#i know i was supposed to pick only one for each of these questions but it was tough LOL

[bring-forth-his-sac]

Not sure if this is too far but maybe some dads best friend mixed in with close calls and very rough stuff if ya know what I mean 😏

Stained

Word Count: 7.4k

Warnings/Tags:  rough sex, degrading name calling (slut), mentions of a facial, cheating (soz Lucille), alcohol consumption, hair pulling, semi-public sex

It happened again.

By now, Negan knows the routine. Argue. Say shit neither one of them can take back. Lucille kicks him out or else Negan reaches his limit and storms out. Make up later. It’s their pattern.

But tonight is different. 

They were supposed to go to a friend’s house for dinner, which threw a wrench in their usual routine. A part of Negan still wanted to go. Sure, he dreaded the tension-filled conversation, Lucille throwing in her usual passive-aggressive digs, but there was a silver lining: he could vent afterward. He needed to. To someone who’d actually get it, without the sugar-coating.

Negan has been friends with your dad for years, long enough to know they could trade a few sharp words and move on without it turning into some dramatic scene. Sometimes, Negan could really use that kind of blunt, no-nonsense talk with another guy. 

But hell, he wouldn’t mind shooting the shit with you either. You always got his humor and honestly, you were the only one who could make him laugh without trying so damn hard.

Instead of your home, he finds himself at a bar. Lucille was quick to call dibs on going solo to your parents house, not wanting to deal with Negan in front of friends. 

He left without another word, driving to the local watering hole like a man on a mission.

The bar is the usual kind of dimly lit place that doesn't ask questions. Negan doesn’t need questions tonight. What he needs is a drink and a distraction.

He settles onto a chair by the bartop and orders a whiskey, the burn of it going down smoother than he expected.

Lucille’s parting words echo in his head, the sharpness of her dismissal stinging all over again. The way she had shut him down so easily, almost like telling off a child. Negan can feel the frustration creeping back in. He could’ve used a laugh tonight but instead, he’s stuck here. 

Alone, as usual.

On a typical night, Negan hates how quiet the bar is. He can’t stand silences, everything about it gets on his nerves. The patrons are too tight to even cough up a quarter to play a song on the jukebox. It always feels like the kind of place where the air is thick with nothingness and every minute stretches on longer than the last.

Negan doesn’t have the luxury to brood over that on this particular night. Instead, the loud chattering of a group of girls fills the bar, cutting through the silence like a chainsaw.

Just a handful of them crowd around a table, all bright-eyed and wide smiles, laughing as though the weight of the world hasn’t yet found them.

His brow furrows as he watches them out of the corner of his eye. They’re not doing anything wrong but the racket they’re making feels invasive in the normally subdued space. 

Every time they laugh, the sound hits him like a hammer to his skull, ringing in his ears. It’s like a constant, steady hum of disruption. Negan can appreciate a little noise and some new life in the place, but tonight?

Tonight, it’s too much. It’s frustrating him. He takes another swig of his whiskey but it doesn’t quite block out their high-pitched, frantic laughter. 

One of the girls spills a drink, and the others burst into a fresh round of giggles, the kind that seems to echo through the entire room. 

He’s about to look away when another girl quickly picks up the drink and continues to say something. She's sitting across from the others, leaning forward and talking animatedly, her hands flying through the air with each word. 

One of her hands subtly goes to her thigh and she tries to discreetly yank down her dress. 

Negan wonders if women know they don’t need to wear tight mini dresses or the crop tops to get laid. But he supposes that’s the joy of being a  youngster. They do stupid shit, wear stupid shit, drink stupid shit. Some grow out of it while others still say stupid shit and end up drinking alone at a bar.

His eyes flicker over her figure. Negan can’t see her face, the angle of her head and the way her body is half-turned away from him hides it. 

Negan doesn’t mind. He can still appreciate her thighs and the curve of her ass from his seat at the bar. Her hair and back covers most of her upper body too so Negan can’t appreciate any titty action just yet.

His fingers drum against the bar and he catches himself, realizing that he’s staring. He quickly looks away, taking another drink of his whiskey as if the liquid will wash away whatever was just stirred up inside him.

In a way, Negan’s glad you’re not like that. You’re pretty without all the extra shit. Since elementary school, you've never been the type to crave attention or stand out in a crowd. Yet you're not the kind of introvert who keeps completely to yourself either.

You fall somewhere in the middle, comfortable with who you are without needing to put on a show for anyone.

There’s been plenty of times you’ve been the most entertaining thing to Negan at your parent’s dinner parties. He loves the witty remarks you toss his way and how you both quietly poke fun at the evening while the others remain oblivious. Those little moments are the highlight of his night.

But, of course, there are also those other times. When a careless comment from your father or mother hits a nerve and you retreat into yourself, disappearing into the background. Negan can always tell when that happens; the sharpness in your eyes dulls and the sarcastic remarks you usually offer him vanish. 

He wonders if you’ll be disappointed tonight, when it’s only Lucille who arrives for dinner. You make the dinners bearable for him but surely you reciprocate that feeling. Both of you are as thick as thieves in your own subtle way.

The woman he’s been checking out stands, saying one more quick thing to her friends before she turns and heads for the bar.

Maybe it’s because you’re already clouding his thoughts that seeing you in person hits him even harder. He’s imagined you a thousand times, with your quiet demeanor and the casual clothes you wear that make you almost invisible.

The mental image of you is so vivid, it’s like you’ve been etched into his mind… yet here you are, so different than that.

You do the same action that you did earlier, yanking down the end of your dress as it threatens to ride up your thigh. Negan lets out a gulp, not sure how he feels at the fact that he’s been checking out his friend’s daughter.

Turning back to say something to your friends, you let out a laugh as you clog along in your high heels to the bar. 

This is exactly what you needed. A night away from all your worries and stresses… and your parents. 

Besides, you're an adult now. You’re allowed to have fun! Whether that be crazy golf, drinking until you need your stomach pumped or smoking whatever. No matter how much guilt or pressure your parents try to put on you, tonight is yours. You’re no longer bound by their expectations. You can take a break from being the person they want you to be and just be.

Maybe that’s why the words “Lydia found out her boyfriend cheated so everyone was going to go over to hers and cheer her up!” came out of your mouth when you told your parents you couldn’t stay for dinner instead of “We all want to go out and down tequila shots!”.

Whether your actual reasoning would’ve worked or not, it doesn’t matter because they let you out with no more than a remorseful look as you left to help your heartbroken friend.

“Get more salt sachets!” a giddy Lydia calls out as you clip-clop up to the bar. 

You’re so caught up in your own little bubble of excitement that you barely notice the guy at the bar. You wait beside him, leaning on the counter and waiting until the bartender comes over. When you feel his eyes linger, you glance his way, wondering if you’ve found some fun for the night. 

You look over, pre-emptively batting your eyes lashes everything seems to slow down. There, standing just a few inches away, is Negan. Your dad’s friend. 

You freeze for a moment, excuses caught in your throat, as you realize that it’s not just the familiarity of his face that’s throwing you off. It’s the way he's looking at you. Negan’s expression is unreadable but the way his gaze lingers has a weight that catches you off guard.

You try to swallow the sudden lump in your throat. What is he thinking? How long has he been standing there? And why, of all people, did it have to be him?

You hate it. On one hand, you want to ignore him. Maybe give him a nod of acknowledgment before pretending like you’re not in front of someone you’ve known since you were a kid. 

But on the other hand, you know what Negan’s like and the last thing you want is for him to loudly draw attention to your… friendship? 

Ushering yourself closer, you hurriedly whisper “What are you doing here?!”.

Negan struggles to maintain his composure, forcing himself to keep his eyes on your face instead of letting them wander. 

“What am I doing here?” His jaw clenches as if readying himself to barrage you with questions “What are you doing here, dressed like that? Are you drunk? Do your parents know you’re here? I swear….”.

You scoff defensively, glancing down at the glass of whiskey in front of him. “Oh so I can’t go out with friends but you’re allowed to drown your sorrows?”.

Negan doesn’t even entertain your question, immediately waving it off. “That’s not the damn point,” he hisses “I’m not the one with my tits out and stumbling around a bar!”. 

He shoots some other patrons a glare as they try to eavesdrop, making sure they keep their eyes to themselves. You gasp, putting a hand on your chest. Maybe your dress is a lower cut than what you’d usually wear but your boobs aren’t about to pop out of the thing!

“You— you can’t talk to me like that!” despite how your face flushes, you stand your ground. You’ve always known Negan to be raunchy but not once has he ever spoken to you like this before.

"Can't talk to you like what?” Negan doesn’t give you the time to ponder that rhetorical question, crossing his arms as he continues to lecture you.

“You think you look appropriate right now? You think your parents would approve of this outfit?" his eyes narrowing dangerously.

“I’m out with friends, not at dinner with my parents!” You defend, deciding to add in your own jab “Besides, I thought you were at theirs tonight, having dinner with Lucille… not drinking alone”.

Negan can’t keep still. He’s too antsy, wanting to shake some sense into you but trying to stay cool in public.

With an elbow propped up on the bar, Negan points a finger at you “Watch it, before I haul your ass outta here”.

This is the closest you’ve ever seen Negan to real anger. Whenever he’s been at your house, it’s always been the aftermath of it you’ve witnessed. His sullen mood and Lucille’s small comments at him whenever the conversation allowed; both of them handling their simmering frustration in their own way. 

To not only witness his anger first hand, but to have it directed at you… you’re not sure if you want to pout or get on your knees right then and there.

You scoff, trying to seem unbothered. “Enjoy your drink, I’m going back to my friends,” you say it with just enough sass, turning to retreat back to your table.

You know it’s a pointless endeavour. 

Negan won’t allow it. And you know it.

His hand snakes around your upper arm, his grip firm but not painful. "Oh no you don't,” he tugs you back, urging you to face him again “we’re leaving. Now”.

You were hoping for a little more time here, a bit more back-and-forth, rile him up before hopefully breaking down those stubborn walls. 

“You can leave, but I’m not!” you snap, digging your heels in.

He leans in close, his anger flaring back to life as his voice drops into a dangerously low growl. “I’m not asking you, sweetheart, I’m telling you” the pet name slips out like a command, making something tighten in your chest. 

“You’re drunk, you’re dressed like a goddamn slut and you’re not staying in this bar another second”.

Is it bad you can feel the heat between your legs as he degrades you? How is it your dad’s friend, someone you kinda considered your own friend too, is calling you a slut so easily? And why does he keep trying to steal quick glances at your chest?

Heh, well, you know the answer to that last question.

Still, you play your part and you slap his arm. “Don’t call me that! Jackass” you say with a defiant huff.

His eyes widen but Negan doesn’t acknowledge the slap in the way you wanted him to. Instead of continuing to bicker, he grabs his leather jacket from the back of his chair and throws it on, his movements sharp. 

“Jackass?” he repeats, clearly not amused.

“Yes! You’re acting like a major jackass!” you fire back, though there’s a glimmer of amusement in your voice. 

Negan grins, that mocking, almost wicked smile spreading across his face as steers you away from the bar.

“Yeah, and you know what else I am?” he asks “The one dragging your drunk, barely dressed ass out of this bar before you make a complete fool of yourself”.

He starts tugging you toward the exit. “I had like… two drinks!” you protest, stumbling slightly to keep up.

But just as he’s about to drag you out the door, you use all the momentum you have to shove him into the door right next to the exit. 

The ladies toilets. 

Your friends giggle as you both disappear from sight, assuming you’re hooking up with the stranger. They’ve always known you have a thing for older men but little do they know who he really is…

Negan stumbles into the bathroom, his mind still trying to process how he went from the exit to somehow ending up in here instead. His brow furrows as he takes in the situation.

Before he can say a word, you speak, your voice steady but firm “Negan, I’m not leaving”.

He steps closer “Yes. You. Are. We’re leaving. Right. Now”. His hand shoots out to grab your arm, but you’re already one step ahead. You sidestep him, narrowly avoiding his grip.

“No!” you exclaim, more forcefully than you intended. Hoping to get through to him, you soften your tone, offering a sliver of vulnerability. “My parents don’t know I’m here… they think I’m just at a friend’s place” you admit.

Your words hang in the air, a soft confession of rebellion. But Negan’s response is as expected—he rolls his eyes, the action exaggerated as if he’s heard this excuse a thousand times before. 

“I don’t give a fuck if your parents ground you for a year!” He snaps, his voice low but intense “You’re not staying here dressed like that and acting like this”.

“Acting like what? Having fun?”.

His jaw clenches. “By acting like you’re only worth a quick fuck in the backseat of someone’s car,” Negan replies, the words carrying a weight that makes your stomach sink.

The insult stings, but you refuse to back down. With a small scoff, you shake your head and tilt your chin up slightly. “You’re telling me you didn’t do that when you were young?” you challenge.

Negan’s expression falters for a split second, his lips twitching as if he’s about to crack a grin but he maintains his steely expression. 

He exhales sharply through his nose, his stance stiffening. “I did it because I’m a guy,” he mutters, his tone clipped “so it’s different”.

“That’s misogynist,” you point out as you cross your arms, unintentionally making your cleavage more noticeable.

For a moment, you catch Negan’s gaze flickering downward before snapping back up to your eyes, his face strained. 

His lips press together in a tight line, his eyes briefly closing in frustration as he fights to maintain his composure. “Fuck, can you just…” Negan gestures vaguely at you “Cover up or something?”.

Without waiting for an answer, Negan turns away, running a hand through his dark locks. 

You let out a quiet sigh. “I didn’t bring a jacket,” you say flatly, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing you flustered.

He mutters something under his breath, too quiet for you to catch. With a dramatic huff, he whips off his leather jacket. “Of course you didn’t. On top of everything else, you want to get hypothermia too” His voice drips with exasperation.

Negan turns back to you, holding out the jacket, his eyes briefly look to your chest again before quickly darting back to your face, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

You catch the slight pause, the way his gaze betrays him, but you choose not to acknowledge it— at least, not directly. You stare him down, not hiding the smirk plastered on your face. Then, in one swift movement, he practically hurls the jacket at you. 

“Here,” he says, the word a little too resigned.

Instinctively, you catch the jacket, but you don’t put it on. Instead, you hold it in your arms, letting it drape over them as you roll your eyes at his comments. 

“I’m not some delicate little flower,” you tease, your smirk becoming playful “maybe I like it rough”.

The words slip out without thinking, a little too flippantly, and you feel the heat rise to your cheeks.

Maybe those two drinks were enough to get you tipsy after all.

Negan’s eyes narrow at you and you can see the gears turning in his head. There’s a flicker of something in his expression. Maybe amusement, maybe disbelief, but before he can say anything, you catch the faintest hint of a smirk forming on his lips.

He steps closer, his imposing frame shadowing you as he leans in. “Damn, you’re something else,” he says, his voice thick with something you can’t quite place.

You’re not sure if it’s the alcohol or the overwhelming presence he has, but for the first time tonight, you feel a small shiver run up your spine. 

“Rough, huh?” His words are like a threat, his tone smooth and dangerous.

Before you can respond, his hand shoots out, and suddenly, he has a firm grip on your hair, tugging it just enough to pull your head back. 

“Ow! Negan!!” You whine, your voice a mix of surprise and irritation. Good job at proving you like it rough.

He loosens his grip, but his fingers stay tangled in your hair, holding you captive in his gaze. He stares down at you, his dark eyes boring into yours. 

“You think I don’t notice how gorgeous you are?” he murmurs, his voice low, almost possessive “But this? Telling me you like it rough? Tsk, tsk, tsk”. 

Your heart skips a beat at the admission, and your eyes widen ever so slightly. The words settle in your chest, warm and electric, and for a split second, everything else fades away. 

Negan thinks you’re gorgeous. 

You can barely process it but you don’t get a chance to let the moment settle. His fingers tighten in your hair again, this time with purpose. 

“There’s a difference,” he growls, his voice rougher now, “between making eyes at some random guy at a bar and teasing a man who actually knows what to do with you”.

You swallow hard. His grip on you, the way he towers over you, his scent— all of it feels like a pressure you can’t escape. You can barely breathe.

“And you…” You pause, testing the waters “You know what to do with me?”.

And then, possibly the most un-hot thing happens. A toilet flushes. The sound is loud and sudden, causing you both to freeze. It comes from one of the stalls at the end of the room and it’s quickly followed by the drunken shuffling of feet and a zipping noise. 

Without a word, you and Negan lock eyes, an unspoken agreement passing between you in that single, charged moment. 

“Shit,” Negan mutters under his breath, his hand still tangled in your hair, but now pulling you toward the nearest empty cubicle with urgency. 

“Ouch!” you whisper, batting at his hand and making him untangle his hand from your hair. You barely have time to shoot him a glare before he’s guiding you into the small space, his body close behind you.

Just as the cubicle at the end of the room unlocks, the lock to your cramped cubicle slots into place with a soft click.

For a moment, you both hold your breath. You’re pressed together in the cramped space, his chest against your back, your bodies flush together.

You hear the drunken patron stumble, mumbling something unintelligible as they turn on one of the taps and start washing their hands. You both hold still, waiting for the heavy footsteps to move away. Negan holds you against him, one hand on your waist to keep you close. 

Although that’s not the only thing that’s touching you. 

It’s hard not to notice the unmistakable press of his semi-erect cock nestling against the curve of your ass. It feels firm yet pliant, a promise of things to come. 

Turning your head just enough to look up at him through your eyelashes. He doesn’t meet your gaze, too busy zoning into some spot in the stall door as he listens intently to the patron outside.

His brow furrows just slightly, the lines on his forehead deepening as he focuses. You can tell he's strategizing, weighing up different excuses in case he’s caught in the ladies room. Negan’s lips are pressed together, a slight tension around them, but it's not a scowl. 

Deciding you want some attention, you press your ass back slightly. You hear a grunt.

“You’re not making this easy on me,” he huffs. You can feel the warmth of his breath against your neck as he looks down.

Through the thin walls, you can hear the drunk go on their way, their footsteps slowly fading as they stagger out of the bathroom. The door swings shut with a final, echoing creak. 

As if to prove his point, Negan moves his hips forward, forcing his erection against your ass. He’s harder than you thought and you shudder at the mere size of the thing in his pants. 

He makes a quiet, pleased sound against your ear as his hand trails up your waist, teasing passing the side of your breast before settling on the back of your neck. 

“Fuck, you're responsive…” He pulls back slightly, making sure you can still feel him.

“Is that a good thing?” you ask softly.

He chuckles, his voice low and husky. “It's a dangerous thing, darlin,” he squeezes your neck teasingly “Nothing good ever comes from being too responsive... unless you're trying to drive a man wild”.

“Maybe that’s exactly why I’m trying to do” you push back against him again, this time bending your body slightly to really accentuate your ass.

Except all that does is encourage your dress to ride up your thighs again, stopping just before your ass. Grabbing his leather jacket from your arms, Negan tosses it up on the stall door before moving to your thighs.

Negan isn’t a one to waste time, especially when it comes to taking advantage of certain situations. Bringing both hands down to your thighs, he helps you dress by tugging it up in one swift movement. You let out a gasp as the cool, thankfully air conditioned bathroom making the skin on your ass get goosebumps.

“Negan! I-“ you move to turn away so he can’t see your ass but Negan’s one step ahead this time.

 Looping an arm around your torso, he makes sure you keep the squirming to a minimum. With his other hand, he brings it down between your legs and presses a finger against your panties.

He holds you in place, bent at the hips and ass against his crotch. You can feel the dampness of your panties against your heat. The wetness seeps into the fabric, making it stick to the lips of your pussy. 

“Fuck me, you are soaked!” with no qualms about modesty, Negan swipes the tacky panties to the side and gets a feel of your folds himself. 

You stop a moan from escaping, not wanting to be too eager. "Goddamn, you're a sticky little mess, ain't ya? All wet and sloppy, just fucking dripping” he teases your hole, momentarily pressing a finger to it but never dipping inside.

Hoping to gain some control, you go to stand up straight. The thoughts of looking into his eyes as he fingers you is more appealing than your view being the wall of a bathroom stall.

But Negan isn’t as fond of the idea. The arm looped around you quickly makes its way to your back, forcing you to stay bent. You let out a scoff as the side of your face smushes against the wall. 

“Negan, what the fuck?” You whine, blindly throwing one of your arms back at him “If you’re gonna finger me, at least let me enjoy it!”.

“Nuh-uh,” he grabs your arm and presses it against your back, restraining you before he continues his exploration of your pussy “I get to decide how the fuck we do this”.

You quieten down when you feel a finger trace your folds, spreading your wetness around. “You this much of a slut for every guy or am I just lucky?” He asks, chuckling at his own thoughts “Your friends were cheering like this is a usual thing for you”.

Before you can reply, Negan plunges two fingers deep inside your dripping cunt, his thumb grinding against your clit. “I— ah!” You mewl, trying to give a coherent response “N-no, never!”.

Negan picks up his pace, loving how you give in, basically slumping against the wall. “See, doll, I want to believe you. I mean, I don’t know that many sluts that get this fucking wet from just a little grinding… it’s shameful, really” he curls his fingers to hit the perfect spot, making your squirm.

“But in saying that,” Negan continues, his breath hitting against your neck as he leans closer “I don’t know that many modest gals that wear something like this”. 

Deciding you know better than to repeat your mistake and move again, Negan takes his hand off your back and paws at your chest instead. But in true Negan fashion, he needs to up his antics.

Tugging down the low cut neckline of your dress, you hear a ripping noise as he pulls at the fabric and forces it down past your bra.

“Huh… surprised your modest enough to wear a bra” he comments, quickly rectifying the situation. Without warning, Negan roughly shoves the bra cups up, freeing your tits completely. "Fuck, look at these," he growls, appreciating the sight of your breasts spilling out. 

The fingers he has working your hole pause and retreat, much to your disappointment. You take the opportunity to turn around to face him, starting to feeling a crick in your neck from being smushed up by the wall.

“Asshole, you tore my dress“ your voice is laced with frustration, although that may be from how much you want him to stop teasing and fuck you already. 

With an amused scoff, Negan goes to hold up his hands in surrender. His fingers glisten with your juices. “I’m trying to be a gentlemen here, doll” he chuckles as he defends himself.

You fight the urge to cover yourself, knowing that’s what he’s waiting for. He wants to see that shy side, to see you blush and get flustered. 

You glare at him instead “How is this being a gentleman?”.

“Well, I coulda just ripped it clean off, but I left ya some dignity,” Negan smirks, crowding you again. You’re left no choice but to back into the wall, holding your glare as you look up at him.

“And I've fingered ya before fucking ya which is pretty damn noble” he adds, seeing you battle between staying annoyed and wanting to blush. You open your mouth to complain but a loud moan comes out instead as Negan pinches one of your nipples.

He thumbs your hard nipples, chuckling as they perk up even more under his touch. “Damn, always knew you’d have a good pair on ya," he muses “fuckin’ perfect”.

Negan doesn't hesitate, leaning down to engulf one nipple in his mouth. He sucks hard, letting his teeth graze the sensitive bud as he kneads the other breast roughly. Groaning around your nipple, he switches to the other, assaulting it with the same fervent enthusiasm. 

With a grunt, Negan grabs your thighs and hoists you up, pinning you against the wall with his muscular body. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, arms going around his shoulders.

Negan grinds his still clothed cock against your bare pussy, applying just enough pressure to make you whimper. 

The rough denim of his pants provides no comfort, each thrust of his hips pressing his erection directly against your sensitive clit. "You feel that?" He asks against your tit “Want you to beg for it, gotta hear ya saying it”.

You have no hesitation. There is no reluctance to beg for him, not when you’re this close to getting what you thought would always be a wet dream. 

"Please, Negan, I need it!" you beg, your hips bucking against his pants in desperate attempts to get friction. “I’ve wanted you for so long, to fuck me in my bedroom o-or on the dinner table! Fuck, anywhere! I don’t care!”.

That seems to convince him. Reaching down and fumbling with his jeans, Negan has his cock out in record time. He grips the base, stroking it a few times as he lines it up with your soaked pussy. 

The head of his cock presses against your entrance, the tip barely peeking out from between your folds. Negan slowly eases in, allowing you to adjust to his massive size. 

You writhe and moan against him, trying to keep your body relaxed as he enters you. Trying your best to keep eye contact, you let out a string of whimpers as he fills you completely. 

"Damn, I actually fit," he says, stretching you out in a way you’ve never felt before. Negan pulls out carefully, as if testing the waters before plunging back into your needy pussy with vigor.

"Holy fuck, even tighter than I imagined. Built for my dick, aren't you?" he grunts, starting to fuck you hard.

Each brutal thrust of his hips drives his thick cock deeper into your pussy, stretching you wide open. "Fuck, you're so tight it feels like my dick is splitting you in half. Love it. Fucking love it" Negan rambles on and grabs your thighs, spreading them as wide as he can.

"Fuck, Negan... you're so..." you try to speak "ah!”. It’s all too much in the best way possible. That delicious ache of being so thoroughly penetrated, the feeling of absolute fullness with each deep thrust.

"More... fuck me more..." your hips arch up to meet his thrusts, trying to keep up.

Negan angles his hips upwards, hitting that spot inside you over and over as he pounds into you. "Look at me," He growls, "Look at me while I break you in half with my dick. You like that? You like feeling so stuffed?"

“I-I've never been this full before…” you say with teary eyes.

Negan notices your body tensing and shuddering beneath him, your pussy walls starting to flutter wildly around his thick cock. "Holy shit, there it is... Your cunt's squeezin' me like a fuckin' vice. You gonna cum on my dick?".

The pressure is building to an unbearable point, your entire body trembling as your orgasm approaches. Your mind goes blank, unable to answer his question as he hits that perfect spot.

Just as your orgasm hits, Negan feels your pussy clamp down around him like a silken fist. "Holy fuck..." you gasp, back arching as pure pleasure courses through your veins. 

Your entire body quakes, inner muscles milking his cock as you ride out your intense orgasm. You dig your nails into his shoulders, legs trembling uncontrollably.

Negan grunts, fucking you through your intense orgasm with deep, deliberate strokes. He can feel your pussy spasming wildly around his shaft, coating him in your slick arousal. As the last waves shudder through you, he finally pulls out, his cock glistening with in the light.

He lets you stand for a moment but you legs are so wobbly, it’s difficult to support your weight after that intense orgasm.

Before you can even catch your breath, Negan grabs your shoulder roughly and forces you onto your knees. Your body complies in an instant, unable to fight against such force.

Your knees ache as they hit the bathroom floor but that’s the least of your concerns. You look up at him in wide-eyed shock, lips parted as you anticipate him coming all over your face.

"Fuckin' hell, such a pretty face..." He strokes his throbbing cock with his fist, ready to explode.

But instead of aiming for your face, Negan aims his cock at your chest, unleashing a thick, hot load of cum all over your tits. He groans loudly as he paints your breasts with his seed, the warm liquid dripping down between your cleavage and seeping into the fabric of your dress.  

“Next time you’re either swallowing it or you’re getting a facial courtesy of yours truly” he informs you, although the only piece of information you truly savor from that is ‘next time’.

Doing the gentlemanly thing, he grabs some tissue from the toilet paper dispenser and hands it to you. You dab at your chest, knowing the dress is a lost cause and will probably have to be thrown out later. 

“Help me up?” You ask, somewhat shyly once you’re done.

Taking your arm in a much more gentle grip than before, Negan helps you up, subtly looking over your chest to make sure you’ve wiped off all of him. “You feeling alright?” he asks lowly, as if remembering the public place you’re both in. 

You blink, giving yourself a moment to calm, your body still humming with the aftermath. “That was…” you pause, collecting your thoughts, “...wow.”

A soft chuckle rumbles from his chest, and he slips his leather jacket off the stall door. “Well, that’s a better response than I expected,” he says with a smirk, draping the jacket around your shoulders and gently guiding your arms into the sleeves. Without a word about how the jacket nearly swallows you whole, he zips it up, pulling it snug to cover your chest. 

This is a completely different side to the Negan you’ve seen tonight. This is the Negan that gives you a small, reassuring smile after your parents throw some off handed insult your way. 

The two of you stand close, your breaths mingling. Slowly, the space between your faces narrows, as if drawn by some unspoken pull. You gently tilt your head, just enough to bring your lips into alignment with his. 

The kiss is a tender brush. Featherlight and hesitant. It’s the kind of kiss you’d expect before going at it like a bunch of animals… not afterwards.

The kiss lingers, still tasting of warmth and something unspoken. Pulling back just enough to rest your forehead against his, you can feel the soft touch of his lips still tingling on yours. You mutter against his lips, almost sheepishly “Can you drop me home?”.

His lips curl into a quiet smile, a slight glint in his eyes as he nods. “Considering I didn’t get to finish my first glass of whiskey, yeah I should be good,” Negan gives you a playful look.

Unable to help yourself, you give him a small smile. It’s not as seductive or teasing as the ones you have given him previously. In all honestly, it feels like Negan has fucked the seductiveness out of you– if that’s even possible.  

“... So this wasn’t some drunken mistake?” you ask coyly. 

Negan wraps an arm around your shoulders as he unlocks the stall door and carefully guides you out. ”Wear a dress like that the next time I’m at your parents for dinner and you’ll find out” he replies with a smirk. 

Besides his tousled hair, Negan still looks fine. He’s not dishevelled or out of breath or having trouble walking… all things you attribute to yourself.

Negan notices your state too, keeping his arm around you as you subtly leave the bathrooms and head for the exit. If it’s even possible, Negan pulls you closer, guiding you out like a drunk that’s had one too many. His presence is possessive in the gentlest of ways.

You give your friends a knowing look as you both leave, one that says you’ll explain everything later.

The sound of drunken chattering and laughter fades as you step out into the night, the streetlights casting a soft glow on the parking lot. 

When you reach the car, he opens the door for you with a small smirk, his eyes never leaving yours as you slide into the seat.  A few moments later, Negan slides into the driver's seat and the engine rumbles to life. 

The car doesn’t even get out of the parking lot before Negan’s hand finds yours. The ride home is quiet. He doesn’t say much, and neither do you, but the silence between you feels relaxed.

Every now and then, his thumb gently brushes across the back of your hand like a quiet reassurance. He doesn’t mention the contact, simply letting it linger. 

 The soft, rhythmic motion of the car becomes like a lullaby and with every mile, the weight of the night lifts just a little more. Every so often, you glance over at him, his face relaxed. When your eyes meet, he offers a smile and you sleepily return it.

Negan doesn’t pull up directly outside your house. Strategically stopping his car a little down the street, he sighs.

“Hate to say it but I’ll need that jacket back,” he gives you a once over, as if to memorize what his leather jacket looks like on you.

Fiddling with the zipper, you mumble “So I’m supposed to walk in there with a ripped up dress?”.

He laughs at that, shaking his head before reaching into the backseat. “Here, I know it’s dirty but it’s the best I can offer,” Negan hands you a sweatshirt. 

The sweatshirt is faded, its fabric softened from years of use. The sleeves are slightly frayed at the cuffs and a few small holes hint at its age. On the front, several dark oil stains mark where hands have wiped off grease, probably from Negan when working on his motorbike. 

But most importantly, it smells like him.

As you take off his jacket and put on the sweatshirt instead, Negan gives you some privacy and looks away. “Are you coming in too?” You ask, gently placing his jacket on his lap once you’ve changed.

Taking that as his signal to look, Negan gives you a sympathetic smile. “Not tonight, darlin,” he replies “think Lucille would chop my nuts off with your mom’s fancy silver if I showed my face”.

“You two are fighting that bad?”.

Negan shrugs “Same old, same old”.

You try not to fidget with the frayed sleeves of his sweatshirt, not wanting to pick at it right in front of him. 

“And… this?” You focus your attention at simply inspecting the sleeves instead of picking at them “I mean, I know you said it wasn’t a drunken mistake but still… I get it if you wanna pretend like it never happened”.

As much as you wanted quick reassurance, you’re met with silence. 

Negan leans back in his seat, taking his eyes away from yours and looking at the street. Up ahead, he can see the porch light on to your parents house. Although, he doubts Lucille will be leaving anytime soon. She’ll probably stay late, try to wait it out until Negan has drank himself silly and fallen asleep.

“Tonight shouldn’t have happened,” he says with little emotion “It ain’t right. I know it. You know it. Hell, anyone in a ten mile radius would call me all sorts of names if they knew about it…  fucking your friend’s daughter is a whole mess”.

You stay quiet, unsure whether you should just get out now.

“But shit, if you wanted to suck my dick right now, I wouldn’t say no,” he chuckles “it’s a fucked up thing to say but I wouldn’t mind something like this happening again”.

That puts a smile back on your face. Getting ready to leave, you say “Maybe if you come to dinner next time, I will suck your dick”.

Negan watches you with narrowed eyes. Of course you’d be able to make his dick twitch again, making him feel like a teenager that could get it up over and over again. 

“I’ll hold you to that,” he warns as you get out.

“Good,” you hop out of the car, giving him one last flirtatious smirk before going “I hope you do”.

Closing the door, you strut along the pavement, your heels clicking as you go to your house. Walking has never seemed so hard, not only because of your shoe choice but from the aching in your gut and your legs wobbling more than you’d like to admit. 

Still, you try to do your best to walk straight, knowing Negan is watching. 

When you get to the front door, you give Negan one last glance before disappearing inside. He wait a few moments before starting up his car and leaving. 

The first thing you hear is a chorus of polite laughter from the dining room. Great, looks like they’re still in the midst of dinner. Before you have a chance to debate if you could get upstairs without them hearing, you hear your father call out your name.

“Is that you?” He calls out.

Reluctantly, you walk in, lingering by the doorway. Your parents to turn in their dining chairs to face you. Whereas Lucille has you right in her line of view. She offers you a gracious smile as you enter.

“I thought you were staying at Lydia’s tonight,” you mom says, eyeing your sweatshirt and what appears to be a skirt. Thankfully she doesn’t comment on how short it is.

“Eh, Lydia talked things out with her boyfriend so they’re back together again,” you lie casually “you know how they are; fight, break up and make up”.

Lucille casts her gaze down slightly, as if your words hit a little too close to home for her. You shift uncomfortably. 

“There’s some leftovers in the kitchen if you’re hungry” your mom says, blissfully unaware.

“I’m ok,” you give her a smile “I think I might just shower and head to bed early”.

“Alright,” she already waves you off, turning back in her seat “if you’re sure”.

You don’t linger, giving them a polite nod before leaving. It’s only when you turn to leave does Lucille look at you again. 

She’s never believed in coincidences. And she’s never believed you to be into repairing cars. She knows the faint stains on your sweatshirt, mainly because she’s the one who spent hours trying to scrub them out… only for Negan to reward her with new stains on the damn thing. 

Nodding along with whatever it is your father is saying, Lucille’s mind strays further and further from the dinner and to Negan instead. 

Something’s happened. What exactly, she’s not sure. But you’re involved and so is her damned husband.

—————

A/N: thought I’d put in a quick note just to say thanks for reading and apologies for disappearing all month! My family almost got scammed out of 11k (it was insane) but!! More importantly!! I got seriously bad writers block so apologies if this fic is a little choppy, I’m still getting back into my stride!!

[usercelestial]

What if Evan Buckley decides fuck it I quit my job because nothing makes me happy anymore and opens a bakery and then Tommy starts ordering pastries from him for the 217 and they finally reconcile after buck makes him the best damn chocolate muffins Tommy's ever eaten

Tommy's been ordering from this bakery for the last five years. After he was promoted to captain of the 217, he made it a point to bring in treats to win over his old coworkers turned employees. He orders a couple dozen muffins once every week to keep people happy. Originally, it was supposed to be one time but goddamn if they weren't the best damn muffins Tommy's ever had. His crew was happy enough with the incentive and it became somewhat of a tradition at Harbor that a delivery boy would show up at their door with a few pristine white boxes to hand over to Captain Kinard. 

Five years and he's never had a problem getting the pastries delivered on time. Early in the morning of the day of delivery, before the sun even came up, he got an email explaining that his delivery had been cancelled and a refund had been processed. 

"Shit," Tommy wipes the sleep from his eyes and sits up. He has to get to work in a few hours and he knows his crew well enough to know how cranky they'd be if they had nothing to start the morning with. He fumbles out of bed, throws on his clothes, and heads down to the bakery to see what he can do. 

It's a little place not too far from Harbor. It's called something like Emergency Eats, it has a cliche first responder theme. First responders get a 15 percent off discount with each order so the weekly spending makes it a little worth it. 

Tommy rushes inside, the sun barely having risen and the cold morning air settling on his skin. The bakery is light and warm around him. It feels like one of those places someone would call home. The decor stays true to the theme and centers firefighters. On the wall behind the counter, there's a mural of a fire station. Along the wall in the dining area, there are pictures of different first responders. He recognizes Athena in one and smiles to himself. The tiles are black and white checkered and there's even a fire pole standing next to the counter. He walks up to it and rings the gaudy bell that hangs from the ceiling that says “pull for service” despite the immense amount of cringe he feels while doing it. 

“Be right there!” 

Oh. 

Oh no. 

He knows that voice. He’s spent five years thinking about this voice, dreaming about it, being haunted by it. He’s spent five years feeling terrified of hearing it on the radio, at an emergency, on the street. 

Evan Buckley walks through the curtain that covers the entrance to the kitchen, holding a tray of pink and white colored cookies. 

“Oh fuck,” Buck’s face goes ghostly white and his knuckles strain to keep grip on the tray. 

The room is still and quiet in the soft morning glow. The black and white tiles are painted with the delicate shadows casted from the trees lining the sidewalk. The two men breathe the same air and let the shock wash over them. 

Tommy isn’t allowed to break the silence first. He relinquished that right when he walked out of Buck’s life five years ago. Buck seems to pick up on the fragile air between them and breaks the quiet for the both of them, “Are you here about your muffins?” He sounds apologetic, maybe a little weak. 

“Uh,” Tommy kicks up invisible dust on the ground, “Yeah, I was gonna see if I could order something else if you’re out of the ones I normally order.” 

“Okay, listen, I’m sorry about the delivery mishap, it’s just that normally I have more people delivering but most of them are out sick and I’ve been so busy lately and I just-” 

Buck continues babbling while Tommy only half listens, questions burning in throat. 

“Is this your shop?” Tommy interrupts. 

Buck’s face dances between expressions before landing on surprised, “I thought you-” he cuts himself off and shakes his head, “Yeah. Yeah, this is my shop.” 

“You're not at the 118 anymore? You're-you’re not a firefighter?” 

Buck glanced down at his feet and puts the tray of cookies down on the counter. He takes a deep breath and speaks, “I thought maybe Eddie or Chimney would have told you.” 

Tommy furrows his brows, “We don't talk that much about-” he swallows, “you know…” About Buck. About them. About the breakup. He hasn't heard a word about Buck in five years. He hasn't even heard his name. 

“Yeah,” Buck nods his understanding. 

“Yeah,” Tommy agrees. 

“Um, yeah, this is my shop,” Buck continues, “I opened it about five years ago. A few months after.” 

They're dancing around saying it. Tommy's not sure how much longer they can keep this up for. 

“Why’d you quit?” Tommy asks. That's the question at the center of this whole thing. Why, why, why. 

Buck blinks, like he’s got something at the tip of his tongue but it caught between his teeth, “Few reasons.” He looks down at his legs again, “Uh, I got into an accident a while back. It took me out of the field for a while and I-” Buck stops and searched for the words, “I couldn't think of many reasons to go back to how things were before so I figured it was time for a fresh start.” 

Tommy lets the information wash over him. He can't imagine Buck being content with being out of the field but this bakery- it's tribute to first responders, it's pictures on the wall of smiling firefighters and dispatch operators- it's peaceful. It's like he’s found the happiest middle ground possible. 

“P-plus, I teach on the side,” Buck adds like an afterthought, “Part time, it's good money. Only have class a few days a week so it gives me time to run the bakery and keep business up.” 

Tommy smiles at that. Buck was always a busy-body, constantly needing to be moving in order to stay stimulated. Without being a firefighter, Tommy had wondered how he manages with all the extra free time but of course Buck would fill the days however he could. He’s never been sedentary and he won't start now. 

“Sounds like you've been busy,” Tommy comments lamely. Like he's a stranger. Like this is just small talk. It's almost nice. The small talk- pretending these small intimacies are something he still gets to enjoy. 

A moment passes before Buck claps his hands, “Your muffins!” He disappears into the kitchen and bustles around. Tommy can see his shadow passing through the window in the center of the wall. 

When Buck re-emerges, he’s holding the signature box of muffins that gets delivered to his station. “For you. We had them, it's just that I couldn't get them to you. Sorry about that.” 

Tommy shakes his head and steps forward to grab them, “No, don't worry about it. They're just for my crew, I’m the captain now and I’m trying to keep everyone happy.” 

“Captain?” Buck quirks an eyebrow, tilts his head, and smirks. Tommy's heart hurts. “You've been busy too.” 

“You could say that,” Tommy tries not to overthink whether or not it sounds like he’s flirting. He doesn't know if he intends it or not. Instead he focuses on the way Buck ducks his head and hides his smile. Tommy feels like a wrong move here is going to cost him. He wants to be delicate, he wants to flirt, he wants to friend-zone him, he wants to reach across the counter and pull him in and never let him go. It's been five years, it's been seconds, it's been no time at all. Seeing Buck again feels like taking your first breath after being underwater for too long. His lungs are burning. The right thing to do is to keep burning. It's selfish to do anything else. To gasp for breath the way he wants to. But- 

“Listen, Buck, if it's easier on you guys,” Tommy mentally flays himself for starting the sentence, “I could swing by in person instead. So you don't have to worry about delivering to us.” 

Buck considers him. Tommy waits for him to say what they both already know. That it’s not a good idea, they should lose contact, forget each other. 

Buck sucks his teeth. Suddenly, Tommy feels a wall rise between them. Then he exhales and says, “On one condition.” 

Tommy shrugs, keeping himself nonchalant, “Of course.” Anything, obviously, I’d do anything. 

“You can't call me Buck. It’s Evan or nothing” 

Every alarm is going off in his head. Red, blaring sirens that have always told when to run sing through his skull and fall on deaf ears. 

“I can do that, Evan.” 

Evan smiles. For the time, the smile finally reaches his eyes. They twinkle like they used to. This is such a bad idea. 

“Same time next week?” Tommy holds the basket with one hand and does finger guns with the other. He’ll never stop embarrassing himself. 

“You know where to find me,” Evan leans against the wall, blue apron tied cutely around his waist. There's a pink tint to his cheeks that Tommy tries not to read into. Gentle is the name of the game and he’s trying not to let himself expect anything he shouldn't. They're just two old friends catching up once a week. Tommy's just a customer in Evan’s shop. They hardly know each other anymore. 

Maybe they’ll get to know each other better than before he cut loose and ran. Or maybe Tommy will just become a recurring customer. He’s nervous to find out which. Either way, he leaves the shop far too excited for the week to come to an end. His crew comment on his quote-unquote glowing cheeks and far off look in his eyes. 

Picking up muffins becomes Tommy’s favorite part of the week. 

[justastraymoa]

Yet Unnamed

Chapter 3

Masterlist

Korean is in italics.

Warnings for Yet Unnamed: Kidnapping, cuffs, injuries, drugging by injection, mentions of needles, lots of swearing, kissing, fluff, angst, idiots in love all around.

Nothing within reflects anyone or anything irl. Pics off pinterest.

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When you woke next, it was morning, and you were in Chan's bed. Well. Your bed. You could smell the unmistakable scent of breakfast foods.

Groaning through a stretch you were awake, but not ready to get out of bed yet. You were warm and comfortable. The mattress on this bed was so good!

Your muscles were sore from stress and using them to the max to fight off the kidnappers. The ache only making itself known after a hot shower and a good nights rest.

"Y/n! Breakfast's ready!" Someone shouted from outside the room.

You groaned again trying to decide if you were hungry enough to get up. Also weighing the odds of the others leaving you alone if you didn't make an appearance soon.

The second question was answered not even a full minute later when your door opened and a mass off messy blonde hair crawled into the bed next to you.

"Did you hear Lino?" Felix asked as he snuggled up to you.

"Mhm. Comfy." You grumble.

"I helped him." Felix revealed with a hint of pride.

You snort. "I remember your attempt at pancakes."

"I've gotten better since then. Been practicing." He whined. The sound made you giggle.

"Is everyone here?" You had met most everyone last night, but you were still nervous today.

Today there would be questions. And small talk. Getting to know each other and not knowing how to act around the other. Talking about the future.

Felix flung a leg over me. "Yah. Hyune and Lino are excited to officially meet you. Lino insisted on carrying you to bed last night and everything."

You blushed at the thought of THE Lee Know carrying you to bed princess style. Your head resting on his chest and possibly drooling all over him. You probably drooled on Felixs lap too. Ugh!

Eventually you both got out of bed.

"You are tiny." Lee Know stated as soon as he saw you.

You look down at your body. You were average height and weight. Overweight by Korean standards for sure. You wouldn't say tiny at all. "Um, thanks?" You weren't sure he meant it as a compliment, but generally being 'tiny' isn't a negative thing.

Lee Know handed me a plate of food. "You need to eat."

You shrugged not arguing. Breakfast is supposed to be the most important meal of the day after all. "Your food is very good." You complimented as you sat and started on your food.

You smirked as Lee Knows cheeks reddened tomato red. He rubbed his nose and turned away with a nod, not saying anything.

Hyunjin sat across from you with a shy smile. You smiled back easily, insides melting at how cutely shy he was being.

Felix sat near Hyunjin, picking at his plate of food instead of getting his own. It was oddly domestic and adorable to watch. And it must have been a normal occurrence because Hyunjin seemed to be moving bits of food closer to Felix for him to grab. Making sure he got a good mix of all the items available.

Everyone chatted idly as you ate but seemed to be giving you some space. You were thankful. Not awake enough yet for the world and its insanity. At the same time, you kinda felt anxious, like the moments before removing a band aid when you know its gunna hurt so you are clenched tight and psyching yourself up.

It was time to rip off the band aid. Proverbially. "I am sorry for kicking you out of your own home last night." You looked at Lee Know, Hyunjin, I.N, and Seungmin when you said this. Even if I.N and Seungmin ended up coming home early.

Hyunjin waved your apology off. "Don't worry about it. Lee Know and I had a wonderful date night." He smiled over at Lee Know when he said this, who had a soft look on his face.

That reminded you of one of your questions regarding this soul bond group. STAYS had theories of course, but neither JYPE nor Stray Kids have ever confirmed any relationships within the group. "So, you two are together?"

Hyunjin nodded and shrugged, mouth full of pancake.

"We are all kind of in an open poly relationship thing with each other." Chan tried to explain.

"We don't so much think about labels as much as being with who we want , doing what we want. What feels right in that moment." I.N helped out.

You nod in understanding. It wasn't unheard of in soul groups. Other famous people have described it as finding the person you needed in that moment. I.N was saying the same.

And it explains why they never confirmed relationships to the media. Honestly STAY loved it though. They could ship whoever they wanted, and they would be right. Even if they didn't know it for sure.

"Is that...is that okay?" Felix asked. He looked worried, studying your facial expressions for a negative reaction.

You smile. "Absolutely. I was just thinking that no matter who STAY shipped they would be right. And we go feral for ships."

"Are you STAY then?" Changbin asked. He was sat close beside you.

You thought about it. You were in kind of an odd position now. "Yes? I mean I was, you know, before. And I guess my love of your music and stage personas hasn't changed."

"And JYP didn't make anything any easier." Bin scoffed.

"He went about it wrong, but he was only trying to help everyone." Chan was trying to play devil's advocate so there wouldn't be a more hostile work environment than usual. It was understandable.

However, Bin was not having any of it. Chans words seemed to piss him off. He snatched my arm and thrust it towards Chan. "He hurt y/n! Kidnapped her, drugged her! Left physical marks on her!" He snapped. Even angry his grip on my arm was gentle, careful of the bruising.

Reminding himself of all this seemed to really upset him and Bin pulled you into his lap, arms around you loosely in case you didn't want to be there.

Your heart skipped about 7 beats and you could feel your face burn, but you didn't move to get off either. As odd and new as all this was, that place in your chest felt good whenever one of them was affectionate with you.

Instead of overthinking it you let yourself lean back into Bins chest, dragging your plate of food closer so you could continue eating.

"I know exactly what he did, Bin. And I said he was wrong. I only meant that his intentions were in the right place."

"Plus, I mean, he did bring y/n to us." Han pointed out.

"And because of what JYP did we almost lost her, and we have to keep her a hidden. Keep her tucked away like a dirty secret." Bin squeezed your middle tighter as he said this, his voice thinning as he talked about almost losing you.

Absentmindedly you rubbed his forearm in comfort. You couldn't exactly say he was wrong. You knew the consequences of anyone finding out how you got to Korea. The kidnapping would linger over the group for a long time.

The room was silent after this. The air thick with sadness and frustration.

"I really want to show you off." Felix mumbled. The broken look on his face squeezed your heart uncomfortably.

"Its not possible. Not right now." You reply into the following silence.

"Easy fix. We show you off! Screw what anyone says!" Lee Know snapped glaring at you.

I looked away. "What he did - how this started - it will always hang over our heads if we let it get out."

"It doesn't have to! You are making it!"

You knew he was lashing out in hurt, but you couldn't help the defensive anger building in your chest. You push away your plate and sat forward. "And when they question our soul bond? When it ends Stray Kids? Everything you have ever worked for. It's dangerous enough even keeping me hidden!"

The reminder of the consequences seemed to bring everyone up short. You don't think anyone really thought that far ahead. Didn't think of how the world and its harshness would tear apart everything they were everything you all were.

Chan took a shaky breath. "She is right. It would end Stray Kids, and we can't risk it."

Lee Know hit the table with his fist before storming off, a door slamming a couple seconds later making me flinch lightly in surprise.

Sighing and blinking back frustrated tears you pat Bins hand before standing up. "I'm going to go talk to him." You whisper.

"Third door." Seungmin responded.

You knocked on my door lightly, knowing everyone was listening. "Lee Know?" You called.

"Go away!" Came the reply.

"Do you really want that?" You would leave if he wanted, but for some reason you didn't think that was what he really, truly wanted.

There was silence before the door opened just enough for Lee Know to pull you in and shut the door again firmly.

You immediately had and armful of Lee Know as he wrapped around you and hid in your hair with a suspiciously wet sniff.

"Just got you and I don't want to leave you behind."

You rubbed his back gently. "I'm sorry, Lee Know. I can't be the reason all your hard work goes to waste."

"What's the point of it? It won't ever feel like we are whole when we are away!"

"You will still have each other. That will never change. And you will always come back to me."

"It hurts. Without you, it hurts. It's like you are the center - the heart of our soul group. And it hurts when you aren't with us."

You knew it hurt, you knew because even thinking and talking about them leaving you behind hurt. But there was no other way. Not until someone came up with a way to hide your origin story.

"You will get used to the hurt eventually. And you will be too busy while you are working to really notice it. It will become normal." Even if you never wanted it to feel normal. You never wanted to be left behind, abandoned all alone in this apartment. In this country and city you didn't know.

Lee Know didn't answer, just kept holding onto you, sniffing occasionally.

Your moment was interrupted by raised voices from out in the living room. Sounds of slamming and shouts in Korean muffled through the closed door you were behind. You pulled apart and glanced at each other before leaving the room cautiously. Lee Know took the lead, hand reaching back to keep you behind him and so he knew where you were.

What - or rather who - you saw made you wish you stayed in the bedroom.

JYPs nasty self stood in the doorway.

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A/N: I had originally planned on posting every Friday. However, I can already see that I am not going to stick to that.

Since this one is already written and all I am doing is typing it up and changing/adding things as I go, I am already up to chapter 7 being ready to be posted and it makes me itch to have them just sit them.

That being said, I hope you enjoyed this chapter and look forward to more in the future. (the near future most likely)

Yet Unnamed Taglist: @fackeraccount @velvetmoonlght @hyunjinstolemyheart @vampkittenb82 @happy-jj @estella-novella @demigoddreamon-blog @tiana-maxivar @ms-flowergirl @jennibahng @whatdoyouwanttocallmefor @mimimiloomeelomi @simpforskz143148 @xxeiraxx @lil-bear08 @brbwritingfanfic

General Taglist @stellasays45 @beebee18 @weird-bookworm @velvetmoonlght

[flo-zoinks]

How would the gang react if you reveal ur a time traveler

Okily dokily!!!!

HOW EACH RDR2 GNG MEMBER WOULD REACT TO YOU BEING A TIME-TRAVELER (MY OPINION)

This is VERY vague. So I'm going to imagine this scenario you're from 1920 USA with lots of inside info on the vld gang cuz theres more I can do w that lol, and a person similar to John in terms of age/likeness/physicality. Imagine this is aprx chap 2.

Arthur - probably not have many questions really, just ask you why you'd come to this time of all times (he thinks you're stupid)

Hosea - only asks if John finally left with his family, and if everything actually does fall to bits. Doesn't really care for asking how he dies himself - In fact he doesn't want you to tell him

Dutch - Immediately asks if he dies for an ideal, or if he becomes someone of great reverence post mortem. When he doesn't like the answer he says he can't be kept by the lines society has decided for him so will disobey and flee "like Cain was once he was shun"

Reverend - says you're either deep in substances or have demons in you. Insists you must be a satanic lunatic and leaves with his head up. Later drunk he reveals he worries you're real and asks if God ever gives him a chance

Pearson - "heh...lemme guess...I'm in the books..ain't I?" "Ok you're lying though"

Sadie - asks when she will die and see Jake, and (if before this) asks if she gets to avenge his death

Charles - questions only on the land, and if the colonists finally destroy all of it by then, and on behalf of the natives. Otherwise tells you he's not interested in what will be otherwise

Micah - knows he's in the history books, so just walks off trying to be nonchalant. "Then I guess you know who I am.." (hes really close and breathing quite loudly)

Abigail - forgets herself to bombard you with questions about Jack and John, if they ever move away, if Jack grows up proper and they live till old. She starts sobbing after

Jack (1907) - wants to know if he becomes a writer, then whilst embarrassed quietly asks if his Father stays for real this time. Later tells you about a book he read with a similar premise. Your answer makes him quiet and hee doesnt speak for a while

John - Can't even think of what to ask, so just says like "ok- do-" then says he'll get back to you when he has something good to ask. Later: "wait-wait I got a good one... (some stupid question about future inventions)"

Trelawny - "I am a magician, too! I suppose we are both similar as such.." however he gets too freaked out and goes back to his family for a while

Javier - IMMEDIATELY only wants to know about the Mexican Revolution; was it successful? Did his family live? Does he return to Mexico? He refuses to believe your answer about him in Mexico in 1911 working for the government, insisting he would never pick that over his own life. Refuses to believe John would be the one to kill him, too. Angrily storms off after threatening you if you spit lies like that again (even if you proved to him ur fr)

Bill - gets scared of you thinking you have some other powers too, but then tries to toughen up and look unafraid. Demands, asks to know if becomes respected and feared in the future. Air punches when he hears he runs his own gang, then just looks straight up HURT hearing John kills him (trying to mask it) "But why wouldn't we be friends?"

Uncle - "you should be well aware then...of when the Lumbago gets to me.. where in the history books is that?"

Molly - quietly asks if everyone grows to like her (very embarrassed). She gets silent after your answer and goes to sit far away in camp for a while. Dutch later says to you that "you better not have put her in some mood"

Karen - says shes too sober for this, promptly grabs a drink and tells you she doesn't have anything to ask, but wishes she did. Avoids you afterwards fearing she was too open with you then.

Tilly - asks if she has a run-in with the foreman boys again. Otherwise then that she asks what cool things have been invented since

Mary-Beth - fascinated by future books, and asks if you have a novel from the future you could show her. She doesn't believe she could ever be a writer so doesn't ask.

Grimshaw - thinks you're a freak for coming here, saying "we are doing just fine! She does inquire about her girls though, if they all do well. She grows very strict with Karen there on, but also nicer

Sean - "do I become the big dog of the camp? Replace ol' king Arthur? Hahaha" a string of random questions , giving you no time to answer each one. He actually walks off before you can answer them thinking of more questions

Lenny - starts thinking if its okay to know about the future before responding, if theres no consequences, or if we as people should be able to. Decides he's better safe then sorry, and asks camp to be responsible. Dutch and him debate this

Kieran - asks if they finally accept him, and if the O'Driscolls come back. Grows very anxious at your response and spends the day cleaning the horses whilst trying to gather his thoughts to act upon.

[goldenfox3]

For the ask meme, pick your favorite(s)! All, some, one, or none: 19, 20, 21, 26

2023 in review: fic writer asks

19. Share your favorite opening line

Going through my fics looking for the best opening line made me realise my opening lines are rather bland lmao. Something to work on in the new year ig! My favourite one is probably one of these two:

"At Harimaya Bridge in Kōchi, Tosa, two figures stand drenched in red." (Red Tide)

"Fire bursts across the sky like the flames that burned his memories away, and even the distant cheers of his siblings cannot ease the chill that grips his heart." (What Begins)

Both are from Touken Ranbu fics. The first one references both a Toumyu song and the Yosakoi Naruko Dance's 「土佐のー高知の はりまや橋で」 lyric. It also parallels the opening line of its companion fic, as it is the same scene but a different character's perspective.

The second line I just like for the imagery lmao. The character, Honebami Toushirou, is watching fireworks at what should be a joyous festival but since he lost his memories after being burnt in a fire, well...he doesn't do well with fire-anything.

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20. Share your favorite ending line

Despite my trouble with ending off fics I think my ending line selection was stronger than the opening lines. I had a couple choices here and found it harder to narrow down so I am going to cheat and put two again...

"His mind is blissfully, terrifyingly silent." (Ab Initio)

"Falcon laughs, sun-sharp challenge and the bright spark of mischief, pressing close as the smell of sandalwood and eucalyptus envelops them once more." (Slow March)

The first one is for how short and snappy it is. It gets the point across succinctly, that Blood Falcon is 1) for now free of Black Shadow's mental voice influencing his thoughts, 2) relieved at this, 3) really fucking weirded out and even unmoored by this because his whole life he's known nothing else.

The second one is again for the imagery. It's not nearly as succinct but I do like how Rob as the POV chara is characterising everything about Falcon as this brilliant, shining presence that he can't help but be drawn to. There is also of course the ~symbolism~ of the smell of Rob's bath products surrounding them both. At this point in the series neither of them will admit their true feelings for each other, but the fact that they smell the same now from sharing the bath products, allowing each other to mark and be marked...it's just another way they've insidiously crept their way into each others' lives despite not talking about any gross scary feelings ever (idiots).

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21. Share your favorite piece of dialogue

There were a lot of moments from Thousand Five I wanted to put in here LMAO. I really like the dialogue in the first three chapters in particular, that's where I feel it was the snappiest (possibly because they were doing nothing but talking in the bar there so it had to be snappy). But my favourite bit of dialogue in the fic atm is this one:

“You would forfeit the chance to properly best your rival?” Stewart lifts his chin. “You’d kill the surgeon who’s the reason you’re even alive to begin with?” (chapter 6)

I'm very fond of this scene. It's the first time Stewart quite literally puts his neck on the line for Falcon. He doesn't have the combat skill or brute force to get out of this by fighting, so he uses what he does have at his disposal: his knowledge of the other person's background and personality, as well as drawing on what relation they share and any debts that might be owed. It's a gamble, but it's all he's got. The bold way it's stated, like he already knows the conclusion, is both calculated and just his natural adrenaline kicking in. Stewart is not one to bow in the face of danger and is in fact unfortunately drawn to it, but in this case he was afraid for someone else's life (Falcon) and was perhaps not quite as blasé as he'd normally be.

Because I am indecisive here is another fave bit of dialogue...this time from Creatures With Wings:

“Do you regret it?” Ryu asks suddenly, sliding a hand behind his head. “Taking on your role as Captain Falcon, or bringing me into this. Is that why you asked?” The back of his neck prickles, helmet still trapped under Ryu’s arm. But Captain Falcon is as much an ideal as he’s a man in a costume, and when he speaks, his voice is strong. “Creatures with wings are born to take to the skies someday. To fear falling is natural. But sometimes, all you can do is take that leap and fly.”

Besides being a title drop, Andy's dialogue here is a modified version of what he says to Ryu in Lap 50 of the anime. It still serves as reassurance and motivation to Ryu, but it also contains a veiled message about his feelings on his own situation. Andy isn't one to outwardly display struggles or regrets, or to ask for help because he's supposed to be the one helping. But I like to think about a more vulnerable side to him. He's only human, even if Captain Falcon needs to be so much more than that.

So here, he's also expressing that Ryu is quite possibly the only person who could fully understand him, as someone who was destined to be a saviour in this universal battle. Maybe he, just like Ryu, had (still has) fears and insecurities and regrets. And maybe despite that, he still did it anyway because there was no other choice. But Andy...doesn't actually directly answer the questions Ryu asked. He can't. Falcon can never be anything less than a paragon. To express weakness, to waver now at the end of all things...that's not who he is. But at the end of all things...maybe he can be Andy one last time. Andy trusts Ryu enough to reveal here just the tiniest hint of weakness, reciprocating the trust Ryu has constantly shown confiding in him.

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26. If you had to choose one, what was THE most satisfying writing moment of your year?

Hmm every time I get a comment is very satisfying (especially the ones that go into detail) and crunching the numbers about how much I wrote this year compared to previous years was also fulfilling-feeling. I have a checklist of character's I've written/have yet to write in this series and it felt good to tick off a bunch and try writing so many different themes and perspectives this year. Thousand Five is perhaps the predictable answer to this question, as it is still my baby my beloved my first gameverse and longest fic. I'm happy to have published 12 chapters of it this year!

But I think the most satisfying moment was getting this comment on Rush:

This awoke something in me. Never played or watched F-Zero anything in all my life and yet these two give me life.

How gratifying is it to know that you've managed to captivate someone who doesn't know anything about the fandom with the power of your writing alone? How wonderful is it to know that you've managed to capture someone's interest based on the choice, order, artistry of the scenes your words have woven? Without any pre-existing interest in the characters and franchise doing some of the work of grabbing the reader for you? I really, truly would love to know if this anon looked more into the series after or went on to read other F-Zero fics. Getting people into the series and ship I like because of something I created is living the dream, I tell you. And it all happened because I wrote about Falcon and Stewart [redacted] in a rivals with benefits situationship LMAO.

[fairene]

beneath the moonlight / ln4

vacay lando norris x maxf!littlesister

no use of y/n, as always.

prompt ⋯ ohhh hey ! wanted to stop by to say i love ur fic and wanted to request insatiable lando with max f’s sister like a forbidden summer fling with all their friends and no one’s supposed to know about their secret relationship ( especially max ) — @444mercss

a/n ⋯ this was much longer than i intended, but the words just kept flowing out of me. thank you to all those who beta read my post and helped with grammar!!! ( @jamminvroomvroom , @theonottsbxtch ) you all helped so much. and thank you to mercs for requesting this. i didn't know i'd enjoy it as much as i did, but it definitely was for 20k words. i'll probably take a week ( or maybe not ) off from writing just to give myself a cool down period, but still here to answer any asks. feel free to pop in. hope you all enjoy this, and remember, readers looks are up for interpretation, along with the outfits. colors of coloring are mention only briefly!

warnings ⋯ SMUT 18+++!!! minors DNI!!!, language, drinking, choking, p in v sex (wrap before you tap!), fingering!(f)receiving, oral(m+f)!receiving, mutual masturbation, overstimulation, feral lando. best friends little sister, brothers best friend dynamic, mutual pining, 'games', horny thoughts. much, much more. but even, possession, jealousy. if i forgot any warnings, feel free to let me know.

wc ⋯ 20.1k (WHEWWW WEEE... edited by @jamminvroomvroom, @theonottsbxtch)

the summertime was one of your favorites. you and all of the rest of your girlfriend’s would spend each and every day together without question. but as time went on, they got their own lives. partners, engagements, jobs. not to say that you weren’t an accomplished young lady, but it was starting to show that you were hung up on a life that was starting to fade.

your brother on the other hand, was keen on keeping you in this life. in tip top shape on your toes, he’d always challenge you in a multitude of ways. or annoy you to no end. typically it was the latter. 

but he had invited you this summer on vacation with his friends. you knew them all relatively well, texted here and there, but you never imagined to be trailing along on a villa getaway sponsored by the quadrant house, mainly the famous lando norris himself. 

you would be shy to admit it, but you had a bit of a soft spot for lando. him and his cheeky smile. the moles that donned his face. his starlit eyes that radiated an emerald hue beneath the sunlight. it was intangible the way that you could pick apart the details about his nuanced beauty, but it was a secret for you to keep.  a secret that no one, especially your brother, could ever find out about.

but that’s all that it was, wasn’t it?

a dream. a pathetic fantasy. you wouldn’t ever gain the courage to talk to him, make a move, despite how often him and max talk about going on dates with girls. talking about his love life, or the rather drab there of. he fucked around a lot, max knew that, and would consistently warn you to never get wrapped up in the same lifestyle as the british driver. you’d hold up your hands in defense, shrieking a ‘don’t worry about me,’ though you wish you gave him a reason to.

why did you feel undeserving of lando– because he was a formula one driver? attractive? charming? were you afraid that you were going to be friendzoned–? oh god, that would be the fucking worst, wouldn’t it? you could never imagine the hangouts being the same. so you’d bite your tongue until it bled, even when your body yearned for the heat of his own. 

the villa that you would be staying at was on lake como in italy. it was a beautiful venue, a place that you’d been dreaming of visiting. max knew this, hence why he’d probably sniped you an invite. but it wasn’t like no one wanted you there. everyone did. that was the problem. you were so incredibly loved by all of max’s friends, that he kept them at arm’s length. no one would ever hurt his little sister. not while he was still breathing. 

“wow,” you breathed, stepping out of the uber from the airport. the house before you was a stunning makeup of eccentric architecture that dated decades before your own birth. it was a grand building with tall, marble columns. thoroughly decorated landscaping, and even had running fountains in the front. you were so lost in your awe that you didn’t see the huge pair of mahogany doors swing open. 

“max,” you turned your head towards your brother who was grabbing your bags from the trunk. you shifted to the source of the voice, finding the british driver standing barefoot with a beach flannel and short-inseam khaki shorts low around his waist. you gulped before looking anywhere else but him. 

“lando!” max approached him, arm outstretched for a shake. lando met him half way down the marbled steps, taking his sunglasses off from the top of his head. 

“how was the flight, mate? good?” max nodded for the both of you whilst you fiddled with the accessories around your hands. you didn’t ever know what to say to lando. you found yourself unbelievably speechless in his presence. 

“not too bad, ‘specially if this is what you’ve got.” lando chuckled at your brother’s words, and then his eyes finally landed on you. you and your comfortable outfit from the plane ride over. you and your pulled back hair, respectfully messy, and the jewelry that adorned your fingers. his eyes caught over the bling, and how you anxiously picked away at the skin. 

“never thought she’d grace our presence,” lando said jokingly, which had your head snapping upright. you flushed, sucking your bottom lip with your teeth. 

max rolled his eyes, avoidant of the topic of you in general. “whatever, mate, she’s here now, in’she?” what? what was that supposed to mean? was your presence requested? you suddenly felt wanted above all things. 

“she certainly is.” lando approached you with his tongue tucked behind his bottom lip, hasty in his steps. you stood up straighter with a light smile on your face, eyes twinkling away from his own. you couldn’t keep eye contact with him. “c’mon, love, i’ll take your bags.” 

“are you sure? i can take–”

the bags were grabbed from your hands. you felt the palm of his own for just a moment— the warm flesh, humming low against his own. you felt like he spoke to you through your blood, but you let it go. lando norris wasn’t giving you special attention, that’s for sure. 

you promised yourself that much. this whimsical, airy crush of yours needed to be vetted on the spot. he was your brother’s best friend, older than you, and certainly didn’t have time for a girl who wasn’t a celebrity. 

right?

he took your bags through the exquisite villa. the interior was even more luxurious than you could ever imagine– floor to ceiling windows, candlelit ceiling lights, flora decorating each wall that you turned to. it smelled delectable, too, wafting germanium and coconut oil. the smile on your face couldn’t be ignored, as you shimmered brighter than the summer sun. 

“you like it, then?” came lando’s voice. your head dropped, glancing at him from where he stood, waiting for you to join him on the steps. had he been watching your face? 

“you’re joking.” you assured, hands clasped together. “it’s beautiful.” 

lando smiled then, too, letting his lower lip snatch between his top teeth. he tried hard to conceal his happiness, but you felt like you could feel it amongst the air. you felt warm all of a sudden and cleared your throat, urging him forward up the spiraling staircase. 

you walked in silence with him down the long corridors. you would pause before each door briefly, wondering if he was going to open it, but he didn’t. it wasn’t until you were reaching the ends of the hallway when he stopped, twisting the knob of the white wooden door. he stood aside, letting you in first. 

the room you’d be staying in for the next few weeks was more than you could ever dream of. with its spacious interior, personal bathroom, and private balcony, you felt like the luckiest girl alive to be able to experience this. to live in this moment. to be here. in italy, of all places. 

lando interrupted your dreaming haze by sliding the bags in. you turned to face him in your unruly, exhausted glory, and he stared at you. a hand of his found the back of his neck. 

“so…dinner tonight at seven, pool day tomorrow, um…” he looked around, acting as if he could suddenly have the words appear into his head. “oh and, if you need anything, my room’s just next door.” 

he said it with haste, as if he were shy about the fact, and was already stepping out the door. 

“wait,” you said, stepping forward. lando hung back, gripping onto the door frame, swinging his head back into the room. “thank you.” 

the words seemed to hit him harder than you thought that it would. he blushed a light red, dimming his tanned face, and cleared his throat before nodding. “of course.” he said with out hesitance, making it clear that he would do this for anyone. “‘m glad you’re here.” 

and then he was gone. 

you stared at the shut door in stunned silence. did you really hear him correctly? 

you didn’t let your thoughts linger too long, but you couldn’t help but let it. the curly-haired brunette stayed in your mind whilst you settled in and unpacked. all ounce of his shy, gaunt nature. 

by the evening you were more than settled and relaxed. you’d taken a small nap to rejuvenate your energy, and just in the nick of time for dinner. you got ready amply, sliding a comfortable dress over the surface of your body. the straps were thin and fell loose upon your collarbones. you’d pair an elegant pair of low rise heels on your feet, pointy-toed, that matched the color of your dress.

you stared at your reflection in the mirror, the dim yellow lighting illuminating the corners of your face that you so frequently forgot to appreciate. it was in the hours of the night that you could appreciate yourself, unopposed to the gawking looks of strangers. 

there was a soft knock on your door at 6:57. you turned, dress swaying from your movements, and cracked it open. 

lando stood there on the other side. him and his dark shirt and khaki pants. he wore a pair of leather black loafers that matched his shirt. he smelled good, too, a masculine tint of sauvage. 

no words were spoken between the two of you. you simply stared at one another, lost in each other’s features. you resisted the urge to trace the moles on his face with a finger, whilst he fought himself to not reach out and run his hands along the fabric of your dress. 

his eyes softened when you met his, cheeks filled with a simple kind of joy. the two of you were done ogling at one another, still foreign in each other’s presence. 

“ready?” he asked. you nodded, grabbing a matching handbag from the countertop and slung it over your arm. you shut the door to your room behind you and walked a few paces behind lando. you weren’t close with him like that to walk side by side.

or so you thought.

he dragged his feet to slow his pace, coming parallel to your side. he held his breath for a moment, turning to look at the exposed skin from your dress. you caught his wandering eyes and looked up at him, wandering beneath his emerald depths. 

“what?” you asked tenderly, voice hitching in your throat. 

“nothing.” he turned his head to face back forward. “just haven’t seen you in a while, that’s all.” 

that was an understatement. you haven’t seen lando in almost three years. max had done a stellar job of wanting to keep you separated from his friends, though you weren’t upset about it. you had your own life, and that was perfectly enough for you. 

but you were a girl with a heart full of wanderlust, and often dreamed of what you could’ve had. there was a marksmith of delusion prodding the hidden parts of your brain, working tirelessly to pick apart the small interactions you’ve had with lando over the years. 

when you turned 18, he brought you to an exclusive club and showered you with gifts, alcohol, and even more. it was a night you wouldn’t forget, feeling lucky enough to manage a dance with him on the dance floor. his hands hovered above your body, the warmth seeping through your skin, rattling your bones. he even got so close to your face that you could feel his breath. smell the alcohol that reeked from him. 

you thought you were going to kiss. 

and so did he. 

but your brother separated the two of you, calling lando over for a group shot. you were left there, stranded on the dance floor, with the phantom touch of a man that you knew you could never have. it pained you to admit such a truth to yourself, but it didn’t loiter. you had a life to get back to, not indulge some silly, fanatical dream that kept you up late at night as a teenager. lando norris was the fantasy, never to become a reality. 

though, every time in presence, you’d manage to falter. set those delusions free the second he’d act kindly to you; gentle, tender tenacity that you believed would be special to you. max’s little sister. that’s all you were, though, weren’t you? 

“you’ve been well, haven’t you?” you asked him with a hum, holding your bag with both hands in front of you. the leather piece bucked against your abdomen. lando watched, peering to see if he could hold it for you. 

“‘course. living my dream, aren’t i?” you’d made it to the end of the hallway. the top of the staircase. 

“it’s not a dream.” you said with a softer intonation. he looked back towards you with a raised brow. “it’s reality now, i’d reckon.” 

he smiled. 

the two of you made it down the steps. you lingered in the grand foyer, beneath the candlelit chandelier. it was still light outside, but the sun was beginning to set. it had created a pink and blue hue over the water’s edge. 

but you weren’t looking at the water’s edge. 

you were looking at lando. your brother’s best friend. he had his hands in his pockets, facing the open living room, rocking back and forth on his heels. you cut your way to his line of sight staring upward at him. he looked down at you, wondering what you were searching for.

you had considered not doing what you were about to do. you really did!

but your hand was already outstretched, the tips of your fingers grazing over the grown facial hair on his chin. he didn’t jolt from the action and merely stared into your eyes, pupils blown wide from the warmth of your touch. 

“i like it,” you commented before taking your hand away, finding yourself into much deep trouble if max had seen the two of you. 

“yeah?” lando asked, suddenly much closer to you. 

“makes you look older and manly.” you rolled your eyes. 

“what? i wasn’t manly before?” 

your hand rolled over your mouth to withhold a laugh. “i’ve seen you weep at the sight of fish.” 

lando’s face lit up and his tongue prodded the inside of his cheek. “doesn’t make me any less of a man.” he crossed his arms. 

“really?” 

“just enthusiastic. don’t see a problem with having a bit of character.” you didn’t argue with him further when you saw your brother and other group friends join one another in the living room. they made their way closer to the two of you.

you took a step back from lando. he couldn’t take his eyes off the action, his face falling instinctively. it’s nothing. his expressions mean nothing. they’re not for you. 

“c’mon, i’m starvin’.” max called, slapping lando on the back. sure enough, you were walking out the door behind your brother, everyone trailing in an orderly manner. 

you heard lando call your name from in front of max. you hummed in response. “you’ll ride with me, yeah?” you blushed. how could you not? max turned his head over his shoulder, his voice saying nothing, but his eyes telling all. he knows how you felt about lando when you were younger. 

he knows, he knows, he knows. but surely, surely you’ve gotten over that little crush of yours. and lando, too, hadn’t harbored any feelings towards you either? surely, surely he couldn’t. you were his little sister. and max knew how lando treated girls as of late. 

it left a sour taste in his mouth, but he said nothing when you nodded, brushing past him. 

lando opened the door for you. his mclaren was a two seater, comfortable, and roared to life when lando turned over the engine. you couldn’t help but laugh feeling the seat vibrate beneath your thighs. it was a feeling of exhilaration that you hadn’t felt in a long time, but a feeling that came perpetually with lando’s presence. being with him made you feel alive, more alive than the years you’d walked this earth. 

your excitement had done things to him as well. his eyes were glued to how you reacted, enthralled by your visceral enthusiasm to being in such a tangible sports car. your fingertips grazed across the leather interior of the door handle. 

“gonna jump out on me?” 

you shifted in the leather seat, crossing your legs over one another. there was a heat building inside of you, deep in your core. 

“not if you don’t give me a reason to.”

he chuckled at that. “i’ll try.” 

you smiled to yourself, looking down at your fiddling hands. lando stepped on the gas and pulled out of the villa’s extraneously long driveway, leading the pack of friends behind him. 

“you look fit.” came his voice, nervous, beneath his breath. your eyes caught his side profile, all rough edges of it. “beautiful, but your brother’d have me by the balls if he heard me say that.” 

your breaths were heavy in your chest. “then don’t let him.” 

lando’s head whipped to meet your eyes, hand white-knuckling the steering wheel. you weren’t even sure what you were implying with your words, but he hoped that he wasn’t misinterpreting them. god forbid he didn’t understand. you didn’t brush him off like you did as a child, didn’t stumble away bashfully. now, in your grown state, you faced him head on. you challenged him, just as he suspected you would. 

“between us, then?” 

you nodded, tongue coming to wet your bottom lip. you made a motion of a lock and key against them, throwing the key out the window. he watched, but was drawn back to the road. that was one of the fastest car rides you’ve ever been in with that roaring engine, feeling like you had stepped into the biggest unknown of your very existence. 

the restaurant that lando had made reservations for was absolutely beautiful. you couldn’t count the amount of times you’ve been awed by the sites you’ve seen, but you couldn’t help yourself. you were simply one of the luckiest girls with even richer friends. 

lando opened the car door for you, sprinting to the other side. you found yourself laughing at the action, finding his urgency cute. 

you stepped out of the car and you immediately found your brother, his stance idle before he marched over to you. 

“he say anything to you?” 

you flushed. between us, then?

“no. what would he say?” 

max didn’t elaborate and simply settled for a huff from his nose. lando had been handing off his car to the valet man when he met up with the two of you. your other friends were in tow, eight of you in total, and made it inside the restaurant with ease.

you didn’t even think about what the seating arrangement would be. not until lando pulled out a chair for you, beside him, and you had no other choice but to settle in. not like you were complaining though. 

but max was going to. you could see the look on his face when he sat opposite to you, flashing you a pair of warning eyes. but you didn’t know what warranted them– you didn’t even say anything to lando, more or less. 

you furrowed your brows at him, feeling far too old for these insolent glances, and picked up the menu. lando sat next to you, mirroring your actions. you placed the napkin on your lap, a polite etiquette you’ve always precluded dinners with. 

“ah– look,” you leaned into lando’s space, the heat from his body, the cologne from his shirt, sifting through your nose. it was tempting. “for you.” 

your finger pointed to the blackened cod that they had on the menu. lando met you half way, looming over your shoulder at what you were pointing at. as soon as he read it, he scoffed. “fuck off.” you couldn’t help but giggle, attempting to stifle the sound the best you could.

“don’t do that,” lando’s voice came firm, but soft against your ears. he was talking just loud enough for the two of you to be able to hear. you glanced quickly at max, who was lost in conversation with his buddies. 

“what?” 

“hide your laugh.” you guessed you didn’t realize how often you muffled yourself. your hand lowered to your lap. “you used to do it when you were a teenager, too.” he pointed. you thought for a moment, realizing that he was right. “never understood why. especially since it’s so pretty.”

you froze, staring up at him with weary eyes. he looked confused at your expression. your hand came to slap his bicep. “stop it.” but you were teasing him. he saw right through your tone. 

“don’t let him, ‘s what you said, right?” 

you swallowed. nodded your head. 

his mouth dipped to your ear. his breath hot, just like your cheeks. “he won’t hear a thing then, will he?” lando’s nose brushed against your scalp, and you thought for a moment, dreamed, that he would plant a kiss upon your head. but his lips simply hovered, breaths warming your strands of hair. 

but you turned your head to meet his eyes, shaking his contact off. he noticed. tensed. “but he can see, you imbecile.” 

that had lando laughing. your face broke with a smile, unable to resist his intoxicating gestures. he simply shrugged, letting you win this one, and his arm came to sling over the back of your chair. his fingertips grazed the strands of your dress, dipping down to your bare shoulders. your posture straightened against the chair, legs crossing over one another beneath the table. he watched you shift, his teeth catching his bottom lip to retain his smile. 

the waiter came to take your orders. you ordered your preferred choice and drink, lando following suit. when the table received their drinks, you lifted your glasses for a collective ‘cheers’. 

when the main course was finished, you were handed the dessert menus. short a couple, you had to share with the man next to you. you nudged lando’s shoulder with your own and like a dog to a whistle, he was over your shoulder once more, his stubble barely pinching your skin. the thought burst through your head: what would it feel like on your neck? on your thighs, your cunt? you blushed again for what felt like an infinitesimal number, but turned your attention back to the menu. 

you pointed at the option that you thought was best. lando hummed, his eyes tracing over the features of your face. you glanced at him. “what?” you asked. 

he simply huffed a short laugh and nodded his head at your choice. 

it arrived sooner than later and the two of you split the sweet dessert. your brother was still lost in his own conversations, leaving you to your ministrations with lando. whatever they may be, you’d want them all. 

when you had your fill and so did he, you couldn’t help but look at him. he turned, and you laughed quietly between the two of you. he raised a brow. 

“you’ve got–” you pointed to his lip, but you figured your words were fruitless. you licked at your thumb and raised it to his mouth, cleaning him. his eyes darkened, becoming hooded with the shadows of lust. you even dared to bring your thumb back to your mouth, popping the remnants across your lips with a ‘pop’. lando never thought his dick could be so hard. 

“there,” you breathed. “all clean.” 

there was a brief silence. one second. two. “you’ve always been trouble, haven’t you?” 

your own eyes were hooded. “maybe.” you teased, cleaning your fingers with the napkin. “guess you have to find out?” 

lando’s hand gripped tighter on the back of your chair. 

“guess so.”

the drive back was tense. tense with your excitement. on the way out, lando and you lingered at the back of the pack. his hand was on your lower back, warm and electric, reminding you that you had stepped into the deep end with him. 

you still couldn’t believe what had happened. 

lando was speeding down the freeway, weaving his way in and out of cars, a dangerous task that you only felt comfortable with him performing. you’d lose your mind if anyone else was the driver, but he was the professional here, wasn’t he? 

you were even so bold to roll the window down and stick your hand out, feeling the harsh slipstreams beneath your nailbeds. you relaxed in the seat, head lolling against the cushion, hair flying into the wind. lando turned his head to look at you, his elbow leaning on the interior beneath the windowsill, and almost swerved into oncoming traffic. you were a picturesque beauty, lounging freely in his passenger seat, legs crossed, free. 

you were at peace for the time being, and it was the only way he’d wish to see you. but he could think of other things. 

he pulled into the house with ease. it was well lit amongst the long, windy driveway, and he made sure to let you out first. you two were the last to arrive at the house this time, taking your sweet time. you were in no rush to race back to your room, and neither was he. 

it was well past 10pm. when you reached the foyer, max was waiting for you.

“bright and early tomorrow?” he asked. 

“bright and early.” you confirmed. he pulled you in for a swift hug, rustling the top of your head with that familial brother love that you adored him for. 

he patted lando on the back briefly, before narrowing his eyes at him. you didn’t understand what was happening between the two of them, bro code, but lando seemed to understand well enough. max and his buddies traipsed up the steps, and you felt at ease when you heard their doors shut. 

it was just you and lando, now, idling in the foyer. 

you said nothing but began to walk, trailing forward through the grandeur villa. you were ample with your pace and heard him moving behind you. with a push of your hand, you opened the door to the grand balcony, leaving it ajar for lando to sneak out from. 

he did. 

there was a patio set there, waiting, and you let your handbag drop onto the coffee table. you sauntered over to the cobblestone walls, the balustrade meeting post to post for about thirty feet. you leaned against the stone. it was cold against your bare back. 

lando seated himself in one of the chairs, his legs spreading wide. he watched you lean forward, then spin to face him. your back was illuminated by the halo of the moonlight, drenching you in a pale visage of beauty. 

“you wanna know something?” you asked. lando perked up, humming with curiosity. he was too busy admiring your figure, having to pull himself back from such tumultuous thoughts. “i had a crush on you when i was a kid.”

that stifled a laugh from the british driver. “you did not.” 

you shook your head. “sure did.” you didn’t know why you were telling him this all of a sudden, but it was weighing heavy on your mind. “max was pissed. knew i only came around when he told me you’d be there.” 

the pieces began melding together in lando’s mind. he had been such an idiot boy that he couldn’t see what a prized beauty you were. there was a trace of second hand guilt. a pattern of ‘what-ifs’ trifling through his mind. 

“‘was just a stupid girl. tried so hard for you to notice me.” your hands covered your face for a brief moment. 

“you always wore skirts,” he recalled, looking at his hands in his lap. he looked up at you, smirk building. “that why?” 

you were shameless when you nodded your head. 

“so embarrassing, i know–” 

“what about now?” he cut you off, clearly wanting to ask this question the moment it left your lips. 

“what do you mean?” your mouth went dry, your hands clasping at the balustrade as if you were going to faint. your heart pounded in your chest. 

“what do you feel for me now?” 

you couldn’t meet his eye. you looked anywhere else but him, in fact, and opted to over your shoulder to admire the view of the ocean beneath the starlight. the ocean wouldn’t judge you. it would wash away your problems, in fact, and not stare you down. 

there was a deep intake of breath that had your head settling from its dizzy state. you looked back to lando and he sat there, cocky, upright. but there was a genteel nature about him that didn’t have you as afraid as you thought you’d be. 

he raised his arm, outstretching his hand for you. 

you swallowed, pushing yourself off from the balustrade. you sauntered towards him, earnest in your steps, before letting your palm rest on his. 

he pulled you close, fingers wrapping against your wrist. he was warm to the touch and he could feel your erratic heartbeat in your veins. 

lando’s legs spread for you to settle between. you stood above him, looking down at his brunette curls, his stubble, his cheekbones. his own hands were experimental against the planes of your body, touching sweetly against your hips. 

“you didn’t answer me.” he repeated.

you crossed your arms over your chest. 

“some dreams just remain dreams.” 

he waited a beat. you felt his chest rise and fall. 

“do you want to dream forever?” 

no. no. you didn’t. you wanted your fantasies to become reality. being with him. being loved by him has always been what you wanted. 

you lowered yourself on his lap, straddling his waist. you felt his cock thrum beneath the guard of his pants. did he want you the same? 

his forehead collided with yours. his nose brushing against your bridge. you shook your head, closing your eyes. 

“wake me up,” you mewled quietly, voice deep within your throat. it was a desperate plea, one that you thought he may not understand until he caught the glint in your eye. the wanting. the years of pining from a distance. how he was so wrapped up in his boyhood that he couldn’t appreciate a woman at his side. “please.” 

he didn’t wait any longer to meet your lips with his own. 

you were cautious with your touches. your hands were on his chest, gripping at the fabric of his shirt. but your kiss was deep by his own volition, gripping your chin with his forefinger and thumb, earning a groveling sound in your throat. 

his other hand was stroking your back, pushing you against him until your breasts were firmly against his chest. you gasped at the firm contact, him using it as an excuse to slip his tongue into your mouth. he explored every corner with an expertise you didn’t know was possible. no place went untouched by his saliva, marking a cavern of his own, and perhaps awakening a fantasy that had been dormant for years. 

he lied when he said he didn’t notice you. 

he lied. 

lando would always await your appearance when he went over to max’s house. he’d hear you skip down the steps in whatever mary-jane heel you wore for that day. max would groan when your head popped through the archway, waving at his friends, but your lashes fluttered when you settled on lando. 

‘course he fucking noticed. 

he thought of you a sweet girl, caring for her brother, with an exquisite taste in fashion. he’d remember the skirts you wore–  black ones, pleated ones, plaid ones– they were all committed to the vaults of his memory. he thought you were the most beautiful girl in the world. 

and he still did. while you were perched atop of his lap, huffing in nervous breaths, your hands anxiously skirting across the plane of his dress shirt. you shook atop of him as your lips moved coincided with one another. two bodies, melding together beneath the moonlight. 

your tongue swirled against his own, hips bucking against the bulge in his pants. your cunt tightened aimlessly, drenching his pants below. he could feel the patten of fabric become lathered in your slick, and it brought him back to earth.

“we can’t.” he breathed against your lips. his chest was beating up and down, unable to calm himself. though he attempted rejecting you, his hand tightened around the fabric of your dress. 

your nose brushed against his as you chuckled. “a bit late, isn’t it?” your teeth bit at your swollen, bottom lip. you could see his eyes flash downward at your action, his own tongue wetting his own. 

“your brother,” he began to shake his head, still clutching around the fabric of your dress. 

“he doesn’t…” you began to say, kissing the sides of his stubble. you were even so bold to take his free hand, guide it to your inner thighs, and let his fingertips caress the wet fabric covering your cunt. it was swollen, desperate for his touch. you’d been desperate for his touch. desperate for as long as you could remember. “have to know.” 

lando’s fingers curled upward to apply pressure right on your clit. he didn’t even have to search for it, and you shifted your hips, bucking them across his palm. “fuck, baby…” he groaned into your cheek, followed by a crass chuckle. “you always get this wet?” 

your head buried itself into the junction between his neck and shoulder, whining with embarrassment. “jus’ for you…” the words came quietly, but they rang loud in lando’s ears. he could feel the vibrations from your throat, your aching cunt. you were laid atop of him, dripping down your thighs. 

“yeah?” he breathed, finding his heart beating rapidly beneath the weight of your body. his fingers began a pattern of motions across your clothed clit—back and forth— and you mewled into his shirt. there was a patch of drool beneath your lips. “look at you, then, made a mess all over me…” 

your lips sucked on the skin of his neck, biting at his chest. attempting to shift closer to him, if it was possible, had your cunt aligned over his clothed cock. 

“‘n i’ve barely touched you.” 

lando wasn’t even sure he could bring himself to. this was his best friend’s little sister. the amount of lines he’s crossed. the friendship he’s had for years suddenly feeling vulnerable, out the door. but he can’t say he hasn’t thought about a moment like this. fantasized about it once or twice. 

“touch me,” you pleaded, tilting your head to look at him. your eyes were wide, glossy with your pleasure, whilst his darkened at your contact. “more, i need…” your hips grinded against his palm. “more.” 

“fuck,” he cursed beneath his breath. fuck his self control. fuck whatever this was going to do to his friendship. you are real, pining for him in his lap, begging you for his touch. anything from him, really, you would take. this moment felt like it was going to flutter away any moment, and you’d be waking up from a sick, yearning dream. 

the hand upon your back steadied you against his body, whilst the fingers of his other moved the fabric of your panties aside. here, with his sensitive fingers, he could feel the heat from your cunt. it washed over him like a wave, retracting, tightening when he flexed his middle finger. you were utterly drenched for him, the cool breeze of the night raising goosebumps along your skin. 

you shivered above him, watching how his hand worked beneath your dress. his hand against your back curled around the base of your neck, angling your eyes back up to his own. “eyes on me.” you listened, melted at his soft, demanding tone, and nodded your head. you shimmied frantically across the plane of his hand, but he tsked. “be patient.” 

you seemed to understand well enough. he would give you what you wanted, in time. you would be patient, holding back the whimpers deep within your throat. you were just about to implode on yourself when he finally inserted his middle finger into your folds, taunting you dangerously. you gasped, unable to keep yourself still as your back arched. your head fell back into his hand, lando’s thumb swirling around your bare neck. 

the straps from your dress fell loose with the motion and you could feel the breeze harden your already taut nipples. his eyes clinged downward at the sight before him, head bending forward to kiss your exposed chest. one of your hands came to clench around his wrist, the other to his neck, holding him fiercely to your body. 

your fingers were thrusted deep into the base of his neck, the fade of his hair. you tugged when his finger curled deliciously inside of you, his thumb– acting so expertly– applied gentile pressure to your clit, toiling with your impetuous lust. you felt exposed to him, putty in his hands, weightless against his body. 

the british driver’s lips were relentless on your skin. your chest was claimed by his tongue, swirling around the top of your breasts, edging you further to a spectacular orgasm. he sucked tight against your skin, but your head raised to meet your lips to his ears.

“no marks,” you requested, but you heard him growl against your chest. his hands flexed– his wrist clutched with your palm, his hand on the back of your neck– the contact with your neck had you breathless, clenching around his singular finger, and he took blatant notice. 

“a secret, yeah?” he confirmed, holding back his groveling tone. the words were bitter when they hit your ears. there was a layered amount of surplus emotions that guarded his heart, held him at arm's length, and he knew it would tear him apart. but now, he focused on you atop of him, and getting you to come. 

“mhmm…” you had to clamp your mouth shut from bursting with a wanton moan. it was too much– the way that he swirled his thumb, how his finger was just the perfect length to bottom out inside of you. your hips moved relentlessly, despite his grip around your neck, and you pushed down on his wrist when it started to become too much for you. 

but lando had other plans. he shook his head, let out a tsk between his lips, and let his ring finger slip into you with ease. you let out another moan, deeper than the rest, but he responded with a tug on your hair. 

with his lips still against your breasts, his motions froze. “quiet.” you hummed a disapproving sound. “want me to stop?” 

you shook your head. “no– no!” 

you could feel his teeth against your breasts, a cocky smile no doubt with how flustered you became at the thought of him stopping. 

“gotta be quiet, love–” and then his lips were back on you, sucking amply at your skin. his head lowered until he captured a nipple between his teeth, letting the ridges toy with your sensitive buds. your head lowered to the top of his as you breathed him in– his shampoo, his cologne– and it didn’t help with containing yourself. 

his pace against your cunt quickened. dual fingers sliding in and out of you with ease, thumb riding aggressively on your clit. you could feel the coil inside of you wringing with heat. 

lando’s lips found your other nipple, treating it with the same voraciousness that the other received. it was beginning to become too much for you. no man had ever had you this way– putty, liquid, melting– beneath his touch. you feared that you’d never be able to have an orgasm again. 

you became antsy in his hands. your grip on his wrist was shaking, your thighs desperately clenching around his waist. he took it as a sign that you were close, and the words fell easily from his lips. 

“gonna cum for me?” his chin rested on your chest, angling to look up at your sweating, flushed expression. your eyes fluttered shut as you nodded. his grip around your throat tightened against the columns. you’d never trusted a man so much to not hurt you. 

“come on, sweet girl, ‘ve got you.” he promised to you, “bet you’re so pretty when you cum.” 

you felt the skin of your lip break into a light gash beneath the weight of your teeth. you’d been so focused on keeping quiet, that you went ahead at your own expense. lando saw the way your eyes opened, and lurched to meet your lips with his own.

the iron upon his tongue didn’t frighten him. perhaps it turned him on in some manner. the lengths that you were willing to go to keep your sweet lips tightened. but as his own tongue swirled around the stinging cut of your lip, you moaned into him. he absorbed the sound, locking it into the expanse of his memories. you had such a sweet voice. he’d never hear something like it again. 

“come on, baby,” he urged you once more, speaking into your mouth. his breath was hot, spinning a knot of thread with your own. you felt him laugh at your oncoming orgasm, taking joy from eliciting such pleasure from you. “let me see how pretty you are.” 

it didn’t take much longer for your orgasm to reach you. you went taut, shaking in his hands, eyes rolling into your head. you swore you saw stars, and that was just from his fingers alone. it had you wondering what his cock felt like. 

your head fell limp against his shoulder, breathing heavily, clutching the fabric of his shirt. you didn’t want to let him go. his fingers laid idle inside of your tightened walls, not wanting to release the feeling either. not with his hand drenched, his pants soaked, and his forehead dripping with his own sweat. his cock had been painfully hard, a pool of his precum seeping through his pants, combining with your own. it was a beautiful, disastrous mess that he’d initiated between you two, but he felt no regret. 

you sniffled against his shoulder, breezing with the cold air, and let your arms wrap around his neck. you hid your face against his body, attempting to bury your embarrassment within him. you had just come on the balcony atop lando’s lap. what fucking world were you living in? you’ve had feelings for him for what felt like a century, and now a dream that you didn’t even know was possible of coming true, came at the palm of his hand. 

lando couldn’t believe it either. you were tucked against his body like a hand to a glove, a perfect fit, breathing heavily, shaking, against his palms. your cunt roared with a beating heat, swimming with the orgasm he had given you. proud wasn’t a word that could surmount to this feeling. 

and he said nothing when he fixed the straps of your dress, gauging a more presentable you. he tucked your hair behind your ears, fingertips loitering on the expanse of your cheek. you smiled into him, coming to raise your head to meet his eyes. 

his eyes fell to your blistering lip. the swollen buds that he sucked the blood out of. his forehead met yours, and neither of you said anything; just a soft breath and heartbeat between the two of you. 

within seconds he took his hand from your cunt, washed his fingers against his tongue, and let it fall to your bare back. you were stunned at the motion, but drool pooled in your mouth. you gawked, openly, just how hot the action was alone. 

lando stood with you in his arms. one hand on the back of your neck, the other cupping your thigh. your legs, whilst trembling, tightened around his waist for support as he took you through the quiet villa. the only lights were the candles that were still burning, but you didn’t see them, your head hiding in the crevice of his neck. he hummed quietly, a rhythm that had your eyes beginning to lull with sleep. 

you heard him open a door quietly and shuffle around the mess on the floor. your room, no doubt. you’d left a pile of clothes as a welcome for yourself when you were picking out your attire for the evening. it didn’t help him, either, by being surrounded by your scent. your perfume, you, it swirled around him, taunting him. dared him to fuck his best friend’s little sister. 

lando bent down to lay you into your bed. you fell against your will, hands still upright for him to fall in. but he just couldn’t let himself. 

he did, however, let his fingers trail across your bare thighs, your knees, your calves, ankles, until he was met with your heels. his hand lingered on the back of your ankle, angling one of your feet upright to slip a shoe off. his fingers moved to the other, placing the expensive pair on the ground. you stretched your hands above your head, falling deep within the pillowy, feathery embrace. 

you stared up at him. your hair messy, dress disheveled, eyes heavy with exhaustion. and he looked down at you, moving forward to let his fingers trail up your sternum, the perks of your breasts. the moment was so quiet. only your breaths and his own could be heard– and maybe the pounding of your heart. 

he looked beautiful looming above you, hovering with a protective, apologetic look. apologetic? what did he have to apologize for? except for a mind-blowing orgasm, that is. 

his hand froze against the place of your heart. palm flattening, he could feel just how fast your heart was racing. you grabbed his wrist, thumb sliding up and down against his veins. he swallowed. 

“don’t know if we should do this again.” he spoke quietly. 

your heart broke. you sat up straight in your bed, confusion written all across your features. you thought that this was something between the two of you. that he wanted you. and now what was happening? did you do something wrong? 

“why?” you asked, feeling tears well in your eyes. you couldn’t help it. the girl inside of you had come to the forefront, her dreams of being with lando being squashed beneath the weight of his words. 

he sighed deep, unable to meet your eyes. he was about to say something before you interrupted him.

“you don’t want me?” 

his head snapped in your direction, almost breaking clean off his spine with just how fast he went. he shook his head, hand coming to cup your cheek, but you shook his affections away. your hand dropped from his wrist, wanting to feel nothing of his heart. 

he spoke your name. twice. three times. you looked back toward him, tears hot in your eyes. “hey.” you focused on his voice. “you know that’s not true.” 

your brows furrowed. “do i?”

his expression dropped. 

he fell to his knees before the side of the bed. an action no man has ever done for you. you gaped visibly, watching as both his hands came to rest upon your knees. he leaned into you. stubble tickling your thighs. 

your name was sweet on his tongue. 

“what would your brother say–?” 

“fuck what he thinks.” you leaned down. 

lando’s head dropped between your thighs, taking a deep inhale of your skin. you shivered, letting your hand rest on the back of his neck. 

“we need t’give it time.” he said upon raising his head. he looked at you with a glimmer in his eyes. the moonlight shimmered through your windows, casting a vague gracefulness of illumination across his tanned skin. 

“how much?” 

lando wasn’t sure. his silence was an answer enough. you sighed, letting your body fall against the bed once more. he lifted himself to sit beside you, placing both hands at your hips to cage you in. 

“hey,” he said to gauge your attention back to him. “we’ll figure it out, won’t we?” 

you wanted to believe him. but you weren’t sure that you could. lando leaned down to kiss your sternum against the fabric of your dress. 

“you still want me?” you asked, voice cracking with your emotions. 

“i’ve wanted you,” he said against your stomach, “since the day you came down in that white skirt.” 

you gasped, head tilting to look at him. that was one of the first times you met him– third, maybe– you remembered which one he was talking about. it was a skirt with little white bows, embellished with threads of ribbon and lace. 

“the one with the bows?” 

“that fuckin’ skirt…” he scoffed with a laugh. you were still floored, but managed to smile. you couldn’t believe his confession, finding it unbelievable. unbelievable that maybe, maybe you had a chance with him. the girl inside of you was squealing, but the woman didn’t quiver beneath him. 

there was a momentary silence between the two of you. but you shifted, moving to stand. lando watched you from his perch on your bed, hair ruffled and eyes red from his own wrought of emotions. you didn’t expect this from him. this sensibility. 

you began to strip with your back turned to him. he watched. silently. 

you stripped of your panties and threw them over your shoulder. lando caught them, still gawking at you. “keep them.” you spoke. “you ruined them.” 

that had him laughing. but he kept them, staring down at the lace material. you threw on a large shirt from your suitcase that reached your mid thigh. you finally spun around to meet his eye, but he didn’t dare move. 

“what?” you asked, his staring becoming more intense. 

he swallowed. shook his head.

“you better go.” you spoke for him as you approached your bed, narrowly dodging him when you threw yourself down. his eyes raked over you, speechless. “lando.” you reaffirmed, bringing him out of his haze. he let out a sigh and stood, hand coming to brace the back of his neck. 

he lingered before opening your door, glancing at the dress on the ground. and then he was gone, shutting your door behind him, before falling to his own bed. you were lucky to find sleep that night, and it came easy with your exhaustion. but anxiety thrummed through your mind, bustling with a pint of rejection. it was so sweet from his tongue, but it hurt all the same. 

lando laid in his bed before he showered. changed. laid in his bed with the thought of you. how did this happen? how could he forfeit a lifelong friendship? it was simple, really. you were the most beautiful woman he’s ever met, and he couldn’t ever let you go. he’s always watched you from a distance. liking your posts, viewing your instagram stories. he was obsessed with you in more ways than one, but that was a secret for him and him alone. 

yet, he couldn’t get max out of his mind. how he would react to him? to you? fuck, the thoughts were brewing a storm inside of his head. the damage had already been done, his heart already thrumming with the essence of you in its wake. you spread through the blood in his veins, latching onto his vitality like a parasite. though he welcomed the thought, the wonder of you overtaking his life. 

that was a thought that he could fall asleep to. and he did, snoring with a good guzzle that had you tossing and turning. 

the morning came and went. you were up early, as you promised max, but took time planning your wardrobe. you wore a bathing suit beneath your choice of clothing, but what was essential was the short, white, skirt that rode mid-rise on your waist. 

the shirt you wore was thin, sheer, a light beige. it had straps that came down to tie a bow between your breasts, and cropped enough to leave heaven to the imagination. for one man in particular, that was your goal.

‘i don’t know if we should do this again.’ 

fuck that. 

you skipped down the steps and were met with max awake bright and early. he had been cooking breakfast, a favorite of yours, and was just about finishing up before he glanced towards you. 

“morning!” came his preppy voice. he was wearing a thin white shirt and swim trunks, ready to take on the day to swim. 

“good morning.” you sat down at the lush kitchen island, max sliding a plate of food in front of you. you dug in immediately. 

“woah,” max commented, sitting down beside you with a cup of tea. “relax. thought we were going swimming?” 

you coughed. “we are.” you continued to finish your food with haste. “just hungry.” 

you heard more steps come down the stairs. but you didn’t turn your head until max did, his eyes brightening as his close friend was approaching.

“mate,” max said, eyeing up lando. “you look like shit. did ‘ya sleep last night?” 

lando hummed with his tired voice, already prepared to go swimming as well. he wore a black shirt with papaya swim trunks. you ogled at him before he looked at you, turning away quickly once he skirted his eyes towards your direction. 

“slept great.” 

you scoffed. 

max and lando turned towards you. the fork in your hands dropped and your eyes widened. a blush creeped onto your cheeks. 

“you snore,” you commented, still refusing to look at him. “you know that?” 

max turned towards lando. “your rooms are next to each other?” the words were poignant, aimed as a remark to the british driver. he simply shrugged his shoulders in response, not finding any reason to engage. 

you stood with your plate in hand, making headway for the sink. from behind, you could feel a pair of eyes heating the plane of your back. you weren’t stupid. and neither was he, knowing exactly what you had done this morning. 

the skirt you wore was a reminiscence of his confession the previous night. it brought back the childlike memories of grade school. a time when life was simpler, and you were just a girl, and he was just a boy. but he knew you weren’t that girl anymore. a woman grown, you were elegant. he didn’t understand how you were related to max, a scruffy rascal, but he was happier for that. 

when you turned on the water for the sink, lando approached you. max had been tending to his phone, scrolling through social media, so he hadn’t been paying attention. lando’s shoulder brushed against your own when you were scrubbing, desperate to say something. 

“you–”

“max,” you interrupted lando, turning off the water and turning towards your brother. lando took a side step away from you, giving you space when max looked up from his phone. you received a side eye from the british driver, his lip curling with pettiness. he saw what you were doing now. was this your form of punishment? 

max responded with a ‘hm?’ “you want me to cook tonight?” you offered, and max glanced at lando, who never stopped looking at you. you saw max’s expression tense. 

“why not. could save us some money, won’t it?” he said, waiting for lando to add on. “right, lando?” 

lando spun around, releasing his tight grip on the counter. he took a sharp breath in, nodding his head in agreement. you watched as a blush creeped onto his face. you bit on the inside of your cheek, but weren’t expecting lando to retaliate. 

he spoke your name, which had your head lifting. “what happened to your lip?” 

you froze. eyes widening. your own lip twitched with a remedy of a snarl, and he bit back, his nose curling with distaste. 

max approached you two, observing your scabbed lip from the night before. “shit. he’s right. what happened?” 

you reached back to clench the marble counter beneath your fingers. “uh–” lando held back his devious smile. “bit it in my sleep, ‘spose.” 

max simply shrugged his shoulders, and headed for the backyard where the pool was. when the door shut, you let out a sigh. lando stepped in front of you, caging you in with his arms. his head dipped to your shoulder, his curls brushing against your cheek. 

“get off me,” you commented with grit, biting your words. lando shook his head, not moving. 

“don’t play this with me,” he said, lifting his head with a deep inhale. you raised a brow at him, having absolutely no idea what he meant. 

“said we weren’t going to do this again, didn’t you?” you made him sit with his words. make him roll in the fucking mud. “we’re not. and if we were–” you shoved his chest with both your hands, which had him lurching backward. he didn’t go far. “i’d fucking win.” 

he invaded your space again, leaning his lips towards yours. you felt his breath again, his scent creeping into your nose. it was like he never left. 

“y’sure ‘bout that?” he said with a light tone, teasing you with the vibrato of his words. you swallowed a lump in your throat. 

but you stood your ground. “positive.” 

lando lingered for a second longer, leaning closer to your lips, and you thought he was going to kiss you out in the open kitchen. “whatever you say.” were the only words he said before he leapt away from you suddenly, leaving your exposed body cold. 

he followed you out to the pool, never leaving enough space between you two. but you had other plans–sticking by max’s side would surely drive him insane. 

so you sat beside your brother all day. in the pool chair next to him. tanning, reading a book, scrolling on your phone– it didn’t matter. it wasn’t long before the rest of your brother’s friends joined everyone by the pool. 

most of them were in the pool by the afternoon. you had made your way to the kitchen, shedding of your skirt and top. left in your swimwear, you wanted a snack. 

in the bowls of fruit you found, you pulled some mango, strawberries, and bananas. you cut them with a knife from the drawer, and put them in a bowl. there was more than enough fruit for everyone, but you took some of your favorites in the meantime. 

the sun was hot that day, and you had forgotten your sunglasses. sunscreen on your head would cause greasy hair, and you didn’t want that. so you searched briefly in the kitchen for any sort of hat that someone left, and you found one. 

it was a papaya hat. with mclaren’s logo, and a number 4 on it. you smirked, bringing the hat atop your head. 

it fit nicely and you grabbed the bowl of fruit. you made your way back outside to the patio and your brother noticed you immediately. he called your name, and you sauntered over. 

lando and his mates had been in the pool playing with a frisbee, but as soon as max had said your name, he was looking over his shoulder. he went speechless. 

with his hat atop your head and your exposed body, he could help but drool at the sight of you. a droplet trailed down his chin, but he dunked the lower half of his mouth into the pool before anyone saw. 

“for us?” max asked towards the bowl of fruit. you popped a slice of mango into your mouth, biting tenderly into the piece before nodding your head. lando swallowed tightly, practically shaking beneath the surface of the water. 

you placed the bowl on the wooden table and stood back as you were met with the onslaught of a crowd of wet dudes. you backed up towards the stairs of the pool, ready to hop in yourself. you thought yourself a genius– having the entire pool to yourself while they ate. but before you stepped in, your elbow was caught in a warm palm.

lando faced you with his bare chest dripping with chlorine, hair ruffled and damp. droplets of water slithered down his cheeks, which you felt tempted to rub away with your thumb, but you retained from stretching out your hands. 

he simply stared at you. and you stared at him. 

then he flicked the end of the cap with his pointer finger and smirked, raising his brows with a teasing fashion. he had the nerve to glance at your chin, narrowing his eyes. you didn’t have time to react before his own thumb came to wipe away a droplet of mango juice from your chin. 

the action was fast, unnoticed by anyone around you. you blushed instantly, freezing in place. lando popped his thumb into his mouth, tongue visibly swirling around the fingertip. he made a humming sound, approving of the taste. 

“tastes sweet.” he muttered to you. he raised his eyes, hooded beneath the glare of the sunlight. “not my favorite, though.” 

holy shit

you thought you were going to pass out. 

with your eyes flared wide, you spun away from him, throwing the hat to the side, and dove straight into the pool. 

you needed to cool off. desperately. and your time in the pool did. when you finally climbed out, max was lounging in the pool chair beneath an umbrella. you joined him in your seat, drying yourself off with your towel. lando was watching the entire time, sitting opposite to max. 

when you finally laid down with the towel of your bare legs, max scoffed at his phone. clearly, he was trying to get your attention. 

“what?” you said, the hat you had thrown off was now back in your lap. 

“look,” max handed you his phone, and you immediately rolled your eyes. it was a picture on instagram of your ex-boyfriend and his new girlfriend. his new girlfriend that he cheated on you with. he was a fucking asshole, and max knew that from the very beginning. 

“ugh,” you groaned, handing his phone back to him. max took it and was about to keep scrolling. 

“what?” lando asked, curious now to see what the two of you were grumbling about. max handed him his phone, but he was still confused who he was looking at. 

“her ex,” max commented with a rumble. lando’s eyes shot up at you, watching your expression shift. lando was now investigating thoroughly, scrolling through this guys posts. he still had some of you up, and it only angered him. it angered him to an unfair degree, feeling the pinnacle of jealousy, although entirely unwarranted. 

“i brought him to a race once,” you pointed out, unable to look at either of them. instead, you settled on the water in the pool. “barcelona, last year.” your arms crossed over your chest. 

lando raised a brow. “he was that leach for leclerc, wasn’t he?” you were surprised that he remembered, but nodded your head. it wasn’t a good memory. he had abandoned you the minute you arrived at the race in search of the ferrari driver, and had to manage yourself alone in the crowds. it was miserable, but at least you got to see a good show. 

“yeah,” you commented with a huff. “fucking asshole.” 

“asshole.” max mirrored you. 

“why did it end, then?” lando was pushing the boundaries, but max didn’t seem to notice or mind. 

though you did. 

you didn’t want to relive the thought. the embarrassment. the entire fucking heartbreak that you pathetically went through. 

“because i was stupid.” is all you said before you stood with your towel, making your way inside without another word. 

max turned to face lando and smacked him on the shoulder. “the fuck did you ask for?” came his harsh words. lando was stunned, not intending to chase you away.

“shit, sorry i–” lando was quick to rise to his feet, though, not even glancing back at max before he chased after you. “i’ll fix it,” he promised before disappearing inside, and max simply shrugged, wondering just how lando could work his wonders. though he doubted he truly could. 

lando called your name from deep inside the villa but you were already half way up the steps. you froze when you heard his voice, stifling back any sounds from your chest. he caught up to you, standing a step beneath you. 

“i’m sorry–” he said, “i was just—”

“just what, lando?” you grumbled, truly not wanting to hear his words. “you wanna know just how embarrassed i was? huh? when i found he was fucking one of my best friends?” 

lando stood there, shocked, coming to hold out his arms for you to fall into. but you didn’t. “i was such a fucking idiot. it was right in front of me but i didn’t believe it. how smart of me, right?!” your voice raised when lando cornered you at the top of the stairs, your back against the wall. 

you couldn’t help but spew emotional nonsense. “oh woe is me, truly, you’d probably end up doing the same–”

lando caught your chin between his thumb and forefinger, his other hand leaning against the wall. “what did you say?” 

you gulped, not meaning for the words to slip off your tongue. shit. he looked pissed. pissed that you would think so lowly of him. 

“i–” you gulped. “i didn’t mean–”

his hand tightened around your chin. “really? that what you think of me?” no, no, no! you didn’t. you didn’t. you shook your head in his hold, your eyes largening with your emotions. 

“if you were my girl,” lando whispered to you, not breaking eye contact with you once. “you’d know it.” 

but you dared to disagree. 

“what am i then?” you challenged, your voice raising in the echoing halls. “what was i yesterday, a whore?” 

he bared his teeth at you, displeased with what you called yourself. his hand from your chin latched onto the side columns of your throat and your mouth parted with a delectable pleasure. 

“you needed me, yeah?” he was sure to comment. but you didn’t budge. 

“get your hands off me.” you bit out.��

“you didn’t seem to mind yesterday.” 

“clearly you didn’t do a good job for a second run,” the words pinched his ego, though the hand against the wall came to slide around your waist. 

“weren’t you begging for me? or did i make that up?” you seethed at his cocky tone. 

“think you had too much to drink. i’d never beg.” it was a straight lie that came from your lips. he knew it. you knew it. but you pretended to keep your strength. 

“‘touch me, please,’” he mocked in your tone. 

“must’ve dreamed it. thinking ‘bout me, lan?” the nickname was new for him on your tongue and he bristled, along with the blood soaring to his cock. 

“‘more, need–” you slapped your hand over his mouth.

“fuck you.” you hissed. his mouth curved to a smile before he let his grip on you go. 

“we’ll see if you’re lucky tonight.” 

you brushed past him with a scoff and he stood there idly, watching your hips sway side to side. he chuckled at your retreat and you flipped him off before entering your room and slamming the door. you were done with these fucking games, his toying words. he had no right to approach you after finding out about your ex. 

you immediately turned on the shower in your room and stripped of your bathing attire. it was when you were searching aimlessly through your drawer of panties, you remembered that you were missing a pair. 

a smirk grew on your face, and you couldn’t help but feel that you held the power. 

a few hours had passed after your interaction with lando, and he couldn’t help but feel anxious. you were missing from the entirety of the activities around the pool, and he even dared knock on your door, but he resisted. though it tore him apart, thinking about your writhing anger. 

but you, you had other plans. you’d showered off from the pool, taken care of your skin, and taken a nap before you were to get up and make dinner. 

you had come up with the idea for dinner. 

fish. as everyone enjoyed. 

you smirked to yourself as you made your way down the steps. it was quiet, and you heard no churning of others about the halls. it was nice to revere yourself in the solitude of the late afternoon, hoping that you would have the entirety of the downstairs floor yourself. 

you got to work with your scheme and pulled out the fish from the fridge. whatever you were making, you were sure it would be delicious. 

and when the meal was just about done, you heard a strangulated sound of ample footsteps down the staircase. you were just about done setting the dinner table when max soared through the kitchen, aiming right for the pans and pots of ingredients you sniffed.

“woo!” he cheered, clearly delighted with your cooking. the other boys at his side were quick to mimic him, agreeing with his statement. your hands clamped over your heart, showing how happy you were that they were thrilled.

“well,” you urged. “go sit! i’ll bring it over.” 

they didn’t hesitate. beginning to take spoonfuls of rice, vegetables, and the fried fish you whipped up, they were eager to get a headstart. your thoughts wondered where the british driver was, but your thoughts were answered when you heard the last pair of footsteps through the grand foyer. 

you just finished placing the bowls of food in front of the eager boys. they weren’t polite in waiting for everyone to sit down, but you didn’t mind. 

it was an afterthought  for what his meal would be. of course you knew he despised fish. you listened to everything he said when you were younger, years ago, and never forgot. 

you leaned against the kitchen aisle, facing him, and he immediately recoiled at the smell. his nose turned upright, curling upward with his lip, and you saw the sparkle of his canines. 

lando approached you, the stove, and took a glance at what the helpings were. he turned his head over his shoulder, giving you a knowing look, which you returned with a small shrug and a smirk.

“witch.” he uttered, hands clamping around the edges of the countertops, unsure what he was going to fish through the cabinets for. 

“don’t worry.” you said, lando turning to raise his brows. you slid him a bowl filled with greens, vegetables, and a little bit of rice. “plenty for you, don’t you think?” 

you cocked your head toward the empty seat, but he instead took the one right next to you. the bowl in your hands was pungent with sprouts, and even you recoiled. you placed it down in front of him, letting your hand linger on his back. “i’m no dietician,” you said quietly. “but i tried to substitute as much as i could.” 

“thank you,” he said through clenched teeth, fucker. 

you were quaint with your serving, taking enough for your fill, and sat down swiftly. conversation grew between all of the men, your brother included, and you ate in silence. you had done more thinking about your situation with your ex, and recoiled with a sickening feeling in your stomach. lando watched from the corner of his eye, noticing how little you touched your fork with your lips and spun your spoon amongst the rice. 

he knew he said tribulating words. taunted you. teased you. but he did not mean for it to stretch as far as it had. you were twiddling with the accessories on your wrists, barely saying a word the entire meal, and he felt that it was his fault. you’d only gone as far enough to tease him with a full fish basking over an open flame on the stove. 

it wasn’t shameful when he was devouring the meal you had cooked. despite the repugnant smell of fish lingering in the air, your food was…divine. he wasn’t all that surprised, but it was a nice treat to end one of the first full days. 

but the most courageous ideas filled his head. he kept looking at you, staring, out of the corner of his eye. you were entirely blue with your melancholy, and he resented the soured expression upon your beautiful face. he took it as his own responsibility to relieve you of your worries. your anxieties. insecurities. as it was his fault that they emerged. 

it didn’t take long before beneath the table, lando’s hand wandered. he began with a soft graze of your knee which had you sitting up straight, white skirt you dressed in before remaking its appearance around your hips. 

you turned your head to face him, eyes flaring with wonder of just what the fuck he was doing. but his expression stayed nonchalant, undeterred from his conversation with your brother. you decided that you should play the same game, sliding into the roll of uncaring of his soft touches.

though it was much easier said than done. 

his fingers were daunting. restless. he took a break to sip his water with his opposite hand, divulging into deeper conversation as his hand trailed higher. it was then that he spread his palm wide over the span of your thigh, bare, pinching at the skin. you leaned over the table, leaning your head into your palms that were supported by your elbows upon the table. 

you sighed, your other leg jumping up and down. you attempted to listen to whatever they were talking about– football, instagram, the races– but you couldn’t tune in for long. not when he tugged the fabric of your skirt to the side, and let his pinky dance across your folds. fuck. 

attempting to muffle your struggle, you brought your glass to your lips, sipping in promptitude. you leaned back, tucking your chair as far as you could against the table. it finally caught lando’s attention, briefly, when he gave you a once over with a cheeky smile. max caught the action, raising a brow at you, but you simply swallowed down your drink and crossed your hands over your lap. 

your lap, that so happened to house lando’s hand between your thighs. your cunt was clothed by your panties, but you could still feel the pressure of his finger lodging against your slit. 

you wrapped your hand around his wrist, gripping tight with the desire for him to stop, but he would do no such thing. he went as far as using his ring finger to stroke the cotton of your underwear, grazing over your clit as if it were nothing. he circled around your tender bundle of nerves, refusing to leave it alone. 

your second hand came to wrap around his wrist, higher up on his forearm, pleading indefinitely to halt his movements. your thighs clenched impossibly tight around his hand, suffocating him, but it didn’t stop him. it only had him steadfast in his pursuit– to get you to come at this dinner table. 

with your force against his forearm, you were sure to leave bruises of your fingertips in your wake. but you didn’t care. through your tension, he could feel your pleasure. he knew that you would writhe, squirm, but you couldn’t. not here. 

you found yourself trembling. your grip around his wrist softened, lip caught between your top set of teeth. you were lucky that the tablecloth was acting as a barrier between any wandering eyes–though, shamefully, that was the last thing on your mind. 

but right now, you felt yourself coming to a clearing. a light at the end of the tunnel in the name of your orgasm. shit. 

it took only one quick glance around the room to see that everyone was done with their meals. with empty plates, they were awaiting more. and more you shall give, best to get up rather than submit to lando’s toilsome teasing. you couldn’t give him this pleasure. not when he toyed with you, refused to admit to any truths that might belittle his feelings. 

you finally shoved his hand away. it took all the might you had, and it even had his head shifting in your direction. you stood, and he immediately tugged the hem of your skirt down beneath the table cloth. if anyone noticed, they didn’t say a word. 

“dessert, anyone?” 

there was a small rally of cheers, and you smiled. it was the only thing that could get your mind off of lando’s hand between your legs. the flushed expression you wore didn’t wane until you were alone in the kitchen. 

it was ice cream that was for dessert, and that would be enough. you put out some toppings for them to choose from, and returned with the platter. you set it toward the center of the table, and the pickings were gone instantly. everyone had their own serving, side bowl, ready to go. 

but lando waited for you to settle back in before he grabbed a pint of vanilla. he nudged the ice cream scooper towards your direction, a silent indication that had him asking if he could serve yours. you simply nodded, even though your cunt burned with the phantom touch of his fingers. he did that to you in no way another man could. leave you wanting more. sex with your ex boyfriend had been a joke. you never came. ever. you only did when it was at your own hand, your own touch. but with lando…

lando on that balcony, dressed in the pale moonlight. you, his angel, glowing halo of energy illuminating your face, unraveled before him. he doesn’t think he’s ever met such a woman receptive to his touch. he’s fucked girls before, too many for max’s taste–hence his displeasure– but they weren’t like you. they didn’t squirm, whimper, in his hold. they’d moan like they were being televised, recorded, ready to be on a screen play.

you were natural. beautiful. incapable of being anyone but yourself. he admired you for such bravery, commending you silently through the cosmic planes. though you could not hear the words from him, you felt a warmth coming from his direction despite the cold treat being scooped into the dish in front of you. 

he gave you more than enough and smiled. a real one, you caught. it was a break from the humidity, a breeze that was most welcomed upon your skin. fuck. you were supposed to be mad at him, weren’t you? weren't you supposed to plot your volatile revenge for him touching you? 

you were. 

when he settled beside you with his own serving, you were quick to shuffle a bit closer to him. the chair scooted across the floor, a vibration felt beneath his own, and he bristled. what were you up to? you appeared to be happier, a bit less caught up in your own head, and that he could be grateful for. you even engaged in a few conversations with max’s friends. 

they were lovely chaps, truly, but they were his friends. not yours. 

lando was just about to respond to a question that max had asked him, but he coughed on his ice cream, the feeling of your fingertips darting across his crotch taking a huge galavanting surprise out of him. he didn’t know that you had such austerity within you, but it was a welcome discovery.

but your skillfulness was not. 

the outline of his cock beneath his shorts was obvious. you felt the light curve, the tip, the base all beneath your palm. it was an empowering sensation, hidden beneath the table cloth, and lando had to outstretch both of his hands to steady himself. 

“y’alright, mate?” max asked when lando coughed. the british driver nodded beside you, leaning forward. 

“yeah. fine. carry on?” max repeated his question for lando. before he was about to answer for a second time, your hand curled around the base of his cock, feeling full in your palm. your thumb brushed against his tip, smiling to yourself when you felt a light wet patch against your finger. 

he sucked in a tight breath, but answered max with a strained voice. he clenched his jaw tight and his tongue poked the inside of his cheek. you knew you were riling him, and it was paying off to see him flustered. 

you continued your stroking motion discreetly beneath the table. the excitement of being caught was perhaps too thrilling, and the presence of your hand against his cock only excited you further. he was big. that was enough for you to be floored. your guesses as a edgy teenage girl were correct, and the woman inside of you purred at the idea of him inside of you. 

little did you know, he thought the same. when his fingers were lodged inside your hot folds, your deathly tight grip clamping around him, he knew that he had to have you. he knew it years ago, too, but just how pretty you were atop of him…how receptive you were to his touch– it was a pillar of pleasure that continued to build and build, until it will ultimately fall. 

until it will fall, and he is deep inside of you. with the outline of his cock embedded in your lower belly he would feel satisfied, with his cum dripping from your cunt, he could find a peace from this torturous lust that overtook every fucking part of his mind. he needed you. carnally. in whatever fashion labeled him as a barbarian, he would hunt you down if that is what you wanted. 

and maybe you did. 

you wanted him to chase you. to fight for you. to appease the teenage girl inside of you that yearned for his affections, his oblivious attentions. you felt that you deserved it for all the work you put in through your teendom. the boys you rejected. the time you gave up to attend his races. 

was that such a bad thing to be wanted? to be wanted above all, by the man of your wonderlike dreams? but was he so dreamy, then, when he glanced at you with his needy, preening eyes when you held his cock so firm in your hand? 

the answer was undoubtedly yes. 

you felt the pulse of his cock against your hand. it was a delectable vibration that beat for you of all people. you felt more than divine prowess gripping his length, such a dirty, lewd, action beneath the table. and none of them knew what you had been doing. how you were affecting him. it was a secret wasn’t it? 

the catalyst for your movements was about to be thwarted when he readjusted his hips in the chair, bucking fiercely against your touch, your hold on his dick. 

conversations around you began to dull down to a minimum. the night was ending, and he felt himself rearing a release. but he couldn’t. not here. fuck. he gripped on your hand beneath the table, shivering, shaking, as he pleaded you with his eyes. they were wide drawn, glossed with a desperation that you needed permanently in your life. it was a face you wouldn’t forget. ever. how he yearned to cum in your hand, but it wasn’t the right time. when would be the right time? 

“since you made dinner,” max began, letting out a grueling burp, “i say we lot ‘ought to tidy up, shall we?” the boys nodded and hummed amongst each other in agreement. they made quick pace clearing the table, and this was lando’s excuse to rip himself free of your devilish hand. though he wanted nothing more than to cum with your sleek fingertips, he had to be nonchalant about it all. 

he cleared his throat when he stood, feigning a quietness that felt unusual, but no one said a word. you smiled to yourself, pulling your hand away back to your lap. it was damp from his precum, sordid with an urge to pop a finger or two into your mouth. and you did. pretending to clean yourself from any residue of icecream, you licked your fingers clean. 

lando stared. unable to take his eyes off of you. he lingered with his hand around your bowl and plate, his breath hitching in his throat. devil woman, he thought. 

when the dishes were loaded into the dishwasher and the fragile ones laid out to dry, you finally stood. you arched your back, stretching your limbs, but felt cold on your cunt. it was the air conditioning that cooled you, reminding you that he was the one to tease you first beneath the table. 

your brother bid you goodnight with a kiss to your cheek, whilst the others thanked you sincerely for the meal. you were grateful to receive such gratitude, but it wasn’t from the man you wanted it the most. 

tucking your chair into the table, you made your way into the grand kitchen. with its tiled walls, marbled kitchen island, lando stood at the epicenter. with a towel in his hand, drying the last few of the dishes, he watched you saunter in. 

his tongue poked at the inner corner of his cheek with a clenched jaw. boy, did he have words for you. you and your actions. how you ruined him at the dinner table whilst talking to your brother of all people. it was like you wanted them to see–

ah

ah

when you joined him side by side, the pair of you said nothing for a moment. but the moment when lando scanned the room front to back, he dropped the towel and grabbed onto you.

he spun you around so your front pushed against the kitchen aisle, your back arching against the palm of his hand. his second went around the front of your throat, pulling your head up to his own. 

“that what you wanted?” he growled into your ear, trembling with his edged orgasm teetering on the tailend of a massacre. “hmm? tell me, baby.” 

you were at a loss of words, dizzied from the grip around your throat. you wished that he would leave bruises. 

then he bent you over the counter, the cool surface eliciting a gasp from deep within you. his hand flexed over your back, scaling your spine. 

“being a fucking tease…” 

“you started it.” you retaliated with a childlike immaturity. 

lando chuckled as his crotch came flush against your cunt. your wet, dampening cunt by the second. the hand that had been latched to your throat moved to your skirt, toying with the fabric. he scoffed, feeling the wetness of your panties. “bet you’re still wet anyways.”

you were.

your face flushed. 

“dirty fucking girl.” he said quietly, a comment to himself, but loud enough for you to hear. you swayed your hips against his, desperate for a flickering sensation of friction. 

“ah ah,” he tsked, landing a slap to your ass. the sound ricocheted through the echoing kitchen. “think you deserve it after tonight?”

you mewled in response, your cheek freezing against the countertop. the heat from your asscheek was enough to satisfy you for the moment, your thighs clenching together. he ogled, head twisting in a fashion that was revered with lust. 

with a fist he made a makeshift ponytail of your hair, pulling your head back against his chest. “hmm?” 

“no.” 

“no?” he’d repeat. you nodded your head, submitting to him without question. he was peeved that you didn’t fight back, but would take your submission with earnestness. but you had other plans brewing inside your head. ones that you knew would drive him up the fucking wall.

but that would come later. for now, you let your head fall backward onto his shoulder, and looked up at him. “let me fix it…”

your whimpering had his eye twitching, lip curling, arms flexing. it was a gut reaction to how soft your voice had become, how eager he knew you were. 

his hold on you loosened, and you took this as your opportunity to spin around and drop to your knees in front of him. you couldn’t help but gape at his thundering cock beneath his shorts, salivating at just the thought of him filling your mouth. 

but he said nothing else, stunned in his place; how could he not be when you regarded him with ardor, quivering hands?

“please…” you said, your cheek coming to nuzzle against his thigh, one hand gripping the back of his calf. he couldn’t reject you like this. not when he wanted you so dearly. 

a hand came to run through your hair atop your head. an nonverbal, encouraging pet. you hummed, making quick work of lowering his shorts, his briefs, and his cock sprung free with vitality. it was red hot, pulsating with blood, beating a bright scarlet for you. it glistened with his own slick for you. 

“go on, love,” he was breathless. “you can take it, can’t you?” 

you nodded furiously, a whine leaving your lips. with your determined fingers, you wrapped them around his base, pumping your hand back and forth. it didn’t take much before he was leaking over your palm, and you let your lips swirl around his tip.

his head fell back in pleasure, fingers tightening his grip in your hair. with his empty hand, he gripped the island to support his weight from toppling upon you. 

he was both sweet and salty, a sensation you’ve never tasted before. you continued your relentless pursuit on his tip until he was wrought with desperation, and let his hips buck forward until he was half way down your throat. 

you groaned in protest, your eyes watering with tears, but took him like the good girl you were. he wanted you, and you wanted him. you could ask for nothing more. 

“just like that, baby��” he stuttered out, voice cracking when you took him whole down your throat. you breathed through your nose. “fuck,” he cursed, your lips puckering, even stimulating him with the top ridges of your teeth. he let out a deep moan. 

“perfect,” he commented, but you thought you misheard him for a moment. “you’re perfect.” 

it persuaded you further–not like much was needed– and sped up your pace. faster and faster you went, guzzling him perfectly. with your other hand that gripped his calf, calm to knead at his balls. that was the moment he faltered, unable to withstand your feverish tongue. he had to bite back his own groans of pleasure. 

“where?” he demanded of you. you paused, but didn’t take long for your answer. he was holding himself back as much he could, his hips bucking down the hot cavern of your throat, but you didn’t relent. my mouth, your actions screamed, and he didn’t think twice.

before you knew it your mouth was loaded with his cum, hot rods of delectable nectar from him. you were pleased, more than satisfied, that you made him cum in just a matter of minutes. 

he pulled himself out of you, letting you breathe. you swallowed, not finding him distasteful, and even showed him your bare tongue. he was panting, attempting his best to catch his breath, but managed a coarse chuckle. 

you gave his flaccid cock a singular kiss before you rose to your feet, bringing his shorts and briefs up with you. he adjusted himself before launching his lips on your own. the remnants of him were prominent on your tastebuds as he swirled his tongue into your mouth. you allowed his strength, making a sound from your throat. 

“taste like me,” he commented against your lips. you beam. 

“must’ve been good, then?” you knew it was. but you wanted to hear it from him. 

he snickered. “guess so.” 

you slapped his chest before breaking your kiss. you glanced up at him one more time before placing a kiss on his cheek, escaping his grasp. he held onto your hand, though, wondering just where you were going. not when he didn’t have you cumming on his tongue. 

“it’s past my bedtime,” you remarked, raising your brows. his own scrunched. “what?”

“let me–” 

you shushed him. 

“on the house.” 

you were gone before he could respond, skipping up the steps, ready to set your plan in motion. he didn’t know what was coming, not yet, but he surely would once you closed the door to your room, and stripped of your clothes. 

you left him there pondering. he was entirely at a loss— you skirting away with ease, high tail with that lacey material– and vanished without another word. it had lando breathing heavily, hands running through his hair. shit, he thought, this was bad. 

in the bathroom of your suite, you twisted the shower on. whilst waiting for it to heat up, you turned your attention towards the open shaft windows that you could prop open. your room is next to mine, lando’s words rang through your head. okay, you thought, game on, right?

you made sure the windows were open at a respectable distance, praying that his own would be too. he liked the cool breeze from the night, pray tell from his times of sleeping in max’s room in your childhood home. 

glancing at yourself in the mirror once, you were betting on this to work. to truly grab his attention, whilst also awarding yourself a release you’d been craving since his fingertips caressed your knee. 

into the shower you went, tilting your head back and letting the waterfall drench your scalp. it was relaxing, more than you anticipated, and your mind was able to wander to other things. like his hands. his toned, muscular arms. his neck, built intensely with strength that you’ve never seen before. in certain lights, especially beneath the italian sun, it bulged outward. you wondered what it’d feel like between your thighs. your fingers wandered along your soaked skin, breasts reacting to your touch, taut beneath your palms. 

lando had just shut the door to his room, shaking off the sweat that dribbled down his forehead. and his windows were open— the curtains swaying back and forth— and he heard your call. 

at first, the british driver thought that he was hallucinating. that he was hearing things from losing it. but there was no denying that it was your sweet siren serenading through the air, wafting against the mediterranean winds. 

a moan had been pulled from you by your own hand. your head flat against the tiles of the shower wall, you twisted until your cheek was firm against the siding. one hand came to rest on the base of your throat, gripping for comfort, while the other trailed downward to your navel, priming at your folds. 

you were swollen hot, but never to the same degree you were on his lap just the previous night. 

it was enough, though, for you to rub against your clit the way you knew your body best. a delicious combination of whimpers and moans trembling through the air. 

lando was brought to his fantasies, unbelieving that they were coming alive before him. he leaned against the windows from his room, hand clenching tight around the ledge, and listened to your whining calls, urging him, tempting him, to knock down your fucking door and fuck you like you wanted him. 

a finger slid easily inside of you. with both stimulation to your clit and your sensitive nerves inside of you, it was heaven. the hot water combined with your punitive thoughts, tracing back to lando, aroused you to a degree unfathomable to any pleasure you’ve ever felt. besides his fingers, that is. 

lando couldn’t resist. his own cock was blistering with heat, again, in just the span of ten minutes. you had just been on his knees for him. now, here you were, a siren within the night, taking him under your bewitching. 

and spellcasted he was. 

with his dick in his hands, he was dripping. your sounds became louder, prominent, for his open window. and he absorbed every droplet you gave him, a man dehydrated of the world’s most sweet nectar. he was greedy, selfish even, and knew then that he had to be yours. he didn’t give a fuck what max said, thought, cared about this moment. it would belong to him and him alone— your saccharine temper. 

he could imagine you there, thinking about just how desperate he was. how you knew what you were doing to him. how he unfolded before your voice. 

you were. 

you thought of his face. how it contorted with pleasure while you sucked him off. you’d remember the sounds he made— whimpers of desperate, wicked nature— that had you curling your finger inside of you, even becoming so bold as to add a second. it should be criminal to think of your brother’s best friend this way, but that thought came and went just as the tides changed. 

lando fisted his cock with the thought of you wrapped around him. hand draped across the ledge of the windowsill, he writhed and seethed from his own daring thoughts of you. your skirt, your pretty eyes, your wondrous nature. he was awed by you, but wanted to damn you to ruin with his touch. it pursued him further, and he knew he wasn’t going to last long.

surely he wouldn’t, not when he heard his name carry through the air. his name rolling off your tongue. his name in the form of a whimper. 

“lando,” you breathed, loud enough to surpass the stream of the water. and your stomach coiled, reaching an orgasm before you could count to three.

lando had, too, spurring loads of his come into his empty hand. it wasn’t an elegant movement— rather messy and untamed— but that’s how it was when it came to you, wasn’t it? nothing was going to be easy about this relationship he conjured up in his head, but for you, though it’d be worthwhile. 

you went to bed that night with a sleep full of your wildest, fanatical dreams that included lando. whereas he tossed and turned, unable to believe that the girl he knew in his childhood had him wrought with lust. 

the morning that followed was a quiet one. you and the rest of the vacation group of boys were headed out to one of italy’s finest beaches, chartered there by a small boat. you had opted for one of your best bathing suits and cover up pieces, looking outright chic. 

when you arrived at the beach, you stuck closely to max’s side. the entire ride, lando had been stealing glances from you, shifting awkwardly in his seat. you had your answer from your plan the previous night. he heard you. 

good, you thought, crossing your legs over one another. serves him right. 

you’d lay out your towel on the white sand. your brother joined you, laying down a few feet from you along with some of his buddies. lando kept his distance, knowing too fucking well that’d he’d pull some feral shit in front of you and your brother. 

some of the others opted for surfing. with their boards ready from the rental shack, they were catching waves with ease. you watched from your upright position, lathering yourself in spf. 

“what’dya think of chris?” your brother asked you. you turned your head, wondering what he was implying. chris was one of his good-natured, all classic, sweet boy friends. you’d known him for a good majority of your life, but never…really thought of him. 

“he’s a good guy.”  

lando was sitting up now. listening. 

“well,” max shrugged, taking your nonchalant answer with grace. “asked me if it was okay to give him your number. think he fancies you.” 

your expression dropped. chris fancied you? in what universe could he, when he couldn’t even manage a conversation with you. you weren’t even sure he could ever muster the courage to look you in the eye, for that matter. 

“and…what did you say?” 

max looked at you with his sunglasses on. you saw your reflection in them. 

“think it’s fine. ‘e’s a good lad. nice. well-mannered.” he emphasized his last point. was that a jab at your previous boyfriends? “besides…i wanna see you happy.” 

it was touching, truly, that your brother cared for you on such a protective level, but you didn’t need him meddling with your romantic life. not when the man who consumed your sexual thoughts sat a few bodies next to you. 

your eyes drifted to find lando’s. he was already glaring, sending sharp daggers your direction. he heard it all, and was about to combust with jealousy. you could see it. you’d use it. 

“maybe.” you brushed it off, but found chris in the waters. he was just coming out from the sea, and you thought this was your perfect opportunity. 

you jumped to your feet, sunglasses on, and tore your cover up from your body. you didn’t look back to know what lando’s expression was— worshiping. 

chris’ head popped up when he saw you approaching him. he shifted a bit, as if he were preening his feathers. 

“catch any good ones?” you asked, your feet touching the water. chris cleared his throat. 

“some,” he gestured to the large waves. “current is strong today.” 

you edged further into the water until your knees were covered. 

“you looked good out there, at least i think so.” you managed a smile, not entirely opposed to his company. your brother had been right. he is a nice lad. you should at least build a friendship with him, shouldn’t you? 

“really?” he was shocked. “you were watching?” 

you nodded with a hum, and continued further out into the blue waters. chris took this as an invitation and dropped his board high up on the sand and followed you in. he wasn’t as built as lando was, but you shouldn’t even be making the comparisons. 

you stopped when the water was just beneath your breasts. water seeped in through your top, and you noticed that chris’ eyes caught on the fabric. typical. 

“what do you do for work, then? are you a student?” you managed a brief conversation with him. chris met you at your side. 

“business student in scotland,” he confirmed, but he wasn’t all cocky about it. you thought that he’d boast, but he didn’t. “yourself?” 

you told him your plans. he was impressed that you’d accomplished so much at your age. 

and your conversation with him went on, but not without the darkness of lando’s envy over your shoulder. you’d taken a few glances over chris’ shoulder to see his reddened expression, watching the pair of you share a few laughs. 

he wanted this day to be fucking over. he wanted you in his bed. and he would have it one way or another— whatever it takes. 

arriving back to the villa that evening, your brother and his friends wanted to go out clubbing. it was around 8pm and the sun was beginning to set, though you didn’t feel like a night out. the sun had gotten to you, and you were rather tired. 

“you’re sure you don’t wanna go?” max asked you in the foyer, waiting for the rest of his band to go along.

“i’m sure. besides, i could use a night in.” your brother respected your choice and didn’t push you further. before he left with his friends, he did turn and leave you with one comment.

“lando’s here, too, in case you need anything.” 

and then he was gone, tailending with chris flashing you a smile. 

shit. 

shit, shit, shit. you knew you were in for it now. there was no way that you’d escape lando for the evening, unsure how he caught notice that you’d be staying in for the night. 

when the door shut and the house was empty, you raced up to your room. you’d worn a floor length slip dress when you’d gotten home, but wanted to change and lock yourself in for the rest of the night. but your situation changed drastically when you reached the first step, and saw lando leaning against the staircase from the top. 

“just you and me, yeah?”

you gulped, taking a few steps back. he looked furious yet unbothered at the same time. 

“what to do, what to do…” he began to saunter down the steps when you moved back. “in this big, empty house…?” 

he trailed after you all the way until you were on the balcony. he slipped out from the sliding door, watching as you were frantically nervous in his presence. you had no idea what he was thinking, watching you all day flirt with chris. 

your back was against the stone balustrade, hands spread wide to support yourself. your heart was racing, but you wouldn’t let him see that. wouldn’t show him the effect he had. 

lando wore a black ln4 shirt from his collection, along with tan sweatpants. it was an understatement to say he didn’t look fucking good. 

he donned a cocky smirk as he closed the distance between the two of you, leaning into your space. you felt his breath on your cheek. 

“he’s a good lad, innhe?” 

you met his eye— his blue, green eyes that were swarmed with a darkness you didn’t believe him capable of. 

“he’s nice.” you said, referring to chris. because he was. he was respectful. 

“‘he’s nice.’” lando mocked, scoffing. he turned his head to the side to look over your shoulder to the coastline that surrounded the villa. 

“yes, he’s nice.” you bit back, brows furrowing. “more than i can say for you.”

lando’s expression froze, tongue poking at the inside of his cheek. his jaw tightened as he processed your words, foot tapping against the stone. 

“yeah? you don’t think i’m good to you?” 

whatever this was…you loved it. you craved him. needed him. there was a zing of electricity that ran down your spine, electrifying your cunt. your thighs tightened together and you shrugged, playing him off the best that you could. 

he tsked, tilting your chin to meet his eyes with his index finger. “we’ll see.” 

and then his lips were on yours. ravaging. starving. he was a man that has been deprived of you for far too long— twenty four hours— without your touch. it was maddening the way he was obsessed with you. how you infested every corner of his mind. you, you, and more you. 

you succumbed to his kiss with ease, your tongues battling between one another. he tasted of espresso, whereas you tasted of the apple liquor from the boat. 

he won, ultimately, a hand coming to wrap around the back of your neck. your own latched to his shoulders, another going for his hair. you tugged on the strands, eliciting a groan from him that you wished to hear over and over, time and time again. you were sure that you would, not daring to ever let him go. you had him surrounded.

his tongue lathered over yours, dripping saliva down your chin. it was messy, intangibly so, but you’d have him no other way. you wanted him like this, uncontrolled, pining, for your affections. you had him in the place you wanted, and he had more in store for you. 

he broke the kiss with a string of saliva connecting the pair of you. your eyes heavy with desire, his own mirroring the same. his kisses traveled to your jaw, your throat— but he sucked feverishly against the skin, surely to leave bruises. you gasped when you felt his teeth puncture through the top layer of your skin. “marks—” 

you reminded him, but he didn’t care.

“fuck what they think.” 

you melted where you stood. his hand came to wrap around your lower back, angling your hips to brush against his. he was already hard, you could feel it, but you were sure that you were dribbling too. 

his relentless pursuit of your neck didn’t end there. when he met the fabric of your dress, he pulled the straps down with ease, your breasts falling free. he ogled at your mounds, saliva dripping from his chin. it was, perhaps, the hottest sight you’ve ever seen. not the waterfalls of france, not the cascades of lake como— but this, right here— lando norris drooling on your chest.

“what would you do with ‘nice’?” he mumbled into your skin, attacking one of your perked nipples with his tongue. you gasped, biting your lip to retain a moan. 

“he could treat me well,” you seethed through clenched teeth, gripping the strands of his brunette curls. you felt him vibrate with a hum. 

“you’d eat him alive.” he chuckled, switching to your other nipple that was blistering with heat. your entire body radiated like the sun, but did no good beneath the moonlight. “what would he do—” a nip of his teeth against your nipple, you jolted, hips bucking forward with an anxious pension for friction. “with all of this?” 

you were at a loss for words, drowning in his sweetness. 

“let it go to waste…” lando dropped to his knees with a hand still firm on your back, the other raising the hem of your dress. he tsked, cheek flattening out against your thighs. he separated them with the strength of his neck, looking up at you from the bundled fabric. “a shame.” 

you agreed mercilessly, nodding your head with a whimper. it elicited a laugh from him. 

with a singular finger he pulled down your panties. the cotton was thin, as if you knew this would happen. they slid down your legs and you kicked them away. 

your hand was still threaded at the base of his neck, continuing to tug at his strands. it’s how you told him you needed him, but that wouldn’t be enough. not for lando.

“what do you want?” he asked, looking up at you from his seated position, face wedged between your legs. you gaped at him, breathless and flushed. 

“your mouth—” you pant, but before you could finish he licked a long stripe down your folds. “god, fuck—” 

“not god,” lando corrected. “just me, baby.” 

“lando, lando…!” you whined, back arching for a better angle for him to reach. he responded, humming against your clit, sending throttling vibrations up your navel. he was so fucking good. how? how could a man treat you in such a way? 

finding your writhing adorable, he finally let his tongue swipe past your entrance. the sensation was indescribable, but you knew that you needed more. and more he was willing to give, burying his face into your cunt. 

your honeyed cunt that he was addicted to. he knew you’d taste like heaven, but this was all the more holy than he could fathom. 

with his face buried inside of you, you were sure to see stars. here, beneath the moonlight of the italian villa, you were ethereal. he could steal glances up at you. your contorting face, toiling with passion. passion that he drank from the source, sucking you dry. 

his nose applied pressure to your clit— the perfect combination— and you knew that you weren’t going to last long. not with his jean paul scent invaded your senses, his thick hands cupping you so perfectly. one hand kneaded at the flesh of your thigh, the other swirling circles on your lower back. it was perfect. he’s perfect. 

“please, please,” you didn’t know what you were begging for. 

lando hummed, feeling your cunt clench around his tongue. he curled inside of you, teetering you upon your edge, and you were just about to let loose when he pulled his head away, leaving you trembling. 

he stood with ease, as if he wasn’t just devouring you, and you reached out for his hand. you were about to reach the peak of a mind blowing orgasm, but he denied you. with your hand wrapped around his, he knew how this would end. his lips came to your ear. 

“you were right,” he huffed. you felt his retentive anger. “don’t know if i’m nice.” 

he tugged you along through the house, hand upon your back steading your shaking stance. too impatient to help you up the steps, he swooped you into his arms bridal style. you gasped with a giggle, reflexive from his actions, and he burst open the door to his room with his shoulder. 

he dropped you onto his bed, ripping off his shirt in the process you propped yourself up on your elbows, gaping clearly at his tanned, toned skin. he smirked down at you, coming to hover above, and stripped the dress clean from your body. before him, you were bare, naked, more exposed than you've ever been with your brother’s best friend. 

you went to cover your chest, clamp your thighs shut, but lando refused. he trapped your wrists above your head, knee coming to separate your legs. you wiggled your hips hopelessly for friction, still wading heavy on your lost orgasm, but he didn’t let you graze his thigh. 

“you’re being mean,” you whined, attempting to twist out of his hold. but you didn’t prevail. 

lando’s lips met yours with a kiss of depravity. he pulled away, but you chased him, your head leveraging from the bed. 

“am i?” 

one hand left the hold on your wrists to touch your cunt. you were dripping down your thighs. he brought his fingers to his lips, wiping them clean. 

“think you like it, love.” 

you hissed when he took his hand from you, but relaxed when he kneaded one of your breasts. he was in utter reverence of your body, your beauty. you eclipsed all things that shined bright in his life, you becoming the epicenter. 

his pants were off in the next second, thrown to the corner of his room. his briefs, too, and his cock danced freely from its entrapment. your mouth watered. 

“this what you need?” his tip teased your entrance. your eyes rolled back into your head with a frenzied nod. “yeah? think you can take it?” 

“yes, yes! i can, i can, please lando…” your hand latched around the back of his neck, the other to his shoulder. 

it didn’t take him much convincing to surge forward, agonizingly slow, until he has inside of you. you choked on your breath, the air ripped right from you lungs with how he stretched you. it was alike no pleasure you’ve felt— his fingers, his tongue, all works of mastery— but you feared that nothing could compare to this. not when his hand around your breasts drop to your cunt, rubbing voracious circles against your clit. 

he let you adjust, waiting until you shook your hips from side to side, and bottomed out. it was surreal how you ended up here. but you wouldn’t go back. not for a second. not when his dick inside of you ripped through you with such passion, such love, you were inclined to imagine. 

lando’s own breaths were wild. erratic. he had to halt himself from slamming inside of you, your tightening, wet walls gleaning him of any morals he had come into this villa with. 

“move,” you urged him, breaking him free of this torment. his eyes flared wide. “need you to move.” 

need

such an all encompassing word that would drive him mad. 

he listened to you without hesitation. his hips slapping in and out of you with a heavy, dangerous pace, he never wanted this moment to end. it would feel like this every time he fucked you— the first, starstruck time— and that would be enough for him to lay to rest in an early grave.

both of you were a mess of moans, sounds of skin on skin echoing through his bedroom. the moonlight casted a white haze upon the pair of you, your eyes shimmering in the reflection. he was lost in it, in you, how seraphic you’d become in just the few days he’d been around you. how undone he became. he was a lost cause the minute you made a jest to him at the dinner table. 

his chest lowered to yours for a better, sweeter, angle and it had you screaming. your nails cut through his back, leaving reddened scratches against his tanned, freckled skin. he loved it. it had his pace quickening, and his hand working harder at your clit. you were close, he could feel it. 

feeling the way you began to tighten around him, how you became barely lucid beneath him. “so good,” you mewled, finding no other words but to praise him. 

“nothing compares,” he groaned, his head falling into the crook of your neck. “you’ll be mine then, yeah?” 

your heart surged in your chest, but your breathing remained the same. you were too fucked out to truly resonate the meaning behind his words. 

“yours, yours,” you repeated over and over until you were sent over the edge. you screamed his name, cutting through the air, cutting through him. he was left a sopping mess with his quivering hips, sloppy pace. you knew he was going to cum, too, when his teeth grinded together, and he let out a guttural moan. it churned your insides, swishing your heart through. 

he came inside of you. you felt it, the heat from his cock. but he made no effort to move. you didn’t want him to. 

the pair of you laid atop one another in his dark room. panting. catching your breaths. in unison your hearts would align. sweaty bodies melting against each other. 

his head was buried deep into your neck, breathing you in. you soothed him, just as much as you riled him to no end. 

“did you mean it?” you asked, voice hoarse. 

lando hummed. 

“about us.” 

you felt his teeth break into a smile against your skin. he raised his head to look at you. “i did.” your breath caught in your throat. “don’t give a shit what max’ll say. we’ll figure it out, won’t we?” 

you nodded in agreement. your brother would simply have to deal with this. he’d get over it in time, you’re sure, and it would be the best for both of you. no longer would you yearn at a distance for a man you thought didn’t spare you a second glance. no longer would you dream of this moment materializing before you. it had become a reality, and there was nothing more that you could be grateful for. 

he wanted you. lando wanted you. and you wanted him the same. it was one of the first times in your life that you felt safe. comforted in a newborn relationship. 

it wasn’t long before lando pulled the covers of his sheets over the two of you, holding you tight as you shifted into the shape of his body. you were a perfect fit, a missing puzzle piece that he’s been searching years for. 

and now you were here, sleeping soundly in his arms. 

lando had found sleep, too, his soft snores carrying through the room. you and him paid no attention to the fact you were sharing a bed. if anyone walked in, then they walked in. you were at peace, and that was enough.

sooner rather than later, the party-goers for the evening arrived home. they attempted their best to be quiet at such an odd hour, and decided to retire. max and chris went out to the balcony, however, and decided for a small chat. 

but before that could even commence, chris noticed a piece of black fabric loose on the patio. he stared at it from above, brows raised.

“mate,” he called max over. he met him at his side. 

“this yours?” he pointed down at it, and his face went ghastly white. no fucking way.

“motherfucker.”

tags ; @landoslutmeout @basicallyric @mybluesoul1 @toriiez @customsbyjcg-blog @sofs16@strengthandstay@mybluesoul1@f1fantasys@cmleitora @idgasb @amalialeclerc @laneyspaulding19 @staurdvst @oreosareara @sideboobrry11 @mortallyblueninja @fionamiller123 @2pagenumb @marvelfangirl04 @brune77e @allabouthappiness @tellybearryyyy @ringdingdingdingx @tillyt04 @danywonderland @rosebud224 @simpfortoomanymen @nataliambc @forcesensitivesoulmate @sweate-r-weathe-r @norlestappen @madszoca @milkandcookhot @fionamiller123 @16f1lc @jwiltsz @plotpal @inevesgf @theonottsbxtch

[ghouljams]

Ok nobody extrapolate anything about me from this...

The first time you cry in front of the 141:

The first time you cry in front of Ghost it's because you can't fucking take it anymore. All the little things, all the comments you know he didn't mean to hurt, all the conversations you ignored because you didn't want to make him feel like the bad guy, it all comes to a head. You don't even mean it to happen, and you feel like shooting yourself on the spot as soon as the tears start flowing. It feels manipulative. It feels disingenuous. You feel like a piece of shit having him awkwardly bundle you in his arms as you break down sobbing over a topic that normally would mean nothing to you. And it all comes out. All the worries and slights you ignored, all the fears and doubts, all the things that made you question if you could ever even start to bring up with him. Like throwing up, once it starts you can't stop it.

He looks like you've hit him when you finally escape his bear hug. You barely get the chance to take it in before you're thrust back into sobbing hysterics, blubbering out apologies, how you feel like you're manipulating him, how you're a bad partner, how you're sure he's going to realize he doesn't want you and leave. You barely hear the rough "Jesus Christ" over your own hiccuping.

Ghost shuffles the two of you over to grab you a t-shirt to blow your nose in while you're sniffling and wiping at your eyes. You feel pathetic having him hold the fabric to your face and telling you to blow.

"Didn't know ya made this much snot love," he jokes.

"You're dot funny," you whine, nose still clogged with wattery mucus as your tears finally start calming down.

"I know," he grumps.

"You're mad at me," you sniffle.

"I'm not," he sounds mad, "mad at myself. Shoulda seen ya keepin' things to yourself, I'm glad ya finally told me." His scarred mouth screws to one side. "Just gotta work on makin' sure we don't get to this point again."

-

The first time you cry in front of Soap it's because you're so fucking mad at him. He's arguing with you over nothing, the same way he always does when he's in a bad mood. Finding little things that dig at you and twisting just enough to make it not his fault when you snap. Back and forth with your barbs until you got to bed angry.

You can feel the tears burning at your waterline before they spill and you know your hot cheeks don't bode any better. You're not yelling but you almost wish you were, at least of you were yelling at each other it might make you feel better about the sudden waterworks. You hate when this happens. Too big an emotion in the body, it has to come out somewhere, you suppose this is just the quickest avenue. The way Soap's face drops from anger to concern pisses you off though.

"Hen, are ya-"

"I'm so fucking mad right now," you assure him, "don't look at me, don't even acknowledge them."

"Ah dinnae ken," His voice is getting softer, it only makes you more upset, "Oh my bonnie, ahm sorry ah didnae think this would hurt ya so bad."

"Fuck off," you try to push past him to lock yourself in the bathroom and he catches your arm to pull you against him. "Fuck off!" You shriek, pushing at him.

"No," he holds you a little tighter, "my mam would 'ave my heid hearin' ah let ya walk away from me like this, yer stayin' 'ere."

"I will fucking skin you Mactavish," you struggle harder.

"Aye anno, now shut up an' quit yer kickin'."

You do neither of those things.

-

The first time Gaz sees you cry it's because no one's ever seen you before. Even in your best relationships, your closest friendships, no one sees you like Gaz. No one picks you up from work with flowers and takes you by your favorite bakery just so you can have a slice of cake when you watch your comfort show. You're not even through the title music, Gaz sorting through your takeout options after he'd gotten you a "fancy plate" and a small fork to eat with, when you break down in sobs. He's on you immediately, hushing you as he gathers you into his arms. He's so attentive it hurts.

"It's OK baby," he hums, "don't have to talk about it, you just let it out."

God even that gets you crying. You don't have to get your words right or find a way to explain what you're feeling, you can just feel it. You try to think of a way to put it into words but it all lines up wrong, sounds too juvenile, doesn't make any sense even to you. There's no need to say anything though, Gaz just sits there with you, holds you through it as you wet his shoulder with your tears.

You don't even know why you're crying by the end of it, you just kept coming up with other reasons to cry. Jesus you don't think you ever got over your last grandparent dying, or losing that one friend, that's something to unpack later. You feel drained. Literally dehydrated drained. Gaz's shirt is soaked, but he doesn't day anything when you pull back.

He cups your cheek at wipes at the wet stains on your cheek with his thumb, eyes searching yours before he gives you a tight smile.

"Why don't you go take a hot shower, yeah?" He offers, you give him a watery nod, he smiles and pats your knee. "Alright, off you go. I'll be in, in a second."

The second time you cry in front of Gaz it's before he's got you pinned to the shower wall.

-

The first time Price sees you cry it's because you're tired. You're tired of giving everything to this relationship and seeing him leave right when things seem to be falling into place. His phone buzzes in the middle of the night and you don't stop the downpour when he grumbles out a swear and turns on the light. You glare at the ceiling and let the tears flow. It hurts. Tight in your chest. This feeling like you'll never be enough, like he'll always have something more important than you, it kills you. So why can't you leave him?

Are the good times really good enough to make up for the bad?

It makes him stop what he was doing when he sees the resolute grimace and the flow of tears over your cheeks. You shudder in a breath when he sits on the side of the bed. You refuse to look at him.

How could he do this to you?

"Sweetheart," he starts, his voice low, gentling, "I'm sorry."

"You're not." You correct him, "Otherwise you wouldn't keep doing it."

"You want me to choose between you and the world, you know what I'll say." He always sounds so sharp, ready to guilt you into giving up what he wants.

"I'm asking you to choose between me and paperwork," you bite back.

"You don't know-"

"You get phone calls when you're being deployed." You remind him, "You get reminders when papers are due." You turn to glare at him. The look on his face twists like a knife in your chest. You're dead on the money, and it's killing him. "So can this really not wait until the morning, are you really that eager to be rid of me?"

"I'm sorry," he tries again, toeing off his shoes, "you're right, I hadn't noticed." You turn over as he climbs under the duvet again. You fold your legs up as his arm drapes over you hip and he curls around you. His lips touch your shoulder, a silent plea for forgiveness. "Let me make it up to you, no more running into red tape I promise."

You don't bother agreeing to empty promises, but the next day he's had the paperwork sent from the base. The same the next day. Price always told you working from home didn't suit him. Waking you up with a cuppa on the other hand and walking you to the station does though.

He makes good on his promise, he doesn't run off until the next call comes in.

[darkmatilda]

𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: your first solo, undercover mission unexpectedly spirals out of control when a real heist begins at the scene.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x newbaumember!femalereader, robbery, the reader becomes a hostage, is beaten by the attacker (quite severely), killing of hostages, shooting, inspired by s1e9 where spencer saves elle on a train (the plot is very similar but set in a different scenery), spencer's pov, the attackers are definitely not the gentle type, reader is wearing a skirt (her whole outfit is described), glasses reid propaganda

𝐚/𝐧: merry christmas guys <3 fasten your seatbealts and get ready for this rollercoaster.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 14.8 k

"Why do I get the feeling that neither of you is even half as stressed as I am? Actually, scratch that—neither of you is even one-tenth as stressed as me?”

The question left your lips accompanied by a kind of sigh, an attempt to expel the air poisoned with anxiety and replace it with something fresh, clean.

"Because we know you’re going to do brilliantly, sweetheart," Penelope replied without hesitation, sparing you only a fleeting glance as she momentarily tore her eyes away from her computer screen. One of many screens.

Her office was filled with an uncountable number of them, all glowing brightly and lighting up the small, dimly lit space, which was also packed with her colorful accessories—pom-pom-topped pencils and flowerless plants in tiny pots, most adorned with smiling faces or hearts.

"Or rather," Reid interjected, spinning in a circle on his swivel chair, "because we both doubt you’ll even be remotely useful out there." A white box of Chinese takeout rested on his lap.

You shot him a grimace.

"Next time you try to undermine my self-confidence, make sure I’m not holding anything sharp," you warned, pointing one of your chopsticks at him. Yes, less than an hour before your first solo assignment, you were all happily indulging in junk food from the closest restaurant to the office, ignoring the looming possibility of digestive regrets. "Or you’ll lose an eye."

"Aren’t you tired of trying to kill me yet? First, you gave me a concussion…"

"You didn’t get a concussion, Reid. Stop exaggerating…"

"And now, you’re openly admitting that you plan to cause me permanent damage by depriving me of my sense of sight—which, as it is," he said, tapping the frame of his glasses, "is already in less-than-stellar condition."

"You two are just adorable when you argue with each other like an old, bitter married couple," Penelope commented with a small smile on her pink-lipsticked lips.

You first looked at each other, then at her, eyebrows raised, and in a synchronized moment, you both let out a huff. Unfazed, she continued.

"But now we really need to get to work. The exhibit starts in an hour, and you should get there with him. Have you ever used that microphone? It’s the latest model we’re testing, gosh, I’m so excited…"

"You’re adorable when you act like a typical nerd," you shot back, mimicking her little smile and tone of voice.

"A nerd I proudly am! Just like this guy here," she nodded toward Reid, who pouted slightly, looking offended. "You’re surrounded by nerds, sweetheart. Soon enough, you’ll become one too."

"Dear God, forgive me my sins and watch over me…" you whispered, staring at the ceiling.

The mysterious he that Garcia mentioned was named Christopher Allen, and he was surprisingly young for a neurotechnology engineer. He worked on issues surrounding the human brain and developed devices designed to have a broad range of effects on it. But why were you supposed to go with him to some exhibit? Equipped with a spy microphone? And why was it stressing you out so much that for the past ten minutes, you had only been picking at your Chinese takeout instead of eating it?

Well, it's hard to decide where to start explaining from.

You were summoned before Hotch yesterday, who informed you that an opportunity had arisen for you to prove yourself in the field. Alone, undercover, for the first time in your—let’s be honest—tragically short career at the FBI. On top of that, this was meant to test all the new equipment your team had received, the kind that Penelope had been so enthusiastic about. You couldn’t shake the feeling that this was the main reason you’d been assigned this task. Someone had to check the effectiveness of the gear, and at the same time, you, the rookie, needed to gain more experience. Allen’s case was like killing two birds with one stone.

This scientist had worked with the FBI multiple times, and that’s why when danger started looming over him, he was quickly assigned protection. The threat came from threatening letters and even a direct attack at his own home, which fortunately didn’t end in tragedy. Allen was descending into paranoia and was afraid to even attend public events, even ones with full protection, like the tech exhibition—taking place in one of the modest local museums—designed to showcase the latest advancements in neurotechnology and more.

He was probably afraid that during the event, someone would simply rush at him with fists and try to murder him in front of dozens of random technology and brain enthusiasts. Or something like that. Your task was to pretend to be his assistant, never leaving his side and carefully observing the surroundings. And that was it. Nothing too demanding was expected of you, unless things started to go south. However, that seemed highly unlikely, as everyone made it clear to you.

Still, you couldn’t shake the fear—whether justified or not—that something would go wrong. And it would be your fault.

“Reid, clip the microphone on her,” Penelope interrupted your train of thought with the order. “You’ve never used one of these before, have you, sweetheart?”

You nodded in confirmation, watching as Reid set aside his box of Chinese takeout to take the tiny device from her.  He stopped a step in front of you, perched on the edge of one of the desks, his gaze shifting uncertainly between the small black microphone in his hand and you.

“Where… where can I…?” he asked, trailing off as he made a vague gesture with his hand, surprisingly loaded with awkwardness.

“Oh,” you let out a confused sigh, beginning to consider where it might be best to place it. The sleeve? Shouldn’t it be closer to your face to capture even your quietest whispers?

“Okay, I’ve got an idea,” you said, starting to unbutton your white shirt, revealing a significant portion of your neckline. “Here?” you asked.

“Yeah… I think so,” he replied hesitantly but didn’t move.

It wasn’t until a moment later that he swallowed and, with a slow, deliberate motion, reached for a section of your shirt near your cleavage. His actions were careful—almost excessively so—like his top priority was ensuring he didn’t accidentally brush against your skin.

The microphone’s clip was quite small, though, and attaching it to your clothing required him to take another step closer and lower his head near your chest.

Even as your breathing slowed, you couldn’t help but smile at the sight of Penelope shaking her head in amused disbelief. 

You preferred to look straight ahead rather than at his fingers, working with such careful focus, though you couldn’t help but let your gaze flicker to them repeatedly. Just for fractions of a second—it was difficult to pull your eyes away once they landed there.

Only when he finished, his hands dropping quickly to his sides as he stepped back, did you realize you’d been holding your breath for quite some time. You became acutely aware of how stifling Penelope’s little office was—how did she even manage in the summer?

"That's not all," the woman on the screen broke the silence, one you hadn't even realized had fallen. "There's also a transmitter you'll need to keep on you somewhere. Securely, so it doesn't fall out. Are you planning to go dressed like that?"

You glanced down at your outfit. A simple black skirt and white shirt—the first thing that came to mind then you learned you'd be posing as an assistant.

"Inappropriate?" you asked, searching for an answer first on Garcia's face, then on Reid's. The latter gave the barest shrug, barely even looking at you.

"You look amazing. Absolutely stunning, darling. I wish I could have an assistant like you," Penelope reassured you. "But in this economy, I can only dream about it. Anyway, my point is, you don't have any pockets. Where are you planning to keep the transmitter and your gun?"

"I was thinking of just tucking it into my skirt. At the back."

"I don’t think that’s the best idea," Reid interjected doubtfully. He hadn’t reclaimed his spot on the swivel chair and stood instead, arms crossed over his chest. The embarrassment you’d managed to put him in (quite adorable, really) was slowly dissipating, leaving only a faint blush on his cheeks. The corner of your mouth twitched when you noticed it. "I mean, it could fall out, or start sticking out, which could lead to questions like why an assistant is walking around with a gun..."

"Okay, I get it," you sighed. You could’ve thought this through a bit better. "Maybe I’ll have time to swing by home and grab, I don’t know, a blazer or something..."

"You won’t," Penelope declared after glancing at the time. "But you can always borrow my jacket."

You looked at the garment draped over the back of her chair—a bright pink leather jacket. You didn’t even bother responding; you simply stared at it, letting the expression on your face do the talking.

"Alright, I admit it, I didn’t think this proposal through. So, it looks like we’ll have to..." She trailed off, her gaze landing on Reid’s figure. Surprised by the attention, he pointed at himself.

You also directed your attention at him. He was wearing a simple brown blazer, which would go well with your unremarkable outfit.

"Take it off," you instructed.

He was silent for a moment, though there was no visible protest on his face—just doubt.

"It’s gonna be too big," he remarked, his hands gently grasping the edges of the jacket as if unsure whether to take it off.

"Apparently, oversized is coming back into fashion."

"Okay, fine," he sighed, removing the jacket. Underneath, he wore a shirt and a black vest, from which a matching tie peeked out. Initially, he seemed hesitant about the idea, but handed it to you with some urgency. "Here you go."

You sent him a brief, grateful smile.

"You’re saving my mission, Reid. I’ll mention you in the report. And I’ll frame your name with a little heart, drawn with one of Penelope’s glitter pens," you declared.

He returned the gesture, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly as he gave a small nod. You noticed his gaze was almost fixed on your face, as if some invisible force were forbidding him to look away, down or sideways.

You didn't think too much about what it meant, you didn't really have time. You put on the blazer, which was indeed a little too long, and hid the transmitter in the inside pocket. You placed the weapon at your hip, concealing it with your clothes. As you were about to leave, you said talk to you later because the two of them were going to communicate with you through the earpiece the entire time. They wished you good luck, and you were just about to leave the desk when Reid, suddenly as if unable to stop himself, said your name one last time.

You looked at him questioningly. Instead of responding, he made an uncertain gesture near his chest. Confused, you looked down.

For the entire time, half of the buttons on your shirt were still undone.

*

You had never met him in person, but you recognized his face from snippets of interviews that occasionally appeared online, or perhaps he had even been on the news a few times. He was in his thirties, give or take five years, hard to tell. His entire persona seemed to be built around the carefree nature of a young eccentric with a sharp mind and an unrestrained tongue, constantly refining his thoughts and conclusions, often controversial, causing an uproar among the public. Without a doubt, he was one of those people often called a genius. Which, not always, was a compliment.

Allen seemed deeply displeased by your presence. He looked… tired. His red hair contrasted with his very pale complexion, as if made of glass, and dark circles rimmed his eyes. He wasn’t shockingly tall, about your height, but with broad shoulders.

"The FBI was supposed to provide me with protection because some psycho is literally trying to kill me, and they send you?" he asked, bitterly, exchanging a brief handshake with you before getting into the car.

You both sat in the back, the driver at the wheel. You were supposed to arrive at the exhibition together. His reaction caught you off guard, his open anger sparking the same feeling in you.

"What's your problem?" you asked. His insulting tone irritated you the most, especially since he hadn’t even had the chance to get to know you.

For a moment, the man sat staring out the window. His body was tense, almost stiff, as if stressed. His elegant attire, with a shirt half-tucked into his pants and too many buttons undone, suggested that he usually dressed more casually.

He let out a heavy sigh, as if furious, then hastily wiped his face with his hand.

"Just..." he began coolly and cautiously, as if holding back some cruel words. "I get the feeling that everyone is downplaying the seriousness of this situation."

"We're all approaching this with the necessary commitment," you replied, though it wasn't entirely true. Allen had every right to fear for his life, but each of you honestly doubted anything would happen to him during this exhibition. If the threat had been real... Hotch probably wouldn't have sent you. "Believe me, we understand the gravity of the situation..."

"Really? Even the letters I've been getting? The content of them?"

You knew about the threats sent by an unknown sender, but you hadn't delved into what exactly they contained. Seeing you hesitate to answer, Allen scoffed.

"You're fucking great at your job, no doubt. So let me fill you in. They come every day. Every fucking day. And I read every single one of them. You know, I've even started seeing a pattern. First, they beg me. Then they threaten to fucking kill me. Smash my face into the ground, beat me to death with a metal rod, rip out my ribs, douse me in gasoline, and set me on fire..." He paused, dramatically scratching his chin. "Oh, almost forgot. They're going to peel the skin off my back. Then there's a day off. No letter comes. The next day, they apologize. I don’t know if this psycho has some extreme split personality or... or... I have no fucking idea. The cops said, get this, it's normal. 'Cause I’m a public figure."

"They brushed it off?" you asked, slightly shaken.

No matter how famous he was, threats were still threats.

He shrugged. He was trying to speak with a voice full of dismissive irony, but it wasn’t working. He stumbled, taking breaks to swallow. Though he had treated you like a complete jerk earlier, you were starting to understand.

“First off, until someone broke into my house and tried to drag me out of bed and take me…God knows where. Probably if I hadn’t had a dog…” he trailed off, glancing back out the window. You’d arrived at the museum, where the exhibition was to be held, but Allen hesitated to get out of the car. “This guy is nuts, whoever he is. I don’t know what to expect from him. He wants to kill me, kidnap me, torture me? Or maybe he’ll just settle for shooting me from a distance like I’m some goddamn Kennedy?”

“That doesn’t really sound like him,” you said in a calming tone. “He tried to kidnap you from your house, why would he suddenly attack you in a public place…”

“My fiancée is pregnant,” he suddenly blurted out.

You blinked, unsure how to respond to the sudden confession.

“Congratulations?”

“For her safety, I sent her very, very far away, somewhere she shouldn’t be in any danger,” he continued, completely ignoring your words. “And though her and the baby’s well-being is my top priority… I also need to take care of myself. I need to make it to their birth…and longer, of course. But that’s why I’m afraid to even go out to the damn store for milk, and that’s why I was so pissed off when I found out they assigned me a woman who, no offense, looks like she wouldn’t know how to hold a gun.”

You instinctively scoffed at his last comment, though it was hard to stay particularly mad at him, knowing everything he was going through. An awkward silence fell between you, heavy and laden, during which the two of you simply stared at each other. It hit you that you were responsible not only for his safety but also for ensuring that someone’s fiancé and future father would make it home.

“We should get going,” you said, nodding toward the museum. Still, you couldn’t help but feel a certain tension at the thought of leaving the car. You shook your head slightly, trying to dispel it. “And just so we’re clear, I do know how to handle a gun—more than you’d think. But for your sake, you better hope we don’t have to put that to the test.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed the corner of his mouth twitch.

"Well then, onward, assistant. Tell me, how much do you know about neurotechnology?"

Well, by the end of this day, you were definitely going to know a lot more. Together with Allen, you crossed the threshold of the museum. Its decor clashed with the theme of the exhibition, but apparently, they hadn’t managed to secure a better location. 

The interior layout was harmonious—rounded arches were supported by symmetrically arranged marble columns, and the dominant shades were gold and royal red.

Your destination was the exhibition hall, circular in shape, where mahogany tables served as display stations for various prototypes in the fields of medicine, neurobiology, and informatics. In other parts of the building, there were tall, arched windows, but this particular room had none. No natural light entered; all illumination was generated by lamps that, to their credit, mimicked the natural diffusion of sunlight quite effectively.

Among the displays were an interactive brain map and various projects still in development but aimed at assisting people with disabilities.

You observed all of this with interest while simultaneously listening to your companion’s impromptu lecture on the human brain (apparently, talking helped him calm down). At the same time, you were closely monitoring the crowd around you.

True multitasking.

The exhibition was open to everyone; no one was checking who entered the venue. Although you counted three security guards in the room—dressed in simple black suits and mostly tasked with ensuring that no one tried to steal anything—there was a subtle air of unease hanging in the atmosphere. If Allen’s suspicions were correct, the person intent on ending his life could be one of these faces. To your surprise, however, he suddenly seemed far less concerned about it than you were.

“You don’t have to follow me around like a shadow,” he said, leaning toward you to make himself heard over the murmur of surrounding conversations. A familiar face with a loud, bright red tie waved at him and began making their way over. “Just don’t take your eyes off me, no matter what. And keep an eye out for anyone suspicious—whatever that means to you. Hey, man!”

He greeted his acquaintance with a friendly handshake. Following his instructions, you took a small step back, deciding to take a short stroll among the exhibits. But after barely two steps, your finger went to the discreet earpiece hidden under your hair.

“Are you there, my lovely nerds?” you asked with a playful smile, knowing they couldn’t see it but imagining their reactions.

“At your service!” Garcia responded enthusiastically, and you could almost picture her saluting on the other end.

“And what about Mr. Smartass? Did he get bored and wander off to study the reproductive habits of ants?”

“I heard that!” he replied, summoned by his new nickname. “Such gratitude for letting you borrow my jacket.”

“Speaking of the jacket,” you continued, “I found a candy in the pocket. How thoughtful of you to leave me a little sweet treat.” You weren’t joking; there really was a candy inside. You inspected the wrapper and frowned. “Marzipan? Ugh. Do you have the taste buds of my grandma?”

"To what I know, I haven't had a taste bud transplant. Especially not from anyone's grandmother," he replied nonchalantly. "And as for those ants..."

"Sorry to interrupt, my darlings, but I have a few questions about the sound quality of these new microphones..."

True to her word, Garcia began asking you how well you could hear them and instructed you to lower your voice to a whisper and then raise it sharply. Some sort of test or whatever. You did it all patiently while staring at the red-haired mop at the station across from you. Allen seemed pretty relaxed now, probably realizing nothing was going to happen to him.

"Okay, now do the sound like a chicken. I mean the noise."

"What?"

"You know, cluck."

"Pen, is this really necessary?"

"Yes, sweetie. I need to check something else. Last thing, I swear. Scout’s honor."

You sighed, looking around at the people nearby. Few were paying attention to you, you were just one face in the crowd. God, for something like this, you could ask for a raise.

"Exactly, honey. Just louder," Garcia asked.

You rolled your eyes and tried again to make the chicken sound. An older couple glanced at you, their eyes wide with horror.

"Alright, enough," you muttered, embarrassed, into the earpiece, quickly moving to a different spot.

And then you heard the pair on the other side literally choking with laughter.

"I fucking hate you guys," you said. "I hate you. Especially you, Penelope. Give me Reid on the mic, from now on I'm only talking to him."

Another burst of laughter from the woman. You clenched your jaw. And as if that weren’t enough…

 "Did you want to hear me, little chick?" Reid asked politely.

“I should’ve gouged your eye out with a chopstick when I had the chance,” you hissed into the phone, a little too loudly, drawing a few curious glances. You were supposed to be watching for suspicious people, but it turned out you were acting the most suspicious of all…

“Did you catch what she said?” Reid addressed Penelope. “I only heard clucking.”

“Ha-ha,” you rolled your eyes.

For fifteen minutes, you had to endure such jokes. You seriously began to worry that they’d never get tired of it, but finally, after a quarter of an hour of psychological torture, they fell silent. You kept a sharp eye on your surroundings.

“By the way,” you began, still a bit offended by the chicken joke. “You guys should regret not being here to see these inventions. Perfect for you, nerds.”

“Well, actually, we can see them,” Reid’s voice came through the earpiece, sounding very clear, clearly taking the whole mic for himself. “Garcia grabbed footage from the cameras inside the room.”

“So you can see me? This whole time?”

 “Yep. And we saw that terrified couple who ran as far away from you as they could as soon as you started clucking like a chicken. Poor souls.”

You ignored the comment and began scanning the room for the cameras. When you found them, you scratched your forehead with your middle finger.

“Can you see this too?”

“I can see how much fun you’re having,” he scoffed. “Are you going to include that in your report?”

“Exactly. Right under your name, framed with a glittery little heart. Any other requests?” Not waiting for his response, you added, “By the way, how do I look in your jacket? Does it fit me well?”

"I think so. I mean, the blazer is incredibly well-tailored. And of good quality. It’s impossible for it to look bad on anyone." He paused for a moment, and his voice grew more serious. "How’s it going? Have you noticed anything suspicious? Still feeling stressed?"

"Not anymore," you admitted, speaking the truth. Even though the exhibition had just started and was supposed to last about another hour, you felt like you had passed some milestone where nothing could go wrong anymore. "But of course, I’m still keeping an eye out. I had a little chat with Allen…"

"I heard," Reid acknowledged. "Very interesting lecture on the human brain, I must admit."

You let out a small laugh.

"I talked to Allen earlier. Still in the car. After what he told me, I don’t think he's a paranoiac. The guy is just really worried about his safety. And not just his.”

A moment of silence fell on both sides.

"Speaking of Allen, he's heading your way," he informed you, likely watching the feed from the cameras. "I guess I'll hear from you later then. I mean, I’ll be hearing you the whole time, just not the other way around. Unless you want me to constantly broadcast about ant reproduction?"

"Sorry, Reid, but I’ll pass. Maybe some other time," you chuckled, noticing the engineer approaching. As he walked, he bumped into a man in the crowd and exchanged a quick apology. You used that moment to add something else, a bit impulsively. "And what about this? Do you see this?"

You pressed the inside of your hand to your lips before unfolding it, sending a kiss toward one of the cameras. Reid was silent as Allen drew closer.

"I see it," he finally admitted, quieter. You regretted not being able to see his expression, it was unusually hard for you to picture it at that particular moment. Was he smiling? "And I like it a lot more than what you showed me earlier."

You turned your back to the camera so he wouldn’t see you smile. It only hit you afterward that he probably saw it anyway, just from a different angle.

"I see you're enjoying the exhibition," Allen said, standing in front of you with his hands in his pockets. He had stopped pretending to be the classy guy and fully embraced his more laid-back side. "So, uh, sorry, but I think I'd rather head out now."

Worried, you discreetly glanced around.

"Did something happen? Did someone stare at you weirdly, do something...?"

He shook his head, a negative gesture.

"Nothing like that. I just saw what I needed to see. Check it off the list, I’m ready to leave..."

After his words, an absolute darkness fell.

Absolute darkness, in the truest sense of the word. The exhibition hall had no windows. When the lights went out, it felt as if someone had tied a cloth tightly over your eyes. Yet, like a fool, you kept looking around, as if moving your head could somehow tear through the blackness enveloping you, freeing you from the growing panic that was slowly flooding your senses.

“Garcia, what’s up with the cameras?” Reid’s voice sounded in your ear. He was confused, not yet frightened. He didn’t know what was happening yet. None of you did.

The people around you, of course, were also surprised by the sudden blackout. A few muffled gasps echoed, one or two squeals, a smattering of curses. But there were no screams, no one tearing at their throats or blindly bolting forward, trampling others in the process. That came later.

Exactly four seconds after the first gunshot rang out.

Before, the world seemed to freeze in place; everyone’s breaths were trapped in their lungs, unwilling to escape, even out of curiosity. Your body lunged forward as if trying to flee, but it quickly dawned on you that there was nowhere to run. Where had the shot come from? Who had fired it? Was someone hurt?

Something—or rather, someone’s hand—clamped painfully around your wrist. Instinctively, you tried to pull free, letting out a sound somewhere between a growl and a garbled cry.

“It’s me,” Allen choked out, his voice trembling. You couldn’t see his silhouette, but you knew the blood had drained from his face. “What the fuck... what the fuck is happen—”

The second shot rang out, closer and sharper than the first. Chaos erupted in the room. Screams, so hysterical they drowned out the voices coming through your earpiece, filled the air. Something struck you hard, sending you stumbling as pain radiated through your shoulder. It was an empty kind of pain—something you felt and yet didn’t. You realized it must have been one of the panicked people charging blindly through the dark.

“Here,” you commanded, your mind snapping briefly into clarity. In your mind’s eye, you pictured the layout of the room before the lights went out. The corner of the hall, the wooden table behind you, where one of the prototypes had been displayed.

You slipped under the table, dragging Allen with you. He groaned as his head hit the underside of the furniture.

You were so utterly disoriented that it felt as though your own name was echoing on a loop inside your head. It took you a moment to realize it wasn’t just your mind playing tricks—it was someone’s voice, growing more familiar with each passing second.

The third gunshot.

Allen choked on his breath, his hand still gripping your wrist so tightly you feared it might snap—yet you didn’t register it as pain, merely as a sensation. The two of you crouched beneath the table, facing each other, teetering on the edge of succumbing to the abyss of panic.

Reid spoke your name again, faintly, as though he were far too close to the microphone. As though leaning in would somehow make you hear him better—make you respond.

“I’m here,” you managed to stammer, the first thing that came to your mind.

"Thank God, I thought..." he sighed, suddenly stopping, as if realizing it wasn't yet time for relief. "Are you... are you hurt?"

"My arm."

You didn't know why those words escaped your lips. Maybe because, although your mind was too occupied with trying to figure out the situation to focus on something like pain, your body couldn’t ignore the fact that it felt it. Against your will, you let out a hiss and finally pulled your hand out of Allen's grip.

"You've been shot? We... we can't see anything, do you have anything to stop the bleeding, maybe use my jacket..."

"I don't know what's happening, we've completely lost access to the camera feed, someone must have turned them all off, just like the power... Reid, immediately notify Hotch, he needs to know something's wrong..."

On the other side, chaos erupted, comparable to the one surrounding you. Penelope was aggressively pressing the keyboard keys, Reid was rushing between a phone conversation with Hotch and throwing random phrases at you like stay where you are or how's your arm?

But was staying put the right decision? Wasn't it just waiting for the person responsible for starting this... massacre to come for you? On the other hand, how were you supposed to escape? In complete darkness? You had a weapon... but what good was it if you couldn't see anything? A sound of resigned sobbing escaped you.

And then, suddenly, right before your eyes, Allen’s red hair materialized, his fingers pressed into his skull as if he wanted to tear it apart himself. You both looked into each other's eyes. Visibility returned.

“We have light,” you said, though it didn’t loosen the grip on your chest.

“What?” Penelope sputtered, confused. “We still can’t see anything, the cameras are still…”

Allen let out a choked cry. You followed his gaze. Just before your hiding spot, a pair of leather shoes stopped.

“Get out,” commanded a male voice. You lifted your head. Above you stood a man with dark facial hair and a submachine gun, looking like an extension of his broad shoulder. You immediately noticed, besides the weapon, he was also carrying a black sports bag slung over his shoulder. Both of you were too disoriented and terrified to follow the order. “I said, fuckin’ get out and against the wall, I won’t repeat myself.”

Like animals herded into a pen, you followed his instructions to the designated spot. The entire crowd inside gathered against one of the blood-red walls of the room, some pressing their backs against it as if that embrace would ensure their safety...

“What’s going on there now?” Reid asked. “We still don’t have a feed... I can hear you breathing,” he blurted out unexpectedly.

You realized that your breath had indeed become heavy and loud. It dawned on you that you hadn’t gone through any extensive training on how to handle a situation like this; you were useless...

“Just...damn it, I know it’s easier for me to say, but try not to panic, okay? Whatever’s going on... panic will only make it worse. You need to focus, please. Can you do that? Breathe? Slowly, like I’m doing now?”

Your hands clenched around the fabric of his jacket, feeling it under your fingers. Closing your eyes, you could almost imagine him standing right in front of you, in this very building, speaking those words. It helped calm you down, at least enough for your mind to stay somewhat communicative...

“Good. Very...very good. Now, can you describe what’s happening over there?”

You knew that every piece of information you passed on would be worth its weight in gold. You tightened your grip on the fabric of Reid's jacket and began scanning your surroundings.

“One shooter. He’s herding us... all of us, against one of the walls and... stuffing prototypes into the bag, every one he can get his hands on,” you reported, describing everything you’d seen. “It looks like a robbery.”

“Just one?” Reid asked. “What were those shots? Someone... got hurt?”

You were about to deny it when your attention was drawn to a bloodstain spreading across the marble floor at the opposite corner of the room. Allen nudged you, pointing to something else—a body lying motionless.

“Guards. He... he killed all the guards,” you recognized them by their uniforms, the words barely escaping your throat. So, he hadn’t hesitated to kill, not one of those inexperienced types with any moral inhibitions. Trying to make sense of everything happening around you, you pressed your hand to your forehead. “But... but how could he see them in this darkness...”

“Night vision,” Allen interrupted suddenly, his previously hunched figure straightening as he realized it.

You found the man busy with the theft and controlling the area. He was quite solidly built, you could compare him to Derek. And, as the engineer had observed, around his neck hung a device for seeing in the dark.

“The police have arrived outside the museum, but they won’t go inside as long as you’re trapped with him. They don’t want anyone to get hurt,” Penelope informed you, then let out a soft, wheezing breath, as if she was trying to calm herself down. “Sweetheart, the whole team is on their way too. From now on, you’re our informant…”

“Is Christopher Allen among you?” A commanding voice suddenly cut through the sheet of panic blanketing the room, drawing everyone’s attention. It belonged to a truly imposing man with a shaved head and a forehead lined with wrinkles that seemed to stem more from exhaustion than age. But by far, the most significant detail about him was the submachine gun he held in his hands.

Two. There were two shooters.

Your focus shifted to the man standing right in front of you, as if delivering some kind of speech. At first, you didn’t even register what he’d asked. He repeated the question quickly and impatiently, and you froze. Not that you’d been particularly active before, but in that moment, all your bodily functions seemed to shut down completely. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at Allen—not even for a fleeting glance.

“Christopher Allen. Biotech engineer. He should be here,” the man continued, scanning the faces in front of him almost desperately, searching for the one he needed. He sounded almost... distraught? That broken expression, teetering on the edge of tears and madness, starkly contrasted with his militaristic physique.

Suddenly, his accomplice appeared, tugging at his arm.

“Jesus, give it a rest. We need to get out of here. The car’s waiting for us, remember?”

He shoved the smaller man with a force befitting his build, sending him staggering backward.

“I’m not leaving until I talk to him!” he declared with furious determination. “Christopher Allen…”

“You’ve gotta be shitting me…”

“Allen…”

His eyes scanned the surroundings until they landed on the two of you. You felt someone lightly wrap their fingers around your forearm, gripping it almost instinctively. It wasn’t a strong or painful hold, but rather one born of genuine fear, seeking protection. Protection that, from the start, had been your responsibility to provide. Yet now, standing face to face with two armed assailants, with lifeless bodies lying in pools of blood in the same room…you felt the crushing weight of an obligation you were physically incapable of fulfilling, creating a storm of chaos within your mind.

Allen must have been fooling himself into thinking he could blend into the crowd and remain unnoticed. Even as everyone’s gaze began to focus on him, urgently and with some unspoken hope, he stubbornly stood still. Or was he simply paralyzed by fear?

For the first time since he was called out, you looked at him. His eyes conveyed one thing: a simple message. It was him. The man who had been sending him threats, the one who had broken into his house. You furrowed your brows, this whole situation was becoming incomprehensible. He cared so much about kidnapping the engineer that he had organized the heist at the exhibition where he was supposed to be?

 “Come here. I need to talk to you, you… you need to do something for me.”

Once again, in your ears, you heard the description of the tortures that were mentioned in the letter.

"You have to do this," you said very softly, almost a whisper. "We can't let him get angry. Do you hear me?"

 It seemed like your words weren’t reaching him at all. You nervously glanced at the gunmen, hoping that the command you had given hadn’t raised any suspicion or made them think you were trying to outsmart them, deceive them in some way. Slowly, but with deep remorse, you loosened Allen’s grip on your forearm. His chest wasn’t rising, as if he weren’t breathing. But then his gaze shifted, not to you, but to the people around you, to the ones standing in fear, waiting for his reaction. Something in his face shifted, then he took a step forward.

“Slowly,” you instructed.

It seemed like the best solution. Unsub knew that the person he was looking for was among you, he had identified him without any difficulty. Allen couldn’t hide or escape, all that was left for him was to comply with the orders, for his own sake and for everyone else's. It was also important that he stalled for time. You hoped that as soon as your team arrived, they’d be able to come up with something. Maybe they were already there, working to make contact with the shooters and free you all, alive and unharmed.

At the same time, someone called your name.

"Report in."

It was Hotch. At the sound of his stoic voice, a fleeting wave of relief washed over you. You even parted your lips to answer when you realized the second gunman was staring at you. The room fell into absolute silence as Allen slowly approached them. You shouldn’t reveal that you were with the FBI or any other agency—that was a basic rule…

 "Listen to me carefully now," the unsub spat, placing one of his massive hands on Allen's shoulder, causing him to almost buckle under the forceful touch. Someone behind you let out a muffled cry. "You need to remove it from me, do you understand?"

"Shit," his partner muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. He was holding a bag with the stolen equipment, constantly glancing toward the exit. You wondered if he had anything to do with the threats sent to Allen. "Shit, we need to get the hell out of here before the cops completely block our escape. We don't have time for your fucking delusions!"

“Remove…?” the baffled engineer repeated, completely thrown off.

“The chip. The one inside me. Right here, on the back of my neck.” The man jabbed a finger at the spot. “Someone has to cut it out of me. You work with brains—you must know how to do it. He’s controlling me, watching my thoughts… I saw an interview with you once. I know you’re the only one who can do this…”

The man’s words devolved into a stream of incoherent rambling. Allen had no idea how to respond, and silence stretched on the other end of the phone. Meanwhile, the second gunman tried once again to persuade his partner to escape, but this only triggered an explosive burst of rage that made everyone around them shrink in fear.

“Shut up, or I’ll blow your head off too!” the man shouted. “I’ve waited too long for this. I don’t give a damn about all that crap you stole. I don’t care if they catch me. He’s going to cut out that chip!”

“What chip?” Allen finally managed to stammer. “I don’t understand…”

“The chip the government implanted in me to control me! That’s why no hospital will remove it—they’re all under government control! Only you can do it!”

“The unsub is delusional, that much is clear,” Reid’s voice suddenly crackled in your earpiece, catching you by surprise. He must have made it from Penelope’s office to the museum—where he joined Hotch and the rest of the team—at an impressive speed. “The reality he’s constructed is starting to blur with actual reality, which makes him extremely dangerous. Just from the tone of his speech, you can tell he’s emotionally unbalanced and on the brink of a breakdown. Unfortunately, this means his actions could be erratic and violent, with a strong tendency toward escalation.”

"What can I do?" you whispered as quietly as possible, taking advantage of the commotion in the center of the room.

"Are you there? Can you speak safely?" he asked, exhaling a breath of trapped air. "I mean... What you can do, first and foremost, is stay cautious. Don’t say or do anything that could provoke him further," he instructed, his tone turning focused and determined to provide you with as much guidance as possible. You nodded almost imperceptibly as you listened, as if he could see you. At some point, your fingers began nervously clutching the fabric of his blazer again, a small, unconscious tic.

"Don’t confront his delusions—or rather, don’t outright deny them. Try not to introduce any new elements either, to avoid deepening his paranoia, alright? That could put you in even greater danger..."

"Above all, try to redirect his anger away from Allen and the other hostages," Hotch cut in. "We’re working on a way to get inside. You just need to buy us some time."

Buy some time, it was easy for him to say, you thought with sudden frustration. What exactly could you do? It was incredibly hard to make any decisions when you were fully aware that their consequences could result in the death of an innocent person—or people.

Allen was still in front of the unsub, gripped tightly by the gun-wielding man, slightly shaking his head from side to side, clearly overwhelmed by the situation.

"But... but how am I supposed to get the chip out, do you really believe the government..."

"He doesn’t have the right tools," you interrupted, taking a step forward to draw the shooters’ attention to you. You raised your hands in a gesture of surrender as soon as you found yourself in the second man’s line of sight. You were scared of the direction Allen was heading in—after all, Reid had told you not to deny his delusions. Though you weren’t sure it was the right approach, you tried to make eye contact with the unsub. You had a feeling that he might only fully understand what you were trying to convey if you did.

Everyone was looking at you now. Nervously, you swallowed before speaking again.

"If you want him to remove the chip from your body... you’ll need at least a scalpel. Well, and if it was implanted by the government... that might not be enough?"

To your surprise, the second attacker spoke up.

"She's right, Erick, we don't have anything like that. Leave him, we need to get out of here... though fuck, it probably doesn't matter anymore, I wonder if the police have already caught our driver..."

You hoped that the team had heard this and started looking for suspicious vehicles in the area. Erick, or rather the unsub, began to stare intensely at you, analyzing what you'd said.

"Keep it up," Reid said. "It looks like you’ve planted some doubt in his mind about his own plan. You can keep going in that direction, just please, please, be careful..."

"Reid," Hotch admonished him.

You took a deep breath, your mind was working so fast that it was starting to go blank. You had to say something more before it consumed you entirely.

"But... but I'm sure that if you had met under different circumstances, outside the museum, he would have been able to extract the chip..."

"No! I've waited too long, I can't stand having this crap under my skin for another minute! He'll take it out now, or he won't leave here!"

Allen's raised hands trembled at those words.

"How can we communicate with the police? Is there a phone here?" he asked his companion.

"Are you fucking out of your mind..."

"They'll bring us the equipment. A scalpel. They won't have a choice, or I'll shoot them all, one by one."

"We should focus on how to get out of here..."

"I DON'T CARE ABOUT THAT!" the unsub roared at him. Fueled by this outburst, he shoved Allen away so forcefully that the man fell to the floor. The startled man took a step back, unable to hide his fear. It was clear who had the final say in this duo. Erick was not only physically larger, most likely more ruthless, but above all, incredibly unpredictable. Without looking at you, he issued an order.

"Everyone sit against the wall, you too." Allen awkwardly got to his feet and almost ran to the indicated spot.

You didn't want to sit, to put yourself in an even more vulnerable position. But when a man with a submachine gun and a completely deranged gleam in his eyes is standing in front of you, you don't have much of a choice. Slowly, you sat down on the floor, surrounded by all these terrified people.

You studied the faces of everyone around you—scientists and random people who had ended up here simply because they were intrigued by the exhibit's theme. And that innocent curiosity had led them into such a hopeless situation, where each breath, drawn into trembling lungs, could prove to be the final one. What terrified you was the fact that the only thing distinguishing you from them was the tiny microphone pinned to your clothes and the earpiece in your ear.

The woman sitting next to you, so close that your elbows were touching, looked as though she was about to faint. Without hesitation, you offered her your hand, which she took with no resistance. In situations like that, the escape from fear was desperately sought wherever it could be found—even among strangers.

“What’s happening in there now?” Hotch asked.

You explained the situation to him as clearly and logically as possible, correcting anything they might have missed due to their lack of actual insight into what was happening inside the museum. The woman beside you looked at you strangely, smudged mascara around her eyes.

“Please don’t worry,” you whispered, making sure none of the attackers could hear you. Though maybe you shouldn’t have, you felt you needed to reveal yourself to her, to help her survive the nightmare she had found herself in. “I’m... a federal agent. I have contact with the team outside, they’re working on how to get us out of here.”

You didn’t know if those words had particularly soothed her fear—just as you spoke them, Allen practically pressed himself against you, trying to whisper something into your ear.

“Give me your gun,” he practically ordered.

You looked at him with your eyebrows raised in shock. No words were needed. Your face clearly expressed one big what?

He looked like one of those people going on and on about a newly invented device they had been working on for years, staying up every night. In his eyes was a comparable crazy but incredibly self-assured gleam.

“I know you have it, but you won’t use it. Because you're scared. And I don’t blame you!” he quickly added, moving slightly away from you. Still, your faces were tilted toward each other in a conspiratorial whisper.

“But listen to me. He cares about me, right? Or rather, he cares that I get the nonexistent chip from him. He won’t hurt me when I get closer, he’s too desperate, in his eyes, I’m his only chance…”

“You must have lost your mind,” you said through clenched teeth. Was he really willing to take such a risk and play the hero when he and his fiancée were expecting a child? “And what about the other guy, huh? Do you think he’ll just stand there calmly when...?”

“Then I’ll shoot him first. I used to go to the shooting range, I was pretty good at it. The other one will be too scared to hurt me, and then I...”

“Absolutely not,” Reid interjected.

You snorted.

“As if I would even consider it…” you muttered. Looking at Allen, you tapped your forehead. “No way. You’re not risking your life on such a stupid plan where everything could go wrong…”

“Do you think I’m asking for your opinion?” he hissed, clutching his head in desperation. “The answer is no. I’m just saying, give me your gun. Where is it?”

As he said this, he grabbed the fabric of your blazer, searching under it for what he so desperately wanted. You tried to catch his hand, but he trapped it in his grip, digging through the layers of your clothes, under your skirt. You jerked your whole body in an attempt to break free.

“Leave me alone, they’ll notice us soon…”

“What’s he doing?” Reid asked sharply. Although he couldn’t see what was happening, his voice was not only confused, but also clearly worried, maybe even angry.

“Just give it to me, what the hell does it hurt…”

His hand, despite your resistance, finally reached the grip of your gun, slightly sliding it out from beneath your skirt. You shot a quick glance toward the attackers, still engrossed in their conversation—or rather, argument. Terrified by the thought that they might notice what Allen was pulling from under your clothing, you instinctively swung at his face, causing his head to snap back with a muffled cry of pain.

“What language do I need to speak for you to understand? What you’re planning is idiotic,” you said, your words flowing together with a surprisingly calm yet furious ease. You struggled to keep your voice low, feeling as though shouting might make him grasp it faster. But that wasn’t an option. “You’d risk not only your life but everyone else’s,” you said, gesturing toward what you now had no choice but to call the hostages. “And no one wants to die because of some brainless idiot with a hero complex.”

After you hit him, Allen backed away to a distance that no longer invaded your personal space. With your breath quickened, you adjusted the position of the gun, suddenly panicked that it might fall out during his attempt to grab it against your will. Despite yourself, a strange feeling overcame you. Out of everyone—of all the people trapped in the museum—you were the only one with even minimal knowledge of what to do in this situation, the only one with outside communication to the police, and, most importantly... a weapon. And yet, with that arsenal at your disposal, you were doing embarrassingly little to improve the situation.

Your jaw tightened at the thought, your fists clutching the fabric of your blazer so hard that your knuckles turned white. It was astonishing how much that small action helped you regain your composure. Not just the feel of the fabric but also... the scent. You could almost imagine you weren’t entirely alone in this. And though you wouldn’t trade places with Reid or anyone else from the team for anything, you couldn’t shake the feeling they would handle this far better than you were.

And speaking of Reid...

"Are you okay?" he asked again, his tone much softer than before.

"I'm fine," you tried to give your voice a casual, almost dismissive tone, though you doubted you fully succeeded in masking the tension. You let out a helpless scoff in an attempt to lighten it. "I mean, fine as much as one can be fine in this situation..."

You trailed off, and he hesitated before replying.

"Hang in there, okay?" he said, so quietly you thought you might have misheard. It made you wonder if it was because he didn’t want anyone else to overhear what he was saying into the mic. If that were the case, was it because he didn’t want anyone accusing him of chatting with you when he should be doing something more important? Or maybe, he just didn’t want this simple yet anxious message to reach unwelcome ears and lose its sense of privacy. You heard him swallow. "We’ll get you all out of there soon. Garcia got the phone number of one of the attackers, the delusional one—his name’s Erick Larson, by the way. If he has it on him..."

As if on cue, the sound of an incoming call rang out. They stopped talking, and the surprised man reached into his pocket.

"What are you going to do? Negotiate?" you asked.

"Hotch is going to talk to him. The main goal is to get the hostages released."

The word hostage sounded so strange to you; you couldn’t connect it to your situation. A hostage didn’t have a gun tucked under their clothing or communicate with an FBI team through an earpiece. Those people, holding each other's hands in fear and huddled on the floor, were the hostages. Not you.

"Can you stay on the line?" the words slipped out before you could stop them. "Just, I don’t know... tell me how it really is with those ants or something." You squeezed your eyes shut as a wave of embarrassment crashed over you. You were acting like a scared child who needed a bedtime story to forget the monster under the bed. "Forget it, that’s stupid. You’ve probably got your hands full. Focus on helping us, on the negotiations."

"I'm still on the line," he reassured you, even before the echo of your last words faded. "And I’ll stay on it the whole time. And since talking to you might help you not lose your mind in there... well, I guess that counts as helping all of you. The information you’ve given us, everything you’ve told us... you’re playing a crucial role in all of this."

"I don’t think so. I could be doing so much more."

"Like what, something that idiot was planning?" he asked, stressing the word idiot. "Please, don’t even think about it. You’re doing exactly what’s needed. You’re not sticking your neck out, you’re staying in contact with us. You’re calming the others down, like that woman. That... that’s heroism, not blindly rushing at two armed men."

Moved by his words, you weakly smiled. You’d forgotten again that he couldn’t see you, or maybe it was just automatic.

"Stop, I’m going to blush. But... but thank you, Reid."

"You don’t need to thank me. Oh, he picked up..."

And indeed, Erik pressed the phone to his ear, probably realizing that it was the police trying to make contact. You fixed your gaze on him.

A completely new stage of the robbery was beginning, one on which everything depended—negotiations.

*

Spencer had never had a particular obsession with control. 

In the vast majority of crisis situations, all he needed was a deep understanding of the causes and course of events. A thorough analysis of what had happened so far, drawing conclusions based on that, and then coming up with possible solutions, each with its pros and cons, which he also had to consider.

It involved emotionally distancing himself from the situation and relying on advice from his trusty friend—logic. And when he was guided by that cold logic, he didn’t feel the need to actively participate in what was happening around him or take any direct control. But in that particular moment—ever since he had heard the first shot coming from inside the museum, shortly after losing access to the cameras—he was almost losing his mind over how little he could do. Powerlessness was the first blow, the fact that her life, and others', depended on a man with probable schizophrenia, driven by dangerous delusions, the second, much stronger one.

As with every hostage situation, a makeshift operations camp was set up outside the building, where all necessary units gathered. Garcia stayed at her post, but he saw no other option but to go there personally. The rest of the team quickly gathered, and Hotch arrived so fast it seemed like he lived just around the corner. After all, there was a member of his team inside, the one he had sent there, never expecting such a turn of events. The two perpetrators, who were working together, seemed to have two completely different goals. One, apparently, was persuaded to go along with a simple robbery and escape. The second, Erick, however, had a different, more complicated desire from the start. He wanted Allen, who was supposed to extract a non-existent chip from his body, allegedly implanted by the government.

Allen. He spoke that name with an incomprehensible bitterness and disdain. He was disgusted by his thoughtlessness, pure stupidity. Though he was familiar with his achievements in the field of neurotechnology, he couldn't call him a scientist, really not anything other than an idiot. And it was all because he had nearly put her and everyone else in danger, because he pressured her so much that she had to defend herself by striking him in the face. He remembered how once they had slept in the same bed, so small that they almost fell off it and were forced to lie literally on top of each other. By accident, he had jabbed her with his elbow in the ribs, and before he could even whisper an apology, she hit him with such force that he lost his breath. He hoped Allen had taken an even harder blow.

He forced himself back to reality, as everyone gathered around Hotch, who was leaning over the phone. The unsub had answered, and the discussion began.

"We'll deliver what you need. All the equipment. But first, you must release the innocent people inside and promise you won't hurt anyone else. Not Allen, or anyone."

They argued, a lot. Of course, they wanted him to let everyone go, which was, realistically, impossible. Eventually, the number sixteen was agreed upon, a little more than half of the people present.

Through the microphone clipped to her clothes, they could hear him pointing at the people who were to be released. The second perpetrator seemed to have completely given in to his paranoid companion, and stopped trying to convince him to escape. He must have realized it was already too late for that.

“You’re the one who’s leaving,” he said, his words very clear, suggesting he was standing very close to her, pointing at her.

Spencer straightened up, a sudden rush of premature relief washing over him. Premature—that was the key word.

“No,” she protested sharply. “No, let her go instead of me. She’s older and not feeling well. I should stay…”

He pressed the microphone to his mouth, trying to talk her out of it.

“Do what they say, resisting might make him angry…”

“No, Reid, she’s right,” Hotch interrupted him. Spencer looked at his boss in surprise, shaking his head in confusion. Instead of explaining his decision to him, Hotch turned to her.

“You have to do everything you can to stay inside. You’re our only source of information, our access to what’s happening in there.”

“Hotch…”

Someone, JJ, placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him from protesting further. It dawned on him that they were right, but... it was hard for him to accept. It was true that, as an FBI agent, part of her duty sometimes meant risking her life for the greater good. Still, this decision made his hands ball into fists, and he had to take a deep breath to steady himself. Suddenly, it struck him that if an unfamiliar agent, not a member of the BAU, not his friend, and someone who hadn’t shared a bed with him when his fear of the dark grew stronger, were in the same situation... he would have agreed with Hotch without hesitation.

“I told you to leave, so you leave. There’s gotta be sixteen people, or they won’t bring it to me, goddammit.”

“So let someone else go…” She cut off abruptly, a rustling sound echoing through the air, as if— as if he tugged at her clothes. Spencer almost spoke again but stopped herself. The same thought had crossed Hotch’s face, he saw it. 

“Seriously, this will be better. I... I can help with removing the chip...”

“Allen has to do it.”

“Yes, but…” her voice grew more desperate, trying to come up with something more, an excuse to fulfill her duty.

“Oh, what don’t you understand, you stupid bitch…”

Spencer anticipated the sudden outburst of aggression, he had felt it building for a while. Though the unsub was unpredictable, his anger rose and fell within mere seconds, Spencer knew it was all heading in that direction. So, he squeezed his eyes shut just before the horrible, dull thud rang out, followed by a muffled cry of pain. Then the sound was drowned out by a rush, something like a thud, and he could only guess that she had fallen to the floor.

He didn't open his eyes, but something pricked at his chest. He knew that if he looked at Hotch, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from giving him a big, i told you so. It wasn’t even about being right—he didn’t care about that, not at that moment. What mattered to him was that nothing happened to her, and that was exactly what had just happened.

No one from the team said a word, though Derek turned his gaze away from the speaker, his expression one of discomfort, like someone averting their eyes from an unpleasant scene. Hotch stared at some fixed point ahead, his face unreadable, before leaning into the microphone just as—

“What the hell is this?!” the unsub suddenly screamed. “A gun? Why the hell does she have a gun on her?!”

Reid’s eyes shot open as he nearly dropped to his knees by the microphone, as if somehow that could help. The weapon must have slipped out when she fell, sliding free from where it had been concealed beneath her clothes…

He noticed Elle nervously biting her thumb, her face pale as a sheet. He read the same grim, terrified realization on her face that had already taken root in everyone’s minds. She was burned. Her cover as the assistant was completely blown.

“He can’t find out she’s FBI,” Gideon declared, leaning heavily against the edge of the table. “He’s a paranoid maniac who thinks the government is after him. If he realizes a federal agent has been in there the entire time…”

“Wait!” the second attacker spoke up. He had long since given up and was now quietly following his partner’s orders. “I heard the hostages talking... something about there being someone from the FBI among them, someone who’s in contact with the cops. I thought they were just talking crap, but...”

“How does he know that?” JJ asked, her lips slightly parted in shock.

“She told one of the women,” Spencer blurted out, though it felt like the words came from someone else. Some part of him—still detached from the full realization of what her exposure meant—clung to the fragments of logic not yet consumed by his nerves. “To calm her down... but that woman must have passed it on to someone else.”

“FBI?” the unsub repeated, almost in a daze. “Fucking FBI?”

The sound of something slamming echoed sharply—an explosion of frustration and shock. Every pained whimper, every labored breath she took, reached Spencer with cruel clarity, amplified by that damned new microphone clipped to her chest, capturing every sound in merciless detail.

He wanted to cover his ears, to block it out, but he couldn’t. His lower lip trembled, caught between screaming or vomiting the moment he opened his mouth. 

Covering his ears would have been a selfish gesture, one that would only bring relief to him. She didn’t have that option; all that was left for her was to endure, as he assumed, the next kicks...

He lowered his head, not looking at the others, not wanting to see their equally helpless expressions. And although he hated himself for even thinking about it, he took two steps to move away. To escape from this place, from these sounds. Because he simply couldn’t bear them.

However, he didn’t get far; he staggered as if drunk and had to grab the table tightly to keep from falling. JJ, in some protective impulse that she probably wasn’t even aware of, reached out her hand, wanting to touch his shoulder, but he pushed her away.

“I’m calling him,” Hotch announced, immediately moving into action. “Maybe that’ll stop him…”

“Check if she has a microphone on her. If she’s with the FBI, she could have been spying on us the whole time,” suggested the second attacker, in a strangely satisfied tone. He was probably some sadistic bastard who enjoyed this turn of events.

This caused Erik to stop his attack. He completely ignored the incoming call. She took a breath, inhaling deeply, though it clearly caused her pain.

“She has…”

The unsub’s voice became very clear, he must have located the microphone and then disconnected it from her clothing, carefully watching him.

“We need to go in, we have to do something,” Elle said desperately, but it didn’t stir anyone else. 

Yes, they needed to do something, but... what? Going in meant putting the hostages at risk, and their survival was the priority.

"I knew the government was spying on me," Erick muttered to himself, the microphone had probably slipped from his hand and fallen to the ground. "Not just with the chip, but they also sent that fucking..." He kicked her. "...agent."

"Give it to me," Spencer requested, exhaling with a resigned hiss. He was, of course, referring to the microphone. She still had the earpiece in; she could hear him. He didn’t yet know what he intended to say. Maybe he’d ask her to stay strong? Assure her that it would all be over soon? Would that even count as a lie if he had no real certainty they could take any action to save her? Or was this one of those morally gray situations where a lie was better than the truth?

Without protest, someone handed the microphone to him, practically shoving it into his hands.

But then they lost the connection.

The unsub must have destroyed it, stomping the microphone underfoot.

And before it happened—before the static filled the line—a gunshot rang out.

Spence found himself sitting on a chair. Not that he’d blacked out in the literal sense, but one moment he was standing upright, and the next he was slumped onto the seat—probably the only chair in their makeshift camp across from the museum. It was one of those folding chairs made of black metal and unbelievably uncomfortable. For some reason, their look always reminded him of golf courses in the blazing sun. Sometimes they’d be there… wait, why the hell was he thinking about chairs?

Disoriented, he lifted his gaze. Derek was pacing back and forth, his hands on his head, while Elle and JJ were nowhere in sight. Hotch stood in front of him, turned slightly to the side, eyes fixed on the ground, a phone pressed to his ear. His rolled-up sleeves exposed tense veins on his forearms, his hands clenched into fists.

“You killed a hostage,” Hotch said the moment the attacker picked up. Hearing the words spoken aloud, the gunshot echoed again in Spencer’s mind. He flinched, though he hadn’t the first time it happened for real.

It really happened. This wasn’t some hysterical thought creeping into your mind when someone you care about is late to a meeting and doesn’t pick up their phone, the kind of thought where your brain starts whispering that something terrible must have happened. It wasn’t a dream either, nor a nightmare blending with reality. And it wasn’t some devastating novel, a climactic moment designed to shatter the reader’s heart into pieces.

This

really

happened.

"I’ll remind you of the terms of our agreement," Hotch continued. His tone was usually sharp, leaving no room for argument. But now, having just lost a member of his team and addressing the person responsible for it, his words didn’t just cut—they sliced. Spencer fixed his gaze on him, unable to comprehend how Hotch could remain so composed in the moment. He himself…

“You don’t harm anyone else, and in return, we provide you with the necessary tools. Shooting that innocent person…”

How did it come to this—that the person who, just that morning, ordered Chinese food with him to calm her nerves; who had teasingly told him to clip the microphone onto her, leaving him flustered; whose sweet scent of hair lingered so strongly in his senses that he had to hold his breath just to focus; who, one moment, could make him laugh until tears blurred his vision, and the next, worry so deeply about her that he felt feverish with concern; who listened, truly listened, even when he had grown tired of his own voice; who helped him discover pieces of himself he hadn’t known were there; who revealed, day after day, some new and enchanting fragment of her soul; and whose laughter made him want to capture its melody, bottle it, and keep it for eternity—was now reduced to the cold, detached phrase an innocent person shot dead?

He realized his mind had become entirely consumed with replaying those moments. Thanks to his eidetic memory, each recollection was painfully vivid, yet at the same time—perhaps due to the awareness of what came next—filled with a paralyzing void. Detached from reality, he wasn’t even listening to the ongoing negotiations, only snapping back when the shadow of someone’s figure fell over him.

“Spencer,” Gideon called his name, alternating between looking at him with concern and averting his gaze, as if unable to bear the shattered expression on his face. “Did you hear what Hotch said?”

He couldn’t bring himself to shake his head, though he doubted it was necessary. Rarely did something fail to interest him, especially something Hotch had said, but whatever it was, it had landed firmly in that narrow category. After all, what could Hotch possibly have said? That he’d reached an agreement with the murderer, who would now release eighteen hostages instead of sixteen? Or perhaps, in an act of twisted mercy, he’d declared that once they brought the requested items, the killer would allow one person to go inside and retrieve her body?

He had seen many bodies with gunshot wounds to the head in his life. A vision of her with similar injuries haunted him, so vivid and detailed that he closed his eyes in an attempt to escape it. But the moment he did, the image only grew stronger, searing itself into his mind with unbearable clarity.

"He wants you to go inside pretending to be a surgeon. That’s what the unsub is asking for in exchange for the hostages. Your task would be to fake removing a chip from his body, pulling off one of your magic tricks," Gideon explained matter-of-factly, though his expression betrayed a certain doubt about the plan. He suddenly fell silent, hesitation creeping into his voice. "If you can’t do it… this isn’t an order, kid. No one will blame you if you say no."

“We didn’t know it would be such a terrible mistake,” Gideon said quietly.

“Well, that’s the thing about mistakes,” he scoffed bitterly. “You don’t usually realize you’re making them. But you should be able to predict them, especially when someone’s…” His voice broke, and he looked away, his anger momentarily crumbling into something rawer.

Even though he had lashed out at Gideon, the older man didn’t react with anger. Instead, he stared at Spencer with a calm, almost sorrowful expression. When Spencer stood, he felt the weight of Gideon’s hand resting on his numb shoulder.

“I’ll do it,” he declared after a moment.

There was no fear in his voice, no visible sign of stress. Under different circumstances, he’d likely have been unraveling, nerves fraying at the thought of entering the building with the task of saving her. But now…now all he wanted was to stand face-to-face with the man inside. More specifically, next to his neck. With a scalpel in hand.

There was no time to waste. He practiced his sleight of hand trick—making the chip suddenly appear in his palm—a few times. It had been a while since he’d done it, but even so, it came off flawlessly every time. He clenched the small device tightly in his hand and, before he knew it, found himself standing at the foot of the museum steps.

The doors opened, and the first hostages began to emerge. Their reactions followed the same pattern. First came the shock—the struggle to process that they were truly stepping outside again, alive. Then, as they began to accept it, their terrified, hesitant steps turned into a relieved jog, and their eyes brimmed with tears of gratitude.

Spencer stopped, his gaze fixed on the faces of random strangers as they rushed past. Somewhere, deep down, he held onto a foolish, fleeting hope that she might appear in those doors as well. She didn’t, of course.

But if she had… he thought, his chest tightening at the mere idea. If she had, he wasn’t sure he’d ever stop being thankful. Not necessarily to God, but to everything—every twist of fate—that had brought her back.

He had seen the interior of the building on the camera footage and had managed to memorize it. He knew exactly where to head to meet the unsub. The unsub was standing right in the center of the room. Spencer knew there had to be a second shooter somewhere, but he was afraid to look around. If his gaze happened to land on her, not only would his chip trick fail, but he was also certain he’d never be able to shake the image from his mind. It would embed itself in every cell of his brain, one after the other.

He focused all his attention on him, on Erik. He turned to him trustingly, showing the spot on his neck where he believed the chip was located. Everything about his posture radiated the peak of madness. His voice and expression oscillated between hope, desperation, paranoia, and much more that could be listed.

Spencer tried to concentrate on the chip in his hand, not on the scalpel in his other hand. He knew it would be incredibly foolish, but as he was so close to this man's throat, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. He realized that the only thing holding him back was the awareness that the second shooter was likely keeping him in their sights. It was almost certain; he didn’t need to look around to know that. But as soon as the blade touched the man’s skin at the back of his neck, his gaze, against his will, began searching. He looked at the wall where the remaining hostages were gathered, the ones who hadn’t made it into the lucky sixteen. He didn’t find the shooter.

But he found her. If he weren’t wearing his glasses, he might have assumed he’d mistaken her for some other woman. He could only blame his brain and possible hallucinations... but before he could entertain those thoughts, one simple sentence took over his mind.

She was there. Blood dripping from her nose, clothes torn, curled up on the ground among the rest of the hostages, but she was there. She was there, alive.

*

When you stood up for that woman, a brief struggle broke out between you and the unsub. He ordered you to go outside, but the voice in your ear told you to stay inside at all costs. Unsure of what to do, you started mumbling excuses and explanations, leading to an argument... during which he swung his weapon at you, aiming for your face.

As you fell, your weapon—clumsily shoved into your clothing after an argument with Allen—slipped out. And then things escalated rapidly.

Upon learning you were with the FBI, the unsub went into his usual paranoid frenzy. He dropped the microphone he had taken from you, and the heavy kicks of his leather boots landed on your body, on your ribs, on your back. You could barely keep up with protecting yourself, as the blows kept coming faster and faster.

And in that moment, something happened that probably saved your life. But at the same time, it cost another man and his family everything.

Allen sprang at the second attacker, who was almost hypnotized by the injuries being inflicted on you. He seized the moment of distraction, yanking the weapon from his hand and turning it against its owner. You remembered the fleeting look of triumph on his face as he aimed it at Erik. And then, the look of confusion when he was overtaken and the bullets tore through his body.

Somewhere in that moment, your microphone must have been destroyed, leaving you without contact with the team. And without it... you were just like any other hostage. Beaten, forced to stem the blood running from your nose with your blazer. You remembered glancing at it, running your finger over the fabric soaked in crimson, and thinking you'd have to wash it before returning it to Reid. Then, the hopeless realization hit you that maybe you wouldn’t get the chance to do that, and helpless tears filled your eyes for the first time.

It was strange that the unsub decided to spare you. Was it the incoming phone call that distracted him? Or perhaps the death of Allen? Was he the reason for this whole attack? You weren’t sure, maybe both at once. But you managed to return to your spot against the wall, where the other hostages had moved as far away as they could from the two lifeless bodies lying in a pool of blood.

Behind your back, the unsub was arguing with the police, probably Hotch. You weren’t paying attention to their negotiations, instead kneeling beside Allen. Completely staining your clothes, you reached for his hand. His eyes were wide open, his chest... maybe rising slightly, or maybe it was just your perception. In any case, you didn’t grab him to check his pulse, to see if there was anything that could be done to save him. You knew there wasn’t. You took his hand in a gesture of gratitude for everything, filled with sincere and deep compassion, despite everything that had happened between you. Maybe he turned out to be a jerk in that one, crisis situation where it’s normal for people to lose their minds. But what mattered was what kind of man he was in everyday, calm conditions. What kind of friend, fiancé, father he was.

You froze in place, staring at his face, his messy red hair. You snapped back to reality only when you realized the unsub was releasing the hostages. You weren’t part of that group. He didn’t look at you, or Allen, or his dead accomplice, as if you didn’t exist. The people were let out of the building, and then…

You nearly jumped to your feet at the sight of Reid, but the sharp pain in your ribs stopped you. Instead, you stared at him, confused as to why he’d gotten himself into such a messed-up situation alone. No one was with him, and you couldn’t even tell if he was carrying a weapon. Why was he taking such a risk? Couldn’t they have sent someone else?

Although your gaze bored into him, asking without words, he stubbornly avoided looking at you. It took a while, but then it hit you—he’d probably been told to hide the fact that you knew each other. He was pretending to be a surgeon, you realized.

You watched in shock as the unsub dropped his weapon and turned his back to Reid, begging him quietly to remove the chip from his body.

Before Reid touched the scalpel to his neck, he looked straight at you. You couldn’t read the expression on his face, but you knew there was a lot going on. It was a long moment of eye contact, which he broke to get to work. Focused, brow furrowed.

You shook your head in disbelief when he really pulled the tiny device from his body. Wait, so what? It had really been there all along? The unsub wasn’t a paranoid delusional?

At the sight of the chip, Erik staggered with a mix of hysterical joy and relief, and after a moment, he literally collapsed to his knees, burying his face in his hands. His body was shaken by sobs as he muttered his thanks. He was... absolutely harmless. The hostages took advantage of his vulnerability, using the opportunity to silently leave the museum. You found yourself among them, even helping those who, due to shock, struggled to move. How? With your injuries? You had no idea.

You pointed one woman toward the ambulance waiting outside the building, ready to take any injured hostages. Around you, sounds echoed, people were running in all directions. A sense of disconnection and disbelief washed over you, as if you couldn’t quite grasp that it was all over.

You turned around, sensing someone's presence behind you.

The first thing you noticed was that Spencer was still wearing his blue rubber gloves. Strange, but the first thing that came to your mind was to focus on that detail. You even opened your mouth to speak, but stopped when he gently cupped your face in both of his hands. As if you were a fragile relic, he tilted his head slightly from side to side, almost as though he was trying to deny the fact that you were standing before him.

"As if you saw a ghost," you whispered, a faint smile appearing on your face.

Taking advantage of the fact that he was leaning toward you, you pressed your forehead against his. With your eyes still open, you saw his eyelids tremble. When he closed them, you caught sight of that single tear beginning to form beneath them.

*

"Reid," you said, as he and the rest of the team were heading towards the exit. All heads turned in your direction, but you only cared about that one. "Can we talk?"

He opened his mouth, seemingly surprised by the request, but then swallowed and nodded.

"Sure. If... just, sure."

You couldn't help but let out a small laugh. Since your rib injuries were numerous, you had to be taken to the hospital for an X-ray. Your face wasn’t looking too good either. Only a few hours had passed since everything happened, and all your wounds were fresh and painful. After taking a decent amount of painkillers, you felt a bit like you were floating. You were sitting on the hospital bed, your legs resting on the floor as if on a bench. You made space beside you, and although he hesitated for a moment, he sat right next to you, so close your shoulders almost touched.

What you wanted to say, everything you felt, was hard to put into words. So you spent a few minutes in silence, during which you concluded that the simpler, the better.

"Thank you, Reid."

His dark eyes narrowed slightly, and he shook his head dismissively.

"Thank you? For what? I should be thanking you."

You knew this would happen. That he would downplay what he did, and it would be incredibly hard for you to express all the gratitude you felt towards him.

"For what? For everything," you stated briefly. He was preparing a response, but you beat him to it. You even raised a finger decisively, signaling for a moment of silence. You had a lot to say. "Not just for pretending to be a surgeon and getting into that museum. And don't shrug it off like it was a small thing! You saved those people."

"Maybe a little, but…"

"But that's not all. You were… you were with me the whole time. You kept talking to me the entire time…"

"Just like everyone else…"

"Everyone else gave me orders. Told me what to do to survive and what not to do. And of course, I'm incredibly grateful to them—if it weren't for them, I would have probably pissed off that unsub after less than fifteen minutes and we'd all be dead by now."

Reid flinched when you said that. Maybe you should hold off on such words, while the whole situation was still so fresh.

"You... you kept asking how I was feeling, talking to me, just... your voice, the fact that I had you on the other end, it helped me not panic. When, at the very beginning, you asked me to breathe with you..."

You shook your head, holding back the involuntary recollection of that moment, that memory when you were still trapped in that building with two armed men. Helpless and lost, clutching his jacket with all your strength. 

You realized with growing difficulty that you were holding back tears.

Reid had been listening to you quietly the whole time, but suddenly, he lowered his gaze. His hand found yours, hesitated for a moment, then gently grasped it. You immediately squeezed it tightly. Something came to your mind.

"And what did you want to thank me for?" you asked, referring to when he interrupted you the first time.

"It's not... I don't have as much to say as you do," he confessed, circling the topic more than addressing it directly. He still hadn't let go of your hand, and as he thought, his thumb seemed to absentmindedly stroke its surface.

"Wow," you murmured. "I never expected Spencer Reid to say something like that in my presence, but here we are. So?"

He smiled for a moment at your comment. However, that expression quickly gave way to a more serious one, carrying with it the unburied remnants of the horror you had both endured just a few hours ago.

"Just for you being alive," he said. Your brows furrowed slightly when you heard that. It wasn't what you expected. "For a while... when you were still inside, and your mic was destroyed..." With a sigh, he tilted his head back, holding back from returning to that moment. It couldn't have been easy for him, referring to exactly the moment that caused him pain. "We heard a gunshot. Everyone thought it was you.  That's why... that's why I just wanted to thank you for that."

Given that you had absolutely no control over it, those were the strangest thanks anyone had ever given you. But still, they squeezed your heart like no others ever had.

You leaned in to place a kiss on his cheek.

taglist: @she-wont-miss @mggslover @nyeddleblog @dylanobrienswife0420 @wmoony

@heddgie @khxna @marauder-exe-old @yujyujj @charleyreid @kitty-kai @sp3ncelle @pleasantwitchgarden @beesin03 @misserabella @re1dsb1xch

[steddiealltheway]

Eddie chronically leaves his rings at Steve’s place to the point that Steve checks the bathroom and kitchen sink every time after he leaves, only to find one of them there every time.

Not that Steve is entirely complaining since this means he gets to call him and Eddie gets to stop by on his own to pick them up.

But when they’re at the Wheeler’s place, and Eddie says he’s going to the bathroom, Steve says, “Be careful not to leave one of your rings behind,” with a wink that has the kids exchanging confused looks. But Steve doesn’t notice because he’s too distracted by the light blush coloring Eddie’s cheeks.

“Why would Eddie leave one of his rings behind?” Dustin asks Steve when Eddie’s out of earshot.

Steve laughs. “He leaves one behind every time he washes his hands I swear. I don’t know how he hasn’t lost one at this point.” But his amusement is quick to die down when he realizes the kids are staring at him as if he’s absolutely insane. “What?”

They all glance at each other, and Steve is surprised when Mike is the first to pipe in, “He never leaves them anywhere. They’re like his prized possession. I’ve never even seen him take them off.”

Steve frowns and glances around at everyone, sensing that there’s definitely something he’s missing, so he’s quick to lie, “Well, I guess it was only once or twice that it happened. Maybe it was my fancy soap. Made things too… slippery.”

He gets a few eye rolls at the comment, but the group is quick to move on especially when Eddie comes back a few moments later with all his rings on his hands.

Steve gives him a quick smile, and Eddie is quick to return it, eyes lingering on him for a few seconds longer than necessary and the same blush from earlier returning.

It hits Steve very suddenly.

The rings are an excuse to come back.

And with this knowledge, Steve’s let’s his own gaze linger on Eddie longer than he usually allows, moving into his space more often than not, and carefully keeping track of time, waiting for the hang out to end.

When it finally comes to a halt, Steve is quick to say his goodbyes, hoping that Eddie will join and let the kids have their unnecessarily prolonged goodbyes in private. And luckily, Eddie is quick to move out of the basement, following after Steve in a way that’s supposed to look causal but is anything but casual now that Steve knows to look for the signs.

When he and Eddie silently go out the front door, Steve is quick to turn to him and hold out his hand. Eddie gives him a confused look but offers his hand which Steve takes and slides one of the rings off of.

Eddie stares at it for a moment, looking slightly frightened, as if he’s been caught doing something he isn’t supposed to.

Steve is quick to soothe the fear as he pockets the ring and says, “Just so you’ll have an excuse to stop by later tonight.”

Eddie’s cheeks flush bright red and he runs a hand over his face. “Shit.”

Steve laughs, “So it has been on purpose?”

“No,” Eddie clearly lies, pulling a strand of hair in front of his face.

“And what if I told you I wanted it to be on purpose?” Steve asks.

Eddie freezes for a moment as if he’s waiting for Steve to tell him that he’s joking, but Steve sits in the silence, letting the question settle between them.

“Then,” Eddie starts, taking a small step forward into Steve’s space, “I would-”

The door behind them bursts open and Dustin yells, “Hurry up I have a curfew!” as he races off to Steve’s car.

Steve rolls his eyes at the kid and takes a step back as everyone else makes their way out the door to the cars or their bikes.

Steve and Eddie linger behind for a moment, which Steve uses to quietly ask, “I’ll see you tonight?”

Eddie gives him a bashful smile in return and nods. “Yeah, I’ll see you tonight.”

Steve resists the urge to celebrate in any way in front of the kids and instead puts his hand in his pocket, fingers curling around Eddie’s ring.

As he gets into his car, ignoring Dustin bitching and complaining, he slips the ring over his finger and smiles at it.

He notices the car go quiet and he nearly groans at his mistake.

“Is that Eddie’s ring?” Dustin screeches.

It’s going to be a long drive home, but Steve doesn’t mind when he has Eddie to look forward to.

[foolinafable]

family matters

Five Hargreeves x Fem!Reader Synopsis: You and Five return after seven years away in a different timeline- but you don’t return alone Word Count: 1.8k Tags: Fluff, No Lila and Five, Pregnancy, Children, Season 4 fix it (kinda) Note: Got so much love on the last one I wrote this! Try to ignore spelling mistakes it's currently 3am.

Stuck with only your irritable CIA colleague Five Hargreeves was anything but a good time. You both got lost at the godforsaken subway station he mistakenly teleported you both to. Travelling for a year by his side certainly mellowed you out. His personality slowly making you feel comforted as you both explored multiple timelines together trying to find your way home.

Surprisingly, the idea he possessed powers was the easiest thing for you to come to terms with, probably due to your job at the CIA making it seem plausible to you that the government does hide a lot- they’re even hiding the whole science of separate timelines.  After around a year of trying and failing to find your way home, you and Five decided to ease off the vigorous schedule you unwittingly created, finding a timeline safe enough to stay in for a while allowing you both to rest and brainstorm ideas of how you could both find a way home to your families. 

You both made a mistake. Falling to know how long a while would be you find yourselves still in the timeline you chose as your ‘temporary’ home six years later. Finding each other a lot less frustrating than at the start of this. You suppose that’s an understatement as you watched Five play with your child, a girl who possessed brown hair and green eyes not too dissimilar to her father’s. It almost wasn’t fair how much her features favoured his. But, seeing his beauty reflected upon her features could never be something you would complain about. 

“Maybe if we get lucky the next one will resemble you more,” you remember his words from a few days earlier when you started to show a hand placed under your abdomen smiling as if this was the greatest gift he could ever receive. But you don’t think it would matter if this one ended up looking like their older sibling and their father. If anything you would prefer it- not that you would ever admit it.

Picking another fresh strawberry from the greenhouse of the abandoned home you now called your own. You placed it into the basket plans to make jam and jelly already filling your mind when you felt yourself begin to flush from the sweltering heat of the sun beating down upon the glass. Your skin heating up to a point of large discomfort, sweat beginning to gather at your temples. You sighed knowing that you couldn't continue to harvest anything else unless you wanted to face Five’s rath over you overheating again. 

“Mom!” Maxine ran towards you eagerly hands encircling your legs as she got close enough for a welcoming hug. She quickly looked up towards you big green eyes staring at you prettily 

“Hiya munchkin” You stroked the top of her hair as she smiled up at you with glee

“What doing?” the three-year-old questioned head titling as she waited for your response 

“Strawberries” was all you replied grabbing the basket to show her 

“Have one?” she asked pointing at the basket, batting her eyes to try to sway your decision. You simply plucked one out of the basket and gave it to her relishing in the delighted smile she sent your way before biting into the sweet fruit. You smiled at her before looking up to meet the other pair of green eyes that had made their way into the greenhouse. Five watched the interaction of his favourite girls softly only moving closer once you looked at him.

“Everything alright mumma?” he questioned noticing your flustered expression from the moment he and Maxine stepped foot in the conservatory

“A bit hot” you admitted with a shrug of your shoulders as he drew closer, trapping Maxine in between the two of you as the back of his hand touched your forehead he hummed in agreement with your words

“Let’s get you inside the house, don’t need you getting heatstroke” You forced down the urge to roll your eyes at his dramatics and simply nodded in agreement

“Some cold water and a sit down would be nice.”

He grabbed one of your hands and Maxine’s with the other leading you both back towards the house. After placing the basket of strawberries in the kitchen you quickly sat down on the couch feeling a slight ache in your feet while Five grabbed you a glass of water with more icecubes than you could even count, you smiled in thanks as he passed it to you while Maxine sat next to you, a small children book in hands that she was determined to read to you and her younger sibling as she wanted them to be just as smart as her. 

You could hear Five pattering around the house, tidying up before you could even think about it. Maxine had quickly given up on trying to read, getting bored after two pages and was instead sitting playing with some wooden blocks by your feet. You furrowed your eyebrows when you couldn’t hear Five moving around anymore a stark silence surrounding you now.

“Everything alright?” you shouted trying to figure out where he had gotten to, heart fluttering when there was no reply. Setting your glass down on the table in front of you as you rose from your rather comfortable spot on the couch, you walked into the other room where your lover was his body was stick straight, eyes not daring to leave the notebook in his hand. “What?” you questioned softly walking towards him, eyeing the words on the book as you got close enough.

“This” he began astounded “Is our way home, it’s written by me but I didn’t write this. Another me did.” you simply nodded before smiling  

“Looks like we’re going home.”

── ✧

You and Five found yourselves outside of what he assured you was his brother Diego’s house. Maxine who was resting her head on his shoulder, legs wrapped around his middle looked astounded by the snow while nerves filled you- the last time you saw any of his family was when you were put on the case that got you lost in the timelines to begin with and even then you barely saw his brothers and sister-in-law as they were quickly taken to hq for a show round to get them out of the way. You didn’t even want to think how you would explain this to them let alone to your own family but you guess this is the easier of the two as they all had powers and also been to multiple different timelines. Five set Maxine down next to you as he rapped on the door you quickly grabbed her hand before she could run off into the snow when the door opened 

“You back!” the man, Diego you assumed, smiled as he looked at Five 

“I am” he stared at his brother almost in shock that he had seen him for the first time for him in seven years

“Good” the man confirmed “We were all starting to get worried.” his eyes then turned towards you and the brunette-haired little girl who was trying to hide behind you “And you are?” he questioned and you quickly gave him your name his eyes sparking in recognition for some reason as he crouched to the ground to greet your daughter “And who is this little princess?” he asked quietly as Maxine started at him 

“This is Maxine” is all you said feeling Five’s eyes on you knowing he wanted to wait until you got inside to drop the bomb you could see Diego begin to connect the dots as he introduced himself to you but he was clearly confused because he would know if Five had a child in the last three years in this timeline at least.

“I will explain everything once we get inside- can’t let the missus get cold” is all he said to Diego as the man allowed you into his home. 

He quickly led you to the living room where to sat on the sofa, Maxine being picked up by Five and placed on his lap when she tried to climb onto yours, you turned towards him to complain but quickly stopped when you met his glower instead choosing to put a comforting hand on your tummy a habit you kept from your first pregnancy. Diego called for his wife Lila to come to sit with him when the door opened revealing more of Five’s family he whispered their names to you as they walked in all choosing to sit down when Diego told them that Five was going to explain where he’s been and why his colleague, a word you hadn’t been referred to as in a long time, was here. With most of his family here excluding Ben and Viktor, he cleared his throat to get their attention

“As you all know the marigold has made our powers a little different to what we are used to” They all made sounds of agreement “My blinking takes only to a tube station where each stop is a new timeline and we” gesturing to you “got stuck, unable to find our way back until now. We were away for seven years but for you has only been a few hours” he took their silence as a sign to continue “This is my wife” he spoke your name “And our daughter Maxine.” you sat in silence for a moment.

“Wait! This is the colleague he was always telling us about?” Luther asked excitedly you turned to the larger man confused when Klaus and Allison quickly agreed with him

“I thought he was joking when he said there was a cute girl who he worked cases with” Claire, Alison’s daughter, announced making her mother and uncles laugh

“I can’t believe you have a child” Lila spoke eyes wide

“Well he is going to have another one in a couple of months,” you told the already shocked woman who quickly smiled at the revelation while the others called out congratulations to their brother 

“How far along are you?” Allison asked as she came up to you silently questioning if she could touch the small bump you simply nodded “We think around thirteen weeks” looking to Five who simply nodded

“She only started showing a few days ago”

“I can’t believe it” Luther called out while pulling funny faces making Maxine laugh as she got a little less shy around her family.

You smiled as you watched Maxine get up and walk towards Lilas’ children playing with them as Five’s hand found its way to yours stroking your knuckles. You never thought you could ever get home let alone come back home happier than you had left it. You suppose a thanks was due to your rather irritable husband and his wacky powers.

[eternalsunrise]

study date

lsu! joe burrow x fem! reader

wc: 1.7k

tags! established relationship, make out sesh, no actual smut, jus a couple of horny college kids in love with each other, vomit inducing fluff

notes! brainrot so bad i had to start writing fics. hope the joe burrow community finds this well 🧘‍♀️ expect more for joe coming! xoxo

letters on a keyboard clicking and a pencil scrawling across paper are the only sounds that reverberate around the room. you started off sitting up straight, but as time progressed you’re basically lying down, laptop perched on your lap.

the pillows are plush underneath you, and your boyfriend’s scent is enveloping you. there’s something about joe’s bed that always feels 10 times more comfortable than your own.

if you closed your eyes you could probably doze off for a mid afternoon nap.

you hear the sound of someone shifting above the covers, but you don’t turn your head to look, too preoccupied with your essay that’s due in the morning.

you feel a kiss press against your cheek, and you can’t stop the smile that spreads across your face. “hi joey. you doing okay?”

another kiss against your cheek, followed by an overdramatic sigh, “yeah, just really hard to focus on statistics with something so distracting in my bed.”

joe’s closer now, a hand playing with your hair as he peppers kisses down your jawline.

you roll your eyes at his antics, knowing exactly how this was going to go. “oh i’m the distracting one?” you question, your tone sarcastic.

he moves his hand to your cheek, tilting your head to the left to face him. his blue eyes bore into yours and you realize why you’d avoided looking at him. it’s much easier to stay on task without his handsome face in view.

joe leans down to place a slow peck on your lips, “a very.” peck. “very.” peck. “pretty distraction.”

he pulls away from you entirely, smirking when you try and chase his lips. this is exactly why you wanted to study alone. as much as you loved your boyfriend, how are you expected to get anything done with a gorgeous quarterback all over you? but the two of you have barely seen each other these past few weeks, and joe insisted on you both doing schoolwork together before his practice later that day.

“joe. baby. we’re supposed to be studying.” your voice is pleading, begging for any sort of mercy. he caresses your cheek bone with his thumb, a smirk sitting on the side of his mouth. “i am studying.” he uses a tone that tells you he wants you to ask what his punchline is. you bite.

“and what are you studying exactly, joseph?”

he trails his hand down your body until it rests on your waist, just above where your hands and laptop sit. he lets his eyes trail down and back up, bright blues staring at you while he licks his lips, “anatomy.”

you let out a laugh for his sake, grabbing his wrist and removing his hand from your body, “you’re impossible!” you place a quick kiss on his lips, standing up and taking your laptop.

joe groans loudly, falling back against the pillows on his bed, “where are you going?”

you carry your work to his wooden, student-issued desk, setting your laptop down and taking a seat. “you’re going to stay there. and i’m going to stay here. we both need to get work done and it’s hard to do that when you’re being…well you!” you try to sound frustrated, but you both know better.

joe being the cocky bastard he is, just gives you a knowing smile. the effect he has on you just strokes his ego (as if anyone else needed to). he decides to leave you be for the time being. he picks his pencil back up and holds his hands up in faux innocence, “yes ma’am. whatever you need.”

you turn back to your essay, typing your third page, smiling when the framed picture of you two displayed on his desk appears in your peripheral vision. if you looked around, your presence is covering this room. his whole apartment in fact. sure, you may be putty in his hands. but you have joe burrow pretty much wrapped around your finger.

after about 20 minutes of both of you working diligently in silence, you hear joe clear his throat.

“hey pretty?”

“mhm?” you reply, clicking back and forth between your class notes and your paper.

“didn’t you say you took this class last year?” joe asks, deep voice like velvet when it hits your ears.

you pause your task and turn around in your chair, “yeah i did for a semester, why?” he looks absolutely delicious. he’s sporting a cozy lsu hoodie and nike gym shorts that reach barely mid thigh, his trademark array of bracelets decorate his wrists. the way one of this legs is raised make his shorts ride up, giving you a peek at his black briefs. you suddenly wonder if the essay is even that important.

“wanna come check this for me? make sure i did it right?” he taps his pencil a couple of times and holds out his notebook toward you. there’s no flirtation intent behind joe’s question, he just values your insight. and for some reason, that just turns you on even more. he’s won. he’s getting what he wanted without even trying.

you stand up from your seat and make your way over to him, taking the notebook from his hand. he looks up at you in silence, waiting for you to check his work. but instead you toss the notebook to the side. it makes a slight thud when it hits the hardwood.

joe opens his mouth to question your actions but you’re on the bed with him in a matter of seconds. you swing your leg over his hip and straddle his lap, legs resting on either side of him. his hands are on you immediately, per instinct, large hands engulfing your thighs. it takes him a moment to process your actions but he sobers up quickly, cocky and confident, “aw, who knew stats could get you so worked up?”

you want to knock that stupid smirk off of his face. you also never want it to go away.

“shut up.” followed by a feverish kiss full of want and desire. the lack of each other for weeks has stretched the rubber band of tension to a hilt, and you finally let it snap. your fingers thread through his wavy hair at the nape of his neck, tugging just a bit. he’s due for a haircut soon. a noise rattles up from his throat, your reaction immediate. your hips grind down, begging for some friction. he gladly provides, guiding your waist back and forth.

the next moments are full of tongue kisses and heavy breathing. “next time we—“ gasp. “study together, we’re doing it in public–ow!” joe bites your lip, an apology vibrates against your lip, you know he doesn’t mean it. “like the library.” joe grips your hips and flips the two of you over with ease. you yelp in surprise, now looking up at him.

joe scoffs at your words, “like that’s ever stopped us before.” he reconnects your lips, a new sense of urgency found in this kiss. he props himself up with an elbow next to your head. your leg finds itself hooking around his waist, forcing him impossibly closer to you. he breaks away for air, hand dragging up and down your lifted thigh. he leaves goosebumps in his wake.

he looks down between your bodies and watches as your hips lift to meet his own, adam’s apple bobbing. his eyes flick back to yours, a familiar darkness clouding the ocean. his kisses follow a trail down your jaw, “god baby, you drive me crazy.” he purrs in your ear, lips attacking your neck. you aren’t sure how he can say that, when you’re the one that feels dizzy under his touch. your hand finds his hair again, letting out fits of giggles when his mouth grazes your most sensitive spots.

you tilt your head to the side, catching sight of the time on your phone screen as it lit up on the nightstand. you let out a gasp, partly because of joe shifting his hand between your thighs, but mostly because it was almost time for, “joe. practice.”

he returns his attention to your lips, “5 more minutes, all i need.” he murmurs, capturing you in a kiss that’s hard to turn away from. you feel his hand slip under the waist band of your pants, and as much as you dread this ending; you know what you need to do.

“joey. babe, hey.” you use your grip on his hair to pull him away. the love drunk look on his face makes this even harder. “listen. as much as i want to, we can’t. you love to be unreasonably early, and coach o will track me down himself if i’m the reason his star isn’t there for pre, pre warmups.”

joe chuckles and nods his head, reluctantly removing his hands from you entirely; it’s as if you’re magnets, if he isn’t across the room you’ll gravitate back together. he stands and starts to get ready for the one thing you’re forced to share the title of joe’s first love with, football.

you start to stand to get ready to go home, but joe quickly faces you and shakes his head, black backpack and cleats in his hands.

“no no no stay. here.” he throws his backpack over his shoulder and uses his free hand to dig in his pocket. he pulls out his purple lanyard, plucking his apartment key from the carabiner.

joe places it in your hand and folds your fingers over it.

“here, i’m gonna have you one made anyway. go back to your dorm, grab some stuff. you can order dinner, finish your homework here. i’ll be back in a couple hours and i’ll take you to that froyo shop down the street and then we can…finish what we started.” joe says with a wiggle of his eyebrows. he punctuates his words with a sweet kiss on your lips, another on your forehead, “bye pretty. love you.”

you stare at him in awe, “love you. have fun!”

he winks at you before he walks out of the front door.

you sit there on the edge of the bed, staring down at the shiny key in your palm. you’re shocked at how he can make such a big relationship step seem so nonchalant. he’d obviously been thinking about this for a while, you being around more. in his space.

you flop down on your back, kicking your feet with a giddy smile. if you weren’t alone you’d be embarrassed.

looks like you’ll be studying here a lot more often.

[pathologicalreid]

and it feels like home | s.r.

in which Spencer confesses his love to you at the oddest of places - your sister's wedding

margovember

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: could be angst if you know what's coming next, jareau!reader, down bad!spencer, yearning, reader feels unlovable, spencer drinks champagne, reader does not drink, reader is shorter than spencer, reader wears a dress and heels word count: 1.93k a/n: and just like that, margovember is over (i have one more request for it technically but it's an episode rewrite so that'll take me longer to write). i was in need of some good yearning - this covers a request for their first kiss and for a fic with francesca by hozier levels of yearning.

You allowed yourself to be led away from the party. The past twenty-four hours had been amassed of you running around like a headless chicken, trying to put together your sister’s one-step-below shotgun wedding. Now that the party was in full swing, you willingly followed Spencer through the garden, a few remaining speeches going on in the background as the two of you rounded a corner, out of sight of party guests. “If I didn’t know you, I’d think you were leading me away from everyone to kill me,” you said offhandedly, adjusting the way your shawl fell over your shoulders.

Instead of looking up at Spencer, your eyes homed in on the way he was holding your hand as if he were about to lift it and press a kiss to your knuckles. Butterflies flurried in your stomach at the thought, but you quickly dewinged them, trying to focus on the issue at hand.

Something was wrong with Spencer; you could see it in the way he was shaking his hands. It looked like he was trying to get excess water off of them or if there was energy trying to exit via his fingertips. You were worried about him, sometimes he fidgeted when he was craving—though you’d only seen him in that state once before and you couldn’t ascertain what would have triggered him.

“I have to talk to you,” he repeated the same words that he’d told you when he first took your hand back at the gazebo. He had to be preparing to tell you something awful, you could tell from the way he wouldn’t meet your eyes when you finally glanced up at him. Deep brown irises flittered around, noticing each small detail that you and Dave had plotted out, but he never noticed you.

The blue dress that you had picked out to go well with the flowers and your hair was previously pinned to perfection but had since fallen out while you tried to sort out a last-minute issue with the caterers, but he didn’t seem to take mind of any of it. For better or for worse, you supposed. “What do you need, Spence?” You asked him, cocking your head and trying not to notice the twinkle in his eye when you called him ‘Spence.’ You promised yourself months ago that you’d stop waiting for someone who would never want you back.

You just couldn’t seem to get away from Spencer Reid.

It wasn’t that you saw yourself as undesirable, but a small part of yourself was under the impression that if he hadn’t made a move yet, it was never going to happen. He knew too much about you; he’d been the one to pick you up off of the floor when your last relationship fell apart. You wondered if he felt the same way, recalling the night you spent on his bathroom floor because you were terrified of finding a needle in his vein.

“Are you seeing anyone?” Spencer finally spoke, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking at you nervously. You eyed him curiously, the question faintly reminiscent of something a man would ask you if he were making small talk.

Foolishly, you had thought that you and Spencer had been well past small talk at this point, “No,” you answered, dragging out the vowel. “You already knew that, though,” You had talked to him about it last night when the subject of weddings came up, naturally.

He nodded in confirmation, “Right, yeah. Yes, I just needed to make sure before I started this conversation.” Spencer glanced over his shoulder as if he were being watched, or maybe he wanted to make sure no one saw the two of you in close vicinity.

You squinted at him, trying to get a feel for what he wanted to talk about without outwardly profiling him. “What conversation?” You asked, feeling like you were enveloped in a spiraling line of questioning—like you’d never get a straightforward answer.

“Do you remember this time last year? We’d just finished that sex trafficking case, and we were finishing paperwork late in the office, and you asked me if I’d ever been in love,” he said, panting like he was running a marathon. “I told you no, and at the time that was the truth. However, the circumstances have changed.”

Your stomach flipped, surging well past butterflies at this point as your face warmed—what was he trying to say?

He finally dropped your hand, resorting to placing each of his hands on your waist, stopping you from pulling away. Spencer felt impossibly close to you, even though the two of you had irrefutably been closer together, but not even an embrace would match up with the look he was giving you now. “I couldn’t let myself love you, not while you were in a relationship. It felt cruel to me, and it felt cruel to you because you had a boyfriend. It feels like we’ve already lived a lifetime together when we’ve never truly been together,” he told you, gently squeezing your waist as he spoke animatedly.

Instinctively, you took a step back from him, your breathing faltered slightly when you saw hurt flash in his eyes, “Why?” Your voice was no more than a breath, an appalled, exasperated breath. “Why here? Why now, Spence? We’re at my sister’s wedding,” you placed a hand on your chest “Please, can we talk about this tomorrow?”

Spencer was shaking his head before you’d even finished speaking, “No, it has to be now. I need to do this now,” desperation crept into his tone as he stepped forward, practically caging you against the siding of Rossi’s mansion.

You didn’t feel trapped, though, even with Spencer’s arms on either side of you, he was still Spencer. “Why now, Spence?” You peered up at him through your mascara-covered lashes. Maybe this was a consequence of his environment, surrounded by an evening that was sure to involve declarations of love, so he elected to make one of his own with you as a victim.

“Because I thought you were in that building,” he said exasperatedly, wide brown eyes watching you as if the answer had been completely obvious the entire time.

Realization dawned over you as you recalled the events from a few days ago: the bank robbery turned explosion that somehow ended in a marriage proposal. You chewed on the inside of your cheek as you eyed Spencer curiously, “You thought I’d gotten hurt.”

Spencer sighed, “I thought you were dead.” His eyes were trained on yours like there was nothing else in the world for him to look at, “For a moment, I lived my worst nightmare because I didn’t know if you were dead or alive, and I was stuck in Quantico with no way to reach you.”

Everything about the explosion was hazy, everyone was shouting for someone else, and you thought you’d imagined someone calling your name. You’d convinced yourself you were hearing things, some sort of after effect of the blast, but Spencer had been looking for you. “Spence,” you whispered, unable to gather the words you were so desperately searching for.

He shrugged helplessly, “I can’t go another day without telling you I love you.”

You felt like you were being stabbed in the chest repeatedly, unsure if you were on the verge of laughter or tears. “You never showed… I didn’t think—”

“You’re the only person I’ve ever met who I have a hard time reading, and I thought… I thought that if I waited for you someday, you’d realize that you love me too. I sat and I waited, and I helped you get over your ex and I am so grateful for you and your friendship, but it’s not enough for me,” he told you, no longer panting. This was Spencer completely levelheaded, emphatically declaring his love for you. “I need more of you and I can’t wait any longer.”

Eventually, the jig would be up. Someone would jump out from the bushes, and they’d let you know that you were indeed being Punk’d, but right now you were just looking into the eyes of someone who loved you. It would seem that no one else had ever truly loved you before, because the look Spencer was giving you could only be defined as love, yet it was unfamiliar to you. “You love me?” You asked, your voice no more than a whisper.

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he looked at you, “I love you in ways that no one has ever loved anyone before, I’m sure of it.”

“Okay,” you breathed, eyes studying his expression for any hint of regret.

“Would you allow me that?” He stepped away, dropping his arms at his side, “I know I cornered you tonight, and it’s perfectly fine if you don’t have an answer for me tonight, but I’d wait years for you if that’s what it took.”

You were shaking your head as you took the opportunity to step toward him, propping yourself up on your tiptoes and pressing your lips to his, the picture-perfect moment for the two of you. Perhaps you startled him at first because it took him a moment to wrap his arms around you, the muscles in his forearms flexing as he pulled your body flush with his.

His lips tasted like champagne, and the soft tinge of the alcohol on your mouth only served to intoxicate you further, even though you yourself didn’t drink from a flute.

The universe had a funny way of working in your favor, and this time, it had given you your first meeting with Spencer almost four years ago. You had nearly two years of friendship under your belt now, which is why it was so easy for you to pull away from him slightly, grinning against his lips as you whispered, “I love you too.”

Spencer kissed you again, moving one of his hands to gently cup your jaw, moving his velvet soft lips against yours with purpose and care. Your arms were thrown over his shoulders, elbows crossing at the nape of your neck to support you. You’d have to get used to the height difference, and you’re sure you will.

“Hey, Y/N,” Someone called out, and the two of you bolted away from each other like opposite charges, “I think it’s about time to cut the cake, your— Oh.”  

It seems the two of you did not move fast enough, for you were now faced with Emily and her knowing gaze. Your eyes flickered over to Spencer just briefly before you looked back at Emily, “Okay,” you responded to her, your voice hoarse, “I’ll let the caterers know.” You started your trudge to the backyard, picking up your feet so your heels wouldn’t dig into the grass. “Are you coming?” You turned and faced Spencer; a watercolor pink brushed across his cheeks.

“I’ll be right there,” he answered, giving you a soft, patented Spencer smile.

You looked nervously over at Emily, dreading the fact that this thing between you and Spencer was barely fledgling and the team was already going to be aware. “You know,” she started, and you braced yourself for the teasing, “London’s a pretty good place to keep a secret.”

Mouthing a thank you to her, the two of you stepped forward, turning around only when Spencer called out your name one last time, “Save me a dance?”

You laughed slightly at the dopey grin he bore on his face before nodding, “For you? Always.”  

[y3sterdaysproblem]

smoke and mirrors - chris sturniolo

chapter one

summary: your best friend Matt backs out of plans you had made together, so you replace him with his brother. the only problem is the two of you can’t stand each other.

{enemies to lovers, fake dating}

includes : explicit language, fluff, smut(penetration, oral, fingering, etc.), angst if you squint, lots of bickering, slow burn

wc: 2.4k

-

a/n: first series! it won’t be super long, but I hope you enjoy. send requests for more fics!

-

“Matt, you can’t back out now!” You huff, crossing your arms over your chest as you stare at your best friend where he lays on his bed, setting his phone down to look up at you.

“I’m sorry, love, something came up and I can’t make it,” he apologizes, shrugging his shoulders. “I can’t get out of it.”

You groan, throwing your head back in frustration. You had a family wedding to attend and already RSVP’d with a plus one, which was supposed to be your best friend Matt, who had lovingly agreed to pretend to be your boyfriend for the night. Your family was super invasive about you getting a boyfriend, and you wanted to avoid all of the comments and questions by just pretending to have a boyfriend for one night at the wedding, but your plan was falling apart.

“What am I supposed to do? I already told everyone I was coming with somebody, they’re gonna know I was lying if I show up by myself,” you tell him, trying to rack your brain for any ideas.

“You could bring Nick,” Matt suggests, picking his phone back up and going back to scrolling.

You scoff. “Yeah right, like Nick could pretend to be straight for an entire night. He’d be caught in less than an hour.” You shake your head, moving to sit on the edge of the bed next to Matt. “I’m gonna have to go on, like, Bumble or something and find some random to go with me.”

Matt looks up at you over his phone, waiting for you to lock eyes with him before he starts to speak. “I mean… I know one other guy you could ask.”

You tilt your head, excited to hear the suggestion, before you realize who he’s talking about and your eyes widen, head shaking rapidly. “Absolutely not,” you put your hands up, pointer fingers crossed over in an X. “I am not asking Chris, no way.”

Matt raises his eyebrows and purses his lips. “I told you I knew someone, I didn’t say you’d like what I said.”

You roll your eyes. “He would never say yes to me anyway, even if I did want to ask him.”

Matt shrugs. “Maybe. You could always bribe him, he loves a good bribe.”

You think about it for another moment, knowing it would be easier to get Chris to do it than it would to find some random guy to go to a wedding as a first date, but the thought of spending an entire night next to Chris made your skin crawl.

The two of you had never really gotten along, even with you being around as much as you were, you guys never clicked, in fact it was the complete opposite, always insulting each other any chance you got, ignoring each other, and always avoiding being in the same room by yourself, even if only for a few moments.

“I mean… I could try but I really can’t promise I won’t kill your brother, Matt,” you half joke, but not really. “Might turn you into a twin.”

“That’s fucked,” Matt laughs, using his foot to kick you lightly. “I‘ll still be a triplet, even if you kill him. I’ll just be a triplet with severe depression and no will no live.”

“You’re so dramatic,” you tell him through a laugh. “Your life would be so much quieter, wouldn’t that be nice? You’d secretly thank me for killing him.”

Matt shakes his head at you with a smile, though his eyes tell you he thinks you’re crazy, before looking back down at his phone.

“Killing who?” A voice sounds from the doorway and you look up to see the man of the hour staring back at you, a disinterested look on his face.

“You,” you smile sweetly up at Chris.

“That’s nice,” he says, flashing you a fake, tight lipped smile before turning to his brother. “Hey, can you take me to go get food?”

Matt groans and throws his head back, closing his eyes. “But I’m so comfortable,” he whines.

You take a deep breath and consider your options. Chris, who you hate but have known for years, or a random guy who might be a serial killer? You’d definitely be safer with Chris, but the thought of having to be near him without his brothers for an entire night seemed like hell. Especially having to act like you were pleased to be in his presence.

“I’ll take you,” you speak before you can stop yourself.

Both Matt and Chris look at you with shocked expressions, Chris having a bit of disgust in his eyes.

“I’d rather starve, thanks,” Chris replies. “Matt, c’mon seriously, can you take me?” He asks again.

“Chris,” you say in a stern voice, standing up from the bed and walking towards him. “Let me take you. I need to talk to you.”

Chris watches you walk past him through the doorway and then looks back at Matt, shooting him a confused look, to which his brother just shrugs, before he leaves to follow you, finding you by the front door slipping your crocs on.

“The fuck is this about?” He asks, trotting down the stairs to meet you by the front door. “You in love with me or some shit?”

You look up at him with an unamused expression. “You wish I was in love with you.” You huff. “I told you, I gotta talk to you.”

You open the front door and head outside towards your car, opening the drivers side door. You look behind you and see Chris standing in the doorway, staring after you. “I’ll buy your food,” you tell him, and he immediately shuts the door behind him and walks up to your car. “You should’ve led with that!” He says.

You both get in your car and you start driving. “Where do you want to go?” You ask him, turning your head to see him on his phone. “Chris,” you push, reaching out to smack his phone out of his hand, causing it to land on the floor.

“What the fuck, dude. Unnecessary.” Chris huffs, reaching down to grab his phone, but he tucked it between his legs instead of going back on it. “I don’t know, McDonald’s?”

You groan. “You always get McDonald’s. Can’t we get like Popeyes or something?”

Chris looks at you, raising an eyebrow. “Well I didn’t know you were gonna eat, too, jesus. Sure, Popeyes is fine.” He goes for his phone again, but you reach out and grab his hand, stopping him.

“Wait,” you start. “I actually do need to talk to you.”

Chris sighs and puts his phone away in his pocket completely, looking over at you. “Okay, spit it out then.”

You flash a glare at him quickly before returning your eyes to the road. “So… Matt was going to be my plus one for a wedding I’m going to, but he can’t go anymore because something came up, and I can’t ask Nick because he’s gay and that just won’t work, and so that just leaves you.” You tell him nervously.

“So what if he’s gay, your family homophobic or something?” Chris asks, annoyance lacing his voice.

You sigh and pull into the Popeyes parking lot, pulling into a spot and throwing the car into park before you turn your body to face Chris. “No, they’re not homophobic. It’s just… I kind of told them I was bringing a boyfriend.”

Chris stares at you for a moment before laughing, completely unserious. “You? A boyfriend? That’s hilarious. I can’t believe you’re lying to your family about having a boyfriend.”

You don’t laugh though, you just drop your eyes down to your lap, knowing that this was exactly how the conversation would go.

“Wait a minute, that means you want me to pretend I’m your boyfriend? Fuck no, I’d rather be single for the rest of my life. Forget it, dude, you’re shit outta luck with me.” Chris shakes his head, bringing a hand up to run through his hair.

You nod and start backing out of the spot, heading towards the drive-thru. “Yeah I figured that was how you’d respond,” you murmur.

You guys order your food, and you still pay for it, staying true to your word, before heading home. It was a quick but quiet ride back, both of you getting out of the car without a word, not even a ‘thank you’ shot your way. You take your shoes off and head back up to Matt’s room, seeing him in the same position you left him in, only now he was watching a movie, and you got in his bed to join him with your food.

“How’d it go?” He asked, reaching out to steal one of your fries.

“Exactly how I expected it to go. He laughed in my face and said he’d rather be single for the rest of his life than pretend to be my boyfriend,” you tell Matt, looking down at him from where you sat.

Matt smiles up at you, reaching out to pat your leg. “Sorry, kid. You tried.”

You nod and look up at the tv screen, starting to eat your dinner.

-

The next day, you’re sitting on your couch panting your toes and watching your favorite comfort show when you hear the doorbell ring, startling you as you weren’t expecting anybody over today. You look down at your toes and swear under your breath, seeing that you smeared polish along your skin.

You set down the polish on the table and stand up, walking to your door and pulling it open, jaw dropping in shock when you come face to face with Chris, the last person you expected to show up at your door unannounced. You almost wanted to rub your eyes in case you were mistaking him for another triplet, but you knew your eyes didn’t deceive you.

“Chris?” You question. “How did you get here?”

He rolls his eyes at you. “I ubered?” He says like it’s obvious. “You gonna let me in or what?”

You take a step back and let him into your house, shutting the door behind him. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure?” You say, sitting back down on your couch. He follows and sits at the opposite end, looking over at you.

He ignores your question, watching you as you continue to do your toes, cleaning up the mess you made. “Why not just get your toes done?” He asks.

You look at him with an annoyed expression. “Costs money? Why spend money when I can sit around and do it myself?” You go back to painting your toes. “Why are you here?”

Chris shrugs. “Been thinking about what you said yesterday, about the wedding.”

You stop what you’re doing and put the polish back down, turning your attention on Chris completely. “Did you change your mind?” You ask him.

He sighs and licks his lips before speaking. “Consider it my charity for the year,” he smiles, tilting his head at you. “But I need a small favor from you.”

“A favor in return isn’t charity, Chris, it’s like… eye for an eye or whatever.” You look at him deadpan. Of course he’d want something in return, he could never do something for you out of the goodness of his heart.

“Whatever, dude, you want my help or not?” Chris asks. “If not I’ll just leave, doesn’t make a difference to me.”

You huff and give in. “Fine. What’s the favor?” You ask him.

He pulls out his phone, scooting a bit closer to you on the couch. “There’s this girl that will not stop hitting me up and she’s driving me crazy. I told her I’m not interested, I’ve ignored her messages, I even blocked her on snap to see if she’d get the hint but she still texts me every day.” He shows you all of the unanswered messages and your jaw drops.

“Holy shit, what does this girl see in you?” You laugh, reading how desperate she was for Chris.

“Funny,” Chris replies, unamused.

“What does this have to do with me?” You ask him, looking back up at his face.

“I think it’s only fair if I pretend to be your boyfriend at the wedding, you pretend to be my girlfriend on social media. Only for a few weeks or until she stops messaging me. Plus, you’re way hotter than her. ” Chris tells you, and by the tone of his voice, he’s completely serious.

You feel heat rising up your neck and you try to get it under control before your cheeks turn red. “You think I’m hot?” You ask him, a teasing lilt in your voice.

“Not the point,” he replies.

“So you tell me that you would rather be single for the rest of your life than pretend to be my boyfriend, and now you want me to pretend I’m your girlfriend?” You clarify, and he just nods, like it’s no big deal. “Pretending to be together at an event is one thing, but you want to take photos to look like a couple? That’s a little… intimate don’t you think?”

Chris shrugs his shoulders. “I’m a big boy, you’re a big girl. Don’t think you can handle a little physical touch without falling for me?” He smirks, leaning in closer to you.

You grimace and reach up to push his shoulder away. “Gross, dude. I could have sex with you and still not fall in love with you and your terrible personality.”

Chris gasps, fake shocked, throwing a hand to his chest. “I am a very good lover, why do you think this girl won’t stop texting me?”

Your eyes widen. “You had sex with her?!” You shriek. “Chris, no wonder she keeps blowing your shit up!”

Chris groans and throws his head back, leaning it on the back of the couch. “It was supposed to be a one time thing, I don’t know why she’s so hung up on me!”

You find yourself giggling a bit before you stop and clear your throat, not wanting to give Chris the satisfaction of making you laugh. You compose yourself and shake your head, clearly disappointed in the boy across from you. “Fine, I’ll pretend to be your girlfriend, but no kissing! I draw the line at kissing.”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry, I don’t want to kiss you,” Chris cringes. “So… I guess we should start planning this?”

You nod and smile towards him, placing your hands in your lap as you guys start to figure out how to execute both individual plans.

-

a/n: this chapter is SUPER short but it’s kinda just to get a feel of the fic and how it’s gonna play out. I really hope you guys like this series im so nervous about it!!

taglist

@liiixsturniolos @madelinesturn @st6niolo @mattslolita @ifwdominicfike @sophand4n4 @chris-hallelujah @sophsturns @ariana2saucyy @045696

[biscuitdragonwithastick]

Minotaur Ranch

cw: cnc, dubious consent, monster fucking, bestiality(?)

Based on the Eggpregtober Fic 3

I keep imagining what it'd be like to work on a Minotaur Ranch.

The beasts mostly keep to themselves, grazing the fields and laying around in the shade. They can act real cute with you sometimes. Nuzzling into your palm when you scratch their head just right. Mooing impatiently to be let out after being cooped up at night. It's easy to forget they're running on primal instinct until one shoved you against a wall and rips through your pants.

That's when you remember the rules of the ranch: Don't pet the Minotaur, Don't feed the Minotaur, and Don't ever present your ass to a Minotaur.

You hadn't thought these rules were that important.

How could you have known that petting and rubbing their bodies with soothing touches would be seen as an act of submission. It never would have occurred to you that feeding them a bit of your lunch every once in a while would be seen as a sign of courtship.

And when you turned around to pick up some equipment off the floor, how could you foreseen that the bull behind you would take it as a sign you were in heat.

Muscular hands hold you off the ground. As your legs dangle below you, you feel the wet muzzle of your Minotaur lick into your neck. It's meant to be a soothing gestures as he lines his bovine cock against your opening, but all you feel is terror at the rough fucking about to take place.

You've seen the ways the Minotaur's fight each other in the fields. It's part of their DNA to show dominance to the weak. You've heard of monster "bitching" before, and you know it's supposed to be an act of ferocious claiming meant to humiliate a subservient other.

You close your eyes, waiting for the pain of being split on Minotaur cock, but instead yelp as they pull you up further off the ground and lick you. Their tongue is long, wet and thick, thicker than a human cock. You can't help but moan as it breaches your hole. That only seems to encourage it, roughly thrusting it's tongue into you as deep as it can go. You writhe in its grip. At the angle its holding you, you can look down and see its tongue pushing your skin taut.

Once it's satisfied you've been opened enough it moves you down, back over its cock and thrusts inside. It doesn't hurt. It's so gentle with you, fucking you like it knows you weren't built for the full force of a Minotaur's strength. You clench down as you cum from the treatment. It bellows loud and low at how good you feel.

It fucks you against the wall like that. Slowly rocking forward into your human frame You can't help but imagine if you had been any other Minotaur. Would it have fucked you harder? Or was Minotaur mating far softer than you gave them credit for? You'll have to answer those questions later. Right now, you just want to focus on your next orgasm.

You know its close when it starts to breathe heavier and thrust a little faster. Wet slapping sounds fill the air as its balls hit your thighs. In one final thrust, it groans and hot cum fills you. You can feel its balls draw up behind you. You didn't realize how long a Minotaur could cum until minutes passed and you were still being filled. Most of it has pooled between your legs and onto the floor, but your bulging tummy is aching from what little can fill it.

But you love it. You loved being bred by your bull. You wished you could be fucked over and over again just like this.

As it pulls out of you and holds you limp in its grasp, it hands you over to another Minotaur. The whole herd had watched you be claimed, now they think your a mare in heat. You can't blame them. As you spread your legs for the next bull, you think about how good it is to work on a Minotaur ranch.

[long-live-astronerd-ghost-king]

DPXDC prompt: Dead on main. No trick only treat.

~~Сhildhood friends and deals~~

The Justice League has to summon a ghost from another dimension to address the threat. They don’t know what price the Ghost King will take but there’s little time to bargain. Another spirit threatening them has already seized all the computers on their base. John doesn’t know what else to offer. A summoned ghost starts to look bored. Gold, jewelry? A favor from a member of the League? Like the Ruler of All Dead needs it. No one dares to make another offer, and the King is in no hurry to set out his demands. Maybe try to pull off a soul sale scam?

Suddenly, Red Hood breaks into the hall, walks up to Phantom and shakes his shoulder vigorously. Red Hood: You, get Technus out of here right now. I need access to the files and fast. Phantom: That’s rude, dude. Where did you grow up? in the cave? No "hello, no how are you, Danny", really? Red Hood: I’ll pay the usual price. Phantom: Deal.

What is the price? John sees Batman and gets in his way. The usual price, his guy said. Means Jay was already out of the deal alive and well. This hyperprotective bat would only piss off the ruler if he interfered.

The King quickly deals with his subordinate using a thermos and remains to watch working Hood. Red Hood: What do you want? I’m busy. Danny: You and I have a contract~ Red Hood: All right, all right. Jay throws M&Ms right in the face of the ghost. But king doesn’t look angry. He opens the package and starts sorting the candies by color. Phantom quickly eats up all the green ones and passes the red ones to Hood. Jason takes them without any questions.

Strange. John has never seen a summoned creature share its reward with a human. And the son of a bat looks too comfortable with it. Wait, since when do super-powered beings think that candy is a decent wage?John makes one of the most likely deductions using his experience. Constantine: Batsy, how long has your son been sleeping with the King of Ghosts? Batman: He…what?!

~~~~~~~

Dick *knocking at the door*: Little Wing, you hate ectoplasm and everything what is neon green, so why? He’s dangerous! Jason who turned on the music to not listen to his crazy family: ~He’s poison but tasty~

Dick: NoOOoo

~~~~~~

Jason: And now everyone thinks that I sold my virginity to you for a bargain or something, because interdimensional creatures like you aren’t supposed to help for nothing. Like you’re playing favorites. I’m gonna fucking kill John. Danny: Well, I wouldn’t say no to that. Jason: What? Danny: I mean, to k-kill John, yeah. How dare he.. Jason: Omg, you’re still so terrible liar, Fenton.

Danny: Sorry :(

Jason: No. Say it again.

~~~~Twelve years ago~~~~ Maddie wasn’t thrilled to learn that Danny was trying to make friends with Todd’s son. Their neighbor was terrible. And his son was definitely a street rat and probably a juvenile delinquent. Maddie: Danny, honey, there’s got to be a reason this boy is talking to you. Even kids from the crime alley are always looking for a bargain they can make or a fool they can fool. Danny: But Jason is so cool! He knows so much about books and alleys and.. Maddie: But you don’t want to be a fool, do you? Danny: Okay, Mom, I get it.

So, if Danny wants a cool friend, he’s got to offer a bargain.

He didn’t have a lot of pocket money for every month but Jason needed it more anyway. And his lunch that Jack was picking for him was big enough for two and only bitten on Tuesdays. Nice. Jason: Do I understand correctly? You will pay me and give me food, and I, what? Protect you from bullies? Danny: No! I’m not weak, I don’t need to be protected. Just..maybe we could sit together at lunch and walk each other home sometimes? Jason: Nay Danny: But why? You want something else? Jason: Money’s fine but your homemade food is…strange. Danny: I can bring sweets if you want. Jason: Deal. 3 pop tarts for a joint lunch, a party size bag of M&Ms if you waste my time out of school.

~~~~

Sometimes they share sweets when they hang out but more often Jayson takes them home to save in case his parents have money problems. Sweets have a long shelf life stored and he may not be afraid to poison himself. Over time, candy becomes their currency and a secret language for all occasions. Need help without unnecessary questions? M&Ms. Problems with learning? Skittles. The question is about family? Snickers. There will be a serious conversation? Pop Tarts.

Jason: One snickers and a pack of gum. Danny: Yeah, Jason? What do you want? Jason: My mom wants to meet my friend. Come to lunch on Sunday. Danny: Okay, you managed to pay for my expensive services. Jason:…and you just lost the gum from the deal.

~~~~~~

Jason threw a package at Danny: Three pop tarts. We need to talk. Danny: All right? Jason: Why are you avoiding me all week?! Danny: Well, it’s just..you’re Wayne now. Jason. Still Todd. And what about that? Danny: You can hang out with the cooler guys now, I didn’t want to embarrass you. Jason: Bullshit! I’m still the street rat, and you’re trying to avoid our contract. me. And I don’t even need money from you anymore. What the hell? I thought you are my friend. Danny: And I am!

~~~~~~

Robin: What’s a schoolboy doing in an alley at night? Danny: Um, I…nothing? Don’t tell my parents, Mr. Robin sir. Robin: It will cost you so many Chunky Bars, you have no idea. Danny:...Jason? Jason: N-no. Danny: Damn yes. What are you doing in green shorts on the street at night?! Jason: Cosplay. Danny: Oh yeah? Then I’m just your hallucination. Don’t hesitate to ghost me. I’m going home, Disgrace In Pixie Boots, bye. Jason: fu%&c$#u

[entitled-fangirl]

You’re a Stark now.

Cregan Stark x reader

Summary: Cregan and the reader take a trip to the market to spend time away from the Winterfell walls. One vendor gets too aggressive.

Warnings: extra protective Cregan, anger, talk of harsh punishments

Masterlist

…………………………………….

Cregan had woken his still newly-wedded wife to the question of if she would accompany him out of the Winterfell walls.

Any time with him was welcomed by her. He was very busy as the Warden that any moment was precious.

She quickly rose and began to get ready, biting her lip when she still couldn’t retrieve her Stark pin for her cloak. Now three days without, and she’d have to tell him.

But that’s a problem for later.

…

“This is lovely,” Lady Stark commented to the merchant as she neared the small table.

Cregan had disappeared to the blacksmith, trusting her under her guards gaze until he returned.

Her finger grazed over the top of one of the handmade arrows before the merchant’s voice chipped up, “careful.”

She jumped a bit, created the smallest of nicks on her finger, but it still oozed blood just the same.

The man huffed, “Can’t ya read the damn sign?”

She looked up with wide eyes to the sign that laid on one of the tables. Her eyes scanned it, but it made no sense to her. Now was not the time to admit to her people that she couldn’t read the common tongue. Her cheeks flushed red, “my sincerest apologies. I meant no harm.”

“Whatever, girl.” He huffed lightly.

She turned back to look at her guard, Ser Martin. He always stayed far enough for her to enjoy herself, but not too far as to not intervene when needed. But he hardly moved when words were said. Only when actions took place. She liked that about him.

She frowned slightly and moved to the merchant’s next table. Atop it laid a tool she had never seen before. A small mallet of some sort and a rather large spike. Multiples of them laid out for sale, and she couldn’t think of a reason to need such a thing. Fearing another scoff, she asked, “What are these exactly?”

The man felt the need to roll his eyes and he laughed mockingly, “What are these?! You can’t be serious!”

Her cheeks couldn’t be more red, “I… I am not Northern. I do not… I do not know much of it, I am afraid.”

The man sneered, “You stupid girl. I wager you’ll freeze your little arse off before winter even comes.”

She felt her eyes water but she held it back. She couldn’t stay there any longer.

She distracted herself at the booth a few down, where a young woman sold seeds and dried petals of various flowers. She chatted with the woman for a while, even making a friend of her.

She helped the Lady of Winterfell pick petals to scent her chambers with and seeds to grow said flowers in the window of her chambers, swearing that they lived through the cold.

She thanked the woman kindly before turning around, directly into a broad chest.

When she felt a familiar hand around her waist and chuckle, she relaxed into Cregan.

He bent down to her ear with a low voice, “have you enjoyed yourself?”

She looked to him and nodded lightly, “I… I have.”

He smirked just barely, “Ser Martin tells me you have made many friends.”

“I suppose I have,” she answers truthfully.

“I have finished my business at the smith. Are you ready to journey back, or is there still things you must see?” His hand began to trace up and down her back through the cloak.

“I am at your whim, Cregan.”

His other hand came up to her chin, “Let us lazily return then. I’m afraid I have not had the chance to make friends as you have.”

She nodded and pulled away, “I’d like that.”

The two journeyed back ever so slowly with interlinked arms, pointing to each table with their favorite oddities on it, even stopping at a few now that Cregan had become interested.

Cregan seemed entirely fixed chatting with a vendor about maces when her eyes wandered a bit up the road.

She pulled on his sleeve with a soft voice, “Cregan.”

He immediately gave his attention to her and bent down to her and spoke softly, “yes, my love?”

She furrowed her brows, “I was curious about something I saw earlier. Can… can you tell me what it is?”

His brows furrowed in turn, “I suppose I can. Where did you see it?”

She pointed up the road to a few tables down.

He nodded and looked back to her, “Go ahead and I’ll meet you there. Let me finish here, sweet girl.”

She let go of his sleeve and bowed her head lightly to the vendor in an apology of the interruption.

She quickly made her way up the road to the same vendor that had been so rude to her earlier, but she hoped Cregan’s eventual presence would help ease the tension. She wanted so desperately to understand the tool she had seen.

But the man’s eyes were already set on her.

He immediately moved out into the street to meet her halfway, “Go on, girl. Take your pretty fur coat and go on! I’ve no business for you here.”

She paused in confusion. She really hadn’t thought she’d angered him that awfully. “I-“

“-ya what?” He stepped closer to her and reached out to touch her shoulder. “I won’t have no silly girl that-“

“-Touching my bride like that is an act of war, Bolton.” She didn’t need to see Cregan to know exactly what was happening. He was behind her with a tightly clenched jaw and a hand on the sword still held in its sheath.

The man immediately stopped all words from his mouth and seemed to be in a daze.

Cregan gave a vicious smile, “I would suggest you remove your hand from her before I remove it entirely from your body.”

The words registered and the man moved away as if he’d been burned, “My deepest apologies, my lord. I… I didn’t know…. She had no sigil on her cloak.”

She didn’t have the heart to turn to Cregan and see his reaction to her loss of pin.

Cregan’s hand wrapped around her from behind and pushed her backwards as he stepped around her. He now stood in front of her protectively. “And here I believed you wanted Stark patronage.” He scoffed, “If that is not the case, say so, rather than turning your Lady of Winterfell away in the streets.”

Only then did she looked around and take in the fact that everyone in the street was staring.

But Cregan couldn’t have cared less.

The man held his hands out, “Lord Stark, I am honored to have your patronage. I… I simply did not know. She…” he pointed to the woman tucked away safely behind Cregan, “She was being reckless-“

“-Reckless? How so?”

The man paled but knew he had to continue what he’d started. “She disobeyed the signs and… and then did not know what an ice pick was-“

“I don’t care if your Lady of Winterfell asks for your left eye, I expect you to take it from your socket gladly!” Cregan’s voice raised angrily, “and you’ve made her feel like a fool in her own lands!” His gripped on his sword tightened in deep thought, “Perhaps I should take your hand as payment.”

Her hand shoots out to Cregan’s back, a silent plea to not take things too far. He reacts to it almost immediately, relaxing himself with a deep sigh.

The man becomes hysterical, “Please! Please, my lord! I will do anything!”

“Cregan-“ her voice finally broke out.

He growled under his breath in thought before finally speaking again, “Apologize.”

The man looked up, “m…my lord?”

Cregan grunted, “Apologize.”

Bolton nodded, “I am most sincere in my apologies, my lord. I was wrong. So painfully wrong-“

“Beg for it.” Cregan growled.

The vendor paused for a moment before he dropped to his knees shamefully, “I will do anything. I am sorry-“

“And not to me.” Cregan grunted again. His arm moved behind her to pull his bride from behind him to now directly in front of him. He pulled her tightly to him, her back against his firm chest. He bent his head down to the side of her head, his voice low and dangerous, “to her.”

She was at a complete loss for words. She knew Cregan was gruff and demanding, honorable and proud, but she had never seen him so angered. He looked like a wolf ready to devour anything that stepped too close.

And all for her.

The man pleaded and whined and begged for her forgiveness immediately and she nodded. Cregan gave a light “tsk” in her ear before speaking softly to her, “make him work for it.”

She turned her head to him in confusion.

He spoke again, “you’re accepting because you feel empathetic. What do you want him to do for you to truly earn your forgiveness?” When she doesn’t answer he chips in, “It’s hard to earn, and rightfully so. Especially from a sweet girl like you.”

“I don’t want anything,” she finally says.

Cregan’s smirk returns, “that’s why you’re mine.”

He straights up to address the man, “Your lady has forgiven you, and so has Winterfell now.” He looks to the crowd and back to the man with a light sneer, “and Bolton? Thank the gods tonight that she is so forgiving.”

He immediately pulls her along with him, not bothering to stop at anything else after the scene they had caused.

His anger was still too great to be out in society and he needed something to take it out on.

The horse ride back was tense and awkward. She knew he wasn’t angry with her, but she wasn’t sure what to say or how to fix it, and so she didn’t.

The two even separated once inside Winterfell. She went to their chambers and Cregan went immediately to the training yard.

She watched from the balcony for a while. He beat away at a dummy with a wooden sword, clearly in an unapproachable state.

…

Supper was equally quiet. The two stared at each other from across the table.

Finally, Cregan spoke, “How are you so easily pleased?”

She tilted her head, “I’m sorry?”

“Earlier. You forgave him so easily.”

“Well, he was sorry.”

“Not enough,” Cregan continued. “I would have made him do far worse”

“It was not worth-“

“-Do not tell me what it was worth, love!” He slammed his fist down. “If he had embarrassed me, I would have taken his tongue. But he didn’t. He did it to you.” His voice turned to iron, “I should have made him worship the ground you stand on.”

“Cregan, I hold no grudge over it.”

“There it is again,” he almost laughed in frustration. “You are too kind, my love.”

“The only frustration I hold over it now is towards you.”

His brows raise, “Me?”

She sat her glass down on the table, “You are the only one still in flames about it. I wanted to enjoy a day out of Winterfell with you.”

He took that like a hit. He clenched his jaw and sighed, calming himself. “You’re right. I’ve been too hard on you. On everyone. Let me try again today?”

She knew she could never hold a grudge against him, “of course.”

He smiled at her, “Thank you.”

The silence grew into a comfortable one now and she was the one to break it. “I have a confession.”

He looked up to her as he ate, “oh?”

“It is rather embarrassing and I do not wish for you to be upset with me.”

“I am never upset with you,” he quickly countered. “Out with it.”

She sat straighter in her chair, “I lost the sigil you gave me. The one for my cloak.”

Silence grew.

She tried to reason, “I’ve misplaced it. I promise I shall find it again. I shouldn’t have set it down and I am most sorry-“

She stopped when she heard his light chuckles from across the table. “What? Why do you mock me?”

He quickly held a hand out and collected himself, “I do not mock you, sweet girl. I’m simply surprised it took you so long to tell me.”

She stuttered, “I didn’t… I wasn’t…”

Cregan looked up to one of the servants, “Bring the new one for me, will you?”

The Lady of Winterfell simply stared in embarrassed confusion.

So, Cregan began to explain, “When I wedded you, beautiful, I did not have time to have a pin of your own crafted for your cloak, so I gave you one of mine temporarily.”

She nodded, trying to see where he was going with the story.

“That is why I was at the black smith today. They’ve created all my best ones and I only thought it fair that you deserve the best. I took the one you had been wearing to them to be replicated. They managed to finish it today and I retrieved it.”

“That is why we were out today?” She asked.

He smiled, “entirely. That and I suppose…” he tilted his head back and forth, “when the North manages to see the sun, I like to see you in it.”

She grew a smile.

The servant returned with a cloth in hand, setting it on the table next to Y/n.

The woman took it and unwrapped it, revealing the finely decorated pin for her cloak.

Her eyes widened and she smiled, “Cregan, this is quite beautiful, but I loved yours all the same.”

He chuckled, “I know that, pretty, but you deserve your own. You are a Stark now.”

Her eyes met his dark ones, “that I am.”

………………………………….