#going to go write more about them PROBABLY

[bethanydelleman]

Because I'm apparently a glutton for punishment, I have one last thing to say about historical arranged marriage in fiction and how to write those characters: I don't like it when any suffering on the male side is brushed off with, "He could cheat" as if that is the solution to all problems.

Like yes, he usually could, but 1. not every guy enjoys meaningless sex, 2. those children wouldn't be legitimate, and 3. that doesn't help if he loves someone in his own social class. If a guy loved a woman who was his social equal and they weren't allowed to marry, she's never going to agree to be his mistress, so it doesn't matter if he can cheat on his wife (in poly societies, she is unlikely to agree to be less than his primary wife). If he has a long-term mistress that he loves, she will often never have legal status and neither will the children. Unless he's a monarch, sometimes they can get around these things, but not always.

This idea of "men could cheat... and therefore don't pity them at all" was so drilled into me when I was younger that I didn't question it. Yes, the wife who (usually) cannot cheat is probably in the most miserable position, unless she wasn't looking for love and is happy to be left alone, but in history you clearly see men seeking meaningful relationships outside of their marriage, suggesting that they are also unhappy and unfulfilled. The amount of monarchs who had one mistress that they are basically married to for most of their lives certainly indicates that. And while we are most often shown the girl reacting negatively to her arranged marriage, it's not like the boys would have had much of a choice either when marriages were being arranged to solidify power and concentrate wealth. The older generation is exerting pressure on the younger, it's not only gendered oppression. In a Midsummer Night's Dream, Lysander is just as upset as Hermia that they won't be able to marry because of her father's tyranny.

Yes, men had more freedom in general in society and far more within marriage, but flattening their entire experience into "but he can cheat" doesn't feel fair to me.

[destinysbounty]

One thing that kinda chaps me about how the Ice Emperor is typically characterized by a lot of the fandom is that if you really pay attention to how he behaves in the Ice Chapter, he isn't the aggressive, confrontational villain he's often made out to be. In s11, most scenes we see of the Ice Emperor actually depict him as a very passive and sedate character, preferring to rest on his throne and contemplate rather than taking action. He never acts unless Vex implores him to do so, and even then he usually defaults to the less ruthless choice until Vex cajoles him into opting for something more brutal. The first time we see the IE defy Vex in any capacity is when he chooses to spare Lloyd rather than killing him instantly. Judging by Vex's surprise at this, and IE's unabashed trust in his advisor, I would hazard to guess this is the first time Zane has ever pushed back against one of Vex's suggestions.

This is not to say the Ice Emperor is without cruelty or brutality. He is still a very menacing presence in his own right, and he absolutely has gallons of blood on his hands. That cannot be understated. But on his own, without a wormtongue whispering in his ear, I personally think the Ice Emperor would have been...well, not necessarily a kind person, but significantly less ruthless. He's a passive and dare I say tired person who prefers to sit on his throne and wait for orders rather than taking any form of initiative on his own. He's barely even a leader or a tyrant in any true sense of the term, really -- he's just a glorified weapon Vex keeps stored on a shelf until he's needed.

This actually makes sense when you consider Zane's element. Ice is in its very nature a slow and sedate thing. Temperature is shaped by the speed and movement of particulates -- the faster molecules move, the hotter things are. Whereas when things get colder, molecules move much more slowly. (That's perhaps a bit of an oversimplification, but I'm not going to give a lecture on thermodynamics in a post about silly lego people). And the Ice Emperor...well, he's very much encased in ice. He has to physically pry himself off his throne, and the staff has long been frozen to his hand. The whole world is in a similar state as well. Entire swathes of the population have been cryogenically frozen, and the world is so cold that it's exceedingly difficult for fire to thrive. And many other fans have speculated that the reason Akita is able to look the same age despite decades passing is because Zane's corrupted ice has overwhelmed the land so profoundly that everyone is more or less frozen in time.

Ice is a slow, sedate, passive thing. It does not demand anything of you except that you cease movement. Likewise, the Ice Emperor in his truest state is a sedate, passive character, only stirred out of his meditations when Vex compels him into action.

True, he's often depicted as a generically ruthless tyrant in most iterations after s11, but those can usually be chalked up to Zane's unreliable self-perception. This is how Zane interprets his behavior as the Ice Emperor, rather than the actual reality of how he truly behaved. Zane resents that part of himself, and that resentment has warped his understanding of who the Ice Emperor truly was. Which in itself is rather tragic considering Zane's identity issues. That is to say, Zane is so terribly blinded by his trauma and self-loathing that not even he can see himself for who he truly is.

(Cough cough that one quote in Dragons Rising: "Zane had such impressive shoes to fill. No one could ever live up to him, perhaps not even Zane himself.")

Anyway, even if people disagree with this interpretation of the Ice Emperor's character, I personally find it much more compelling to view him not as a generic murderous tyrant...but as an old, tired machine who cannot conceive of his personhood outside of his own weaponization.

By extension, this actually makes Zane's post-s11 coping process a lot more complex as well. The popular narrative is that Zane needs to learn to accept that what happens wasn't his fault, that he had a whole chorus of extenuating circumstances working against him, and that it's actually quite impressive just how many things had to go wrong all at once for him to become evil. And that's fair, but I also think the truth of the matter is more complicated than that.

Zane knows, deep down, that the Ice Emperor's actions weren't his fault -- and that's exactly what terrifies him. Because if he accepts that he was little more than Vex's mindless weapon, then he has to admit that his greatest fear has come true. He spent decades as a mindless, soulless machine, only ever acting on the will of another person, all while being endlessly manipulated by a cursed artifact, rather than having any true agency of his own. When his friends tell him it wasn't his fault, it's not a comfort but rather a painful reminder of how long he spent as someone else's drone. When the people of the Never Realm forgive him and let him return home unobstructed, a part of Zane resents it because it means they, too, acknowledge his absence of free will.

In my eyes, Zane post-s11 is someone who feels that he needs to be blamed, needs to be hated and despised and shunned -- because if people hate him for what he did, then that means it really was his fault. And if it was his fault, then that means he didn't lose his free will after all. It means he didn't spend 50 years as someone else's empty plaything. It means he didn't spend more of his life as a mindless weapon than as a true person.

Yes, Zane needs to learn to stop blaming himself for the Ice Emperor's actions...but how can he let go of the blame when it's the only thing keeping him sane?

[michellesneptune]

Your future spouse and relationship themes according to Venus/Descendant/Ruler of the 7th

Aries Venus/1H; Aries Descendant; 7th House Ruler in the 1H

Someone athletic and fast. Your Future Spouse would be short-tempered and very passionate. Somebody that would openly chase after you. Very open and straightforward. Could have a taste for challenging you just to see whether you can keep up. Someone with many previous, short-lived relationships. They love to take the lead and look like someone you wouldn’t wanna fight.

They (or you) could have some issues with commitment, so the relationship may be on and off. You both could live for the excitement of it. Aries being fiery, the passions may burn and die out instantly. The ideal spouse is one that can capture both the fast pace and the loyalty. Aries likes to fight for what they’ve acquired, but even more for what they don’t have yet. So essentially you’re going to be playing catch me if you can for a big part of the relationship, but underneath the game is burning, passionate, serious love.

Taurus/2H Venus; Taurus Descendant; 7th House Ruler in the 2H

A class act. Somebody so good looking you want to eat them up. Flawless skin and beautiful, pouty lips. Wavy or curly hair. They probably love to be kissed on the neck. Someone with a distinctive, beautiful voice. Good manners and well-educated. Somebody discerning, who really values high quality. Maybe a successful business owner, good with money. An art lover. On the downside, could be too materialistic. Will be very possessive about you.

Taking turns spoiling each other as a love language. Attending luxurious, expensive dinner parties. Acquiring rich, influential friendships together. Loyal till the end. Overspending and overindulging. A possible danger here is focusing too much on the physical and not enough on the emotional bond. Thinking everything can be fixed with money. However, those are really dignified placement, hence the love life is overall harmonious (in not debilitated).

Gemini/3H Venus; Gemini Descendant; 7th House Ruler in the 3H

Brainy and witty. Likely younger than you (either metrically or by spirit). Loves writing and good with words. Someone with curious, cat-like eyes and a youthful smile. Beautiful hands and fingers. Siblings playing a big role in said persons’ life; they may talk about them frequently. Could be interested in cars. There’s some duality to this person. Like they could be really playful and jovial, but also contain a different, deeper and more mysterious persona, which they bare only at times.

Each day with them is a never ending intellectual chase. Creating an own language together, giving words new meaning only known to you two. Doing crosswords and playing Scrabble together during cosy rainy days. Sharing a genuine friendship. Talking about everything and anything you see. Finding extraordinary in the mundane.

Cancer/4H Venus; Cancer Descendant; 7th House Ruler in the 4H

Your Future Spouse would be very caring and protective, reminding you of motherly love. They will be desperate to make themselves a necessity to your well-being. They will take pleasure in home-making: baking, cooking, beautifying the house. Doing these things for you is how they’ll show love. They would try really hard to gain your trust and make you feel emotionally and physically comfortable with them. Physically they could have a rounder build, beautiful breasts and overall a soft look. Deep, inviting and big eyes.

You could move in together very quickly. Home is wherever I’m with you. Adopting a pet together, them getting you a puppy as a surprise. Crying because you make them so happy. Always carefully listening to each other, mindful about their wants and needs. They would be up-front about wanting kids with you since the very beginning. They could be someone from your childhood.

Leo/5H Venus; Leo Descendant; 7th House Ruler in the 5H

Your Future Spouse would be someone striving for fame. And it doesn’t have to be world-wide fame — even within friendships this person is someone who loves when the attention is on them. I’m talking Mr. Peanutbutter from Bojack Horseman. Someone with charisma, that is universally loved and has a lot of friends and acquaintances. They can talk to and charm almost anyone. Someone who loves acting. Very open and magnetic — everyone want to be a part of their world. They could have beautiful, thick hair — like a lion’s mane. They’ll love surprising you frequently.

Your relationship could bring up the urge to have children together or to generally-speaking act like your inner child with them. There could be a lot of playful banter between you, that turns into passionate kissing. Everybody and their mom is able to tell that you love each other. Could act like high school sweethearts that everyone envies. Going out on lots of dates, making them your sun.

Virgo/6H Venus; Virgo Descendant; 7th House Ruler in the 6H

They’re likely very particular and perfectionists, but when it comes to you they will happily accept each and every flaw. Someone that is already focused on making themself better for you. Someone that is very precise and dresses impeccably. Maybe they wear glasses. Their skin is perfect and overall they’re well-groomed. The kind of person showing up with a hairdo, fresh manicure and neatly pressed clothes, saying that they’ve just gotten out of bed lol. They could work in healthcare and be very organised.

Your relationship would likely be structured around service and helping each other. What they cannot understand about you, they will make up by baking your favourite cookies. Maybe they’re not very outspoken, but they observe and listen carefully, and try to then embody your ideal. You can clearly see the potential in them and do everything to achieve it. They probably have a close bond to animals.

Libra/7H Venus; Libra Descendant; 7th House Ruler in the 7H

Your Future Spouse is one of a graceful and delicate beauty. They’re extremely charming, so much so that it is intimidating! They’re very well-spoken and someone that spreads the aura of calmness and balance. They would instantly make you think that they’re the perfect addition to your life. They are outstandingly beautiful, but also modest and balanced. They might work in law or the arts.

The relationship between you could become the most important in your life. You two will be very devoted to creating a healthy bond. The relationship essentially serves its purpose as a mirror — you see your victories, shortcomings and flaws through the lens of the spouse. It is a good thing as that’s the role partnerships are supposed to play. You’re destined to become more balanced, learn the art of teamwork and compromise. You could have a feeling that they’re bringing out the best in you.

Scorpio/8H Venus; Scorpio Descendant; 7th House Ruler in the 8H

There will be a darkness about them, a darkness that draws you in. Your Person would have dark, thick hair, dark eyes or dark circles. They won’t reveal all of their cards at first, so you won’t recognise the purpose of the relationship for some time. You could be interested in someone else (not committed, though), but you risk your all as they walk in. They could be someone who has just left a marriage or a long-term relationship.

They could introduce you to higher society (or vice versa). A class difference between you. Some kind of taboo being broken by your relationship. They could sacrifice a lot for you. Power couple. Your friends are weary of this person. No one really knows what’s going on between you. A financial imbalance. They let you indulge in their fortune (or once again, vice versa). If it’s the 7H Ruler it’s likely you that gives them money. They could be someone with a big inheritance. They open you up like no one had managed to before.

Sagittarius/9H Venus; Sagittarius Descendant; 7th House Ruler in the 9H

Someone studying or working at a university when you meet. Someone for whom higher education is very important. Very passionate about their studies, devoted to many topics and teaching you about them. Somebody with a true lust for life. They could look up to you like a guru (or vice versa). Someone with distinctive legs — maybe impressively toned, long, or with thick thighs (😋).

A relationship that could connect you to the divine and open you up spiritually. They would introduce you to different philosophical beliefs. There’s a prominent educational value to this relationship, you both are forced to learn a lot through it. You could move out to another country together — or one of you could do it for the other. Could be long distance for some time. Lots of travelling and feeling very lucky 🍀 .

Capricorn/10H Venus; Capricorn Descendant; 7th House Ruler in the 10H

A very hard working person, may come from a famous, household-name family. Elegant and sleek. High cheekbones and impressive physique. Could be reminding of a father figure in some way (sensible, responsible etc.). Could be older than you. A MILF or a DILF. You could’ve heard about them beforehand. Someone you want to impress and they force you to work at it. True pragmatics, also when it comes to love.

A relationship that resembles a job, you could work for them in some sense — maybe literally, they employ you, or helping them around the house, cleaning etc. A relationship like a well-structured enterprise. They love to show you off and vice versa. You could achieve your long-term goals through them. Their gifts are generous, but rather practical than lavish (e.g. a car or a house). Them or you could’ve found happiness together only later in life. You could be forced to fight through some obstacles to make your union happen.

Aquarius/11H Venus; Aquarius Descendant; 7th House Ruler in the 11H

When you meet this person, you’ll think to yourself, I’ve never seen anyone like this. There is something very authentic and organic about them, that you won’t be able to find in anyone else. Maybe you won’t be even able to name it. They’ll have this electric look (and you’ll know, once you find them) that reveals something to you, invites you in. They just seem aware, you know? Like they’re able to see beyond. Physically, they’ll likely be tall and have a long, alien-like face. Striking eyes and hair that seems to have been struck by electricity. They could look completely different than their family. They’re probably interested in humanitarian causes and take a firm political stance on many issues.

The relationship will be, of course, somewhat unconventional. You could even live separately or choose not to get married, but it will suit you. It will be filled with friends and trying new things together. It will give you both just enough space to feel love, and explore yourselves.

Pisces/12H Venus; Pisces Descendant; 7th House Ruler in the 12H

You future person is ethereal and otherworldly. Very kind and compassionate, high emotional intelligence. They’ll be highly successful in artistic fields, as well as fields that are focused on helping others, like medicine. A dreamer who believes in a higher good. Somebody that would never walk on by if they see someone suffering. Doe, deer eyes with long lashes and a beautiful nose. Could also have pretty feet and even have a thing for them.

The relationship is almost happening in another realm. Many conversations are being had through the eyes. Everything is very intuitive and gentle. There is a prominent sacrifice element here, with you serving them or vice versa. Themes like moving abroad for them or supporting their career full-time are frequent with this placement. Also overlooking the other’s faults, in extreme cases it would be even staying with someone despite an active addiction going on, desperate to save them.

Thank you all so much for reading! Please let me know if it resonated😙 God, how I love writing spouse/relationship posts❤️❤️

Your Michelle~~

[finelinevogue]

i had a thought for a part 2 for the 'ridiculous' lando fic (obvs don't have to do it if it's crap) but maybe you could write about them being together like a year later at the next monaco gp and her friends who were being horrible to her like trying to get back in touch with y/n so they could get gp tickets because shes going out with lando

i genuinely love all your fics though, i've been here for timeeee ahhaha

makes sense to be with you

yesss let’s do it my love!! and don’t you worry, i know you’ve been here with me since the beginning <33 i never forget a name!

pairing - lando norris x girlfriend!reader

word count - ~2k

It’s race day.

The nerves were high for everyone. Sometimes you felt like your nerves were even higher than Lando’s - which was a silly thing to think.

Lando had driven you to the Monaco Grand Prix this morning, spare hand on your thigh the entire journey. You had gotten ready together this morning and Lando had calmed your nerves with a few soft morning kisses in between stolen moments.

Pulling up outside the venue though, the tension felt high.

Lando stopped the car and sat with you for a moment.

“You good?” He asked, not letting your hand go.

“Yeah. Just thinking about this time last year.” You rested your head on the back of the headrest and turned to face your boyfriend.

He watched you with a handsome smile.

“A lot’s changed since then.”

“I know.”

He chuckled which caused you to laugh back.

“I’m nervous but I’m excited for this weekend.” He told you honestly.

“You’re going to be amazing.”

He looked from you to the crowds outside the car, snapping photos and recording videos of the two of you. It was busy out there, but nothing that the two of you couldn’t handle.

It had been difficult the past year trying to fit in beside Lando and keep up with his pace of life, but he had been so patient and caring with you. Because of him the last year had been easier than it could’ve been.

Your phone beeped.

You chuckled to yourself as you opened the WhatsApp notifications.

“Who is it?” Lando asked, peering over your shoulder because he knew you’d have nothing to hide. “Oh they can fuck right off.”

“Lando!” You laughed.

It was from your ex friends and their whole group. They had added you to their group chat last minute, knowing they needed you for what they wanted.

Rochelle : How are we supposed to get tickets for the Monaco GP?

Eva : Let’s ask Y/N now she’s with Lando

Jemima : so true

Rochelle : OMG yes!!!!

[ Y/N has been added to the chat ]

Eva : Hey Y/N! Long time no speak!

“Do they realise that you can see all the conversations above?” Lando scoffed beside you.

“Probably not.”

“Bunch of….” Lando started to mutter.

“Hey, don’t,” You stopped him before he could say something he would later regret, “I’m okay.”

You deleted the group chat from your phone and left it alone, placing your phone in your lap as you squeezed Lando’s hand tightly. You used your other hand to guide his face to yours.

“I’m okay.” You promised him.

He nodded.

“Doesn’t mean I don’t like them though.”

“Enough now. Don’t let them ruin your day.” You softly brushed your thumb over his cheek and he leant into it a little more.

“Don’t want them to ruin yours either.”

“They can’t.” You shook your head.

Lando was confident with your answer and leaned in to give you a soft kiss. Neither of you noticed the influx of camera flashes as you kissed because both of you were too into each other.

He had this very special, unique, talent of making you feel like the only girl in the world.

“I love you.” He whispered close to you.

You kissed him again quickly this time, “I love you too. Now go win.”

“Don’t give me too much to do.” He joked, pulling away from you to continue the day and win this damn race for you.

• 🏎️💨 •

He fucking won.

He actually did it.

You had a pair of headphones wrapped around your neck as you cupped your hands over your mouth. You were in a state of shock and wonder.

Your Lando had done it. He had won Monaco and part of you liked to believe he had done it for you.

Engineers and teammates alike were all cheering in the garage. This was a huge win for them too.

Everyone swarmed outside to go and meet Lando and congratulate him. You weren’t sure whether to follow or to meet him later.

Your phone beeped in your pocket.

[ Y/N has been added to the chat ]

Rochelle : Congrats on Lando’s win Y/N 🍾

Eva : Yeah totally! Any big plans for tonight?

Jemima : OMG yesss we should all totally meet tonight & celebrate!

Rochelle : YEASSSS

You sighed, biting your lip as you questioned how to respond.

They had really texted at the wrong moment because this was supposed to be your time celebrating with Lando, not feeling bad for people who used to be horrid to you that you still sort of felt bad for.

You texted back, wanting this to be done.

You: hi :) thank you for congratulating lando! still not ready to be friends with you guys yet, but thanks for thinking of me.

A minute later you had been removed from the group chat.

You shook your head in disappointment.

Yes, they had been the ones to get you an invite onto a Monaco yacht party where you had first met Lando but that’s all they had ever done for you. The rest of the time they had been the type of friends to bring you down. You had often been the ‘one of these friends is not like the others’ friend.

Lando had helped you realise that you didn’t need them in your life and had supported you when you’d cut them out of your life.

It stung that now all they wanted you for was your connection to Lando and his fame.

It made you feel used.

No doubt Lando often felt the same. Hopefully never from you.

You pocketed your phone, remembering you were missing all the celebrations outside.

Before you could leave the garage to walk around to the podium, you heard Lando call your name.

He was jogging down the road and dodging people who were trying to give him a hug or a congratulatory handshake. His eyes were dead-set on you.

His hair was sweaty and his face was beet-red.

He looked so good though, with his jumpsuit folded over at his waist and his black fireproofs on underneath. He ran a hand through his messy hair as he approached you.

You took off the headphones around your neck, dropping them onto the table.

Lando reached you first, picking you up around your waist and spinning you around excitedly. Your arms held tightly around his neck with your face smushed into his head. He smelt of sweat and hair products.

You could feel him laugh into your chest and you couldn’t help but let the few tears that wanted to fall soak into his hair.

“I’m so proud of you.”

He squeezed you tighter, slowly stopping the spinning to put you safely back on the floor.

“You did it. You fucking did it.”

“I did it.” He smiled so big.

You untucked your head from where it had been hiding, but keeping your arms securely around his neck for closeness. His stayed around your waist.

You used one hand to brush some loose curls back into formation.

“Knew you could do it.”

“It’s ‘cause my lucky charm was watching on.” He nodded his head to you.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“The Monaco Grand Prix, honey.” You whispered excitedly like you couldn’t quite believe it. “What more could you want?”

He raised his eyebrows at you like that was a stupid question. You rolled your eyes before he could say something ridiculously lovely.

You tucked your head under his chin and moved your arms down so you could hug him around his waist. He hugged you closer, kissing the top of your head a few times before letting the moment sink in with his favourite person stood beside him.

“Lando! We need you for the podium!”

“Two minutes!”He shouted back, not giving you up.

“No… Now!”

Lando sighed loudly. You untucked yourself.

“Go. I’ll be right there. Enjoy this moment, okay?” You cupped both of his cheeks and brought his face down to kiss him softly. He deserved it.

liked by charlesleclerc, lewishamilton and 294,937 others

yourinstagram enjoy this moment 🍯🧡

view all 78,937 comments

fan1 INSANE!!!!!

fan2 we 🧡 you y/n

oscarpiastri Well done mate!

fan3 🍯 because y/n calls lando honey?!!?????

♥️ by the author

fan4 LANDO FOR THE WIN

fan5 i love them ur honour

rochelle0110 Congrats 🥂 Let’s celebrate?

fan6 I WANT TO CELEBRATE WITH THEM

yourinstagram @/fan6 ur very welcome to xo

lando Going to enjoy this one for a long time to come (especially with you) 🧡

♥️ by the author

• 🏎️💨 •

Lando opened the door for you and held a hand out to help you leave his car.

He passed the car keys off to a valet and then returned his attention to you. He had already watched you get ready and had litterally sat next to you in the car on the way here, but seeing you step out of his car in that black dress made him want to drop to the floor and pray.

The paparazzi went crazy for you both, begging for a photo.

Unfortunately Lando wasn’t interested in giving them the time of day as he was still angry about previous things the tabloids had said about you and him.

He held onto you hand as you walked past everyone and into the club venue.

It was celebration night, post-race, and it was going to be a big one.

You didn’t need to show ID upon entry because everyone, especially bouncers, knew who the F1 people were in Monaco.

Lando gave the bouncers a handshake and wished them a goodnight whilst still holding on to you. He also slipped them a piece of paper and asked them to read it carefully.

“What was that?” You asked as you followed behind him.

“My ‘no entry’ list.”

“What?” You stopped short, your high heels digging into the floor as you did so. Lando bounced back towards you.

“I’ve asked that certain people are denied entry.” He shrugged.

“Like who?”

“Does it matter?” He asked.

“Yes. I don’t want to start some sort of feud.”

“Well, they started it when they decided to sell a story to the tabloids last year which made our relationship difficult for a while.” He was growing frustrated you could tell.

“Oh my God, will you let it go?” You stressed, dropping his hand to which he looked visibly offended by.

“No, Y/N, I won’t. They’re a bunch of arseholes and what? You want them to be a part of my celebration? I don’t think so.” He scoffed.

“I just don’t want this to be a big thing for us forever. Just let it go.”

He shook his head again before heading into the club. Without you.

Fuck.

You didn’t mean to get into an argument about it, but ever since your ex friends sold a story about Lando being a misogynist prick to the tabloids there had been a rift between everyone.

You had immediately dropped your friends and Lando had done damage control for weeks after.

You’d never believed the tabloids, but it was Lando that felt like he had to prove that he was nothing like what they were saying he was. Lando thought he had to make it up to you, as if he’d done something wrong. So it was easy to understand why they still got under his nerves.

You just wished they didn’t still taunt him.

You wanted him you find peace from all of this now like you had.

You followed him into the club a few minutes later, trying to calm your nerves after your stupid argument.

The club had cheered and roared when Lando had stepped into the main room, leaving you to slip in from the side unnoticed.

The room was dimly lit with orange strobe lights dancing around. A layer of smoke filtered through the air, along with the smell of vapes and sticky alcohol on the floor.

The music was all for Lando. The playlist included all his favourite songs.

You walked around the edge so you could go and grab a quick drink from the bar.

“Limoncello spritz please.” You asked the bartender.

A couple minutes later you had your drink in hand and slipped back into the corner of the room, a standing table available for you to rest your drink on.

All of Lando’s friends, family and fellow F1 mates were here celebrating. Lando was so loved and it was amazing to see.

He was currently stood on a raised platform with Oscar by his side. They were both bopping and singing out of tune to one of his favourite songs. You smiled as you watched on.

Then Lando caught your eyes.

He made his way off the platform and walked over to you. The crowd easily parted for him.

He didn’t stop until he was right in front of you.

“I’m sorry.” He said.

You nodded.

“I’m a dickhead sometimes.”

You pursed your lips to stop from smiling.

“But I love you too much to fight over something so boring.”

You nodded in agreement.

“So will you accept my apology and come dance with me? I did win the Monaco Grand Prix for you after all.”

You held out your hand like it was a white flag.

He took it was a grin, only to be shocked by the force of you pulling him closer so you could give him a proper kiss.

Your arms snaked around his neck and his felt their way across your waist, both of you sinking into each other and letting the rest of the room drift away.

You tilted your head to let him have a little extra room to kiss you and he followed. You could feel him smirking into the kiss, but he didn’t pull away. Not when he had you like this.

You tugged on his curls a little and his mouth opened with a gasp, allowing you to kiss him deeper. He tasted like some sort of berry flavoured alcohol, because it was known he was still a kid at heart. It made the kiss all the more delectable.

He pulled away breathlessly.

You tried to go in for another, still in a love haze.

“Later.” He whispered against your lips, but giving you another kiss all the same.

“Now.” You argued.

“Dance with me first.”

“Okay.” You tucked your face into his neck and gave him a kiss. He felt like home when you held him like this. Safe and comforting, even though you were in the middle of a club.

“Love you.” He spoke softly but loud enough for you to hear.

“Love you right back.”

“We okay?” He double checked.

“We’re okay.” You nodded. “Now let’s celebrate!”

liked by yourinstagram, mclaren and 1.7 million others

lando We won 🏆

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fan1 no lando, y/n won fr

fan2 THAT SHOULD BE ME

fan3 the hand placements… oh i’m dead

yourinstagram go go lando!!! so proud 🍯

♥️ by the author

lando @/yourinstagram My no 1 fan 🧡

lewishamilton 🧡

oscarpiastri Where did you & Y/N go….??

lando @/oscarpiastri 👀

fan4 deserved 👏

fan5 not y/n and lando flirting in the commentd

fan6 those are literally my parents wdym

[littledykeblue]

loser ellie getting strapped for the first time 🙈

──𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐀 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆;

(loser!ellie x reader): you know what your girlfriend needs and exactly how to go about giving it to her.

wc: 4.3k | cw: bottom!ellie (obviously), sub!ellie, kinda sweet all things considered, hand-holding, fingering (e!receiving), oral sex (e!receiving), missionary, MINORS DNI.

note: here you are my friend! i hope you enjoy reading it because i enjoyed writing it :3 the title is literally just the song i was listening to when i started writing it. i think it fits tho lol

You’ve been dating Ellie long enough to understand that she doesn’t ask for things. Not directly, anyway. It’s not a matter of comfort or shame. It's just the way she is, stitched together all wrong when it comes to wanting.

Instead, she longs.

And there’s nothing subtle about it. It’s not like you have to squint to see it or catch the slip of a word in passing. No, Ellie wears it—every need, every fantasy, every bit of desire—right on her face, in the twitch of her fingers, the stammer in her voice, the flush that creeps up her neck when she thinks you’re not paying attention.

Right now, you have it on pretty good authority that she wants you to fuck her. Like, really fuck her. Properly. And she seems dead set on keeping that little secret, despite the fact that you can read her like the easiest goddamn book in the world.

Unfortunately for Ellie, you’ve seen that glassy, almost dazed look in her eyes when your fingers are deep inside her, watched how her lips move around the word more even when she thinks she’s being quiet about it. Like she’s whispering to herself, like she’s hoping the room hears her but not you. It’s equal parts cute and pathetic, and she doesn’t even know she’s doing it.

But bringing it up? That's the tricky part.

Ellie’s a skittish thing when it comes to this kind of vulnerability. If you bring it up directly—say it out loud, put it on the table—she’ll dodge and deflect until she’s twisted herself up so tight she won’t even look you in the eye for days. She’ll pretend it never crossed her mind and probably pick a fight just to get the topic to fuck off.

On the other hand, if you try to treat her like she’s delicate, or worse, like she’s scared, that stubborn streak kicks in. Her pride’s a sharp, ugly thing when she feels exposed, and you’ll lose whatever tiny window of honesty you had for at least a week.

It’s a line you have to toe carefully.

You decide the best way to get what you want is to make her think it was your idea all along. Ellie’s a sucker for that; anything she doesn’t have to admit to wanting feels safer for her.

So you wait until you’re curled up together on her couch, her legs stretched out and yours slung over them, half-drunk on the lazy weight of the evening. She’s tracing shapes on your shin, not really paying attention, or at least pretending not to.

“If I ace my exam next week,” you say, casually, like it just occurred to you, “will you let me fuck you?”

Ellie’s fingers stop moving. She freezes. Not for long, but enough that you can tell her brain is working overtime trying to process and react all at once. Then she clears her throat, rubs at her nose, flicks her eyes to the quiet TV like it’s suddenly fascinating.

“Yeah, sure. Whatever.”

She says it flat, detached, but you catch the way her voice strains toward the end. You catch the faint flush creeping up her neck, the way her hands twitch like she needs something to do with them.

You let her have the out, let her pretend she’s cool about it. But you don’t miss the way she acts after that—zoning out mid-conversation, fiddling with her cuticles when she thinks you’re not watching. She slips somewhere behind her eyes, somewhere private, and you know she’s playing the whole thing out in her head.

When your grade comes in, you don’t even have to remind her. She already knows; you’d texted her a screenshot the second you saw it, and she’d sent back nothing but a thumbs up. Dry, nonchalant.

But then she shows up at your place the next afternoon, standing awkward in the doorway like she’s got a secret. She’s got her messenger bag slung across her chest, hanging heavy at her hip.

She follows you to your room and sits herself down right in the middle of your bed, legs crossed, bag dumped in her lap. She holds it with both hands, clutching the strap, eyes fixed somewhere on your floorboards like they’re the most interesting thing in the world.

You watch her for a beat, arms crossed.

“What’s in the bag, Williams?”

She shrugs, but she’s fidgeting with the zipper, tugging it up and down a couple inches. She doesn’t say anything, just finally shoves the whole thing at you like it’s on fire.

You take it from her, a little curious, a little amused. When you unzip it fully, the first thing you see is plastic. Clear packaging, crinkled and slightly foggy. And under that, a thick purple dildo, heavy enough to feel the weight of it even through the plastic.

You can’t help it. You giggle, a quick burst that bubbles up before you can swallow it down. Not because it’s funny, but because your stomach’s all twisted up, nerves snapping under your skin.

Ellie groans, tipping her head back to stare at the ceiling, mortified.

“Fuck,” she mutters, dragging her hands down her face. “I knew you’d laugh.”

“Hey—hey, I’m not laughing at you,” you say, closing the distance between you quick. You set the bag down and crawl onto the bed, kneeling in front of her. “I’m laughing because you brought it in your fucking messenger bag, Ellie. Like you were smuggling contraband.”

She exhales hard through her nose, still not looking at you. Her hands rub up and down her thighs, restless.

“Wasn’t gonna just, like, carry it around in my hand,” she mutters.

“Sure. I mean, that’d be a choice.” You grin, but it softens when you see her shoulders still tense, hands still working themselves raw against her jeans. “Seriously though. I’m glad you brought it. I’m glad we’re doing this.”

She looks at you then, a little wary, like she’s not sure if you’re serious or still messing with her. You slide your palms up her knees, slow and easy. She twitches under the touch, but doesn’t pull away.

“So…” she starts, voice low. “How’s this gonna work? I don’t really—” she hesitates, cheeks red again. “I don’t really know what I’m supposed to do.”

You bite back another smile, not wanting to make her any more self-conscious.

“That’s the point, isn’t it?” you say, thumb stroking just above the seam of her jeans. “You don’t have to do anything. I’ll take care of you.”

Her breath stutters. Her hands finally go still, just resting on her thighs like she’s bracing for something.

“Okay,” she says, soft.

“Okay,” you echo, leaning in close. “Don’t worry, baby. I’m gonna take real good care of you.”

“You sound like a jock from a 90’s flick trying to get into a girl’s pants,” she jokes. Still, Ellie swallows, her eyes flicking down to your mouth like she can’t help it. “Kinda hate that it’s working for me.”

She’s still a little skittish, still pretending she’s not desperate for it, but hers is a thin, transparent act. You can see right through it, straight to the part of her that’s aching for you to take over.

You push her back easy, just a hand on her shoulder, and she goes down like she was waiting for it. Flat on her back, her hair spread messily over your sheets. She looks up at you like she’s not sure if she’s supposed to be smug or shy, mouth parted just a little.

You settle between her legs and lean down to kiss her. She meets you halfway, eager, sloppy from the start. Her lips are soft but she kisses with a hunger that makes her teeth catch yours, like she’s too impatient to get it right.

She lets out these little breaths whenever you pull back for air, like each one’s a complaint. She tries to follow your mouth, hands coming up like she’s going to grab your face, but you’re already moving, kissing her jaw, then down to her neck.

“Fuck,” she mutters, her voice wrecked already.

You drag your teeth along her throat and she gasps, tilting her head without being asked. You suck dark bruises into the pale skin there, licking over each one after just to hear the way her breath hitches. She’s already squirming under you, hips bucking up in these clumsy little thrusts, like she doesn’t know what to do with all the need boiling up inside her.

“What are you even trying to do, huh?” you murmur against her neck, grinning against her skin. “You’re not getting anything like that.”

She groans, frustrated, grabbing at the sheets. “Shut up.”

But her voice is thin, barely there. She bucks her hips again, chasing friction that isn’t there, grinding herself against your thigh like she can’t help it.

You trail your hands down her sides, fingertips dragging slow, just to watch her twitch. She’s warm everywhere, the heat of her burning under her clothes, her chest heaving like she’s been running. You slide your hands up, palms smooth over the curve of her ribs, thumbs just brushing the underside of her tits. She arches into the touch instinctively.

“Shit,” she breathes. “You’re—fuck.”

“Articulate as ever,” you tease, giggling a little against her collarbone. “C’mon, Ellie. Use your words.”

She shakes her head, eyes screwed shut like she’s embarrassed to even try. You just laugh, biting softly at the edge of her shoulder until she whines for you.

When you finally grab her tits properly, squeezing, she moans outright, her hips jerking up again. You press her down with your weight to keep her still, kissing up her throat to catch her mouth again. She kisses you back harder, hands finally coming up to grab your waist like she’s trying to anchor herself.

“You’re so fucking pretty like this,” you murmur into her mouth. “All needy and stupid.”

She groans, dragging her nails down your back just to hear you hiss.

“Shut up,” she mutters again, but her voice is shaking, her eyes dark and glassy when she opens them. You kiss her again, messy, deep, with your hands still squeezing and teasing her tits until she’s panting into your mouth. 

You sit back on your knees and pull at the hem of her shirt.

“Arms up,” you say, and Ellie obeys, a little breathless but quick about it.

You drag her shirt up and over her head, then toss it somewhere behind you. She drops her arms back to the bed, flushed and watching you like she’s waiting for her next instruction. You run your palms down her torso, fingers splayed wide, enjoying the way she shivers when you reach her waist.

“Your turn,” she says, voice still a little hoarse. She fumbles for the hem of your shirt, tugging at it with no real coordination.

“You sure you don’t want me to—”

“No, I got it,” she insists, already half tangled trying to get your shirt off.

It’s clumsy, her fingers catching at the fabric, tugging too hard in some places and not enough in others. But she’s determined, sitting up just enough to wrangle it over your head, her brows drawn together in concentration.

You let her struggle through it, hands on her shoulders to steady yourself, grinning all the while. It takes twice as long as it should, but the look of focus on her face is so stupidly charming you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Finally, she gets it over your head and off your arms. She exhales like she just did something difficult, then looks up at you with this tiny, pleased smile.

“See?” she says. “Told you I got it.”

You can feel the nerves starting to creep back in though—her hands slow where they’re resting on your waist, her eyes flicking down and then away, like she’s remembering what all this is leading to.

So you push her back down, kissing her forehead first.

“You’re incredible,” you say, dramatically serious. You kiss her temple. “Strong.” Another kiss, down to the edge of her cheek. “So capable.”

She snorts, already trying to twist away from you.

“Oh my god, stop.”

“An unstoppable force,” you add, kissing her right under the ear.

She’s giggling now, bright and real, her hands coming up to cover her face.

“Stop hyping me up like I just built a fucking house.”

“You deserve it,” you say. “You saved me from suffocating in that evil t-shirt.”

She’s still laughing when you kiss her mouth again, soft and slow this time. You press her back down with your hands, fingers skimming along her sides, taking your time just feeling her. Then you start your way down, mouth pressed to her sternum, the soft give of her ribs.

You kiss along the edge of each one, lips dragging, tongue flicking occasionally just to feel her tense under you. Her breath’s coming quicker again, her giggles melting into little gasps when your teeth graze skin.

You mouth down her stomach, slow and steady, her muscles twitching under your tongue. She’s watching you, you can feel it—the way her gaze drags heavy over you, her hand twitching like she wants to grab your hair but doesn’t know if she should.

By the time you settle between her legs, her thighs are already shifting, restless, like her body’s impatient even if her mind is still catching up. You look up at her from where you’re kneeling and grin, hands on her hips, thumbs tracing the bones there.

“Comfortable?” you ask, lips split into a grin.

She rolls her eyes, but her breath hitches when your hands slide further down, thumbs hooking into the waistband of her jeans.

You peel her jeans down slow, dragging them off her hips while she lifts them just enough to help. Her thighs spread naturally, unconsciously, like her body’s been waiting for this. She’s soaked through her underwear, a dark patch spread wide across the fabric.

“Jesus, Ellie,” you murmur, grinning as you hook your fingers into her panties and tug them down too.

She mutters something under her breath, too quiet to catch, but her cheeks are flushed bright red. She keeps her forearm over her eyes, like she can pretend this isn’t happening if she can’t see you.

You settle fully between her legs, hands sliding under her thighs to spread her open more. You kiss the inside of her knee first, then trail inward, your mouth warm and slow. She’s already squirming, her muscles twitching under your palms, but she doesn’t say anything. She just breathes, shaky and quick.

When your mouth finally meets her pussy, she gasps, sharp and startled, like she wasn’t expecting you to just go for it. She tastes as good as she looks, and you groan into her, tongue dragging slow, savoring the way she shudders all the way down.

She tries to keep quiet. But you can hear it, the way her breath stutters, her teeth catching her bottom lip. But you’re relentless, mouth working steadily, licking broad and deep. You press a kiss right to her clit and she lets out this thin, broken noise, her hips jerking up against your mouth before she catches herself.

You keep one hand under her thigh, the other sliding between her legs. Two fingers slide through the slick there, teasing her entrance, before you push in slow. She’s tight, the heat of her almost unbearable, and she gasps like she wasn’t expecting it.

You fuck her slow with your fingers, mouth still working her clit, working them just right until her hips start rolling up to meet you without her realizing. She’s a mess in no time, trying so hard to stay quiet, but it’s not working. Every breath comes out shaky, a whimper caught halfway between a moan and a sob.

“Shit—fuck—” she gasps, arm still over her face, like that’s gonna help. “Feels so—fuck, I—”

You smile against her, humming low just to feel her twitch around your fingers. She’s whining now, a constant undercurrent of noise that she can’t seem to bite back, her hips stuttering with every thrust of your hand.

When you feel her getting close—her legs trembling, the desperate, stuttering way she pushes down against your mouth—you pull back, slow and deliberate. You ease your fingers out just as carefully, leaving her empty and panting.

“Think you’re ready,” you say, sitting up a little, wiping your mouth on the back of your hand.

She makes a desperate sound, her arm finally dropping from her face so she can glare at you properly. Her eyes are glassy, her hair stuck to her forehead, her mouth still open like she’s catching her breath.

“You good?” you ask, voice gentler now. “You still want this?”

She nods immediately, no hesitation, but her voice comes a little rough. “Yeah. Yeah, fuck, please.”

She’s not pretending anymore; there’s no cool detachment, no playing it off. She’s flushed, messy, eyes dark and greedy. You lean over and kiss her, slow and heavy, swallowing the tiny sounds she’s still making. Then you pull away with one last kiss to her cheek before sliding off the bed.

“Sit tight,” you tell her with a grin. “Time for the star of the show!”

You come back with the strap already buckled snug against your hips. Ellie’s watching, of course, her eyes stuck on the toy where it bobs slightly with each step you take toward the bed. She tries to play it off, but she’s not slick—her thighs shift restlessly, her lips parted like she forgot how to keep her mouth closed.

You grab one of your pillows and nudge her hips up gently, sliding it under her. She lifts them for you without being asked, pliant and eager despite the flush still high on her cheeks. Propped up like this, her legs fall open easier, everything on display just for you.

You kneel between her thighs, settling the toy against your palm as you lean forward to kiss her again, soft and slow. Your free hand finds hers, lacing your fingers together.

“Gonna go slow, alright?” you murmur against her mouth.

She nods, already breathless. “Yeah. Okay. Please.”

You keep hold of her hand, guiding the tip of the strap down with the other until it’s pressed just right, sliding through the slick still gathered between her legs. She shivers, her fingers twitching in yours.

You press in slow, watching every inch disappear, your focus split between the stretch of her body and the sounds she’s making—tiny gasps, breath caught in her throat, that shaky little whimper when the head finally pushes past the tightest part.

Her hips buck up, greedy, chasing more even before you can offer it. You hold steady, squeezing her hand. “Easy, baby,” you soothe. “You’re taking me so good already.”

“I can take it,” she insists, voice breaking a little with how badly she wants it. “Swear, just—just give me more.”

You can’t look away. Her cunt is swallowing the toy greedily, like her body was made for this. The sight of her spread open around it, clenching down and pulling you deeper, has your pulse pounding everywhere, a raw ache low in your stomach. You bottom out slow, seating yourself fully inside her, and Ellie is already panting, her grip on your hand tighter, knuckles white.

“Shit,” she breathes, eyes fluttering shut. “Fuck—feels so fuckin’ good.”

You hold still for a second, just letting her get used to it, your free hand sliding to her hip to keep her from fucking herself too fast, too soon.

“You okay?” you ask, voice quieter. “Talk to me.”

She nods quickly. “Yeah. Don’t stop. Please.”

You pull out just a little and ease back in, slow strokes, watching the toy glide slick and steady. She whines, the sound caught and thin, her hips jerking despite your hand holding her steady. She’s already got that hazy look in her eyes, her hair sticking damp to her temples, mouth hung open like she forgot how to breathe right.

You keep the pace slow, savoring the way her body gives under you, and ask, “You ever done this before?”

She bites her lip, suddenly shy, eyes flicking away for a beat. “Not…not with someone else,” she admits, barely above a whisper. “Only, like, by myself. Not that I’m doing it by myself a lot.”

The confession is enough to have heat spreading throughout your body. Something possessive and greedy in a way you didn’t expect. You smile, slow and a little wicked, but there’s a softness there too, something fond beneath it.

“Well, I’ll make sure I’m your last,” you tease, leaning in to kiss her jaw, her cheek, her temple. “A great honor.”

She laughs breathlessly, but she’s still blushing, still squeezing your hand tight.

“C’mon…keep going,” she mutters, and you grin into her skin, rolling your hips slow, just deep enough to hear that sweet, choked little sob she makes every time you bottom out.

You start to find a rhythm—slow, deep, giving her time to adjust while you watch her face shift with every drag of the strap. She’s flushed and glowy all over, that stupidly pretty pink spread from her cheeks down her throat, her chest rising and falling quick and uneven. Her eyes flutter, her mouth stays parted, breath coming out in little puffs that sound like she’s just barely holding herself together.

But she’s getting comfortable, you can tell. She’s still twitchy, still working through how full she is, but she’s rocking her hips up to meet you now, small and shallow, like her body’s chasing the momentum before she can think better of it.

“You having fun down there, huh?” you tease, voice low, thumb stroking absent circles into the side of her hip.

She rolls her eyes—or tries to—but she’s already too gone to commit to the action. “Fuck...off,” she breathes, the words shaky. She tries to catch your rhythm with hers, meeting your thrusts, but her legs keep trembling, her coordination fucked.

You smile, slow and smug. She tries again to say something smart, you can see it forming in her mouth, but you cut her off by driving your hips forward harder, the strap sliding in deep, punching a sharp little gasp out of her throat.

Her whole face scrunches up, pretty and helpless, a high-pitched whine breaking in her throat.

“Sorry, what was that?” you ask, all fake sweetness. “Didn’t catch it.”

“Asshole,” she manages, but it’s thin and wrecked.

You’re thoroughly enjoying this, watching her try so hard to keep her composure, to talk back to you like she’s still got the fortitude for it. But every time she opens her mouth, you make a point of slamming back in hard enough to steal her breath, to wipe her mind clean for a few seconds.

She glares up at you, or tries to, but her eyes keep going soft, hazy and fucked-out. You lean in close, face hovering over hers, and pick up the pace just a little, hips moving sharper now, testing how much she can take.

She arches into you, the angle forcing a moan from her chest that she probably didn’t mean to let out. Her free hand fists the sheets beside her, her other still tangled with yours, squeezing like she’s trying to ground herself.

“Take your time baby,” you say, still smiling. “I’m sure you’ll get it out eventually.”

She shakes her head, panting. “You’re—you’re not—” Her words cut off with a sharp inhale when your hips snap forward again.

“Not what?” you press, grin widening. “Not giving it to you good enough?”

She whines, low and desperate, hips jerking under your grip.

You shift your angle slightly, sliding your thumb down between her legs and pressing it against her clit. She jumps, body going tense all at once, her head tipping back into the pillows. Her mouth opens, but nothing comes out except a breathy, broken sound.

“C’mon, finish a thought for me,” you murmur, thumb rubbing slow circles against her clit. “Or I’ll stop.”

“No,” she gasps, hips stuttering. “Fuck, don’t—don’t stop.”

“Then say something smart.”

She tries—she really does—but every time she gets half a word out, you press harder, fuck into her deeper, making her voice catch in her throat. Eventually, she just gives up, shaking her head, whimpering instead.

You pick up the pace properly then, driving into her harder, faster. The slick sounds of her pussy take over, loud and filthy between her gasps and the slap of skin against skin. She’s so wet it’s obscene, her body sucking the strap in greedily like she never wants to let it go.

“Harder,” she begs, voice all shredded up. “Please—harder.”

You oblige, your thrusts turning rough, hips snapping forward in quick, deep drives. You keep your thumb on her clit, rubbing in tight, insistent circles, and she’s barely holding herself together now—legs trembling, toes curling, her mouth open like she’s forgotten how to close it.

“Fuck—fuck—oh my God,” she cries, her voice cracking high. “I’m gonna—shit—I’m gonna come.”

“Yeah?” you pant, fucking her through it, eyes locked on her face. “Let me see.”

She sobs on the next thrust, her whole body seizing up, her hand squeezing yours so tight it aches. Then she falls apart, legs kicking, a strangled cry ripping out of her like she’s been trying to hold it in this whole time but couldn’t anymore.

You keep moving, slow and shallow now, working her through it while she gasps for air, her thighs trembling against your sides. She looks ruined, all flushed and sweaty, eyes wet, lips bitten red from where she tried to stay quiet.

When she finally opens her eyes, she looks dazed, barely here, but happy—like she doesn’t even have the energy to pretend she’s not proud of herself for taking it.

You lean down, kissing the corner of her mouth, then her cheek, then her jaw.

“Goddamn,” you murmur, smiling into her skin. “You’re so fucking good for me.”

She laughs weakly, still breathless. “That was so sick,” she whispers, voice is sweet, and her hand squeezes yours again like she doesn’t want to let go.

[leadyoutothelight]

Please Hold- Part 2

Joel has figured it out, you're his missing client Cherry Pie. Hurt and confused he goes to drown his sorrows. But when you appear at the same bar to ignore your own problems truths and feelings collide.

Part 1: Here

Word Count: 9k

Rating: E MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Warnings: Alcohol abuse, misunderstanding, grinding, fingering, Oral (m receiving), car sex, slightly public sex, slight exhibition, unprotected p in v sex, rough sex. (Please let me know if I missed anything) If my writing is used to train AI it will be deleted.

Notes: Holy shit this weird little idea took off and I'm so happy you guys have enjoyed it! This will be the final installment of the Please Hold series. Now without further delay part 2!!

Tag List: @cinnxmxngxrl , @inept-the-magnificent , @lillaydee , @speaktothehandpeasants , @maried01, @pedrofan , @harriedandharassed , @sophiek222 , @stories-we-read , @aquanatalie , @itsdrewharriso , @mallingcalling-blog

Rascal’s is the town’s local dive bar. A cinder-block building that’s seen better days. The front windows are dusty, and dirt-caked. The bar’s sign flickers, the ‘Ras’ blinks on and off, so sometimes the bar only looks to be named ‘Cal’s’. 

Joel doesn’t care that the bar stinks, the floors are sticky, and that the dancefloor is crowded with drunk college kids, grinding on each other like rabbits in heat. He just wants to drink, better yet he needs to drink. 

Drown his sorrows in the whiskey he’s been chugging since he got here, and the bartender is generous with their pours. Each glass ensures he forgets the way his heart felt when he discovered…you were Cherry Pie. 

He should have realized, he takes another swing as the memory swirls in his mind. You in your 50’s outfit, unaware of his inner turmoil as you helped the other customer. It all made sense now, Cherry’s calls ending right after you met. You’d figured it out quicker then he had, that first meeting, you breaking the plates when he’d asked for a slice of fucking cherry pie. 

Of course after meeting him, a sad old man, you’d been disgusted. 

He understands, you’re young, and have a life ahead of you filled with excitement and partners to match you. A vibrancy he couldn’t hope to keep up with, but he lingers on the calls. The way your voice would hitch when you’d beg him to let you cum. The soft noises you’d make as you touched yourself, he takes another gulp of whiskey, wincing at the burn. 

But the burn is welcome, as compared to the ache in his chest. He sighs finishing his current glass, and the bartender is busy with a group of frat brothers that’s come bumbling in. He snorts and leans back in his stool, looking out over the sea of bodies, entangled in their respective conversations, dances, and their late night revels. 

He sighs through his nose, seeing a few eyes taking him in. When he first arrived a girl sauntered up beside him, put her pretty tits on the bar and asked for a drink. He’d been in such a foul mood all he’d given her was a dismissive once over and jerked his head with annoyance announcing he wasn’t looking for a whore. 

The look she’d given him, would have killed him ten times over. Maybe that’s what he wanted, she’d left with a muttered ‘asshole’ and he’d ordered a whiskey on the rocks and to keep them coming. 

He won’t stay here much longer…though he’ll probably need to call a cab–Uber, right the girls mentioned Uber was what cabs are called now. He can barely see straight, and he’ll have a hell of a hangover in the morning. But it’s worth it, after the diner…which he’ll now never go back to. 

Another jolt of shame, and disgust rushes through him. You fucking knew the whole time, and he’d been strung along ever the idiot.

He looks at his phone as it pings with notifications. Client’s asking where he is, nameless profiles he’s never bothered to know more about, save for how to get them off. With a huff he sends out an email, he’s done, now that he knows Cherry will never come back. There’s no point in working the phones anymore. You were the only reason he stayed on, besides the money. So he’ll go out with a whimper, reduce his prices and hours and be done with it. He closes his email with grimace as he downs the last shot of his whiskey. 

He sighs rubbing his face about to turn back to get the bartender's attention to close his tab, when a pair entering Rascal’s catches his attention. 

Shit, as if the world hadn’t already kicked him around enough. There you and your friend Kristin stand, she’s got her arm around your shoulders and you look more than a little put off to be there. 

He panics, wondering if you see him, but he relaxes as Kristin drags you to a distant corner booth. He wants to look away, turn back to his drink and get the fuck out. But he can’t, seeing you out and about, no longer wearing your usual 50’s outfit.

Instead you’ve dressed down into a pair of ripped jeans, tennis shoes, and a tight fitted short-sleeve shirt neckline cut low enough you can see the tiniest peek of cleavage, backpack slung over your shoulder. It’s a plain outfit, yet it makes his cock jolt. His hands clench as he imagines slipping one of them into the back pocket to cup your ass. 

“Goddammit,” he huffs, even though he’s pissed, and drunk. He can’t stop the thoughts, or his cock twitching impatiently. He can’t look away as your friend calls over a waiter, orders, the two of you sit alone. While Kristin looks about excitedly you look like you’d rather be anywhere else. 

Kristin leans close whispering something, and you smile, though it doesn’t reach your eyes. The waiter returns with two pastel colored mixed drinks, which you both cheers, clinking your glasses together before taking long drinks. 

Your eyes wander around, and Joel jerks turning back to his drink, praying you didn’t see him. 

“You getting another drink?” 

The bartender appears, half-filled whiskey bottle already in hand, Joel sighs, but nods. The bartender pours slow and steady, the satisfying glug of the liquor leaving the bottle settles some of Joel’s nerves. He takes another drink, and risks another glance at you. 

Kristin has left you alone in the booth, you don’t look like you mind though. Fingers playing with the rim of your glass, the pastel liquid mostly drunk. You pull out your phone, pause, then put it back. 

He wonders if you think about calling him…but the thought rushes away as you finish your drink, and someone approaches from somewhere in the pulsing crowd. Joel watches the guy approach you, a cock-sure swagger to his steps. 

The guy is older, maybe late 30’s or 40’s. Joel doesn’t care; he knows how it will end. You’ll brush him off, just like you did to him, you obviously don’t do older guys.

But life has a way of kicking you when you’re down, instead of brushing the guy off you start talking. A smile splits your lips, still shining in the dim lights with whatever drink you’ve finished. The stranger, leans over you, hip cocked, says something–you laugh. Your eyes take in the stranger’s jeans, and plain black t-shirt, but he says something and your bottom lip goes between your teeth as you consider him.

Joel’s body tenses, his fingers tighten around the glass. 

The stranger offers you his hand, and you take it, leading you to the dance floor. Joel’s ears start ringing all over again. All he sees is red as you follow the stranger to the dance floor and press yourself close. 

“Girl, I’m going to start playing the ASPCA commercial music in a sec if you don’t lightin’ up!” 

You ignore Kristin’s jab as you finish busing the last table for the night, flicking off the diner’s neon window lights to signify it’s now closed. 

But Kristin will not be ignored, she follows you with her own tub full of dirty dishes to bring to the kitchen. Standing beside you as you both end the night cleaning up the plates, and utensils for the morning crew. 

“Girl–” 

“Kris, I really don’t want a pep talk right now, I want to finish my shift, go home–” 

“And cry your eyes out over the dude you’d been having hot, nasty phone sex with leaving you high and dry for the second time?” 

You pout at her words, ignore the sting of tears that threaten to flow again. You swallow down the lump forming your throat. You’ve cried enough tonight. 

She’s right, ever since Joel stomped out of here a few hours ago, you’d been left wondering…if this was it. If you’d truly fucked over whatever relationship you could have formed with Joel. 

The first time he’d stormed out…you swore it was because he’d found out. Discovered that you were Cherry Pie and he’d distanced himself in order to–keep the peace? Maybe he was just disappointed, after all Cherry Pie was...different a facade you used when talking to him, a sexual temptress who indulged in the forbidden.  

After all Cherry was still you, in a sense but…over the phone it was easier to pretend. To be more adventurous, do things you…normally wouldn’t do. In the real world, you enjoyed staying home and reading, getting your work done, and being a TA until you graduated and defended your thesis. Maybe went on to get a doctorate. To be honest you’re boring, and while that hadn’t bothered you before…now it felt like it was the whole reason relationships just never clicked.

You put more effort into your studies, and your pursuits than yourself. But then when Joel showed up and suddenly the man, the mystery who’d been integral to you finding some sexual relief turned out to be real. Not just some shadowy figure you could imagine and fantasize about. 

Even worse he was fucking hot, yes, older--but that didn’t matter to you. When he’d looked at you with those deep brown eyes, looked sheepish at your playful jests. Fucker hadn’t realized it, but he’d stolen your heart the moment you laid eyes on him, and when you’d realized who he really was?

Just when you thought, maybe he’d break the connection for you, he’d come back! You’d almost fainted at the sight of him, and then he’d apologized and for a moment it seemed like things would return to normal. You’d almost confessed then and there to him who you were. But he still didn’t know, and you took some comfort in that. 

That your little secret was still safe, and the man before you…might still be interested in seeing you. But then–he’d left, nothing to say besides he needed to go. In such a rush you’d felt like the world had collapsed around you all over again. 

Now you just want to mope. You hadn’t called the line in a month, terrified he’d hear your voice and put two and two together and get four. You couldn’t risk it, so you’d thrown yourself into work. Taking extra shifts, adding on additional TA hours. 

Run yourself so ragged you couldn’t focus on the growing sexual frustration, and the dull pain of Joel being Lonely Cowboy and that he’d never be interested in you the same way you’d been to him.

You should have put more distance between the two of you, besides ending your calls with him. Maybe offer to give your section to someone else, keeping him at a companionable distance. But everytime he came back to the diner, gave you a soft smile, and chatted with you…How could you keep away?

“Earth to y/n!” 

You're brought out of your thoughts by Kristin splashing you with warm soapy water, you let out a disgusted shriek as wet food sticks to the dampened fabric. 

“Fuck! Kris!” You shout, your matching shirt and poodle skirt now soaked, you turn, aiming a nasty glare at her. All Kristin does is smile. 

“Get changed, we’re going out!” 

“Kris–” 

“Nope, you need to get out, have some fun–” 

“I don’t want to–” 

“Don’t care, girl, you look like a kicked puppy dog, and I cannot stand it.” She finished putting her dishes in the drying rack, before drying her hands. Heading back to you and putting her hands on your shoulders. 

“Come on! Go out and live for a bit, if you’re not having a good time you can leave alright?” 

You sigh, but Kris means it, she’s not letting you leave without going somewhere. 

“Fine, where are we going?” 

“We’re going to Rascal’s!”

Rascal’s is the last bar you’d want to come to for a good time, but Kristin insists they have the best mixed drinks, and the crowd is usually rowdier than the other bars around town. So you’d changed into your jeans and a plain shirt, to get out of the soapy, sticky mess that is your work uniform. 

Kristin drove, and when you’d arrived she’d all but dragged you to a booth, ordered something for you and then…proceeded to leave you high and dry when she’d gotten distracted by a pretty brunette at another table. Who she is now fawning over, and they are equally enamored. 

So you’d stayed at the booth, gazing around the bar, it’s the usual for such a late night, frat bros hyping each other up to take more shots. A few sorority girls peppered into their ranks, a couple of locals at the bar nursing their own drinks. 

You pause on a man with his shoulders hunched and back turned to you, wondering who that could be, but in the terrible lighting you're not able to make out much. Your attention turns from the stranger at the bar to your phone buzzing in your pocket. You risk a quick glance to your notifications and wince, another email about Lonely Cowboy, and his prices. You stare silently for a moment at the email, an announcement of price reductions, you don’t read more of the message. Hurt enough from Joel’s sudden departure, the last thing you want to think about is him getting off to other clients. Ones much more interesting than you.

You put the phone back in your pocket, drinking down the last of the pastel sugary drink that you couldn’t remember the name of. It tasted like too much sugar and not enough like tequila.

“‘Scuse me–” pulled from your people watching you turn to meet the eyes of a stranger. He’s older, maybe in his late 30’s. With pale golden hair, and pretty green eyes. You wonder if he’s just passing through, you’d recognize someone like him if they stopped at the diner or if he worked at the University. 

“Uh, yes?” You blink with owlish confusion as to why he’s bothering you, thankfully the tequila is loosening you up. So you settle back in the booth aware of the guy giving you a once over. You don’t mind the attention though…at least someone’s looking at you. 

“What’s a gorgeous girl like you doing alone in a bar like this?” 

You can’t help it, a laugh bubbles from you at the horrid pick up line. His smile falters for a second, probably waiting for the inevitable let down. But…he’s attractive enough, and after being rejected, it’s nice to feel wanted. And he looks nothing like the man who’s turned your heart inside out and stomped on it one too many times.

So you lean forward, press your tits to the table, making sure the low cut of the t-shirt shows off the tease of skin. 

“Sadly, I’ve been ditched by my friend, but if you’ve got a better way to spend the night,” you smile sugary sweet, licking at the coating of sugar left on your bottom lip by the drink. “I’m all ears.” 

It’s satisfying watching his pupils widen, the way his eyes take in your every move. He chuckles, carding his fingers through his hair. 

“Well, I’d love to dance with you,” he admits, tilting your head considering him, as he offers you a hand. One you notice that’s calloused and rough…you smile sweetly and take it. 

“I’d love to,” even in the dim light of the bar you see the apples of his cheeks go red. He seems sweet, and right now you’d prefer sweet and soft over being lonely. 

He leads you with easy confidence to the dance floor, swinging you into his arms, you both sway to the some rock song you don’t know the name of. 

“I’m impressed the little lady can dance,” he calls over the noise of the crowd, and the shouts of the frat boys. You laugh swaying your hips to the beat. His hands find their way to your hips pulling you closer. 

Your breath hitches, you glance up, and try to tamp down on the disappointment that it’s not brown eyes staring back at you, and a southern drawl tickling your ear. You jolt as his hands sneak their way into your back pockets. 

“I have a lot of surprises up my sleeve,” you return, reaching down to pull his hands back up to your hips. He relents, which you’re grateful for. 

“I’m sure,” he smiles, the both of you go back to swaying together, silence consumes your dance. You’re unsure of what to say next, conversation doesn’t come easily to you, and right now you're lingering on the fact that he’s not Joel. 

Even as his hands wander lower again, hand caressing the fat of your ass, giving it a soft squeeze. Your breath hitches and it hits you then, you don’t want a sloppy rebound so soon after everything with Joel blew up in your face. Much less do you want some stranger feeling you up like a piece of meat at a butcher shop.

Pushing back you blink, stammering out a quick apology, and something about needing to use the restroom.

Mystery man calls after you, but you ignore it, pushing through too many bodies on the dance floor and to the hallway leading to the restrooms. One downside to Rascal’s being so small, they have limited bathrooms. One room each for women and men, thankfully the women’s is open.

As you push into the room, you don’t realize you’ve been followed, a shadow having slipped from his bar stool and through the crowds. You don’t sense him until a body is forcing you through the open doorway. Forcing you back against the door with a hard thud, and locking it behind you. 

You gasp, thinking it's the mystery guy, you’re about to bite his head off–maybe scream if he doesn’t get the message, but all arguments die on your tongue as you meet familiar dark brown eyes boring into your own.

“Joel?” You manage to squeak out as he traps you against the door, the bathroom is small, a toilet pushed off to the corner, and a sink that is splattered with water, and soap to the side.

He glares at you, shoulders rising and falling with every breath. Jaw grinding side to side as his eyes take in your sorry state.

“So, you’ll just fuck any old guy that shows up huh?” 

You blink, trying to ignore the way your thighs tremble at his growled insult. His breath stinks of whiskey, and his eyes can’t seem to focus. He’s drunk…better yet he’s probably close to shitfaced. 

“Joel, what the fuck?” You hiss, though with the music pounding through the walls, you know none’s going to hear the conversation between you two. 

“You can’t just—barge in here,” you press back against the door, putting space between you two, the tequila not helping as your skin heats so close to him. “Also I can dance with whoever I want! None of your fucking business.”

He lets out a harsh laugh, he doesn’t pull back, rather leans in. “Oh, I saw that dancing wasn’t the only thing on his mind,” his eyes dip down to your heaving breasts, heat fills your stomach. A dull throb begins between your thighs. “But then again, I know that Cherry Pie has needs, and I guess I couldn’t fill ‘em anymore.” 

The way he spits out your nickname, it hurts, like he’s disgusted to say it to you. You freeze hearing it spoken so callously, when he’d said it so sweetly before. 

“So…you did know.” You whisper, eyes lowering as you fight back the same damn tears that you’d kept at bay for the last few hours. 

“Figured it out a lot later than you,” he growls, and gives a humorless laugh. “Was it fun? Toying with the sad old man when you realized? This was who you were talkin’ to?” He gestures to himself, and you gap at him.

“The hell are you talking about Joel?” You know it’s cowardly to try and deny it, that you’ve known ever since the first day you met him. When you’d dropped the plates, upon hearing him ask for the slice of pie you’d called yourself.

“Don’t lie!” Joel shouts, slamming his hand beside your head, you jolt with a soft gasp away from the sound. Joel’s eyes burn into your cheek, and trail a dangerous line down your neck, to your breasts. Before coming back up to meet your gaze.

“I didn’t mean…” you fumble trying to find something…anything to explain your actions. Figuring it out, and then stopping all forms of communication. You couldn’t find the words, not without revealing your own faults. 

That you’d fallen for the man, and the idea of him rejecting you. Was too much to bear, you close your eyes and hope he’ll stop. Back away and just forget this all happened. But Joel surprises you by slumping forward, caging you between his too hot body and the door.

Pressed between the bathroom door and Joel, you feel trapped, squirming in his hold. He growls low in his throat and you gasp as his hands find themselves on your hips, pulling you against him. The rough rasp of his beard against your cheek sends electricity crackling through your nerves. 

“J–Joel,” a whimper of his name and he chokes on a noise, low in his throat, those eyes burn into yours. 

“Why,” his voice is a soft, drunken slur. He leans forward, nose brushing the skin of your neck, making you jolt. Your mouth opens, but no words come out. As those pretty eyes take you in, you again smell the whiskey on his breath. 

He presses harder against you, hands trapping your hips against the door, you flounder for a second. But you can’t help the sadness that wells up in you. 

“I–I thought you knew at first–” 

“What do you mean?” He growls, pressing you harder to the door, his knee pushes between your legs, brushing against your core. A distracting bolt of pleasure tickles up your spine, your eyelids flutter. 

“When we first met–the Cherry pie comment–I thought you knew it was me,” his brows furrow as you see his drunken mind try to piece together your rambling. 

“A–and then you kept showing up, kept being so sweet–I thought you were–”

“Were what?” He snaps and you jolt, grasping for straws to get him to understand. 

“Disappointed? Mocking–I don’t know, maybe playing mind games with me?!” You huff, gasping as his knee brushes against your core again. 

“Maybe you realized I was Cherry…and were disappointed in what you saw,” you mumble, pressing back further into the door looking around the bathroom, noting the water stains in the ceiling tiles, and the suspect stains around the toilet. Anything but looking into those deep brown eyes that burn into you. 

“Why would I be mocking you?” 

“I–I liked you…no, fuck,” your head falls back as you fight the urge to get quiet, there’s no point in lying to yourself anymore. “I fell for you–Cowboy…and when I finally met you, that first time…and you didn’t show any interest in me.” 

You bite your lip struggling to find the words to explain, “I thought you figured out I was Cherry, and since you never bothered to tell me…I thought you had no interest in me like that, and it hurt.” 

“I didn’t want to admit I had feelings for Cowboy–you,” you mutter fingers pressing in his shoulders as you look anywhere but his eyes. 

“How sad, right?” A humorless chuckle, the sting of tears filling your eyes, “the lonely college student falling for the sex phone operator, who she paid to listen to her get off–” 

“I fell for you too,” Joel whispers, and the world freezes. The dull thump of the bass outside of the bathroom deadens as Joel pulls back. “Cherry–Y/n, I had no idea till…tonight.” 

He mutters, leaning his forehead against yours. Now you can’t escape his eyes, but you don’t want to. His whiskey breath is heady, your fingers toy with his jacket seam. 

“I…I’ve been waiting–needing for you to call,” he pulls you closer, your back arches fingers grasping at his shoulders to steady yourself. “I thought–I thought I’d overstepped, messed up somewhere and then…when I figured it out.” 

He gives a breathless laugh, “thought you were disappointed…seeing that Lonely Cowboy was nothing but a sad old man, seeing as you figured it out long before me.” 

There’s a moment of quiet before you can’t stop the giggle that leaves you, Joel, looks annoyed. But you shake your head as a soft burst of laughter leaves you. 

“What’s so funny?” 

“We’re idiots–”

“The hell you mean?” 

“Joel…we both thought the other was disappointed, or didn’t want them,” his eyes shine even in the dim florescenes of the bathroom, and then you see them shift. “But…that seems to be the farthest thing from the truth.” 

“You–You want me?” 

“How drunk are you Cowboy?” Joel growls his fingers dig into the fat of your ass, his lips hover just above yours. 

“Not Cowboy—Joel, you’re gonna call me by my name tonight Cherry–y/n,” he stumbles over your name, looking unsure again. Like he’s overstepped a boundary that you placed and he didn’t check. You place a reassuring hand against his cheek. The stubble of his beard coarse against your palm. 

“Joel, I love it when you call me Cherry, I understand why you’d rather be Joel,”you whisper, he sighs softly, tongue slipping out to wet his lips. Those big brown eyes devouring you as you both hesitate for a moment. “But Cherry is me, so please keep calling me that baby.” 

You have no idea where the husk in your voice comes from, or how you’re able to keep your eyes locked with his. Joel’s silent for a bit too long, and for a panicked moment you wonder if you’ve crossed some boundary.

“Joel–” you’re cut off by his lips smashing against yours. His lips are warm tongue tasting of whiskey and smoke, as it presses between yours, tangling with yours. 

You make a noise in the kiss, fingers grasping at his shirt as your eyelids flutter shut, meeting Joel’s every move with your own. He pulls back, lips red and glistening. You press back against the door, head spinning, unsure of where to go next. After all…the last time you’d been intimate, he’d been on the phone. 

His eyes take in your state, and he chuckles, moving to press a kiss to your cheek, before trailing down to your neck. Nibbling at the skin just above your pulse, his hands kneading into your hips, as you whine. 

“Joel–”

“What Cherry Pie, tell me what you want?” 

“Fuck, anything Joel–I want anything you can give me,” you gasp as Joel sucks a mark into your neck. Joel groans as your hips buck against his, his knee trapped between your legs rubbing just right against your clit. Pleasure sparks hot and sudden, racing up your spine and coiling in your belly. Joel grins, panting against your skin, the warmth of his breath tickles along sensitive flesh, your fingers grasp his shoulders as Joel finally speaks.

“I know you can’t cum with just your fingers,” he groans against your neck, “but maybe you can cum with mine.” His words send a throb through your cunt, his hands slide to the button of your jeans, with a flick it pops open, and the zipper hushes open as his hand slips inside. 

“J–Joel,” you gasp, the heat of his palm resting against your panty cover mound sends your mind spinning, you feel his lips curve into a wicked smile as the tip of his middle finger toys with your covered clit. 

Teasing touches, that make you keen, hips bucking into his hand. He doesn’t tease for too long though, feeling the wetness soaking your panties, he moans, “So wet already Cherry?” 

You whine, trapping your bottom lip between your teeth to quiet the noises leaving you. Joel’s hand slides back up, and past the hem of your panties. The first touch of his rough fingertips against your clit has you jolting, a choked cry leaving you at the shock of pleasure slicing through you.

“Joel!” You keen his name as your world spins, Joel pulls back, those dark eyes watching as your every reaction, as his hand cups your cunt. He teases the tip of his middle finger between soaked folds. Letting out a shuddering breath, stroking his finger back and forth groaning as your slick covers his fingertip. 

“God, Cherry, so wet,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the apple of your cheek, the rasp of his beard against your skin making you whine. You feel like a live wire, everything keyed up to one hundred. Too aware of your clothes covering your body, Joel’s finger teasing your soaked cunt, the warmth of his breath against your skin. His palm rubbing against your clit, it’s both too much and not enough. 

“You ready?” he asks, all you can manage is a jerky nod, not trusting your voice to not quiver. He smiles, and his eyes glow in the too bright fluorescents of the bathroom. 

When he presses his finger inside your fingers claw his shoulders, they’re thick, rough with callouses and so different from anything you’ve ever felt. The stretch feels good, your cunt flutters around Joel’s finger, a gush of slickness coats his fingers and palm as he presses deep. 

Joel lets out a breath, as he starts a slow pace, keeping his middle finger buried deep in your cunt, stroking against your walls, he pauses as his finger brushes against something that has you tensing, forcing out a wrecked keen. He chuckles, leaning down lips brushing against the shell of your ear, “did I find a spot Cherry?” 

All you can manage is a choked ‘yes’. Joel growls as your hips press into his hand, the rough skin of his palm rubs against your clit every thrust of his hand sends another wave of delicious pleasure through you, all your mind can focus on is the delicious feelings Joel’s hand stirs in you. 

“I’ve thought about this so much,” he whispers, nipping your earlobe, you whine as he pulls out and adds another finger, thrusting both in, there’s a slight burn just beneath the pleasure. You gasp, hips bucking into the mixing sensations. 

“About what I’d do if I ever got my hands on you,” he presses a series of wet kisses against the corner of your jaw pressing you both harder against the door, you feel a bulge against your hip. You grind into it, and Joel groans, nipping at your flesh. “Wanted to know what you felt like, sounded like, without a phone distancing us.” 

His fingers curl, and your eyes roll, lids fluttering as scorching pleasure boils through you. You’re stumbling closer and closer to the edge as Joel continues whispering into your ear. 

“The noises you make…Cherry, god, wish I could have figured it out sooner,” his fingers go faster, the wet noise of them fucking you open filling the small bathroom. Your cheeks heat, the lewd noises should mortify, but only serve to intensify the heat building. Your breaths hitch, your voice pitching higher as Joel pushes you closer and closer to crumbling. 

“So wet, and you’re just taking two fingers,” he gives a soft laugh, grinding his bulge again into your hip. “I’ve dreamed of this, fucking you, anywhere, everywhere. Would have taken you on one of the diner tables if I’d known.” 

He chuckles as your cunt quivers around his fingers, a gush of slick coating his fingers and palm. 

“You like that baby?” He hums, sucking another mark into your skin, fingers speeding up his palm crushing against your clit, taking a moment to let it press against your clit, grinding against the sensitive nub. Another ripple of pleasure courses through you, your head falls back a wrecked gasp leaving you as the world spins. 

“Joel,” you whimper, he pants, fingers going faster he hears it in your voice, the hitch of your breath. Feels it in the way your cunt tightens around his fingers, you’re so close and he’s pushing to see you at your end. Waited so long to see this witness you coming undone, and from just his fingers. You keen, cries leaving your lips with every thrust, so close–

A loud pounding on the door shatters all thoughts of release. You both jolt at the interruption, Joel’s fingers still buried in your cunt, the rough calluses of his fingertips stroke your walls sending delirious bolts of pleasure along your spine.

You let out a broken whine as those thick fingers slip out of you, heat burning your cheeks as you register the wet noise they make leaving you.

“Fuck Cherry, you’re soaked,” Joel’s eyes are black pits ringed by mahogany. Devouring your every reaction, as his fingers slip from your jeans, you watch dazed as he brings them to his lips. 

Something over takes you, a feral desire to make him just as wrecked as you, your hand clasps his wrist dragging his hand to your lips. Taking the two fingers shining with your slick, enveloping them with your lips and tongue.

The noise Joel makes deep in his throat causes another flutter in your cunt. Another gush of slick dampens your ruined panties. As you taste yourself on his fingers, sucking the digits, swirling your tongue along each knuckle and fingertip. 

Your eyes locked with his as he pants, “fuck baby—need you—“

Another impatient knock at the door, and someone shouting about needing to piss, and to ‘get on with it’. You both groan, you can’t continue this here. You release Joel’s fingers with a wet pop, you give him a dazed look.

“Need you too baby, but where the hell can we go?”

Joel huffs and you feel the grind of his bulge against your hip.

“My trucks’ outside—“ without answering you’re fixing your jeans, and unlocking the door. Joel hot on your trail, the patron waiting for the bar has the decency to not look either of you in the eye as you scurry past. 

The bar is still busy, couples out on the dance floor—-where you notice your previous catch looking put off as he looks around the room, most likely trying to find you. But you don’t care as Joel’s gaze tickles at the back of your neck. 

The urge to slow down, make him wait, let him suffer a little bit longer—but no, the fire in your belly is too persistent. You grab your bag and then you’re both rushing out the door. Racing to his rusty pick up, tucked into a darkened corner of Rascal’s parking lot. 

You're pressed into the driver’s side back door, Joel’s hands grasp your hips, lips finding your neck. Every touch sends your mind spiraling, you whimper as his teeth find your pulse and they scrape against skin. 

“J–Joel–” you whine, pressing back against him, as another throb pulses through your cunt, panties soaked. He hums low in his throat as he continues to devour your neck. “Joel–we can’t fuck in the parking lot–” 

He chuckles, a hand slipping forward from your hip to between your thighs, pressing the seam of your jeans against your clit and your body jolts. Hands pressing against the chipped paint of his beaten down truck, seeing your faces reflected in the window. 

Joel’s eyes never leave your face as he presses again. Groaning against your neck as your hips jerk back into the bulge in his jeans. You grind into each other, rough, desperate. 

“Who’s gonna stop us?” He pants, his breath warm against your skin, even in the chill of the evening you feel like you're burning. 

A breathless laugh leaves you, ending in a strangled moan, “A public indecency charge.” 

He presses harder into you, grinding his bulge hard between your ass cheeks, you yelp as another delicious wave of pleasure threatens to consume you. It’s so tempting, the thought of his hands ripping down your jeans, fucking you stupid in Rascal’s parking lot. The thought alone sends a painful jolt through your cunt, a ripple of want courses through your abdomen. 

“Joel–please, another time–wanna fuck you–but not out here–” you’re statement is cut off by Joel ripping himself away from you. The clink of keys, and he’s opening the back door to his truck. It's old with one of those benches for a backseat. With a grunt he hefts himself into the back, the shocks of his truck groan at the weight before settling. 

Taking a moment to readjust himself sitting with his back against the opposite side, one leg hanging off, and the other against the seat back. He looks up at you before gesturing to his spread lap. You hesitate for a moment, taking him in. His salt and pepper hair is ruffled, but still curls around his face. 

His shirt’s bunched up revealing a peek of a soft belly that sends a heat through you. Your eyes land on the bulge between his legs. Your mouth going cotton-dry, bottom lip going between your teeth. Fuck, he’s big, if that tent is anything to go by. 

“You gonna get in or keep staring at me darling?” 

The spell broken, and your cunt all but screaming at you to get in, shutting the door behind you. You straddle Joel, settling easily over his jean covered bulge. You giggle as he lets out a soft sigh, temptation wins out and you roll your hips slowly along the length of him. Joel makes a choked noise, hands grasping your hips, stopping your movements. 

“You’re playing with fire Cherry Pie,” he growls, and you let out a wispy laugh. “You have an idea of what you want?” 

“Save a horse ride a cowboy,” you feel him throb beneath you, and a soft mewl leaves you. Even with the barrier of jeans, you can feel the heat of his cock. He’s big, bigger than any of the guys you’ve been with before. 

“You gonna get out of those jeans, or do I have to rip them off?” Joel growls fingers digging into the soft fat of your hips. You whine and maneuver as best you can in the confined space, popping the button of your jeans tearing apart the zipper. With a quick wiggle of your hips you rid yourself of the jeans and your panties in one go. 

You try to ignore the burn of Joel’s gaze taking in your naked thighs and legs, tossing the clothing to the floor. His hands are quick to grab you again, helping you settle low on his thighs. A soft moan leaves you with his fingers rubbing patterns into your thighs. Your nerves spark with every touch, hips jolting as your cunt presses to his jean covered legs. 

“Joel,” you whimper, hands finding purchase on his stomach finger fisting his shirt, before slipping down to the hem of his jeans. You glance up meeting Joel’s burning gaze, he pants softly nodding. 

Your fingers scramble to undo the button and zipper, Joel chuckles his thumbs dancing close to the seam of your hip and thigh, you let out a huff. 

“Stop tormenting me asshole–” Joel’s finger brushes against your mound, you tense, glaring at him. He returns it with a cocky smirk, two can play at that game. 

Opening his jeans, your hands play over the outline of his cock straining in his briefs. Joel’s hips buck at the touch, he lets out a shuddered breath. 

“Enjoying taking your time?” He groans, as you smirk leaning down, you nuzzle his abdomen, scooting down his body until your mouth is level with his cock. You flash him an innocent look, fingers rubbing teasingly along his shaft. Feeling it throb beneath your fingertips, a patch of wetness grows at the tip. 

“So hard already Joel?” You hum, fingertips circling the head of his cock, biting your lip with a gleeful smile as Joel grunts hips pressing into the soft touch. “Damn baby, you’re big…might need to prep you before I can ride you.” 

Joel shifts, taking his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes glued to you. You lean down, pressing soft kisses along his shaft. Joel’s hands fist at his sides, he lets out a soft moan which sends a pulse of heat through you. 

“C–Cherry,” he whines, you glance up at him, salt and pepper hair tousled as he presses back against the window. His mahogany eyes half-lidded and unfocused, lips parted as his tongue slicks out to wet them. “Please–” 

You smile, a wicked glint in your eyes as your fingers slip up to the hem of his briefs and pull. A happy trail of curled hair leads down from his navel to his crotch. Revealing the soft v leading down to his cock, while he does have some pubic hair he keeps it well trimmed. You slip the hem of his briefs down, Joel adjusts himself so that his pants slip past his ass to settle in the middle of his thighs. 

His cock springs from its confines. You stare in open awe, your mouth watering at the sight of him. Half-hard he’s still big, with a thick shaft laced with veins. It twitches against his hip, the tip leaking a small bead of precum. 

You don’t say anything, going down to lick along a vein that catches your eye. Joel jerks, hands going to your head, thick fingers careful as they card through your tresses, a surprised shout leaving him. His fingernails against your scalp causing shivers to ripple down your spine. You cunt quivering. 

“Fuck! Wasn’t ready–” 

Ignoring his comment, your tongue continues its journey up to the pink head of his cock, circling around it, lapping at the salty bead, moaning softly as it coats your tongue. Your hand fists lower on his shaft, taking the head into your mouth. The other palms his thigh, helping you keep balanced in between his legs. 

Joel groans, his cock pulsing in your hand, his fingers flex against your scalp. The weight of him on your tongue makes you moan, hollowing your cheeks as you start a slow bob with your head. Taking him slowly into your mouth, inch by inch. Teeth lightly scraping the soft skin of his shaft. Joel’s head falls back, his eyes rolling, as he fights the urge to buck his hips up into your mouth. 

Your tongue cradles his cock as you take more of him in, hand stroking the part of his length that you haven't tried to get into your mouth. Joel’s deep moans fill the truck, one hand staying in your hair, the other going to grip the seat. Every one of his moans goes straight to your core, your innards clenching around nothing.

As you bob your head, you drop your jaw, bobbing lower, taking more of his thick length into your mouth, his length goes deeper. The head is so close to touching your throat, you’d never be able to get much deeper, then again, most guys you’d been with hadn’t been big enough.

“S–Shit, Cherry–Fuck,” Joel pants as you take more of him, tongue cradling the underside of his cock, giving another suck. His hips buck, you cough as the head of his cock nudges the back of your throat. 

You pull back with a gasp, strings of spit linking your lips to Joel’s cock. A flick of your tongue across your lip and they break, Joel’s fingers surprise you as they wipe your lip cleaning it of your spit. The rough callous of his palm strokes across your cheek, you press a kiss to his fingertips. Joel moans, deep in his chest, his cock jolts shining in the dim light of Rascal’s parking lot lights with your spit. 

“Goddamn Cherry, never thought I’d get to see your pretty mouth taking my cock,” he hums as his hand cups your face and pulls you forward. You relent to his whims, shuffling forward straddling his hips once more he presses a hungry kiss to your lips. 

You mould to him, gasping against his as your cunt rubs over his length, his hands press your hips down, forcing you to splay your legs open. Joel groans feeling your cunt spread over his shaft, slick and spit coating him as you grind against each other. 

“Fuck, you ready?” He growls fingers digging half moon marks into your hips, you whine rolling your hips, gasping as the head of his cock catches on your clit. 

“Yes, Joel, yes–” 

“Do you have a condom?” He rasps, pupils blown, and for a moment you freeze. Your fingers grasp at his shoulders, and your lip goes between your teeth. 

“I…don’t–” 

“Shit,” he hisses, for a moment the heat dissipates and you worry for a second that this whole thing was for nothing, and this cannot all be for nothing. You find your voice again. 

“I’m clean–and I’m on the pill,” you reply.

Joel sighs, pressing his forehead to yours considering you. 

“You sure you still want to? I’m clean too if that helps?” 

“Yes, please, Joel, if you don’t fuck me I’m going to explode–” he says nothing just readjusts himself beneath you, hand sliding from your hip to between your bodies where he grasps his cock. 

You follow, shifting yourself up as he positions himself, the head of his cock brushes your entrance. Your body shivers, you hesitate glancing at Joel, he lets out a huff, nodding. 

Slowly you lower yourself on him, the stretch is agonizing. Stealing your breath as you slow, only the head stretching you. Your fingers clawing his shoulders as you hover, unsure that you can continue. 

“Shit, Cherry you alright?” Joel pants, his cheeks flushes the window behind him fogging over, you whine the prick of tears making you close your eyes. 

“Fuck–’m okay, you’re just–so much bigger then any guy I’ve taken,” you gasp as his cock throbs inside of you, and you sink a little lower. “Stroke your ego much?” 

Joel lets out a breathless laugh, “Can’t lie, nice to hear I’m impressive.” 

You chuckle, and let out a soft breath. 

“Cherry if you can’t take it we can–” 

“Shush, just…need to be slow, and maybe next time you can finger me open enough,” His cock jolts again, and you moan, lowering down a bit more. His hands steady you, taking some of your weight, his thumbs rub soothing circles into where your hip and thigh meet.  After what feels like forever, you settle against his hips. 

His cock fills you to your breaking point, but as the pain dulls. A sweet overwhelming pleasure overtakes it. You can feel every inch of him inside of you, the head of his cock pressing against your cervix, every throb and jolt you feel. 

Joel pants, grinding his teeth as he watches your face for any indication to stop. 

“You okay baby?” He asks, the care in his voice makes you weak kneed. You lean forward pressing pecs to his cheeks, and finally his lips. He responds eagerly, meeting your lips with a fervor. It makes you cunt pulse, his tongue lapping at your lips lazily, tangling with your own. 

Slowly your hips lift, the head of his cock drags deliciously against your walls, catching against a spot that has your mind blanking and stars flashing behind your eyelids, as pleasure coils inside your abdomen and sparks along your nerves. You let out a strangled moan, fingernails clawing at the door as you fight through the pleasure to keep moving. You start at a slow pace, getting used to him, to the strange position. 

His hands support your hips, fingertips gripping your ass cheeks and spreading them as you fuck yourself on his cock.  Joel grunts, groans, and moans as you lean forward resting your head against his shoulder as you find a steady pace. 

Your hands going from his shoulders to the door behind him, giving you better leverage, you speed up. The truck jolts and groans around you both, as you lift your hips, and bring them down. Your skin slapping against Joel’s, it fills the space along with your shared moans. As you lower your clit grinds just right against Joel’s pubic bone, adding additional pleasure zaps to the dull throb of your core.

“Fuck, Joel–feels so good, wanted this so bad, thought about it all the time,” you babble as pleasure overtakes common sense. 

Now pleasure consumes you, and you chase the high you were denied so cruelly inside, Joel’s fingers had been one thing, but his cock is something else. Filling you, as you ride him he spears you open again and again. 

With every lift of your hips slick drenches his shaft, Joel watches with half-lidded eyes hands groping at your ass, groaning as you soak him. 

“Fuck, Cherry, dreamed of this for so long,” he pants into the shell of your ear, you whimper in response all thoughts disappear as you fuck yourself onto Joel’s cock, “You feel better then I ever could have dreamed.”

“Wanted this so bad, for so long,” he gasps, pressing messy kisses to the corner of your jaw and neck. “Your cunt feels so good baby.” His praise makes you moan, your cunt quivering around him as his hips jerk up, pressing himself deeper. 

Joel nips your earlobe and you gasp, he groans as your cunt flutters around him, another gush of slick as the head of his cock drags over that spot, again and again. 

“Joel, feel so good–” you keen, every shift of your hips dragging you closer to the edge you’d been denied. But you’re starting to falter, the pattern getting out of sync. Joel hums low in his throat, his fingers gripping you harder as you whine, the edge getting farther away again.

“Need me to take over Cherry?” 

All you can manage is a nod with a strangled whine, Joel shifts, planting his feet, one on the seat the other on the floor. His fingers tighten their grip on you. Suddenly he’s pounding into you, a choked cry leaving you as his cock fucks you hard and fast, your body jolts with every thrust. 

Eyes rolling to the back of your head as he fucks you, suddenly the edge that was so far away comes hurtling back, a coil tightening impossibly fast, all you can manage out is a babble of incoherent words, “Fuck, Joel—f–fuck!” 

He grunts, feeling your cunt tighten around him, he won’t last much longer, and he wants to see you come undone first, he growls into your ear, “Come on Cherry, by my good girl and cum on my cock, wanna see you cum so bad.” 

It’s all you need, his voice, and final slam of his cock so deep into your cunt you see stars. Muscle tensing, back bowing fingers scraping against the door, a howl leaves you as you climax. 

Joel follows with a shout, pulling your hips flush against him. His cock pressed deep inside you, as your cunt quivers around him, the warmth of his release filling you. A final gush of slick and his cum soaks your inner thighs and his hips, Joel groans arms going around your waist to mold you to him. 

You pant softly into the crook where his shoulder and neck meet. Nuzzling the skin there as your brain returns from its high. Joel’s hands rub soothing circles into your lower back, as you shift, gasping as Joel’s cock softens inside of you. 

It’s quiet, and pleasant, neither of you seems interested in filling the silence–until someone bangs on the fogged window. You both jolt, and freeze hearing a chorus of cheers outside from a very inebriated group of frat brothers. 

There’s a comment about Titanic, and another about rocking the truck, thankfully they move on quickly as their drunken escapades take them away. 

Your cheeks heat as you bury your face into Joel’s neck, he chuckles, “should we finish this somewhere else?” 

You manage a nod, Joel leans back, you move to lift yourself up and Joel takes the opportunity to pull you back in for another long kiss, nipping your bottom lip and groaning as his cock pulls free from your soaked cunt. 

“Fuck Cherry,” he moans against your lips, “Think I might be ready for round two.” 

You laugh, kissing him softly, before leaning back, considering him, “Can we please go to my place or yours? I really don’t feel like having frat bro’s interrupt again.” 

Joel laughs and nods, both of you quickly redressing and Joel considering if he should drive, you volunteer and with some directions he gets you back to his place in one piece. 

“So…why Cherry Pie?” Joel hums into the crown of your head as you both lay splayed out on his bed. His fingers playing with the tangled strands of your hair, you sigh, nuzzling yourself closer into his side with a sleepy chuckle. 

“I know it’s not your favorite, you said as much the first time I went to dinner with the girls,” he mutters. 

“Fun fact, I actually hate Cherry Pie,” you admit smiling as you look up at Joel’s confused face. Giggling, you press a kiss into his chest before sitting up the sheet wrapped around your body hanging dangerously low on your breasts, Joel’s eyes glance down hopeful that the cloth will fall away, but they return to your eyes, as you smirk. “But…it was the last pie I’d served that night–”

“The first night you called?” 

“Mhm,” you lean forward pressing soft teasing kisses along his pec, up to his collarbone and pausing at his neck. Giving the skin above his pulse a soft nip, he groans, hands coming to pull you down against him. You straddle his hips, the sheets the only barrier between you and him. “And when you asked what to call me…I knew I couldn’t just–give you my name, so Cherry Pie…and then hearing you moan it that first time.” 

You shiver at the memory, the way he’d crooned the nickname into your ear, you were gone. Cherry Pie was the only thing you’d ever want to be called, by him at least, you smile as Joel chuckled his hands cupping your cheeks, pulling you to him for a slow kiss, with lazy tongues and the sinful bite of his teeth against your bottom lip. 

“Cherry, I’ll call you whatever you want, so long as you’ll have me.” He hums this against your lips, and you can’t help but smile. 

“Joel, you’ve had me from that first call.”

[c4tluver02]

lucky

wc: 1.7k

summary: After coming home to a silent apartment Spencer looks around for you, how lucky is he to find you all soapy and pretty!

cw: r is taking a bath, mentions of being naked, hair long enough to be in a bun, mentions of serial killers (typical cm stuff), fluffy :D

a/n: my first spence fic......... pls lmk if you like this or hate it ive only written for Steve so anything is appreciated !!!! but bare w me ill get better at writing him!

Coming home to you after a case is one of Spencer's favorite things on this planet. Especially on nights like tonight where he comes home earlier than he said he would, catching you by surprise. 

He was lucky to feel this. To be able to leave everything that's been on his mind from the case at the door. All the stress and statistics about serial killers slides off of his shoulders, melting away with ease. It’s because he knows when he opens the front door a smell of a candle will fill his senses, sometimes dinner, and you’ll be there with a big smile just from seeing him. 

Another thing he was lucky to have. Someone being truly happy by just seeing him. You're big smile paired with his shirt you stole from your shared closet and shorts that should be considered underwear there's that short, not that Spencer minds of course. Yes, he has to get into the mind of horrible people or skip a Christmas but at the end of the day he comes home to you. The only word he can think of is lucky. 

So when he makes his way to the door, pushing his key into the lock there's already a smile on his face. He likes to take guesses at where he’s gonna find you. Maybe on the couch watching a show that he’ll get grumpy about because you said you could watch it together, or perhaps cooking dinner. He doesn't think you’re cooking dinner because it’s quite late, you've probably already eaten and got ready for bed. 

However, if there's one thing his job has spread to you, it’s a horrible sleep schedule. You will definitely still be up even at the late hour so it’s really a guessing game as to where you’ll be. Still Spencer guesses the couch. 

But before his eyes even make it to the couch his ears beat him. There's no sound coming from the TV, nothing from the kitchen. Matter of fact there's not even any lights on. So maybe work didn't leave him the second he walked through the door because his first thought was if someone was here. Someone who turned off all the lights and tv and even locked the door on the way out. But after a split second he tried to think rationally, y’know, how a normal human would think. 

“Babe?” He yelled out, but there was no reply. 

This whole time he was stuck by the front door, unable to move from the weird state he found himself in. But the need to find you unglued him, making his way to the office you two share. It’s really Spencer's office, filled with all of his books and files. However there was your big computer and awards from your job that filled the leftover space. A mix of both of you in one small room. 

When you weren't in there he thought to look in the bedroom. People go to bed early, you never do but there's a first time for everything. But as he opened the door the lights in this room were off as well. Flicking the switch to turn them on, he didn't find your body snuggled up in the covers. There was no sign that you had even been there since this morning when he kissed you goodbye, barely waking you up from your REM sleep to let you know he’s leaving. 

His last idea was to look into the bathroom, he had no hope for you to be in there but at this point you weren't anywhere to be seen so for him not to go crazy he gave in. 

And thankfully he did because there you were with your eyes closed, headphones on as you relaxed in the bathtub. The only source of light in there was a few candles and a night light plugged into the wall. You weren't even aware he had found you, let alone that he was even home yet. He was supposed to be gone for a few more hours. 

Spencer held his hand over his heart, feeling the severe beating that his heart was doing from the idea that you weren't home. Yet here you were safe and sound, not a single worry in the world. He could feel the pulse in his toes but once his body relaxes he tries to find a way to get your attention without scaring you. 

He could shut the door loudly hoping that would get your attention, or maybe knocking on it really loud. Or tapping you on the shoulder, however he feels like that wouldn't be too smart. In fact, he’d probably get wet. But maybe then he’d have a reason to get into the bath with you. 

As he stands there thinking you finally open your eyes. The yelp you let out knocks him out of his head and he even jumps. 

“Holy shit Spence, what are you doing?” Him watching over you was not what you were expecting to see. The water around you moves from your movement as you take off your headphones. 

“M’sorry I just found you in here but I was thinking of a way not to scare you.” Finally he can get close to you, lowering himself to be eye level with you. 

“Oh, well I mean it could have used some more thinking.” Your hair is up in a bun but there are still some pieces in the back that are curling from the steam of the water. You look really pretty in this lighting, skin all shiny and glowing. 

He lets out a smile which you immediately copy, happy to see him now that he’s here. “I know sorry.” It comes out sheepishly. “Why are all the lights off?” His hand rubs your knuckles that are holding onto the lip of the tub. 

“I had the worst headache, all the lights were making it worse.” You scoot your body to face him and it makes Spencer want to just jump in with you right now. 

“I’m sorry angel, why didn't you call to tell me? I could've come home.” This got him a laugh in response, no way you're gonna stop him from his work because you have a headache. 

“You have way more important things to do, plus you wouldn't have been able to do anything.” 

“Sorry, do you know you’re talking to the king of migraines?” 

“Well, yes I do! But I promise it really wasn't that bad, it’s already gone.” You're lying your head on his hand now and Spencer can't believe he hasn't gotten a kiss to greet him yet. 

“Since you're back to perfect health, kisses?” 

To meet his lips you lift yourself up a little and this is when Spencer remembers you have to be naked to take a bath. The bubbles stick to your skin just enough to tease him and your lips meet his before he could look anymore. His dry hand meets your dewy face and pulls you even closer, anymore and you’d fall out of the tub. Kneeling on your knees, a squeal comes out of you when you feel his other hand grab onto your waist. All this kissing is making you cold, the hot water no longer surrounding you. It’s what brings you back into the bubbles. 

“D’you wanna get ready for bed?” 

“Sure, can you get me a towel pretty please?” 

The only response you get is a head shake and a smile because how were you gonna get it if he wasn't here? Still he gets you one with no complaining. He can hear the water draining and you blowing out the candles that created the littlest bit of light in the bathroom. It’s not pitch black when he hands you the towel but it’s enough that he holds onto your arm to make sure you dont trip getting out of the tub. 

While you dry off Spencer turns the bedroom lights off and the small lamps on. Two cute lamps that sit on your side tables leaving a perfect warm hue to the room. He’s even kind enough to get you a cup of ice cold water. When you first started dating he would always tell you that the water temperature you liked would make you sweat everything out, leaving you dehydrated. It had something to do with the steam and heat but your mind couldn't quote the scientific explanation he gave you. 

When he comes back with the water the light in the bathroom is back and you’re doing your skin care. It makes him hurry to put the cup on the table to meet you there, knowing after this you brush your teeth, and you always brush your teeth together. 

“How was work?” You’re putting on some type of lotion, Spencer keeps making notes to himself to look at what type it is so he can look it up and figure out what about it is so good for it to be $70 but he always gets sidetracked. 

“It was good, Derek tripped today and spilt coffee all over himself, probably my favorite moment of the day.” He says as he sits on the lid of the toilet watching you. 

He tells you a little more about catching the killer and what his issue was, he never wants to tell you too much. You don't want to know the gory details and he doesn't want to bring them back up so it's a few questions then over with. Once you're done with the skin care you grab his toothbrush and get it ready for him, following up with your own. Both of you work in sync, multitasking as you slip your towel off to put underwear on while Spencer takes his shirt off. It doesn't take long for you to be ready for the night, turning off your lamp and getting into bed.  

Spencer keeps his on to read a little before he goes to bed but it doesn't stop you from snuggling up into him, your head laying in the crook of his neck. He can feel a little kiss you give his shoulder and in return he gives your forehead a kiss. 

“Can you read it out loud please?” It’s muffled from your mouth smooshed into his shoulder but he understands what you said. 

He gets through a whole chapter till he feels a change in your breathing. Another chapter is read but this time in his head before he decides it’s time to get some sleep himself. As he looks at you dead asleep Spencer can't help but think of himself as the luckiest man alive. 

[moonpiies]

jealous. clingy. katsuki.

reader comforts him. FLUFF!

yo i haven’t written here in a hot minute. i’m lowkey considering writing a fic for bkg on wp but im not sure yet😭 also, im planning on changing my theme too cause ive had this pink one for far too long now

also my requests are open, so PLEASE request😭🙏🏾

“did you hear what i said?” you asked as you sat next to katsuki in the living room of the common area. you both were completing a graded assignment due tomorrow.

“yeah, i did.” he nodded.

“so you’re coming?”

“who’s going?”

“just izuku and i.” you spoke and he pursed his lips together before grunting. for a moment, you thought you saw a vein pop in his neck as he flipped his page almost aggressively.

“no, i’m not going.” he grunted as he shifted on the wooden chair a bit to get more comfortable.

“are you sure?” you asked with a raised eyebrow, “because the last time you said no, you—”

“i remember what happened.” he insisted with a scoff, “i’m not going.” he reiterated, barely glancing at you while he wrote on the assignment sheet.

nodding, you went back to your work so you could finish it up in time for your hangout with izuku later.

you returned back to the dorms around 9 pm. katsuki was probably asleep by then but nonetheless, you decided to check up on him.

knocking on his door, you patiently waited for him to open it. when you got no response, you spun around on your heels, ready to leave before he suddenly opened the door and tugged you inside his room.

“did you just get back?” he gruffly asked, crossing his arms as he stood in front do you.

“i—yes, i didn’t expect us to be out that late.” you said and he clicked his tongue.

“i don’t know why you keep hanging out with that loser. he’s not worth your time, honestly,—”

apart from the fact that your boyfriend was on another rant about many of the reasons as to why you shouldn’t hang out with izuku, you realized something else:

jealously.

bakugo katsuki was many things, but jealous was not one of them. he prided himself to not be envious of others so this was shocking yet a bit comedic.

“are you jealous?” you asked, interrupting his rant. a grin formed on your face as you watched his features grow distasteful.

“no.” he sternly said as his cheeks flushed with pink, “i don’t have any reason to be jealous of that nerd—”

“aw, you are!” you giggled softly, “kats, you don’t have to be jealous.” you added as you rested a hand on his cheek, “i like you, and only you.” you continued and he left of a strangled huff, reluctantly leaning into your touch.

you felt as he leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips as he calmed down a bit. it was still a bit funny but you refrained from laughing even more.

because who knew the great explosion murder god dynamite would be jealous over a simple hang out?

[whatgaviiformes]

Okay sure! Just to prove I am still somewhat around. Thanks for the tag, my friend.

Favorite colors: It changes, depending on the scenario. Burgundy for clothes, yellow just because, blue for most things, green especially if it has blue in it. Lavender lately because it reminds me of the fragrance.

Currently reading: Yuri on Ice!!! fanfiction. The Apothecary Diaries mangas

Last song: I don't know the exact song (I know *gasp*), but I've been listening to a lot of Avicii lately.

Last Film: umm... I'm about to go see the HTTYD live action tonight? It's probably a more accurate answer than trying to guess the last movie.

Sweet/Salty/Sour: Yes, but I can skip the sour. Sweet and salty, separate or together.

Tea or Coffee: Mostly coffee, but I'll have the occasional tea. I love a sweetened iced tea in the summer.

Working on: mostly ffxiv progress, but I've been slowly easing back into finding inspiration in my hobbies again. No promises on writing - maybe here or there - but I've been sitting here staring at my yarn stash for awhile trying to make project ideas. If you have any send them my way. :)

I've been a little out of fandom lately, so if you would like to have a go consider yourself tagged. Tell me about yourself!

Get to know your mutuals!

*grabs mic and clears throat* Thank you so much @jintaka-hane and @igiulss for tagging me! I love these things and I love you girls! ❤️

Favorite Colors: Black, purple, and red. I was a bit of a goth teen, and my favorite colors never really got to change 😎

Currently Reading: SMUT! *snort* I used to care a lot about what I read, trying to stick to 'good literature' and the classics and all, but I'm now at a stage of my life where I stoped giving a f*ck and now I read what the hell I feel like. Judgment be damned. So I'm going through the ACOTAR series, devouring them like a madwoman. I have Edgar Allan Poe's short stories giving me the stink eye from my nightstand, and I might use him as a palate cleanser after!

Last Song: Oh, I've been cranking the Imperfect soundtrack I created on Spotify to get me in the mood for the next chapter, and the last one that played was, curiously enough, Imperfect by Stone Sour. I can't get enough of Corey Taylor, that man is a God!

Last Film: I barely watch any TV. I read and write in my spare time, so the last movie I saw was in the movie theatre and I took my son, so we got to see the live action of Lilo & Stitch! I enjoyed it a lot! 🥰

Sweet/Salty/Sour: All of them???? I mean... I can't choose! I have a very sweet tooth, but I love sour things... and salty snacks? UGH! Why are you doing this to me??? Gun to the head: sweet!

Tea or Coffee: Coffee. 100% coffee. Expressos, please. Or how we call it here in Portugal: bica. Actually was discussing this with Giuls just yesterday. I need at least 4 of them on a daily basis. 😍

Working On: Too many things at the same time, actually 😆 I'm working on Imperfect, Kid's Meet-Cute and I'm also throwing a few paragraphs for chapter 2 of All of Yourself, as well as trying to plan and write a very challenging longfic for my main account with ships like: SaNami, LawBin, Ace&Vivi and ZoTash.

I'm going to tag *checks to see who hasn't been tagged yet* @physics-of-one-piece @laidenbreecatchall @isabeauwolf and anyone else who wants to jump in on the fun wagon!

[moonstruckme]

Hiya Mae can I please request something with reader falling asleep on Spencer or even vice versa. I feel like you would write it so dearly

Thank you angel <3

Spencer Reid x bau!reader ♡ 538 words

The sunset is sinking below an ocean of wispy cirrus clouds, setting them ablaze in fiery orange. It’s breathtaking, but Spencer shuts his window. He doesn’t want it to get in your eyes. 

Yours is a quieter sort of loveliness. Lashes casting their delicate shadows over your cheeks, mouth open just a hair, the soft whistle of your breaths moving in and out of it. Spencer would choose your kind any day. 

The whistle, he suspects, is due to some congestion on your part. It’s bound to happen sometimes—even as used to it as you all are, the immune system doesn’t take well to the schedules your team often has to keep on a case. Spencer flies home in the middle of catching something every few months, too, it’s one of the many, though lesser, hazards of your job. He noticed you looking a bit worn earlier today. He wasn’t the only one either, but JJ’s concern had felt like mother henning to you, and you don’t tend to like that. Spencer tried a subtler approach. 

If you were less exhausted, you probably would have realized what he was doing. There are much more pressing aspects of your case to review than the tiniest, most banal aspects of each crime scene, and cataloguing those after your unsub has been caught is mostly pointless, but it worked as it was meant to. You’d dozed off, getting the rest you’ve so desperately needed for the past few days, while Spencer was still going over cement types and mixtures. 

That you’d dozed off on Spencer’s shoulder wasn’t part of his plan, but he’s not upset about it. 

Emily’s lips tug upward as she sees you on her way to the coffee pot in the back of the jet. “Glad she’s getting some sleep,” she chuckles. “Think we could all use it after that one.” 

A low vibration against Spencer’s shoulder alerts him to the change. It comes from a sound pulled from your unconscious, an unwilling little hum as you start to rouse. He puts a hand to your head reflexively. 

“It’s okay. It’s okay, go to sleep. I’ll wake you up when we’re home.” 

This is more of an impulse than a plan but regardless it’s destined to fail. You’ll hear Spencer’s voice—a different voice than he’s ever heard himself use, by the way, light and soft as dandelion fluff—and compel yourself the rest of the way to wakefulness, too proud to fall asleep on anyone and too stubborn to leave Spencer to do the “work” he’d made up alone. 

He’s not expecting for you to settle. But you do. You let your cheek sink back down onto Spencer’s shoulder with a sweet little breath that hushes his anxieties to nothing. You’re breathing evenly again before Emily has finished pouring her coffee. 

She tucks her lips in as she goes by a second time, giving Spencer a look like the front of the jet is going to be gossiping about you now, but he really doesn’t care. He relaxes his shoulders a bit, slowly. You don’t stir. He’s not confident to move his hand from your head and expect the same result, but that’s okay; he wouldn’t want to anyway.

[stewpidcheescatarinabluu]

Synopsis: You were a lazy genius with no direction, she was a clumsy film student who believed in green being lucky. Paired up for a short film project, the lines between fiction and feeling blurred.

Word Count: 10K+

Kim Minjeong X Male Reader

They say when you know everything — when you’re good at everything — life gets boring.

You used to think, That can’t be true. No one’s perfect enough to make life boring.

But man, they were right.

It was a gloomy afternoon. The kind where the sky looks tired, and everyone else looks more awake than you feel. You were in lecture — something about production, probably, but your mind had wandered.

Your pen was doing all the work, sketching dynamic camera angles across the edge of your notebook. Overhead. Dutch tilt. Fisheye for emotional depth. You labeled them like you were prepping for a scene no one asked for. Cinematic. Romance. Distance.

“Y/N, are you listening?”

“Yes, miss.”

She asked you something — technical, sharp. You barely blinked. “You start with the rough sync in Premiere, then fine-tune using waveform alignment. That way, you avoid phantom cuts during grading.”

Silence, then a nod. She moved on. You stayed still.

You weren’t arrogant. Just detached. Because when everything comes easy, nothing feels earned. And when nothing feels earned, nothing feels real.

You looked down at your sketches again. The framing was perfect.

But the page was still empty.

Still waiting for something worth capturing.

The lecture finally wrapped up — or at least, the professor seemed to think so.

“Okay class, now that the lecture’s over, I have an announcement to make.”

Those words — if you were a normal person — would probably raise your heartbeat. A new project? Surprise exam? Pop quiz, maybe?

But you? Your pulse didn’t even flicker. You just kept scribbling more dynamic camera angles, blending ideas, thinking maybe this time you’d find something new in a technique you already mastered.

“Meet our new transfer, Kim Minjeong,” the professor said proudly, practically beaming. “Come in, honey!”

The door creaked open.

Then a thud.

She hadn’t even made it into the room before tripping flat on her face. A gasp rippled across the classroom.

You looked up — mildly curious, more out of habit than actual concern — and that’s when you saw her. Kim Minjeong. On the ground, brushing dust off her uniform like she’d done it a hundred times before.

“H-hello everyone!! I’m Kim Minjeong! I like the color green, and I love to watch movies and make— and—and—um—”

Your first thought?

What a mess.

“And that’s cute, honey,” the professor smiled, completely unfazed. “You can go sit beside Y/N over there by the window.”

Of course.

You watched her carry her big-ass backpack — which looked like it weighed more than she did — all the way across the room until she dropped into the seat beside you

“Hey, I’m Minjeong. Nice to meet you,” she said, finally settling into the seat beside you. She offered her hand with a small, hopeful smile.

You didn’t look up. “Y/N.”

No handshake. No expression. Just your pen continuing to dance across the page.

A second later, a tap landed on Minjeong’s shoulder.

“Hello, Minjeong! I’m Karina, but you can call me Rina!” said the girl behind her, taking the still-hanging hand like it was meant for her all along. She leaned forward, gaze flicking to you as she added, “Don’t mind him. He’s the apathetic loner.”

“Oh…” Minjeong blinked. “It’s nice to meet you, Karina.”

Before she could process more, the professor clapped their hands. “You can take your lunch now,” they said, walking out.

Minjeong turned slightly toward you. “Are you gonna eat someth—”

“Let’s go, Minjeong!” Karina beamed, cutting her off and looping an arm through hers like they’d been friends forever.

You didn’t look up. You were already on your third paper, trying — and failing — to write the perfect script for the upcoming annual film festival.

Minjeong hesitated, but followed.

As they walked down the hallway, Minjeong glanced back once. “Is he always like that?” she asked quietly.

Karina shrugged. “Yeah. But he’s always top of the class, and everyone still wants him for group work. Like… literally wants him. Romantically, too.”

“Oh,” Minjeong said, cheeks puffing a little. “He doesn’t seem like the type.”

Karina laughed. “Exactly. That’s the problem.”

The cafeteria was louder than Minjeong expected — trays clattering, metal chairs dragging, someone in the back loudly ranking their favorite directors like it was gospel.

Karina led her through the crowd like a pro, weaving past cliques and couples before settling at a window-side table with a decent view of the campus trees. She sat down and immediately opened her juice box like a child.

Minjeong poked at her food, watching the cheesy fries on her tray go cold. Across from her, Karina was happily peeling the lid off a yogurt like they weren’t surrounded by exhausted students and cafeteria noise.

“So,” Minjeong started, “what’s the deal with Y/N?”

Karina smirked without looking up. “Straight to the main dish, huh?”

Minjeong laughed nervously. “Sorry. He’s just… really quiet. And kinda scary.”

“He’s not scary,” Karina said. “Just intense. In the most emotionally detached way possible.”

Minjeong blinked. “That’s comforting.”

Karina took a spoonful of yogurt, then leaned forward. “Okay. Let me give you the crash course.”

“Crash course?”

“Welcome to Film School, sweetheart,” Karina grinned. “Rule number one: the louder someone is about their ‘vision,’ the less they know how to actually execute it. Rule number two: never trust anyone who edits on their phone. Ever.”

Minjeong nodded, seriously taking mental notes.

“And rule number three…” Karina lowered her voice, dramatic. “Every class has that one guy.”

“The prodigy?”

“No. Worse. The apathetic genius who doesn’t try, doesn’t talk, and somehow still wins every award without blinking.”

“…Y/N.”

“Bingo.” Karina tapped her spoon against the table. “He doesn’t do small talk. Doesn’t like noise. He zones out in class, doodles shot lists during lectures, and still ends up setting the grading curve.

Minjeong glanced down. “He didn’t even shake my hand.”

“Yeah, he doesn’t really do people either.”

“That makes me feel slightly better.”

“But,” Karina added, mouth half-full of fries, “he’s not mean. Just… disinterested. Like he’s always watching the world through a lens no one else sees.”

Minjeong tilted her head. “So he’s like… filming even when he’s not?

“Exactly.” Karina pointed at her like that’s the one. “He says the world’s too predictable. But I think he’s just scared to care about things he can’t control.”

“…That’s kind of deep.”

Karina grinned. “Well, it’s film school. We’re all a little dramatic.”

Minjeong smiled softly. “So what do you think of him?”

Karina paused, then shrugged. “I think he’s brilliant. Exhausting, but brilliant. And if you’re his partner now… good luck.”

“Why?”

“Because if he lets you in even a little?” Karina said, eyes narrowing like she knew something. “You’re gonna have a hard time forgetting him.”

She found you in the hallway, right where Karina said you’d be — sitting on the floor outside the editing lab, notebook on your knee, pen in your hand, earphones on but not playing anything.

“Hey,” Minjeong said, standing in front of you, her voice light, unsure.

You didn’t look up. Just kept writing.

“I just—uh,” she hesitated, “Karina said we might be working together for future projects. Or like, maybe group stuff? So I thought I’d… introduce myself again. Properly.”

Still nothing.

“I know I was kinda all over the place earlier,” she laughed softly, nervously, “and you probably think I’m an idiot—”

“I don’t,” you said, finally.

She blinked. “Wait, you don’t?”

You looked up. Briefly. “I don’t think about you.”

Oh.

That hit a little harder than she expected.

She stood there for a second, lips parted like she had more to say, but couldn’t find it.

“Well,” she cleared her throat, shifting her bag, “maybe one day I’ll say something worth thinking about.”

You didn’t answer.

Didn’t nod.

Didn’t look up again.

You just went back to writing like she’d never been there.

And still, for some reason, she didn’t walk away right away.

She stood there in the silence you created, in the space between disinterest and disappointment

Then finally, with a soft sigh — she left

And only then, once her footsteps had faded down the hall…

You paused your pen for just one second.

Then kept writing

The next day, Karina found Minjeong hunched over a half-eaten chicken sandwich at the same cafeteria window, eyes wide with disbelief.

“You look like someone just told you Santa isn’t real,” Karina said, sitting across from her.

Minjeong dropped her sandwich like it personally betrayed her. “Okay. So. I tried.”

Karina raised a brow. “With who?”

Minjeong stared.

“Oh.” Karina smirked. “Him.”

“I tried talking to Y/N yesterday after lunch and it was like talking to a brick wall. No—worse. At least bricks don’t look bored when you talk to them.”

Karina laughed, stealing one of her fries. “What did he say?”

Minjeong threw her hands up. “I introduced myself again and tried to, like, be normal? Friendly? And you know what he said?”

Karina leaned in. “Hit me.”

“He said, ‘I don’t think about you.’” Minjeong looked personally attacked.

Karina choked on her drink. “Oof.”

“Right?!” Minjeong slumped dramatically in her seat. “Like—I get it, he’s mysterious, cold, genius-level brooding or whatever—but what the hell?”

Karina nodded slowly. “To be fair… that’s one of the longer things he’s said to anyone in a week.”

“That wasn’t comforting.”

“I’m just saying. That’s basically a full conversation in Y/N-speak.”

Minjeong narrowed her eyes. “You told me he was brilliant.’ Not emotionally constipated.”

“I said he was exhausting but brilliant,” Karina corrected, sipping her juice. “You heard what you wanted to hear.”

Minjeong groaned, burying her face in her arms. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Why do I care so much? He didn’t even do anything.”

“Exactly,” Karina said, smiling. “He never does anything. That’s the whole Y/N experience.”

Minjeong peeked up. “He’s so annoying.”

Karina grinned. “And yet, you’re still talking about him.”

Minjeong opened her mouth to protest.

Then closed it.

“…Whatever.”

The buzz from lunch hadn’t even died down when the professor walked back in and erased the board.

Everyone was still settling into their seats, unfinished conversations and half-drunk milk teas in hand, when the professor clapped her hands once — loud.

“Alright, listen up. Surprise activity.”

That got everyone quiet.

“A 30% mini-group project. I’m assigning teams.”

Groans followed immediately.

“You’ll be creating a short single-scene film. Four people per team. You have until dismissal — four hours. Direct, block, shoot, and submit a final cut. No audio design, just natural sound. No color grading. One angle, but you can move the camera.”

Everyone sat up straighter.

Minjeong glanced at Karina. “I don’t even know how to open Premiere properly.”

“You’re fine,” Karina whispered, then smirked. “Unless you get stuck with Y/N.”

“Group One: Karina, Minjeong, Jeno, Seulgi.”

Minjeong exhaled.

“Group Two: Y/N,” the professor continued, followed by three more names no one reacted to — classmates even Minjeong hadn’t realized were in the room.

Karina leaned in. “Background NPCs.

COURTYARD.

Minjeong’s group picked the bench under the trees. Everyone was talking, throwing around silly concepts and half-formed plots. Karina had already sketched a mood board on a napkin.

But it was Minjeong who looked past them — across the courtyard — to you.

You were already setting up your camera. Quiet. Clean. Controlled.

Not a word wasted.

The girl in your group was fumbling with her lines. You gave her a gentle but firm cue. “Look off-frame. Think about loss. Don’t perform. Just remember.”

The boy holding the tripod dropped it once — flinched — but you didn’t yell. You just took it, adjusted it with a precision that didn’t belong in this school.

Everything you did felt intentional.

Minjeong was frozen mid-sip of her drink.

Karina noticed. “Mesmerizing, isn’t it?”

“He’s a totally different person on set,” Minjeong muttered.

Karina chuckled. “Told you. He only speaks one language — film.”

Minjeong watched you frame the shot, lower yourself to the gravel for a low angle, motion silently for someone to move a prop out of frame… then call “Cut” so softly it made everyone freeze.

Even from far away, you didn’t look like a student.

You looked like a director. A real one.

And then — the wildest part — you offered a water bottle to the girl in your group, even helped her tie her hair after a gust of wind ruined a clean take.

Minjeong blinked.

“…Was that him being nice?”

Karina smirked. “Told you. Terrifying, right?”

Minjeong couldn’t take her eyes off you.

Karina elbowed her. “Still think he’s just an apathetic jerk?”

“…Yes,” Minjeong said.

But she couldn’t stop watching.

LATE AFTERNOON. HALLWAY LIGHTS HUMMING.

“You know you don’t actually have to walk me all the way home every day, right?” Minjeong said, hugging her tote to her chest.

Karina shrugged beside her, sipping from her boxed juice. “It’s either that or watching Seulgi and Jeno flirt over boom mics again.”

Minjeong laughed softly.

They reached the end of the hall when Minjeong suddenly gasped. “Crap—I left my notebook. The yellow one. With the doodles and the stupid script prompt ideas.”

Karina waved her off. “Go. I’ll wait outside.”

BACK IN THE CLASSROOM.

The room was half-lit, still and echoing, like time forgot it.

Minjeong pushed open the door slowly. Her shoes made the lightest squeak on the floor, but you didn’t look up.

You were on the ground, surrounded by crumpled pages and half-drained thoughts. Fingers blackened by pen ink, hair falling over your eyes. Scribbles on paper, barely legible: lines that didn’t quite say what you meant.

She paused. “Sorry. I forgot my notebook.”

Still no reply.

She spotted it on the front desk and quietly made her way over. But before she could leave, something on the floor caught her eye:

“She lives in a house made of plastic. Nothing breaks. Nothing breathes.”

Another:

“Wears her out. Wears her out. Wears her out.”

Minjeong knelt, half-reading, half-trying not to intrude.

“Those are good,” she said gently.

You shook your head. “They’re nothing.”

“They sound like something.”

A pause.

Minjeong sat on the edge of the nearest chair, looking at the chaos you made. “It kind of reminds me of a song.”

You raised an eyebrow, barely. “What song?”

“‘Fake Plastic Trees.’ Radiohead. You probably already know it.”

You did. Of course you did. But something about her saying it — something about her making that connection — landed different.

She kept talking. “Like… people pretending to be okay. Loving things they’re supposed to love. Everything soft and shiny but… hollow.”

Your pen stopped moving.

She smiled a little, self-conscious. “Anyway. That was random. I’m just rambling now. Sorry.”

But you looked at her — really looked at her —for the first time.

Like a glitch in the system just caught your attention.

Like someone had slipped something real into the script without warning.

“…That’s not nothing,” you murmured.

She blinked. “Huh?”

You stood, finally brushing hair out of your eyes. “That idea. It’s not nothing.”

Minjeong looked around at the mess, at the pages you threw out like trash.

And for once, you weren’t pushing her away.

You were remembering her.

She left soon after, but this time…

You watched her go.

And later, when you turned to a blank page again, you wrote:

“a girl made of plastic learns how to feel.”

Inspired by a stranger who saw through it all

THE NEXT DAY.

You were five minutes early to class.

Not because you cared.

Because for some reason, you kept thinking about her.

Minjeong.

The way she said “Fake Plastic Trees” like it was a secret she wasn’t sure she should share. The way her eyes softened when she saw your mess but didn’t look away.

You sat by the window, sketching frame boxes in your notebook again. Only this time, the lead of your pencil kept drifting.

Back to her.

She entered the room with Karina, her laugh too loud, her hands full of iced coffee and a keychain swinging off her bag. The sun caught the green in her earrings.

You watched her.

Not on purpose.

Just… long enough to realize you weren’t blinking.

She waved to someone she barely knew. Made a heart with her fingers when a girl complimented her shoes. Said “Hi!” like she meant it every time.

You didn’t understand her.

But you couldn’t stop writing her into every frame.

Later, when the professor announced another short group work — blocking out shots from a given script — Minjeong got paired with someone else.

She looked disappointed for half a second.

You noticed.

When she moved to the other side of the room, her laugh echoed faintly behind you. You looked down at your storyboard.

One of the characters looked like her now.

You hadn’t even meant to do that.

Karina passed by and raised a brow. “What’s that look on your face?”

You didn’t respond. Just flipped the page, annoyed.

Still — when you looked over again, she was there, standing under the fluorescent lights, awkwardly holding a tripod the wrong way.

THE NEXT WEEK (WEDNESDAY)

The professor dropped a new group assignment on the board:

“Recreate a 60-second scene from an existing film. Your choice of genre. Single take.”

Groups scrambled into corners of the room. Laptops opened. Shot lists started forming on the backs of scratch paper and Starbucks napkins.

Minjeong sat cross-legged on the floor with Karina and two other classmates, trying to figure out how to frame a noir-style diner scene with zero budget and a chair that wouldn’t stop squeaking.

She was talking, waving her hands excitedly, trying to explain a shot she saw once in a Wong Kar-wai film.

And no one was listening.

You weren’t supposed to care.

But from your spot near the equipment shelf, you heard her say, “It’s okay, I’ll just figure it out somehow,” and something in your chest clicked wrong.

You stood up.

Walked over.

Dropped a roll of gaffer tape and a small external mic in front of her.

She blinked. “…What?”

“You’re gonna need cleaner audio if you’re shooting a single take with overlapping dialogue,” you said, not looking directly at her. “Also, your tripod’s too loose. Use Karina’s phone stabilizer. She won’t offer. Just take it.”

The group went silent.

You turned away just as casually as you arrived.

“Wait—” she stood up halfway. “Why are you—”

You didn’t stop walking. “Just don’t make it ugly.”

Minjeong stood there, stunned, the mic in her hand, like you’d just given her the final piece of a puzzle she didn’t even realize you’d been helping solve.

Karina smirked from behind her straw. “Told you. He listens.”

Minjeong looked down at the equipment.

And for the first time —

She smiled to herself.

EDITING LAB. LATE EVENING.

The hallway was dim. Just the hum of the lights and the low buzz of computers behind the glass.

You weren’t even supposed to be there.

You forgot your flash drive. Or maybe, deep down, you didn’t forget anything at all.

You spotted her through the window before she noticed you — Minjeong, hunched over her monitor, hoodie falling off one shoulder, face lit by the harsh blue of Adobe Premiere.

And she was struggling.

Dragging clips. Cutting them. Undoing. Redoing. Nothing was syncing the way she wanted. Her cursor trembled slightly with every move, like even her hands were second-guessing her.

You leaned on the doorway silently.

She let out a small frustrated sound, whispered under her breath, “I don’t get it. I don’t get any of this…”

And then, almost too softly for even herself to believe—

“…I wish Y/N was here.”

You should’ve walked away.

You didn’t.

Instead, your fingers twitched.

You knocked once — soft.

She turned. Startled. Eyes wide.

“…You’re here,” she said, voice small, unsure.

You walked over without a word.

Pulled up a chair beside her.

She blinked. “Wait—are you actually—”

“Move over.”

She did.

You leaned in, not speaking much, just pointing, adjusting, scrubbing through the timeline. The silence between you was thick, but not empty.

It was filled with something unspoken.

She watched your hands move — not with arrogance, but control. Ease. The same scary precision she saw on set. Only this time… it was helping her.

“…You didn’t have to,” she said quietly, eyes not leaving the screen.

You paused.

“I know.”

She waited for you to say more. But you didn’t.

Because even now — even here, right beside her — you couldn’t admit it.

That she was the only person you couldn’t not help.

That her mess was the only one that didn’t annoy you.

That she was the first person who made this fake, plastic world feel like something worth fixing.

You didn’t say any of that.

But your silence said enough.

And she smiled, just a little — not at the screen.

At you.

LUNCHTIME. CAFETERIA. NEXT DAY.

Minjeong slammed her tray down across from Karina, nearly spilling her soup.

Karina didn’t even flinch. “Wow. That good of a morning, huh?”

“You will not believe what happened yesterday.”

Karina raised an eyebrow. “You got cast as the main girl in a short film directed by your future boyfriend?”

Minjeong blinked. “No! …I mean. Wait—NO!”

Karina smirked. “So something happened with Y/N.”

Minjeong immediately leaned in, voice dropping to a dramatic whisper. “He helped me edit. Karina. He helped me edit.”

Karina blinked. “…He touched your timeline?”

“HE TOUCHED MY TIMELINE.”

She practically squealed, slapping the table once.

“I was just—stressed and dying and everything looked like trash and he showed up! Like—he just appeared out of nowhere. He sat beside me. And didn’t even say anything mean?? He just—helped.”

Karina stared.

“Y/N?” she said slowly. “Tall. Dead behind the eyes. Wears the same hoodie every day?”

Minjeong nodded, eyes wide. “Exactly!”

“…And he didn’t insult your shot composition?”

“No! He said—he just said ‘move over.’ And then he fixed it!”

Minjeong stabbed her fork into her rice dramatically. “I swear he has some kind of editing god hands. Like I blinked and my cuts were suddenly CLEAN. The transitions? Seamless. He even added markers?? Who adds markers for someone else?!”

Karina looked at her, chewing thoughtfully.

“You like him.”

“What?! No! I mean—he’s just, you know. He’s interesting. And… he’s kinda nice. In a really not-nice way.”

Karina smirked. “You’re blushing.”

Minjeong covered her cheeks with both hands. “I hate you.”

Karina just sipped her drink. “You’re doomed. Just wait till he starts quoting obscure French directors in casual conversation.”

Minjeong groaned. “I already googled cinéma vérité last night just in case.”

They both burst into laughter.

But beneath it — just for a second — Minjeong looked down at her tray, a tiny smile still stuck to her lips.

She wasn’t just laughing.

She was starting to feel something.

Something real.

BACK IN CLASS. LATER THAT WEEK.

The professor stood in front of the board again, holding a stack of cue cards and a terrifyingly smug smile.

“This week’s challenge: Scene recreation. Genre-specific. Two-person teams.”

Groans echoed around the room.

“Randomly assigned. Genres are on the back of each card.”

Minjeong, mid-sip of her iced tea, choked.

Karina immediately grinned. “Oh, this is gonna be good.”

Names started flying.

“Jeno and Seulgi… Action.”

“Karina and Irene… Thriller.”

“Taeyong and Wendy… Horror.”

Then the professor paused.

“Y/N and… Minjeong.”

Silence.

Minjeong blinked once. Froze.

Then—

“And your genre…”

The professor flipped the card.

“…Romance.”

A few scattered “Ooooh”s erupted around the room.

Karina visibly slapped the table from across the aisle, already wheezing.

Minjeong looked at you. You were already looking at her — not surprised, not annoyed. Just quiet. Eyes unreadable.

Your pen was spinning between your fingers.

No reaction

She swallowed. “Romance?

“Romance,” the professor repeated, a little too cheerfully. “You’ll pick a scene to recreate. Something with tension. Emotion. Physical cues.”

Minjeong’s hands were sweating.

And you? You just stood up, grabbed your notebook, and nodded once.

“…We’ll figure something out.”

LATER. EMPTY STAIRWELL. GROUP DISCUSSION.

You both sat across from each other — a safe two feet apart — notebooks open, phones on Do Not Disturb.

Minjeong was trying so hard to stay professional.

“So I was thinking something like Your Name? Or like, a classic rooftop confession. You know, not too cheesy, just—emotional.”

You nodded slowly. “Mm.”

She watched your face.

You were listening.

Actually listening.

“…Or something more modern? Like a park bench scene? Quiet. Simple. Intimate.”

Still no reply.

Just a slight crease between your brows — not annoyance.

Focus.

And for a second, she forgot how to breathe.

“…Y/N?”

You looked up, and your voice came out soft.

“We’ll write our own.”

“What?”

You flipped to a blank page. “Everyone’s gonna recreate something that already exists. Let’s make something that feels like it doesn’t.”

She stared at you — that familiar ache in your eyes, the one she saw in the editing lab.

The one that’s starting to look like feeling.

You clicked your pen once.

“Let’s write the scene we’d want someone to remember us by.”

Minjeong’s heart practically screamed.

“…Okay,” she whispered.

And just like that,

you became the love story

neither of you saw coming.

LATE AFTERNOON. EMPTY CLASSROOM.

Desks pushed to the back. One camera set up. Window light pouring in, golden and warm.

You were seated on the edge of the teacher’s table, flipping through your handwritten script. Minjeong stood a few feet away, clutching her copy, cheeks already a little pink for no reason.

“Okay,” she said, taking a deep breath. “So this is the part where my character confesses.”

You nodded. “Right. But you’re nervous. Like you’ve practiced this a hundred times in your head but now that I’m actually in front of you, it’s different.”

She looked at you.

You looked at her.

And then she blinked rapidly and looked anywhere else.

“O-okay. Got it.”

Karina sat in the back, sipping iced coffee like she paid to watch this.

“Alright. From the top,” you said.

Minjeong took a step closer, holding her breath. “I… I don’t know when it started. But lately, every time I see you, it’s like—like everything else disappears. I tried not to feel it. I really did. But…”

You looked up at her. Calm. Patient.

She swallowed. “But I think I… I like you.”

You let the silence sit.

Then, smoothly, with zero hesitation,

you said:

“…Then stop trying not to.”

Minjeong blinked. “Huh—?”

You stood, slow and deliberate, stepping just a little closer.

“If it’s me,” you said, eyes never leaving hers,

“then say it again. Say it like you mean it. Just once.”

Her jaw dropped slightly.

“I—”

Her entire face flushed. Red. Bright, obvious, betrayal-of-the-body blushing.

Karina nearly choked on her coffee. “Oh my GOD.”

Minjeong covered her face with the script. “WHAT WAS THAT?!”

You tilted your head, the smallest smirk pulling at your lip. “Was I off-script?”

“YES—NO—I DON’T KNOW?!”

Karina was fully curled up in the back, whispering to herself:

“Damn. He can act?”

Minjeong peeked over her paper, glaring. “That wasn’t acting.”

You blinked. “Wasn’t it?”

She made a sound between a gasp and a squeak, spinning away dramatically.

Karina tossed popcorn she didn’t even have.

And you?

You sat back on the desk again, watching her.

Still unreadable.

But maybe…just a little amused

“PHEWWWW.”

Minjeong slumped back in her chair, stretching dramatically like she just ran a marathon. Her laptop whirred in the background, the last clip finally rendering.

She turned to you with the brightest grin. “Finally! Just a little more editing and we got ourselves a scene.”

You didn’t even flinch. “Yeah. Let’s go to my place.”

“…HUH?!”

She nearly fell out of her chair.

You glanced at her, completely unfazed. “Computer’s faster. Screen’s bigger. I have speakers.”

“That’s not the—!” she sputtered. “You can’t just invite someone to your place that casually?!”

You stood, already gathering your hard drive and cable like this wasn’t a big deal at all.

“Be there. 7PM.”

“I—WHAT IF I HAVE PLANS?!”

You raised an eyebrow. “Do you?”

“…No.”

You walked past her with your usual quiet ease, brushing past like a breeze she didn’t see coming.

Before you exited, you looked back once.

“Bring your scenes. And your script. We’ll finalize the shot order too.”

Then you were gone.

Minjeong stared at the doorway for a full ten seconds before turning to the empty lab around her.

“…Did I just get invited to his secret film cave???”

Her face burned red. She buried it in her hands.

Outside, your footsteps were already disappearing down the hallway.

The clock ticked right before 7PM

Minjeong stepped inside quietly, gripping her hard drive like it was a peace offering.

She expected… mess.

A tangled jungle of wires. A floor covered in scribbled scripts and hoodies. Maybe a mattress on the floor with no frame.

What she didn’t expect was this.

Bookshelves lined with photography books. A clean desk with dual monitors and an audio interface set up like a sacred altar. Warm lighting — not harsh white LEDs, but golden, like dusk caught in a bottle.

But the thing that made her stop walking?

The wall.

Movie posters.

Carefully pinned, all original sizes. Vintage gloss.

Framed like a love letter to romance itself:

La La Land.

How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days.

500 Days of Summer.

To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before.

The Notebook.

The Perks of Being a Wallflower.

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.

Minjeong’s jaw dropped.

“You’re… a rom-com guy?” she said, turning to you with a mix of surprise and delight.

You didn’t look up from booting the software. “I like stories that hurt a little.”

She blinked. “But—you???”

You motioned for her to sit. “Don’t overthink it. You coming or not?”

Still stunned, she walked over, sitting beside you on the floor — your desk chair already occupied by a slouched denim jacket and a film slate.

You clicked open Premiere.

Her project loaded up instantly.

You didn’t say much, just gestured. “Let’s make it better.”

She watched as you cleaned up the cuts, realigned the audio, adjusted color tones like it was second nature. The footage suddenly looked intentional. Warm. Honest.

“You really care about this, huh?” she asked softly.

You paused.

Then, without looking at her:

“More than I show.”

She didn’t speak for a beat.

Then:

“I didn’t think you liked love stories.”

You clicked one last time, leaned back, and said:

“Only when they feel real.”

Minjeong’s breath hitched, just a little.

You didn’t notice. Or maybe you did.

You just handed her the headphones.

“Watch it back. See what you think.”

She slid them on, pressed play.

And the two of you sat there in silence —

not quite touching.

But impossibly close.

And behind her, the poster for Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind caught the low lamp light just right.

THE NEXT DAY. 10:03 AM. CLASSROOM BUZZING.

The lights hadn’t even fully turned on yet. Students trickled in with eye bags, lukewarm coffee, and hoodies pulled over their heads.

And then — like wildfire:

“YO. Y/N AND MINJEONG???”

“DID THEY ACTUALLY CONFESS?!”

“BRO THAT WAS TOO REAL.”

Minjeong walked in, unaware at first — until she heard her name everywhere.

“…Huh?”

Karina was already waiting at her desk, grinning like a devil. “You’re trending.”

“What?”

Karina pulled out her phone.

Play.

Y/N: “Then stop trying not to.”

He takes a step closer, voice soft but certain.

“If it’s me, say it again. Say it like you mean it. Just once.”

Minjeong: visibly shaking “I—I think I like you.”

Beat.

Y/N: “I like you, too.”

The class exploded.

“THE DELIVERY???”

“He looked at her like she hung the moon???”

“I THOUGHT IT WAS REAL???”

Minjeong clutched her chest, half-screaming. “KARINA WHY DID YOU RECORD THAT?!”

“I HAD TO. FOR CINEMA.” Karina cried, wiping fake tears. “I WAS A WITNESS TO HISTORY.”

You entered the room five minutes later, expression unreadable as always.

But when you sat down and Minjeong refused to look at you,

you tilted your head slightly and said:

“…Wasn’t bad, right?”

She threw her pen at you.

Your lips twitched.

Karina gasped. “Did he just SMILE? Did we get a Y/N smirk on camera?!”

Minjeong covered her face.

And someone in the back whispered:

“I ship it so bad.”

LATE AFTERNOON. HALLWAY OUTSIDE CLASSROOM.

Karina was lounging on the bench, earbuds in, casually scrolling through her phone. You stood nearby, pretending to read something on the bulletin board — but really, just gathering the guts.

Finally, you sighed.

“Hey.”

She looked up.

You scratched the back of your neck. “Can I ask you something?”

Karina blinked. “…Is this real life?”

“…Don’t be annoying.”

She grinned, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear like she was about to take the most important call of her life.

“Proceed.”

You looked around first, just to make sure Minjeong wasn’t nearby. Then you crossed your arms and muttered:

“…How do I ask her if I can walk her home?”

Karina blinked.

“Wait. Waitwaitwait. Are you serious?”

You didn’t respond.

“Oh my god,” she whispered. “You LIKE her.”

You ignored that. “I just… don’t want to make it weird.”

Karina leaned forward, practically glowing. “Okay. First of all? It’s already weird. But in a cute way. Like enemies-to-lovers but academic film edition.”

You sighed. “Karina.”

“Right, right, okay.” She stood, fixed her hair like a coach before a big game. “Here’s what you’re gonna do: You wait for her after class. Keep it casual, lean on something — you always look cooler when you’re leaning.”

“I’m not doing that.”

“Lean.” She poked your shoulder. “Then, you say something like… ‘I’m headed your way anyway. I’ll walk you.’”

“…Isn’t that a lie?”

“Romance is a lie, Y/N. You’re literally writing one.”

You stared.

She raised an eyebrow. “Unless you want me to ask for you?”

You were already walking away. “I’ll figure it out.”

She called out after you, “Use your acting voice! The one that made her blush!”

You didn’t answer.

But your ears?

Red.

AFTER CLASS. GOLDEN HOUR.

The lecture ended later than usual.

Sunlight poured in through the window blinds, casting long shadows over desks being lazily packed up. Students filtered out one by one — casual chatter, headphone wires tangled, backpacks slung over shoulders.

You were at your seat, collecting your notes with your usual calm precision.

Minjeong, two rows down, was stuffing her charger into her tote bag like it personally wronged her.

She didn’t even notice you walk up.

“…You done?”

She turned. “Huh? Oh—yeah.”

You shoved your hands in your pockets. Looked toward the door.

Then back at her.

“I’m headed your way anyway.”

She blinked. “Okay?”

You tilted your head.

“I’ll walk you.”

Minjeong’s soul left her body.

“…HUH?!”

You stared. “What?”

“You—walk me?! Home?! Now?!”

A pause.

“…Yeah?”

Her brain scrambled. “But why— I mean— That’s not— You—”

You started walking toward the door. “I’m leaving in ten seconds.”

“WAIT—!”

She scrambled to grab her bag, bumping her knee on the desk and nearly dropping her phone.

Karina, from the back row with an evil grin:

“Use your acting voice, Y/N~!”

You ignored her.

Minjeong caught up beside you, still pink in the face, still processing.

“…You’re not headed my way, are you.”

“Nope.”

“…Then why did you—?”

You looked down at her, calmly.

“I just wanted to walk you.”

Minjeong’s heart did a literal backflip.

She said nothing. Just hugged her tote bag tighter.

But the smile creeping onto her face?

Impossible to hide

It was quiet at first — that kind of soft silence where the streetlights hum and you can hear your own footsteps.

Minjeong walked beside you, a safe step away, still hugging her bag like a shield.

Then, she tilted her head and asked,

“So… is that why you like La La Land?”

You turned, surprised. “What?”

“The poster in your room,” she said. “Next to Eternal Sunshine. You said you liked stories that hurt a little.”

You blinked, then looked away.

“Yeah. La La Land is… honest.”

“Because they don’t end up together?”

You nodded once.

“And Eternal Sunshine?”

You shrugged. “That one’s about memory. And choosing to love someone again, even after everything falls apart.”

Minjeong’s eyes widened slightly. “That’s really sad.”

“It’s hopeful, too,” you added.

“Painful things can still be beautiful.”

A beat of silence.

“…You really like movies, huh?”

And that’s when it happened.

Something in you unlocked.

Maybe it was the way she meant it — not like a joke, not like curiosity. But like she genuinely wanted to hear it from you.

You started talking.

And didn’t stop.

“Have you seen Before Sunrise? It’s literally just two people talking for an entire night, but every line feels like it was carved out of real life. Like they weren’t acting, just—breathing in front of the camera.”

“There’s this one shot in 500 Days of Summer — the split screen? Expectation vs. Reality? I studied that scene frame by frame in high school.”

“And don’t even get me started on In the Mood for Love. The color theory. The framing. That scene where they pass each other in the hallway—”

Minjeong didn’t say much.

She didn’t need to.

She just looked at you — not with awe, not with surprise.

With something softer. Like she was seeing you fully for the first time.

A boy who always seemed a little out of reach,

now giddy over cinematography.

You didn’t even notice you’d rambled the entire walk to her building.

“…Sorry,” you muttered finally, rubbing the back of your neck. “I talk too much when it’s about film.”

She stopped in front of her gate, smile wide, eyes warm.

“I like it,” she said simply.

You looked up.

“I like this version of you.”

And before you could answer — before you could even think — she whispered:

“Let’s do this again.”

Then she slipped through the gate, waving once before disappearing behind it.

And you stood there…

Just watching the spot where she’d been.

LATE THAT NIGHT. YOUR ROOM. 12:48 AM.

The room was quiet. Too quiet.

Your monitor glowed in the dark, casting a soft blue light over everything. A tab of old projects sat open — folders labeled freelance, finals, portfolio, and one called:

“soon.”

It was where you dumped ideas that didn’t feel right yet.

Ideas that meant something you weren’t ready to feel.

You opened a new document.

For the first time in weeks, your fingers moved before you could think.

INT. TRAIN STATION – EVENING

A girl with a green backpack stands by the exit. She looks nervous, but excited. She checks her phone. No new messages.

Just as she turns to leave — a voice behind her:

BOY (O.S.)

“You forgot your charger.”

She turns. He’s holding it. He’s out of breath. He came running. They lock eyes.

A pause. Then—

GIRL

“You came back.”

BOY

“I didn’t want to miss the ending.”

You stopped.

The cursor blinked.

You saved the file.

Title: “Maybe Her.”

And moved it into the soon folder.

You leaned back, staring at the ceiling.

No music. No distractions.

Just her voice still echoing in your head from earlier:

“I like this version of you.”

And maybe… just maybe…

You liked that version too.

You weren’t sure when it started.

Maybe it was gradual — like lighting that fades into morning instead of flipping on all at once.

You weren’t soft.

You didn’t offer help.

You didn’t sit next to people unless you had to.

But lately…

You found yourself slowing down when Minjeong walked beside you.

Not because she asked.

Not because she noticed.

But because her camera bag kept slipping off her shoulder — and one day, without thinking, you took it from her.

“Y-You don’t have to do that,” she said, eyes wide.

You didn’t look at her. Just adjusted the strap and replied,

“It’s heavy.”

You walked in silence after that.

Another time, in class, she dozed off for a split second — head tilting, eyes fluttering. You tapped her notebook lightly with your pen.

“You’ll miss the lecture.”

She blinked awake, whispering a soft “Thank you,” and you tilted your own notebook slightly toward her.

“Just copy mine,” you murmured.

She smiled. It stayed in your head for the rest of the day.

You used to sit alone during lunch. It was easier. Quieter.

But one afternoon, you spotted her in the cafeteria, alone at a two-person table with her tray already half full of fries and iced tea. You walked straight past your usual spot and sat across from her without a word.

She looked up in surprise.

“You don’t have to sit with me, you know.”

“I know.”

You didn’t meet her eyes, just took a sip from your water bottle.

She offered you a fry. You took it.

Karina walked in a second later and nearly dropped her spoon.

Group work came next. Everyone knew you didn’t play well with others — precise to the point of brutal, one take ruined and you’d shut down the set. But when Minjeong stumbled over her line again — and again — you didn’t snap. You adjusted the lights yourself. Reset the camera. Gave her a nod.

“It’s okay. Let’s run it again,” you said calmly. “You got this.”

Minjeong looked stunned. Karina looked like she was filming you for evidence.

But the strangest moment of all was the rain.

She didn’t have an umbrella. You saw her standing at the doorway of the building, hugging her tote bag to her chest, biting her lip at the sky.

You walked over. Wordlessly opened yours.

“Y/N,” she said slowly. “You’re going to get soaked on that side.”

“The footage’s on your laptop,” you replied, holding the umbrella over her more than yourself. “Can’t risk it.”

She glanced at you.

“You sure it’s the footage you’re protecting?”

You didn’t answer.

That night, when you got home dripping wet, you tossed your jacket on the chair and dried your hair with a towel, but your mind wasn’t on the rain. It was on her laugh earlier that day, echoing in the hallway when Karina made some dumb joke.

The way she clutched her stomach. The way her eyes disappeared when she really laughed.

You smiled at your monitor. Barely. But it was there.

You never smiled at screens.

She sent you a script draft that night. Said she wanted feedback, “if you have time.”

You didn’t just skim it.

You printed it. Annotated every line. Highlighted her strongest moments. Wrote notes in the margins — small suggestions, little praises like, “This line hurts. Keep it.” and “This feels like you.”

The next morning, you slid it across her desk before class.

She picked it up like it was holy.

“You… read the whole thing?”

You didn’t respond.

She stared at the page. “You folded the corners…”

“You always skip them when reading off PDF.”

She looked like she was about to cry. Or hug you. Or both.

That night, you stayed up late. You tried to edit something for class — a draft you’d been working on for weeks. It didn’t feel right. Something was missing.

You hovered over your “soon” folder. Clicked. Opened Maybe Her.

INT. TRAIN STATION – EVENING

A girl with a green backpack stands by the exit…

You read the scene again. The one she inspired. The one you swore wasn’t about her.

“I didn’t want to miss the ending,” you murmured to yourself.

And something clicked.

All this time — you thought it was just inspiration. Curiosity.

A fascination with her awkwardness. Her charm. Her weird little tangents about favorite movie snacks and green being her lucky color.

But it wasn’t just that.

You weren’t just soft around her.

You were becoming someone else.

And the terrifying part?

You didn’t hate it.

You saved the file.

Didn’t touch the title.

Didn’t delete a word.

Just quietly moved it back into the soon folder.

Then leaned back in your chair, heart pounding louder than the fan of your laptop.

Because for the first time in a long time…

You had no idea what came next.

And for once?

You hoped she’d write the ending with you.

EVENING AT EDITING LAB (7:34PM)

It’s quiet. The overhead lights buzz faintly. Most students have gone home.

But you’re still here.

Your screen is open to a blank script file, blinking. Mocking.

You’ve written and deleted the first line of your film festival pitch maybe twenty times.

Nothing fits. Nothing feels right.

Across the room, Minjeong is hunched over her laptop, fingers in her hair.

Frustrated. Tired. An audio clip won’t sync. A shot looks off.

You glance over once, maybe twice — but say nothing.

Then she groans. Loudly.

“Ugh… this is awful. I’m sorry, this is so— I just… I don’t think I’m cut out for this.”

You don’t look at her.

“I mean, who am I kidding? I can’t even stabilize a simple pan. I bet even Karina’s regretting letting me join. Maybe you are, too.”

You still don’t answer.

Your fingers tense on your keyboard.

“Y/N…?”

She’s looking at you now.

“Can you just— I don’t know. Tell me what I’m doing wrong?”

A beat.

You exhale.

“You’re wasting time asking instead of fixing it.”

Her eyes widen. A little crack in her smile.

“What?”

You finally turn, frustrated.

“Every time something doesn’t go right, you panic. You break down. Maybe you’re not cut out for this. I don’t have time to hold your hand through every step.”

Silence.

The words echo longer than they should’ve.

She blinks. Once. Then laughs softly — a sad, breathless laugh.

“Right.”

She closes her laptop.

You feel it immediately — something sharp in your chest. Like a string just snapped.

“Minjeong—”

“Maybe you’re right,” she says, standing slowly. “You don’t have time. You never really wanted this anyway.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“Then say what you mean, Y/N,” she snaps, suddenly louder. “Say anything. Because I’m trying so hard and all you do is pretend like none of this matters.”

You say nothing.

Not because you don’t want to — but because you can’t.

She looks at you one more time. Tired. Hurt.

“I already know I’m not the best. But I thought… maybe I was good enough to stay.”

Then she leaves.

And for once, you don’t stop her.

LATER THAT NIGHT.

You’re still at your desk. Everyone’s gone.

Minjeong’s seat is empty. Her water bottle still on the table.

You glance at the screen.

Still blank.

But now…

You’re not just frustrated.

You’re scared.

Because she wasn’t just part of the project.

She was the only thing that made you feel like doing it in the first place.

And now?

She’s gone.

THE NEXT DAY.

The room is full. Laughter, rustling papers, chairs scraping. But you don’t hear any of it.

You’re at your usual seat, but you keep glancing at the door.

Minjeong walks in.

You sit up slightly.

She walks right past you.

No smile. No glance.

She sits beside Karina instead. Two rows down.

You don’t even know what stings more — the silence… or the fact she’s smiling at someone else.

LUNCH BREAK.

You’re staring at your tray. Not eating.

Across the room, Karina’s feeding Minjeong chips from her bento box, laughing loudly.

Minjeong laughs too — eyes crinkling, like everything’s normal.

But it’s not.

Because now she doesn’t meet your eyes.

Doesn’t send you her script to read.

Doesn’t sit with you after class.

Just… vanishes in the spaces she used to fill.

And that’s when Karina corners you.

LATER THAT DAY.

You’re walking to your next class, headphones on, hoodie up.

Suddenly — WHACK.

Karina slaps your arm with a rolled-up script.

“You absolute dumbass.”

You take off one earbud, confused. “What—”

“What the hell did you say to her?”

You pause.

“…Nothing.”

“Exactly. Nothing. That’s your problem.”

She folds her arms, furious.

“You didn’t see her that night, did you? She was shaking. Like she’d just failed the one person she wanted to impress the most.”

You try to keep your face still.

But your hands are shaking a little in your hoodie pocket.

Karina steps closer.

“You think you’re cold and unreadable and genius or whatever — but you’re not. You’re just scared.”

You flinch.

“Scared to admit you care. Scared to let anyone close. So you push her away just to protect your ego.”

You bite down on your bottom lip.

“She liked you, Y/N. She believed in you. And you made her feel small.”

That one lands.

Karina softens a little.

“She’s still showing up. Still doing the work. But she’s not herself. Not really.”

You nod once.

She turns to leave, then pauses.

“You want to fix it?”

“…Yeah.”

“Then stop writing scenes about her,” she says without looking back.

“And show up in real life for once.”

THE NEXT DAY (3:44PM)

You enter slowly — the door creaking behind you. Minjeong’s there, still editing.

She flinches when she sees you.

You don’t speak immediately.

Just walk over. Quiet. Careful.

You place a small coffee cup beside her.

She doesn’t look at you.

“You didn’t have to…”

You sit next to her — not too close.

“You looked tired.”

A beat.

“I didn’t mean what I said the other day.”

She scoffs lightly. “Yeah, you did.”

“I didn’t mean to say it that way.”

She stays quiet, eyes on the screen.

“I’m not great at… this.”

“The people part.”

“Yeah,” she mutters. “I noticed.”

You sigh.

And then — quietly — you open up.

“My parents worked two jobs each just to get me into this school.”

“They didn’t care about film. But they saw how much I did.”

“I think… they thought if I could make it here, I’d finally stop being so angry all the time.”

She turns slightly. Just slightly.

“But then… my mom passed away. A week before I submitted my portfolio. My dad… not long after.”

“Heart problems. Or maybe just… a broken one.”

You pause.

“So I stayed. Alone. Paid off the rent with commissions. Group work. Freelance gigs. I became the guy everyone wanted on their team.”

“But all I really did… was survive.”

Minjeong says nothing.

“Movies were the only thing that made sense. They had structure. Cuts. Closure.”

“Real life doesn’t.”

Now she’s really looking at you.

“I’m sorry,” she says quietly.

You shake your head.

“Don’t be. I just… I wanted you to know.”

Another silence.

Then she speaks — soft, nervous.

“My dad was the one who signed my application form. He barely understood it, but he saw how I lit up when I talked about colors. Or costumes. Or sound design.”

You watch her.

“He passed last year. Right after we found out I got accepted.”

“I almost didn’t go. But my mom said, ‘If he gave you the pen, the least you could do is write the damn story.’”

You both laugh, small and broken.

Then Minjeong turns to you, eyes glassy.

“So yeah… maybe I panic on set. And maybe I’m not the best. But I’m trying, Y/N. I am. And I just wanted you to be proud of me.”

You don’t even think.

You reach out and squeeze her hand.

Just once.

Then:

“I am.”

She looks at you. Really looks at you.

And for the first time in a long time —

you let yourself be seen.

2 WEEKS LATER.

The sun’s setting outside the window. The cafeteria is mostly empty now, golden light casting long shadows across the floor.

Minjeong stirs her iced Americano for the fourth time without drinking it.

Karina, across from her, chews on her straw wrapper.

“You’re spiraling.”

“I’m not spiraling,” Minjeong mutters. Then quietly: “…Maybe spiraling a little.”

Karina leans forward, arms on the table.

“You’ve been fidgeting since lunch. Spill it.”

Minjeong sighs, cheeks puffing out, then resting her head on the table like a dying cat.

“I think I’m in love with Y/N.”

Karina blinks. Doesn’t react.

“I mean I knew that,” she says, sipping from her juice box. “It’s the way you stare at him like he’s your favorite sad movie.”

“Is it obvious?!”

“Painfully.”

Minjeong sits up and groans.

“What if he doesn’t feel the same? What if I ruin everything right before the festival? We’re good now. What if I make it weird?”

Karina shrugs.

“What if you don’t say it and never know?”

Minjeong blinks.

Karina smirks.

“Look, you already rewired his whole personality. He doesn’t talk to anyone the way he talks to you. That has to mean something.”

“That or he’s just soft for broken cameras and chaos gremlins.”

“Aww,” Karina coos. “Chaos gremlin’s growing a heart.”

Minjeong blushes.

Then—

“Hey…”

“Hm?”

“Do you think it’s weird if I asked him to walk around the park with me tonight?”

Karina grins instantly.

“That’s your spot now. Winter walk, confession vibes, streetlamp lighting? You’re basically a coming-of-age film at this point.”

Minjeong laughs nervously.

“Okay. Then I’ll do it.”

3 HOURS LATER

You’re just packing up your things when Minjeong appears near the exit, bundled in a puffy jacket, cheeks flushed pink from the cold.

“Hey, uh…”

You look up.

“Do you wanna go for a walk?”, You raise a brow.

“It’s freezing.”

She smiles nervously.

“I know. That’s kinda the point.”

You stare at her for a second, Then tug your scarf tighter and nod.

“Sure.”

And then you walk.

Heading straight into that quiet, frozen park

—where everything finally changes.

LATER THAT NIGHT.

The frost crunches softly beneath your shoes.

You and Minjeong walk slowly along the narrow path, lined with leafless trees dusted with snow.

Your breaths are visible in the air. She keeps glancing at you, hands buried deep in her pockets.

Neither of you speaks for a while.

Until—

“You know…”

Her voice is barely above a whisper.

You turn.

“You’re the hardest person I’ve ever met.”

You raise a brow.

“Thanks?”

She smiles. Shakes her head.

“Not in a bad way. Just… it’s hard to know what you’re thinking. Or feeling. And it’s terrifying sometimes. Like I’ll say the wrong thing and ruin whatever this is.”

You stop walking. She does too.

The park is quiet. Streetlamps buzz softly overhead. Light snow begins to fall.

She turns to face you.

“But I can’t keep pretending anymore.”

Her voice wobbles. Her fingers are clenched into fists inside her coat.

“I… I like you, Y/N.”

You blink.

“I like you,” she repeats, louder this time. Then—

“I love you.”

A long, sharp breath escapes her lips. She exhales like she’s just released something heavy.

“I love you, and it sucks sometimes, because you’re stubborn and cold and you never say anything first—”

She’s shaking, but still holding your gaze.

“But then you say things that matter. And you look at me like I matter. And that’s enough to make me want to say this, even if you don’t feel the same.”

You step closer, the space between you grows smaller. Warmer. Louder.

“Minjeong—”

“I-I..love you too.”

You kiss her. Not rushed. Not perfect. Just honest. A little clumsy, a little trembling — like both of you are learning what it means to let someone in.

Then-

Applause.

Cheers echo across the lecture hall as “The End” fades on screen, Your classmates are buzzing — some visibly wiping their eyes, others whispering “oh my god they’re in love” as they glance at you and Minjeong.

She’s glowing beside you, cheeks flushed. You stretch your arms behind your head like it’s nothing.

Karina’s already posted a blurry pic captioned: “Love is real 😭💍”

Then the professor clears their throat and steps forward. “Fantastic. 10 minutes of raw, honest storytelling. Great acting, great pacing — I believed every second of it.” They pause, nodding. “Y/N. Minjeong. That scene under the lamppost? I mean—” gestures wildly “Chef’s kiss. Beautiful.” Then they grin.

“So… is it official?”

You glance at Minjeong.

She blinks, “Official?” “You know,” the professor smirks. “You two. The chemistry? The confession? The kiss?” Everyone’s watching, Karina’s mouthing “Say yes.” And then you drop it—

“Oh,” you say casually. “That was just acting.”

Huh?”

Minjeong smiles politely. “Yup! It was all scripted.”

You lean back, arms crossed.

“Every word. Every glance. The kiss too. Just good direction.”

The professor freezes.

Karina’s mouth is open like she just saw a car crash in slow motion.

“W-Wait—so you two aren’t…”

“Nope,” Minjeong said, biting back a smile. “I mean—we get along and are good friends But it was for the film, plus! I’m not into apathetic geniuses”

[utopeian]

be sweet to me

SUMMARY Bob notices that you're painfully shy to initiate physical touch and takes matters into his own hands. Literally.

PAIRING bob reynolds x gender neutral!reader

GENRE fluff, slight humor, established relationship

WORD COUNT 1.7k

WARNINGS a lot of oh's, reader is a working civilian, bob & reader's relationship is fairly fresh, no Y/N mention

AUTHOR’S NOTE requested! i listened to japanese breakfast's be sweet on loop while writing this, enjoy!

The city’s usual hustle and bustle has died down a little considering it was the middle of the afternoon, the sky was bluer and brighter and clearer than usual, soft music murmuring from the cafe’s hidden speakers. Or maybe it was because you were with Bob that everything happened to feel a little lighter.

You’re in disbelief that a man has made you think and feel this way.

You were in the middle of a discussion with Bob about the new book he picked up when your phone vibrates on the table. You shut your eyelids just to roll your eyes under them and redirected your focus back on Bob.

However, he also got distracted and pointed out, “aren’t you going to check that?”

You are, but you knew once you confirmed it was a message from your job, you’d have to burst the comfortable bubble you were sharing with your boyfriend. The title still felt incredibly new, in the awkward, squeaky clean way. In the way that makes you tiptoe around it to make sure the dirt from your shoes don’t soil the shiny ground.

“I— yeah, I probably should.” You sigh, getting the inevitable over and done with.

You see that the notification was, in fact, from your co-worker. Something about needing you to come in at the last minute, revoking your day-off privilege with a promise of giving it back some other time instead. Yeah right.

You grumble to yourself— or so you thought, not used to having a partner with heightened hearing— before putting your phone face down with a little more force than necessary, “I can’t believe I thought I could ever get a day away from work.”

(Bob doesn’t know if it’s acceptable to admit that he finds your annoyance attractive.)

It’s not that you found it difficult or that your co-workers gave you a hard time, but rather it gets tedious and boring at times. Sitting in front of a screen waiting for clients to get back to you regarding revisions and cramming them because it was their fault they didn’t email back right away didn’t sound so appealing right now. You didn’t really have the liberty of choice, though. So much for living in New York.

“Bob, I’m so sorry to end our date here, but I’m being summoned to work.” You sadly tell him. The hand you rest on top of your phone itches to reach over and hold his own that cradles his drink, but you manage to will it otherwise; it takes your whole being not to touch him. Too soon, you think to yourself, don’t scare him away.

He noticed the way your fingers shifted slightly towards his direction, eager to finally feel your hands intertwine. Keeping his eyes on your regretful expression instead, he waits for you.

Your hand never found his.

Bob slumps in his seat out of disappointment due to two things now. But living with a bunch of retired assassins forced into public duty has desensitized him from taking conversations cut short too personally.

He shakes his head to recover, a reassuring smile now resting on his lips. “Don’t apologize, I get it. The others also have times when they need to leave abruptly in the middle of conversations.” 

You’re sure he didn’t mean to, but now you just feel like more of an asshole. As you sluggishly start doublechecking your things, you ask him something out of curiosity. “Do you ever join them?”

He thinks about it a little, trying to see if there have been instances that he tags along because he was also summoned with them. “Hmm. No, not often. Too many risks involved.”

Half of your attention was towards fixing your bag but you manage to nod thoughtfully, listening as he vaguely recalls a time he actually joined The New Avengers to an important meeting, not wanting him to expound further if he wasn’t comfortable.

Before you had gotten together officially, when he knew he could trust you more than the level of friends, Bob had forced himself to open up a conversation with you about everything: his fucked up past, how he landed in Malaysia, and the time he had lost control of his strength and engulfed almost the entirety of the city in darkness.

You heard it all. And you decided to stay.

(If you put it that bluntly, it doesn’t exactly sound… romantic. There were obviously more nuances you considered before dating him.)

You lift your head up to see Bob already looking at you patiently and attentively, both his hands still on the paper to-go cup. You give him a little nod to indicate that you’re good to go if he is. He acknowledges it, standing first to be by your side before you get up. Cute.

Bob throws the empty cups in the garbage bin beside the receiving area; you hadn’t even noticed that he also grabbed your trash.

The barista by the counter says ‘come back soon!’ as the two of you exit, the little chimes above the glass door clinking to announce your departure from the cafe. The two of you walk a minor distance to stand outside by the glass display, not wanting to cover the doorway.

Your thumb slides under the handle of your bag, pretending to readjust it on your shoulder because you don’t know what to do with your hands yet, still painfully hesitant to reach for Bob’s. You peer up at him shyly. “Um, this is where we part ways, I suppose.”

He blinks at you owlishly, your concern only grows when he says a single syllable defeatedly.

“Oh…”

You blink back at him. Anyone intently watching your interaction from a distance might think you were communicating through morse code. “‘Oh’? What, ‘oh’?”

Bob fiddles with the sleeve of his soft sweater, eyes looking away from yours every few seconds. He can feel his face getting warmer and he’s sure you can physically see it.

“I, uh, wanted to walk you to work to… make sure you get there safely. I–If that’s alright with you, of course.”

Oh.

You’re stunned. You know it’s the bare minimum, but you can’t help but be surprised that anyone ever thinks to be a decent person nowadays. The rise of assholes, you suppose. “No, yeah. That’d be perfect, Bob. Thank you.”

He waves you off then stops his hand out right in front of you. Again, what is it with this man just being an annoyingly perfect gentleman? You felt the blood in your veins freeze, thinking he was going to ask for your hand, before he offered, “I can hold your bag.”

Your mistake for thinking he wanted to hold your hand, too! Whatever. You put your harmless bitterness aside to thank him again and give him your handbag, keychains rattling at the motion. Bob looks for the source of the noise, eyes lighting up once he sees the charms hanging on the side of your bag’s buckle.

You start walking towards the direction of your work building as he follows, cradling your purse cautiously in his arms to inspect your decorations and points one out. His finger taps on a sun-shaped charm inspired by the opacity of suncatchers.

“I like this one.”

Your eyes move from the street in front of you to what he was looking at.

…Oh.

“Me too, it’s my favorite,” you share, yet you’re reluctant to verbalize what you want to admit to him. Fuck it.

“I actually bought it ‘cause it reminded me of you.”

Your pace picks up nervously as your eyes immediately fleet anywhere except for the presence to your right; at a rat making its way down the subway stairs, strangers haphazardly crossing the road, a distant digital billboard blinking colorful images out.

Too frantic at the idea of Bob being weirded out at your confession, you don’t realize that he had finally shouldered your bag to reach out for your hand. The moment his palm slides into yours, your whole body is electrified. You love it.

You jolt to look over at him, a shy grin on his face, clearly pleased with your reaction. You realize that he had noticed your reservations and took matters into his own hands. Literally. You mirror his expression in double the glee.

From that moment to when you finally arrive in front your office, your hands never once detached from the other.

“This is where we part ways, I suppose.” You smile at him cheekily, parroting what you had told him earlier. 

Bob gives you your handbag; you almost forgot about it. His face hurts from smiling. Your moods are contagious. “For real this time, then.”

“Yeah…”

You really don’t want to go and Bob really doesn’t want to leave. But duty calls and bills and dates and gifts won’t pay for themselves. This time, you’re the one to take the step forward first, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

The way you bring him into the embrace is rigid at first but once you feel his body reciprocate, you melt together perfectly. You can’t believe you were nervous to hug Bob.

Pulling away seems like a foreign concept to you, so he does it for you, knowing your work desk awaits your arrival. He didn’t know he was capable of grinning this widely, laughing at your playful pouting.

He thinks you’re about to bid him a verbal farewell when you take another step closer, placing a delicate lip gloss-coated kiss on his cheek. He feels the same exact electricity you had felt minutes ago. You whisper when you pull away, gazing meekly into his affectionful eyes. “Thank you for today, Bob. I really enjoyed it, even if it was cut short.”

“Thank you too, I also had fun.”

You just look at each other, rocking your feet. After a moment of sweet silence, you finally point at your building with your thumb along with an exaggerated look of disgust playing on your features, sighing dramatically to get a laugh out of him. You think his laugh is cute.

Unwillingly, you turn your back on him to move forward, only to turn around a millisecond after. Bob’s still there, looking at you so lovestuck, hand awkwardly raising to wave. You giggle, finally taking your eyes off him and walking into reality.

Damn, you’re in deep.

[zeropro]

Q&A Corner: Autobot Base

Wanted to try and clear some of my inbox before moving on to the next phase of the story. (long post warning)

It's gotta be Bumblebee, tho he and Wheeljack are chill. The Dinobots trust everyone inherently because they are the strongest and also a little stupid.

Jazz is like, just as cautious as Red Alert, but instead of getting anxious and paranoid he stays cool and relaxed about it. He's keeping just as close an eye on the Decepticons roaming the base as anyone, you just wouldn't know it if you didn't know Jazz. And everyone knows Jazz.

I get a lot of asks about random characters, and I cant really draw all of them, but I like the idea that Cosmos is chilling at some amusement park. Kinda like in EarthSpark, but like consensually haha. I bet he's great with kids.

They're divorced. Ratchet didn't approve of his malpractice and Pharma didnt approve of his personality.

No one will ever find out what happened between Starscream and Cryak if Starscream has any say in it. And he won't refuse a spark exam, it just gives him anxiety and he has a hard time with them. He'll do it but he might have to hold someone's hand.

I don't think it hurts to roll around in vehicle mode, but it's possible it hurts when transforming. Bumblebee can join the chronic pain gang.

Probably my fault, not my best writing if I have to be honest. The dialogue in that comic didn't quite get across what I wanted, I cringe a lot when I look back on it lmao;;; (Also yes best not to touch him or stand too close)

Well Bee is the Autobot leader and Starscream thinks himself the Decepticon leader, so it makes sense they'd work together. Prowl, Jazz, and Red Alert def notice something else going on there and are torn between wishing Bee would be just a little less trusting of the war criminal and hoping this is doing some good for Starscream.

I actually love when fics explore this. I don't think the Autobots are perfect or anything, I'm sure there is still animosity there for sure, but the leadership doesn't rely on fear to maintain power and I think the contrast wouldnt be lost on Starscream. If nothing else it puts into stark contrast just how far Megatron has fallen (heh heh).

Yeah Megatron isnt doing great after coming back online. I think the coneheads left specifically because he started taking it out on them in lieu of Starscream. I don't think anyone wants to be there anymore but it can be really hard to leave. Soundwave is still loyal, he can sense the nuance of what's going on inside Megatron and it makes it hard to turn his back on one of the most important people in his life.

I'm certainly going to try (it's a canon event!)

That would be so very cute, but it wouldn't happen haha.

Of course he misses them, but he's a big boy, he wont cry (maybe in his sleep).

They didn't know he was there. Fireflight got lost and they kinda just stumbled across Thundercracker's house while out looking for him and started bothering him.

I think we all could use a break and a nap mayhaps...

They barely know each other, like coworkers that work on different floors of the same office building.

I'm sure he knows there's a difference. Probably doesnt realize they're cats and not, idk, a bear or something. He didn't really pay attention to Earth creature taxonomy until very recently.

Sunstreaker doesnt feel bad about it because I dont think he had full intention of killing an unarmed incapacitated mech. He was more using intimidation to keep Skywarp from warping out and attacking him, he totally woulda killed him at that point, or at least tried to. Skywarp doesnt hold it against him tho, it was war, it happens, he prolly woulda killed him back if given the chance.

Skywarp also hasn't seen or spoken to Thundercracker since then. Skywarp was really really mad when Thundercracker originally defected from the Decepticons, and he doesn't really understand why Thundercracker wont talk to them. It's complicated. He also just hasn't really thought about going to see him. Keep in mind they've been with the Autobots for a little over a year, so not a very long time.

It's fun how many people were worried for Swindle. I can at least say he didn't really deserve it this time. Man's out here thriving under capitalism but Megatron needs his combiners.

Soundwave is of average size, Megatron is just huge! Soundwave and Starscream are the same size.

They didn't lose Soundwave, they know where he is. They can go visit him any time. And no one has to take care of them, they're full grown adults haha. Honestly, the Autobots are used to them spying on them in their walls, they're probably just like "at least they're running around out in the open where we can see them now."

I think the only other notable one is Defensor. I don't have any plans to include Defensor.

No thanks, that's weird. :P

Stay tuned!

[glacierclear]

Do you agree with JP fans with wanting a horror or rated R Jurassic Park movie? I think the 3rd film and Jurassic world are probably the closest we might get to it

honestly i have no idea what direction i want the jurassic park franchise to go. i kinda want them to just stop making them.

i wish we could just. have dinosaur movies without it being a "jurassic park" movie. because there's just so much potential when you're not forced to adhere to like, a continuation of a story that they barely even respect or care about. it feels like they write themselves into a corner where they have a list of checkboxes that's titled "things it needs to be a jurassic park movie" and they just go through the list and call it a day.

i would LOVE a horror dinosaur movie. not a jurassic park movie. just a dinosaur movie. but i also would just love more dinosaur movies in general. action, thriller, documentary style, i don't care. i want more dinosaurs.

that being said, i do think jurassic park/world movies are way more fun to watch when they're allowed to be gory and bloody and creepy.... the original film especially had some crazy moments.

[wcnderlnds]

give me a break ★ choi seung-hyun (t.o.p)

2K FOLLOWERS CELEBRATION

・❥・ summary: seunghyun gets his payback for a little stunt you pulled earlier in the day ・❥・word count: 1.1k ・❥・warnings: 18+. mdni. fingering, public place, dirty talk, edging, swearing. ・❥・authors note: i will probably end up writing a part two to this, mayhaps. we'll see. im trying to keep the drabbles short but there's def more i could do with this 👀

The loud bass of the music vibrated through Seunghyun’s ears as he brought the bottle of his beer up to his lips to take a sip. His eyes were drawn to you like a moth to a flame. The way your hips swayed in time with the music, all the worries of the week slipping from your mind as you lost yourself on the dance floor. Memories of this morning flooded back to him. The way your hands had felt on him, the way you’d brought him to ecstasy while he was on a business call. The thrill of it had excited him to no end but that didn’t mean he could let you get away with it. Oh no. He’d promised punishment and he was going to make good on that.

Jiyong was talking to him but Seunghyun wasn’t listening, too transfixed on watching the way you moved your body. Placing his bottle down on the table, he made his way over to you. Jiyong let out an annoyed huffed as he followed Seunghyun with his eyes muttering something about how nobody ever listened to him, sulking like a spoiled child. Meanwhile Seunghyun had finally approached you, placing his hands on your hips. You turned your head, grinning when you met the eyes of your boyfriend.

“Oh, hello,” you pushed your back up against him, ass pressed right against his crotch. 

“I’m still mad at you for earlier,” Seunghyun mumbled but there was no bite in his words. In fact, he’d rested one hand on your stomach, precariously low. His head had dipped to nip at your neck. It was almost on instinct that you titled your head to the side to allow him more access. The music covered up the breathy moan you released when you felt him drag his tongue along the column of your neck. 

“You don’t seem very mad,” you pushed your ass back into him, feeling his erection pressing into you from behind. 

“Oh, I’m fuming,” he joked. His hand had now slid into the waistband of your skirt and panties, dipping low to tease between your folds. Your eyes fluttered shut, focusing on the way his fingers easily slid between you. You took this as your opportunity to grind your ass against his clothed erection but he tutted into your ear, his free hand stilling your hip. “You’re in no position to tease now, baby, remember that. I have the power here and I’m thinking I make you cum in front of all these people for being a naughty girl this morning. It’s only fair, right?”

His fingers circled your entrance, not quite pushing in and it was driving you crazy. “I hate you.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure you do. Should’ve thought about that before you had me cumming on a call with YG. You’re lucky he thought I was just sick.” Seunghyun still hadn’t pushed a finger inside you, instead he was still slowly rubbing them along your folds, gathering all your slick. It was embarrassing how wet he could make you by barely doing anything. “This isn’t the punishment, by the way. Consider this payback.”

Finally, he pushed two fingers inside your dripping core. You moaned loudly, your head falling back onto his shoulder. The music was so loud that nobody would be able to hear unless they were close by. He didn’t waste any time, pumping his fingers in and out of you at a rapid pace. His free arm was wrapped firmly around your waist to hold you against him. To anyone else, it would look like a couple caught up in each other’s embrace and maybe that wasn’t too far from the truth.

“Seunghyun, please,” you whimpered, pushing your hips into his hand. 

“Not so fun is it, baby? Trying to keep control when there’s other people around?” Seunghyun nipped at your earlobe, whispering into your ear. “Or is this turning you on even more? You dirty girl, wanting to cum all over your man's fingers in the middle of a busy club.”

The pad of his thumb found your clit, rubbing it in rapid circles in time with the thrust of his fingers. It was hard for you to keep quiet, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth hard enough to almost draw blood. Seunghyun ground himself against your ass, a quiet groan of his own slipping past his lips. You loved it when he tried to put up a cocky facade but broke. His fingers curled inside you, pulling a gasp from you when he hit that special spot that had you feeling dizzy.

“The only thing holding me back from fucking you right here, right now is the fact we’d get arrested for indecent exposure,” his breath ghosted along your neck. There was a taunting tone to his voice when he spoke again. “You’re getting close aren’t you? Too bad you can’t cum until I say so.”

When he felt your walls clenching around his fingers, he stilled his movements, his thumb slowing down to an almost torturous pace on your clit. You panted heavily, frustration coursing through your veins at the fact he’d just denied you your orgasm. “Seunghyun, please let me cum. I was right there.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely.”  He started moving his fingers inside you again. As he did, he still kept grinding on you from behind, holding your body tight to him. It was all too much. After having it ripped from you in the first place, your orgasm came barrelling over you. Your eyes squeezed shut, your pussy clenching down around his fingers but Seunghyun didn’t let up, his fingers still driving into you at a relentless speed. You hand shot out to hold on to his wrist as you moaned, turning your face to bury it in his neck. You didn’t need to look at him to know he had an annoying, cocky smirk on his face. Finally, he slowed his fingers down, eventually pulling them from you. “Clean up the mess you made, baby.”

He brought his fingers up to your lips, pushing them into your mouth. Your tongue swirled around the digits, sucking on them as your own taste washed over your taste buds. Seunghyun audibly groaned at the sight. The feeling of your tongue on his fingers making his cock twitch. Maybe he needed to drag you home and finally give you that proper punishment.

Seunghyun spun you around, crashing his lips to yours. He savoured the taste of you, needing, wanting more.. “Come on, let's get out of here. I have more in store for you that doesn’t require an audience.”

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[charmnyu]

 ᘏᘏ seven times you and luke castellan almost kissed! (and the one time you actually did)

‿◞ ♡ word count — 6.0k i don’t have an explanation give it a chance bae 😞

‿◞ ♡ synopsis: you and luke castellan are enemies, (hence why you’re a child of athena an he’s the son of hermes)— but theres tension. heavy tension. thats why you almost kissed luke six times (and plus the one time you succeeded!)

lovequeue ୧ notes: fluff 2 angst again ?? kissing, blood, scars, injuries and thats all i know of 😞 lmk is theres more i’m so tired.. i love u lei be the mother 2 my kids u guys say ty to leilani for being a proofreader and the bringer of this idea 😛🤑 also u don’t know how many times i almsot got caught in my cabin writing ts i’m crying

the thing about being athena's kid is that you're supposed to be smart. strategic. you're supposed to see three moves ahead, anticipate every outcome, never get caught off guard. but luke castellan has this way of making all that wisdom feel useless, like he's playing a completely different game with rules you never learned.

you hate him with the kind of intensity that makes your siblings worry you're gonna to do something stupid. which, to be fair, you probably are. (can you blame them?)

— . INCIDENT #1

the first time it almost happens, it’s in the dead of knife, sharpening your knife because you can't sleep. again. insomnia runs in your family, along with the tendency to overthink everything until your brain feels like it's going to explode. you're sitting cross-legged on the floor, zoning out and letting your mind wander, when the door creaks open.

"figured i'd find you here," luke says, and you don't look up because you know that voice, know the way it sounds when he's tired and his guard is down just a little.

"go away, castellan."

but he doesn't. instead he settles down across from you, close enough that you can smell the shampoo and something else that's just him. and for a while you both just sit there in the dim light, taking care of your weapons in silence.

"you know," he says eventually, "most people would be asleep right now."

"most people aren't planning how to beat you in tomorrow's sparring match."

he laughs, soft and low. "is that what you're doing? because i hate to break it to you, but sharpening your knife isn't going to help when we're using practice swords."

you finally look up, ready to snap something back at him, but he's closer than you expected. close enough to see the scar that cuts through his eyebrow, close enough to count his eyelashes if you wanted to. which you don't. obviously.

"i have other plans," you say, but your voice comes out quieter than intended.

"yeah? like what?"

and suddenly you're leaning forward, drawn by something you can't name, and he's doing the same. the space between you shrinks to nothing, and you can feel his breath against your lips, warm and unsteady. your heart is doing something warm in your chest, and for a second you forget why you're supposed to hate him. (you can’t count how many times this has happened to you. gods, he’s so pretty it makes your brain all fuzzy and makes it feel like it’s going to explode…)

then the door slams open and clarisse walks in, looking for her spear, and you spring apart like you've been burned. luke clears his throat and goes back to polishing his sword, and you focus very hard on your knife, cheeks burning.

clarisse gives you both a weird look but doesn't say anything, just grabs her weapon and leaves. the moment is gone, shattered like glass, and you can't figure out if you're relieved or disappointed.

“y’guys are so weird,” she says without looking at the both of you. “too obvious.” and she slams the door, a hint of arrogance and bitterness in her tone of voice. embarrassing.

luke shifts awkwardly. "i should go," luke says after a minute, standing up and giving you a small, nervous smile.

you nod, not trusting yourself to say anything that would make him want to stay. it takes you another hour to finish with your knife, and you tell yourself it's because you want it perfect, not because your hands won't stop shaking and your mind keeps wandering, and you keep thinking what would’ve happened if clarisse didn’t walk in?

the second time is a couple of months later, during capture the flag. your team is currently winning, and you've been tracking luke through the woods for the better part of an hour. he's good – annoyingly good – but you're better at reading the signs. broken twigs, disturbed leaves— everything.

you find him by the creek, crouched behind a fallen log with the red team's flag in his hands. he hasn't seen you yet, too focused on the sounds of battle echoing through the trees, and you take a moment to study him. there's dirt smudged across his cheek and his hair is falling into his eyes, and something in your chest does this stupid fluttering thing that you absolutely refuse to acknowledge.

you step on a branch on purpose, loud enough to make him spin around, sword already in hand.

"hey there, castellan."

his face breaks into that grin that makes half the camp (specifically the aphrodite children) go weak in the knees. not you, though. definitely not you.

"should have known they'd send their best tracker after me."

"flattery won't save you." you draw your own sword, settling into a fighting stance. "drop the flag."

"come and take it."

the fight is brutal and beautiful, the kind of dance you've been perfecting for years. he's stronger but you're faster, and you know his tells – the way his left shoulder dips before he strikes, how he favors his right side when he's getting tired. you drive him back step by step, until he's pressed against a tree with nowhere to go.

your sword is at his throat, the flag forgotten on the ground between you, and you're both breathing hard. there's sweat beading on his forehead and his shirt is torn at the shoulder, and you realize with a start that you're standing between his legs, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his skin.

"give me the flag," you say, but it comes out breathless.

his eyes drop to your mouth. "make me."

and god, you want to. you want to close the distance between you and find out if he tastes like the strawberries he's always stealing from the dining pavilion. want to run your fingers through his hair and see if it's as soft as it looks. the want is so strong it makes you dizzy, makes you forget why you're supposed to be enemies.

you lean in, just a fraction, and his breath hitches. his free hand comes up to rest on your hip, thumb brushing against the strip of skin where your shirt has ridden up, and you're about to do something incredibly stupid when a horn blows in the distance.

game over. your team won.

you step back so fast you nearly trip, and luke's hand falls away from your hip like he's been burned. the flag is still on the ground between you, forgotten, and you can't quite meet his eyes.

"good game," he says finally, voice rough.

you nod and grab the flag, needing something to do with your hands. "yeah. good game."

you leave him there by the creek and try not to think about the way he said your name when you walked away, soft and wondering.

the third time happens during the summer solstice celebration. there's a bonfire and music and more alcohol than chiron would probably approve of if he knew about it. you're sitting on a log at the edge of the festivities, nursing a cup of something that burns going down and watching your siblings attempt to teach some of the younger campers new tricks and skills.

you're not much of a party person. too loud, too chaotic, too many variables you can't control. but annabeth had given you that look – the one that says she's worried about you spending too much time alone with your books – so here you are, making an appearance.

"not dancing?"

you don't have to look to know it's luke. he settles beside you on the log, close enough that his knee bumps against yours, and you take another sip of wine to steady yourself.

"not really my thing."

"come on, where's your camp spirit?"

you snort. "i think you've got enough for both of us."

he's quiet for a moment, watching the dancers spin around the fire. the light flickers across his face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his mouth. you force yourself to look away.

"you know," he says eventually, "we don't have to hate each other."

"says who?"

"says me. says the fact that we're both going to be here for— forever. it might be nice to not want to strangle each other every time we're in the same room." "but where's the fun in that?"

he laughs, and the sound does something warm and dangerous to your insides. "you're impossible."

"so i've been told."

the music changes to something slower, more melodic, and couples start pairing off around the fire. luke stands and extends a hand to you, and you stare at it like it might bite you. you cringe at it— it’s exactly like those high school romance movies you were forced to watch with your siblings.

"dance with me."

"i told you— i don't dance."

"i'll teach you."

and maybe it's the wine, or maybe it's the way the firelight makes his eyes look gold instead of brown, but you find yourself taking his hand and letting him pull you to your feet. he leads you away from the crowd, to a secluded area with a fewer amount of people and where the music is softer and the shadows deeper.

his hand settles on your waist and yours goes to his shoulder, and suddenly you're swaying together in the darkness. you've never been this close to him for this long, never noticed the way he smells like leather and something clean and sharp that might be vanilla.

"see?" he murmurs, breath warm against your ear. "not so bad."

you're about to make some sarcastic comment when he spins you out and back in, and you end up pressed against his chest with his arms around you. your faces are inches apart, and you can see every detail – the flecks of gold in his eyes, the small scar on his chin, the way his lips part slightly when he looks at you.

the world narrows to just this: his hands on your back, your heart hammering against your ribs, the space between you that's getting smaller by the second. you're going to kiss him. you're actually going to do it this time, consequences be damned.

"luke! there you are!"

chris appears out of nowhere, slightly drunk and completely oblivious to what he's just interrupted. "we need you for the sing-along. connor bet travis he couldn't remember all the words to those american girl songs, and now they're arguing about it."

luke's arms drop from around you, and you step back, trying to look like you weren't just about to kiss your supposed enemy in front of half the camp.

"i should..." luke starts, looking between you and chris.

"just go," you say, proud of how steady your voice sounds. "they’re waiting for you"

he hesitates for a moment, like he wants to say something else, but then chris is dragging him away and you're left standing alone in the shadows, heart still racing and lips tingling with anticipation for something that didn't happen.

you go back to your cabin early that night and lie awake staring at the ceiling, trying not to think about the way luke's hands felt on your waist or how right it felt to be in his arms.

— . INCIDENT #4

the fourth time is during a thunderstorm in late july. you're in the big house library, researching something for a project annabeth assigned, when the power goes out. (how amazingly cliche…) the old building groans and settles around you, and rain lashes against the windows hard enough to make them rattle.

you're not afraid of storms – athena kids don't really do irrational fears – but there's something unsettling about being alone in the dark with nothing but the sound of thunder and your own breathing.

“ugh,” you groan, letting out sigh of annoyance. “damn it.”

you get up and (terribly) try and navigate yourself out of the big house using the dark light from outside. terrible idea. which—! is very rare for you; your ideas are always well-thought and planned.

"hello?" luke's voice echos, and then he appears in the doorway with a battery-powered lantern in his hand. "saw the light go out from the hermes cabin. figured someone might be stuck in here."

"what’s that supposed to mean?" you nearly wince at the sight of luke’s face go from smug to a frown. “…well. thanks, i guess. i’m fine.” you say automatically, even though you're clearly not fine, considering you're still groping around in the dark like an idiot.

he sets the lantern on the table, casting everything in a warm yellow glow. "what are you working on?"

you gesture to the books scattered across the table. "research. annabeth wants a full report on pre-classical greek military tactics by tomorrow."

"of course she does." he settles into the chair across from you, making no move to leave. "mind if i wait out the storm here? hermes cabin is basically a wind tunnel right now."

you shrug, trying to look indifferent. "free country."

but you're hyperaware of his presence as you go back to your books, the way he drums his fingers against the table when he's thinking, the soft sound of his breathing. the storm rages outside, and the library feels smaller somehow, more intimate in the flickering light.

"you know," he says after a while, "you don't have to prove anything to her."

you look up from your notes. "excuse me?"

"annabeth. you don't have to be perfect all the time. she's not going to love you any less if you turn in a report that's only mostly comprehensive instead of completely exhaustive."

the observation hits closer to home than you'd like to admit. "i don't know what you're talking about."

"sure you don't." his voice is gentle, understanding in a way that makes your chest tight. "it's okay, you know. to want people to be proud of you."

"what’s are you—"

"i do it too," he continues, like you haven't spoken. "i’m guilty of it. unfortunately.” he looks away from you, a visible frown on his face.

“try to be what everyone needs me to be. the perfect counselor, reliable brother, the guy who always has his shit together. it's exhausting."

you stare at him, this boy you've spent two years thinking you understood, and realize you don't know him at all. there's something vulnerable in his expression, something raw and honest that makes you want to reach across the table and touch his hand.

"luke..."

thunder crashes overhead, loud enough to make you both jump, and the moment breaks. but then the lights flicker back on and immediately go out again, plunging you back into darkness. the lantern has died too, leaving you in complete blackness.

"shit," luke mutters, and you hear him moving around. "hang on, i think there are more batteries in—"

there's a crash as he runs into something, followed by a string of creative curses that would make mr. d proud. you can't help it – you start laughing.

"it's not funny," he says, but you can hear the smile in his voice.

he can’t help but admire and savor your laugh— from out of all your siblings, they’re pretty stoic. a cold and uncaring facade on most of them. (your a victim) he almost forget that their human, sometimes. hearing your laugh made his heart stop for a moment and made his stomach turn.

"it's a little funny."

you're both moving toward each other in the dark, hands outstretched, and you collide somewhere in the middle of the room. his hands land on your shoulders and yours end up pressed against his chest, and suddenly you're not laughing anymore.

"woah," he whispers with an amused tone. “miss me already?”

his thumb traces along your collarbone, and you shiver. you can't see him but you can feel him everywhere – the warmth of his body, the steady beat of his heart under your palms, the way his breathing has gone shallow and quick.

"we should find those batteries," you say, but you don't move away.

"probably."

neither of you moves. his hand slides up to cup your cheek, and you lean into the touch without thinking. this is dangerous territory, the kind of moment that changes everything, but you can't bring yourself to care.

"i can't see you," he murmurs, "but i bet you're beautiful right now."

your breath catches and you cover it up with a snarky remark. "your so corny."

he's leaning in, you can tell by the way his breath gets warmer against your lips, and you're tilting your face up to meet him when the lights suddenly blaze back to life. you spring apart, blinking in the harsh fluorescent glare, and the spell is broken.

luke runs a hand through his hair, looking anywhere but at you. "i should... the storm's probably passing."

"yeah," you agree, even though you can still hear rain against the windows. "probably."

he leaves without another word, and you sink back into your chair, touching your cheek where his hand had been and wondering what might have happened if the power had stayed out just a little bit longer.

the fifth time is the worst one, because it happens right before everything goes to hades.

it's late august, just a few days before luke's supposed to leave on his quest. the whole camp is buzzing with excitement and nervous energy, and you've been avoiding him like the plague because something about the way he's been looking at you lately makes your chest feel a little too tight.

you're in the strawberry fields, helping with the late harvest because physical labor is sometimes the only thing that shuts your brain up. the sun is setting, painting everything golden, and most of the other campers have gone to dinner. you're reaching for a particularly stubborn berry when you hear footsteps behind you.

"you're missing dinner."

you don't turn around. "so are you."

luke settles beside you in the dirt, close enough that his shoulder brushes yours when he reaches for the berries. you work in silence for a while, the only sounds the rustle of leaves and the distant laughter from the dining pavilion.

"i leave tomorrow," he says eventually.

"i know."

"aren't you going to wish me luck?"

you finally look at him, this boy who's been driving you crazy for two years, and something in your chest cracks open. he looks older somehow, more serious, and there's something in his eyes that you can't quite read.

"you don't need luck," you say. "you're luke castellan. you'll be fine."

he's quiet for a long moment, turning a strawberry over in his hands. "and if i wasn’t?”

the question catches you off guard. luke doesn't do vulnerability, doesn't show weakness or doubt. he's always so sure of himself, so confident, and hearing him sound uncertain makes something protective flare up in your chest.

"you’d be fine either way," you say firmly. "you're the best swordsman camp has ever seen. you're smart and brave and—"

"and what?"

you realize you've been staring at him, cataloging the details of his face like you're trying to memorize them. the way his hair falls across his forehead, the scar that cuts through his eyebrow, the exact shade of blue his eyes turn in the golden hour light.

"and you're going to come back," you finish quietly. "you have to."

something shifts in his expression, goes soft and wondering. "would you miss me if i didn't?"

the question hangs between you like a challenge, and you know this is your chance to deflect, to make some sarcastic comment that will restore the careful balance you've maintained for two years. but looking at him now, with the sunset painting him in shades of gold and amber, you can't bring yourself to lie.

"yes," you whisper. "i would."

he reaches out slowly, giving you time to pull away, and cups your face in his hands. his palms are warm and slightly rough from sword work, and you lean into the touch like a flower turning toward the sun.

"i've wanted to do this for so long," he murmurs, thumb brushing across your cheekbone.

"then why haven't you?"

"because you hate me."

you laugh, soft and breathless. "i don't hate you, luke. i never hated you."

"no?"

"no. i hate that you make me feel things i don't want to feel. i hate that you're always in my head, that i can't stop thinking about you even when i try. i hate that you're leaving tomorrow and i don't know when you're coming back."

his eyes search your face like he's looking for something, and whatever he finds there makes him smile – not his usual cocky grin, but something smaller and more real.

"i'm going to kiss you," he says, "unless you tell me not to."

you should tell him not to. you should remind him that you're supposed to be enemies, that this is complicated and messy and probably a terrible idea.

“tell me to stop and i will.” he’s breathless, almost panting.

instead, you close your eyes and whisper, "fine."

he leans in slowly, so slowly it's almost torture, and you can feel your heart hammering against your ribs. his breath is warm against your lips, and you're just about to close the distance between you when—

"luke! there you are!"

annabeth's voice cuts through the moment like a knife, and you spring apart so fast you nearly fall over. she's standing at the edge of the strawberry field with her hands on her hips, looking annoyed.

"chiron's been looking for you everywhere. you're supposed to be getting ready for tomorrow, not—" she stops, taking in the scene, and her expression shifts to something you can't quite read. "oh."

luke clears his throat and stands up, brushing dirt off his jeans. "right. sorry, i was just—"

"helping with the harvest," you finish, proud of how normal your voice sounds. "we lost track of time."

annabeth looks between you and luke, and you can practically see the gears turning in her head. she's too smart not to know what she interrupted, but she doesn't say anything about it.

"well, come on," she says to luke. "chiron wants to go over the quest details one more time."

luke nods and starts to follow her, but then he turns back to you. for a moment you think he's going to say something, but then he just nods once and walks away.

you sit in the strawberry field until full dark, touching your lips and wondering what might have been.

luke comes back from his quest three weeks later, and everything is different.

he's different – quieter, more serious, with shadows in his eyes that weren't there before. the scar on his face is new, a jagged line that runs from his eye to his jaw, and he won't talk about how he got it. won't talk about much of anything, actually.

you try to approach him a few times, but he deflects every attempt at conversation with jokes or excuses or simply walking away. it's like the boy who almost kissed you in the strawberry field never existed, replaced by this stranger who looks like luke but acts like he's carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

the truth comes out two days later, when word gets out that he’s recruiting campers for kronos and betraying the gods.

he tries to burn down the camp.

you're in the big house when it happens, talking to chiron about some paperwork, when bloody and wounded kids come rushing into the place, babbling incoherent nonsense about ‘hermes kid tried to kill me!’

and you realize.

it’s luke they’re talking about.

you're already running, feet pounding against the wooden floors as you race outside. you're looking for annabeth, for your siblings, for anyone who can tell you what's happening, when you see him.

luke is standing at the edge of the woods, and even from a distance you can see that something is wrong. his posture is different, more rigid, and there's something in his hand that glints in the firelight. a sword, you realize. his sword.

you start toward him without thinking, pushing through the crowd of panicking campers. he sees you coming and his expression shifts, becomes something cold and unfamiliar.

"don't," he says when you're close enough to hear him over the chaos. "don't come any closer."

"luke, what did you do?”

he laughs, but there's no humor in it. "what happened? i'll tell you what happened. i went on a quest for my father, and you know what i found? nothing. absolutely nothing. the gods don't care about us. they never have."

"that's not true—"

"isn't it?" his eyes are wild, desperate. "when was the last time your mother talked to you, huh? when was the last time any of them bothered to acknowledge that we exist?"

you take a step closer, hands raised like you're approaching a wounded animal. "stop that— your talking stupid! what’s wrong with you?”

"i'm done pretending that this is okay, that we should be grateful for the scraps they throw us."

"what are you talking about?"

he's backing away from you now, toward the woods, and you realize with growing horror that he's leaving. actually leaving.

"i'm talking about revolution," he says. "i'm talking about making them pay for what they've done to us."

"luke, please—"

"come with me."

the words stop you cold. "what?"

"come with me," he repeats, and for a moment his mask slips and you can see the boy you almost kissed, desperate and pleading. "we could do this together. we could make them listen."

you stare at him, this person you thought you knew, and feel something breaking apart in your chest. "i can't."

"why not?"

"i… this isn’t you," your voice cracked, your hands slowly coming to rest at your sides sadly. “luke wouldn’t say that— he wouldn’t do this.”

his face hardens again. "you don't know who i am. you never did."

he's almost to the tree line now, and you know that if he disappears into those woods, you'll never see him again. not the real him, anyway.

"luke, wait—"

but he's already gone, swallowed up by the darkness between the trees. you stand there for a long moment, staring at the place where he disappeared, before turning back to help some of the injured people.

"are you okay?" she asks, and there's something in her voice that makes you look at her more closely.

"i'm fine. why?"

she hesitates, then pulls something out of her pocket. it's a piece of paper, folded small and slightly singed around the edges.

"i found this," she says quietly. "it has your name on it."

you take the paper with shaking hands and unfold it. luke's handwriting stares back at you, messy and hurried like he wrote it in a rush.

‘if only you knew, how much i really did love you deep down.’

it’s so vague, but you understand it completely. you knew deep down all those times he *did* want to kiss you— all the times the moment was stolen away and you’d ignore him for weeks— even months. you knew.

. — INCIDENT #7 (the time you did)

two years pass before you see luke again.

two years of nightmares and suffering in solitary, of jumping every time someone says his name, of wondering if you could have stopped him somehow. two years of telling yourself you hate him, that what you felt was just a stupid crush, that you're better off without him.

you hear someone call your name, and you turn to see luke standing twenty feet away with his sword drawn.

he looks older, harder, with new scars and a coldness in his eyes that makes your heart ache. but he's still luke, still the boy who taught you to dance and almost kissed you in a strawberry field, and seeing him again makes something in your chest flutter back to life.

"hey." he says, and his voice is different too – rougher, more controlled.

"luke." you raise your own sword, muscle memory taking over. "you shouldn't be here."

"probably not. but i needed to see you."

"why?"

he doesn't answer, just circles you slowly like a predator sizing up prey. but there's something else in his expression, something that looks almost like longing.

"you look good," he says finally. "older. stronger."

"you look like shit."

he laughs, and for a second he sounds like the old luke. "always so honest. i missed that about you."

"don't." the word comes out sharper than you intended. "you don't get to say things like that. not after what you did."

"what i did was necessary—"

"what you did was betray everyone who ever cared about you."

his jaw tightens. "they betrayed us first. all of us. you know that."

"that doesn't make this right."

you're still circling each other, swords raised but neither of you making a move to attack. around you the battle rages on, but it feels distant, unimportant compared to this moment.

"come with me," he says suddenly, echoing his words from two years ago. "it's not too late. you could still—"

"no."

"you don't even know what i'm offering."

"i don't care what you're offering—! the answer is no!”

something flickers across his face – hurt, maybe, or disappointment. "you always were stubborn."

"and you always were an idiot."

he suddenly stops, letting a deep breath out, one of realization yet stress.

"i dream about you," he says suddenly, voice rough with exertion. "every night. i dream about what might have happened if i'd stayed."

the confession hits you like a physical blow, and your grip on your sword wavers. he could take advantage, could end this right now, but he doesn't.

"luke..."

"i dream about kissing you in that strawberry field. about what would have happened if annabeth hadn't interrupted us."

"stop."

"i can't." his free hand comes up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing across your skin like he did all those years ago. "i've tried to forget you, tried to convince myself that what i felt wasn't real. but it was. it is."

you're staring at him, this boy who broke your heart and burned down your world, and you can feel yourself wavering. because underneath the coldness and the scars, he's still luke. still the person who danced with you in the firelight and made you laugh in the armory and looked at you like you were something precious.

"it doesn't matter," you whisper. "it's too late."

"is it?"

and then he's kissing you.

it's nothing like you imagined all those years ago. it's desperate and fierce and tastes like blood and regret, like all the words you never said and all the chances you never took. his hand tangles in your hair and you drop your sword, reaching up to grip his shirt like he might disappear if you let go.

for a moment – just a moment – you let yourself fall into it. let yourself remember what it felt like to want him, to believe that maybe you could have something good together. his lips are soft and warm and familiar, like coming home after a long journey.

but then reality crashes back in. the sounds of battle, the smell of smoke, the weight of everything that's happened between you. you push him away, hard enough that he stumbles backward.

"no," you say, and your voice is shaking. "you don't get to do this. you don't get to kiss me and expect it to fix everything."

he stares at you, chest heaving, and for a second he looks like the sixteen-year-old boy who used to sneak into the armory just to talk to you.

"i know i can't fix it," he says quietly. "i know i've ruined everything. but i needed you to know – i needed you to know that it was real. what we had, what we could have had. it was real."

tears are streaming down your face now, and you hate yourself for crying in front of him. "it doesn't matter anymore."

"it matters to me."

you pick up your sword with shaking hands. "you need to go. now. before i do something we'll both regret."

he nods slowly, like he expected this. "for what it's worth," he says, backing away, "i'm sorry. for all of it."

"so am i."

he disappears into the woods, and you sink to your knees in the dirt, touching your lips and tasting salt. the battle is winding down around you, but you can't bring yourself to move. you just kneel there in the aftermath, mourning the boy you loved and the future you'll never have.

later, when the monsters are gone and the wounded are being tended to, annabeth finds you still sitting in the woods.

"are you hurt?" she asks, settling beside you.

you shake your head, not trusting your voice.

"i saw him talking to you. what did he say?"

you're quiet for a long moment, trying to figure out how to explain. how do you tell someone that the person who betrayed everything you believe in just kissed you like his life depended on it? how do you explain that for one perfect, terrible moment, you kissed him back?

"he said goodbye," you finally manage.

annabeth nods like she understands, and maybe she does. maybe she knows what it's like to love someone who's chosen the wrong side, to have your heart broken by someone you trusted.

you sit together in the woods as the sun sets, and you try not to think about the way luke's lips felt against yours, or the look in his eyes when you pushed him away. try not to wonder if things could have been different, if you'd made different choices or said different words.

but deep down, you know the truth. you know that no matter how many times you almost kissed, no matter how real your feelings were, it was always going to end this way. because luke chose his path, and you chose yours, and sometimes love isn't enough to bridge that kind of divide.

the taste of him lingers on your lips for days afterward, a bittersweet reminder of what was and what might have been. and sometimes, late at night when you can't sleep, you let yourself remember the way he looked at you in that strawberry field, young and hopeful and full of possibility.

but then morning comes, and you get up and train and try to build something good from the ashes he left behind. because that's what you do. that's who you are.

and if sometimes you dream about a world where he stayed, where you got to find out what forever might have looked like with luke – well, that's between you and him, and no one else needs to know.

7/14 : did i cook with this chat