUGH IT, !Early-relationship! , Ugh I thought this was so adorable, might be my favorite so far

They take you on a date and there card declines in-front of you...

Lemme know if I should do a fic for one of em' :)! (And spelling mistakes)

•-•-•-•-••-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-••-•-•-•-•

Luffy

100% bought it all on fast food, he holds a Guinness World Record for the most amount of food eaten, period.

Would be confused at first, and wouldn't get it till you finally told him somethings wrong with his card. He about shoved it in there 100x times...

"HAH!? Why's it not working!''

"Wait huh seriously? Aww man..."

He'd definitely apologize and laugh it off. But he'd silent judge his card for failing him now as he attempted to finally buy you something. He’d definitely go and text Nami to Venmo him some quick money for you--in which she'd automatically decline.

(Much like his card)

Your bf would grumble, but he'd be quick to mask it with his short attention span.

He ended up dragging you into another random store after finding a whopping 5 bucks on the ground, sopping wet and crumpled from the rain... But somehow the cashier accepted it out of pity and he'd managed to buy you a little doodad in exchange--coming up behind you with a surprise in hand.

He giddily spun you around gleaming with excitement as he pecked you on the cheek.

"Shisihi, look what I got youuu! It's awesome"

(It was a crooked hot-wheels, but you ended up putting it on your shelf to cherish it)

Zoro

Sake was his downfall. Alcohol as we all know is incredibly expensive so it wasn't even a surprise, you expected it to eventually happen with how much he loved his booze...

Moreover you'd think it was a turn off with all his bottles but he'd always been a responsible drinker, and he barely got drunk...maybe a few times if he'd finally eased up in your arms.

Though when he swiped his card, it hadn't gone through. He'd pause and play it off a first, trying again, but when the cashier finally told him their were insufficient funds he'd go beet red.

"I don't know what you're talking about, it's gotta be your stupid machine..."

Not slick, at. all.

He'd act dense abt it, though deep down he knew he royally fucked up, so much for a romantic date...

When you finally offered to pay, he stubbornly grumbled as you had placed some spare cash on the counter.

"Oi, You didn't have to do that..."

He wouldn't immediately say thank you, but he'd been quietly grateful you were smart to bring 'just in case' cash... which he'd also said wasn't necceasry... but look what happened.

You tended to be right in these scenarios.

A few days later he had begrudgingly said thank you and handed you some floppy but colorful flowers as he had randomly stopped by your house heading to work.

Coincidently getting lost, but he'd never admit it.

The offer was rather chaotic as you'd just gotten out of the shower, but it only made him more flustered.

"Didn't uh, mean to interrupt, just wanted to drop these off. And thank you for the other day."

Sanji

I physically cannot see this man's card declining, so he had probably used the wrong card...

But even if he did I could see him full on freaking out, like telling the cashier to run it again and crossing his arms as his fingers anxiously tapped on his arm. He almost went to call his bank until he realized it wasn't his main card and his embarrassed meter went through the roof.

He went pink, but as you offered to pay he immediately shut it down. Sanji would never let you pay for anything, he wanted to take care of you and spoil you like no other--so forget asking. Even if you weren't that far along in dating.

He'd rather search the floor for pennies than let you pay.

Though if you did somehow manage to pay, he'd pay you back beyonddd extra. Like I'm talking about full on flowers and little chocolates or anything romantic.

Even if you thought it was rude to accept, he'd quickly assure you it was okay and that 'he wanted to' so it didn't matter if it was 'payback' or not. He'd came over to hang out, and he'd gently grab your hand kissing it as he spoke with gentle words.

"My love, just take it please, it'd mean the world to me."

Law

Law's card wouldn't normally decline, but one of his transactions for his action figure(s) had finally come through and he didn't realized it till he'd taken you out for lunch.

The waiter had handed him back his card and he deadpanned for a moment--before telling them to try it again--but hopelessly it didn't make a difference. And to make things better the waiter outright said he was broke and needed a different form of payment.

Law would loathe the moment, feeling second-hand embarrassment for miles as he brooded wishing it happened anywhere else no mattering the time.

He'd be embarrassed, growing quiet with a darkened expression as he averted his gaze. Which it only intensified when you happily handed the waiter your card, assuring him it wasn't the end of the world... and that you were just happy to be here with him.

He had gone increasingly quiet, and you couldn't help but laugh as he covered his face with the tilt of his infamous hat.

"L-Let's just go."

This man would NEVER let it happen again, and he'd carefully watch his guilty spending habits with a sour expression. The thought of that moment practically kept him up at night.

Law didn't pay you back, but he'd taken a little time off work to spend more quality time with you as that seemed to make you happy. And your doctor-in-training wanted nothing more than to see your smile.

[hiraethwrote]

heyy can you write some headcannons on Megumi having a crush and how would he act towards her? I can’t really picture him confessing honestly. thank you so much

cw: f!reader, aged up characters, profanity, alcohol, fluff, some hostile behaviour, misunderstandings word count: 2.2k a/n this was supposed to be like a short drabble but i am unable to do that lol (no tags)

Megumi doesn’t have a lot of experience when it comes to having a crush, because no one has managed to catch his eye. Therefore, the realisation that he might have a crush on you comes sneaking up on him. It’s not until he becomes aware that you infiltrate his mind during the most casual moments that it hits him.

He could just be running errands, and he could hear a song playing from a random clothing store he’s walking past and think this would definitely be a song you’d listen to. Or when he witnesses something funny and has to remember to tell you.

When it dawns on him, the first feeling that strikes him is guilt. He can’t help but feel a little sleazy, like he’s become one of those annoying guys who always whine about being stuck in the friend zone — that he is somehow breaking your trust by how he feels about you. So he tries to tell himself that it’s not serious, only silly infatuation because you’re pretty. Nothing more.

Turns out he couldn’t be more wrong, because you continue to plague his mind, the feelings only growing stronger. And with that frustrating new development, there’s a clear shift in your relation — not necessarily for the better. He’ll grow colder and harsher, his tone carrying a hostile weight it didn’t have before.

“Megumi,” you chuckled, “don’t be so proud. It would be easier to just take two trips than try to carry everything at once.“ There was playfulness to your tone that was nothing but kind, indicating that the atmosphere shouldn’t be anything but pleasant. “Yeah, I heard you the first time,” he grumbled in response, stubbornly turning his back to you before he continued as if you’d never said anything at all. You blinked at him a few times in utter disbelief at the unfamiliar edge to his words, waiting for him to face you again to ease the jab with a shy smile. “Oh, sorry,” you muttered carefully when he never met your gaze again. You took the hint, turning on your heel and leaving him alone. Whatever had gotten into him, he clearly didn’t want you around, and you weren’t going to hang around if he was on going to fire tiny comments at you. He shot you a modest look over his shoulder, mentally kicking himself over talking to you that way, and karma would come and bite him soon enough. With a deep sigh, he lifted all the bags, like he had insisted on doing, only to carry them a few feet before the first bag tore, spilling all the items around him. “Fuck.”

Megumi had hoped that putting that (unnatural) distance between the two of you would cause his feelings to disappear, but that quickly proved not to be the case.

After a month of minimal contact, where you only ever interact when you’re hanging out with the entire group, he finds himself missing you. It just wasn’t right not to share those stares whenever someone said something ridiculous, or immediately turn to you when he needed someone else’s opinion.

He decides he wants to ease his way back into your good graces — but he’s a little too embarrassed to straight out apologise for the way he’s been treating you. So he starts off by tuning down his frown towards you when hanging out the whole group.

“Okay, guys, next one- guys, attention over here!” Nobara’s strict voice cut through the crowd, causing the chatter to calm down enough for her to ask the next question. “Who’s most likely to forget to text back?” Without hesitation, Yuji slung the ping pong ball to Megumi, who caught it with one hand — expecting it to come flying in his direction. “Drink up, Fushiguro!” “You know, it’s not that I forget. I just choose not to answer you,” Megumi mocked him before taking a swig of his drink. He couldn’t care less about the offended sounds that stuttered out of Yuji, because he was too hung up on how he had managed to draw the sweet sound of your chuckle from your lips. “Okay, Fushiguro. Who is most likely to make you smile? I’m surprised if there’s anyone that can make you smile,” Nobara snickered, biting the edge of her plastic cup. He rolled his eyes at her comment before swiftly throwing the ball confidently in your direction, causing you to jump a little as it lands in your lap. Your eyes found his immediately, lips parted in surprise. He drew his lips into an awkward line, heat rushing to his cheeks when you tilted your head at him, hiding the warm smile he caused behind your cup as you took a sip.

After that, things go back to normal — well, somewhat normal. You definitely go back to how your friendship used to be before the small hiccup. Megumi, however, has a hard time keeping his cool around you.

The whole ordeal has him easily irritated. Though after you’re little ‘break’, he makes sure never to take it out on you, but that doesn’t mean you don’t witness it. He didn’t have to struggle with something for long before a string of curses escapes him, before he inevitably gives up on whatever task is at hand — only for you to pick it up instead and immediately fix it.

He hates how you disturb every aspect of his life. Before you, he could lay down in his bed and fall asleep the second he closed his eyes. Now… he’d toss and turn into the lonely hours of the night.

During the day, he has (what he thinks is) a very pathetic need to be close to you whenever he has the chance. He tries to play it off as casually as possible, leaving the room when you do because “he needs to stretch his legs” or coming with you to the store even though he doesn’t need anything because “he could do with some fresh air”. Your presence is just comfortable to him, and he wants to wallow in it as much as possible.

Things and gestures he never really thought twice about before, suddenly has his mind raze a million miles an hour. Small things, like when you wanted to show him a funny video and as you hand him your phone, his entire body would feel like it was on fire when your fingers grazed his so gently. Or when you noticed a strand of hair on his shirt, you would simply reach out and remove it, and he instantly became insanely aware of himself.

“All I’m saying, is if Yuji really wanted to, he would just set his alarm-“ Time suddenly moved in slow motion, eyes following your every move as you simply leaned forward, two fingers delicately pinching the stray hair that had landed on his shoulder before rubbing your fingers together to let it fall to the floor. Were you crazy? Why would you do that to him? His breathing picked up its pace, as he now could physically feel every fibre and atom in his body. And now nothing about the way he sat or moved his arms felt natural, entirely convinced you would be able to see right through him. “Hey, Megumi!” Your voice finally snapped him back to the moment, staring at you with big eyes as you were sporting a rather confused expression. “Hmm?” “Did you lose your train of thought or something? You suddenly just stopped talking,” you chuckled. “Uhm, yeah, sorry. Where was I,” he said, shaking his head, trying desperately not to think about how you had taken such an innocent act and made it feel so incredibly intimate.

You do pick up on the change in his behaviour. He isn’t as subtle as he thinks when he purposely lingers around you after everyone has left. And whenever the group does something together, he makes sure to take the seat next to you.

Had it been anyone other than Megumi, you would never have thought twice about the behaviour — but when Megumi, who had always preferred to just keep to himself, suddenly seeks the company of another person, of course one raises an eyebrow in speculation.

You don’t want to assume anything, though. He could just feel bad for how he treated you and this was his way of apologising without saying the words. Nonetheless, you did not mind it at all.

Megumi has no plans on confessing whatsoever. He tries to convince himself he is perfectly content with living in the agony of admiring from your side, even though he’s slowly dying as the feelings just keep growing for every time he watches you smile.

“You know he likes you, right?” Nobara stated confidently as she licked her ice cream. You huffed a laugh, turning to look at her with your eyebrows pinched together. “Yeah, okay.” “Come on! You’re lying if you haven’t noticed.” “There’s nothing to notice, Nobara. He just feels bad for our little falling out,” you sighed as you turned to look at him and Yuji again. Much to Megumi’s dismay, Yuji had forced him on his feet to help him with setting up the chairs and table for the small get together he had arranged that evening. From afar it only seemed like Megumi was scolding Yuji for messing up the chairs again, very clearly frustrated by his inability to perform what was supposed to be an easy task. You felt Nobara’s inquisitive squint drill into your side. “You’re so full of shit.” You spun your head to scowl at her, offence written all over your features. “Well, he’s never going to come clean so you’re going to have to take the lead there.” She earned herself a weak kick to the heel before you shifted your attention to the two boys again, who seemed to be unbelievably lost. After a few seconds, Megumi turned towards you, instantly locking eyes with you. His lips turned upwards in a sweet smile as his hand raised in a small wave.

Megumi will continue to stay close to you, endlessly embarrassed every time you have his voice hitch in his throat because you’re just to breathtaking when doing… anything really.

After Nobara was the first person to breathe life into the idea of his crush on you out loud, it suddenly seemed like that was the reason behind everything he did. You couldn’t hide behind the suspicion that he felt guilty anymore, because it had gone on for too long.

Once you see it, how devoted he seems to be to you in the most mundane aspects of your life, you quickly realise that the feeling is mutual. There’s something about being the one person to melt the heart of the most stoic person you know. How he who always parades around with a grumpy expression, avoiding other people, chooses to basically follow you around with just the tiniest smile dancing at the corner of his lips at all times.

“You can have it,” Megumi said, sliding the plate with the last slice of pizza directly in front of you. “What?” “I said you can have it,” a slightly teasing lilt to his voice. You only stared at him with big eyes before your eyebrows narrowed. “You always claim the last slice.” He simply shrugged. “‘M not hungry.” You leaned back in your seat, crossing your arms over your chest and you simply stared at him, trying to uncover whatever was running through his mind. His face slowly turned the faintest shade of red before he finally managed to avert his gaze. “Time to spit it out, Fushiguro,” you demanded. “Since when do you use my last na-“ “Don’t try and change the subject.” Your sudden strict tone had him swallow the lump in his throat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he whispered coyly, fingers toying with the unused fork in front of him. “Do you like me?” The blunt confession had his heart beat against his chest with the force of a thousand suns, pounding so loud it filled his ears, eyes drawn to yours again. “Of course, we’re friends-“ the sentence died in his throat at the fierce scowl you gifted him, head tilted forward in annoyance. “Yes.” The creased evidence of previous frustration relaxed as the innocent word spilled from his lips, shoulders slumping in a new sensation of peace. On the other side of the table, Megumi sat with the most intense stress he could ever remember feeling, only reinforced by how calm and quiet you became. “Huh,” you said lightheartedly. “Why didn’t you just say so?” It was his turn to furrow his eyebrows, surprised by the casual tone in your voice. “I like you too, dumbass.” “Oh,” he blinked. His heart slowly started to calm down to try and ground himself in order to deduce if this was one of his countless dreams of you or not. After a second, a genuine warm smile came to show on your lips, one of those that always made his heart skip a beat, and he realised this was in fact real.

Megumi having a crush on you works out in his favour in the end.

reblogs, likes and comments are appreciated plagiarism not authorized

[boofeine]

So interesting on how seventeen gets jealous.

Hehe, able to do a drabble for mingyu jealous based on it?❤️😬🫶🏽

(sorry for taking so long... again 😅)

WARNINGS: mdni, angst,,, unrevised work !!!

"I'm gonna take a shower" Mingyu says while you finish to let your shoes by the door and lock it as you both enter your apartment.

That's not an uncommon saying or action from him, but you know when you just know something is off? That was the case. He sounded dry for some reason and didn't even spare a glance as the first thing he does it's walk to the shower.

You're letting your things by the kitchen corner, taking some things out of your purse when you hear the water running. You feel uneasy and contemplate if you should dare join him or just wait to talk when he comes out.

'Fuck it' you think, walking to the bathroom door, jeans already being undone and shirt getting lose. You knock and no response.

"Gyu? Can i come in?" You speak through the door, waiting a few seconds before opening the frame "Gyu?" you ask again, slipping your head inside. The room is starting to get foggy, but you are still able to see the outline of his naked torso as the water runs down from his neck to his chest, enough to gather you courage to come in.

You finish taking your clothes off and join him. He slowly opens his eyes, meeting down on your small form as you smile foundly but whimsy.

"Hi" You murmur.

"Hi" He answers, dry again. Opening you space to take the water instead. He leads you and changes your positions with a hand on your hips. Even looking as something wrong happened, he stills the sweetest to you.

When you wet yourself enough, you look back, and he has shampoo on his hair. You change positions again, and he starts to clean it off. You tiptoe, getting closer to reach his long hair hair too, helping him out. Your hands are soft and caring as you caress his hair. Mingyu is just looking at you, the same way you are looking at him, but he has a sad look and pouty lips.

You pull him, soap on your hands as you start to spread on him, his shoulders first, and then down his chest and belly.

"When you're gonna tell me what's wrong" You say while on it.

He helps you, spreading the soap on his arms as he thinks what to say. After a while, he shoots "I saw that guy hitting on you earlier". Your lips form a thin line. Somehow, you want to smile, but he hasn't finished yet. "And still, you stay most of the night of his group of friends".

It's true, you think. Now that he said that to you, you can understand where it comes from. Yes, the guy did hit on you, but you said no, and also add that you are taken. His group of friends are your friend's friends, and the only people (that you slightly know) that were dancing, and you wanted to dance, so you stuck to them.

"You should've tell me" you said, getting a bit sad too. The sudden silence gets you itchy and you can see Mingyu swallowing dry.

"You looked so happy. I wouldn't bother your fun." He adds, confessing it. And some of it makes him embarrassed and bothered that you were having so much fun without him. But he won't tell you that.

"You don't bother me, Mingyu" You reply seriously, stopping on your tracks to look back on him. "I wanted to dance, and they were the people I knew" you add "I want you to tell me when you're uncomfortable" you say lastly, and you suddenly want to cry because you're afraid he didn't have fun like you did, and you feel bad for have not done anything.

"Okay" he says smally and low.

Silence again.

"Turn around" you said, as you start to clean his back down to his hips, but also to hide how a few tears fall down. You clean than off and finish "I'm sorry" You add when he starts to turn back to face you again.

"Please, don't be!" He answers way too fast that startles you, cutting your words "Please don't ever apologize for having fun. I am sorry" he says, and you nod because he's right, but still, he can't just put aside what he feels either, you think that just what jealousy is.

You tiptoe again, caging him on your arms instead as he touches you for the first time, sliding his hands to your hips and resting on your lower back that let shivers down your skin. Your faces are close, nose slightly touching.

"I love you" You say, your hot breath on his lips making his mouth open in an almost gasp.

"I love you too" He adds before finally kissing you, raw and needy like he was craving it.

[snoopychris]

heart stopping

warnings: non-descriptive car crash, dry humping

in which... cheerleader!reader finds two times in the same night where her heart stops

the second that you pieced together what the sound of the crash that came behind you was, your heart stopped. in recent days, your heart had been stopping. once per day, each time for all the right reasons. there was the time where you were walking in the hallway and matt said hey to you. there was the time where it was raining and matt walked you into the school under his umbrella. there was the time when you noticed the pokemon card in matt’s phone case had changed to piplup. weirdly enough, there was the time when Mr. Harrison showed you matt’s project as an example. but this time was different. this time, your heart stopped for all the wrong reasons. 

your eyes squeeze shut for a moment as you gather your thoughts, turn off your car, and reach over to your glove box, grabbing your cars insurance and registration before exiting the vehicle. your hazards are on now, as are the hazards belonging to the other car, and you make your way over. after a brief interaction with the cars owner (grace, you learned) you assessed the damage of your car. it looked to be only a dent, and from what you could tell it was purely cosmetic. everyone was unharmed, both of you had insurance, everything was good to go. 

the second you began driving down the road, your car stopped. turns out, the bump was not purely cosmetic. pain rushes through your head when you hit yourself on the steering wheel a few times. you groan as you grab your phone from the cup holder besides you, looking through your contacts. your parents are probably the last people you want to call right now. youre scrolling for a moment or two before you make the call. 

you let out a sigh when the line rings, smiling when you hear the other end pick up. “hello?” the voice replies quietly with a crack in his voice. “hey…i-im sorry for calling so late. i got into an accident by the park on Dutch street. my car was fine but then it stopped and ive got no other friends with a license. is there any way you can come pick me up? ill owe you big time.” you whisper, crossing your fingers. 

matt hesitates but then speaks. “yeah, im on my way. stay right where you are dont worry.” if any of your friends had seen the way your face turned red, theyd never let you live it down. while youre waiting you do the responsible thing and call a tow truck. when you see a pair of headlights pull up, you instantly assume the worst. you would assume it was matt if he didnt live so far away. when the car pulls up next to you and you realize it is matt, youre okay. he rolls the window down and smiles, gesturing towards the passenger seat. you climb in with your belongs carefully, being as respectful as possible. he sends you a small smile and you take in your surroundings. theres a comfortable silence that sits between the two of you. somehow even with how much chaos you put up with when youre with your friends, you enjoy it. the silence looms for a while but then its broken.

“it smells salty in here…” you giggle, throwing your head against the headrest. matt nods slowly and shrugs, glancing over at you. “i was just at the beach, i sit there when i need more quiet than my room provides. you were at… practice i presume?” he eyes your uniform, the top half covered by your varsity jacket. you nod in response, adjusting the ponytail your hair was in. “i was. we have to come up with new routines.” you smile, licking your lips. matt adjusts the rearview mirror and then his glasses, running a finger through his hair. the small talk continues for the entirety of the car ride, but it didnt take more than 3 minutes to realize how comfortable matt was when talking to you when there werent any other people around. you swallow your spit and frown when matt turns onto your street.

 you take a leap that you never expected to and speak. “pull over here.” you whisper, matt complying while he raises his eyebrows. you take in all of his features before leaning over the center console, holding your face dangerously close to matt’s. “say the word and i stop and leave right now.” you whisper. a shaky exhale exits matts mouth as he shakes his head, cupping your face in his palms as he presses a gentle kiss to your lips.

 youve had a fair amount of kisses before, but there wasnt a single one that came to mind that was quite like this. not a single kiss in all of the previous ones you had shared that were so full of lust, passion, and love. no, not a single one of your previous kisses had any trace of love. you’re the first to pull away. matt couldnt find it in himself to. he was finally kissing the girl of his dreams and you expected him to pull away? no way in heaven or hell.

the two of you sit for a moment, avoiding the gaze of one another. you go to break the silence by speaking, but youre cut off when matt presses another kiss to your lips. you gasp at the sudden feeling, but not a single bone in your body cares. the hand that matt previously had sitting on his steering wheel moves to your thigh, and the hand that had been resting on the window moves to push his seat back as far as it can go. you catch on fairly quick and move to straddle matts lap, never once breaking the touching of your lips. the song that was playing on the radio is tuned out, but you make it out to be doja cat’s “Agora Hills”. this time when the kiss is broken, its due to matt. part of you thinks that he only breaks the kiss to discuss the hardness thats poking your thigh, but he surprises you when he semi-ignores it. 

he stutters as he looks away from you, face flushed with embarrassment. “im a virgin…” he whispers, the suddenness of the confession being the only thing that really shocks you- not that youd ever admit that. you nod as you kiss his neck gently, grabbing onto his hands and placing them on your hips. “thats okay. i am too.” you whisper, making matt’s ears turn red. you had always heard rumors floating around the school that you weren’t, but they didnt bother you, people would always believe whatever they wanted. you look at matt, silently asking for some sort of permission. 

you never verbally get the command, but you catch on pretty quickly when matt begins moving your hips for you. you let out a small noise at the feeling, letting your body take control. matt’s breath hitches in his throat and he lets out a moan, his grip on your hips tightening. “fuck…” he mumbles, his eyes shooting between the way your face looks as youre grinding yourself on his jeans and the way your skirt looks when your legs move. the actions continue for at most ten minutes, though for both of you it feels like an eternity. your hips only come to a stop when you let your orgasm take over your body, collapsing onto matt’s chest, his tshirt stuck to him due to all the sweat. matt only lets go of your hips when he lets his own orgasm take over, a dark, wet spot forming on his jeans and part of your skirt. the two of you gather your breaths for a few moments, a moment only ruined by matt’s phone ringing. 

he composes himself as you slide off of him, gathering your belongings from the backseat. you wait patiently for matt to hang up the phone, licking your lips. “its just chris… he wants me to bring him some ice cream when i go back home.” he whispers, to which you smile and nod. you shoot a glance of reassurance at him, looking over to your house. “guess i should go then huh…” you whisper, not wanting the moment to end so soon. matt lets out a hesitant “yeah”.

 you open the car door and begin stepping out when matt grips your wrist, sending you a smile. “this doesnt end when you walk into that door right?” he mumbles, worried about the outcome. his heart flutters when you shake your head, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “this doesnt end when i walk into that door.” and for the second time that day, your heart stops.

๋࣭⭑ a/n: :P and thats all i have to say. aside from dividers by @issysh3ll kiss kiss! -gen

๋࣭⭑ tags(reply or message to be added): @ifwdominicfike @frankoceanfanpage @mattssslutbby @sophand4n4 @matthewsturnsgf @izzylovesmatt @m11rx @chris-hallelujah @isabellewhatt @st7rnioioss @yuppocarzy @mattsbrat

[puffcap-factory]

Oh, the man he is... (Wriothesley x Reader)

Wriothesley x fem!reader; fluff, shared feelings, implied mutual pining or some sorts + Sigewinne, Furina, Neuvillette appeared as cameos!

You had agreed to extend your work in the Fortress, much to Wriothesley’s delight. However, recently, he found it harder and harder to spend time with you, and it left him feeling restless.

((The story is a sequel of my previous fic here! Although you can always read it separately, the build-up is somewhat connected to the previous one))

Words: 3.1k

Notes: 

I’ve always wanted to do the continuation of my previous stories, but I clearly went overboard for this one since I didn’t plan this to be this long. But, I mean, it’s Wriothesley, who could resist? ;) and don't judge the title pls HELP

Enjoy the story!

•~•~•~•

No, Wriothesley wasn't a jealous man.

As a responsible warden of the fortress, he remained focused on his professional duties, fully acknowledging the demands they entailed.

However, ever since you’ve agreed to extend your work at the Fortress of Meropide—with Neuvillette’s permission, of course, Wriothesley had unconsciously developed a habit of seeking you out—whether it was to hand you some documents or simply to ask about your day. 

Yet, it had been a week since he had a proper conversation with you, since the conflicting work schedules you two had left little time to spend with each other. And somehow, it was starting to bother Wriothesley more than it should. 

Wriothesley exhaled as he stood up from his office seat, leaving piles of documents sprawled on his desk. Despite his usual preference for lunching in his office, he found himself walking towards the cafeteria.

As he approached the bustling cafeteria, his hopes lifted momentarily when he saw you already seated, only to deflate when he spotted you already seated… with another young man in front of you. 

Oh. He thought to himself.

In that moment, he recalled that your latest work involved cooperation with some of the fortress’ members. Right, it was business matters and he’s the Duke of Meropide, he got nothing to worry about, right? 

So, he greeted you, asked about your day, and went back to his office.

•~•~•~•

Wriothesley surely wasn’t a jealous man...

Another day, he discovered that you were done for the day as your work for the day was finished. He was just about to step out of his office to search for you when, to his surprise, you appeared right in front of the office doors. What luck, he thought to himself. However, your sheepish smile hinted at something else.

“Oh, hi, um— I’m here to tell you that I won’t be here for the weekend.”

His plans to ask you out crumbled inside his head.

“Oh, you got called in by the court?”

“No, but I’ve got other things to do,” you replied as you gave him an apologetic smile. “Is that okay?”

Well, he couldn't just outright refuse; after all, you deserved a break too. However, his mind raced, wondering about the nature of the 'other things' you had mentioned. Was it work-related? Or perhaps it was something more private?

"Of course, don’t worry about it," Wriothesley reassured you with a smile, trying to bury his own thoughts as he mentally cursed himself for his train of thought. "I'll see you next Monday then."

You thanked him and went off. He sighed, hoping that you would be available for the weekend so he could at least ask you out. But for now, he would have to wait.

•~•~•~•

Wriothesley definitely wasn’t the jealous type... or so he believed.

But lately, he couldn't shake this nagging feeling of restlessness. You seemed busier than ever, going back and forth between the surface and the fortress. And, to make matters worse, you were spending less time with him compared to a certain assistant. This young man had been assisting you in the latest case at the fortress, and he seemed to be handling it well. In fact, it was Wriothesley himself who suggested you to appoint an assistant in order to lighten your workload—as you seemed to have some business to take care of on the surface, only to find himself now competing for your attention.

It was like his own idea to help you had turned against him, backfiring in the most frustratingly ironic way possible. 

Massaging his temples, Wriothesley groaned as his thoughts swirled in his head.

“Feeling unwell, Your Grace?” Sigewinne's soft and cheery voice interrupted his brooding as she entered his office, carrying documents from the infirmary.

“Oh, Sigewinne, it’s nothing,” Wriothesley exhaled. “Thanks for the documents though.”

“If you’re wondering about y/n, she’s already gone to the surface,” Sigewinne said softly, yet, her tone masking a hint of mischief.

Wriothesley sighed in defeat. “Right, the event tomorrow. I figured she'd be attending.”

“Didn't she tell you?” Sigewinne asked innocently.

Oof.

Wriothesley fell silent, then replied, “No, but I had a hunch.”

“I saw her heading to the surface with Antonio—the assistant, did I get his name right? I heard there’s a ball in the event, right? Maybe they’re preparing for it,” Sigewinne added, her smile widening just a bit, her eyes anticipating his reaction. 

Wriothesley lifted his head to stare at Sigewinne, at a loss for words.

Wait, were you actually planning on dancing together with Antonio?

She giggled innocently at his reaction before continuing.

“But you’ll be there too, Your Grace. And for security reasons, I don’t see any problem,” she chirped, her amusement evident in her voice.

With a grumble, Wriothesley stood up and headed straight to his room. “Security reasons, right… I’ll need to think about tomorrow's outfit then…”

Sigewinne watched him go, giggling softly to herself.

“Racing hearts, rising blood pressure, uneasiness. Yep, those are the physical symptoms of jealousy, alright,” Sigewinne mused to herself.

“Human emotions are truly interesting.”

•~•~•~•

You stared at the dress laying on top of your bed at your dwelling in the surface, mentally preparing yourself up with confidence to wear it for the event tomorrow. In fact, Furina had picked the dress together with you. Classy, beautiful, drop-dead gorgeous; was what she commented. But honestly, when was the last time you'd slipped into something so elegant? 

As you lay back on your bed, your mind wandered over the events of the past few weeks.

--few weeks before--

“A… ball, you said?” 

"Yes, in fact, Lady Furina will be hosting the event. And we are expected to attend as representatives from the court," Neuvillette explained, his tone as flat as ever. Beside him, Lady Furina nodded eagerly. “The ball will pose as the closing ceremony.”

"Ah, I see... so the event about three weeks away," you replied, your confidence faltering slightly. "To be honest, I'm not exactly skilled at dancing..."

"Oh, nonsense! A Fontainian lady must know how to dance!" Lady Furina interjected, her voice brimming with determination. "Fear not! I'll personally train you at least twice a week until the ball. How does that sound?"

You swallowed nervously, anticipating her rigorous training methods. You glanced to Neuvillette, only to found him nodding in agreement. 

"Um... alright, thank you for the offer, Lady Furina. I'll try to make time during the weekends."

"Excellent! It's settled then!" Lady Furina exclaimed with a wide smile, her hand clasped in front of his chest. "Meet me in front of my house this weekend!"

You closed your eyes, recalling the training sessions with Furina as you tried to gather your confidence for tomorrow. Although you could safely say you were doing okay-ish with the training, your mind kept wandering back to a certain man in the fortress, leaving you longing for the interactions you shared with him.

•~•~•~•

The next evening, the venue began to fill with people, the atmosphere bustling with liveliness. You positioned yourself near the Palais Mermonia members, keeping Neuvillette in your sight as you glanced over at Furina, who was already engaged in conversation with other people.

As you talked with various guests, your thoughts often drifted to whether Wriothesley would attend the ball. The idea of dancing with him crossed your mind, but so far, he was nowhere to be seen.

Come to think of it, you hadn’t told him a thing about your secret dancing lessons. 

“You haven’t found a dance partner??” Furina's panicked tone was evident as she approached you, her arm linked with Neuvillette's, signaling that they would dance together. 

“Um, well, not yet…” you mumbled, feeling a bit flustered.

“Oh, my! I won’t allow you wasting your skills today! Let me see…”

Furina pondered for a moment before suggesting a few Palais Mermonia attendees as potential partners. However, none of them really piqued your interest. If you want someone, it would be– 

“Wriothesley is also attending this event too, in case you are wondering,” Neuvillette added suddenly, catching you off guard.

Your eyes widened slightly at the unexpected mention of Wriothesley's presence. You knew Neuvillette must be offering his personal opinion, perhaps based on his own observation of your close working relationship with the Duke, in addition with Wriothesley's request to extend your stay at the fortress. However, the comment had caught you off guard, and you went silent, a faint blush tinting your cheeks as you hid your excitement.

But your reaction had caught Furina’s attention as her smile turned into a mischievous grin. “Ah, the Duke of Meropide! How could I forget?” she exclaimed dramatically, holding her hand up to her face. “I saw him near the gardens earlier. You should go check him out!”

Although you realized her attempt on teasing you, you found yourself nodding hastily and made your way outside to the place she had mentioned. 

“And the ball is starting in fifteen—!” Furina added rather enthusiastically, her voice trailing behind you. 

And so, you went outside. The atmosphere was less crowded than indoors, but there were still plenty of people mingling about. You paced around in search of Wriothesley when suddenly, a young man intercepted you from the side, introducing himself.

“Good evening, m’lady. You're as lovely as a fresh rainbow rose. Would you do me the honor of a dance?”

“Thank you, but I’m actually looking for someone…” you began, trying to politely decline.

“A dance partner, perhaps?” he persisted, holding out a real rainbow rose this time.

“I’m sorry, but I really should— ,“ you attempted to excuse yourself, but he wasn't taking the hint.

“The ball's starting soon. It'd be a shame not to enjoy a dance with such a beautiful lady…”

Feeling pressured but unable to escape his persistence, you were about to step away, but a reassuring hand suddenly clasped your waist, holding you close from the side.

“The lady clearly indicated she wasn't interested.”

Relief flooded through you as you immediately recognized the voice. Looking up, you saw Wriothesley standing with a polite – or perhaps, intimidating – smile on his face, standing rather menacingly in front of the persistent man. The young man went off immediately, clearly taking Wriothesley’s cue.

After the man had hurriedly retreated, Wriothesley released his arm from your waist and turned towards you, his gaze lingering for a moment, a small smile playing on his lips as he took time to admire your delightful appearance. He then bowed slightly towards you, lifting your hand with a gentle touch and pressed a small kiss to the back of it.

“M’lady,” he murmured, his voice low and husky. 

You were stunned by his gentlemanly gesture, as you just felt a flutter of butterflies inside your stomach. “Wriothesley…” You found yourself momentarily at a loss for words, struck by how incredibly charming he appeared in his formal attire.

“You look stunning,” he complimented, his warm gaze met yours, a stark contrast to the coolness of his icy-colored eyes. You shyly thanked him for his kind words, feeling a warmth spreading through you at his sincere compliment.

As the two of you were lost in the brief moment of admiring each other, he cleared his throat, subtly regaining his composure as he glanced around. “…Are you perhaps, waiting for someone?” he asked as his curiosity piqued. 

“Oh, well, I was…”

Wriothesley immediately caught onto your choice of words.

“You… were?”

“Mhm, but not anymore,” you replied with a warm, sheepish smile.

A hint of confusion flickered across Wriothesley's face, his thoughts momentarily jumbled. Wait, so you weren't waiting for Antonio, which meant…

You sensed his slow realization and couldn't help but let out a small laugh as you added, “You, Wriothesley. You’re the one I’ve been searching for.”

Your words came out cheesier than intended, and you felt a blush creeping up your cheeks as you scrambled to explain. But Wriothesley did not seem to care as his smile grew wider. It was what he had hoped to hear. 

But then, before he could say anything, your attention shifted to the direction of the building, with the music began playing from inside the hall, signaling that the ball had already begun as people started flocking into the building.  

Observing the dwindling crowd, Wriothesley turned to look at you. “As much as I want to dance with you, I don’t think we’ll make it in time inside.”

You returned his smile at his eagerness to dance with you. You looked around, taking in the serene atmosphere of the nearly empty garden. “It’s fine. Instead… I’d hate to miss the beauty of the moon tonight.”

He gave you an affectionate smile as he seemed to understood the hint, and extended his arm towards you. “Well then, m’lady, may I have the honor of a dance?”

With a nod, you gladly accepted his hand. “Of course, Your Grace,” you replied, earning a small chuckle from him at your sudden formality.

As the music played softly in the background and the moon cast its gentle glow upon you, you and Wriothesley began to dance. The waltz you had practiced with Furina proved its worth as you both moved gracefully under the enchanting night sky. You realized that you had been longing for his company for this whole time.

As you danced, you became acutely aware of the close proximity between you and Wriothesley. Your faces were just inches apart, and his eyes seemed to be locked onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race. His hand rested firmly on your back, providing a reassuring support, while the other held yours with a gentle yet firm grip. 

“You dance well,” you whispered softly, breaking the silence.

“I could say the same about you,” he hummed, his eyes affectionately locked on yours as you two transitioned into a slower dance. “Have you been practicing in secret? Or were you just naturally gifted?”

You gave a small laugh at his remark. “Actually…” You paused, shying away for a bit. “I’ve been attending dance lessons with Lady Furina these past few weeks.”

“Oh? Is that why you've been going back and forth to the surface?” 

“Mostly, yeah, since I agreed to return her favor,” you explained with a sheepish grin. “But she also roped me into helping compile some data for this event. I must thank you for offering me appointing an assistant to help with the job though. He really did his job well.”

“Wait, I thought he’s also coming to this event?” He stopped the slow dance momentarily, still holding you in his arms as he processed the new information.

“Antonio? No, he’s taking care of my duties today in the fortress, as I instructed him yesterday.”

Wriothesley went silent as everything seemed to click inside his mind, a chuckle escaping his lips, amused by his own thoughts. You looked at him in confusion, but he waved off your concern with a dismissive smile.

“Never mind, it’s not the time to dwell on petty things,” he said, his focus returning to you. “I don’t want to spoil the moment dancing with you tonight.”

You stared at him for a second, before nodding in agreement, letting go of any lingering questions inside you as you both resumed your dance under the enchanting moonlight. It felt like you were dancing without a care in the world, lost in each other’s embrace.

As the song reached its conclusion, you both stopped gracefully, locked in a gaze neither of you wanted to break. A warm smile played on your lips as you looked into his eyes, feeling the warmth of his gaze that he returned to you.

In that fleeting moment, as the night air wrapped around you like a gentle caress, there was a subtle shift in the atmosphere. His eyes began to flicker between your lips and your eyes. You were ready to surrender yourself into the silent invitation as you slowly leaned forwards, feeling his breath brush against your skin as your noses almost touching.

Seeing you responded to his silent cue, a faint smile tugged at the corners of Wriothesley's lips as he too began to close the gap between you, inching closer. Finally, his lips met yours as he kissed you gently, sealing the moment carefully with a tender embrace.

Despite your racing heartbeat, you melted into his soft kiss, feeling his hand cupping your cheek gently that made your heart flutter. As the air around you seemed to grow warmer with the intensity of the moment, you pulled back slightly, needing a moment to catch your breath. Your cheeks flushed with a rosy hue as you met his gaze with half-lidded eyes, the heat of the moment still lingering between you.

He leaned in closer, as if to pull you into another kiss, but then abruptly halted, his body rigid as his eyes widened slightly. He then quickly turned his head to the side facing the bushes, while his hand remained protectively on your waist.

“Who’s there?” he asked, his voice a bit demanding.

Slowly, a small figure behind starting to emerge behind the bushes, revealing Sigewinne who slowly tiptoed out.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Your Grace, I thought I was hiding well,” she said with a sheepish smile. “I didn’t want to bother, so I waited.”

Wriothesley immediately released his hand from your waist, bringing it to his face to hide his embarrassment. “Ah, it’s you…, what brings you here?”

“Monsieur Neuvillette was searching for you, and I happened to spot you here,” she explained, her tone light and playful. 

Wriothesley let out an exasperated sigh, his hand falling to his side. “Right.”

Then, Sigewinne glanced at you with a mischievous gleam in her eye. “Looks like your jealousy was a tad unnecessary, Your Grace,” she teased.

“Huh, where did that come from?” Wriothesley responded with a bemused expression.

You stood there, momentarily stunned, before Sigewinne’s words finally sank in. “…Jealous? Of whom?” you asked, glancing between them in confusion, before it dawned on you as you recalled your lingering questions from your mind.

Wait…could it be? 

A smile tugged at the corners of your lips as Sigewinne continued, “Ah, you see, this big man was actually jealous that new assis–”

“Ugh, spare me…” Wriothesley groaned, turning to walk away, not wanting to hear the rest of Sigewinne’s teasing. You laughed softly as you followed behind with Sigewinne as she started to explain her observationsfrom the past few weeks.

As you walked, you caught Wriothesley stealing a glance back at the two of you, a playful smirk tugged on his lips. It seemed like he was content with how things had turned out.

And so, the rest of the night unfolded with cheers and laughter, with everyone by your side. Despite the lingering feeling of a certain unfinished business, you couldn't wipe the smile from your face for the entire night.

After all, you now know that the feelings were mutual, right?

[qatarsprint2023]

Hi can I request a lando x f!reader when she’s really sick and how lando takes care of her, like A. fluffy and comforting fic. I just found ur acc and I’m so excited for ur upcoming writings!!!!

~🎀

Thank you sm! Hope you enjoy this one, 🎀<3

Sick days and Race weekends— LN4

Lando discovers that his girlfriend got sick while he was away for a race and didn't want to worry him. — Lando Norris x f!reader, fluff, comfort, reader has a bad case of the flu, no use of y/n word count: ca. 1.2k

Ever since you were a kid you'd never been the type of person to get actually sick. Sure, a little cough and runny nose maybe, but nothing ever really drastic. Personally, you were pretty sure your immune system was simply a wonderful combination of good genes and growing up in the countryside.

Your parents had always told you that the fresh air and spending a lot of time outdoors with some exposure to animals had probably played some part in your never being sick as well and developed your immune system in a way people who grew up in urban areas would never have.

But when you moved to London for uni a little later in life, a huge city with tons of traffic, pollution and surprisingly little greenery, you found yourself getting sick more often than when you lived on your parent's farm surrounded by green grass, fields that stretched for miles and lots of animals. However this time you got sick. Runny nose, aching joints, pounding headache, hacking cough, fever that came and went as it pleased... The whole flu package, really.

You'd already started feeling a little off before Lando left for Austin on Wednesday and it had gradually gotten a little worse each day, but by Friday it all just hit like a wrecking ball. But you being you, decided not to say anything much about it and tell your boyfriend it was just a common cold you were dealing with back home.

He'd done so well in Qualifying on Friday and he should really be concentrating on his upcoming race and not his girlfriend's inane complaints from halfway across the globe. You didn't like worrying people. It didn't feel right plaguing someone else with your problems when surely you could somehow find a way to work it out yourself anyway.

But now it was Monday morning and you had curled up on the couch under the heaviest blanket you could find with a half empty tissue box and a giant mug of tea on the coffee table beside you a few hours ago already. You were cold and shivering like leaves in the wind on an icey autumn day like today, even with your hot drink and the warm blanket thrown across your body.

You couldn't have been more miserable. You felt like you were dying. You couldn't go to work, or leave the house because you simply felt awful and weak. So, you decided to just lay down on the couch and wait for Lando to get home.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of waiting for the familiar sound of a key turning in the lock, you perked up a little at the sound coming from the door across the room. Lando stepped inside and shut the door behind him with a soft sigh slipping past his lips, not noticing you.

"Hey... P2!" you croaked weakly and forced a small smile onto your lips when you saw your boyfriend step into your shared flat, suitcase in hand, his coat and shoes still on as well after he just made his way through Heathrow airport and probably (definitely) went through a mini heart attack too when his luggage didn't immediately come out with everything else from the flight, like he always does when you're flying somewhere.

He hesitated for a moment, wondering if he'd actually heard you call out to him. It was the last thing he expected to hear. Reasonable response, you had to concur— after all, you were supposed to be at work. Then he turned to face the couch and saw you laying there, basically drowning under the heavy fabric of your blanket.

"Hey, hey... What's wrong? Why aren't you at work?" he asked in a voice that showed obvious signs of worry as he quickly kicked his shoes off and went over to you, feeling your forehead with his cold palm. "Jesus. You're basically on fire, baby... I thought you just had a normal cough?!"

"Didn't wanna worry you," you chuckled with an innocent smile, but before you knew it, your chuckle turned into yet another harsh cough. According to your mum, you sounded like an elephant with tuberculosis, like she told you over the phone yesterday. Harsh but true comparison, you had to admit.

Lando groaned and shook his head in an exaggerated way. "Yeah but, you should worry me when you get a fever like this!" However his expression softened to one of sympathy as he sat down beside you on the edge of the beige couch, gently stroking your forehead in an attempt to make you feel more at ease.

"Why didn't you tell me you felt this bad when we talked yesterday?" he frowned, some of his soft curls falling onto his forehead.

"You just got P2 and you sounded so happy about that on the phone, so I didn't wanna dampen the mood," you respond with a shrug.

"The only thing you've got me feeling right now is worried, baby. Come on, you can hardly talk without having a coughing fit," he sighed, putting his arm around you and planting a kiss on the crown of your head. "Have you had anything to eat?"

"Not yet," you sniffled softly and shook your head, rubbing the bridge of your nose with your index finger and thumb. It felt like there was someone playing a damn drum solo against the inside of your skull. "Didn't have the energy to make myself anything more than tea. I feel like death..."

"I know, baby, I know..." Lando sighed softly and gently stroked your cheek with his thumb as he stood up and placed his hands on his hips, looking down at you. "I'll make you some toast, okay? But first let's get you to bed... The couch isn't comfortable enough for when my girl needs to rest. It'll give you a stiff neck, sweetheart."

Lando gently looped his arm around your waist and helped you get up from the couch, a soft groan escaping your throat. He held you upright as you slowly walked over to the bedroom where your boyfriend lied you down in bed and pulled the covers over your shivering body, enveloping you in a warm sea of soft bedsheets.

"Alright..." he said with a sympathetic gaze in his hazel eyes and fluffed up your pillow a little, so you could lay down more comfortably. "I'll make you something and I'll bring you your tea in a minute too. Oh and some of that cough syrup we have as well. I know you don't like it, but I don't like it when you sound like you're gonna cough up your lungs any second. Do you want me to make you some soup later too?"

"You can make soup?" you retorted raspily and covered your mouth as another cough slipped past your chapped lips.

"Well... no... But I can make soup from the can?" Lando suggested with a sheepish grin, which caused you to smile a bit as well. It was so nice to have someone who just wanted to help and make you feel better.

"That'd be nice, thank you..." you replied softly and smiled, though you quickly covered your mouth as he leaned down to kiss you. "No! I'll get you sick too!"

"Well, I sure as hell won't let you sleep alone tonight, so whether I kiss you now or have my arm around you for seven hours tonight doesn't really make a big difference, does it?" he chuckled and gently took your hand away from your face to press a chaste kiss against your pale lips.

"Stay with me afterwards?" you hummed softly, not yet pulling away from the tender sensation of his lips on yours and your hand in his.

"I'll stay as long as you want me to," said Lando in response and gently gave your hip a pat. "But first I'll get you something to eat and your tea from the living room, yeah?"