#i need to split open on pasta

[brupt]

I need a tiny goth mama to drool, pet me, and clap like a seal lion excited to see their favorite beach ball as I move on to my 5th bowl of pasta. She suppresses a gaspy moan as I pop the top button on my pants in order to maintain momentum shoveling Alfredo into my gullet.

[innocent-artery]

Two Doors Down

2.5k words

Summary: Your vibrator dies mid-session, so your roommate offers to help you out.

Pairing: Roommate!Bucky Barnes x reader

For the sake of avoiding spoilers, extensive warnings will not be given. This story includes sexually explicit material, reader discretion advised.

While listening, I recommend listening to enemies to lovers, a spotify playlist by me!

~

"God fucking damn it!"

Your frustrated curse echoed off the walls of your bedroom, followed by a dull thump of your vibrator falling on the mattress. You sat up begrudgingly and flopped over the bed, reaching for the charger and plugging in the toy.

You huffed, sitting on the bed for a few moments before tugging your shorts back on and standing, leaving your bedroom to go explore the great unknown: your apartment.

The sound of the television was more audible when your door opened, the white and blue lights from the TV tinting the entire living room and kitchen area in a cold glow. While your eyes needed a second to adjust to the change from the dim, warm light of your room, Bucky, your roommate, was staring blankly at the television, listening to the newscaster droning on while sifting through a bowl of cereal with a spoon.

You didn't greet him, despite the tiny alarm in your head telling you it was bad manners. You stomped past him, headed for the fridge to find leftover pasta. Once a bowl was heated up, you stomped around over to the couch, flopping down beside him.

Bucky raised a brow. "You doin' alright?" He asked through a mouthful of cereal.

"Yeah."

"Then stop stabbing your pasta."

You looked down to see your fork digging into the bottom of the bowl, spearing through the noodles with more aggression than was necessary.

"I'm fine."

"Wanna tell me?"

Your mind raced just at the thought of his suggestion. "No. Nothing's wrong."

"Ah." He turned back to the television, one leg crossing over the other. "Thought it might have somethin' to do with your vibrator dying on you."

You nearly choked, head whipping around to watch him incredulously. "How-"

"TV ain't on that loud." He snorted.

You buried your face in your palms, cheeks warm. Bucky only laughed at your mortification.

"Hey, it's all good." Bucky waved a hand in dismissal, you caught it as you lifted your head. Your gaze somehow got stuck on it, specifically, his fingers. The thought of them on you made the heat in between your legs flare up again. You could practically feel them tilting your chin up, tugging your hips closer, prodding into your cunt...

Bucky seemed to notice your sudden interest, looking between your eyes to his hand and back with curiosity. He let out a soft 'ah', a grin of delight splitting his face. When you finally clocked in on his understanding, silent but knowing, you looked down in what was definitely the least subtle way possible.

"Maybe I'm old-fashioned, but I can't remember a time when hands didn't get the job done."

That didn't help your embarrassment, and for some reason you continued the conversation. "Well, I can't get the right angle..."

Bucky exhaled, passing his tongue over his teeth. "Tell me to shut up if I've got the wrong idea. But I have hands." You peeked out from your hands. He wiggled his metal fingers slowly as if to prove the obvious. "I think you've noticed."

All of the thoughts you'd wrestled with moments ago came flooding in again. Sparks of excitement shot down your belly, and you swore your heartrate doubled.

You attempted to keep an even voice, but nonchalance definitely escaped you for the timebeing. "So... what's your point?"

You were terrified you might have misread the situation. That this excitement would die down and you'd be left wanting him. You needed him to tell you.

"My point is," Bucky uncrossed his legs, turning to face you and leaning forward. "That I'm offering to do what your vibrator can't."

You were shivering with excitement, voice shaking as you sighed,

"Please."

Bucky stood slowly, pushing off of the couch with his hands. His gaze was fixated on you, bordering on ravenous as he eyed you up and down. He relished the way your eyes followed his, and as a result, when he finally towered over you, he was met with a sight that made his cock throb.

You could feel your head turning cloudy, anticipation bubbling in your stomach as you peered up at Bucky. A single, metal hand came up to your chin, stroking slowly over the bone. Your eyes fluttered, leaning into his touch.

"Poor thing." Bucky tutted, shaking your head side to side a bit. "So pitiful. Can't even get off right, needs a toy to get the job done."

You whimpered when he used his grip on your jaw to make you nod yes.

"Shh, you're okay. 'M right here, gonna take good care of you. Yeah?"

"Yeah," you replied weakly.

"Good." Bucky let go of your face, opting to sit on the couch instead, legs spread wide. He patted one of his thighs, gesturing with the other. "C'mon, take a seat."

You crawled over him, hands resting on his shoulders tentatively. Bucky traced a finger up the column of your throat, sending a shiver down your spine. The pressure on the underside of your jaw brought your gaze upwards.

"Gonna need you to keep your eyes on me, dove, think y'can do that?"

You nodded slowly, itching to move but frozen in place by his attention.

"Good." Bucky's hand was a whisper around your throat, quickly finding its home again on your jaw. His thumb swiped over your bottom lip, to which your mouth fell open oh so slightly.

His lips quirked in amusement. His thumb pressed down, earning your jaw lowering further. Two fingers slipped past your lips to settle on your tongue and you happily took them, one hand coming to hold his wrist in place while you suckled.

His free hand began rising up your hips, and you straightened your posture at the feeling, almost tickling. They descended just after his thumb grazed your lower chest. You gasped around his fingers, and his subtle raise of brow made your cheeks heat.

You squeezed his wrist, and it moved from your mouth to your waist. Hands reaching for the back of his neck, you tugged him forward into a sloppy kiss.

Bucky wasn't sure where the line was before. He understood that he had struck a purely sexual deal offer, so kissing for some might be too intimate an exchange under those circumstances, but Christ did he love the feel of your mouth on his. The clash of teeth and spit, your soft moans swallowed up into his own mouth sounding like heaven. Even more so when he sucked on your tongue, pride coursing through his veins when you squeaked.

And oh, you just couldn't help it, when you started rocking your hips back and forth. It was his fault really, teasing you so much.

"So fuckin' needy, angel, just can't wait, huh?" Bucky groaned, head falling back for a minute before jerking back up. "Need to get you taken care of, isn't that right?"

You nodded pathetically, brain long turned to mush. Your senses, every atom in your body was on fire and so, so sensitive, but your head was empty.

And Bucky knew it.

Which is why he lifted you up, strong hands supporting you under the thighs, which wrapped around his torso to keep you up. Bucky groaned, the feel of your legs around his waist sending blood rushing to his cock.

It was a messy trip to your room, to say the least. Bucky had to stop multiple times in the hallway to press you up against the wall and stick his tongue in your throat, rutting into you and breathing heavy into your mouth. His groans were pure sin and you wanted to pull as many of them from him as you could.

Bucky set you down gently, but as you laid, he remained, towering over you with hungry eyes and bated breath.

"Look at you," Bucky grazed his metal fingers over your cheek. "So fuckin' needy, hm? So desperate, you just hop on the first dick you see."

His words didn't even register, not when his leg was pressed right between your legs, so you nodded along dumbly.

He chuckled, almost a bark of a laugh. "Lucky I'm here to take care of you, hm?"

"Yeah," you sighed, your feeble grip on his shirt attempting to tug him closer. "Please, Bucky, need you to take care of me, please..."

"Alright, alright, I've gotcha." Bucky leaned in, pressing wet kisses to your neck whilst his fingers slipped under your shirt, grazing feather-light over your nipples. You could feel him smirk when you arched into his touch.

"Can we take this off, baby?" His voice was soft, and you nodded, pulling your hands up so he could bare your chest.

Bucky gave a groan at the sight, his mouth traveling downward to press licks and kisses over your chest. He pressed his palm over your ribs, indicating you to lie back. Bucky followed, propped up on his arm. His other hand walked up the inside of your thigh, making you shudder into him.

"Buck, please," you breathed, eyes rolling back.

"Nuh uh, none of that." Bucky's hand was quick to reach up and grasp your jaw, this time with more force. "Eyes on me."

He nodded your head for you. He maintained a more intense stare as he moved, slowly and deliberately, down between your thighs. He watched you as he kissed up and down your thighs, pressed his thumb into the junction between your cunt and your leg, pressed a firm kiss to the area just above your clit. Your hips jerked up, following his touch.

"I know, I know. Bein' so patient, so proud of you." Bucky purred, tugging your bottoms down in one go. "And would you look at that, no underwear. God, you're soaked."

Bucky actually moaned at the sight, like the idea of going down on you was pleasurable for him. And Lord, was it.

He started with, for lack of better word, toying with you, thumbs pulling your lips apart to watch your slick web from them. Even though he wasn't watching your face anymore, your eyes were glued to him. His fascinated expression, his strong arms holding your legs apart, his toned back rippling under every movement- somewhere along the line he had lost the shirt; you couldn't remember when but Christ was it better he did.

You nearly levitated off the bed when a finger came to collect your slick onto your clit, followed by lips attaching to the nerves and tonguing over it lasciviously.

Your hesitancy to make noise had gone out the window the minute his mouth was on you, jaw falling open to let out your sounds of bliss. The only thing keeping your head from falling back was the sight in front of you; Bucky was pure sex incarnate. His head swayed back and forth, groans and muffled praises vibrating against your skin, hair tickling your thighs.

"Taste so damn good angel, so fuckin' wet." Bucky tugged you impossibly closer- you swore you saw his hips moving into the sheets. "Should let your vibrator die more often."

Your breath had all but escaped you, coming out ragged and whiny. Your hands reached for his hair, tugging at the roots softly- harder when he groaned louder, sending both of you into a frenzy.

"Fuck, Bucky, right there, fuckfuckfuck-" your noises, if even possible, got louder when the man under you found just the right spot to prod his finger. It slipped in so easily, the wetness helping you welcome him in.

It didn't take Bucky long to figure out where that spot was inside of you, pulling moan after gasp after cry of his name once he bullied his fingers into it just right. He repeated the motion until there was a sheen of sweat on your forehead, grasping onto his hair, his arm, whatever of him you could find as if he was your lifeline.

"Oh, just like that, so close Buck..." You kicked your hips up into his face, rolling them for any kind of friction you could get- friction he was elated to give you.

You nearly sobbed when he pulled his face away from you, fingers leaving your pussy feeling unbearably empty.

"I know, honey, I know. Gonna give you something even better, hm? Gonna give you my cock, fill y'up real nice."

You almost drooled at the sight of Bucky sat up, nothing but sweats being hastily pulled down until the bulge fell heavily over the band. He kicked his bottoms away to some forgotten corner, stroking himself languidly a few times, kicking his head back.

You whined a bit at the lack of attention, thighs pressing together. That seemed to have alerted Bucky, as he tilted his head back down to face you. "Sorry, sunshine. Won't keep you waitin' any longer, yeah?"

Bucky lined himself up with you, teasing your sopping entrance with the tip. However, when your legs hooked around his waist, just like before, all notions of control were lost on him as he sheathed himself inside of you. A guttural groan, more sensual and more animalistic than before, ripped through him and sent sparks shooting into you. He stretched you deliciously, the friction electrifying.

"Don't fuckin' clench, holy shit- not gonna last long," Bucky huffed, rocking slowly into you. He was leaned over your body, almost folding you in half so that he could mutter filthy praises into your ear, tonguing at the shell of it lightly.

If he wasn't gonna last, what could be said of you? Your orgasm was approaching fast, if your throbbing cunt and frantic moans were any indication.

"There we go, y'gonna cum? Fuckin' cum for me, honey, make a mess on my cock, go on."

White-hot pleasure drowned you as you scratched faint pink lines down Bucky's chest. This time your eyes screwed shut, but Bucky chose instead to help you ride out your high, pistoning into you until he let himself go, filling you up in a way that left you feeling warm and full and very, very satisfied.

Only the sound of yours and Bucky's panting could be heard in the room, the air suddenly thick and musky with the smell of sex.

After a moment, he pulls out, murmuring 'shit' to himself a few times. "Gonna get you cleaned up, 'kay?" Bucky pressed a kiss to your temple, picking his boxers up on the way to his ensuite bathroom and coming back with a rag a minute later.

"Feeling alright?" Bucky asks. "Didn't hurt you, did I?"

"No, you were great." You huffed, a stupid hazy grin tugging your lips. "Bit thirsty, that's about it."

"Noted," he mused. "I meant it, by the way."

You cocked your head. "Meant what?"

"You should let your vibrator die more often. I'm just two doors down, and I reckon I know a few more tricks than that piece of junk you've got." He gestures to the vibrator, which had fallen onto the floor at some point.

You definitely made sure to keep that in mind.

~

[girlgenius1111]

throw it all away part 2

part 2 of 2 :) [putellas!reader] just because she knows, now, doesn't mean the path to recovery is straightforward. alexia struggles to help you the way you need. you struggle to even want help. tw: this is a fic about r struggling with an ED. proceed with caution.

—

The protein shake glass sat empty in front of you when Alexia walked into the kitchen. Olga was in the chair next to you, rubbing your back slowly. There were tears running down your face, but your expression was stony. 

Alexia took the seat next to you without a second thought, pulling you into her side. “I’m proud of you.”

“I hate myself.” You murmured, almost against your will. “This shouldn’t be so hard. It’s ridiculous.” 

“It’s not ridiculous,” Alexia objected. “It’s okay. This happens, it’s normal, pequeña.” 

You looked at her strangely, pulling away from her embrace and your sister winced at her own words, scrambling to fix her mistake. “I just mean this is how you’re supposed to feel. In recovery, this is normal. It’s going to be hard, but you just have to push through and-”

“Ale,” Olga interrupted, shaking her head gently. 

Alexia looked back at you, falling silent as she did so. Your cheeks were burning with embarrassment, or maybe anger, and you were staring at the plate in front of you like it had personally harmed you. The blonde couldn’t take the look on your face, wanted more than anything to just say the right thing and have all the answers for you, and she started blabbering again before she could stop herself. 

“You did a really good job finishing your protein shake-”

At this, you rolled your eyes, and Alexia started talking faster. 

“-maybe we can get your favorite takeout for dinner? The pasta place you like, with the– ow, Olga.” 

Again, Alexia fell silent, rubbing her arm where her girlfriend had elbowed her. Olga was shooting her a look and your sister sighed, rubbing at her forehead with her hand. Obviously discussing food was a no go, she should know better than that. She thought hard, trying to think of anything that would make you feel better, get rid of the horribly sad frown on your face. 

“Maybe you can come to training tomorrow and watch! So you don’t miss out on too much, and-”

“Alexia, for the love of god, shut up.” You snapped, throwing your hands up in the air and rising from your chair. 

“Pequeña, I’m just trying to-” 

“You don’t want me to miss out on too much training, I got it. Football is the most important thing. I know that, Alexia. I know. I know I’m fucking my season right now, I know I’m fucking the team, so please just, for once, stop talking about fucking football.” 

Alexia couldn’t help the hurt that panged in her chest, or the pained look she was sure flashed across her face. You felt guilt split your chest open at the sight, but you pushed that away, trying to hold onto your anger, which was quickly fading. 

“I’m going to the bathroom.” You turned to walk out of the room, but Olga’s voice behind you made you freeze in your tracks. 

“Nena? Can you leave the door open a crack please?” 

You felt everything inside of you seize up at her words, shame and frustration and embarrassment and hurt welling up, until a few tears fell down your cheeks. God, you hated that they knew. They didn’t even know but they knew, and that was awful. Incomparably, singularly awful. 

“Why does she have to– oh.” Alexia said. She hadn’t really considered that as a possibility. She thought you just weren’t eating. This seemed… worse, somehow. When you turned around to look at her, you could tell she thought it was worse. 

“Yeah.” You agreed, turning back around and practically stomping out of the room. 

As soon as you were gone, Alexia turned to her girlfriend. “How did you know she was… doing that?” 

Olga exhaled heavily, leaning back in her chair. The two of you were going to give her a migraine, but she didn’t really blame you. Alexia on the other hand…

“I didn’t. I wasn’t sure, but I asked her to leave the door open just in case. Her reaction, though… she is.” 

“Oh.” Alexia mumbled, unconsciously reaching for her girlfriend’s hand. Olga pulled away with a shake of her head, sitting up straighter in her chair. 

“Ale, you have to relax. Talking her ear off isn’t helping right now, she’s already overwhelmed.” 

“I’m just trying to help!”

“I know you are, amor, but you have to think about how she’s feeling right now,” 

“But I don’t know how she’s feeling! I want to, but I don’t understand! I can’t understand. Keeping your body healthy is the most important thing in football, and I don’t understand why she’s done this, because I would never do this. How am I supposed to help if I don’t understand? I can’t, Olga. I can’t fix this.” 

Both women were speaking too loudly to hear your footsteps returning to the kitchen, though you paused just outside the doorway, catching the end of your sister’s sentence. 

I can't fix this. she'd said. 

I can’t understand. 

I would never do this. 

How am I supposed to help?

It sounded like she’d already given up on you. She’d decided she couldn’t understand, couldn’t help, and it was all your fault. For pushing away her attempts to help earlier, snapping at her when you knew she was just trying to make you feel better. You felt like a lost cause, but now she felt that way about you too. 

You took a deep breath, walking back into the kitchen before Olga could reply. You looked oddly pale and shaky, and though it was because you’d overheard your sister and misunderstood, Ale didn’t know that. She glanced over at you, doing a double take as her eyes widened. 

“Nena, did you…?” 

Next to the blonde, Olga suppressed a sigh. You blinked at her for a second, confused, before recoiling backwards, a scowl etched onto your face. “No. I left the door open like you told me to, and I didn’t do anything.” 

Alexia relaxed, just barely, clearly about to say something else that would be entirely wrong when Olga spoke first. 

“Why don’t you go upstairs and take a little bit, pequeña? It’s been a long day, you must be exhausted and overwhelmed.” 

Your sister nodded her agreement, and you felt your heart sink even further if possible. Of course they didn’t want to deal with you anymore today. You didn’t say you’d rather be with them, because the loneliness would be almost too much to bear. You just nodded, eyes fixed on the hardwood floor under you as you turned and left the room once more.

—

Alexia felt slightly more prepared to talk to you when she knocked on your door a half hour later. She’d done some quick research, compiling another list in her head of what to say and what not to say. She’d tried to convince Olga to go up and check on you instead of her, because all the midfielder seemed to be able to do today was mess up, but Olga had insisted that it be Alexia. You needed your sister, and Alexia needed to make up for the absolute disaster she’d been earlier. 

All she got in response to her knock was a sharp huff. 

“Chiqui? Can I come in?” 

“I guess.” You called back. Alexia opened your door, slipping inside and finding you sprawled on your bed, staring hard at the ceiling. 

She hovered in the doorway uncertainly, opening and closing her mouth a few times before she settled on what she wanted to say. “How are you feeling?”

“How do you think I’m feeling?” You snapped, glaring at her harshly. 

“Hey,” Alexia tried, though she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to scold you for catching an attitude with her. She didn’t know what any of the rules were anymore. 

You shook your head with an annoyed huff. “What do you want, Ale? I thought I didn’t need to talk any more today.”  

And Olga had promised you that. Alexia was just hoping, perhaps naively, that you’d want to talk to her more. Instead, it seemed like you were barely holding yourself back from forcibly shoving your sister out of your room.

Any other time, any other situation, Alexia would have shouted at you to be respectful. Both of you knew that. It only made you feel worse that she felt that she had to tiptoe around you. She was treating you differently already and you hated that. 

Alexia studied you for a few moments, before walking over to your bed and taking a seat on the edge of it. She put her hand on your shoulder, but you shrugged it off, and Alexia bit her lip.  You noticed she was wearing this absurd shirt you’d gotten her as a joke a few years ago, one that proclaimed her as the world’s best sister. Really, you’d given it to Ale to spite Alba after arguing with her, though you’d also gotten Alba one a few days later, just to make sure her feelings weren’t hurt. Alexia wearing it now could have been completely accidental, or it could have been some kind of weird confidence boost she was trying to give herself. Either way, you felt emotion try to claw out of the pit you’d shoved it into, but you pushed it down again. 

“I just want to help you.” The blonde said finally, her hands fiddling with a stray thread on your comforter. 

You scoffed, sitting up off your bed and turning to face your sister. “You don’t mean that.” 

Alexia’s head whipped up to look at you, an absolutely crestfallen look on her face. “Of course I do. Why would you say that?” 

“You don’t. You said so earlier, you don’t understand, you can’t understand, you’d never do this. How are you supposed to help? You can’t, so don’t pretend that you want to.” You were fully crying now, pacing around your room but absolutely refusing to make eye contact with Alexia. 

The midfielder’s heart sank as you threw her words back at her. She hadn’t known you’d overheard her, hadn’t realized how that had sounded. She’d been begging Olga to give her some guidance, not expressing that she’d given up on you, that she didn't really want to help you. 

“Oh, mi pequeña,” Alexia whispered, standing and pulling you into a hug. You didn’t hug her back, even as her arms wrapped tight around you, and she pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “That’s not what I meant, not at all. I’ve never been through this, nena, and it’s hard for me to understand, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to help you. I do, more than anything.” 

“You shouldn’t bother. It’s hopeless, I can’t do this.” You sobbed, finally hugging Alexia back, clinging on tightly to her shirt. 

“It’s not hopeless. It might feel like it is, but I am never going to give up on you, on trying to understand, on trying to help. Never, nena.” 

You pulled away for her, guilt once again replacing anger. Taking a few shuddering breaths, you tried to get your thoughts in order, or, you supposed, your feelings in order. You looked at your sister again, her arms at her sides as she looked at you helplessly. 

“You’re being too patient with me.” You whispered, sitting down heavily on the edge of your bed. 

Alexia took a seat next to you, feeling like maybe… maybe she did know what to say. “No. I don’t think I’m being patient enough.”

You shook your head, though still allowed your sister to grab your hand in hers. Whether it was for your comfort or for hers, you weren’t sure. Maybe both. “I’m not…I’m not sick. This problem, it’s all mental. I don’t deserve for everyone to be this kind and this patient. I chose this.”

There was a certain guilt that accompanied all of this. A real sickness, in your mind, wasn’t something that a person inflicted onto themselves. This was your fault. You had started it, you had continued it, and you’d let it get so bad that other people had to intervene. You didn’t deserve your sister’s patience. 

Alexia gripped your hand tighter. “You are sick. Your brain is sick. And while you get better, you deserve all the kindness and patience. You made choices that got you here, but you are sick, hermanita. Just a different type than you’re used to.” 

You looked at her tearfully, an almost pleading expression on your face. “I don’t know how to get better, Ale. I don’t know if I can.” 

Alexia understood, then, that you weren’t pushing her away because you didn’t want her help, necessarily. You just didn’t want to waste her time when the task ahead of you felt so entirely impossible. 

“I don’t know either. I don’t really know how to help you, but I’m going to find out, and I’m going to do it. Whatever it takes, nena. You are my baby sister, and you are worth the effort. I’m not going to give up on you. Not ever.” 

For a moment, you looked at Alexia like you used to look at her. When you were tiny and she was your perfect, safe older sister. Your Ale, who let you sleep in her bed after bad dreams, who double knotted your shoelaces in the morning, and carried your backpack to class. Who taught you how to kick a football, and that you could be anything you wanted. You looked at Alexia like she’d hung the stars and the moon, like she could do anything. 

That look used to make her feel like she could do anything, your belief in her something she could always count on. Now, the determination in Alexia’s eyes made you feel like you could do anything, just for a moment. You needed more than a moment, though.

—

If it wasn’t bad enough that you couldn’t play, couldn’t train, couldn’t even spend time in the gym without close supervision, you were seeing the specialist psychologist that the club had brought in every single day. The first few sessions didn’t heed much. It seemed she was trying to create a rapport with you, getting to know you before she tried to get you to bare your soul to her. 

It was after your fourth session with your therapist, Lucia, that she began to press you to talk about the issue at hand. And it was after your fourth session that you found yourself speed walking out of Lucia’s office, not watching where you were going, tears streaming down your cheeks. 

You were desperately hoping not to run into any of your teammates, as the facts of what was going on had been kept strictly between the captains and the coaching staff. Your teammates, however, would have had to be blind to not realize something was going on. All they’d been told was that you were out of training and matches for the time being. 

Maybe some of them would have asked more questions if not for the terrifying shadow that your sister had become. She walked you to Lucia’s office every day, tried her best to be waiting outside when you were done. Any time you spent with the team, normally just coming out to the pitch to say hello, Alexia hovered behind you, shooting anyone a death glare if they so much as looked like they were going to ask you something deeper than “how are you?” 

You half wondered if your Mami had put her up to this, because the last time you’d seen Alexia this protective was when you were 6, and you’d been getting teased at school. A few words from Eli to Alexia had your sister walking you to your classroom one morning, and making verbal threats to half the boys in the room. Alexia had been scary then, even as a teenager, and her actions had been more than effective. 

This behavior might just be all Alexia, although you knew she’d told Eli and Alba what’s been going on. You didn’t want them to know, and Alexia had hesitantly agreed not to tell them. Later, though, Olga had pulled you aside and said that it would probably be helpful to both you and Alexia to have other opinions involved, and for Alexia not to carry the stress of this all on her own. She had a point, there, and you’d given Ale the go ahead to inform your Mami and Alba. She’d done so, but aside from phone calls from each of them, they’d been respecting your space. 

Everyone, really, had been respecting your space. Aside from a new meal plan from the team’s nutritionists that you’d been trying your best to follow, no one had been forcing you to talk. 

Until today. 

Lucia had pushed you for the first time, and you’d tried your best to be open with her. It went against every instinct you had, though, and you could barely stick to a narrative with Lucia. For half the conversation, you’d admitted that there was a problem. For the other half, you’d denied it, until you were sure you’d contradicted yourself several times. 

She’d let you go 10 minutes early, probably because you were in tears and had gone pretty much silent on her; she must have decided she’d pushed you enough for the day. It was in this state, tears falling freely down your face, that you exited her office. You turned the corner towards the changing room, intending to grab your bag from your locker and see if Olga would come pick you up early, instead plowing directly into Mapi. 

“Woah! Where’s the fire?” She joked, grabbing your arms to steady you. Her smile fell, though, when she saw that you were crying. “Pequeña? You okay?” 

It was clear for anyone to see that you weren’t okay, but Mapi wasn’t quite sure how willing you’d be to talk to her, so she decided to give you an out in case you wanted to go find your sister instead. Mapi wasn’t expecting the broken sob that you let out, or the way that you shook your head, so easily admitting that something was wrong after so long of pretending the opposite to be true. 

“Do you want me to go get Ale?” The defender asked softly. 

Again, you shook your head. How could you explain that you were crying because of your sister to your sister. “N-no. She’s busy.” 

“She wouldn’t mind, nena, you know that.” 

That was entirely the problem. She was being too patient, too perfect, it was almost overwhelming. There was too much pressure on you to be perfect, too. A perfect recovery didn’t exist, but you felt like it had to. For Ale, for Lucia, for the club and the team. It felt like you were hurtling towards some unknown end, the pressure building everyday. You weren’t sure how much more you could take. 

“She’s dealing with enough of this. It’s fine. I’m fine.” You spoke as if you were trying to convince yourself, but the wobbling of your voice gave you away. 

“Venga,” Mapi sighed, opening her arms for a hug. She half expected you to reject her, but was pleasantly surprised when you stepped forward and wrapped yourself tight around her. You were trembling, and she tightened her grip on you, wondering if she should ignore what you’d said and go get Alexia anyway. She didn’t want to betray your trust, though, and it seemed very obvious that you didn’t want to see your sister at the moment, so Mapi settled for some empty words she hoped were somewhat comforting.

“It’s all gonna be okay, pequeña. Whatever it is, you’re going to be okay.” 

“How do you know?” You mumbled, sniffling into the shoulder of her training top, half embarrassed and half too tired to even care.

Mapi rubbed your back slowly, thinking on her answer. She just… knew.

 “You don’t give up. You’re a determined person, and you can do anything you put your mind to. Whatever is going on isn’t any different. You’re strong enough for anything, nena.”

Pulling away, you wiped at your face, managing a weak smile for the defender. “Thanks María.” 

She smiled sadly back at you, as if she knew what she’d said hadn’t really helped. “Anything you need, I’m here, sí? We all are.” 

You nodded, thanking her again before you continued on your way to the locker room, hopefully where you’d be able to grab your stuff and get out of her before seeing anyone else. Especially Alexia. You got lost in your thoughts again rather quickly, barely able to focus when Olga answered her phone and told you to wait for her outside. You were too wrapped up in what Mapi had said. 

‘You’re a determined person.’ 

‘You’re strong enough.’

You didn’t feel strong. You didn’t even feel very determined. You felt weak, like it was only a matter of time before you cracked and let everyone down. And everyone would see just how weak you really were.

—

The house was too quiet when Alexia and Olga arrived home from dinner. No music playing, no mindless reality show on the TV. And you were nowhere to be seen. Alexia slid her shoes off, offering a hand out to steady Olga as the other woman removed her heels. 

“Something’s wrong.” Alexia murmured, looking up the stairs as if she could see through the walls into your room. She didn’t know what was wrong or what had happened, but she just knew something wasn’t okay. “I shouldn’t have left her.”

Olga shook her head, though, giving her girlfriend a sad smile. “You can’t always be with her, Ale. This is something she has to do herself sometimes.” 

The blonde frowned. “But what if…” 

“If she did, you tell her it’s okay. You tell her that relapsing is a part of getting better, and that you’re not upset with her.” Alexia nodded slowly, worrying her lip between her teeth. Olga grabbed her hand, squeezing once. “If she did, she probably just wants a hug, amor. She doesn’t want to hear that you feel guilt for leaving her to her own devices. She’s already going to feel like she broke your trust, and that would only make it worse.” 

For a second, Alexia just stared in wonder at her girlfriend. Because, of course, it all made sense when Olga explained it, but Alexia would never have considered things from that perspective. Before Olga even knew what was happening, Alexia was wrapping her in a tight hug, tucking the shorter woman’s head under her chin.

“Thank you. I would have messed this up so many times without you, and I’m so grateful that you’re here and you’re so willing to help.” 

Olga hugged her back with a matching ferocity, feeling a small smile grow on her face. Once, she’d expressed to Alexia that she felt the other woman wasn’t expressive enough. It was hard to know what the very tough captain was thinking, even harder to know what she was feeling. Since then, Alexia had made a concerted effort to speak her feelings aloud. It wouldn’t ever not make Olga smile to hear Alexia expressing her appreciation for her. “You don’t have to thank me.” 

“Maybe I don’t have to, but I want to. I don’t want you to ever doubt how perfect you are.” Alexia replied sweetly, pressing a gentle kiss to Olga’s cheek. 

It wasn’t the perfect date night that either of them had imagined, but it was still them, and that was enough. 

—

You really hadn’t meant to ruin Ale and Olga’s evening. When they’d left, you thought it would be nice to have some time to yourself. And it would have been, if you hadn’t tried to push yourself to eat dessert on top of an entire dinner. You’d managed a few bites before you began to spiral, and it had all gone downhill from there. 

Even still, you were hoping your sister and her girlfriend would slip into the house, say a brief goodnight, and not bother themselves with you. You certainly weren’t going to tell them what happened. Not today. It was your every intention to deal with your shame and embarrassment yourself in your room, which likely entailed crying into your pillow until you fell asleep. 

Alexia ruined your plans, though, with her magical ability to sense when something wasn’t right. It allowed her to sniff out one of Pina’s pranks before it happened, allowed her to turn around and squirt Mapi with water just as the defender was about to do the same to her. It was a gut feeling, and it was even stronger when it involved you. 

It wasn’t really magical. It was a lot of little things she picked up on. The little smirk Pina got before she pulled a prank. Mapi’s quiet giggling as she tried to sneak up on Ale. Now, it was the lack of noise in the house. The abandoned bowl of ice cream on the kitchen table, the light and fan left on in the downstairs bathroom. Your sister had known you all her life, and she knew what she’d find when she opened your bedroom door. Just like when you were little, and you’d sit at the foot of your bed when you’d gotten in trouble. Tears streaming down your little face, you’d turn away from Ale when she’d come after you, but she just had to wrap her arms around you, and you’d break. 

You’d never been able to deny yourself the comfort of an Alexia hug. 

Ale knocked softly before entering, finding you with your chin resting on your knees, wiping roughly at the tears falling down your face. 

“Hey, chiqui.” She said softly. 

“Hi.” You said, clearing your throat when your voice cracked. “How was your night?” 

Alexia ruffled your hair, knowing exactly what you were attempting to do, and took a seat next to you. “It was nice, dinner was good. We had fun.” 

“That’s good.” 

Alexia wrapped her arm around your shoulders. “You can tell me if something happened.” 

“Nothing happened.” You said firmly, though you leaned further into your sister, like she could protect you from something you’d done yourself. Something you’d done to yourself.  

“Pequeña,” 

“Nothing happened, Ale. Nothing.” 

How could you tell her? How could you tell her that you’d failed, that you’d messed up, that you’d deviated from the plan? She was going to be upset, you knew it. She expected perfection. She always had. This would be no different. Alexia wanted you to have a perfect recovery. 

As you continued to pretend nothing was wrong, Alexia felt a flash of frustration run through her. You still weren’t very willing to talk to her. Was she doing something wrong? Was she not not being patient enough or kind enough? What more could she do for you? What would it take for her to be enough? 

She looked at you again, though, at the way your lower lip was wobbling, and the tears in your eyes that you refused to let fall. You were barely hanging on to your strength, and Alexia wasn’t sure why you were so resistant to being vulnerable with her, but she knew she couldn’t stop trying. 

“Let me in. Please, you’re hurting, I can tell. Just talk to me.” She tried. When you stayed silent, she reached out, resting a hand on your shoulder. “I just want to help, nena. Let me help.”

You couldn’t take the pleading tone of your sister’s voice anymore, and the words streamed out of you before you could stop them. 

“I’m sorry. I– It was all just too much, I didn’t have a choice, I had to,” You choked out, eyes fixed firmly on the wall in front of you, even as your voice cracked and you started to cry. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Ale.” 

“Nena, why are you sorry?” Alexia asked, pulling you into her. You sobbed, unrestrained, into her sweater for a few moments, leaning back to take a few gasping breaths as you tried to answer her. 

“I– I messed up,” you cried. “I broke your trust and–”

“No, cariño, don’t think of it like that.” Alexia interrupted, wiping a few tears off your cheek, though more replaced them quickly. 

“But it is like that! The minute you left I made myself–” You cut yourself off with a sharp shake of your head. 

“Tell me. Tell me what happened, and we can talk through it, yeah?” 

“You don’t want to hear.” 

“Yes I do. That’s why I asked. Walk me through what happened and we can make a plan for next time.” 

It was always about plans with your sister, but you weren’t in much of a state to argue with her.

“I– I ate dinner. And it was okay. It was better. I think it got too confident or I wasn’t thinking hard enough but I got myself some ice cream but I only had a few bites before I was thinking about all the calories in it and how I’d have to skip breakfast tomorrow to make up for it, and then I remembered I have breakfast plans with Alba and I would have to eat and so I knew I had to–... I went to–,” 

You couldn’t go on, crying too hard to get another word out. You covered your face with your hand, more than humiliated at your tears and what you were trying to tell your sister. It felt horribly private, and you didn't want to see the disgust and judgment on your sister’s face. You’d never given her this much detail before, and you were sure she didn’t want to hear this. 

If you’d just opened your eyes, though, you would have seen the opposite of what you were expecting. Alexia was near tears herself, simply from seeing the pain that you were in. You were normally so good at hiding it; even when Alexia knew something was wrong, she couldn’t truly see how much it affected you. Now, though, something in you had broken, and you were falling to pieces in front of her. 

She hadn’t seen you cry like this since you’d broken your ankle training with her a few years ago. All she’d been able to think to do while she waited for Eli to come pick you both up was pull you into her lap, though you were too big for it. 

And it was all she could think to do now, allowing you to tuck yourself into her and cry as hard as you needed to. She held you tightly, as if she could stabilize the world as it crumbled around you, her own tears falling freely now. 

“Alright, alright. It’s okay. It’s all okay, hermanita.” 

“It’s not.” You sobbed, bordering on hysterical now. “I le-let you down.” 

“No,” Alexia disagreed.  “No. You didn’t let me down. This is part of it, chiqui. Part of recovery is relapsing, and I will never ever be disappointed in you for that. I know this isn’t easy.”

You simply didn’t believe her. She had to be disappointed, so you had to keep trying to justify it. 

“I-I hate feeling like this.  I just needed to control something. I just needed to be in control.” 

“I get that. It must be really scary to give up control over what’s going in your body. Listening to the meal plans and eating what we tell you has to be so difficult.” 

And though it was what you’d wanted all week, to hear Alexia acknowledge how hard this was, it didn’t feel right. You were convinced she was just saying whatever she needed to to get you to stop crying, that she was disappointed, even if she wasn’t showing it. She shouldn’t have to push down her justified anger because you were a disaster, she should be mad at you. 

“No, Ale, stop.” You said, though you didn’t have the strength to push away from where your face was buried in the fabric of her sweater. “You’re disappointed, you want to yell. Just yell, please. It’ll make you feel better, and you won’t be mad at me anymore, so please. Just yell. I messed up. I deserve it.” 

Alexia was quiet for almost a full minute. It felt like a stab to the chest that you thought she had to yell in order to work through her feelings. That you were so convinced she was angry with you, disappointed in you. That you were willing to sit through a lecture because you felt so guilty for what you’d done. She hated it all; you weren’t to blame. You were doing your best. She could see that, everyone could see that, so why couldn’t you?

It was as if you thought of yourself as a bad person for having an eating disorder. As if every relapse, every action you’d taken in the haze of your illness, made you a bad person. Being sick didn’t make you bad, and your sister ached to make you see that. 

“Tell me something. After you make yourself throw up, what do you feel? What goes through your head?” 

The question felt like it came from nowhere, the confusion you felt putting a stop to your tears. Instead, you breathed deeply for a minute, thinking. Hearing her say it made your stomach drop. You didn’t like to name it in your head. It was just… something you did, and if it remained unnamed, it wouldn’t matter. 

But it did matter, and even though she was supposed to be mad, Alexia was rubbing your back like you mattered, and it was all so confusing that you just found yourself answering. 

“Awful. Ashamed and embarrassed and disgusted. Guilty. I hate myself after I do it. It feels like the world is ending because I have to start over, like all the progress I’ve made was for nothing.”

“Does it make you feel like a bad person?” 

At this, you jolted away from Alexia, staring at her with wide eyes. What was the right answer? What did she want to hear?

“I guess. I… I know I’m doing something wrong, something I shouldn’t be doing. I know I’m hurting my body and I know I’m hurting the team and my career. I’m doing something wrong and that makes me feel like I’m bad.” You admitted. Completely unsure where that confession had come from, you stared at your sister as you waited for her reply, as if you were shocked by your statement. She didn’t seem to be. 

“It is wrong because it is unhealthy. It is wrong because you are hurting yourself. But… doing something ‘wrong’ doesn’t make you bad. You aren’t a bad person for being sick, you aren’t a bad person for relapsing. You’re doing your best, nena. You are trying. And even if you weren’t, that wouldn’t make you bad.” 

You didn’t fully believe her, and Alexia could tell. This wasn’t something she could fix with a few words, though, and she knew that. Tomorrow, she’d make sure you talked to Lucia about this, but for now, she was content knowing that you weren’t crying anymore, and you looked significantly less distressed. 

“You’re really not mad? Or disappointed?” 

Alexia swallowed the lump in her throat at your question. “I’m really not. I’ve done my research, I’ve talked to your doctor, I knew to expect this, nena. It’s okay, it’s part of getting better. It can’t all be perfect, it won’t all be perfect. You don’t need to be perfect. You just need to try, and I’ll be proud of you. I am proud of you.” 

You wondered how Alexia had gone from a disaster that could barely put a sentence together without saying the wrong thing to this; saying exactly what you needed to hear from her and more. Likely, it was a combination of Olga, the research you know she’d stayed up late doing, and sheer determination to help you the best she could. 

“I know this is hard in a lot of ways,” Alexia continued. “But you can talk to me. Always. Without worrying that I’ll be mad or upset. I promise you, pequeña, you can tell me anything. I’m here to help you.” 

“I just hate talking about this.” You admitted. “I don’t like being vulnerable.” 

“I know you don’t. You never have.” Alexia chuckled, thinking about how Eli used to have a jar set on the kitchen counter called the feeling’s jar. If you were upset about something, you were supposed to tell your Mami or your sisters about it, but that almost never happened. Instead, Eli gave you the option to write the feeling down and put it in the jar for someone to read later, when you weren’t in the room. It was the best any of them could do to understand what was going through your head, even as a child. “Would it make it better if I was vulnerable too? If I talk about something hard with you?” 

You laughed, thinking she was joking, but when you glanced at her, she was completely serious, earnestly staring at you. 

“Maybe.” You said suspiciously, highly doubtful that Alexia was about to tell you anything that really mattered to her. If you were stubborn about your feelings, it was because Ale was too. 

Alexia just nodded, almost solemnly, fixing her attention on the ceiling above you both before she began speaking. “This season… this season has been harder. It’s always been hard switching off from football and taking a break when I need to, but it’s like… I have all this stuff outside of football that deserves my attention too. And it’s even harder now.” 

“Other stuff… being Olga?”

Your sister nodded, blushing just slightly. “I need to spend less time doing extra training and watching film and obsessing over strategies.  I just… I can’t. I can’t do it. I have to train every day. I have to do the most that I can.” 

“Or what?”

“Or… I don’t know. I’d feel bad. I’d fail the team. But if I don’t find a better balance…” Alexia paused, taking a deep breath. You could have cried, again, from how much you appreciated her in that moment. Telling you things you knew she struggled to share, so you’d feel less alone. “Olga is always on me about self care, and I’m worried I’ll lose her if I don’t figure out how to take breaks and leave football behind when I come home, at least a little. And I really, really don’t want to lose her.” 

You thought hard, knowing that Alexia deserved the absolute best advice you could give her, even if she wasn’t explicitly asking for it. 

“I don’t think you’re going to lose her, Ale. But I think she deserves better than being second best to your job until you retire. It’s like you said, you need a balance. Sometimes, football is going to come first. That’s just part of the job. But you also have to make sure she comes first too, sometimes. Even if you have to do something that makes you uncomfortable, like miss an extra training session or not watch all the available film you can get your hands on.” 

By the time you stopped talking and looked at your sister, she looked almost stunned, as though she wasn’t expecting you to have anything very helpful to say. 

“When did you get good at giving relationship advice?” She asked. “The last time I asked you for advice like this you told me to spray paint I love you on Jenni’s car as an apology.” 

You laughed. “That was like… 10 years ago, Ale. I’ve grown up.” 

“You really have.” Your sister got a rather pensive look on her face, as if she was just seeing for the first time that you were no longer a little kid. In effort to avoid any further sappiness, you voiced the idea that had popped into your head a few minutes ago. 

“Didn’t Olga say she doesn’t have much work to do tomorrow? You should take her to lunch.” 

“We have training.” Alexia said automatically.

You rolled your eyes. “I know. Skip. It’s a gym session and film that you’ve probably already watched. Skip it and take your girlfriend out. No one will care.” 

It was clear that the idea made Alexia uncomfortable. Really uncomfortable. Her posture had become stiff and her hands were clenched almost as tightly as her jaw was. 

 But she thought about the last time she’d done something spontaneous for Olga, and the way the brunette's face had lit up. It had just been flowers picked up on the way home from training, but it had clearly meant a lot to her. Alexia wanted to see that look on Olga’s face again. Soon. 

“Okay.” She agreed hesitantly. “How do I skip? Is it like school? Should I lie and say I’m sick?” 

You laughed again, but Alexia joined in this time. “No, tonta. Just say you have a personal commitment. It’s not like anyone is going to ask questions.” 

“Mmm. Well, you’re coming with us.” 

You looked at her like she was stupid. “No I’m not. That would ruin the romantic date with your girlfriend.” 

Alexia frowned, trying to think of a way she could make you a part of this too. A way she could make you want to try because she was trying. “Fine, but I’m bringing you back lunch, okay?” 

Suddenly, you looked just as uncomfortable as your sister had, but you agreed nonetheless. You couldn’t not try if Alexia was trying. And you both knew that what you had to do was harder than what she had to do. It wasn’t really about that, though. It was about your sister understanding how difficult this process was, and telling you that you didn’t have to be perfect, just like she wasn’t. 

Recovery wasn’t perfect. Existing wasn’t perfect. It was about trying. It was about knowing there needed to be a change, and doing your best to make one. 

Trying your best didn’t have to be perfect, or without fault. Alexia almost threw herself into a panic attack the next day when she remembered she was missing a captains meeting, but Olga had calmed her down and Irene had promised to send her copious notes. 

The look on Olga’s face had made it all feel worth it when Alexia had asked her of the plan you’d come up with. 

“Do you want to get lunch tomorrow?” Alexia had asked casually, as her and Olga stood side by side at the stove, cooking dinner. 

“After training?” Olga had wondered, confused. 

“No. No training tomorrow, I’m taking the day off.” 

It was very worth it when Olga practically dropped the wooden spoon she was holding and launched herself at Alexia, wrapping the taller woman in a tight hug. It was so, so worth it when Olga whispered a soft I’m proud of you in Alexia’s ear. 

It wasn’t easy when you tried to eat lunch the next day. It wasn’t easy when you were done, and when you cried into your sister’s shoulder, when all you wanted to do was get rid of it. 

But it was worth it later, when Alexia told you how proud she was of you, and you knew she meant it. You believed her. The next day, when Lucia told you she thought you were making good progress. Every step forward wasn’t without some faltering, but you moved forward anyway.

You moved through recovery. Forwards and backwards. Mostly forwards. Returning to training, to matches, to doing what you loved. To feeling like yourself again. 

It wasn’t easy. It wasn’t perfect, but change was worth it. Getting better was worth it. 

—

didn't plan on finishing this and getting it out tonight but it was flowing really well and i... think... i'm... happy... with.... it??? anyway! thanks for reading <3

[ssahotchnerr]

jack & ellie trying to make soup for a sick aaron🥺🫶 they’re like tossing around dry pasta noodles in a pot 😭😭🫶

- 🧶

sick day

WAIT you just gave me an idea so let me elaborate i hope that's okay 🫶🏻 cw; mentions of sickness, dad!aaron, fem!reader, fluff <3

Jack and Ellie were huddled underneath the shade of a tree, heads together and busying themselves away with something.

The window above the kitchen sink allowed clear visibility into the backyard, letting you keep an undeviating eye on them. It was a bright summer afternoon, all windows in the house were open, a cool breeze sweeping in. You could easily hear and observe the two of them, while also doting on your sick husband.

This morning, you awoke to a sweaty Aaron beside you; cowlicks and t-shirt drenched. He was sporting a sore throat along with his fever, as well as a lingering headache. Last night he had even returned home early, the fluorescent lights of the BAU not having mercy on his head.

"How's it going?" You peered your head into your bedroom, Aaron buried deep under the comforter. While it was quite warm outside, he had stated he was freezing.

A muffled, "Fine." came from beneath.

"Need anything?"

Another incoherent mumble in response.

After obtaining him more water (and making sure he drank some) you went forth with your day, cleaning up the kitchen's mess after lunch. As you did so, the screen door rolled open, slamming with a shut.

"Watch fingers." You advised, continuing to place dirty cups into the dishwasher. With the two of them coming in and out of the house so hastily, you were eager to prevent potential broken fingers.

In your peripheral they passed, rather slow for their usual nature. It raised your suspicions immediately, causing you to slow, before committing to follow. Especially when Ellie recalled the word dirt.

They ventured upstairs and into your bedroom. It was dimly lit; lights off and curtains pulled, the slight sheerness of the fabric allowing the sun to subtly brighten the room. Again the windows were agape - allowing fresh air to circulate through the room.

"Daddy." Ellie whispered, her face close enough to his whereas he could feel her breath on his face.

"Hm?"

"We made you soup."

Her words snapped him out of his feverish haze, both his eyes opening and heart melting in one go.

"You did?" Aaron gingerly sat up, using his elbows for leverage and leaning against his pillow. He purposely strained his voice; finding his soft, Dad tone and attempting to push past the hoarseness; sounding as normal as possible.

Jack produced a small bucket, one that usually remained within the sandbox. Instead it was filled with water, dirt, grass, miscellaneous leaves; anything the backyard could provide.

The contents took Aaron by surprise, stalling for a split second once in his grasp. Dumbfounded, but extremely touched.

"Do you like it?" Ellie asked, clambering onto the mattress besides him.

"I do." Aaron commented, offering her a smile. "It's... organic, that's for sure."

"Bunnies eat grass." Ellie explained, looking from the 'soup' to him. "'member when we found the baby bunnies? You said they eat grass to be healthy and strong. So this will help you not be sick."

Aaron's face softened more; the logic making complete sense in her little mind - why wouldn't it? He laughed gently, and naturally he didn't have the heart to tell her it was inedible. "Thank you sweetheart, that's real kind of you. Did you make up this recipe all by yourself?"

Ellie nodded, a thoroughly pleased expression on her face. "Jackers helped too. He put the water in from the hose and added the leaves."

"I didn't tell her you couldn't eat it," Jack quickly whispered to him, "she really wanted to give you something that could make you feel better."

Aaron offered him a look, an understanding between the two of them. "Well, it definitely is making me feel better. I can promise that."

"Really?" Ellie blinked up at him.

"Really. I had no idea I had such skilled chefs for kids." He coughed; his voice was slowly beginning to give out, the more he spoke.

"Like Grandpa Dave!"

Aaron laughed brightly, ignoring the burn in the back of his throat and the heaviness in his body. "Just like Grandpa Dave."

"Here," You pushed yourself off the doorframe, where you had been silently (and pleasantly) observing. Ellie had been a bit too close for too long, and you could tell Aaron was gradually fading.

You took the 'soup' from him, internally grateful all of it had stayed in the bucket despite traveling up a flight of stairs. "Why don't I take this. Daddy needs to get some rest, that'll help him feel better too."

"Peace and quiet."

"That's right, peace and quiet." You echoed Ellie as she hopped off the bed, touching her head gently to gesture her out. You flashed Aaron a smile as the three of you exited, one tugging onto his lips too as he drowsily eased back against his pillow.

[starsomens]

hi star!!

thinking about a really sloppy make out session rn. Like just sitting on his lap grinding on him, him getting hard underneath you running his hands all over your body. Then just leading to the nastiest sex and just being such a good girl for him :((

A/N: OH MY ANON- (i tired my best muah!)

Warning: language, dirty talk, messy-ish sex, recording studio sex, unprotected sex (wrap it up), WE ARE JUST DIVING RIGHT INTO IT!

You both had a day off finally! So of course it was spent cuddled in bed, sleeping in and some homemade breakfast, you were even able to get some chores done around the house! However, that also meant you were finding a lot of old stuff and misplaced things as well. Noah was currently in the top cupboard going through some old things that had been pushed to the back.

"Old pasta sauce?" his voice echoed in the wooden space

"Mmm what's the date?"

"Last month," he hands it to you for you to toss "uh...old chocolate bar still in the wrapper?"

"really? Let me see?" he comes out of the space and hands you the bar of chocolate still in mint condition

"What you gonna eat it?" he chuckled "What brand is it anyway?" he asks looking at the item with you

"I can't remember," you flip it around and see the label had instructions? You read them out loud "Split the chocolate in half with you partner, and allow up to 20 minutes to take effect-OH OKAY! I know what this is," you could FEEL the blush creeping already remembering what this was

"Hey wait what do you mean you know? What is it?" Noah said as he tried getting the candy back from you

"It's nothing!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa wait minute," he stops recalling what the label said "is it...sex chocolate? The one that gets you horny and shit?"

"NO!"

"so.....yes?" he smirks at you finally swiping the chocolate from your hands and unwrapping it

"Noooaaahhhh" you whine

"Come on babe, you act like we haven't done worst shit than this," he pulls out the 3 sets of split chocolate "remember why I got a video camera?" he wiggled his eyebrows at you

"That's different...." you pout

"sure it is babe. Here," he opens a set and breaks off his half and popped it in his mouth passing you yours, "say ah princess,"

You sigh while he holds the chocolate aphrodisiac, you slowly open your mouth and he gently slips the piece on to your tongue as he drags your lips down a bit

"Such a good girl" he teased with the signature grin of his.

"shut up," you giggle shaking your head "now come on we still have one more cupboard to go through"

about 30 minutes later you in fact did not move to the next cupboard. It started with Noah taking his shirt off because he was feeling hot, which only made you stare at his back more. Those tattoos....and wide shoulders...and those arms.....

When he had caught you he stepped closer to you. He was practically looming over you with a deep and hungry stare. One that burned into your soul. His hand ghosts over your stomach and up between your breasts and to your neck. Sending a deep shiver down you spine that ended as a dull ache in your very core. He hoists you on to the counter and slots himself between your legs. His lips were fierce and hungry against yours as his hands claw at your to bring you impossibly closer.

It felt like you were hot and cold at the same time, you were anxious and impatient and you just NEEDED him. Luckily for Noah you were wearing an old tank top...old and flimsy enough for him to see your nipples peak when it got cold, and old enough for him to... *riiiiipp*

You breasts feel free from the cloth as it falls on to the counter

"No bra? Were you planning to get fucked princess?" His large hand cupped one of your breasts and took your nipple into his mouth.

"Mmm Noah," you shudder as he lets go with a pop

"tell me what you want...what you need pretty girl," he voice was low and deep. His pupils were blown and deep and with pure lust. Like a predator that had finally cornered it's pray. Noah lift you from the counter and carries you over to the sofa. His lips crashing down on yours with me and fever. First, he was doubting that that chocolate had even worked, but now he felt like he was ready to take you over and over again in every part of the house.

His tongue swipes across your bottom lip as it slips inside your mouth. Your tongues dance around in an erotic kiss. While his hands were busy, stripping you of your bottoms. He can feel his cock straining against his pants. The more he tasted you the more he wanted to taste and feel. And then need to fuck you senseless only piled on itself.

"need you Noah...so fucking bad...please," which each gap between your mouths you get out exactly what you wanted from him

"need little slut...need me deep in that pussy huh?" he teased, his lips moving to your ear to nibble it just a bit making a shaky breath escape from your lips. One of his favorite things to hear

"p-please..." oh and the begging how he loved it. Thank god he was only wearing his shorts, pushing them down and positioning himself between your legs. His fingers coming down to feel the wetness of your core. You were more slick than usual

"fuck you're so wet," he growls lowly, his middle and ring finger coated in your juices as he brings it back up to his mouth and licked it off his fingers. You couldn't help the deep blush that floods your cheeks as you watch him.

"alright pretty girl, keep those eyes on me...." he hoists your legs on to his shoulders, his lips kiss your left calf. A playful yet sly grin decorated his face as he rubs the tip of his cock up and down your slit, and god you needed him so badly. His eyes bore into yours as he finally positions himself and slowly pushes himself in , inch by inch. You feel that wonderful stretch and full feeling and you were already seeing stars. He pushes all the way in until the hilt with a deep groan as he watches your mouth fall open in pleasure.

"Fuck! So fucking..." he pulls out just a bit and thrusts back in "tight! Damn princess" he picks up a steady rhythm as he starts to steadily fuck you. You usually lasted so much longer but you already felt like you were going to cum, you eyes were dazed and unfocused, completely engulfed in the sensation of pleasure.

"F-fuck Noah...right there," you pant as he leans his weight down on your legs slightly to get in deeper

"here princess? Like it nice and deep huh?" he smirks as he starts to move his hips harder, faster and deeper

"Oh fuck! Y-yes!" you nails start to claw at his arms feeling that knot starting form in the pit of your stomach

"pussy so tight...and wet just for me..." he pants "Good fucking girl....taking my dick so good..." you could feel his cock starting to pound you to the verge of your orgasm

"N-noah...Noah! Oh god~"

"Gonna cum already? Gonna cum on this dick baby?"

"Y-Yea--oh fuck!"

"Cum....cum for me princess," his next 3 thrusts were enough to push you off the edge and finally cum around his cock. The chocolate completely enhancing your orgasm, as you tighten around his cock, your juices coating him. He keeps moving in and out at a slower pace. The sound of your cum as he thrusts into you filling in the silence of the home

"holy shit babe..... came so much just for me, like a good little slut....my good little slut," he sits back on his heels as he spreads your legs and watches as you drip down on to the couch, coating the entire length of his cock. He watches as his cock pumps in and out of your pussy. "look at that...taking it so fucking good...how about another baby? Gonna fill this pussy up so good,"

His grunts and groans only become deeper as he picks up his pace again. Your walls clenching around him, still sensitive from the last orgasm. Your continuous whines were filled with pleasure and ecstasy as your eyes roll back and your head falls limp. Completely lost in the pleasure, feeling every aching inch that he pumped into you.

"Fuck look at that....so fucking-ugh...."he huffs as he watches intently feeling himself edging closer and closer "Tell me where baby...where do you want it?"

"I-inside please...please Noah fuck!"

"Cum for me again baby.....gonna fill up this pussy....just cum for me again..."

You could feel him twitch inside, as he the sound of his skin slapping against yours filled the room. He starts to moan as he comes closer and closer.

"Com-coming! FUCK!," he hips give sloppy but strong pumps as he empties himself inside of you, he cock still pumping in and out, fucking his cum deeper into you. You cum again around his cock, your essence mixing with his, flooding on to you and him and the couch below

"Fuck! take it!...t-take it!" he growls as his thrusts slow down as he rides out both of your highs. His hips come to a halt, his body coming down to collapse on top of yours. The room was filled with your pants as you tried to catch your breath be very intense sex that just occurred. One thing was for sure you need to wash the couch before you have anyone come over, or before you even sit on it again as Noah’s head rests on your collarbone, he says between breaths.

“We…need….to buy…..more those….”

“More?” You ask in a half chuckle now believing what you had just heard. You still had another two sets that you could use and he was already thinking about buying more. “You.,.are something else” 

“You’re the one who bought them,” he answers with a chuckle as he kisses the skin of your shoulder. Making a mental note to find any local stores with the same or similar chocolate.

「✨Taglist✨」 @lilhobgobbler @vir-tually @tdopomymind @concretenoah @yourfavragingbisexual @calleyx13 @misspygmypie @lust-for-sacher @lolitasangel @thescarlettvvitch @cind6547 @itsmrsfuentes @lma1986 @alloraiona @daylightlvrs @millie-aubs @alittleblackmagic @cookiesupplier @sprokat @rafeyybabyy @foliosriot @foliosgirl

[reidmarieprentiss]

Lost in Translation: Part Three

Summary: Derek sets up a meeting for you and Spencer. Old feelings resurface.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff, mild angst

Warnings/Includes: insecurities, discussions of past issues

Word count: 7.2k

a/n: this took me so long my loves im sorrryyyyy i have been experiencing the worst writers block ever and i just keep starting stories and not finishing

main masterlist prologue part one part two part four

After another long day at work, Spencer found himself seeking out Derek again, the weight of everything gnawing at him more than he could handle. He caught Derek just as he was about to leave for the night, his anxiety written all over his face. 

"Derek," Spencer called out, his voice tentative, eyes darting around nervously.

Derek turned around, noticing the tension in Spencer's frame. He sighed quietly, already knowing what this was about. "What’s up, Reid?"

Spencer hesitated for a moment before asking, “Do you think she’ll ever forgive me?”

Derek paused, weighing his response carefully. He crossed his arms, his face thoughtful but firm. "Honestly, man, I don’t know. She’s hurt, and it's not something that’s going to just disappear overnight."

Spencer's shoulders slumped, the frustration and guilt heavy in his voice as he mumbled, “I messed up so badly. I don’t even know if she’ll ever be able to look at me the same way.”

Derek shook his head slowly. "Look, it’s not gonna happen overnight, and maybe not even for a long time. You have to be patient, Spencer. Respect her space, her boundaries. If she’s ready to talk, she’ll come to you. But you can’t force this."

Spencer ran a hand through his hair, clearly struggling with his emotions. "I just... I wish I could fix it. I hate knowing I hurt her like that."

Derek softened, his tone a little gentler now. "I get it. And I know you want to make things right. But sometimes, you just have to give people the time they need. If she’s ready to forgive, she’ll let you know. But right now? Just focus on being there if and when she’s ready."

Spencer nodded slowly, absorbing Derek's words. It wasn’t the answer he’d been hoping for, but he knew deep down that Derek was right. All he could do now was wait, as painful as that was.

"Thanks, Derek," Spencer muttered after a long pause.

Derek clapped him on the shoulder, offering a small, supportive smile. "Hang in there, kid. Just be patient."

—

You were at the grocery store, minding your own business, pushing your cart down the aisle and scanning the shelves for the brand of pasta you always bought. You spotted it, way up on the top shelf, and sighed, stretching up on your toes but still coming up short. Typical.

Suddenly, you felt a presence beside you. "Need some help with that?" came a familiar voice, and your heart skipped a beat. You turned to see Spencer standing there, his expression somewhere between awkward and hopeful.

For a split second, you froze. The last thing you expected was to run into him again, and here, of all places. But you managed a polite smile and nodded, stepping aside as Spencer easily reached up and grabbed the pasta from the top shelf. 

“Here you go,” he said, handing it to you. His fingers brushed yours for the briefest of moments, and you felt a rush of memories flood back, but you quickly pulled your hand away, holding the pasta against your chest like it was some sort of shield.

"Thanks," you mumbled, trying to avoid making eye contact. 

Spencer stood there, clearly waiting for the moment to stretch into something more, but you couldn’t handle it—not here, not now. 

“Well, um, I should keep going," you said, your voice a little too quick, too tight. "I’ve got a lot to get through." 

Spencer opened his mouth, probably to try and start a conversation, but you were already stepping past him. “See you around,” you added quickly, pushing your cart down the aisle, the tension thick between you.

You didn’t look back. You couldn’t. But as you walked away, you couldn’t help but feel Spencer’s eyes on you, the weight of everything unsaid lingering in the air.

After the grocery store run-in, you'd reached your breaking point. It wasn’t just Spencer showing up again; it was how seeing him churned up feelings you thought you’d buried deep. The confusion, the anger, the unresolved emotions—it was all too much. You’d tried to brush it off, to pretend like it didn’t affect you, but every time Spencer popped back into your life, those old wounds opened up again.

Derek noticed. He always did. He was the one who sat with you in silence after the grocery store encounter, watching as you pretended like everything was fine. Finally, he leaned forward, his voice gentle but firm. "Y/N, I can see it. You're not okay."

You swallowed, staring down at your coffee, fingers trembling slightly around the warm mug. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Derek,” you murmured, your voice low.

“It’s not about what I want you to say,” Derek replied softly. “It’s about what you need. You keep running into Spencer, and every time it’s eating you alive.”

You didn’t want to admit it, but he was right. You could feel it—each encounter was a reminder of the pain you’d carried for so long, and it was getting harder and harder to keep pretending like you were fine.

Derek paused for a moment, his voice softening even more. “You need to figure out what’s gonna help you heal, Y/N. You’ve been holding onto this for too long.”

That statement hit you like a punch to the gut. Healing. You hadn’t thought much about that—not really. You’d just been trying to ignore the past, trying to move forward without looking back. But now? Now it felt like you couldn’t move on until you faced it head-on.

After a long silence, you finally spoke, your voice barely above a whisper. “I want to talk to him.”

Derek looked up, surprised, but he didn’t say anything, waiting for you to continue.

You took a deep breath, the words tumbling out as you finally admitted the truth to yourself. “I need to talk to Spencer. Not to... forgive him, but to get closure. To... figure out what I need.”

Derek nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Okay. I can help with that. We’ll do it on your terms. No surprises.”

You felt a wave of relief wash over you. “Thank you,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

Derek gave you a small, reassuring smile. “I’ll arrange it. My place, no interruptions, just you and him. Whenever you’re ready.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt like you were taking control of your own story, and while the idea of facing Spencer still terrified you, there was a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, you’d finally get the answers—and the closure—you needed.

—

Derek had set the scene, arranging a cozy dinner at his place that looked almost like the setup for a romantic date, with warm lighting, neatly set plates, and a few candles casting a soft glow over the room. Spencer arrived first, his nerves evident as he fidgeted with the buttons on his blazer, glancing around the room with a mixture of hope and apprehension.

Seeing Spencer’s anxious expression, Derek couldn’t resist a grin. “Damn, pretty boy! You clean up nice,” he teased, giving Spencer an approving once-over and a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

Spencer tried to smile, though his eyes were still a little distant, the weight of the evening pressing down on him. “I don’t know, Derek… Do you really think this is going to go well?” he asked quietly, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

Derek squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. “Hey, you’re here, looking sharp, and ready to try. That’s all you can do, man. Just be honest, listen to what she has to say, and let the rest work itself out.” 

Spencer took a deep breath, nodding as he let Derek’s words settle over him, finding a small measure of calm amidst the swirling thoughts in his mind.

The two men spent their time waiting for you chatting, though Spencer’s nerves were evident in every glance he threw toward the door, each sound making him sit a little straighter, tighten his grip on his glass, and shift in his seat. Derek watched him with an amused grin, offering the occasional reassuring word, but knowing full well that Spencer was a bundle of tension no pep talk could completely unwind.

Then, the unmistakable sound of a key turning in the lock filled the quiet room. Spencer’s hand stilled on the glass as he took a deep, steadying breath. Derek chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Showtime,” he whispered, patting Spencer on the back just as you stepped through the door.

When Spencer looked up, the breath he’d taken seemed pointless. It left him in one swift, stunned exhale as he took in the sight of you. You looked radiant, your hair framing your face perfectly, your outfit both effortlessly chic and undeniably stunning. The way you carried yourself, that familiar confidence mingling with a hint of surprise as your eyes met his, left Spencer utterly captivated. He couldn't have said a word if he tried.

Derek, noticing the silent awe, cleared his throat with a playful smirk. “Well, I’ll leave you two to it,” he said, slipping out of the room, though not before giving Spencer an encouraging nod.

"Hi," Spencer breathed, his voice soft but full of emotion, his eyes drinking you in like he’d never seen you before.

"Hello, Spencer," you replied with a shy smile, your cheeks already feeling warm under his gaze. There was a hint of nervousness in your expression, but the familiarity between you two softened it into something almost tender.

“You look… beautiful,” he said, the words tumbling out with a raw sincerity that caught you off guard.

"Thank you," you murmured, your cheeks deepening in color as you smiled. "And you… well, you look quite dapper."

A surprised laugh escaped Spencer, his eyes lighting up. "Dapper? I don’t think I’ve ever been called that," he chuckled, a bit of his earlier tension melting away.

You found yourself laughing softly too, the moment pulling both of you into that easy rhythm you’d shared once upon a time. The atmosphere around you shifted, the laughter a small but hopeful bridge over the wide, silent gap of everything left unsaid between you.

After the tentative laughter fades, there’s a moment of quiet between you and Spencer, heavy with unsaid words. You both know why you’re here, but neither seems quite ready to dive into the painful conversation waiting in the wings. 

Spencer fidgets for a moment, his fingers running along the edge of the table. He takes a deep breath, steadying himself before looking up to meet your gaze.

"I know you don’t owe me anything," he begins, his voice unsteady but sincere. "But I want to say… I’m sorry. Truly, deeply sorry. For everything.”

You nod slowly, allowing him to continue, your expression guarded but open, ready to finally hear him out.

“I was… I was scared,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “Back then, I thought that if I left first, I could protect myself. But in doing that, I hurt you in ways I can’t ever take back.”

“But why? Why were you scared? And what were you protecting yourself from?” You asked hesitantly, scared of his answer but needing to know. “Me?”

Spencer swallowed hard, your question piercing through the fragile wall he’d built around his emotions. He looked down, his fingers twitching as they brushed over the edge of his glass, his voice barely steady. “Not from you,” he murmured, shaking his head. “Never from you. But… from what I felt for you.”

He met your gaze, the vulnerability in his eyes startling and raw. “I wasn’t used to feeling that way, to… wanting something so much. I’d spent so much of my life being alone, thinking that maybe I didn’t need anyone, or rather, didn’t deserve anyone. But then… then you showed up, and everything I thought I knew didn’t make sense anymore.”

You felt a pang in your chest, hearing him admit it out loud. It was the answer you’d suspected, maybe even hoped for, but it didn’t ease the hurt. “So, instead of letting yourself feel, you chose to leave. Just like that?”

Spencer winced, the guilt etching deeper lines into his face. “I thought… I thought I was doing the right thing. That if I left, I’d spare us both—” He cut himself off, his voice trembling as he realized the selfishness in his own logic. “But I was wrong. I see that now. I see that every time I remember you, every time I think of the life I could’ve had with you if I’d just… if I’d just been braver.”

You take a breath, letting his words settle. There’s a part of you that wants to lash out, to ask why he thought his fear was more important than you. But instead, you just say, “I never understood why. I thought… I thought I’d done something wrong.”

Spencer’s face twists with regret. “No,” he says emphatically. “You did nothing wrong. You were kind, and patient, and everything I didn’t think I deserved. I was selfish and... immature, and I ran because I couldn’t handle what I felt for you. Because… everyone who had come before you left me. And I couldn’t stand the thought of you doing the same, I–I had to be the one to do the leaving.”

There’s a long pause as you both let the weight of the past sink in, the air between you thick with the echoes of everything that once was.

You took a shaky breath, absorbing his words, letting them wash over you like a bittersweet balm. The hurt still pulsed beneath the surface, but Spencer’s admission was a kind of validation—a small relief in knowing that he hadn’t left because of anything you’d done, but rather because of his own fears, his own pain. You could see it now, the scars of his past, etched into his expression as he looked at you, vulnerable and exposed.

“Spencer,” you murmured softly, searching his face, “you didn’t have to protect yourself from me. I would’ve stayed. I wanted you to stay.”

He closed his eyes briefly, as if the words stung, and when he opened them again, they were glassy with unshed tears. “I know that now,” he said, his voice a whisper filled with remorse. “And I hate that I wasn’t strong enough to believe it back then. I took the easy way out, and in doing that, I lost the best thing that ever happened to me.”

A lump formed in your throat as you considered everything he’d just laid bare. Part of you wanted to let that resentment simmer, to guard yourself, to keep holding him at a distance so he couldn’t hurt you again. But another part of you, the part that still remembered the warmth in his smile and the kindness in his eyes, wanted to believe that maybe this time, he was telling the truth. Maybe this time, he was ready to face his fears instead of running from them.

Finally, you nodded, your voice soft but steady. “Spencer, I don’t know if I can just forget everything that happened, or if we can ever go back to what we were.” You paused, swallowing the last remnants of bitterness in your throat. “But… I think I’m willing to see who we can be now… as friends.”

His face brightened, the relief evident as he let out a small, shaky breath, nodding fervently. “Thank you. Thank you for giving me even the smallest chance. I swear, I won’t take it for granted this time. I would love to be your friend again.”

Spencer’s words hung in the air between you, sincere and hopeful, filling the room with a kind of warmth you hadn’t felt in a long time. You watched as he visibly relaxed, the tension in his shoulders easing, the lines of worry on his face softening. He looked like he’d been holding his breath for years, and now, finally, he could breathe again.

You offered a tentative smile, feeling some of the weight lift from your own heart as well. “Good. Friends, then,” you said, letting the words settle, hoping they would feel real in time. It was a start—a cautious, careful start—and maybe that was all either of you could ask for right now.

Spencer reached for his glass, lifting it with a small, almost shy grin. “To friendship?”

You hesitated for just a second before picking up your own glass, meeting his gaze with a nod. “To friendship,” you echoed, clinking your glass gently against his.

For a moment, you both just sipped in silence, the atmosphere lighter, yet still laced with the unspoken acknowledgment of everything you’d been through to get to this point. But now there was something else too—a tentative trust, a fragile understanding, and a sense of hope that maybe, just maybe, you could both find a way forward. 

After a while, Spencer glanced at you with a soft smile. “So… does this mean I get to hear all about what’s been going on in your life? I feel like I’ve missed so much.”

You laughed, the sound coming easier now. “Maybe. But only if you tell me about yours. I imagine it’s been… eventful?”

Spencer chuckled, nodding. “Eventful is an understatement.” His smile grew, and you could see in his eyes a quiet gratitude—a promise, almost—that he wouldn’t let this new chance slip away.

And as the two of you fell into a familiar rhythm of conversation, it felt like the beginning of something healing, something honest—a friendship, perhaps, but one built on something much deeper, with a foundation strong enough to weather the past.

During the meal Derek set up, Spencer’s face lit up as he leaned in, his eyes sparkling with amusement and mild embarrassment. “So, picture this,” he began, already chuckling. “It’s my first day at the Bureau, and I’m nervous, right? I mean, I was 22, fresh out of college, and suddenly surrounded by all these experienced agents. And then, in walks Derek.”

You laughed, already picturing Derek’s confident stride, imagining him sizing up a much younger, slightly awkward Spencer.

“He takes one look at me,” Spencer continued, shaking his head, “and smirks like he’s just seen the nerdiest kid to ever walk through the doors of the FBI. I’m there, clutching a giant stack of files and notebooks, and he comes right up to me, flashing that classic Derek grin, and goes, ‘Hey, kid, did you get lost on a field trip?’”

You burst out laughing, covering your mouth as you imagined Spencer’s face at that moment. “No! He didn’t!”

“Oh, he did,” Spencer said, eyes widening with mock indignation, though his grin betrayed his amusement. “And it didn’t stop there. He called me ‘pretty boy’ and ‘kid’ within the first five minutes and has never stopped since.”

You shook your head, still laughing, picturing young Spencer being tossed right into Derek’s playful antics from the get-go. “I can totally see it. Poor you. And let me guess, you had no idea how to respond?”

“Absolutely none,” he replied, grinning sheepishly. “I just kind of blinked at him and stammered something about already having a map of the building… which only made him laugh harder.”

The two of you dissolved into giggles, your laughter filling the room as Spencer recounted more of his awkward encounters from that first day, each story making you laugh harder than the last. You felt a warmth spreading in your chest, the weight of the past slowly giving way to the simple joy of sharing these small moments together again.

Spencer’s eyes were already wide with anticipation as you leaned in this time, grinning with a story of your own. “Okay, the craziest job I have ever been on?,” you pondered Spencer’s question, setting the scene with a dramatic flourish. “A couple of months ago, I was hired to redo this guy’s entire downstairs ‘mancave’—you know, dark leather couches, endless sports memorabilia, a bar in the corner. The whole place just screamed midlife crisis.”

Spencer chuckled, leaning forward, clearly captivated. “Alright, I’m with you. Go on.”

“So, I’m there working, measuring walls, trying to envision the space,” you continued, “and the husband, who hired me, starts getting… a little too friendly. Like, way too friendly. He’s making these cheesy comments, trying to act all smooth, and I’m just politely nodding, desperately trying to get my work done without engaging.”

“Oh no,” Spencer said, shaking his head with a mix of laughter and disbelief. “And where was his wife during all this?”

“That’s the thing,” you said, leaning in closer, your eyes alight with excitement. “Right as he’s leaning over my shoulder, trying to impress me with some ‘fun fact’ about his baseball collection, his wife walks in. She takes one look at the situation—him practically draped over me like some tacky velvet blanket—and loses it.”

Spencer covered his mouth, his shoulders shaking with laughter. “You’re kidding!”

“Nope!” you laughed, savoring the memory. “She immediately tells me I’m fired—screaming at him, at me, at the whole mancave situation. I barely manage to grab my things and escape before things get even more awkward.”

Spencer’s eyes widened even more. “That’s insane! Did you still get paid?”

“Well, here’s the best part,” you said, grinning mischievously. “A few weeks later, I get a call. It’s her! She’s left him, found herself a nice little apartment across town, and wants to hire me again to redecorate her entire new place. She said, and I quote, ‘Let’s make this space reflect the woman I’m becoming. Classy, strong, and with no sign of men.’”

Spencer laughed so hard he had to catch his breath, shaking his head in disbelief. “That’s incredible. I can’t believe she rehired you after all of that!”

“Oh, trust me,” you said, still giggling. “It’s a project I will never forget. That apartment is full of plants, bright colors, and bookshelves—and not a single ‘mancave’ element in sight.”

Spencer chuckled, his gaze soft and warm, but beneath the smile was a glint of curiosity and a hunger for more. There was so much he wanted to ask, so many gaps in the last six years he yearned to fill in. 

“So, uh, how was the rest of your undergrad?” he ventured, his voice carrying a hint of the awkwardness he couldn’t quite shake. He’d been dancing around the question, unsure of where to begin.

You hesitated for a moment, then decided to keep things light. “Well, it was definitely boring without my favorite study buddy,” you teased, a playful smirk forming. “And, from what I heard, the rest of the students were utterly lost without their... shall we say, ‘nefarious professor?’”

Spencer groaned, instantly covering his face with his hands, his cheeks turning a noticeable shade of pink. “Oh god, you knew about that?”

You bit your lip, trying to hold back your laughter but failing as a small giggle escaped. “Your reputation precedes you, Professor.”

He peeked out from behind his hands, a mix of embarrassment and humor on his face. “I swear, I was young and stupid,” he mumbled, shaking his head with a self-deprecating smile. 

“Oh, I’m sure,” you laughed, but as the sound faded, your face softened, a more serious expression settling in. “That’s, uh… actually why I never made a move back then.”

“Oh,” Spencer murmured, the weight of the truth sinking in as he glanced down. He understood what you meant—that lingering fear you’d had, that you’d just be another one of his temporary flings, another notch in his belt. He sighed, regret lacing his voice. “That’s… that’s also why I never made a move.”

“Oh,” you echoed, the realization settling over both of you like a bittersweet memory, so many missed chances hanging between you.

You sat in silence for a moment, each of you processing the weight of that mutual hesitation, the missed opportunities. Spencer reached for his cup, taking a small sip before he looked up at you, his eyes searching yours. “I’m sorry for all of it. For making you feel like you couldn’t… that you weren’t different.”

You nodded slowly, offering him a small, understanding smile. “I know, Spencer. I know you didn’t mean for it to be that way. I think we were both just… scared.”

He smiled back, his gaze warm and grateful, the unspoken hope that maybe, just maybe, things could finally be different lingering in the air between you.

—

It had been a week since you and Spencer shared that dinner, and neither of you had been able to shake the lingering thoughts of each other. The quiet moments of laughter, the shared memories, and the glimmers of connection that you thought had faded—all of it kept replaying in your minds.

For you, it was a mix of nostalgia and something new altogether. Every time you caught yourself thinking of him, you were reminded of the sweetness that had initially drawn you to him all those years ago. Despite everything, he was still that kind, brilliant, and awkwardly charming man you’d fallen for. The more you thought about it, the more you realized that the qualities you had admired in him hadn’t changed—they were still very much a part of who he was.

For Spencer, the realization was even more profound. That evening had reawakened everything he had tried so hard to suppress. He found himself smiling at random moments, remembering your laugh, the way your eyes crinkled when you were amused, the ease with which you teased him. He’d always known he loved you, but after spending time with you again, he knew it with even more certainty. The essence of you—the parts of you that made him fall in love in the first place—were still there, and he wanted more than ever to be a part of your life.

Every time his phone buzzed, he felt a pang of hope, wondering if maybe it was you. Maybe you had gotten his number from Derek, maybe you looked him up. He debated asking Derek for your number and texting you just to say hello, but he held back, not wanting to push or ruin whatever tentative peace had grown between you both. Still, he couldn’t stop the quiet, enduring hope that maybe, just maybe, there was a future for you two.

Two weeks of silence had worn Spencer down to the point where he couldn’t hold back any longer. He found Derek by the copier, filling the quiet hum of the office with the one question that had been gnawing at him.

"Derek, has Y/N said anything about... the dinner?" Spencer’s voice was hesitant, his words laced with a mix of hope and nerves.

Derek chuckled, barely pausing as he fed another document into the copier. “Yeah, man, she said she had a great time.”

Spencer’s heart leaped, but the thrill was short-lived. "But she hasn’t reached out... do you think she's waiting for me to contact her first?" His words came out in a rush, almost pleading.

Derek turned, his expression shifting to one of mild confusion. “What? No, kid,” he shook his head, looking at Spencer like he was missing the obvious. “Y/N told me you two agreed to be friends. She’s not playing games. If you want her number, just ask her for it next time you see her.”

Spencer nodded slowly, absorbing Derek's words, but a hollow feeling lingered. Friends. It was supposed to feel like a step forward, but instead, he felt more uncertain than ever. Was she thinking about him, wondering about the possibilities, or had her life simply moved on while he was here, caught in a web of memories and what-ifs? The thought weighed on him as he returned to his desk, wondering if he’d ever get the courage to ask for more than just friendship.

Derek clapped a reassuring hand on Spencer’s shoulder, giving him a grin that held both pride and encouragement. "But hey," he said, his voice warm and steady, "I'm proud of you, kid. Sounds like you killed it. Y/N was singing your praises afterward."

Spencer’s eyes widened a little, a spark of hope igniting at Derek’s words. "She... she was?"

"Yeah," Derek chuckled, nodding. "Said you were charming, funny—even used the word 'dapper,' I think," he added with a smirk.

Spencer couldn’t help but let a small, pleased smile tug at the corners of his mouth. The knot of worry in his chest loosened just a bit. Knowing that you had spoken well of him, that you’d enjoyed the time together, made him feel like maybe, just maybe, this new beginning wasn’t such a long shot after all. 

“Thanks, Derek,” he murmured, his voice a little softer, the gratitude evident in his gaze. 

“Anytime, man,” Derek said, giving his shoulder a final pat. "Just keep being yourself. That’s the guy she was talking about."

—

Spencer’s patience was wearing thin. It had been weeks without a word, and he couldn’t shake the thought that friends should talk more often than this, right? The silence gnawed at him, pushing him to take a chance. After a moment of hesitation, he sought out Penelope to get your number.

With his heart pounding, he carefully typed out the message, fingers hovering over the screen before he finally hit send.

Hi, this is Spencer Reid. I hope it’s alright that I’m reaching out. I was wondering if you’d like to grab a coffee this weekend? Take care.

He stared at the screen for a moment, feeling the weight of vulnerability in those words, hoping he hadn’t overstepped but needing to take the swing. Now, all he could do was wait and hope you’d respond.

I'm sorry… who is this? you typed back, unable to resist a playful grin as you sent it. Then, before he could panic, you quickly added.

I only know a Professor Reid. But if you know him, could you tell him I would love to get coffee with him?

You hit send, giggling to yourself, picturing the look on his face when he read your teasing reply.

Spencer’s heart nearly stopped when he saw your response. For a split second, panic coursed through him, wondering if he’d gotten the wrong number. But then, as he read further, a grin broke across his face, and he shook his head, chuckling to himself. You hadn’t changed one bit.

Ah, I see you’re familiar with my more… scholarly persona. I’ll be sure to pass along the message to Professor Reid. He’ll be delighted to know you’re interested in coffee. Saturday at noon work for you?

As he hit send, he could already picture you laughing on the other end, and for the first time in weeks, the anticipation didn’t feel so heavy—it felt exciting.

—

You kept telling yourself this was just coffee. You’d agreed to be friends, and you were determined to honor that. But as you got ready, meticulously adjusting every detail of your outfit—a chic matching top and bottoms paired with Doc Martins—you couldn’t ignore the flutter in your chest. Deep down, you knew that with Spencer, the feelings you harbored were anything but platonic.

When you arrived at the coffee shop Spencer had chosen, you realized you’d never been there before. The place was an eclectic mix of books and cozy seating, and the scent of old paper mingled with freshly brewed coffee. It was the perfect spot for Spencer, practically radiating his energy, and you couldn’t help but smile, feeling like an 18-year-old college girl all over again, swooning over the man with his nose buried in a book.

As you approached, you took a moment to admire him. Spencer looked effortlessly dapper in a dark blazer over a burgundy sweater and dress shirt, his usual disheveled curls slightly tamed but still charmingly unruly. The sight of him made you feel breathless, as if no time had passed since those days in the library.

“Do you mind if I sit here?” you asked with a grin, echoing the very first words he had spoken to you all those years ago.

Spencer looked up, his eyes lighting up as he recognized the callback. “Of course, go ahead,” he replied, his voice warm with shared memories.

You giggled as you sat down. “What are you reading?” you asked, genuinely curious but also trying to ground yourself in casual conversation.

Spencer turned the book toward you, revealing the cover. To your surprise and delight, it was one of your favorite novels. “Good choice,” you grinned, giving him an approving nod.

Noticing his lack of coffee, you raised an eyebrow. “Do you want me to order you something when I go up?” you offered.

He shook his head, a shy smile playing on his lips. “I, uh, already ordered for us. They’re going to bring it to the table when it’s ready.”

“Oh?” You tilted your head, curiosity piqued. “What did you get?”

Spencer’s cheeks flushed, his expression sheepish. “Your regular... you know, from back in the day.”

“You remember?” You couldn’t help the slight blush creeping onto your cheeks, touched by the thoughtfulness of it.

“Eidetic memory,” he shrugged with a small smile, “but I’d remember it regardless.”

Before you could say more, the waiter arrived with your drinks. Spencer smiled in recognition. “Thanks, Andy,” he said, clearly a regular here.

“No problem, Dr. Reid,” Andy replied with a friendly grin. They glanced at you with a hint of mischief. “And who is this beautiful lady you have with you today?”

Spencer’s cheeks turned a deeper shade of red as he fumbled for words, but you chuckled, stepping in with a playful smile. “Just an old friend,” you said, giving Spencer a teasing look.

“Well, if you’re just a friend…” Andy grinned, a glint of charm in their eyes. “Could I get your number?” they asked, leaning in with a playful smirk.

You saw Spencer tense across from you, his expression a blend of flustered annoyance and barely concealed jealousy. His jaw tightened slightly as he tried to keep his cool, but the look in his eyes was unmistakable. 

“Um, su–sure,” you replied, holding back a grin as you took the napkin Andy handed you and scribbled your number on it. You probably wouldn’t text them back, but the idea of Spencer squirming just a little was too tempting to resist.

As Andy walked away with a wink, you turned to find Spencer still watching, his lips pursed and a faint pink coloring his cheeks. He fiddled with his cup, glancing down, then back at you, clearly trying to play it cool but not quite succeeding.

“Making friends, are we?” he asked, a playful edge in his voice, though the slight edge of jealousy was hard to miss.

You gave him a sweet, innocent smile. “What? I thought we were just friends,” you teased, raising your cup to your lips and taking a slow sip.

Spencer’s lips quirked up in a reluctant smile, his eyes softening as he watched you. “Touché,” he murmured, unable to hide his amusement—or, perhaps, his relief that you were still here, sharing this moment with him.

Spencer leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, a spark of newfound confidence in his eyes that you hadn’t seen back in your college days. He tilted his head slightly, studying you with an intensity that made your cheeks warm.

“So, you’re giving out your number to just anyone now, huh?” he asked, his voice laced with a teasing tone. His eyes never left yours, the hint of a smirk playing at his lips.

You let out a small laugh, trying to brush off the heat rising to your face. “What? I’m allowed to have friends,” you replied, aiming for casual but knowing you were failing miserably under his gaze.

“Friends…” he mused, his eyes drifting down to the way your fingers fidgeted with your cup. “That’s interesting, because I don’t remember you ever giving me your number back in college.”

The implication in his words sent a rush of butterflies through you. You tried to keep your composure, but the way he was looking at you—with that quiet, calculated confidence—made it impossible.

“Maybe you didn’t ask,” you countered, raising an eyebrow in challenge, though you felt your own heartbeat quicken at his proximity.

Spencer leaned in even closer, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Well, maybe I’m asking now.” His voice was soft, his gaze lingering on your lips before flicking back up to meet your eyes. He was clearly enjoying this, watching you get flustered in a way he’d never seen before.

You opened your mouth to respond but found yourself momentarily speechless. This wasn’t the Spencer you remembered—he was more self-assured, and the way he was looking at you made it clear that he wasn’t the same shy, awkward boy from college. You couldn’t help but glance down at his hand on the table, inches away from yours, and you felt the urge to close that gap.

He seemed to notice where your gaze had drifted, and his fingers brushed yours, sending a jolt of electricity through you. “So,” he said, his tone lower, almost daring, “if I asked for your number now, would I have to compete with Andy for your attention?”

You managed a breathless laugh, feeling your face heat up. “You clearly already got it from somewhere, but I think… maybe I could make an exception for you,” you replied, trying to match his confidence but failing as your voice wavered slightly.

Spencer’s smile widened, clearly pleased with himself. “Good,” he murmured, his thumb grazing the back of your hand for just a moment longer before he finally leaned back in his chair, giving you a little space to breathe.

But that look in his eyes remained, a silent promise that he wasn’t done teasing you just yet.

As the coffee moment faded, Spencer looked down at his cup, gathering his thoughts before asking the question that had been lingering in the back of his mind. He glanced up at you, a little hesitant but determined, his gaze soft yet intense.

“So… have you, um, been seeing anyone?” he asked, trying to keep his tone casual but failing as his voice took on a hint of vulnerability.

The question surprised you, and you couldn’t help but smile at his attempt to mask his curiosity. You met his eyes, shrugging slightly as you considered how to answer. “Not really. I’ve gone on a few dates here and there, but… nothing serious. No one really stuck, you know?”

Spencer's shoulders visibly relaxed, and he nodded, a small, almost relieved smile appearing on his lips. “Yeah, I get that,” he replied, his voice soft, as though he was processing your words.

You tilted your head, curiosity getting the better of you. “What about you, Spencer? Anyone special?”

He shook his head, a slight flush creeping up his neck. “No, not really. There were a few… attempts, well more like one I guess, but nothing meaningful. I think—” He hesitated, his eyes flicking back to yours, more serious now. “I think I was always… comparing them. To you.”

Your breath caught, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say. His confession hung in the air between you, as heavy as it was tender, and you felt the warmth of his words settle into your chest.

“Spencer…” you began softly, not sure if you wanted to press further or just let the moment be.

He cleared his throat, shifting in his seat but not breaking eye contact. “I don’t mean to make things uncomfortable,” he added quickly, a little nervous laugh escaping. “I just… I don’t think anyone else ever really understood me the way you did. And I don’t know if anyone ever will.”

Your gaze softened, and without thinking, you reached across the table, letting your hand rest gently over his. “Spencer, I… I understand.” You could feel his fingers tense slightly under your touch before he relaxed, his hand turning just enough to hold yours back.

Neither of you spoke, but the quiet admission in his words, in the shared look between you, seemed to bridge the gap that had been lingering all these years. This wasn’t about the past, and it wasn’t about unfinished business—it was about the connection you both still felt, and maybe even the hope that there was more to come.

The silence stretched, not awkward but full, as if both of you were finally coming to terms with what had always been there, waiting. Spencer’s thumb brushed against the back of your hand, his gaze lingering on your intertwined fingers.

“Do you think… we could try again?” he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes searching yours with a mixture of hope and uncertainty.

Spencer’s face fell as your words hit him, the gentle hope in his expression dissolving into something more resigned, almost apologetic. “Spencer… no,” you said softly, each word a mixture of reluctance and finality. You took a steadying breath. “Or—I don’t know. We’ve only just started being friends again, and I need you to respect that.”

As you stood, gathering your bag, the emotions bubbling up inside were too much to process here. The vulnerability, the confusion, the lingering affection—all of it weighed too heavily. You needed space, a moment to breathe away from him and the swirl of old feelings coming to life.

“I need to go,” you murmured, almost to yourself. Then, louder, “I’m sorry.”

Spencer shot to his feet, reaching out as if he might stop you, his voice strained with a sudden desperation. “Y/N! Wait—please!”

But you couldn’t bear to look back, not with the uncertainty clouding your heart. You turned and made your way out of the café, each step feeling heavier than the last, his words echoing in your mind even as you slipped through the door and out into the open air.

Spencer’s heart broke as he watched you leave, the door chiming softly behind you as you stepped out of the coffee shop. He remained seated, staring at the spot where you’d been, his heart sinking with regret and longing. He’d overstepped, pushed too soon, and he knew it. The rush of seeing you again, the glimmer of hope, had clouded his judgment.

He ran a shaky hand through his hair, berating himself for his impatience. He’d waited years, and yet he couldn’t manage a few more months to let you feel comfortable, to let things develop naturally. All the lessons he thought he’d learned, the promises he’d made to himself to be careful, had crumbled the moment he was alone with you.

Taking a deep breath, he rose from his seat, leaving his unfinished coffee behind. He stepped outside, half-hoping he might see you down the street, but there was no sign of you. The crisp air bit at him, making everything feel sharper, clearer—he’d have to be patient. He’d have to show you he respected your boundaries and that he was capable of being your friend without expectation or pressure.

As he began his walk home, he took a deep breath, silently resolving to make things right. Next time, he’d wait. He’d listen. And he’d let you set the pace.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

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[pickingupmymercedes]

Bed Chem - Lewis Hamilton (NSFW)

Part of 1K Jukebox Event

song: Bed Chem - Sabrina Carpenter - anon

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

genre: smut

wordcount: +3k (got carried aways, ops)

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

EXPLICIT CONTENT UNDER, -18 DO NOT INTERACT

______________________________________________________________

My mind’s been trying to talk me out of this for days.

It’s just another Thursday night. Nothing special about it except the fact that, yet again, I’ve found myself driving to Lewis’s place, the city lights blurring into streaks as I try to remember why I agreed to this.

Because it’s supposed to be a one-time thing.

Hell, it was supposed to be over after that first night. But here I am, again.

A weekly occurrence. I can’t even remember how it happened—how the "no strings attached" turned into this. This pull.

He texted me this morning, just like he does every week. A simple, “Pasta night at mine?” Like it’s a casual thing.

Like we didn’t have our clothes half off before the water even started boiling last time.

God, I’m such a fool.

I pull into his driveway, trying to convince myself to turn around, go home, and pretend I have some semblance of self-control.

But the second I see the soft glow of lights through his window, the thought evaporates. And I can almost feel his hands on me already.

The door swings open before I even knock, and there he is—Lewis, wearing that same damn smile that has me fighting against myself every time.

“You made it,” he says, like he ever doubted I would.

“Yeah, well, here I am.” I give him a look, my last-ditch attempt to act like I’ve got this under control.

He steps aside to let me in, the smell of tomatoes wafting through the air. He’s actually cooking tonight; I notice with a smirk. It’s endearing, really.

“You’re actually serious about the pasta?” I tease, shrugging out of my jacket.

His eyes flick down to my outfit—something casual, but I know he’s still taking it in, lingering just a second longer than necessary.

That’s how it starts. Always.

He smiles, raising an eyebrow. “I can multitask, you know.”

God, his voice. Smooth, effortless. Every word has this undercurrent to it, like he’s saying something else entirely.

And I know exactly what he’s thinking because I’m thinking the same thing.

“We’ll see,” I reply, folding my arms over my chest, trying to act like I’m here for the food and not ... you know. “Where’s the wine?���

He chuckles, already moving towards the kitchen. I follow, keeping my distance, because proximity is dangerous with him.

Every time we’re close, my mind scrambles. I forget how to be rational, how to keep this detached and casual.

He hands me a glass, his fingers brushing mine for a second too long. I try not to react, but the heat between us is instant. Of course, it is.

I take a sip, trying to ground myself in the taste, trying to ignore how he’s leaning against the counter, looking at me like he’s already undressing me in his mind.

“So, how was your week?” he asks, voice casual, but there’s that hint of something—like he knows where this is headed.

“It was fine,” I say, shrugging, though the tension in the air says otherwise.

We make small talk while he finishes the pasta, but it’s like the words don’t even matter. There’s a rhythm between us, in the stupid attempt at making this a real date.

But it’s useless.

He plates the pasta, setting the dishes on the counter, and I can feel him beside me. Too close. Far too close.

“Hungry?” he asks, his voice low, too damn tempting.

“For food? Not really,” I blurt out before I can stop myself, my eyes darting to his lips for a split second.

I curse myself internally because I’ve lost the game. He saw it.

His smile widens, that knowing smirk creeping onto his face, and I know I’ve given him all the signal he needs.

He steps closer, and I’m trapped between him and the counter. My logical side is screaming at me to back off, but my body… well I’m already leaning into him, craving his touch.

“You know” he murmurs, leaning in, his breath warm against my ear, “we could skip the pasta” His hand brushes my hip, and it’s all I can do to keep breathing.

I bite my lip, trying to play it cool, trying not to let him see how much I want this. Want him. “Skipping dinner, again? We’re really getting lazy, aren’t we?”

“Who needs pasta when we’ve got... other plans?” His hands slide up my waist, fingers tracing the outline of my shirt, and my resolve is already out the window.

Damn him.

I grab the collar of his shirt, pulling him into me, our lips crashing together with the kind of urgency that says we’ve been holding back for too long. Except we did exactly that, a week ago.

His hands are everywhere—my waist, my back, pulling me closer, like he can’t get enough.

I don’t know who moves first, but suddenly we’re stumbling towards the living room, the sofa the inevitable destination.

It’s a blur of hands, lips, clothes hitting the floor in a mess of fabric and desire.

My mind is still protesting somewhere in the background, telling me this is a bad idea, that I’m setting myself up for failure.

But every time his hands skim across my skin, the voice gets quieter and quieter until all I can focus on is him. The way he knows exactly where to touch, how to pull me into him, how to make me forget anything else exists.

We collapse onto the sofa, him pinning me beneath him, and I gasp as his mouth finds the sensitive spot on my neck. It’s always like this with him—fast, intense, like we can’t get enough of each other.

There’s a chemistry here that neither of us can deny.

His hands slide under my shirt, pulling it up and over my head, and I arch into him, letting out a soft moan as his lips move lower, tracing the curve of my collarbone. My logical side is completely gone now, replaced by a hunger that only he can satisfy.

His fingers fumble with my bra, and I can’t help but laugh, the sound breathless and amused “You’d think you’d be better at that.”

He grins against my skin, finally unclasping it. “Practice makes perfect.”

The bra hits the floor, and his hands are on me again, his touch firm but gentle, like he knows exactly what I need. And he does. He always does.

I tug at his shirt, desperate to feel more of him, and he obliges, pulling it off in one swift motion. My hands roam his chest, tracing the lines of muscle, the tattoos that decorate his skin.

He’s beautiful, and for a moment, I allow myself to just... appreciate it.

But then his mouth is on mine again, and any coherent thought I had is gone. All that’s left is the feel of him, the way he presses into me, the heat between us building until it’s almost unbearable.

He pulls back for a second, his forehead resting against mine as we catch our breath. “You good?” he asks, his voice low and rough.

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. Because if I do, I’ll say something I can’t take back. Something like, “I’m falling for you,” or “This isn’t just casual anymore,” or any number of other things I’ve been trying to deny since this whole thing started.

Instead, I pull him back to me, kissing him hard, my hands in his neck, pulling him down on top of me.

And I know I swore I’d keep it light, casual, like I didn’t feel this magnetic pull every time I was near him. But the second I see him, smell him, feel the warmth of his body against mine, every boundary I have shatters.

It’s maddening, really, how easily he unravels me.

I try to keep it together, to play it off like I’m here for the pasta, the wine, the company, like I’m not craving him with every fiber of my being.

But who am I kidding? I was gone the moment I step through his door.

The thought that this is supposed to be a “no strings attached” situation seems laughable. We’re fooling ourselves. This is anything but simple.

“Tell me to stop” he murmurs, his voice rough against my ear, but we both know I won’t. I can’t.

My body responds before my mind can catch up, my hands gripping his shoulders, pulling him closer, needing more of him. I press my hips against his, my breath catching as I feel how much he wants this, wants me.

“I can’t” I whisper, and it’s not just about the sex. It’s everything—the way he looks at me, the way he touches me, the way he makes me feel like I’m the only thing that matters in this moment.

Kind the problem, isn’t it? I know deep down this can’t stay casual, no matter how much we pretend. Each time I come back to him, each time we fall into this rhythm, it gets harder to keep my distance.

Harder to keep my heart out of it.

But I don’t say any of that. I just kiss him again, my lips moving against his with a desperation I can’t hide. Because I don’t want to think about what this all means. I just want to feel.

His hands find the small of my back, pulling me flush against him, and I let out a soft gasp, the sound slipping from my throat before I can stop it. God, he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.

“Still thinking about the pasta?” he teases although I can tell he’s trying to bring me out of my own head, and I can’t help but laugh, the sound low and breathless.

“Screw the pasta,” I whisper, my hands tangling in neck, pulling him closer, deeper, until there’s nothing left between us but skin and heat and the overwhelming need to be as close as possible.

Because with him, there’s no room for logic. No room for second thoughts or regrets. There’s only this—the way his body feels against mine, the way his hands know exactly where to touch, the way we fit together like we were made for each other.

And then his hands move lower, firm but careful as they grip my hips. He pauses for a moment, his gaze dark and unreadable as he looks me over, then—swiftly—he buckles my hips upwards, hands sliding to hook into the waistband of my sweats.

I lift my hips, barely giving him any resistance, and in one smooth motion, he pulls the soft fabric down, taking my panties with them. His breath catches for a split second when he sees the matching set.

"Knew there was something under those sweats," he teases, a smug grin forming on his lips as he tosses the fabric to the floor.

His fingers trace the edge of my thighs, skimming over the sensitive skin, the warmth of his touch unraveling me.

"Shut up," I mutter, trying to keep my voice steady, but the way his hands move it does something to my resolve. He knows it.

"I will" he says, his voice lowering with an edge of promise.

And the bastard keeps his word as his fingers slip between my folds, not muttering a word as his eyes never leave mine. My breath hitches in response, and his grin widens, knowing exactly what he's doing to me.

His thumb grazes my clit in one teasing stroke, and my back arches involuntarily, the sound of my breathy gasp filling the space between us. I bite down on my lip, trying to stifle any sound, but when his mouth joins his fingers, blowing a soft breath over my swollen bud, all hope of control is lost.

"Oh... God."

It’s all I can manage as his mouth works me over. He knows exactly what he’s doing, alternating between gentle kisses and deep sucks that make my head spin.

My legs tremble, and I grab the cushion beneath me, trying to ground myself as my body responds to every precise move he makes.

His tongue flicks against me, skillful, intentional, and when he adds just enough pressure with his fingers, sliding two finger inside me with ease, my mind goes blank.

Every coherent thought evaporates, replaced by the building pressure, the pure pleasure that courses through me with each flick, each movement, each stroke.

My breath quickens, my thighs tense around his head, and I can’t help but let out a moan, the sound embarrassingly thick with need.

“Lewis...” I manage, barely, as his mouth and fingers push me to the edge, that overwhelming sense of release hovering just out of reach.

He hums in response, the vibration sending a wave of pleasure through me that has me arching into him, desperate for more.

And then his fingers curl just right inside me and I’m done.

My body shudders, thighs clamping around him as the orgasm rips through me, every muscle tightening and releasing in waves. The sensation is overwhelming, like I’m seeing white, and all I can do is gasp for breath as he carries me through it, his mouth never stopping, not until I’m trembling in his arms.

When I can finally hear my surroundings, I collapse back into the sofa, chest heaving, limbs heavy. He pulls away slowly, his lips grazing the inside of my thigh as if to say, ‘I’m not done with you yet’ but for now, he gives me a moment to catch my breath.

His hands trail lazily up my body, stopping just below my ribs as he looks up at me, that damn smirk still playing on his lips.

“Menace” I say again, breathless, trying to regain some sense of control.

He chuckles, leaning in to kiss me, and I taste myself on his lips—soft, tender, and entirely too addicting.

"You seemed pretty pleased it with just seconds ago" he murmurs against my mouth, and even though I’m still recovering, I can’t help but smile.

Lewis pulls away, his weight shifting off me as he rises from the sofa. I can already see the glint in his eye, that familiar focus taking over as he fishes out a stack of condoms from the nearest drawer in the living room.

He’s quick, flipping it open and grabbing the condom like it’s second nature. And considering his stash he probably is.

Before he can tear it open, I sit up, my body still tingling. I reach out, taking the foil packet from his hand with a smirk and a teasing wink.

He raises an eyebrow, clearly amused by the sudden boldness. "You sure about this?" he asks, though his voice betrays the concern that’s written all over his face.

I don’t bother answering. I slide down from the sofa just enough to grab the waistband of his shorts, my fingers hooking underneath and tugging them down along with his briefs.

His member springs free, not fully hard yet, but close. I meet his eyes and smirk, noticing how quickly his breathing has picked up.

"Someone seems eager," I tease, running my fingers lightly along his length, watching as he grows harder beneath my touch. His body responds instantly, his breath catching as I give him a few slow pumps, feeling him swell fully in my hand.

His head tilts back slightly, eyes fluttering shut for a second as he lets out a low groan and I can tell he’s barely holding it together.

I tear the condom wrapper with my teeth, slowly rolling it down over him, my fingers moving with deliberate care. Once I’ve got him fully sheathed, I rise back up, straddling him on the sofa, my lips finding his in a deep kiss.

It’s heated, urgent, but I take my time, letting the tension build even more between us.

In the midst of our kiss, he pulls back just slightly, his voice low and rough, barely more than a whisper. "I mean it, tell me to stop" he says again, his forehead resting against mine, his breath warm against my skin.

I shush him softly, pressing a finger to his lips, then replacing it with my mouth, kissing him again.

My hand slides down between us, wrapping around his length again, and I can feel how tense he is, how much he’s holding back.

"Shut up" I murmur, smiling against his lips, pushing him gently back so that his back rests against the couch. He leans back, his hands gripping my hips as I position myself over him.

I take my time, teasing him with the moment before I finally lower myself onto him.

 Slowly, so slowly, I ease down, feeling him stretch and fill me inch by inch until he’s buried completely inside me. We both let out a sharp gasp, the feeling overwhelming for a second, his grip on my hips tightening as I settle onto him.

I stay still for a moment, our eyes locked, the tension between us thick and electrifying. My hands rest on his chest, fingers splayed over the hard muscles, feeling his heartbeat under my palms. For a second, we’re completely in sync, breathing as one.

"God..." he breathes, his eyes dark with need as he looks up at me, his hands sliding up my sides, possessive and steady.

I smile, shifting just slightly, already feeling the pressure build again between us."I didn’t tell you to stop, did I?” I tease, rolling my hips slowly to drive him even crazier.

His eyes darken further, his hands gripping me tighter as I start to move, a slow, deliberate rhythm that has both of us teetering on the edge from the start.

There’s something primal in the way we fit together, and as I pick up the pace, our bodies collide in a seamless rhythm, like we’ve done this a hundred times before—because we have.

Lewis’s grip tightens on my hips as I move, his eyes never leaving mine. He starts to guide me, lifting his hips in time with my rhythm, his hands firm but steady, helping me set the pace.

I bite my lip, fighting to stay in control of my breathing as the sensation builds. It’s so intense, the way we move together—every thrust, every roll of my hips sending shockwaves of pleasure through my body.

But then, just as I find my rhythm, he takes over.

His hands tighten around my waist, pulling me down harder as he starts thrusting up into me with slow, deliberate movements. Each upward motion hits deeper, sending sparks of pleasure through me that make it impossible to hold back the soft moans escaping my lips.

I let him have his moment, feeling the way he takes control, the raw power behind each thrust.

But I narrow my eyes at him, already planning my next move. I let him keep the reins, let him revel in his control as he pushes me closer and closer to the edge. His pace is maddening—just slow enough to tease, to keep me wanting more.

And he knows it.

But I can feel it when he starts to slow down, the strain in his muscles telling me he’s getting close. That’s when I take over again.

With a wicked grin, I shift my weight, changing the angle as I start to move again, but this time adding a slow, rocking motion as I go up and down on him. And he tenses beneath me, his breath catching as his hands move from my waist to my thighs, trying to slow me down.

"Babe..." he gasps, his voice strained, but I just chuckle softly, my pace quickening, refusing to give him any relief.

“What’s wrong?” I quip, my tone playful but laced with challenge. I can feel the tremor in his muscles, the way his body is straining to hold on, but I don’t let up, riding him faster now, the intensity building until it’s almost unbearable.

"Love... Y/n..." His words come out broken, barely a breath as his head falls back against the sofa, his hands tightening on my thighs as if that’ll slow me down.

But it doesn’t. I lean into him, pressing my chest against his, feeling the way his body shudders beneath mine.

And then he’s coming undone.

I feel it—the way his body jerks, the tension snapping as he lets out a guttural groan, his hands desperately gripping me as I continue to rock against him.

His eyes squeeze shut, and he tries to tell me to slow down, but the words never fully form. He’s lost, completely undone beneath me, and I savor every second of it.

I don’t stop until he hisses, his hands shooting up to still my hips, his breathing ragged and uneven. "Fuck..." he mutters, his voice hoarse, his eyes heavy-lidded as he looks up at me, still catching his breath.

I smirk, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his lips, savoring the way his body still trembles. His hands loosen their grip on my hips, and I feel him exhale deeply, the tension draining from him.

“It’s always so much better than in my head” he says, his voice low and raw, and there’s something in the way he says it that makes my heart skip a beat.

I bite back a laugh, pulling away just enough to look down at him, my fingers brushing at his beard.

Better, huh?

But there’s something more to it, something neither of us is ready to admit, not out loud anyway.

And for now, we don’t have to.

For now, we can pretend this is just about that type of chemistry.

______________________________________________________________

TAGLIST - @saturnssunflower @xoscar03 @chocolatediplomatdreamerzonk @itsmrshamilton @vicurious28

@0710khj @thecubanator2 @neilakk @bigratbitchsworld @adriswrld

@fearfam69691 @cmleitora @goldenroutledge @timmychalametsstuff @jpgnsf

@priopp123 @strqirlhrts @hmmmmm-01 @bisexual-babygirl-mj @bebesobrielo

@hiireadstuff @f1-football-fiend

If you’d like to be added to my taglist you can leave a comment or send me a dm/ask.

[lottiesboy]

a day out in westview!!

pairing: cg!agatha harkness x little!reader

summary: you spend the day with your mama and aunt wanda.

tags: sfw, fluff, age regression, mama!agatha, aunt!wanda, pacis, shopping, eating, reader being a bit of a fussy baby, agatha and wanda spoiling you :3

“babyyyy, wakey wakey.” agatha rubbed your tummy. you woke up slowly, feeling your paci the fell out of your mouth in the night beside you. you put it in your mouth sleepily, making agatha coo.

“awww,,, c’mere, sleepy baby. are you excited to go out with wanda today?” she picked you up from your crib, patting your back as your head rested on her shoulder. you whined sleepily in response.

there was a knock at the door, which made agatha yell, “coming!” you woke up a little bit at that. agatha walked to open the door, hearing wanda greet her from the other side. “am i too early?”

“oh no, not at all! it’ll only take me a little while to get the baby dressed.” agatha let wanda in, going back to your nursery to get you dressed and freshened up. while doing so, you woke up a little more.

“aww, you’re so cute, bunny. feeling more awake now?” agatha pinched your cheek. “mm hm, mama.”

agatha grabbed your diaper bag, slinging it on her shoulder. “let’s go see wanda, huh?” she clipped you paci to your shirt, holding your hand. you walked out to the living room, seeing wanda on the couch.

“hi, sweetheart! c’mere!” wanda gasped. you came over and she gave you a big hug. every time you saw your aunt wanda, she was always so sweet.

soon, the three of you got into agatha’s car and took off, you sitting in the backseat. agatha thought it would be a good idea to go out for lunch before the mall, since all of you were hungry.

-

you woke up to agatha unbuckling your seatbelt. “had a little nap, baby? are you hungry?” she helped you out of the seat. agatha held your hand as all of you walked into the little cafe. you were seated quickly and given menus, but agatha proudly asked for a little coloring page for you. the waitress had no problem with it, and gave you the activity sheet with crayons.

after ordering, wanda and your mama were talking about grownup stuff while you were coloring, laying your head against agatha’s shoulder. “mama, color.” you looked up at her, butting into wanda and agatha’s conversation. you didn’t mean to, but you just wanted attention.

“mama’ll color with you, baby.” she wrapped her arm around you and grabbed a purple crayon, doodling on the page with you. “you’re coloring so well, sweetheart.” wanda complimented with a smile. “thank you.” you said shyly. wanda watched you and agatha play tic tac toe, which she totally didn’t let you win.

when the food got to you, agatha cut yours in small pieces. “wan some, mama.” you pointed to agatha’s plate of pasta. “what do you say?”

“pease, mama.”

agatha smiled, twirling some pasta onto her fork for you. she fed you, wiping the sauce of your chin. “yummy?” she asked and you nodded.

the three of you finished up eating, agatha buying you a milkshake for dessert. wanda and agatha split the bill, and the three of you walked out, ready to go shopping. agatha grabbed the milkshake out of your hand to hold it while crossing the street. you pouted when she took a sip.

“mama, that my milkshake!”

“mama bought it for you, bunny. it’s what i call the “mama tax.” she unlocked the car, taking another sip and giving it back to you. you couldn’t help but smile at how silly your mama was.

-

when the three of you got to the mall, you wanted to go to the toy store immediately, but agatha wanted to get you some new clothes first. what felt like several minutes of agatha saying, “mama’s almost done” or her helping you try on clothes, you started to get restless and a little whiny.

agatha didn’t want to risk you having a tantrum in this store, so she finished up and paid for everything, telling wanda how absolutely adorable you’re gonna look in your new sweaters.

“oh crap! i forgot i needed to take the blouse back. it’s in the trunk.” agatha was about to start walking back to her car, then she heard your complaints about the toy store. “we’ll see toys in a minute, baby.”

you were very upset because you didn’t wanna wait in another boring clothing store for a million hours!!! but wanda had an idea.

“what if i take the little one while you take care of that blouse?” wanda’s hand began you rub your back. “oh, wanda, you’re a lifesaver.” agatha tapped her shoulder and wanda smiled. “you be good for your auntie, okay bunny? mama’s gonna be right back.” she kissed your cheek, letting you and wanda finally see some toys!!!

there was so many toys and stuffies, you got a little overstimulated because there was so much to choose from. “you like those stuffies, sweet pea? oh, that looks so cuddly.” wanda smiled, seeing you hug the stuffie. you didn’t think you were gonna come out with anything, but wanda had something different in mind.

-

agatha walked over to where the toy store was in the mall where she saw you and wanda sitting in lounge chair across from the store.

“mama, wanda boug me toy!”

“she did?” agatha gasped. “oh wanda, you didn’t have to. this little one is spoiled enough.” agatha ruffled your hair. “i couldn’t say no to that sweet face!! i don’t know how you do it, agatha.”

you showed agatha that wanda bought you a stuffie and some stickers. “did you tell wanda thank you, sweetie?”

you nodded, just happy to have a cute stuffie in your hands.

it got later and later at the mall and the three of you left, agatha putting you on her hip halfway to the car because you were so tired. agatha fawned at the way you held your new stuffie to your chest, asking for your paci. she reached into your diaper bag to get it and pushed it in your mouth.

she set you in the backseat of her car, strapping your seatbelt. “someone’s definitely getting a nap when we get home, yeah.” she said to herself. you reached for agatha with a sleepy whine, making her chuckle a little and shush you. “mama’s gotta drive, baby. you’ll get cuddles at home, i promise.”

she shut the door and got in the drivers seat, watching you doze off in the rearview mirror.

[rafecamerons-national-anthem]

COOKING CHAOS-VINNIE HACKER

Y/N tightened her ponytail and stared at the mess Vinnie had already made in her kitchen. Flour was scattered across the counter like snow, a whisk was stuck in what she assumed was pancake batter, and a jar of marinara sauce sat dangerously close to the edge of the counter.

Vinnie, wearing an apron that read Kiss the Cook, glanced up at her with a sheepish grin. "Relax, Y/N. I’ve got this under control."

"Under control?" Y/N arched an eyebrow and motioned to the disaster zone surrounding him. "It looks like a food hurricane hit my kitchen."

"Cooking is an art," he said dramatically, brandishing a spatula like a sword. "You have to embrace the chaos."

Y/N folded her arms and leaned against the counter, watching as Vinnie attempted to crack an egg. Instead of smoothly splitting it into the bowl, he crushed it between his fingers, yolk dripping down his hand. He froze and turned to look at her, guilt written all over his face.

"Okay," he admitted, holding up his sticky hand. "Maybe I need a little help."

Y/N laughed, grabbing a towel to clean him up. "A little help? Try a personal chef."

"Come on, don’t give up on me yet," he said, grabbing her wrist as she turned to leave. His grin was boyish, charming enough to make her hesitate. "You’re supposed to be my partner in this."

"Your partner?" she scoffed, gesturing at the counter. "This feels more like sabotage."

"Fine," he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "Help me, and I promise the best dinner you’ve ever had. Deal?"

"Deal," Y/N said, rolling her eyes but unable to resist the way his dimples appeared when he smiled.

Together, they tackled the recipe, a simple pasta dish Vinnie insisted he could master. Y/N showed him how to chop onions without slicing his fingers off, though she ended up doing most of the work while he complained about the smell. He stirred the sauce on the stove, accidentally flicking drops onto his apron and her sweatshirt, earning an exasperated groan from Y/N.

When it came time to boil the pasta, Vinnie dumped the noodles into the water all at once, causing the pot to splash and hiss.

"Vinnie!" Y/N yelped, leaping back to avoid the boiling water.

"Whoops," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I didn’t know it would do that."

"Do you know anything about cooking?" she asked, laughing despite herself.

"I know I’m good at eating it," he shot back, reaching for a wooden spoon to give her a playful tap on the arm.

Eventually, they managed to plate the meal. The pasta was slightly overcooked, the sauce was a little too thick, and Vinnie had forgotten to add salt, but he looked so proud when he set the plates on the table.

"Okay," he said, dramatically wiping his hands on his apron. "Moment of truth. What do you think?"

Y/N took a cautious bite. It wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t exactly restaurant quality either. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to wipe the triumphant smile off his face.

"It’s...edible," she teased, and his mouth dropped open in mock offense.

"Edible?" he echoed, scoffing. "That’s the thanks I get for pouring my blood, sweat, and tears into this meal?"

"Blood, sweat, and eggshells," she corrected, giggling.

He leaned across the table, narrowing his eyes at her. "You’re lucky I like you, or I’d make you eat the burnt batch I threw out earlier."

"Burnt batch?" Y/N laughed harder, clutching her stomach. "Oh, I need to see that next time."

Vinnie’s expression softened as he watched her laugh, and for a moment, the teasing atmosphere faded. "Yeah," he said quietly, his voice losing its playful edge. "Next time."

Y/N’s laughter faltered as she met his gaze. Something about the way he said it made her heart skip. Before she could respond, he reached across the table, brushing a smudge of flour off her cheek with his thumb.

"You’ve got a little something there," he said, his voice light again, though his touch lingered.

Y/N swallowed hard, her cheeks heating as she batted his hand away. "Shut up and eat your overcooked pasta, Hacker."

He chuckled, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied grin. "Fine. But next time, you’re cooking, and I’m just gonna watch you stress out instead."

"Deal," she said, though a small smile crept across her face. Next time didn’t sound so bad.

[to-thelakes]

sleepy

pairing; matt murdock x fem!reader

summary; re-adjusting to anti-depressants was never an easy task but you have your vigilante boyfriend to help.

warnings; fluff, just pure fluff, reader is on anti-depressants and very very sleepy, also a cheese lover

notes; this one-shot is definitely at least a few months old, i think i wrote it when i originally switched my dosage so it's a little chaotic. i feel like there's a lack of fics talking or discussing antidepressants so i like filling in the gap to comfort anyone who was suffering the sleepiness and shitty feelings like i was those first few months. also this is my first matty one-shot i'm releasing so please enjoy <3

masterlist

You were so tired. The first two weeks of antidepressants, you were told, would be the worst but it hadn’t prepared you for just how exhausted you felt. You had spent most of the first three days, curled up in bed and sleeping the day away. By the fourth day, your snack supplies had already begun to dwindle which is the opposite of what you needed right now.

And by the fifth day, you had to venture out to the store. And that had killed you off. You had gotten back, grabbed a bag of chips and curled up on the couch. Within a few hours you were asleep and you stayed like that for another four hours. The TV had suddenly seemed to get astronomically loud and it woke you from your slumber.

So, with a little huff, you rolled off the couch and began to make something proper to eat for dinner. But you felt exhausted. It clung to your mind, hovering over you as you tried to make cheesy pasta. Everything felt impossible and slow and it was frustrating but it was made better when you heard the familiar tap-tap-tap on the fire escape window. 

A grin spread across your face as you left your pasta to heat up the cheese, pulling the window open as Matt Murdock climbed through. He was still in his Daredevil costume and you thought he looked rather silly but he already knew that’s what you thought of his costume. He liked hearing you tease him.

But rather than saying anything, you just wrapped your arms around his torso and hugged him. Your eyes fell closed as you snuggled into him making him chuckle softly.

“It’s nice to see you too, darling,” He greeted softly. All you had the energy to do was hum in vague acknowledgement. His arms wrapped around your shoulders for a moment before he softly reminded you about the food on the stove. So, you reluctantly pulled back and went over to the pan. You split the pasta into two bowls and turned around just as Matt pulled his helmet off. He placed it down on the counter before cautiously walking over to you.

“I’m sleepy,” You mumbled softly as you passed him the bowl. He took a hold of it, searching for the fork before he began to eat it. You had added a little bit of seasoning, salt, pepper, garlic powder in hopes of giving it a little more flavour. But you knew within the first bite and from the look on Matt’s face that you had gone overboard with the garlic. A huff escaped your lips and you placed the bowl on the side, “I’m going back to bed,” You declared, giving up for the day. Matt chuckled, listening to your footsteps as you walked across the apartment to your bed.

The air moved around you as you face-planted and he couldn’t help another chuckle as he turned around. His gaze landed somewhere near you but you weren’t even paying attention. Sleep was desperate to crawl up your spine and take you in but Matt was here now and you wanted to see him for a bit.

He managed to place the bowl on your side before he navigated his way carefully through your apartment. He could smell a bowl of hummus on the floor somewhere, you had a habit of leaving random crockery on the floor so he was being careful before he reached your bed. He crawled onto it before he sat cross-legged across from you.

“How long have you slept today?” He asked curiously. You mumbled in vague response but he didn’t catch a single word of it. He reached out towards you and gently pushed your head back so that you would tilt your head to the side, “What was that?” He had a teasing lilt to his tone and it made you want to smack him.

“A while but I’m sleepy,” You muttered. Matt knew that you were on new medication. You had tried to hide it from him a few days ago but he could smell your body going haywire. It was the same with everyone he had known who switched medication. Body’s went haywire while they adjusted before eventually settling back into routine.

That’s all this was but he still found your sleepy-grumpiness adorable. Matt held his hand out towards you and you reluctantly dragged yourself so you could curl into his lap. His fingers began to run through your hair but the strands were getting caught on his gloves. You let out disgruntled noises before he decided to take his gloves off. Then his fingertips began to massage your scalp and you hummed happily.

“You feeling better?” He asked. You ‘mhm’d in response and he could tell that you were going to fall asleep in his lap, “I need to change, darling. Need you to get out of my lap.” There was an amused lilt to his voice and another disgruntled noise fell from your lips. You moved out of his lap before dropping onto the top of the bed. Matt always found your mood while sleepy to be not all that dissimilar to a cat. You hated being disturbed when you were curled up and comfortable and when you were, you gave the offender the evils.

You assumed Matt didn’t know that you did that but he could sense it. He had always been able to feel your gaze boring into him.

“In the usual place?” He asked. You let out another hum of agreement before you burrito’d in your covers, snuggling your face into the pillow. He changed silently, listening to your heartbeat and breathing to see if you had fallen asleep. But it seemed you weren’t falling into it quite yet. Once he had changed, he walked over to the bed and lay on top of the mattress.

And that was when you unburritoed yourself and crawled on top of Matt. You practically curled up on his chest, burritoing both of you with the covers as you snuggle into his neck. Matt’s arms wrapped around your back.

“Much better,” You mumbled under your breath. He chuckled softly at your words and you let your eyes close. Your breathe evened out relatively quickly, “Much better.” You snuggled up to him, peppering kisses across his neck before you nuzzled there. Matt grinned and pressed a kiss against your hairline.

“Glad I could be of service,” He teased. You grumbled against his chest but he merely continued to grin, kissing your hairline again before he let his eyes fall closed.

[thezombieprostitute]

The Arrangement - Part 5

Summary: Jake's done a lot of things to keep his sister, and then his niece, safe from his parent's influence and manipulation. If he wants to keep them safe, he has to marry you.

Warnings: Bad parents, Implied physical abuse. Let me know if I missed any!

Chapter 4 -- Chapter 6

Series Masterlist

You're in the hallway when you hear Clay say his goodbyes to Jake with a promise to visit. It's now just the two of you, the part of the night you've been dreading. You step out to where Jake can see you, keeping your head down.

Jake takes several tries to start talking. Seeing you like this, he gets what Clay saw. It's a splash of cold water on the rage he had initially felt during your "wedding". Where he thought he had seen disappointment and coldness he now sees timidity and fear. Jake has been perceived as many things, annoying, intelligent, dorky, but never scary. He definitely doesn't like that you're scared of him.

"I, uh, I guess we should choose our rooms?" he finally says, making your brows knit in confusion. "I...I know we're..." he gestures at the two of you. "But you...I...we don't have to do anything you don't want." Your eyes widen in surprise and he's quick to add, "it's not because I don't want to, you're beautiful, and I'm sure you're great in bed, and I shouldn't have said that, and I'm sorry, but I'm just so nervous, but I think we'd both sleep better in separate rooms? If that's what you want? Or we can share a bed, if you want, I promise no touching that you don't explicit consent to, and I'm going to stop talking before I make myself look even more awkward than I feel."

He's rubbing the back of his head, cheeks pink, eyes down, clearly uncomfortable. He almost looks more like a teenage boy trying to ask out a pretty girl as opposed to the angry, hateful monster you were certain you'd married. You want to chuckle but the suddenness of the transformation leaves you even more on edge. Is his offer of separate rooms genuine or a trick? You want, so desperately to believe him, but can you?

Remembering the layout of the penthouse, however, gives you an out. "There's only one bed," you inform him. "The other rooms have couches or chairs, but no beds."

"Seriously?" Jake asks. "Why would they do that?"

"My...my guess is that they want to...ensure...that, that we..." you imitate his earlier gesture indicating the both of you and his eyes widen in realization.

"Well, damn," he mumbles. "I'll go ahead and sleep on the couch then, okay?"

"Are you sure? They look like they're meant for looks more than comfort."

Jake gives a soft huff, "I spent enough time in the military that I can sleep anywhere, I promise."

"You're in the military?"

"Formerly," Jake replies. "It's how I met Clay. And it's a very long story that can wait for some other time."

"It's impressive," you admit. Most of the men in your life were the type to act tough but would never actually go through with something as harsh as military training.

Jake blushes again, "well, it's no Masters Degree in ecology. That's a lot of hitting the books! Never was my forte, preferred hands on learning, which is why I never did well at school and I'm rambling again. Sorry about that."

You feel the heat rush to your face. No one's ever acknowledged your degree outside of claiming it was a waste of time and money. You really hope his compliments are sincere, but are still careful to not take them fully to heart. It could easily be another manipulation tactic.

"Thank you," you tell him. "I'll be happy to split the bedding and make sure the guest bathroom has toiletries."

"You don't need to do that," he shakes his head. "I've made do with a lot less and, most importantly, you're not the maid. You don't have to take care of me like that." You open your mouth but kind find the words to respond. He continues, "oh, did you want me to cook breakfast in the morning? I doubt it'll be as good as you cook, that pasta was awesome, but I can do some cooking and you shouldn't have to cook everything, especially not for someone who can cook for themselves, but I also don't want to intrude because you know where everything is and if you prefer to have the kitchen to yourself I completely understand, I just wanna help you out because we're in this together and..." Jake's face scrunches up in a wince, "and I'm rambling again. I'm so sorry."

"Whoever wakes up first makes breakfast?" you propose.

"I like it," he nods.

You go to get some blankets and pillows for him and he waits outside the door to the bedroom. When you give him a quizzical look he replies, "it's your room. I'm not entering without permission." Giving him a contemplative nod, you thank him before handing him everything.

"Goodnight," he tells you. "I hope you sleep well."

"You too," you tell him as diplomatically as you can.

He heads to one of the other rooms and you close the door to the master bedroom suite, your bedroom. As tiring as the day has been, you're not sure you're getting sleep any time soon. Your husband has given you much to think about.

Chapter 4 -- Chapter 6

Series Masterlist

Tagging: @alicedopey; @ashdoctor; @delicatebarness; @ellethespaceunicorn;

@icefrozendeadlyqueen; @lokislady82; @ronearoundblindly

[h0ll0wt0wn]

I have decided to break my vow of silence

I need to tell you guys about Carnage Obscured.

Guys... this is the Creepypasta comic dub series that I always wanted. My opening statement will be that if this had existed a year ago, I might not have felt the need to make my own creepypasta comic.

Almost everything I wanted to achieve in my own series is also being achieved in theirs. They portray Toby's Tourettes better, and in a way that was VERY similar to how I planned to portray some of his tics.

Not to mention the overall vibe and artstyle. The obvious inspirations from I Eat Pasta For Breakfast

The fact that Marble Hornets is LITERALLY CANON to all of this! Just LOOK at this panel!

LOOK AT IT!

So you already know that their Tim is more faithful to the series as well.

Look at the facial haaair

They also have pretty appealing OC design

Loving the vibe of this one.

and did I mention they have THEIR OWN FRIGGIN SOUNDTRACK!?!?!?!?

THEY GOT A FULL ON INTRO TOO

AND SCENE TRANSITIONS THAT ARE REMINISCENT OF THE ADULT SWIM BUMPERS!!!!

This is... honestly kind of emotional for me. This is almost everything I wanted for this community. It understands it's vibe, the source material, no, it actually really LIKES the source material and is making something super cool from it. The subtle references to both creepypasta and the slenderverse, the implementation of Rosswood park and the worldbuilding is... it's everything I wanted to bring in by continuing the story of Lazari.

I'm so glad this exists. It really shows you the true power of a community where the content is soully made by fans of the content itself.

I hope I can do the same with Hollowtown

Now... GO WATCH AND READ IT! IF YOU LIKED MY LAZARI STUFF CHANCES ARE YOU'LL LIKE THIS TOO

AND FOLLOW @frutigerangel

also, I discovered this series through a deep dive of Creepypasta comic dubs as a whole, a video I also recommend and... dude... Im in the video. Like for a split second, but Im in the video in the IEPFB rewrite portion! Here's a link to the video by @sp00kywashere while im here.

[burdenandacrop]

hiiii mags !!

(anon here b/c i'm not as brave as i thought i was 😅)

first of, i'm sorry to break your chain of silly little goofy prompts, they've all been heartwarming & got me giggling & kicking my feet :D howeveerrr, i know you write more sensitive topics and the big guy™️ is pretty comforting for me. now you can take this in any direction you want— angst, fluff, do whatever your heart desires, girl!— but i was wondering if you could do a gender neutral reader x schlatt who was in a past abusive relationship? maybe the reader has certain quirks like they flinch or overapologize because of past memories.

(is this the most self-indulgent ask in the history of asks?? okay, maaaybe... but like, yolo! right?)

and if you don't mind, if 💌 anon isn't taken, then allow me to fill that spot up for ya!

thank you for taking the time out of your day to read this! MUCHHH love girlie!!

- 💌

˗ˏˋ ❝ these hands can only be gentle. ❞ ˎˊ˗

hi anon !! i apologize for how long this has taken me, but i hope this appeases you. i know how it feels so if i can give just a smidge of comfort, that makes my heart happy :>

summary : with a bruise that still stings, you try to navigate what is supposed to be 'normal'. as does he, with open arms and an open mind.

⋮ ⌗ ┆established relationship, comfort, mentions of abuse, small bit of crying, gender neutral reader.

the soothing voice of chet baker rang through the kitchen, you waved your hands around to the smooth sound. watching as schlatt was attempting to figure out the instructions on the box of penne pasta. his eyes squinting as he tried to rack his head on just how long he really needed to have it boiling in the pot for. you sigh and place a hand on his arm as you leaned in to read the directions with him, he was making it seem a lot harder than it probably was. looking at him, all you could think was 'poor soul'.

"you've got the right times, don't think about it too hard." you softly giggle out, poking his arm before you let go of him. "gonna pop a vein if you keep that face." you added, playfully toying with him. he dropped the box to the countertop, causing a loud clash to be heard, looking over to you with a grin. he wasn't met with a matching smile on your face though, instead he saw for a split moment a genuine look of fear on your face.

you quickly fix your face and cross your hands over one another, knowing you shouldn't have reacted like that to such a small thing. "sorry- it was the box wasn't it?" he muttered, raising his hand up to your shoulder to gently rub his thumb along. you bite on the inside of your cheek and try your best to keep your face fixed, "we need, olive oil. yeah." you stammer out, turning to the stove and grabbing the bottle to gently pour onto the pan. he watched as you desperately tried to distract yourself, his hand dropped back to his side as he watched you.

he looked at you for a moment longer before grabbing the box of penne and looking over the instructions again. he took a few quick glances at you as you evened out the oil onto the pan, he could easily see that he accidentally upset you. even if it was an accident, he desperately wanted to fix it, somehow at least. he looked at the box one more time before quietly placing it back down this time.

he walked behind you and leaned over slightly to gently kiss the temples of your face, letting his hands softly lay upon your shoulders. he could feel how tense you became, it ached at him. "i love you." he whispered into your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. you slow down your stirring and come to a complete stop to turn your head to face him more, "i love you too." your voice quivering ever so slightly. his kisses traveled down your cheek, moving the hair by your ear to gently kiss the nape of your neck.

"just focus on the pan, sweetheart." he said barely above a whisper as he moved his lips off of you, moving your hair back gently. you let out a deep sigh, the uneasiness slowly going away. moving your hands back to stir the oil, as you seasoned the pan as well. his hands gently massaging your shoulders as he watched you, leaning his cheek against the back of your head. he couldn't comprehend how someone could hurt someone as delicate as you, when he saw you nothing short of a fairytale.

he let his hands slowly move from your shoulders, instead wrapping his arms around your torso with a sigh. "it looks really lovely already, baby." he muttered, kissing the side of your head, in hopes that he was doing something right. you move the pasta mix into the pan, pouring it gently as it sizzled with the oil. you were trying so hard to not mess anything up, especially not with him watching. you felt more on ease as time went on, it did feel nice to have him wrapped around you.

"any seasonings you want?" you speak out of thin air, embracing the warmth from him behind you. you could feel his cheek move along your head, assuming he was shaking his head to the question. "just the usual, i'm not picky." he replied, rocking you slowly as he stood. "anything you make is good, sweetheart." he adds on with a smile, his voice low and soothing. you lean your head against him and weakly grin as you gently stir the pasta mix, maybe it was going to be alright.

there had been other kitchens, other meals, other hands. hands that didn’t hold so gently, voices that didn’t soothe but seared. you thought you’d buried it all, hidden it deep enough that it wouldn’t resurface, but sometimes all it took was the wrong sound at the wrong time. he didn’t say anything as the silence stretched, his chin resting lightly on the crown of your head, waiting. he had learned not to push, not to pry. "just some garlic, never hurt anybody right?" you snicker out, the nervousness still evident in your voice. it was embarrassing for him to see you like this, you only wanted him to see you in your light; not the darkness that someone before created.

he shrugged and squeezed you softly, "i'm not a vampire, so you're safe with that." he started, chuckling to your comment, "for now." he added on jokingly, even letting out the stereotypical 'mwah hua hua' after. you let out a soft laugh, the kind that still felt unusually foreign on your lips, almost like a language you were relearning. the tension in your shoulders eased just a little as you reached for the garlic cloves, their papery skin crackling under your fingers. you glanced back at him, catching the playful glint in his eyes as he leaned into his ridiculous vampire impression, his grin as cheesy as you imagined it.

“for now?” you teased, raising a brow as you placed the garlic on the cutting board. “should i be worried you’re gonna start craving my blood instead of dinner?” you added with a smile. he gasped, a hand flying to his chest as though mortally wounded. “darling, i’d never! though…” his voice dipped theatrically, “if it means i get to bite that lovely neck of yours, i might reconsider.” you rolled your eyes, but your smile lingered this time, small but genuine. “then you’d better help me mince this garlic, dracula, before i revoke your invitation to this kitchen.”

he laughed, moving to your side with ease, his presence steady and warm. “course, course,” he said, grabbing a knife and making a show of twirling it lightly in his hand before chopping the garlic. for a moment, the air felt lighter, the weight on your chest loosening its grip. his effort to make you smile wasn’t lost on you, and you found yourself grateful. not just for his humor, but for the way he didn’t try to fix you. didn't view you as some sort of project that he'd see fit as. instead, he let you exist, fractured edges and all, and somehow that felt more healing than anything else.

“you’re getting better at this, you know,” he said after a beat, nodding toward the stove. the garlic was sizzling now, releasing a rich aroma that mingled with the bubbling oil. “at cooking?” you asked, pretending not to notice the way his hand brushed against yours as he slid the minced garlic into the pan.

“at trusting,” he said softly, his eyes meeting yours. you froze, the words cutting through you with their quiet truth. it wasn’t the kind of compliment you were used to. there was no flattery, no sugar coating, just a simple acknowledgment of the effort you’d been pouring into rebuilding yourself; and it felt nice. nicer than you imagined it being. he sliced the last bit of garlic and rubbed the excess from his palms, softly grinning as he kept his eyes on you. letting his hand raise up slowly, in fear that it might startle you, so he could gently caress the side of your face.

"just stay like this, okay?" he sighed out, letting his thumb run along your temple. "this is more than enough for me." he added on, before leaning over to kiss you on the forehead. "more than enough." he concluded, looking right into your eyes as he was mere centimeters from your touch. you swallow the lump in your throat as you could feel the tears welling up in your eyes, but it wasn't sadness. rather relief. relief that you finally felt safe.

"i love you." you shakily state, your lip gently trembling. you could feel the waterworks making their way, and so could he. even making him gear up a few tears of his own, he couldn't help it. knowing just how hard it was for you on a daily basis, but he wouldn't stray from you. he was just fine right here with you, in moments like this. whether it was crying because he accidentally raised his voice, holding you through the shakes when you had a night terror, or just singing you to sleep.

he was fine with all the moments in between the so called 'good', he just wanted to be there period. "i love you too, more than you'll ever know." he replied, trying his best to cut away the tears. grinning softly as he wiped under your eyes, "it's the garlic- swear." he snickers, making you laugh with him and shake your head. "onions are what makes you cry." you reply, feeling the heaviness get lighter in your chest. "shh shh, let me have this one." he defends with a giggle. taking a deep sigh and gently caressing your face.

"you're so- good. i'm so sorry anyone has convinced you otherwise, sweetheart." he stifles out, a tear escaping his eyes as it fell slowly down his cheek. you nod and raise your arms up to pull him into a hug, you needed this more than ever. closing your eyes as the sound of the sizzling pan and chet baker's soothing trumpet soared through the room. schlatt began to slowly sway you to the rhythm, kissing the top of your head softly.

"i just love emotional pasta nights, really do." he jokes, making you swiftly poke your head up and shake your head with a smile. a real smile. "as long as you're there, i love them too." you mutter barely above a whisper. tilting his head down and kissing you, leaning your chin up delicately and basking in every second of it. he knew it'd be a long road, but he knew he had enough love in his heart to withstand it.

author's note : i might've like ?? actually happy teared at this while writing, my apologies ?? i hope this isn't too short for you anon ! i can always write it longer if you'd like, i just hope you love it <3 cause i definitely did.

[petermorwood]

Hello! I wondered if you had any easy (and requiring few ingredients) recipes for a student? I tend to go through your food tag for inspiration but a lot of stuff seems to require more advanced cookware than the simple pan/oven or needs quite a few ingredients. Thought I'd ask!

#food and drink is a wide-ranging topic, so try #recipe / #recipes for more specific information.

IIRC a lot of them call for one or at most two pans and not many ingredients - scrambled eggs with herbs / snipped green onions and chopped bacon or sausage, for instance, needs just one pan.

Fry the meat first, take it out, add the eggs, and when they start to thicken return the meat along with herbs / onions, combine the lot, cook until the eggs are As You Like Them, then serve up on hot buttered toast with a sprinkle of Tabasco and maybe grated cheese if there's any in the fridge.

*****

You'll find various soups and stews - ours, and from other sources - which again need only some basic ingredients and then, unlike the speed of those scrambled eggs, another ingredient which you can't buy at the shop.

Time.

*****

I've mentioned more than once that even a jar of heat-and-stir-in pasta sauce is hugely improved by letting the heating be a half-hour on the stove rather than a minute in the microwave.

Pour it into a saucepan and heat to the very gentle simmer which in French is called mijouter (what I call "blip, not bloop").

Add your choice of black pepper / chilli flakes / garlic powder / dried herbs / a splash of Worcester sauce / balsamic vinegar / wine and stir well in. Any or all of those additions will elevate the end result well above what it was when the jar was opened.

Partly cover with a lid to contain any splats, set a timer for 30 minutes, then go do something else.

When the timer goes, return to the stove, stir the sauce, cook whatever pasta you fancy, drain it, combine with the sauce, plate up and get stuck in.

*****

If feeling more adventurous there's a recipe here...

...for simple pasta (or tomato) sauce from scratch.

NB, the recipe doesn't have salt as an ingredient. This is a personal preference and I've never missed it, but YMMV. Taste first, add salt second.

It's remarkably good and, though vaguely Italian, is non-specific enough that with appropriate tweaks of herb or spice it's been used as a cooking sauce for meat, meatballs or poultry.

Those tweaks have included lots of black pepper and / or a dollop of horseradish for beef, some dried tarragon and / or sour cream for chicken, thick slices of onion and green pepper for meatballs, and that was before I started thinking about what could be done with spice mixes like baharat, quatre-épices, garam masala or herbes de Provence...

*****

The basic sauce is vegetarian, maybe even vegan, so try using it for carrots peeled and split lengthwise or cut in thick slices, quartered potatoes, some sliced red and green peppers, maybe a drained tin of beans or chickpeas. If carnivorous, regard this as side veggies. If vegetarian, it's the main course.

(Hint: though it'll involve a second pan, frying the carrots and potatoes enough to brown their edges before going in the sauce is A Good Move.)

Check in 30 minutes, then again in 45. You'll know the carrots and spuds are done when a knife-point, fork or cocktail stick stabs in easily. Once they're done, everything else is also done. Taste again, and perhaps sprinkle with a tiny amount of vinegar or lemon juice to balance the carrot sweetness.

Serve with rice, couscous, or just some crusty farmhouse bread to mop with.

Hope This Helps! :->

[makeitmingi]

The Cat and Dog Game [Chapter 18]

Genre: Romance, Fluff, Comedy

Pairing: Yunho x Reader (y/n)

Characters: Chef!Reader, RestaurantOwner!Yunho, MaitreD!Hongjoong, Waiter!Yeosang, Waiter!San, Waiter!Mingi, SousChef!Seonghwa, SousChef!Wooyoung, PrepChef!Jongho

Summary: Yunho's dream was to open and run his own restaurant. But he doesn't know anything when it comes to cooking. Until you came along and accepted the job, bringing with you a small crew. How will the black cat tame the energetic golden retriever?

Word count: 3.3K

"Hwa hwa, you know I love you the most, right?" You threw your arms around the male, hugging him with a sweetest grin that you could muster. Seonghwa raised an eyebrow as he stared at you, more like glared at you.

"Yeah right. The only time (y/n) tells Seonghwa hyung she loves him is to get out of trouble." Jongho snorted.

"Shut up, Jongho." You hissed.

"Be nice." Seonghwa hit the back of your head, making you sulk. Seeing this as the perfect opportunity, Wooyoung wrapped his arms around your waist to back hug you.

"Woo~" You squirmed. Seonghwa sighed, stroking your head. He knew that you already knew what he was going to say.

"Are you tired?" He asked.

"Not at all. It was nice and relaxing. I needed this, to keep myelf busy." You looked up at him. Seonghwa, Wooyoung and Jongho knew what you meant.

"Plus, Yunho is good company." You added. All 3 boys looked up at Yunho, who was just standing there, trying to eavesdrop and watch what was happening without being noticed. He blinked when he realised that all the stared were at him. Embarrassed that they knew he was there, he cleared his throat.

"He made sure I sat down to rest after. And you! You're interfering with my coffee drinking! Even made sweet innocent Yunho turn against me." You raised a hand to hit Seonghwa.

"I-I made her a h-hot chocolate." Yunho confirmed, a little flustered to hear you call him 'sweet' and 'innocent'.

"Good. Now let's get to work." Seonghwa said, patting your head and completely ignoring you.

"I only need to fill my pasta. I'm letting my galbi and broth simmer for as long as I can let it. My garnishes and toppings are prepared." You told them.

"I'll start on apps with you?" Jongho offered. You nodded, about to walk when you noticed Wooyoung still latched to your waist.

"Wooyoung! Let me go." You patted his back. He puckered his lips in a pout before he unwillingly let you go.

You wore your apron again and went to wash your knife. This night was slightly different. With everyone working on their own dish, there wasn't a clear sous, prep or head chef. All of you just split the shared tasks while working on your own.

"Oh, wait. Let me check on the ice cream." You put your knife down and went to churners to check the consistency of the ice cream. Once they were done, you put them in the freezer.

"What's for dessert?" Yunho asked.

"That was smoked milk and vanilla ice cream. We're serving that with red bean jelly cubes, pieces of injeolmi rice cake and an almond tuile."

"Like flavours of patbingsoo but elevated." Seonghwa informed. You nodded in confirmation.

"For Western dessert, we're doing a burnt white chocolate panna cotta with raspberry swirl meringues, a passionfruit coolis and fresh mango cubes over." Jongho added.

"That sounds really nice. But burnt white chocolate?" Yunho leaned forward on his hands.

"Well, not burnt. More caramelised. White chocolate on its own is very sweet. But cook it until it becomes brown and caramelised, the flavour is a lot better and easier to balance." Wooyoung explained. Yunho nodded in interest. You continued working on the appetisers with Jongho.

"Hweh crudo. Take the marinated fish slices and roll it up with pea shoots, scallions and shredded perilla leaf. Minari (Water dropwort) jeon." You listed.

"We need to prep gujeolpan (plate with small wraps and 9 delicacy toppings)." Jongho reminded.

"Right. Then the confit tomatoes with pickles." You checked.

"I'll do the roasted eggplant with black olive doenjang and ponzu. Almost done here." Wooyoung voiced out as he worked on his dish at his bench. The door opened, the others entering.

"We're here early to help!" San declared loudly with his arms raised. Hongjoong and Yeosang shushed him.

"You can help us with the appetisers. Get aprons and wash your hands." You said.

The 4 main kitchen crew took turns. After Seonghwa and Wooyoung stepped in to guide those that didn't know their way around the kitchen, you and Jongho could work on your mains.

"Yunho, want to help me with my pasta?" You asked. Yunho's head shot up, looking for where you were in the kitchen before leaving Mingi and his task to go to you. He smiled excitedly as he bounded over like a puppy.

"So we need to shred the meat for the pasta. This is the galbi. Take two forks and pull them apart." You demonstrated.

"I can do that! And that smells so good." He pointed to the galbi. Grabbing a tasting spoon, you let him indulge in a bite. But soon, you had others around.

"Hey!" Yunho protested as you fed San, Mingi, Yeosang and Hongjoong too.

"Alright, get back to work." He scolded them. You stayed beside Yunho, rolling out the pasta dough.

"You don't need to shred every single piece entirely. You can leave them in different size pieces." You told Yunho. He nodded with a hum, sneaking a bite before continuing.

"Stop stealing the food." You scolded him with a laugh. Yunho grinned cheekily.

"I want to do Yunho's job too." Hongjoong whined.

"No! It's my job." Yunho barked back. He liked working with you, like your personal sous chef. Yunho watched you measured the dough with a ruler and cut it. You took bites of meat that Yunho had already shredded and placed it in the middle before closing it, joining the ends together.

"Ooh, can I try?" Yunho asked with sparkling eyes. You nodded and Yunho put the forks down temporarily for you to slowly demonstrate how to fold the pasta dough.

"Not too much filling or it'll burst." You advised.

"Yeah, just like that. Press the two ends." You leaned over to see Yunho's one.

"I'll finish up here and continue that." He smiled proudly, putting it aside before finishing his previous job of shredding the meat. Once he was done, he helped you fold the pasta.

"I'm not as fast as you." He pouted.

"You just started. I would already say you're already doing a great job." You smiled.

"Thank you." Yunho blushed from your compliment. He continued to make the pasta with you. You momentarily stepped away to check the seolleongtang broth that was bubbling away on the stove, giving it a taste to make sure it was getting there.

"How is it?" Yunho asked when you stepped back into your original spot. You looked up at him and nodded, telling him how the progress of the stock has been.

Unbeknownst to the two of you, there were a few sets of eyes staring at the two of you chat in your little corner. It was like you were in your own bubble, smiling as you chatted and made the pasta together.

"That's cute." Wooyoung noted. Yeosang nodded in agreement. Hongjoong let out an affectionate chuckle.

"They're in their own world over there." San chuckled.

"They're just talking, how is that cute?" Mingi blinked, completely missing what everyone was talking about. Hongjoong patted Mingi's shoulder sympathetically.

"It's okay not to get it, Mingi ah." Hongjoong chuckled. Seonghwa stared for a second, unknowingly clenching his jaw.

"Seonghwa hyung?" Jongho called out, breaking his brain fog. The look Jongho cast him, Seonghwa knew he had been caught spiralling in his brain. He was reminding the elder that he wasn't alone in the room. Clearing his throat, Seonghwa focussed on the cutting baord in the front of him.

"We're done here. Anyone need help on anything?" You came back to the center of the kitchen where everyone was still working.

"Appetisers are almost done. Do you want to start the dessert components with me?" Seonghwa asked you in a gentle voice. You nodded your head.

"Let's get the panna cottas in the fridge to set." You both went to get the ingredients from the walk in and pantry.

"Thanks for all the help, guys. But if you need to go prepare the front for tonight. Just go ahead, we've got it handled." You said to the 5.

"We should bring in the washed plates for tonight." Yeosang said. He and San went out to bring the plates in for the kitchen crew to use to plate the food on.

"Who is working the pass tonight?" You asked.

"I can be the main. But we'll have to rotate from time to time." Wooyoung volunteered.

"Sure. Just tap out when you need someone to take over." Seonghwa and Jongho agreed. With a small crew, this was how you had to make things work. You couldn't afford to have one person just at one station the whole night.

Soon, the crew that works the front of the restaurant all were busy trying to set up for the night, leaving only a few in the ktichen to work with your kitchen crew.

"Actually, Mingi. I would love to speak with your mother about cooking eels, preparing and procuring them." You said.

"I'm sure she'll be happy to share that knowledge with you, (y/n). She loves talking about food." He chuckled.

"Maybe she can give me her eel supplier. I would love to explore it as an ingredient more. Surprisingly, I have not been that exposed to working with it." You sighed.

"My mum's the right person to go to then. I should bring you to the restaurant one day." He replied.

"I'd love that." You had a small smile on your face.

"Let's cook the staff meal first. I have feeling we might end later than we usually do and we'll be too tired to cook for ourselves then." Seonghwa suggested. You checked the clock, about to decide what to whip up quickly for everyone but San and Mingi came over, volunteering to cook.

"You guys are busy enough. We'll take over and cook something up." San smiled.

"Thanks, guys." You, Seonghwa, Wooyoung and Jongho were very grateful that they stepped up and volunteered. San and Mingi were the best cooks out of the 5 so you weren't too worried.

"Shall we make curry rice?" Mingi suggested, holding the cubes of Korean curry up.

"I know how to make that." San laughed. The two began chopping vegetables, adding whatever meat they could find.

"Is anyone using these?" San came out of the walk in with a few packs of chicken thighs and sliced pork belly in his hands. You all shook your heads.

"I'll cook the rice. You start slicing the meat." Mingi instructed and went to get the rice cooker. The 4 of you made sure to be around them in case the two needed help. But San and Mingi were confident, they didn't want to ask for help.

"Mingi, sorry. Just a few minutes. Yunho needs another tall person to help." Hongjoong poked his head into the kitchen.

"Coming." Mingi went out.

"Hi, (y/n)ie." San smiled when you moved opposite him to check on the pasta that you made with Yunho earlier. You chuckled at the casual way he called you.

"Hi, Sannie." You returned the greeting. San looked up in surprise but smiled nonetheless, his dimple popping through.

"So are you excited for your parents to come tonight?" You asked him. He nodded.

"My parents live rather far in the countryside but when they visit, it is always a treat. I hope my older sister comes too. I miss all of them." San said.

"They must be really nice."

"They are. They treat everyone like their family." He laughed. You wondered what it must be like to have such a warm, welcoming family. Maybe your family would have been like that if your mother was still around. But even then, your father was someone that never liked you and your mother to be too friendly to others.

"(y/n)." Seonghwa called you. You looked up to see Seonghwa nodding over to where he was. Shooting San a small smile, you went over to him.

"Okay?" He whispered as you stood beside him. You let out a small hum, helping him with the dessert.

-

After a quick dinner, the kitchen was bustling for dinner service. You knew the parents came when the boys were all greeting them loudly and excitedly in the dining room.

"Hey." Yunho came in with all the parents behind him. You all stood up, bowing respectfully. He introduced whose parents were whose and the family members. Yunho's younger brother looked like him.

"Please, don't let us bother you. Or interrupt your flow." Mrs Song chuckled, waving a hand. She knew what it was like working in the kitchen, owning her own restaurant. You all returend to your food prep tasks.

"I'm Wooyoung. That's Seonghwa hyung, Jongho and (y/n)." Wooyoung, who was the closest, introduced all of you.

"(y/n). The head." Even if you were not looking at them, you felt all eyes fall on you. Jongho nodded at you, assuring that he could handle it. You straightened up and walked over.

"Nice to meet you." You bowed to them.

"Omo. You're so pretty." All the mothers flocked to you, cooing at you affectionately. You grew flustered, unsure of what to do or how to react.

"Okay, ommas. Let's give her some space." Yunho cut in, separating them from you. The fathers merely chuckled, shaking their heads while the mothers scolded Yunho.

"How talented you are. I heard you've been in many reputable kitchens at your age." Mrs Jeong said sweetly, holding your hand.

"Ah, no... It's all just for experience. I'm thankful for all the opportunities given to me." You gave an awkward smile. Yunho cleared his throat and his mother pulled away, shooting her son a look. You bowed your head and went back to help, not wanting to leave the others on their own for long.

"Alright, we shall let them get back to work. Let's go back out." Yunho ushered all of them out of the kitchen. He let a sigh, hoping his mother didn't scare you too much.

"What happened?" Mingi asked.

"Our mothers were smothering (y/n)." Yunho rolled his eyes as the parents took their seats.

"Hyung, (y/n) and those guys are so talented. Why would they want to work for you?" Gunho asked. Yunho shot his younger brother a flat look while Mr Jeong nudged his youngest son.

"Because I am an amazing boss, okay?" Yunho scoffed.

"Mmm, sure." Yeosang coughed. Hongjoong handed out the menus to the parents for them to see what they would like to order.

"Omma, order (y/n)'s dish. I helped make it." Yunho leaned over, pointing to which dish you made on the menu. Mrs Jeong nodded with a hum.

"Hyung helped make it? I'm so not going to order it." Gunho shook his head. Mingi snickered, reaching over to hi-five him. Yunho threatened to hit them. But in the presence of other customers, he wasn't going to.

"Order coming in for the VIP tables." Wooyoung warned as he started to read off the order slips that were coming through.

"Let's go." You all began to work on the appetisers together that would be served first. Wooyoung, at the pass, would finish up with sauces and garnishes before sending the plate out to be served.

"Service." Wooyoung put the plates out for the other boys to bring out to the table.

"Let's start getting ready for mains so we can fire once they are done with apps. In case we need to float." You said to everyone.

"How is it going in here?" Yunho came into the kitchen. You were straining your seolleongtang stock, getting it ready to plate the mains later.

"How are the appetisers?" Seonghwa asked, setting up his oven smoker with the tea leaves for his duck.

"Oh, they love it. Every single dish, I had to stop them from ordering seconds before the mains. But at least they're all excited for the mains now." Yunho grinned proudly. When you were done, you helped Jongho with setting up his binchotan grill for the cod fillets. Yunho came over to you.

"Need help?"

"No, we're good here. You should go out and be with your parents. In case they need anything." You put a hand on his arm. Yunho pouted but nodded, obediently leaving the kitchen.

"We can start firing the mains." Wooyoung said, having observed the dining room from his position at the pass.

"Gunho looks like Yunho. A younger version." You chuckled as you took the pasta out of the boiling water. You missed the odd look that your friends shot you.

"Cuter?" Jongho asked, wanting to add fuel to the fire.

"Maybe." You shrugged.

"What?!" The door burst open and Yunho yelled in disbelief, making you all jump in shock. Hongjoong, who was outside, bowed in apology to the surprised customers before hurriedly pushing Yunho in the kitchen.

"Geez, Yunho! There are customers! You can't just suddenly yell like that." He scolded in a hiss before exiting to return to the dining room.

"Yunho, don't do that. You're disrupting customers and it's not safe where we're working with knives here." You frowned.

"Wait, do you seriously think Gunho is cuter than me?" Yunho planted his hand on the counter, blocking your way with his body. Seonghwa, Wooyoung and Jongho snickered.

"Does it matter? Now, I need to plate my dish." You said, walking around him to go to the plates.

"Yes, it matters to me!" Yunho threw a tantrum, stomping his food as he whined.

"(y/n)~" He whined when he realised that you were ignoring him. You plated each pasta on each plate, making sure the positions of each pasta was accurate and similar. He leaned down in front of you.

"(y/n), tell me I'm cuter than Gunho." He said. You rolled your eyes, patting his head to pacify him then walking to get the seolleongtang into a jug so you could pour it over the pasta. Yunho sulked, following you around like a puppy with separation anxiety. You poured the broth over, garnishing with two oils.

"Pass me the egg garnish." You instructed. Yunho sighed but handed the containers for you to put the garnishes over.

"Bring these out for service, will you?" You told him and went to prepare the other portions. Seonghwa, Wooyoung and Jongho called the others for service too.

"Yah. Don't just stand there. Keep moving." Mingi clicked his tongue as he carried the dishes in his hands.

"We might have a little lull time before dessets." Wooyoung said.

"(y/n). Tell me I'm better than Gunho." Yunho came in again, still pushing his agenda. You raised an eyebrow at him. He was seriously a pouty puppy.

"I don't know Gunho well enough to know if you're truly better than him. That's biased." You pointed out.

"True." San, who overheard, voiced in agreement. Yunho whipped around, glaring at San.

"Get out." He pointed at the door. San scoffed and rolled his eyes before going out. Turning back around, Yunho saw that you had slipped away. You were still doing the few orders for mains and appetisers that came in.

"Service." You handed the plates to Wooyoung. Yeosang came in to take them out to the dining room. Seonghwa and Jongho also served what they finished working on. Yunho brought them out.

"Let's take 5." Seonghwa suggested. You stepped out the back door for a breather. Yunho came back to find you missing.

"I'm just taking a breather, Yunho." You said when he stepped out of the back door.

"I know." He said, taking a seat beside you on the stoop. With his body practically brushing against yours, you didn't move away uncomfortably. You sat there in silence.

"Why were you so adament on me thinking you're better than Gunho? It doesn't matter what I think." You asked with a chuckle.

"No, it matters to me." Yunho said firmly.

"Why?"

"Because you can't like Gunho. I want to be the only one that you like." He frowned.

~

Series masterlist

[moralesluvr]

hiiiii idk if ur requests r open rn but can u do cooking hcs for all the spiderverse characters u write for? like what they’re good at cooking, are they even good at cooking, what food do they like etc.

COOKING WITH THE SPIDEYS!

contains: hobie brown, miguel o'hara, gwen stacy (platonic) earth1610!miles morales, earth42!miles morales, and pavitr prabhakar.

EARTH1610!MILES definitely learned cooking from both his parents. When he was little, Rio definitely made sure that she taught him some cultural dishes to make, especially the ones that she made when she was young, hoping he would pass them down to his own children.

His father taught him all the recipes that his grandma taught him, and Miles really got his love for cooking there. He knows that you love when he cooks and he likes doing things to please you, so sometimes he'll definitely whip up meals as a surprise or even for date night, watching a smile creep on your face as you thank him.

His favorite food is also probably pasta. He knows it sounds plain, but he likes the fact that you can make different types with variants of seasoning and sauces, so sometimes he likes to experiment in the kitchen.

EARTH42!MILES knows how to cook, and how to do it well, but sometimes it's a little bothersome for him. It's not that he hates cooking, per se, but it does take a while and he doesn't like the mess.

His mom obviously taught him how to cook, so his favorite meals to whip up are probably cultural foods. And even though he doesn't like cooking as much as our Miles, he's so damn good at it, so you always ask him to make you dishes and he can't ever say no to you, so he does it and has a smile on his face the whole time. He also lets you taste things in between to make sure it's to your liking. He'll hold the spoon up to your mouth as you taste, waiting for your approval, which he definitely seeks for.

His favorite food is probably something that his mom taught him how to make when he was younger, or maybe even something that his dad ate a lot/cooked, because as much as he tries to act like things don't bother him, he misses his dad, and he holds on to all those memories.

Now, MIGUEL does not like to cook, I don't care what anyone says. It's only because he's bad at it and he found it unfair when his daughter would try recipes on the first try and succeed. Plus, he's really heavy-handed, so if he gets frustrated he probably accidentally splits a fork in half or something, LMAO.

His favorite food is most likely breakfast foods, because if this man doesn't get a good start to his day with some tasty food, the whole day will he ruined and he'll have an attitude. Plus, he remembers when his daughter would make him breakfast before work, so he feels as if he can't live without it.

On the other hand, PAVITR loves to cook! That boy is always in the kitchen, and if you even mention something that you like to eat, oh he's making it as soon as the words leave your mouth. If it's hard to make or he doesn't know the recipe, he looks it up and follows it step by step, probably getting his aunt or uncle to help him.

He always calls you to come taste test no matter what you're doing. He'll pick up his phone and tap his foot as he waits for you to answer, and when you do, he's literally smiling and screaming for you to come over, despite if you're busy or not. He just loves when you try his food.

Pavitr wears an apron when he cooks...I feel like that needs no explanation. He just does.

He def educates you on things, because if you call naan 'naan bread' he's going to tear up.

HOBIE doesn't really care for cooking, but if you ask, he'll do it. It's mainly because he doesn't like to spend money on the groceries to do it, but he'll settle for it if it means it'll make you happy.

He's really bad at it though, even though he has excellent taste, so whenever he cooks you end up helping because he has no sense of how long something needs to marinate or be in the oven. But, it always comes out tasting good because he's perfect when it comes to putting flavors together.

He doesn't really have a favorite food. He just eats whatever tastes good, especially if you make it, and he praises you for helping him or when you cook your own dishes.

And last but not least, GWEN cannot cook to save her life, it's actually so bad. You try to mentor her or get her to watch videos and it's like it goes in one ear and out the other.

The effort is there, but every time she cooks, it just ends up in the both sitting criss-cross on the floor of her apartment, takeout in your hands as you watch chick flicks, and you make her vow to never cook again, because her kitchen was way to close at catching fire.

Her favorite food is pizza. It's basic and she knows that, but honestly she doesn't find delight in eating many foods, she's kind of a picky eater, but you don't mind it. You're just honestly happy to be there with your best friend.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 ☻ thank you for reading!

𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑-𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓🕷️: @queenesther996 //@sukunas-slutty-bitch // @c3f21 // @wydney // @rinnyisnothere // @brieryann // @moisttowllet // @Dee-m-cee // @liliummz // @starhrtz // @daisydark // @randomhoex // @solanawrld // @whore4hobie // @tanakaslastbraincell // @simp4miguell // @nyrovi3 // @my3tumbles // @aziulsworld // @enchantingfoxsparkles // @mancerseedu // @cafehyunji // @personofyou // @mcdvsr // @kopiivie // @ellatienesuscosas // @venuswash3re // @calliarlerte // @pr0wlerpunk // @tzuyuzzs // @wisepoetrycheesecake // @clearskiiiess // @d3atht3hek1d // @vienreina // @pixqlsin // @caulifloweron // @aizawassimpblog // @stvrgrl // @zerosinterweb // @ishqani // @mookiebut // @urmotherswhor3 // @cumbermovels // @asmobeuses // @yanghees // @popeheywardssecretgf // @mxspiderman2099

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