#i can’t wait to mail her something too | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ceilidho · 10 months ago

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take me home, country road

[ao3]

prompt: 1800s price/reader…. reader flees to his town where Price is the sheriff after a murder in her previous town only to be mistaken for the mail order bride that Price just sent for ….and he’s not interested in hearing any of her excuses when she tells him that he’s got the wrong girl (part 4) part 1, part 2, part 3

You remember the lock turning on the door of another room.

Ice flooding your veins. Heart suddenly tripling in speed, flush against your breastbone, close to snapping your ribs and pumping right out. A man standing in front of the locked door, barring your only way out. Petrified, but not confused; it’d always been an inevitability, something you’d long been waiting to happen, but hoping beyond hope that maybe you’d skirt by it unscathed.

You’re in a bedroom, but you’re also in a study hundreds of miles away, cabinets along the walls filled with jade carvings and porcelain trinkets, bookcases filled with untouched first editions with the spines still stiff, a leather chair tucked into wide mahogany desk, and a grandfather clock ticking ominously in the corner. And you’re watching a man come into the room and lock the door, shutting you both inside.

There is a bust of the same man in the corner of the room. When you sink into the memory, your eyes drag there and hold.

“Honey? Honey, are you alright?”

You come back to yourself at the sound of another man’s voice. When you blink, the memory leeches out of the corners of your eyes and you find Price looking down at you with some concern, a slight furrow between his brows. You shudder out the memory until it’s wrung out, until you’re dry of it. Sweat cools on the back of your neck. There’s a tremble in your hand that you notice when you go to rub your forehead, a shake that even Price notices, taking your wrist and pulling it to his chest.

There is no bust in the corner of the room here. The man that locked the door holds your wrist tenderly to his chest and waits for you to answer, his lips still sloped down. The black spots fade from your vision one by one, panic retreating back into your bones. It leaves a too big hole inside of you.

You know it’s still within you. It slumbers in the marrow of your bones; it cowers in there, sometimes close enough to kiss or close enough to cradle your head and crack it against the nearest ledge.

“Honey?” he asks again. The deep tenor of his voice moves something back to life inside of you, as much as it pains you to admit. Even to yourself.

You blink up at him, only realizing how dry your mouth is when you croak out, “I’m—I’m alright. Apologies.”

He doesn’t seem much convinced. Perhaps he has a right to doubt your words. You can’t see the tormented thing staring back at him.

“I’ve given you a few too many frights today,” Price sighs, head dropping towards you, like drawing a curtain around the two of you. “Thought maybe you needed a bit of a push, but you’re not quite there, darling, are you?”

“Not where?” you ask, lost. “Where am I not?”

For once, he doesn’t answer, doesn’t try to force his vision into your head. It shocks you when he dips his head to press his lips against your forehead, lingering there for several moments. Breathing you in. You let him linger there, half-curious yourself, a softness suffusing into you like breath.

“Are you hungry enough to eat? Or straight to bed?”

His words give you a nervous thrill, but when you catch his eye, there’s nothing to read there. Absent of double meaning. He’s asking you if you’re hungry and if you’re wanting to eat.

“No.” You shake your head. “I’m still…well, I’ve had a bit of a cramp all afternoon. I don’t think I’m up to eating.”

“Not even tea or cake?”

The thought intrigues you, but not enough for your stomach to untwist. “Tomorrow, maybe.”

He hums against your forehead, then presses another kiss there, then a third on your temple, breathing out a puff of air that blows across your face and tickles your nose. “Not hungry for anything then,” he surmises, and you hear it there, the silvery flipside of an innuendo. You scrunch up your nose and flinch when he chuckles. “How about just a bath then? And then we’ll tuck in for the night.”

“That sounds nice. Do you, um…I could help if you want?"

“Already fetched the water earlier today. Wash tub’s downstairs. You can stay here or come down and wait until the water’s warm.”

Finally, he pulls back and puts some space between the two of you. Something buried deep in your chest clicks when he unlocks the door and steps out. You try not to look at it too hard.

You follow him downstairs, more out of habit than anything. With the water already fetched from the well and Price starting a fire to heat it up enough for a warm bath, there’s not much for you to do besides wait, but you join him downstairs anyway, taking the time to look around.

“Toothpowder, brushes, and mint are in the drawer under the sink if you need any,” Price tells you. You don’t bother with the mint, but you use the rest to clean your teeth in the bathroom sink, a bowl of water already waiting for you to help rinse your mouth. You rethink the mint afterwards, chewing on a couple of leaves to rid your mouth of the chalky aftertaste.

It takes awhile to heat up enough water for a bath, giving you time to peruse the rest of the house. After spending the bulk of your day locked up in his room, it’s nice to stretch your legs and move about. The rest of the house is fairly typical, barebones; Price heats up the water in a stone fireplace in the main room and at the other end of the house, you find the kitchen.

The crickets in the bushes out front are louder than you’ve ever heard them. For a moment, you stand alone by the front door, fingers twitching by your sides. It wouldn’t do you any good to run, but your feet feel quick now, light after hours of rest. You could bolt like an Appaloosas if you wanted to.

Then Price calls your name and you drift back to the other room.

Steam billows off the water in the metal tub. It’s only halfway filled, which makes you frown; you have no right to be picky after the days you’ve spent cleaning yourself with a damp washcloth over a porcelain bowl, but you can’t help thinking that it’ll hardly come up to your waist. Still, staring at the warm water makes your skin itch; you could practically kiss the bar of soap sitting on the floor next to the tub. If there wasn’t a man in the room, your dress would already be on the floor.

“Are you still waiting on more to heat up?” you ask, casting a glance at the fireplace where a small flame still burns. There isn’t a bucket of water hovering over it though, just a poker stowed back in its place.

“Any more and I’ll be mopping up water for the rest of the night,” he huffs. “That’s more than enough for us.”

“Us?” you repeat.

It only makes sense when you turn around and stare wide-eyed at Price as he untucks his shirt and starts at the buttons, each one slipped through the hole exposing a new inch of chest covered in dark hair. You make a noise at the back of your throat, half-aghast. The other half, indeterminate. If your feet weren’t glued to the floor, you’d stop him or grab his hands. Instead, you watch mutely as he pulls off his shirt and unbuttons his pants, mouth drying at each new slab of muscle revealed.

You swallow reflexively when his pants pool around his ankles on the floor. You catch a glimpse of thick thighs covered in dark hair and something heavy dangling between his legs before you avert your eyes, staring straight up at the ceiling. Sure to give yourself a kink in your neck, but perhaps forgivable this time.

“Us?” It comes out squeaky this time, high and tight in your throat. Price laughs.

When he moves towards you, you can hardly so much as lift a finger to keep him at bay. Your body feels tethered in place, sluggish and inert. The world moves around you instead, doubly so when Price fits his hands at your waist and twists you to face away from him.

Big hands ruck up the fabric of your dress, slowly pulling it over your head. You lift your arms for him on command, the whole time baffled by how little struggle you put up. You imagine him telling that deputy of his what an obedient little bride he’s found for himself.

“Us,” Price confirms, emphasizing the word the same way you did. “We’d be here all night if we took turns. Water’d be ice cold by then too. You’d rather I freeze my nethers off?” You open your mouth to reply but he cuts you off. “Don’t answer that.”

That pulls a real giggle from your chest, shocking you both. Breath sits like a bubble in your chest. You feel his fingers still at the ties of your corset before pulling it through.

He loosens each lace slowly, giving each a gentle pull. It’s nerve wracking, nail-biting tedium, the corset gradually giving way to his touch and drooping into your waist. You let him undo each of the hooks and unwrap it from your torso before pulling off your chemise underneath, flesh chilling in the open air. Even stationed behind you, you feel his stare like a heavy, weighted thing. His fingertips trace over the naked skin of your back, looping small circles just for the pleasure of touching your skin.

Gooseflesh runs down the length of your arms, shivering from his touch as much as the cool air. You tell yourself that it means nothing just to put it all away.

“Alright, let’s get you washed up,” he says gruffly, clearing his throat. “Been awhile since you had a warm bath, I bet.”

You turn part way around, watching him from the corner of your eye. If only he knew.

Price gets in the tub first and it’s immediately obvious to you why he hardly filled the tub. His body takes up so much room that you frown when you realize that he expects you to get in next. It’s one of the bigger tubs you’ve ever bathed in and yet he still has to bend his knees. The sigh he lets out after relaxing against the back of the tub makes you shiver.

When he glances up at you swelteringly, you hear the evocation unspoken.

“If you’d just give me a minute,” you snap.

“Darlin’.”

The note of warning in his voice finally tips you over the edge of hesitancy where you’d been precariously balanced.

The water is still warm when you dip a foot tentatively in. It’s easier to ignore the indulgent smile on Price’s face than engage with it, sure you’d shout yourself hoarse if you finally let your composure crack.

You think it vaguely humiliating to have to turn around in front of Price in the tub in order to lower yourself to sit. He doesn’t touch you yet, but there’s no way to avoid the weight of his eyes on your backside. It’s not something you’ve thought about much before. A man’s hands on you, stripped bare for him, lowering yourself into a hot bath with him.

You peek over your shoulder. “Do you ever stop staring?”

A pointless question. He doesn’t even meet your eye to respond, just stares at the curve of your ass with heavy lidded eyes, the faintest pink hue high on his cheeks. He hums instead. You purse your lips.

The water sloshes up the side of the tub when he pulls you down abruptly, settling your back against his chest. You stiffen in the cradle of his arms and chest, acutely aware of every point of your body pressed into his. When Price sighs now, it reverberates through your back and chest.

“Why does it feel like you’ve been run against a whetstone?” he asks. The sound drips heavy from his lips because the room is silent apart from him, apart from the gentle lapping of the bath water against the sides of the tub and the water trickling from the washcloth when he lifts it out of the water and gives it a wring.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you ask, frowning.

“You’re all sharp, all hard edges. If I’m not careful, you might run me through.”

“You should’ve thought of that before you married me,” you huff.

That gets another laugh out of him, raising your hackles. It’s hard to differentiate between ridicule and endearment. You opt for the former to guard yourself, to keep yourself safe.

“I’ll take my chances.”

You can’t think of a way to respond to that. It’s loaded in an uncomfortable way. It’s easier to just let it pass into silence. Price doesn’t seem anxious for you to respond anyway, thankfully, instead reaching out of the tub to grab the bar of soap still on the floor. The movement pushes his pelvis into you, the length between his legs pressing against the small of your back. You jolt forward only for him to wrap an arm around your waist and haul you back. More water splashes over the rim.

“Christ, you’re skittish,” he gripes.

“What do you expect me to do?” You squirm in his hold, which only makes his arm constrict tighter around you, drawing you even closer.

“Sit there and let me wash you, for one. What’s got you all riled up?”

“You know exactly what,” you say, face hot when you feel it press against you again.

“My—”

“Yes, that,” you hiss, digging your nails into his forearm.

“Squirming around isn’t gonna make it go away,” Price teases, squeezing once before finally letting you go. You scoot forward as much as he allows, but it’s for naught; you can feel it press against you still.

In the brief silence, Price lathers up the cloth until it froths, then puts the bar of soap back down on the floor. You almost stop him to say that you can wash yourself, but he starts on your arms before you’re so much as able to part your lips.

Your nipples bead when he drags the washcloth over your chest. The material is coarse, almost abrasive, and when you wince, Price murmurs a soft apology into your ear. He’s softer when he pulls your legs one after the other from the water and sets your foot on the rim of the tub, dragging the cloth over your calves and up the inside of your thighs. You shake when his hand disappears under the water, biting your lip until it hurts.

You sit with the silence instead of electing to fill it. It’s better that way anyway; words can unravel so many interiorities that long for stasis. And what has the man at your back done to earn your words anyway, besides lock you up and throw away the key?

You’ll figure your way out eventually. It’s only a matter of time.

His own washup is perfunctory, performed only to get it over with. None of the affection reserved for washing you. He barely makes you lean forward before dragging the cloth haphazardly across his chest, getting a few good scrubs in before calling it a day.

“I can’t imagine why you’d spend so much time filling a bath just to wash up in five minutes,” you say, peering over your shoulder at him. Expressly not focusing on the pillowy muscles of his chest or the dark, wet hair now flush with his skin.

“Haven’t used the tub in months,” he grunts, dunking the cloth in the bath water until it comes out clean. He wrings it dry before hanging it over the rim. “There’s a creek out back, ‘bout a ten minute walk from here.”

You frown. “You usually bathe in a creek?”

“What’s the point in spending time heating up enough water for a bath when there’s a perfectly good creek nearby? Water’s water.”

“You did it for me.”

“That’s different.”

You roll your eyes. “It shouldn’t be.”

“You like to fuss over nothing, huh?” Price remarks. Again, it’s said so earnestly that it makes your skin prickle.

When you stand, the water rushes off you in a wave, leaving you slick and cooling rapidly in the air. Your teeth clatter until he steps out of the tub to fetch you a towel, wrapping you up in it and patting you dry. You get a bit dizzy when he kneels before you to dry your legs, swaying on your feet. Under your breath, you mumble something like, you don’t have to.

He ignores you. For reasons unbeknownst to you, you let it go.

Your bare feet pick up stray dust and debris on your way back up the stairs alone. You wipe them off on the mat at the door before changing into your shift while Price empties the tub downstairs. The oil lamp on the bedside table illuminates most of the room when you light the wick and delicately put the chimney back in place, apart from the elongated shadows that hang from the corners like spiderwebs.

The bed looks different when you know you’re meant to share it. You try not to tense up too much when you hear Price come up the stairs, eyeing him nervously from the other side of the room.

“You’ve got that look again, darling,” he says, shutting the door behind him. He doesn’t lock it this time. The knot in your shoulder aches when they untense.

“What look?” you ask, averting your gaze when he drops the towel to change into his nightwear.

“Like a doe.”

You snort, distinctly unladylike. “Like a deer before it’s shot?”

“The very same. Didn’t I tell you it’d be straight to bed?”

You open your mouth but nothing comes out. In the back of your mind, you must have assumed he was placating you, saying words just to soothe. It’s rare that men speak plainly and mean it. Over the years, you’ve learned to read into second meanings and real intentions couched in soft words. Men like to think themselves simple, but you know a vast underground world.

Some part of you grows anxious with your own inability to play the part of his simpering wife. He must have thought he’d be taking to bed something nurturing and with wings. It’d be easier if you just acquiesced; you can’t imagine he’d worry so much about his doting wife fleeing in the middle of the night. Not the wife happy to spread her legs for him.

“Why are you so patient?” you ask him outright instead.

He takes a moment to answer, studying you. His face by lamplight is inscrutable. “Nothing good comes plucked too soon.”

“You don’t think that God gave you the right to—” You can’t say the words, but he understands.

“The methods of God take pickaxes and shovels to uncover,” Price says, so simply, so plainly. You hardly understand what he means. “It’s not a man’s place to rush to understand His intentions.”

You think it’s almost unfair for a man to say those words to you when you plan on running away from him. It makes you dig your nails into the palms of your hands.

You’re still nervous when you crawl into bed, eyeing him when he settles on his side and turns the lamp off, cupping his palm around the glass and blowing out the flame. There’s little to worry about though. Price doesn’t so much as shift from his side of the bed.

The world outside is beyond gold and red now, when you stare out the window from where you lie on your side. When you think of the past, it comes with a searing pain. Then, it is no more.

#ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #captain price #captain john price #cod price #john price #price x you #price x reader #price/reader #john price x reader

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magics-neptunes-things · 6 months ago

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The Dork And The Nerd

Hello there!

I didn't post anything with Leah since like for ever, so there it is!

Please enjoy :)

TW : None I think, or please let me know :)

Looking around the room, you readjust the camera one last time before starting your stream. It’s your job, even if some people are still saying that it isn’t a real job and stupid things like that.

You were winning your life easily with it, living your dream. You always loved playing video games, you started alone because it wasn’t what your little sisters were loving to do. When you discovered online games it was a life changing for you. You started streaming when you were 18 years old, which was seven years ago now. It was hard at first to be honest, being a woman in this man world.

But you find some friends in popular streamers who took you under their wings and help you to be where you are now.

You have several thousand people who follow you to each of your live, four night each week. You still have some shit to deal with, like harassers, but you took a manager who is the one reading your mail. He takes on him to choose your different partnership and sometimes answer to the people sending you strange things.

You are openly gay, but that doesn’t make stop some of men to send you disturbing pictures. Thanks god it’s your agent who see them, but you are aware of it. Just like your girlfriend, though.

You start your stream like usual, saying hello to your followers and talking a little bit about actuality or what you did today. You have a white kitten, who you called Purrito, who is almost as famous as you are. He keeps coming when you are playing, sometimes lying on your hand, or trying to catch the mouse of your computer. You already have a lot of bloopers because of him, but you can’t be mad with him.

Lately, your passion for video games seems to have catch the attention of your girlfriend. She always was looking at you when you are streaming, when she can. You usually do it during the evening so she’s back from training or games.

When Leah asked you to learn to her how to play video games, at first you thought she was messing with you. But she was really serious and ask you one more time. And who are you to refuse something to your girlfriend?

At first it was just to have fun, but you soon have an idea, and you used your best puppy eyes to get your girlfriend agreed with it. You wanted to make her play with you, but without her showing her face in your screen.

You never talked about Leah being your girlfriend, even if you are together for two years now. The public know that you are in a relationship, you sometimes mention your girlfriend live. They just don’t know who she is.

You met Leah at a ceremony and Katie who is a fan of your job took Leah when she went to met you. You were happy to met Katie, but you find yourself thunderstruck by Leah. You don’t remember if you were really coherent that night, but Leah followed you back almost immediately when you did it on Instagram.

You waited the next Arsenal games to sent her a message, congratulating her for her performance. You even take a picture of you in the stand with your father (who really was surprised when you ask him to go with you to a women football game). Leah answered you that next time you come you have to tell her, so she could give you a better seat.

You didn’t know if she was serious or not, but she then asked you the next game in London if you are coming and she find you a seat in the friends and family area. After the game she offers you to go for a drink. You then had other dates, and the rest is history.

You got together one month before she did her ACL and even if it was a hard time, you both get stronger. You let Lia Wälti take the lead in Leah’s recovery, but you were always around to help too. When Lia return to her home, you were the one staying with Leah at night. And you kept taking her in her rehab and cooking for her.

The day Leah started to run again, you were at the training to watch her. This is the day where she officially asked you to move in with her now that she could do things alone again. Unless cooking maybe, but that’s another question.

You accepted of course and the blonde happily transformed one of her guest room in your studio of stream.

It’s where you are now, Leah peacefully setting on your living room, ready to go live with you.

“Oh, it looks like our guest is here” you smile when you see that Leah is connected too. “Hi Baby!”

You only said to your viewers that it was your girlfriend, without saying anything else. You are aware that maybe someone will recognize Leah’s voice, but it would be fun anyway.

“Hi Love” she answers.

You make a reminder of the game you were going to play, for her first live Leah chose a car games, Trackmania. It wasn’t your favorite game, but you were so happy that she said yes to you that you would have accept a Tetris game.

“How are you?” you ask her, while making the game ready.

“I’m fine. Happy to play with you tonight.”

“I am happy too” you smile before looking at the camera. “Let’s have her a good evening guys so she will accept to do it more often yeah?”

You hear Leah chuckle, and you can’t help but smile. You already are seeing comments saying that you look whipped, what makes you roll your eyes. It seems to you that Leah’s voice is a little different from what it is in reality, but maybe your mind is playing trick.

You play several runs with Leah, before switching to another game after talking with your chat who recommend to you to make Leah try an adventure RPG. When you look at the clock again, it’s past midnight.

“Oh wow I didn’t realize that it was already so late” you exclaimed yourself. “We are going to stop here guys, I’m sorry. Maybe next time we will try Minecraft or something else, I’ll let you know. I hope you had as fun as I had Babe.”

“It was really fun. Thank you for inviting me.”

You can hear Leah smile and you can’t wait to go to the living room for a cuddle and kiss session. When you played together until know, you were able to show each other or tease the other with kisses.

“You will be invited for more times” you smirk.

Leah left and you take the time to thanks your viewers a little more longer before logging off. You stretch, finishing your bottle of water before going to find Leah. You run on the stairs and Leah already knew you were coming before you jump on the couch next to her.

She laughs when you attack her with kisses all over her face, finishing on her lips.

“Did you really have fun?” you ask, looking at her with attention.

She nods, playing with your hair. She’s smiling and every time you look at her, you wonder how in the world you get so lucky. She’s perfect.

“I did” she smiles at you. “I’m not saying that I want to do that all the night every night, but it was great.”

“Mh I maybe have another idea for us to have fun all night” you smirk.

The tone of your voice is very obvious and if Leah had one doubt, she just has to look the way you are looking at her. Your fingers run on her tight and you kiss her one more time, before sucking slightly at her neck.

Leah gulp and just hums, tilting her head on the side for you to have a better access. You know what you are doing, after more than two years, you know Leah’s body and reactions like the back of your hand.

“Let’s go to bed” Leah decides several seconds after, taking your hand before dragging you in your bedroom on the first floor.

********

“It was a great session.”

You smile at Leah who came to your studio after you played together again. You were still sitting when she entered the room, and she passed her hand around your shoulder from behind to kiss your cheek.

“It was” you smile before turning your chair to face Leah.

She sits on your lap, and you pass your arms around her. It wasn’t the second time that you are playing together while you are streaming, today you chose Fifa and it was very fun. You made the pact not to play with Arsenal or England, but it was still very funny. Leah is a very bad looser, so you play several games in the same team too.

“People are starting to have some suspicion though” Leah says.

She was right, you saw on social media some things about your girlfriend being Leah. But it wasn’t the only name coming.

“Yeah, they said I will make a great couple with some of your teammates too” you shrug, before counting on your fingers “They are talking about Sabrina, Alessia, Kyra and Lia.”

Leah frown, not really liking the picture who comes in her mind.

“Nah. You’re mine.” she answers possessively.

“Do you want to tell people?”

Leah looks at you, thinking for several seconds before answering. This is lasting for some weeks now and you know that you can’t stay hidden forever. You attract the attention of the world by playing together.

“Not now. It’s fun like this, don’t you think?”

“It is” you confirm with a smile.

Leah has the habit to be coupled with every teammate and you are sometimes shipped with other streamers. You like to stream with other of them, certain being your friends too. There is nothing much, but that doesn’t stop people to imagine that you are dating one of them.

But you have to admit too that your stream with Leah attracts more people than usual, and you are a little scared that people will assume that you’re using your girlfriend for the views.

Your face being very close to Leah, she seems to realize very quickly that something is on your mind.

“What’s the matter?” she asks.

“Nothing” you say at first, before sighing. “Well, I mean… I already have some viewers saying that I’m using my girlfriend to gain more viewers, so I was wondering how they would react when they realize it’s you.”

You shrug to show her that it’s not really important, you don’t want to think you are worried about something so little.

“If someone say that you know what my answer will be?” Leah asks with a serious face.

“No” you mumble.

“I will tell them that we are together for two years, that you have been the best girlfriend in the world since. I will tell them how affectionate, caring, sweet, funny, clever and passionate you are.”

You can’t help but smile and feel your cheek being a little red at that statement. Leah smirks and kisses your cheek.

“And I’ll add that if you use me, it’s only in the bedroom and the way you do is actually very talented and also very private.”

You laugh this time, hitting her on the arm. Leah seems very happy about her joke, her eyes shinning with malice. She’s so beautiful. You bite her jaw before whispering.

“You’re such a dork.”

“The Nerd and the Dork, it would be a great book title” she smirks.

“You’re not totally wrong.”

********

“You’re cheating!”

You can’t help but laugh at Leah. You are playing once again against your girlfriend, during a live. You are playing at Mario Kart and you just won the race for the third time in a row. She’s fuming and even if you can’t see her, the noise coming from downstairs are letting you know that she’s actually kicking the ground right now.

“I’m not, Baby I swear. You can’t cheat in this game.”

“Yes, you are!”

You roll your eyes, not answering anything. You are of course very aware about of much your girlfriend hates to lose. You are at the first place while Leah is third, which is really good for someone who isn’t playing video games daily like you. But not for the great Leah Williamson.

“Someone in the comment is saying that I will sleep on the couch. I won’t Babe, right?”

“I’m not sure about it for now” Leah grumbles. “Or maybe I’ll go sleep to the trai…”

You cough suddenly and Leah stops talking, realizing what she was just about to say. You really hope that no one would understand what she was going to say. Or at least another end of sentence, not “training ground”.

“Alright, next game” you say right after.

“I’m gonna crush you.”

She doesn’t and when you join her in the kitchen after, she seems really embarrassed. You ignore the different messages asking what Leah wanted to say and the answer some of them gave. You saw that some people where right and you know that the research will start again.

“I’m so sorry” she says, coming for you while you’re entering the room. “I was fuming because I was losing, and I forgot for some seconds that it wasn’t only you and me.”

You smile, easily passing your arms around her to give her a hug. She cuddles against you when you kiss her temple.

“It’s ok, don’t worry. Plus, you are the most famous between the both of us, you will be the most annoyed by all that.”

“Why would I be annoyed?”

Leah back up her head a little bit, just to be able to have a better look at your face. You arch an eyebrow before answering.

“Because you always told me you want privacy.”

It was in the early hours of your relationship, and you never said anything against it. You understood Leah’s needs, at this time you weren’t as famous as you are right now. She wanted to be known for her skills, her job in football or her implications in different charities. And the point was very easy for you to be understood. Your friends are families know obviously about you two, it would be strange and difficult to hide a relationship when you live together. Plus because of her answer last time you talked about it, you were really sure that it was what she want.

“I told you that at first, but now I wouldn’t mind if people start to know about us.”

She shrugs like it’s nothing, but your mind just blown. You were used to the idea of people stay in the ignorance about your relationship and the love you have for this woman. As long as you have her, why would you complain?

“Do you… Really?” you frown.

“Yeah, I mean if you don’t want to be out…”

“No, I do. I just thought that you would like to stay private for like forever?”

“I love you. I want the world to know how happy you make me. But in several weeks. I want to play with your fans a little more.”

“Sounds good to me” you smirk. “And I love you too.”

********

For the next weeks, you chose one day of the week to play and stream with Leah. Between those days, you were careful to post some things on social media, giving little clues to your followers about the identity of your girlfriend. You never posted something with Leah or even with a part of her hand or hair. It was more subtle than that.

Until one day, where you were peacefully streaming while Leah went out with her friends. You usually go with her, but today it was more an unexpected drink, so you already have something planned on your channel. You have an entire trust in Leah, and you know that nothing would ever happen with anyone. If you go with her almost every time, it’s only to have a great time with her.

Plus, tonight she’s out with Katie, Caitlin, Steph, her boyfriend, and Kyra, so there are really no risks.

You usually wait for Leah to text you that she was coming home to cut your stream, so you have the time to finish what you are doing and say goodbye to your viewers. Tonight though, either you didn’t see her message, or she forgot to send it to you.

Still, there is suddenly a stunning blonde who enters your studio, showing herself in the camera at the same time. You are so surprised that you only can look at her on the screen of your camera.

“Hello Hot stuff! You won’t believe what I just learned about Kyra! Did you k- … Oh shit.”

That’s the moment she realizes. It was almost comical to be honest, the enthusiastic tone with which she began her sentence, the moment of silence and the last words spoken in a low voice.

You only have like two seconds to decide if you want to cut the stream and never talk about it again, or if it’s time to be honest with everyone. You chose a third way and turn to the camera.

“Well it’s time for me to say goodbye. See you tomorrow at eight. Thanks for being here!”

You wave and cut the stream and the camera before turning in Leah’s direction. She seems amused but she has at the same time the same look on the face of a teenager caught doing something wrong.

“Funny way to outing things, this clip will be viral” you comment with a small smile.

“I’m sorry?”

Leah can’t hide her smile and you can’t either. You can be mad at her for something like that. You let Leah comes to sit on your lap, kissing her softly when she’s settled. She taste like tequila.

“How was your night?”

“Great. But I missed you.”

She hides her face in your neck, and you feel the goosebumps forming when her breath stroke your skin.

“Did you have fun?”

She hums, start to kiss your neck and you know that the discussion you were supposed to have right now is delayed for now. You will have a lot of time to talk about it later. Your phones are way too busy receiving tons notifications to be able to do anything with it right now anyway.

********

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YourInstagram Two years and a half with this dork. I love you ❤️🤍

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#woso imagine #woso x reader #woso fanfics #leah williamson #leah williamson x you #leah williamson imagine #leah williamson x reader

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boldlyvoid · 11 months ago

Text

Neighbourhood Beauty

Spencer Reid x Fem Reader

Summary: Penelope is hosting Christmas at her apartment this year, she invites everyone... Including her new neighbour, who is exactly Spencer's type.

Warnings: flirting, love at first sight, kissing, making out, teasing, drunk bau friends, food mentions, Baker!Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

She was sad the whole journey home from work knowing that Christmas was tomorrow and she was going to be alone. As she gets into her apartment complex, she runs into her neighbour at the mailbox. She’s got 3 packages in her hands while trying to figure out how to carry the last two, “do you want help?”

“Oh, please?” She sounds so relieved. “What a blessing it is to see you today.”

She smiles for the first time in a few hours, “Oh, anytime Penelope. Are these all gifts?” She asks as she takes the two packages in her hands. She’ll come down for her own mail later. Nothing interesting should be in there.

Penelope nods, leading them towards the elevators. “I’m having a big holiday gathering tomorrow— wait, do you have plans, are you going home to see family?”

“No,” she admits, sadly. “I couldn’t get a plane ticket, I tried but they’re so insanely expensive lately.”

“Yeah, I know,” Penny sighs. “I haven’t gone out to see my brothers in years, they’re in California.”

“It sucks… but you have lots of friends here, right? I’m sure they’re coming over tomorrow?” She asks, mostly so she can feel some sort of comfort if she isn’t doing anything tomorrow either.

“I’m having Christmas here for the first time,” she shares. “Dinner starts at 6:30 but we’re having a little bit of everything for lunch around 2, if you want to stop by at any time?”

“Oh no, I couldn’t—

“You can, and you will!” Penelope insists. “You don’t need to worry about gifts or bringing any food, just show up. I hate the thought of you being alone next door.”

“Okay, I’ll come,” she gives in with a smile. “But I’m bringing a baked good… have you ever been to my bakery?”

“You own the bakery?” She’s so flabbergasted. “I thought you just worked there?”

She smiles, “I do… we do okay but I’m by no means rich enough to buy a plane ticket home.”

“Well, maybe that’s a good thing cause now I can eat whatever you bring tomorrow!”

—

She spends the whole night baking. She makes molasses cookies with powdered sugar on them in shakes of little Christmas trees and she makes chocolate croissants. One of which she brings to Penelope around 10 am so that she can have a nice breakfast before the party starts.

She showers, picks a cute outfit and by 3pm she’s anxiously waiting by the door trying to hype herself up to go over. She only knows Penelope. They’ve lived beside each other for 3 years now. She’s seen her friends coming and going and heard them talking in the halls but she’s never talked to them. But if they like Penelope, they’ve gotta like her too.

So she bucks up and heads over.

She knocks and within seconds, a handsome man is throwing the door open. “You don’t have to— oh, hi?”

“Hi… Penelope invited me? I’m her neighbour… Y/N,” she awkwardly introduces herself.

He’s at a loss for words— and breath, for a moment and then shakes himself out of it. “Spencer… Reid. Doctor… Doctor Spencer Reid.”

It makes her laugh, easing the anxiety out of her system. “Can I come in, Doctor Spencer Reid?”

“Yeah, yes, come in,” he steps out of the way and extends his arm into the room for her to follow. He closes the door after she’s inside and smiles. “How do you know Penelope?”

“I live next door.”

“Really?” He can’t believe it. “How long?”

“3 years now…”

“And you’ve never come over?” He looks offended.

She smiles, “Why, sad you haven’t known me longer?” She manages to tease him. She’s not always good at reading people but something about how he’s acting makes her think he likes her.

He blushes but nods, “Well, welcome. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“You too,” she looks him up and down. He’s very handsome. And a doctor… “how do you know Penelope?”

“We’ve worked together since I was 22…”

“And you’re now…?”

“42,” he presses his lips together, awkwardly. “Old…”

“No, no you’re not, I would’ve guessed 35 at the most,” she teases, stepping into his space, she places her hand on his arm. “You’re a very handsome 42.”

“Are you doing anything for New Years?” He asks, removing all his fear and looking at her with hopeful eyes.

She shakes her head, “no… I might be working but I can leave early, or you can come see me there?”

“Where do you work?”

“I own the bakery on 16th Avenue,” she smiles. “Penelope buys in donuts and things from me all the time, actually, I brought over baked goods this morning, they’re in the kitchen somewhere.”

“Did you make those croissants?” He lights right up.

She nods, “maybe I can teach you how to make some?”

“I’d really like th—

“Y/N!” Penelope comes running from the kitchen and wraps her arms around her, “When did you get here?”

“Just now,” she laughs. “Spencer’s been keeping me company.”

“Ahh,” she pulls away with a smile. “Well, come eat, there’s lots of snacks in here.”

She leads them into the kitchen where her other friends are around the table. “The ones with kids will be around later, they’re still putting batteries and things in their kid's gifts. But this is Rossi and Emily and Tara.”

She reaches out to shake everyone's hand, realizing only now that she never shook Spencer's, but he doesn’t mind, he stays close to her. They sit side by side, he passes her things from the table that she wants to put on her plate and he gets up to get her a drink and everyone makes conversation while also watching him dote on her. It’s been 20 minutes but there’s something there… no man has shown her this level of interest or flattery before and not to quote Lana Del Rey but, when you know you know.

They’re friendly as ever when there are people around them and they flirt like mad when they’re alone. She already has a date with him, but he’s just too cute and that shade of red he turns is starting to become her favourite colour.

“You seriously used all the ice?” Penelope chastises Emily, who pretends she doesn’t know what she’s talking about. “Go get some more, we have guests coming who don’t drink alcohol they need ice for their sodas!”

“I am far too drunk to walk down the street,” she counters and points to Dave.

“Not me,” Dave touches his nose, he doesn’t volunteer to do anything and Tara does the same thing, she’s just as drunk as Emily.

Spencer goes to get his coat with a sigh, “I’ve got it.”

“I’ll come too,” she rushes to the door with him, putting on whatever coat fits her so that she can follow him down to the street for some extra alone time with him.

She reaches for his hand on the street, “So, what’s it like at the FBI?”

He holds her hand gladly, “it's… okay. I just teach now. Fieldwork put me in the hospital too many times and I like being alive.”

“I’m glad you’re still here,” she bumps shoulders with him.

His smile is beautiful. “So, about that date?”

“We could do anything you want,” she assures. “But my offer still stands.”

“I think I’d like a baking lesson,” he nudges her back. “It's the one thing I’m not good at.”

“So what are you good at?”

“Rambling, falling over, getting shot,” he teases but she swats his arm, leaning into him with a laugh. “Okay, but seriously, I have a Ph.D. in Chemistry, Engineering and Math.”

“Well luckily for you, baking is just science and a bit of math,” she teases. “You’ll catch on quickly, smarty pants.”

He pulls her in, chest to chest, standing beside an empty store with all their lights off. He cups her face, “what’s sweeter? Your chocolate croissants or your kiss?”

She can’t help but laugh, “you’ll have to tell me…”

He pulls her in for a kiss and sparks fly behind her eyes. As if every atom in her being is on fire, she melts into him. Kissing him deeply, she holds his sides and the hand he has on her cheek goes into her hair as they begin to make out on the snow-covered street.

She pulls back first, smiling softly, “so?”

“You, it’s definitely you,” he teases. “But the croissants are a very close second.”

She laughs, “Well, keep up the compliments and there will be lots more kisses and sweet treats coming your way.”

“You’re the most beautiful woman in the neighbourhood,” he teases, leaning in for another kiss but she stops him.

“Just the neighbourhood?”

“The whole world,” he corrects, which is the right answer. She lets him lean in closer, stealing another kiss.

She kisses him again and again, trying to pull back but he kisses her a third time, making her laugh. “We need to get that ice, we’re going to be late for dinner.”

“do you want to hang out after dinner?” He asks, “I can walk you home?”

“And stay for more kisses?”

“Or croissants,” he shrugs. Happy with either.

—

They’re pretty normal for the rest of the party, she meets the rest of his friends and all their kids. And they’re some cute kids. The youngest is his friend Matt's 2-year-old, she sits at the grown-up table with them and eats one of the chocolate croissants with the biggest smile on her face. Y/N can’t help but think about how much her own kids might like her baking one day… and Spencer sees the way she looks at the baby too.

His friends are so lively, the the party goes on until well after midnight. The friends with kids head out early, Emily and Tara get a cab home, Dave is passed out on her couch and Spencer isn’t going to leave until she does. And she’s helping Penelope clean up.

“You don’t have to stay,” Penelope assures her, drying off dishes while Spencer washes them. She’s been putting things in Tupperware containers and organizing the fridge.

“I want to help, as a thank you,” she smiles at her. “This has been a lovely night.”

“And not just because I introduced you to your new boyfriend?” She teases and Spencer drops a plate.

She laughs, walking over to place her hand on Spencers arm, “I mean, meeting Spencer is the best present you could’ve given me.”

Penelope swoons, “Okay that’s it, love birds. Get out of my kitchen, go home, go canoodle and get to know each other. I knew this was going to happen.”

“Why didn’t you tell me in advance?” Spencer whines as he dries off his hands. “I would’ve worn something nicer?”

“You look cute,” she teases.

“See, that’s why,” Penelope points at her. “I knew she’d like you for you, she’s a baker and you love everything I buy from her bakery and she’s so kind and you need someone to love you the way I know you love people back. This is perfect.”

She wraps her arm around his waist and leans into his space, “thank you penny, we’re going to go now.”

“Thank you,” Spencer agrees, following her out of the kitchen and towards the door.

Once they’re in the hallway, he asks, “Did you really mean that?”

She nods, “of course?”

He lunges for her, kissing her with her back pressed up against her apartment door. She reaches for the doorknob, twisting it open so that she can bring them inside and push him up against the closed door instead this time. He moans into her mouth at the feeling of his back colliding with the door and her hands are immediately roaming his shirt.

He’s such a good kisser, he is gentle and soft, and he isn’t overly eager and controlling. He lets her explore and slow it down as she presses in closer to him and his hands wander to her hips.

“Couch?” She pants against his lips, wanting to lay down with him.

“Show me?” He agrees, following her into her apartment and to the living space.

She pushes him down against the couch and climbs on top of him. He wraps his arms around her, cradling her body like she’s the most delicate thing in the world. He kisses her just as soft and she moves her kiss to his cheek and his jaw up towards his ear, “you’re so handsome,” she whispers.

“Thank you,” he gasps. “You’re absolutely stunning, I don’t know how I got so lucky.”

She smirks against him, kissing down his neck, “You deserve good things, Spence.”

“You’re too good to me,” he teases, hand slipping down to her ass. “How far are we taking this?”

She hums, “I’m good just talking and kissing all night?”

“All night?”

She nods as she pulls back to look at him. “I kinda don’t want to let you go. I’m afraid you’re too good to be real.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he assures. “I’m yours as long as you want me.”

General Taglist

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#Spencer reid #Spencer reid smut #Spencer reid fanfiction #Spencer reid fanfic #Spencer reid imagine #Spencer reid x reader #Spencer reid x y/n #Spencer reid x you #Spencer reid self insert #Spencer reid request #criminal minds smut #criminal minds imagine

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sirenedeslily · 24 days ago

Text

𝐌𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐓𝐎𝐖𝐍 ‎𐦍 𝐦atthew 𝐬turniolo

(⊹ֹ 𝐢𝐧 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒉 ) ──── ⟢ it’s the 2000s, and in stars hollow, rebellious matt sturniolo, tattooed and brilliant, somehow needs tutoring sessions. yn greenaway, somehow gets pulled into his world of distractions, leaving them both questioning what they really want.

you step off the bus, the cool air of stars hollow brushing your face, carrying the scent of woodsmoke and coffee from luke’s diner. the orange leaves crunch beneath your boots as you make your way down the street, your thoughts wandering. it’s autumn, your favorite time of year. the kind of day that feels like it’s plucked from a movie—a you’ve got mail kind of day. sophie—or soapy, as you call her— is waiting for you by the bus stop, her usual smile in place, earbuds in, head slightly bobbing to a beat you can’t hear.

“hey!” she calls as she pulls out her earbuds, falling into step beside you. she’s wearing a smashing pumpkins t-shirt under a plaid flannel and looks like she just walked out of a 90s grunge concert. classic soapy.

“hey yourself,” you respond, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “what are you listening to?”

“just some early radiohead. you know, getting in my ‘i’m too cool for mainstream music’ vibe,” she teases.

“of course. how very ‘ok computer’ of you.” you grin, tugging at your scarf. “i’m still stuck in the mazzy star phase. i think i’ve had ‘cry, cry’ on repeat for days.”

sophie gives you a mock serious nod. “that’s some deep emotional territory. you planning on staring longingly out a window while it rains?”

“maybe,” you joke, nudging her. “but first, i need to catch up on the weirdness that is stars hollow high. chris apparently got into a fight yesterday?”

“yeah, hockey drama,” she says with a casual wave of her hand. “it’s chris. the guy’s basically made of punches and sports equipment. it’s a wonder he doesn’t just carry around a hockey stick as an accessory.”

“where was matt during all of this?” you ask, curiosity getting the better of you.

sophie shrugs. “nowhere to be seen, as usual. you know matt—here one minute, gone the next. probably off in some corner reading kafka or something, being all mysterious.”

you roll your eyes but can’t help the smile that pulls at your lips. matthew sturniolo has a way of occupying your mind without even being around. the fact that sophie hasn’t seen him at school recently doesn’t surprise you. he’s always been the brooding type, always disappearing into books, into his own world.

“so, any big plans for today?” sophie asks as you both turn the corner near the town square.

“just the usual. i’m heading to the bookstore later with nick, and then i’ll probably drop by luke’s for cherry danish day, my favourite day! what about you?”

“band practice. dave’s got this crazy idea for a new song that’s somewhere between the smashing pumpkins and the strokes, so… we’ll see how that goes.”

you both laugh, the conversation drifting into casual chatter about school, music, and soapy’s band. eventually, you part ways—she heads to meet her band, and you find yourself walking toward the bookstore.

as you round the corner of the alley that leads to the bookstore, you spot matt sitting on a bench, a paperback in hand, legs stretched out lazily in front of him. his arm, the one covered in tattoos, is draped over the back of the bench, his rings catching the late afternoon light.

you hesitate for a moment, watching him. he looks up, catches your gaze, and smirks in that infuriatingly charming way he does.

“fancy seeing you here,” he says, closing his book without bothering to mark the page.

you cross your arms and approach. “not disappearing into thin air for once? i’m shocked.”

“ah, i have to keep some mystery alive,” he replies with a grin. “besides, i’m right where i want to be.”

his words hang in the air between you, heavy with something unspoken. you swallow and sit beside him on the bench, trying to ignore the way your heart picks up speed. his presence has always done that to you—ever since you first met him.

“so, what are you reading?” you ask, gesturing toward the book.

he glances down at the cover and smirks. “on the road.”

you snort. “of course you are. trying to live out some kerouac fantasy?”

matt chuckles, a low sound that sends a shiver down your spine. “it’s not fantasy, greenaway. it’s more like… preparation.”

“for what?”

he looks at you then, his gaze steady, a little too intense. “for whatever’s next.”

you don’t know what to say to that, so you change the subject. “chris got into a fight at school yesterday.”

matt shakes his head. “yeah, heard about that. not surprising. chris has always been a hothead. someone probably looked at him wrong.”

you laugh softly, and for a moment, it feels easy—just sitting here with him, like old times. before the weird tension, before you started noticing the way his voice softened when he said your name, or how he seemed to be everywhere and nowhere at once.

“i should get going,” you say, standing up and brushing off your chilton uniform. “nick’s waiting for me at the bookstore.”

matt stands too, stuffing his book into his jacket pocket. “don’t stay away too long, greenaway.”

there it is again—that weight in his words, something that makes your heart skip. you nod, unsure of what to say, and walk away, feeling his eyes on you until you disappear into the bookstore.

later, when you get home, sophie is already there with her band, setting up in the living room like it’s her personal practice space. dave rygalski is tuning his guitar, and you catch the faint scent of takeout wafting through the house.

“soapy, you’ve officially turned my living room into a recording studio,” you say, dropping your bag by the door.

“you’re welcome!” she calls over her shoulder. “we’re just waiting for your mom to get back with food.”

as if on cue, elle walks through the door, juggling several bags of takeout. “dinner is served!” she announces, smiling in that casual, effortless way she has.

you help her set the food on the kitchen counter, chatting about your day as sophie and the band argue over the tempo of a song. it’s loud, chaotic, and yet it feels completely normal.

not long after, your dad, spencer, walks in, his usual stack of books tucked under one arm, glasses perched on his nose. “what’s all the noise?”

“band practice,” you say, smiling as he surveys the scene. “it’s always band practice.”

spencer nods thoughtfully, like the existence of a band in his living room is something he’s fully prepared for. “well, carry on.”

dinner at the reid-greenaway household is filled with laughter and teasing, as it always is. elle asks about school, spencer throws in the occasional trivia fact, and the noise of the band practicing in the background creates a comfortable soundtrack to the evening.

eventually, the night winds down, and you find yourself lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to shake the memory of matt on that bench. his words echo in your head, mingling with the soft hum of ‘fade into you’ that plays in the background.

it’s saturday morning, and you’re walking down the familiar streets of stars hollow with “there she goes” playing on your old walkman. the sun’s just breaking through the clouds, bathing everything in a golden autumn glow. the crunch of leaves under your feet sets the rhythm as you make your way to luke’s, where a coffee run is a sacred ritual.

the bell jingles as you push open the door, and the warm, coffee-scented air greets you like an old friend. luke’s is bustling with early risers, and you make a beeline for the counter where luke is busy pouring coffee.

“mornin’, yn,” luke says in his usual gruff yet familiar tone, already reaching for three to-go coffee cups. he doesn’t need to ask what you’re ordering—three coffees to go is basically your weekend tradition.

“morning, luke,” you reply, slipping off your headphones. “you know the drill. extra caffeine. life-saving, consciousness-reviving levels of caffeine. honestly, i should just hook it up to an iv at this point.”

“you kids are gonna od on this stuff one day,” he mutters, but there’s a small smile tugging at his lips.

lorelai, seated at the counter, overhears and gives you a mischievous grin. “ah, the youth of stars hollow. running on pure caffeine and dreams. it’s like watching the next generation of me.”

you smirk. “i prefer to think of it as highly efficient multitasking.”

luke hands you the first cup of coffee. “you mean procrastinating on real work?”

you give him a mock-serious nod. “luke, when have i ever deceived you about the importance of procrastination?”

lorelai leans over, clearly entertained. “see? she gets it. chilton pressure plus caffeine equals survival.”

“don’t encourage her,” luke grumbles, handing you the next two coffees.

“too late!” you and lorelai say in unison, laughing.

with the tray of coffees in hand, you wave a quick goodbye. “thanks, luke! see you tomorrow for round two.”

as you step back outside, the cool air hits your face, and you continue your walk, heading toward the bakery. the sign above the door reads sweet street, the sturniolo family’s cozy little spot. as you approach, you hear the familiar sounds of sophie in deep debate with jimmy.

“i’m telling you, ‘siamese dream’ is the smashing pumpkins’ best album. it’s got the perfect balance of angst and melody!” sophie insists, her eyes wide with passion as she gestures animatedly.

jimmy, leaning against the counter, raises an eyebrow. “i don’t know, ‘mellon collie’ has its merits. it’s more experimental, shows growth.”

you push open the door and walk in, shaking your head with a grin. “if i had a nickel for every time i walked in on you two arguing about music…”

sophie turns, her eyes immediately locking onto the coffee tray in your hands. “you got my coffee, right? precisely how i like it?”

you hand her the cup with a deadpan expression. “in our years of friendship, when have i ever deceived you?”

sophie smirks, taking a sip. “true. you’re as dependable as jimmy’s music takes.”

“thank you for that… i think,” jimmy mutters, rolling his eyes but smiling all the same. he grabs a bag from behind the counter and hands it to sophie. “here, muffins for the road. you two are going to need fuel for your record store adventures.”

“jimmy, you are a saint among men,” sophie says dramatically, clutching the bag to her chest.

just then, marylou emerges from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. her eyes light up when she sees you. “yn! i’m so glad you’re here. got a second?”

you exchange a glance with sophie, who raises an eyebrow. “uh-oh, that sounds ominous,” she says.

“i need a favour,” marylou says, leaning against the counter with a sigh.

you set down the coffee tray, immediately wary. “what kind of favour?”

marylou glances at soapy, who’s now munching on a muffin, before turning back to you. “it’s about matt.”

your stomach drops a little. “oh boy.”

“he’s been skipping school,” marylou says, her voice lowering. “a lot of school. stars hollow high is threatening to kick him out if he keeps it up.”

you blink, trying to wrap your head around it. “but he’s… matt. he knows more about hemingway and faulkner than half the population.”

“i know,” marylou says, exasperated. “but he’s not showing it in school. his grades are tanking, and… i thought, maybe, if you tutored him, you could get through to him. he listens to you.”

you glance at sophie, who’s smirking over her muffin, clearly enjoying the absurdity of the situation. “why me?” you ask, incredulous. “i’m not exactly on matt’s top ten list of people to hang out with.”

marylou gives you that mom look—the one that’s equal parts pleading and expectant. “he only seems to care about what you have to say. plus, you’re brilliant. you’re like your dad.”

you squirm a little under the weight of the compliment. “i don’t know, marylou. i mean, tutoring matt? what if he doesn’t even show up?”

“please,” marylou says, her eyes wide with hope. “you’re the only one i can trust with this. i’m running out of options.”

before you can say anything, you hear footsteps from upstairs, and nick comes down, his camera slung over his shoulder. he spots the coffee tray and grins. “ah, lifesaver! thanks, yn,” he says, grabbing his cup.

“ready to hit the record store?” sophie asks, stuffing the last bit of muffin into her mouth.

nick nods. “yeah, if we leave now, we can catch that new shipment kirk was talking about.”

you’re just about to grab your stuff when marylou gives you one last look. “yn, please. just think about it sweetheart, okay?”

you bite your lip, feeling a little torn. “i’ll think about it, i promise.”

with that, the three of you head out of the bakery, the cool autumn air swirling around you once again. as you walk, the conversation shifts to records and music, but your mind is still on matt, skipping school, and the weight of marylou’s request hanging over you like the last leaf clinging to a tree.

as you, nick, and sophie make your way through stars hollow, the crisp autumn air fills your lungs. leaves scatter across the street in shades of amber and crimson, a constant reminder that fall has fully settled in. the three of you are bundled up, coffees from luke’s in hand, weaving through the familiar streets toward your destination—the record store.

“tutoring matt,” soapy says, breaking the comfortable silence with a dramatic scoff. “i mean, it’s like trying to give life advice to a james dean character—lots of sulking, a cigarette somewhere, and an existential crisis about algebra. or better yet it’s like asking me to explain quantum physics to kirk. it makes no sense.”

nick lags behind, fiddling with his camera, capturing shots of the early fall leaves against the old buildings. “honestly, matt might actually listen to you. i’ve tried the whole ‘big brother’ speech, but he’s slippery.”

“too busy with his ‘rebel without a cause’ routine,” you quip. “i get it, geometry’s the enemy.”

nick chuckles as he snaps another picture. “it’s not just that. it’s like he’s checked out. he doesn’t care anymore. chris has his hockey, i have my photography, but matt… matt just floats.”

“floating,” sophie repeats, swirling her hand in a swooping motion. “that’s the sturniolo brand.”

you smirk but feel the weight of it. “and i’m supposed to ground him?”

“exactly, baby!” sophie says, throwing her arm around your shoulders.

nick snickers, adjusting the strap of his ever-present camera. “i mean, it makes a little sense. you’re the one who got him through that faulkner essay freshman year. and let’s not forget, matt knows more about ‘the sun also rises’ than our actual english teacher. he just doesn’t care about school.”

you shake your head, still trying to wrap your mind around Marylou’s request. “yeah, but tutoring matters is different. the guy reads moby dick for fun but won’t show up for class.”

sophie rolls her eyes. “maybe he’s like, secretly a genius. he’s too cool for high school, but deep down, he’s panicking that he won’t get into a college for misunderstood literary bad boys.”

you laugh. “that doesn’t sound like him. he’s more like ‘i don’t care about anything because everything is boring.’ why does it have to be me? he probably doesn’t even care about my existence.”

nick raises an eyebrow, giving you a knowing look. “are we talking about the same matthew here? because he definitely cares about your existence.. about you. he literally asked you about your thoughts on nietzsche last week, and we all know that’s basically his way of flirting.”

you blink at him, flustered. “that’s not flirting. that’s matt being… well matt.”

sophie grins, walking backward in front of you, her boots crunching against the fallen leaves. “oh, please. the guy’s got that ‘i’m too brooding for feelings, but maybe i’ll make an exception for you’ thing going on. i bet tutoring him will be just like dangerous minds but with more existential angst.”

you roll your eyes, taking a sip of your coffee. “you both are reading way too much into this.”

but before you can dwell on the idea of matt being interested in anything—or anyone—you approach the familiar, worn-down exterior of the stars hollow record store. the place smells like old vinyl and nostalgia, and as you push the door open, you hear the familiar chime of the bell above.

kirk is manning the counter, diligently arranging records in alphabetical order with the concentration of someone assembling a nuclear bomb. “ah, the trio returns! i assume you’re here for your usual eclectic mix of ‘stuff kirk doesn’t understand but pretends to be into.’” he greets, barely looking up from his work.

you smile as you make your way over to the bins. “you know us so well, kirk.”

sophie immediately makes a beeline for the indie section, eyes gleaming with determination. “i need some early pixies or maybe sleater-kinney. jenna—uh, someone i know—said it’s life-changing.”

nick raises an eyebrow at her slip. “you can say her name, you know. we all know you’re obsessed with jenna ortega.”

sophie, blushing but undeterred, begins flipping through the records. “i’m not obsessed. i’m… highly focused.”

you and nick exchange a glance before bursting into laughter. “highly focused, huh? you’ve been strategizing your next run-in with her for days,” you tease.

“she works at the theater!” sophie defends herself. “i’m just doing recon. casual recon. my plan is flawless—show up during the Friday night rush, bump into her, spill my drink—oops!—and then heroically offer to replace it. classic rom-com setup.”

nick shakes his head, grinning. “yeah, because nothing says ‘i’m interested’ like spilling soda all over someone.”

“you’re one to talk,” sophie shoots back. “mr. ‘i shared ice cream with dave at the founder’s day picnic and still haven’t made a move.’ what are your plans pretty boy?” nick’s face flushes immediately, and he ducks behind his camera, pretending to take a picture of the counter. “no moves. no plans. nothing.”

soapy cackles. “liar! you totally like him. what was it he said to you during the stars hollow harvest festival? something about ‘nice camera work’?”

nick groans. “he said he liked my composition, okay? it’s not a big deal.”

“right,” you tease, pulling out a talking heads record. “and then he asked you for your favorite lens, which is basically code for ‘i think you’re cute.’”

nick rolls his eyes. “that was… nothing. plus it’s complicated i mean lane literally dumped him not too long ago and not to mention the fact that it’s the early 2000s. i don’t even know if he’s into guys. i mean, what am i supposed to do? just ask him out at the town square while taylor’s running the pie-eating contest?”

you sigh rummaging through the sundays records. “just don’t overthink it, okay? dave’s cool. you’re cool. stars hollow’s already the weirdest place on earth, so who cares?”

nick lets out a long sigh, running a hand through his hair. “it’s not that simple. what if i make a move and it ruins everything? we have a good thing going right now. i don’t want to screw that up.”

sophie claps a hand on his shoulder. “just go in there with a plan. spill a drink, offer to replace it—works every time.”

kirk, who’s been listening intently while alphabetizing records, chimes in, “i once spilled milk on lulu’s book at the library. now we’re dating. so, yeah, maybe it works.”

the three of you exchange bemused glances before bursting into laughter. “thanks for the tip, kirk,” you manage between giggles.

“maybe. i don’t know. i guess i’m just not as bold as soapy over here with her grand schemes.” nick exclaims going back to their previous conversation.

sophie waves him off, pretending to be absorbed in her record search. “don’t worry. when jenna and i are dating and being all adorable together, you’ll be inspired by my brilliance. we’ll double-triple date! me and jenna, you and dave, yn and matt. picture it.”

nick rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling now. “right. because triple dating with jenna ortega and my triplet brother sounds so realistic.”

“dream big, nick. dream big,” sophie replies, holding up a copy of surfer rosa triumphantly before heading to the counter.

kirk glances at the record soapy’s holding with raised eyebrows. “sleater-kinney isn’t for everyone, you know.”

“oh, trust me, it’s for me,” sophie responds, placing it on the counter with a grin.

as she finishes paying, you and nick continue to browse, flipping through records more for the vibe than anything else. but as you shuffle through the vinyls, you can’t help but think back to your conversation about matt. nick and soapy’s teasing aside, you know that tutoring matt could be… complicated. but there’s something about the idea that draws you in.

nick, picking up a fleetwood mac album, glances over at you. “so, are you going to do it? tutor matt, i mean.”

you sigh, half distracted by the thought. “i don’t know. it feels like a lot. he’s barely in school as it is, and i’ve got chilton, my dad’s constant pressure, and now this. i’m not even sure he wants help.”

nick shrugs, putting the record back on the shelf. “maybe he just needs someone to push him. and let’s be real, you’re probably the only person in town who can.”

“yeah, because ‘pushing’ matt sounds like a great idea,” you mutter. “it’ll probably end with him dropping out entirely and moving to paris to write nihilistic poetry.”

sophie returns from the counter, bag in hand, still riding the high of her record purchase. “look, yn, you’re the only person who even remotely gets matt. and if he’s not showing up to class or trying in school, maybe that’s because no one’s ever made it interesting for him. you’re different. you could get him to care.”

you let out a laugh, though it’s tinged with uncertainty. “or he’ll make my life miserable.”

nick smiles gently, a rare seriousness in his expression. “or maybe he’ll surprise you.”

you glance at your friends, feeling the weight of their encouragement, but still unsure. the idea of spending more time with matt is… intimidating, in more ways than one.

“i’ll think about it,” you say, but deep down, you already know your answer.

heading back from the record store, you spot dave rygalski crossing the street. nick freezes for a split second before quickly pretending to adjust his camera, but it’s too late—you and soapy already noticed.

“there’s your chance,” sophie whispers with a sly grin.

nick groans. “goodbye, ladies,” he mutters, clearly flustered.

you and sophie exchange a laugh as nick hurries off, and after a few more jokes, you all say your goodbyes and head your separate ways. by the time you’re alone, you’ve made up your mind: tutoring matt might not be so bad. worst-case, he throws a few sarcastic comments, and you both call it a day.

that evening, after a quiet dinner with your parents—spencer lost in some case files and elle chatting about her day at the bau—you head up to your room, prepared for a low-key night. but, as you’re about to settle into bed with your latest book, your phone buzzes.

it’s a text from matt.

still up for tutoring me?

you stare at the message, momentarily stunned. somehow, the fact that he’s actually asking you makes it all feel a little more real. a little more personal.

yeah, when? you type back, fingers moving faster than your brain can catch up.

tomorrow night?

you chew on your bottom lip, considering. tomorrow’s Sunday—usually a good day for catching up on homework, so why not?

okay. my place?

a pause. then, sure. see you at 7.

you toss your phone onto your bed, your heart doing that weird thing again—the fluttering thing it does when matt’s name pops up on your screen.

the next day passes in a blur of homework and chores, but by the time 7 p.m. rolls around, you’re sitting at your desk, textbooks and notes laid out, waiting for matt to show up. you tell yourself it’s just tutoring, nothing more. just helping out a friend who, for some reason, can’t keep up with school. simple.

but when the knock comes at the door, and you open it to find matt standing there, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, you feel anything but simple.

“hey,” he says, his voice low, his eyes flicking briefly to your stack of books before landing back on you.

“hey,” you manage, stepping aside to let him in. he brushes past you, and you catch the faint scent of his cologne—something subtle, but distinctly matt.

“you sure about this?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow as he glances around your room. “i’m kind of a lost cause.”

“don’t be dramatic,” you say, rolling your eyes as you sit down at your desk. “you’re not a lost cause. just… distracted.”

“distracted,” he echoes, a hint of amusement in his voice as he drops his bag by the desk and sits on your bed, looking far too comfortable for someone who’s supposedly in need of academic help.

you shoot him a look. “yeah, distracted. now, come on, i’m serious. we need to figure out why you’re failing.”

he shrugs, leaning back against your headboard, one arm draped casually across his lap, the other—the tattooed one—resting on the bed beside him, fingers playing with one of the many rings he wears. “what can i say? school doesn’t exactly hold my interest.”

you sigh, exasperated but not surprised. “okay, but if you don’t pass, it’s going to cause all kinds of problems down the line. you’ve got to at least pretend to care.”

he gives you a half-smirk. “maybe i need someone to make me care.”

the comment is so typical of him, and yet, the way he says it makes your heart skip a beat. you stare at him for a moment, unsure whether he’s being serious or just trying to get under your skin. it’s always hard to tell with matt.

“well, i’m not here to play therapist,” you finally say, flipping open his english textbook. “so, how about we start with the great gatsby?”

matt groans but swings his legs off the bed and drags himself to the desk, pulling up a chair beside you. “fine. but only because i like gatsby.”

you raise an eyebrow. “oh yeah? what do you like about it?”

he leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk, and looks at you with that intense gaze of his. “i like that gatsby’s not really a hero. he’s flawed, but he’s still this larger-than-life figure. everyone’s drawn to him, even though he’s broken inside.”

there’s a beat of silence after he speaks, and you feel the weight of his words, like he’s not really talking about gatsby at all. you look at him, but he’s already flipping through the pages of the textbook, like he didn’t just say something that makes your chest ache a little.

you clear your throat and focus on the book. “okay. well, let’s talk about the symbolism in chapter four—”

but matt interrupts you. “do we have to? i mean, do you really think fitzgerald was sitting there, thinking, ‘i’m gonna put a green light in here to mess with students 70 years from now’?”

you laugh despite yourself. “yes, actually. i think fitzgerald lived for that kind of thing.”

he smirks, leaning back in his chair. “‘course you would.”

you nudge his arm playfully, trying to ignore the way his casual smirk makes your heart race. “focus, sturniolo. we’re here to get you passing, not to debate the merits of literary analysis.”

“right, right,” he says, but his tone is teasing, and he seems more interested in distracting you than actually working.

for the next hour, you try to guide him through his homework, but matt being matt, he keeps finding ways to sidetrack the conversation. one minute, you’re talking about nick carraway’s unreliable narration, and the next, he’s asking if you’ve ever been to new york, spinning some story about how he’s planning to move there one day, maybe open a bookshop, maybe just live in some crummy apartment and write.

“you could come with me, you know,” he says at one point, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.

you laugh, shaking your head. “matt, you don’t even know if you’re going to graduate.”

he grins. “details. minor details.”

by the time you finally get him to finish one of his assignments, it’s already late, and you’re more frustrated than you care to admit. matt’s leaning back in his chair, watching you with that same infuriating smirk, and you can tell he knows exactly how he’s been pushing your buttons.

“you’re impossible, you know that?” you say, crossing your arms as you stand up, glaring at him in mock-annoyance.

he stands up too, but instead of backing down, he steps closer, closing the gap between you. “i thought you liked a challenge.”

your breath catches in your throat, the teasing banter suddenly shifting into something heavier, something more charged. he’s so close now that you can see the faint flecks of silver in his blue eyes, the curve of his lips as they quirk up in that signature smirk.

“i do,” you whisper, before you can stop yourself.

the space between you seems to shrink, and for a second, you think he’s going to kiss you. and then—he does.

it’s soft at first, almost tentative, but then his hand finds the small of your back, pulling you closer, and the kiss deepens. your heart races, your mind spinning as you kiss him back, losing yourself in the moment. his lips are warm and sure, and everything about it feels so right, even though you know it shouldn’t.

when you finally pull back, you’re both breathing hard, and matt’s looking at you with something like surprise in his eyes, like he wasn’t expecting this either.

“i—” you start, but you don’t know what to say.

“don’t,” he murmurs, his voice low. “don’t ruin it.”

you nod, still caught up in the haze of the kiss, and for a moment, you’re not sure if you’re standing on solid ground anymore.

matt pulls away then, running a hand through his hair, looking almost sheepish. “i should go.”

“yeah,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “okay.”

but as he turns to leave, you can’t shake the feeling that something just shifted between you—something big, and irreversible.

and somehow, you know things between you and matt sturniolo will never be the same again.

𝒢𝜚 💭 ࣪ ✸ 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ∿ gilmore girls au how we feelin?!?! i really tried to make the dialogue and energy as similar to the show as possible so please don’t ask me about half of the references cause i just went on google fr 😭😭 5.1k wc and i know not much really happened but idc i live for the trio :3 pls talk to me in da inbox

❝ 𝟐𝟐𝟐 ❞ 𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻, @carvedtits @et6rnalsun @wovenribbons @flouvela @eternaldecisions @elizabebabe

❝ 𝟑𝟑𝟑 ❞ 𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻, @l34n @sturniolossss @lovingregulusblack @cl1tlover3000 @mattslolita @mattssgf @le4hsblog @brvtall @mattscoquette @chratts-left-ball @jetaimevous @angelesqve @starlace111 @fawnchives @starkeyszn @etherealval @slut4chriss

#sirenedeslily ✶ ˖ ࣪#gilmoregirls!au ☕️⁺˖ ⸝⸝#matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo headcanon #matt sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo blurb #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets x you #sturniolo triplets x reader

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millyh23 · 17 days ago

Text

The Silence Between Us

kiera walsh x reader

word count: 1.1k

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The ticking of the clock was the only sound in the room. You sat on the edge of the couch, knees pulled to your chest as you watched Kiera move around the flat like a ghost, always in motion, always doing something that didn’t involve you. She was at the kitchen counter now, absently flipping through a stack of mail, not even glancing in your direction.

You felt like you were disappearing, slowly fading into the background of her life.

"Kiera," you called out softly, but she didn’t respond, too absorbed in whatever meaningless task was taking her attention.

"Kiera," you said again, louder this time, and she finally looked up, startled as if she hadn’t realized you were still there.

"Hm? What’s up?" she asked, her voice casual, distracted. You could see her eyes flicking to her phone on the counter, waiting for it to buzz with the next thing she needed to do.

"I need to talk to you," you said, the words coming out shakier than you intended. You hated how small your voice sounded, how you had to beg for her to give you even this moment.

She sighed, leaning against the counter, crossing her arms over her chest. "Can it wait? I’ve got training early tomorrow, and I still need to go over some video footage before bed."

Your heart clenched painfully at her words. It was always training. Always football. Always something else that came before you. You could feel the walls closing in, the weight of your emotions pressing down on your chest, and you couldn’t hold it in anymore.

"No, it can’t wait," you said, standing up too fast, your knees almost giving way under you. Desperation clawed at your throat, tears already stinging your eyes. "I’m… I’m breaking, Kiera. I can’t keep living like this—like I don’t exist in your world anymore."

Kiera frowned, her expression hardening as if she didn’t want to deal with whatever emotional outburst you were about to unleash. "You’re overthinking it, Y/N. You know how demanding my schedule is. It’s not personal."

"Not personal?" Your voice wavered, and you took a shaky step toward her. "How can it not be personal? I’m here, waiting for you every single day, praying that you’ll notice me for just a second. I feel like I’m drowning, Kiera, and you don’t even see it. You’re too busy looking at everything else. When was the last time you looked at me and actually saw me?"

She opened her mouth to say something, but you didn’t let her. The floodgates were open now, and everything you’d been holding back came pouring out.

"I love you more than anything, more than my own life," you said, your voice cracking under the weight of your confession. "I’d give you everything without a second thought—my time, my energy, my heart. But you… you won’t even give me a moment. Not because you can’t, but because you don’t want to."

Tears were streaming down your face now, and you didn’t care. You were past the point of trying to hold it together. You were breaking, and you needed her to see that.

Kiera shifted uncomfortably, her face unreadable. "You’re being unfair," she said quietly. "I never asked you to wait for me like this. I never asked for—"

"I know you didn’t!" you cut her off, your voice rising in desperation. "You didn’t have to ask! That’s the point, Kiera! I want to be here for you. I want to support you. But what am I supposed to do when it feels like you don’t care? Like I’m just… just something you tolerate when you have the time!"

Kiera’s expression hardened further, her posture stiff as if she was building a wall between you. "You know what this life is like. You know how important football is to me. It’s my career, Y/N."

"I’m not asking you to choose between me and football!" you cried out, your hands trembling as you reached for her. "I’m asking for something, Kiera. Anything. Just enough to remind me that I still matter to you. That I’m not just…just in the way."

She stepped back, avoiding your touch, and the distance between you felt like a chasm now. "I can’t give you what you’re asking for," she said, her voice cold, almost mechanical. "I don’t have the time. I don’t have the energy. I’m trying my best, but it’s not enough for you, is it?"

You felt like you’d been slapped, her words cutting deeper than anything you’d ever imagined. "Not enough?" you echoed, your voice barely a whisper. "Kiera, you’re not even trying anymore. You’re just… letting me fall apart while you stand there and watch."

For a moment, the silence was deafening. Kiera just stared at you, her face unreadable, but you could see it in her eyes. She had already let go a long time ago. You were just now realizing it.

The truth hit you like a punch to the gut.

"The difference between my love for you and your love for me," you choked out, your voice trembling with raw emotion, "is that I’d give you my life without you even asking. But you won’t even give me a second of your time because your time is too precious to waste on me."

Kiera’s eyes flickered with something—regret, guilt, maybe even sadness—but she didn’t move. She didn’t deny it. She just stood there, letting the words settle like a final nail in the coffin of what you once had.

You couldn’t breathe. The room felt like it was closing in on you, and you had no more fight left in you. You’d given everything, and she hadn’t even tried to catch you as you fell.

"I can’t do this anymore," you whispered, the words tearing you apart as they left your lips. "I love you, Kiera, but I can’t keep being an afterthought in your life. I deserve more than this."

Kiera looked at you then, really looked at you for the first time in what felt like forever. But it was too late. The damage was done.

"I’m sorry," she said, but the apology felt empty, hollow. It wasn’t enough. It was never going to be enough.

You wiped the tears from your face, your body shaking as you took a step back toward the door. "Goodbye, Kiera."

You waited for her to stop you, to say something, anything, that would make you stay. But she didn’t. She just stood there, watching as you walked out of her life, leaving behind the pieces of your shattered heart.

And as the door clicked shut behind you, you realized you had been holding onto something that had already been lost. She was never going to fight for you. She was never going to choose you.

And that was the difference between you and her.

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The End

#offside story #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso x reader #woso #woso soccer #kiera walsh #kiera walsh x reader #kiera walsh imagine #kiera walsh x y/n

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storiesofsvu · 2 months ago

Text

Decadent Desires Ch 18

Emily Prentiss x reader warnings: language, post vacation blues, smut, some minor hurt/comfort, mentions of some toxic family behaviour. It's another long one and I am not upset lol. 6.6k

Showering was always the first priority after a vacation, especially after such a long flight. It didn’t matter how hungry you were, how tired you were or how much mail was piled up inside your door, you needed to feel clean. That and the rare times you’d stopped to do something else first you’d get distracted with too many tasks, run two loads of laundry and get in the shower to find all the hot water gone for the night. That was a risk you never wanted to take again.

Choosing the coziest pair of sweatpants and a worn tee you towel dried your hair as you wandered through the upstairs. When you dropped the towel back in the bathroom you were met with your reflection and your nose immediately crinkled, you definitely didn’t have the energy to blow dry your hair right now and suddenly the lack of Emily and her braiding skills was on the top of your mind. You figured a loose ponytail wasn’t going to hurt that much and would at least keep it off your face for the next couple of hours.

Laundry was the next task, make sure all those swim suits were properly cleaned and dried out, any and all sand, sunscreen and sweat were washed away from all your clothes. You heaved your suitcase onto the bed, hamper beside you to get started when you unzipped your bag to find a surprise sitting on top. At first you thought it must have been something from the resort a ‘book your next trip now and save’ coupon or something but curiosity still got the best of you. Your finger slid through the envelope’s seal and a small piece of carboard fell out, something cold on the other side of it sitting in your palm. Flipping it over you found a dainty, incredibly gorgeous pair of starfish earrings and your breath caught in your throat. They were stunning, rose gold and diamonds compiled together for the absolute perfect surprise. A small note inside to go along with them:

‘A gift. For an incredible eleven days. Can’t wait to do it again, Em.’

It was hard to contain the smile on your cheeks as you bounced on your toes, the same sparkle of warmth flowing through your veins as twenty hours ago. You tucked the note into the corner of your mirror, adding the earrings to the top of your jewelry box to be worn at the first opportunity.

Straight back to work was the only way you were going to dive back into things, even if it was utterly exhausting and your sleep schedule had seen far better days. You didn’t want to behind, you needed to be completely caught up and know exactly what move was coming next in order to do you job properly and make sure everything ran smoothly. You’d been prepared for that, what you weren’t fully prepared for was an out of office day, SUV’s leaving the District for an event in Virigina. At the very least you didn’t have to be the one driving.

You were in the back of a car with Heather, your gaze held out the window as you watched the barren trees fly by on the highway. You were aware she was speaking and while it took a little bit to process, you were pretty sure you were picking up everything she was putting down. She continued to talk, glancing up from her phone to catch you looking almost longingly out the window and she let out a soft sigh, putting her phone down.

“Did you hear anything I just said?” She asked.

Without moving an inch or glancing toward her you replied, “kiss and make nice with Durant over lunch as per usual, you want an official statement regarding bill 8940 made by five tonight and social media posts done. One regarding the rally today one encouraging voter registration and one promoting the banquet next month.”

“I do not know how you do that.” She muttered with a small laugh, watching for another moment as your shoulders slumped deeper. “You seem down, are you alright?”

You sighed, finally pulling yourself away from the window and drooping down into the seat, looking over to her, “I just got back from two weeks in a very expensive tropical paradise and you’ve got me sludging around in the wet and freezing weather all the way out in Charlottesville. What do you think?” Reaching forward you picked up your coffee mug, taking a hefty swig, “it’s just the post vacation depression. Even the coffee tastes like crap now. Maybe I got too much sun…”

“I take it you had fun then?”

“Heat, it’s the fucking Maldives, who goes there and doesn’t have a good time.” You laughed, “I already want to use up the rest of my vacation days.”

It was Heather’s turn to laugh as she picked up her own coffee, “like hell I’m letting you take off a whole three and half months in one go.”

“Rude.” You replied, feigning a pout, “and here I was thinking I was your favourite.”

She chuckled softly, watching as you sighed again similarly to the way a pet would that made it seemed they were shouldering all the world’s problems when in reality they just had to shift the position they were napping in again. With your gaze back out the window, a near frown on your lips Heather found her own curving up into a soft smile. Sure, the vacation blues could be a bitch, especially with chillier weather like this, but she was certain she had an idea that this was more than that, even if you hadn’t realized it yet.

“Emily experiencing the same lack of sun mood swings?”

“Hmm?” You didn’t even turn from the window.

“Emily…”

“Oh, uh, not sure.” You glanced over to her, your fingers picking at the cuff of your coat, “they got blindsided with a pretty big case as soon as we got back. She mentioned something about it crossing over multiple teams so I’m sure she’s pretty distracted.”

“When are you seeing her next?”

“Was supposed to be tomorrow night, but she cancelled once she got into the office this morning, they’re too slammed and she didn’t want to end up standing me up.”

Heather caught the way your face fell ever so briefly, how you turned your phone around in your hand to see the screen, as if you were willing a new text to appear saying the case was solved and Emily had all the time in the world.

“Once you’re done with that statement, take the car, swing by Quantico on your way back. I’ll ride with Cynthia.”

“What about Durant?”

“I think I can handle her,” Heather chuckled, “besides, you need a break.”

“I’m just tired.” You repeated, “you know how long jetlag fucks me up. My body thinks its past dinner time and I’ve barely woken up. I’ll grab another coffee and power through.”

Her lips pursed, “I’m not asking. I’m telling. Jetlag or not, you need a break.” She took a sip of her drink, “you’re starting to act like a preschooler who refuses to nap. I’m giving you the opportunity now take it.”

“Yes mother.” You replied dryly, giving her a sarcastic salute before dropping your empty cup back into the holder.

“Thank you.” She smiled, a few meters of road going by before you spoke again.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea to just drop in unexpected?”

“Say you were in the area and stopped for lunch.” She shrugged, “it’s not a lie. You know she has a habit of working through hers and figured you’d pick up extra and now you’ll get out of her hair. If she’s busy enough, she’ll walk you out, if she has the time, she’ll tell you to stay. Honey, trust me, her job is a lot more political and full of paperwork than you imagine, or than she wants it to be. You’ll be a nice respite in an otherwise tedious day.”

“If I end up looking like an idiot, you’re buying me dinner.”

“Fair enough.” She chuckled, her eye catching something glinting in the low light and her head tilted, hand reaching out, pinching at your ear as she shifted the gem between her fingers. “Are those starfishes?”

“Yeah.” You felt your cheeks heat, “figured they were small enough I could get away with them at work.”

“Huh.” She clicked her tongue, “you know, Becca used to be obsessed with this mermaid show where starfish earrings whispered things to them all the time. She didn’t have her ears pierced so she’d put stickers on them and try to get out of doing chores or homework because they told her she was too pretty for housework and smart enough already.” She scoffed, “ridiculous. The entire thing.”

Her phone pinged and her attention was lost as a small smile crept onto your cheeks, your finger tracing the small jewels in your ear. It wasn’t worth enough to tell her you used to watch Aquamarine with Becca when you babysat and you definitely weren’t going to let her know you’d been the provider of said stickers.

It wasn’t that it felt wrong to be in Emily’s office, its that it was almost a little unsettling to be in there alone, phone in your hand as you paced through the room distracting yourself with emails. Anyone could pop through the door at any moment and you highly doubted any of them would know who you were, maybe it was something in your gut that said it was a little weird. You’d been hoping she would just be behind her desk when you were guided to the office and with each moment that went by it felt like your acid reflux was getting worse and you were certain this was a terrible idea. The longer she was gone the longer she stuck doing other things and would turn you away the second she saw you.

“Hi, Agent Prentiss, what can I d—” Emily’s voice rung through the room, commanding yet welcoming before she stalled suddenly, the hand she had extended out to greet her visitor dropping to her side. You froze in your step, looking up at her with a small smile and she let out a huff, “oh thank god, it’s you.”

The tension in her body melted away, a smile of relief spreading across her face as she swung the door shut behind her, flicking the lock. While her team was good at not interrupting phone calls or surprise meetings the other agents working with them seemed a bit more on the unhinged side, she could use five minutes of peace. She stepped toward you, wrapping her arms around you and you sunk into the embrace, warmth flowing through you at the feel of her lips on your cheek.

“Is that new shampoo?” She asked, pulling back and you laughed.

“I guess it’s safe to say I was the only one who snagged a few extra toiletries?”

Emily laughed, her hand trailing down your arm before squeezing at yours. “What’re you doing here? Seems a little far out of your jurisdiction.”

“We had an event in Charlottesville,” you shrugged, hesitancy still evident in your voice as Emily moved around her desk, slipping her blazer off to toss over her chair. “I knew you were busy, probably working through lunch so I figured you might need a little pick me up.” You gestured to the coffee table where the large bag of food along with sodas sat, “and now that I know that you know the food’s here, I’ll get outta your hair.”

“Hey, no!” Emily immediately stepped out from around her desk as her hand reached toward you, “I’m sure you need to eat too, and you cannot leave me alone with these motherfuckers.”

You laughed, harder than you’d meant to, “your team driving you wild?”

“Not them, well, not really.” She huffed, “they’re usually pretty good at being self managed but these guys working with us, Jeeze, it’s like herding fucking cats who are all distracted by their own laser pointers. Not only did you bring food, but I’ll always have some time to take a break if you show up here.”

Emily stepped back toward you, her hand grabbing yours pulling you closer to her and the moment she inhaled your stolen shampoo again it was as if she was transported back to the Maldives. Warm air wafting around both of you, memories of being buried between your legs. Your lips brushed against the side of her jaw, a small chuckle coming from between them.

“Seems like food isn’t the only thing you need. Want me to pull the fire alarm, make a distraction?”

Her hands wandered down your sides, fingertips slipping under the hem of your blouse and your breath caught in your throat. “I can think of something else that’ll work just as well.” She had never been happier that she’d actually decided to lock her door. Leaning in she kissed your neck, nose nudging at your chin to tilt your head back so she had full access. You let out a quiet moan, your hand tangling into the roots of her hair.

“Oh please,” you laughed softly, barely able to keep your thoughts straight as she started to grope at your chest, “you’re not actually going to fuck me in your office.”

She pulled her head up from the crook of your neck, watching the way your eyes darkened as she pinched your nipples through the fabric. Her eyes flicked from yours over to the shut blinds, it was lunch, the bull pen was quiet, “think again.” Her lips met yours briefly and you practically mewled when she pulled away, chasing her lips for another one and she chuckled, “seems like you could use a little pick me up.”

You were almost ashamed of just how quickly you turned to putty in her hands, your mouth dry as she kissed and sucked her way up and down your neck, her hands continuing to toy with your chest. You couldn’t help but rub your thighs together, sparks already flying through you, wetness seeping out of your pussy. Whether it was your libido, still used to the quantity of vacation sex or an unknown kink making its way through at the thought of getting caught in a promiscuous situation, you weren’t entirely sure.

Emily grabbed at your ass, rolling your hips against hers and you let out a small noise that made her weak in the knees. One of her hands fidgeted with the hem of your skirt, her nose bumping with yours, gaining your attention when you opened your eyes.

“This alright?” She asked and you immediately nodded, a little too eagerly as your teeth sunk into your lower lip to keep yourself quiet. She chuckled darkly, the hand tickling up your inner thigh, cupping your pussy through your panties, a groan on her lips at the damp fabric. Instinctively you leaned against her desk, your legs opening for her to get a better angle, “that’s it… spread your legs for me.” Her hand tapped at your cunt and you shuddered, “now, these are in the way…”

Fingers slipping into your panties she tugged them off to the side, making sure they were secure and not blocking her from what she really wanted.

“Be a good girl and stay nice and quiet for me.” She husked, her lips meeting the side of your neck again and you let out a muffled squeak. Her hand tapped your pussy again and your hips rocked toward the touch, you could feel wetness building between your legs. “God you always get so fucking wet when your pretty pussy gets slapped. Too bad we’re on a short leash,” she nipped at your earlobe, “would love to get some nice hard, loud spanks in, see if you could come just like this.” Her hand swatted against you again, staying pressed into your cunt, fingers rubbing between your folds and your body shivered.

“Em.. please…”

“Don’t worry princess.” Her free hand cupped your cheek, kissing you softly and you melted against her, “I just want to thank you for lunch, promise I’ll be quick.”

Without a second thought Emily sunk to her knees in front of you, shoving your skirt up around your hips and her mouth dove in between your legs. You immediately covered your mouth with your hand, eyes scrunching shut as her tongue lapped through you. It felt like she hadn’t touched you in months, that there were endless weeks of pent up frustration, desire and need between you and this was the only time you were getting to release them. You dropped against her desk when her mouth wrapped around your clit, your pussy pulsing around nothing. A silent beg left your lips in the form of a gasp and Emily was quick to answer it, knowing there was a very high chance you were both short on time. Burying her face between your legs she sucked as much of your juices as she could, wishing she had longer to savour your taste. Moving her mouth up, she latched around your clit, tongue flicking against it while she sunk two fingers into your waiting cunt.

“Fuck…” you whispered, teeth sinking deeper into your lip as your clawed at the edge of her desk with your other hand.

She knew you too well now, knew your movements, your noises and just where to curl her fingers inside you, exactly how to drag the tip of her tongue over your throbbing clit. Wetness was dripping down her hand and she could feel you shuddering against the desk, her free hand reached up, swiftly finding yours and you interlocked your fingers. Her thumb stroked over your knuckles, a soothing and non verbal way to both check in with you and remind you that she wanted you to come, needed to get you to your release and be as relaxed as you could be during a busy work day.

Your back arched as your body stiffened, your hand clutching so tight on hers she was certain she was about to lose feeling in it as your muffled moans barely echoed past your lips. Pleasure soaring through you, your entire body felt electrified, your fingers dropping Emily’s as she gently licked you through it, cleaning up what mess she could. Your hand dropped from your mouth once you were certain you could control your volume.

“Jesus fuck.” You muttered and she laughed softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your thigh.

Emily straightened your underwear back into the right place and neatly pulled your skirt back down, smoothing at the fabric as she stood back up. An arm wound around your waist, her hand softly tickling at the small of your back as you caught your breath and she leant in to steal a quick kiss.

“Good girl.” She kissed the corner of your mouth, “you alright?”

“Totally.” You replied with a soft smile that she returned, crossing the office to grab a couple of water bottles from the mini fridge. With a relaxed sigh you redirected your gaze to the small mirror on the wall beside her desk, perching on the side of it as you began to fix your mussed hair and lipstick.

It was right as she went to speak again, to mention getting some actual food in your mouths that the world’s fastest knock came from the other side of her door, immediately followed by a thud and a muffled ‘ow’.

Emily dropped the bottles of water on her desk, skillfully grabbing a mint in the same movement before sweeping through the room to flick the lock and step back from the flying open door.

“Sorry, force of habit.” She explained with a shrug, “these guys always barge in when I’m on with the Director.”

“No worries Chief Prentiss.” An all too familiar voice replied, rolling out his shoulders from the body check to the door and your head whipped over your shoulder, your eyes widening at the sight of Tony in the doorway, “I think we’ve got a lead with that hotel over on thirteenth….”

His voice trailed off as his eyes swept through the office, not only did he not realize she had company he certainly hadn’t expected it to be someone he knew. His head tilted at the way you were in the process of fixing your lipstick with a Kleenex, a piece of your hair very uncharacteristically out of place. His eyes darted through the room quickly, taking in the messy file folders on Emily’s desk and the untouched take out on the coffee table before looking back to you and a knowing smirk broke out on his lips, a mix of a growling and purring sound coming from his mouth.

“Ooo, meow.” Your head titled in disappointment, Emily’s in confusion and when she made a sound his eyes shot back to her and he remembered where he was, clearing his throat with a cough, straightening his shoulders, “ah..uh.” He let out a huff of a laugh and his mouth immediately slammed shut at the steely cold glare you shot him and he swallowed, trying not to stumble over his words. “Uh, Lewis and I were gonna go check it out.”

“Great.” Emily replied with a nod, “touch base if you find anything and don’t be afraid to call for back up. Thanks DiNozzo.”

“Course boss.” He gave a little salute, lingering in the doorway as his gaze landed back on you, eyes flicking up and down your form before he quirked a brow in Emily’s direction, “Emily…huh.” With a small chuckle on his lips he finally left, swinging the door shut behind him.

“What the fuck…” Emily muttered, looking up to you when a small laugh burst from between your lips, stifled by the hand covering your mouth. “What was that? I mean yeah, you’re hot and he’ll flirt with anything with pulse but I’m pretty sure he’s harmless.”

A louder laugh broke free from your mouth as you dropped your hand, “you’re not wrong there.”

“Wait, you know him?” Her brow furrowed as you nodded.

“He’s quite the lingerie connoisseur.”

“Have you slept with him?” Emily asked, attempting to keep the jealous tone out of her voice, relief flooding through her at the absolute look of horror that washed across your face.

“God no! We’ve been friends for like twenty years. Even if I wanted to he’s so in love with one of his team mates he’s tunnel blind, despite the fact that neither of them will ever admit it.”

“Then what was with that reaction to you being in here?” She asked, picking the water bottles back up and passing one to you.

“Uh, he’s got a really good sense of fashion, I usually drag him along with me when I go shopping, he picked out the teal set with the Swarovski.” You explained with a shrug, “that first time you gave me your card he knew it wasn’t business related so it clearly wasn’t Heather’s and started asking questions. I promise you I never once mentioned your name! He started playing twenty questions, I said you outranked NCIS so he could shut the fuck up about it, then he kept pestering and teasing about me being a sugar baby and… Heather, may have dropped your first name before the trip so I’m assuming he’s put all that together now… including why the door was locked.”

Emily nodded, the beginning of a laugh on her cheeks when her brow furrowed suddenly, “oh fuck!”

“He’s not gonna tell anyone!” You insisted, stepping toward her to squeeze at her elbow, “he’s a tease and an annoying little shit, but he knows how to keep his mouth shut. Especially considering I’ll cut his balls off if he doesn’t.”

“No.” She laughed, reaching for her phone “I completely forgot to pay you.”

It was your turn to be confused, glancing to the untouched lunch and back to her, “this wasn’t exactly planned, I just wanted to drop by and I mean… I already got more than I came for.” Your lips twitched up.

“Not for today, for the Maldives.” Emily explained and you felt your stomach flip flop.

“You don’t need to pay me for that.”

“It was eleven days straight together; I think you deserve compensation.”

“Em, the vacation was the treat.” You squeezed at her hand, “you do not need to pay me twice.”

“You sure?” She asked, her thumb hovering over her phone screen.

“That hotel was what, minimum five grand a night?” You asked and she nodded, “then yeah, I’m more than sure.”

Before she could really try to protest any further or twist it over in her brain to confuse herself even more her desk phone went off, shrill ring echoing through the room and she let out a tired sigh, gesturing to the couch. “Sit, stay, we still need to eat. Just give me a minute.”

“Course.” You shot her a tight smile, your hands smoothing the back of your skirt neatly before sitting down on the couch and tugging out your phone.

Multitasking was nothing new to Emily, the receiver pinched between her ear and shoulder as she picked up a pen to scribble down a couple of notes, occasionally giving a bit of feedback here or there while she let her eyes wander over to the couch.

You had slouched down into it so far that your shoulders were up by your ears, a tight frown on your lips as you stared at your phone. The previous mask of showing up to do a good deed with the intent of spreading a bit of relief and happiness to the other woman completely gone. The blue light blaring from your phone pronounced the bags under your eyes and the way you had just started chewing on your lip told her that you were far less relaxed than the last time she’d seen you. Keeping an eye on you she continued the call, watching you swipe back and forth between drafting an email and your text chain with someone. Every single time a text banner popped up at the top of the email screen you’d either huff or roll your eyes, attempting to ignore it until you were satisfied with the email and hit send, swiping back over. Your jaw tightened, no doubt grinding your molars together as tension began to build through your entire body, your thumbs furiously typing out a reply.

Emily watched as you closed the text chain, taking a deep breath, briefly closing your eyes in an attempt to reset your focus before reopening your email. You were about a third of the way through drafting the email when another three texts came through and you let out an exasperated grunt, your phone making a low flip through the air before landing on the other end of the couch and you dug through your bag to pull out what she assumed to be your work phone. Whoever was hassling you clearly didn’t have that number as you were easily able to finish the email on it and ignore the intermittent buzzing from more texts. Eventually your personal phone starting vibrating with a call, threatening to leap off the side of the couch and you grabbed it at the last minute, picking up with your voice low as to not interrupt Emily.

“What?” You hissed, then let out an angry huff, pinching at the bridge of your nose, “I am at work! I already told you that and I will call you when I get home.” You hit the end call button and immediately powered off the device, burying it in the depths of your purse before dropping back against the couch to finish the second email.

At first Emily had been wondering if it was DiNozzo, firing off teasing text after text, taunting you about being in the BAU Section Chief’s office all alone on lunch break. But the way she could tell the absolute frustration and anger was building up deep in your body all the way to your bones, stiffening every muscle, it was worse than that. Not to mention he definitely knew you weren’t at work. It also clearly wasn’t a work issue if they couldn’t get a hold of you through that phone.

You finished the email, gently placing the device down on the coffee table and bracing your elbows on your knees, your hands running over your face as you took a couple of deep breaths. Now finalizing details of her own conversation Emily couldn’t quite tell if you were fighting off the urge to throw your phone out the window, or if you were biting back tears. What she did know was that either way, she didn’t like it and whoever was making you feel this way was the one who deserved to be thrown out the window.

Hanging up the phone she rounded the desk, crossing the room as she took a seat beside you.

“Hey… you okay?”

“Hm?” You nearly jumped at how close she was when you pulled your head out of your hands.

“I asked if you were okay?” She repeated softly, her hand sliding across the couch toward you, changing her tactic in hopes you might open up, “kinda skipped the whole aftercare part today…”

“No! no, Em, that was perfect.” You assured her, your hand darting out to squeeze at hers, “I’m fine. Jetlag and I just aren’t exactly friends, it’s thrown everything off and made me a little moody. Kinda been out of it since we got back.” With a sigh you leant forward, finally ripping open the take out bag.

“Yeah.” She replied, biting at her lip, “something does almost feel like it’s missing.” She accepted a container of chicken chow mein and a fork from you as you opened your own container.

“Could have something to do with the lack of sunshine and ocean air.”

“Very true.” She laughed, taking a few bites of food, letting out a groan of appreciation over how much better it tasted than cafeteria food.

You scooped up a couple of shrimp, managing to shovel them into your mouth, chewing for probably too long before reaching for your soda. What normally would have been a comfortable silence filled the room, but you were still radiating tension and Emily was worried, especially when after two more mouthfuls of food you seemed to be spending more time staring into the counter stabbing shrimp as if they were the ones blowing up your phone.

“Hey…” she reached out slowly, her hand resting on your knee before she squeezed it. Your fork stopped moving but she caught the way your shoulder tensed up, refusing to look up at her yet “I promise you; I make a very hard habit to not profile the people in my personal life but you caught me at work, in full profiler mode and something’s clearly up… talk to me…”

With a sigh you leant forward, placing down your lunch and you shifted on the couch, pulling one leg up under you so you were turned more toward her. You gave her a look, your lips pursing off to the side and her head tilted, a knowing almost glare in her eye.

“And don’t you dare tell me you’re just tired. That may be a contributing factor here, but whoever’s on the other side of that phone,” she gestured to your purse, “is clearly causing you grief.”

“It’s stupid.” You shrugged, “I don’t need to bother you with my personal hang ups when you’re in the middle of a case so big you’ve dragged NCIS into it.”

“You absolutely do.” She replied, her hand still resting on your knee, thumb soothing across your leg, “well, I mean, I guess you don’t have to. But I’d really like it if you would, advice, sounding board, silent partner to vent to, how to hire a hitman?” Her lips twitched up, “whatever you need I’m here.”

“Emily!” You scolded and a warmth bloomed through her chest at the sight of you truly smiling, a small laugh on your features as you shook your head at her.

“Hey, I know a guy…”

“I’m starting to think I might have to report you.” You teased back and she mocked offence, her hand mimicking clutching pearls before she laughed, leaning back toward you and bumping your shoulder with hers.

“C’mon, what’s going on?”

You took another heavy breath, scooping your lunch back up and settling into the corner of the couch, “I was getting ready for work this morning and my mother decided it would be the perfect time to call.”

“Okay well I already don’t like the sound of this.”

“Yeah.” You shot her a knowing glance, pausing for a small bite of food, “I kid you not the call was six minutes and forty two seconds and in that small amount of time she just fucking tore me apart. She asked how I’d been, I said I was good, getting ready for work. She then began to dig into my job, asking if I’d gotten any kind of promotion recently, that I deserved a pay increase. Asking why I’m still interning following Heather around like a lost dog after all these years, I should be doing more, could be out there using that law degree, ‘making a name for myself’.”

“She has no idea what it is you actually do, does she?” Emily asked dryly and you nodded with a huff.

“Not a clue. Which doesn’t help the nagging in other departments, before I can even get a word in besides the fact that I love my job she’s going off on how I could afford a nice place to live on a better salary. That ‘the dump’ I was living in last year could certainly use an upgrade and she could send me some listings if need be.”

“Your place is literally bigger than mine.”

“Yeah, but it’s not an eleven million dollar mansion.” Your nose crinkled in distaste, “she doesn’t understand why I would bother to live quote un quote ‘modestly’ when I could definitely be flaunting myself to a higher career and fancier lifestyle with fast cars and expensive yet boring houses.”

“She doesn’t really get how money works, does she?”

“Nope.” You stabbed another piece of shrimp, though this one remained on the fork as you continued to talk, “but don’t worry, I couldn’t even try to explain it if I wanted to. She then veers off another tangent, asking if I still talk to April who I went to high school with back in Connecticut, because she lives out here now. I say I haven’t and she asks about three other friends who happened to have moved out to D.C. post graduation yet have nothing in common with me anymore. Like, I haven’t talked to most of these girls in over twenty years! I reminded her about a couple of other friends she’s met and she breezes directly past it ignoring every single thing I say. She managed to belittle not just me but everything that makes me, me in such a short span of time, it just…”

“Sucked…”

“Yeah.” You finally popped the piece of shrimp into your mouth, chewing slowly while digesting your ranting, feeling the tension beginning to leave your body. “She finally got around to the point of the phone call as I reminded her I had a very important job to get to and it turns out I actually have an inheritance.”

“I feel like there’s a but coming….” Emily countered and you cast her a look.

“Mom’s feeling pretty insecure about how she’s aging –which, is likely thanks to all the chain smoking, drinking, fast food and tanning – so she’s decided she’s flying out to California to get a whole slew of plastic surgery and cosmetic work done. And of course if she’s going all the way out there she may as well take her two best friends for a girl’s trip before the procedures.”

“And your inheritance is paying for all of it?”

“Including the friends tickets, yeah.” You threw your fork back into the container, “I didn’t even know I had an inheritance!”

Emily watched with a frown as you dropped yourself back into the couch, “offer still stands to pay you for your time.”

“No, Em really” you shook your head, “it’s not even about the money. I—it’s… I’m tired, I’m frustrated, it’s cold and shitty weather, things are off and parents… fucking suck. I just thought for once maybe she’d be happy for me but she didn’t even hear a word I said.”

“I’m sorry.” She murmured, placing her lunch down on the table as she shifted toward you. She could see the shimmering in your eyes already and if you were as weirdly tired and jetlagged as she’d been feeling, crying would just make the entire thing worse and you’d likely be embarrassed on top of it all. So she wrapped an arm around your shoulders, tucking you into her side and pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “Parents fucking suck.”

“Yeah.” You replied with a dejected sigh, sinking into her embrace and you felt the anxiety shaking in your chest finally calming down as the scent of her perfume drifted into your nose. Her hand rubbed up and down your arm, her lips brushing against your temple again.

“Hey, I’m sorry I had to cancel Thursday, I feel like you need some company right now.”

“It’s fine.” You wiped at your eye quickly before sitting up, “I’m sure I’m not much fun I already got compared to a toddler today.”

Her brow furrowed but she didn’t address the comment, “this week’s still out but as long as the case doesn’t take us out of state can I at least take you for brunch Sunday?”

“Can it be in the Maldives?” You asked, the corner of your lips twitching up.

“Pretty long flight for one meal.”

“What if we never came back?”

Emily laughed softly, squeezing at your hand, “that’d be a dream. C’mon, we don’t even have to go out if you’re not up for it. I’ll just bring over a McMuffin and we can pretend its brunch.”

A small smile came over your cheeks, “I’d like that.”

“Good.” Her hand caressed your cheek, fingers trailing up your jaw until a finger curled behind your earlobe, “you know I don’t think these little guys are doing their jobs very well. If they were whispering compliments all morning you’d probably be in a better mood.”

You laughed softly, a blush on your cheeks, “they’re probably too cold to talk right now.” The sound of half the team returning to the bull pen pulled both of your attention in the direction of the door and you let out a soft sigh, “I should get outta here before Tony comes back. If I’m still in your office I will quite literally never hear the end of it.”

Emily laughed, standing when you did, “hey, you text me tonight if you need anything, okay?”

“Yeah, I will.” You slipped your coat back on, your purse over your shoulder as you turned back to her. A second later and you were stepping toward her, wrapping her in a tight hug that she returned, “thank you.”

“Hey,” she only pulled away as far as she needed to in order to kiss your cheek, “anytime. I mean it.”

___________________

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#emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #criminal minds #decadent desires #emily prentiss series #emily prentiss fanfic #criminal minds fanfic

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saffusthings · 1 month ago

Text

Baby I Can Feel Your Halo

oscar piastri x personal assistant! reader

summary: the one where the world gets to become familiar with a new name: Y/N L/N. word count: 8.4k warnings: awkwardness, my attempt and poetic writing, poor understanding of how film and media works, Lando as a bit of a side character, poorly edited writing a/n: i can't tell whether this is half decent or nonsensical. inspired by That Viral Interview. i have a soft spot for this part of the story, so i hope you guys are able to like it too.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

She’s going to kill him.

Clicking her phone on to check the time for the umpteenth time as if it will make this stupid elevator go any faster, she lets out a huff. The tapping of her shoe acts as a placebo, perhaps. Or maybe this elevator is actually getting slower-

When the metal gates finally part, she bolts. As gracefully as one can, she awkwardly half-run, half power walks past the hall of doors until she reaches Room 307.

She doesn’t even pretend to knock. Glancing at her phone one more time - 27 calls - she slips a plastic card from the lanyard around her neck. When it beeps, flashing green, the door opens with a click, allowing her to storm in.

To her credit, she at least waits for the door to close before she yells.

“Oscar Jack Piastri!”

Oscar wakes to a fire. Or at least that’s what he has to assume is happening, considering someone is screaming his name at full volume. Eyelids barely open, he immediately sits up in bed. “M’awake! Jesus, give me a second,” he mumbles, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes.

Tossing him his pants that had been hanging in his closet, she goes around, picking up any stray items. “Put some pants on,” she grumbles. “C’mon get up, we’re already-”

“-running late,” he says defeatedly, eyes landing on the bedside alarm clock.

When he finally steps out of the bathroom, his brows are scrunched in confusion. She’s typing something on her phone, and definitely not trying not to look at him.

It’s been over a week since their almost-kiss in her office. She’s no rookie, she’s been more than professional since, knowing she can’t risk this. But a small part of her can’t help but think of how close his lips had been to her anytime she’s standing close enough to smell his familiar cologne.

She’s interrupted from her thoughts by the sound of Oscar’s voice, her thumb still hovering over her phone from her long forgotten text.

Trying to get the swoop of his hair to land in some sane looking way, he gestures to the pine green sweater spread out for him on the bed, the one she insisted he wear. “You sure about this?”

He watches her as she knits her eyebrows together as she gives him the once over. “Yes. You look good in green,” she explains, still entirely absorbed in sending an e-mail to their media liaison.

It’s only once he’s finally dressed that she gets up and gives him a look over. Her lips purse before she motions for him to stand closer. “C’mere.”

She aligns the seams that are supposed to trace along his shoulder, before using her hands to smooth out any wrinkles in the soft fabric. She stands back for a moment, before coming closer again, and pulling his sleeves up just a bit in a way that exposes some of his forearm. Assessing it one more, and seeming content with how it looks, before doing the same to his other sleeve.

Entirely unaware of the chaos his cardiovascular system seems to be undergoing, she gives him one last look over, and wipes a bit of excess moisturizer that had been left on his nose.

“There we go,” she says with a small smile.

Grabbing her things, she stands at the door before looking back for him. “Ready?”

“Yeah,” he says slowly, patting his pockets and searching the hastily made bed. “Just…”

“Good to go,” he announces, swiping his phone off the bedside table, and tucking into his pocket before following her into the hall. “Where are we headed?”

“They’ve set up in one of the conference rooms near the swimming pool” she says from over her shoulder as they make their way down. “It’s some Australian channel looking to do a segment on their hometown hero, so it should be a safe set. Of course, if they veer off course, let me know and I’ll take care of it. ”

“Will you be there? Or are you headed back to the office?” Oscar asks. His tone makes it difficult to differentiate whether he's nervous, wary, or doesn’t want her to be there, but he hopes she understands anyway.

“Yep,” she replies, smiling. Oscar wonders why his chest feels warm.

“That’s my job, remember?”

When he gets to hair and make-up, he can’t help but feel more than a little lost. Not because of the makeup, certainly - god knows Hattie has tested more than enough ‘smokey eyes’ on him - but rather because when he sits in the chair, the woman immediately asks what kind of look he wants to go for.

Huh?

He looks over to Y/N with desperate eyes.

Help me, please.

She’s quick to walk over and greet Lindsay, his stylist for today, with a warm smile. Once she’s sure that the stylist is okay with taking recommendations, the rest of it comes easily.

“We’ll wanna do some powder to counter the glare from the studio lights,’ she suggests, glancing at the woman for approval. Tilting Oscar’s face, the two women survey him analytically.

“It’s up to you if you want to add a little warmth, but no blush or color corrector or anything like that. And then his hair looks good like this, so we don’t need to do anything there. How does that sound?”

The elder woman nods in agreement before pointing at different parts of Oscar’s face and mumbling somethings to Y/N who nods along thoughtfully.

Finally, he’s left at the mercy of his stylist, as Y/N walks away.

Once the mic checks are complete and the people behind the large lights give the go ahead, one of the employees counts off the seconds before the cameras start recording.

Oscar spends those seconds looking over to wherever she is. She’s stood by one of the people carrying a large white panel, watching on to make sure everything runs smoothly. They’ve done this dance probably dozens of times, but the buzzing lessens once he assures himself that she’s still in the vicinity.

He watches her nod, giving him a reassuring smile, and then, Oscar is ready.

“And cameras are rolling 5… 4… 3… 2… 1.”

“We’re here now with Oscar Piastri,” the host says with a warm smile, “now in his second year of representing Australia in the highest level of motorsport - Formula One. Thank you so much for joining us, Oscar.”

“Of course, thank you for having me,” Oscar smiles, that polite cat smile that’s become associated with his name. “Just Oscar, is usually fine though,” he jokes, never one to feel too comfortable with high praise. The host laughs good naturedly, “Oh, the boy’s got jokes now, does he?“ Oscar seems to glow in the spotlight. Something about him, even in front of the cameras, seems to radiate comfort, familiarity. Even on TV, even with his rising stardom, his laidback posture and the crinkle around his eyes when he smiles suggests that he could be the boy next door, that he could be your boy next door. The cameras are not the only thing focused on him. “So Oscar, not sure if you remember, but you did a sit-down with us last year as well.” “Of course. I don’t forget that easily, Mick,” the driver replies easily. “I’m not that old.” “No, no, in fact, you’re quite young aren’t you? Only 23 and already in your second year of Formula 1.” “Yeah, feels a bit strange when you say it like that,” Oscar chuckles, “but yeah. It’s been a bit of a wild ride.” Mickie smiles. “One year closer to retirement, I imagine?”

“God no,” Oscar scoffs, shifting in his seat to get a bit more comfortable. He looks more relaxed this way, more open. “I’m not leaving without a championship, so you’ll be seeing me around for a while. Sorry to disappoint.” Laughing good naturedly, the older man shakes his head. “Far from it. You’re a hometown hero. You’ve got everyone here rooting for you,” he tells him, gesturing to the crew around them.” Smiling gratefully, Oscar nods. “Yeah, I’ve been pretty lucky with all the support. That always makes a difference.” “I’m sure it does. Who would you say are your biggest supporters?” “My parents, for sure. I’m sure there’s a clip of my mom talking about my… let's call them oddities, as a child,” Oscar laughs, referring to his habit of make-believing as a car around the house, or how he wanted car magazines read to him instead of bedtime stories. “If they hadn’t put up with me through that, there’s no way I’d be here now.” It’s clear as day that beneath the thin film of humor, there’s a chasm of sincerity. He really does love his family - always making time to call them during long trips away or even just because. Working on media with Oscar is (usually) pleasant for that same reason - you don’t have to give him PR-written responses or pre-plan his anecdotes to make the audience fall in love with him. He tells the truth, and they can’t help but fall in love all on their own. “I’ve also got other supporters too. Silent supporters, I guess you could call them, since you all don’t see their faces as much. But my sisters, my team, Y/N, the fans - they are the reasons I get to live my dream everyday.” Mickie nods in acknowledgement. “Of course. Though I see we’re name dropping now,” he teases. Oscar looks up at him, mild panic hidden behind his eyes. He’s only just about to adjust his cap - a predetermined signal to Y/N that he needs her to intervene somehow - when Mickie interrupts his train of thought. “You mentioned Y/N as one of your supporters. Could you tell us a bit more about that?” When Oscar looks at the man with the salt and pepper hair, he doesn’t see the usual malice or hunger that many reporters would have if they had been in the same position. Mickie has been good to him and his team in the past - not coming off as a dog with a bone, but instead as an easy conversationalist who happens to be genuinely curious about Oscar and his life. The young driver recovers easily from his momentary scare. “Oh, yeah. Y/N’s definitely one of my greatest supports. I’d tell you all that she works for me, but I think she might poison my coffee if I did that.” The two share a laugh, easing Oscar’s nerves a little. He subtly adjusts his watch instead.

It’s alright, I got it.

From behind the cameras, Y/N takes a small breath of relief. Though she’s pleased the conversation didn’t take a turn for the rumor mill, she’ll still be a little on edge anytime her driver is in the media’s playpen.

“Alright then. Without risking your coffee, what can you tell us then? That’s not a name we’ve heard too often around the paddock.”

“Yeah, I mean. It’s a shame too - she’s supposed to be my assistant, but with how much she’s involved in everything, we might have to come up with a better title for her,” Oscar smiles easily. Mickie gives him a smile, straightening his notecards into a neat stack. “Is that so? Must be high praise, coming from a big-shot like yourself.” The air is pleasant, the conversation flowing naturally. Even as an observer, the scene could almost be mistaken for a casual chat in a living room somewhere. Oscar shakes his head. “Not enough, actually. When I say I wouldn’t be here without her, I mean it literally. If she hadn’t come to my rescue this morning, I’d probably still be in bed!” Mick leans over, laughing. “Glad to see how much you value our time here together, Oscar!” “Even if I did, I value my sleep more,” Oscar deadpans, a sly smile on his face. “I don’t envy her job, not in the slightest.” “Fair enough, fair enough.” The conversation makes its own way from there - Oscar’s goals for this year, what people can expect from the team this season, how the new car has been.

“So what I’m hearing is that we have a promising season ahead?”

“I mean, every season looks promising at the start really, but yeah, I have a good feeling about this one. Cautiously optimistic, we’ll call it.” “Well I’m sure I’m not the only one when I say that I can’t wait to see what you have in store for us this season, Oscar.” “Wow, no pressure there. Thanks, though.”

The two share a laugh. It’s getting closer to the end of the segment, but with some time remaining. Mickie decides to take the conversation in a different direction. “Now that we’re done with all the shop talk.” he starts. “I was wondering if you could tell us what Formula 1 has been like for you personally. Last time around, during your rookie season, you mentioned that the intensity of the training and the magnitude of the races were some of the things that took some getting used to. Would you say the same is true now, or have you gotten used to it?” Oscar nods, thoughtful. “Yeah, I mean, your rookie season is always an adjustment. It took me some time to get used to that stuff, and I’d say I’m better at it now,” he answers honestly. “But that doesn't mean there aren’t still things I’m learning to get used to.” “What kind of things?” “As you can probably tell, the time zones are one thing,” he laughs, animatedly gesturing to where his eye bags would be. For a second, there’s silence as he’s given a moment to think, before he finally speaks again. “I’d say the people, too.”

“The drivers, the teams, or the fans?” Mick asks curiously. “The fans are pretty great,” he tells him. “But I think I meant like the drivers and their teams?” Oscar tries to explain. “Like, you have to understand that there’s so many people in this complex machine that is Formula 1. And every single person that’s there, is because they’ve got this insane drive to win - that includes the drivers, of course, but the engineers, and the strategists, and the trainers too.”

“Tell me a bit more about that.”

“I mean, like, even in Formula 2, with Prema, there was a certain level of friendship and camaraderie that gets overshadowed in Formula 1, because of just how competitive everything is,” he explains, gesturing with his hands. “It’s crazy how the drivers flip a switch for lights out or the chequered flag, because that’s what comes with competing at the highest level.”

The host nods, making an effort to understand.

“Would you say it strains relationships then? This sort of… dual personality that you and the other drivers have to have?”

“Honestly. To some degree, I imagine it has to. But that doesn’t mean we can’t be friendly with one another.”

“You’d mentioned earlier this year, in an interview with your company Quadlock, actually, where they asked you if you had any mates on the grid, and you replied with…” Oscar chuckles shyly, recalling the moment. “No friends, only enemies,” he quotes himself. “Exactly,” the older man chuckles. “Would you say the same is true for you now?” “The honest answer would be yes and no.” The man sitting across from Oscar raises an eyebrow at this, intrigued. “When you live in that bubble with people that are, at their core, just as competitive as you are..” he trails off, contemplating how to phrase it. “Let’s just say it has an interesting way of showing you who your friends and your enemies are.”

“And has it?” Mick asks genuinely. “Shown you your friends, I mean?” Oscar takes a breath before replying. “I mean, of course. There’s Lando, y’know - as my teammate, he’s always my greatest competitor but also the only one who can kind of understand where I’m coming from. Logan, also - you know we grew up through the lower Formulas together. He and I have been teammates in the past too, so it’s nice to have an old friend on the grid. Y/N too, y’know - we’re pretty close in age, and she’s really been there for the highs and the lows.”

“We’ve seen you interact with Logan and with Lando, but what would you say your friendship with Y/N is like?”

“I mean, we work together, so a lot of it comes from that,” he shrugs, not wanting to slip up and say the wrong thing. He signed up for the spotlight, but putting his assistant, his friend there without discussing it with her would be unfair.

“We work in tandem, you see - she takes care of everything outside the car, while I take care of everything in it.”

The interviewer hums thoughtfully. “That sounds like a dynamic that requires a lot of trust, I’d say.”

“Maybe, but she hasn’t let me down even once in two years.” For a moment, for a fraction of a second it feels like Oscar’s eyes glance in the direction of where she’s standing with the tech crew, but it must be a trick of her imagination. They’re standing in the shadows, and it’d be a stretch for her to think that he could even see her in the first place. “Not even once.”

“Would you say your friendship complicates this dynamic, or simplifies it?”

“Helps, definitely. Easier to get out of media duties that way,” Oscar jokes. Mickie laughs easily at that, before focusing on the subject once again.

“Really? You two don’t face any challenges with that? I’d imagine with the other drivers that that boundary is a bit more clear, what with them being your competitors and all.” Oscar lips press together, his tongue subtly running over his lower lip to soothe the pressure. “I think maybe if it were someone else, then it would be. But not with her.“

Looking over to the armchair, he can see that the other man looks surprised.

“You seem quite confident in saying that.”

“I am,” he says bluntly. Why wouldn’t he be?

“And what inspires that confidence?”

“Just who she is, really, “ Oscar answers with a shrug. On the other side of the room, Y/N waits for a signal that never comes.

What the hell is he doing?

This was most definitely not one of the agreed topics for tonight’s show.

“How do you mean?” Mickie can’t help but inquire.

“I mean the obvious thing to say here would be to say that we’re close in age,” Oscar starts, gesturing. “But it really is more than that. I’m lucky to work with an immensely talented team, especially with all the fresh talent McLaren’s brought on board this year.”

“Of course.”

“But as for her in particular…” The blonde seems to think for a minute. “I think, that in order for someone to understand how we work, they’d have to understand how she works,” he muses.

“And how’s that?”

“She’s like the light you need in order to see. With her perspective, her input, the fundamental way in which she operates - things make sense. She makes things make sense, really - whether that’s logistically, or with the car, and especially with me.”

The words tumble out of his mouth before he can even know what he’s thinking. The tricky thing about this cozy lounge setup that he’s seated in is that, from her, it looks nothing like the studios and press conferences and media pens that they’re used to. Here, there are no clambering reporters, no flashing cameras, no microphones shoved in his face.

It’s easier to forget that the world is watching.

“It’s a bit unfortunate that the fans watching this don’t get to see her as we do,” he says with a serious expression. “Because it’s hard to describe her personality, or even just her role if you haven’t existed in her orbit. There’s this… this spark that ignites with everything she interacts with.”

Oscar finds himself thinking of everything that happened on the road so far, every step that led them here. All he knows for certain is that his confidence is not unfounded. Sure, things were… less than ideal at the moment, but they’d go back to normal. He knew they would, he was sure of it.

Not so much because Oscar had a plan, but rather because he didn’t know what to do if they didn’t. They’d figure it out - that was their thing, after all.

He’s disturbed from his thoughts by the voice of another.

“A spark?” the older man prompts with a smile.

It’s almost frustrating when the words don’t come fast enough to keep up with his mind.

“When you’re expected to function at the highest levels, there’s a lot of moving parts underneath the shiny cover that no one really tells you about. Y/N has this intuitive sense and this unlearnable skill to take apart the most challenging complexities and put them back together into something wonderful.”

The studio falls silent.

“She sounds lucky,” Mick offers sincerely.

Oscar laughs dryly. “The way I see it, I’m the lucky one. McLaren certainly is.”

Mickie’s expression is open, leaving the silence available for him to fill.

Oscar, on the other hand, isn’t quite sure how they ended up here. Talking about Y/N wasn’t a preplanned part of the segment, but he doesn’t seem to mind. It’s surprisingly nice to talk about something besides how hot it is in the car or the rabbit food athletes have to eat or his opinions on the championship standings.

And it probably doesn’t hurt that talking about her is really quite easy.

“It’s an incredible gift to meet someone who complements each of your strengths and your weaknesses completely. And if that person happens to be someone who can somehow challenge you and support you simultaneously, then there’s nothing more that I need.”

The boom mic edges closer to the stage setup, careful not to enter the cameras’ parameters of visibility. There’s a shift in tone that’s apparent, something curious and authentic that seems to wash across the studio and everyone in it.

“Will we be seeing this dynamic duo in action anytime soon then?” the interviewer asks, charismatically guiding the conversation towards its conclusion.

“I sure hope so. Maybe you guys can finally convince her to do some of those McLaren challenges with us,” Oscar smiles widely, that dorky, lopsided smile of his. “Trust me, I tried, but somehow she won’t let me drive her around for a Hot Lap. Wonder why that is,” he shrugs, before both men share a laugh.

A hand in the dark silently signals for them to wrap up, indicating that the segment must come to an end.

“Well then, Oscar I see we’re being told to wrap,” he smiles, glancing over in the direction of the crew. Both men begin to go to stand up, extending their arms for a friendly handshake.

“Thank you so much for joining us once again. As always, it was a pleasure, and I know I speak for everyone here at Down Under Daily when I say that we can’t wait to see what the future has in store for you.”

Oscar nods, smiling, giving the man a firm handshake. “Thank you.”

Once the segment wraps up and the overhead lights come back on, the studio buzzes with the hum of activity. Uniformed crew members unpack and disassemble various machines and setups, beginning to clear out the studio. Oscar glances around, but his gaze keeps drifting back to Y/N, who stands a few feet away, chatting with one of the technicians. Her laughter cuts through the noise, bright and genuine, making something warm unfurl in his chest.

“Hey,” he calls out, a casual attempt to draw her attention. When she turns, their eyes lock, and for a moment, the world around them blurs. There’s something in her expression that sends a jolt through him, a flicker of recognition and a hint of something deeper.

“Hey,” she replies, her smile easy but layered, like they’re sharing some inside joke that only they understand. He shifts slightly, suddenly a bit squirmish under her undivided attention.

Not that he gets squirmish, of course. Oscar is the picture of cool and collected.

As her eyes scan him, she notes the slight flush of his skin, the way the muscles of his face are tense ever so slightly. It’s honestly a bit refreshing to see someone who isn’t always unfazed by it all, she thinks. She does her best to offer him a reassuring smile.

“That went well,” she comments, her voice carrying a lightness that contrasts with the tension simmering beneath the surface. It’s the kind of praise that makes him feel seen, but also a bit exposed.

“Thanks. Couldn’t have done it without you,” he responds, his tone sincere. Oscar isn’t one of those fools who thinks the whole orchestra runs around him. Even if it did, his mother didn’t raise him to be any bit unappreciative to everyone who works behind the scenes for his successes. He knows she’s more than just an assistant; she’s the one who keeps everything in motion, the anchor in the chaos.

Her gaze lingers on him, and for a moment, the air between them thickens. He’s acutely aware of the distance that’s very much there, yet it feels charged, like static before a storm. “I just do what I can,” she says softly, brushing a loose lock of hair behind her ear—an action so simple, yet watching it feels intimate.

Oscar looks away.

The moment stretches, and he senses a shift, a palpable tension that neither of them is ready to address. Memories of their almost-kiss hang between them, unacknowledged yet ever-present. He wonders if she feels it too, this strange blend of familiarity and hesitation.

The silence is uncomfortable in a familiar way, like the awkward pause that occurs when you can’t decide who should speak first. Oscar even opens his mouth to try to say something - though he’s not sure what - Y/N beats him to it.

“How’re you feeling?” she asks, her tone casual, but he detects a deeper curiosity behind her question.

“I guess just… figuring things out,” he replies, glancing down for a moment as he gathers his thoughts. There’s moments in the midst of the whirlwind of fame and fortune where it all truly feels surreal. Young Oscar always aspired to go fast, to push himself to the limit, to win, but this?

The spotlight, the admiration , the respect, the expectations? It was almost overwhelming, a heavy medal hanging around his neck that he’s still not used to wearing. Especially with the number of people that work day and night to give him a fighting chance at making his childhood dreams into reality, there’s no greater expectation than the one Oscar places on himself.

“Trying to get it right still, I suppose.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, nodding, her eyes searching his. There’s an intensity in her gaze that makes his heart race, as if she’s peering into the part of him he keeps to himself. Briefly, he wonders if she can read his thoughts sometimes.

Like on one of those teleprompters they use for broadcasts and award shows.

He wants to say more, to delve into this strange thing swirling between them, but the words feel stuck, caught in a web. The awkwardness between them might as well be a loose screw in his car - keeping him at the edge of his seat as he navigates the clunkiness that replaces the flow he’s used to. “I keep waiting to get used to it, but it never seems to happen,” he says finally, hoping to keep the conversation light.

“True,” she agrees, her smile faint but genuine. “But you manage.”

“Most of the time,” he admits, letting out a soft laugh that feels half-hearted, both playful and tinged with something meaningful. Oscar may have grown into this suave, clever, mature personality that he’s recognized for, but there are times when he still feels like the lanky teen with the acne and the too-short hair that climbed into a Formula car that very first time.

As the crew clears the set, Y/N steps back, her focus shifting to the flurry of activity around them. Oscar feels the space between them widen, the moment suddenly dissipating like a whisk of smoke. He wants to reach out, to anchor her back to him, but the tide of reality keeps them away.

“Ready to head out?” she asks, her voice interrupting the stream 0f his personal thoughts.

“Yeah,” he replies, an uncharacteristic hesitation slipping into his tone. He can feel the warmth radiating off her, and the longing rises within him, a familiar ache that refuses to fade. He elects to ignore it, in favor of using long strides to catch up with her quick ones to follow her out into the hall.

Oscar steals a glance at Y/N, her profile illuminated by the fluorescent lights, and he wonders what it would be like to bridge that gap. He recalls what it had been like the last time he'd been in such proximity to her - felt the warmth of body, the coolness of her breath, the ghost of her lips. For now, though, he settles into the silence, allowing the moment to hang between them.

Y/N leans against the small counter in her hotel room, the yellow light from the lamp seeming to warm the place. She stares at her phone, buzzing with a handful of messages, but her mind is tangled in thoughts of today’s interview. Hearing him casually mention her, smiling as he spoke, had left her feeling a mix of pride and confusion.

As she pours herself a cup of hot tea, she replays the almost-kiss in her mind - the way his breath had caught for just a moment. It felt like a line had been crossed, but they hadn’t addressed it. It hung in the air between them like an uninvited guest, and the last thing she wanted was to ruin the good thing they had.

Her phone buzzes again, the sixth time in the last half hour. This time, however, the contact name reads: Oscar. “How’s your evening?”

“Trying to figure out the chaos that is my notes,” she replies, glancing down at loose pages, and spiral books that are splattered across the coffee table.

“You always have chaos in your notes. It’s part of your charm.” His teases, knowing full well that no matter how chaotic her notes were, they were somehow still always loads better than his hurried scrawl.

The tone of the conversation feels light, teasing, friendly - but she’d be lying if she said it didn’t feel like something more—an unspoken understanding that neither of them wants to acknowledge.

“Charm, huh? I prefer to think of it as organized chaos.” She takes a sip of the warm herbal tea, now having cooled down to the temperature of her liking. It’s grounding these little rituals - which reminds her that she still needs to change out of her work clothes, maybe shower and do some skincare…

“Sure, if that makes you feel better,” he replies easily. Even just reading the words, she can practically hear the laughter in his voice.

A moment later, he decides to add, “I was just about to put something on the TV. You in?”

In a hotel room just a ways down the hall, Oscar’s heart rate increases. What the hell are you doing? He chides himself. He feels stupid - things were already weird, and now he probably just made them even weirder.

Relax, he has to tell himself. This isn’t new - in fact, this is normal. Like before - friends, just relaxing together after a long day of work. Airplane games of monopoly, friday happy hours, movie nights - all of this was perfectly normal. Right?

Thumbs still hovering over her keyboard, she hesitates. The idea of sitting together, sharing popcorn and laughter, sounded nice, but there was the lingering possibility that things would be strange instead.

Instead she types out, “Maybe. What are you watching?”

She could use a night off, after all.

“Something mindless, one of those cable shows they have on this thing. You know, to balance all the brainpower we exert during the week.”

She had to admit, he did make it sound inviting.

“Mindless does sound good. I’ll join you.”Oscar props himself up a bit better, leaning back on his elbow. The smile on his face is lit up by the blue light of his phone screen as he reads her reply. Forcing himself out of the unexpectedly comfortable position he’d evolved into, he gets up, phone in hand, before starting to work to make his hotel room look a tad more presentable.

He was not having a repeat of this morning.

He types out a reply. “Great. I’ll set it up.”

There is a brief pause, and he wonders if he should clear the air, just in case. He really does just want to have a relaxing evening with her - it had been a long time since they last had the chance. Conjuring up some courage, he types out another message to her. “So, about the interview…”

Reading that, Y/N’s heart races. She didn’t want to overanalyze his words, but it was impossible not to. She decides to go for the safe answer. “You did well. Really.” So maybe he was just overthinking it. The praise lifts some of the weight off his chest.

“Thanks. Felt good to share some insights. And the part about you… well, it was true.”

Had he really meant all of it?

There’s a fluttering sensation in her stomach. “Just doing my job.”

“No, really. It means a lot to me. You’ve been here through so much of it.”

The sincerity of his words has her forgetting this tension for a moment, allowing it to slip into the back of her mind. They had a rhythm, a friendship built on shared experiences, but now it felt precarious.

“I just want you to succeed, Oscar,” she tells him, words honest. “That’s all.”

“And you’re doing your part brilliantly. I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you.”

His words hang in the air, thick with unspoken feelings. He’s said those same words a thousand times before, but for some reason, this one makes her heart skip. She shifts her weight, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks.

“So, movie?” she suggested, wanting to steer the conversation away before she can get too caught up in her own messy thoughts..

“Right. I’ll get it ready.”

Rustling the duvet to make it appear slightly less misshapen. One of his hands seeks the remote to see what’s on at this time, and tries to pick the most tolerable option. Happy with his choice, he stalk over to the other side of his room, the show in the background acting as welcome background noise.

He then pulls out two packets of microwaveable popcorn from the welcome basket that had greeted him when he checked into the room, popping each of them into the microwave so the snack would be warm by the time she arrived.

Y/N stands outside the door to Oscar’s hotel room, feeling a mix of anticipation and nerves. Sure, she could use her emergency key card, but she decides that knocking feels less criminal. She knocks, and immediately the door creaks back to reveal his familiar face. His hair is mussed up, loose locks flopping to one side or the other. Her eyes are fogging with sleep, but the smile he wears is warm and sweet.

“Hey! Look who made it,” Oscar teases, stepping aside to let her in.

“Thought I’d save you from another night of mediocre cable,” she replied, a playful smile on her lips.

She hopes it comes less nervous than she feels.

“Trust me, you’re in for a treat. It’s ‘Chef’s Disaster’ tonight. Guaranteed chaos,” he says, leading her to the couch.

When she glances at the television that’s playing, she finds scenes of various chefs - forgetting ingredients, leaving the stove on too high, accidentally dropping their dishes.

“Ah, the best kind of TV,” she laughs, settling in beside him. The pair of them end up on opposite sides of a generously-sized, two-seater couch. Her mind begins to whir, trying to figure out if she’s sitting too far, if it’s too late to scoot a bit closer, would that make things weirder? But when she looks over to Oscar, his relaxed figure sprawled across his side of the couch, the knot in her chest loosens a little. She allows herself to get more comfortable, curling up on her seat. Finally breathing a little bit easier, she allows herself to lean back against the cushioning.

The show flickers on, and they immediately fall into a comfortable rhythm. Y/N reaches for the bowl of popcorn he’d prepared, gathering a handful of pieces to then to slip into her mouth.

They watch as the chefs try to organize their chaos into something presentable, laughing as they watch one of the younger contestants put an unseasoned chicken into the oven.

What happened to salt? Pepper? Common sense?

In the darkness of the room, their faces are lit up only by the glow of the changing scenes flickering across the TV screen. With a subtly yawn, Oscar stretches his arms, before one coincidently drapes itself across the back of the couch, right behind Y/N’s shoulders. He can feel how her hair tickles the skin of his forearm, but it only makes him smile. He’d missed this - time together, the two of them. Life had a funny way of making people feel so close and so far all at once.

When she can’t help but giggle at someone who’d forgotten to put the lid on their blending before powering it on, Oscar can’t help but look at her.

Even at this awkward distance, even with her too far to touch - he feels lucky. He’d be happy to stay like this - to only hear her laugh instead of causing it, to watch her smile from the sidelines - just to get to be in her orbit at all.

He wonders if the world might stop spinning on its axis if that wasn’t the case.

His certainly would.

“Okay, chef,” Oscar said, nudging her. “What’s your go-to dish?”

Turning to glance at him, she can’t help but smile. Oscar’s smile is contagious like that, she supposes.

She hums, thinking over his question for a moment.

“Honestly? I make a pretty decent chicken alfredo. You’d be impressed,” she replied, a hint of pride in her voice.

“Pasta, huh? Fancy,” he teases, wiggling his eyebrows at her. His heart does a strange fluttery thing when she laughs. “The only thing I can make reliably is scrambled eggs,” he admits, chuckling.

“Hey, scrambled eggs are a classic! Hell, all the eggs I make end up scrambled. But you should branch out,” Y/N says with mock seriousness, raising an eyebrow. “Maybe I should give you cooking lessons sometime.”

“Deal,” he says, his tone shifting slightly. Raising his hands defensively, he adds, “But no promises on the outcome.”

As they watch the chefs struggle with absurd challenges, the initial awkwardness begins to fade. They exchange jokes about the contestants, their laughter echoing off the walls. They laugh until their stomachs hurt, adding in their own commentary until there are tears in their eyes and their cheeks hurt from laughing. “I actually hate you,” she wheezes, throwing her couch cushion at him. “My nonexistent abs hurt, you asshole. Can’t you be a little more considerate?”

He catches her projectile weapon with an exaggerated ‘oof’, defending himself. “I was just providing valuable insights, really.”

The silence that settles thereafter as they try to catch their breaths is comfortable in the way that graceful snowfall is - familiar and calming, peaceful.

“What’s the worst thing you’ve ever cooked?” he asks, turning to her.

Y/N has to hold back a giggle, recalling a memory. She can’t remember how long its been since she was able to let loose like this. “I once tried to make soufflé. I think by the time I was done with it, it fell under the legal definition of what the pros call, ‘hazardous materials.’”

Oscar bursts out laughing, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “That’s a tragedy! You should’ve brought it here as a surprise.”

“I’m sure. Next time, I’ll bring my ‘signature’ dish,” she replied, rolling her eyes playfully.

Tilting her head back, she lets her eyes slip closed for a second just basking in whatever this is. It’s difficult to think of the right word for it, but quite frankly, she doesn’t care. She just wants to bottle it up and keep it with her forever. Just as they start to find that comfortable groove, a sharp knock interrupts them. Immediately, they both lift their head to turn to look in the direction of the offending sound.

“You expecting someone?” Y/N asks, her heart sinking slightly. She tries to push the feeling away. “Who is it?”

“Probably someone who doesn’t know the meaning of ‘do not disturb,’” Oscar grumbles, shaking his head as he gets up to walk over to the door.

He stands up and walks toward the door, leaving Y/N to focus on the flickering screen. But her mind drifted back to the lingering tension between them, their easy banter feeling suddenly fragile.

She nervously fixes her hair, tucking the loose strands behind her ears. Making sure she looks professional enough - and not like they were sitting a mere centimeter apart - she turns toward the door. Finally, he slides the pin aside, unlocking the door as he pulls it back.

“Who is it?” she asks him quietly.

There’s a pause for a moment, before Lando’s familiar voice calls through. “It’s me,” he replies, and Oscar seems visibly annoyed. Lando peers over Oscar’s shoulder, noting Y/N perched on one of the couches in the room.

Good, both of them were here. That’d make this a bit easier.

“You need to see this,” Lando tells them, careful to keep his tone even. Oscar nods, stepping aside and opening the door wider to allow Lando in.

“Yeah, of course. Come on in,” she replies at the same time, making sure she looks presentable. Hopefully whatever Lando has to say will save her from whatever awkwardness was probably about to ensue.

Lando pushes into the room and instantly notices that the vibe is… something. It’s *very* obvious that he’s interrupted something, but he doesn’t comment on it.

Interesting. He files the information away for later.

Instead, he holds his phone out in front of him, a news article pulled up on the screen.

“What is it?” Oscar asks, his gaze flickering between Lando and the screen.

Lando points to the small picture in the article, and Oscar’s jaw clenches, the muscle on the side of his face visibly pulled tight. Lando observes his teammate’s reaction, before he looks over to meet Y/N’s eyes.

“You might want to read this,” he says gently, his voice low. “You’re mentioned in it.”

That doesn’t sound right.

“I- What?”

Lando briefly wonders what the likelihood is that the ground will physically swallow him whole. Or that he might turn invisible. Or anything that means he doesn’t have to explain this.

“I don’t-“ He cuts off, struggling to put his words together, sighing. “I don’t know how they got their information, but some of these details…”

Seeing Lando - normally smiley Lando - looking so painfully neutral despite the anxiety that flashes in his eyes, feels deeply unsettling. Like dark clouds at a wedding or an empty chair at a birthday party, seeing Lando like this feels ominous, wrong.

He hands her the phone, watching her as she takes it and begins to scan the text. Words and letters blend into a blur, her eyes reading through the article - speculation after speculation on her current health status and how she got hurt. It reads less like news and more like pure gossip tabloid rumors.

There’s an odd sinking in her chest, some muscle winding itself tighter and tighter.

She can’t stop reading it, standing eerily still. Hidden amongst this clear violation of the privacy she’s held sacred for so long are some very specific facts that only Oscar and a select few other people should be able to know and recognize.

“This is-“ she starts quietly, her breath hitching in her chest.

It’s quiet. “This is bad.”

Her eyes continue to scan the article, and her mouth goes dry. Even when she knows it’s all mostly bullshit, there’s still a part of her that feels a little violated, like there’s suddenly not enough oxygen in the room. This is her life - her past and her trauma put on display. The most traumatic years of her life suddenly available for the whole world to read about.

She reads it yet another time, uselessly hoping for something to change, for the words to transform or dissipate like the final wisps of a nightmare.

“One has to ask—can you really call it a "dream job" when it lands you in the ER? Y/N L/N is clearly in need of a reality check. Whispers from insiders paint the picture of a young woman entangled in a life of chaos, fueled by impulsive decisions and reckless relationships. Is she simply a victim of her surroundings, or is there a more troubling narrative at play? Recently, Y/N was hospitalized with troubling injuries: extensive bruising and a suspected concussion, allegedly the result of a wild night that spiraled out of control. Sources suggest her aggressive tendencies may have exacerbated the situation, raising alarms about her behavior and its implications for McLaren. As Y/N navigates her tumultuous life, her influence over rising star Oscar Piastri comes into question. McLaren must now confront the uncomfortable truth: her erratic behavior could endanger Piastri’s career and the team’s reputation. The last thing they need is a scandal, especially when they’re striving for excellence on and off the track. The team's efforts to sweep this under the rug hint at deeper issues within their camp. Insiders are growing increasingly concerned that Y/N’s instability could tarnish McLaren’s hard-earned image, especially as rumors circulate. As Y/N begins her recovery, the pressure mounts on McLaren to manage the fallout. Fans and sponsors alike are watching closely, and the stakes couldn’t be higher. Ultimately, the future for Y/N is uncertain. Will she take this opportunity to change her trajectory, or will she continue to spiral, jeopardizing not only her own future but also the stability of McLaren? The racing world waits with bated breath, knowing that every decision could have lasting consequences.”

Lando’s expression is sympathetic as he watches her pale. Something guilty settles in his gut - he knows he didn’t cause this, but he doesn’t know how to protect her from it either. Lando has always held loyalty so close to his chest - growing up famous at such a young age forces you to learn that lesson quickly.

It's easy, then, to understand why Lando is the way he is. He's known for his friendly personality - his charismatic charm and his easy laugh - but there are a select few which Lando considers his closest friends. Those are people he answers even in the middle of the night, the ones he’d fly across the world to be there for.

But Y/N is standing in front of him like the very ground has been pulled from beneath her feet and he can’t do a fucking thing.

“Um, it’s- it’s okay,” she stammers, voice shaky. She tucks her hair behind her ears again, but they were never loose in the first place. A fragile mask of calm slips over her face, a familiar trick she’s performed thousands of times before

“I can take care of this. I- I’ll take care of this.”

Her heart feels like it’s stuttering in her chest but she knows better than to show it. Taking a short breath, she whirls around to make a beeline for her office. She’ll need to make a few calls, send emails to various liaisons and communication personnel, maybe reach out to HR and PR too-

“Hey, hey, stop.” Oscar reaches out and gently wraps his fingers around his bicep, spinning her around gently to face him. His eyes are worried as he searches hers for something true. He’s seen her upset before, but now her face is pale in a way he’s never seen before.

“Oh, right,” she chuckles awkwardly, suddenly remembering. “Lando, your phone.”

She holds the phone with the article displayed on it for Lando to grab, but she eyes the device like it’s very presence is toxic. She chuckles, but the sound is high pitched and forced. “Sorry, almost forgot!”

Lando slowly takes his phone from her, his eyes flickering between his friends for a moment.

“No worries, s’fine,” he says carefully, his eyes not leaving her face. “Are you actually okay?” That’s a stupid question, you idiot.

“Me?” she asks, as if caught off guard. “Yeah, yeah! I’m fine,” she answers, waving him off.

Oscars expression is stern, unconvinced - and he doesn’t bother to hide it.

“You seem a little, uh, upset,” he says delicately, his gaze flitting to her shaking hands. He immediately looks away, not wanting to draw any attention to it. He doesn’t want her to feel exposed.

“No it’s-” horrible, she wants to say. Instead, what comes out is, “It’s okay. I’m just trying to figure out what I need to do, that’s all.”

He hesitates, his brows furrowing at her attempts to downplay what’s happening.

“And your first thought is to go work?” he points out, a small hint of accusation in his tone.

It’s like she doesn’t even hear him.

“I’m going to fix this,” she tells him, giving both of them her most convincing smile, even as the corners of her mouth threaten to twitch downward.

Breathe.

And with that, she sees herself out of the room, already planning each action she needs to set into motion. She’s going to fix this.

a/n: thank you for reading this far! feedback means a lot to me. your likes, comments, reblogs, asks - that's the only way i can tell if you like the story so pls pls pls! all the feedback!!!

#formula 1 fic #saffu's works #formula 1 #oscar piastri fic #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri #oscar piastri angst #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x assistant!reader #tw: abuse #tw: injuries

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onyxmilk · 1 year ago

Text

Twilight x f!Reader; “Missing” (p2)

notes; part 2 to this !! sorry for the long wait :( !! tw; fem!reader wc; 1.5k tl; @dianexo-v @mr-underhills-things @solaeirr @lenguasdegatofan @0vendettaself @sassy-cat-in-town @dreaminmemories

Twilight opened the front door, nodding when he saw Franky and smiled when he saw Anya. They had just come back after their outing to the cafe, but rather than looking excited, Franky had a frantic look on his face. “Bro, we need to talk. A-S-A-P.” Franky said, cutting to the chase as if the matter was urgent. Twilight nodded, sensing the seriousness in Franky’s voice before sending Anya off to her room and sitting down with Franky. Currently, Yor was out and Anya had wanted some uncle time, it was the perfect opportunity for Twilight to give updates on his mission.

“Remember [AgentName]?” Franky asks, Twilight deadpanned for a moment giving Franky a weird look. “Yes..? Franky, that’s my wife.” Twilight whisper yelled, Franky just chuckled nervously in response, “Well, she hasn’t received any messages from you in the last two freaking years.” The short man says. That explained a lot.

Twilight sighed, “That explains the lack of messages in return..” The blond said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “But get this, you’re a real father too.” Franky mentioned before making an explosion noise with his mouth and doing some motion with his hands.

Loid choked on his drink, “Pardon?” he asked as he coughed up some of the drink. “You have a daughter, like a biological one!” Franky said, seemingly the only excited one of the two about this news. “And she didn’t tell me?” Loid whispered softly, mostly to himself, Franky shrugged. “She seemed hurt that you hadn’t reached out, maybe that’s why..” Franky replied, Loid just held his head.

He had been reaching out, someone or something had been cutting contact between him and his wife. He had told her not to contact him unless he contacted her first- but here he sat regretting that choice. “I should get going..” Franky said standing up, “Wait, if I can’t trust Nightfall to deliver messages to The Handler, can you deliver a message to her directly?” Loid asked.

Franky acted like he was thinking, making Loid shake his shoulders, “Fine.” Franky gave in. Loid wrote a long message before tucking into the envelope and handed it to Franky. Franky signed and took the paper before heading out and to where Twilight and [AgentName] lived and slipped the envelope into the mailbox and went on his way.

It would be the following afternoon when [YourName] opened her mailbox and found a piece of mail addressed to her using her agent name. [YourName]’s heart skipped a beat, she grabbed the remaining mail and rushed back inside. Luckily, Lotte was sound asleep, napping.

[YourName] carefully opened the envelope, fearful of what was inside. Divorce papers? An apology? Or a mission? She had no idea, she had hoped it was the middle option, but half of her wouldn’t blame Twilight if he chose to divorce her.

“To my Sweet Angel,”

Okay, well seems good so far…

“I want to start this letter off with an apology, for it seems the messages I’ve been sending for the last two years haven’t graced your beautiful (EyeColor) colored eyes, and that absolutely breaks my heart. You deserve a night out, alone, with me, though I won’t be able to serve that up for another six months. This mission is almost over and I’ll return to your arms, along with our child that I’ve just been told about. Why didn’t you reach out? Two years, Angel, and not once did you break protocol. As much as I appreciate it, when you’re going through desperate times, i.e. giving birth to our first born, is definitely a great reason to do so. I hope I haven’t missed too much, just as I miss your face…

-Twilight”

[YourName] broke down into tears, thanking whatever god out there that existed for this message. She gently brought the paper up to her face as she cried, unintentionally sniffing it and getting a whiff of that cologne Twilight had spread across their bedsheets on days he didn’t feel like showering before a nap.

[YourName] could hardly believe that Twilight hadn’t asked for a divorce. That it was all some miscommunication, not even on her end, but on his. Half of her was pissed, was he trying to seamlessly dance his way back into her life? She didn’t know if she was exactly ready for that, if Lotte could handle that.

With a sigh, [YourName] placed the letter on the kitchen counter. She had to prepare to write some sort of response, she was hurt but happy to hear from her husband. Why didn't he try other ways to contact you beforehand? It broke her heart to know he hadn't thought of delivering a message to the handler himself.

[YourName] brushed those thoughts away and decided to make herself a snack, then one for Lotte as well, preparing for when she woke up. While the woman ate her snack, she watched some tv show until she heard her daughter's cries. She set her bowl down and headed toward the nursery. [YourName] scooped Lotte up and comforted her while opening the curtains.

Lotte was only two, but she could always tell when something was off with her mother. When she was finished getting changed into some afternoon clothing, Lotte made it her mission to make her mother feel better. She tried sharing her food, cuddling [YourName], and other things toddlers could do- but nothing seemed to work.

"Mama! Mama!" Lotte cried rushing toward her mother, who sat on the couch and seemed lost in thought. "Hold!" Lotte said, handing her favorite stuffed animal to her mother, which finally broke [YourName] and she was in tears once more. Lotte gasped, climbing the couch and hugging her mother's arm. [YourName] brought her daughter in for a proper hug, kissing Lotte's head.

"How do you feel about meeting.. someone important to mama?" [YourName] asked, not letting it leak that this important someone was, in fact, Lotte's father. She wasn't even sure if Lotte knew what a 'father' was- it's not like she's in any schooling yet, all she knew is what she saw in her cartoons and her mother. Lotte looked like she was thinking, but she eventually nodded her head, "Yay!" she said.

A little was taken off of her shoulders, and after dinner that night while Lotte watched her cartoon, [YourName] wrote a reply to Twilight. It wasn't long, but it definitely wasn’t just your run-of-the-mill letter. To summarize her note to her husband, she basically said she was ready to meet up with him whenever he was ready.

The following morning, [YourName] delivers the message to The Handler who gets it to Twilight in no time.

Twilight was sitting at his desk when he received the letter, he thought- 'oh just another side mission' but when he opened and saw [YourName]'s handwriting, he melted. He took in the gentleness of the handwriting and how carefully it was folded, he even hesitated- but sniffed the paper, and just as he thought, it smelt just like the home you two shared.

After reading your note, Twilight cleared his schedule and sent a message to The Handler to send [YourName] to the hospital with their child. So, without questioning him, The Handler did just that. At first, [YourName] was confused why she was given direct orders to pick up Lotte from the babysitter's and go to the hospital, then it clicked in her head who she was going to go see.

"You know, Lotte, this is the hospital you were born in." [YourName] tells her daughter, the toddler just gasped at the news, "Woah!" She says in awe as the driver parks and lets [YourName] and Lotte out. "I'll be just a call away." The driver says before [YourName] could shut the door, she nods her head, shuts the door, and the driver leaves.

Walking into the hospital was something else. [YourName] saw familiar faces from the agency, and a nurse or two that checked in on her when she was in labor, it was all just a lot. Half of [YourName] wanted to chicken out, rush back outside and call for the driver- but she didn't. She couldn’t.

She made her way to Twilight's hallway, found the door to his office, and sighed before knocking. Lotte was on her hip, "Where, Mama?" Lotte asked. "We're seeing that important someone to mama, that's where we are." [YourName] replied softly, just then the door opened and there stood her husband, her daughter's father, the love of her life- Twilight.

"Oh my goodness.." Twilight whispered before ushering the two inside his office, he shut the door and went to hug both Lotte and [YourName]. [YourName] returned the hug with her free hand and softly breathed in her husband's scent, "I've missed you.." Twilight whispered to her. [YourName] smiled softly, nodding her head.

Eventually, [YourName] set Lotte down, allowing the toddler to play with the different toys that Twilight had out for planned clients he had canceled on for the day. "She looks like you.." Twilight said, admiring his daughter for the first time, "Really? I think she looks like her father," [YourName] replied with a sad smile.

After about an hour, and a snack, Lotte was out on the couch. Which finally left Twilight and [YourName] alone to talk. Before anything words could slip out, [YourName] slapped Twilight across the face before bringing him in for a kiss. "Don't think you're just getting away from the last two years, I'm absolutely pissed with you." [YourName] whispered to her husband before kissing him again.

#spy x family x reader #sxf x reader #twilight x reader #loid forger x reader #anime x reader #x reader

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archiveofvirtue · 24 days ago

Text

pov: you’re jensen ackles’ controversially younger gf ᡣ𐭩 pt. 3

jensenackles 6min

youruser

Liked by madelyncline and others

youruser officially too old for dicaprio 😶

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yourbestiesuser shits been way too freaky 🫦

youruser my heads’ still spinning 😵‍💫

ange1bites THE CAPTION IS TOO ICONIC

ellasbows the way I just realized.. 😭

fory/n HOLD UP- IS THAT MADELYN CLINE??

obxpiczz yup they’ve been friends for like 2 years now

jacklesfan1 his hand placement?? hello??

cvntyblogz I think my invite got lost in the mail 😔

madelyncline bday girl swag 🫡🫡

youruser u know the drill mads

clinestar literally all my faves in one room wtf

fordestiel still can’t believe we’re the same age 😭😭

tatemcrae happy bday it girl ❤️‍🔥

youruser coming from the it girly herself 🫂 ty love, imy!

popgirlyblog tate 🤝🏼 y/n

jensenackles

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jensenackles Happy birthday to my girl, my partner in crime and the best pool player I know. Beyond blessed that I get to spend this one life with you. I love you ❤️ @/youruser

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jacklesfan1 stop.. his little paragraph 🥹🥹

forjackles she is so so lucky

youruser damn right I am 👀

destiellcver her concentrated face is killing me lmao

youruser at a loss for words. You made this day so special. I love you hubs ❤️

girlwithablog you can just tell how much he loves her

jaredpadalecki today we celebrate the amazing y/n. to many more “I’m gonna have a bf” moments with you 🫂 @/youruser

gibson-g1rl wait- did jared just quote ‘white chicks’ 😭😭

youruser duh 🙄 its our fav movie! and i love u @/jaredpadalecki

vampdecn what’s bf? boyfriend?

youruser BITCH FIT

jaredpadalecki bitch fit

ellawinchester did she finally turn 18 or what??

jensenandy/nfan bruh, she is literally a grown ass 26 year old woman, get ur shit together

casmybeloved my favorite couple

girlblogzz hbd y/n ⭐️

youruser thank u !!

youruser

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youruser if I left u on read, here’s why 🌺

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y/nlcver bodTEA !!

elliescam my jaw literally dropped at the 7th picture

forjackles literally my dream vacay w/jensen

yourbestiesuser glad you’re having fun <3 now come back to texas mama, the kids miss u 😩

youruser just say u miss me so bad 👀

girlwithablog god, i wish i was y/n

fionabae does she even work?

mygirly/n she was literally paul wesleys manager for a few years and is now working as production assistant for mgm studios !!

ortegafan02 omg this is how i find out? 😭

fionabae cmon she only got that job bc of jensen

popgirlies her life is like a pinterest board

casmybeloved they are adorbs 🥹

jensenackles

Liked by jaredpadalecki and others

jensenackles bon voyage or something like that 😎

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jacklesfan1 finest man ever ong

y/n_defender seeing y/n through his eyes is so cute!!

winchesterstan try not to say daddy (impossible)

h3llgirl1 ik his girl just hates these comments 😭😭

beausling nah she’s hella secure and too busy for this bs

youruser liked this comment

sevens1ns look at them go 🥹

urfavwinchester they’re still dating??

jackles4life why wouldn’t they? 🤨

urfavwinchester maybe he finally got tired of her

gibson-g1rl bro 😭 get out of here

2jstan can’t believe she is having that man every day

acklesbaby geeeeez jensen 😩

as requested, another part of the jensen sm au 🎀 pt. 1 pt.2

i think I’ll never stop making these, it’s so fun!

feedback and requests are greatly appreciated!

tags 🏷️ @gibson-g1rl @beausling @angelicjackles @lailawinchesterr @nuemanfilms @alluvthegurlz @drewsarms @starkeysprincess @hischrrypie @sammyluvr

#writers on tumblr #jensen ackles #jensen fucking ackles #jensen x y/n #jensen x reader #jensen x you #jensen ackles x you #jensen ackles social media au #social media au #jensen ackles smau

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leossmoonn · 11 months ago

Note

Can you do Mike with a single mom with a son like she moves into the neighborhood and her son and Abby get along super well?

includes - abby and her son already are friends. after freddy’s. feelings are caught fast. not edited.

————

“hey, baby. how was school?” you place a hand on his back, guiding him to your car.

“good,” he says, opening the door and climbing in.

“wait, henry!” a little voice shouts from behind you. you turn around, seeing a little girl with curly hair and bangs running towards your car.

“abby! stop running!” a man shouts as he follows after her.

henry pushes past you, exiting the car and stepping onto the sidewalk.

“you forgot this,” abby says, handing him one of his star wars action figures. he smiles at her and takes it. “thanks.”

the man chasing after her huffs as he stops behind her. he puts his hands on his hips, glaring down at her. “you can’t just go off running like that, abby.”

she turns to him and shrugs, not seeming to care. “sorry.”

“i think you should start putting that in your backpack, bud. carrying it around isn’t safe for it,” you suggest.

henry nods in agreement. you look back at abby, smiling at her. “thank you for returning the toy. that’s very kind of you.”

“you’re welcome!” she grins, showing her pearly white teeth off. “someone stole my toy at school and i was really sad, so i thought henry might be mad if that happened.”

you laugh softly and nod. “he definitely would’ve been.”

you glance at the man now standing next to her. his face has softened now. his cheeks are dusted pink from having to sprint, but he’s caught his breath now.

“hi, i’m y/n,” you say, holding your hand out for him to shake. “hi, i’m mike.” he gives you a small smile.

“your daughter is very kind,” you say.

abby grimaces and shakes her head. mike chuckles. “she’s my sister.”

“oh,” you say, heat creeping up your neck. “I’m sorry.”

he shakes his head. “no need to apologize. you couldn’t have known.”

you nod in reply. something passes between you two as you stare at each other, hands still clasped together. something that makes your skin tingle and brain melt.

“mom, i’m hungry,” henry says, tugging on your shirt. you’re pulled out of your daze and you both pull your hands away quickly. you smile bashfully, not realizing how long your hand had been in his. “it was nice meeting you. maybe i’ll see you again if abby comes out and talks to henry.”

mike nods, “definitely. it was nice meeting you, too.”

you give him an awkward wave goodbye, ushering henry back into the car. mike grabs abby’s hand and walks her to his car.

“it was nice of you to do that for that boy, but don’t just run off next time, okay?” mike says as he opens the door for her.

“mmkay,” she sighs, hopping into the car. “that woman is really pretty,” she remarks as he sits in the driver’s seat.

mike’s ears turn a little pink at the thought of you. “she’s… yeah, she’s good looking.”

abby giggles in the backseat. “you like her.” he groans, “you have to stop saying that.”

“why? it’s true.”

“because it makes me… it makes me look like a weirdo. especially if you were to say that in front of her.”

“because you know it’s true,” abby remarks. “whatever,” he rolls his eyes. yes, he’ll admit, he found you attractive. you are a very beautiful woman, but he just met you. it would be crazy if he started to like you this sudden… right?

“i’m going to get the mail real quick, okay?” you say to henry who is watching tv.

“okay,” he says, keeping his eyes glued to the screen. you slip on some sandals, walking down your lawn to grab some mail. a familiar voice catches your attention.

“my hair looks fine.”

“no, you look like a wet dog!”

you turn your head, your jaw quite literally dropping. “no way,” you gasp.

“hi, henry’s mom!” abby exclaims, loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear. mike gets out of the car, eyes widening upon spotting you. now he’s actually concerned whether or not he looks like a wet dog.

“hey!” you wave. “hey!” mike says, smiling brightly.

“what a coincidence, right?” you laugh. mike nods, “yeah. actually, abby told me she knew where henry’s lives. i thought she was being creepy, but now i know that it’s true.”

now you’re really laughing. “henry said something similar. he told me the other day that he’s seen your house.”

“he’s not wrong,” mike shrugs. “can i go inside?” abby asks.

“um,” mike says, a little weary of living her inside alone. he wants to keep talking to you, but he doesn’t want to be absent in case something bad happens. he’s about to answer when henry walks outside.

“mom, can i make some chicken nuggets?”

“sure, honey. let me help you with the oven,” you say.”

“hi, abby!” henry shouts. “hi!” she grins. she starts making her way down the driveway. this time, mike is close enough to catch her. “what are you doing?”

“going to talk to my friends.”

“abby, no. they didn’t invite us over.”

“how would you know? you don’t have any friends.”

mike scoffs, not even sure what she means by that. he hears you giggle and instantly softens.

“you guys can come over here. we aren’t busy,” you say.

“you sure?” he asks. “of course. i can make you guys some chicken nuggets,” you smile.

mike takes a step into your house, surprised by how well decorated it is. it looks like you live in a completely different neighborhood compared to the interior of his house. there are pictures of your family and friends everywhere, fancy-looking abstract paintings, and cool-toned furnishings and decorations that makes mike feel ten times more calm after entering.

“if you’re actually hungry i can make you something else,” you say, walking into the kitchen. mike slowly trails behind you, still taking in your house. it doesn’t feel muggy and depressing like his. you get great light and the plants by the windows and on shelves and counters help, too. your house feels warm and happy.

“i’m okay, thank you,” mike says. “would you like something to drink then?” you ask.

“sure. water is fine.”

you fill a cup up, handing it to him. “i hope we aren’t interrupting any of your saturday plans.”

he scoffs with a little smile. “i should be saying that to you.”

“i’m usually pretty flexible. we just moved here, too, so i don’t know anybody or know where anything is.”

“oh, right. i remember seeing the moving trucks,” mike says. “yep, those were mine,” you chuckle.

“can i ask why you moved?”

“job offer,” you answer. “wow, congrats,” he smiles.

“thank you. it’s kind of part of the reason why i haven’t tried going out. work is moving faster than i anticipated, but it’s fine. it keeps me busy.”

mike nods, “yeah, between work and abby, i barely have anytime to myself.”

“where do you work?” you ask. “uh, i’m a store manager,” he answers, looking away bashfully.

you cock your head to the side, not understanding why he suddenly got all shy. “must be nice to be the boss,” you remark.

“it is,” he nods. “now i know why all my bosses in the past hated me when i was just a regular employee.”

you giggle, putting your hands on one of the kitchen chairs, leaning against it. mike’s eyes drop to your hands, not noticing a ring on your finger. he tries not to get too excited, although his heart is skipping beats and his cheeks hurt from repressing a smile.

“i remember working in stores and whatnot. it’s hard being an employee. we always get blamed,” you say.

mike snorts a little bit. “most of you guys never do anything right.”

“mmm, and who’s fault is that?” you quirk a brow. mike would be afraid that he hit a nerve and accidentally started an argument, but the coy smile on your face lets him know you’re bantering with him.

“well, i am the boss, so i get the last say.”

“that’s kind of how my boss is at work. he’s nice and all, but he can he kind of… condescending.”

“i can promise i am not like that.”

“i didn’t think you were.”

mike blushes a little bit, letting out a breathy laugh. something passes between you two again. something that makes mike feel like his throat is dry and that he needs an inhaler.

“mom, can you help me with the nuggets?” henry asks.

“oh, yes!” you turn around, seeing that henry had already put all the food on the baking tray. as you teach henry how to use the oven, mike takes the liberty in looking at the pictures that are on your fridge.

there are some of you and henry when he was a baby. you’re in what looks like a college dorm. your hair is very late-90s as well as your clothes. there’s another one of you with people who look like your parents. a couple more with your friends. there are lots of pictures of henry throughout the years. one particularly catches his eye. it’s of you carrying henry when he was about 2-3 years old with a guy who’s kissing your cheek. his heart sinks. he feels so ridiculous for feeling this strongly about you.

he wonders if his feelings for you are because he barely gets any play ever. he wonders if he’s just excited about talking to a woman, like a stupid high school kid. but there’s just something about you. your warm and welcoming presence and your smile that’s like the sun. or maybe it’s that you’re funny and caring and obviously a very good home decorator. not to mention, you’re gorgeous. of course you’d have a husband, or at least a boyfriend.

“we aren’t married. or dating.”

mike blinks rapidly as your voice breaks him out of his sad daze. “w-what?” he stammers.

“i see that you’re staring at milo and i,” you say. “i-i didn’t mean to invade or anything,” he rushes out.

you shake your head and shrug. “i have the picture there. if i didn’t want people asking questions, i wouldn’t have put it up.”

mike nods in reply, still afraid he’s blown his shot with you. if he even had one in the first place, that is.

“we were married,” you say. “but we divorced two years ago.”

“i’m sorry to hear that,” mike swallows hard. he is sorry to hear that, but it plants a little hope in his head.

“it’s alright. we were high school sweethearts. he got me pregnant when we were 19. we got married at 22, but in the end it didn’t work. honestly, we stayed together because of henry.” you look at your son who is now playing with action figures with abby. “but those types of relationships never work.”

“does henry miss him?” mike asks. “he does,” you nod. “he says he doesn’t, but i know he does. he was dad’s little guy. he’s just playing it tough, though. he learned that from milo.”

mike laughs a little. “well, henry is a very nice kid. you guys raised him well.”

“we aren’t done yet,” you smile. “has milo come to visit?” mike asks.

“not yet. he’s a great dad and i think he’s already made plans to visit next month. the only reason why i have full custody is because milo is traveling the world. he just turned 30 and is having an identity crisis, or whatever. and we both agreed it’d be good for henry to go to school and have some type of stability in his life. which, i know, is funny since we moved. but i think he likes it here. he obviously had no trouble making friends.”

mike glances to the two kids in the living room. “i’m glad abby met henry. she’s always had trouble making friends, but recently she’s doing really well.”

“well, i’m glad henry met her, too. and i’m glad we met,” you add the last part. “all the parents at the kid’s school seem like such suck-ups. even just driving to pick him up i feel judged.”

“i know exactly how you feel,” mike sighs.

you stare at him for a moment, a question entering your mind. your heart races as you open your mouth to speak, hoping he won’t reject the idea.

“would you and abby like to, uh, stay for dinner?”

mike’s eyes widen and he starts stammering. “yeah, uh, sure. if you’d have us. you really don’t have to, though. i already feel like we have imposed.”

“nonsense,” you shake your head. “i’d be happy to prepare something for you. that way henry and abby can hang out more.”

mike slowly nods, a slow smile lighting his features. “yeah, that sounds great!” he sounds a little more enthusiastic than he’d like, but you don’t mind. in fact, you look delighted.

mike ends up helping you make dinner. the kids each their chicken nuggets as their meal, stealing a tiny bit of your food as you two eat.

“this is amazing,” mike says. “i haven’t had a home cooked meal in forever.”

“well, thank you. this is my grandma’s recipe.”

“is there any way i can personally thank you grandma?”

“definitely. she’s be happy to hear someone else likes her cooking.”

“mom, can we watch a movie?” henry asks. “yeah, of course, bud. you don’t need my permission,” you say.

“i mean, can we all watch?”

you glance at mike who has the same shocked and hesitant expression as you.

“sure,” you nod slowly.

abby and henry end up picking “ice age” — which is one of the best dreamworks movies ever. the two kids sit on the floor wrapped up in blankets while you and mike sit on the couch, careful to keep a safe distance.

“have you ever seen this?” mike whispers. “no. i think it’s a new one,” you say.

“it’s… weird,” mike comments. you giggle quietly. “it kind of is.”

mike glances at you and can’t help but admire you. you’ve changed out of your day wear and into some pjs. your makeup is all off and you’re snuggled up under a blanket. he can’t help but think this is the real you in your natural habitat. he can’t help but think how pretty you are.

you notice mike’s gaze in your peripheral. you turn your head to look at him, your eyes scanning his face. one of the first things you noticed about mike the other day was how handsome he is. his hair seems to be just slightly messy all the time. he has a purple hue under his eyes from the bags, but it makes his brown eyes stand out more somehow. his facial hair is light but frames his face well. your eyes trace the shape of his nose, noticing the tiniest bump by the bridge. his jawline is sharp — surprisingly sharp. all of his features are just so perfect.

“thank you for inviting us. it’s very kind of you,” mike says. “for all you know, we could’ve been weird people.”

“I’m pretty weird myself,” you say with a teasing smile. “in all seriousness, i really don’t mind. i just see the way abby interacts with henry and the way you interact with her. i know you both are good people.”

“thank you. i think you’re a good person, too. and henry.”

your eyes travel down to his lips and just for a moment, you imagine what it’s like kissing him. you have to tear your eyes away immediately, knowing he saw that and feeling a little embarrassed. it’s cliché to say, but you haven’t felt this type of way for someone since your divorce. although you and milo weren’t right for each other, you still loved him. you have also been focusing on your career and henry; you couldn’t imagine bringing someone into your life romantically. you’ve always been afraid to bring someone into henry’s life as well. but you can’t shake the feeling like mike is special and whatever you feel for mike is special.

“can i take you out on a date?” mike asks, practically blurting out the words. it’s so fast you barely catch on, but you hear the word date.

“me and you?” you clarify. “yeah,” he nods, shrinking back into the couch. “if you wanted to. i-i’m sorry if it’s weird. i know we just met and —”

“yes,” you say. “really?” he gasps as if he’s never gotten a yes. you can’t imagine that ever being the case, and you smile a little at how cute and humble he seems.

“yep. i’m free next friday,” you say.

“me, too. i can pick you up at 7.”

“sounds good,” you smile. you turn your attention back to the tv, scooting closer to him. “you better not be late,” you whisper.

mike laughs, “i can’t imagine why i would be.”

————

taglist

@celestbarnes

#mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt #fnaf #mike schmidt x you #this took me so long 😭 ugh.#got it done tho

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macfrog · 7 months ago

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hi queenie, love of my life 😌 i’d like to ask the following for 🩵: d’you think there was ever a moment where joel really thought holy shit. she drives me insane… i gotta fuck her. ???

(rly hoping there was 😌)

ily, sister! thanks for the gif. feeling really. normal. about him. right now. oh, yeah. he had his moments. let's get into it.

compensation 1.1k words | duckie's baby shower 🩵 warnings: literally just joel masturbating to the thought of his neighbor. good shit.

she can’t have been older than twenty-five, when she moved in.

hell, she’s not even thirty yet, as it is. she’s too fucking –

you’re too fucking young for him, and that’s the end of that.

at least – that’s what joel’s telling himself, trapped on your front porch. watching you relive the story of the ups driver who almost wouldn't let you sign for his package.

doing his best to keep his eyes on yours, and not the thin tank top you’re wearing.

“…she’s like, how do i know you’re gonna get this to him? i’m like, uh, what the fuck do i want with my boring ass neighbor’s mail? no offense, joel. but c’mon. i’m literally signing for it. anyways.”

you turn, bending down for the box by the stairs, and joel drags his eyes upwards.

his hand shakes at his side. jaw ticks, watching you turn back, the package leaning against your front. your breasts – oh, jesus.

he swallows. his throat feels like carpet burn.

“’s heavy,” you mutter, edging towards him. “rock collecting?”

“mind your business,” joel clips, slipping his hands around the box. the back of his wrists brush against the swell of your breasts, and he stares so intensely at his own address on the label that he hopes it’s burned forever into his vision.

you huff as the weight passes into his hands. a little sigh.

something twitches beneath his belt buckle.

joel sits the box on his hip. “well, thanks for this. and for calling me boring.”

you cross your arms. it only pushes your tits up more. “stay humble, old man.”

he should walk away. right now. he should take his package, and his pride, and the fucking rock in his jeans – and head on home.

but then you slump against the doorpost, one ankle crossing over the other, and say, “s’posed to get pretty hot this summer.”

“’s already pretty hot.”

“hotter, jackass. they’re sayin’ record temperatures.”

“they say that every year.”

you poke at the inside of your cheek with your tongue. the way you always do, when you’re trying to annoy him.

and it’s working.

“actually, uh –” joel shifts between feet, “– i was gonna ask you a favor.”

“mhm?”

his gaze trickles down your figure. each curve and swell of supple skin. the shorts he’s getting a little too used to seeing you in, too used to looking for. your bare legs, and the glow of sun on them.

when he looks back up, you’re smirking at him.

christ, he wants to wipe that smirk clean off your face. wants to twist it into something darker, something…something louder, and filthier, and –

“joel. hellooo?”

you wave your hand in front of his face, and he snaps back.

“huh? oh, shit. sorry – i, uh…” a flush rises like an inferno up his neck. he shakes his head, fighting it off. “yeah. a favor.”

“you good? don’t pass out on my porch,” you warn. “wait until you’re back on your own land to do that.”

he breathes a laugh – panting, almost. “i’m good. i just – i need someone to water my, uh – my plants. i’m outta town next week, visitin’ my brother. if you wouldn’t mind…”

he feels like a fucking moron when he finally meets your eye again.

you blink back at him, frowning. head tipped, looking him up and down. “i don’t mind,” you say, something cautious in your voice, “but i expect generous compensation for my time.”

“compensation,” joel agrees, nodding. he’d do anything to be off this goddamn porch right now. “how about i’ll owe you one?”

“works for me.”

“alright. thank you, again,” he holds the package up, “and, uh – i’ll see ya.”

he’s gone before he hears your response.

too young. she’s too young. you’re so young. goddamn it.

you drive him fucking insane. you and your little shorts, the simper on your face. he swears he could see through the white of your top, two perfect circles where –

oh, fuck.

he spills into his bathroom, a heavy hand slamming down on the valve. the water roars from the showerhead, louder than the blood in his ears.

joel hauls his tee over his shoulders, the fabric peeling from his muscles and crumpling in a damp pile on the floor. he shucks the rest of his clothes off, kicking them to the side, and steps straight into the cubicle.

he looks down, and – fucking hell.

his cock sways between his legs, all rosy and already dripping. he can feel his pulse hammering at his tip; hisses when the stream sprays over it.

his hand lifts, curving around air.

shit, he just wants to touch himself. wants to relieve the ache between his hips. he has to.

he balls his fists against the tiled wall. his head drops low between his shoulders. the water pours down over him, pastes his dark hair in soaking flicks around his face. he can taste the salt of sweat and sun as it slips from his skin.

once. if he only did it once, would it matter? he’s hard now, anyways. there’s a quick fix.

you just – you caught him off-guard. he only went over there to pick up a package. he didn’t fucking know you’d be – oh, christ – he didn’t know you’d be in that shirt. no bra, no nothing beneath it.

he can still feel the plush of your tits on his knuckles. the way they moved as you leant against the doorframe. he can still see the summery shine on your skin.

he thinks about slipping his hands under the hem of your tank. up, up, up, across your smooth skin until he’s cupping them. squeezing them; circling his thumbs over the hardening peaks.

the short breaths from your lips, your smirk melted into a delicate o-shape. voiceless, nothing but whimpering and gasping when his teeth take your nipple.

before he even realizes it – he’s stroking his cock.

and quickly.

he groans, lips turning to his bicep. he bites down on the skin, hard.

he’d slip your shorts down your hips; see whatever slutty little panties you wear. he’d pull your thighs over his shoulders, unfold your sweet cunt and –

“shit,” joel pants, hips stuttering. his fingers splay out on the slippery tile.

you’re so infuriating. loudmouthed and fucking bratty. and he could shut you up, he knows he could. he’d sit you on his cock, wrapped perfectly around him, and fuck you dumb. fuck you until you’re nothing but a sobbing, soaking mess.

fuck you with that scrap of a tank top on. tits bouncing beneath it, the fabric riding higher and higher until they’re exposed.

what a good fuckin’ girl, taking all of him. letting him split you open, letting him fuck you raw. so big he’ll leave an ache deep inside you; so hard that he makes you come three times over before he’s even close.

but – fuck, he’s close, right now.

“c’mon, baby,” he mutters into his skin. teeth gritted; fist so tight the skin threatens to split across his knuckles. “make me come, c’mon.”

it’d dribble from your cunt, and he’d push it straight back in. make damn sure you keep it all in there, make damn sure you’re walking around all full of him. the seam of your thighs slick, semen seeping into your panties.

“goddamn,” he groans, and with a throb, coats the shower wall.

his cock twitches, pulses until he’s empty. the ache begins to thaw.

he shuts the shower off, still massaging his softening dick as he steps back out. he lifts a towel and drags it across his tingling body.

and he swears, when he notices the sun dipping below your roof –

it will never happen again.

#another “short” one from me :) will i ever stop rambling about this man's dick #duckie's baby shower #🩵#mrsmando

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gilverrwrites · 3 months ago

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What do you think about a pinning Roy finally getting the girl after some time being in rehab and all that? I'm sure he'll be so happy and feeling lucky!

I love this! It has so much potential for slow burn with a big, soft explosive ending, as well as the possibility of angst.

I immediately thought of his girl as a teenage/young love sweetheart. Somebody he has this idealist image of in his head. They gave each other their V cards, have all these memories of summer road trips and late nights together, but as they got older it was harder and harder for her to watch him destroy himself. They have this awful bitter break-up.

Roy, however, can’t stay mad at her for long. Queue: Him texting her constantly from all over the world, whenever he thinks about her. Usually, it's friendly, until he’s had too much. Then he gets needy, desperate, downright rude when she stops responding, until one day she sends him an essay telling him that it is unfair of him to keep contacting her like this, that it’s making it hard for her to move on, that she keeps warming back up to him and he keeps reminding her why they broke up by getting wasted and doing something stupid, and that she will be blocking him post voicemail/text whatever.

So, whenever he’s back in town he starts showing up at her place with worse and worse excuses. “Just passing by, thought I’d say hi.” “I lost my arm support, think I left a spare here, mind if I look?” “Lian kept asking about you, and it’s my weekend so I thought we’d surprise you.”

And they keep almost getting there. Ill-advised kisses. Seeking the other out when they need comfort from a long-time friend. Bumping into each other and winding up spending the day together just because it's so easy to fall into stride. Maybe she even starts dating other guys which causes even more problems, and makes him emotional and then he spirals proving even more why she was right to break up with him.

But they never take the plunge because either she just doesn’t buy that he’s ready for that yet, or because he proves he’s not ready yet by going out on a bender or drinking too much over dinner.

Obviously, she’s only one of many reasons he finally decides to get sober and when he starts going to rehab and attending AA, he doesn’t tell her until he gets his 30-day chip. Then he shows up at her door once again to show her, she is happy for him, ecstatic, but she needs more commitment than 30 days. He mails her all his proceeding chips, 60 days, 90 days, 4 months, 5, 6, 12. By the time he sees her again, she is ready.

She’s been waiting for this moment for months, she swings the doors open, and throws herself into his arms. They spend a whole weekend in bed joyously making up for lost time. Sorting their shit, making plans. They’re gonna move in together, somewhere with a second room for Lian, and space for a dining room, and a big TV. A garden large enough for Roy to have a shooting range and garage to tinker in.

They have years to catch up on. It’s perfect, nothing in this world could bring him down. They’re stronger than ever, Roy keeps attending his meetings, and then Heroes in Crisis happens.

#womp womp sorry #anon #thanks for the ask!#I genuinely do love this #roy harper #roy harper/reader #roy harper x reader #arsenal #arsenal/reader #arsenal x reader

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boldlyvoid · 11 months ago

Text

Dear Santa

Aaron Hotchner x Fem Reader

Summary: Jack's wishlist this year only consists of one thing. He wants Y/N to be his step-mom.

A/N: Continuation of Waiting Rooms, set a year later

Warnings: slight angst trying to get Jack to share what he wants for Christmas, Haley and reader are friends, getting engaged

Word Count: 2.8K

Rosie is about to turn 1.

JJ and Will are having a big birthday bash at their place, 2 weeks before her actual birthday because being a Christmas baby is hard. Gift-giving becomes a chore, they feel overlooked as they get older, and holiday fatigue makes people not really want to add another thing to their plate. But the BAU loved any excuse to party and to spoil their godchildren— even if it wasn’t on paper like Aaron was, every single member on the team loved JJ’s children as if they were their own.

And Aaron’s girlfriend is invited to the party, too.

Everyone knows her, she’s been around a lot and Aaron loves her dearly. Even Haley likes her, invited her to the wedding back in September and everything, which came in handy when they had to take Jack home for the night to give the happy couple some alone time. Aaron had him for 2 weeks during the honeymoon, and while he was at work, Y/N basically moved into his place to take care of Jack in his absence, which Haley was only okay with because Y/N had a degree in education and was trusted with 20 plus kids every day for years. They got on well, Jack loved talking to her and playing with her, he asked to call her at night when he had weekends with Aaron and she wasn’t over… and then she moved in. Jack was over the moon.

It’s been a month now, playing family is so much easier when Y/N doesn’t have to leave ever. His house is her house and his son is her favourite little guy in the world… but he’s acting different.

There are 2 weeks until Christmas and even Haley can’t get him to make a wish list. Well, he’s made one. He’s sent it to Santa, but he wouldn’t let her see it. So, you know, she can’t buy him anything in the name of Santa. It’s stressing them out, they have no idea why he’s being so secretive this year.

They pick him up from Haley’s for the birthday party, he loves any excuse to spend time with Henry and Haley begs Aaron to try and get him to talk. To anyone. Someone on the team has to be able to crack what’s going on and get him to share what he wants. In exact specifics because if he doesn’t get what he wants on Christmas morning, there’s going to be hell to pay.

He runs off to see Henry the second they’re inside, Aaron and Y/N put the gifts in the pile and head into the kitchen to give hugs and handshakes to all their friends. Y/N hugs Penelope and JJ and she takes little Rosie into her arms for a hug and kisses the side of her head, making Aaron swoon. “I can’t believe you’re so big!” She teases, brushing her nose against Rosie’s hair.

“I know,” JJ sighs, shaking her head. “I wish I could keep them this tiny forever…”

“Me too,” Aaron agrees. Looking off into the other room where the kids are all playing and making noise. “Things are easier when they’re 1.”

“I don’t know,” Will shrugs. “I think 4 is treating Henry well.”

“Has he told you what he wants for Christmas?” Y/N asks right away.

They both nod, “why?” JJ asks.

“Jack won’t tell us,” Aaron complains. “He made his letter, didn’t let me or Haley look and then mailed it away when he met Santa at the mall… we have no idea what he wants and he won’t tell us.”

“Well, last year his Christmas was a lot to take,” Derek reminds them. “His mom getting engaged so soon after your divorce is going to stick out to him… his whole world changed last Christmas.”

“Do you think maybe he asked Santa to bring you two together again?” Penelope asks, hesitant but onto something.

Aaron shakes his head, “no, he loves Scott. Talks very highly about him and their time together on weekdays.”

“Hm,” Emily hums. “You want one of us to talk to him?”

“I’m not sure,” Aaron’s honest. “Maybe Spencer, or Y/N even… I don’t want him to think he’s in trouble for not talking to us about his Wishlist.”

“I’ll do it,” Y/N volunteers, handing Rosie over to Aaron so he can have a snuggle with his god-daughter. “I’ll ask Henry too, just to cover my bases. Get them talking, see what’s up.”

“Thank you,” Aaron leans in and presses a kiss to her lips while Rosie clings to him.

They watch her leave and as soon as the coast is clear everyone's vibe switches. “So…” Derek is the first to tease him.

“When are you going to have another one?” Emily continues.

Aaron shakes his head with a blush. Rosie is snuggled into his chest, head on his shoulder, he leans his cheek against her head and holds her close. She’s always loved him, she finds him calming and it’s probably because he’s so stern and has his emotions under control… also because he’s family. He was the 4th person to hold her in her entire life and he loved her because he loved her mother so much.

“When she asks,” he’s honest.

“Oooo,” JJ teases with a smirk. “I’m surprised she hasn’t asked with how often she sees you with babies now.”

“I know,” he sighs. “I think she wants to be married before she has kids. She’s traditional, I can’t blame her…”

“So when are you going to ask?” Penelope asks, desperate to know.

He shrugs, “We haven’t talked about it. It’s only been a year, we just moved in together, and we’d have to plan it all around her teaching schedule. There’s a lot to consider. I want to make sure she’s okay with my schedule, the long hours and the not being around— I mean, she’s good with Jack, she spends time with him when we get called out and she hasn’t said she has a problem with it but—

“but it’s happened to you once before,” JJ understands.

He nods, “I love her too much to lose her too.”

They all understand that.

“She’s had time to run,” Emily adds. “If she didn’t like your job or the hours or missing you as much as I’m sure she does— she would’ve left already. She’s not the kind of woman to push her feelings down and just coast. She says what she feels and gets what she wants and what she wants is you and the life you’re building and the family you’ve welcomed her into.”

His heart swells, “I hope so.”

—

She plays with them for a bit, driving cars around a town printed on a carpet and making all the automobile noises with a smile. She loved this little boy so much, he was the best thing to come into her life since his dad.

“Did you guys ask for more cars for Christmas?” She pries.

Henry nods, but jack doesn’t say anything. He keeps driving, avoiding the question.

“What else did you ask for Henry?”

“a—

“Don’t tell her!” Jack cuts him off. “If you say it out loud it doesn’t come true.”

“What?” She asks, almost laughing but she holds back. “Who told you that?”

“No one…” he shakes his head, looking like he’s thinking hard.

“Then why do you think it works like that?”

“It’s like birthday wishes,” he explains.

“What did you wish for on your birthday last year?” She asks, trying to figure out if he got it or not, to see if that’s why he thinks this.

“The Spider-Man Hot Wheels track,” he explains.

“And did you tell anyone?” She asks, he shakes his head. “And you got it?”

“I did…”

“What about Christmas last year? Did you tell anyone what you wanted?”

“I made a list but… what I wanted most I told Santa and then it happened,” he whispers. “For mommy to get married to Scott.”

“Oh,” her heart swells. “Oh, Jack. You know, that’s just because you told Santa and he can make things come true, but sometimes Santa can’t get all your gifts and he’ll reach out to your mommy and daddy and say hey, the 3rd thing on Jack's list I couldn’t make at my factory so you can get that for him. But Santa can’t talk to your mom or dad about presents unless you do too… he can’t tell your secrets.”

“Oh,” he thinks hard about it. “I didn’t think about that.”

“Yeah, when I was little we didn’t have a chimney so my dad actually had to wait up for Santa and let him into the house,” she explains the old lie her parents used to tell her. “They became good friends and Santa was always so happy to hear they got me the things he couldn’t make.”

“I only put one thing on my list,” he frowns, scared now that he won’t get anything if it doesn’t come true.

He starts to cry and she pulls him right into her lap, cradling him, “Oh, buddy it's okay. We can make a second list, explain everything to Santa and send it tonight, he’ll get it in time.”

“You think?” He asks, looking up at her with those big hotchner brown eyes.

She nods, “Come on, let’s go ask Aunty JJ if she has some paper.”

They get up off the carpet and she carries him into the kitchen again, they get paper and a pencil and they sit down at the kitchen table together with Aaron standing over his shoulder. He puts down a couple things he’s seen on commercials between TV shows and things he’s seen in the store with his mom and she looks up at Aaron who smiles. He can get these things, there’s still lots of time to make sure his Christmas is good.

But she wanted to know what his big present was… she needed to tell Aaron everything and they needed to work it out. They can’t ruin the magic of Christmas for him because this year his big wish doesn’t come true.

—

At home that night, they sit in bed and she tells him everything and his heart breaks a bit. “He has 1 wish and we have no idea what it is.”

“I know,” she leans back against the pillows, just as panicked as he is. “Is there any way you can contact the mall and find out what Santa was working on that day and maybe, just maybe he remembers what Jack said?”

“I can try… but I might just have Haley and Scott sit him down and have him watch Here Comes Santa Clause, make sure he has the real story and knows that it’s not like a birthday wish. Saying it doesn’t stop it from coming true,” Aaron explains. “I need him to have a good Christmas with us this year.”

“He will,” she assures, cuddling into his side. She places her hand on his chest and he wraps his arm around her so she can get closer. “We all will.”

—

Aaron goes off on another case just before Christmas, Y/N spends the night before Jack’s arrival for his week at their house, wrapping presents. They’ve managed to get him everything he asked for. They split the list in half, Haley got him a bunch, they got him the rest and then they all threw in some practice things from themselves.

Haley had dropped off her Santa gifts early, they’re hidden up in the attic so he can’t find them before Christmas morning. He’s going to be one spoiled boy…

Aarons is still not back when Jack gets there. He’s so close to finishing the case, he should be home in a day. Till then, she’s more than happy to spend some one-on-one time with Jack.

He runs upstairs to his room to put his bag away and Y/N gets a few minutes alone with Haley, “has he said anything?”

She smirks, nodding, “he did…”

She lights right up, “what? Can we get it in time?”

“He wants you to be his step-mommy,” Haley whispers, stepping into her space and rubbing her arm. “So unless you want Aaron to be the one to propose, you should get a ring.”

She’s in a state of shock for a while, Jack goes to bed after dinner and she just sits in the living room with her drink and the TV on low and she stares off. She has no idea what to do. Does she tell Aaron? Do they talk about it? Should they get rings together and make a plan? She could just get a ring and ask him? But does she get a ring for herself or for him? Would he even want a ring or would he maybe like a watch?”

There’s a million things buzzing around her head and then the lock clicks over. The door opens and Aaron’s briefcase hits the floor before it closes.

“Hey,” he smiles as he sees her. “You’re still up?”

“What time is it?” She asks, having genuinely no idea.

“Close to midnight… are you okay?”

“Hm? Oh yeah,” she shakes her thoughts away and gets up to give him his big home-coming hug.

She wraps herself around him, breathes him in and settles against his body. His big hands on her back, the warmth of his chest, the feeling of his lips on her forehead… it all feels like home. He’s her home.

“I love you,” she whispers against his chest.

He cups her face and pulls her attention up to his eyes. “I love you, sweetheart.”

“Haley cracked the code,” she breaks down, it all falls out as she looks at him. He’s so soft, he’s so good to her… she wants to spend the rest of her life with him. “Jack wants us to get married too. He wants a stepmom and a stepdad. He wants two complete families at both his houses and I don’t blame him.”

Aaron’s face lights right up, “he said that? Really?”

She nods, “Last year he got a stepdad, this year he wants me to join the family…”

“Do you want to?” He asks, making sure they’re on the same page.

She nods, letting it all out, “I love you so much Aaron, there is nothing I want more than to spend the rest of my life with you and that beautiful boy upstairs.”

“What kind of ring do you want?”

—

When Christmas morning rolled around, Jack was surprised to see the mountain of presents under the tree. They let him go crazy, opening everything with his name on the tag while Aaron picked up the wrapping paper and put it in a plastic garbage bag.

Y/N sat back, enjoying the show and taking photos to share with Haley later.

Everything he wanted is there in front of him, already assembled and batteries put in them. He gets an apple and some candy in his stalking as well as a toothbrush that has the spider-man theme song built in for 2 minutes of optimal brushing. He gets some fun bath soaps and new crayons and a bunch of socks and underwear. It’s a perfect Christmas.

But there is still 1 more gift.

“Hey Jack, what’s that?” Aaron points to the tree. A small, little box is wrapped up and placed on a branch. “Did you miss one?”

He wanders up to the tree and takes the box in his hands. “There’s no name?”

“Huh,” Y/N pretends to be shocked. “You can open it, maybe you can figure out who it’s for?”

He carefully peels the wrapping off and notices it's a velvet box. He opens it up like a book and then gasps when he notices it’s a ring. “Dad?”

“That’s not for me,” he smiles. “Santa must've known I wanted to ask her... can you help me?”

His face lights right up and he brings it over to Y/N. She hadn’t seen the ring yet, it was a surprise but in the style she explained. He sits down next to her and watches her take it out of the box. “Is this for me?”

“Will you marry my dad?” he asks, eyes gleaming with the reflection of the Christmas tree lights.

She tears up, she knew this would be emotional but hearing him say that… makes her heart grow 10 times its size. She nods, “Of course I will, I love him so much.”

Aaron joins them, kneeling in front of her. He takes the ring from her hand, “I love you,” he reminds her as he slips it onto her ring finger. “I always will.”

She pulls him up for a kiss and holds him close and Jack takes the initiative to join, getting between them, he snuggles in close. Happier than ever that his Christmas wish came true for a second year in a row.

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#aaron hotchner #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch x you #hotch smut #hotch x reader #criminal minds smut #criminal minds imagine

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