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autistichalsin · 4 months ago

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In retrospect, four years later, I feel like the Isabel Fall incident was just the biggest ignored cautionary tale modern fandom spaces have ever had. Yes, it wasn't limited to fandom, it was also a professional author/booktok type argument, but it had a lot of crossover.

Stop me if you've heard this one before: a writer, whether fan or pro, publishes a work. If one were to judge a book by its cover, something we are all taught in Kindergarten shouldn't happen but has a way of occurring regardless, one might find that there was something that seemed deeply problematic about this work. Maybe the title or summary alluded to something Wrong happening, or maybe the tags indicated there was problematic kinks or relationships. And that meant the story was Bad. So, a group of people takes to the Twittersphere to inform everyone who will listen why the work, and therefore the author, are Bad. The author, receiving an avalanche of abuse and harassment, deactivates their account, and checks into a mental health facility for monitoring for suicidal ideation. They never return to their writing space, and the harassers get a slap on the wrist (if that- usually they get praise and high-fives all around) and start waiting for their next victim to transgress.

Sounds awful familiar, doesn't it?

Isabel Fall's case, though, was even more extreme for many reasons. See, she made the terrible mistake of using a transphobic meme as the genesis to actually explore issues of gender identity.

More specifically, she used the phrase "I sexually identify as an attack helicopter" to examine how marginalized identities, when they become more accepted, become nothing more than a tool for the military-industrial complex to rebrand itself as a more personable and inclusive atrocity; a chance to pursue praise for bombing brown children while being progressive, because queer people, too, can help blow up brown children now! It also contained an examination of identity and how queerness is intrinsic to a person, etc.

But... well, if harassers ever bothered to read the things they critique, we wouldn't be here, would we? So instead, they called Isabel a transphobic monster for the title alone, even starting a misinformation campaign to claim she was, in fact, a cis male nazi using a fake identity to psyop the queer community.

A few days later, after days of horrific abuse and harassment, Isabel requested that Clarkesworld magazine pull the story. She checked in to a psych ward with suicidal thoughts. That wasn't all, though; the harassment was so bad that she was forced to out herself as trans to defend against the claims.

Only... we know this type of person, the fandom harassers, don't we? You know where this is going. Outing herself did nothing to stop the harassment. No one was willing to read the book, much less examine how her sexuality and gender might have influenced her when writing it.

So some time later, Isabel deleted her social media. She is still alive, but "Isabel Fall" is not- because the harassment was so bad that Isabel detransitioned/closeted herself, too traumatized to continue living her authentic life.

Supposed trans allies were so outraged at a fictional portrayal of transness, written by a trans woman, that they harassed a real life trans woman into detransitioning.

It's heartbreakingly familiar, isn't it? Many of us in fandom communities have been in Isabel's shoes, even if the outcome wasn't so extreme (or in some cases, when it truly was). Most especially, many of us, as marginalized writers speaking from our own experiences in some way, have found that others did not enjoy our framework for examining these things, and hurt us, members of those identities, in defense of "the community" as a nebulous undefined entity.

There's a quote that was posted in a news writeup about the whole saga that was published a year after the fact. The quote is:

The delineation between paranoid and reparative readings originated in 1995, with influential critic Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick. A paranoid reading focuses on what’s wrong or problematic about a work of art. A reparative reading seeks out what might be nourishing or healing in a work of art, even if the work is flawed. Importantly, a reparative reading also tends to consider what might be nourishing or healing in a work of art for someone who isn’t the reader. This kind of nuance gets completely worn away on Twitter, home of paranoid readings. “[You might tweet], ‘Well, they didn’t discuss X, Y, or Z, so that’s bad!’ Or, ‘They didn’t’ — in this case — ‘discuss transness in a way that felt like what I feel about transness, therefore it is bad.’ That flattens everything into this very individual, very hostile way of reading,” Mandelo says. “Part of reparative reading is trying to think about how a story cannot do everything. Nothing can do everything. If you’re reading every text, fiction, or criticism looking for it to tick a bunch of boxes — like if it represents X, Y, and Z appropriately to my definitions of appropriate, and if it’s missing any of those things, it’s not good — you’re not really seeing the close focus that it has on something else.”

A paranoid reading describes perfectly what fandom culture has become in the modern times. It is why "proship", once simply a word for common sense "don't engage with what you don't like, and don't harass people who create it either" philosophies, has become the boogeyman of fandom, a bad and dangerous word. The days of reparative readings, where you would look for things you enjoyed, are all but dead. Fiction is rarely a chance to feel joy; it's an excuse to get angry, to vitriolically attack those different from oneself while surrounded with those who are the same as oneself. It's an excuse to form in-groups and out-groups that must necessarily be in a constant state of conflict, lest it come across like This side is accepting That side's faults. In other words, fandom has become the exact sort of space as the nonfandom spaces it used to seek to define itself against.

It's not about joy. It's not about resonance with plot or characters. It's about hate. It's about finding fault. If they can't find any in the story, they will, rest assured, create it by instigating fan wars- dividing fandom into factions and mercilessly attacking the other.

And that's if they even went so far as to read the work they're critiquing. The ones they don't bother to read, as you saw above, fare even worse. If an AO3 writer tagged an abuser/victim ship, it's bad, it's fetishism, even if the story is about how the victim escapes. If a trans writer uses the title "I Sexually Identify as an Attack Helicopter" to find a framework to dissect rainbow-washing the military-industrial complex, it's unforgivable. It's a cesspool of kneejerk reactions, moralizing discomfort, treating good/evil as dichotomous categories that can never be escaped, and using that complex as an excuse to heap harassment on people who "deserve it." Because once you are Bad, there is no action against you that is too Bad for you to deserve.

Isabel Fall's story follows this so step-by-step that it's like a textbook case study on modern fandom behavior.

Isabel Fall wrote a short story with an inflammatory title, with a genesis in transphobic mockery, in the hopes of turning it into a genuine treatise on the intersection of gender and sexuality and the military-industrial complex. But because audiences are unprepared for the idea of inflammatory rhetoric as a tool to force discomfort to then force deeper introspection... they zeroed in on the discomfort. "I Sexually Identify as an Attack Helicopter"- the title phrase, not the work- made them uncomfortable. We no longer teach people how to handle discomfort; we live in a world of euphemism and glossing over, a world where people can't even type out the words "kill" and rape", instead substituting "unalive" and "grape." We don't deal with uncomfortable feelings anymore; we censor them, we transform them, we sanitize them. When you are unable to process discomfort, when you are never given self-soothing tools, your only possible conclusion is that anything Uncomfortable must be Bad, and the creator must either be censored too, or attacked into conformity so that you never again experience the horrors of being Uncomfortable.

So the masses took to Twitter, outraged. They were Uncomfortable, and that de facto meant that they had been Wronged. Because the content was related to trans identity issues, that became the accusation; it was transphobic, inherently. It couldn't be a critique of bigger and more fluid systems than gender identity alone; it was a slight against trans people. And no amount of explanations would change their minds now, because they had already been aggrieved and made to feel Uncomfortable.

Isabel Fall was now a Bad Person, and we all know what fandom spaces do to Bad People. Bad People, because they are Bad, will always be deserving of suicide bait and namecalling and threatening. Once a person is Bad, there is no way to ever become Good again. Not by refuting the accusations (because the accusations are now self-evident facts; "there is a callout thread against them" is its own tautological proof that wrongdoing has happened regardless of the veracity of the claims in the callout) and not by apologizing and changing, because if you apologize and admit you did the Bad thing, you are still Bad, and no matter what you do in future, you were once Bad and that needs to be brought up every time you are mentioned. If you are bad, you can NEVER be more than what you were at your worst (in their definition) moment. Your are now ontologically evil, and there is no action taken against you that can be immoral.

So Isabel was doomed, naturally. It didn't matter that she outed herself to explain that she personally had lived the experience of a trans woman and could speak with authority on the atrocity of rainbow-washing the military industrial complex as a proaganda tool to capture progressives. None of it mattered. She had written a work with an Uncomfortable phrase for a title, the readers were Uncomfortable, and someone had to pay for it.

And that's the key; pay for it. Punishment. Revenge. It's never about correcting behavior. Restorative justice is not in this group's vocabulary. You will, incidentally, never find one of these folks have a stance against the death penalty; if you did Bad as a verb, you are Bad as an intrinsic, inescapable adjective, and what can you do to incorrigible people but kill them to save the Normal people? This is the same principle, on a smaller scale, that underscores their fandom activities; if a Bad fan writes Bad fiction, they are a Bad person, and their fandom persona needs to die to save Normal fans the pain of feeling Uncomfortable.

And that's what happened to Isabel Fall. The person who wrote the short story is very much alive, but the pseudonym of Isabel Fall, the identity, the lived experiences coming together in concert with imagination to form a speculative work to critique deeply problematic sociopolitical structures? That is dead. Isabel Fall will never write again, even if by some miracle the person who once used the name does. Even if she ever decides to restart her transition, she will be permanently scarred by this experience, and will never again be able to share her experience with us as a way to grow our own empathy and challenge our understanding of the world. In spirit, but not body, fandom spaces murdered Isabel Fall.

And that's... fandom, anymore. That's just what is done, routinely and without question, to Bad people. Good people are Good, so they don't make mistakes, and they never go too far when dealing with Bad people. And Bad people, well, they should have thought before they did something Bad which made them Bad people.

Isabel Fall's harassment happened in early 2020, before quarantine started, but it was in so many ways a final chance for fandom to hit the breaks. A chance for fandom to think collectively about what it wanted to be, who it wanted to be for and how it wanted to do it. And fandom looked at this and said, "more, please." It continues to harass marginalized people, especially fans of color and queen fans, into suffering mental breakdowns. With gusto.

Any ideas of reparative reading is dead. Fandom runs solely on paranoid readings. And so too is restorative justice gone for fandom transgressions, real or imagined. It is now solely about punitive, vigilante justice. It's a concerted campaign to make sure oddballs conform or die (in spirit, but sometimes even physically given how often mentally ill individuals are pushed into committing suicide).

It's a deeply toxic environment and I'm sad to say that Isabel Fall's story was, in retrospect, a sort of event horizon for the fandom. The gravitational pull of these harassment campaigns is entirely too strong now and there is no escaping it. I'm sorry, I hate to say something so bleak, but thinking the last few days about the state of fandom (not just my current one but also others I watch from the outside), I just don't think we can ever go back to peaceful "for joy" engagement, not when so many people are determined to use it as an outlet for lateral aggression against other people.

#isabel fall #fandom #proship #proshippers please interact #proship please interact #profiction

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savanir · 1 month ago

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A sister's love

The justice league hurriedly responds to a call for backup at a little in the middle of nowhere place by the name of Amity Park.

The situation had seemed so simple.

A Star Sapphire had suddenly shown up on Earth which isn’t immediately cause for concern but she was unidentified, so a lantern was definitely going to have to look into it if only just to make sure that nothing bad was going on. There are two planet side green lanterns, Simon and Jessica. So they responded to handle the potential situation.

Things rapidly spun out of control when they realized it wasn't just a Star Sapphire.

"I hate to say this but we're gonna need backup" Simon tells Cyborg, "the Star Sapphire has brought something with her. My first guess was a white martian but..." The other one can do some manner of density shifting, and he can go invisible, but they know ways around that. Whatever this one is doing isn’t that though.

"Why isn't this working!?!" Comes Jessica's slightly panicked voice in the distance, "he keeps just going through my creations! dammit, think think Jess" She tried to contain him with a flamethrower construct but he just ignored it, like he’s seemingly ignoring everything else she’s throwing at him.

"Our constructs have zero effect on the other one, the alien, meta? man I don’t know he’s human shaped"

"What is the situation other than the two hostiles?"

"Uh we got some government agents who are retreating because of the Star Sapphire wrecking their stuff. And the civilian people here seem to be falling under her influence, so she must be human. She's from here, she needs emotional connection to pull that stuff off."

The people are furious, the violet glow around them clearly indicates that the girl is using her ring to amp them up but if Simon didn’t know any better he’d say this was red lantern stuff.

Well there are more ways to whip people up into a frenzy, by hurting their loved ones for example.

There is a brief moment where it can be heard that Simon and Jessica try to get into a more advantageous position.

Simon grunts, "dammit, those agents seemed to have weapons that actually worked on the other guy but the Star Sapphire used her violet constructs to shield him and destroy their guns and we've been struggling since" this whole situation stinks, he has a weird feeling about all of it.

"Simon this is really really bad, i can't keep restraining all these civilians, we're running out of energy fast!"

Cyborg tries to get a visual on the situation from his position in the Watchtower while he’s notifying any league affiliated heroes who are nearby and available.

But all of a sudden he realizes there is just nothing, just a big lap of void where the two lanterns are supposed to be, there is no cctv footage, no cell towers, no internet connection. Just what the hell is going on here.

Then the audio transmission starts to violently crackle.

A new voice laced with static can suddenly be heard, "There you two are"

"Shit"

"Is the justice league coming yet? Are they finally going to do something?" the staticy voice continues.

"Stay back you-"

"Or maybe they still need more of a reason to act"

The audio cuts out.

"Jessica! Simon! Come in!" ... "Shit!"

Cyborg finally gets a clear picture with the satellite cameras and now sees the entirety of Amity Park has been covered with a crystalized violet dome. It’s then that he remembers the story Hal told quite some time ago now about a Star Sapphire who managed to put a whole planet into love stasis.

They are gonna need more help with this one he thinks.

Meanwhile Jazz is still shakily trying to figure out how her new pink powers work, now that all the fighting is over (for now), the GIW forcefully expelled from Amity, and the two Justice league people captured and restrained.

Everything happened so fast, one moment the GIW had knocked out her brother and were forcefully taking him away and while she saw them drive off (she was pretty sure she was screaming) a pink thing just froze her in place, She was pretty sure someone said something about “great love in her heart” and then she was… well she was flying and- and there wasn’t really any time to question things then so she may have kinda gone and ripped into the van that had Danny.

She’s pretty sure she healed him, and then things just completely spiraled out of control from that point on. and now she’s here.

She’s pretty sure this is crazy villain behavior, she’s going to get put on some sort of watchlist and then she’ll never get to be a psychologist but it’s fine.

Her little brother is safe, that’s all that matters. And she will keep it that way.

#dpxdc #dcxdp #danny phantom #danny fenton #dp x dc #dc x dp #dp x dc crossover #green lanterns #jazz fenton #simon baz #jessica cruz #so Jazz is a Star Sapphire #And she is using the love she has for her brother as well as the love of the Amity Park community #the people of Amity are already not happy with the Justice League so getting them to do what she wants isn't hard #atm though she doesn't really know she's doing it #and the ring is probably also influencing her #I feel like this situation would first get worse before it would get better #The GIW would try to spin this into their advantage somehow

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fukashiin · 6 months ago

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attractive things they do #2 !

— w. housewardens

⤷ "yuutapdatass tweeted: malleus pls stop dming me to rub our feet together as a nightly custom"

cw: hinted suggestive content for malleus, vil and leona. passive reader! enjoy ♡

RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS

shushing others so you can focus.

pens and textbooks alike cluster along your designated study table, accompanied by the riddle rosehearts as his knee brushes against yours wordlessly. he's utilising this free period, toiling out and about to aid you in your, regretfully, pointless revision. finals season starts to get rigid around this time, so he's more than content to lend a hand if you're willing to put in the effort. except—the students abounded at the table diagonal to yours start getting chattier than what's socially allowed in the library, so riddle calls them out without a pain. one "they're trying to focus." and their mouths are zipped. he turns back to you, unperturbed, and smiles. "shall we continue?"

SO patient with you it makes you cry.

riddle may be a bomb of ire waiting to burst at any given moment, but you believe that his patience shouldn't go uncredited. a tireless awardee, a distinguished laureate, going sleepy in your eyes, although he's wrestling to win over the urge just so you can get the hand of the concept he's cramming into your head last-minute. the scent of white petunias could really alleviate his fatigue, and you make a promise to bring over a few of those in favour for his devoutness to your study sessions. for the time being, he'll make sure you pass, for him, and for yourself.

vows that he'll outdo your stupid ex in every way.

whatever your ex did wrong, riddle will do better. that's just in his nature. he swears with each and every fibre of his body, nuzzling his head in the dip of your shoulder, that he'll love you in ways that your morose ex never bothered to think about. a muttered pledge that couldn't compare to the pious burn that lit in his eyes, like a withstanding candle refusing to go out. his confessions are firm, where he'll be the betterment that you wished for on an astral night, so please, don't put him in your doubt.

LEONA KINGSCHOLAR

pressing you against the nearest wall he spots to kiss you.

there are numerous attributes to this man that renders you hopelessly drunk in love. one of them is his maddening habit of pressing you flushed against the nearest surface in his sight, and the most poorly lit areas when you're in stranded in a public space to guise the both of you. he executes this with the softest hint of care, ensuring that the landing wasn't too harsh, and advancing when given the green light. wispy strands of hair stroke your skin like a feather, as fine lips come crashing down to yours in a heartbeat, in paradise. he gives you a sheer once-over, bringing up the following statement: "grab onto my vest if you need to."

breathes the confidence into you.

downgrading oneself may be in his dictionary, but it won't appear in yours. he'll clasp any opportunity to brandish his infamous eye-roll to those whose comments about you stray a bit too loud. you may be a bit thrown off by the audacity and aimlessly think about the ways of which you could live up to his—your standards. you take a bit to reorient yourself when you hear your name being called out, sluggish hands circling your waist, as you're unable to finish your thought about how beautiful he is until he asks whether you're actually sparing a single thought for those nobodies. he casually states that you're leagues better than them, whether you think so or not, and won't mind giving you a physical demonstration if you can't bring yourself to accept it yet, because he knows it.

just knows what you want without you having to tell him.

eyeing an accoutrement that could accent your main outfit? longing for a new stand-alone book after the last one you buried yourself in was a letdown? leona has the prices covered. despite your incessant denial, that you don't actually need those, he tells you that a little spending wouldn't hurt. he doesn't need verbal expression to know what'll satisfy you, the flit of your gaze is the only opening he requires. you're embarrassed by how easily you're read, but the hearty smile that blooms on your face will be all the excuses leona needs to keep spoiling you.

AZUL ASHENGROTTO

drapes his coat over your legs if you're cold.

sometimes, you swear that he has the whole "affection capability" of a wooden plank. his actions aren't entirely faultless, nor was there not a single second of err in the delivery of his speeches, but he does haul around that handy coat solely for moments like these. perched wordlessly on top of mostro lounge's signature high stools, azul rebukes your rash behaviour after spurting out in the rain without an umbrella, clothes weatherworn and all—not to mention the lounge's benevolent addition of its AC. the chills rack your body from head to toe, not noticing that a fuzzy warmth starts to blanket your legs, as azul pats it down creaseless. he says that you can pay him in return at a later date, your declining health is his utmost priority at the moment.

sets you straight when you need it.

his prized coin collection seems to blur boorishly, bleeding into the soft jazz playing in the back. the thirsting need to word-vomit all over the place, thanks to the hours of ennui you've been experiencing ever since you've trudged yourself back to azul's room, threatens to tip over the edge. he notes your irresolute responses to his (nearly) bombarding questions while he's planted over at his desk, and takes the initiative to make you open up to him. he wants you to look at him, commit his words to memory, as he caresses your shoulder under the twinkling lavender glow of his night lamp with a sure look in his eyes, guaranteeing that you're going to do fine.

has a secret album dedicated to pictures of you in his gallery.

azul tries to get accustomed to the revolutionising tricks of technology just for you. fine, if he has to pass through every single hyperlink and learn unfamiliar terms, that's on him. other than owning a booming magicam account promoting #mostrolounge, he saves a single, peculiar file in his gallery that hoards all the pictures he's taken of you when you're together, on a date or not. he can't tell if your lovely visage is the sole cause to the rapid change of pace in his heart when he's dealing with a mounting workload, but if you ever drag yourself down after taking a quick glance at them, he'll bring you right back up.

KALIM-AL-ASIM

clears the hair out of your face when its windy.

you may be a tad bit hesitant to ride the magic carpet every once in a while, but kalim's sparkling serendipity puts your heart at ease. he takes you for a midnight rendezvous, golden embroidery flashing and sheening at every twist and turn you direct with the tassels with aplomb—as he compliments. his headpieces jangle merrily like a thousand bells in the breeze, up until he notices your sight being blocked by the troublesome hair whirling all over the place. chuckle as he may, he shifts it to the side of your face with a deft hand, tracing the last strands down to your chin. "there. seeing better now?"

interlaces your hand with his in your sleep. (the physical touch GOAT)

wrinkled bedsheets rustle under the weight of your movements, coarse, and even a bit sullen as the morning ooze of sunlight drenches through your curtains, as if it prohibits you to sleep in the entire day. kalim's newfound ailment forces the two of you to be separated indefinitely, so colour yourself surprised when you feel the taut clutch of your hand in another, holding onto the remaining pieces of you that he needily ached for all night. sun-kissed fingers wove between yours like silken ribbons, his eyes pleading for you to stay, as a minute—a moment without you in his world—would be infallible torture.

purchases a piece of the moon for you.

you know those moneyed, wealthy fans who purchase a piece of the moon for their favourite idol? kalim gets influenced, and is driven by his conviction that you deserve something more extravagant than rowdy parades or a hallowed mansion (regardless of how many he wishes to buy). he takes it upon himself to surf across Lunar Registry, registering your full name and gifting its stated amount for approximately...5000 sq ft of land of the celestial body that hung high in the sky, radiating its extraterrestrial luminance on your nights of sobriety. you chide him for such an impulsive act in return, but soften up when he states, upright, that he would gift you all the stars in space if he could.

VIL SCHOENHEIT

brings you to touch him himself.

no use if you're cowardly in the bold language of physical touch, vil will simply make you oblige into feeling him, whether its physically or through minds. oftentimes you find yourself hastily straddled on his lap, him decked in his satin-sewn pajamas, as you prod and poke his hands nervously while scrutinizing every area of skin that screamed of his unyielding years of care. there's a teasing lilt that lurks behind his voice, questioning if you're seriously taking your time trying to figure him out where you're aware that he's less than patient. he seizes your hand in his grip, and leads them to his chest—shamelessly. if he needs to remind you of who you're with every day, he'll be more than committed to reel you closer to his body.

demands full eye contact.

tsking and huffing is, an unsurprisingly normal habit for him to adapt. and this includes moments of when you're shying away from him, heaving under your tense breath about how unfairly attractive he is. slick in his latest outfit tailored specifically according to his calibrated measurements. high stilettos bests your height, and he almost seems disappointed in the lack of praise he's receiving (although he knows exactly why). you feel a manicured finger tilt your chin upwards, as your teetering praises come to an abrupt halt. he smiles, demanding you to look him in the eyes throughout every second you're worshipping him.

tells you to ready yourself before he showers you in his love.

vil wants you to experience each and every slide of his nails against your feverish skin, whispering pure promises and cherishing you, affirming that you're worth much more to him than a million grand. if you ever throw yourself below the bar lower than necessary, he waves your deplorable behaviour away, and asks if you truly believe that you're tumbling down that route of thinking when you're with him. vying arms enclose your figure like a velvet blanket, surrendering your chapped lips a centimetre away from his, as his refined scent tickles your nose until he advises you to prepare yourself to revel in his untiring devotion. all your worthwhile priorities were put on hold until further notice.

IDIA SHROUD

leaning back in his chair after finishing a game.

you arose from your sleep, previously dozing off while perusing written tales of the past propped up on idia's bed. the culprit of your awakening is off cheering in the same vicinity after speed running a round and emerging victorious, unmanned, of the latest version of a first-person shooter game he recently installed on his computer. he starts to recline in his chair as it creaks off his weight, arms slackened behind his head and his sweater gliding off of his stomach, exposing the barest bit of delicate skin that indulges you to run your hands across. he emits the heaviest of sighs while he runs a sore hand through his hair, as the disorientation of your mind starts to scatter all over the place.

"i thought it'd cost more."

Idia Shroud will not have you get scammed by lowly, needling scammers surfacing online websites like newborn piranhas. his head begins to split when you spout about the official item being too pricey and that you won't be able to milk a single penny out of your derelict dorm, so he insists that he pays for the item for you himself. you send him a link of the mentioned item, and he felt like he was dragging himself through wet cement throughout the whole mire. he remains indifferent to the price overall, and goes "oh? i thought it'd cost more." with a brazen smirk etched on his face that it almost gave you a whiplash.

discreetly orders things to your front door.

quivering lips settle atop of your shoulder for the last time before he sends you back from his room after the intimate amour that had you two wondrously occupied for the entire day. you pilfer a single gummy worm from his desk, and cloak yourself further into his jacket that intoxicates every one of your senses as you streel into the night air that reeked of petrichor. your steps begin to feel like bricks, whilst your eyes were betraying your wish to stay alert. as you approach the front door welcoming you to your dorm, you gauge the sight of a small box placed on the carpet with a small note plastered on it that follows the lines of "for you, pretty thing."

MALLEUS DRACONIA

cushioning your head with his hand.

bony fingers sail through the pleasance of your hair, twirling each and every tendril that it meets and bringing them to his defined, pillowy lips. amusement cracks through the ominosity that sits in his eyes, shielded by his bangs as he beams a smile your way before grasping your shoulders in a split second. he pushes you down onto the mattress with a thud, cushioning your head with a single hand, and tells you to save your yelps and complaints before he endows you with the ability to sing for him all night. he reassures you that he does in fact, know how to secure the deadbolt on the door.

doesn't bother with any potential contenders whatsoever.

malleus but it's "okay, and?" personified. yes, he's heard of the towering sovereign in the neighbouring country who was recently appointed. yes, he's heard of the lucrative salesman nearby situated in town whose attention you captured after visiting his booth. yes, he's heard of Leona Kingscholar. but he could not give Two (2) flying tamagotchis about whoever has been swaying your way, tossing cheap and low-grade courtship in an attempt to earn your affection. he notes that he does have some cheesy pick-up lines of his own to use, but unlike the others, he knows you inside and out. he has no use for the mainstream ways of love and is eager to please you to his own liking, further revealing the unparalleled reverence he maintains for you and only you.

brushes his fingers over your collarbone.

once you step across the threshold of his bathroom, adorned in his nightwear, malleus can't help but dim the lights with the flick of his finger after catching the sight of your collarbone that peaks out from underneath. he's in front of you the moment you blink, and hums in response to your addled self. he brings his ice-tipped fingers to your neck, padding it with caution, and sliding them down to the V-shaped collar that hides the rest of your warmth. stark fingers ghost over the structure of your collarbone, and malleus asks whether you think the gibbous moon will be kind enough as to not set so early.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst imagines #twst x reader #riddle rosehearts x reader #leona kingscholar x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #kalim al asim x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #idia shroud x reader #malleus draconia x reader #riddle rosehearts #leona kingscholar #azul ashengrotto #kalim al asim #vil schoenheit #idia shroud #malleus draconia

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darkmatilda · 21 days ago

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𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐚 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you thought that after a certain misunderstanding, your relationship had taken on a purely platonic and friendly form but then the investigation sent you to the freezing wilderness of alaska, where every night you find warmth in his bed.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x fem!bau reader, the same reader as in my story "the bolter" but it's not necessary to read it before! there are no major references, but people who have read it might treat this as a continuation (if they want to). in this story, we still have our wonderful queen elle greenaway, gideon and morgan, and many of my attempts (not always successful) at being funny. mostly smut with A LOT of plot, description of the case, oral (f receiving) and some much actions but described in a subtle way. a little bit of angst, but I wouldn't be myself if I didn't add some. again, GLASSES REID!!

𝐚/𝐧: first fic at the beginning of the month, i really wanted to post it today. i think it's time to start posting christmas-themed works? would you be interested? by the way, i hope december will treat you kind <3

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 11k

“I’m freezing, God, I’m freezing.”

“Me too, look how I’m shaking, I swear, one more hour and my feet will fall off, and then my toes…”

“Guys, for god’s sake!” Morgan finally spoke up, his voice tinged with impatience. The hood of his waterproof, windproof jacket covered almost half of his face, and even so, he was clearly the lightest dressed of all of them. “We’ve landed.” He pulled off a glove to check his watch. “Just under fifteen minutes ago. You still don’t know shit about freezing, so stop complaining like a bunch of old women in a knitting cycle…”

“I’d love to be an old lady in a knitting circle right now,” you sighed, your breath immediately turning to steam. You exchanged a look with Reid, who was freezing just as much as you were, and together, you had been driving Derek crazy with your whining. You all had similar gear, thermal layers, and jackets designed for extreme conditions, but it still wasn’t enough. “Sitting by the fireplace, knitting a sweater. Gossiping with other retirees.”

“Exchanging gingerbread recipes,” Spencer suggested, his tone just as wistful.

“And sharing tips for dealing with worms in our cats’ anuses,” you added.

“I’m done," Derek muttered.

Your work often sent you to various corners of the United States, but it rarely involved Alaska. Well, due to the state’s relatively low population density compared to others, fewer crimes were committed there, especially at the federal level.

However, in recent weeks, strange disappearances had occurred—teenagers and young men. Their bodies were found in remote areas, deep in the forest or in completely uninhabited wilderness, places so isolated that even an experienced survivalist would struggle to find their way out.

The local police, as local police often do in most criminal cases, initially pretended there wasn’t a problem, insisting the victims had died as a result of tragic accidents, simply getting lost during a hike. But when the number of deaths began to rise, and the victims included even high school students—locals who were well aware of the dangers of wandering alone after dark in such perilous areas—the case landed on JJ’s desk.

And so, you found yourselves in the brutally frigid surroundings of Fairbanks, heading toward the inn where you were supposed to drop off your things and immediately dive into the investigation.

"The temperature this week is going to range from 15 to 5 degrees Fahrenheit," Spencer informed you over his shoulder as he opened the car trunk to retrieve the luggage. "Of course, that's during the day. At night, it’ll drop as low as -4 degrees."

Elle shivered as he handed her her bag.

"I was doing just fine without those numbers," she said, nudging you lightly with her shoulder—a touch you barely felt through the thick layers of clothing. "What do you say we make up for this with a New Year’s trip? Mallorca? The Himalayas?"

"I’m dreaming of the Caribbean," Morgan chimed in. "Beaches, sunshine, and cocktails—that’s what I’ll be dreaming of tonight."

"And half-naked sunbathers," you added.

"And half-naked sunbathers," he agreed with a grin.

Elle trudged ahead, sinking into the snow up to her calves. The inn was a sizable wooden building, adorned with balconies and terraces that, given the weather, likely went unused, though they added considerable charm. It was tucked away in a secluded spot, offering privacy and a peaceful atmosphere—ideal for work.

You lingered by the car, waiting for Reid to grab his things, unwilling to leave him behind.

“Do you know much about the northern lights, Rudolph?” you teased, nodding toward his red-tipped nose. “I’ve always dreamed of seeing them.”

“Well, then you’re in luck,” he replied, looking at you with a slight smile. “We’re in one of the best places to see them, during the season with the longest nights. They’ll be visible pretty early, though the most stunning views will probably happen between ten at night and two in the morning. I’ve always wanted to see them in person too.”

"So, what do you think?" you asked, raising your eyebrows. "Midnight, at my door, and we’ll go play aurora hunters?"

You shivered just at the thought. Of course, you were joking—there was no way you'd even stick a single hand out from under the covers at this hour with those freezing nighttime temperatures. You planned to admire the beautiful phenomenon from your room window. Warm, you hoped.

"Alright. Just make sure you bundle up,"

"Sure. Thermal thong and all that."

Your room was on the same floor as Elle's and JJ's, and you were glad to have them just behind the next door. Unpacking took you only a minute, and within that time, you were all together, sitting as a team, going through the case files.

“These boys were so young,” JJ remarked, shaking her head with a hint of dread. “Sixteen, the youngest, twenty-four, the oldest. They were found in such remote locations that if it hadn’t been for the ongoing professional search and the dogs, who knows how long it would have taken before anyone stumbled upon their bodies.”

“Given the heavy snowfall, they might not have been found until the thaw. What do their parents and families say about all of this?” Hotch asked.

“Unanimously, they believe their kids would never have ventured that far on their own. This is where the mystery starts, though, because there were no wounds on their bodies, except for the ones they inflicted on themselves in their attempts to survive in the cold.”

“So, it looks like someone kidnapped them, drove them out to a place you’d never get out of without serious survival skills, and just left them to die?” Derek asked, baffled.

“Seems that way. Yesterday, an eighteen-year-old named David Moore was reported missing. Normally, it probably would have been classified as a delayed return home or maybe a runaway, and the police wouldn’t have even taken the report. But given the current circumstances and the rising panic among the locals, his parents decided not to wait. A wise decision.”

"How many hours has it been since he went missing?" you asked, running your own grim calculations in your head. "Around eight, right? Is it even possible for him to survive the night out there in these conditions?"

"That depends on what he was wearing and the specific location where he was left," Reid explained, thoughtfully cleaning the lenses of his glasses. You realized it had been a while since you’d seen him wearing them—he used to wear them daily, but lately, it was only on occasion. For a moment, you found yourself staring at his face, liking how the dark frames suited it.

"His parents believe he was likely abducted on his way home from tutoring," Elle noted, flipping through the case file. "People around here dress warmly as a habit, but even so, I doubt his everyday clothes would be particularly suited to weather like this. At night. In the middle of the woods."

An uncomfortable silence followed her words, broken only by Hotch clearing his throat.

"Anyway, we need to join the ongoing search efforts. We’ll be more useful out in the field than trying to build a profile with the scraps of information we have. I’m not sure if I need to remind you, but out of habit, I will: be cautious and don’t, under any circumstances, stray from the search group. They know this area."

Before you all moved out to get to work, Reid shot you a fleeting glance. Like a dad, you mouthed silently, and he let out the faintest chuckle. You both enjoyed spotting those unmistakably parental tendencies in your boss, though they were directed at you and the rest of the team.

Hours of searching had, unfortunately, yielded no results—the crushing pressure of time bore down on you all. The knowledge that each passing moment was stripping this boy of his chances for survival felt almost unbearable. If he had somehow managed to survive the first eight hours in the forest, sixteen seemed an increasingly unlikely feat.

And yet, hope lingered. The group, driven by his distraught family, refused to stop, likely continuing to scour the area despite warnings. Meanwhile, you stood in your hotel room, so close to the window that the cold glass brushed against your nose.

Your thoughts were consumed by the case and the fate of the teenager. Just as Reid had said, the sky was illuminated by that breathtaking greenish glow. Watching it felt almost surreal, and you wanted to take in as much of it as your eyes could hold.

If it weren’t for the fact that you had frozen to your very core during the search, you might have stepped outside to see it more clearly.

Just as the thought crossed your mind, there was a knock at your door.

You furrowed your brow, not expecting anyone. When you opened it, you came face to face with none other than Spencer. Well, it was hard to tell it was him at first. He was bundled up so tightly in layers of warm clothes that his body lost its natural shape and resembled more of a puffy ball than a person.

"Hey," he greeted awkwardly, raising his hand hesitantly and scanning your appearance from head to toe. "You're not ready yet. Sorry, I think I came too early. I thought we were meeting at midnight..."

"We were meeting?"

"For the northern lights hunt, you forgot? I checked the Kp index, it's a measure of aurora activity that determines its intensity, and it turns out tonight is really favorable... wait, why are you laughing?"

His furrowed brows and face, barely visible in the dimly lit hallway but clearly confused, only made you laugh harder. Shaking your head in disbelief, you covered your smile with your hand.

"Spencer, I was joking," you said, suddenly feeling guilty that your sarcasm had led him to spend time and effort preparing for a night out. "There’s no way I'm going out in this cold. I’d rather dive headfirst into boiling water, at least that would be warmer."

“Oh,” he let out a short, disappointed sigh. He quickly nodded, as if trying to accept the situation, and forced a more neutral expression. “I—I really thought you were serious. Sorry for... for waking you up, then.”

For a moment, you stood in silence, your hand resting on the doorframe. An odd, unexpected thought sprinted through your mind. It had been such a long time since the two of you had been together like this, late at night, in the same room...

“Well, in that case,” he cleared his throat, snapping you out of your thoughts. “I’m sorry again. Let’s just pretend this didn’t happen, okay? Forget I came here and embarrassed myself. That’s all. Sorry. I should probably go if I want to avoid being completely sleep-deprived tomorrow...”

“Go where?” you interrupted, suddenly standing straighter, alarmed.

“Aurora hunting.”

“By yourself? Spencer, have you lost your mind?”

He opened and closed his mouth, caught off guard by your outburst.

“Well, I don’t know when I’ll ever get another chance like this, being in the Arctic Circle...”

“It’s pitch dark and freezing cold. You don’t know the area—”

“...I’ve had a chance to look around, and I’m not going far. There’s a small hill just behind the inn—”

“...And there’s a freaking serial killer on the loose around here, did you forget?”

“Well, I have a gun.”

“Well, I’m not letting you go,” you cut him off firmly, crossing your arms over your chest. Spencer tilted his head, clearly ready to argue further, but before he could speak, you added, “Give me five minutes.”

“What?”

“Five minutes to get dressed. I’m coming with you.”

At first, you could have sworn a faint smile flickered across his lips. But then, just as quickly, he shook his head vehemently.

“No, really, you don’t have to. Not just because of me. I’ll be fine…”

"Five minutes," you repeated once more, slightly flustered and trying not to dwell on the fact that the moment you stepped outside, you’d likely regret this decision. “Wait here. Or come inside—I don’t want to shut the door in your face.” As you spoke, you opened the door wider, inviting him in.

Without wasting another second, you headed straight for your suitcase. Okay, how many layers does one need for a night outside in Alaska?

“I actually bought a set of thermal underwear specifically for this case,” you said, pulling out the essentials from your bag. Most of what you’d worn during the day would work fine, but you debated adding an extra sweater and another pair of socks. “And, oh my God, I hate it. I’d rather wear lace thongs 24/7 than spend more than eight hours in this bugger.”

You glanced subtly over your shoulder, curious to see his reaction and waiting for his reply. It wasn’t like you wanted to embarrass him, but you absolutely adored how, in response to even your most suggestive remarks, he could always respond with complete seriousness—like he was dissecting some profound issue. Judging by the furrow of his brow, this time would be no different.

“Really? You know, thermal underwear is generally associated with comfort. The fabric is typically elastic, soft, and breathable. High-quality models are even seamless, so they don’t cause any chafing. Maybe you bought a poorly fitted one?”

“Maybe. I don’t know, I have no expertise in this area. It digs in so much, though, and I have to keep myself from adjusting it. Can you imagine me sticking my hand in my pants right in front of the missing boy’s family?”

He hesitated before responding.

“Not really. But I can picture Hotch’s face.”

“And I can picture a termination notice on my desk the next day,” you quipped.

You grabbed all the clothes you had gathered and disappeared into the bathroom to layer them on. It wasn’t a quick job—by the end, you felt like your movements were completely restricted by the weight of it all—but at least you were prepared. When the first merciless blast of Alaskan air brushed against the tiny exposed part of your face, it didn’t immediately make you want to run back inside screaming.

Instead, you sighed in awe.

"I know I’ve invoked God's name a hundred times already, but God, this is beautiful," you said, feeling your own words too inadequate to describe the miracle above your heads. The streaks of light stretching across the sky, an intense green with a certain transparency, a glassy quality, the stars peeking through it all.

Spencer turned to you over his shoulder. He was only a couple of steps ahead, but he kept doing it as if afraid that in a moment of not seeing you, you'd fall into the snow and disappear forever.

“Wait until we get to the spot,” he said, his smile clearly excited. In his dark eyes, the light seemed to reflect and stay there, even when he blinked, as though he had already absorbed it all deep inside. “It’s only ten minutes away, but it makes a difference.”

"I hope you're not one of those people who says, 'Oh, it's just around the corner, we don't need a cab!' and then leads you to walk halfway across the city" you scoffed. You tried to keep your gaze fixed on his back, his lantern swinging in his hand. Alaska, the vast empty terrain, the thick layers of snow, seemed to hide some sort of mystery beneath them, and it filled you with a fair amount of fear. "Will you shield me with your chest if a bear jumps out at us?"

"Actually, yes, I would," he replied. "But not because of heroism, it's more because I have bear spray in my pocket, and by that very fact, it's probably my duty."

"Okay, let’s make a deal: you protect us from a potential bear attack, and I’ll take care of Bigfoot. By the way, that legend never really scared me. A monkey with gigantic feet just sounds too ridiculous to me. Remember that episode of History's Mysteries that we watched at your place?"

You both shared a love for a certain TV show about conspiracy theories and famous mysteries from around the world.

"Of course. You know part of it was filmed right here in Fairbanks? Bigfoot never really fascinated me either, but I liked that at the end of the episode they also mentioned other Alaskan legends. Like The Kushtaka, for example."

"I don't remember that. But I'm not sure I want you to tell me," you confessed, taking a breath, the cold biting into your lungs. Despite the layers of clothing, it was getting colder and colder, but at least you'd finally reached the spot Spencer had chosen. He was right; the vast plain on the small hill was perfect for watching the aurora. You had the feeling that the sky was only an inch above your head, and a childlike urge to reach up and touch it. "Alright, you've got me too intrigued. Go ahead."

You noticed that, unlike you, Spencer wasn't tilting his head back to gaze at the sky. He was looking at you.

"The Kushtaka is a creature from the folklore of the surrounding tribes. It is most often described as a hybrid of a human and an otter..."

You couldn’t help but burst out laughing.

"Otters, seriously? Is that supposed to chill me to the bone?"

Spencer raised an eyebrow in a somewhat sarcastic manner.

"Okay, let me tell you the story differently," he proposed in a similar tone, swallowing as if to prepare himself for the tension-building drop in his voice. "Just like now, we're heading out to see the northern lights. Just the two of us, surrounded by nothing but darkness. The sky is overcast that day, and there’s hardly any light to see." At that moment, he switched off the flashlight he was holding, and his previously well-lit face faded into obscurity. You crossed your arms over your chest, silently promising yourself you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of being scared.

“In this story, do my thermal undies also ride up so uncomfortably?”

“Your underwear isn’t a significant part of this tale. Anyway… crap, where was I?”

“The thought of my underwear distracted you?”

You heard him sigh, almost in exasperation, and a sly smile spread across your face.

“Let me continue. No more comments about underwear.”

“My underwear or in general?”

“SO WE’RE HEADING TO SEE THE NORTHERN LIGHTS. It’s dark, it’s creepy, and you’ve got chills running down your spine. Then suddenly, you realize you’ve lost me.”

“Phew,” you exhaled with theatrical relief. “Finally got rid of that creep who kept obsessing over my underwear.”

"You know what, I’m done. I’m done. I won’t tell you the story about the human-otter hybrid."

“I’m devastated by this fact!” you assured him in the same overly dramatic tone. Taking it a step further, you jumped toward him, desperately grabbing the fabric of his jacket. “Dr. Reid, please, I beg you, tell me about the human-otter hybrid. I need this. I’ll sell my soul and body, just please…”

Spencer threw his head back, laughing, and as you tried to calm yourself down, you leaned against him. Taken by surprise, he lost his balance, sending both of you toppling into the snow.

“Damn, we’re going to be wet!” he groaned, trying to get up from the deep snowdrift you both had fallen into. It wasn’t the easiest task with all the layers of clothing and a girl who was dying of laughter on top of him.

“I think that’s enough of our aurora watching,” you said once you both finally managed to get back on your feet. Despite the ski pants and very, very warm clothes, you were starting to feel frozen. “And enough of your legends. It’s late, and we should head back.”

“You didn’t let me finish,” he complained, sounding like a little puppy that had been scolded for peeing on the carpet.

“You can tell me on the way,” you replied. “Come on.”

You sent one last glance toward the sky before moving forward, your mind focused entirely on the vision of a hot, soothing bath and a blanket with an extra layer for warmth. For the rest of the walk, Spencer didn’t try to use his low voice or mysterious narrative tone. He finished the story in his usual manner, sounding more like a fascinated lecturer. You couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed—he had sounded really sexy earlier, you had to admit.

When you both got back to the guesthouse, you glanced at the stairs leading up to your room and shook your head in refusal.

“If I don’t get under at least five blankets right this second, I’m going to die, so sorry my dear, but I’m coming to you and I won’t leave until I’m warm, or I’ll never leave at all,” you said quickly and firmly.

Spencer raised an eyebrow but replied just as energetically.

“I don’t think I have five blankets in my room.”

“Three will be fine.”

And that's exactly how it went. First, you took off your jackets, and then, in your typical everyday clothes, you quickly jumped into bed, covered with the duvet up to your neck, waiting for the pleasant warmth to spread across your bodies.

“Was seeing the aurora worth all that suffering?' you asked, turning onto your side in bed so you could face him.

'Well, it wouldn't have been suffering if someone hadn't shoved both of us into the snow...'

He said this while lying on his back, but shortly after these words, he followed your lead and also turned onto his side. Your breath became shallower. It had been almost a year since you last had him this close, almost a year since you slept together, and then decided to let the situation fade into oblivion.

Honestly, you almost succeeded. After all, that incident was like every other encounter you had with guys. Spontaneous, one-time, followed by bolting. But you didn’t see those other guys afterward. Every day at work, forced to watch him wipe his glasses, his damn glasses, with the same fingers he…

“Are you thinking about something specific?” he suddenly asked, his voice eerily similar to the one he used to tell you the story on the hill, a voice you found so sexy.

That was the kind of man Spencer Reid was. Always wanting to know what was going on inside your head.

You sighed, probably too loudly.

"You don't want to know what I'm thinking right now,"

You felt a little pathetic, realizing that your whole excuse about not being able to go to your room was just a pretext to end up in his bed. Once again. This whole trip to Alaska must have really messed with your head. Or maybe it cleared the fog in your mind and left a single thought, naked and defenseless. You wanted him.

"I know how pathetic that sounds, but I always want to know what you're thinking," he replied after a moment, swallowing audibly. You heard it clearly, you were so close. So close...

You had to make a quick decision: whether to continue and face the consequences the next day, or, perhaps worse, to be rejected? It was possible that he had learned from your last time together, and didn’t want to get involved with you that way.

"I can show you what I'm thinking," you finally proposed, not blinking for a long moment, just carefully studying the features of his face, any signs of uncertainty or tension.

Because there was that one small seed of probability that he wanted you too.

His lips parted, but were immediately covered by your kiss.

Slow and curious. How did he taste after all this time?

Maybe it was a thought whispered by the moment, but you had the feeling that even better.

You didn’t play the role of a taster for too long. Soon, still not pulling his lips away from yours, you lifted yourself into a sitting position, propping yourself up with your elbow on the bed, pressing closer to him with every passing moment, more intensely and hungrily.

Something seemed to haunt you, preventing you from moving any further. Something in his posture—lying on his back, surrendered to your control, yet somehow absent.

You pulled away from his lips, your gazes meeting. There was a certain weakness and sadness in his eyes.

"Is something wrong?" you managed to ask, your voice strangely trembling.

Spencer suddenly sat up, straightening himself, though there was still a slight bend in his shoulders. His movement forced you to pull away from his chest.

"I can't do this," he confessed quietly, taking a deep breath. "I can't sleep with you." In a way, it hurt more than if he had simply refused to let you kiss him. Your forehead furrowed in disappointment and... shock?

"Why?" you asked directly, foregoing any excuses about not aiming for that. Because you had been.

He let out a laugh, filled with pity.

"Because after this, I won’t be able to stop thinking about you. And you, after tonight, won’t want me anymore."

You were breathing heavily, completely unsure of what to say. His words were painfully eye-opening, first and foremost. And secondly... true. Because did you plan, like a normal person, to wake up next to him, greet him, date him? That wasn’t how you operated. In your plans, there was always just one option—escape. Exactly like that time.

You slowly began to slide off the bed, his hand moved to reach for yours, and you hoped he would take it, but at the last moment, he hesitated. He hesitated.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," you reassured him, yet you didn’t look at him the whole time. You sounded stiff, almost reproachful, even though you were the one who should be reproached. You were the problem.

You looked around the floor, used to picking up your clothes from it, but this time there was nothing. Except for the jacket hung up and the ski pants you’d pulled on over your regular ones to avoid freezing in the cold night. Leaving without a word seemed excessive.

Your back rested against the door as you turned to look at him. Your quick-thinking mind raced, searching for something to say to at least salvage some dignity in this situation…

“Let’s pretend this didn’t happen,” you finally suggested.

Spencer was still sitting on the edge of the bed, as if he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to get up or stay there. Eventually, it seemed like he stayed, though you weren’t sure, having already turned toward the door, your hand pressing on the doorknob.

“T-think that’s the best solution,” he admitted, just as one of your feet stepped into the hallway.

Then, you heard someone whistling.

You immediately stepped back into his room, keeping your face turned toward the door.

“Damn, it’s Morgan,” you said, recognizing the person in the hallway by the sound alone. “We better not let him see me leave, or he’ll never leave us alone…”

You expected that when you turned around, you’d find him still sitting on the bed. After all, you hadn’t heard him get up, hadn’t heard him approach. You certainly didn’t expect that, when you turned, his lips would almost immediately attack yours.

It was so unexpected, so sudden, that the back of your head slammed against the door.

“Fuck, sorry…”

But you didn’t think for a second about the pain, nor did you focus on why Spencer had suddenly changed his mind. Your attention was solely on the two of you, two desperate pairs of lips pressing together and pulling apart, never staying away for long.

He pulled you toward him, wrapping his arms around your waist. Unlike the last time, it was your back that hit the mattress first. The cool surface, the heated bodies, and the weight of the layers of clothing between you both.

"You've changed," you noticed.

A different dynamic. The pace was set by him—just moments ago, you were standing by the door, and now, half of your clothes were gone, while the soft skin of your neck was buried under a cascade of messy, impatient kisses.

"Do you like it?" he asked, his face hovering above yours, one hand resting on the bed next to it.

"I haven't gotten enough to say for sure," you replied, teasingly. "But I get the feeling you're more confident now. A lot of practice since last time?"

He shrugged.

"I don't think it's about practice," he said, his hand sliding down your side until it stopped at the waistband of your pants, lingering there but not moving any lower. You reached for his hand, brushing against it before trailing your fingers along its length up to his forearm, feeling one of his veins beneath your fingertips. "I guess... I was just scared you'd leave, and I had to stop you somehow. That’s why I rushed," he admitted.

His gaze lingered mostly on your face, but it wandered across your body, his frustration clear as he eyed the layers of clothing still in his way. Something about his desperation and impatience stirred something playful in you, and you couldn’t resist teasing him.

Propping yourself up on one elbow, you tilted your chin to look at him.

“If I tried to leave right now, how would you stop me?”

The corner of his mouth twitched at your question, but he decided to play along, nodding thoughtfully.

“I think I’ve got a few ideas.”

“Care to show me?” you asked, your voice dripping with challenge.

For a moment, he didn’t move at all, just kept staring at you, until he allowed himself that first, utterly shameless drop of his gaze and a soft sigh. His lips began their journey, starting at their usual, safe spot on your neck, trailing toward your shoulder, and crossing over your collarbone with deliberate intent. You were still half-sitting, struggling to steady your breathing so your chest wouldn’t rise and fall too much or too quickly, trying not to disrupt him. The first hint of uncertainty appeared between your breasts when his kisses momentarily softened, carefully exploring unfamiliar territory and testing your sensitivity.

You struggled more and more to keep yourself from collapsing fully onto the mattress. But when his cool tongue met your skin, pressing against it so firmly that his forehead brushed against your stomach, relentlessly moving lower, you couldn’t hold out any longer.

He was between your knees, bent in anticipation. He reached them, sliding his hands down your thighs and coaxing them to relax. He fumbled a bit while unbuttoning your pants, and had trouble sliding them down while you were lying there. You lifted your hips to help, even tried to do it yourself, but he stopped your hands, placing them above your head.

“You don’t have to do anything,” he said softly, finally freeing your legs from both pant legs. His hands wrapped around your ankles, his thumb tracing gentle circles around one of them, which somehow completely seized your attention, and you focused solely on that subtle motion. For a moment, you closed your eyes, and when you opened them again, you noticed that his chin was just above your panty line. "Actually, it will be much more pleasant for you if you just focus on feeling and nothing else. I was supposed to show you my ideas, remember?"

“As someone who apologized for being in too much of a hurry, you sure have an unexpectedly large amount of patience now,” you remarked with reproach, lifting your head again. Maybe keeping it down allowed for more comfort and relief for your neck, but on the other hand, the sight of his face immersed between your thighs was simply priceless.

If the sight itself was priceless, how do you describe that feeling?

With every move of his tongue, your hips swayed, adjusted to the rhythm. Often tense, trying to find some outlet, especially when sighs escaped his lips and his cool breath penetrated through you.

"Think I'm gonna cume embarrassingly quickly," you confessed, unsure whether he even understood anything from your sentence, which was at least interwoven with two moans. Three.

When it happened, you uncontrollably squeezed his head with your knees, a similar groan also came from his mouth.

Spender didn’t stay in that position for long. When you opened your tightly shut eyelids, his face was right above yours, stretched in such satisfaction, as if he was the one receiving pleasure.

"Was it too quick for you?" he asked, still absorbing you with the same gaze, which seemed to pulse with desire. "If you want, we can try again, you’ll surely improve..."

"My God, when did you become so cocky?"

He chuckled, but instead of answering, he once again pressed himself against your body and skin, closing his eyes in devotion and lingering on each spot for as long as it took, as if he could never be satisfied, no matter how much he took in.

Your hands, instead of tormenting the innocent fabric of the blanket, moved to his back, tightly embracing his neck and basically everything they could latch onto. All of his earlier composure seemed to evaporate; you didn’t even have to ask twice to make him slide in. It actually sounded more like an order than a request, a bit desperate, it's true, but still an order.

"How is it even possible that it feels even better than the last time?” His words, his lips, ticked your neck as he moaned out this question. "Just... I feel like I won’t have enough of you tonight."

"The night is long," you said, almost into the air, not really paying attention to the meaning behind it. "Tomorrow night too."

Spencer stopped, completely. His eyes desperately searched for yours, and when he finally found them, they widened in disbelief.

"Tomorrow night too?" he repeated. "But I thought... I thought you didn't want anything more than a one-night fling…”

"It's already our second," you reminded him. "And I'll be completely honest with you, I don’t want to walk around all day tomorrow sexually frustrated just at the sight of you. Let's make a deal, okay?"

"A deal?"

"Yeah. I'll tell you about it in a moment, but right now...Oh God, I think I’m gonna…”

You both got dressed right after, but not because either of you intended to leave. The temperature inside simply didn’t allow for sleeping naked, no matter how warm you were after sex.

"So?" he asked, handing you the piece of paper you had sent him to the bathroom for. Then he sat on the bed, facing you. "What did you mean by this deal?"

"Well, after thinking about it, I'm not sure if it's a good idea after all..."

"I want to know, even if just out of curiosity."

"You want to know everything, Spence. But fine. I thought maybe... while we're in Alaska, we could just, you know, allow ourselves to do whatever we want. In more direct terms, fuck each other as much as we want.”

It sounded a bit...crazy? Spencer kept his gaze suspended in the air for a moment before turning it back to you, questioning.

"But only as long as we're in Alaska?"

"Exactly. Since there's only one floor between us, why not take advantage of it?" you tried to joke, lightening the mood.

It didn’t seem to have much effect on him.

"But what happens next? When we get back?"

"Do we really have to think about that?" you wondered, moving closer to him, to the body that just moments ago made you feel so good. "We'll get used to being apart, just like before."

"Okay," he sucked in a breath, clearly torn over the proposal. "I mean, no, I didn’t mean okay... because it doesn’t seem like a great idea, but on the other hand... on the other hand, I really, really want you, even if it only means for this short time."

You smiled, though deep down, somewhere very deep, there was something somber in that gesture.

Ignoring that, you kissed him to seal the deal. And not just that.

"That was for good night and goodbye."

"Goodbye? You're leaving?" A clear look of disappointment crossed his face, but he quickly shook his head, trying to get rid of it. "Good night, then."

"It's not that I don't want to stay. It's just that it would be better to be well-rested for work, and I don't think we'd sleep properly if I decided to spend the night here. “

You saw him open his mouth, ready to protest, but you had already gotten up from the bed and started gathering your remaining things.

"Wait," he called as you were about to leave. "You said... you said something that's been bothering me, you know? I can even quote it, so listen up. You said that you don't want to walk around all day tomorrow sexually frustrated just at the sight of me."

You couldn't help but let out a burst of laughter.

"And that bothers you?"

"I don’t understand what you meant by that. What in my behavior makes you feel that way?"

"A lot of things."

"Like what?"

"I'll tell you someday. Maybe it's better if you're not aware of it."

"Hey, now I won’t be able to sleep!"

"Anyway, good night, sweet boy."

Almost the first thing in the morning, you found yourselves at the local police station, full of disappointment and anxiety. You had to inform the parents of the missing boy found in the forest that he had been located. But unfortunately, it was not good news.

The first hours of the day passed in constant analysis and discussion, until finally, around noon, you gathered in front of the town's police officers, ready to deliver the profile. You didn’t have much time for any reflection on the previous night, or even for a conversation with Spencer. A sober one this time, when you weren’t intoxicated by desire and each other.

You stood in the corner of the room, listening to Hotch and Gideon.

"The UNSUB is a white male, likely with military experience or, at the very least, extensive survival skills, estimated to be around 50-60 years old. He abducts teenagers, boys, and young men who look younger than their actual age, which suggests he doesn’t know his victims very well."

"If he observes them, it’s for a short period. He doesn’t have time to get to know them but understands their routine and daily schedule well enough to know when to strike."

"He doesn’t drug his victims, which means he is physically capable of abducting them without assistance. This ties into the type of victims he selects. All these boys were more the intellectual type than athletes. When abducted, they were coming from school, tutoring sessions, or the library. David Moore, for instance, was tall but lanky. His family described him as gentle, with a big heart and a passion for learning."

"The UNSUB abandons them in remote forest locations. Forcing them to fight for survival gives him a sense of control and serves as a way to prove his belief that modern society and boys today are incapable of handling adversity. He openly despises them, viewing them as weak and effeminate. His mindset reflects a toxic approach to gender roles and what he considers the traditional male archetype."

“White men aged 50-60 with survival skills make up about half the population here,” a policeman noted. “Take me, for example…”

Hotch began providing more detailed information, while Gideon stepped out of the center of the room, and the atmosphere became more relaxed.

You approached Reid, who was sitting in a chair, and ruffled his hair with your hand.

“Watch your back, genius-boy,” you warned, standing behind him. From his seat, he tilted his head all the way back to look up at you. A smile instantly appeared on his face.

“You might just be next. And we wouldn’t want that.”

“So, you think I’m effeminate?”

"I know very well that you're not. But you do have that intellectual spark in your eyes. And, you know, those glasses don’t help."

Ever since you’d been in Alaska, he’d worn them less often because, as he’d told you while chatting in bed, they kept fogging up. But now, they were perched on his nose, making him look... delectable. Simply delectable.

The rest of your team approached, Elle's gaze lingering on your hand resting on the back of Reid's chair. As usual, she had to notice everything.

"I need to send you all to a few places to check out some individuals the police have identified as matching the profile," Hotch announced. "Y/N and Elle, I’d like you to speak again with the bus driver who drove David Moore just before he was abducted. Once he understands the profile, he might be able to recall more details."

You lingered in the room, wanting to exchange a word with Spencer. In complete privacy... He was slowly wiping his glasses, as if hoping for the same. Watching the movements of his hands, you shook your head.

"This is it—what you asked me about yesterday. What makes me sexually frustrated. Our agreement still stands, right?" you asked, running your hand along his shoulder, just to touch him. Even though the many layers of clothing made it almost impossible to really feel him.

He looked at the glasses he was cleaning, then at you, disbelief written all over his face.

"That's what you meant? Cleaning glasses?"

"Don't judge me. It's about the motion. Or maybe the glasses themselves, I don't know. Maybe I’m a fetishist. Anyway, are you going to answer my question?"

Still seated in the chair, he had to tilt his head back to look at you, which reminded you—just a little, okay, a lot—of another situation where he was down below.

"What about you?" he countered. "You haven’t changed your mind?"

"Absolutely not."

"In that case, yes. It still stands."

“Oh, I don’t know what I’d do if you’d answered differently. See you tonight, then,” you promised, glancing around the room to make sure none of your team members were still there. Just a few local officers... who weren’t paying much attention to you. Even if they were, it wasn’t their business.

You leaned in quickly to kiss him. He closed his eyes, as if hoping for more.

“Not now, and not here. I need to go find Elle. Hotch gave us an assignment. Have a good one.”

You walked away, feeling his gaze on your back.

You found your friend in the car, one of those suited for tough terrain, with high tires. She was sitting behind the wheel, tapping her nails on it.

"So, what was the address of that driver?" you asked, fastening your seatbelt.

"Forgive my bluntness, darling, but I’ll die if I don’t know. What was that all about?"

"What do you mean, ‘What was that all about’?"

"Oh, come on, you know exactly what I mean. Messing with his hair, the chair, the looks. Are you two sleeping together again?"

You technically had no reason to hide anything from her, after all, you trusted her completely and had never hesitated to talk about your sex life. But this time... you kind of liked the idea of keeping whatever happened between you and Spencer just between the two of you.

"I have no idea what you're talking about. We're just acting like we usually do," you said.

"Yeah?" She raised an eyebrow, slowly pulling away from the police station, her gaze shifting between the road and you. "Then what were those sounds last night from his room?"

"Oh shit, did we make noise?"

She smiled triumphantly.

"I don't know, you tell me. I'm just teasing you. I'm on a completely different floor. But I'll take that as an admission of guilt."

"Manipulative bitch!"

"I'll take that as a compliment. So?"

You rolled your eyes with a heavy sigh, but eventually, you confirmed her suspicion with a nod.

"I thought you didn't sleep with the same guy twice."

"The air in Alaska really does something strange to me."

"Sure. The air," she scoffed, and you furrowed your brows in slight confusion, looking at her, waiting for her to elaborate. The car glided along one of those completely empty, snow-covered roads where there was nothing to focus on. "You know, I wonder why you just don't admit that you like him?"

"I don't hide the fact that I like him."

"Then why not give it a try?"

"Try what, Elle?"

She glanced at you sideways, her lips tightening at your obviously irritated tone. She didn't mean to upset you, of course, but that's how you felt. She sighed, as if thinking about how to approach the subject.

"You've learned to live with it," she finally began, slowly and cautiously weighing her words. "With that fear. Of intimacy and commitment."

"It's just a preference."

"No, it's not a preference. It's fear. You're afraid that if you get emotionally close to someone, you'll be abandoned, and you don't want to risk another painful loss. You want to have full control over the relationship and disappear when you feel like it's fading. Usually in the morning. It's a common mechanism, and it's not just about you. And no mechanism can be broken without making an attempt."

"Elle, stop. You're profiling me, and you know how much I hate that."

And actually, you hated being confronted with the truth about yourself and being internally forced to draw conclusions about yourself.

It was easy, living without reflecting on oneself. Especially when those reflections were painful. You could hurt yourself, unsuccessfully trying to confront them, or flow along with their current, completely subordinated to them and deaf to the words of others, who said you were only hurting yourself in the bigger picture.

Elle dropped the subject, as you had arrived at the house of the man you were supposed to interview. She didn’t bring it up again afterward. The hours at work passed, and you only waited for that specific moment when you'd cross the threshold of that room again.

The previous night danced vividly in your mind, never slowing down or taking a break for a moment. As soon as he opened the door, you threw yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his neck, kissing his face, and unbuckling his belt.

Spencer took a sharp breath, shocked and amused, as soon as you touched him.

"It would be incredibly awkward if someone were at my place right now," he chuckled into your mouth, half of his sentence drowned out by your kiss.

You pulled your face away just slightly, raising your eyebrows. It was only then that you noticed he was wearing glasses. Oh, he was so completely unaware of what you were about to do to him...

"How many people do you bring to yourself every night?" you asked.

"In that regard, only you. Besides, this is only the second time, so I wouldn’t call it every night... but I could always be here with someone, talking..."

"Keeping each other warm," you added.

Your hands slid under the fabric of his clothes, brushing the lower part of his stomach.

He noticeably tensed under your fingers, swallowing slowly, impatient and pleading.

"Engaging in a worldview discussion and exchanging conclusions," he finished, a smile playing on his lips.

"Uh-huh. Exactly like we are now. Honestly, does that turn you on? Do you want me to share my political views while you’re eating me out?”

"This is probably the only scenario in which you could make me not feel pleasure because of it."

His hands hesitated, roaming uncertainly across your body, unsure of where to start. They brushed over so many spots, moving from one to the next, chaotic and desperate.

You didn’t know where to focus – on the lips in the hollow of your neck, on the hand on your hips, or the other, slipping lower and lower?

Or perhaps on that sound, right by your ear, sweet, pleading whimper?

Moan left your body just for that reason and you already knew how you wanted the rest of the night to unfold.

You gently pushed him back, and with quickened breath, you dropped to one knee, then the other.

"After yesterday, I couldn't stop thinking about you," you confessed, making sure your lips were close enough to his body as you spoke. You heard him inhale sharply, whispering something under his breath. "I couldn't focus on work at all. So today, I want to take care of you, completely."

You thought he would be satisfied with the offer; well, it was hard to deny that he was. Still, for some reason, he started shaking his head.

"N-no, that's not... I want to do it. Take care of you, I mean."

You couldn’t stop smiling, but at the same time, you weren’t about to back down, which should probably be enough to describe the dynamics of the following hours.

At times, it was brutally slow, while at other moments, it was hurried and impressive. Sometimes, you interrupted each other constantly, unable to stop talking, and at other times, the only sound filling the room was your two breaths, the only constant, restless, and laced with moans and cries.

"You’re not leaving me tonight, right?" he asked, drawing closer to your body and holding you almost pleadingly. You laughed against his skin, shaking your head in denial.

"At some point, I will have to. For about fifteen minutes, before everyone wakes up."

"You’ll say you just came by for something. To ask a question or something," he tried to convince you.

"Oh, at this early hour, looking like I’ve just done a two-hour workout? Derek would eat us alive. His eyebrow would never drop again. If I ever end up in hell, it will be with him there, looking at me like that." You tried to mimic his expression, tensing your jaw as you did.

"Stop, I feel harassed."

"You see? And if he found out about us, this is how the next... God, I can’t even predict when he’d get tired of it. Maybe in a year. Do you want to suffer for another whole year just to be with me for an extra fifteen minutes?"

"I’d be able to survive that," he declared quietly, placing his hand under your head and playing with your hair with one of his fingers. "But if you don’t want it, I’m not going to waste time and try to convince you."

"Sure," you scoffed playfully. "So many things could be done in that time."

"Like what?" he asked, clearly intrigued. "Try to sleep. What were you hoping for?"

"Nothing, nothing. But you used a plural in that sentence and then only gave one thing. So, I’m waiting for the rest."

"That’s an overinterpretation."

"More like a simple analysis of sentence structure."

"Maybe sometimes it's better to analyze a little less. Spencer."

"I don’t think I’m capable of that," he admitted, his tone a little more serious. You furrowed your brow, looking at his pale face in the weak light, showing signs of the night’s exhaustion. "That’s just how my brain works. It doesn’t give me much time to rest."

You often wondered what the world looked like from his perspective. How, in many ways, his genius was both a revelation and a curse. But you’d never heard him complain about it—until now. In fact, it wasn’t even a complaint, just a statement of fact, somewhat melancholy.

You kissed the top of his head, hoping it would have a soothing effect.

And indeed, it worked. He moved even closer to you, rested his head, and after a moment, almost at the same time, your eyelids fell.

The morning passed slowly and longingly, even though you were still so close to each other. However, there was the awareness that with the arrival of the day, you would have to wait many, many hours before you saw each other again. In a similar way, you meant. After all, at work, you constantly spent time together, which only made everything more difficult. It would have been much easier to push him out of your head and focus, if it weren’t for that.

Meanwhile, Spencer, perhaps trying to gently play on your nerves, cleaned his glasses much more often than necessary. But there was also the possibility that he was doing it the same amount as usual, and you were just imagining it.

"Are you doing that again?" Morgan nodded in his direction as a greeting when you were sitting in the guesthouse room that served as your team's meeting place. There was a long table in there, similar to the one in your office, but much narrower. Sitting across from Reid, you could easily touch his hand. If you wanted to. "Is this some new nervous tic of yours? Polishing them?"

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," Spencer furrowed his brow in mock surprise, stopping the corner of his mouth from twitching. You kicked him under the table, and he couldn’t suppress a gasp.

To hide your amusement, you covered your face with your hand, but Morgan immediately picked up on it.

"Is this some new inside joke of yours?"

"He’s literally just polishing his glasses, leave him alone," you said.

Morgan’s eyebrows raised in the same way you had imitated him the night before. Neither of you could hold it in and burst into laughter.

"What’s going on?" JJ asked, walking into the room.

"Something very strange is going on," Derek announced mysteriously, staring at you both intently. His hands were resting on his hips, and his head tilted in thought. "Something very strange..."

Then Hotch arrived, even more serious than usual, which immediately dispelled the good mood. The rest of the team also arrived—Elle and Gideon—and everyone took their seats at the table.

"In the past few hours, there hasn’t been any concerning missing person reports," Hotch informed you. "On one hand, that’s good; on the other, it means the unsub will strike again soon. And we can’t let that happen."

"And you even have a plan," Gideon stated, with some sort of understanding in his eyes.

Hotch looked at you all with hesitation before nodding in confirmation.

"That's right, I have. I've concluded that we have no choice but to set a trap."

At those words, his gaze rested on Spencer, which was enough for you to figure it all out even before the main subject did.

"With all due respect, Hotch, have you lost your mind?!"

And how exactly do you envision this?" Elle asked, not as shaken as you but clearly concerned. "Sure, he fits the profile of his victims, but how is he supposed to set himself up? Walk around town and hope to get kidnapped?"

"At least two of the victims were abducted on the same stretch of road, after getting off the bus at the same isolated bus stop while walking home alone. It’s an exceptionally safe location for him," your boss explained.

"Honestly, I’m not convinced," Derek interjected, staring ahead with a furrowed brow. "I just don’t think he’d use the exact same spot again. Word has probably spread around the area that the FBI is on the case. He might be more cautious and change his methods."

"But he might just as well try again," JJ said quietly. You looked at her with clear surprise, as you had expected that, with her characteristic care for the team, she would be against the idea. "Right now, it’s the only thing we can do to try to prevent another abduction."

You drew a breath, understanding her arguments but remaining entirely opposed. Your gaze finally fell on Spencer, for the first time since the idea had even been brought up. He was sitting very upright, his brow furrowed, and he slowly began nodding.

"JJ’s right, it’s the only thing we can do," he said. He wasn’t looking at Hotch, nor even at the team as a whole—he was looking at you, directly and only at you. A calming, slightly nervous smile crossed his face, making you scoff. "Nothing’s going to happen to me. You’ll all be around, on the bus, near the stop."

With his words, the decision was made, and all you could do was shake your head in disbelief.

"I want to be on the same bus," you declared desperately, crossing your arms over your chest. You simply couldn’t reconcile with the fact that Spencer was willingly putting himself in harm's way—especially when the unsub's desire was to hurt people like him. "I’ll pose as a civilian. A random young woman. I shouldn’t seem like a threat, and someone from our team has to be inside."

"You’re right," Hotch replied, looking at you with sharp attention. "But it will be Elle."

You and your friend exchanged a confused look, startled by the firmness in his voice.

"I don’t think it makes much of a difference," she tried to intervene, which made you feel grateful.

Although, it didn’t change anything…

"I’m not obligated to explain myself to you about this decision, especially in front of the entire team. This is an order," Hotch announced with almost brutal professionalism. "The only thing I can say is that we need someone who won’t break character until the very end. Someone who won’t let emotions cloud their judgment."

"Are you sure you’re up for this?" Gideon asked, directing the question at Spencer. His tone was understanding, prepared to accept any refusal without judgment.

This time, he didn’t look at you. As Spencer nodded in confirmation, he actually avoided your gaze.

"Then we have the whole day to prepare for the sting. Let’s hope this leads to catching the unsub," Hotch concluded the meeting, signaling that you could leave the table.

You were torn between staying and screaming at your boss or leaving the room after Reid. Well, the second option wouldn’t get you fired. And, honestly, it seemed like the better choice. It turned out he wanted to talk to you too, as he was clearly waiting for you in the narrow hallway of the inn, where animal antlers hung on the walls and an informational board about moose was displayed.

"Are you angry because I want to do this?" he asked, the narrow walls around you making you stand quite close. Well, not as close as you could be, but close enough to add gravity to the conversation and allow you to study his face carefully.

Especially his determination. The determination for this job, for solving the case, and for preventing others from suffering the same tragic fate at the hands of this killer. Finally, you understood that your reaction was a bit irrational. Because if the victims were young women with your looks... you’d agree to it without hesitation. Some hypocrisy, huh?

"No. I'm just terrified that you're going to do this," you confessed, your honesty and concern making his face twitch in surprise. You snorted, trying to ease the tension. "I’m angry at Hotch for calling me emotionally unstable in front of all of you."

Spencer smiled gently, though there was stress hiding behind it. He may have been determined to go through with it, but that didn’t change the fact that there was fear accompanying him. He tried not to show it, but anyone in his position would feel it.

"Well, in his defense, he phrased it a bit more subtly."

You let out a soft laugh, stretching your arm out to gently touch his forearm. As your hand slid up, you leaned in a little, the simple gesture helping you feel more grounded and at ease.

His gaze followed your movements with a gentle satisfaction. You didn’t pull him closer, you were simply stroking his arm in that easy, caring way that calmed both of you.

"You’ve never done this before, have you?" you asked quietly. "You’ve never put yourself in this position like this."

He shook his head in denial.

"I’m really... really worried that I’ll do something wrong and we won’t be able to catch him because of me."

"You should worry about yourself, Spencer. Not about that. I’m sure you’ll play your part better than anyone could. "But I really regret that I won’t be able to be right next to you, in case something goes wrong."

His lips parted and closed in a kind of... amusement?

"I was going to say that maybe Hotch could be convinced, but then I realized, no, he won’t be. No matter what you say. And besides, having you there wouldn’t let me focus fully."

"I’m aware of that," you joked, tossing your hair dramatically. "After all, I look stunning."

"I was more referring to the fact that I’d be focused only on making sure nothing happens to you, but yeah. That’s one of the reasons too."

You fell silent, oddly moved by that confession. It was so simple, driven by care, affectionate. And it definitely made your head spin in the context of your relationship. You shook your head, pulling yourself away from those thoughts. As long as you were in Alaska, you could afford anything. After that, who knows.

You swallowed and put on a playful expression, it came with some effort, but you managed.

"Okay, genius-boy. Let me prepare you. You need to know how to behave."

"I thought I was just supposed to be myself," he noted, letting you pull him by the wrist.

"Well, mostly, yes. But it's still better to rehearse, get you into character. Don't you have any random fun facts to share?"

"I always have some fun facts to share. An endless amount."

"We'll see."

For the rest of the day, up until the inevitable moment of setting the trap for the unsub, you listened carefully to everything he had to say. His constant chatter allowed him to occupy his mind, pushing the stress aside to the point that, when it was time for him to head to the designated location, he seemed almost surprised that the hour had come. Only then did certain shadows begin to cross his face.

You paced restlessly around the inn as the whole team prepared. Your task was to take a position with Gideon at a certain distance from the bus stop, to cut off the unsub's escape route if necessary. The bus driver had agreed to cooperate, and JJ was giving him instructions, asking him to act as naturally as possible. There were to be no civilians on board, only Elle and a few inconspicuous local police officers. Hotch and JJ planned to follow the bus from a distance by car. Morgan was to lay low at the bus stop, also posing as a civilian.

You moved closer to Spencer, breathing heavily, his presence alone calming you down.

“You’ll be fine,” you reassured him just before you were about to leave. Morgan gave him an encouraging pat on the shoulder, and everyone was still gathered around you. You gently hugged him, just as any other friend would, just like Elle and JJ had moments before.

He, on the other hand, wasn’t concerned with appearances. He wrapped his arm around your shoulders and rested his chin on top of your head in a strong, lingering embrace.

“Y/N, you and Gideon need to go now," Hotch interrupted.

As you were walking away, you noticed out of the corner of your eye that he also gave Reid a brief squeeze on the shoulder.

It was a truly tense moment. You found yourself in a position where you had no visibility on what was happening inside the bus, nor could you gauge the gravity of the situation. All you could hear through the earpiece was Elle's whispered signal informing you that the suspect, fitting the profile, had just entered the vehicle.

And even though you didn’t have high hopes for the plan, everything unfolded exactly as it was meant to. Spencer exited the bus, and the unsub followed him. The suspect seemed intent on tracking him down that desolate, shadowy road, planning to attack and abduct him. But at the last moment, Reid turned, and before the man could react, he was surrounded by the police.

On your last night in Alaska, you found yourself on top, with his head resting against the headboard of the bed, his hands placed on your hips, and in a position where you could look at each other and talk.

"You really did great today," you praised, leaning in to gently kiss his collarbone.

He didn't seem flattered by your words, no smile on his lips, just that sad, aching expression that caused you pain. Wanting to shake off the feeling, you quickened your movements, hoping it would work, but then he tightened his embrace, making you slow down once again.

"I want... I want to enjoy you," he said with a slightly embarrassed tone, his fingers tracing restless, tender circles on your bare skin. "Since this is our last time together."

For a moment, he gazed at your face, as if hoping you would say something. But he couldn't find any trace in your expression that would suggest you had changed your mind. The small, naive spark in his eyes faded. Elle's words about breaking the cycle echoed in your mind, but not in your heart. You couldn't turn them into reality; you simply couldn't. The agreement remained the agreement.

Once you returned, everything would go back to how it was before.

another author's note: I plan to create a tag list and I want to know who among you would like to be on it. please, let me know in the comments.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #doctor spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spence reid #spencer reid smut #criminal minds smut #criminal mind #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n

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darnell-la · 4 months ago

Note

how about old!logan with the filthiest mouth one could ever speak, full with nasty and degrading pet names. just rough and mean logan treating the reader 🫠🫠

note: this takes place in the Honda Odyssey… we can make the man filthier by the way…

———

“Well, you guys are fucking stupid, so, it’s not a surprise we’re lost,” y/n crossed her arms in the back seat as Wade drove through the woods, trying to get to the place Nicepool had me roomed for them to form a team.

“You ain’t the smartest sheep either. Batting your fuckin’ eyelids at Jonny,” Logan scoffed next to her before leaning back in his to rest.

After Wade had told him that there might not be a way to save his world, he’s been in a bad mood. Ever since she met him, he’s been in a bad mood.

“Yeah, but sadly he’s not here with us, right Wade?” Y/n sarcastically asked, making Wade sigh loudly. “He should have said those things about her!” Wade shouted.

“This whole trip is fucking ridiculous. Like seriously, Wade. Why the fuck did you bring me along to save this drunk fuck!?” Y/n complained, making Logan chuckle.

“To save your shitty world,” Logan said under his breath. “Hey! That’s my world too!” Wade argued. “Yeah — That’s why I said that shit,”

“Not like yours is better,” y/n mumbled, making Logan snap his head towards her. Y/n continued looking out of the window, not caring how he felt about her words.

“The fuck you say?” The man asked in a clearly angry tone. “Alright, let’s just cool our dicks and think about a place to eat at after we get out of this shit hole, hm?” Wade asked the two, but they both ignored him.

“Nah, I wanna hear what the little bitch has to say,” Logan called the young lady out of her name, making her snap his own neck at him. “Bitch!? No wonder you could never keep a woman. In every universe!” She shot for his heart.

“That’s something you don’t have to worry about because Ian pickin’ a little brat like you,” Logan tried saying something back in an instant like her comment didn’t hurt. He knew calling her out of her name was shitty, but he’s going through it right now.

The man was pulled from his universe being told he had a chance to save it. Not even two hours later, he was told it was an educated wish.

“Not like you can get in my pants anyways limp dick,” y/n spat, making the man chuckle. He was cocky. He always has been, and his age wasn’t going to throw that away.

“You’re an easy little girl. You would even be able to handle me,” the man looked the girl up and down, giving a look that made her roll her eyes. “You fuckin’ wish,” she said before turning back to the window.

“Oh, honey bun, he does! Maybe y’all can fuck it out in here before we make it home. Got a long way to go,” Wade almost sang.

The two went silent, not declining or accepting. They were just angry, and Wade swore having a small fuck-session would help.

Y/n felt eyes on her through the silence. She told herself not to look back, but she had to. She wanted to see the man’s face, and god, was he fine. She hated admitting to it, but he was.

The way he looked at her legs, made her shift in her seat, growing nervous from the older man’s gaze.

“As I said — Little girl can’t handle it,” Logan finally looked up at the girl with a smirk, smelling the way she grew wet in seconds, and she didn’t know he could. She was clueless which made the situation funnier to him.

“I can handle more than you think. Your dick probably wouldn’t be able to stand up anyway, so stop lookin’ at me like that you perv,” y/n tried covering her legs, but there was no use.

“Oh, go fuck yourself,” the man rolled his eyes as he leaned back in his seat. “Do it yourself, coward,” y/n said under her breath. She thought she was quiet enough until his head snapped back at her and Wade gasped.

“Oh, you nasty little peanut,” Wade giggled. “Oh, you want me to fuck you?” Logan asked, giving that stupid smirk again. “What!? I never said that,” y/n lied, trying to think of something to stop this conversation.

“Oh, but you did, bub,” Logan felt like he was shifting closer, but y/n kept her eyes off of him. “Don’t go silent on me now, bub. If you need a little cock to fix that attitude, I can do it,”

The instant confidence he had, made the girl nervous. What the fuck is she going to do?

“Don’t need cock,” the girl spoke quietly. “I think you do,” the man’s hand was now on the grips thighs, gripping it a bit rough to get a reaction.

Y/n turned and swung, going to hit the man somewhere, but he got her fist and pushed it away before hovering over her body.

“You’re feisty for a girl who’s soaking wet,” the man said, confusing y/n. “You can smell her that bad!?” Wade asked, wanting to know if all. “Oh, yeah, and she smells sweet,” Logan admitted as his hands tugged on her belt.

“Let’s see if I’m right,” Logan ripped y/n’s belt off and shorts down her legs, exposing her pretty lace panties. “Logan! Fuckin’ get off!” Y/n fought back, but he knew she could do better.

“You sure? Kinda looks a little messy down here,” the man laughed at her girl as he spews her legs, seeing the dark spot grow. Before she could say another word, he ripped her panties off, making her yell at him more.

“Pretty little cunt. Maybe if you weren’t so bitchy, I’d eat it, but I have different plans for you today,” Logan wiped a finger across her lips before taking them to his mouth to suck.

“Yep — Sweeter than peach, Wade. Didn’t know you had sluts as friends,” Logan laughed again as he fumbled with his own belt. “Logan!” Y/n still shouted, kicking and slapping but he had his single hand pinning her shoulder down.

“Look on the bright side, peanut — You’ll get some dick and maybe that’ll energize you for our fight?” Wade said about anything to hide the fact he loved hearing Logan get the way he gets.

“Fuck you, Wade!” Y/n yelled at the man. “Nah uh, only I do that to you,” y/n almost forgot about Logan until she looked down, seeing his cock out in his head, stoking and leaking pre cum.

“Got me so fuckin’ hard. You know how good you look fighting? How pretty you are yappin’ that damn mouth? Could only think about you under me -- where you belong,”

Logan struggled but made his way in between her legs. “Fuck you! Fuck you, a-and Wade! You’ll last two seconds,” y/n tried laughing at the man to seem tough as usual, but he shut her right up with a hard thrust into her cunt.

“What was that? Two seconds? If I lasted a short time, it’s because this cunts so fuckin’ soaked, not because I’m old, baby,”

Y/n’s hands pushed at the man’s stomach, trying to slow him down and stop him from pushing hitting the right spot with each thrust he gave.

“S-Stop!” The girl whined already, feeling the knot in her stomach build and her breathing get spotty. He was huge and hard. Harder than she thought a man his age could be.

“Don’t think you want that, baby. No, you want me to fuck this pretty little girl till she cried and leaks on the seat,” Logan whispered in her ear as his own breath became heavy.

“God, you guys are hot. Love the play date you guys are having! Maybe give me a review after the Uber ride. Tell me if the seats felt comfy and if y’all had enough room to fuck like rabbits with rabies,” Wade seemed excited.

“Hear that, babe? Gonna tell Wade how good I fuck this pussy? C’mon, tell him. Tell him how hard your squeeze my cock,”

Y/n hated his cock voice in her ear but loved it at the same time. He knew exactly how she’d like it. Maybe by her attitude, he knew she needed someone with the same energy to pound her.

“No c-chance,” the girl stuttered through her teeth as she tried glaring at the man, but her head instantly fell back after he gave one small pound, telling her to get rid of the attitude.

“You’re gonna do it eventually. Sluts like you can’t forget a good cock,” and he was right. This was going to be the best sed she’s had ever.

“Gonna go beggin’ Wade to come get me to fuck you. Shit, since I have to stay in the bullshit you call your world, I’ll just come over to your place myself. Burry my cock in this cunt till you pass out,”

“L-Logan,” y/n dug her nails into the man’s shoulders, trying to hold tight as her orgasm felt near. “Oh, you like that? Like the thought of a dirty old man fuckin’ this so-called clean pussy, hm? Gonna let me breed this little princess whenever I want? Even if I piss you off?”

“N-No, you fucking suck at this!” Y/n breathed heavily, keeping her orgasm together so she wouldn’t give him what she wanted.

“God, she’s fuckin’ petty,” Wade said as Logan let out a little chuckle. The man shifted in the van, lifting her legs over his shoulders before punching his right claw into the roof of the van.

Y/n jumped, not used to having a mutant like him around. “Don’t worry, princess. I wouldn’t hurt a pretty girl like you. Too valuable and tight,” Logan grabbed between the back of y/n’s head and neck to lift her to, fixing her to lean into him.

“Before I fuck you ass dumb, do you want to take anything you said back?” Logan looked down at the girl whose legs rested on his shoulder and cock grazed her entrance, waiting to be squeezed again.

“You fuck like a dead pig,” y/n spat. Right after, the man took one good slam into her, watching her legs part and scream. Logan pulled her head back up, making her look into his dark eyes.

“Loudmouth for a loud screamer,” the man smirked before moving his hips, thrusting into the girl with all the strength he had. He pulled her back to life whenever she tried pushing away or leaning her head back.

“Good fuckin’ pussy — Fuck! — Maybe I’ll excuse that bitch tone of yours,” the man couldn’t deny his could she felt and sounded.

Before, y/n thought she could hold herself in, but she knew Logan would get what he wanted in this new angle and harder pounding. He knew this from the start.

“C’mon, bub — I know you wanna cum. Keep squeezing around me like I wouldn’t notice,” he laughed at her. Teasing he. “N-Not cumming,” y/n assured the man, but even Wade didn’t believe her.

“I can see how the man has you in a full-on butter-salted pretzel position. You’re cumming, peanut,” Wade said, only egging Logan on knowing anyone who looked at her right now could tell she was close.

“No, I’m not!” Y/n pathetically whined. Logan leaned down to the girl's face, slightly touching her lips as his hot breath burned her nostrils.

“Don’t cum then, bub,” Logan said as he picked up his pace. “Don’t cum, and you win. You win your little bitch fight, and we can move on with our day,” Logan kept increasing.

“Don’t cum, and you’re right about my limp old dick,” Logan now growled. “Don’t cum, and I won’t come into your little home and eat that pussy,” y/n eyes rolled back as his hands dug into the back of her neck.

“Don’t cum, and I won’t fuck you like this every day to satisfy your needs, baby. Don’t cum, and I’ll have to leave this pretty little body alone forever,”

“Can’t breed it. Can’t kiss it. Can’t pound it. Can’t do anything I want to it,” y/n whined loudly at the man’s words, finally releasing the man’s cock.

“That’s what I fuckin’ thought. You need me. You fuckin’ want this old dick,” Logan’s lips crashed into her, kissing her roughly as she cried at the pace he kept ducking her in.

“Goddam, she cums a lot!” Wade said with excitement, loving the animal coming out of Logan. He knew y/n needed something like this in his life. That totally isn’t the reason why he brought her along.

“So fuckin’ good, baby. Best fuckin’ cunt I’ve fucked. So damn tight and sweet. Need you after all this. Needa have you with me forever,”

Y/n didn’t plan for this to happen. She doesn’t plan to let Logan fuck her like this in the back of Nicepools Honda Odyssey. She didn’t plan for Logan to form an attachment issue with her.

“Gonna cum, baby. Gonna fill this girl up. Gonna keep you with me forever. Can’t leave. Don’t care how old I am, you belong with me. You’re made for me. Pussy’s molded to only take my cock,”

Logan’s hips bucked a few times before he pushed all the way into the young girl, spilling into her with a loud animalistic groan.

The top of the roof was ripped with how many times his claws punched in and out of it. Logan’s fingers bruised the back of y/n’s neck. Her lips even have a small scratch from the hard he kissed. She tastes so fucking good.

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duuhrayliegh · 1 year ago

Text

consequences

a/n: I HAVE NO IDEA WHERE THIS CAME FROM BUT HERE YOU GO

also i'm more than happy to continue this if yall want more, just LET ME KNOW

other works

“You want to what?"

"To open our relationship."

You stare at him in disbelief, clutching the soft blanket in your hands. There's a sharp ringing sounding through your eardrums and everything around you slows. He keeps talking, his voice breaking through the barrier of fog that encompasses your senses.

"I want us to remain honest with each other, but this is the only way to keep our relationship healthy."

He steps away from the kitchen counter, wearing the sports jacket you bought him for your sister's wedding.

"I want the both of us to disclose when we start dating someone else. That's the main boundary, we can hammer out all the ground rules later. Right now, I'm going on a date, so uh," he pauses as he checks his reflection in the mirror beside the door one last time, "don't wait up."

You try to focus on his words, but no matter your efforts you weren't able to process anything. His keys jangle in his grip and you faintly recognize the sound of the door slamming closed and his footsteps echoing down the empty corridor of your apartment.

"I still can't believe he said that to you."

The singular ice ball hits against the sides of your glass with each tilt of your wrist. You take a long drag of the dark liquor before laughing sardonically.

"It's been six months of him parading his dates around." Another sip, your work skirt digs into your thighs painfully. You distract yourself by reaching for a peanut from the nearly empty bowl. "And what's worse is that he still expects me to be the doting wife that he comes home to every night!"

The bartender refills your glass while you sneak another peanut. You card your fingers through your hair as you continue to rant. A dull throb radiates in between your brows so your eyes slide closed as you take deep breaths.

"Well, I can't imagine you're doing so bad yourself."

You hum questioningly at the man, focusing your gaze on the dark-haired bartender, his stubble dusting his sharp jaw as the muscles work beneath the skin. His eyes haven't left you since you sat down in front of him.

"I see you in here." You begin to pick at the skin around your nails and he nudges a bowl of peanuts in your direction. "Men come up to you all the time. You've been on dates too, right?"

You reach for a peanut and crack open the grainy shell, biting the inside of your cheek. Your bartender laughs incredulously and then presses his hands into his side of the counter to lean over toward you. The cloth he tosses over his shoulder must be damp because the fabric of his white button-up is darkened there.

"Focus on me, Peanut."

Your eyes snap to his, unable to keep the overflow of expression from brimming beneath the surface. Your heart cracks further as he visibly softens, crumpling against the counter to cover your hand with his. A tense silence stretches between the two of you, charging the air with unwelcome emotions.

Your bartender’s spare hand cups your jaw and swipes away the glistening tears fleeing down your cheeks. Sniffling loudly while straightening in your seat, you pull away from his touch—effectively stopping yourself from melting into him.

You’ve worked so hard to make this shitty dive bar your safe place, you’ll be damned if you ruin it with a fling.

“I don’t even know why I’m wasting tears on this whole thing.” You take three deep breaths—whiskey and apples invade your senses. The man in front of you tilts his head to the side while drying a few crystal glasses.

“You’re avoiding my question, Peanut.” He turns briefly and you try to figure a way out as the cups clink softly. “You have been dating too, right?”

Your teeth trap your bottom lip, peeling off the thin layers of skin. You purposely avoid his eyes, doing less than nothing to hide your answer.

“Jesus, Peanut. What’s stopping you?”

You huff, focusing your attention on the patrons around you. There’s noticeably less than there were when you first arrived. The bar guests go about their business, underlying emotions kept close to their chest and out of sight to everyone else. You wish you could be that way, instead of sewing your heart to your sleeve for anyone to rip pieces from.

“I--" You hesitate, twirling your glass, watching as the ice fights to keep up with the sudden movements you force on its surroundings.

"Some small part of me still loves him. No matter how much he hurts me with this whole open relationship bullshit. I'm still thinking that one day he'll wake up and remember that I've been his loving wife and partner for the past six years. This can't be my new reality. It just can't. He's meant to be my partner for life, not my partner who has really good friends. Not my partner with a girlfriend or some fuck buddy across town."

This is the can of worms that you'd hoped to keep locked away from the Commando's dive bar. What you've held close to your chest every night you slink past the blonde bouncer, Steve. The information you never let slip to the six-foot-five bartender with the metal arm. And now, you can't seem to stop the words from leaving your mouth.

"He's supposed to be my husband. Why isn't he my husband? Is it me? He said that we would talk about what the reason was, but I can't get him to sit down with me. I can't even get him to reply to a text, much less answer questions about our relationship."

You spit the last word before downing the rest of your drink in one go. Bucky stands patiently as you let loose every emotion that you've bottled up for the past six years. Further in the bar, someone shouts for the last call.

"Why don't I date? Because I love him. Because outside of him, I don't know who I am. I don't date because I've been with the same man for almost a decade and I wouldn't even know where to begin. I can't see past where I'm at right now. There is no future for me outside of the hell that I find myself in now. I can't date because I want to be there for when my husband remembers that I exist. I want to be there for him like he wasn't for me because I know the novelty of his flings will wear off soon enough. And maybe that makes me worse than him, but I don't know if I have the energy to care anymore."

There's now a heavy silence covering you and your whole body slumps because of it. Despite feeling the biggest breath of relief of getting those emotions out in the open, you now have to deal with what they mean. You were always taught that saying your emotions out loud would only lead to more issues, but here you fucking are. Sometimes these things are unavoidable.

"I call bullshit."

Your jaw drops as your bartender rocks away from the counter. You flounder as he starts performing closing duties. You stare at Bucky's back, slightly distracted by the muscles working underneath the tight material.

"Did you just bullshit my feelings?"

Bucky turns halfway, eyebrows raised, "Yep."

Your bartender plucks the glass in front of you and drops it in the sink on his way to the cash register. If you were in a whole state, you'd smack back with a witty comment, but you're tired.

"You can't bullshit my feelings."

He holds a stack of twenties in one hand and he pins you with the same expression as before.

"Uh, yeah I can."

He continues to count the register and tosses a goodbye to the other bartender. A long lull stretches between you. Now it's just the two of you in the bar, and that must have been what he was waiting on because it's only now that he really talks.

"Peanut, how long have you been coming here?"

You furrow your brow at the question, not sure where he's taking his line of questioning.

"I don't know, four months?"

“Four months, twenty days."

Bucky's retort is quick and final. A fact. Something he's committed to memory. You're taken aback by the heavy tone he layers between the syllables.

"And for those four months and twenty days, I've stood behind this counter and watched you wallow. I've watched you turn down proposition after proposition. I've had Steve throw out dozens of men for how they speak about you. I've sat back and tried to be the listening ear that you need because you're clearly going through a really difficult time. I've never been in the position that you're in and I'm not going to pretend that I understand the half of it."

He slams the drawer closed and rounds the countertop. His boots thud against the floor violently, stopping beside the barstool next to you. Your bartender leans down and swings your stool to face his before taking a seat.

"I've stood behind that bar and was able to listen to quite a bit. But what I can't have is you thinking that you're the issue."

His hand slips into yours, his thumb tracing the knuckles of your fingers. Tears begin to brim at your waterline again, but you refuse to let them fall.

"Peanut, you're the most loyal person I've met in recent years. You love fiercely and you hurt even harder. Hell, you've been with this guy for almost ten years and he's been fucking you over for the past six months and you're sitting in this bar defending him to a relative stranger!"

"But he--"

"You're husband took the decision away from you and then framed it in a way that made you out to be the bad guy. He put you in a nearly impossible situation because he knew you were too loyal to him to do anything about it."

"He didn--"

"Yes, he did."

Having it laid out like that by the one person you wanted to be kept away from all of it was eye-opening. Your shoulders crumple and a new wave of tears threatens to escape.

"Now, this isn't the best time, but I feel like in a situation like yours there's never going to be a 'right' time."

Bucky sits up straighter and sticks his metal hand out to you.

"Hi. I'm Bucky Barnes. I'm a retired Army Sergeant and I now work in the Howling Commandos bar. I've been your bartender for the past four months and twenty days. Over that time, I've grown to care for you, more than a bartender should. Because of that fact, I want to take you out on a date."

You suck in a breath sharply, immediately going to deny him, only for Bucky to cut you off.

"You don't have to give me an answer right now, Peanut. Just think about it and whenever you're ready, I hope I'm your first call."

You chew on the inside of your cheek, gnawing on the idea. You have grown fond of Bucky. He's become a sort of safety net for you these past few months. Going home has proven to be more and more of a chore so you spend hours on end in the Howling Commandos.

What if you and Bucky go on a date and you hate it? What if you date and you have a huge falling out? What if you--

"I can see the wheels turning, Peanut." He taps your temple with a cold metal finger. "What are you thinking?"

"What if we end up not working out?"

"What if we do?"

The question hangs. The implication is clear. You could spend hours going through the what-if scenarios, both positive and negative. You'll never truly know until you take a leap of faith.

"What would your boss think of you dating one of your new regulars though?"

You're grasping at straws, but you're really trying to convince yourself that taking that leap with Bucky would be the worst thing in the world.

"Peanut, I'll sell the damn bar before someone other than you tells me that I can't date you."

Your eyes meet his and all you can see is the adoration and sincerity in them. His thumb is still working over your knuckles, but it's also expanded to tracing aimless circles into the back of your hand. The cool metal is the only way you've grounded yourself to reality.

A slow smile spreads across your features, the first of its kind tonight and you both know what it means.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bartender!bucky #bartender!bucky x reader #bartender!bucky barnes x reader #seb stan #sebastian stan #sebastian stan character #seb stan character #seb stan x reader #sebastian stan x reader #bartender!bucky x you #bartender!bucky x peanut!reader

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coryosbaby · 1 year ago

Text

Mascara || T. Riddle

Fandom: ‘Harry Potter’

Pairing: Young! Tom Riddle x fem! Ravenclaw! Reader

｡.｡ ♡ Content warning . Public sex, praise & degradation, cum play, sub! Reader, dom! Tom

Notes: set in modern day Hogwarts. I never thought i’d want to fuck Voldemort but here we are.

Your feet patter softly against the tile floors of Hogwarts, a book clutched tightly in your arms as you make your way towards the school’s library. It’s a rainy night, incredibly quiet and empty. The other students are at dinner, and you’ve decided to skip out to study for your OWLs. When you open the big wooden doors to the library, the smell of printed ink and old pages invites you further in.

The first thing you notice, when you close the doors behind you and take sight of the room, is that the librarian, Madam Pince, is no where to be found. She must be on her break.

The second thing you notice is the boy sitting in the darkest corner of the room.

You know of the familiar brunette— of course you do. Who wouldn’t? Tom Riddle is a popular slytherin well known for his cunningness, his intelligence, his ability to speak native tongues— and sometimes, his temper. A ravenclaw yourself, you try to steer clear of him. Slytherins usually don’t take politely to anyone outside of their house. Not to mention the fact that you scored the top of your class, with him coming in close second. You suspect that he hates you for that.

He catches your gaze, brown eyes with the resemblance of a serpent. He looks back down at his book, seeming bored.

You let out a breath of air.

You slide your book into the return bin, timidly moving to the shelf about Potions. Snape has been really hassling you lately on your grades, and you really need to turn your B+ into a perfect A. Your fingertips skim over the leathered binds, reading title after title. A voice behind you makes you jump.

“If you’re studying for Snape’s final, I’d recommend ‘Advanced Potion Making’. It will tell you all you need to know.”

His voice is an angelic lilt, though you know that is not in any way what he resembles. The fact that he’s helping you stumps you into utter confusion, and heat creeps up your neck. You nod to him as you begin searching for the book.

To no avail. Your eyes search every bind, every word, but your focus has been diluted because of Tom speaking to you. He sighs, almost annoyed.

He appears beside you, much to your surprise. You nervously bite your lip as he finds the exact book he recommended and pushes it into your hands.

“Chapter nine. I would’ve thought a girl of your ranking in our class would know this already.”

Your brows furrow, embarrassment coursing through you as he sits back down and resumes his tasks. You nervously fumble with the book.

“Thank you.” You reply, because you had been taught proper manners. He scoffs, flicking through the pages of his book. You can’t read the title, though the cover is quite off put ish and dark. Perhaps he had snuck into the restricted section.

“Don’t.”

You frown, though your mind is peaking with curiosity. He seems rude, but he was trying to help you. Maybe there’s something nice under there, after all. Your body is stiff as you sit across from him at the table, silently pleading to God that the boy across from you won’t put a nasty hex on you.

“You don’t have to be rude, you know.”

It slips out of your lips, quiet and unsure. Tom’s eyes narrow at you.

“And as well as that, you don’t have to sit across from me.”

“Perhaps I want to. Perhaps you need a friend.”

“A friend?” He chuckles dryly, his gaze travelling down to your robes. You try to ignore the heat creeping between your legs. “We aren’t going to be friends.”

His insinuation is thick, dangerous. Your heart pounds out of your chest at this unexpected turn of your study hour. You gulp, looking down at the pages.

“Very well then. But since I’ve already sat down, I might as well continue my book here.”

“Or we could continue this conversation in my dorm room.”

He says it smoothly, with no fear or utmost insecurity.

“What?” You blanch, stuttering on your syllables. Tom smirks.

“A smart girl like you, and you can’t even comprehend a single sentence,” he says, his body beginning to move out of his chair. “‘S pathetic, really…”

You breath hitches as his tall form towers over you. Your fingertips grasp the sides of your chair as he leans in close.

“Tom,” you start, warningly. He quirks a brow.

“No?” He questions, and then after a moment, staring into your doe eyes, it dawns on him. His mouth forms into a grin. “Oh, you want it here, don’t you? You want it right here.”

His lips brush just inches over your pouty lips, and you wonder how in the hell you got into this situation and why this slytherin boy is making such a sudden move on you. But knowing Tom, it’s probably out of boredom. Out of the desire for a hook up.

You don’t mind it. Not really, not anymore, because all your protests are ripped away from you when he presses his lips to yours. It’s not tender or sweet, it’s full of sharp teeth and unfiltered lust. His hands rest on your chin, gripping your head so you can’t escape his kiss— can’t escape him.

Your tongue is about to graze his lips when he pulls away. His fingers grasp your shoulder and pull you up to your feet. You stumble, your legs shaky from just a couple of kisses. You gasp when he spins you around and presses your face against one of the nearest bookshelves. His big hands wrap around your wrists and hold them behind your back.

“I don’t want to hear any complaints from you. Do you understand me?” He whispers, his hands reaching down to lift up your robes. “If I do, I’ll leave you here drenched, your clothes gone, with your holes freshly fucked and on display for the entire school to see. Do you understand me?”

You nod instantly. You know that these aren’t empty threats; when Tom says he’s going to do something, he’ll do it.

When he pulls up your robes, taking in the sight of your pretty pink thong, he lets out a sharp breath.

“Prepared, weren’t you?”

You let out a whine, knowing that no, this wasn’t intentional. Tom just caught you on a specific type of day. But looking on it now, maybe the universe was being in your favor when you decided to pick out the flimsy undergarment.

Tom slips the hem of your robes into your hands.

“Hold it.” He commands, and you’re quick to comply.

His hardness presses against you, clothed still but his robes are lifted so he can rut against you in his briefs. It isn’t long before he’s pulling them down past his thighs, his cock sprinting up into the air as he places himself against you once again. You can’t help but drip with need, canting your hips back against him. His cock presses in between the seam of your ass, and you rub against him like a bitch in heat.

And just like a bitch in heat, you purr.

“Tommy..” you let out, and his grip on your hips tighten. “Please?”

He scoffs at the nickname, though his bottom lip is caught roughly between his teeth and he’s trying to contain himself. He wraps his hand around his awaiting length, parts your thighs with the other, and slides his dick up against your throughly aroused pussy.

He’s warm, sticky. You wish you could’ve seen him before this, seen that thing that feels oh so heavy between your legs, but it’ll have to wait. Hopefully, there will be a next time.

When he slides in, it stretches you obscenely. This isn’t your first time, but there’s a burning sensation as he enters you. He’s got the perfect amount of thickness and length to pull a moan deep from your throat.

He doesn’t start slow. His hips smack against yours at a rapid pace, small grunts leaving his silky lips as he uses you like a common whore. Your hands grip your robes and the bookshelf at the same time, trying to keep steady as Tom fills you to the brim. He noses along your jaw and leaves wet, open kisses there. You mewl when he bites down harshly and sucks a mark into your skin.

“Such a tight little cunt you have,” Tom breathes, his fingertips bruising your hips. “Look at you, such a slut for my cock. Does it feel good? Tell me, tell me how it feels.”

Your thighs squeeze him, your mouth gaping open in utter ecstasy. Your words are caught in your throat, but Tom is quick to force them out of you with a spank to your ass. You moan, your forehead pressing against the bookshelf’s wooden edge.

“Yes! Yes, it feels so good…” you slur, entranced by the spice of his cologne and the feeling of his girthy length splitting you open. He grunts, bucking his hips into you with vigor.

“And I bet it’s the best you’ve had, isn’t it? All those other boys can’t do it for you. I’m the only one that fucks you this good.”

It’s true, and when his cockhead hits a spot deep inside you that has you keening, your legs quiver and your brain turns to jelly. Tom’s fingers place themselves around your neck and squeeze so hard that your vision blurs at the edges, and you’re enthralled by the fear that courses through your veins. He’s playing your life in his hands like it’s a shiny new toy.

He fucks you like a madman as you gasp and beg for air. Tears spill out of your eyes, salty and wet and Tom takes notice.

“Crying?” He sneers, pounding you so hard that you’re sure the bookshelf will leave bruises as it presses against you. “You’re pathetic. A pathetic, filthy little girl.”

“Mmmhhh..” you cry out. Your eyes roll back as you utter incoherent sounds. He growls.

“Do you want me to cum inside you?” And then, with a harsh grip on your hair, “I want to hear you say it. Beg me. Beg me to fill you, whore.”

Your eyes shut tight, and your hands clasp around his wrists as he loosens his grip on your throat.

“Please,” your voice is a gasp as you finally get oxygen unto your system. “Please, Tom, f-fill me up. Cum inside me.”

A small, throaty groan escapes his lips, and with one last desperate thrust he’s spilling balls deep inside your drooling cunt. His cum spills over the cusp of your used entrance, and when he’s done fucking it into you he pulls out with a sharp exhale.

You can feel his cum spill out of your raw fucked hole, the creamy fluid dribbling down your thigh and dripping onto the carpet below. Your clit throbs mercilessly, still devoid of any attention, but Tom is quick to put a stop to that. He drops to his knees, then, and it’s a surprising gesture that you didn’t expect. He doesn’t seem like the type to get on his knees for anyone, let alone you. But his tongue lolls out of his mouth as he spreads your knees and catches his cum into his awaiting mouth. He licks up your hole, circling your clit with practiced precision. You let out a guttural sound when you hear the obscene noises of the cum spilling out of you, along with Tom’s mouth slurping at your cunt vigorously. He works at you over and over, and you clench when you feel yourself nearing your high. It’s almost embarrassingly quick, but you’ve been denied so long that you need to do it and you need to do it now.

“I’m going to…” you gasp out, as he rubs circles into your clit. He lets out a loud grunt against you, his mouth working harder. “I’m cumming—god, I’m cumming!”

Your orgasm washes over you, hits you like a tidal wave in the middle of an incredibly large ocean. Tom works his tongue and lets you ride out your high, and he sighs and pulls away from your pussy when you come down.

He’s gathered enough arousal to fill his mouth generously, and he kisses you flat on the lips. His tongue slides against yours and you can taste your shared arousal on him. You whimper, licking desperately at his salty spend, and it’s messy and sloppy and absolutely depraved. His teeth nip at you as you swallow it all down.

You’re dizzy, on shaky legs. You turn around, finally getting to see Tom’s face coated in your slick and his cum. He grins at you, and something twists in your gut so primal you feel you might burst.

“Better get to studying, Miss Y/L/N,” he says. “It’d be a shame if this missed study session made you fail your OWLs.”

#bunny writes ͟͟͞☆#Tom riddle #Tom riddle x reader #Tom riddle x fem! reader #Tom riddle smut #Tom riddle fanfic #young! Tom riddle #Harry Potter #Harry Potter and the chamber of secrets #harry potter franchise #Harry Potter blurb #Harry Potter fanfic #Voldemort

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alicentofhightower · 5 months ago

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the cost of a dragon

pairing: addam velaryon x wife!reader

synopsis: addam is covered in cuts and scrapes from falling and running in the forest, and now you must take care of him.

includes: fluff, episode 6 heavy spoilers, probably historically inaccurate w some parts but we’re just gonna Let That Slide, not proofread again oops

wc: 1.3k

a/n: i love him so bad. rn my top 3 tb characters are rhaenyra rhaena and addam. he’s so sweet!! i really hope we get to see a lot more of him in the next few episodes

Addam is bewildered when he returns to your home, panting, eyes wide and mouth agape. You’ve never seen him like this, but you guess that it’s the dragon laying beside your house that’s done it.

“What’s happened?” You exclaim when you see the way he’s stumbled in, bleeding from a cut on his cheek.

“…The, the dragon,” He mumbles, locked hair spilling over his shoulders. Addam walks over to where you stand by the kitchen table, hands gently grasping your forearms, as yours do his, thumbs running over your skin to ground himself. He smells strange, like something otherworldly. Could it have been because of the beast outside your door?

“It came to me, followed me through the woods by the shore. I think I’ve claimed him. Yes, that’s what I’ve done. I must go.” Addam attempts to retract himself from your grip, but to no avail.

The pots and pans inside rattle when the silver creature lay its head on the yard outside, no doubt resting from its flight. “Please, my love,” Addam insists. “I need to go and see the queen myself. She is in need of more dragons herself, is she not? If I serve her, perhaps she will allow you and I to live at Dragonstone with her. This is our chance.”

You shake your head, apron ruffling from the beach’s wind blowing through the window. Addam has always been ambitious, has always wanted the best for you and himself. He’s fiercely loyal to you, a quality that made you want to marry him in the first place.

“Addam.” Your hands fly up to cup his cheeks, stopping him from continuing on with his tangent. “You’re covered in gashes and dirt and sand. At least let me lend you a hand.”

He softens at that, jaw seeming to unclench. Addam’s brown eyes have always been expressive, and now they seem to look at you as if you’re the sweetest person he’s ever known. “…I suppose you’re right,” He mutters, “but we must make haste.”

Finally, you let go of each other. You use one of your hands to intertwine your fingers with his, and the other to grip your skirts as you lead him to your room. It’s small and modest, mostly swallowed up by the bed you share. “Sit,” You say, almost commandingly, quickly fetching a spare piece of cloth by the tub in the main room and a bowl of water.

Addam’s eyes almost glint at the way you flounce about before him. He spreads his legs so you are able to stand between them, chin tilting up so he can make eye contact with you while you fix him up.

“Let me see.”

He holds out his right arm, palm up, covered in tiny scratches and sand from his poor attempt to escape from his new dragon. Seasmoke, he remembers. Addam squeezes your right hand lightly while the other cleans him up.

You barely manage to suppress a heavy scoff at the mess in front of you, but you dab gently at it with the towel anyway, soaked with water. “What did you do?” You ask, brows knitting together. “Did you try to run from it?”

“Yes,” He admits, face scrunching together at the fresh memory. You’ve told him to be careful of the sky-beasts constantly looming over the two of you, and he knows he’ll be scolded for trying to escape the damn thing.

You shake your head, mostly to yourself, and Addam’s shoulders deflate. “Well, what would you have done?” He asks, exasperated. “My apologies for wanting to come home to you tonight.”

You pinch his arm. “I only worry for you,” You say, voice soft. Addam and his brother, Alyn, are the only family you’ve left; you’d never known your father, and your sweet mother had died of a fever shortly after your seventeenth nameday. She hadn’t been able to last, to see you wed the man you love so dearly.

“…What will you say, when you see Queen Rhaenyra? She may think you are coming as a foe, to battle rather than service.”

Addam hisses as you brush against a particularly deep cut, eyes squeezing shut. “Sorry,” You say, and he only tips your interlaced fingers up to his lips and kisses the back of your hand.

Your husband pauses after he lets your hands back down, considering the weight of whatever his words to the Black Queen will mean. He almost thinks of it as a duty, to you and his brother. To further your ever so small family.

“I suppose the words will come to me when it happens.” He swallows harshly, eyes averted from yours, darting around like he’s telling himself to fucking think.

You’ve moved onto his other arm, now, and suddenly the odor of him has become unbearable. It’s nothing like anything you’ve smelled before.

Grimacing, you drop the washcloth and cover your nose with your hand, taking a step back. “What?” questions Addam, clearly confused. “What’s the matter?”

“Gods, you fucking stink. What is that?”

Addam laughs. He laughs, tension seeping out of him as he does. “It must be the dragon,” He claims, reaching out to grab your waist and pull you back towards him. “Don’t mind it, please.”

You’re unable to fight the smile you feel blooming, because despite the fact that your husband reeks of his new dragon sleeping outside your home, and your feet are sore from walking to the markets, only to find nothing, and your nerves are set ablaze thinking of his meeting with Rhaenyra, Addam is here. He’s here with you, holding you, safe in the comfort of your humble little home.

The feeling is fleeting, only settling in you for a moment, but you tip your head down to press a kiss to his mouth. “You must be vigilant,” You plead when you pull away, ignoring the way Addam’s lips seem to chase after yours. “And you must return to me. I do not know what I would do if I were to lose you.”

“I will be. I swear it.”

You brush away the dried blood on his cheek with the cloth, frowning. “We should leave, shouldn’t we? Fly to Essos, where we will be safe without the threat of war. That dragon is large enough to saddle three, isn’t it? We can go-“

A thumb soothingly presses against your lips, silencing you. “…If I can put the thing to use, it will strengthen us. Strengthen whatever I have with my father.”

Addam had always been desperate to get the same attention from Lord Corlys that Alyn had always seemed to receive after he’d saved the man. You’d never spoken to the Lord Velaryon yourself before, but it was hard to miss the way he’d stare at you when you visited your husband in the shipyard, almost melancholically.

“I do not care for jewels and gowns and for you to be gilded in glory, Addam,” You state, pushing his wrist away from your face. “I care for you. Should we not go now? I could find your brother.”

“No.” He shakes his head, standing from the bed, now towering over you. His fingers, callused from his seemingly never-ending work on Lord Corlys’s ship, caress your waist almost reverently.

Almost every inch of your skin heats up when Addam leans down to kiss your chest, right where your heart is. The skin is covered by the sea-blue gown you wear, a white apron tied about your waist, and you shudder at the feel of his lips on such an intimate spot.

He kisses up from your bosom to your mouth again, firm and sweet and longing. There’s no guarantee you’ll ever see him again, but some strange part of you feels that all will be well. It’s a naive thought, perhaps, but one you welcome nonetheless.

“I will come back to you,” He promises, voice rasping. “I love you.”

#hotd x reader #house of the dragon x reader #addam velaryon x reader #addam of hull x reader #addam velaryon fluff #addam of hull fluff #hotd fluff #house of the dragon fluff #team black x reader #the blacks x reader

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rafeandonlyrafe · 8 months ago

Text

deliveries

words: 1.2k

warnings: ex!rafe, reconciliation, kinda sugar daddy rafe but he just likes taking care of his girl mhm iktr

“can i say no?” you sigh.

“say no? did you not place this delivery?” the man raises his eyebrows.

“i didn't. my- my ex did.”

“well, i have to deliver it, ma’am, but i don't care what you do with it afterwards. give it to your friends or throw it out.” the man sets the bags of food at your doorstep, snapping a picture before walking off.

you can't blame him, plus it's probably a situation he's never encountered before.

you sigh as you pick up the bags, carrying them into the kitchen counter. packages, deliveries and letters have been showing up on your doorstep for two weeks, ever since you broke up with rafe.

you're sick of it at this point. as you go through the food, picking out something to eat for dinner (you're not just gonna let it go to waste!) you grab your phone and unblock rafes number.

you wonder how long it will take him to realize as you sit at your desk and eat. you're in an apartment complex with pretty tight security, it's the only reason why rafe isn't knocking at your door himself, instead sending whoever he can to get a message to you, while simultaneously making sure you have plenty of food to eat and things to take care of yourself with.

you answer your phone after the first ring. you deleted his contact, but rafes number is forever memorized in your head.

“stop sending me things.”

“baby, its a relief to hear your voice again.” rafe sighs, sounding genuinely happy, like a weight is suddenly off his chest. “please, let me just talk to you. i miss you so much.”

“no, rafe. we broke up. you need to stop.”

“why'd you break up with me? what did you tell me princess?” rafe questions. “i wasn't giving you enough attention. now im giving you everything. please, y/n.” he pleads. “im not going to stop.”

you take a deep sigh. you really love rafe, despite your relationship being only six months old when you broke up with him, it was just too much. too much attention from your friends and too much pressure from his family. it pushed your relationship farther apart until rafe barely paid attention to you, receiving constant questions from his dad and friends.

“you have to, rafe. clearly things weren't working out. we tried. we can say that. gave it a fair shot.”

“im not done trying. yes, i let my family and other people get into my head about our relationship, but im done with that bullshit. i want you back.”

“let me think about it, okay?” it's an olive branch. the best thing that you can extend right now.

“okay.” rafe agrees. “how about i call you friday?”

you glance at the calendar hanging over your desk. two days. two days to think. you're not sure it's enough or too much.

“that works… but rafe, stop sending me stuff.”

“i can't, baby.” you can practically see the way he's shaking his head right now. “gotta take care of my girl, even if you don't wanna see me.”

“fine.” you groan. you know there's no talking rafe out of it. “order me some lemonade next time then.”

you yawn as you wake up with a big stretch, instinctively reaching over to the other side of the bed. your hand pats the sheets before remembering that you left rafe.

you slide out of bed, heading towards your kitchen to get something for breakfast when a knock on your door interrupts you.

“one second!” you're in pajamas, but they're far too small and tight to answer the door in. you rush back into your bedroom and pull a robe on to cover up.

“hi!” the delivery woman smiles. “y/n?”

“yup.” you nod, stepping to the side. “do you mind just setting it down on the counter?”

the woman places the bags down before saying goodbye and seeing herself out. you sigh and look into the bags, eyes bulging when you see velvet boxes carefully placed inside one of them.

you pull out one of the boxes, gasping when a beautiful diamond necklace is revealed. you continue to open them, realizing rafe bought you jewelry of almost every variety.

“oh, gosh.” you grab a note, opening it to see his handwriting.

it's just what you deserve. i love you and want you back. can't wait to talk to you tomorrow.

rafe

p.s. i paid your rent for the next three months

you grab your phone before even looking in the other bag, dialing rafes number. he picks up almost instantly.

“you know you can't buy my love, right?”

“im not trying to.” rafe says. “im just trying to take care of you. did you get the breakfast?”

you peek into the other bag, seeing a stack of delicious looking pancakes inside a clear container, as well as some other options.

“yeah, ill eat it in a minute.”

“good.” you can practically hear rafes smile over the phone.

“how about we meet up in person to talk tomorrow instead of on the phone?”

“ill go wherever you want.”

“our first date.” is all you say before hanging up, grabbing the pancakes and container holding scrambled eggs.

you're aware you didn't say what time as you pull up to the pier. it's a warm day, sunny with almost no clouds in the sky, but a light breeze gives you the perfect amount of cooling.

you walk down the pier, unable to hold back your smile when you see rafe sitting on the bench where you ate ice cream on your first date after finally agreeing to let him take you out.

rafe watches you carefully as you sit down next to him.

“you're wearing the necklace i got you.” he smiles, seeing the gold chain around your neck.

“i am.” you nod.

“can i… can i hug you? ive missed you so much baby.”

you nod again, not sure you can find your voice as rafes arms wrap around your body, holding you into his side. you snuggle into his chest, eyes sliding shut.

“love you so much.” rafe says, pressing kisses to the top of your head. “so much i messed up the first time not trying to be too obsessed. i just didn't want to make you run away, turns out i did the exact opposite and you felt ignored. you know how my dad is…” rafe trails off as you pick your head up to look at him.

“we shouldn't have let others get between us.” you know you're not innocent in it either, contributing just as much to rafe to the tension that had grown between the two of you.

“and we won't let it happen again now that we know.” rafe says, a promising look in his eyes. you swear it looks like he might cry as you nod.

he ducks his head, pressing your lips together in a sweet kiss. you fist your hands in his shirt, keeping him close as you kiss back, having missed his lips on yours more than you'd like to admit.

“does this mean you'll tell security im allowed back in?” rafe laughs gently, cupping your face, his thumb gently stroking over your cheek.

“hmm, i guess.” you giggle.

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devosin · 1 month ago

Text

COOKING HAVEN, them cooking, cooking together with them, food tasting, everything you want in a food related fic <3

gender neutral reader / tooth-rotting fluff / crack taken seriously / entire twst cast / Aggressive flirting? Aggressive Flirting. / Really indulgent /

01. HEARTSLABYUL

Trey sighs, rubbing his forehead as he fights the will to stare back up at Ace's hands, as he struggles to chop the peppers on the cutting board, . . "Ace . .?", he calls out as softly as he can muster, and he stares up at him, "yeah?" . . "Take off the knife guard"

Ace stares at him dumbfounded, his head tilting slightly as he looks back at him blankly, "What?" he asks, "The plastic cover on the knife, Ace.", he looks at the knife blankly, then attempts to pull off the cover, his mouth opening to a round 'O' shape, when it comes off.

"Sorry, first time using . . err, fancy knifes." he says as he sets the cover aside, moving back to cutting the peppers as slow as humanely possible, careful not to cut his hands, "Well it feels like the first time you've cut anything in general, so I don't know what argument you're trying to make here." Trey spits back, slightly agitated with his slow movements.

Cater and Riddle, setting up equipment, mainly because Trey doesn't trust Riddle in the kitchen yet, . . he also doesn't trust either of them to be alone with the equipment alone, but together, it's different.

"Trey said to boil four cups of water?", Riddle states but it comes out in the form of a question because honestly he doesn't know what he's doing, "Like a coffee mug, right?", Cater asks holding up a small mug he found on the counter, "I think so, I mean what's the difference!" (There is in fact, a massive difference.)

After setting that up, where they may or may not have spilt water all over the counter; Cater runs a rag through the wet counters, cleaning over the leftover residue, "Didn't Trey mention something about, needing some yeast?" he asks.

Riddle thinks for a moment, "I think we'll be fine, baking doesn't need yeast right."

"Yeah you're probably right", replies Cater, as he stretches his arms, "I guess were done then", Riddle nods, "Mhm, wonder why Trey didn't give us more work."

"Yeah it's almost like he doubts our abilities in the kitchen", Cater states casually, "But were so helpful", "Exactly." (The delusional speaking to the delusional.)

Y/n, Deuce, and Trey baking together.

"Ok so the soup is boiling, I think we can try prepping the bread now?", Trey asks, "Sure thing", you reply, while Deuce helps tie your apron from the back.

"Just one problem . ." Deuce speaks up, finally letting go of the strings of your apron, and looking around at the ingredients laid on the counter, ". . . We're out of yeast." . . You pause, "doesn't all baking recipes, require yeast—"

Trey blinks . . "GOD FUCKING DAMN IT."

02. DIASOMNIA

Lilia looks over the recipe book, about one whole time before he deems it useless and throws it to the side (It lands in the trash, because clearly THE Lilia Vanrouge doesn't require such things), "Okay so we need some flour, oil, water—", he continues listing ingredients while Sebek goes out of his way to grab everything he mentions as fast as possible on the table.

"—Salt, sugar, lemon", Sebek reaches into the cabinet, before muttering, "Lilia . . we're out of salt."

Lilia pauses, thinking for a moment, his inner cooking genius coming together in his head, trying to figure out a swift solution, "We can just use baking soda . . I mean they're both white powders, right?!", Sebek pauses, thinking it over, "Yeah sounds perfectly logical."

Malleus, you, and Silver were in charge of making drinks for the picnic you had planned.

"Where's Silver?" you ask Malleus, while he washes the fruits you both bought the day before, "He fell asleep, I didn't think it would be polite to wake him up", you hum in response, bringing out the chopping boards and knifes on the counter.

You both started cutting mindlessly, while chatting away, "So, what are we making anyways?", he asks curiously, "Just a virgin cocktail of sor—ow—fuck!", you drop the knife, "Are you okay?" Malleus asks, ushering to your side.

"I'm fine, it's just a small cut, do you have a band aid?", Malleus nods, "Let me go get it!" (He proceeded to do everything alone until silver woke up and choose to finally help with cutting the rest of the fruit.

The picnic was outside, everyone helped set up the area.

"Lilia . . what's this?", you ask curiously eyeing whatever baked good was on your plate . . (It shouldn't even be called a baked good), "I don't know, I just mixed a few things and threw it in the oven, it's good no?", he asks curiously.

"I can tell", Silver mumbles, as you bump his shoulders slightly, "Ah yes, so good—So good in fact, I might just save it for dinner . . I mean Crowley, and his underpayment—"

"You can take all of it back to Ramshackle", Lilia suggests, "NO!—I mean, I couldn't—really . . it would HURT me." (He delivered a basket of baked horrors to your dorm the next morning.)

03. SAVANACLAW

Ruggie draws out his sigh, a scowl permanently placed on his face, as he stares at your pathetic attempt at cutting meat, "No—not like that . . you're wasting so much good meat", he mumbled the last part, he's trying to be nice, really, but there's only so much patience one can maintain at your mediocre cutting abilities.

"You're massacring the meat!", he states firmly, as he finally shoves you away from the cutting board, and takes over your job, leaving you no choice but to move aside and let him have his way, "You know, this wouldn't happen if you . . just taught me how to cut the meat . ." you mumble out in protest, your hands laying at your sides.

"I did", he responds dismissively, "No, you just handed me a knife and told me to cut", "Exactly, it's called immersive learning, something you're clearly not good at."

You hold up your middle finger, "Fuck you", you bite back, but Ruggie doesn't respond back this time, focusing more so on cutting the expensive cut of meat he got off of Leona's Credit Card.

Leona enters the kitchen while you both were well near finished with kitting the meat.

"Morning", he yawns out, "So close, it's the afternoon", you blurt out, rolling your eyes at his overall casual demeanor, meanwhile you've been dealing with star michelin chef Ruggie's nagging all morning, from your cutting game, to how you can't just eyeball salt levels.

"Close enough" he shrugs, looking over the counter, "Watcha' making?", he asks blankly, "Minced meat, clearly", Ruggie says in the most deadpanned way possible, pointing to your mess of cut meat, "Oh shit, who massacred the meat?" Leona asks, Ruggie looks at you.

You cough, and look away, "I tried teaching them", Ruggie says in the most distraught tone he can muster, "Well clearly not well enough", Leona states bluntly, and you let out a small chuckle at Ruggie's expense.

Jack comes in, awhile after Leona leaves the room, he greets you both and looks at the cutting board, one side of minced and mushed meat, and the other with perfectly diced meat, "Who fuck up the meat?", he asks bluntly, and Ruggie looks at you again, "Seriously, is it that bad!?"

04. POMEFIORE

"Are you sure I'm doing this right?", you mumble out, as you continue mixing away, "You're doing amazing, trickster!" Rook exclaims, way too fucking energetically for it being 3am in the goddamn morning, your arms were practically falling apart, already aching from the school day, and now you're stuck on mixing duty, of all things that are involved in the glorious process of baking, mixing is the worst part.

“Ah—I think we need more apples, give me a moment”, Rook walks out of the kitchen, and Epel finally lays back, stretching his arms, before looking at you, a chuckle escapes him at your expression, “You look like shit”, he says blankly, “wow, I didn’t ask”, you respond back, staring at him blankly, as he moves closer to you.

You guys stare at each other for a brief moment, before he smiles and flicks your forehead, “Cheer up, you look like the goddamn walking dead”.

You blink, and a smile takes over your features after probably hours, “Fuck you”, you mumble out, under your breath, but he doesn’t take any offense, moving back to his original spot.

A couple hours later, the pie was in the oven, the lights were off, Epel was on the counter, you sitting down beside the oven, while Rook was busy mixing some sort of cocktail or something, surprisingly he’s good at mixing drinks.

“So anyways, Ace was like, ‘he doesn’t even have a hairline, why does he need a comb for’—”, you speak, moving your hands around as you recount your story, when something enters the room, something green, and your oven alarm goes off, ‘ring, ring, ring’, and the next thing you know, you, Epel were screaming and running behind Rook.

“Oh, Good morning Roi du Poison”, Rook says in his cheery voice, and you both turn your face from him to the figure on the door, and then Vil flicks on the lights, groaning, “Why are you two still up, and why are you YELLING!”, Vil says, trying to stay as calm as humanly possible, turns out he gets up at the ass crack of dawn, and that his morning mud mask is a putrid green, things to note.

05. IGNIHYDE

Ortho, sets the flour on the counter, you'd be surprised at both his speed and strength if you didn't know he was a robot, and you're also not in the position to focus on him right now.

"Do I need to wear this?", Idia asks softly, as you tie the pink apron on him from the bow, making sure the strings come together in a bow, "don't you want to make your brother happy?", you tease softly, a chuckle escaping you as you watch his shoulders slump and he mumbles out a soft, "yeah . . ", the tips of his hair burn pink, he’s embarrassed.

"Do you need help with yours?", he asks pointing to the white apron on the counter, you'd usually say no, but who are you to refuse when he already seems flustered over asking in the first place, "Yeah."

Idia fiddles with the straps of the apron, struggling to tie a proper knot—"This isn't too tight, right?", he asks softly, and you nod. He ties a messy knot, that somehow holds together, you don't have to look at him to know he's embarrassed, you smile loosely, walking closer to Ortho, “Shall we start?”.

06. SCARABIA

Kalim sits on top of the counter, headphones on, dangling his legs (he’s just a girl . . jkjk), as he watches you and Jamil cook. Too bad those headphones were soundproof, because what he thought was a cute interaction was actually World War 3 for you, “You call this a roti?”, Jamil asks you, trying his best to remain calm (he’s failing horribly), “Well it’s technically a roti . . “ you try and reason, the ingredients were the same . . technically.

“. . .”, he pauses, taking a few deep breaths, trying to control his voice, which wasn’t working, “THAT’S A GODDAMN TRIANGLE”, you stare at Jamil blankly, “The roti has a good personality!”

Jamil lifts the big pot full of water onto the stove, and sets everything up, probably because he didn’t trust you with many things, except pouring water into the pot, though he eyed you through the entire process, which at that point he could just do it himself, “Now put in the spices”, he says, as he watches bring out the turmeric jar.

“How much?” you ask, as you take out the measuring spoons from the cabinet, “As much as your heart desires, only stop when your heart tells you to stop.”, he replies in the most serious way possible that you almost believed him.

“Jamil?” you ask, “Yes?” he replies, straightening his back, “I meant the spices, not my love life, I don’t need advice from you of all people.”

“ . . . “ he pauses, “get the hell out of my kitchen . .” (He’s about to blow, actually), "GET THE HELL OUT OF MY—"

07. OCTAVINELLE

“Are you sure this is a reputable idea?”, you ask Azul as he looks through the ingredients Jade brought in for his new recipe idea, you don’t exactly understand why they asked you for your help, he has a multitude of workers to select from, but who are you to deny a cash offering, that’s just silly, Azul shakes his head, “Jade’s tastes are surely questionable, but he never fails when it comes to the Monstro Lounge.” he responds with a smile, his pen checking off everything in his list.

“Why is Shrimpy here?”, Floyd asks curiously, leaning into the counter, placing his head in his hands, “To help, I guess . .” You respond, and Floyd shakes head, “No . . you need to eat”, Floyd says bluntly, “What? I ate!”, you snip back at him, confused at the sudden shift in topic, “No yeah, that’s why we asked you to come here, Floyd said you weren’t eating properly.”, Azul shrugs, as if this was just the most normal thing ever.

And now you're here, on the table, eating something they served you, while Jade keeps you company, because apparently he’s not allowed in the kitchen for a month, after last week’s incident, which honestly you don’t want to know about.

You take a bite of the pasta, they gave you way too big of a serving if you were being honest, but they wouldn’t take no for an answer, so you gave up trying to shut them down, you look up, and find Jade staring at you, “What?” you ask him curiously.

“You have something on your face”, he says blankly and you quickly rub your face, trying to get whatever it is off, and he chuckles, “Kidding, you’re really easy to trick”, you frown but continue eating the food in front of you, “Hey . . Do you happen to know why Floyd calls you shrimpy?”, he asks, eyeing you curiously.

You shake your head, no, "You wanna know why?", he asks casually, almost comfortingly but you try not to misread the situation, you nod, "Why?"

"Because you're like a shrimp, tiny and weak, on the lower end of the food-chain—", you throw a piece of bread at him, "I'm kidding—Stop wasting the bread!", he says, as he moves away before you can throw more at him, "What's the real reason?", you ask again, "Because you seem weak and sad, I mean with how Crowley treats you and all—", he pauses, “he didn’t explain more than that, but you seemed lonely, like a lot of shrimps.”

And that's when it hits you, like a truck, these fish breath assholes, care . . a lot . . more than you give them credit for.

commissions / discord server / (limited time only) personalized advent calendar

@ devosin , do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or adapt my work/theme without prior permission and or confirmation.

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violetarks · 8 months ago

Text

"i like you, i like you, i like you!"

show: alien stage

characters: till, ivan, luka

summary: in an attempt to make the new season of alien stage even more riveting, the pr team has decided to stage a relationship between you and one of the other contestants. despite it all being for show, can you two really keep it strictly business?

warnings: g/n! reader,, fake dating lmao, till has never seen someone else's back before, LUKA IS 30-YEARS-OLD????, you two share a room in till and ivan's, luka is condescending in his

↣ till

flashing lights from cameras and yells to 'look over here' are tiring to you now. while you were accustomed to it, being a model and all, you found this limelight to be much different. 'alien stage' wasn't like your job. and your guardian seemed far less hesitant to sign away your life than you would've hoped.

you hooked your arm around till's, standing in front of the back drop with 'alien stage' written in patterns on it. your 'boyfriend' was never one for this kind of thing, whereas it was your specialty. putting on a gentle smile and standing still for the audience was all you were made out to be. till couldn't help but squirm beside you, hands in his pockets and his face scrunched up in irritation.

"this freakin' sucks." he grumbles to you as more yells go out to you two and the other contestants.

"we'll be back in our rooms in a few minutes." you retort, not sparing at look at him. you only slide your arm to rest against his hip, pulling him taut against your side.

he squeaks, feeling his face heat up at the touch. but at the empty look in your eyes and the faux smile, he groans, placing his own arm around your shoulders lazily.

a reporter begs you forward, and one of the pr managers nods at you. you sigh softly, leading till towards them. they speak in a different tongue, and the tablet they provide give you real-time translations, showing up in holograms. a camera is shoved into your face and till scoffs, pushing it further from him.

"how long have you two been together for?"

"four months." you respond, brain reading off a script. you look to till, who suddenly looks back at you. your smile is superficial, but you hold his arm with urgency. "isn't that right?"

"yeah." he replies shortly.

"how have you been encouraging each other for this season?"

"we practice every day together." you say, tilting your head a little. your signature smile earns some more camera flashes. till can barely see, making his cover his vision with a hiss.

"any fear that you two might be facing each other?"

you freeze up for a moment, swallowing your nerves. you're running through every line possible, what was the answer? did you remember what you needed to say? why were you now drawing a blank? "well, thats—"

till drags you by your arm, taking you way from the reporter before scoffing out, "not a chance."

the walk down the carpet, behind mizu, sua and ivan, consisted of more flashes and calls. you don't answer them, only walking beside till and grinning at every reporter you see. this brand deal with some few names depended on you. meanwhile, till was showing them all his index finger, mouthing curse words at everyone who looked his way.

you have your arm around his waist again, and he wraps his around your shoulder. you look to him for a split second to see him already looking at you.

the doors close behind you two as you enter your shared room. two beds, two bathrooms, pretty much two different bedrooms, just meshed into one. till's one is to the left, and he flops onto it, not even bothering to rid himself of his clothes. you, on the other hand, open your closet.

"thanks." you say, breaking the silence as you unbutton your top.

till lifts his head to see you facing your closet instead of him. the sight of your bare back makes his face the ceiling again, red face. you don't notice, instead continuing to change into comfortable clothes.

"it's nothin'." he retorts, hands behind his head as he rests on his bed. you let out a hum, pulling a shirt over your head to cover your stomach. he finally looks back to you. "you don't get tired of all these questions, or do you just like hearing your own voice?"

he's been like this ever since you were little, teasing you and all. while you entertained him, teasing him back, you grew older and soon lost that part of you when you were adopted into the real world. till would rarely see you after that, only on billboards. it would be a lie to say that one of the few reasons he didn't oppose to joining alien stage is to see you again.

he doesn't know whether you feel the same about him. he can't tell from the way you act with him in public, all clingy and happy, compared to how you are in private. have you always been this distant?

"of course i get tired." you reply, changing into your sweatpants. your head hurts. "but they think it's better if i talk than if you do."

"tch." he clicks his tongue, rolling his eyes as you close your closet door, "whatever..."

you go quiet again, rubbing your face, as you hear till get up from his bed. you continue to get ready for bed and you assume he's going to change his clothes and do the same as he ruffles through his closet. but after a few seconds you come back into the room, he's laying on your bed, resting his head upon your pillow. you look to him as you turn off the bathroom light.

"what? 's cold." he's wearing a tank top and sleeping shorts.

"right." you scoff, shaking your head. you blink at him, slight smile on your lips with upturned brows. he furrows his own brows and pout his lips as he turns to the wall. your stupid face...

you turn off the lights to your shared room, sliding into the bed. you can hear till's breathing and how he swallows his nerves. his back is nearly touching your shoulder. it wasn't a small bed, a queen size, but till was laying right in the middle and you didn't like being right against the edge. you face the ceiling, listening to him.

he doesn't know what to do. he's slept in your bed with you before. it always feels the same; it's always awkward. this is the closest he ever gets to you.

till is more than surprised when he feels your hands snake around his waist, pulling yourself to mold against him. your warm transfers to his back and your legs nudge against his. with your head against his shoulder, he's sure that you can hear his pacing heart.

"are you still cold?" you question, breath hitting the back of his neck. he shivers in your arms, making you hold him a little more taut against him. "i, uh... i don't want you to get sick."

"n—no." he stammers, breathing heavier. he's staring into the faded outline of the bedside table with your lamp and your headphones, trying to calm his heart. "thank you. you feel nice."

"really?" you hum out, hair tickling his neck. your lips brush against his skin at how close you are to him.

he shivers again and he mutters out, "sh—shut up! go to sleep!"

you go quiet after that, and till almost believes you listened to him. but your sudden movement to sit up behind him makes him turn his head to face you. except he catches the outline of your face, leaning close to his own. he has no time to react before you're pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth.

he's still, unable to move at how close you are to him. your chest is pressed against his, hand on the other side of the bed. till holds his breath, eyes wide as you barely kiss him.

when you pull away, he's staring at your figure. he doesn't know how you really feel, but maybe it's similar to how he does. before you can say anything, till's arms are wrapping around your neck and pulling you down.

you lay on your side, facing till and he hugs you to his chest. he's on his side as well, nose buried in your hair as he squeezes his eyes shut. due to your position, you can hear his heartbeat pumping as fast as it can. you chuckle, pulling your arms around him and feeling him shiver.

you chuckle, hugging him again, "goodnight, till."

"night, y/n." he sighs out. you were too much.

↣ ivan

"another photoshoot?" you sigh, looking away from the city-scape in your window. ivan, with his arms crossed against the wall, nods his head. you roll your eyes, eyes to the window again. "i'm not going."

"there's no debate." he retorts, shaking his head. he lifts himself from his position, moving to the clothes set on your separate beds. unzipping the bag, he sees the dark red material inside. this was just for the public view, not for the shoot itself. still, it was so... 'out there'.

you look at him, knit brows. "are you being serious?"

"you better hurry, we have to be at makeup in thirty minutes." he tells you, unbuttoning his collared shirt, "you don't want them to drag you out, do you?"

you click your tongue, getting up from your chair and marching towards your bed. ivan followed your movements with his eyes, turning to see you still annoyed as you roughly open the clothes. "stupid brand deals... why are you so freakin' popular, ivan?"

he sighs at your question, looking at you with pointed eyes, "you always complain."

you glare back at him before you both turn around and start changing. it's not long before you're ready and you have to be escorted by the guards to your photoshoot with some new designer brand. the ride down in the glass elevator shows you the crowd outside waiting for your arrival. the guards in front of you shield you from the flashes as soon as you land on your floor and walk outside.

ivan holds his head up high, showing a soft smile and waves at the fans and paparazzi. he wasn't afraid of the fame, it was just a product of how hard work. glancing down at you, he sees how you glare at the floor, clutching at the fabric around your wrist.

he internally groans, slipping a hand through yours and tugging you to stand closer to him. you make a small noise, bumping shoulders with him. "just relax." he whispers to you, giving you a smile that makes you feel a bit belittled, "we'll be in our ride soon. smile."

you glare at him a little before squeezing his hand, turning to the cameras and giving your most comfortable smile possible right now. with both you and ivan showing off your faces, the flashes doubled. it blinds you, and you're almost thankful for the car taking you to your photoshoot as it separates you from the public.

"ugh." you grunt, rubbing your eyes after dropping ivan's hand, "i'm gonna' lose my sight. i'm... i'm actually crying from how bright their lights are."

he glances at you, leaning his arm against the window. you were literally tearing up from the bright lights. ivan raises a brow before reaching forward towards you with his free hand.

"you're fine, stop whining." he huffs, brushing your tears with his thumb. he begs you to look at him, fingers guiding your chin to face him. you drop your own hands from your face, showing your irritated face. "don't look at me like that."

"i'm not doing anything." you claim with the same expression, letting him hold your face in his hand now. he was somewhat warm, even with the gloves he was wearing.

"right." he hums to you, bringing you closer. you let out a scoff as you shift closer to him, one hand grasping at his wrist and the other pressed against the cushion of the seat. your loose hold on him doesn’t do much.

ivan can feel your cheeks heat up under his touch, but your annoyed look stays. “don’t ruin your pretty face like that.”

you blink at him before pulling away, clicking your tongue, “shut your mouth.”

he watches as you face the window, crossed arms. it was cute how you played this act no matter what. ivan knows when people like him, it’s a skill he had acquired from being so popular. and he knows that you don’t hate him.

when getting into the photoshoot, ivan walks in front of you, having been here a thousand times before. the other individuals of all different space races stop to stare at you. ivan’s partner. you’ve never had a photoshoot done before.

you hold into the edge of ivan’s sleeve, walking close with him. you look around at everyone, accidentally bumping into ivan’s back for the lack of attention you were paying. he’s talking to who is probably the director, explaining to him what was going to happen. you understand very little, but you hear your name and suddenly feel another hand on your elbow.

“ivan.” you mutter out, now clutching onto his hand tightly. he looks back to you and the stylist asking you to come along. you look scared, not wanting to go alone.

he talks to the director for a moment before nodding at you. “let’s go. we have an hour before the shoot begins.” he says, holding your hand gently and leading you to the change rooms.

you are given your outfit not long after, the stylist setting up a divider so you can have privacy. ivan sits on the sofa on the other side, leg over his knee and an arm resting on the back of the couch as he waits for you.

when he hears you stop shuffling around, he listens closely. “ivan…?” you call quietly.

“i’m here.” he retorts. he watches as you step out from the divider and show your outfit. it fit you nicely, you looked breath-taking, yet you stand there nervously. he stands, clearing his throat and walking over to you. he couldn’t take his eyes off of you. he finds himself staring. “it looks good.”

you look at yourself in the mirror. “i don’t know.”

he stands behind you, peering at your expression in the mirror. “you look amazing.”

you stare at him for a moment before you sigh, “okay. you can go ahead—“

ivan presses a kiss to your cheek, lingering for a moment before pulling away slowly. he doesn't know what came over him, he's never acted out like this. but you were just so captivating in that moment, how could he not kiss you?

you seem just surprised as he feels. you turn to face him, palm resting against where he kissed you.

“ivan—!” you mumble out, your face unbearably hot. he smiles a little before the stylist and makeup artist come in.

they talk with ivan for a moment before handing him his outfit and gesturing to the divider. he gives you a nod before you are whisked away to a joint room, where your makeup would be done.

your eyes never leave ivan, not until he goes behind the divider. and now you have to sit and get your makeup done while your mind is running.

↣ luka

he loves the attention he got on stage. the way his singing was appreciated was like nothing he had ever gotten. the press was always on luka, being a past alien stage winner. and since you were assigned as his partner, that meant all eyes were on you too.

you knew who he was, he was all over the billboards and the tv back at home. you were surprised when you saw him in real life, and even more-so when you found out that you were going to be his 'partner' in order to up the popularity in alien stage's new season.

sure, you had your fair share of popularity as well, but did that really make you the best candidate for this task? at first you were afraid of messing it up, but now? you wish they would fire you.

"singing is everything, y/n." luka says to you, watching as you put the mic back on its stand.

the stadium is nearly empty, which is perfect for you and luka as it was time for the both of you to practice and the stage was the best place. however, you despised the camera crew that had to come along. luka was in the middle of filming this documentary based off the behind the scenes of his shows. since alien stage was his most recent, and you happened to have struck a deal with the producers, that meant you were also going to be in this.

you glance at the camera as it zooms in on luka, sitting in the chair directly in front of the stage. he continues on, "you need to practice those runs, sweet thing. we don't want to be pitchy, now, do we?"

you want to throw the mic stand at his stupid face. he was so condescending, showing off his fake smile as if to lighten the blow of saying you were 'pitchy'. you click your tongue, masking your irritation with a nod of your head.

"good." he replies, clapping his hand, "now, shall we take it from the top?"

you internally groan at him. he had made you run through the song three times already, and it wasn't dwelling well on you. "why don't you start practicing, luka? my voice is about to give out." you offer, rubbing your throat.

he thinks for a moment before looking to the camera. "i suppose i can show off a little now." he sends a wink, as if to swoon anyone watching. you roll your eyes and head off the stage.

the camera pans to the both of you in the single frame. luka hands you your drink bottle, standing from the seat and allowing you to rest on it. as you sit down, you stretch your neck, closing your eyes.

luka reaches a hand around and cradles the back of your head. it's supposed to be comforting, but the feeling of the camera on you makes it the opposite. he has this dazed look in his eyes when he stares at you. a few seconds later, he seems to snap back to reality, opting to lean down and press a kiss to your forehead. "rest up, my star."

you watch as he gets up on the stage, fixing the microphone to his height. luka begins his warm-ups and vocal runs, and the camera suddenly turns to you.

"what do you have to say about luka's singing?" the director asks you.

"he's talented for sure." you respond, opening your drink bottle, "he knows what he's good at and excels at it. luka's got a beautiful singing voice and he uses it very well. like his falsetto, not many male contestants can hit his notes comfortably. he uses that to his advantage."

the camera lingers on you as you turn back to luka, who has started his music up.

it was all from a script, luka had given you clear instructions to say those things. you were hesitant at first, thinking you should be honest, but after seeing how strict it was that luka have a good reputation, you decided it was best just to listen to him. in return, he said he would hold back on the passive-aggressiveness. that seemed like a lie now.

an hour or so later, the others leave, claiming that they had more than enough footage for the day. it was good to leave you two alone to practice, not having to act with the cameras up.

you sit on the edge of the stage, utterly exhausted with your legs dangling on the edge. your drink bottle is beside you, and you gulp the rest of it down. luka stretches his back as he stands up from the chair, letting out a sigh of relief.

"well done, maybe you have a chance of winning this." he claims, walking towards you, "don't worry, just do your best, lovely."

he comes to stand in between your legs, hands on top of both of your knees. you glance at him finally, raising a brow. he was being somewhat nice to you, despite there being no cameras on around you. you give one last look around the stadium. "y'know there's no cameras. you can drop it."

luka grins, tilting his head. "i'm not acting, good-looking. you don't think i'm telling the truth?"

the smile he has on his face tells you the opposite. he has that look on his face when he's playing around or when he's trying to seem like a charmer to the audience. you've seen luka when he's not like this. you've seen him lash out, frustrated and on the brink of tears. and you've seem him in a way that just looks blank. this facade he carries around annoys you to the core, because you know nobody else has seen this side of him. they think he's a prince.

"you never compliment me out of the good of your heart." you reply, glaring at him a little. he raises a brow.

he holds your chin in his hand, bringing you closer to him. with a small grunt, you obey, furrowed brows. "such an adorable thing like you shouldn't be thinking that way." he claims, smiling at how annoyed you are, "i just love seeing you flustered."

you push his hand away from you, closing your eyes. "shut up, luka."

he doesn't reply to you which is odd. opening your eyes again, you see that he looks almost upset at what you say. at the kicked puppy expression, you go to apologise when luka suddenly leans forward, capturing your lips against his own.

you freeze up, blinking in surprise at his actions. you let his hand go and luka rests it against your neck, pulling you closer towards him. you ultimately melt against luka, reaching a hand to his chest and clutching his shirt. you begin to kiss back without thinking. his lips are cold, much like his fingers are, but with your warmth they heat up.

it lasts only a few seconds before he pulls away, letting go of your neck and resting his hand against yours on his chest. he sees your stunned expression and chuckles, "i'm sorry, love, am i too much for you to handle? you look the cutest when you're all confused like this."

you cover your face, all about embarrassed now. "luka...!"

he laughs some more, bringing you closer and cradling you against him as you sit on the stage. you're so humiliated, how could he catch you like that?

regardless, you slip your hands from between the two of you and hug his waist. while luka might play this game for the publicity and his reputation, you couldn't say the same. you hate to admit it, but in this world, it's nice to have someone who holds you like this. even if it is someone like luka.

#till x reader #alien stage till x reader #ivan x reader #alien stage ivan x reader #luka x reader #alien stage luka x reader #alien stage #alien stage x reader

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