#idea was from conversation between me and crumb

[coffeebrownn]

[darkmatilda]

𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐞 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: if you were to look back, you would realize you had loved him forever. from the first glance, well, the first conversation in the garage of your family home during the christmas. but although time passed and you did everything you could to get his attention, you eventually realized he would never love you the way he loved your sister. the way you loved him.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x jareau!female!reader, angst, looots of angst prepare some tissues, unrequited love, reader is a theater/drama student, comparing herself to her sister, feeling of not being enough, unsupportive family, extremely overdramatic, the reader is delusional af and obsessively in love, reader smokes, inspired by lana's song "tomorrow never came"

𝐚/𝐧: it'a a request from lovely @lillaberry you asked me about my fav lana's song and i had huge problem with choosing just one, probably sth from "norman f*cking rockwell" like happiness is a butterfly or mariners apartment complex :> i have no idea what happened, but at some point, this story just started living its own life, i don't like it

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 7.4k

Your friends always joked about how quickly you fell in love.

All it took was one interaction with someone—a small gesture, words that impressed you, a lingering glance, or holding a door open. And you were utterly smitten.

A psychologist would later tell you it probably stemmed from a lack of male attention during your upbringing. You shared one father with two sisters, and he couldn’t give you all the care and attention you needed. Then, he completely dropped off the radar. He left, and you were left with just your mom and JJ. Just the two of them.

Coming back, you weren’t a heartbreaker, a woman jumping from flower to flower. Maybe you fell in love quickly, but faithfully. A bit obsessively, as others said, but you preferred to call it “with all of yourself.” It sounded more poetic, subtle, and didn’t create an image in your mind of yourself dressed in a straitjacket, banging against the walls of a room without doors. Coming back again, this particular stage of your love life began exactly on Christmas Day, your first after starting college.

Since Dad left and your sister—well, you spent them very intimately. Mom prepared two, maybe three dishes, Aunt Martha brought a Pecan Pie (from the store, but pretended she baked it herself), and you and JJ baked gingerbread cookies early in the morning, decorating them for half the day. You were just shoving two gingerbread cookies into your mouth at once, leaning with your elbows on the kitchen counter, while your sister was busy setting the table.

"So, when is your friend arriving?" you asked, a few crumbs falling from your mouth. You brushed them off the counter and onto the floor.

 "He should be here in about fifteen minutes. If he arrives earlier, he'll probably wait by the door until the exact hour strikes. That's Spencer," JJ snorted, smoothing her hands over the red tablecloth. "And stop saying friend like that. There's really nothing between us."

"Uh-huh. And that's why you invited him here for Christmas?"

She leaned against her hip, looking at you more seriously.

"Not everyone has the chance to spend the day with their loved ones. I didn't want him to be alone, okay?"

You raised your hands in mock surrender, still holding a gingerbread in one as a defensive gesture. Your sister sounded almost stern, just like your mom. Speaking of mom, someone slapped your hand.

"For god's sake, you're going to eat all the gingerbread. Do something, help JJ. Aunt Martha will be here soon..."

"She'll be fifteen minutes late, like always. She read somewhere that the Queen of England does that.”

"And when will your friend arrive?" Mom ignored your critical remark and turned to your older sister.

She had already opened her mouth to answer, probably saying the same thing she told you, when the doorbell rang.

 "It must be him," she said and went to let him in.

 Mom subtly adjusted her hairstyle.

 "I saw that," you muttered.

"Oh, be quiet," she shot back.

Two people walked into the living room, where, in addition to a huge Christmas tree, there was also a fireplace decorated with spruce ornaments and stockings. The first was, of course, your sister, and the second was a tall man with an almost boyish face. Slim, you might even say, skinny. He was dressed elegantly, in a light shirt with a tie peeking out from under a black vest, the tie neatly tied at his neck. You immediately had the impression that he dressed like this every day, simply by the fact that everything fit him so well. Years ago, your second sister decided to introduce her boyfriend to your parents. He wanted to impress them with his elegant appearance, but even though you were very young at the time, you clearly remembered how uncomfortable he seemed in that kind of clothing, constantly adjusting something.

"You must be Spencer," greeted your mom with a wide smile, stepping forward. He shook her hand, and you noted in your mind that his grip was very weak, almost filled with hesitation. Well, he probably felt a bit awkward spending Christmas with strangers.

"That's right, ma'am," he replied, his hand falling back along his side. "I really...really appreciate the invitation."

"Oh, don't be silly, it's nothing. Do you work with JJ?"

"Yes, ma'am. We're on the same team."

His gaze slowly started to sweep the room, finally landing on you. Without moving from your spot, you waved at him. Behind Spencer, JJ crossed her arms and looked at you, turning her head in annoyance. You almost rolled your eyes, but instead, you simply got up with a martyr's expression and offered him your hand. Just as you suspected, his grip was gentle, unsure.

"I'm glad you're here," you said after introducing yourself. His face showed surprise, and you chuckled. "It's you Aunt Martha will bombard with questions. And her unapologetic criticism. Not me.Yay!"

His eyes widened in horror. They were dark and honest, one of those they call windows to the soul. JJ quickly grabbed him by the elbow and led him further inside.

"She was just joking," you managed to hear.

You were not. Aunt Martha and your mom shared one personality trait: meddling in other people's affairs and offering unsolicited opinions. The difference was that mom did it behind people's backs, secretly, so that the person being discussed never heard it, and their perfect image remained intact. Her sister didn’t care about that. And her favorite target for attack was you.

Spencer helped set the table despite the objections. He answered your mom's personal questions with precision and logic, which you found rather amusing. You wondered if he was always like that, or if stress just made him act this way. The only thing you knew about him from JJ was that he was a genius and had a doctorate at such a young age. Or maybe she had said a lot more, but that was the only detail that stuck with you, as a student, terrified at the very thought of a master's thesis.

Queen Elizabeth, or rather Aunt Martha, arrived fashionably late as usual, a good fifteen minutes behind schedule, immediately throwing out comments about the unshoveled driveway and how she almost died because of it. Oh, and also about how her neighbor's son is probably gay because he got an earring. Actually, that last issue seemed to bother her the most.

"I'm telling you, he was such a normal guy," she complained, setting down her bought, or rather freshly baked, pie on the kitchen island. "Used to be, anyway. Now, who knows what's going on in his head. Anyway, it's nice to see you, my darlings. JJ!" She embraced the girl tightly, planting kisses on her cheeks with a loud smacking sound.

You winced at the very sound of it, catching Spencer's eye. Your earlier comment must have scared him, because he was staring at your aunt as if she were holding an axe. She stopped, giving him a penetrating look from head to toe.

"And who’s this handsome young man? Darling sister, did you have a son I forgot about?" She laughed as if she’d told a brilliant joke. She pulled the tense Spencer towards her, kissing him on the cheek. "Of course, I’m just kidding, sweetheart. I heard JJ was bringing someone..."

When it was your turn, you reluctantly submitted to her kisses. At least this time, she didn’t have that awful purple lipstick, so there was no trace of it left on your cheeks.

“Oh my God, you really wore that for Christmas?” she almost wailed, placing her hands on your shoulders. It wasn’t that you were dressed inappropriately, just comfortably, instead of elegantly. Aunt Martha pinched you in the side. “Or maybe you’ve put on a little weight, huh? Trying to hide it? I bet college doesn’t stress you out enough to lose your appetite.”

“Actually, I have a lot of stress,” you admitted, sticking out your lower lip. It probably would’ve been better if you’d just kept quiet, but you couldn’t help yourself. “We’re putting on our first play in a real theater in January. We have rehearsals non-stop…”

“Oh, nonsense,” Aunt Martha dismissed it. “Shall we sit down at the table already? I’m starving…”

You did as she asked. The topic of your studies always came back like a boomerang, in the form of mockery. Your mom, and really no one in your immediate family, supported your choice, but at least they didn’t criticize it openly. They tried to talk you out of it, saying that after a theater degree, you wouldn’t find any work. But… you simply didn’t know what else you could do with your life. You didn’t have a logical mind or a talent for math like your oldest sister, nor the ambition or desire to help others like JJ. You were born a humanist, you liked to read, and even more so, perform all those scenes in front of an audience.

Aunt Martha just couldn’t get over it. And of course, even then, after just fifteen minutes, her eyes landed right on you.

“To be honest, I was hoping you’d drop it after the first semester. But obviously, no one has talked any sense into you yet. I’m telling you, give her a year, and she’ll come to her senses.”

You knew, you had learned that arguing with her was pointless. Soon, she would give up and latch onto someone else...

"Just look at JJ," she continued stubbornly. "She chose a respectable field, has a respectable job. Sure, her work might be a bit macabre for a woman, but at least she helps others. She’s doing something useful for others, for the world. And you?"

"Auntie," JJ gently scolded her, casting an apologetic glance your way.

From the corner of your eye, you noticed Spencer setting down his fork, clasping his hands on his lap in a visibly uncertain, lost gesture. You could have gotten up, pushed your chair back with force. You could have done that, you could have even spilled your wine on your aunt's dress—your dramatic flair was enough to pull it off. And though your hands clenched into fists under the table, your knuckles turning white, you said nothing. It wasn’t worth causing a scene.

Instead, you were waiting for the end of dinner like salvation. And when it finally came, you disappeared into the garage, rubbing your chest, trying to loosen the strange tightness. The place had been empty ever since your father moved out and took his car with him. Without hesitation, you reached into your pants pocket and pulled out a pack with the remaining four cigarettes and a lighter. You felt a bit embarrassed by the fact that you were an adult, yet still hiding your smoking. Neither your mom nor JJ would approve of it. Neither would Aunt Martha.

But you needed it to calm your trembling hands after dinner.

You had barely lit the cigarette and taken a drag when someone entered through the door from the house. You quickly hid the cigarette behind your back. Jesus, you were really acting pathetic.

"Hey, it's me," Spencer said, quietly closing the door behind him.

The garage was dimly lit, and you couldn’t fully see his face. But he must have noticed the puff of smoke escaping from behind your back. You shifted uneasily from one foot to the other, uncertain of how to act. Did it concern him enough that he would tell JJ?

“You scared me,” you admitted, deciding to finally relax. You held out the pack toward him. “Did you come here to smoke too? Want one?”

“No…” he denied, clearing his throat. “I don’t smoke. I came… I came to check on you.”

“Check on me?” Surprised, you nearly choked on the smoke.

Even in the dim light, you noticed his shoulders tense up.

"I... Well... You know... those comments from your aunt were really awful," he finally said. "It was clear they hurt you."

For a moment, you were silent, your ears filled again with everything you heard that day.

"Maybe she had a point," you muttered under your breath, pausing to bring the cigarette to your lips. You tapped off the ash. "I have no idea what I’ll do after these studies. But whatever it is, it won't be as useful as what JJ does. Or you."

"You study theater, right? More important than whether what you're doing is useful is whether it makes you happy. Does it?"

You hesitated before answering, crushing the ash with your shoe.

"I think so."

Spencer was silent for a moment too, and the silence was so thick you could hear his breath.

"Okay, I have no idea how good of an actress you are. But judging by how you kept your cool during that dinner, probably brilliant. You've always wanted to be one?"

His questions took the words from you, filling you with a strange feeling. You realized that no one, none of your closest people, had ever asked you those things. They were too busy criticizing and warning you. Even JJ, though she supported you and you deeply appreciated that, mostly expressed concern rather than genuine interest.

"I can't really answer that," you said, the end of your cigarette now the only thing left in your hand. "I guess no one really knows who they are meant to be. And if someone does, I envy them. What about you?" you asked, "Did you always want to be a serial killer hunter?"

"A profiler, you mean?" he replied.

"Call it what you want."

He shook his head with a small chuckle.

"That's a tough question, I have to admit."

“See, that's too existential. Don’t you have any other questions?”

 “Hmm, I think I can come up with some,” he mused for a moment. “You mentioned you’re putting on a play in January. What’s it about?”

You told him about the preparations for Antigone, your role as Ismene. It turned out that he knew the play very well. No, he really knew it—not just fragments of information from high school lessons. Engrossed in your discussion, neither of you noticed how much time had passed or how long you’d been gone. It’s possible others were wondering where you’d disappeared to, but at that moment, you couldn’t care less. For the first time, you were talking to someone outside your university who actually knew so much about theatre. You couldn’t stop talking, your words tumbling out so fast that your cheeks turned red from lack of air.

When JJ announced that she’d invited the doctor for Christmas, it never crossed your mind that you'd find such a great conversationalist in him. You had imagined a stiff, grim man in a lab coat. Not a funny, versatile guy like him. He could be a bit awkward at times, but in his case, it was endearing.

Eventually, you returned home, to the living room. Aunt Martha had left early in the evening, and it was just the three of you left, the atmosphere relaxed.

 "Are you okay?" JJ whispered to you at one point, her lips pressed together in concern.

You nodded, genuinely. You'd already managed to push the dinner out of your mind. You were mostly thinking about... Spencer. He stayed late, and you all played cards. Everyone, including your mom. A few times, he caught you cheating, and you noticed a sharp gleam in his dark eyes, but he didn’t say a word. You tried again to draw him into a conversation as long and passionate as the one you’d had in the garage, but the presence of the rest of your family made it difficult.

They joked a lot with JJ, sometimes talking only between themselves about people and things you had no clue about. You’d interrupt then, desperately trying to steer the conversation toward something you could follow. But whenever their gazes met again, their smiles aligning at the same moment, you felt like the annoying younger sister, just a nuisance to them.

 JJ made him show off some card tricks. You wondered if there was anything he couldn’t do, anything he wasn’t knowledgeable about. In your eyes, as the hours passed, he started to become... everything.

That night, you couldn’t sleep. Dressed in your pajamas and robe, you smoked another cigarette in the garage. Though you’d only spent a few hours together, most of them not even alone, in your mind, a certain thought began to form more vividly—one both unsettling and exhilarating.

You had fallen in love.

*

Desperately, you hoped JJ might invite Spencer over for dinner again, giving you another chance to see him. But it didn’t happen. Still, Spencer filled your thoughts every single day, to the point where you couldn’t focus on your classes or the rehearsals.

Rehearsals! Everyone was incredibly stressed about how you’d perform. On a real stage, not just the small one at your university, in front of a real audience. The nerves consumed you so much that you burned through pack after pack of cigarettes, probably smelling like an uncleaned chimney. You were on the verge of asking JJ for his number and inviting him out, openly and without any pretense. Just to stop thinking about him, even for a moment...

You were given two tickets to hand out to your loved ones. One, of course, went to JJ. The other…

“Sorry, sweetheart,” your mom said over the phone, just a day before the performance. “I’m heading to Aunt Martha’s today and staying the whole weekend. She’s feeling awful, you know her heart issues.”

You didn’t know who else you could invite. Dad always grimaced at the mere mention of the word theater. And then JJ suggested she could ask Spencer if he’d like to come. You stared at her, overwhelmed by the sudden urge to kiss her. Out of gratitude, of course. No, that wasn’t enough. You wanted to fall at her feet and kiss them with tears of joy, thanking her endlessly. In your eyes, she now had angelic wings and a glowing halo around her head. 

Sweet JJ. Best sister in the whole world. 

Of course, you agreed.

But the thought of him watching your performance only intensified your stress. JJ had said she wanted to see you before the show to wish you luck. You suggested meeting both of them by the fountain near the theater—the one where you often smoked before rehearsals, either with your classmates or alone. Already dressed in your costume, you walked to the meeting spot on shaky legs. It was all about to begin. Too soon.

You lit a cigarette without giving a second thought to the fact that your sister was about to show up. Even when you heard footsteps behind you as you sat on the bench facing the fountain, you didn’t put it out. But to your surprise, when you turned around, it wasn’t JJ—it was Spencer.

“Nerves getting to you?” he asked as a greeting.

Your stomach leapt into your throat, and something inside you fluttered. You hadn’t seen him in three weeks, not long enough for him to have changed in any way. Yet, it felt like you were seeing him for the first time in years, and your joy at the sight of him was nearly overwhelming.

You swallowed, trying your best to seem casual.

“Doesn’t it show?” You raised the hand holding the cigarette, your fingers trembling visibly.

"Isn't it cold?" he asked, stepping closer and stopping by the bench. You moved over, making space for him. You were, indeed, freezing. You'd come outside in your stage costume, without any jacket or coat. Spencer looked you over carefully. "You know, I have some doubts about whether you could actually get Martens and silk dresses in ancient Thebes."

"Of course, you could. Martens, the Greek god of footwear. Haven't you heard of him?"

With amusement, he raised an eyebrow.

"This is a modern interpretation of Antigone," you explained finally, pointing again at your outfit. "Here, she's a feminist, a force of resistance against Creon's patriarchal power. These shoes paired with the delicate dress are a subtle expression of Ismene's rebellion. What do you think? Don't you like the idea? You seem surprised. Did you think it was going to be a traditional version of the play?"

"Oh, well, that's exactly what I thought," he admitted, blinking twice, lost in thought. "But I'm not disappointed or anything," he added hastily. "Actually, I'm... even more curious to see this play. Your interpretation."

After these words, he shifted uncertainly in his place, still staring at you. Finally, he sighed and began to remove his brown coat.

"Take it, okay? You're shaking, and... it's just unpleasant to watch," he said.

"No, stop," you tried to stop him, though deep down you couldn't wait for his coat to fall over your bare shoulders. "It's just for a moment, I'll go back inside soon..."

"...And you'd better not go on stage all gray and stiff from the cold. Really, you can... you can take it."

You pretended to give in. You handed him your cigarette to hold while you slipped your arms into both sleeves. At the same time, you tried not to show too much impatience. A pleasant warmth spread across your back, the protective layer, as well as the scent of his cologne.

"Thank you," you said quietly, unable to stop a small smile from forming. A similar one appeared on his face as well. You both sat in silence for a moment, not sure what else to say, as so much time had passed since your last conversation. You didn’t want to bring up your sister, but... her delay started to worry you.

"Where... where is JJ, actually? We were supposed to meet here," you asked.

"Oh," Spencer sighed, as if he had just remembered something. "Right... sorry, she asked me to let you know that she won’t be able to make it on time. She’ll get to the performance, but she'll be a little late. She had to stay at work a bit longer."

You nodded with disappointment, though deep down, you couldn’t help but feel a little pleased with how things had turned out. You could meet your sister anytime, but with Spencer? You needed a good excuse.

"You know... I'm really glad you came.”

He shrugged dismissively, avoiding your gaze when you tried to look him in the eyes.

"Don’t mention it... really. I’m the one who’s glad you agreed when JJ decided to invite me," he said.

You fell silent after his words, something dawning on you. While you would be performing on stage, the two of them would be sitting right next to each other, together. Before the show started, they’d probably talk again about all those things and people you didn’t know, from outside your world. And you wouldn’t be around to analyze every little smile, to discover what might lie behind them. Friendship, or something more? Though before, during the holidays, when you hadn’t met him yet, you had often joked that something might be between him and JJ, it was only then that it really hit you.

You pressed the cigarette to your lips, not realizing it had already gone out.

If it came down to it, who were you to compete with JJ? You loved her, but you were also painfully aware that she was everything you could never be. The perfect daughter, the pride of the family.

"I have to go," you said, your voice sounding strange, as if it came from somewhere outside of your body.

You tried to take off his coat, but he stopped you with a gesture of his hand.

"You can give it to me after the show. Honestly, I deeply hate that saying, because of how utterly meaningless it is... though maybe I just understand it too literally... anyway, break a leg."

Despite your earlier gloomy thoughts and conclusions, you let out a laugh.

JJ arrived as promised, during the performance. You were too focused on your role to notice her entrance, and of course, it was dark in the theater. The way she hugged you afterward made you feel guilty for all the things you'd thought about her that day. All the hidden jealousy, not just about Spencer, but about everything.

She suggested a dinner afterward, and the three of you spent a pleasant evening together. Not once that night did you suspect it would become a tradition. That this pair would start attending all your performances, becoming faces you could look for in the crowd. Your friends had their parents there to cheer them on, you had them. 

Around that time, your relationship started to get really strange.

As time passed, the awareness that you were in love with Spencer became a fact coded into your soul. Undeniable and constant. Always present. At the same time, you didn’t see each other alone too often. Your mom liked him enough to invite him to the family home frequently, which he accepted. A few times you went to the movies with him and JJ, once you dragged them both to an art exhibition because you were afraid that if you invited him alone, he might refuse.

He quickly became a family friend, including of course, yours. But you and he, alone, saw each other... incredibly rarely. The only moments were those before the performances. You’d wait for them by the bench near the fountain, and he would always arrive before JJ. You’d spend about fifteen minutes talking, just the two of you. In your eyes, those fifteen minutes held an indescribable, sacred weight. If you could, you would’ve built an altar for each of those minutes and laid before it every morning, on your knees, for an hour. It was starting to sound a bit obsessive, wasn’t it?

But over time, it became insufficient. Not knowing how else to fill the emptiness that his absence left in you, you started sending him messages—simple good mornings and good nights. Sometimes you'd ask how his day had gone. Once, by accident, you called him. He picked up, and you ended up chatting. You started doing it regularly. Beautiful moments, where two separate spaces were filled only by your voices, without JJ's presence.

These conversations were like therapy for you after every meeting with the two of them. Because during them...

It dawned on you how close they were. The two of them. They were connected by their work, their passion, their interests. And you had no fucking clue why that damn Ted Bundy killed people, or what the hell the reason behind it was, other than the fact that he was a psychopath. What was the actual difference between a psychopath and a sociopath? Murder and manslaughter—what was the difference there?

Of course, it wasn't that they only talked about that. In fact, they rarely touched on their work in front of you, but still, it bothered you to such an extent that over time, your apartment started to fill with criminology books, which you shoved under the bed when your sister came over. You didn’t know what you were trying to achieve—drawing his attention?

But there was one thing that drove you into true psychological devastation. The smiles Spencer gave JJ. Sometimes she’d say something, joke, tell a story, and he’d listen to her with that exact expression on his face. A discreet tenderness and... and... you couldn't keep describing it any longer. You felt like jumping out of the window just at the thought of it. Because you were sure he never looked at you that way. No matter how hard you tried to impress him, how many card tricks you learned, how many books on psychopaths you read.

He still saw you only as his little sister.

But you... you still tried. Because even though sometimes you felt like it was all pointless, most of the time you were filled with that hopeless hope. He became close to you, not just in a romantic sense. You saw in him a support you couldn’t find in your family. He was the one you could turn to with problems you faced at college; he didn’t roll his eyes or dismiss your issues, but listened with genuine concern. He made you feel like your career path might actually have some meaning.

That's why you called him that day.

There was this one particular day of the year. Especially painful. The anniversary of the day your sister took her own life. At some point, you didn't even know when, you and JJ had made an unspoken decision to spend that day apart. She took it particularly hard, claiming she needed isolation. You, on the other hand... wandered around your apartment like a ghost, unable to focus on anything, searching for some kind of embrace that could ease the pain.

“Hey,” he answered on the other end of the line, always sounding a little surprised when greeting you, as if he hadn't expected you to call. “What’s... what’s going on?”

“Spencer,” you only whispered his name, glued to the couch in your apartment, unable to move for the past hour. Saying his name alone helped a little. Spencer, Spencer, Spencer. “Sorry for calling... but…”

“But?” he asked, his tone concerned. “Is something... something wrong?”

You nodded, forgetting he couldn’t see it. It was funny, though, because it felt like you could see him. At least a vivid image of him in his apartment, a place you’d never been, but somehow, you knew how it looked. In his post-work clothes, with the longer strands of hair tucked behind one ear on one side. Those brown eyes.

“Could you come? To… to mine?”

You heard him swallow nervously.

"Sure. But... never mind, I'll be there soon. Just... wait."

He arrived, just as promised.

 You hugged him for the first time since you had known each other. You initiated it, sinking into his arms, burying your face in his chest and breathing deeply. You had imagined this moment countless times... and it didn’t meet your expectations. You probably hoped he would embrace you with some hidden strength, almost crushing you and kissing the top of your head. Instead, his hug was surprised and withdrawn.

You stepped back a step, and for a moment, you both stared at each other in silence. You weren’t really sure what to say.

"Today... today is the anniversary of her death," you finally blurted out.

Actually... you weren't even sure if he knew about it. Spencer straightened up with understanding. So JJ must have told him.

 "Oh... now I get it," he said slowly. He rubbed his forehead, still caught in some confusion, disorientation. Well, you had to admit, you had put him in a somewhat awkward position.

"That explains... that explains why JJ was acting like this today," he murmured under his breath. You gave him a questioning look. "She was very quiet. Closed off."

 "That's how she handles grief," you explained, tightening your cardigan around yourself. "She isolates herself and doesn’t want to see anyone. Not even me or Mom."

Spencer fell silent for a moment, his expression distant and blank. It hurt, and you wished he would be present, right there, next to you. That’s why you called him. Not for him to drift back to thoughts of her. It pained you, your own selfishness. Your own cruelty.

"Don’t you think we should... at least check on her?" he suggested uncertainly.

You quickly shook your head in disagreement.

 "As I said, she doesn’t want to see anyone. I think we should... we should let her have her solitude."

"Alright. You're her sister, you... I believe you know what's best for her," his tone sounded as if he was trying to convince himself that his words were true. He sighed again. "But I'm glad you decided to call me. How... how can I help you?"

You weren’t saying this out of jealousy, you honestly believed it was the best thing for your sister. For a moment, silence fell between you again. He didn’t seem convinced, but he finally sighed.

You moved your lips, wanting to say I don't know but no words came out.

 "Just," you began, swallowing. "Be with me."

He hugged you... and that hug was closer to how you had imagined it once. Much closer. Most of all, it didn't just sink into your body like a toy; he actively tried to make it clear that he was there, that he was with you, and you could rely on him. And you had no reason not to believe it.

You spent the whole evening together. Watching TV wasn’t the most ambitious pastime, but it was just a less depressing excuse to sit in silence on the couch. Lying, actually. You rested your pillow on his lap, placed your heads together. The faces on the screen blurred, you didn’t hear any sounds, you only felt his hand gently, occasionally brushing your back. He did it at irregular intervals, as if afraid you would catch him in the act. It was a short, fleeting motion, and you wondered afterward if you had imagined it.

You walked him to the door when it was time for him to leave. You said goodbye, but didn’t close the door to the apartment, standing still in it.

“Spencer,” you said, when he started walking down the stairs. Before he turned, he flinched. The air in your lungs had been gathering into one big, terribly heavy ball for some time, and you could barely release it. “You’re going to check on her, right?”

He opened his mouth, but said nothing. Finally, he lowered his head, and when he looked back at you, there was so much determination, so much sense of duty in his gaze.

"I..." he began, taking a breath. "I have to do this. Even if she doesn't want to see anyone. I wouldn't forgive myself if I found out later that I wasn’t there when she needed someone."

You understood it. You loved him for it. You were grateful. At the same time, you hated him, though it wasn't hate aimed at him. Nor at JJ.

It was hate aimed solely at yourself.

You allowed your desire to have him all to yourself to overshadow your sister.

*

The last play you performed during your first year of college was The Sorrows of Young Werther.

It was a huge event, a lot of work, rehearsals, and stress. Your contact with both Spencer and JJ suffered because you simply didn’t have the time. All of it… took a toll on your mental state. You were someone who threw herself deeply into the roles you played. You imagined the words spoken on stage as if they came from your own mouth, reflecting your true thoughts and desires. And even though you didn’t play the lead role, the suffering Werther, you began to live the play.

If woken up in the middle of the night with a slap to the face, you would’ve been able to recite the entire script, having read it so many times. You wrote on it with a pencil, highlighted passages, as if it were your personal Bible. At the same time, it filled you with a sense of patheticness. Was there anything you could do to avoid the fate of Werther?

It was evening, and you hadn’t left your apartment that day. You couldn’t even remember if you had gotten out of bed at all. Eventually, unable to look at the crossed-out script anymore, you shoved it under the bed. You had accumulated a lot of things there. You picked up a deck of cards.

You remembered that Christmas, the one where everything began. The Christmas tree and the three of you sitting on the carpet. Spencer, showing some odd trick, and you and JJ, trying to guess how he did it. You reveled in the memory of the early stage of your infatuation.

The phone rang.

"Can you come over?" JJ's voice came through without any greeting. Normally, you would have joked, asked how about a hello? “But she sounded too serious, frighteningly serious. You swallowed. "Please."

You started getting dressed before you even agreed. Because of course, you did. You knew it wasn’t about something trivial, something insignificant. That didn’t fit with JJ. Something real must have happened…

In moments like these, your complicated relationship with your sister was simplified. It was broken down into its basic elements, leaving only what was fundamental. The bond. A simple, pure sisterly bond that could be stretched but never broken.

You stepped inside, the door was open. That alone unnerved you. Your heart leaped into your throat as you heard her call you into the bathroom. JJ was sitting on the closed toilet seat, clutching something tightly in her hand.

"God, what happened? You have no idea how scared that phone call made me..."

"Can you look at this?" she interrupted, her usually tanned face was pale, just white, like snow or a blank sheet of paper.

You blinked in confusion and looked at the object she handed you. When you realized what it was, a sound escaped your lips, somewhere between a sigh and a moan.

"Are you... are you... is this...?"

"I have no fucking idea, just check!"

You took the pregnancy test from her, and it slipped from your hands.

You stared at the positive result.

JJ wasn’t trembling, her body unnaturally stiff, her face unreadable. You didn’t know what to say, you had no idea what her stance was. It didn’t seem like it was a planned pregnancy; she hadn’t even been seeing anyone… Suddenly, a wave of terror gripped your back. What if...?

She could no longer wait for you to deliver the news. You were speechless, unable to say anything. Almost ripping the test from your hand, her mouth opened in shock.

You slowly approached to touch her shoulder. That gentle touch quickly turned into an embrace.

"JJ," you whispered into her neck, still terrified of what you might hear. But you pushed all the theories aside for once, focusing only on her. "What... what are you going to do now?"

Your sister held onto the hug, but when she pulled away, her eyes were filled with tears. Happy tears.

"I’m going to be a mom."

There it was—the happy news. God, you felt like you were about to start crying too. The only thing stopping you was...

"But what about... what about... who..." The question was shockingly hard to phrase. Each version of it sounded brutal in its own way. "Who’s the father?"

“His name is Will. We’ve been together for a while… I haven’t told anyone, we haven’t seen each other much lately and…”

You sank back into her arms, happy, truly happy. For a moment, a thought crossed your mind—that it could have been someone else’s child. You didn’t know what you would’ve done if that had turned out to be true. You stayed with her for several hours, both of you behaving as though you’d lost your minds. You took turns crying—when one of you stopped, the other started.

"But... you're the first person I've told," she said when you were about to leave. "And I want you to keep this just between us for now, okay? Don’t tell Mom, and not even Spencer."

"Of course, JJ, I wouldn't..."

You were a terrible sister. As soon as you left the apartment, you quickened your pace, determined to break the promise you had made. And you had nothing to defend yourself with, except for that surreal vision that had formed in your mind. You thought… that if Spencer found out…everything he felt for JJ would have to fade away. That was the way things went: your love interest moves on with someone else, you suffer for a while, and then you move on. Or not, but in fewer cases.

In any case, you fooled yourself into thinking that once he knew, he would turn in another direction. Toward you. The one who had loved him from the first sight. Well, more precisely, from the first conversation in the garage. You dialed his number, walking through the dark city, which suddenly seemed so small. So insignificant. All those people around, who were they? You felt like a madwoman, almost running without knowing where. Or maybe you did know. Or rather, your legs knew.

The fountain and the bench right next to it, where you spent time before every one of your plays. Just the two of you. All those conversations swirled in your ears so vividly that you didn’t even hear Spencer speak on the other end.

"We need to meet," you announced, cutting off whatever he had been about to say. "Please, it’s important. I need to tell you something. At our bench, okay?"

He was silent, clearly taken aback.

"You mean... like, now?" he asked, followed by a confused sigh. "I’m not in town right now… I’m visiting my mom," he explained, swallowing hard. You’d never met her, but you knew it was a sensitive subject for him.

You came to a stop, your chest heaving as you caught sight of the fountain in the distance—the destination of your hurried march. "I really can’t today," he added.

"Tomorrow then," you decided, undeterred.

"Can you at least tell me what’s going on? Don’t take this the wrong way, but… you sound really off. I think… I think I’m starting to worry…"

"Don’t worry. It’s nothing urgent. It can wait. I just need to tell you something, and it has to be face-to-face."

On the other end, he cleared his throat, still clearly off-balance, but eventually agreed. Just before you hung up, you drew in a deep breath and blurted out more words, almost without thinking.

"It’s something I’ve wanted to tell you for a long time. I want to…" you paused, a strange laugh escaping your lips. "Confess. It’s about… my feelings."

Spencer remained silent. He didn’t hang up, just stayed quiet. You couldn’t even hear his breathing, as if he’d moved the phone away from his ear, away from his mouth. You hesitated, suddenly hit by a thought. What if you… scared him? You pulled the phone away from your own ear for a moment as well, trying to calm your breathing, which had turned uneven, almost like a sob.

“So, tomorrow?” you asked to confirm.

The silence stretched on, and you nervously started biting your nail.

“Tomorrow’s gonna rain,” he said suddenly, his voice so soft you almost missed it. You frowned in confusion, letting out a questioning hum. “Tomorrow’s gonna rain. Let’s just meet at my place instead.”

It seemed logical, but somehow you were stuck on the vision of the two of you in that specific place. That bench, where he gave you his coat when you were freezing in your Ismene costume.

“No, please. I want it to be there. The rain… the rain doesn’t bother me,” you insisted.

“Okay,” he said with a hint of resignation, sounding a bit like he was giving in. “Okay, okay. Tomorrow. Fine.”

You slipped your phone into your pocket, a faint smile tugging at your lips.

Even though you had nothing to do in this part of town, you could’ve just headed back home. Yet, you paused for a moment in front of the fountain. That’s when you realized you’d left your cigarettes at JJ’s apartment. Oddly, you didn’t care. Only one thing, one thought felt important right now.

Tomorrow. Sweet, long-awaited tomorrow.

The fountain. The water flowing through it. The water that never stopped. Just like your love—constant, despite never being returned.

You sat down on the bench, a single tear slipping from your eye. Somehow... deep down, you already knew that tomorrow wouldn’t come. Not the tomorrow you’d imagined. Not the one that would stay true to your hopes, your dreams, and your visions.

In that moment, you felt connected to another version of yourself—one sitting on this very bench, despite the pouring rain and the relentless passing of hours.

Tomorrow. The tomorrow that never came.

taglist:

@she-wont-miss @mggslover @kakamixoxo @nyeddleblog @dylanobrienswife0420 @wmoony

@heddgie @khxna @marauder-exe-old @yujyujj @charleyreid @aristeia29 @kitty-kai @sp3ncelle

[ambrosia-vinca]

There's a kind of defensive attitude towards criticism re:Lucanis' romance in many corners of the fandom that I partially understand because Veilguard gets a lot of shit thrown at it, and if you enjoy something you naturally want to defend it. But this type of attitude also rubs me the wrong way when people who loved the way his romance played out say that anyone criticizing it must just not understand slow burns/not like slow burn as a genre/not understand Lucanis' character and his trauma properly/must have been expecting explicit sex scenes and a Zevran 2.0.

Maybe some people criticizing his romance don't like slow burns, or were wrongly expecting him to be a sex god, or ignore his trauma. I've seen a few. But that's not all the criticism there is.

Personally, I love slow burns, it's my favorite genre both to read and write (I'm the type of fic writer to think up 200k words enemies to lovers longfics where they've barely kissed after 100k words). I'm also the type of ace person who's not into extremely explicit sex scenes or super kinky romances (especially with male dom stuff, which I personally dislike). And lastly, I'm the type who picks the angstiest possible romance choice.

All this to say that Lucanis and his romance were theoretically made in a lab for me. Slow burn because the character doesn't trust easily and is traumatized by his past experiences and has many things he must resolve, excruciatingly slow to open up? Unexpectedly very sweet, wet, sad man with puppy eyes? Romance scenes that are caring and romantic instead of outright steamy? Perfect, right up my alley! I keep romancing Fenris in DA2 exactly for that reason because I love him dearly, and he breaks up with Hawke for 3 whole years! Still my favorite!

But the whole point of a slow burn are the steps. It's a slow burn, which means little step by little step, the relationship slowly builds to a conclusion, from tentative acquaintances who don't trust each other, to slooowly evolve into something more, and it's precisely these crumbs that make the trope enjoyable.

To me, Lucanis' romance doesn't feel like it does little steps, it feels like it skips steps. I can see the main story beats of a good slow burn, but not the crumbs that make a slow burn. I don't want him and Rook to jump each other after 2 scenes, I want to see more of the fumbling, the hesitation, the dancing around each other. No, dragon age isn't a romance game, I'm aware, but if romance is an option, and it is written to fit a specific trope, I would like it done properly. They've done slowburns and angsty before, and they were good (even Solas', and his romance is super short). I want the evolution of the relationship shown to me, not told in broad strokes and big steps, and I don't want to have to write half the romance in my head or rely on ao3.

We get nothing between the coffee date and the almost kiss, absolutely no reaction of any kind to the flirting, not even a blink. If Lucanis and Rook were capable of having an entire conversation about coffee and kisses metaphors when they barely knew each other, then I think they can flirt a bit more in the following conversations when you pick the romantic option, dance around each other, have Lucanis fumble a little more like he does with Neve when he actually registers Rook is sincerely into him. Even just a sign that he heard Rook when they pick the romantic option in the following conversations, because as it is he immediately resumes whatever he was saying. And if his lack of reaction is because he's suddenly afraid and thinks it's a bad idea, I would like it shown on his face, or as an actual noticeable pause/hesitation. It didn't look like he thought it was a bad idea at Café Pietra, unless he just thought Rook was flirting just to flirt and wasn't serious, but again, none of that is hinted at in any way.

Then there's the almost kiss that follows and is the first actually romantic moment we get after the coffee date, and suddenly Lucanis is all smooth and confident about flirting again. With nothing in between ever since *Illario voice* he got all romantic about roasts. Was he reluctant before and that's why he didn't react to Rook's flirting/caring concern? We have no idea, because while he warns Rook it's a bad idea to be attracted to him, he doesn't seem scared, more amused at their daredevil tendencies. The first time in his entire romance we get a clear indication he's afraid and won't open up for a long time is at the end of this specific scene, when he pulls away, and the way it happens is like Lucanis himself wasn't expecting his fear to overcome him. He wants, he lets himself be pulled forward, and then he suddenly gets drowned by overwhelming terror, and he pulls away.

The beginning of the romance (the date + almost kiss) reads to me as if Lucanis was trying to forget the Ossuary, letting himself flirt and feel attraction and just simply live again as if nothing happened, believing if he didn't think about his trauma and forcefully moved forward then it would stay buried, and then the Ossuary unexpectedly caught up to him, because you don't just bury things like that, it always comes back up at some point if you make no effort to actually process what happened.

And then there's nothing again for a long while. I can imagine Rook leaving space for Lucanis because they're considerate of his feelings and they can see something is deeply wrong, but still, something big and awkward happened between them! Not even one conversation where they try to gently broach the subject and Lucanis immediately clams up? What about some mentions of how awkward things suddenly are between the two? Even through party banter? We got plenty about Hawke and Fenris' situationship in DA2 after Fenris pulls away. The other companions comment on their breakup and how it's painfully obvious they're in love still, no matter what happened, and there are a few banters between Hawke and Fenris themselves. Surely things are a little tense and awkward between Rook and Lucanis as well at that point, and their friends would notice? They don't spend as much time together as they used to, Lucanis doesn't talk directly to Rook much anymore unless he has to, can't quite look them in the eye, doesn't want to stay alone in a room with them. He is still protective of them because he obviously cares very much, but can't bring himself to have an honest talk about his feelings and fears because he's still completely locked in his mind prison and would rather deal with his problems by stabbing his enemies.

Rook being lost because they haven't been inside his head yet and they're not sure if it's because of what Lucanis has been through, or if they did something wrong to get them rejected, and they're stuck because Lucanis completely refuses to open up. There are so many little things that could have been implemented to actually serve as the little steps for the slow burn. You're telling me even Emmrich or Neve, perceptive as they are, wouldn't have noticed their two friends suddenly being awkward and sad and not try to talk to Rook about it at the very least?

And then there's the mind prison where Rook gets all Lucanis' fears and insecurities explicitly told to them. Immediately followed by the scene where you lock in the relationship as he makes them dessert.

Were they in a relationship?? When did they get together? Do they get together right there in the kitchen by the sheer power of cake (ok, relatable)? You don't know! They almost kiss, things are theoretically painfully awkward between them for a while, Rook discovers the substance of his trauma, and poof. They're a couple. Yes, I know that Lucanis' love language is acts of service, but did they communicate at all at any point about what's going on between them? Surely even if Rook helping him out of his head puts him on the road to eventual recovery, it didn't suddenly erase all of Lucanis' trauma and fears and doubts.

I liked Rook calling out the subtext of what Lucanis says in that scene (“it's nothing, or not enough”/”it is, and you are”), I did think it was sweet and perceptive of them. But still, we go from attraction to pulling away to suddenly committing to a relationship with never actually discussing exactly what goes on between them. Never outright deciding they want to try something serious. There wouldn't have been much actual flirting or sincere conversations between them after the almost-kiss, for obvious reasons, so how does Lucanis know Rook hasn't moved on/isn't angry at him after all this time, considering how they didn't communicate at all afterwards and he's not exactly the best at feelings and self-confidence? He just talks as if it's a given they're attracted to him still, and only worries about not being good enough for them. I wanted crumbs of reassurance from Rook, more than what we got, because Lucanis' probable guilt is never actually tackled in any way – he had perfectly valid reasons to pull away, of course, but considering how much he blames himself for anything and everything, I'm pretty sure he would also blame himself for hurting Rook's feelings, even if they're understanding and not actually angry with him at all.

Idk. I have a lot of thoughts, especially about the middle of his romance. The last big scene we get is one of my favorites through all dragon age games, it was so sweet, but I still felt like the entire middle part of the romance lacked a lot of slow burn crumbs, and I was still hungry when I got to the end.

[pickingupmymercedes]

My Venus - Lewis Hamilton (NSFW)

A MET Gala Special

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Famous!Reader

warnings: fashion world, sexual activities, (p in v), oral sex

Wrap it before you tap it!!!

wordcount: +3K

a/n: I know it's impossible for anyone to wear the original Venus Dior dress, it's a museum piece and it has been for decades, but it's a fic (and my favorite dress, ever) so let's go with it. Y/n is obviously someone really known in the fashion industry, but I didn't specify how, so it's totally up to you to create a back story.

a/n 2: Kind of a request. I was planning something already but anon gave me amazing ideas, thank horny anon!! Also, smut with a plot, what a shocker for me!!

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

EXPLICIT CONTENT UNDER, -18 DO NOT INTERACT.

______________________________________________________________

Y/n toyed with a stray piece of croissant, her gaze flitting from the cityscape outside to Lewis, who was deep in conversation with his stylist.

Sunlight streamed through the expansive windows on the opulent The Mark Hotel’s suite, a golden glow on the remnants of their breakfast. Crumbs danced on the crisp white tablecloth, a playful counterpoint to the elegant silver service glinting in the corner.

Eric, a man perpetually poised on the precipice of tranquility, leaned forward trying the nonchalantly posture as his eyes danced with curiosity. "Come on, Y/n, spill the beans! We’re all vibrating with suppressed curiosity."

Lewis, in is crisp white tee and black joggers, shot Eric a playful glare. "Thanks for that, mate. Subtlety is your strong suit, clearly." He turned to Y/n, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Seriously, love. The MET is in a few hours, you can tell us."

Y/n, who had mastered her poker face over the last five months of keeping that secret, took a delicate sip of her orange juice. "Let's just say," she drawled, her voice smooth as silk, "it has a very famous sister."

Eric groaned dramatically, throwing his hands up in mock defeat. "Oh, delightful. Lewis, bro, you're on your own with this one."

Lewis chuckled, shaking his head fondly. "You're a menace, Y/n." He winked, a shiver running down her spine despite the playful nature of the exchange. But the silence that followed held a different energy, charged with unspoken anticipation.

Lewis leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "It’s something that is going to steal everyone breath away, so maybe it needs a security detail of its own?"

Y/n couldn't help but let a sly smile curve her lips. "Maybe." she teased, leaning in even closer. The scent of his signature cologne, a heady mix of wood and spice, filled her senses. "Maybe it'll have everyone whispering about who dared to wear such a legend."

A low rumble escaped Lewis' chest, a sound that sent a jolt of excitement through her. " An archive, huh?! " He said, his voice husky

Just then, Eric cleared his throat pointedly. "Right, right, all very hush-hush. But remember, Lewis, you have your Burberry fitting this afternoon. We can't have you looking too shabby next to your mystery woman in archives."

Y/n laughed, a light, tinkling sound that filled the room. "Oh, I'm sure Lewis will manage to steal the spotlight anyway."

Lewis winked again, his gaze lingering on her lips. "A competition, isn't it, love?"

Their playful sparring continued through the rest of the lunch, a delicious undercurrent of unspoken attraction running through their every word and glance. As they finished their coffee, the tension in the air thickened, a silent question hanging between them. It was time to leave, to face the world – and the MET Gala – separately.

But Lewis wouldn't let her go without a final flourish. He stood, his gaze holding hers, and offered a hand with a courtly bow. "Until tonight, my fashionista. May the best dresser win."

_______________________________________________________________

The air crackled with anticipation as Y/n stepped out of the limousine, a vision as the cameras flashed like a sudden storm, capturing the first glimpse of her enigmatic beauty. A collective gasp rippled through the crowd, a palpable wave of awe and recognition as Y/n slowly revealed the legendary Venus dress.

Time seemed to slow. Each step on the red carpet was a carefully choreographed performance, the weight of fashion history settling on her body like a luxurious cloak.

The gown, a masterpiece of delicate embroidery, whispered tales of a bygone era, its every fold a testament to the genius of Christian Dior himself. It clung to her like it had been designed for her. A silent promise of a woman both powerful and breathtakingly beautiful.

Y/n held her head high, a serene and honest smile playing on her lips. Yet, beneath the calm exterior, a thrill coursed through her veins. This wasn't just another red carpet.

Lewis, waiting further down the carpet, watched his breath hitch as she came into view. Initially stunned speechless, his jaw dropped in a way that sent the internet into a frenzy.

Here was the woman he knew, the one who matched his every playful jab with witty retorts, transformed into a goddess. He felt a surge of pride, a possessiveness that went beyond what he had felt before with people looking at her.

This was Y/n, his Y/n, stealing the spotlight of the most known fashion event with an audacity as breathtaking as the gown itself.

It was a declaration, a playful rebellion against expectations, most of them that she had created for herself, as she had stablished her style as the non conformative. Still, in The Garden of Time that was the MET, she was bringing one the most known and iconic flowers back to life.

Microphones were being thrusted in her face, a flurry of questions buzzed around her like excited bees, photographers going maniac at the sight of a dress that had been at an exposition for decades months prior being worn.

"Y/n, this is absolutely iconic! How did you manage to borrow this historical piece?" a seasoned entertainment reporter gushed.

Y/n, ever the diplomat, offered a practiced smile. "Let's just say it took a lot of convincing," she replied, the truth a delightful secret she'd keep to herself. "But I believe it was worth the effort."

"Do you feel any pressure wearing such a significant piece of fashion history?" another reporter chimed in.

An understanding glint sparked in Y/n's eyes. "It's a tremendous honour. But pressure is a luxury I don't have time for tonight. It's all about celebrating art, fashion and Christian Dior himself.” Her wit drew laughter and appreciative nods from the crowd, creating a true vision of a woman stunning and intelligent, truly worthy of the Venus.

As Lewis answered his own fielding questions about his Burberry ensemble, he couldn't help but steal glances at her. Her confidence radiated outwards, a magnetic force that drew everyone's attention. He felt a flicker of pride, ever so slightly tinged with a possessiveness that made him want to shout to the world, 'This is my woman.'

"Lewis," a young reporter, eyes wide with admiration, interjected, "What are your thoughts on Y/n's stunning outfit?"

Lewis, ever the charmer, took a playful dig. "Well, let's just say" he drawled, mirroring her earlier cryptic response, "It was worthy of the months of secrecy. She awed everyone as much as she awes me."

As Y/n went up the stairs she found Lewis at the entrance waiting for her, his eyes boring wholes onto her skin. Lewis leaned close, a hand reaching for hers as his voice a huskily murmured "You're incredible, Y/n," his eyes lingering on her "Absolutely breathtaking, love."

Y/n, feeling the warmth of his gaze on her exposed skin, a secret smile played on her lips. There was a thrill in knowing she had surprised him, in seeing the awe and possessiveness flicker in his eyes.

"You know …” she teased, resting her hands on his shoulders as he reached for her waist, a sequence of flashes going off as they showed affection "This was all about making a statement”.

The throng of bodies inside the museum buzzed with an electric energy. As they navigated the crowded halls, Y/n couldn't help but notice the way heads turned their way. Whispers and glances followed them like a second skin.

Lewis, sensing her amusement, leaned in with a smirk. "Enjoying the attention, love?" he teased, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Oh, absolutely," Y/n deadpanned, batting her eyelashes playfully. "It's not every day I get to feel like a museum exhibit myself."

Lewis chuckled, a low rumble that sent shivers down her spine. "Well, you are a work of art yourself. But you’re also wearing one."

Suddenly, a whirlwind of hair materialized beside them. Zendaya, ever the fashion icon, flashed a dazzling smile. "Y/n, girl! That dress. How?!”

Before Y/n could reply, Zendaya dragged her towards the main exhibition, where Venus’ sister dress – Junon – was center piece, photographers already positioned for the Dior reunion.

Lewis, hovered nearby, a playful smile on his face. Even with the constant interruptions, his gaze never strayed far from Y/n.

As she managed to escape the scene, Y/n couldn't help but notice Lewis's gaze burning into her. "You know," she said, meeting his stare with a smirk, "I can actually feel your eyes searing holes in my dress, Lewis."

He chuckled, leaning closer. "Can't blame a guy for appreciating a masterpiece, can you?" he countered, his voice a husky murmur.

Just as Y/n leaned in to retort, a gaggle of socialites descended upon them. Throughout the pleasantries, Y/n couldn't ignore the heated glances Lewis kept throwing her way. His gaze lingered on the exposed skin of her shoulders, and a playful glint in his eyes hinted at something more than mere admiration.

Finally, as the speeches began and everyone went to their seats, Lewis leaned in close, pulling her towards his side, his voice a husky whisper in her ear. "They can all look, love." his eyes holding hers. "But you're mine."

The speeches droned on, a monotonous hum that Y/n barely registered. Her focus was solely on Lewis, his hand possessively resting on her hand on her lap. The warmth of his touch sent a jolt of electricity through her, a stark contrast to the cool of the dress against her skin.

As the formalities dragged on, the air crackled with unspoken desire. Every brush of their bodies, every stolen glance, fueled a fire that threatened to consume them.

"This is torture," he breathed, his breath tickling a sensitive spot on her neck. "All I want is..." he trailed off, his eyes dropping suggestively to the exposed skin of her chest.

Y/n raised an eyebrown, a delicious mix of excitement and apprehension in her body language. "Finish that sentence, Lewis" she purred, her voice barely a whisper.

“You, alone." he finished, his voice rough with desire. "Somewhere I don’t need to share."

His hand moved up to her shoulders. His fingers finally grazing the edge of the dress, a silent question hanging in the air. Y/n, emboldened by the setting and the audacity of the dress itself, met his gaze with a playful smile.

"There might be a deserted exhibit around the corner," she said, her voice barely above a breath. "One filled with creatures long extinct."

A wicked grin spread across Lewis's face. "Hm…" he murmured, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous glint. Every glance from him felt like a branding iron, searing the memory of him onto her skin.

When the event finally came to its end, they navigated the crowd, Lewis's possessiveness evident in the way he kept guiding her by the small of her back, a silent declaration. Every so often, his eyes would flick to the exposed skin of her shoulders.

They managed to get by the crowds unusually quickly, ushered greetings and nods a clear sign everyone wanted out. But, as they approached the exit, a familiar face beamed at them. Stella McCartney, a vision of elegance in her silver dress, rushed forward to greet Y/n.

"Y/n, you look absolutely phenomenal!" Stella exclaimed, throwing her arms around Y/n in a warm embrace. "That dress! It's absolutely breathtaking."

Y/n put out a smile. "Thank you, Stella. It was an honor to wear such a piece of history." While Stella gushed about the intricacies of the dress, Lewis tried to exchange a knowing look with Y/n.

The unspoken desire simmering between them was palpable, an energy that crackled in the space between them. Just then, a low chuckle caught Y/n's ear. Gayle King, stood nearby, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

"Lewis" she started, her voice smooth as silk, "I haven't seen you this speechless in years. Y/n, you've absolutely stolen the show."

Lewis, ever the charmer, offered her a playful smile. " You know Y/n, she has a knack for making an entrance."

Gayle, unfazed by his attempt at deflection, turned to Y/n, her gaze sharp and knowing. "You two," she said, linking her arm in Y/n's, "must tell me all about this later. That dress…and the look on Lewis's face… well, that was priceless”

Y/n, her cheeks burning, couldn't help but steal a glance at Lewis. His gaze met hers, a silent conversation passing between them. They both knew Gayle was right, and that everyone had probably also seen his gaze.

As they reached the exit, Gayle pulled Y/n to the side, their voices dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Keep doing whatever you're doing, Y/n" Gayle said, a mischievous glint in her eyes, leaning in even closer "That boy is absolutely smitten.”

Y/n couldn't help but let out a soft laugh "Thanks, Gayle" she whispered back. With a final hug, Gayle retreated to her own car, leaving Y/n and Lewis to get into theirs. The tension between them thick, a charged silence that spoke volumes as Lewis held open the car door for her.

He slid into the car beside her, wasting no time in letting his hand roam up under the dress, reaching her thighs in no time. A devilish grin spreading across his face, leaned in close. "She's right, love" he murmured, his voice husky. "You've got me completely wrapped around your fingers."

The heat of his touch sent a jolt of electricity through her. He caressed the soft skin, his fingers brushing tantalizingly close to her hips. Y/n, unable to contain a shiver, bit her lip. "Lew" she breathed, her voice laced with a playful warning. "Careful now. We're not exactly alone."

He chuckled but continued his exploration, his fingertips brushing against the bare skin just above the hem of her dress. The driver, through the rearview mirror, couldn't help but steal a glance. Y/n, catching a glimpse of his reflection, couldn't help but feel a thrill of exhibitionism mixed with a playful desire to tease Lewis further.

As Lewis's hand continued its ascent, his fingers brushed against a smooth, unexpected surface. He paused, his brow furrowing in confusion. A beat of silence hung in the air before it dawned on him. No underwear.

"Couldn't risk an underwear line ruining this moment" her voice laced with a playful challenge. The audacity of her statement, coupled with the realization, made his breath hitch in his throat, raw desire clouding his eyes.

He pulled his hand back abruptly, a silent promise hanging in the air. The confined space crackling with unspoken desire.

As Y/n stole a glance at him, her heart pounded in her chest. He was trying to control himself, a clear struggle evident in the way he held his breath and clenched his jaw. The bulge in his trousers, who had been previously concealed by his trench coat, was now a very visible sign to his arousal.

"Not long until we get back, Love" Lewis finally managed, his voice husky with frustration. He leaned back in his seat, running a hand through his braids in a frustrated gesture. Y/n, a satisfied smile playing on her lips, let out a low chuckle.

Relief washed over both of them as they pulled into the hotel. A small army materialized around them. Her team, ever-efficient, whisked them towards her suite, their focus solely on getting her out of the Venus dress.

Throughout the undressing, Lewis hovered on the periphery, his eyes laser-focused on Y/n. He watched with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine. Every so often, he would discreetly lick his lips, a gesture that spoke volumes of his pent-up desire.

The process was a delicate ballet – a team of stylists unhooking intricate clasps, another carefully lowering the billowing skirt. Finally, wrapped in a plush towel, Y/n stood alone with Lewis, her team discreetly melting away, a knowing smile playing on their lips.

Lewis crossed the room in two long strides, the heat of anticipation crackling in the air between them. His hand reached out, almost hesitantly, to brush a strand of her now loosened hair. The touch, seemingly casual, sent a jolt of electricity through her, igniting a fire that had been smoldering all evening.

"There you are," he murmured, his voice husky with desire. "Beautiful, captivating, and all mine. Only mine."

His words hung in the air like a promise, the most possessive claim she had ever heard from him. They resonated deep within her, stirring something primal. As her heart pounded in her chest, she couldn’t help but lean into his touch, seeking solace and desire in his embrace.

"All yours," she whispered, her voice thick with longing. Their lips met in a searing kiss, a collision of pent-up desire and raw emotion. In that moment, the playful banter of the night melted away, replaced by a raw hunger that neither could – or wanted – to deny.

Each second ticked by like a whisper of urgency. They had only about twenty minutes before they were due to leave for the after-party. With practiced efficiency born of desire, she threw the towel onto the bed, leaving herself bare before him, a silent invitation hanging in the air.

Lewis's eyes roamed over her, a smirk playing on his lips as she reached down to undress him from his pants. "Don't have time for that, love," he murmured, his hands stopping hers with a swift motion.

With a sudden shift of momentum, he flipped her, his hands tracing over her tummy as he left a trail of kisses along her shoulder. Each kiss sent a shiver of anticipation coursing through her, her breath hitching with every touch of his lips against her skin.

His hands ventured lower with each kiss, until they reached her folds, his touch igniting a primal hunger within her. A low growl escaped his lips as his fingers delved into her depths, drawing out her arousal with a skillful touch that left her trembling with desire.

Feeling the urgency of their fleeting moments, she flipped around, dropping to her knees to palm him through his boxers. The outline of his thick arousal was already prominent, and she freed it eagerly, the velvet hardness filling her hands. With practiced skill, she teased him, eliciting a delicious hiss of pleasure as she took him into her mouth, savoring the taste of him.

But time was slipping away and they both knew it. Five minutes had already slipped by, according to the bedside clock. His hands gripped her chin, pulling her up "I promise later we can take our time, but I need your pussy right now," he breathed, urgency lacing his words with a desperate plea.

With a hungry nod, she positioned herself, elbows resting on the armchair, presenting herself to him with a silent invitation. The tip of his arousal teased her entrance, collecting her slickness before he plunged into her with a single, deep thrust. A sharp cry escaped her lips as he bottomed out, his hands soothing the skin of her hips as he waited for her signal to move.

"Lew" she moaned, her voice a desperate plea for release. His fingers circled her clit, igniting a fire within her as he began to move, each thrust driving her closer to the edge of oblivion.

It didn't take long before she was panting, her body trembling with the force of her climax. Lewis held her close, whispering words of encouragement as she rode the wave of ecstasy, her senses overwhelmed by the intensity of their shared passion.

As she steadied herself, he resumed his frenzied thrusts, his movements becoming more urgent as he neared his own release. With a final, deep thrust, he spilled himself inside her, holding her tightly as their bodies trembled with shared pleasure, the world fading away into a haze of ecstasy.

When he pulled out, she turned into his embrace, cupping his face in her hands as she gazed into his eyes, her heart overflowing with emotion. "They can look all they want, but you're the one here," she declared, pulling him into a passionate kiss, sealing their bond with a promise of devotion and desire.

His hands left her only briefly to clean her up before dressing himself, his movements slow and deliberate as he savored the lingering moments of what had just happened.

As he emerged in his Dior attire, abs on full display, Y/n's eyes sparkled, a playful challenge in her voice. "Guess, you're the one drawing all the attention now," she teased as she admired him.

Lewis chuckled, his gaze lingering on her in the black Dior mini. "You don't look too bad yourself, love," he countered, his voice a low rumble.

He pulled her close, his hand trailing down her back. "But trust me," he murmured, his lips brushing her ear, "tonight, the only eyes I care about are yours."

______________________________________________________________

TAGLIST - @saturnssunflower @xoscar03 @chocolatediplomatdreamerzonk @happy-golden-hour @vicurious28

@0710khj @thecubanator2 @neilakk @bigratbitchsworld @adriswrld

@fearfam69691 @cmleitora

[munson-blurbs]

Summary: An evening in the Wheeler basement reveals what you've been trying to deny about your best friend, and longtime crush, Eddie.

WC: 827

Warnings: hurt/no comfort, unrequited love, mention of sex. You've been warned.

--

Eddie “Speak First, Think Later” Munson struck again. 

A rainy spring Saturday had the Hellfire Club gathered for an impromptu meeting in the Wheeler basement. Eddie whipped out a campaign that he’d been saving, somehow just as detail-rich as the ones he’d meticulously prepared for regular Friday sessions. It had gone on for hours until Dustin, the last player standing, rolled to cast a fireball and was met with utter failure. 

“Damn, and here I thought this was one of my weaker ones.” Eddie popped a sour cream and onion chip in his mouth, crunching down with a triumphant grin. “Looks like I’m unstoppable. Impenetrable. Invincible, even.” 

“Yeah, whatever,” Gareth muttered, but there was no missing his own smile as he added, “tell that to Chrissy Cunningham.”

Chrissy Cunningham? Your stomach dropped at the mention of her name. You’d noticed him glancing over at her table in the cafeteria, and saw him at her locker a few times, but that didn’t mean…

Jeff snorted. “He can’t tell her anything without looking like a total moron. ‘H-Hey, Chrissy. Nice hair, um, thing.’” 

“I do not sound like that, asshole.”

“Dude, you said that exact sentence in algebra yesterday. It was a direct quote.”

Your throat was scratchy from shouting during the game, but you cleared it and forced yourself to speak. “What’s going on with Chrissy?”

Grant ignored the glare that Eddie preemptively gave the rest of the guys. “Our fearless leader is smitten with the Queen of Hawkins High,” he teased. Mike, Dustin, and Lucas all underscored his statement with obnoxious kissy noises. 

“Shut up!” Eddie yelled, but it only further spurred them on. 

“Don’t be shy,” Dustin said through his laughter. “Everyone knows you loooooove her!”

You didn’t. Okay, maybe a part of you did, but your optimism—or perhaps naivety—dismissed the idea. Because if he loved Chrissy, that meant he didn’t love you. It meant the long hugs and arms slung over your shoulder were platonic. That the deep conversations late into the night were simply between friends. 

“I don’t love her,” Eddie retorted, his pinkening cheeks giving him away. “I just think she’s cute, okay?”

“Cute?” Lucas said. He rolled his eyes. “Puppies are cute. Kittens are cute. Babies are—”

“Fine, I think she’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen in my goddamn life!” Eddie snapped, but a soft smile tugged at the ends of his lips. “Are you idiots happy now?”

The most beautiful girl he’d ever seen in his life. In his life. 

Happy? You were the farthest thing from happy. 

Your eyes blurred with tears, blinking them back and timing a sniffle with the crinkling of the chip bag as Mike passed it to Lucas. If you could pull yourself together, you could excuse yourself before you broke down completely. 

“Dude.” Jeff looked at Eddie, pulling his gaze to you despite your reluctance to even glance his way. “She’s a girl.”

“Oh, shit.” Eddie chuckled, snagging his Mountain Dew can from the snack table and taking an extended swig. “It’s not like I’m gonna have sex with my best friend, though.”

Gareth feigned a pout. “I thought I was your best friend.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not having sex with you either.”

You watched as Eddie finished his soda, crushing the can in his fist and tossing it at the drummer’s curly mop of hair. 

It’s not like I’m gonna have sex with my best friend. 

Not even a pause. Not a moment of consideration. Nothing close to the movie-esque scene where the boy realized that the girl of his dreams had been right in front of him the whole time. 

Mustering up a half-smile, you pushed yourself off of the couch. “I’m gonna head home. I’m pretty beat.”

Beat. Broken. Destroyed. Shattered. 

Eddie sat up, brushing Lays crumbs onto his jeans and leaving them shiny with oily residue. “Let me drive you,” he offered. 

You shook your head. “N-No, I wanna walk.” 

“It’s raining,” he protested. 

“It’s fine.”

That may have been the first time you’d declined the chance to spend time alone with him. You lived for the days you’d climb into the passenger seat of his van after Hellfire, resting your head against the window as it vibrated from the bass of the radio speakers. 

Eddie shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he said, turning his attention back to the guys. 

He didn’t come after you. You heard his laughter echoing around the basement as you ascended the stairs, barely managing to close the door before you burst into tears. 

Everything you wanted Eddie to feel for you, he felt for Chrissy. The thought of watching his eyes follow her around the cafeteria on Monday roiled a sickness within you. 

You wished you’d never showed up to the Wheelers’ today. Although it wouldn’t have changed Eddie’s love for Chrissy—or his lack of love for you—at least you could continue pretending that there was hope. 

Now, you had nothing but a broken heart.  

--

[rainybubbles]

What 141 would do if you're experiencing self-doubt ?

Ghost, Price, Soap, Gaz

(Sorry in advance for my mistakes, English is not my mother tongue. So sorry if it's badly written or if they're OOC.)

SIMON : 

-"I am not enough; I will never be, and you know it. You know it because, in a crowd, your gaze wanders elsewhere. Your fingers barely brush against me, and you only utter kind words without ever mentioning my beauty. I will never be like the others; I can never fill your heart. I am just a silhouette in your life, while I constantly dream of being the leading role in our film. But it’s just a film, an illusion, and I can’t be content with that."

-Out of breath, they stood before him, tears in their eyes. Their exhausted eyes let every tear fall, their breathing was labored.

-He stood motionless, rigid, unable to move, to utter a word.

-This silence was like a knife, silently cutting the bond between them, answering the unspoken with more silence.

-"I see," they murmured as they turned to leave.

-But their momentum was interrupted by his hand firmly gripping their wrist. He stood there.

-"Do you honestly think you can compare yourself to the others?" he murmured.

-"Don’t hit where it hurts, I—"

-"Do you honestly think you can compare yourself when your smile makes me forget the blood I shed? The souls screaming in my ears. When each of your breaths is a wave of desire I struggle to restrain, while for ten years, I struggled to feel even lust? When your voice, your ambitions are the only things I think about. You haunt me. I’ve tried day and night to flee from you, to distance myself, to keep you as an acquaintance, but no matter my efforts, I found myself at your feet begging for a crumb of your smile. Do you honestly think I see you like the others?"

-Stunned, they didn’t know how to respond.

-"Simon."

"I can’t, I didn’t want to. Not yet. I can’t afford to have people to lose, but you’re here, and I find myself unable to let another take your heart."

"Then take it."

Hesitant, the soldier could see his mother, Beth, his brother, his nephew. Having someone meant being able to lose them. Having only his life meant a gentle, painless death.

-But between putting them in danger or losing them, Simon’s heart had made its choice.

-He wouldn’t risk finding them one day dead in his living room, killed by an enemy. He couldn’t. Yet the idea of having them in their living room, their house, seemed so sweet.

"It’s not that simple."

"Simon, please. Be clear, you can’t—"

His hands were on their face, wiping away each tear he had caused.

"Look at us, Simon," they murmured.

Their breaths close, the heat rising, their gazes shifted from one to the other, settling on their lips. And everything happened quickly. A moment, a second changing everything. A kiss.

"You are enough," he murmured after the first kiss.

But it wasn’t enough; starving, his heart burning, Simon kissed them again and again.

Feeling their body under his hands, their much-desired lips on his. Their breath, their scent, their sounds, their hair, everything was them, and he could only get intoxicated again and again.

They were an addiction.

"I can’t get enough of you."

"Neither can I. Don’t leave me again, Simon."

"I wouldn’t dream of it."

They were enough, more than that, they were too good for him. But Simon was a selfish man, and if they allowed him, he would stay in their affections as long as they let him.

PRICE : 

(Tall reader implied in this one.)

"Am I... pathetic, John? Not enough?"

On a summer evening at the base, which was deserted due to the nice weather and the open bar, two colleagues smoked outside.

-The conversation had shifted from light banter to work, and now, as dawn approached, alcohol was loosening their tongues, steering them towards deeper topics.

"Pathetic?" John repeated.

"Yes."

They stubbed out their cigarette abruptly.

"Sorry, it sounds childish. I'm complaining about my life when we were talking about something else. I should go to bed, I—"

They were interrupted by his gaze.

"No, I'm listening."

They sat back down, almost timidly.

"Have you been with people, John?"

"I've had my share of lovers, yes."

"Everyone has, at our age, right?"

"I guess."

"Not me."

John observed their in silence, sensing their hesitation.

"My parents say it's pathetic, being only good at writing reports, not even able to seduce soldiers in a barracks. That my ugliness, my height, are horrible traits they can hardly stand to see at each meeting. And I know they're wrong, but when I hear stories of kisses, love letters, children, marriages... I can't help but wonder: what's wrong with me? Why... why have I never felt that desire, why has no one ever had it for me? Am I... pathetic?"

John removed his cigar from his lips, his eyebrows furrowed. He stood up without a word.

They guessed he was bored by their words, their problems, and regretted having said too much.

But John knelt in front of them.

"You'd have to be very cruel to think a person like you is pathetic. If you are, then I'm just a pathetic man who desires a pathetic person."

"John..."

"Not feeling desire, not having loved, kissed, or slept with someone at our age shouldn't be a shame. Love isn't a race, and if you start in your thirties, forties, or fifties, so be it. You should never feel any pressure or degradation about it. Because a man, a lover, a good one at least, will never define you. You are a wonderful person who may choose to have someone in their life, or not. It’s optional."

"It’s hard."

"I know."

On his knees, he reached out to cover their hand with his.

"You are not pathetic. Your laughter at Simon's awful jokes, that little tic after writing a report when you click your tongue, your height towering over even Johnny... I live for that. Every morning on this base, I wish to give you a report I spent too many hours falsifying just so we can correct the errors together, so I can sit next to you and feel your leg brush against mine, your scent filling my clothes, or leave my silly hat on your head in winter. I want you to see me, as I see you. Because if you did, you'd never dare, never even think to use the word 'pathetic' to describe yourself."

"John..."

"I'm not asking for anything. I know your desire now, and I guess I don't meet your expectations, but please, don't let this define you."

Slowly, he stood up, his hand leaving theirs.

"Why?" they asked, interrupting his walk.

"Why what?"

"Why tell me this when you... you know I could never have that physical desire for you?"

"Because my desire isn't just sexual, I want all of you. A life without sex doesn't bother me, not if I can see your smile every morning, not if I can fix a stupid sink we bought together, not if I can admire those lines on your face every day."

"You're an idiot."

"So it seems."

Wiping their tears, they blew their nose. With a determined step, they joined him.

"Where are we going?"

"Where?" he asked

"Well, a date should be somewhere nice, right?"

A smile appeared on his face.

"I know a place," he murmured.

"Let's go."

Hand in hand, the dawn rose on a new relationship at the base.

SOAP : 

— Wait, talk to me, we can fix this, he said, running after you into the bathroom.

— It’s not a problem, Johnny. It’s not a disagreement, you said, sitting on the floor.

— What is it then?

— ME! I’m... I’m completely useless. Seriously, all through this party, I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t even drink. I was paralyzed by a panic attack, standing there like a statue while my friends wanted to celebrate. I ruined their moment, I... I’m not worth it. Every time they want to hang out, they look for uncrowded places because of me. They delay our meetings to make sure I don’t faint on public transport. They try to guess if today’s a good day for me before even suggesting anything. I’m a burden to them. And I hate myself for that. I hate that I can’t talk to people without overthinking, I hate that I faint in crowds, I can’t go outside when I want to, I can’t call people, I can’t even tell stories. Because I don’t have any; I’m stuck in a boring life with anxiety slowly eating me away.

— Is that what you think? he whispered. That you’re not worth it?

— Yes, you sobbed softly. Because it’s the truth.

— Do you think your friends see you as a burden? That they hang out with you because they have to?

— Yes.

— No. They hang out with you, they take your anxiety into account, they plan around your feelings because they want to. They wish they could see you every day because you’re a wonderful person, you’re a delight to be around. They know they can’t always see you, so they take care of you. I... take care of you. I can’t count the number of times I’ve wished to see you every day, to go out with you every day. But I love you too much to impose my desires on your anxiety. We love you, we do all this because we care about you. Tonight was a mistake.

— A mistake?

— We were supposed to be five, but Thomas’s friend invited more people, and it turned into a big party. We couldn’t warn you in time.

— So...

— We wanted you there, we wanted to celebrate with you, with our friends. Not with random drunk people.

— You love talking to drunk people.

— I love talking to people, period.

— I feel stupid.

— Then I’ll be stupid with you, scoot over.

— John, there’s no room to sit, we’ll be stuck in the bathtub.

— So?

He settled in. The two of you tangled up in an empty bathtub, a laugh escaped your lips.

— You’re ridiculous.

— I’m whatever you want me to be.

— Even bald?

— I admit, I won’t touch my hair.

— ...Do you... do you really want to see me more often?

— Yes. But I know how you... how you need your space after socializing.

— You sound like a personal development book.

— Maybe it’s from "Introvert’s Guide", I admit.

A sigh escaped, a smile forming.

— Thank you, John.

— No problem.

— You... you could come to my place, maybe.

— You-

— So we can see each other... more. More than just outside.

— Okay.

Slipping a key into his pocket, John could only take your hand and gently caress it.

— You deserve it, this happiness , believe me.

— I’ll try, you whispered.

KYLE : 

The silence lingered at the end of the line.

"You're supposed to answer after a “how are yo”, you know?" Kyle said.

Usually they would have said “yes I’m fine.”

But that wasn't the case. It never had been. But they had always managed to lie, to downplay their problems. Yet their trembling lips betrayed them, letting slip the truth.

"That's not the case."

"What's going on?"

"Nothing, I was catching up."

Idiot. Kyle Garrick was nothing if not a stubborn and obstinate man.

"You think I'm going to buy that?"

"Kyle, I'm not sure that..."

"You just admitted what I've been waiting for months to hear. I'm not letting go."

"You were waiting?"

"Do you really think I believed you? You... you talked about your neighbor for hours to avoid my questions, please, just answer me."

"Have you ever wondered why I always seemed to mess everything up?"

"You..."

"I wonder every day. My parents barely talk to me, I did an art degree to avoid finishing my bachelor's and being in debt, I started a history degree only to end up cleaning after my graduation, unable to find a teaching position. I lost my apartment, my dog, my first love, and my second. And my college friends. And today, my job, and they all say the same thing, it's my fault. So Kyle, tell me, did I ruin your life too?"

The sound of the line crackled.

"No."

"You can't lie, I..."

"Your parents are disappointed that their prodigy of a child didn't do what THEY wanted for you. Your art school was filled with artists copying from the internet. Teaching positions come and go every year. You're just young, and as for your friends, they were nothing but hypocrites, taking advantage of your notes and then leaving. Your exes had their flaws and projected them onto you. They're all idiots if they think you're the bane of their existence, because now, they must realize how much you helped them. You mattered. You matter."

"Kyle."

"I wouldn't know who to call, who to tell the stupid things I see here to forget if you weren't there. I know you ask me to describe the scenery in each of my calls so I don't remember my missions, that you don't talk about my work to give me a bubble. And it matters to me, you matter to me enormously."

"I'm just trying to... help you."

"Then let me help you in return. Why don't you... why don't you come to my apartment?"

"Kyle, what?"

"You don't have a job anymore, do you? Rent is expensive and you have nothing holding you back. Come to England. My parents know a university, you could work there as a teaching assistant or find something else."

"Why?"

"Because you deserve better. I don't want to play the savior, I... it's selfish, but knowing that when I come back, I'll find you in my apartment is a selfish wish. I can't just settle for calls anymore, I want to hear your voice every morning."

"As friends?"

"No."

"I see."

"But if that's how you see us, then I'll respect your choice and my offer will always stand."

"I can't ask you to let me move in with you if I know that."

"I'll do anything for you."

"You're stubborn."

"Yes."

"I... I'll think about it."

"You haven't given me an answer."

"Do I really need to?"

"No. I... damn it, I wish I could kiss you."

"You'll have to wait until you come back."

"I can't wait."

If you want more : masterlist.

[leighsartworks216]

Water in the Sink

Zayne x gn!Reader

Had this idea dancing in my head since I used the quality time feature with Zayne to do my dishes lol Shitty title cuz I couldn't think of anything else to name it

Warnings: medical inaccuracies

Word Count: 565

Main Masterlist

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

The dish soap dries out your hands as you scrub the saturated sponge on the face of the plate. You could still decipher the sauce and crumbs from the dinner Zayne prepared tonight. And because he cooked, it was your duty to tend to the dishes.

Except, Zayne was never one to leave a job alone if he knew he could speed up the process.

Once you’re sure the plate has been thoroughly cleaned, you rinse the suds off and pass it over to your husband. He is fully focused on the task, face reminiscent of when he performs delicate surgeries. You stop yourself before you can tease him about how the operation is going on the patient, no matter how tempting it is.

The rest of the apartment is quiet. Calm. The night is still new, the last rays of the sun retreating, leaving golden tendrils of warmth as a loving goodnight on your faces. One beam reflected off Zayne’s glasses, and he shifted to the side to get it out of his eye. Dried plates, bowls and utensils clink together as he stacks them neatly to be put away. It’s only covered up by the splash of water as you dunk the final bowl beneath the surface, followed by the soft trickle of water as you pour it out.

You’re about to hand it off to him when his ringtone breaks the quiet air.

He dries his hands quickly and retrieves his phone from his pocket, answering without bothering to glance at the caller ID. The ringtone already announced who it would be. He steps away from the counter and you take his spot, using the towel to dry the bowl while keeping an ear on the conversation.

“What have you tried to stabilize with so far?”

You stack the bowl inside the other.

“Push sedation through IV, if you can. Increase after 4 minutes if there’s no signs of change.”

You turn to lean against the counter, watching Zayne work on the spot to solve the problem presented to him.

“Call Dr. Greyson to assist. Once the patient is stabilized, prep for surgery. I’ll be there in 20 minutes.”

He hangs up the phone and slips it into his pocket. The intense look on his face doesn’t disappear. “I have to go to the hospital. There’s been an emergency.” You follow him out of the kitchen as he speeds off to the front door for his coat and shoes.

“Do you need me to take you?” you ask. “You’ll get there faster on my bike.”

You can tell from the glance he sends your way that he wants to refuse. You’d been in the field all day, using said bike to rush from scene to scene. All throughout dinner, he could see the exhaustion of work beginning to settle in your muscles, the stiff movements you took as you washed the dishes in an attempt not to aggravate any bruises.

But if getting there 5 minutes sooner is the difference between losing his patient or saving their life, there’s no point in arguing. He nods.

You quickly shove your boots on and grab your helmet. Zayne holds the door open for you, passing you your jacket and keys as you slip outside. You’re speeding away from your apartment toward the hospital in under a minute.

The water in the sink grows cold.

[jocelynscrazyideas]

Right here? Right now? | Jack Hughes x Reader

Warnings: SMUT!!! Language, breeding kinks, unprotected, alcohol.

Summary: Jack has this incredible idea to have some extra fun at Jesper’s house at a party.

A:N- idk if this has been done, but I thought it was fun!!! Lmk if you’ve seen something similar (sorry)

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

Today is December 31, New Year’s Eve. Jesper decided to throw a party to celebrate with the team. Some of us couldn’t make it, but we did party all night. Most of the couples came, and Nico, Luke, and John came as solos.

“We should hit body shots!” Nico insists, obviously I back away from the conversation. I’m wearing a red lacy thong underneath my black leggings, I have a matching bralette lying in between my skin and Jack’s grey navy hoodie. Not to mention the fact I’m like the most insecure person on the room.

I step back into the couch that sits in Nicole’s and Bratter’s living room. I lay on my back lying flat across a piece of the white couch. “You gonna try?” John walks over to me. He sets his cup of beer onto the coffee table in the middle of the sitting area. He scooches over to me and lets me rest my head on his lap.

“No. I’m really tired.” I announce as I rest my hands and let John play with my hair. “You coming baby?” Jack walks over to us.

“no. I’m exhausted from our day today.” I responded to jacks question.

John and I have known eachother from our days in Pittsburg. I’ve followed him down to Jersey, he’s like a brother to me.

~

If he hurts you, y/n, I’ll make sure he’ll know not to do it again.

~

I mean that’s what John said the first time I told him that Jack and I are going out.

“Please! I want to body shot. I don’t what to do it with Nico, or Luke. Sure as hell not John.” Jack says as he points around the kitchen towards the guys. John picks my head up and walks over to the group of boys.

“Now it’s just you and me.” Jack whined. “You can say it. Just tell me if you don’t want to do it. Just letting you know, it’s gonna look wierd if we don’t do it.” Jack jolts at me. I sit up letting his head resting on my shoulder. I wrap my arm around his back and I lift my legs to cross them over his legs.

I kiss jacks cheek, “well if it makes you happy, I can get up there and do it.” I let go of jacks body and start over to the counter.

I hope ontop of the cold granite and lay flat on my back. Jack walks over and pushes through the crowd and rolls down my leggings. He reveals my belly button and he sets a small lemon ontop of my belly, he pushed my top up until you can see my bra.

Luke hands him a bag of leftover crushed jolly rancher mixed with sour patch kids smashed together. Jack sprinkled a little bit in between my breast. My cleavage slips jacks fingers inside letting him spread a bit. He sets a fireball in my mouth and he backs up, looking at his masterpiece from afar.

The party goes silent as people turn down the music and record. “10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5-“

The count down starts for the new year! Jack walks up to me. He rolls his sleeves up from his own hoodie and sets his hat down. “-3-2-“

Jack takes the small lemon from my bellybutton and squeezes it into his mouth. He licks my abdomen from any crumbs that spilt on my torso. His warm wet tounge slips between my breasts and he takes all of the candy onto his tounge. The sourness hits him as he clings to me shoulder. With no hands, Jack takes the fireball from my mouth and takes the shot into his own.

He grabs me to pull me up. He walks over to where he set his beer last. He sips on his cooled drink and hands it to Nico.

“Yeah, goodluck trying tonight! She’s not letting you get anywhere near her. Especially at Bratters house.” Nico chirps at Jack. Jack smiles and walks away.

“I know, and I still am gonna try.” Jack holds his eye contact on my boobs as I pull down my hoodie from our fun event.

I laugh out, maybe I should let him try to buy me in. “Okay, go ahead.” I say and I hold jacks chin, and pull his mouth to my ear letting him whisper into me. He kisses my check before starting.

“I got like really- like really hard, I’m horny- I’m like REALLY , really turned on. Y/n please. Don’t make me beg.” Jack holds my left ass check in his right hand and he holds my back- right under my shoulder blades with his left hand.

He swaddles me in his hold for a minute as he prances around the room. We dance to the music, “it’s a new year anyway, we can celebrate!” Jack convinces me. He slides his right hand into my leggings discreetly and he pulls at my thong. He lets go as he lets it slap into my skin.

“Baby, I can’t wait any longer.” Jack pulls away from our hug that lasted like five-ish minutes. He runs towards Jesper.

“hey, um- I’m gonna need that guest room okay? And don’t let other people walk in, me and y/n are going through it. She’s really tired and I wanna stay so keep the music loud enough where you can’t hear us aguribg.” Jack sets our story up. Knowing Jesper, he already knows that Jack is trying to get in my pants. Jack walks around with his dick pressing against his pants whenever he sees me.

I whisper in his ear before he runs away with me, “seriously? Right here?” I judge him, he doesn’t care.

He takes my hand and runs into the room Jesper sets up for the party people- well Jack requested one, he always does this.

~

Jack throws me onto the bed, “legs.” He commands, I’m the only WAG that’s not wearing a sexy dress. I don’t need to impress anyone, Jack is the only one who’s seen me, and will probably be getting it.

I slides off my leggings and let him take off the rest of my clothes. He leaves my bra on, he takes my legs and sets them up. He moves my thing to the side. I’m already really wet.

“Wow, either you peed, or you really are horny.” Jack devilishly looks up from my pussy.

“No, you’re the one who’s horny, I just got off of my period.” I correct him. He’s never right, and I’m never wrong. “Fine, so that means your ovulating? Right?” Jack giggles as he stuffs a finger into my hole. He gets up licks his finger and locks the door.

He comes back and I’m already dry.

“You took to long.” I angrily reply to Jacks confused face. Jack jumps down onto his knees as I scorch up to the head of the bed. I hid a pillow between the wall and the headboard. I open my legs and throw off my underwear.

I unclip my bra and Jack tears it off my chest. He beds me down, my ass in his face, he lays down on his back as I sit ontop of this face. He moans as he takes me in. I start to jump on him. I feel like I’m going to cum, so I get up from him sucking inside of me, the suction form his mouth and my pussy breaks and I turn around.

Climbing into Jack, I face his hard dick, and he faces my very wet cunt again. “Again?” Jack gets annoyed. “Yes, you’re getting special treatment as well.” I pull onto his dick.

I play with his balls bad start taking his tip into my mouth. He lifts his hips up, the bdeige of his back lifted, my naked body lying on his bare skin. He licks my pussy out, cleaning every droplet of cum, and creating more. I do the same, except jack dumps everything at the same time.

“Excited, hey?” I tease him, Jack hits his nose into my bud. I realse more than ever and white juice spill onto jacks face. I get up finishing Jack.

~jacks pov~

Liftibg my hips, my shaft still in her mouth I thrust my dick into her throat, almost feeling her tonsils. I feel her tounge massaging every bit of my skin. My tip almost reaching to her stomach at this point I cum. I can feel her swallowing, impressive.

I pull a special on her as I hide my nose into her pussy, what a slut, a slut only for me.

She arrives and finishes on my face, dumping every ounce of fluid onto my face. I make her lick me clean and I lick her creases dry, leaving her actual holes wet, awaiting for her king to touch her.

“Baby, you can take it can’t you?” I ask her, out of breath already I stand up, I push her down onto her back, in missionary I fall into her. Spreading her legs I grab one and throw it over my shoulder.

Grabbing an extra pillow, I fold it stuffing it under her hips, allowing me to hit her G-Spot. She moan out, the music draining all of her cry’s. She ccleched her pussy onto my dick, closing all of the possible gaps. No air is filling her holes, noting but our cums bonding together, and my cock filling her vagina.

~ur pov~

He stuffs every inch of his cock into me. Jack talks me through it:

“Breathe for me.”

“Come for me, I can’t keep hitting you.”

“You’ve taken it before.”

“You’re such as little whore.”

“Slut”

“I love you.”

“You feel so good”

“You so tight.”

*moaning*

Jack is a horny person, and that’s his personality, I love him for it. He grips I to me and finally finishes his love for me. He pulls out belong up with the inside of his hoodie.

He slides his clothes back on and helps me up, he clings to my side as we head back to the party. My hair is frizzy, the perfect curls that I trwiled in a hot tool for hours are ruined, my shirt is crinkled. My makeup is messy, and I have red bits makes everywhere. Jack just seems out of breathe. But he’s a pretty boy, and he’ll get anything he wants.

We pretend like nothing happened. The party ended when John decided to body shot on Nico- not licking his abs, or taking the shot class for his mouth but performing a dance for us and eating a lemon with eachother. I drove John home and made sure he got to bed alright, by the time we got home Jack was sleeping and Luke had to help me carrru him in the house.

I guess there is no part two to our fun tonight.

[ghostofbambifanfiction]

Taking a leaf out of @bcdaily's book, enjoy this random excerpt from a fic I started years ago and will definitely never finish.

When Sirius lead the way back inside the house, which the collective household had spent the better part of a day decorating—a testament to how much they loved Remus, or how much James enjoyed drawing Adipose faces on square balloons—James followed, and split off near the living room, where he found most of the guests, and his mum, who beckoned frantically for him to come over.

"There's a girl waiting for you by the front door," she told him, pointing towards the door that opened into the hallway. "I think she's here to deliver something."

"Probably Beatrice with the cake."

"No, she said her name—wait, no, come here!" cried his mum, as he turned and made to walk away, her hand closing tight around his forearm. For reasons that were utterly beyond him, she began to brush invisible crumbs from his suit jacket—he'd gone full Tennant for the sake of the party, red Converse and all—with such force that he felt as if he was one wrong move away from a violent pummelling.

"What are you—" he began, then cried out in pain as she caught him hard in the chest. "That was a rib, woman!"

"Stop whinging, I'm just trying to help you."

"Help me with what?"

"You'll want to look presentable before you go out there."

"Why?"

"Just trust me, you silly boy," she said, and made as if to grab his tie, but James darted out of the way. "I'm just trying to fix it!"

"Ten always wore his tie tucked in!"

"It's leaning to the left!"

"Yeah, well, so am I."

"A tie should look smart, not—" his mother began, to which James turned and fled at a flat-out run, bursting into the hall with unnecessary speed and startling a girl who, until that point, appeared to have been examining a painting of the Santorini coastline that his parents had mounted on the wall.

Correction. A very beautiful girl examining a painting of the Santorini coastline.

She'd jumped when he came running into the hall, but seemed to recover fast, and bestowed upon him an extraordinarily pretty smile.

"That was some entrance," she said, sounding amused. "Are you training for a marathon?"

He was still wrong. The word 'very' was sufficient for most things, but it fell short in this instance, because this girl, this lovely, pink-cheeked, ivory-skinned miracle, with waves of dark red hair and incomparably stunning eyes, was clearly the most beautiful girl James had ever laid eyes on in his life.

The most beautiful girl in the world was standing in his parents' hallway, for some reason, while he, like an idiot, was fully dressed as the bleeding Doctor and couldn't pretend that he wasn't, because she'd very likely heard him yelling to his mother about the favoured position of Ten's tie, and he had a sonic screwdriver tucked behind his ear.

"Um," he said. Um. That was it. A sound. He'd made a sound. Well done.

Maybe he'd get really lucky, and she'd know nothing about Doctor Who, and he could pretend that the screwdriver was a really fancy pen. Woman liked fancy pens. A fancy pen meant a fancy man.

"Are you dressed as the Doctor?" she said, eyeing his costume curiously.

The fancy pen idea shat a brick and ran for the hills.

"Er, no," he lied, his brain twitching frantically. He wished there was a way to rid himself of the screwdriver in an inconspicuous manner. "This is just how I dress."

"Are you sure?"

"Totally sure."

"Oh," she said, and the tiniest crease appeared between her eyebrows. "It's just, there's a two-foot tall Dalek cake sitting outside in my van right now, and that's telling me a different story."

Were James as pale as her—and it was particularly fortunate at this moment that he wasn't—his face would have been redder than his trainers.

"You're from Lily and Bee," he said, burning with shame. "I mean, from the bakery."

The girl nodded, pointing to her own chest. "I'm Lily, if you hadn't guessed, since you've already met Beatrice—if you're James Potter, that is, which I hope you are. He's the one I'm looking for."

She was looking for him she was looking for him she was looking for him she was—of course she was looking for him, she was delivering the cake he'd bloody commissioned. "I'm him. I'm James."

"Not the Doctor?"

"Well, yeah," he admitted, and glanced down at his outfit. "But only on very special occasions."

She smiled politely, an image he wished he could record and play back when he remembered this conversation, so he could let his mind linger on the one thing he'd done right in all this ugly embarrassment. "I'm sorry if there's been any confusion—it's actually me who made the cake. I was on holiday for the week when you consulted with Beatrice and now she's on holiday and it's a whole thing, but it's all finished and ready, so no harm done."

"Ah, okay." He could do better than this. "Nice romantic week away, was it?"

Not like that.

"I was in the Lake District with my parents," she replied, regarding him with some curiosity. "So no, not particularly. Can't really sneak boys back to a Windermere-adjacent cottage with really thin walls, though I got to hear them going at it, which was horrifying." She pulled a face. "Anyway, I assume you're going to need this cake, yeah?"

[xxxanteaterxxx]

Furry Friends Pt. 2

remuslupin x femwerewolf!reader

Summary: The Marauders finally find you. You and Remus come to an unspoken understanding.

CW: Cussing, I'm not really sure what else lol

Is this shit? I feel like this is shit lol (this is for you @natf89)

It had been a week since the last full moon and Remus was feeling much better. His aches had gone away, and he found that he didn't have to many new scars either. All in all, Remus was feeling very good.

He had been searching keeping an eye out for you though. It was subconscious really, his eyes would search the face of everyone he passed in the halls between classes, he couldn't help listening for the sound of your voice or laughter in the great hall at mealtimes, and he had found himself thinking about almost all of the time.

It seems his friends felt the same way.

"How can she just be fucking gone?" James voiced, through a mouthful of toast, crumbs flying out and landing in the spot in front of him. This gained a disgusted look from Lily who happened to be sitting next to him today.

"Who are you looking for again?" Lily asked as she glared at James for his poor manners. She leaned forward in her seat at the table to look over James and at Remus. Her eyes were alight with curiosity, there was a slight tilt to her lips.

"Said her name was Y/N." Sirius rolled his eyes; he had been less than pleased with not being able to find her. His face was pinched in a way that made it seem as if he was really bothered by her absence.

"Oh, do you mean her?" Marlene spoke up from beside Sirius. She was pointing towards the entrance to the great hall. Remus could hardly help the way his head snapped to where she was pointing.

Finally, he had seen you. You were with a group of friends and had just entered the great hall. You hadn't looked in their direction, you seemed to be having a very heated conversation with two boys from Ravenclaw.

Remus had no qualms with letting you do your own thing, especially now that he knew for sure you were real. It seems Sirius had other ideas though. Before Remus could even blink, his friend was standing up on the bench across from him.

"Oi! Y/N!" Sirius bellowed, causing some of the hall to quiet down. Remus watched as you turned to face the interruption with a confused look on your face. As soon as you seemed to recognize him, a face splitting grin broke out across your scarred face.

You waved and quickly turned and said goodbye to your friends before heading over to the Gryffindor table. Remus couldn't help but smile at you as you approached. You were beaming and laughed as Sirius told James to scoot his "fatass" down.

You squeezed yourself into the little room that had been provided between James and Remus.

"Lo' lads!" You leaned in to peer past James. "Hello ladies!" You winked quite flirtatiously at the group of girls that sat with the boys.

"Where the bloody hell have you been?" Sirius asked for everyone. "We've been looking for you all week!" He exclaimed in an exasperated voice. You weren't bothered though; you had been busy. You grinned nonetheless.

"I've been quite busy if you must know!" You rolled your eyes and leaned into Remus, going to grab a piece of toast and the jam that sat in front of him. Sirius only huffed in response.

"It's good that you've found me though." Then you leaned in all dramatic like and schooled your features. "Because we need to talk." You watched as they all took on worried expressions. Then you were grinning. Nothing was wrong, but did they really need to know that?

No, they didn't. Not yet anyways.

"So, what's on your agendas today?" You asked, taking a bite out of your jam and toast right after. If you noticed Remus staring at you, you pretended not to notice. He was grateful for that.

"Well, we were actually going to spend our day looking for you..." James paused, looking sheepish. "But now that we've found you, we should all go into Hogsmeade!" You smiled at him, and he grinned back.

"That sounds good for me! I've been needing to replenish my stash of chocolates. My friends can't keep their greedy paws to themselves." You grumbled the last bit mostly to yourself, but it had Remus laughing all the same.

You peered at him and grinned, bumping your shoulders together. This action did not go unnoticed by his friends and neither did the blush that began to creep up on his ears.

"If we're going to be spending the day together than I would say introductions are in order?" You asked. "I'll go first. My name is Y/N Y/L/N!" You grinned and looked around, encouraging others to continue.

"Sirius Black! Pleasures all yours, I'm sure!" You laughed and nodded. Sirius seemed quite pleased with himself at that.

"Peter Pettigrew!" The sweet looking blonde boy next to Sirius spoke through a mouthful of whatever he was stuffing his face with. If his ill manners bothered you, it didn't show. You nodded at him as well.

"Remus Lupin." Remus spoke quietly from beside you. You recognized him as the other lycanthrope, and you offered him a kind smile and nodded again.

"James Potter, and this is my lovely Lily pad!" The boy who had dressed you was loud and seemed very excited to see you there. You smiled and waved. The girl beside him seemed less happy at his introduction for her but she smiled at you anyways.

"Thats Marlene, Mary, and Alice." Lily told you politely and pointed each one out. They all smiled and greeted you.

"What time are we meeting? Cause it's chilly out and I'd like to get bundled up before we go." You asked, looking around at whoever had answer for you.

"How bout's we pick you up? What house are you?" Sirius asked, you grinned and nodded.

"Hufflepuff." You answered simply. Sirius seemed surprised, seeing as you had walked in with a group of Ravenclaws. He nodded anyways.

"Okay, an hour sound good to everybody?" He asked again. Everyone seemed to agree that an hour was plenty of time.

"Alright, now that that's settled!" You clapped your hands together and stood up. "I will see you in an hour!" With another smile you were making your way out of the great hall and presumably to your dorms.

Remus watched as you walked away and he sighed, turning back to face the all-knowing boys that sat around him. Even Lily was looking at him with a knowing look.

"Moony, bud, wipe that smitten look off your face. You're making me feel sick." Sirius spoke up with a shit eating grin, causing Remus to kick him in his shin. Remus was the one grinning when the other boy yelped.

Sure enough, an hour later you were walking out of Hufflepuff house. The group of boys were already waiting for you. They noticed you immediately, perking up at the sight of you. You grinned and made your way over to them.

James was the first to greet you.

"Y/N!" He cheered with a blinding smile on his face. He threw his arm around you and began to lead the way. You didn't mind the touchiness; your friends were like that as well.

"The girls are waiting for us at the front." James told you, leaning in like he was telling a secret. You smiled and nodded, leaning in to whisper back.

"Ah, and how is your lovely lily pad?" You had asked, and you watched as he grew flustered. A knowing grin sat on your face as you turned to look at Sirius and Remus who walked slightly behind the two of you. Peter trailed along on your unoccupied side.

Before James could answer, Sirius was answering for him.

"Ah, Lily isn't actually James 'lovely Lily pad'." Sirius laughed, but when he saw James turn around to glare at him, he conceded. "Yet."

You laughed and elbowed James in the side lightly. As if that wasn't already obvious to you.

When you finally made it to the group of very pretty girls who were waiting for you, James released you in favor of greeting Lily. You didn't mind and smiled as the girl rolled her eyes at his shameless affections.

Remus was at your side then, taking the opportunity to talk to you. He waited for the others to lead the way before asking the questions he had been wanting to ask.

"So how long?" You knew what he meant. There was no need for him to elaborate. The others were quite a way in front of you, so you weren't scared to answer.

"The summer before our fourth year. I was 13." You said, your tone was much melancholy. It's not like you hadn't accepted it or come to terms with your lycanthropy. It was just hard to talk about and something that made you feel like you were 13 and being attacked all over again.

"You?" You asked him, still looking straight ahead. Remus sighed as he thought about his answer.

"I was 4." You grabbed his hand and abruptly stopped walking. You could feel tears in your eyes and before he could say anything else you wrapped your arms around him and squeezed him.

He was tense for a few moments before you felt him wrap his arms around you as well. You face was pressed harshly into his chest.

"I'm sorry." Your voice was mumbled but Remus heard, and he felt his own tears welling up. It's not like his friends hadn't told him the same thing, but it was different coming from you.

Because you knew, you knew what pain he had been going through since he was 4 years old. You had experienced it yourself and so he held you while you cried for him. For the little 4-year-old boy who had been attacked and turned into what so many saw as a monster.

Remus cried too and he watched as his friends continued heading in the direction of Hogsmeade. He needed this, needed someone who truly understood the pain he had gone through his entire life.

You don't know how long the two of you stayed like that, but when you pulled away you felt better. So, you smiled up at him and nodded.

You grabbed his hand as the two of you began walking again. There were no more words spoken between the two of you. Nothing else needed to be said. You both understood.

When the two of you finally caught up to the rest of the group, nobody commented on your absence. Though, you pretended not to notice the knowing looks the others shared or the sly winks thrown towards Remus. You just smiled and added on to something silly James had said.

[measuringbliss]

Ultimate Spider-Man (2024) 8-10

So the artist is definitely taunting us right

Because... I mean...

...Anyway. Peter's duplicated mind is definitely not dangerous in any way. It can speak and has an evil smile.

Perfectly reliable. (I need to write smut.)

Actually I don't even need to write anything because the selfcest writes itself. But it's time to celebrate the kids' birthday, so Peter has no time to challenge his conception of his own sexuality. His trysts with Harry are already quite charged.

Then we have a flashback to three weeks ago, because the comics's pacing makes it awkward that way. Wouldn't have to do that if you had more pages, honey! Or if it wasn't per month. Remember, Iron Man arrived just as Peter and Harry were beating each other and testing their AI. Peter's is very lovely (as we've seen), and Harry's daddy issues incarnated since it's his own father. What a stupid choice.

I don't like how this Tony looks, but I'm glad to see the bisexuality is still present. Tony says the Maker returns "in a little over a year" (so probably after two years all in all, I thought it would only be one year but okay). Why does he return, actually? To get beat up? Because that's what's gonna happen.

Anyway, turns out Harry wasn't on the list of heroes who HAD to be eradicated. Peter was, but not Harry, because of course he wasn't. Wow, I bet their relationship will have no trouble whatsoever.

Peter gives Tony a chance, but Harry's fixated on the fact that Tony totally broke his suit's security. Because weakness. Because daddy issues.

Back at the kids' party, Ben tries to make Peter subtly understand that he and Jameson are an item.

He mostly fails. Anyway, the paper launches the following month (September, then). It took its time. And they want Peter there. He's not sure about it.

The party looks nice. I was finally able to play one of these dance things in Japan a few months ago and let me tell you, it's really hard. But it's fun.

Funny, that's what Ben said about Jameson.

I love this kid. He's great. Hope nothing happens to him because so far he's completely exceeded my expectations.

It's clear that the kid feels very lonely too (pretty sure that's shown in the early issues as well), but Jameson gifting him his autobiography is priceless. What a fascinating relationship. He published it himself! Fits with his autoentrepreneur thing.

Meanwhile, Fisk contacts the other gang leaders.

Yeah, still hot.

The leaders are clearly the minibosses. So beside Martin Li, we get Black Cat (Felicia's father), Mysterio (<3), Kraven, and... Mole Man. Alright. In the cliffhanger, Fisk says he wants to make a game out of his enemies... is he going to make them fight each other? It's not gonna be difficult then, Harry's one joke away from choking Peter. And I do not only mean sexually, although yes, that too.

Ish 9!

Ben and Jameson are not satisfied about their articles; too much about Spidey, not enough about the dark side of the Big Apple.

About some SPECTACULAR content?

Anyway, MJ explains that actually, It's Good, because they're very successful right now.

In his lab, Otto gives Harry a firmware upgrade. For Spidey, his solution is a costume change.

Peter confers with his AI that's totally not swallowing him up in his sleep.

Bingo.

Unfortunately for Otto, Peter is already in a fully committed relationship with his current suit. So Peter suggests the suit stays at PETER'S HOME TO PROTECT IT. SURELY NOTHING WRONG WILL HAPPEN. I need more conversations between these two. Give me more than crumbs!

Anyway, it's all so Tony can't track them down, which I find... kind of strange but alright. Peter doesn't seem too attached to the idea either.

I expected a black suit, I wanted to hate it, but not gonna lie... IT's kind of cool. But yeah it's really giving Sonyverse!Venom movies. I'm here for it!

Peter's... not into it. It's too *complete*.

He opts for a spandex suit. Booooring.

God Harry's really trying to make them a thing. Peter's bisexuality is still buried.

Meanwhile, Ben and Jameson investigate Stark/Stanne Industries. Sure.

Anyway, Black Cat arrives and fights our heroes.

Not very heterosexual, mister.

Eventually, Harry acts on instinct, spurred by his dad, and yeets BC out of the building. BC is almost dead.

Peter's *not* happy about it.

Okay, yandere.

Just kiss already argh

I'm very impressed with how much the book accomplishes in its short amount of pages but goddamnit everything here also deserves 5 times more exploration.

Oh, what the hell. Let's read ish 10 as well!

It's focused on Ben and Jameson's investigation, which I do not really care about. They get closer to Stark/Stanne Industries's acquisition, which leads them to Oscorp, so to Gwen, who gave them the money in the first place.

Her reaction?

Very understandable.

Later, Richard (the son) checkmates Peter, and MJ informs Ben that Gwen called her.

Oh, those shadows on Peter's shirt were not necessary.

Anyway, Gwen has a week until the story comes out. Ouch.

And when Harry enters the Paper's office, Ben drops the bombshell: they think either Harry or his wife are in the green suit. (Which leaves the question of Spidey open... They must have an inkling, surely.)

Harry's reaction?

Well, well, well...

They just keep on giving each other money for bets they made. Kind of golden.

Harry quickly gets tired of these gay ass old men, but he tells them about Oscorp's secret intel about a lot of stuff, and says that Peter says he can trust them. So they must now know he's Spidey.

KISS.

Anyway, finally, they publish their story...

"Photo by Peter Parker" and then published by a "Ben"... HMM. THAT SURE IS DIFFICULT TO FIGURE OUT.

That's it for today! See you, like, in December or January for the next few issues <3

[killmongerskeepermain]

Dating Shuri Headcanons

Summary/Request: Now I need headcanons for Shuri please kind ma'am. Just a crumb 👀 sfw and nsfw. -Anonymous

SFW 

You two meeting each other was honestly an accident. She had accompanied T'Challa on a trip to the states to speak with the you and avengers. 

She jumped in your conversation to ask him a question and the two of you hit it off as soon as you laid eyes on each other.

Definitely a friends to lovers vibe

Shuri would show you around her lab whenever you two had a video chat going. 

Sending tiktoks at 4 in the morning to each other, then bickering about why the other is awake.

She’s always sending you pictures of her latest inventions.

You’d tell her stories about your missions.

She thinks you were as good as Namkia when it came to infiltrating and spy stuff. 

When you two started dating you had to accommodate quickly to her habits of staying in the lab for many days straight.

You’d pull her attention out of her work with date ideas for later in the day. That’s usually on a good day. 

Other days her work tends to get hectic which can lead to your princess being aggressive and highly irritable. 

With everything that’s happened she does track your kimoyo bracket she gifted you. Can never be too sure. Not in an obsessive way but more of a, I care too much, kind of way. Like if she looks away for a second you’re going to disappear. 

Gets jealous real easy. 

Will attach herself to your hip whenever she feels like someone is threatening your relationship. 

Loves having her hands on you. There isn’t one spot she hasn’t touched. 

NSFW 18 +

Now when I say she loves touching you. I mean that in both a sweetheart way and a I’m gonna fuck you like slut type of way.

She takes every opportunity she can get to bury her fingers in your pussy. 

Kissing in bed? Yeah you getting fucked. Taking a shower together? You getting fucked.

Hell she would take you on the balcony outside her room. A good fuck and a view? Sign me up.

I’m pretty sure it’s been established that Shuri is a good eater from other headcanons and that fact remains. She’ll never pass up the chance to have her face between your thighs. 

She would have your legs over her shoulders as she ate you like the last meal. 

Pull her hair. Just do it. Her tongue will go into overdrive. To have those curls running through my fingers.

Will overstimulate you so be aware. She has no problem holding you down till you cum a couple of times. Especially now she has black panther strength. 

She does enjoy being worshiped ever now and then. When she has a long day for example, it’s your job to help your princess relax.

Into light choking.

She even cooks up some things in her lab to enhance the experience in the bedroom. All kinds of toys for her to use on you. 

Shuri definitely excels in dirty talk. Seriously, where did she learn all of this?

Favorite place to have you is on the balcony outside her room, under the stars. 

Usually falls asleep first.

Long story short Shuri is our kinky sweetheart.

[theflyindutchwoman]

I got asked this question and loved it so much, I wanted to open it up to the group.

If you could choose 5 Chenford scenes to rewrite, which would you choose, and how would you rewrite them?

Oooh thank you for 'tagging' me, Becca ♡ It is a great question! Let's see…

4.17 - The ending So technically, this isn't a Chenford scene… But this is partly why I would want it to be rewritten. Let's start with the most egregious part : having Lucy apparently forgive Chris and act like he hadn't just callously triggered her… or like she hadn't just watched the video recording her own death… That ending bothered me so much. Ideally, I wish she would have kicked him to the curb - or, at least, ask for some space after what he did… and I would have loved a final scene between her and Tim. One where she would have confided in him about watching the cam footages, where they would have talked about that day and her trauma… I love that she was able to work through it all by herself, that she found her voice so to speak and refused to play Rosalind's mind games… But somehow, I can't help but think that not having a single Chenford scene was a missed opportunity.

5.04 - The ending Since we're on that topic… Now, this was an even bigger missed opportunity. I still can't believe that we didn't get a scene between Lucy and Tim following Rosalind's death. And by that, I mean, a proper scene with some emotions and some feelings… I get that during the episode, they were too busy trying to find a way to save Bailey. I also get that things were still awkward between them. But come on, I don't believe for a second that this would have stopped Tim. This is the same man who didn't even think before grabbing her hand in the middle of their undercover op when they found out about Rosalind's escape… the same man who was panicking when Lucy was radio silent… I needed that same energy here. What we got instead was a bit too cold for me.

5.13 - Missing scene : the morning after You have no idea how much I was hoping for this scene… Something soft and domestic… with a reference to the DOD tattoo!

5.16 - Their fight about the five-player trade That scene still puzzles me. It felt forced and clunky. We didn't really get to see Tim's perspective and why he was mad at Lucy. In the shop, it sounded like he was upset with how her move would reflect on him… But in his office, they only talked about her going behind his back. So, in the end, it felt superficial. I'm not saying he was wrong by the way… I just wish his point of view could have been explored more. Both of their perspectives actually. Especially since Lucy paid a hefty price in the end. I guess the point was to show the cracks in their foundation, but it could have been done in a better way.

6.01/6.02 - Their fight Lucy's anxiety and potential doubts about UC were just swept entirely under the rug and the narrative simply focused on Tim's own issue with UC. But one issue doesn't negate the other. There were two problems here and only one got addressed - and barely at that. After all the crumbs from s5, all the times Tim walked away from having a real conversation on the topic, I needed more than 'I will deal with this' / 'we'll figure it out'. It's great that he was finally honest with himself but it still didn't go any further than that. And then, there's Lucy. I was hoping her anxiety would be the precursor for a bigger discussion about Lucy's future and her mental health, about her feelings about UC outside of Tim… but nope. Her spiraling was already forgotten in 6.02. And it is a bit frustrating.

[hacked-by-jake]

I'm currently in my third run and one thing doesn't give me peace. In the conversation between Ash and Charlie. Charlie asks Ash if she told us he could help us. But damn, what does he mean by that? 😟 I always rack my brain when I read this passage.🤔 what is your theory about what Charlie could mean? how could he help us and with what? 😩🧐 I wish you a nice day and look forward to your thoughts! 💜

YOUR THIRD???? HOWWWW??? ARE YOU A WITCH? A WIZARD?? JAKE??

Okay, joke aside. 🤭

Yes!!!! This is bothering me sooooo much as well. Like, do not do this, Everbyte! Don't throw this in front of our feet and run away! We wanted a piece of cake! Not only the crumbs! 😭

I seriously have no idea what this could mean. We know that we don't have contact with the group anymore. And we also know that out case was everywhere on the news. So the question is, what did they say there? What kind of information did they share which made Charlie belive he can help us?

I'm pretty sure it has nothing to do with Jake. Ash told us they never mentioned Jake. But this could also be a lie since I don’t really trust her yet.

I could maybe imagine that the group... Even if I don't know if it makes much sense... But maybe our lovely friends had to join Phil in prison, lol.

Sounds weird and unlikely, somehow, I know. But if we remember all the crimes they did. Breaking in, keeping informations a secret, lying to the police, driving under the influence of alcohol 👀

Oh, and of course hiding a government-wanted hacker. I guess that could be a huge problem. And maybe it's not even the fault of the Duskwood police. We all consider the FBI not really kind. So maybe they don't like it if you hide their main suspect and that's why they had to join Phils little prison party.

I don’t know, this could be one thing.

The other thing, but I don’t know if that could help the others... 🤔

But I mean, we still suspect that Michael Hanson is alive. He just left and started a new life. And maybe this new life happens in a small city called Redlog Pines.

But as I said, I don’t know why this should affect the others in any way.

And it seems not logical enough to me that Charlie means he could just drive to Duskwood to talk to them. That would mean they know we don't have contact to the group anymore. But I don't think that's something they news would report. xD

Wahh, I don’t know. I mean, what if Charlie is a hacker as well? Not as good as Jake. Just someone who learned about it and is able to hack some websites and systems etc.

But somehow... Another hacker? I don’t know.

WAHHHHH, this question is killing me. xD

OK wow wow wow wow wow, I had just remembered something.

Whaaaaat if... Okay that's weird now and it's complicated since it's only a thing male MC experienced at the end of Duskwood. If I remember correctly, it was even you who told me about it.

But anyway.

At the end of Duskwood, Jessy tells make MC that she had a boyfriend but it wasn't a very good relationship.

And I mean, why was that mentioned? Sure it fitted the story but what if there's more behind it..

What if... What if Jessys ex is one of the new guys? And that's why there's a connection with duskwood? 🤔

Could that be? I mean, it sounds unlikely, even to me. But somehow... 🤔

Uhh, I don’t know, I'm guessing a lot.

Of course I was hoping it has something to do with Jake but I don't really think that's how it is. Not everything can be about him and it would rarely have to do with the Duskwood group.

But maybe Charlie has a connection with one of them. Maybe Dan or Thomas? Oh, maybe Thomas? As I remember correctly, Thomas did not grow up in duskwood.

But then again, Charlie's shock when he realises that we're the MC from Duskwood.. I mean, would you still react this way when you know someone who was also part of it?

And also, Ash seems to know as well that Charlie can help us. Otherwise he wouldn't have asked it this way.

Oof, I don’t know. Right now I sadly can't think of anything else but I'm dying to find out what is meant by that. And I hope we don't have to wait that long to find out. :')

Have you any idea for it? I love to read it soo..

And thank you so much for asking, it was very interesting to think about it and I feel honoured I was the one you asked, hehe. Does that sound weird? 😅 Anyway. I hope my thoughts are entertaining or similar.

And of course, I hope you will have a wonderful day. Take care of yourself and stay healthy and safe 💚🫶🏻🥰

[happyhauntt]

young gods | marauders.

writing masterlist | askbox

summary: the gryffindors have a little tradition on the first night back at hogwarts.

word count: 1.2k.

warnings: pre-established relationships, tooth-aching fluff, a brief mention of war.

notes: a wee excerpt from an old marauders fic i wrote years ago. i reread it recently and this section made me cry so i tidied it up and i'm posting it here as a little ficlet. enjoy!!

     Now, as Dorcas and Marlene slip into the common room, they find their friends in the corner, keeping warm by the fire. Lily and Alice are curled up together on an armchair built for one person, their legs tangled in long, fluffy dressing gowns.

Mary sits on the sofa next to them, legs stretched across Remus and Peter, the latter of which looking as though he has no idea what to do. James and Sirius are sitting cross-legged on a tartan blanket that covers the floor, and the latter looks up and grins as they enter.

     "McKinnon's brought snacks!" he cheers with as much enthusiasm as he can muster, clapping his hands as they approach. Dorcas pushes Mary's leg out of the way and squeezes into the gap between Remus and Peter, before letting Mary return her legs to their former position.

     "Dinner was less than an hour ago, Sirius," Marlene says with a roll of her eyes. She drops the food in the middle of the blanket, so all of them can reach it. Alice is quick to snatch up a handful of droobles. Marlene's tone takes on a falsely disapproving note, and she narrows her eyes mockingly. "You can't be hungry already."

     "McKinnon," he replies, a mischievous twinkle in his eye, "there is a profound difference between food hungry and snacks hungry. You ought to learn it, for your life will be much better once you have."

     Marlene quirks an eyebrow. Her hand is halfway to reaching for a chocolate frog. "Is this the same sort of wisdom as when you told me that getting a leather jacket would change my life?"

     Sirius only smirks. He shares a cursory glance with James, who thinks Marlene's jacket has almost become an extension of her sunshine-scary personality. "I was right though, wasn't I?"

     Marlene thinks of that bright yellow jacket, sitting in her suitcase, waiting to be unpacked. She thinks of wearing it when she got onto the train earlier in the day, and how she'd been almost sad to take it off when she had to change into her uniform, and how careful she'd been in stowing it away in her suitcase.

     She allows Sirius a begrudging roll of her eyes. Both of them possess egos far larger than they ought to be, and she will not let him gloat. She'll probably smack him, otherwise.

     The evening moves on. Dorcas suggests that they pass around a box of Bertie Bott's, and Marlene knows it's a mistake when she reaches into the box with her eyes closed and picks out a speckled yellow-and-white bean between her fingers. The taste of rotten egg lingers for a while, no matter how many cauldron cakes she consumes.

     And she consumes many, many cauldron cakes.

     It doesn't take long for the tales of summertime exploits to begin being told with great detail and exaggeration. At some point, the conversation is steered by Lily ( rather expertly, her friend would say, although Marlene would argue that it was by no means subtle ) into the direction of muggle music. It doesn't take long for them to burst into a poor-but-hilarious rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody. Dorcas joins in at the first verse, dramatically crying Mama, just killed a man! Remus, much to their surprise, does a fantastic Galileo, Galileo, which makes James and Sirius howl with laughter even though they don't know what the hell is going on.

     It's over too quickly. It grows dark outside, and the fire is dimming, and they're all a little bit sleepy now. There are crumbs all over the tartan blanket, and Marlene's head is resting in Sirius' lap, his fingers running through her tangled blonde curls.

     Lily has fallen asleep on top of Alice, ginger hair splayed out across the older girl's face, while Alice tries not to choke on hair. James is watching them, a dopey grin across his face. It's the kind that only appears when Lily isn't looking because he knows it annoys her now (even though it doesn't, really, but Lily won't tell him that because she's only just stopped wanting to smack him.)

     Peter's snoring away on the sofa. Remus is asleep, too, his head resting on Dorcas' shoulder, and Marlene thinks it's the most peaceful he's looked in a while. She doesn't know why she thinks that, but she does wonder about the scars that cover his body and how he gets so ill sometimes. He's her friend too, and she worries. She worries about all her friends.

     Dorcas is awake, and she's got a soft smile on her face. Mary's still lying across the top of the three of them, except she's asleep now, too, and about to roll right off the edge. Dorcas looks like she'll let her.

     Marlene takes a deep breath. She's not too good at talking about her feelings, but something about this moment feels right. She looks at the lot of them, half-asleep. When she thinks of the word home, this is what comes to mind  ━  her friends, her best friends in the whole world, peaceful and happy together.

     Part of her knows it won't last, but she tries to push that thought away. The war won't catch them, not as long as they are students at Hogwarts, and it's over a year before they have to deal with the danger in the world, isn't it?

     The war can wait. The world can wait. Right now, here, this is everything she needs. Her brothers can leave her behind if they want; if they love her, they'll come back, in the end. In this moment, she can't fix it. She can't save anyone.

     But this is home.

     "I promise I'm not drunk or sleep-talking," she murmurs, letting her eyes fall closed for a moment. She feels Sirius' hand fall still, hovering with expectation. "But I love you guys. All of you. You know that?"

     Lily makes a snuffling noise, as if she's heard Marlene's words, but she stays asleep. James chuckles quietly to himself. Dorcas looks like she might leap across the room and attack Marlene with a hug.

     Sirius looks down at her. His eyes are like steel in the dying firelight.

     "You need to chill or I'll tickle you, because nobody needed to hear that." He says it jokingly, because he did need to hear that. It is a symptom of growing up in a loveless home, he thinks, and he knows Marlene feels it too. One must be told, regularly, that they are loved and wanted.

     James tells him, every day. James, who is more of a brother to him than Regulus is, really.

     Carefully, she rises from Sirius' lap, rolling onto her knees. And then she says, "You'll have to catch me before you can tickle me, Black."

     She grins, suddenly filled with mischief and glee, moving quicker than lightning across the room, and the night ends with him chasing her around the common room.

     In that moment, with hair flying and her friends laughing and the thunder clapping outside, she thinks they are all infinite. They are all invincible. They are young gods with the world at their feet, the ones who will never die, and time stops moving.

      And then Sirius catches her.

      And the moment's over.

[drivinmeinsane]

City Life, Apple Pie

Driver x Reader ※ { masterlist } ※ { ao3 }

※ Summary: There’s a part of you that wonders if he would accept the brush of your fingertips over the back of his hand. If he would silently spread his fingers enough for yours to make a home between his. ※ Rating: G for general audiences. ※ Content/tags: Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Developing Relationship, First Kiss, No use of Y/N, No Pronouns Given for Reader ※ Word count: 2,510 ※ Status: One-shot ※ Author's note: Another year has passed me by in this fandom and I'm no less captivated by so many of these characters. Happy 44th to Ryan Gosling. ※ Song inspiration: Apple Pie - Lizzy McAlpine

“You and the kid doing anything special tonight?”

Shannon’s voice cuts through the ambient hum of the overhead lights. You grit your teeth at the loud intrusion but you don’t turn your attention away from the sheets of paper littering the overcrowded desk. Ever since you started working for Picture Car Warehouse, you’ve been one of the many victims of the grizzled mechanic’s long-winded and largely one-sided conversations.

Instead of indulging him in glazed-eyed attention, you nudge an oil smeared wrench out of the way of a paragraph you need to look over. It leaves a black smear behind on the already smudged paper. One of the fingerprints that have been pressed into the corner of the sheet has a glaring interruption in the pattern that makes you think it was accidentally left by Driver. He’d sliced his thumb open on a piece of sheet metal just a few days ago.

Metal scrapping was yet another one of Shannon’s questionable business plans. He seemed to be a variable fountain of ideas. You’re honestly surprised he’s only ended up with a broken pelvis from all the bullshit he’s talked about pulling during his lifetime.

The older man clears his throat in lieu of any response from you and continues. “Now, if I were you, I might try a pie. Kid’s never been one for cake. Not that I’ve seen anyway. He’s always at that diner. You know? The one over on San Fernando? Jack's? I think? Something with a car in the name, maybe.”

“What are you talking about?” you finally ask, trying to rein in your exasperation. Looking up at him, you rub your thumb over the pen in your grasp’s clicker—not quite applying enough pressure to trigger the mechanism. You just want to get this insurance claim dealt with so you can go find Driver and the two of you can go home to your shared rental and you can be tormented with thoughts of how badly you want to kiss the crooked smile off your roommate while you watch TV crammed on the tiny couch that came with the place.

Shannon raises his eyebrows at you from his position leaning against the desk. He is clearly surprised you’ve spoken at all.

“The kid?” he says, slowly. “It’s his birthday tomorrow. Didn’t he tell you?”

Your stomach swoops unpleasantly with surprise. Driver hasn’t said a damn word about it. There hasn’t even been the vaguest suggestion of even what month he was born in. He’d left you completely in the dark to that personal detail. It had seemed almost unimportant while you had collected the crumbs of what you did discover, hoarding the small details like precious gems. You know that he likes the pale blue of spring sky the best. You know he doesn’t eat sandwiches because of his mother. You’ve learned that he flexes his fingers on his steering wheel when he’s done too many hours of driving and his joints ache. You think you’re realizing that he does love—quietly and intently. But you don’t know when his damn birthday is.

Of course he hasn’t, you think, he’d rather take a hammer to his own head than to be an inconvenience or let on that he actually has wants or needs.

“No.”

At this admission, Shannon laughs and claps you on the shoulder with a work-roughened hand before heaving himself off the edge of the desk to return to work with some effort. You know the brace he wears digs at him—Lord knows he’s rubbed at his perpetually bruised hip and grumbled about any hint of humidity enough that half the guys in the shop have offered to chip in and get the “old man” a rocking chair so that he has a designated place to sit for his scheming and bitching.

Halfway through the door connecting the garage to the cramped office that fronts the building, Shannon pauses. His voice is crackling with a barely concealed amusement as he makes a confession.

“He didn’t tell me neither. I snuck a glance at his license back when I hired him.”

───※ ·❆· ※───

Driver shifts the car into another gear. The action is preformed so smoothly that you almost can’t feel the subtle hitch as the old Malibu responds. No wonder Shannon has been singing his praises as soon as he’s out of earshot. Driver is good—almost unreal—when it comes to vehicles. His actions have always been able to speak more for him than any meager handful of words ever could.

He leaves his hand resting on the gearshift. You feel your throat go dry as you shoot furtive glances at it. It’s unfair, really, the way that the setting sun casts vibrant light over his skin. It highlights the contours of his fingers and sets the fine hair dusting down his arms and over the backs of his hands aglow. Letting your eyes linger, you can make out the silver flashes of old scars.

You look away.

You have to clench your hand into a fist to avoid placing it over his. You want to touch him so badly. It’s a desire that has kicked around in the unreasonable parts of your mind ever since Shannon forcefully introduced the two of you on the back end of some B-list car chase movie. It has only intensified since you signed a lease agreement for a shitty two bedroom apartment together.

There’s a part of you that wonders if he would accept the brush of your fingertips over the back of his hand. If he would silently spread his fingers enough for yours to make a home between his.

Your nails dig into your palm, biting like a badly trained dog. You can’t bring yourself to risk destroying your friendship with the quiet man at your side. It would be better to swallow down the bitter taste of unspoken admissions than to find yourself without his company at all.

Unable to take the usually comfortable silence of the ride home, you speak, thinking to the earlier conversation with Shannon. Your gaze is firmly fixated through the windshield. If you look at your roommate, you might cry.

“Cherry, peach, or apple?”

There’s a long moment of silence, so long that you’re not sure if he’s mulling over his response or if he’s that taken aback by your sudden questioning.

“Apple,” he says, voice soft. There’s a fondness in the depths of that one single word that you must be imagining.

“Okay,” you respond, swallowing down your own affection that threatens to bubble to the surface. You can work with that. There’s some apples taking up residence in a chipped bowl on the counter.

Scenery passes by. Neither of you make a stab at conversation for the rest of the way back to the apartment building. Silence has become second nature between the two of you. There’s an easy comfort in it.

───※ ·❆· ※───

“Got a job,” Driver says halfway through the movie you’re watching.

You look away from the TV.

The mechanic is sprawled out beside you on the couch, legs spread wide as he sags back into the worn material. His empty bowl from the dinner the two of you made together is perched on one knee. He’s close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off of his body. You feel drawn to it like a moth to a light. In the glow of the television, it’s so easy to imagine his arm draping over your shoulders and drawing you against the firm line of his body.

There has still been no mention of his birthday. You’re entirely certain that he’s going to just let it slip by without a word.

No real name, no birthday, no desires. He’s forcing himself to be a blank slate for the projection of others. It makes your heart hurt.

“What is it?” you ask, surprised that he’s going out after working at the garage since the sun teased the horizon and long after it tipped over the apex. Shannon has a tendency to overwork him.

He lets silence unfold after your question as fantastical plants come to light on the screen in front of you. You’re more intent on the minute changes in his expressions—a raise of his eyebrow, the flutter of his eyelashes against his cheeks—than on the movie.

Finally, Driver stands up. He holds his hand out to take your empty bowl. The brush of your fingers together as you pass it to him sends sparks through your stomach.

“Just taking some guys ‘cross town. Might take a coupla hours." He heads towards the kitchen with his cargo.

You follow after him, taking up residence in the doorway as he scrubs the bowls clean and sets them in the drying rack beside the sink. Wanting to be of some use, you lean over to snag his jacket off the hook by the front door. You offer it to him when he turns away from slipping the hand towel back over the oven handle. He takes it from you with a warm squint of his eyes and shrugs into it. The slick material shines blue from the distant television lights.

“Be careful,” you tell him. You want to kiss him goodbye. You don’t move.

There’s a pregnant silence. Palpable tension fills the air. The two of you are on the cusp of something.

The bubble doesn’t burst. The wheelman just nods and slips out the door, locking it behind him with a twist of his wrist. You let out a breath you didn't even realize you were holding.

His departure gives you time to pour over the battered cookbook some previous tenant had left behind in one of the kitchen cabinets. You should have just enough time to attempt making a pie. It can’t be that hard, surely. People have been making pies for centuries.

───※ ·❆· ※───

It proved to be a difficult task, far harder than you could have ever thought. You wipe down the counter, cleaning up the last traces of what had felt like an hour and a half fight for your life. You toss the rag over the sink faucet and look at your finished project with despair.

The pie is awkward and lumpy—almost a bad finger painting come to life.

Fuck. You know you should have walked to somewhere, anywhere, or coughed up the money for a taxi to find one made by a professional. This looks like shit.

A lump builds in your throat, quickly followed by involuntary tears leaping to your eyes. He’s done so much for you just by being a steady presence in your life for the past few months. The least you could have done was make him something presentable

Your self-pity is cut short by the solid step of boots outside the door, followed shortly by the clatter of keys making contact with the doorknob. Driver is home.

Nervous, you brush your hands over your face and gather yourself. With more confidence in your voice than you feel, you call out, “Welcome back.”

In response, you hear the rustle of a jacket being stripped off and folded under one arm, closely followed by a quiet exhale. The mechanic appears around the corner. Upon seeing you, a crooked smile slowly spreads over Driver’s face. He tosses his keys onto the counter with an easy motion of his arm. You’re blocking his view of the pie.

“Somethin’ smells good.” He sounds tired. There’s exhaustion lining weighing down the corners of his eyes.

“I…” you start, trailing off. Rallying yourself, you try again. “It’s not midnight yet so…”

Confusion creases the space between his eyebrows and he opens his mouth to speak, but you’re already turning and gesturing to your sad attempt at making pie.

“I know it’s not much, but happy birthday.”

Driver goes still and steps to your side to stare down at the misshapen dough. Apple juice and sugar have bubbled to the top, caramelizing into crispy, golden puddles. The expression on his face is almost too fragile to put a name to.

“How did you know?” The words he utters are barely more than a whisper.

“Shannon. He told me this afternoon.”

There’s a pause before he speaks, voice laden with helpless affection, “’Course he did.”

You feel like you’re about to fall over the edge of some unseen precipice. Vertifo threatens to overwhelm you. Shakily, you set to work carving Driver out a slice a pie. The mess you deposit on the plate could pass as a crime scene. You’re careful not to meet his eyes as he takes the plate from you after discarding his jacket onto the counter, covering up his keys.

The kitchen is filled with the low groan of the fridge kicking on. There’s the sudden whoosh of water darting through the pipes when one of the neighbors overhead turns on their sink. The scrape of the stunt driver’s fork is loud enough to echo in your mind while you stare at the glistening mixture in the pie pan still clinging to the void where the slice had been. Your chest feels tight. The lump in your throat is persistent.

Driver sets his plate on the counter with a soft clatter. A cautious glance reveals that it’s empty. He’d all but licked it clean.

“Hey.” His voice is quiet. Tender.

It’s tender enough that you look at him. That familiarly crooked smile is tugging at his lips. He reaches for you. Warm fingers brush against your side as he crowds into your space. The fabric of your shirt hardly feels like a barrier.

You barely get a breath out before he’s kissing you. He tastes like sugar and the cloying sweetness of baked apples. It’s all you can do to find his arms and hold onto him like the lifeline he’s come to be. He is sturdy underneath your clinging hands.

Much to your displeasure, Driver pulls back. He stays close enough that his nose brushes yours as his eyes seem to be searching yours for an answer to an unspoken question. Tension leaves his face as he finds it.

“Thank you for…” he lets the rest of the sentence die out, breath hitching in response to your touch.

Your hands slide over his biceps on their journey upwards. One takes residence on his shoulder while the other slips between his shoulder blades. Your fingers find their way into the short hair at his nape.

“You don’t have to thank me,” you respond and press your mouth against his in another kiss.

Eagerly, he accepts the affection. He sways on his feet, chasing after you when you break the contact. His lips brush over your cheek and you stop him in his tracks with a light touch on his sternum before taking his hand. His calloused fingers intertwine easily with yours as you lead him in the direction of your bedroom.

There is still some time before his birthday is officially over. You want to make the most of it.

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