#it just seems that nobody wants to write fics these days

[notlongtolove]

to be an accountant of the heart

because it’s utterly, bone-deep terrifying. to look into the eyes of the person you love most in the world and feel the weight of a possibility that you might love them more than they love you.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: angst-ish, fight and makeup

content: established relationship fight and makeup woof woof rookie bau reader feels insecure about how much she loves spencer, worries she's too clingy, spencer reid best bf ever

word count: 5k

note: this was haunting me in my drafts for the longest time... please be nice my heart can't take it (psa guys don't ever tell ur partners that they love you more than you love them bc 5 years down the road they'll cope by writing deranged spencer reid fics like this)

a line: You’ve always been this way—more flame than moth, more lightning than thunder. It’s one of the things he loves most about you.

and then it is hundreds of hours later, and you are still hunched over your flowcharts and abacus, trying to decide if you have gotten enough. This is the loneliest job in the world: to be an accountant of the heart. - tony hoagland

The English language draws a neat line between many and much. It divides the countable from the uncountable.

The word many is meant for things you can count. How many cups of coffee have you had? How many days will you be gone for? 

The word much belongs to what cannot be counted, what cannot be numbered. How much longer do we have in bed? How much did you miss me? How much do you love me? 

How much?

It’s an innately impossible question. Love, after all, is supposed to be infinite, unbound, unquantifiable. Any attempt to measure it—to reduce something so sacred to a number, a unit—is to taint it. And why would you want to do that? Why would anyone? There shouldn't be any need to measure something so inherently immeasurable. 

Deep down, you know there's no actual way to count love. You suppose this instinct to measure has always been there, to wonder if the love you received can be tallied like time. It’s buried deep, old as the child you once were. 

Still, the question begs itself. How much? How much more? How much less? If comparison is the thief of joy it’s only because it leaves you with the revelations nobody asked for, the truths nobody ever wants to see. 

Put love on a scale, wait and see—Will it balance or won’t it? 

“Glaring at the clock isn’t going to make time pass any faster,” Elle teases from two desks away, her eyes locked on the report she’s skimming.

You don’t bother hiding your sigh as you glance up from where your chin rests heavily in your palm, elbow propped against the desk. The pencil in your other hand twirls idly, betraying your impatience. “He said they landed an hour ago,” you grumble. Only the faintest trace of a pout slips through.

“Working hard or hardly working, ladies?” 

Your head perks up at that. Trust Derek Morgan to know how to make an entrance, arriving right on cue, grin wide and swagger intact. 

JJ, seated beside you and noticeably more amused by your restlessness than concerned, spins her chair around as she asks, “How was the convention boys?”

“It was great—more than great actually,” Spencer says, appearing from behind Morgan. He’s lugging a bag that seems twice as heavy as when you’d helped him pack it five days ago. “All the speakers were incredible. I got to talk with Lonnie Athens himself. He gave me a signed copy of his latest book.” His grin widens tenfold. “It’s not even out in stores yet.”

You’re halfway out of your seat, ready to pounce on Spencer the moment he sets his bag down. But instead, he offers a halfhug and a light squeeze to your shoulder. It’s understated, but it’s Spencer. Public displays of affection aren’t his thing, and you know better than to expect more. Still, five days without him makes you ache for just a little more.

“It was alright,” Morgan interjects with a casual shrug as he takes a seat at the edge of your table, narrowly missing your nth mug of coffee. “Great sandwiches though.”

“Yeah, you sure seemed interested in the sandwiches,” Spencer says dryly, the kind of tone that suggests sandwiches were not the main attraction.

Morgan smirks, unbothered. “New York, man,” he says with a grin. “New York.”

You turn your attention back to Spencer. “How’d you sleep?” you ask, your question aimed entirely at him.

“Surprisingly well, actually,” Spencer replies, “Despite the snoring.”

Morgan’s response is immediate—a light thwack to the back of Spencer’s head. “How’d he sleep? More like, how’d I sleep. Lover girl over here had him on the phone half the night.”

“I wasn’t that bad,” you shoot back, narrowing your eyes at him. But then your gaze drifts to Spencer, searching for confirmation. “Was I?”

Spencer hesitates, his lips pressing into a faintly sheepish line. “I did wake up late for one of the panels,” he admits, scratching the back of his neck.

“Oh, you think you had it bad? I’ve never seen someone go through so much coffee in a week,” JJ says, nodding in your direction, “She wiped out the entire stock.”

“Almost bashed her over the head with a cup of coffee myself when I had to settle for the instant stuff,” Elle chimes in. A collective shudder goes through the group. “No offence, Reid,” she adds.

“None taken,” Spencer replies smoothly, just in time to earn another smack on his arm, this time from you.

You’ve endured more than your fair share of teasing—it comes with the territory when you’re part of a team like this. You, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, three years his junior. Him, more comfortable rambling about the number of kernels on an average cob of corn than talking to any girl, let alone one with a smile like yours that could make his knees buckle. What had been an odd match to some, made perfect sense to others—Though Spencer would argue that Garcia just liked seeing him with any girl who could make him laugh the way you could, especially within three days of meeting him. It’s a feat nobody else has yet to achieve in the year you’ve been on the team. 

“Missed you,” you murmur, just loud enough for him to hear.

Spencer flushes as his lips part, maybe to respond, but Elle cuts in before he gets the chance. “Save it for later, lover girl. Some of us want to hear about those sandwiches.” 

“Oh, they really were better than last year’s,” Spencer begins, now distracted, completely oblivious to Elle’s sarcasm, “Probably because the annual reports showed an increased budget for the global initiatives.”

JJ raises an eyebrow in amused disbelief. “You read the FBI’s annual budget breakdown?”

Spencer looks genuinely surprised by the question. “You don’t?”

Chuckles echo throughout the group and though you smile faintly, it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. You just can’t help it as the tally marks start to stack up in your mind. One for the way his attention is just a little too distant, his excitement seemingly aimed at everyone but you. Another for every time you wait for his gaze and it doesn’t come. He’s too absorbed in recounting a discussion about deterministic causality he’d had with a keynote speaker. 

Compared to Spencer, who was often so reserved, it was easy to feel like your emotions were too big, too eager. Dragging him, wide-eyed and stammering, up the stairs to Hotch’s office six months ago had been nothing short of a test of strength and sheer determination. You’d been the one to silence him with a gentle kiss to his knuckles, promising him that everything would be okay. You were a live wire compared to him, everyone knew that. Lover girl, they teased, though never cruelly. In the field and out of it—Clingy to a fault, always wearing your heart on your sleeve. 

Lover girl through and through, you wait patiently for Spencer to look your way. 

He doesn’t. 

“Yours or mine?” Spencer asks as you stand side by side on the curb, bags in tow. 

“Think I’ll go to mine,” you reply curtly. You don’t trust yourself to say anything else right now.

“That’s fine. I’ve got an extra day’s worth of clothes with me.”

“You can go home,” you say, cutting him off. It comes off sharper than you intended. Then, softer, as if trying to backtrack, you add, “If you want.”

He looks at you, baffled. “Why would I do that?” 

It’s not a rhetorical question, he genuinely doesn’t understand. Weekends apart have never really been your thing. 

“Because—” You cut yourself off mid-sentence. What could you even say? Because you seem so perfectly fine after 120 hours apart. Because the tally marks said so. Because the scale said so. Instead, you huff an exhale and settle for, “No reason. You look tired. Thought you’d want to go home or something.”

“Again sweetheart. Why would I do that?” he repeats, incredulous. 

You fight off a resigned sigh, though you’re sure he catches it, and pull out your phone. “I’m calling a cab,” you mumble, thumbing at the screen. “Are you coming or not?”

“Yeah, I’ll come with you,” he says, still calm but clearly confused.

“Fine.”

The ride home is quiet, save for the driver’s rambling complaints about freeway traffic at this hour. Normally, you’d be the one to humour any conversations with strangers, chiming in with polite nods and oh, reallys while Spencer watched, bemused by your ability to make small talk with anyone. But today, you’re just not in the mood, leaving poor Spencer to fend for himself.  

Which to his credit, he does—By turning the conversation into a tangent about how traffic patterns correlate with certain hours and commuter behaviour, and delving into a detailed explanation of the queueing theory. He does this till eventually, even the driver goes silent, though whether it’s out of confusion or exhaustion, you’re not quite sure. 

You can feel Spencer’s eyes on you in the silence, flicking toward you every now and then. The concern in his attention does nothing to soothe you. If anything, it only fans the flames of your irritation. When the car finally rolls to a stop outside your building, you hand the driver a $20 bill, wave off the change, and stride toward your door without another word. You’re out before Spencer can even pull his door open.

Inside, you drop your things on the couch resignedly and kick off your shoes without so much as a care. They land in a scattered heap that you don’t bother to fix. Spencer lingers behind you, ever patient.

“What do you want for dinner?” His voice is soft, tentative, as he bends down to pick up your discarded shoes, lining them neatly by the door. “We could order something. Chinese, maybe?”

Spencer knows you well—knows how your mood sours when you’re running on fumes. Particularly on days like this, when your only sustenance has been a cup of crappy coffee and a few stale crackers he’d coaxed you into eating earlier just before you left, bribing you with a quick kiss on the cheek—After checking that nobody else was in the break room, of course. 

Sullen as you are, you can recognise the offer for what it is. It’s sweet. A thoughtful acknowledgement of how well he knows you, how much he cares. He’s offering you a lifeline, a quiet invitation to let the storm pass without forcing you to name it, something you’re evidently trying not to do. 

But tonight, it feels almost patronising. It’s a spotlight on the hurt you can’t quite temper, like he’s trying to fix something you’re not yet ready to admit needs fixing.

“I can run down to the—”

“I’m not hungry.” 

You walk straight into your bedroom without another word, leaving him standing there in the doorway. You hear him exhale quietly, not quite a sigh but close. Probably one of resignation. Another tally mark falls on the scale. 

“Sweetheart,” he starts. You know he’s testing the waters, trying to find an opening. But you don’t look at him, don’t give him anything to work with. “Can we talk?” he asks, his fingers brushing yours as he takes a seat at the edge of your bed.

“Talk about what?” You’ve always been good at feigning ignorance, but the way you pull your hand away from his is anything but subtle. Spencer sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as he closes his eyes briefly. He’s clearly exhausted. This is exhausting. You’re clearly exhausting. You can’t help but wonder why you always do this. 

“Was it Elle? Morgan?” he ventures cautiously. “The teasing?”

“They always tease me,” you say with a shrug, your voice dismissive. “I don’t care.”

It’s a half-truth, and you both know it.

Spencer nods slowly as he tries to piece this together. He knows you’re not usually one to let things fester. You’re never angry for long, and even when you are, you laugh it off, always quick to join in on the joke. He knows better than to profile you—it's an unspoken rule within the team and, more importantly, within your relationship. But Spencer’s anything if not desperate to understand.

He watches you slip into the bathroom with a sigh, shoulders dipping. The light flickers on, but you don’t meet your own gaze in the mirror. You’re not angry. That would be easier. There’s something quieter in your eyes. Defeat, maybe. 

“I missed you,” he offers, stepping into the doorway. His tone is softer now, pleading.

“Did you?” It’s almost sarcastic, but not quite. Irritable but undercut by something raw, as though you don’t really believe he did.

Spencer swallows. “You don’t think I missed you?”

“A little hard to tell between the fawning over Lonnie Athens,” you say, wiping mascara from under your lashes. “Or was it the in-depth analysis of sandwich platters?”

It’s a snap, all sharp edges and fire, and for a second, he forgets the minefield he’s meant to be tiptoeing through. Has to bite back a smile. You’ve always been this way—more flame than moth, more lightning than thunder. It’s one of the things he loves most about you.

“Is that what this is about?” The words slip out before he can stop them, and the second they do, he knows. Rookie mistake. Your spine straightens, your jaw sets, and he wants to take it back, rewind, try again.

“This,” you echo, turning to face him. “What exactly do you mean by this?”

Spencer reminds himself that fire is never snuffed out with ice. You douse a flame gently, carefully. So, he steps forward, quieter now, fingers grazing yours before he takes your hand in his, guiding you toward the bed. He doesn’t pull, doesn’t rush, just leads you toward the bed with the same patience he knows you need when you’re fragile and burning.

Regardless, you try to resist, to hold yourself upright. You’re fighting the urge to sink into it—His touch, the bed, all of it. 

“Sweetheart,” Spencer murmurs, taking a seat beside you. “I know you’re not angry. You’re sad. And I’d really like to know why. Tell me, please?”

Deep inside, you know you’re just clinging on to the last embers of your frustration. But it’s hard—impossible, really, when you’re a fire with no kindle left to burn, and Spencer is all soft whispers and gentle hands, featherlight and soothing. 

You hesitate, twisting the fabric of the duvet between your fingers. “I just—I—You were being mean.”

Spencer lets out a slow, quiet breath. Relief, almost. Not because he agrees—He knows himself well enough to be sure that ‘mean’ isn’t the right word. But he knows you well enough to understand what it means when you say it.

Mean is what you say when you’ve been hurt and don’t know how else to put it. 

So he follows your lead. Doesn’t fight it.

“M’sorry, sweetheart,” he mumbles stroking your hand with his thumb. His touch is warm as it is gentle. 

Because it’s not about whether he was mean or not. Spencer knows that. Knows you. Knows that kindness has never been a given for you, knows that you wouldn’t recognise patience if it came knocking. And he knows you well enough to know that you think in some twisted way, that you’ve brought this hurt upon yourself, that you deserve it. 

What matters is that you were hurt. And that’s the one thing he never, ever wants to do.

“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. Can you tell me how I did?”

“You just kept going on and on about the stupid conference. You didn’t even hug me or—And then you—” 

You don’t continue. You can’t. You feel ridiculous. Stupid, even. Mopey and small over something that shouldn’t matter this much. Over the realisation that he doesn’t need you. And why should he? It’s not Spencer’s fault. Not at all. 

His indifference is what it is and what it was. Indifference. It sits like a weight on your bones—Cold, sharp-edged, piercing. He can go 5 days without you. You can’t. The tally marks accumulate, unbidden.

“And then I…?” Spencer prompts gently, prying your fingers from the duvet and replacing the tension with his thumb, tracing slow, soothing circles into your palm instead.

“You ignored me, and I just—” Your voice wavers, frustration bubbling over. "I just felt so—so ignored!"

Wonderful vocabulary. Of course, your words would fail you now.

“And the teasing—I know, I know, I can be impossible sometimes, but I just—I just really missed you! And I get it okay? I’m clingy and you’re not and god forbid anybody else is but it’s because I love you!” You inhale sharply, your hands slipping from his to curl into fists in your lap. “And you didn’t react at all, you didn’t even care! You made me feel like—I thought that you—” 

You cut yourself off before the flurry of tears take over and drown you out. 

Spencer waits a beat, choosing his next words carefully. 

“You thought… that I don’t love you?” His voice isn’t laced with sarcasm, nor does it carry incredulity. It’s a genuine question, as though he’s retracing the moments between you, trying to understand how you could possibly come to such a conclusion.

“No, it’s not that—” you’re quick to say, desperate to correct him. You know Spencer loves you. Of course, you know that. How could you not? It’s Spencer. He loves you like it’s his life mission to show you just how much he loves you. “I know you love—I know that. I just—” 

You bury your face in your hands, fingers pressing into the hollows beneath your eyes—A feeble attempt at hiding.

Because it’s utterly, bone-deep terrifying. To look into the eyes of the person you love most in the world and feel the weight of a possibility that you might love them more than they love you.

To want to shout: Love me. Please love me, and please feel it with every fibre of your being as I do with mine. The kind of love that makes you want to scream from rooftops, to etch it into the sky, to burn the world down just to prove its enormity. 

Because then the question comes: Which would be worse?

To shout into the vast, open air and hear nothing in response? No echo of the same intensity. Or to stand amidst the smouldering ashes only to look into their eyes and find they don’t recognise you anymore? To see confusion or pity where love used to live.

You blink your watery eyes open, but you can’t bring yourself to look at him. Instead, you settle on the knobs of your knees, tracing their shape with your gaze. 

Anything but Spencer. Not right now. 

You take a sharp breath, steadying yourself before continuing.

“Sometimes, I feel like you don’t need me as much as I need you and that scares me. And I know it’s stupid, even I feel stupid thinking about it. I don’t even want to be codependent or whatever but I—I just can’t help but think that sometimes—” 

Your breath shudders out of you, long and uneven, “I love you more than you love me.”

To say Spencer feels his heart break would be an understatement. It’s not a clean break, not a single, shattering moment—it’s a slow, relentless unraveling. It’s a gut punch, pain and duress packed tight, failure laced in every syllable. His heart shatters, splintering into pieces so sharp they lodge in his throat, in his lungs, in every part of him that has ever loved you. 

Silently, he’s always known the teasing would hit a breaking point. You’ve worn that insecurity for as long as he’s known you—too young, too green, too desperate to prove yourself. He just didn’t think it would carve its way between you the two of you like this. He’s watched you lean into it, let the jokes land, let them chip away at you. Newbie. Rookie. Lover girl. As if laughing along might soften the edges of it all. 

You flop onto your back on the bed, boneless, the confession stealing the last of your fight. There’s a splotch of blue paint on the ceiling from last month, when you both tried to repaint the room and got distracted halfway through. It doesn’t make you smile, not even  a little.

“That’s not true.” The mattress dips under Spencer’s weight as he settles beside you, thumb tracing your hairline. His arm moves, coaxing you to toward him, gentle in the way only he knows how to be with you.

“You’re not impossible, sweetheart, you never are. And I know they tease,” he murmurs, fingers of his other hand grazing over your knuckles, “but I also know for a fact that you don’t fall apart without me when I’m gone. That would be co-dependency. And I know that’s not you. You passed your requalifications with flying colors while I was away,” he says. “Garcia sent me the records. You know you even beat Morgan’s old score?” 

You sniffle, startled. That had been your surprise. You’d wanted to tell him yourself. 

“She told you?” 

He shakes his head. “I asked. I always ask for updates on you when I can’t be there.”

A small “Oh,” is all you can get out. 

With every other guy you dated, you’d attempted to play it cool, dialling down your enthusiasm, biting back your texts, and pretending to care less than you did. But every relationship seemed to end the same way: you were “a lot” and they weren’t equipped to handle it. It never quite stuck though, and thank god for that. 

Because then you met Spencer.

Sweet, steady Spencer, who didn’t just tolerate your spark but cherished it. Spencer, who had let you cling to his hand during every takeoff and landing on the jet the first week on the job. He never flinched, never teased—Even when everyone else casted him sympathetic looks, the kind that silently acknowledged how your grip was probably cutting off his circulation. Spencer who has kept every scrawled doodle and note you’ve ever given for him, even the ones scribbled haphazardly on napkins or receipts. He knows carbon prints fade within months so he stores them in a shoebox tucked away in his cupboard—Just so they can last that much longer. 

Spencer didn’t just accept the parts of you others found overwhelming. He singlehandedly brought them back to life. Every bit of your spark that had been dimmed or snuffed out by someone else had found new light in his presence.

Spencer’s fingers tighten around yours, a quiet kind of reassurance that draws you back to the present. 

“Being clingy is not the same as being codependent. I know you know that. There’s a clear psychological difference in brain chemistry.” His lips twitch, the smallest hint of a smile slipping through. “You’re clingy, yes. But I love that about you. I love coming home with you. I love coming home to you. I love how hard you love me, how proudly you love me. I know I haven’t been the best at reciprocating that around the team, and I’m sorry. I hate that I made you feel like I didn’t love you, or miss you.”

He shifts closer, eyes searching yours, open and earnest. “Because I did miss you. So much. I nearly blew a month’s paycheck in the gift shop. Spent half of it stocking up on those jelly crackers you told me about.” He shakes his head, like he can’t believe himself. “Morgan said I was whipped when I paid thirty bucks for a pair of souvenir socks.”

With a raise of your eyebrow you ask tearily, “and exactly how many pairs did you buy?” 

“Got you three pairs.” A sheepish little laugh escapes him as he ducks his head. 

And just like that, you’re smiling too. Albeit a small one, but that’s progress nonetheless. “And I don’t think you quite understand how much I love you when you say you love me more.” He leans in, his voice dropping, teasing. “I don’t know if you know this about me, but I’m very competitive.”

“Oh, so I’ve heard Doctor Reid,” you quip, eyes rolling. Spencer’s lips curve, just slightly. You don’t even notice the way you press closer to him, but Spencer does. He takes the opportunity to go on.

“In a way, you’re right. I don’t need you,” Spencer says. Whiplash doesn’t even begin to describe the way your head snaps toward him. Flame and lighting, no doubt. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he says quickly, his expression already twisting in regret. “I shouldn’t have phrased it like that.”

“I don’t see what other way you could possibly phrase something like that,” you snap pettily, already pushing yourself up to stand. 

“Hey, hey.” His hand reaches out, not quite grabbing yours but close enough to make you pause. “Lie back down, honey. Please.” 

Against your better judgment, you relent, sinking back into the bed. “What I meant to say was, I don’t need you,” he repeats, slower this time, deliberate.

You scoff, a bitter laugh slipping through your lips as you swipe harshly at your damp lashes. “I get it, Spencer. Clearly you don’t.”

“No, I don’t think you do,” he says, his voice unwavering. “Biologically speaking, I wouldn’t cease to exist without you. My heart would continue to beat, my lungs would continue to expand and contract, my brain would maintain its synaptic functions. I would survive.” He pauses then, eyes searching yours, “And can I tell you something?”

You don’t answer, but you don’t pull away either. He takes that as permission to go on. “You don’t need me either.” 

Your lips part, the beginnings of a protest forming, but he cuts you off gently.

“I know you said you do, but your autonomic nervous system would still regulate your breathing, your neurons would still fire, your body would persist.” He swallows, voice dipping lower. “But that’s not the point, is it? Love isn’t about biological necessity. It’s not about survival. It’s about choice.” 

The word "choice" feels almost ironic when it comes from Spencer Reid. You knew that the moment you met him. It was never really a choice, not for you. It was him, or nothing. Desperately, you'd like to think it was the same for him, too.

Your answer comes in the form of his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek. He’s patient, always, even when you aren’t. Kind in a way that sinks deep—Like you deserve it. You’re all sharp edges, brittle and worn, and he’s five days off a lumpy hotel mattress, yet the only thing he cares about is brushing away the tears from your skin. 

“Sweetheart, I don’t love you because I need you. I don’t think that would be love at all. That’s survival. I love you because I choose you to,” he continues. “Because you are the strongest person I know. Because you are kind, even when the world hasn’t been kind to you. Because you give so much of yourself without hesitation, without ever expecting anything in return.” 

Spencer smiles, shaking his head. “Because you’re the only person I know who will spend thirty minutes on a call recounting every little thing everyone did in the office that you think I’d like to hear about—before you even think to tell me about your own day.”

“It was funny! Since when has Hotch ever tripped on the stairs?”

It’s unfair really, how easily his laugh breathes life back into you. Your heart stumbles over itself as his hand brushes tenderly along your jaw. 

“I’ve spent every day in awe of you since the moment I met you. And I fall in love with you more and more with each one. Even on the days I’m not with you. Even on the days I’m miles away. Even then.” Spencer presses his lips against the back of your hand as he adds, “Especially then.” 

“Really?”

You can’t help it, the quiet little thing in you that wants to hear it again. 

Your tears have dried, but their traces still shimmer faintly on your skin. Spencer presses a kiss to your forehead, his fingers tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. He’d say it again. A hundred times. He’d make that speech a thousand times over, if you needed him to. If it meant you’d never doubt it again.

“Really, my love.”

And just like that, a million tally marks fall at your feet.

A million for the way he presses another kiss to your lips, unrushed. A million more for the way his nose bumps against yours, lingering, breathing you in. Another million for the spark that creeps back into your eyes. 

It’s infinite, unbound, unquantifiable—The way he loves you, the sheer depth of it. You feel foolish for ever having questioned it. You thank your lucky stars—all of them—for Spencer Reid. For the way he’s looking at you like you strung the constellations together yourself. For the way he chooses you, again and again, even when you don’t choose him, when you shut down, when you go quiet. 

Because love to Spencer isn’t desperation, isn’t need—it’s choice. The deliberate, unwavering act of reaching out, of staying, and of saying over and over: I choose you. 

Not because he has to, but because he wants to. To be the one to put you back together again when you’re all embers and ash, to cradle you back onto earth when stare past him into the ceiling, to remind you that there’s still warmth in you left to hold.

To breathe the spark back into your eyes—It’s a choice he made the very moment he met you. It’s a spark Spencer swears he’d spend his whole life keeping alight.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you so much for reading! likes, comments or reblogs are very much appreciated!

ᯓ★ song recs if you feel like it: daylight by taylor swift intrapersonal by turnover

[messyemmy]

Fuck Love- Valentine's Day Grapejuice (fic) Flashbacks.

[This is part of the Grapejuice universe but can be read as a stand-alone one shot! Harry's best friend, Jack, is Y/n's younger brother.]

Premise: When your boyfriend stands you up on the most 'romantic' night of the year, Harry shows up with a sweet solution.

Grapejuice / Other Writing

Word count: 2.5k.

💗

The living room’s yellow lamps are the only lights casting through the empty house- empty other than yourself, curled up on the cosiest sofa- and it looks like it’s going to be a night of misery. 

Dressed in such a pretty tulle-draped cherry red dress, matching heels discarded at the entrance hall, you really are having a pity party. 

Being three hours late is one thing, it’s another thing to go radio-silent just as your boyfriend seems to have.

These dinner plans have been in the works since January, and even though you’ve come to expect this type of behaviour from him, hope had somehow riddled past the obvious- only to be dismissed once more. 

A year ago, you might have still been waiting in the entrance hall until your feet ached along with your heart, frantically glancing out the window at any sign of car headlights, anxiety punching you in the gut over and over until eventually, you would end up on this same sofa, mulling in sorrow. 

In the silence, you soak up sadness- only coming out of this haze when the soft sound of the front door unlocking garners your attention.

And then a mop of soft curly hair peaks round the corner, paired with the squishiest cheeks and softest smile. 

Nobody needs to know how quickly your muscles relax at the reassurance of no longer being alone- even if that company happens to be your extremely annoying and antagonistic brother’s equally annoying and antagonistic best friend, Harry Styles. 

Dressed in comfy dark grey sweatpants and his favourite navy hoodie, Harry looks so comfortable as he slips out of his scuffed trainers and neatly toes them off into the shoe pile. 

He carefully sets down a pastel pink rectangular box on the nearest side table and offers no formal greeting as he meanders over to your wallowing figure. 

There’s a thick coat of sympathy painting his stare- the type that you can see from afar, and it has your fists clenching at the thought of him feeling sorry for you. What a low blow. 

His shoes stop just before the sofa and he peers down at you knowingly.

Though Harry’s face shows no sign of pity, it’s his words that have you wishing the earth would swallow him whole, 

“Did he stand you up again?” 

“Don't rub it in.” You warn, and his features instantly soften apologetically. 

“Didn't mean any offence, Clutz.” 

Harry cautiously sits on the arm of the couch, watching tentatively as your furrowed brows turn from one of frustration to one of hurt. 

The type of face he rarely sees- and when he does, it scrunches his body with something he can’t quite find the word for.

All he knows is that he wants to do anything it takes to make things better, or at the least soothe that adorable frown decorating your glowing features. 

The palm of your hand greets your forehead with a forceful press of disappointment, and for some reason, you can’t stop your head from shaking, nor can you stop the words suddenly whispering his way,

“I should've known.” 

Now it’s Harry’s turn to furrow in bewilderment, he certainly can't understand how you’re the one to blame for any of this.

Is this truly how you see things- that you’re in the wrong for having expectations?

“You shouldn't have to assume everything will end in disappointment.” 

He plops down on the sofa with a soft thump, shifting himself comfortably to face you. It's a totally defensive reaction when your stare snaps and shocks his own, eyes squinting,

“And you should find a girlfriend you can prove that to.” 

“I'd ask you if you weren't taken.” Harry shrugs off your dismissal like a pro, incapable of dimming his boyishness to pure darkness. 

Perhaps it works, because your face is washed of all prior feelings of upset, and it looks like you’re fighting a fearsome battle against a smile peaking at the corner of your lips. 

But just as easy as it was to settle, it’s just as easy to spiral, and now you’re a jumble of thoughts all surrounding Harry’s current intentions, suspiciously crossing your arms along your chest, 

“What are you doing here? Thought Jack was out with Millie?” 

“He is. ‘M just lonely.”  Harry shrugs off the small sting of vulnerability,

“And I figured you might be here, feeling the same.” 

“ I am not lonely, Harry.”

“Alone, then… On February fourteenth.”

Harry has his foot in his mouth and he doesn’t even know it- no clue that every word he utters is like venom in your veins, and you’re mere seconds away from taking out every ounce of hurt on him. 

Hurt doesn't begin to cover it. This ‘relationship’ of yours is three and a half years past a fling- deep in the depths of a complicated, disconnected companionship that more often than not left you a tearful, insecure mess. 

Your heart- and head- know that the relationship is fading, but security and closeness are not something you can find in just anyone- the threat of going from a duet back to a single 23-year-old is rather daunting.  

Harry strolled his way right into the line of fire with his misguided attempts to express that he understands how you feel- that he knows you. Instead, it’s coming out like he enjoys the notion that this is how you spend your Friday night. 

And he’s looking at you with those big clueless emerald eyes, practically begging to be lashed out at. His wish is your command,

‘Can you stop being so negative about my relationship?” 

Harry’s shoulders stiffen in puzzled suspense. He knows he shouldn't be surprised or offended by your mood this evening- hell, his mood is no better, it’s just another year of pining over his wanting for you- but he hadn’t expected your anger to be fully directed his way. 

He can feel the air between your bodies thickening with anger, and chooses his next words with great caution, 

“I was just stating the facts.”

“Well, thank you Harry for rubbing it in that my boyfriend doesn't care enough about me to even show up for Valentine's Day.” 

Your voice is louder than he likes, harsh and loaded with hurt. Pain that is clearly caused by his choice of words, and all in an instant, the realisation of how badly he has miscommunicated his desire to bond with you, 

“I'm sorry.” He’s earnest, “I didn't think of it that way-”

“You never think, do you?” 

“Alright, I deserved that one.” 

Harry concedes with shame, hoping that the steaming anger spewing from your cutely flaring nostrils will soon fade, and it is fading, because that all too familiar fear of cruelty comes rushing back, convincing you that there’s no right to be upset- even if your feelings are hurt.

“Just… there's no need to pity me, alright?” 

And you know he means no harm- he hardly ever does- how could Harry know the insides of your relationship if he’s never been in a serious one himself?

He should know better than to poke a grumpy bear, even in an attempt to be kind. He'll certainly know now, 

It’s all you can ask of him, and Harry feels his mouth dry up at the implication that he sees you as anything less than perfect. How the hell can he make that clear? 

“I don't pity you. I pity the man who chooses to be anywhere other than near you.” He’s watching for your reaction, “You'd have to be insane.” 

“Tell him that.” You scoff with incredulity. 

“I will. Give me your phone.”

“Absolutely not.” Suddenly Harry’s lurching for you, hands playfully roaming as he jovially searches for your phone.

And you’re arms are flailing, trying to swat him away in between exasperated giggles and gasps, “Harry!” 

He stops his prodding, body leaning close enough that his senses are surrounded by your sweet jasmine perfume, and all you can do to stay sane under his hold, scolding, 

“You’re a menace.”

Harry’s the picture of enjoyment as his entire face scrunches into an even greater smile- if possible- as he rides the high of your heartwarming laughter, willing to do anything to keep that gorgeous giggle playing on repeat, 

“‘M gonna say, ‘Hey dickhead, open your eyes!’ And then I’ll whisk you away on a date.”

“You’ve got it all planned out, then.” How can you ignore the fondness you feel for Harry’s romantic valiance? 

“Hold on a sec.”

Harry has a strike of genius, removing himself from your shared bubble with such sudden disregard that a shock of disappointment rattles your spine. 

Your gaze trails his lanky figure as he heads for the entrance hall, quickly retrieving the mystery box from earlier.

With surprising relief at his haste, Harry removes the cardboard lid and sinks back down into the sofa cushions. 

He shuffles closer until the searing brush of his cotton-clad knee makes contact with your now crisscrossed calf, and thank the heavens that the box he presents you is alluring enough to dismiss the rush of excitement his closeness evokes. 

A container housing the most mouthwatering stack of thickly chocolate-drizzled brownies. Enough brownies to put your frazzled being into a comatose state.

Eyes oozing with hungry desire, Harry hides his pride well and offers the box your way,

“Here we go.”

To avoid almost snatching the box and needily digging in, you eye him up suspiciously, pondering the origin of these suspiciously alluring treats, 

“Who were these meant for?”

“Me.” He states simply. 

“Ah, one of your many suitors, or… suitress?” 

“Curious, hm?” When you scoff shyly, Harry softly chuckles and clarifies, “From ‘m mum.”

“She’s the best.”

“No, they’re yours.”

Exhaling fondly, Harry carefully shakes the box like he’s offering a treat to a well-behaved puppy. You can only offer a bashful refusal, 

Harry chuckles deeply and sets the brownies down on his lap before he picks one from the top of the pile and dramatically parts his puckered lips, letting his tongue and teeth lazily engulf the dense fudgy cake.

He moans filthily, chewing a couple of times before coaxing through bites,

“Oh, c’mon, you know you want one… Can see you eyeing them.”

“Shush.”

“C’monnnn Y/n, you know you wanna.” 

Harry’s cutely tempting coos are almost too much to resist. Your eyes are darting from the brownies begging to be devoured, and the devious smile stretching across his entire face, 

“I don’t want to indulge in anything Valentine's related.”

“Fuck love, you say?”

“Fine.” Harry agrees casually, because, of course, he already has a solution for this dilemma,

“These aren’t Valentine's brownies. They’re ‘fuck love’ brownies.”

That’s all the permission you need to soothe your sorrows with a sugary overload of chocolate comfort as you reach over with pathetic haste and grab ahold of the nearest brownie. 

“Atta girl.” He praises.

The dessert disappears into your mouth with such momentum that Harry almost misses the entire thing.

But when he sees your ruby-stained lips coated in sweet chocolate and you continue to chew contently, Harry is a mess of all-encompassing love.

He embraces the love he has for you, as he has time and time before, and it always feels like the very first time he realised that he had been falling in love with you his entire life. 

The two of you share a couple more brownies in pleasant silence, while Harry sneaks glances and observes curiously as your brows constantly shift from frustration to satiation- You can’t settle on sorrow or satisfaction. 

But how can Harry say it aloud in a way that would make sense to either of you?

Because if it were so simple, he would profess it over and over, and perhaps you would be sitting here overjoyed instead of so overwhelmed with disappointment. 

Harry’s going in for number three and your gloomy gaze is glued to your hand, still cradling a half-consumed brownie and presenting your new theory, 

“I’m starting to think love is some cruel form of punishment.”

“Maybe you’re right.” 

Harry thinks being in love with you can be as painful as it is rewarding. Watching your heart lose hope more with each day, he feels a type of hurt that he imagines you must be experiencing with each disappointment. 

And he can’t help that it makes him spiteful, and jealous, and perhaps he’s secretly praying for your relationship's downfall.

Which has him constantly riddled with guilt, but that fades in rare moments like these, when he gets a taste of what life loving you would entail. 

Perhaps you don’t notice how normal- natural- it feels to spend time with Harry one-on-one because the dull ache in your chest has yet to subside, even with the warm comfort of Harry and chocolate dessert, it’s impossible to dismiss your heartbreak. 

All you can muster is a disappointed sigh before finishing off the rest of your brownie, halfheartedly dusting the crumbs from your fingers and concluding, 

“Fuck love, yeah?”

“Fuck love.”

Harry agrees- for your sake, and perhaps his own. But as the words are leaving his lips, bitter betrayal of the heart harshly burns his tongue, and if he doesn’t deter this moodiness soon, he risks throwing up all his honesty about loving you, as well as the brownies. 

Chocolate was the first step in making up for a rough start to the evening, the second was to create a worthy distraction, and though he would prefer doing that with just his company, Harry fears he might further provoke your mood. 

Harry’s about to spend the next couple of hours scorched beneath your bare soles, one palm resting along your ankle, desperately resisting the urge to caress the other along the slopes of your calves. 

The safer bet is to suggest turning on the telly, which guarantees an avid nod from yours truly, reaching out for the remote.

He puts the remaining brownies on the coffee table, his breath hitching as your legs carelessly and comfortably stretch out and rest atop his mid-thigh. 

Comfortable familiarity embraced you as soon as his hand wrapped around your exposed skin, and you began aimlessly scrolling, tilting your head to garner Harry’s attention, 

“What should we watch?”

“You’ve got mail-”

“No romance.”

Harry won’t argue with you on that one- if pretending to be part of the ‘I hate love’ club will soothe you right now, he’ll do it. Even if it twists his insides with treachery.

“Right. Fuck love.”

The two of you continue debating over the perfect choice, and it’s a quick consensus to select the most action-packed thriller that any streaming service has to offer. 

As the intro music fills the room with a foreboding melody, you try your hardest to ignore how easily you'll accept your boyfriend's apology tomorrow, and Harry tries even harder to pretend he isn’t so consumed with loving you that he’ll wait patiently when you do.

💗

Hope you enjoy it! Part 5 coming soon! - Emmy. xo 💞

[alwaysobsessed777]

Anything Juju Watkins, she’s seriously underrated 🙏🏻

FOREVER YOURS - J.W.

First juju fic....kinda scared....but let me know if I should keep writing for her

"Juju...i already told you," I could feel my frustration bubbling up. Catching her in the act of kissing another girl was not on my bingo card of the year. "It's a no. I don't care what you have to say, we're done."

"baby....please...its not what it looked like," following like a lost puppy, Juju begged. I couldn't care less in the moment.

Her hand wraps around my wrist, trying to stop me from walking further away. I stopped, looking down at the contact. The calmness of her tone, it further the irritation that was brewing.

I ripped my arm from her grip, "I said I don't want to hear what you have to say. Leave me the f-"

"Y/n....calm down...okay."

"No! If you weren't sucking someone's else face...i wouldn't be acting like this!" I spun around, our eyes meeting. The hurt in her eyes made me want to calm down, but nothing was stopping the hurt that I felt. "I really thought I could trust you...and you walked all over me. My trust...my ego...my love for you. I just need some space...please."

Tears swelled in my eyes. Juju's seemed to mirror. "Okay. I can give you space," she looked down, wiping her eyes before looking back at me, "I love you."

I nod. I had nothing else to say. My legs turned me around, walking me out of the packed party. The party, that if I stayed would have burned something within me, was for the women's team defeating the undefeated UCLA. Maybe she got too cocky. But that cockiness just ruined our whole relationship.

2 weeks later....

It's been hard. I missed her more than I would like to admit. Her sarcasm used to fill the awkward moments with friends. Her jokes flowing in conversation resulting in fits of laughter. Then, her presence. It was grounding, calming, and I needed all of that in my life. But Juju was that....and she wasn't here.

I struggled to pull myself out of bed, groaning with the motion. Hating myself and the world had become a more common thing for me these days. I hated myself for not listening to the girl cause what if she really hadn't done anything. Maybe I jumped to conclusions, maybe I was a jerk, maybe I was the one who didn't deserve her. Not the other way around.

Throwing on whatever was near, I made my way out of the sloppy dorm room. Opening the door, to my surprise, I was welcomed with many holding flowers.

"uh...excuse me," he looked down at the small paper attached to the bouquet of roses, "Y/n? These are for you."

"I think you might have the wrong y/n. Nobody is gonna send me anything," I closed my door, locking before turning back around to face the guy.

"Y/n l/n....from Juju Watkins? Does that sound right?"

Shock washed over me. Why would Juju send me flowers? "Um...yeah...yeah that sounds right."

"well," he held them out, "here you go. Have a nice day, ma'am."

"than-thank you." I stood there, flowers in hand, dumbfounded. I couldn't piece together why, the woman I yelled at and refused to say 'i love you' back too, would send flowers to me.

Quickly, I read the small note attached to the stem. Hoping that it would tell me why she would.

'I know your probably not happy with me...but I wanted to send you flowers (even tho Valentine's day was a little while ago...) for V' day. I would never not get you something....but I figured it would have been stupid to send something right after everything went down. Just know, I'm sorry that what happened happened. I'm always ready to talk whenever you are. I love you too much to not wait. Love, Juju'

"it's not too much is it?" Her voice rang through my ears, my head snapping up to meet the girl I've been missing tremendously.

Juju.

Sniffling, I pulled her into a tight embrace, "I've missed you so much." The words mumbled into my shoulder. Her arms tighten their hold on around me, pulling me impossibly closer.

"I've missed you too," a broken chuckle fell from my lips, "even if I don't necessarily like you right now."

Juju's body tensed, "can we talk about...what happened, please?"

I nodded, escaping her hold to unlock the door. Opening it, I step in allowing Juju to follow.

"I'm so sorry you saw me kiss another girl....but I didn't kiss her. She kissed me. I was drunk...she was drunk....she thought I was into her....so she took her shot. I pushed her off of me, but she latched back on as you walked in. I wish I could've been able to stop you from seeing it. I would have told you what happened....i just wish everything would have went down another way. I'm sorry baby." Juju was almost begging for forgiveness. Her words sinking in, my brain deciding whether to trust her or not. Something in the way she let everything just crash through whatever dam was holding it in convinced me, convinced me that she was telling the truth.

"okay."

"okay?"

"I accept your apology and now I want kisses to make up for it," I held my arms out, hoping the girl would just go with it. To my liking, she did.

"God I've wanted to kiss you for weeks," a smirk settled on her lips, well, before her lips crashed onto mine.

My arms snaked around her neck as her hands fell to my waist. Her grip tight and dominant, almost like she would never let me go. Our lips moved against each other like they were made to be kissed by the other. A feeling of familiarity settled within me. Thoughts seemed to not form properly, other than one thought. We were meant to be, and nothing was going to get in the way of that again.

Once we were both on the verge of not breathing, we broke apart. Smiles stretched across both of our faces as the realization set in.

"I love you more than anything," I whispered, resting my head on her shoulder. Juju's arms pulling me into a hug, the warmth of her embrace calming me. The grounding feeling I had been missing not even an hour ago.

"I love you too, Y/n. More than my own life," the words seemed to effect me more than they had ever before. I felt like she truly meant it.

Nothing would ever break my trust in her again.

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

A/n : ha...ha....if this is trash, let me know and I won't ever write for juju again.

But if y'all like....let me know and I'll definitely write for her again.

(I'm truly in love with this woman....shes another one of my wives.)

[gravedwe11er]

Echoes through the cosmos

The final part of my Mecha AU coswave fic is done! It took me a while, but here it is. Parts one and two can be found here, and I hope you enjoy!

AU by @keferon and the base idea came from my friend @cosmique-oddity

Things are changing for Cosmos, in more ways than one. It doesn't have to be a bad thing.

“Greetings, little watcher,” comes from his headphones, completely out of nowhere, and Cosmos nearly stumbles on the treadmill.

“Good morning, big watcher,” he teases back, and blames the beginning of a blush spreading across his face on the exercise.

A staticky crackle carries through the tiny speakers. “Designation: Soundwave.” says the mech firmly, and Cosmos can’t help but burst into laughter.

Things have been better lately. That first bit of honesty seems to have opened the floodgates, and Soundwave’s voice is now a near-constant companion in his ear. The mech still prefers texting or using his vocal modulator, but every now and then, Cosmos gets to hear the real him, and he treasures every instance accordingly. And if Soundwave’s smooth, almost melodic voice inspires some slightly embarrassing thoughts at times? Well, that’s nobody’s business but his own, really.

“Just returning the favor, Soundwave,” he says, putting emphasis on the name. “It’s only fair to have a nickname for you too, though, wouldn’t you say?”

“Correction: greetings, Cosmos.”

Cosmos snorts. “Alright, alright, I see how it is. But I am going to find a nickname you like eventually, you know. Or, well- at least tolerate.”

“Negative,” comes over the speakers, deadpan as all get out. Cosmos just smiles again, shaking his head, before returning to his exercise.

Yeah, things are good.

-

“Waves.” Cosmos tries, impish grin on his face.

[Designation: Soundwave.]

“Soundy.”

[Negative.]

“Alright, alright,” he says between barely suppressed giggles. “Wavey?”

“No.”

“Sounders!”

The entire screen blacks out. “Wait, no, come back, I’m sorry-“

-

“Do your people have entertainment media? Books, movies, that sort of thing?”

[Affirmative,] appears on a mostly empty screen in front of him- it’s been a calm couple of days, the equipment not registering anything of import and leaving more than enough time for…well, whatever he wants, really. [Written works: currently most commonplace due to prolonged conflict. Holofilms available: old or amateurly produced.]

“Oh! Yeah, that makes sense. Hollywood has slowed down production as well, quite a bit in the past years.” Getting attacked and smashed to smithereens several times over hadn’t helped much. They’ve always recovered though, actors and writers refusing to give up their art, even if their budgets were cut down severely. “What do you like, then? How do you spend your free time?”

[Free time: rare commodity.] Soundwave writes, and he chuckles because right, fair enough. Head communications officer for an army at war, with four kind-of-not-really kids? That’s got to be busy.

Still, though. “I understand, but surely there’s something you enjoy? Got a favorite book, or a poem?”

“Soundwave: partial to music.” A pause. Then- “Would you like to hear some?”

The offer, along with Soundwave’s real voice, make Cosmos’ heart pick up the pace. Alien music! He’s about to hear real, actual music from another planet! Nodding, he turns to the camera behind him and gives the mech a giddy smile.

Soon enough, a gentle melody begins pouring out of his headphones, and- whatever he’s expected, it was not this. The song - or composition, more like - is alien, oddly complex and unbelievably beautiful.

There are no lyrics, he doesn’t think, but the interplay of different instruments still seems to tell a tale as the song progresses, changing and twisting on itself. It makes him think of two people, of a longing he finds so familiar, of warm clasped hands and stolen moments between the cold of melancholy. He sits in his chair, silent and entranced, as the melody goes through a crescendo, a painful conflict, before mellowing and fading out, like a peaceful embrace of two souls, now finally united for good.

When it’s all over, seconds or minutes or hours later, his vision is blurry with unshed tears. At the other end of the call, he could almost swear he feels Soundwave’s presence, watching him, sharing this moment with him.

Cosmos feels warm.

“Thank you,” he whispers into the receiver, wiping at his eyes but smiling, and he feels more than hears Soundwave’s answering hum. “Could you play it again?” he asks after a few minutes, and when the melody fills his ears once more, he simply closes his eyes and lets himself be carried away.

-

“I forgot to ask before, but was that Cybertronian music?”

“Negative,” comes through his headphones. “Composition: created by organic species.”

“Oh!” he wasn’t really expecting that, but then again, maybe it should have. it didn’t sound very, ah, mechanical? “Do you have any more from the composer? Or at least the same people?”

“Soundwave: in possession of one more unfinished melody from composer. Cosmos: interested in listening?”

“Gladly. Why was it not finished, though, do you know? Did something happen to the composer?”

“Affirmative. Species: nearly eradicated by quintesson forces. Creator of piece: deceased.”

Oh. That’s- he doesn’t know what to say. He’d never really given much thought to how other species might have fared against the invasion. Or that they might have actually lost.

“I’d still like to hear it, I think,” he says quietly. There’s nothing he can do for them now, for these aliens he’d never even met, but- he can remember them, at least. Keep a tiny piece of them alive through this.

As the new melody surrounds him with its unearthly tones, Cosmos wonders what Soundwave would keep of humans, if they lose this fight. What Soundwave would keep of him.

-

It dwells on his mind for weeks after, filling his empty hours with maudlin thoughts. He knows by now how unbelievably long a cybertronian’s life is, that his own lifespan is but a speck of dust by comparison, but still. Would the mech keep his face in his memory banks, or the human music playlist he’d made for him? Would he carry a piece of Cosmos with him into the distant stars, keep him close to his spark, or would all they shared be forgotten?

How much does this - whatever they have - matter?

Because it matters to Cosmos. He’s not sure when that happened, but his fascination with the alien mech and enjoyment of his company became- more. Much more. Now, when his soul aches for the presence of another person, it’s not his friends on earth he imagines being held by, or his parents. It’s large silver servos, careful and precise. it’s staring up at a glowing red visor and watching the sun gleam of grey and blue plating. It’s just- Soundwave.

And, well. What is he supposed to do with that?

He knows Soundwave likes him, yes. Enjoys his company, sure, he wouldn’t bother talking with him so frequently otherwise. But is there more to it? Soundwave is a hard person to read, especially with their only method of communication being text and radio. Cosmos had no way to know if he’s like a- a pleasant coworker to the mech, or a true companion, someone actually important.

He doesn’t know, but by god does he hope.

The song they’re listening to comes to an end, bringing Cosmos out of his thoughts. And, yeah, that’s something they do now, listen to music together, looking for things the other might enjoy. That’s… that could mean something, right? Only people who actually care about each other do that, no?

A surprisingly loud, staticky hiss sounds in his ears all of a sudden, and Cosmos flinches. “Soundwave, what-“

“Lost light: arrival impending.”

“Wh- really? When?”

“ETA: thirteen hours local time.”

Oh.

Of course.

It’s just- over the past two months, he’d somehow managed to completely forget about incoming the ship. He’d been so focused on his growing relationship with Soundwave that the knowledge of why the mech was actually here slipped his mind. Now, with reality of the situation staring him in the face, a jittery sort of dread fills his heart.

“Soundwave,” he says, wringing his hands in his lap, “how’s- what’s going to happen now?”

“Negotiation: will begin with human governments. Jazz: will be returned home, accompanied by Prowl.”

This is the first time he’s hearing of this Prowl person, and he will ask later, but- “And what about you? What will you do now?”

“Soundwave: will remain on Earth, join negotiation process.” There’s a pause, then- “I do not wish to cease our interactions, even once my work here is done. If you call, I will always listen, friend Cosmos.”

And- it’s a relief, hearing that. A huge weight falls off of Cosmos’ shoulders, joy making his heart beat overtime, however- things will undeniably change now. Their mostly quiet, familiar routine won’t last once first contact begins in earnest, and they’ll both be busy with their respective work. He’s delighted to hear he won’t lose Soundwave’s voice in his ear, but-

His stay at the station ends in less than two weeks. He won’t get to actually see Soundwave, most likely, not again. Won’t ever be this close to him again, not in person. And that’s- he thinks of the emergency repair space suit shoved in the storage compartment, of the ticking clock, and makes a decision.

“Soundwave? You said you edited yourself out of footage in real time, when you first arrived here, right? Could you do it again?”

“Affirmative. Query: reason for question?”

“I just- there’s something I need to do.”

-

He approaches the station, gliding through the vacuum of space with ease. It’s a tiny thing, as many earth things are- barely bigger than him in root mode. He’s once again reminded of an earth saying, stating that good things come in small packages, and though he’s not fully certain of its original, intended meaning, he finds himself agreeing nonetheless.

Watching the precious, fragile little person climbing out of the hatch with anxious, unpracticed motions, it feels truer than ever before.

The man’s suit is a colorful thing, yellow and green with red accents, his head surrounded by a fragile looking bubble of glass, protecting him from certain death in the cold, airless void. His hair is a bright, cheerful red as well, only outshined by the force of his smile as pushes off the hull of the station and into Soundwave’s waiting servos.

“Hello, little watcher,” he says, leaving the vocoder off and letting his true voice sound through the suit’s speakers.

Somehow, the human’s smile grows wider, and Soundwave feels his spark pulse with fondness. “Hello, Soundwave,” he says softly, blinking up at him with a combination of awe and unbridled joy. “You have no idea how glad I am to see you.”

If it’s anything like what he feels, Soundwave thinks as he brings the man closer, gently pressing his forehelm to the top of Cosmos’ helmet, then he can probably imagine.

[littlestarbigsky]

happy valentine’s day, you beautiful humans !!!! i love love LOVE our little family over here, thank you for making me feel so loved all the time <3 aaaand my gift to you is the long (very long) awaited chetcherrycola shower fic🩷

this is kinda nsfw sooo… there’s that lol

yall are the very best for being sooo patient with me with this fic, it was THE labor of love to write but i’m soo proud of it and i hope yall enjoy 🫶🏻

“i’m sorry to bother you like this…” cherry sighed, leaning up against the side of the car.

“i don’t mind, doll,” soda poked his head out to smile at her from the hood of cherry’s stingray.

“but you guys had to get all the way out here… and we don’t even know what’s wrong,” she rolled her eyes.

“and if you think i’m going to let you drive this shitbox it before i know it’s safe to, then you’re out of your mind,” soda poked and pulled at the parts around the engine, his hands picking up all kinds of grease and grime.

not for the first time, soda had gotten a call at work from cherry, who was pulled over at a gas station some miles away with car trouble. before, it had been another greaser gang stealing her spark plug for fun, this time it was her steering going out and her car not wanting to stay on the road. he’d called chet to come get him, and they found her in a panic and worried that her car was finished.

“hey, soda?” chet called from the other side of the car. “i think i found what was wrong!”

“what?” cherry whipped around.

“what’s up?” soda looked over the hood.

chet kicked something on the ground, “tire’s flat as a pancake.”

soda’s mouth fell open, “are you serious?”

chet nodded, kicking the tire again, and cherry buried her face in her hands.

“god,” she cried. “so this is what i called you guys all the way out here for? for my tire? that’s all that noise was?”

“hey, hey, hey,” chet hurried over as soda began to close the hood. “i’d only have trusted soda to fix that anyways, baby! it’s okay!”

cherry didn’t seem to calm down at all, in fact, she seemed to only be getting herself up even more upset. soda looked sadly over at her with an ache heavy in his heart, knowing he couldn’t do anything while they were in public, even if no one was paying attention to them.

chet pulled cherry into his arms, brushing her hair back and kissing around the crown of her head, careful not to mess up her meticulously placed headband. he whispered to her, "it's just a silly little flat tire, nothing's wrong, honey."

he held her close as soda popped the trunk open and grabbed her spare, rolling it over to the flat. cherry seemed to mellow out as she watched him and copied chet's deep breaths, which he would have sworn weren't intentional, but they all knew better. soda got to work fixing the tire, and chet took cherry inside the station so she could freshen up in the bathroom and he got them all a snack. when they came back outside, like the chameleon the world had trained her to be, nobody could have guessed that cherry had been crying.

“the tire is alright, at least should get back to your house,” soda walked over to them, maybe standing a little too close, but he couldn’t really bring himself to care. “i’ll ride back with cherry so i don’t mess up chet’s seats, we can just wipe down the leather in the stingray.”

chet pressed a kiss to cherry’s head and said, “i’ll meet you two there.”

cherry nodded and chet started heading back to his car. soda opened the door for her and she slid into the driver’s side, not missing soda carefully keeping his grease-covered arms from touching her seats as she started driving home.

cherry couldn’t help but chuckle, “you can touch the seats, cola. it’ll come off.”

soda just shrugged, not saying anything.

eventually, she stole a glance over at him and frowned, “you wanna tell me what’s bugging you?”

he didn’t say anything at first, just sighed, sinking into the seat, the cleanliness of the seat now long forgotten. eventually he answered, “i just wish it could always be the three of us, y’know? not just behind closed doors and with our friends.”

cherry felt something click into place and felt a wave of grief wash over her as she tried to imagine what it must have been like to watch her and chet all up on each other all the time, realizing she’d never know what it was like to have soda kiss her at a football game or throw an arm around her in the back of the drive in.

“i…” she tried to say something, but realized that the words would fall flat the moment they left her lips.

they stayed quiet for a while, until they were almost home. soda examined his hands as cherry turned onto her street, “all i did was love you.”

cherry felt her mouth fall open and tears well in her eyes as she pulled into the driveway and she put the car in park. she stole another glance over at him and saw his head fall back in frustration.

“honey, i don’t know what to say…” it was the only thing she could get out before pulling soda into her arms. in a few moments, she felt tears against her neck.

she didn’t care that her dress and arms and legs were getting dirty, all she cared about was soda and keeping him as close as she could. it had been a while since he’d had the chance to decompress and feel what he needed to, it had always been a habit of his. he was a ball of human sunshine most days, but things weighed on him just as much as other people, and sometimes he just needed to break.

eventually, chet pulled up next to them in the driveway and it seemed like soda had cried himself out. cherry hooked a finger under his chin and tilted his head up, giving him a sweet kiss and pressing her forehead to his.

“c’mon, let’s get you cleaned up,” she whispered as chet opened soda’s car door.

chet slid into the seat behind soda, nuzzling his nose into the back of soda's hair and wrapping his arms around him and cherry.

they slowly made their way inside and soda kicked off his boots outside the front door, following cherry up the stairs to her room. she reached under the sink in her bathroom and pulled out a few sets of comfies for the boys, her own pajamas already folded at the foot of her bed, and turned on the shower. when she came back out into her bedroom, chet was helping soda out of his sweaty tank top and soda was fiddling with his belt buckle.

cherry walked over beside him, smoothing his hair back, "i've got the shower started, do you want one of us to help you out, sweetheart?"

he looked sadly between the two of them, tears in his eyes, that had most likely been there since they arrived at the gas station.

chet looked up, seeming to sense the discomfort, "or both of us, maybe?"

something loosened in soda's chest as he nodded, blinking out a single tear.

cherry smiled up at him, her hand stopping at the nape of his neck to play with the hair there, “okay, you go get started, we’ll be right there.”

he nodded mutely and finished pulling off the rest of his clothes, carefully discarding them on the tile of the bathroom instead of the carpet. he threw one more glance back at them before pushing the curtain aside and stepping into the shower.

“he misses you,” cherry mumbled, pulling her hair up and turning around so chet could unzip her dress. she turned around and got to helping him unbutton his shirt.

"what do you mean?" he asked quietly.

"he's tired of hiding it," she answered, shrugging the dress off her shoulders and reaching behind her back to unclasp her bra while kicking her dress to the side. "he'll never say it, but he's tired of watching us be together without him all the time."

chet bit his lip, stepping out of his khaki's and reaching up to unclasp the chain around his neck, laden with his st. william pendant. cherry stopped and picked up the garments littering the ground and threw them into the laundry basket in the corner, wordlessly gesturing for chet to go in first.

he stepped into the bathroom and grabbed three of cherry's soft pink towels from the cupboard, setting them on the sink. he pushed the curtain back far enough to step into the shower, his lanky limbs feeling their way around the space, and doing what he could to keep himself open and available for whatever soda needed him for.

soda was standing under the spray, letting the water run over his hair, a routine he had developed to make it easier to get all the grease out. they had showered together before, mostly just after rumbles to get themselves cleaned up before cherry would let them in the bed, but there was a neediness to the way soda was holding himself, arms crossed over his chest.

chet stepped forward, chests pressed together and gently held soda's face in his hands. it was almost magical watching the water run down soda's face, staring into the gorgeous eyes that he realized had gone sad and dull for far too long.

"you're so beautiful, baby," he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to soda's lips sweetly.

soda rolled his eyes, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, "you're such a sap."

chet raised an eyebrow, "but you love me?"

"i do," soda draped his arms over chet's shoulders and pivoted them so they were both standing in the spray of the water, soda's face pressed against his collarbone as water dripped down from chet’s hair.

"you better love me, too," came cherry's soft voice from behind them peeking in around the curtain.

“c’mere, sweetheart,” soda couldn’t help but let a smile break across his face, he offered a hand to cherry, helping her step over the edge of the bathtub. she took a few steps forward and wrapped her arms around soda’s neck, kissing him sweetly.

chet pressed himself up against soda’s back, his hands resting gently on cherry’s waist, sandwiching soda between them. chet bent down and started pressing kisses along the line of soda’s neck, soda’s head falling back onto his shoulder.

cherry turned around and grabbed a washcloth and her sweet, flowery, body wash, the one she knew both of them loved. chet continued to run hands up and down soda’s sides and massaging the muscles in his arms as cherry poured some of it out and worked up a lather. she leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his jaw before staring to run the washcloth over his chest and arms.

soda sighed, all of the tension leaving his body as cherry dragged the cloth down his arms and over his shoulders.

“can we wash that hair, sweetheart?” cherry asked gently, her hand stopping on his chest for a moment.

“mmhm,” he mumbled, his eyes closed as he leaned his head against chet’s.

“it’s the blue bottle behind you,” cherry instructed gently, starting to run her hands over soda’s stomach and sides.

chet poured some of it out into his hands and began to massage it into soda’s hair, gently working through the grease and dirt caked on from his shift at the dx that morning.

cherry took a few steps forward and soda opened his eyes, rotating the three of them so that she was under the spray of the shower head. he tucked his finger under her chin and tipped her head back to wet her hair.

“can i see the shampoo?” soda whispered, and cherry grabbed it for him. he poured it out into his hands, chet’s hands still working the grease out of his hair. soda rubbed it into a lather, pulling cherry towards him and starting to thread his soapy hands through her hair.

they switched places once soda was finished and he rinsed himself off as cherry started carding gentle hands through chet’s hair. soda brushed cherry’s shampooed hair over one shoulder and hooked his chin over the other, pressing sweet kisses to her neck and hugging her to his chest. chet leaned down and kissed her sweetly, stepping closer so that he could run a washcloth over her chest and shoulders, not stopping kissing her for a second.

it went on and on, each of them taking turns in between the others, each of cherry’s hands massaging conditioner into both of their hair, chet’s head falling back as soda ran soap over his torso, a mess of shampoo, conditioner, and body wash by the time cherry shut off the water.

“i don’t think you got all the conditioner out,” cherry smiled, perched on her bathroom sink with her hair tied up in a towel and running her hands through soda’s damp hair.

“yeah? and who’s fault is that?” he tilted his head, using the corner of the towel around his neck to wipe away a few drops of water on her forehead.

she smirked, “i think it’s chet’s.”

“hey!” chet cried from the bedroom. he came back into the bathroom, his towel tied low around his hips, “cherry was the one who complained about being cold.”

he wrapped his arms around soda’s waist, kissing his cheek, and grabbing one of cherry’s hands. cherry leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to chet’s forehead, and another to soda’s lips.

“you feeling better, baby?” she asked gently as she pulled back, brushing a few more pieces of hair out of his face.

he nodded wordlessly, his lips curving into a smile as he leaned his head against chet’s.

“good, let’s go lay down then,” she smiled, and hopped off the sink and pushed open the bathroom door, leaving chet and soda to linger for a moment.

she threw her towel over her desk chair and pushed the covers back on the bed, not bothering to put on the pajamas she had set out for herself and the boys on the dresser.

she looked pointedly at them, “c’mon, get over here.”

chet’s eyebrows shot up, “are you serious?”

cherry’s eyes darted between them and the open. bathroom door, “it’s warmer.”

soda chuckled and hung up his towel in the bathroom and settled in next to her, closely followed by chet, who crawled up against soda’s other side and threw the covers over them.

soda rolled over to envelop cherry in his arms, chet pressed against his back, “thank you for getting a flat.”

cherry smiled and kissed him sweetly, “thank chet, i probably would have had you rooting around the hood of that car for another hour.”

chet giggled behind them and pressed another kiss to soda’s shoulder, “we love you, coca-cola.”

soda’s eyes were getting heavy, and he smiled drowsily, “i love you, too.”

“i know you’re tired,” cherry cupped his cheek in her palm. “get some rest, sweetheart, we’ll be here when you wake up.”

[not-your-babyy13]

Just here to ask, no beg, for more Rupert x Taggie fics. I need more yearning! Pining! Sneaking around! Thank you in advance.

[triglycercule]

horror is so BLESSED he's the only one out of the murder time trio that has actual good people trying to influence his story 💔💔 dust and killer were both driven to INSANITY because of the choices of their respective humans but horror??? every time without FAIL the polls for horrortale's plotline have always ended in a good place for aliza (either by bettering her relationships/reputation or for her to just. not DIE)

horrortale's potential alternate timelines my beLOVEd🙏🙏 they're SO lucky that we're being kind and benevolent hehe (≧ω≦) now where are the aus based off the possible different outcomes that could've happened in horrortale HUH???? (like how aliza couldve killed toriel or chosen horror's puzzle or gone with undyne to the core........)

[nostalgia-tblr]

i just want to write some kind of fucked up shit and then finish it and post it and then feel i've done something😭

[radioactivepeasant]

Fic Prompts: Free Day Friday

Based on the concepts of both "Rift Apart set a precedent for alternate gender dimensional counterparts" and "what if in Meddling Mar Damas had recognized Mar immediately" we have today's prompt: Mirror Mar.

The little girl sat propped up on a reed mat beside the water, still flushed. Her brother still lay motionless on the mat beside her, nowhere near waking. As Damas watched from the dais, the girl traced her fingers over the boy's scarred arms, and an alarmed look crossed her face. Poor sprout. The brother had doubtless been hiding his injuries from her.

"Do not wake him," Seem cautioned gently, removing the child’s hand. "The eco must repair his organs or he will die."

It was the plain and unvarnished truth, but the girl burst into tears. Seem cringed, seeming unusually uncertain. They were knowledgeable about many things, but children were not among those topics. With a slightly exasperated huff, Damas left his throne and stepped across the stones. He knelt beside the pallets and forced himself to take the girl -- not Mar, it was just a freak coincidence -- by the hand.

"Come. Let him sleep. He will recover, child." He nodded to the scars. "Look: he is a fighter."

"But they're on the wrong side!" The girl burst into emphatic signs. "Wrong arm! Everything is backwards on this side of the Rift Gate!"

"Rift Gate?" Seem asked, their ruby eyes alight with interest, "You found a working Rift Gate, little one?"

"The last one!" The girl wiped her eyes, but her hiccups persisted. "Uncle Sig’s eye is on the wrong side, Jakky's scars are on the wrong side- and Jakky is a boy! Am I gonna be a boy when I grow up?!"

The adults exchanged bewildered glances. Tentatively, Damas extended a finger to brush away tears from round cheeks. Gods, she even had freckles like Mar, just on the opposite side of her-

"Little one," Seem said with stifled amusement, "Why would your brother’s gender have anything to do with yours? That's...really not how that works. You'll grow up to be you, not him."

"But except he's not my brother, he's me!" The child protested, "The sage said so! Except Jakky wasn't a boy when I went in the Rift and now all the scars are on the wrong side!" The girl twisted her green curls in her hands repeatedly, breathing quickening. "When did that happen? Are all my freckles gonna change places? I don't want my freckles to move! Why is everything the other way around?!"

Damas felt bile creep up his throat.

The backwards amulet around the girl's neck.

The shared features.

Gods, no.

He looked to the boy, eyes falling as if by instinct on a trio of freckles against the left side of his jaw.

The bile climbed higher.

It wasn't possible. It wasn't possible.

He'd heard legends of Rift Gates, but there was never anything in the old texts about this.

"What-"

His voice failed him. His hands shook.

"What is your name?"

The child looked stricken, and her tears began anew.

"You don't remember me? Are you all out of place now too, Daddy?"

Seem recoiled in shock, and Damas collapsed from his crouch to his knees.

No, no that would mean they were both- Please, no-!

What had the Precursors done? Who was the boy, then, if the girl swore they'd once been the same person? What had these children suffered?

"Mar?" he whispered in a shaking voice, "In your world, on your side of the Rift Gate, were you Mar?"

"Uh-sniff!-huh."

"Then...my Mar is...with your elder self?"

"Oh...I guess so." This Other Mar, a bit too old -- but not near as old as the boy on the other pallet -- looked pleadingly at him. "My Jakky is still in the Gate? I don't have to be a he and move all my freckles if I don't wanna?"

"I...would assume that is what happened, given...given your amulet," Damas faintly heard himself choke out, as if at a great distance.

The child, this Mar from another world, somehow managed to look even more crestfallen. "Then...that's your Jakky, right? You're...not my daddy...are you?"

Instinct took over. Damas swept little Mar into his arms, and tucked her head into the crook of his neck.

"No, little viper," he croaked, "I am sorry, I do not know if I had a daughter before today. I do not know if you differ from the child I remember. My Mar was...was two when last I saw him, much would have changed regardless."

"I'm six now." Mar hiccuped and held up the number on her fingers. "I'm not a baby anymore."

"I...see that."

"And I like slingshots and bugs and baby animals and coloring. But I don't like dark eco, only Jakky has to use it because all- all his eco got all jumbled up." Mar squeezed closer to Damas. "Jak said he wouldn't let me get dark eco. I don't wanna get dark eco."

Seem looked from this older Mar to the teenaged boy fighting for his life on the mat. A future version of Mar? It couldn't be true, they didn't want to believe it! This boy reeked of dark eco, while the child practically dazzled with unshaped prism potential. Surely no child of the House of Mar would stoop low enough to partake of dark eco!

Unless...

Seem eyed the scars again, and in spite of themself their hand rose to cover their throat almost protectively.

Unless Mar had not been a willing participant.

Damas followed Seem's gaze, and his stomach turned. Two Mars, both years older than they should have been. Alone, battered, collapsed in the desert- Had they been trying to get home? Had Mar been fighting to come back to him all this time?

Two Mars. A son and a daughter. A blessing, a miracle and yet- what had the Precursors put his child through? What were these scars, even on the little one?

Damas looked to the boy, motionless beside the orange...thing...he'd been found with, and he swallowed hard.

"Mar," he whispered, "Tell me everything."

___________BONUS__________________

When the boy called Jak finally awoke, he didn't remember the room he was in, just as Mar had warned. Nor did he seem to be particularly happy that Mar had given away any information whatsoever.

"Mar!" he rasped, "You can't just tell strangers your name! We've talked about this!"

"You're not the boss of me!" Mar retorted almost gleefully.

The boy pushed himself upright to point at her. "Uh, yes I am? I literally am the boss of you by default, kid."

"That's not what Daddy says!"

Jak lurched forward as Daxter coughed water all over them both.

"Who?!"

[ujunxverse]

ngl the 2023 writerblr/ficblr climate is so bad....

[writingsbychlo]

BUY ME PRESENTS | draco malfoy

summary; draco loves you, and you love him. he just needs a little push to make things official. OR, draco malfoy fighting for his life when he realises just how much everyone wants his girl.

word count; 8928

notes; this is based on christmas eve, but I'm posted a couple days later! this fic puts us half way through our slytherin boy holidays! I'm not sure how the one I expected to be the shortest became the longest one so far. like, seriously, I know I keep saying this but wtf? why can't I write a short fic?

Dinner had already been served by the time you made it to the Grand Hall, the smells of roasted meats and seasoned potatoes filling the air, your mouth watering as you navigated between the throngs of people. Your seat had been saved, of course. A spot on the bench between Draco and Daphne, and as you neared, your friends noticed, smiles rising and waves in your direction. 

Sinking into your seat, you pressed a kiss to the cheek of the blond boy beside you, his face tipping up to receive it and lips twisting into a smile, attention moving to you as you sat. 

“Good day?”

“Better now that it’s over.” You smiled, a chuckle falling from him, and his hand came to rest upon your thigh, squeezing comfortingly while you helped yourself to a plate of whatever food was left. “What are we talking about, what did I miss?”

“Not much. Just Theo telling us all about Christmas in Italy.” Mattheo rolled his eyes, as though you all hadn't heard this exact same speech since that very first Christmas you’d become friends. Most of the group seemed to have simply tuned it out, laughing and nodding at the correct times as they whispered their own conversations. 

A swipe of a thumb over your thigh as you finished filling your plate with food, and you shifted your attention to Draco. “So, what are your Christmas plans, Dray?”

Shuffling a little bit closer now that your plate was full, his arm moved to lay across your shoulders instead, letting you snuggle up into his side. “Oh, you know, the usual.” 

He smiled, and your world seemed to get a little bit brighter, his lips brushing your hairline as he left a barely-present kiss there. 

“Typical Malfoy-family Christmas. I get to do the tour with my parents, visiting every other rich-arsehole couple they know. Christmas Eve party. The pleasure of my father’s annual ‘you’re growing up now, son, it’s time to get serious about the world’ over the dinner table on Christmas Day. Open some presents I don’t want, on a schedule I don’t like.” He sighed, clearly used to it by now, but it didn’t make it sound any less awful.

“Well,” You smile, nudging him playfully with your elbow. “Maybe we could write to one another, or even get a little visit in?” 

The hope in your voice was evident, and Pansy gave you an encouraging smile across the table. You’d been meaning to ask Draco this question for weeks now, and your last chance had been fast approaching. Since the summer, you and Draco had been hooking up. It was no secret among your friends, or even the students; your affections for one another were hardly contained, but it wasn't official. 

You wanted the labels, the security, and the safety of knowing that he was yours and you were his, and nobody else could come between you. You wanted to be introduced to his parents, be his date at events, to have him be proud to call you his girl. But Draco had been hesitant, avoiding every conversation that might inch into the ‘so, what are we?’ territory, keeping a safe distance from any kind of real commitment. 

It wasn’t enough for you anymore, not by a long shot, but trying to talk to Draco about it only ended up with him shutting it down, or skilfully diverting the conversation and you were growing tired of his games. 

Draco only made a vague noise, neither an agreement nor disagreement, and looked away from you as he picked up his drink to take a sip. “I don’t know… maybe. I can get pretty busy over the holidays, I’d hate to let you down.”

Another skill of his, making it seem like cancelling or delaying or not doing something at all was your idea. He was clearly hoping you’d brush it off, and tell him not to worry about it, but instead, you kept quiet. Not giving him the satisfaction of any easy win, this time. 

Pansy caught your eye across the table, shaking her head disapprovingly, and shooting a glare at an oblivious Draco. She had been your confidant these last few months, every update and development in your situationship, she’d been informed of. Every decision, she’d been a part of. She was practically as invested as you were, at this point, and she certainly did not approve of his nonchalant behaviour either. 

“Speaking of parties,” Mattheo cut Theo off, clearly having had enough of the annual rehashing of ‘that one Christmas when Theo was eight’ for today, and changing the subject, “Who’s got their dates sorted for the Malfoy Christmas Eve Ball, and who’s daring to go solo and have Narcissa set them up like a matchmaker all night long?”

Chuckles rang out among the group, and Pansy smiled, leaning into Blaise’s side with a love-struck grin. “I think we’re safe this year.”

“I’m going solo, but, I did tell Aunty Cissa that I have my eye on a girl in one of my classes, and I’m seeing how it plays out. So, she’s not setting me up anytime soon, since she believes I’m already onto someone.” Enzo smirked, and Blaise congratulated him for his clever tactics. 

You smirked through your mouthful of food, listening to Mattheo explain his complex excuse, to Reggie mournfully spill the story of how he’s already been set up by his parents witha ‘potential bride to meet’, and how he hopes she doesn’t show up. You laugh with the others as Tom simply raises an eyebrow, knowing that even Narcissa doesn’t attempt to set him up anymore, lest he scare away any more of her friends’ daughters. Theo, ever the player he is, is looking forward to dancing with every single lady he can find, and taking his pick at the end of the night.

“I suppose nobody needs to ask Draco who his date will be.” Mattheo grins, wiggling his brows at the pair of you as you smile, leaning a little further into the man at your side. 

“Hey, who knows?” He chortles, and your eyes narrow a little, “I’ve had plenty of offers. I haven’t made up my mind yet.”

“Oooh.” Enzo’s eyes went wide, the other boys joining in, and Pansy fixed him with a glare. Daphne leaned around you with her jaw dropped at his statement, and you sat up from his embrace, lips pressed flat and a brow raised. 

The boys snickered, ‘he’s in shit’ and ‘someone’s in the doghouse’, but he lived for the spotlight, a drama queen at heart, and he smirked down at you. 

“Oh, c’mon. Don’t look at me like that, babe.” The playful nickname was one he only ever used when joking around. When he was sincere, he was much more romantic; darling, sweetheart, beautiful. “What am I supposed to say? ‘Hi mum, hello father, meet the girl I’m skipping class to shag! Thanks for paying my tuition!’, I don’t think so.”

The boys all laughed, Daphne scoffed in sync with her sister behind you, and Pansy looked like she’d lunge across the table at any moment, if it wasn’t for her chastising Blaise for laughing, instead. ‘You and Draco can share that couch you’ll both be sleeping on tonight’, she’d said. ‘See how funny you think it is then’.

The words stung as he spoke them, dismantling your relationship down to the bare minimum; to sex and physical connection and nothing else. Like the nights spent talking until the sun came up were nothing, the times you’d held him while he cried, or washed him in the bath when he was so exhausted he could barely keep his eyes open. Like he didn’t rub your stomach for hours every month when you got cramps, or had a stash of your favourite snacks in his bedside table for whenever you came over. 

You knew that Draco Malfoy lived you, just as much as you loved him. It was evident in everything he did, every kiss and every word. But, he needed a little push.

“I suppose you’re right,” You sigh lightly, giggling along with the laughing boys around the table. “I’m not so sure Lucius wouldn't burst a blood vessel then and there.”

“Exactly.” Draco hummed, and you glanced back to Pansy. She was shocked, only for a second, before taking in the subtle signs of mischief on your face. Her own smirk stretched out in return, and her gaze flickered once to Draco, before back to you. 

A new game was afoot, and Draco wasn’t going to stand a chance.

Slipping your coat from your shoulders, the annual Malfoy Christmas Eve Ball was well underway. Your parents had disappeared into the crowds before you’d even stepped out of the carriage, uncaring of where you were as long as you weren’t causing trouble. They were here to mingle with the other importants, and you were just here to learn the ropes of proper socialising.

The garment was taken from you, your small bag clutched in hand as a ticket was given to you for it, and you brushed down the front of your dress delicately. Pearls moved under your touch, beading along the bodice flat and perfected, and you felt your confidence rise as you looked at yourself once more in the reflection of a dark window. Adjusting the small lace gloves on each hand, you took a step towards the dining room. 

Elegant music was playing from a live band up on a stage, the room was decorated this year to look like a winter escape. Pale and frosty, like a palace of ice, twinkling lights and glittering decor, crisp white tablecloths and ice sculptures. A layer of goosebumps travelled along your skin at the sight of it all, despite the warming charms that took place for the guests. 

Scanning the room, you quickly found your table. The designated kids table, despite you all being legal adults and far beyond such status. You’d all be the babies of the ball until the new generation emerged, no doubt. Moving through the bodies and crowds of people politely, Theo was the first to glance up and spot you, his mouth falling open, and a rush of confidence took over as he raised two fingers to his lips and whistled. 

The sound caught the attention of the others’ chatter fading to quiet as they all turned to look for the object of his cat-calling, Enzo’s eyes widened, Pansy cheered loudly, and even Mattheo looked momentarily speechless. You’d had the same reaction when you’d seen yourself in the dress too, your stylist had truly outdone herself for this one. 

You looked flawless, and you looked expensive, and utterly elegant. Doing a little spin as you approached, a smile broke free on your lips as you stopped before the chair with your name card before it. 

“Merlin, babe,” Pansy started, drawing your attention straight her her, “You’ve got every eye on you tonight. If I was single, I’d be all over you.” 

She winked when you laughed, and Blaise rolled his eyes but smiled, leaning in to kiss her cheek affectionately. 

“Pretty necklace,” She commented, and your fingers rose to the pretty string of pearls and diamonds that you had. 

“It was a gift,” You simply hummed, tugging at your gloves. Glancing at the others, you gave each a polite smile, eyes lingering on Draco as he stared. In any other style, this dress would be scandalous for an event like this. A low neckline, spaghetti straps, no sleeves. Tight and fitted to every curve of your body, and yet the classic designs and vintage nature elevated it to the kind of class Audrey Hepburn would be proud of. 

He looked just as good, a dark suit, a fresh white shirt, a champagne-coloured tie that made the colour of his eyes and his hair stand out and your mouth dried out a little. Silver rings adorned his fingers, the Malfoy signet standing out, clenched so tightly around his whiskey glass that his knuckles were almost white. 

You’d worn soft, golden makeup effects today, a dusting of glitter along your cheekbones and eyelids, a shade of pink on your cheeks and lips that you knew was his weakness. 

“Someone really wanted your attention with that, huh?” Your best friend teased, and your eyes snapped away from Draco, back to her. 

“I suppose so,” You muse, hand coming up to touch one of the beads on your ear, “Since they also got me this lovely pair of matching earrings.”

Pansy made a dramatic show of admiring them, and Blaise gave a funny look, glancing at the jewellery, and then back at Draco, who was frowning. Before you could reach for your chair after placing your clutch down, Enzo was shooting to his feet from beside you, tugging out the chair for you. 

Draco scoffed as you gave him a thank you, settling into your seat, and he glared at the man beside you. Enzo didn’t flinch, however, smirking at Draco as he spoke;

“What? It’s called being a gentleman, cousin.”

Crossing your leg delicately, you’d hardly even removed your gloves, before a tray was coming down by your side, and a young waiter with a dazzling smile was looking right at you. 

“Champagne, ma’am?” Not a planned pawn in your game, but a welcome addition, you smiled sweetly in return. 

“Oh, I’d love some. Thank you.” Taking the single glass by the stem, you lifted it from the tray and the man’s smile stretched wider as you sipped the bubbly, holding his eye. 

“Of course, miss. If you need anything, anything at all, I’ll be at the bar, happy to serve.” His flirting was heavy enough that normally you’d want to roll your eyes, but tonight, you suppressed that urge, playing into it as you bat your lashes. 

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind. Thank you.”

He took the dismissal, staring appreciatively as he walked away, another look over his shoulder to you as you watched him go. 

“Stop eye-fucking the help.” Draco snapped, and your focus moved to him slowly, just to find his icy glare on you. He didn’t scare you, though, all that mean bravado, but you knew what was underneath. 

“I was doing no such thing.” You tut, placing down your drink. “Don’t be jealous, Dray. You look even better in that suit. If you want compliments, just ask. No need to be mean.”

He seemed rather placated by this, his ego settling down, even if the others did laugh at him.

The conversation seemed to continue around you as you settled in, avoiding Draco’s heated stare and sipping at your champagne. The rush of warming alcohol through your veins settled every dancing nerve, and gave you the calm confidence to do what you had planned. Sitting forwards, just enough, you angled your body so that Draco might have the perfect view over your cleavage as you feigned interest in the chatter around you. 

He took the bait, his gaze falling right where you wanted it, the gems of your necklace dangling just over the swell of your breasts, and he licked his lower lip, pulling it between his teeth.

Raising your hands and catching the swinging gem, you toyed with it carefully, letting it run over your fingers. Time melted away as Draco’s gaze flicked between your nimble touch, your lips, and your chest, shuffling in his seat every so often, and gulping at the bubbly in his glass. 

He was on his third refill by the time food started to be taken around, and you took pity on him momentarily, sitting back in your chair and angling away from him, ready to receive your first course. 

As the starters came around, you turned to thank your waiter, surprised to see it was the same man from the bar who had brought you your champagne. You’d given him little thought since he’d walked away, and you’d never spotted him again, but perhaps that was exactly why he was delivering your food now, as he beamed at you and set down the plate. 

Men did love a little attention, after all. 

Reaching for the bottle of champagne cooling in the centre of the table, the waiter never looked away from you as he refilled your glass without being asked. Draco finally seemed to notice as he finished adjusting his napkin, gaze narrowing on the man serving you. “You’ve got to be kidding me…” He muttered.

You pretended to take no notice, smiling at the man and waving your fingers flirtily as he walked away.

“I’m going to get another drink at the bar,” He announced, leaving without his glass and without asking if anyone else wanted one. You knew where he was truly going, if the lock of his jaw and the stamp in his step were any indication. You doubted you’d be seeing that waiter again.

As you poked at your food, Pansy excused herself too, only a few bites into her meal before she disappeared with a wicked grin and no explanation to anyone. Enzo just chuckled beside you, glancing around the room like he was watching all the cogs of a machine in motion, before turning his gaze on you. “You do look lovely tonight, do you know that?”

“Of course I do. I spent days on end trying on dress after dress to find this.” You sighed, admiring the gorgeous piece of art on your body as you set your cutlery down. 

“And is it serving the purpose you need it to?” He teased, voice knowing, and you nodded. Flicking your gaze over the patrons and guests in the room, you searched for Draco, finding him talking politely to one of his mother’s friends at the bar. 

“It is, I think.”

“Let’s hope it stays that way.” He whispered, your focus still on the man who truly held your heart, who was making his polite excuse and walking way, back towards you all. His gaze locked on yours, only for a second, before Pansy was calling your name and drawing your focus elsewhere. 

When you looked up to her, she was grinning, a man by her side. “This is Elliot, he’s been wanting to meet you for some time. I promised him I’d introduce you both tonight.”

You offered the best smile you could as his cheeks reddened, and Pansy merely patted him on the shoulder, slinking away as you offered your hand to him. “Lovely to meet you, Elliot.”

“You too. As embarrassing as that introduction was, it’s true. I have wanted to meet you for some time.” He had a kind smile and pretty eyes, and he seemed far too nice to be dragged into your game tonight, but he seemed almost like a willing participant, and you weren’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. As Draco took his seat, Elliot continued, “Pansy has told me so much about you. You know, if you’re free one day before you go back to that fancy boarding school of yours, I’d love to take you out.”

“Yeah? What have you got in mind?” You smile, twisting a little more to face him, and your encouragement only brightens his expression as Draco’s darkens in your peripheral.

“A night in London, perhaps. We could get dinner, and see the opera?”

“She doesn’t like the opera.” Draco sneered, openly staring at Elliot with enough contempt to scare away lesser men. Elliot tugged at his collar, glancing at Draco, and then back to you as you tried to hide your shock at his behaviour.

“The theatre, then?”

Draco looked ready to snap again, and before he could, you nodded, sparing your unwilling partner. “That sounds wonderful, I’ll see what my schedule says. I’ll get in touch with you through Pansy if I can find the time, is that okay?”

“Perfect.” He smiled, sneaking another wary glance at Draco who was not backing down from glaring at him unflinchingly, but Elliot shook it off, bravely. “It was a pleasure to meet you, truly.”

“And you, Elliot.”

Soon after he left, the plates were being cleared. You tried not to smirk as a different waiter, and one who very pointedly did not so much as even catch your gaze, cleared your dishes away at record speed. 

You knew that Draco had something, everything, to do with that. He was jealous by nature, a spoilt single child who did not like to share his favourite toys, and that is exactly what you were betting on tonight.

You stood, taking a lap around the room with Pansy to settle your food before the next course, and to get another drink. She took the opportunity to fill you in on how her first Christmas event with Blaise’s family had gone, and when you returned, you made sure to surreptitiously place yourself behind Draco’s chair. 

You placed a hand on his shoulder, a friendly gesture, squeezing and rubbing enough that your thumb swept over his collar and across his neck. His pulse jumped under your touch, and he tipped his head closer, into your touch. 

As he did so, your heart leapt in your chest. To others, it might look like a friendly gesture but to you, it meant so much more. You were tempted to cave then and there, to live with this being enough, to settle, but you couldn't. You didn’t want this to be it, you wanted to follow this by leaning down to kiss him, to have him smile against your lips in public the way he did when you were alone. 

To arrive at these events together, arms linked, and to stumble out tiredly together too. To sit by him, his hand on your thigh, to rest your head on his shoulder, to kiss him on the dance floor. The thought was enough to push you through. 

He twisted his head, to kiss your hand like he often did when you did this. Carefully, you slipped your hand away just in time, knuckles brushing across the nape of his neck as you stepped away, and back to your seat. 

His sights moved to you, but like a saving grace, the servers began to appear with more dishes, and dinner soon distracted you all. A delicious serving of salmon and potatoes, and the hall fell quiet enough for you to hear the beautiful music playing when chatter fell low. 

Low conversation, drinks refilled, and that perfect mood set across the room, as people took to the tables and quieted down. Your favourite part of the night, usually. Good food, your friends, and a chance to catch up without the usual weight of it all sitting on you. Regulus was talking, telling the rare story that had him caught up in a long conversation where he usually just observed quietly, but your attention was fixed on your lover. 

Until, Theo spoke up. 

“Oh, merda,” He muttered across Reggie’s’ story, his gaze cutting to you alarmingly quickly. “I forgot to tell you.”

“Tell me what?” Your heart skipped a beat, a flash of panic.

“My cousin flew in last minute for the party, and he wants to speak to you.” Theo’s words soothed your panic, and you offered him a flat look for the dramatic way he’d put it. Taking a sip from your glass, you raised a brow.

“When?”

“Now.” He confirmed, sights lifting to sit just behind you, and before you could even turn, a chair was being pulled up beside your own from another table. Turning your head to the owner, a smile burst across your face at the man sitting before you. 

“Dario!” Your arms were around his neck before you could stop yourself, and he was chuckling as he bundled you into an equally enthusiastic hug. He chuckled lightly, pulling back only far enough to press a friendly kiss to your cheek, and you cupped his face as you parted from him. “You’re growing a beard!”

“My mother hates it.” He chuckled, rubbing a hand over it. As you twisted a little more towards him, he reached down, practically manhandling you as he reached for the edge of your seat by your legs, tugging it sideways to face him. You squealed as the chair jolted, screeching on the floor, tugging you closer as he leaned in. “Sei incantevole.”

“Are you charming me in Italian?” You smirk, a boyish smile on his face as he lounged back in his seat. “What are you doing here, anyway? Theo said none of you were flying in this year! I thought you couldn't make it.”

“I couldn't,” He sighed, shrugging, “But, then I heard that you would be here, without a date, and I knew I just had to make it. So, here I am, la mia bella donna. You think a short flight from Italy would stop me rushing over here to you?”

Your giggle was against your control. Even if he was more like family than a romantic interest, the way his accent twisted around coyly spoken words, was enough to bring a blush to even the most unreceptive woman’s face. “Cut it out, you flirt.”

“You’ll save me a dance later, right?”

“We’ll see.” He rose his brow, and you lifted your glass, taking a sip of bubbly to hide your smile, leaving him hanging. “Depends on how much more of your cheesy flirting I can endure.”

“You mean my wonderful Italian charm?” He teased, pinching one of your cheeks, and deepening the flush he had already created. “Don’t think I don’t see the way I make you blush.

You could only scoff, mouth dry as you tried to think of a retort, and you didn’t miss Theo muttering in Italian behind you, curse words you’d picked up on tumbling from his mouth. 

“Perhaps this can convince you,” Dario reaches for his inner pocket, producing a small, slim box. An excited squeak breaks from you as he hands it over, your fingers brushing the elegant leather, an Italian name embossed across the front. “Open it later, alright?”

You could only nod, admiring it happily, before slipping the box safely inside of your clutch. He took your hand, kissing your knuckles as he stood. A final wink as he offered you hid charming goodbyes, and a farewell to the rest of the table, before returning his borrowed chair to where he had taken it from. 

You watched as your friend left, disappearing into the crowd, no doubt to mingle and socialise as he had always been so good at, before you swung back around in your chair. 

“He taught you everything you know, huh, Nott?”

Theo only shrugged, a cheeky grin on his face. “What can I say, tesoro? We Nott men just have charm. We’ll woo your panties right off.” He winked, the cockiness not lasting long as Draco swung at him, a fist landing roughly on his arm as the Malfoy heir scowled, glaring at his best friend. 

“Cut it out.” He growled the words through gritted teeth, and your hand shot up, rubbing at your lip to hide your grin as Draco made no effort to hide his own emotions. Theo only laughed, rubbing at the patch on his arm he’d taken the hit.

Dessert was served, a beautiful display of ice cream and winter berries that almost looked too good to eat. The key word being almost. You hadn't been able to resist, however, and the first small groan you’d let out as the sugar hit your tongue had Draco’s gaze snapping straight to you. I did not leave, once, after. 

Instead, he watched, through a dark gaze, every curl of your lips around the spoon, every swipe of your tongue to catch the juice of burst berries. If you’d put on a little extra show, just for him, nobody else had to know. 

It was like he was staring right into your soul, so intense, even after the meal was long since finished. Finally, you indulged him once again, turning to look at him and raising a brow. “Yes, Draco?”

“You look beautiful tonight, I am simply admiring.” He let his gaze move across you slowly, making his admiration apparent, and his gaze lingered a fraction of a second longer on your neck. He stared at you with open adoration, the kind of look that told you exactly how he felt, even if he was fighting it, but he was close to breaking. He was close to losing this game he didn’t know he was playing. Then, his gaze flickered over your shoulder, sweet observation morphing. His brows drew together, his open hand slamming down on the table hard enough to make the glass rattle. “Oh, fucking hell…”

Mattheo erupted with sudden laughter, loud and brash, and there was a tap on your shoulder before you could even ask him what had him in such hysterics. A young man you did not know, perhaps a few years younger than you, and glanced around the table to see which of your friends had put this one together. Each seemed to have caught on in their own time, and had a hand in adding to the fun, to watch Draco suffer more, but none of them were laying any claim to this one. 

“I’ve been watching you all evening, and you are beautiful.” He smiled, stuttering over his words slightly, and Draco made no shy show of his disdain, rolling his eyes and making a disapproving sound. “I was wondering if you might grant me the pleasure of a dance?”

“She would dance with you,” Enzo interrupted, before you could speak at all, leaning forward toward the edge of your chair from his own, and you could have kissed him in gratitude for saving you. “But, she promised me her first dance. Isn’t that right, love? And I think now is the perfect time. Let’s go.”

Offering you his hand, you took it, letting him sweep you away without a second’s delay, navigating you both to the dance floor and twirling you expertly into his arms. One hand clasped your own, the other sitting at a respectable place on your waist, your own on his shoulder, and he fell into the well-rehearsed steps of a classical ballroom dance he’d been doing since he could walk. 

You let out a shaky sigh, relief flooding your veins as you looked back to your seat, noticing that the boy had taken Enzo’s rejection well and disappeared, not hanging around and waiting for your return. 

“You’re killing him slowly, like a predator playing with its prey,” Enzo smirked, neither of you needing to clarify who you were talking about, as he brought up his cousin. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Really?” He chuckled, spinning you out before pulling you back in, sharp actions that made you dizzy with their accuracy, and you grinned as he brought you tumbling right back into his arms, perfectly. If he’d been trying to win you over, his dancing alone would’ve had you swooning. “You just show up to a fancy event like this, dripping in diamonds and pearls and looking like a million bucks, supposedly single. You mean to tell me you didn’t know that all these rich London boys wouldn't descend on you like vultures?”

“Not my fault I’m single and hot, Enz.”

He just laughed, dipping you a little. “We do struggle, don’t we.” You wove between people, a happy silence falling between you both once again as he guided you over the floor, back and forth, “Are you, though? Single, I mean.”

“That is up to your cousin.”

“Touché.”

You continued to move, until your feet were sore from all the twirling, clinging to Enzo in fits of giggles as he spun and twirled and dipped you more, hands on your waist as he lifted you through the air, making a show of his dancing. 

He may have seemed altruistic in his gestures, sweeping in to save you and Draco from your dance with the boy, but he was using you too. Enzo was taking every opportunity to show off his moves to every lady around the room watching, a flirty smile on his face between conversations and he glanced around, and you wouldn't be surprised if he received more offers than Theo or Dario by the end of the night. 

As the third song came to an end, and the music fell for just a second, you panted slightly, arm around his neck now, looking up at him with flushed cheeks and a bright smile. “Can we take a break?”

“Tired, already? You only gave me three so far.” He smirked at the way your jaw dropped, your face going hot and you knew your cheeks were red. You untangled yourself from his body, barely making it a step away from his laughter before he wrapped an arm around your waist, tugging you into his side. “Oh, c’mon. I thought the aim was to flirt and make him mad?”

“He’s not even here to listen!”

“I’m practising,” Enzo murmured, steering you towards the bar, and leaning on the wood as he flagged down the bartender. You were quickly served, by a woman who fawned over Enzo as she passed by, and you had to snap your fingers in front of his face to snap his gaze away from her retreating form. “So, how long are you going to make him—”

A tap on Enzo’s shoulder cut him off, and he turned to look, straightening up instantly from his slumped position. As soon as he moved so you could see, your relaxation melted away too, as you found yourself face to face with Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy. 

“Lorenzo, I’ve hardly had a chance to talk to you all evening. I want to ask you about your schoolwork.” The impressively formal and deep voice of Lucius Malfoy settled over your skin like fresh snow, cold but smooth, and you shuddered. 

Narcissa only chuckled lightly at her husband’s words, her eyes on you. “You’ve been busy, though. Who is your lovely lady?”

“Uncle Lucius, Aunt Cissa. This is my friend, (Y/n).”

It wasn’t exactly the circumstances you’d wanted to meet them under, but you smiled nonetheless, nerves running wild as you offered your hand to them both, shaking politely just as your parents had taught you. 

“Ah, (Y/n). Yes. I make a point of knowing all of Draco’s school friends, but I’m in business with your father, aren’t I?” Something like a small kernel of sweetness was buried in that statement, his interest in his son’s life, even if he tried to hide it behind formalities, but it wasn’t your place to comment. 

“Yes, sir. That is correct.”

“They’re very proud of your schoolwork. They were telling me about your latest project. You synthesised a new potion to grow murkweed faster, is that true?”

You were surprised he knew so much, your small project submitted for Herbology was the last thing you’d expected Lucius Malfoy to know of, or take an interest in, and your mouth felt like sandpaper as you tried to form words. “Yes. Yes, sir. That’s right.”

“Interesting.” That calculating gaze scanned over you, analysing you from head to toe, like he could see right through you with a single glance. “That is impressive, for someone of your age. I’d be open to learning more. Are you considering making a future out of your alchemy talents? I have connections that I could contact for you.” 

You were speechless, your stomach going wild with butterflies born of both excitement and anxiety. He smirked, a look that would set you on edge if you weren’t sure deep down that this was in your interests, not against them. 

“Perhaps we can discuss it more soon, when we next see you. With Enzo?”

Enzo’s arm around your waist shifted, a reassuring weight that you were sure had been your only grounding presence for this surreal conversation. He patted your hip encouragingly. “Oh, no, we aren’t…” 

Motioning between you both, Lucius’ brows furrowed, and Narcissa tried to hide her sigh.

“Sorry to disappoint you, Aunt Cissa. (Y/n) isn’t mine, though it is wonderful that you approve.” Before either could question him, or expand on their confusion, Enzo gave your waist a final rub, before removing his touch from you entirely, and stepping towards his family. “Shall we go and discuss schoolwork then, Uncle? You have questions, and I have answers. I hope the ones you want.”

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss (Y/l/n).” Lucius politely offered you his hand again, shaking it firmly, and that was about as friendly a dismissal as you’d ever get from him, you’d heard. This was only supported by the surprised look on Narcissa’s face, and the beam Enz gave you as he guided his uncle away. 

“I hope to see you again soon, (Y/n). You look wonderful this evening, thank you for coming.” Narcissa murmured, before following her husband and nephew, glancing back at you only once over her shoulder. She knew. The woman was far more cunning than she let on, the true embodiment of a sneaky Slytherin, observing quietly and taking everything in. Her eyes glinted. She knew you knew she knew, too.

Your heart was pounding, cheeks warm as you lifted your fingers to them cautiously. The disappointed waitress placed down two drinks before you, Enzo long gone without his, but you smiled at her with appreciation, fingers shaking a little as you lifted the glass to your lips to take a sip. 

You’d spoken to Draco’s parents. 

They’d liked you. Lucius had offered to put you onto the career path, and Narcissa had complimented your dress. A soft laugh of disbelief slipped free, your eyes sliding closed for just a second as you revelled in the moment. 

It hasn’t been what you’d set out for tonight, but it was far more than what you’d hoped for. Opening your eyes again, to head back to the table and find Draco, you were met by the sight of a stranger leaning before you on the bar, grinning down at you in amusement. “Hello.”

“Hi.” You gave a terse smile, and a single nod. “If you’ll excuse me—”

“I didn’t even get to ask you to dance yet. Saw you out on the floor with the Berkshire boy, earlier, and I thought—”

“I’m dancing with her next, mate. Piss off.” 

Draco rarely sounded that mad, a chill went down your spine as you felt an arm slide around your waist, tugging you back into his chest. “Dray…”

The stranger only scoffed, glaring at Draco as he wandered away, and your hand reached for his forearm on your body. He snatched it away too soon, however, tugging on your hip to turn you around. His jaw was clenched tight, eyes more frozen than the coldest glacier. “Dance with me.”

Not a request, and he didn’t wait for an answer, before plucking your drink from your hand and slamming it down onto the bar, guiding you back to the swaying bodies. Standing before you, you offered him your hand, your hand sitting lightly on his shoulder. He didn’t take the respectable route, instead, his arm wrapped tight around your waist, sweeping you close to his body, and beginning to move you both in simple steps. 

It was several minutes before he relaxed, your arm sliding further around his neck in a more intimate hold, bringing the two of you much closer, swaying slowly. The tension in his body gave way with every step, and with a resigned sigh, he finally spoke, “You met my parents.”

“I did. They were lovely. Very curious about Enzo and I’s relationship.”

His hand clenched on your waist, and you tipped your head at him as his piercing gaze drilled into you. One more move…

“Oh, don’t be so mad, Dray. We’re only shagging, after all. You’ll find a new girl if I get swept away by someone else.”

His eyes narrowed, jaw clenching, and a fire burned in those silver eyes now, melting the ice away with rage. Checkmate.

“You win, alright? I’m not playing this stupid game any longer.” He took a deep breath, and another, fingers twitching on your back as jealousy bubbled under the surface. “For fucks sake, how many pieces of jewellery from other guys are you wearing? Who bought you those earrings, that necklace? I should be the only one buying you gifts. I should be the one spoiling you. You want the Malfoy family ring? I’ll go yank it off my mother’s engagement ring from her finger right now, just take all this off.”

He studied you for a second, confusion growing at the smirk that grew on your lips. Victory was yours, and you leaned in, pressing a delicate kiss to his cheek. Letting the hand from his neck smooth down his chest, his gaze stayed locked on the jewels around your neck, glaring angrily. “No.”

“No?”

“No. It’s pretty. I’m going to keep wearing it all, let it remind you what you have. Next time you piss me off, forget a date, or use the last of my shampoo, I’m going to put it all back on so you can remember how many guys would jump at the chance.” His nostrils flared, but he stayed silent, wisely knowing when to keep his mouth shut. “I don’t want your family ring, Malfoy. Not yet. I just want a proper title, and the respect that comes with it. I’m not your booty call, or your side piece. You don’t want to play games anymore? Then don’t.”

“You already won.” He whispers, his head dropping down to let his forehead rest on your own. “You know how much you mean to me.”

“Yes, I do. But I want the whole world to know it, too, Dray.”

He didn’t respond verbally. Instead, he twisted his head, enough to press his mouth to your own, silencing any more arguments between you both as he kissed you. His lips claimed yours, a tender and loving kiss, showing everyone just how much you meant to him. There was no mistaking the emotions within it, not as his arms wrapped around your body, holding you to him as the pretence of dancing was given up, your hand on the back of his head, fingers in his hair, meeting every push and pull.

When he pulled away, your smile took over, bashful now under his openly adoring gaze, and he stole several more pecks from your lips. A happy sound escaped you as he tugged you in, tucking his face into your neck, and swaying you both to the music. 

“Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?”

“You have, but I’d be open to hearing it again.” Your hand smoothed over his hair, and he chuckled against your skin, leaving a kiss on the crook of your neck before raising to meet your eye. 

“You are breathtaking, darling. I’m in awe. This colour is my favourite, you know.”

“Why do you think I wore it?”

His fingers trailed down your spine, eyes sparkling even more at that revelation. “How about we get out of here? We’ll make our goodbyes to my parents, and head out.”

“Our goodbyes?” You repeated as he took your hand, lacing your fingers together. 

“Yes. From their son and his girlfriend. I think you deserve a proper introduction, after all.”

Tugging you across the floor, he gave you no time to prepare, and certainly, none to disagree, as you smoothed your hair and attempted to control the blush he’d brought to your cheeks. Through the crowds he wove, until he was pulling to a stop just shy of his parents, and Enzo looked as though he could have cried with relief when Lucius’ intense focus was taken away from him. The boy quickly slipped away as both of Draco’s parents turned to face you. 

“Miss (Y/l/n), when we said we hoped to see you again soon, I didn’t realise you’d take it quite this literally.” He murmured, voice as low and calm as always, and your lips parted, a different kind of heat flooding your features. 

“Oh, behave now, Lucius,” Narcissa grinned, her gaze dropping to your clasped hands, before she reached up to her son’s face, pinching his cheek with a smile. “Draco, darling, I’ve hardly seen you all evening.”

“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you Mother, but we’ll be leaving early.” She only gave him a knowing look, ignoring Lucius’ displeased huff, as if she wasn’t surprised at all. 

“‘We’?”

“My girlfriend and I.” He said, proud and strong, before tugging you forward a little more to stand in front of him. His hand left your own, circling your waist instead, and she offered him a smile at the news. 

“I see.” She smiled, patting her son’s cheek affectionately, before turning that knowing gaze on you. “Now Lorenzo’s evasiveness whenever I asked him about you makes sense.”

“You asked about me?” Your words were a rushed squeak, which only seemed to amuse Narcissa more. 

“Of course, dear. I wanted to know more about you. I’d ask you to sit and chat with me for a spell, but I believe my son might combust if I did.”

“Mother!” He gasped, and Lucius only tutted. 

“Draco.” His father growled softly, shaking his head, and the red on his son’s cheeks only grew.

“You both may go, for now. But I hope you’ll visit me soon, and we might talk?”

“You mean… just us?” Your words tapered off to a near whisper, and Lucius smirked to himself as Draco rolled his eyes. 

“Yes, dear. We’ll have tea.”

You could only nod, bidding your final farewells to them both in a state of awe, before Draco was hurrying you along. Tight hands gripping your waist, lips on your neck as he loved you through the crowds, swiping up your bag and giving you barely a moment to say goodbye to your friends before sweeping you away again. It was only due to the snow falling outside, you were sure, that he allowed you to stop long enough to get your coats. 

Helping you, he lifted the garment onto you from behind, kissing your cheek as he reached around your body to fasten it. His elegant coat was already on, and leather gloves were on his hands as he offered you one. Lacing your fingers through his own, he smiled, tugging you out into the freezing night, and ushering you around the side of the Manor, away from the stream of cars lined up for guests as they left. 

“Where are we going, Dray?” 

“To one of the gardens near the path.” He never turned back, leading you carefully around patches of ice and slippery snow as you moved, the light from the house fading. It was almost pitch black, before he mumbled a small spell, and the garden lights glowed to light, glittering on the fresh blanket of ice. 

Sitting on the grass was an old-fashioned sleigh, enchanted to keep dry, even in the snow, and two reindeer sat happily in the snow snuffling at the grass and scattered food. 

The landscape stretched out far before you both, trees and grass and walls all covered in snow like something from a Christmas card, and the sigh that left your lips clouded in the air before your face. 

“Oh, Draco…” Taking a few steps closer, snow-tipped over the tops of your heels as you stepped off the pathway onto the grass, chilling your feet for only a second, before Draco was following. Scooping you up into his arms, you kicked the ice from your feet with a giggle, your arms looping around his neck. “What’s all this?”

“This is your Christmas present. I didn’t realise that was the kind of ice you wanted instead.” He muttered, eyes flicking down to your neck, as he carried you carefully through the snow and towards the ornate sleigh. As you leaned in to kiss his cheek, he smiled shyly, avoiding your gaze as he became embarrassed, “I wanted to do something romantic for you. We can take the sleigh back to the town, get a cab, and take the jet anywhere you want to go. Pansy already packed a bag for you.”

He placed you down on the edge of the sleigh, letting you shuffle across onto the warmed leather. With another kiss to your lips, he scoffed at your smile. 

“Merry Christmas, my wicked little girlfriend.”

“I can’t believe you arranged all this.” You were practically bouncing in your seat, watching as Draco nervously tugged on the reins, prompting the lazy animals to stand back up, before settling into the sleigh himself. Like they knew just what to do, they took off in a slow trot, tugging the pair of you along through the snow. 

“Maybe if you’d have waited, instead of making me fight for my life tonight, you’d have been surprised.”

His arm was splayed along the back of the seat, and you snuggled in a little closer to him. Curling his arm around you, he pressed a kiss to your forehead, shaking his head and burying his nose in your hair. “If I didn’t make you fight for me, Dray, you’d probably have introduced me to your mother as your study partner. I gave you a little push, that’s all.”

“Is that so?” He muttered, guiding your face up so he could peck your lips. “Who do you think helped me arrange all of this for my ‘lovely lady friend’, hm? I’ve been writing to my mother about having an interest in someone for months now. You underestimate me.”

“You never gave me any other indication!” 

“Oh, please. You walk me like a damn dog, you knew how I felt.” His mouth closed over your own, stealing a kiss, and you couldn't help but smile into it. “I think tonight just proves it.”

The sleigh trotted on as Draco kissed you in the back, beyond thought and reason, your hands tucked into his coat for warmth as he kept you cuddled in close to his side. 

Minutes melted away, the two of you lost in your own world as you jostled and trotted through the fields, back toward the town. Whatever he had planned, it had been in motion for days, and the thought only made you fall a little more in love with him. Perhaps you had underestimated him, but none of it mattered now, not when he was kissing you like you were his only way to breathe, and you had him in your arms, properly, at last.

“So, Pansy knew about your little plan?”

“Yes. I told her days ago.” 

“Hm…” You loved her, and it was perhaps her knowledge of Draco’s actions that made this all the funnier. “So, she knew about your plan, and mine. And still, she made sure to introduce guys to me all night. She played us both just for her own amusement.”

As you thought of her, your fingers lifted to your neck, sitting on the delicate jewellery there, and Draco huffed. Looping his finger underneath it, he tugged lightly. “Can you take this off now, please?”

“Why would I do that?” His pout deepened, glaring at the offending item, and you gave in with an airy laugh. “Pansy, Daph and Tori picked it out personally.”

“What?” His head snapped up, pout gone as his jaw dropped, and he was not laughing like you were. “You let me believe another guy decked you out in diamonds all night! What about the matching earrings?”

“Blaise.”

“The bracelet?”

“Theo and the Notts.” 

At that mention, his eyes narrowed again, searching for your clutch and finding it resting in your lap. “But Theo’s cousin Mario gave you a separate gift.”

“Dario.” You corrected, and he mimicked it childishly, scoffing afterwards. “Well, that part was real. He truly was flirting, and I have no idea what it is, I haven’t opened it yet.”

“Give it to me.” He reached for your bag, a second too slow as you swiped it away from him with a gasp. He didn’t give up, still trying to snatch it as he leaned over you, pressing you back into the seat through fits of laughter, the two of you fighting over the bag until it was pressed to your chest, your eyes wide as you stared up at him, shaking your head. “Give it to me! I’m chucking it, hand it over!”

“No, it’s mine!” He slumped back into his seat, panting for breath and smoothing his hair back down. He was pointedly staring away in the opposite direction, and when you leaned in closer with a chuckle, he leaned away. Grabbing his shoulder, you planted yourself firmly in his lap, kissing the underside of his jaw. “I’m keeping it, but your present is better, I just know it. Whatever it is, could never beat this.”

“Promise?”

“I promise, Dray.” 

He gave in, wrapping his arms around your waist, tugging you in closer to his body and pressing a happy kiss to your cheek. “Fine, but I’m buying you a new necklace when we get off the damn plane. I don’t care who bought that one.”

[writingwife-83]

Guys, if you read on AO3 please try to create an account. So many of us writers are going to be forced to lock down our fics to registered users out of necessity to help keep AI away, and it kills us because we don’t want to stop any of you from reading.

AO3 is invite only. So if you know an AO3 user, ask if they have an invitation to give you (we’re given invite codes to share with others who want to join) because that’s an easy way to get in. If you don’t know someone you can ask, this is AO3’s instructions for requesting one from them…

I know this seems like an extra step and maybe you don’t think you need it and can just read from people who haven’t locked their fics. But this isn’t just about you as the reader. If you enjoy fics and you want to keep them coming, this is how you support your favorite writers! If our stats and comments plummet, I guarantee writing is going to start going down as well. Nobody wants that! So please consider making an account and signal boosting this as well! 🙏🏻

**NOTE: AO3 indicates (as of today) there’s 48k some people in the queue for invites and they’re sending out about 5k per day. That’s not a bad wait at all!!**

[incognit0slut]

Hypothetically

Chronically single, you suggest a pact with your best friend to start a family together when you turn forty.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x bau fem reader

Category: fluff/comfort

Warnings: marriage and baby talk, reader is insecure because she feels left out

A/n: This is my entry for the kid fic challenge by @imagining-in-the-margins! This was like a breath of fresh air from all the smut I’ve been writing

"Do you want to have a baby with me?"

The scalding coffee burned his tongue as your question lingered in the air. Spencer cleared his throat awkwardly and patted his chest, his eyes drifting towards you. "Uh... what?"

"Hypothetically," you replied, the tap of your pen echoing against the round table between you. "It's like a pact. If we're both still single in the future, we get married to one another and, well, start a family together."

Spencer felt the clamminess of his palms as he set his mug down, trying to steady himself. He considered you as one of the closest people in his life, if not his best friend, and he was accustomed to your random questions, but this sudden topic of conversation seemed to strike a nerve.

"Where..." he began, wiping his palm along his pants. "...where is this coming from?"

You shrugged casually, the tapping of your pen momentarily ceasing. "Just a thought. I mean, we're both at that age where these things start to cross our minds, right?"

Spencer swallowed, trying to push down the unease rising in his chest. "Yeah, I guess so," he muttered, but as he studied you, he noticed the tension in your shoulders. "Are you okay?"

Your gaze flickered away for a moment before you sighed, slumping against your chair.

"I have a wedding coming up this weekend." Spencer frowned, not understanding what you were trying to say. You continued, "And another one next week, and guess what? Two of my cousins are getting married next month."

"What does that have to do with...?" His voice trailed off as realization dawned on him. "Ah, I see."

But you weren't finished. Somehow, the thoughts that had lingered in your mind for the past few days spilled out right then and there, in the middle of broad daylight when you were supposed to be focusing on the case you were working on.

"And a close friend I went to high school with just gave birth while another friend from college announced she's two months pregnant. And look at me," you exclaimed, your arms flying around. "No wedding. No pregnancy. Spencer, I don't even have a boyfriend, heck, I forgot what it's like to go out on a date!"

He watched as your brow furrowed into a frown, and although your demeanor was all over the place, he couldn't help but notice how you still managed to look pretty.

"Spence?" You asked, nudging his leg with your foot under the table. "Are you listening to me?"

He blinked, momentarily pulled from his thoughts by your voice. "Sorry," he replied. "I'm listening."

You gave him a skeptical look, but the tension in your shoulders seemed to ease slightly as you leaned back in your chair.

"I just... I don't know, I feel like I'm left behind." You sighed, running a hand through your hair. "I mean, I'm happy for my friends and all, but sometimes it feels like everyone's moving forward but me. Like I'm stuck in this... this rut."

Spencer wasn't sure how to respond. On one hand, he knew how it felt to want something that seemed out of reach, but on the other hand, he felt like it wasn't his place to offer advice when he wasn't even sure what the future held for him.

"I get it," he finally said, trying to gather his thoughts. The least he could do was try to offer some comfort. "But just because you haven't reached those milestones yet doesn't mean you won't get there eventually."

"But what if it doesn't happen? What if I'm still all alone and nobody loves me when I'm gray and old?"

He frowned at you. "I'd still love you when you're gray and old."

"Platonically. You love me as much as you love JJ. Or Emily. Or Penny, or even Morgan." You leaned over the table. "I want to be loved passionately by someone who is head over heels for me, who can't imagine a life without me. I want to feel that kind of happiness."

His frown deepened. "I don't think you should find happiness in another person."

"You're missing the point," you groaned, crossing your arms. "I'm not saying I want to depend on someone else for my happiness. But is it too much to ask for someone to share it with? To feel like I'm someone's everything and not just another friend in the group?"

His expression softened as he listened, a sense of familiarity washing over him. He remembered feeling the same thing once, or maybe more than once; he wasn't sure. He had lost count of the times he felt his life was falling short.

But he realized the more he thought about the why—why was he so different? why couldn't he find love?—the more he felt worthless, and he hated that. So what was the best thing he did to ignore those thoughts?

Bury himself in work, because to him, pushing those feelings aside was easier than confronting them. But now, as he looked at you, it felt like he was seeing his own reflection and your words hit him harder than he expected.

"No," he quietly agreed. "It's not too much to ask for."

"I guess what I'm trying to say is... I'm tired of waiting for life to happen to me." Your gaze slowly met his. "So I came up with a plan."

His throat felt dry as he recalled how this conversation started in the first place. "The... baby plan?"

You nodded enthusiastically, sliding into the seat next to him.

"Think about it. If we're both still single when we're..." You paused, furrowing your brow as you did a quick calculation. "Forty? Yeah, let's say we're both still single when we're forty, with no partners, or like, no friends with benefits?"

You shook your head.

“Just... with no one in our lives—we get married. You and me."

He blinked, trying to process your proposal. It was unexpected, to say the least, but there was a strange logic to it that he couldn't quite shake. The idea of marrying his best friend as a backup plan was both absurd and oddly comforting.

"But what about... love?" he asked cautiously. "Wasn't that what you wanted?"

You paused, considering his question before responding. "I mean, I don't think it's impossible," you said, leaning back in your seat. "Haven't you ever heard of the saying, 'Marry your best friend'?"

His gaze lingered on you, his heart beating hard against his chest. "You're saying that we can fall in love?"

Your eyes met his, and a small smile tugged at the corners of your lips. "Who knows?" you replied softly. "Stranger things have happened."

Spencer shouldn't entertain the possibility. After all, who knew what could happen in the future? It seemed like an absurd thought, but as he stared at you, it was hard not to imagine a life with you as his wife.

He imagined you in a white dress, walking down the aisle towards him with a radiant smile on your face. He pictured you both in the house you had just bought, dancing joyfully around the empty rooms as you unpacked boxes together.

Then thoughts of you being pregnant with his child—or maybe even children—filled his mind, and he envisioned a future where your kids would run around in the backyard with a pet dog trailing behind.

And then he considered the prospect of growing old with you, watching as your children eventually started families of their own while you found comfort in each other's company. All of these possibilities didn't seem so bad, because if anyone could understand him on a deep level, it was definitely you.

Maybe this crazy plan of yours wasn't so crazy after all.

"I... I guess it's not impossible," he finally admitted. Then, not wanting to seem too eager, he added, "Hypothetically speaking."

"Of course," you replied with a smile. "Hypothetically speaking."

Suddenly feeling flustered by your gaze, Spencer looked away and focused on his coffee, bringing the mug to his lips. Then you heard laughter and footsteps drawing closer, and soon Derek and Emily entered the room. Their eyes immediately landed on the two of you, sitting closely together at the table.

"What are you children whispering about?" Derek's voice interrupted, his eyebrows raised curiously as he glanced between you.

You didn't miss a beat. “Spencer and I are having a baby together."

Spencer choked on his coffee, his eyes widening in shock as he coughed and sputtered. You quickly moved to pat his back.

"Well, we're gonna get married first, right, Spence?" you added with a grin, glancing at him expectantly.

Spencer finally managed to regain his composure, clearing his throat awkwardly as he shot you a sideways glance. "Um, yeah, of course," he stammered, his cheeks still tinged with embarrassment. "Hypothetically."

Derek and Emily exchanged bemused glances, a silent conversation passing between them. Emily's curiosity seemed to win out as she lifted a hand, turning her attention back to you. "Care to explain?"

"We were discussing our backup plan."

"Backup plan?" Derek echoed. 

"Yeah," you replied with a nod. "In case neither of us finds the right person by the time we're, oh, I don't know, forty or so, we figured we'd marry each other and start a family."

Derek placed a hand over his chest, feigning hurt. "And you chose Pretty Boy over me?"

"I'm not going to compete with all your lady friends," you shot back, rising from your seat. "Come on, Spence, let's grab some lunch and brainstorm baby names."

He stood up, giving you a pointed look.

"Or do you want to discuss how we'd make those babies in the future?"

"Well, I was thinking of Amelia if it's a girl..."

You grinned, linking your arm through his before guiding him towards the door. Derek and Emily observed the natural closeness between you two, how you were practically clinging to him and how he seemed to be comfortable with it.

Derek turned to Emily as you disappeared down the hallway. "Do you think they'd actually get married when they hit forty?"

Emily shook her head. "Nope," she replied confidently. "I give it a year until he's already down on one knee."

He laughed, nodding in agreement. With the way Spencer's gaze lingered on you with unmistakable affection, it seemed like it was only a matter of time.

[littlemisshyperfixation]

Yoongi Fic Recommendations

a - angst f - fluff s - smut

part 2

Series

In the Margins (a s f) by @bonvoyagenoona ⊹₊⋆ You weren’t sure what he would look like. His writing made you think of a cabin nestled among tall pines, a well-worn cardigan, a scotch neat, and a wistful wisp of smoke seeping into the air from the bowl of an unattended tobacco pipe. What stands before you now is a studio apartment in the city, cigarette butts, coffee stains, and a scowl. There’s definitely been a mistake.

Fix You (f a) by @casuallyimagining ⊹₊⋆ When you take in a stray cat, you have no idea he’s secretly a hybrid trying to escape his past. Can you help him heal?

desolate (a f s) by @angelicyoongie ⊹₊⋆ you just wanted a cute little normal cat to keep you company. so you're not really sure how you ended up with the grumpiest hybrid on earth that seems hellbent on making your life difficult.

One Shots

Set Me Free (a f) by @casuallyimagining ⊹₊⋆ Tired of being told how to live his life and unsure of where he stands in the world, Yoongi--your soulmate--yearns to be free. When you give him what he wants, it causes a rift in your relationship that seems irreparable. 12 years later, you find him back in your life. Can you mend your relationship? Do you even want to?

back-burner (a f s) by @yoonpobs ⊹₊⋆ sometimes you felt like you were the back-burner of a two-decade-long friendship. how could you ever compete?

Love Language (a s f) by @gukslut ⊹₊⋆ Your boyfriend obviously loves you, but his silence has you questioning if he *wants* you. If you could only get past your damn insecurities maybe you could appreciate what you have.

27 Phone Numbers (f) by @bxebxee ⊹₊⋆ Yoongi has gone through twenty-seven phone numbers over the last ten years, and you haven’t changed yours since high school. 

sweetner (f s) by @taegularities ⊹₊⋆ You used to know how he sounded when you were wrapped around him, but circumstances have pulled you apart and sent you scattering in opposite directions. Feelings shouldn't reappear so easily by simple words, but when you find yourselves in the same place once again, this is exactly what happens.

One Chance (f) by @out-of-jams ⊹₊⋆ A musical genius, a guy with a bad reputation, your assigned partner for your final project. And the last thing you ever would have expected.

Seasons Change (a s) by @taetaesbaebaepsae ⊹₊⋆ Min Yoongi and you, through the seasons, break up and come back together. Nobody said love was easy.

All That Holly, Jolly Sh*t (a f s) by @daechwitatamic ⊹₊⋆ You haven’t seen or heard from Yoongi since he broke your heart five years ago, laying out a logical list of reasons why you were better off breaking up. When a Christmas Eve blizzard traps you together for the night, you have no choice but to examine how few of those reasons are still true. And if they’re not… where does that leave you?

Now We Reign (a s f) by @oddinary4bts ⊹₊⋆ when working on a collab together makes you and Min Yoongi seek comfort with the other, you discover there’s more to life than loneliness. Only, hurdles mark your path in Min Yoongi’s life, and it’s unclear what the outcome will be. Will you be destroyed by him and his world, or will you learn to reign over it, together with him?

take five (a f) by @jiminrings ⊹₊⋆ you're min yoongi's nurse and you have a crush on him, and he gives you five chances to ask him out - he never said anything about accepting though.

The Final - Day 02 (s) by @yoongiofmine ⊹₊⋆ You've been Yoongi's go-to companion for the past few years, well aware that's all you were going to be. Despite your very real, growing feelings for the rapper, you took what you could get every time. Now, you're backstage at day two of the final leg of his tour when another member takes an interest in you. Will it be enough to make Yoongi realize he's got competition?

hello soulmate (f) by @bluemari23 ⊹₊⋆ your first day on the job doesn't turn out the exact way you envisioned

Sugar Rush Ride (s) by @lo1k-diamonds ⊹₊⋆ You produced a song based on your hidden desires for your fellow producer and promised yourself that tonight, things would change. You were done pining after him, but then he arrived at the listening party.

fuck being friends (a f s) by @strawberrynamjoon ⊹₊⋆ as if watching the guy you were hopelessly in love with hook up with another girl each weekend wasn’t enough, he also happened to be your best friend, making things extra complicated. and it only gets worse and worse once he finds you crying in the bathroom at a party one night.

Take One (s f) by @untaemedqueen ⊹₊⋆ There are three things which Yoongi was certain of. One, he was a big star in his field of work. Two, he had a huge cock, one to rival many of the largest names in his industry. Three, he can only find pleasure these days in written word. 

Illicit Favors (f s) by @yoongiofmine ⊹₊⋆ When your editor tells you to re-write the chapters of your book because the sex scenes are weak, suggesting you write them from experience, what do you do when you lack any kind of sexual experiences in general? You go to your friend and ask him for help with it.

Bet On It (s) by @minisugakoobies ⊹₊⋆ What's a little wager between enemies? How about if it's your body on the line?

subscribed (s f) by @aquagustd ⊹₊⋆ you find out that youtube isn’t the only site he uses to satisfy his subscribers. what do you do with that information?

[luveline]

could i request spencer x bombshell!reader where maybe spencer and the team meet reader’s ex boyfriend / a guy she used to be interested in and he’s sooo different from spencer so he assumes her flirting is a joke but really she never had a type until she met spencer n now she’s only into nerdy, sweater-vest wearing sweethearts <3

love ur work sm i only read spencer fics but i read all your characters bc the writing is so intoxicating !!

thank you for your request angel! <3 1k, fem

Spencer looks adorable today. You’re not sure if he knows, but that can be easily rectified. 

“Spencer Reid,” you say sternly. 

He’s immediately wide-eyed and sorry. “What?” he asks, pouting. 

“You have some explaining to do.” You glare, taking your compact from your pocket. You open it, check your appearance, fighting a huge smile as you flick the mirror on him accusingly. “So, what do you have to say for yourself?” 

“I don’t get it.” His eyes jump between the mirror and you. “Sorry?” 

“You should be sorry. Do you see how nice you look today?” He rolls his eyes. “Hey, don’t act like you don’t know what I mean.”

You and Spencer have known each other for years now, and you love him. You’d die for him easily in the field, and out of it too, but you’re not together and he’s bad at accepting compliments, so he shrugs you off like you’re only teasing him. 

“My handsome partner,” you say. Even if he isn’t your boyfriend, that’s your loophole. You and Spencer get paired for everything these days, because you’re best friends and Hotch has given up on separating you (though professionally there’s no need). “I could eat you.” 

“Still mildly threatening, then,” a voice says. 

You spin in your chair, shocked and a little horrified to find the last person you wanted to see here in Connecticut. “Cory!” you say, knowing he’ll believe you’re enthusiasm if nobody else. 

“Hi, beautiful. You weren’t gonna call me?” 

Your lips pop as you reply, “I was definitely going to, just as soon as we weren’t on the clock. How are you?” you ask, standing to receive the hug you know he’s going to give. 

Cory is… well, he’s gorgeous, though that hadn’t been why you had fun with him when you were here last. He’d seemed nice enough and plainly interested in you at the time, and you’d been sort of lonely, so really he was a necessity of the soul rather than a want. Plus, he was very rich. 

Gorgeous he may be, but Spencer Reid he is not. You don’t deny it to yourself —the genius behind you has completely changed your type, the kind of man you vy after, and if you’re honest, he’s the one for you. So hugging Cory and pretending you’re going to call him for drinks after the case is over isn’t easy. You lie rather than reject him.

“He seemed nice,” Spencer says in the awkward silence Cory leaves behind. 

“Sure!” you say, blowing out a hot breath. “Was I embarrassing myself? I didn’t expect to see him.” 

“You were the same as usual.” 

You tilt your head back as the door opens again, worried it’ll be Cory back for a last word. Emily smiles at you knowingly, a bag of takeout in hand. “God, did you see that?” she asks, eyebrows rising. “He was perfect.” 

“If you like the Greek god motif,” you joke. 

Spencer’s frowning at his files when you turn back to him. “Spence, what’s wrong?” you ask. 

“Mm? Nothing.”

“You sure?” you ask. 

He maintains that he’s okay as the rest of the team flood in for lunch. You pretend to believe him, not sure what you’ve done to upset him but willing to figure it out. You unwrap his food for him and place his plastic cutlery on a napkin as you know he prefers, sorting through the cup drinks to find his diet lemonade. “Here, handsome,” you say, touching his shoulder gently as you sit down next to him. 

He bristles. 

“Spencer?” you ask. 

He looks around the table. Hotch and Rossi are talking about something with shared smiles, while JJ and Morgan debate the case. Emily’s on her phone with a straw between her lips. They aren’t listening, and so he says, “It’s not a fitting nickname.” 

“What, handsome? That’s not a nickname, it’s a pet name, and it’s true. You’re one of the most handsome guys I’ve ever seen,” —you laugh and grab his elbow when he shakes his head— “are you kidding? Spencer, you could be a model. I’ve told you this a hundred times. You have amazing cheekbones, just dreamy, and your lips–”

“Oh, god, please don’t start,” he says, covering his face with both hands. He sounds like he’s smiling. “I shouldn’t have said anything.” 

Hotch shoots you a don’t tease look. You send him a vehement I’m not back, waiting for him to look away before you prod Spencer again. “You’re so cute, Spencer, you don’t get it.” 

“I don’t wanna be cute, cute isn’t your type–”

Your eyes flare. “What would you know about my type, Spencer? Is this– is this about Cory?” 

“Of course it is,” he says, face pink as he drops his hands. 

“Spencer, he is not my type.” 

“But you dated.”

“One date. And that was before I realised I liked dorks in sweater vests,” you say. You’re both acting like this is half a joke, a skit, in case you’re overheard, but you’re also both well aware that it’s serious and vulnerable and flustering to confess certain things right here and now. Too bad it has to be done. “I miss your glasses, babe, they really added to your charm.” 

Spencer shakes his head, picking up his styrofoam boxed lunch to ignore you. 

You sidle close to him, your pinky finger rubbing the slightest hint of his bare wrist. “Wanna get drinks with me tonight? I need a cover story in case Grecian Cory tracks me down. And, you know you get that really cute blush when you drink. What do you say?” 

“No,” he says with a smile, which means yes in this instance.

You kiss his cheek, giggling at the lipgloss left behind. “You’re my type, handsome.”

[f1fantasys]

I love your writing. The fic you wrote made me think about this one… Lando and reader getting caught by another driver on the grid. Like they are on a vacation and nobody knows for sure if they are dating but they do those little things and once they get caught. Like that?

Aww you have no idea how happy it makes me you like my writing! Hope you enjoy this one anon.

You were mine all along

Warnings - swearing, smut (p in v, oral receiving m and f, blowjobs, unprotected sex, minors DNI)

3.1K

Working for F1 as a social media creator meant you spent a lot of time with all the drivers and their teams. You'd been doing this for 3 years now and it was safe to say there was one driver in particular with whom you were immediately attracted to, the both of you dancing along their lines of exploring something more than just a friendship - Lando.

But that was the problem - you became friends first and foremost, and the thought of risking that for a relationship where you might lose each other? Neither of you were ready to take that step forward.

A lot of your mutual friends (drivers and other media personal) always teased the two of you. What you both didn't know was that bets were being made behind your backs as to when you two would finally get together.

So has close as you were, the days always started perfectly, and the nights always ended internally painful.

That was until 2 months ago though. It was the weekend before the triple header - Lando had invited you, Max and P to his parents cottage in St Tropez.

You knew the more time you spent with him, the more difficult it wold be to keep your thoughts and hands to yourself but on the last night you found yourselves in the hot tub alone, when Max and P called it a night.

The air was palpable, sexual tension reaching a new high with both you and Lando just staring at each other. No words being spoken verbally, but rather with the darkened gaze on each other.

It was no secret to the other that you so badly wanted each other - and after 10 minutes of agony, Lando reached for your arm and pulled you to sit on his lap, eyes never leaving yours.

You bit your lip as you felt Lando's hands explore your body - your shoulders, arms, legs, tummy, his thumbs brushing the undersides of your boobs, and eventually your ass through your bikini bottoms.

As your breathing increased and you tried to suppress your moans - partly because you could feel his hardening dick, Lando bought his hand up to your face. His own thumb now swiping across your lip.

''Lando....'' you said, not sure if you were edging him to carry on, or to stop what he was doing because of the consequences you'd face later.

He blinked a few times, face laced with a sense of confusion, before he spoke two words that changed everything.

''Fuck it'' he mumbled, before crashing his lips to yours, hard and rough, as if his life depended on it.

You reacted instantly, opening your mouth up and letting him slip his tongue in, while your hands pulled at his hair, pulling him impossibly closer.

That was where it all began, and you'd been inseparable from each other ever since. You wanted to keep yourselves in your own bubble for as long as possible, not telling anyone, not even your friends.

It was difficult to say the least, during the triple header. Trying to act normal around each other while working in the paddock, although you'd made a few trips to Lando's driver room for a few pre-quali or pre-race fucks.

Luckily, you were always at the same hotel, so it was easy for you to slip into Lando's room in the late hours of the night where he'd show you how how much he missed you with rough kisses, violent fucks - him slamming into you and filling you up - and after sex cuddles, until you had to sneak back to your room in the early morning.

Things had been going well, no one seemed to have caught on to your relationship - which you were grateful for. It was nice just being the two of you alone.

You were now on a holiday with Lando in Lake Como, two weeks into the summer break. It was a secluded little village with the privacy you'd both craved, so you were spending an entire 10 days here. Lando rented out a little cottage and your days so far had been spent joined at the hip - whether it was cooking, dancing, relaxing doing nothing, and not to mention the endless amounts of sex you'd had.

He'd truly fucked you in every corner of the house - inside and out. The physical part of your relationship was something you both very quickly learned would be a big part of your lives. And Lando never missed an opportunity to get down and dirty on you - so to be together for 10 whole days with no prying eyes - whether it was friends, family or fans - he was going to take advantage of it and not let you up.

Not that you were complaining. You loved when you'd wake up in the morning, Lando's face between your legs, his tongue biting and sucking at your clit as his fingers thrust in and out of you, until you came all over his face and he made sure to lick you clean.

You also loved that one night which started when you cooked and ate dinner, Lando put on some beautiful slow music which had you both waltzing (as best you could) from the lounge to the dining room, and ended with you on your knees in front of him, eagerly pulling his shorts down to reveal his thick girth standing tall, begging for attention. You sucked on his tip, swallowing his pre-cum before you deep throated him, letting him fuck your mouth until he was a moaning mess above you, praising your name and coating your throat white with sheets of warm cum. He said that was the best head he'd ever received.

And let's not forget that time he had you bent over the balcony, his dick fucking into you so hard you saw literal stars above you. You'd both said ''i love you'' for the first time, and after a slow, sensual kiss, things turned heated. You both stripped your clothes as quickly as possible and in no time Lando was forcing you to hold on to the railings as he railed his cock into your pussy overwhelmingly, and his hands found your waist and surely left purple marks to be the seen the next day. He told you how good you were for him, taking him so well. So wet and so tight, only for him. Only for you, you'd told him back. before your came violently around his cock. Your body could barely hold onto the railing, not mentioning how your legs were like jelly, so Lando sat back down and you sat on his dick, riding him almost painfully quickly, as his lips found your hard nipples and bit and pulled on them. You came again, and this time your body gave up on you, so Lando had to fuck himself up into you to chase his own orgasm, before releasing into your pussy, dick twitching inside of you.

So although there was an awful amount of sex happening, you also enjoyed the sweet kisses and cuddles Lando gave to you through the day and night. There was something so domestic about sharing a house with them and you happily agreed when he asked you to move in with him back home in Monaco. Having known each other for 3 years meant you knew each other inside out, so moving in together 2 months into a relationship excited you more than it worried you.

It was your last night here so Lando had booked a dinner at a Micheline star restaurant - a cozy, intimate place. The food was so delicious - you might call it better than sex - though nothing could beat sex with Lando so you take that back. You were both about 4 glasses of wine in while waiting for dessert and Lando was definitely becoming very handsy and affectionate. Not that you could keep your hand to yourself either.

Lando had left his seat to come and sit next to you and you felt his hand rest on your thigh before you felt him slowly make his way up, close to your core, which by now was dripping wet.

Your face flushed as he slipped it through your lacey panties and swipe through your folds before settling at your clit, pinching at it harshly.

Luckily the lighting was low in the restaurant, and anyone who looked your way would have just thought the two of you as young lovers who wanted to be seated as close as possible. If only they knew what was going on under the table you thought.

Conversation had long left you and Lando was his focus was solely on getting his fingers in your cunt, and yours was merely on trying to enjoy the stimulation without letting out any audible moans and pants.

Just as Lando slipped a finger through your entrance you heard an all too familiar voice, which had you shaking with fear as Lando's fingers stilled, still inside of you. ''Fuck'' you heard Lando mutter.

You looked up and saw none other than George and Carmen, staring sheepishly at the two of you.

''Fancy seeing you both here, together'' George muttered very matter of factly.

Lando shook hands with him with the hand that was not in your pussy, as Carmen leaned down to peck your flushed cheeks.

''Oh fuck off'' Lando said, the pair of them the best of friends, so not taking it seriously.

Lando signaled to the waiter to bring two more chairs, which internally had you screaming at him because hello? His finger was literally still in your cunt.

You both knew you'd been caught though, so there would be no denying your relationship - at least to G and C.

''Sooooo'' Carmen started.

''Soooo'' you said back, pretending you didn't know where this was going.

''Fuck it, just tell us the two of you finally sorted your shit out and are fucking'' George piped in.

If your cheeks were pink before, they were fiery red now. You looked at Lando, who by the looks it was feeling the effects of his wine at just this moment, so he was a smiling mess

''Fuck. Well. When you put it like that - fine. Yes'' you said softly.

''But we're not just fucking'' Lando chimed in. ''We're making love too. Coz we're together together'' he said.

''Lan!'' you shrieked, not able to keep a smile at bay, though shocked at his response.

''Blimey, you're in deep'' G said, smirking at Carmen.

You suddenly shifted in your seat, biting your lip, as Lando slowly started to thrust his finger again.

He and George started talking about something, but you were a fool to think Carmen wouldn't catch on to what was going on.

She looked at you, then at Lando, and back to you, and took a breath.

''Are we-wow. Are we interrupting something?'' she asked, trying to keep her smirk in.

''What? no'' you said, although the tremble in your voice said otherwise.

''Fuck, George, time to go'' she quickly said, ushering a confused G up and out of his seat.

''What are you-'' then he looked between you and Lando, for the first time noticing the looks on your faces, then he caught on.

''Holy shit, enjoy, lovebirds, and don't think I'll ever forget this!'' he said, before he and Carmen quickly walked away giggling to each other.

''Fuck me'' Lando groaned, though sped up his actions in and out of you.

''Gladly, take me home baby'' you said as he pulled his finger out and licked it clean, turning you into an even wetter mess down there.

The ride back to the house with palpable with tension. The thought of getting caught sending a rush of adrenaline through you both.

As soon as Lando helped you out the car he picked you up by the back of your knees and threw you over his shoulder, rushing into the house at such a speed you had no time to react.

He placed you down on the kitchen counter before ripping your dress of of you, eyes darkening when he saw you weren't wearing a bra, only panties that barely covered anything.

He snatched them off of you before spreading your legs apart and placing them on his shoulders.

''Lan'' you mumbled, desperate for him to do something.

''Patience babygirl, we're only getting started'' he said, licking his lips.

His one hand reached up to pry his fingers into your mouth for you to suck while his other hand pinched and pulled at your hard nipples. All the while his own mouth found your dripping cunt, licking a stripe up and collecting all your juices.

''So fucking wet. All for me, yeah?'' he asked.

You moaned. ''All yours Lan, only yours'' you answered, pulling hard at his curls.

Lando quickly found your clit and dramatically pinched it between his lips, the stimulation letting you reach new heights.

''Fuck, Lando, please. More'' you begged of him.

He pryed your pussy open with his two hands and then his tongue was sliding in and out of you, hitting just the right spots.

You watched as he slowly became a mess - lips and chin full of a mixture of his spit and your juices, strings of sticky liquid dripping down your thighs.

''So tight, yeah baby, just the way i like it'' he said between breaths.

Within minutes your body was shuddering, shaking as your orgasm ripped through you harshly, making an even bigger mess of Lando's face.

He rode you through your orgasm before pulling you up by your arms to sit up, meeting your halfway to lock lips and let you taste your arousal.

''Need to feel you in me, please'' you said through gritted teeth, your hands already working on removed his button up and belt on his trousers.

Once he was free of his constraints, you took his girth into your hands and pumped him a few times, your thumb brushing the slit where pre cum was already dripping.

He hissed at the contact before taking himself into his own hands and sliding his dick through your folds. ''Ready for me baby?'' he asked, smirk on his lips. You knew that smirk - he was going to ruin you, and you wouldn't have it any other way, but you still braced yourself.

''Please fuck me'' you begged.

''Juuust remember. You asked for it - no going back now yeah? he said, smirk growing bigger and eyes getting darker by the second.

'''Hmmm mm'' was all you time to say before he violently thrust himself into you, started a pace unlike any other time you've had sex.

This time he didn't give you time to adjust to the intrusion, he slammed in and out of you at a pace that had your hips hitting each other within seconds.

''Of fuck Lando uh'' you moaned, bottom lip caught between your teeth. It felt fucking amazing but with the amount of non stop sex the two of you have had the last 10 days has your cunt aching and throbbing, quickly becoming overly sensitive.

''Come on baby, I know you have at least 2 more in you. Gonna be a good girl for me yeah?'' Lando said through gritted teeth, his own sensitivity reaching a new high.

''Fuck Lan, gonna cum now'' you panted, digging your nails deep into his biceps.

''Give it to me angel''

Within seconds you body was shaking and you were screaming Lando's name, releasing your fluids all around his dick.

''Fuck baby, that's it. Gonna let me fill you up now?'' he asked, though you were too fucked out to answer him, and with no warning another orgasm rocked through your body causing you to be on the verge of blacking out.

By now Lando's movements were becoming sloppy and clumsy, clearly he was on edge too as he was mumbled out incoherent words - ''fuck, y/n, my own whore, so tight, fuck, yes'' before you felt his warm cum splutter through you, his own body now shaking above you, a sheen of sweat covering his whole body with the workout he'd just done.

You both stilled, trying to catch your breath, before Lando let his weight fall onto your lower body, hugging you around your stomach as your hands tangled in his hair.

You could feel him softening inside of you but neither of you made any effort to move.

''Baby?'' he started.

''Hmm yeah?''

''I'm sorry i called you a whore. I meant it as a complement, I promise''

''Fuck Lan'' you giggled and rubbed his cheek earning a look up from him. ''Call me your whore any day. Tells me I'm yours and only yours'' you cooed.

He couldn't help but send you the biggest boyish grin he had. ''Fucking love you so much. Why the hell did we wait this long to get together. Could have started from day 1'' he said, this time taking his weight off you and slowly pulling his dick out. You hissed at the loss of contact but he pulled you up and held you gently.

''Baby our day 1 started 2 months ago, and we have forever to go, i hope'' you said, winking at him.

''Hmm mmm'' he replied, bending down and spreading your legs again.

''Lan I love you but no more, I'm so fucking sore''

''Shhhh let me'' he said as he licked a stripe up you cunt, collecting a mixture of yours and his cum.

You gasped and watched as he leveled his head back with yours and pryed your lips open with his fingers before letting the liquid drip down from his to your mouth.

''Hmmm'' you moaned at the taste, wetness already pooling between your legs again but you knew you were too sore to do anything about it.

You swallowed everything before Lando kissed you hard and deep, his tongue slipping into your mouth before sucking on your own tongue.

''I'd say t'was a good summers break, yeah? he asked.

''Best ever'' you replied, pulling him in for another kiss.

''Bet George's already told everyone. Gossip king'' you said, remembering how the night unfolded.

''Hell yeah'' Lando said, checking his phone and seeing there were tens of messages flooding in on your groupchat with the other drivers and their wags.

''Fucking bastards'' he mumbled.

''What?'' you asked.

''They fucking bet on us. On when we'd get together. Looks like Charles won''

''Urghhhhh'' you groaned.