#it stands so well as it is but at the same time i want at least another two hundred pages to wring it out in

[sp0o0kylights]

Sometimes I think of a Steve Harrington that is absolutely exhausted by all the horror and bullshit and trying to keep the kids alive through said horror and bullshit, who watches Eddie rock up to him at the beginning of S4 with a dead eyed, flat stare.

"Steeeeve Harrington." Eddie taunts and peacocks and twirls around him, and all Steve wanted was for a couple months to process the trauma, maybe feel safe enough to start thinking about the future instead of stuck in a never ending anxiety loop of what might happen to Dumbass Near-Deatherson, should Steve go to college or move out of Hawkins (bc all the bad nicknames in the world won't erase the fact that Dustin's family, now. They're all family. And when they need help, they go to Steve.) and now he's suffering the unjust ordeal of being haunted by the high school drug dealer.

"His highness has come down from his castle!" Munson will crow, making a show out of Steve picking up the kids like this is a great battle of wits, a scoreboard between them and not like Steve is half dead on his feet, head aching, dreams full of too many teeth. "Quickly hide behind me, he'll try to cut off your heads!"

"Wouldn't he just cut yours off too?" Lucas asked, though the tone was slightly timid, Sinclair unsure if his joke would be well recieved.

(Steve doesn't care if the kid outright insults him. He still recalls the junkyard, the fight with Billy, the blood staining the kid's headband. Lucas lived, therefore, he can be a shit if wants.)

"Mine? Oh, the King wouldn't dare." Munson tosses his head, full of cartoon energy, too big for his body and grin both. "Many have tried you see, but no one had ever succeeded!"

Steve, equally, does not give a single shit that Eddie Munson has decided to play these games with him--until he realizes he's maybe been a little too exhausted and depressed and morose around the kids.

Watches them getting worried over him, whispering urgently and making dramatic gestures and talking to Robin and suddenly, playing a little tug of war over them the way Munson seems to want feels like a good idea. A way to hide all the rough edges, a way to be fine so they can be fine.

"How about you guys skip the dork brigade tonight," Steve taunts back the next time they're all together, standing like the man he used to be, wearing a dead personality. "And we go do something actually fun instead?"

Eddie laughs, lights up, is all too happy to match him tit for tat, and it's so easy to fake this kind of interaction, rolling his eyes and snapping his gum. Steve could match this energy in his sleep, and never once does Munson catch on that Steve's not doing this for him.

That he's not even looking at him half the time, eyes askew, locked on the kids. Seeing them relax as he banters, seeing Dustin glow as he returns to his favorite position, being the center of attention.

So long as they think he's okay, Steve will be okay. If that means putting up with Munson, then so be it.

Its not like he'll catch on.

Eddie doesnt.

(Or rather, he does--but Its months and several deaths later, when they're in the RV, chasing what feels like literal demons, does it dawn on Eddie what Steve is doing.

Has been doing, the whole time.

Steve, sassy, ridiculous, jock- brained Steve makes the mistake of doing it again, using the same trick he had on the kids to convince them he was fine on Eddie. To further convince Eddie that they were fine as a group.

That they'll survive, they'll figure it out, they'll make it.

Loudly bantering with dead eyes, smiling with a mouth robotically locked in. Jokes on jokes on jokes and all of them making the kids take their minds off VecnaHenryOne to screech ineffectively at their babysitter. Winks tossed to the girls, who both roll their eyed at him. A sly look given to Eddie, to include him.

Its then, that Eddie decides to cement his life with Steve's. Because this loyal bastard of a paladin is too good hearted to die, too protective to not try it anyway. The idiot is cutting himself to ribbons to tie them all together and Eddie can't undo the damage but he can grab all the pieces he can, loop them together.

He can make those dead eyes light up again.

And he does.

This time when things are over Steve finds himself unable to pull those little tricks of his. Every time he slides the mask over his face Eddie rips it right back off again.

They fight, a lot, until they start kissing instead and for a while that also, somehow, feels like fighting but Eddie's real good at this. The emotional part, not so much the kissing, but he knows how to draw Steve out. How to break down walls, and annoying his real personality out.

The kissing was just an odd little side benefit.

A thing they don't talk about.

There's a benefit to it, one he doesn't look very hard into, until strangely, one day, Eddie wakes with Steve's head pillowed on his shoulder and comes to the abrupt conclusion that he's screwed.

Or so he thinks--until bright, loving eyes blink awake, and turn on him, and Eddie realizes just how long it's been since they looked dead.

He wonders, vaguely, how long it'll take for Steve to catch on, that this just got serious.

Will laugh at himself when he learns that Steve already knew.

Guess that's what he gets for finally paying attention.)

[mimiiiiiiiiisstuff]

"Older"

ok yall! i couldn't stop thinking of neglected Reader falling for Clark Kent, so instead of writing a new chapter of "I bet on losing dogs" I wrote an AU!!! Batfam's neglect stays till reader is 18, Tiffany isn't exposed till later. I got kinda carried away tbh! Remember, THIS IS AN AU!!!! Ya'll aren't ready for this plot actually. Or who really steals readers heart. Thank you to the wonderful anon who sent me down the rabit hole of this man. Reader is 18 when the romance actually starts.

When you were younger, you had always idolized Superman. Clark Kent, the unassuming, nerdy reporter with glasses, was a far cry from the intimidating presence he became when he donned the cape. You first saw him when you were 9, during a charity event your father had taken you to. At first, you thought he was just another well-dressed man who smiled too much. But then, when he lifted a car to save someone from an accident, you felt something shift in your chest.

That’s it, you thought. That’s what I want. I want him.

From that day on, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. The way he saved people with a smile, how gentle his voice was. You’d daydream about being near him, holding his hand, his deep blue eyes looking down at you with affection. But Clark never saw you that way. To him, you were always just Bruce Wayne’s little girl—the kid he barely knew.

Maybe it was a result of being neglected by every man in your life that made you so feral for Clark Kent. Maybe it was the fact that he was the only person you knew who didn't prefer Tiffany to you. Whatever it was, it didn't matter, he'd never feel the same.

So, you pushed your feelings aside.

Or at least you tried to.

You’d flirted with boys before. You’d flirted with grown men. With your powers, you needed an outlet, a way to let go of your frustrations, to feel good. You lost your virginity only days after gaining your powers. It felt amazing, during those moments you were in control of your body, the pain went away, the neglect went away and you were loved.

But nothing had ever been like the times you found yourself in Clark’s presence. At 16, you’d started testing the waters, teasing him with subtle remarks. You’d gotten a little bolder in your attempts over the years, but he always brushed them off as playful jokes.

"Don’t you think you’re a little young for me, kiddo?" he’d chuckle every time you got close.

You hated that. He saw you as a kid. That was it.

But you didn’t stop. Because you were determined.

And by the time you turned 18, the world around you had shifted. You had grown into someone new, more mature, more confident. Your body had changed. Your personality had changed. But Clark... he still looked at you like you were that little girl from all those years ago.

It hurt. But you told yourself, Just be patient. It’ll come around. I just need more time.

You soon realized time was too long. Clark would never see you as anything more than a kid, he literally had children your age. He was old enough to be your father. His youngest son had a crush on you and Clark is a good man. He would never consider you romantically.

You couldn't keep chasing after another unrequited love. Not after years of chasing your family's. Not after years of being pushed aside for an imposter who always outsmarted your attempts to expose her.

You wanted to move on. To leave everyone behind.

And that's what you did. There was no dramatic breaking point, no emotional stand-off. You were looking out your window one day and you realized you've done nothing. You've never been happy, never once truly happy, you lived for everyone but yourself. Not anymore. One random sunny Tuesday, the summer after you graduated highschool, you packed up and left everything behind, no goodbyes. Not even a note for Alfred. None of them deserved it.

You were tired, tired of chasing people.

You wanted to be chased and that's what you got. Every week it was someone new, your professor, your friends, your boss, anyone who was attracted to you, you slept with. It was so freeing. It was euphoric, making them fall in love, leading them into your bed, then kicking them out as soon as the next one came along.

The only thing that you truly loved now was music, it was all that got you through years and years of mistreatment. No matter what happened in the manor, you could turn your headphones on and forget. You could grab your guitar and strum your worries away.

College sucked. Long ago, you would've pushed yourself to go, even though you hated it, just to make your family proud. To chase approval you would never get. Not anymore, you knew you needed a degree to make a living, but a gap year never hurt anyone.

You began working as a singer in different bars. It let you write songs and make money. There was nothing more addicting than feeling eyes on you, enchanted by you. Your voice was magnetic, drawing people in, and like any good predator, you feasted on their hearts and left as soon as they stopped inspiring you. Yet, no matter how good-looking or good in bed they were, they would never be Clark.

One night, after a few months of your reckless, self-destructive pattern, you found yourself in a dimly lit bar on the outskirts of Gotham, a place where nobody would recognize you. You weren't gonna sing, not tonight.

You weren’t here to find love, you weren’t here to talk or connect. You were here to forget.

The clink of glasses and low murmur of conversation surrounded you, but it was the figure in the corner that caught your attention.

A man with a commanding presence sat alone at the bar, his back straight, eyes locked on the dim-lit television above the counter. His hair was peppered with gray, but there was something ageless about the way he carried himself; tough, confident, dangerous. The eyepatch over his right eye only enhanced the mystery, adding a cruel allure to his already intimidating presence.

You couldn’t quite place why you were drawn to him, but the moment you saw him, a spark ignited. Slade Wilson. He worked with Bruce somehow one time, everyone hated him, even Clark. You remembered him because he was the only man, other than Clark, not to fall for Tiffany's charm and that was a win in your book.

You’d heard of him in passing, mostly in rumors—whispers of a deadly mercenary, a ghost in the shadows of Gotham, a man you wouldn’t want to cross. But here he was, sitting like a predator in a place filled with prey.

You weren’t afraid. You never were. You’d been raised in the shadows of Gotham, after all, with men who didn’t even know how to love you. You’d seen dangerous men before. You knew how to handle yourself.

You sauntered over, taking a seat next to him, your movements casual but purposeful. He glanced at you briefly, his lips twitching into the slightest of smirks before his eyes returned to the screen.

"Mind if I join you?" you asked, leaning into the counter, placing your drink beside his.

His gaze flicked toward you again, this time a little longer. There was something predatory in the way he sized you up, assessing your every move. "Not at all."

You smirked, tilting your head slightly. "I’ve been told I’m a good time."

A quiet chuckle rumbled in his chest, but it was cold, calculated. "That so?"

You didn’t miss the way his eyes dropped briefly to your lips, but he didn’t let his attention linger for long. He took a long sip of his drink and leaned back, unbothered, as though you were nothing more than another fleeting distraction.

You were used to this, the indifferent types. But you weren’t going to let him slip away that easily.

“You don’t strike me as the kind of guy who spends his nights in places like this,” you said, turning towards him with a sly grin. “I imagine you’ve got better places to be.”

Slade didn’t look at you when he responded, his voice low and smooth, like gravel being ground underfoot. “I’m where I want to be.”

You laughed, the sound rich and teasing. "So, what does someone like you do for fun, then?"

For a moment, the silence stretched between you, and then he finally turned to meet your eyes, the weight of his gaze making your stomach flutter for reasons you couldn’t explain. "Fun... isn’t what I’m here for."

You let out a slow breath, leaning in a little closer, just enough for the scent of his cologne to hit you, something spicy, with a touch of danger.

"Then what are you here for?" you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. You could see the muscles in his jaw tense slightly, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he met your gaze head-on, his lips curling up ever so slightly at the corners.

"Business."

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Business, huh? I love business."

“I'm sure you do” he said cryptically, but his voice was thick with unspoken meaning.

The tension between you was palpable, electric. You couldn’t deny the pull you felt toward him. It wasn’t just his looks, though they were undeniably attractive in their own gritty, dangerous way. No, it was the way he carried himself, like he was someone who could destroy everything in his path if he wanted.

You weren’t intimidated, though. If anything, it intrigued you more.

You leaned closer, the warmth of your body pressing against his, your breath hot against his ear. “So, what do you do when business is done?”

For a moment, he didn’t answer. He just stared at you, his eyes hard and calculating. And then, before you could react, his lips brushed against your ear, his voice low and dangerous. "You don’t want to know."

You shivered at his words, at the heat of his breath, but you were beyond caring. You were tired of being the one who was always desired but never loved, the one who always chased but was never caught. Tonight, you wanted to be wanted, and you wanted him to want you more than anything.

"Maybe I wanna find out" you breathed, your hand sliding down his arm.

His hand shot out like lightning, grabbing your wrist before you could make contact. His grip was firm, but not painful—just a reminder of his control, of how easily he could break you if he wanted.

“Not tonight,” he murmured, voice rough. "Not the way you think."

You stared at him, uncertainty flickering in your gaze for the briefest of moments. You had gotten used to men not wanting you the way you wanted them, it was all you knew growing up. But now things were different with your abilities. This wasn’t the first time someone had pulled away, but with him, it felt different, like he was holding back, just as much as you were.

You smirked. "What makes you think you can stop me?"

His lips curled again, this time with something darker in his eyes. "Because I’m the one who calls the shots."

A challenge. A warning. And for some reason, that only made you want him more.

Before you could react, he stood up, his hand lingering on your wrist for just a beat longer. "If you’re serious about this, I’ll be at the back exit in thirty minutes."

Then, without waiting for a response, he was gone, disappearing into the shadows of the bar.

You sat there for a moment, staring after him, the heat of the moment hanging in the air between you.

You weren’t sure whether to follow or not, but you knew one thing for certain: tonight was going to be a night you wouldn’t forget.

And so, you found yourself standing outside in the cool night air, your heart racing. You hadn't planned for this, but somehow it felt inevitable.

When you saw him again, waiting by the dark alley, it was clear this was a man who didn’t let anything slip through his fingers. And tonight, you weren’t going to let him slip away either. You approached him, your steps measured and confident.

He didn't speak immediately, just gave you a slow, knowing smile as you came closer.

This wasn’t the start of a love story. This wasn’t about feelings or connections. This was something darker, something more primal.

This was a game. And you weren’t sure if you were the predator... or the prey.

But you were ready to find out.

The cool Gotham air settled in your lungs as you closed the distance between yourself and Slade, your heels clicking softly on the pavement.

He stood by the alley entrance, leaning casually against the brick wall, his figure lit only by the faint streetlight behind him. The shadows clung to him like a second skin, making his presence feel like an almost dangerous secret—something you weren’t sure you were ready to unravel, but damn, you were more than willing to try.

Slade didn’t say a word as you approached, his one visible eye catching yours with that piercing, unreadable stare of his. You knew that look. It was the same kind of look your father gave you when he had to make tough decisions, when he saw things for what they truly were. Cold, calculating. But this? This felt different. This felt like a challenge. And you were more than ready for it.

“Still think you can handle me?” His voice was low, but it had that same teasing bite, as if he were daring you to prove him wrong.

You were close now—too close for comfort, but you didn’t care. You stepped into his space, the heat of his body now radiating against yours, his scent filling your senses. “I don’t need to handle you,” you murmured, your lips barely brushing his ear as you leaned in. “I think you need to handle me.”

There was a flicker in his gaze, something almost imperceptible, but it was enough to make your pulse quicken. He didn’t move away, didn’t flinch like others would have. If anything, the air around you both seemed to crackle with intensity.

“Is that what you think this is about?” Slade asked, his voice rougher now, as though the control he so carefully maintained was slipping just a little. “You’re not the first woman who’s come to me thinking they can make me want them.”

You were sure he was referring to Tiffany, there was no way a man like him ever forgot a name or face. Knowing he knew who you were and knowing he didn't care made you want him more.

You smiled, feeling that familiar rush of excitement surge through your veins. It wasn’t about making him want you. It was about making him need you.

“Maybe,” you said, leaning even closer, your lips almost touching his. “But I’m the first one who might actually make you lose control.”

For a heartbeat, you could have sworn the world around you stopped. Slade’s eye darkened, the intensity in his stare shifting from challenge to something sharper. More dangerous. But there was something else in his eyes now. Something that made your heart race faster than you cared to admit.

His hand shot out, gripping your wrist with a force that had your breath hitching in your throat. The familiar spark of danger lit up your skin, and you didn’t pull away. Instead, you let your body melt into his, feeling the pulse of raw, untamed power that radiated off him.

“You think you can push me?” he growled, his voice like gravel, each word like a warning and a promise all at once.

You didn’t answer him right away. Instead, you let your fingers trail across his chest, feeling the ridged muscles beneath the fabric of his shirt. Your touch was deliberate, slow, each movement a calculated game of power.

“Maybe I want to push you,” you said softly, your breath a whisper against his neck, “until I break you.”

The grip on your wrist tightened for a split second, his muscles flexing with controlled restraint. For a moment, you wondered if this was where it would end, that he’d push you away, tell you it was all just a game. But when he finally spoke again, his voice was thick with tension.

“Careful, sweetheart,” Slade murmured, his lips brushing against the curve of your jaw, sending a shiver down your spine. “I’m not sure you know what you’re asking for.”

You let out a breathy laugh, your body pressing even closer to his as your lips hovered dangerously close to his own. “Maybe I don’t,” you whispered. “But I’m willing to find out.”

Slade didn’t move for a long moment, just holding you there in that thin space between danger and desire. And then, finally, he closed the gap, his lips crashing into yours with the force of someone who had been holding back far too long.

The kiss was anything but gentle. It was a brutal, desperate collision of mouths, a clash of power and need. You could feel the tension in every muscle of his body as he claimed your mouth, his hands gripping your arms, his touch insistent and almost hungry. But you didn’t break, didn’t pull away. Instead, you kissed him back just as fiercely, hands roaming up his chest to grasp the collar of his jacket, pulling him closer.

For a second, you wondered if this would be the point where you lost yourself to the heat of the moment, but the longer you kissed him, the clearer it became that this wasn’t just about passion. It was about control. About testing boundaries.

And you were willing to play that game, because you were ready to win.

As the kiss deepened, Slade pulled away suddenly, his breath ragged, eyes darker now with desire and frustration. He wasn’t used to this. He wasn’t used to someone who didn’t give in.

“Not so easy, is it?” you whispered, your voice rough from the kiss, your body still pressed against his.

He glared at you for a moment, lips curling into a knowing smirk, the kind of smirk that made you feel like you were dancing on the edge of a knife.

“You’re not the first one to test me, Slade said, voice low and dangerous, his hands sliding down your arms with intent. “But you might be the first one who wants to."

Slade didn’t pull back, his chest rising and falling with a steady rhythm, but his gaze never left yours. His hand, still gripping your wrist, was no longer a force of restraint; it was an anchor, a silent promise of just how far this could go.

The weight of his stare sent a shiver down your spine. You weren’t sure if it was from anticipation or something deeper, something darker that he carried with him, but you felt it in every inch of your body. You weren’t here for games anymore, you were here because you wanted this. You wanted him.

But there was more to it. Something about the way he held you in his gaze told you that, for once, you weren’t in control. Slade Wilson was a man who played by his own rules. And now, you were learning the cost of trying to break them.

He released your wrist with slow precision, letting his fingers linger over your skin for just a second longer than necessary. You could feel the heat of his touch as he took a step back, eyes darkening with a new kind of challenge.

“You really think you’re the one calling the shots here?” His voice was low, rough, as though it had been soaked in whiskey and smoke.

You weren’t about to back down now. You smirked, leaning into him again, almost too close for comfort. “I think I’m just... along for the ride.”

Slade’s lips twisted into something dangerous, a mix of amusement and something else, something far more raw. He took a step toward you, crowding your space, his presence suffocating in the most exhilarating way.

“Not sure you know what that ride entails,” he murmured, his voice dipping even lower, sending another shiver down your spine.

“I’m starting to,” you replied, reaching for him, but this time, you didn’t touch him the way you had before. You trailed your fingers slowly, almost teasingly, down his chest, feeling the firmness of muscle beneath the fabric.

Slade didn’t stop you. His body stiffened, though. Just enough for you to feel that tight pull of control he was holding onto. It only made you want him more. You pressed a little closer, your body brushing against his in a subtle reminder that you were still in the game, too.

“I like doing things i'm not supposed to” you said, your lips grazing his ear as you spoke. “And I think you do, too.”

He stiffened at your words, his breath catching in his throat. For a split second, you thought you saw something flash behind his gaze—something far more primal than the cold, calculating predator you’d come to know.

Slade’s hand shot out, gripping your chin with surprising gentleness, forcing you to look up at him. The control was unmistakable in his hold, yet his eyes… his eyes were like a storm just about to break. “Don’t think you know what you’re asking for.”

“I never said I did.” Your voice was steady, confident, even though the truth was you didn’t fully know what this was. But you knew what you wanted, and right now, it was him.

He searched your face, his gaze intense, like he was deciding something. just as you thought he might break, he leaned in, closing the gap between you both.

His lips brushed against yours, barely a touch, but enough to send your pulse skyrocketing. For a moment, it was almost like a game of cat and mouse. He was holding back, just enough to make you ache for more.

His lips moved to your ear, his voice dropping lower, rougher. “You should walk away now. Because once this starts, there’s no going back.”

You leaned into him, your breath shaky, but your resolve unwavering. “I never look back. Not anymore.”

Slade didn’t hesitate. His lips crushed against yours with an urgency that felt like a storm breaking free. There was no softness. It was rough, driven by something savage, and it made you lose your breath as you kissed him back just as fiercely.

You felt his hands on you, strong and sure, pulling you into him, his grip possessive in a way that made your pulse race even faster. You let him guide you, let him take the lead—because, for the first time in so long, you didn’t need to be the one in control. You didn’t want to be.

That night, Slade Wilson made you forget about every other man in your life, even Clark Kent.

For the next three weeks, you and Slade continued game of cat and mouse. Every other day, you would go to a bar to play and he would somehow appear in the crowd, like a sailor lured by a siren.

Yet everytime, in the morning when you woke, still hot after the previous nights activities, Slade Wilson was nowhere to be found.

You knew he was too old for you, too rough and unstable, but he could be kind at times, when he wanted.

And he was fun.

And you're sure your family would have a joint aneurysum if they found out.

It was fun until one night, he didn't find you.

Two months later, nothing changed. No word from your 'family' asking where you were, only Alfred's weekly check up, and Damian's insufferable posting of him, Tiffany, and the rest the family having fun without you on Instagram. He didn't even bother to block you.

No word from Slade either, yet you still hoped he would show one night. Seems like you had a thing for men ignoring you.

But tonight, something felt electric in the air.

Slade’s shadow stretched across the dimly lit bar, his presence pulling every ounce of warmth from the room. You hadn’t seen him in two months, not since he’d walked away without a word, leaving you to pick up the pieces of everything. You’d told yourself you didn’t care, that his absence meant nothing. But seeing him again, standing there with that predatory stare of his, you couldn’t help but feel the heat rise in your chest.

You were busy, sure, singing and flirting, giving the crowd exactly what they wanted. But you couldn’t ignore the sudden heaviness in the air. The way the music seemed to fade as his eyes locked onto yours from across the room. The same gaze that had always made you feel like you were his—like he could take whatever he wanted and leave you with nothing.

You kept the smile on your face, tossing your hair over your shoulder, a flirtatious laugh escaping your lips as you tossed a wink at one of the men leaning against the bar. You could feel Slade watching you, not just with his eyes but with every inch of his body. He hadn’t come to listen to the music. He didn’t give a damn about the crowd or the drinks. He was here for you.

And he was pissed.

He approached you with slow, deliberate steps, his frame imposing, his eyes cold with that familiar edge. When he spoke, his voice was a low rumble, almost drowned out by the noise of the bar, but it cut through everything like a blade.

“Well, well, well… look at you, darlin’. Didn’t take you long to move on, huh?”

Your pulse quickened, but you kept your head high. “Didn’t realize I needed your permission, babe.”

He ignored the jab, his lips twitching in a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Haven’t seen you in two months, and this is what I come back to? You’re out here playing with the other boys now?”

You didn’t flinch. “You didn’t exactly leave me with much of a choice. You were the one who disappeared, remember?”

Slade's gaze hardened, and before you knew it, he was right in front of you, close enough that his breath stirred the strands of your hair. He leaned down, his voice dropping low, rough. “You really think you can just forget about me? Move on with them? Cute little act you've got going, sweetheart, but I can see right through it.”

You pushed back, trying to ignore the flutter in your chest. “I’m not doing anything. I’m just having fun. I’m living my life, Slade. You should try it sometime.”

His smirk curled, but there was no warmth in it. “I don’t need advice from you. And I don’t give a damn about your ‘fun.’” His hand shot out, grabbing your wrist with a brutal grip, pulling you closer. “Where’s your old man? Where’s your daddy been? What about your brothers? Do they even know what the hell you’ve been up to?”

The sharpness of his words cut deeper than you wanted to admit. Slade always knew how to hit you where it hurt, and he wasn’t giving you any room to breathe. “Don’t touch me,” you snapped, but the defiance didn’t reach your voice the way you wanted it to.

“Funny, that’s what I thought you’d say.” He released your wrist, but not before giving it a firm squeeze. “I already know what’s been going on with your family. They’ve been too busy holding onto their precious Tiffany, haven’t they?”

You flinched at the mention of her name. Everyone knew Tiffany was the golden child, the one your family had actually cared about. The one they’d all protected, even when she turned out to be the one using them. You’d known for a while that she was a spy, but it didn’t make it any easier to swallow.

Slade’s eyes glinted with that sharp, calculating look. “You knew what she was doing, didn’t you? All this time, she was playing them like puppets, and now they’re gonna come crawling back, pretending they care. They’ll be looking for you soon enough, you know. Guilt’s a hell of a thing.”

The words sank into you, twisting painfully. You hated how right he was. Your family had always been so focused on Tiffany that they hadn’t noticed how you were slipping through the cracks. And now, with her gone, they were going to realize their mistake. They were going to come for you, but it wouldn’t be because they cared. It would be because they felt guilty.

Slade took a step closer, his hand lightly grazing your cheek, the touch cold and commanding. “They’ll come running for you when they realize what they’ve lost, sweetheart. But don’t fool yourself. It won’t be about you. It’ll be about guilt. About making things right because they fucked up. But you know better than anyone, those kinds of people always forget when the next shiny thing comes along.”

You swallowed, trying to keep your composure. “What do you want from me?”

His smirk widened, his fingers trailing down your jaw with a casualness that made your skin crawl in a way you couldn’t quite explain. “What do I want from you, sweetheart? Maybe just the same thing I’ve always wanted. But let’s be clear: I’m not here to save you from them. Hell, I don’t even know if you want saving.”

You glared at him, feeling the bitter edge of your own anger. “Then why the hell are you here?”

Slade's eyes softened for a brief second—just long enough to make you wonder if this was something more than just a game to him. Then, as quickly as it appeared, the moment was gone, replaced by that familiar coldness. “I’m here because you’re a hell of a lot smarter than they’ll ever give you credit for. And you’re not stupid enough to think you need them. You know they never cared, not really.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words died in your throat. He was right. You did know it, deep down. You’d always known. It stung, more than you cared to admit, but you were done being angry about it.

He leaned in, his lips brushing just below your ear. “When they come, and they will come, you can show them what it feels like to be abandoned. You can make them feel just how you felt. But don’t think for a second you can do it without me.”

You didn’t respond right away, your heart pounding in your chest. He wasn’t offering you a way out, he was offering you a choice. A choice between playing the victim to your family’s guilt, or standing beside him as he carved his own path. Neither option was a clean one, but something about him made it feel like the one you’d always been meant to choose.

Slade stepped back, his eyes scanning you as if he was trying to figure you out. “You’re not like them, sweetheart. And you’re not gonna let them walk all over you. Not this time.”

You finally met his gaze, the anger and frustration swirling in your chest. “You don’t know anything about me.”

Slade grinned, that predatory, dangerous grin that made you feel like you were in over your head. “Oh, I know more than you think.”

Slade’s presence was suffocating, his shadow looming over you like something darker than the night itself. He’d always had that effect on you, but tonight, with the way he leaned in so close, his words cutting through the air like daggers, you couldn't help but feel a chill creep down your spine.

His eyes never left yours, not for a second, his smirk tightening as if he knew exactly how to push every button. "You know, sweetheart, you always think you’ve got everything figured out, don’t you?” His voice was soft, dangerous, like a whisper in a dark alley. “But you’ve been running from something for a long time. Something you can’t hide from anymore."

You felt your heart beat a little faster, but you refused to show it. You’d dealt with him long enough to know that showing weakness only made him more dangerous. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Slade’s gaze slid over you, dismissive yet calculating. “I think you know exactly what I mean. But let’s not play coy here. You used to be close with Jason. Back when he was alive, at least. You were a team, weren’t you?”

The mention of Jason made your stomach twist, but you clenched your jaw and forced your face into something resembling indifference. You refused to let Slade see you hurt. “What about it?”

“Nothing, just... funny, isn’t it?” Slade’s lips curved into a grin that made your skin crawl. “You two were close. But then, Jason died, and who was left? The family? They couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to you. They didn’t notice when Tiffany came around, and they sure as hell haven’t noticed since.”

Your breath caught in your throat, the truth hitting a little too hard. But you kept your composure, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much it stung. “What do you want, Slade?”

His eyes softened just enough to make you think for a second that he might’ve been telling the truth—only for that same grin to return, sharper than before. “What I want? You're not getting it, sweetheart. It’s not about me. It’s about you.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to figure out just how much of this conversation was manipulation. And how much was something more... personal? The tension between you two was so thick, it felt like it might snap at any moment.

Slade took a step closer, his movements slow, deliberate. “You’ve been wasting your time, haven’t you? Hiding behind that bar, singing, flirting with men who’ll never understand you. You could do so much more than this, you know. You’ve got potential.”

He said the word like it was something sacred. A promise or a curse, you couldn’t quite decide.

You shook your head, taking a small step back. "I don’t need you or anyone else to tell me what I can and can’t do."

Slade’s eyes darkened, his smirk turning predatory. “Oh, I think you do. I think you want to know. Deep down, you’re craving someone to show you how to unlock it. Your powers. Your real potential. You want something bigger, something more than this.”

Your pulse quickened, and a sickening unease washed over you. How the hell did he know about your powers? How much did he really know? The idea that he’d been watching you from afar, or worse, had been tracking your every move, made your skin crawl.

You tried to push that thought away. “I don’t know what you think you know about me, but you’re wrong. I don’t need anyone’s help.”

Slade studied you for a long moment, his gaze never faltering. He was evaluating you, and you could feel the weight of it pressing on your chest. When he spoke again, his tone was almost... too calm, too casual.

“Let’s be real here, darlin'. You do need help. You’ve got power, and I’m not talking about the small-time tricks you’ve been playing with. You could be so much more. But you're stuck. Trapped in this little life you’ve built for yourself because you’re too afraid to face what's really inside you.”

“Why are you even here?” You asked, trying to keep your voice steady, but the edge was starting to creep in. You wanted answers, and you wanted them now. “You disappeared for two months, and now you’re showing up like you know everything about me. What’s your game?”

He took a slow, deliberate step forward, his figure blocking the dim light above you. “My game? I’m not here to play games. I’m here because I’m offering you an opportunity. An opportunity to stop hiding from yourself. To work with me. To really figure out what you’re capable of. I’ve seen the way you move. The way you think. And I know you’re capable of so much more than this little bar. But you’ll need training. You’ll need guidance. My guidance.”

Your eyes narrowed, and you couldn’t stop the involuntary shiver that ran through you. He was offering you something, something you didn’t quite understand, but the implication was clear: he wanted you to join him. To work together.

But there was something... off. The way he was talking. The way he seemed to know everything about you, the things you hadn’t told anyone, not even yourself.

“How do you know all this?” You demanded, your voice cracking despite your best efforts to sound confident. “How do you know about Jason? About Tiffany? About whats happening to me?”

Slade’s grin widened, a strange glint in his eyes as he leaned in, almost as if savoring the tension. “There's nothing I don't know. I know more than you think. But here’s the thing: you don’t need to understand everything right away. You just need to trust me. Trust that I know what you need. And trust that I can give you what you’ve been searching for. What they could never give you.”

His words were like a knife, each one digging deeper. “I’m not asking for your loyalty. Not yet. But think about it, yeah? I’m offering you something bigger than this... this place, these people. I can offer you something real. Power. Freedom.”

Your eyes were still locked with his, but your mind was racing. You couldn't stop the unease creeping through you. There was a part of you that wanted to know what he meant. Wanted to know how far your powers could go. Wanted to trust him, even though everything in your gut told you not to.

“And what about Clark?” You blurted out, unable to stop yourself. “I’m supposed to just... forget about him too? You don’t think I notice? You think I’m some naive little girl who doesn’t know what’s going on? You think I can't see you using me? Trying to groom me?”

Slade’s eyes flickered, just for a moment, before his lips curled into a snide smile. “Clark.” He scoffed. “The big, shiny boy scout with all the answers. I wouldn’t worry too much about him. You and I both know how far that age gap really stretches. He’s too good for you, always will be.”

He took a step closer, his eyes glinting with something dark. “But me? I don’t need to pretend. I know exactly what you need. And I won’t keep running from it like your little superhero friend. I’m offering you something real, and you’re smart enough to see that.”

His words, sharp and possessive, lingered in the air. You swallowed, your throat dry.

“I’ll think about it.” The words came out more breathless than you intended, but Slade didn’t seem to mind.

“Good girl.” His tone was sharp, like an order, but there was something more in it, something possessive, like a claim. He reached out, his fingers brushing your arm as if he had every right to touch you. And the worst part was, you didn’t pull away.

“Don’t take too long,” he murmured, his lips close to your ear. “I’m not the patient type. And when I come back, you’ll have an answer. I’ll be waiting, sweetheart.”

You hated how that sent a chill down your spine.

OKKKKKK WHAT DO YALL THINK??? IS IT GOOD??? BE HONEST!! I BARELY KNEW WHO SLADE WAS BEFORE THIS SO IT MIGHT BE OOC! REMEBER THIS IS AN AU! SORRY IF THERE'S TYPOS I WROTE THIS ON MY PHONE IN BED. I FEEL LIKE IT SUCKS SO I MIGHT TAKE IT DOWN AND NEVER SPEAK OF IT AGAIN!!!!

[reiding-writing]

i need a part where cold!reader shows the team that she has some empathy and some “love” for them and spencer being like “see, i told you she’s not that bad and she cares about you guys” 🫶🏻

LOVE LANGUAGES — BAU TEAM!

you show your love for your team members in specifically unique ways.

bau team & cold!reader | 2.9k | fluff | cold!reader masterlist.

main masterlist.

a/n — did this request slightly differently, hope it holds up okay <3

Your carefully crafted distance from the team has always been intentional. You don’t do vulnerability. You don’t do sentimental. But lately, there have been… cracks. Small ones, barely noticeable—except to Spencer, apparently, who won’t stop grinning every time you let one slip.

── EMILY PRENTISS

Emily looks at you with barely concealed surprise, her lips slightly parted as she registers what you just said.

“You’ll—wait, you’ll cat-sit Sergio?”

You roll your eyes and cross your arms, feigning nonchalance. “Don’t make a big deal out of it. I like cats.”

Emily scoffs, still clearly thrown off by the unexpected offer. “Uh-huh. Since when?”

You shrug, already regretting saying anything. “Since always.”

It’s a lie, at least partially. You don’t dislike cats, but that’s not why you offered. You overheard Emily talking about her sudden trip to London—something about an Interpol meeting, something she hadn’t planned for.

You’d also noticed the tension in her shoulders, the way she chewed her lip when she thought no one was looking.

She was stressed. And leaving Sergio behind clearly wasn’t helping.

You weren’t about to say any of that out loud, though.

Emily narrows her eyes at you, suspicious but amused. “You, the same person who groaned when I showed you pictures of him last week?”

“You were shoving them in my face,” you argue flatly. “Besides, I didn’t say I wanted to see cat pictures. I said I’d watch the cat. Big difference.”

She studies you for a long moment, then a slow smirk tugs at the corner of her lips. “Right. Well, thanks. I guess I owe you one,”

You shake your head. “Don’t get all sentimental. Just leave the food out and don’t expect updates.”

── DEREK MORGAN

The gun feels solid in your grip, familiar. The scent of gunpowder lingers in the air, mixing with the low hum of fluorescent lights overhead. You take a deep breath, steady your aim, and squeeze the trigger.

The shot lands, but not where you want it to.

You exhale sharply, lowering your weapon. It’s fine. It’s still a hit. But you don’t do "fine"—not in the field, and not here.

A deep chuckle comes from behind you. “You’re pulling to the right,”

You turn your head slightly, levelling an unimpressed look at Morgan, who’s leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed, watching you like he’s been there for a while.

“I know,” you grumble, flicking the safety on and setting your gun down.

Morgan smirks. “Do you?”

You grit your teeth, already regretting what you’re about to say. But you didn’t come down here for nothing, and you sure as hell didn’t come down here to keep missing your mark.

So, with great reluctance, you inhale and say, “What am I doing wrong?”

Morgan blinks. You don’t think you’ve ever actually asked him for advice before—not like this. Sure, you’ve worked cases together, listened to his strategies, but asking him for genuine help? Yeah, no. That’s new.

He doesn’t gloat, though. Doesn’t tease. Instead, he pushes off the wall and steps closer, his expression shifting into something more focused. “Your stance is solid, but your grip’s a little too tight. You’re overcompensating—tensing up before the shot,”

You sigh, shifting your grip slightly. “That’s it?”

Morgan chuckles, shaking his head. “That’s not it. But it’s a start,”

He moves to stand beside you, his voice lowering into something instructional. “Try relaxing your shoulders a little. Let the gun do some of the work instead of fighting against it,”

You roll your eyes but do as he says, adjusting your posture. You take another shot. This time, it’s closer to where you want it.

“Huh,” you say begrudgingly.

Morgan grins. “See? I know what I’m talking about,”

You huff, setting the gun down again. “Don’t get used to this.”

He laughs. “Oh, trust me, I won’t hold my breath,”

As you pack up, Morgan gives you a look—not smug, not teasing. Just… knowing. Like he sees right through you.

You scowl. “What?”

“Nothing,” he says, still grinning. “Just nice to see you’re capable of human emotion,”

You roll your eyes and walk out without another word.

── PENELOPE GARCIA

You don’t know why you let yourself get talked into this.

Actually, that’s a lie—you know exactly why. Garcia had been raving about some new "life-changing" snack all week, shoving it in everyone’s faces until they gave in and tried it.

You’d been dodging her persistence, fully prepared to hold out indefinitely, but then Spencer had given you that look. The one that practically screamed “Come on, you know you care,”

So, you ate the damn snack.

And you hated it.

Which is why you now find yourself marching towards Garcia’s office with the half-eaten package in hand, scowling.

When you step inside, she’s at her desk, surrounded by multiple screens filled with whatever classified magic she’s working on. She turns at the sound of the door, eyes lighting up when she sees you.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my favorite emotionally constipated agent,” she sing-songs. Then she sees what’s in your hand and gasps. “Oh my God. Did you actually try it?”

You sigh and hold up the package. “Here. Take it. I hate it.”

Garcia doesn’t even pretend to be offended. She snatches it from your grasp with a delighted squeal. “You tried it!”

You cross your arms. “It was awful.”

She ignores your suffering entirely, beaming at you like you just did something miraculous. “But you tried it!”

“Under duress.”

“Doesn’t matter!” She’s grinning so wide it’s almost blinding. “You never do stuff like this! Oh, I’m so proud of you,”

You groan. “Garcia—“

“No, no, let me have this moment,” she interrupts, clutching the snack to her chest dramatically. “You trying something I recommended is like… a solar eclipse. Rare. Stunning. Possibly signalling the end of times,”

You roll your eyes, but something about her excitement makes it hard to be truly annoyed.

You’d never admit it, but you don’t actually mind seeing her this happy—especially knowing you had something to do with it.

── AARON HOTCHNER

The bullpen is quiet, most of the team having gone home for the night. The only sounds are the steady clicking of a keyboard and the occasional rustle of paper.

Hotch sits at his desk, brow furrowed in concentration, his desk lamp casting a dull glow over an intimidating stack of paperwork.

You could leave. Should leave. You don’t owe him anything.

And yet…

You sigh, stepping closer. “How much of that do you actually need to finish tonight?”

Hotch barely looks up. “All of it.”

You glance at the pile, then at him. He looks tired—not that it’s unusual, but tonight, the exhaustion sits deeper in his expression. You know for a fact that Jack is waiting for him at home.

You also know that if you walk away, Hotch will stay here until everything is done, no matter how late it gets.

You roll your eyes at yourself before speaking. “Give me half.”

That actually gets his attention. He pauses, fingers hovering over the keyboard as he looks at you with quiet surprise. “You want to help with paperwork?”

You scoff, grabbing a chair and pulling it up to his desk before you can change your mind. “Want is a strong word.”

Hotch watches you for a moment, probably trying to figure out what your angle is.

“You don’t have to—“

“I know,” you cut him off, already pulling a file toward you. “Just… home is boring. Might as well do something useful.”

It’s a terrible excuse, and by the look on Hotch’s face, he knows it. But to his credit, he doesn’t call you on it. Instead, he gives a small nod—one that almost looks approving—and hands you a pen.

The two of you work in silence, save for the scratching of pens against paper and the occasional click of a stapler. It’s oddly… peaceful.

Half an hour later, the stack is significantly smaller, and Hotch checks his watch before exhaling.

“You should go home,” you say before he can. “Jack’s waiting.”

He studies you for a long moment, something unreadable in his gaze. Then, he nods. “Thank you.”

You wave a hand dismissively, already looking at the next file. “Just go before I change my mind.”

Hotch smiles—genuinely smiles—before gathering his things. As he heads for the door, he stops just long enough to say, “Good night.”

You don’t look up. “Yeah, yeah. Go be a dad, Hotch.”

He leaves, and the room falls silent again.

── JENNIFER JAREAU

You’re not even sure why you remember.

It’s not like JJ ever made a big deal out of it. She’d mentioned it once in passing—Henry’s birthday, some little party she was planning.

You weren’t even paying that much attention at the time, but the date must’ve stuck somewhere in the back of your mind.

And now, here you are, standing in the store, staring at a wall of toys like an idiot.

You don’t know what kids like. You don’t do kids.

But after several agonising minutes and an internal debate that makes profiling serial killers seem easy, you finally settle on a small toy car set. It seems safe enough—not too flashy, not too complicated. Just… something.

The next morning, you leave it on JJ’s desk before she gets in. No note, no name. Just the box, wrapped neatly in plain paper with Henry’s name on it.

You don’t need the awkward thank-you’s. You don’t need the attention. You just…

You don’t know why you did it, really.

Maybe because Henry is part of JJ’s world, and—whether you want to admit it or not—JJ is part of yours.

You’re at your desk when JJ arrives, coffee in hand, looking exhausted as usual. You don’t watch her directly, but you see out of the corner of your eye as she stops short, eyes landing on the package.

She picks it up, frowning in confusion. Eyes the brown paper cautiously. And then—

“Oh.” Her voice is quiet, surprised.

You keep your eyes on your screen, pretending not to notice. Pretending it’s nothing.

Then—

“Who—?” JJ turns, scanning the room. You immediately busy yourself with a file, but you can feel her looking at you.

You don’t react. Don’t acknowledge it.

And because she’s a good profiler, because she knows, JJ just smiles to herself and doesn’t say a word.

But before she sits down, she murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear:

“Thank you,”

And that’s the end of it. No big deal. No fuss.

── DAVID ROSSI

“You can stop hovering by the door,” Rossi says without looking up, expertly mincing garlic at the counter. “You’re already here. Might as well commit,”

You scowl but step further inside, arms crossed. “I don’t know why I let myself get talked into this.”

“Because deep, deep down, you secretly like us,” he says, smirking. “And because you lost a bet to Garcia,”

You grunt, leaning against the counter. “I hate her.”

“You don’t.” Rossi gestures toward the cutting board. “Hand me the basil,”

You stare at him. “Do I look like an assistant?”

“You look like someone who’s standing in my kitchen doing nothing. Basil. Wash your hands first,”

With a dramatic sigh, you rinse off your hands in the sink, grab the basil, and hand it over.

He hums in approval as he starts chopping. “Fresh ingredients make all the difference. Jarred stuff works in a pinch, but a real sauce? Needs fresh garlic, fresh basil, quality tomatoes,”

You raise a brow. “You take this very seriously.”

“As seriously as you take keeping people at a distance,”

Your expression twitches, but before you can fire back, he nods toward the stove. “Grab the wooden spoon. Stir the sauce,”

You narrow your eyes. “Are you—are you putting me to work right now?”

“You’re in my kitchen, you follow my rules,” He smirks again. “Unless you’d rather sit with Spencer and Garcia in the living room,”

You scoff but pick up the spoon, giving the sauce a slow stir. The aroma fills the kitchen—tomatoes, garlic, a hint of red wine. You hate to admit it, but it smells… good.

Rossi watches you for a moment, then chuckles. “You know, most people would just eat the food. Not ask about how it’s made,”

You freeze for half a second before scoffing again. “I was not asking about it.”

He doesn’t look convinced. “Mmm. Sure,”

You keep stirring, refusing to rise to the bait. But you are paying attention—watching how he measures ingredients by instinct rather than precision, how he tastes the sauce directly from the spoon with no hesitation, how he hums in satisfaction when it’s just right.

It’s weirdly… fascinating.

By the time dinner is ready, you’ve somehow helped chop parsley and even grated some fresh parmesan. You tell yourself it was just to make things move faster—not because you enjoyed it.

Not because it felt oddly nice.

Later, after everyone eats and you’re lingering by the door, getting ready to leave, Rossi claps a hand on your shoulder.

“Not bad,” he says. “For a first-time sous-chef,”

You scoff. “This was a one-time thing, Rossi.”

“We’ll see,” His smirk is knowing. “Next time, maybe you’ll even roll the pasta,”

You roll your eyes and walk out.

── SPENCER REID

It starts with the coffee.

You always get to the office early—partly because you hate the idea of rushing, partly because mornings are quiet and no one expects much conversation from you before eight a.m.

Spencer is always there early, too. Whether it’s reading, reviewing files, or just avoiding traffic, you’re not sure. But without fail, when you step into the breakroom each morning, he’s already at the table, book in hand, eyes barely open like he’s just rolled out of bed.

So, one morning, you make a pitstop. Well, not really. You stop by the same coffee shop every day. But this time, you leave with two drinks instead of one.

You don’t say anything when you set his down next to him. You just place it there and take your own cup to your desk, acting as if nothing happened.

The next morning, you do it again.

And the next.

Spencer never comments on it. But one day, when you slide the cup next to his book, he just smiles softly and says, “Thank you.”

You don’t answer. You just take a sip of your own coffee, pretending like it’s nothing. But it isn’t nothing.

Then, there’s the jet.

Long flights, late nights, exhausted bodies slumped in seats. The team passes the time in their own ways—Morgan with his headphones, JJ and Emily whispering about their latest gossip, Rossi dozing off before the plane even takes off.

And then there’s you and Spencer.

You don’t remember when it started, but at some point, you ended up in the seats across from each other, both reading in silence.

Sometimes, it’s your pick. Sometimes, it’s his. He has a habit of finishing first and noting down important page numbers for you to focus on. You roll your eyes but take it anyway.

There’s no need for small talk. No need for explanation.

You just exist together, turning pages in the quiet hum of the plane.

One night, after a particularly grueling case, you’re back in the office late, finishing up reports. Most of the team has gone home, but Spencer is still at his desk, scribbling notes with his usual intensity.

You watch him for a moment before you speak.

“You should go home, Reid.”

He glances up, blinking at you. “So should you,”

You scoff but say nothing.

Spencer tilts his head slightly, studying you the way only he can. The way that tells you he already knows what you won’t say.

He smiles—small, but warm.

“You like spending time with me,”

It’s less of an accusation than it is an observation. Like pointing out when you see a bird in a park.

You don’t roll your eyes. Don’t scoff or deflect or throw something at him like you do when he’s being particularly smug.

Because, for once, you don’t feel like pretending.

So instead, you just take a sip of your coffee, glance back at your report, and say,

“Yeah. I do.”

[pencil-n-pen]

here after reading your Spencer Reid fic. I was wondering if you could write Spencer x autistic!reader where r gets overstimulated and basically having a meltdown and Spencer like helps her ig? Idk if that makes since, but thank you!!

BUZZ

masterlist

anon you have no idea how excited i was to see this ask. i even showed my bestie. thank you sm for the ask !!

summary: police precincts are overwhelming. Spencer knows just how to help :)

cw: detailed depictions of a sensory overload, hurt/comfort

this is pretty short, sorry !!

i am autistic and will be drawing on my own autistic experiences and what helps me during meltdowns :)

۫ ꣑ৎ

The lights are buzzing.

It’s hard to ignore. The policeman/detective/whoever he is who’s filling the team in on the case smacks his lips in between sentences. This is equally hard to ignore.

The tag on your neck has moved up from a small itch to what feels like a small stab everytime you move your head.

The muscles in your neck jump and twitch in the urge to shake— to firmly overcompensate for the feeling, to establish equilibrium.

But you know where that goes. One shake becomes two, and then everyone’s looking at the FBI agent having “some sort of fit”. You squeeze your hand until your nails dig scarlet crescents into your palms and focus on the pain instead.

But it doesn’t work. The lights are still buzzing, and the guy has stopped talking but now everyone else is talking and it’s louder and all the conversations sound like the same volume, all digging sharp claws into your brain, right under your scalp.

Your entire body itches— absolutely writhes with the feeling of wrong, wrong, wrong, too much.

Your hands twitch and jerk at your sides. You’re to focused on stopping the rest of your body to stop them and it hits you all at once that you have to get out.

But you don’t know where you are in this precinct and you don’t know where to go to find quiet and not the bathrooms because what if someone flushes the toilet and did you bring your earbuds you can’t remember it’s loud and you have to get away—

A tall figure steps in front of you, effectively cutting off your field of vision save for a specific pattern of dark maroon gingham. It’s a button down, and a black tie, and a grey suit jacket.

Your skin itches marginally less now that you can’t see anything, and then large, careful hands slot in place over your ears, applying pressure just shy of hurting.

With the sound gone, or at least muffled, your lungs don’t feel quite as constricted, and your body feels less like an open, raw nerve.

You suck in a careful breath, and then another, and then another until you think you can probably pass for normal now.

You tap Spencer’s arm once, and slowly, as to not shock your rattled brain, takes his hands away from your ears.

“I have your earbuds. Do you want to go to their secondary briefing room? It’s nice. I scoped it out.”

He leans down when he says it, eyes searching your face but not making eye contact. He’s mentally cataloging your expressions to see if you’re still upset. You’re familiar with this process by now.

“Yeah,” You force the words out of your mouth like pulling teeth and he frowns a little. He always knows when you overcompensate.

He takes your right hand in his, squeezing intermittently to keep your focus on him and leads you through the precinct, expression and body language stating very clearly:

Stay away.

You stare at your shoes the entire time he leads you to the briefing room, skin prickling at the idea of how many people saw your not-well-concealed freakout.

You should’ve found this room faster, so you could’ve been alone and no one would have seen—

“Stop beating yourself up.”

You snap your head up to glare at him. “Stop profiling me.”

He’s standing next to you, still not trying to make eye contact, though your hand remains firmly in his.

He shakes his head, then reaches into his pocket and produces a pair of earbuds.

Emphasis on a pair, not your pair.

You stare at where they lie innocently in the palm of his hands. “Those aren’t mine. Mine have a chip right there from when I dropped them getting out of the car.”

“I saw a pair when I was out the other day so I got them. So you’d have a backup. They’re the exact same make and model.”

You blink, unable to tear your eyes away from them.

He bought them. For you. Because sometimes you forget your earbuds and can’t get to them in time. Because he knows you prefer earbuds bc they’re more casual and subtle than noise cancelling headphones. He bought them.

He pushes them towards you again, and you give in, because who can say no to that? It’s easy from then to plug them into your phone and start up the playlist of music you have saved for these specific situations.

He steers you to one of the tables in the back, turning the lights off as he goes, and tucks you both, side by side, into the two chairs in the furthest, quietest corner.

His hand never leaves yours.

ʚɞ

[darinawrites]

౨ৎ— A sweet treat —౨ৎ

Pairing: Salesman x implied f!reader

Summary: losing everything you have, having countless hungry nights, a mysterious man is suddenly there to satiate the rumbling of your belly everyday with a little game. His gaze dwelling on yours far too long every time

Content: fluff (there is only smut of my poor man, I had to give the fluff lovers something), idiots in love, mentions of being kicked out, homeless reader, implied stalking

A/n: like said before, this man ONLY gets smut, had to give him something. I again tried to shorten the fic since I know people rather like a shorter fic (from my knowledge). Just know I was giggling and kicking my feet at 2 am writing this

Word count: 2k

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Your body was stiff against the soft grass you laid on, groaning as sunlight hit your eyes the moment your eyelids opened. A thin blanket, supposed to serve you warmth did anything but that. Laying pathetically on your body, coldness seeping trough it.

Groggily opening your eyes, accepting the sunlight as you tried to get used to it. Stirring as you gently sat up, the cloth slipping down your body. Body sore from the uneven dirt, belly rumbling from yet another hungry night. All uncomfortable yet familiar feelings.

What was even the point of standing up now? It was late in the day, most of your other fellows outside of the park, begging on the streets. You never joined them. It made you feel even more pathetic, if that was possible. Your poignant figure would get you enough money to eat, but you couldn't bring yourself to. Being depended on wealthy people, whimpering beneath their feet for any change. You'd rather keep your dignity.

Finally adjusting to the sunlight, you fully sat up, massaging your forehead to relieve some pressure. What to do now? You could take a walk, but your sore muscle are crying not to. Talk with the other few presences beside you? You're good on that. Their attitude is quite coarse, you'd rather not. Besides, your aloofness would stop you either way.

Your entertainment usually consisted of brawls amongst you, just like high school kids surrounding a fight in the halls. Luckily (sadly) there weren't any to watch with them out in the streets now.

So, with one option left, your focus now shifting your focus on the nature surrounding you. Thoughts of all kind were running trough your head, but the soft delicate flowers made it bearable. This was your sad excuse of a life. No entertainment to keep your mind out of the gutter. No money for drugs or alcohol, anything that could also keep your mind away. This was it, petals of lilies being your only comfort, brushing against your hand.

You never wanted this. It wasn't your fault. Or was it? You could never decipher how it went to this situation. And that bothered you, deeply. Having such hazy memories of when it led to this hellhole you were stuck in now, you just needed to know.

All these questions whirling inside your head as you kept your gaze at a soft white flower beside you, taking note of a new figure entering from the corner your eyesight. The mysterious figure came closer, you now seeing that it was a man, a rich and opulent looking man. A nice suit, presentable hair and a couple of bags in his hands.

It was a peculiar sight to see. While this park was beautiful, there were a bunch of homeless people surrounding it, making the snobby rich turn their head away in disgust. Not coming near it. Weird that he was here.

Even weirder to see the well put man seemingly walk in your direction. Now that got your attention, focus leaving the small flower, now set on the tall man nearing your frame.

And you were right, his footsteps gradually more audible, the sunlight bouncing on his polished black shoe, he was going in your direction...why?

This made you feel uneasy. You've never had respect for the rich, jealousy? A little. But its the way they're always the same. Snobby, petulant and endearing. The money making them share the small braincell left of them, apparently. You didn't know this mans intention, and with a higher 'worth' than you, you weren't excited to know it.

Eyesight at the ground, you could now see a pair of legs, looking up to meet a charming face.

The contrast between you two was sad. Well made hair and a nice suit in comparison to your tangled hair and shirt with holes in it. Expensive cologne mixing in with the smell of musk. Two sides of the world.

"Hello, miss. Seeing as you have no hope for the future," he sharply started. Making you furrow your eyebrows as your gaze turned into a glare. "I have brought a gift for you." ending with a hopeful ending, it made your brows furrow in confusion this time. Does he have good intentions or not?

Putting down the bags he held, he reached down and pulled out something in each hand. A lottery ticket and bread.

"You're only allowed to pick one."

Was this some type of sick joke? What the rich do in the free time, tormenting the poor? Or seemingly some type of sadist joy. Both options were ones you weren't fond of.

Hesitantly staring up at the man, the charming smile still plastered on his face. You knew your choice from the start, being the bread. Your stomach was practically begging to grow arms and grab it itself. But the matter of trust is what made you cautious. Are you really going to play into this twisted game?

Apparently, yes. Hands reaching without approval, grabbing the packaged bread, all while letting your glare intensify.

Your antics making the man chuckle, smirk intensifying, his gaze dwelling on you before walking. Only once you couldn't see him did you take out the bread and demolish it.

It made you sick how he played you, but you couldn't focus on that, the satiating of your tummy overwhelming the sickness with pleasure. Its been days of the rumbling, days of sleepless night. This simple bread tasting like heaven, mouth not waiting to swallow before taking another bite.

Your ears catched on commotion around you, that douchebag asking more homeless people the same question he offered you. Knowing your mates, you knew they'd pick gamble. But you couldn't bring yourself to care about him anymore, finishing your food with one last bite.

Gosh, it really wasn't that filling, but it felt like a 5 star meal. Yet, your blissful trance was broken with a man yelling out to not waste good food.

Your eyes staring up, now finding that strange man dumping the rest of the bread on the floor. Berating everyone that this was your fault, aggressively stomping on the bread and flattening it.

What the fuck? Is this guy okay??And just like that, he left, not before giving you a quick glance though. Asshole.

It made your blood boil, everything that has happened in a span of a few minutes made your hatred even worse, your mellow mood long gone.

Later, when some of your friends came back, you started to incessantly ramble about the interaction, the smugness, the bread, the waisting. Yet all they got from that was 'free food'. Gosh, it was irritating how they don't understand anything. But it's fine, not letting them ruin your mood further as you laid down to sleep again, the day ending fast.

But this time, sleeping came with ease. Your hunger silent and behaved. It was nice, real nice. The one good thing coming out of today.

Groaning the next day once again, feeling a hand softly shake your shoulders. This time, the birds melody didn't wake you up, but a rough, yet somehow soft big hand did. Squinting your eyes, your ears revealing the hands that woke you up as a familiar voice rang through.

"Hello, miss. Care for another gift?" this just had to be a nightmare, right? Or maybe a joke? Heck, your imagination even. Sadly, it was none of the above. Your eyes, once used to the light, staring up at that same smug smile.

This time, you practically snatched it out of his hand, showing off more petulant behavior. A smirk was seen on his face, reaching down in the bags again. Taking out another piece of bread, his soft hands brushing against your roughened ones as he placed it on your palm, leaving with no words exchanged.

You were pleasantly surprised. Why would he do that? You didn't think about it clearly though, letting the bread fill your mouth again.

He carried out what he did yesterday, asking each individual before pouring the bread down on the floor again.

"This better not become a routine.." you sighed, his shiny shoes stomping the bread beyond repair. Again, glancing at you before finally leaving. It just felt surreal, hoping this was the last time.

But, your hopes were clearly ignored as he came back the next morning and even the next day. Again and again coming back, adding a piece of bread each time you saw him. His features getting softer, his words less snarky. Flattening the bread and letting his eyes lingering on you everytime, way too much for comfort, before going away.

You really couldn't tell if you hate him or love him.

This day though, you woke up relatively early. Earlier than the man, which really was a relief. And with all the energy the food gave you over the days, you decided to go for a walk, an activity you've always enjoyed but your body hated.

Striding down the streets, getting a few glares, some things really don't change. And that was oddly comforting.

Looking around the city, it really was beautiful. Shops lighting up with all kinds of colours, a few people running early in the morning to stay fit. Yet your favourite was the smell of pastries. Specifically the traditional french bakery you've come across now.

You loved them as a kid, your little taste buds exploding each time. Even now, as you've come across it, you stood still for a good amount of time. Letting the smell fill your nose up completely. It really holds so many memories.

Your eyes now turning to the small shop, wanting to look at the baked goods you can only dream of tasting.

But, as you looked trough the glass, you let out a small gasp.

Him.

Seeing his slicked back hair from a mile away, bags in his hand as he payed for a piece of cake. You wanted to walk away, but sadly it was in vain.

"Oh, hello miss. Coincidence seeing you here." he started, his voice ringing behind you.

"Yeah...what a coincidence." awkwardly talking back, you never actually had a conversation with him. Only mumbles of a thanks and a 'have a nice day'.

You turned now to meet him, not wanting to be seen as rude in the streets. And this time, he had a charming smile plastered on his face.

"Well, that makes my job much easier, here, I believe this is for you." reaching out the small pink cake slice out to you, shoving it in your hand before you could protest. Your stunned features scrunching up. Is he really being this nice?

As you looked down at the strawberry cake, surprisingly your favourite one, you couldn't help a small blush escaping, cheeks warming up at his gesture. You could see him fiddling with something in his jacket as you bowed down for his gratitude, something you usually hated doing.

"Here, before I forget. Have a nice day, lovely" he gave you written white paper before turning his back and letting his pace quicken.

He knew he shouldn't have given you that. Neither the cake nor the paper, his hand now fiddling with the brown card in his jacket. The one he was supposed to give to you.

He just couldn't bring himself to. How could he let someone as weak as you join the games? Instead, he gave you a disgustingly sweet letter, his (fake) adresse written on the bottom to give you a place to sleep. Showing he isn't the irascible person you made him out to be, seemingly getting joy from stepping on the bread, when his joy stemmed from you.

The moment he met you from afar, months ago, he became obsessed. The pragmatic way was to simply ask you for a date, but he just couldn't. His job conflicting it, his emotions quite a mess. He simply hopes one day to have you. Hoping your coarse hand can hold his one day.

Hoping for you.

[inkandapex]

In the Slopes

Lando Norris x Reader

Chapter Summary: Lando and Y/N have always been inseparable, but during a snowy getaway with friends, their usual dynamic starts to shift. Unspoken feelings begin to resurface.

Word count: 6.1k

Warnings: some swearing angst & fluff

Winter isn’t exactly Y/N’s favourite season; she’d much rather be lounging under the warm sun, with her feet in the water and sand tangled in her hair. But alas, Quadrant's annual team-building getaway was set in the snowy slopes of Whistler.

"What could you possibly need this for?" Lando pauses his game and turns in his seat as he hears Max hysterically laughing at the whistle he found in Y/N's luggage.

"Give me that! Why are you two even here? Don't you have to pack your own stuff or something" Y/N whines and snatches the whistle from Max, tossing it across her bedroom.

"Max, be nice. It took a lot of grovelling to get her to agree to be in the video, let alone come with us," Lando laughs, turning back around to focus on his game.

"You better not be messing with my sims Lando, I spent hours building that house from scratch" Y/N sighs as she sits on the floor with a pile of clothes in her arms

"I don't know what you're so worried about Y/N, I'm not the best at skiing either. You'll pick it up quick" Max says as he sits on the floor helping her fold the clothes

"Yeah, remember you did so well when we did that karting video. You even ended up liking it more than you thought you would"

"Alright enough pep talk, i'm not used to you muppets acting so nice. Pizza's here. Norris get your ass off my computer and help me fit all of these into my bag" Y/N stands up as she receives a notification on her phone

Lando sits across from Max as Y/N leaves the room. Max watches his friend attempt to tidily fold a shirt before he lets off a scoff.

"What?"

"Please tell me you're finally telling her this week, I can't keep a secret any longer. P is starting to notice"

"Keep you voice down! And what do you mean P's starting to notice" Lando hisses, leaning back to peek out the door checking if Y/n was anywhere within earshot

"Mate, I get so nervous when she asks about you two! The other day, she asked if you two were together, and I just got all weird and defensive, trying to explain why you'd be hanging out together, when she was clearly just asking cause you both played padel that morning and she needed to ask Y/n about a dress" Max explains, almost out of breath, running his hand across his hair

"You're acting like it's so easy for me. Oh, thanks for being such a great friend for the decade I’ve known you, Y/N. By the way, I have feelings for you—no, scratch that—I’m in love with you." Lando chucks the shirt at Max, rolling his eyes as he lies back on the floor.

"That works"

"Shut up.... I just— its y/n, you know? I fuck this up, everything changes. Its not just about me and her"

"Look, I don’t want to get in your head, but I honestly think she might feel the same way. She shows up to races, she’s there for you whenever you need her, shit your family loves her. You're overthinking this, tell her how you feel. That's a good start"

Lando sits up, propping himself on his elbows, a defeated look crossing his face. "Exactly, she might feel the same way... if she doesn’t, it’s gonna get weird. I can't ruin our friendship like that"

"I can meddle"

"No! No meddling! This ski trip is for the team. When I find the courage to tell her, i will"

"More like when you find your balls..."

"Foods here! Come out here, no eating in my bedroom!" Lando kicks Max's leg just in time for Y/N to announce her return, pizza boxes in hand.

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After a long day of skiing and filming, the group made their way back to the cabin just before sunset, just enough time to unwind before dinner. Y/N sank into the plush sofa by the crackling fireplace, the warmth from the flames making her sigh in relief. Wrapped up in a thick, soft blanket, she leaned back, absentmindedly scrolling through her phone.

"Wanna grab a little snack before dinner? I saw this cute cafe near by" Pietra plops down beside her, laying her head on her lap

Y/N lets out a groan, putting her phone away "P, please i'm so sore. I honestly think you'd have to drag me by my feet for dinner tonight"

"Oh but you did great today. You should've seen Max his first time on the slopes, it was almost sad." P sits up to give y/n some relief

"Where is he anyways? Go ask him to go to the cafe with you- bring me back a muffin while you're at it"

"He’s with his boyfriend, going over clips from today…" Pietra pauses, crossing her legs and narrowing her eyes at Y/N, a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Speaking of my boyfriend’s boyfriend—what’s going on between you and Lando?" She leans forward slightly, her gaze sharp and accusing, as if she’s piecing something together.

This makes y/n frown, confusion spreading across her face "Me and Lando? What do you mean?"

"Come on, Y/N," Pietra says with a playful grin, leaning in as she pokes Y/N’s arm. "Ever since the season ended, you two have been hanging out way more. And didn’t you spend Christmas with his family? Oh, and let’s not forget today! On the slopes, he was literally stuck by your side the entire time—he’s usually off showing off or racing with the guys." She wiggles her eyebrows, clearly enjoying the tease, her gaze never leaving Y/N as if waiting for some kind of confession.

Y/N laughs, giving Pietra a gentle shove. "Did you hit your head out there?" she teases.

"I have no idea what you're talking about. Lando and I hang out all the time, it’s just that we’ve had more time recently. Plus, it’s not the first time I’ve spent Christmas with the Norris family." She shrugs casually, then continues, her tone softening slightly as she recalls the day. "And as for today, well, it was my first time skiing, and Lando insisted I join the trip to begin with. I guess he just wanted to make sure someone was there to keep me from falling on my face the whole time." She laughs again, shaking her head, clearly not fazed by the teasing, but her explanation still carries a hint of warmth.

"Huh... I could've sworn you were hiding something. I mean even Max acts all weird whenever I bring the two of you up"

"Max? What? About Lando and I?"

"Yeah, he gets all defensive whenever I bring up the two of you," Pietra says with a shrug, her eyes narrowing playfully. "I thought you two finally sucked it up and acted on whatever’s going on between you."

"Whatever's going on?"

"Come on y/n. You clearly have feelings for Lando. You may lie to everyone else but I see through you" Pietra laughs

"I’m— no. Me? Feelings for Lando?" Y/N stutters, her voice faltering as she shifts uncomfortably in her seat, suddenly feeling a knot tighten in her stomach. She tugs at the edge of her blanket, avoiding Pietra's gaze.

She forces a nervous laugh, but it sounds hollow, the tension in the room thickening. "Yeah, right. No— no, that’s not…" Her sentence fizzles out, her mind racing, but she can’t quite find the right words.

Pietra's jaw drops, her eyes widening in surprise before a sly grin slowly spreads across her face. "Oh my gosh..." she murmurs, her voice rising with the realization. "I was just messing with you, but—" She leans in closer, her smile growing wider as she watches Y/N squirm. "You do have feelings for him!"

Y/N's heart skips a beat, the words hitting her harder than expected. Was it that obvious? Did everyone see it? The weight of it all settles heavily on her, her stomach flipping in a way that both unsettles and excites her. "No, I—" she starts, but her voice is barely a whisper, unsure of what to say next.

"Y/N!" Pietra exclaims, her voice filled with a mix of disbelief and excitement. "He obviously feels the same way. Why else would Max be acting like that whenever I ask about you two?"

Y/N's stomach tightens, a wave of nervous energy making her insides churn. Could it be? Was it really possible that Lando felt the same way about her? Her heart skips at the thought, but then the doubts creep in, drowning out any sense of hope. No, he couldn’t possibly... Lando was Lando, the guy who was always surrounded by people, always the center of attention, effortlessly charming everyone around him. And she... she was just Y/N. Just a friend.

He only sees me as a friend. The words loop in her mind. Nothing more than that. They’d always been friends, nothing had ever suggested anything different, right? She feels a strange tightness in her throat, as if even acknowledging the possibility of something more would shatter the delicate balance they’d always had.

"Oh, honey, I’m sorry," Pietra says softly, her tone shifting as she notices the distant look in Y/N's eyes.

"I didn’t mean to make it weird," she adds, her voice softening. "But you know, everyone’s been kind of... wondering." Her eyes meet Y/N’s, a mix of empathy and understanding in them, as if offering a lifeline in the middle of the uncertainty.

Y/N lets out a laugh, shaking her head as she looks at Pietra. "You're just saying that to make the voices go away," she teases, trying to deflect, though her tone carries an edge of nervousness.

Pietra grins, unfazed. "No, seriously! A few of the newer people on the team genuinely thought you two were a thing when they first joined Quadrant." She leans back, raising an eyebrow as she watches Y/N's reaction, knowing full well that the thought might have crossed her mind too. The comment lingers, like an unspoken truth that makes the room feel a little smaller.

The sound of footsteps coming from the stairs behind them makes both Y/N and Pietra turn their heads in sync.

"You're not getting ready yet?" Max says, his voice teasing but with a hint of impatience. "Our reservation's in an hour, and we're starving. We can't be late."

He walks down the stairs with Lando trailing just behind him, moving toward the two on the sofa. Max leans down, planting a gentle kiss on Pietra's head as he passes, a small smile tugging at his lips. Lando follows closely, his gaze briefly flickering to Y/N before he glances away, his expression unreadable. The atmosphere shifts again, subtle but charged, as everyone feels the undercurrent of what’s unspoken.

"We might have to drag Y/N by her feet to the restaurant—her words, not mine," Pietra laughs softly, her voice playful as Max sits beside her, pulling her closer for a quick cuddle.

This catches Lando’s attention, and he pushes away from the counter in the kitchen, his footsteps quick and purposeful as he strides across the room toward the couch. He stops just short of them, his eyes narrowing slightly with concern. "Why? What’s wrong? You feeling okay?" he asks, his tone laced with genuine care, though his usual confident swagger seems a little softer.

"No—yeah, I’m okay, just sore, really," Y/N says, her voice a little shaky as she forces a smile at Lando. "I’ll be fine. P, we should get ready."

She stands up quickly, giving Lando a brief but reassuring smile before turning towards the stairs. As Y/N begins to head up, Pietra stands too, shooting Max a knowing look that doesn’t go unnoticed. Max raises an eyebrow, but Pietra simply follows Y/N up the stairs.

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Dinner went by smoothly, the lively chatter and laughter around the table giving Y/N the perfect distraction from the lingering thoughts she’d been trying to push away. Lando’s presence felt comforting, like a steady anchor, though she couldn’t help but notice the occasional glance he threw her way—just enough to keep the butterflies fluttering in her stomach, but not enough to make her feel overwhelmed. For now, she was content to enjoy the evening, letting the connection with her friends fill the space that her doubts had briefly occupied.

Y/N lies on her bed, the soft glow from her phone casts a faint light across the room, but her mind is still tangled in the conversation earlier. She barely notices the time passing until a soft knock at her door pulls her attention away.

She sits up quickly, smoothing her hair back, and calls out, "Come in."

Lando slips into her room quietly, a bottle of water in his hands. He stands at the foot of the bed "Hey, sorry, were you about to sleep?" he asks, his voice gentle but with an undercurrent of concern.

"No, you're good," Y/N replies with a small laugh "Just on my phone... struggling to sleep, honestly." She smiles up at him, her eyes warm as she pats the space beside her. "What's up?"

Lando hesitates for just a moment, he crosses the room and sits down, the familiar weight of his presence settling next to her. He reaches into his hoodie pocket and pulls out a small pill bottle, offering it to her along with the water bottle.

"Painkillers," he says, his tone casual but with an underlying kindness. "Thought you could use some if you want to be able to hit the slopes again tomorrow. We’re doing the sled race, remember?"

Y/N lets out a relieved sigh, her shoulders relaxing as she takes the pill from him, followed by a sip of water. "Thank you," she says, her voice soft. "I can’t believe I forgot to pack some."

Lando waves it off with a small grin. "All good," he says, his eyes meeting hers briefly. "Take one tomorrow before we head out too if you're still hurting."

She nods, feeling the knot in her shoulders start to loosen. The warmth of his presence is more comforting than she expected, and for a moment, the weight of everything else melts away.

"Do you fancy an ice cream?" Lando asks, a mischievous smirk creeping across his face as he nudges Y/N gently with his elbow.

Y/N raises an eyebrow at him, laughter bubbling up in her chest. "Ice cream? It’s almost midnight— and, uhmm... oh right, it's freezing outside," she says, her voice light with amusement. She shakes her head, grinning at his antics, but the playful glint in his eyes makes it clear he’s not giving up on the idea so easily.

Lando shrugs dramatically, the smirk never leaving his face. "Who says you can’t have ice cream in the middle of the night?" he teases, nudging her again as if trying to convince her to join his impromptu late-night mission.

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The two walk back to the cabin, their laughter echoing in the crisp night air as they reminisce about the day’s adventures. Every so often, their arms gently brush against each other, the shared warmth a quiet comfort between them.

"Aren’t you glad I made you come up here?" Lando says, a playful gleam in his eye. "Next year, you could even try snowboarding" He wiggles his brows at Y/N, his voice teasing as if he’s already picturing her falling all over again.

Y/N groans dramatically, her breath visible in the cold night. "Can't we just go to the beach or somewhere warm that doesn’t require me to fight for my life and fall on my ass every couple of meters?" She stops walking, planting her feet firmly in protest, her face scrunched in exaggerated annoyance.

Lando laughs, his eyes twinkling as he glances at her. "Come on, you big baby," he teases, reaching for her hand and pulling her gently toward the cabin. "Let’s get inside. Your nose is so red."

Y/N huffs but lets him pull her along, the warmth of his hand in hers making her forget the cold. She can’t help but smile, even if she’d never admit how much she enjoyed their little banter.

They stand just outside Y/N's door, Y/N looks up at him with a playful smirk, her arms crossed loosely in front of her. "Thank you for tonight," she says with a hint of warmth in her voice. "Though if I wake up with a cold tomorrow, I’m blaming you and your ice cream escapade."

Lando chuckles, his eyes softening as he leans against the doorframe, his smile lazy but genuine. "I’ll be sure to nurse you back to health," he says, his voice low and easy, but with an undertone of sincerity. "I’ll be across the hall if you need me."

For a moment, neither of them speaks. Silence hangs in the air, a tension growing, subtle but undeniable. Their eyes meet and linger, flicking back and forth between each other's lips, the space between them feeling smaller with every passing second.

Lando’s breath catches slightly as he notices the way her lips part just a fraction, and Y/N, almost without realizing, shifts a little closer, the energy between them thickening.

Y/N takes a deep breath, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her jacket as she glances at Lando. “Lando... I— I’ve been thinking about us—” Her voice is quieter than she meant it to be.

Lando’s eyes widen in a split-second of panic, and he quickly cuts her off, almost too quickly. “Us? About us?” His tone is a little too sharp, his expression tight, as if he’s bracing himself for something.

Y/N freezes, but then gathers her thoughts, forcing herself to look him in the eye. “Yes, our relationship—” She bites her lip, her heart pounding in her chest as she takes a step forward.

Lando blinks rapidly, trying to process her words. “—our relationship?” His voice cracks slightly, and his gaze shifts to the floor before quickly snapping back to hers.

Y/N nods, her hands trembling slightly at her sides. “Yes, well, no, I mean, our relationship as friends, of course!” She laughs nervously, her voice trailing off, trying to downplay the growing knot in her stomach.

Lando lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “Yeah, of course... uhmm, what about it?”

Y/N’s heart sinks a little, but she tries to push through the discomfort. “I just… I don’t know, Lando. I’ve been wondering if maybe we’re both feeling the same thing, you know? About... more than just friendship?” Her voice falters at the end, uncertainty creeping in.

Lando’s face flushes slightly, and he takes a step back, a defensive edge to his tone. “Oh well I mean, yeah we’re good friends, right? Best friends even, you and Max.” He says it quickly, almost too quickly, his words stumbling over themselves as if he's trying to convince himself just as much as her.

The silence that follows feels like an eternity. Y/N looks away, her stomach sinking, the words she was about to say hanging heavy in the air between them. She clears her throat, trying to force a smile, but it feels like it’s made of glass, fragile and thin. “Right,” she says softly, her voice almost too quiet. “I get it.”

Lando stands there for a moment, his expression caught somewhere between relief and regret. He can feel the weight of the situation, but he’s not sure what to say next. He couldn't bring himself to tell her how he really felt. "You... feel that way right? I mean you see me as your best friend?" he says quickly, reaching out as if to comfort her, but stopping short when he realizes how awkward it feels. "Maybe even your bestest friend, even over Max or P" Lando lets out a nervous chuckle in the attempt to ease the uneasiness filling the air.

Y/N nods, her eyes not meeting his. “Yeah, of course. Max isn't even top 3. Hey, I’m gonna head in and get some rest.” y/n attempts to return the banter as she turns slightly, her hand already on the doorknob, her pulse still racing from the conversation.

She pauses at the door, giving him a quick glance over her shoulder, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips, though it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Goodnight, Lando," she says softly before stepping inside and closing the door behind her.

Lando stands there for a moment, his hand still lingering in the air, unsure of whether he should follow her or just walk away. After a few moments, he sighs, shaking his head as he walks back toward his own room, the unspoken tension lingering in the silence of the hallway.

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Lando laid on his bed, staring at the ceiling for what felt like hours, the thoughts of the conversation with Y/N replaying over and over in his mind. He couldn’t shake the feeling of regret, the missed opportunity to tell her how he really felt. Every time he closed his eyes, her face kept coming back to him, the look in her eyes that made him realize he might have just ruined everything by not saying what he’d wanted to say.

The sun was barely up when Lando found himself standing in the hallway, his heart racing as he made his way to Max and P's room.

"Max, you've got to get up, mate," Lando whispered urgently, his voice low but insistent, shaking Max awake.

Max let out a groan, his eyes barely open as he tried to make out his friend’s figure in the dim light of the room, the sun just starting to peek through the closed curtains. "What? Lando. What time is it?" His voice was thick with sleep.

"It’s... it’s early, I know. But I need to talk. I can’t stop thinking about it, mate. I messed up."

Max rubbed his eyes, finally managing to sit up, his confusion turning into concern. "Wait, what happened?" He yawned and stretched, still groggy but fully aware that Lando was rarely this urgent unless something serious was going on.

Lando ran a hand through his hair, pacing a little as he tried to find the words. "I didn’t tell her how I really feel, Max. And now I’m just stuck. I can’t stop thinking about it. I— I think I might’ve blown it." His voice was strained, frustration seeping through every word.

Max sat up straighter now, fully awake as he processed his friend's words. “Wait you’re talking about Y/N, right?” He rubbed his face, trying to make sense of Lando’s sudden shift in mood.

Lando paused, looking at Max, his face tight with the weight of everything. “She brought it up, she asked about us- our friendship and I just froze. I panicked, Max. I said I think she's my best friend, my closest friend and if you could've seen the look on her face... now I don’t know what to do. It’s messing with me."

"You idiot" a sharp toned voice makes the two look to the other side of the bed, a once sleeping P has now pulled her eye mask off, a dissatisfied look on her face. "She obviously likes you too Lando. You two are just too scared of actually facing how you truly feel. I literally had her confess to me last night before dinner"

Lando blinked in surprise, the realization hitting him harder than he expected. He opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. Max, on the other hand, sat back with an amused expression, taking in the scene unfolding before him.

"Wait—what?" Lando managed after a beat, completely caught off guard.

Max let out a heavy sigh, his tone softening. "Lando, you’ve been dodging it for how long now? What did you expect? That she’d just magically figure it out? You’ve got to be honest with her, mate. If you really feel something for her, you can’t just pretend it’s nothing. You owe her the truth".

Lando nodded, taking in his friend’s words. "Yeah, you're right. I just... don’t want to mess things up more than I already have."

Max shook his head, a knowing look on his face. “You’ve got to take the chance, mate. Just... talk to her. Don’t wait any longer. I can't even begin to think about whats going on in her head right now- you pretty much shut her down”

Lando sat back down on the edge of the bed, rubbing his face in frustration. “I don’t know what to say. What if she doesn't believe me— I don't want her to think i'm playing with her feelings on purpose, it was a genuine lapse of judgement I panicked.”

"Well, that’s the risk, isn’t it?" Max replied, his voice matter-of-fact. "But at least you’ll know for sure. The worst thing you can do is keep holding back. You’re already in deep, mate. Just go for it."

Lando sat silently for a moment, taking in Max’s advice, feeling a mix of relief and anxiety swirling inside him. He knew Max was right, but it didn’t make it any easier. With a long sigh, he stood up from the bed, a new sense of determination in his steps.

“Alright,” Lando said, giving Max a look of appreciation.

Max gave him a reassuring nod. "Just don’t overthink it."

Lando nodded, heading for the door. Before he left, he turned back to P speaking up as she put her eye mask back on. “You know, if it goes horribly wrong, I’m gonna kick your ass for hurting her.”

Max chuckled, leaning back into the pillows. “Yeah, i'd take that as motivation to fix this. Go get her, Lando.”

As Lando walked down the hallway, his mind was set. He couldn’t let another day go by without telling Y/N how he felt. It was now or never.

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

Lando had been pacing around the kitchen for what felt like hours, trying to gather his thoughts. Max and P walk towards him, the nervous energy was starting to crawl back under his skin.

"Have you guys seen—" he started, but P immediately cut him off, her tone firm yet surprisingly quiet.

"What did you do?" she asked, a knowing look in her eyes as she crossed her arms. "I thought you left our room this morning ready to fix things between the two of you."

Lando's mouth went dry, his words caught in his throat. He shifted from foot to foot, suddenly feeling like he was fifteen again and in trouble with his parents. "I tried, I peeked in her room and she was sleeping and I felt bad i didn't want to wake her. I came back a few hours later she wasn't in her room" His voice was a little shaky, and his hands fumbled with the sleeve of his jacket as he tried to avoid their eyes.

P raised an eyebrow, her expression a mix of frustration and disbelief. "So you didn’t do it? That's why she won't leave her room" crossing her arms even tighter, clearly not buying his half-hearted excuse. "You’re seriously going to stand there and tell me you didn’t even try again?"

Lando swallowed hard, the weight of the situation settling in. "I... I didn't know she was back. I don't even know where she went this morning— wait she won't leave her room?"

"She said she's feeling sick and that she caught a cold but she's clearly been crying. Lando she won't even tell me about what happened last night, she's hurting"

Max, who had been listening quietly. "Mate, you’re a mess," he said, sitting down on the counter with his arms crossed, his tone matter-of-fact. "You’ve been overthinking this for months now. It’s honestly exhausting. Now you've managed to drag her into this mess."

Lando exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, his frustration clear.

Max gave a short laugh, shaking his head. "Mate, you’re already screwing it up by not talking to her. Go up there and fix it"

P stepped forward, her voice a little gentler now, but still firm. "Just go talk to her. Tell her exactly how you feel. You’ll either get your answer, or you won’t. But you can’t keep pretending like nothing’s going on."

With a deep breath, he nodded. "I’ll go talk to her. Try to occupy the rest of the team while we're gone" He straightened up, trying to shake off the nervousness that had settled in his stomach like a knot.

Max smiled, though there was a hint of mischief in his eyes. "Don't worry, we'll figure something out. And Lando?" he called as he started to head for the door.

"Yeah?" he turned back, his mind already racing with what to say to her.

"Don’t come back until you’ve told her. And if you screw it up, you’re buying us dinner for a week" Max said with a wink.

Lando shot him a look, but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. "I’ll keep that in mind," he muttered, and with one final deep breath, he turned to head toward Y/N’s room.

This time, there was no turning back.

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

Another knock echoes through the room, causing Y/N to stir in her blanket cocoon. She sniffles and clears her throat, trying to hide the evidence of a long night’s worth of tears.

"P, I told you I’ll be fine. I don’t want anyone catching my cold. You guys go have fun," she calls out, her voice thick with exhaustion.

"It’s me," Lando’s voice filters through the door, catching Y/N off guard. She sits up quickly, her heart racing—what on earth could he want now?

Y/N hurriedly wipes at her face, but the mirror doesn’t lie. Her eyes are swollen, her cheeks streaked with dried tears, and her nose is a fiery red. She exhales in defeat.

With a soft groan, she cracks the door open "I already told Max and P I won’t be joining you guys," she says quietly, her voice heavy with guilt. "I’m really sorry, Lando. You should go... Everyone else is probably waiting."

Lando’s gaze softens, his brow furrowing as he steps closer, his tone gentle but knowing. "You’re upset about last night."

"I don’t know why I said what I said, but that’s not how I really feel," Lando insists, his voice laced with frustration, but the sight of the frown etched on Y/N’s face only deepens his anxiety.

Y/N’s gaze drops to the floor, her voice barely above a whisper, soft and tinged with hurt. "She told you, didn’t she?" The words feel like a weight she can’t shake off. She never imagined P would share something so personal, and now, she feels more exposed than ever.

Lando hesitates, shifting uncomfortably. "Yes, well… technically, she overheard me talking to Max about last night and—"

"You told Max about last night?" Y/N interrupts. She lifts her gaze, her eyes wide with disbelief. "What, me trying to confess my feelings for you and you immediately dismissing it wasn’t embarrassing enough? You had to go tell Max?"

“Y/N, no! That’s not what I—" Lando stammers. He takes a breath, gathering his courage. "I like you. I’ve liked you for months now. Max was the only person I’ve told.” The confession spills out before he can stop it, and for the first time, a sense of relief washes over him.

Y/N’s expression falters, a deep frown settling on her face as she tries to process his words. "Don't do that... please," she says softly, almost pleading. Her voice cracks slightly as she shakes her head. "You don’t have to lie to make me feel better about this." She struggles to fully comprehend what he’s just said.

"But I'm not lying!" Lando insists, his voice filled with urgency. His hands shake as he tries to convey the truth, the weight of his feelings finally spilling out. "For months, I’ve been debating whether or not to act on it. I didn’t know if you felt the same way... I didn’t know what I’d do if you didn’t." He reaches out, his hand trembling as he gently tries to take hers, hoping for a sign that she might believe him.

Y/N is still caught in the confusion of it all, but as his hand brushes against hers, something settles in her chest. The warmth of his touch brings a surprising sense of comfort, and she swallows back the confusion that’s been choking her. "But... last night?" she asks quietly, her voice shaky.

Lando’s eyes soften, and he looks down, clearly conflicted. "I panicked," he admits, his words coming out in a rush. "You bringing up how we might feel about each other was the last thing on my mind. Fuck, I didn’t even think it was possible. All the scenarios I made in my head were about how I’d finally tell you... how much I wanted to be with you." He looks up at her then, vulnerable and raw, his expression filled with regret. "I was just so scared you wouldn’t feel the same."

Y/N takes a deep breath, her chest tight with emotion. She finally meets Lando's gaze, and the moment their eyes lock, it’s as if time slows. The words that have been tangled in her mind for so long finally slip free, and she whispers, "I do... feel the same way."

A small, almost hesitant smile begins to form on Lando’s face. It’s the kind of smile that tells her he’s been holding his breath, waiting for this moment, unsure if he’d ever hear the words he desperately needed to hear. His eyes soften as he takes a step closer, and for a moment, everything feels like it’s falling into place.

Lando’s hands gently cup her face, his touch tender and careful, as if she’s something precious he’s afraid of breaking. His thumbs lightly brush against her cheeks before he reaches up to tuck a few stray strands of hair behind her ear. He lets his fingers linger there for a moment, feeling the warmth of her skin under his touch, before his hand gently rests on the side of her neck.

There’s a quiet intensity in the air now, a shared understanding that neither of them wants to break.

Lando’s smile widens ever so slightly, his thumb brushing along her cheekbone in a way that sends a warm shiver down her spine. "You have no idea how much I needed to hear that," he says softly, his voice still tinged with disbelief, as though he can’t quite believe this is happening.

Lando leans in, his forehead gently resting against hers, as if allowing the moment to sink in. There’s no rush, no need to fill the space with words anymore. All that’s left is the feeling between them—a feeling that says more than words ever could.

Lando’s breath catches as he hovers just inches from her face, his gaze flickering between her eyes and her lips. In a voice barely above a whisper, he murmurs, “I’m going to kiss you now.” his breath warm against her skin.

Y/N’s lips curl into a soft smirk, her eyes glinting with a mix of playfulness and something deeper. “About time,” she teases, her voice light, but there's a knowing edge to it. “For an F1 driver, you're quite slow.”

Lando’s eyes flash with amusement, a soft laugh escaping him as he shakes his head. “You’re lucky I really like you,” he responds, his voice warm with affection and the lingering hint of a smile. Before she can say another word, he closes the gap between them, his lips brushing gently against hers.

The kiss is slow at first, a gentle exploration, as if both of them are savouring the moment that’s been so long in the making. Lando’s hand moves to the back of her neck, pulling her a little closer as the kiss deepens, a surge of relief and longing finally being released between them. For all the uncertainty, the teasing, the games—they’re here now, and everything else fades away.

[necroliberty]

I named a varient of Dream "Broken Dream" too. But they are so different. Here is the only picture I have of him.

Though I first made it for zero infinity and for an oc, I dumped a while ago. I want to at least make him stand on his own. I gave him a hoodie because all Sanses have depression. You can't tell me otherwise. Also, because that varient needs to have a blanket on him 24/7

So this is Broken Dream (the Dream who gave up) Trigger warning for depression and suicide attempt. (Can you believe that last part actually triggers me too. So yeah, it will be lightly mentioned.)

Dream always smiled with his friends, rains or shines. Only in fights against Nightmare and his gang did his smiles ever falter. Nightmare was right that his smile was a mask and this frown was his true feeling. But Nightmare was blinded by his own pride and bitterness to realise one thing. Dream wasn't hiding a spiteful venom born from the same negativity as him. Dream was depressed.

Swap Sans noticed but couldn't help him, so he left. Unable to deal with Dream ravenous needs for his own endless well of positivity. He knew that walking away would hurt Dream, but staying was going to destroy Swap. Of course he was absolutely right.

Ink Sans never cared, either in my au where he is souless with pills that gives him a baseline of emotion all day every day, but no attachement. Or the chaos gremlins we all know and love. Dream's depression when it comes to his past and his brother, now also Cross and Swap. Was just annoying, something he should have pushed past by now. But Dream, as this maladaptive, needs to tell everyone he was fine. Ink left too, he had work to do, and Dream was ruining the vibe.

So it went a day where Dream faced the Nightmare gang alone. The more he fought, the more he could feel his own soul break. He just couldn't do it anymore. His own team had left him, but Nightmare didn't destroy his. Even his crazy relationship with Killer worked, it fucking worked when it shouldn't. But he couldn't, wouldn't let it show.

Because their is one reason why Nightmare never could feel how destroyed Dream was emotionally. Dream always coated his worst emotion in a pure positive aura. One reason was to not give Nightmare more ressource and power. But the other reason is that Dream legitimately thinks he has no right to cry or feel negative. He wasn't there when his brother needed him the most.

But in that last fight, Nightmare said something the pierced Dream's soul completely. He doesn't fully remember what it was. But it shattered his carefully laid shield. The unflow of negativity was so great from one soul that Nightmare stopped. The gang followed suit, noticing how much stronger the aura of their boss was. Dream didn't cry, though. He never cried. He didn't deserve to. So he simply took his soul, the last golden apple, and presented it. "You won, that's what you want, right? So take it." Dream threw the apple at Nightmare as he felt his own body grow lethargic.

Nightmare took the last apple, as he saw how defeated his brother truly was. He didn't let time for his body to dust over. He couldn't put a soul back when it was so fully rejected. Well, he could, but it wouldn't be easy. With his own negativity turned to dark liquid, he forced the apple back inside. Now, the apple itself was protected by the tar like substance that made Nightmare. But it also rendered Dream completely powerless. Nightmare never told the truth on why he kept Dream alive. Talking about wanting how far Dream could fall. About that, he loves picking up the trash that no one else wanted. Not that even in his blinding rage, the depression from Dream was so great he wanted to do everything to get him back.

But Dream was never the same. Because in a world like this, a world he had failed so completely. Broken dreams were all that was left.

More "Broken Dream".

More of " Broken dream". Man the silly little idea got a bit too much attention. How did one of my inspiration like it ???😭 Wthhhh

The is mainy the full body might change some details later ig. Lore is planed.

[mandalhoerian]

childhood friends who became family, who blurred the lines of sibling-tight bonds and something softer, sharper, and more yearning — it's a trope that feels like sitting in the quiet hum of a summer evening when the sun lingers too long on the horizon. because the truth of it is: nothing lingers forever. and you both know that, but you’ll still talk about the old days like maybe you can bring them back. like maybe if you name the memories, you can summon them. like if you say, “remember when we built that fort in the back garden and swore to live there forever because i had a fight with gran,” it’ll mean something now that the garden has been bulldozed and forever has been whittled down to awkward meetings where you can't talk about the elephant in the room.

it’s the uneven ground of being the one who died and the one who was left behind, or the one who grew and the one who wanted to keep the other captured the way they used to be in a snowglobe — or maybe just the realization that you’re both standing on shifting sand now. you talk about the past like it’s a shared secret, but neither of you knows how to talk about the present. maybe you’ve started running out of things to say because the summer nights you used to fill with fun and games are quieter now, and you don’t know how to breach the distance between you that yawns exponentially bigger every single day.

because that’s the ache of it, isn’t it? thinking you’ve grown together, but ending up having grown apart in the blink of an eye. the ache of seeing his face and realizing you don’t know him the way you used to — not like when you could read the curl of his lips or the way he bit the inside of his cheek and know exactly what he was thinking. you still know the shape of caleb, the blueprint of who he was, but he's a house rebuilt in the same place, and you’re standing on the porch like a stranger.

and you miss the summers, the cicadas, sleeping on the floor together with the attic window wide open, sharing ice cream together and being carried because of a scraped knee. even being scolded you refused mosquito spray because you hated the smell. you miss the easy, endless days of being inseparable and being spoiled rotten because time didn’t mean anything then. now, every second feels like a countdown. you sit across from him at a diner, laughter ringing too alien because it doesn’t reach his eyes the way it used to, and you’re counting the minutes until he leaves for skyhaven. or maybe it’s until you leave, because isn’t that the worst realization? there's always a deadline. you tell yourself it’s enough that you were everything to each other once, and there's still something between you like the transition between summer to autumn. but there’s a kind of grief in knowing you’ll never be those kids again, barefoot in the grass, shouting at the stars.

grief. you thought you knew it well.

because you know how to grieve a death — you’ve rehearsed it in your head, folded it into something manageable. it’s a well-worn myth, a story you tell yourself when the silence gets too loud: he’s gone. he’s not coming back. you cried once, twice, a hundred times in the soft, gold-light glow of dusk, in the places you once knew together, and you thought that was the worst part.

but then caleb came back. and now you don’t know what to do with yourself.

because it’s him, isn’t it? same voice, same face, same hands that once shoved you playfully into the lake on a summer afternoon. he looks at you with eyes that are so painfully familiar you want to throw up, but something in them is off — like a song played just a fraction of a second too slow. like the ghost of a childhood home, walls the same but empty, the warmth gone.

you want to say, you’re different. you want to say, what happened to you? but all he says, over and over, with that too-smooth, too-homey certainty is, i’ve always been like this.

and that’s the part that burns. because no, he hasn’t. you would know, wouldn’t you? you spent summers mapping out the topography of his voice, the way it cracked when he laughed too hard, the way he whispered conspiratorial plans under the sheets when you were supposed to be sleeping. you knew his every restless fidget, every dream he had about taking you away to somewhete but never actually going through with it. you would know if this was always him. wouldn’t you?

but what if you’re the one who’s wrong?

the memories are there, but they feel like borrowed pages from someone else’s story now. he tells you, remember when we built a treehouse in the oak by the creek? and you nod, it's like he's trying to coax the sparks out. remember how you used to hum under your breath when you were nervous? and he smiles, but it’s an aching, tight thing.

so you sit there, across from him, trying to measure the distance between the boy you knew and the man wearing his face. he talks about the past like maybe he can drag you back to it. like maybe he can make you remember. but you're here, waiting for him to join you in the present.

but the worst part isn’t the change.

the worst part is the knowing that he’s still here. still breathing, still existing, still talking to you. and yet he’s light-years away with the you of the past.

[worstgenerationloser]

Benn Beckman is the man you want, but you just can't get. He's the cool fog on a lazy morning, willing to do whatever whenever as long as he manages to get things done efficiently by the end of the day. No matter who his partner is, an insignificant civilian, a high ranking marine, or even a simple mermaid in the ocean, he will love them with his whole heart. He's hard to get, maybe not into bed with, but it's hard to find your way into his heart now that his hair has greyed and his temper mellowed to the point showing anger is rare.

Shanks is the one night stand you hope you'll run into again, it's too embarrassing to seek him out but he knows if it's meant to be, it'll happen one way or another. He's passionate in ways you would never think, what you thought was just a confident pirate who likes pretty things wrapped around his arm every other night is actually much, much more complex than that. He doesn't like showing vulnerability to those who are undeserving, and he won't show it to those who are too scared to dig deeper into the mystery that is his psyche. A mystery, that man is, but is he one you can solve?

Portgas D. Ace is the sweet boy who captured your heart with a single genuine smile, the one who was willing to hear your story whether your struggles were big or small, marine or pirate, he would listen. A minute of time with him is like growing old together, an hour may as well seal your fate, but there's no guarantee he's gonna feel the same. This boy journeys, he travels the sea whether it is kind or cruel, and his loyalties lie only to Whitebeard himself and his brothers, there is a slim chance he would trust you with the weight on his shoulders, but he will end up turning that handmade candle into melted wax at the end of the day.

"What kind of man are you, exactly?"

"I'm not a bad one, maybe I'm just not the one for you.

A/N: I lost 1k words of what I was writing so I am trying to cope and write something to compensate :^(. (Likes and Reblogs are STILL very appreciated)

[g4rvez-r3id]

Book Lovers

Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Synopsis: Spencer sees you at a bookstore and buys you a book just to be able to start a conversation with you.

Category: Fluff!

Warnings: spencer being down bad for reader, spencer also being a shy lil geek, nothing bad, just pure fluff!

Author’s Note: while i work on trying to get part three of “anything for ellie” out, enjoy this little blurb lol i also wanted to add “out on a limb” mostly because i’m reading this book rn and yeaaaa

Spencer did not want to be painted like a stalker. But the way he was acting was definitely stalker-like. He’d seen you at the bookstore more times than he could count. And often times, he found himself in the same section as you. And he didn’t even like romance books.

You’d first caught his eye when he’d taken a trip to his local bookstore. He’d been passing by the romance section, when he saw you standing there, browsing through books. He’d stopped in his tracks, pretending to occupy himself with the philosophical book he’d wanted to purchase but when he saw you standing there, he focused on anything but that book.

The way you’d been focusing on the book you were holding, holding three other books in your arm. You were focused on an entirely other world and he grew fascinated by it. You were dressed in a casual outfit, topped off with a pair of black chucks. You had a small smile perched on your face as you read the back of another book. You’d been encapsulated in the book you were reading, you wouldn’t have even known if he was staring at you.

Someone had approached you, a girl. She’d been asking if you were done browsing yet and he’d figured out that this was probably your friend and the friend didn’t seem to be browsing like you were. It was like she’d been waiting on you, actually. You’d chimed in with a, “Almost done.” Your voice sounded sweet yet thick like honey.

“Now, to choose the ones I want out of this stack.” You told your friend as you looked down at your arms. “I’ve been wanting this one for a while but this one has such a good description.” You say, gazing over your options.

“Why don’t you just get all of them?” Your friend asked and he smiles to himself, because that’s something he’d ask, too. “Because I told myself I was on a book buying ban and that I still have other books I need to read. I’m on a budget.”

Spencer looked over, seeing as you skimmed the descriptions again and your friend sighing exasperatedly but still nonetheless waiting for you to pick your books.

In the end, you’d chosen three and walked down the section. Spencer had walked down to where you were previously at and scanned for the book that you were reading and luckily — with his eidetic memory — remembered what exact book you’d picked up and found that it was called Out on A Limb by Hannah Bonam Young that you’d skipped on. He remembered the look on your face and how you pointed right at the book and jokingly spoke to yourself — or rather the book, “I’ll come back for you.”

In all reality, Spencer knew that the likelihood for the book still being there when you returned maybe a week or two from now was probably pretty low. So, in the hopes of maybe taking this opportunity to talk to you, he’d zipped towards the front of the store to pay for the book before you left the store.

And when he saw that you’d purchased the three you wanted, he rushed over to you. “Uh, hi,” He greeted shyly, tucking a piece of hair behind his ear. “I, um, I hope this isn’t too weird, uh…” He holds the book toward you. “I saw that you put it down and well, the statistics of it still being here when you got back are extremely low, so… here.” You gasp as you grab the book from his grasp. “Oh, my gosh. Thank you, that’s super sweet of you! How’d you know this was the one I put back?”

Spencer shrugs, “I, uh, happened to look over when you put it back.” He told and you gaze down at the cover. “I hope that it isn’t weird, it’s just… no book should be left unread, I guess.” He chuckles to himself.

“I really do appreciate this, so much…” You trail off, looking at the man for a name and his eyes widen as he smiles, “Oh, uh, Spencer… I’m—I’m Spencer.”

“Spencer.” You repeat back to him and Spencer swears he could combust just by the way you say him name. “Well, I really do appreciate this. I have to get going now, but thank you so much. Hopefully, I see more around here!”

With that, you leave with your friend and Spencer takes a breath and smiles to himself a bit. It was a start, at the very least. He cursed himself a little bit for not asking for your number but you said you’d hopefully see more of him at the bookstore.

That had to have counted for something, right?

Well, anyways, he went to that bookstore almost every single day when the team didn’t have a case and found himself strolling down to the romance section every so often and his heart twinged in sadness when he saw you weren’t there.

Days turned into two weeks and still no sign of you. And after a particular case, he’d decided to go the bookstore once more. This time, he’d just wanted to look for a book. He seemed to have given up that maybe you just weren’t interested in him and possibly decided to go to a different bookstore just so you didn’t have to see him again. He’d given up by that point.

But as he passed by the romance section — by accident, like the first time — he’d found you, sitting in a chair by the window near the romance section. He squinted his eyes, was it really you? Were you a figment of his imagination? He’d looked around, as if a prank had been pulled on him or something.

Spencer takes a deep breath and as he gets closer, sees that you’re reading the book he’d bought for you. He mumbles to himself as he approaches you and gawks at you before speaking up, “Uh, hi.”

You look up and smile, “Oh, hi! Spencer, right? I was wondering when you were going to eventually show.” You tell him. Had you been waiting on him? Had you shown when he was off on cases or at work? Did he just screw this up entirely?

“Sorry, I, uh… work can get in the way sometimes. And I had shown, I just probably showed up on the days you didn’t.” There’s a moment of quiet before Spencer points towards the book you’re holding. Out on a Limb, the one he bought you. “I see you’re reading the book.”

“Finally, at least,” You say. “I swear, I have a whole stack of books near my bed and I still need to get to reading half of them.”

“You should try concurrent reading. Instead of committing to one book at a time, you read several books concurrently. You can switch between them based on your mood, interest, or level of engagement at any given moment. It can stimulate your brain, improve your focus and you’re short-term memory and it keep your desire to read alive.” Spencer explained and you looked at him with a smile and he closes his eyes. He really needs to learn how to have a normal conversation. He can already hear Morgan’s sigh in the back of his mind. “Sorry, I, uh, my colleagues say that I tend to ramble a lot.”

“Oh, I don’t mind.” You tell him. “I have actually thought about reading two books at once, I just thought it was weird.” Spencer decides to take a seat in the chair next to you. “It’s definitely not weird. I mean, I’ve read fifteen books in one day. And I do it all the time.”

You look at the man in disbelief, “Okay, there is absolutely no way you’ve read fifteen books all in one day.” It was too good to be true, he understood. “I have an eidetic memory and I can read 20,000 words per minute so for me, at least, it’s possible.”

“What are you, some kind of genius?” You chuckle and scoff. “Yeah, actually, I am.” Spencer said. “Although, I don’t believe intelligence can be accurately quantified.”

You stare at Spencer — he can’t tell if it’s in astonishment or disbelief. Maybe both. “You are hereby the most interesting man I’ve ever met.” You laugh and Spencer stares at you. He can’t believe he’s gotten this far talking to you. And you’re incredible and funny and beautiful.

You both sat there for at least two hours, just talking to one another. You’d asked about other benefits to concurrent reading, you’d asked about other facts but eventually had to stop himself because he wanted to know more about you. He’d found out that you often went to the bookstore with your friends because you didn’t have a car but this time, a friend had dropped you off and you’d admitted you hoped to see him today. He’d also found out that your area of expertise with books had to do with romance books, since it was the only genre you read. Or the only genre you wanted to read, at least. Your dream was to work at a bookstore, or write your own stories, your favorite color was yellow and that you spent most of your time reading instead of going out on dates.

Eventually, time rang up and your friend showed up back at the bookstore and texted you to meet her outside. Spencer stood, even opting to help you stand as you both took the nearest exit.

“Well, this was fun, Spencer.” You tell the man and he nods, “I agree.”

There’s another brink of silence when Spencer finally speaks up, “Uh, I’m-I’m sorry if this seems too forward, but… could I… get your number?” Morgan’s voice appeared again, this time cheering him on.

“Oh, you’re so sweet but—” But you had a boyfriend. But you found him unattractive. But you found him weird and unattractive. The scenarios played in Spencer’s mind. All of the worst ones. “But I don’t give my number to people I hardly know. For safety reasons, you understand?” Spencer nods, that’s completely understandable. For all you know, he could be a murderer. Which was definitely the complete opposite from what he actually was.

“Totally understandable,” Spencer says. “If it helps, I work at the FBI.” You raise a brow, “FBI?”

“Behavioral Analysis Unit,” He says, pulling his badge out to show you and you take a look at it with wondering eyes.

“Here,” Spencer digs in his pocket and pulls out a card. “This is my card, it has my phone number on it and if you’d like, you can take your time and wait until you’re ready to call or text me.”

You look at the man, “Okay, then.” You smile and your friend honks her horn, indicating that she’d been waiting long enough. You chuckle and look back at the man, “I won’t leave you hanging for too long, Dr. Genius. I hope I see you soon.”

“I hope I see you soon, too.” Spencer replies and you wave as you walk to your friend’s car and he waits until she drives away with you in the car to finally leave the bookstore.

Spencer’s mind was only filled with thoughts of you. Thoughts of facts about you, thoughts of your laughter and humility. And the fact that you were careful. He’d liked you. That was as far as he knew. And he really meant it when he said ‘I hope, I see you soon, too.’ And he hoped that you’d call him soon.

[shoyoist]

── 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐑 : VI.

content: 2.2k words ! fem reader, pit fighter!vi, fwb dynamic. sapphic content. part 2 to my series linked below! each chapter can be read as a standalone. top vi, edging, dirty talk, vi calls you 'princess', a little choking, one mention of hair pulling; fingering, cunnilingus, a bit of manhandling, some inner monologuing and angst. brief mention of past sex work. flashback to how they met.

SERIES MASTERLIST. part 1: home time.

— . ｡˚ ♡ you've been needing vi since you first laid eyes on her.

the first time you’d laid eyes on vi, she’d looked more wounded animal than woman to you. 

it was your first night at the pit. you sat a good distance away, clinking glasses with a couple of friends who all enjoyed watching brutes throw each other around way more than they should. when the renowned new regular stepped up for the next match, your friends had grunted, “oh here’s that bitch again. she makes these so boring.” “hmm? hey, i think her winning streak’s pretty hot.” “well, it’d be hotter if she played around with her prey a bit more.”

you weren’t really that interested, but the change in atmosphere was significant enough that you had to look up. through the fog of cigarette smoke and hookah fumes, you could see the fighting ring — illuminated brightly by a dozen, dazzling headlights.

and there vi was. she was walking the perimeter of the ring with a quick, light-footed pace like her hackles were raised, teeth bared and grit like she was going to use them to win.

with her back to you, you could see the complex patterns inked from her nape to the end of her spine, and when she raised her arms and braced for the signal to start, you saw how her muscles tensed and tightened. you weren’t able to look away till the fight was over and she was out of the ring — cold blue eyes holding no hint of pride in victory within them, busted nose dripping a stream of blood down her lip, flecks of red across her neck and on the swell of her breasts.

you started showing up again and again, after that.

vi interested you, and though you tried to remain nonchalant about it, you kept coming back to see her. watching her fight became a regular pastime to you. not even just a pastime. a sort of guilty pleasure. an obsession. you even stayed for the afterparty that followed the fights. you’d hang around with the other women who were there just to watch or to try themselves out on the dancefloor.

you eventually figured vi was here to fight just as much as she was here to make ends meet. in between watching her as she beat people bloody and swaying your hips for her to see, you mulled over the little information you had on her. you’d heard of all the stories of her, of course. one of the survivors of the clash between silco and vander. elder sister of the one and only jinx. was recently entangled with an enforcer, joined topside. betrayed all of zaun. bit the hand that had fed her all her life. got fucked over and thrown back into the pit. and here she was.

she fought with bare fists, hair and lips inked the same shade of black, some of it streaking her forehead with sweat, getting worse whenever she wiped her face. the skin over her muscles red with impact and pumping blood, her eyes full of a dead sort of rage. and she kept winning her fights. one after the other, she sent men to the ground. and she looked fucking good doing it.

you heard the other stories too. how she only fucked women. how she fucked them good.

and somehow, you started getting impatient. you wanted vi to notice you. you kept trying to figure something out. devise a way for you to stand out from the crowd; to really catch her eye.

but fuck, it was hard. like a wounded animal, vi seemed to be paralyzed by something that no longer existed. she fought, ate, drank, got lugged home by some fucker. she split her knuckles, spat blood, screamed. and she just didn’t fucking approach you. it was like she was trapped in a cycle. like you had to lure her out, with elaborately laid out traps. 

piece after piece of meat for the hungry, wounded and angry, dead-eyed beast.

you told your friends you just wanted a good fuck. you told them you wanted a feel of what she’s got. and it was true! there was nothing emotional here. you didn’t know vi, vi didn’t know you — and you didn’t particularly want someone who’d been lusting after a fucking piltie anyway. 

but that was what was nagging you. the thing that annoyed you more than anything was that a woman who’d gotten dumped by a topsider was somehow too far out of your reach. you felt you were better than that.

and as the weeks blurred, you started needing her to need you.

you didn’t consider yourself anything like a revolutionary. you weren’t a genius and you weren’t necessarily fueled by the desire to somehow avenge the undercity. 

but you’d gone through much. perhaps not stillwater, but you knew that it didn’t only take years in a stone box to drive a woman crazy. your own life full of fuck-overs and hardships had put a good pint of patriotism and dignity in you. and somehow, the fact that someone like vi who had arguably suffered so much worse than you had, was so enamoured by a topsider — an enforcer, of all topsiders — filled you with rage.

you saw vi as a powerful asset. not a herald or a beacon like jinx was, but something. something for zaun that was definitely not for piltover to craftily thieve away. there was a certain hint of betrayal that everyone tasted in their mouths when they looked at vi. it was strange to acknowledge how you felt — but you suppose you wanted to reclaim vi.

and as you watched vi fight, memorizing her moves, lost in the way she sucked spittle back through her teeth as she got up from the painted concrete, you saw her as what she really was. a weapon, carved out of zaunite stone with the loving hands of piltover’s cruelty.

she was gorgeous. a piltie could never see her the way you saw her. and you wanted her to see that.

your efforts are not without eventual success, though it was an arduous affair to get to that point. one night, after a barely-there win, vi finally makes her way to you at the end of the night.

“hey.”

you blink up at her, discreetly aware that your friends are fleeing their spots at the table you were sharing with them. “. . . yes?”

“mind if i sit here?” vi says, already pulling a chair out to take a seat right next to you. you’d raised a cracked cup of water to your lips, and you watched her from over the rim as she sits and rubs a bandaged palm at her chin, wiping blood off. she’s caked with sweat and grime, and her left eye is darkening with a bruise. she smells of beer already, and now that she’s up close to you, you catch the scent of cheap dye — something like ink or paint.

you can suddenly hear your pulse in your ears. oh. she's so hot.

“so, you here for the dancefloor or for me?” she breaks the momentary silence.

you don’t remember how the conversation went from there, really. all you remember is that eventually, vi had come back with you to your place. and you’d helped her clean up a bit — sudsy water and your last clean rag on her, half a roll of bandages for her split knuckles — before you were on each other.

vi pressed you to your sheets and ate you up like she was starved. 

your clothes are all off within minutes, pulled off by vi’s wandering hands. she’s stripped bare, too, only gauze and bandages covering her. her mouth searches you, your arms pinned to your sides by her unyielding grip on your wrists.

she kisses you up and down, sometimes soft and sometimes harsh, taking deep breath after breath of your skin into her lungs. she does this till you’re jittery, edging you till you’re so sensitive that you’re ready to explode. kissing, biting, nose nudging at your folds and tongue licking at your softer spots. covering you in inky kiss marks. rubbing it on your sheets.

you moan for her, whine her name, too embarrassed to just ask her to hurry the fuck up and make you cum — and you lay there and let her eat you up. you blush when she tells you how she knows you’ve been staring at her. you want to sink into your squeaky mattress and hide when she tells you you’ve got a lot of princess attitude, waiting so patiently till vi came up to you herself. 

“i’ve seen the way you look at me. y’ into me, princess?” she hisses into your chest, strong fingers wrapped around your throat. her other hand cupping your pussy, she slowly coaxes the air out of your lungs. gets you to beg for her before she slips her fingers in you.

this wasn't how you had planned for it to go. you'd wanted to do more. you had wanted to do the fucking. you wanted her to feel good at your hands.

you’re embarrassed by how easily she makes you fold, but she’s so hot. she's too fucking good at this. and she’s giving you exactly what you want. what’s a lonely, touch-starved bitch to do? “vi, fuck.”

“you’ve been wantin’ me for a while, huh?” she taps your cheek, one hand squeezing the plush of your right tit while the other toys with your cunt. “mhm,” you whimper. “weeks.” 

and the lidded look she gives you as she increases the pressure of her thumb on your clit is enough to make you see white.

that’s how it had started. a dance of nothing and nothing between you and vi. nothing as in, you didn’t know what it was, really. and nothing as in, you didn’t know what you wanted it to be.

your intention had been to claim vi for yourself. to show her that pretty things existed down here in zaun, too — that she should see how piltover has fucked her over. to convince her to stay down here where people were her family and places were her home. but as time went on, and as the number of entanglements between you and vi kept increasing, it started feeling more and more like vi had claimed you for herself instead.

vi was erratic. it would feel as if you were fixing her — like she was finally moving on from whatever had happened to her up there; then she would disappear for days. and she would come back battered, worse. sometimes she would sleep in your bed and it would make you happy, till she mutters a name alien to you in her sleep. “caitlyn. cait.”

and it makes you see red. you tell yourself you don’t love this woman. you tell yourself you just want her to forget that bullshit. you tell yourself this is your own little way of keeping your home and its people safely away from the ignorant, cruel toying of the luxurious topside. but as the days turn into weeks, and the weeks turn into months, you can’t deny yourself of it anymore.

vi makes you soft. she makes you want. 

sometimes she’s weak in your arms. sometimes, right after she’s done fucking you and done pulling your hair while you eat her out, she’ll be sighing into your chest, muscled arms wrapped around your waist as she sleeps on top of you. she makes you feel like you belong. like you have something here. which is fucking funny, because that’s how you want to make her feel. but you doubt you’re doing it successfully. you feel like the tables have been turned on you.

it’s fucking annoying.

you keep telling yourself that this won’t end well for you. you keep wondering if you should just ask vi to pay up. you remember clear as day, how you used to turn sex into a source of income. you remember how you made anything into a job. how you scavenged, leeched, fucked, killed, whatever — but that was when you needed money for a place to live in. when you needed food and water and clothes and a bed and you had nothing and no one and no means.

you just really hated the thought of being used. and you didn’t know what made you feel it worse — letting vi come and go like this for nothing, or to ask her to pay you like you’re someone up for hire.

“what do you think of me?” you ask vi, as the two of you lay together, mouths close enough to exchange breath. “i think you’re good, princess.” vi says, like it’s easy for her. “real good to me.” 

and somehow, that was good enough for you to keep going. you were good to her. became her pretty princess. her good girl. her distraction, her safe place, her home. whenever she wanted it, you laid her head on your chest and lulled her into a dreamless sleep with the beat of your heart. you traced the tattoos on her back with your fingertips, kissed her hair, told her she has nothing to fear. you told her you would never leave.

“promise?” “promise.”

until of course.

one night, vi just up and left. you had asked her if she would come again. and she had said she probably would. so, like a loyal little dog, you waited for her — a sinking feeling in your heart telling you that she was gone. that you’d failed, that your stupid little feelings were for nothing and did nothing. 

and of course, she didn’t come. you heard of some news here and there. vi was with jinx again. vi was doing some crazy shit. vi had gone back to piltover. it made you so angry. so, so fucking angry.

zaun nearly came apart at the seams. there was a revolution. like a storm that floods the trenches and takes everything with it. leaving the land bare, clean, up for restoration.

you, lost. alone. heartbroken and seething with humiliation and disappointment. left to pick up your pieces and rebuild yourself.

and the next time you saw vi, she was entirely changed. and the sight of her made you sick to your stomach like nothing ever did before. 

send me an ask to be tagged in the next part!

series masterlist.

previous part. / next part (tba).

[jadebat7]

a man, a man, a man!!!

frat!bokuto x chubby!reader

summary: who cares if she has a little bit of tummy and big thighs, just more to love!

(lightly inspired by this reel)

You didn't exactly hate parties. In fact, you loved going out with your friends, getting ready before, coming home after and taking off your uncomfortable heels.

College was the time to party, obviously. You were going to party. There's something so cathartic about screaming the lyrics to some 2000s trash pop song.

But this party was not your cup of tea. You always refused to go to frat parties with your friends, doubting you'd even be let in. The frat guys on campus were... to put it simply, assholes.

You saw their sideways stares and snickers with their friends. They never tried to hide it. And really at this point, you were used to it. Too long have you been the punching bag.

It was a miracle that you got in, although it was likely because of your friends. They were both super gorgeous, like, model pretty. You weren't jealous, of course.

That's the thing, you knew you were chubby, you knew you weren't skinny but you didn't care. People can judge you all they want, you think your hot and that's what matters, right?

You followed your friends through the large house, the music reverberating against the walls and banging against your ear drums. The ground shook under your feet, your sneakers were weirdly... sticky? Ew.

Either way, you and your friends found the drinks and made yourselves a random mixture of alcohol in shitty red solo cups.

Your friends had on short skirts and tank tops. They looked amazing, as always. You opted for a pair of jean shorts and a white t-shirt. Simple, and easy. Right?

Wrong.

As you were following your friends through the crowd, you heard laughing and soon someone "accidentally" bumped into you, spilling their drink on you. It was red, of course.

The guy laughed, "Shit- My drink, watch where you're going, hippo"

You rolled your eyes, about to go find a bathroom before,

"Apologize right now," A loud voice spoke, standing in front of you. You looked at him, you could barely see him. All you could see in the darkness was his silhouette and his booming voice.

From what you could see, he was... well, he wasn't too bad to look at.

"What? You seriously asking me to apologize? Maybe if she didn't take up half the room, I wouldn't have ran into her"

You almost laughed, it was a good insult, honestly. A little dramatic, but still.

The man in front of you didn't seem to feel the same. He shook his head, "Fuckin' asshole-"

Before you knew it, he grabbed your wrist and was dragging you away from the small crowd that had formed.

Were you about to get murdered? Possibly. But, like, yolo? His grip on your wrist was firm, but still gentle enough to not hurt you.

As you were dragged away, you heard the same voice shout,

"You wanna fuck that fat bitch so bad"

The man stopped, turning back to look at him.

"And so what if I do? Makes me 10x the man you are."

Eventually, you were upstairs. In a room, which was surprisingly clean. Nice job, mystery man.

Once the door was closed, he looked at you

"Hey! Sorry- Hey, uh, sorry about that."

He was somehow more shy now that the two of you were alone. And now that you got a good look at him, he was actually really fucking attractive, and was pretty muscular.

"My names Bokuto, by the way. Or Kou, maybe Kou is better- I'm not a fan of formalities anyway"

His back was turned to you, searching around in the closet.

"I'm y/n, and, why did you drag me up here? And why did you defend me- I've never met you before"

He looked back at you, "Well, I dragged you up here to get you a change of clothes. And I defended you because no one should talk to a person like that,"

He turned back to look in the closet

"Specially when its a pretty girl"

Did you hear that last part right?

No you were probably hearing things.

You stood awkwardly for a few more seconds before he pulled out a hoodie. It was black with a school crest on the back and some writing on the front.

"This good?"

You looked at the hoodie, sighing.

"Its fine, I'm just gonna go back to my dorm. I don't fit in guys clothes."

He smiled, "You'll fit in mine."

You raised a brow, a small smile forming on your face.

"Really?"

"Really."

You shrugged, taking the hoodie. He turned around and you took off your ruined shirt and put on the hoodie and..

It was actually kind of, big on you?

You looked at it, fighting the smile on your face. "Huh, what do you know"

He turned around, "Told ya"

You rolled your eyes, "I won't admit your right,"

You paused for a few seconds, looking around the room before looking back at him.

"Unless, you go on a date with me?"

He grinned, "You have yourself a deal, pretty girl"

a/n: lowkey also wrote this bc I was SICK of seeing hq x chubby readers where the reader is super shy or not confident, so yeah! The outcome might be a little more cringe than I wanted but whatever!

Reblogs always appreciated!

btw my requests are wide open...

[chrisstvrns]

𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐦𝐞: 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 | 𝐜.𝐬.

warnings: giving birth, absent father, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 2,066

a/n: i dont know what giving birth is like so i skipped over the whole description because i dont think thats very important 

part one | part two | part three | part four

over the course of the last five months, since nick and matt found out, your biggest source of support was the two of them. sure, you had your parents, and of course they helped, but there was just something more about what nick and matt did for you. they went grocery shopping for you, they came to doctor’s appointments even if your mom was going, they helped you paint the nursery. everything that they could do, they did it.

right now, you were standing in a room in your newly bought apartment. it was perfect, right in the middle of your moms house, your dads, and nick and matts parents, which is where they stayed whenever they were in boston. you, nick, and matt were standing in your baby’s nursery, a faint pink paint covering the walls lined with painted daisies—the daisies that you, nick, matt, and your parents had painted for your daughter.

you stood in front of the crib, your eyes locking on the one spot that was empty. the empty spot where a daisy was supposed to be. the empty spot you hoped chris would eventually be able to paint a daisy onto.

with all the time you had to think, you thought of how you would tell him- or if you even wanted to.

you traced your fingers gently along the smooth crib railing, heart heavy with a blend of anticipation and bittersweet longing. the faint scent of fresh paint lingered in the room, mingling with the warmth of new beginnings. that little empty spot on the wall stood out like a quiet reminder- one final touch, waiting for someone who had yet to arrive.

chris had always been a wildcard, unpredictable yet endlessly charming. you didn’t know how he’d react, whether he’d be hesitant or jump right in with a laugh and a paintbrush. but you hoped, more than anything, that he’d show up- that he'd be there to make his mark, not just on the wall, but on this new chapter of your life.

taking a steady breath, you reminded yourself that sometimes it was okay to hope, even when things felt uncertain. and maybe, just maybe, chris would surprise you.

you were snapped out of your thoughts at the sound of nick and matt practically shouting for you, even though you were all in the same room.

you softly hummed back to them, still staring at the empty spot.

“dude, i think you're having the baby! your water broke!” nick shouted, both his and matt’s eyes wide.

“what?” you muttered, holding your stomach as a strange wave of warmth and pressure rolled through your body. it hit you then—this was really happening.

matt sprang into action, grabbing your hospital bag that had been sitting by the nursery door for weeks. “okay, okay, we got this,” he rambled, though his voice shook slightly. “nick, car keys. come on!”

“i thought we had more time... my due date’s not for another week,” you whispered, heart racing as you struggled to process the whirlwind of emotions- fear, excitement, and disbelief all tangled together.

“well, apparently your daughter had other plans,” matt quipped, trying to inject some humor into the chaos as nick fumbled with his phone, trying to call your mom, who was out grocery shopping.

you took a deep breath, leaning into their steady presence. “guys... i need help walking.”

“oh, we got you,” nick promised, rushing to your side while matt gently took your arm on the other.

as they guided you toward the door, you stole one last glance at the nursery. that empty spot on the wall stared back at you, a silent reminder of all that was still to come- both the chaos and the beauty.

and maybe, just maybe, chris would still show up in time to paint it.

within the next half hour, you, nick, and matt were at the hospital, getting settled into a room filled with doctors and nurses.

you held your stomach, gently breathing as your doctor came over to you, nick, and matt.

“are either of you the father?” he asked, holding a clipboard.

“no, but we’re the uncles!” nick frantically responded, his grip tight on your hand.

“i’m afraid that won’t do. i’m going to have to ask you to leave. you can sit out in the waiting room, and i’ll send a nurse out with updates.”

nick and matt reluctantly left the room, exchanging nervous glances as they were ushered out by a nurse. the hallway felt colder somehow, a stark contrast to the warmth of the nursery they had just left behind. they moved toward the waiting room, nick muttering something under his breath about the rules being “ridiculous.”

matt dropped into a stiff plastic chair, running his hands through his hair. “this is insane. i can’t believe this is happening right now,” he said, his voice still laced with disbelief.

nick sat beside him, bouncing his leg with restless energy. “dude, i swear i was just grabbing the car keys, thinking this was a false alarm or something. and now? she's in there- like actually having the baby.”

they both fell into a quiet, uneasy rhythm, the sounds of beeping monitors and distant footsteps filling the sterile hospital corridor. a small tv mounted on the wall played some daytime talk show that neither of them paid attention to.

“you think she's okay?” nick finally broke the silence, his brow furrowed with concern.

matt nodded, though his expression mirrored nick's uncertainty. “yeah... i mean, she's tough. she'll be fine. but still—i wish we could be in there.”

a nurse passed by with a clipboard, offering a polite smile, but the seconds stretched on like hours.

nick exhaled sharply, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “you think chris even knows what's happening? like, does he get that he should be here right now?”

matt shrugged. “honestly, man, i don't know. but if he doesn't show up, he's missing out on something big. and that’s on him.”

the words hung in the air between them, heavy with both frustration and hope.

after what felt like an eternity, a nurse finally approached. nick and matt shot up from their seats simultaneously, eyes wide with anticipation.

“she’s doing great,” the nurse reassured them with a smile. “it might take a little while, but everything’s going smoothly.”

relief washed over their faces, though nick couldn't resist a joke to ease the tension. “see, told you she’s a champ,” he grinned, nudging matt.

matt chuckled softly, shaking his head. “yeah, no doubt about it.”

as they sat back down, the weight in their chests lightened just a little. no matter how long it took, they’d be here—waiting, worrying, and hoping for that first announcement of a brand-new life.

they didn’t have to wait long before the sound of hurried footsteps caught their attention. turning toward the door, they spotted your parents rushing toward them, your mom’s face flushed with concern while your dad trailed closely behind, gripping his car keys like he was still bracing for impact.

“where is she?” your mom demanded breathlessly, her eyes darting between nick and matt.

“she’s okay,” nick assured her quickly. “she’s in the room with the doctors. they kicked us out.”

your mom nodded, visibly relieved but still restless. “i need to be in there with her.”

matt stood up. “they’ll probably let you in since you’re her mom. come on, we’ll ask.”

sure enough, after a brief word with the nurse, your mom was escorted through the double doors and into the delivery room. your dad lingered awkwardly in the waiting room, his expression a mixture of concern and uncertainty.

“guess it’s just us guys out here now,” nick joked lightly, trying to cut through the tension.

your dad managed a small, tense smile as he sat down next to matt. “she’ll be okay,” he said quietly, though it sounded like he was trying to convince himself as much as anyone else.

“yeah, she will,” matt agreed firmly.

and so they waited—nick tapping his foot anxiously, your dad staring blankly at the tv, and matt keeping a steady eye on the doors, ready for any news. even with the nerves thick in the air, they all knew one thing for sure: you weren’t doing this alone. not now, not ever.

hours later, after what felt like hundreds of screams and cries, your beautiful baby girl was here.

madison nicolette sturniolo. 

her tiny cries echoed softly in the room, a perfect blend of life and promise. your chest ached with overwhelming love and exhaustion as the nurse gently laid her in your arms. she was so small, wrapped snugly in a pastel pink blanket, her delicate features framed by wisps of dark hair.

“she’s perfect,” your mom whispered, her voice thick with emotion as she wiped away tears.

you nodded weakly, unable to tear your gaze away from the miracle in your arms. “yeah... she really is.”

the weight of everything—the fear, the uncertainty, the waiting—faded into the background. all that mattered now was the little life cradled against your chest.

the doctor smiled warmly. “she’s healthy and strong. congratulations.”

after a few minutes, your mom stood, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. “i’ll let your dad know. he’s going to want to see her.”

you nodded, grateful for her understanding.

when she slipped out of the room, the door creaked open again moments later, and nick and matt barged in, breathless and wide-eyed.

“holyyyy crap,” nick whispered, his voice catching as he spotted madison. “is that her? oh my god, she's here.”

matt stood frozen, his usual confident demeanor completely gone. “she’s... wow. dude, she’s so small.”

you laughed softly despite your exhaustion. “yeah, babies tend to be.”

nick practically sprinted to your side, peeking over your shoulder with an awestruck grin. “she’s gorgeous. like, actually the cutest baby ever. sorry, matt, she beats your baby photos by a mile.”

“hey,” matt protested weakly, still clearly overwhelmed. “i was a cute kid. and we were, like, identical!”

your heart swelled watching them, the guys who had stood by you through everything, now completely captivated by the newest addition to your life.

“want to hold her?” you offered softly, looking between them.

nick’s eyes widened comically. “uh, do you trust me with that? i mean, she's tiny, and my hands are kind of sweaty right now...”

“you're fine, nick,” you assured him, laughing gently. “just sit down first.”

nick carefully took the baby, his hands trembling slightly as he cradled her with surprising gentleness. “oh my god,” he whispered again, staring at her in wonder. “she’s perfect.”

“yeah,” matt agreed quietly, sitting beside him. “this is wild.”

your dad peeked into the room then, his face softening instantly when he saw you holding madison. “is it okay if i come in?”

“of course,” you said warmly. “come meet your granddaughter.”

he stepped closer, eyes glassy as he took in the sight of her. “she’s beautiful,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “you did good, kid.”

“thanks, dad.”

the room filled with quiet joy, laughter mingling with awe as everyone took turns marveling over madison. for the first time in a long while, everything felt whole and right.

you glanced at the clock, realizing that dawn was just starting to break outside. this was the beginning of a new chapter—messy, unpredictable, and beautiful.

and maybe, just maybe, there was still time for chris to show up and paint that daisy.

“hey, y/n?” nick muttered, staring at his niece.

“yes?”

nick glanced at matt, then back at you before speaking. “chris is here.”

your breath hitched in your throat, not knowing what to say. before you could even think, matt answered first.

“we didn’t tell him. he texted us. said he was helping our mom and dad with something in the kitchen and dropped something on his toe. he thinks he broke it. i don’t think he knows any of us are here.”

you let out a sigh of relief, glancing at your baby in her uncle’s arms. would chris ever know?

“okay...” you mutter, staring at madison in nicks arms, a small smile appearing on your face as you whisper “she looks just like him” 

nick and matt glance down at the baby, the only thing they see if their brother staring back at them. 

especially his eyes. his gorgeous, icy blue eyes that always put a smile on your face. now? the eyes that put a smile on your face were madisons. even if they looked just like chris’. 

it wasnt him, but you had a little piece of him. a small piece, but at least it was a piece. 

────────────୨ৎ────────────

a/n: did u peep the nick and matt dedication in the baby name

- aurora ᯓ✮⋆˙

find other parts of this series here

likes and reblogs are always greatly appreciated! ੈ✩‧₊˚

to be added to my taglist, comment on this post!

⋆˙⟡ tags: @lvrsturniolo @marrykisskilled @mattscoquette @emely9274 @wh0remikasas @mattsstarlet @pvssychicken @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan @jvngle18 @sturns-mermaid @mattslolita @lolastrniolo @55sturn @oliviasthatgirl @hannahsturns @dykes4chris @y3sterdaysproblem @bernardsbendystraws @courta13  @colorthecosmos444 @delilahsturniolo  @colorthecosmos444  @chriss-slutt  @cvnntagious  @conspiracy-ash  @bluetalia  @chris-hallelujah @15vogue  @chrispleasure  @idkwhatthisis2009  @sturniologirlzz  @sturniolo101  @leeeeree  @nicksorange @tylerstacobell  @simpforeveryman @sofieeeeex  @espressqe  @yesterdaysproblemm  @skye-44  @kikirasweatsweathoho @shadowthesim @chrepsi @st4rcs @mattswifeyx

[pinkolve]

A Spencer Reid Fanfiction

-An Unexpected Reunion-

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Summary: You haven't seen your ex-boyfriend Spencer in three years, after splitting up because of his job. What happens when you finally see the same ex-boyfriend in the bullpen of your own new job?

Genre: Fluff, angst if you squint

CW: Implied plus size!reader, fem!reader, small self-deprecating comment from reader about her body, use of y/n, first person point of view....I think that's it!

Word Count: Like 750, it's very short

A/N: Hello again! I tried my best with this one but it was a little rushed, so some things may not add up completely. But, I hope you enjoy it anyways!

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

“Hey…” I whispered, my breath still uneven. 

“Hi.” Spencer replied, his breath also heavy. We stared at each other for a few moments, I don’t know how much time actually passed by. His eyes were enchanting, I hadn’t seen them in so long. Before I had time to even take a breath, he lunged towards me and connected our lips. I forgot just how soft his lips were, and how perfectly they fit against my own…

***

“So this ex-boyfriend of yours…” Penny started, swallowing a large bite of her sandwich. “You haven’t talked to him in three years?” 

“Yup.” I respond, taking a bite from my own sandwich. We had been on a lunch break for fifteen minutes now, mainly gossiping instead of eating. Unfortunately, we had gotten to my side of the gossip. 

“Why? Why would you two even break up? You obviously still love each other!” Penny almost spit bread from her mouth as she yelled. 

“Well, I still love him. For all we know, he has a much hotter and skinnier girlfriend now.” I chuckle self-deprecatingly. I sit up from my own desk chair and walk over to throw my wrapper in the garbage. 

“Don’t you dare say that!” Penny chokes a little. She coughs and finally swallows. “You are so sexy! I can’t believe you don’t see it!” 

“Sorry, Pen.” I smile. She shakes her head at me before turning around to her desk. She looks down and gasps loudly. 

“Oh my god!” 

“What?” I asked nervously. I immediately ran to her side to see what she was looking at. 

“This case file! I was supposed to get it to Hotch like…” She checked the time on one of her monitors. “Twenty minutes ago?!” She grabbed the paper with one hand, shoving it into mine. “Please run this up to him! I have mayo all over my hands!” I shake my head in overstimulation. 

“Okay, okay! I’m going!” I dash out the door without even bothering to close it behind me. I run as fast as I can in four inch wedges, to the elevator. 

“Hotch!” I yell as I finally enter the bullpen. He looks up from his watch and spots me. I climb up the stairs to his office and hand him the file, heaving as I do so. “Sorry.” I take a deep breath. “Penny was…Eating and forgot so…Brought it here for ya.” 

“Thank you, y/n.” He smiles and pats me on the back gently. “You alright?” 

“Yes, yeah. It was just…Extremely hard to run here in heels.” I chuckle and he lets out a breathy laugh. 

“Well, thank you again.” He turns to the bullpen and calls his team into the conference room. I notice a few people stand and as I finally turn around I lock eyes with a man. One who looks…Oddly familiar. His eyes are the same puppy dog brown that I remember, and they practically sparkle. I can’t tear myself away, I haven’t been able to see these gorgeous eyes in years.

“Y/n?” I turn at the sound of my name, looking back at Hotch. “Are you okay?” I shake my head. 

“Yes! Yeah, I’m sorry!” I look back at those enchanting puppy dog eyes one more time before speeding out the door. I run right past the elevator, going down the stairs as fast as I physically can. If he was going to go after me, I wanted to get away as fast as possible. I didn’t know what the fuck I was going to say to him, especially if he did in fact have a new girlfriend. 

I swerved around a corner and ran into Penny and mine’s office, slamming the door shut behind me. 

“What the-!” Penny spins in her chair. The minute she sees the horrified look on my face she runs to my side. “What the hell happened?!” 

“I just saw…” I heave out a wheezy breath. “My ex-boyfriend.” Penny’s face lights up. 

“Your ex-boyfriend works here?!” 

“Apparently!” 

“Who the hell is he?!” 

“His name’s Spencer.” I take another long breath. “Spencer Reid.” Penny’s face goes white. 

“Your ex-boyfriend is Spencer Reid?!” She looks like she’s ready to pass out. Not even a second later, an eager knock lands on the door I’m leaning against. I jump away from it, my eyes wide. Penny looks at me for a moment before reaching for the door handle. 

“No, Pen! It might be him!” 

“Exactly!” She pulls the door open quickly, revealing his face to me once again. 

“Hey…” I whispered, my breath still uneven.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

[purpdrawsthings]

You'll Be Back Mr Puzzles MAP!

No this is actually real soahsodhsoshsi

Hihi everyone saw my last post hahahhhh I wasn't joking 💀

READ THE ENTIRETY OF THIS IF YOU WANT TO JOIN ‼️‼️‼️‼️

I don't want no nobody to not understand anything

Anyways, onto the details!

Wait, what's a MAP?

Ah.. I should explain that shouldn't I?

MAP stands for Multiple-Animator Project. It's basically a collaborative project made up of numerous animations by different creators!

You might have seen these before in the art fandom, if not, you're not a real artist /jk /nsrs /lh

Jokes aside, these projects tend to be fun for most creators and I'm hoping that this would bring some fun to the people joining :)

Is this begginer friendly?

Why yes it is! Regardless you're good at animation or not, you're welcome to join! Just... At least put some effort rather than being lazy?

Regardless, everyone is welcomed with open arms here! So don't be afraid ;)

What canvas size should I use?

1280x720 preferably! Just to make sure it doesn't take up too much of my data ;w;

But you can use any canvas size you'd want besides that! A box shape, or that weird YouTube short form... Nvm exclude that one but anyways, yeah any canvas size that you're comfortable with!

Is there a specific theme?

There's actually none! The map is supposed to just be a silly Mr puzzles map :3

This includes the setting and etc like- go crazy! Do a sad, fun, crazy, angry moment or something! Do what your imagination can make out of that song using Puzzles ^^

Is it okay if I can't remove my animating apps watermark?

It's completely fine if you can't remove it! Don't worry you're not the only broke one here ;)

Am I allowed to put my watermark?

Yes! You're incouraged to add in your watermark so people know it's your part!

Dw, if you don't have one them I'll just put your name while I'm editing the entire thing :)

Can I include my OCS or my Mr puzzles design?

Yes you can! You can also change your Puzzles aus whenever you'd like.

E.g my Showman Puzzles on part 1 and my Puzzles kinsona on part 2

It's just an example! If you're adding ocs, it's good! But the animation should primarily focused on Puzzles! He can interact with other characters but it's mostly just him. Oh and if you're wondering, it doesn't have to be SMG4 OCS :)

How many parts can I take?

Hey hey don't be greedy /hj

2 parts! I want everybody to take their chances and do some cool stuff :D

Where should I ask for parts or send submissions at?

In the discord server I made! The link will be at the end of the post. I know I just replied to some in this blog and they got their parts, I will NOT be accepting any ask parts OUTSIDE of the server.

The same goes with submissions/finished parts, please do send it in discord.

Why is this? This is because I want everything to be easier for me so I could manage stuff. I get frustrated very easily so yeah 😭

Is there a deadline?

Well uh- I'm not sure! But it's probably going to be planned on the June or July, somewhere in the middle of the year. Though I will be making sure nobody feels rushed for their sake

Have you ever host a MAP before?

Wait where tf did that one come from-

No I haven't unfortunately, this is my first one! I've always wanted to make a MAP because of how cool the idea itself is.

Now that that's done, here are the parts! As time progresses a and people enter, I'll fill them up :3

Intro : me

1. @e-v-e-l-l-e

2.

3.

4. @lari-the-dragon

5. @rat-n-atty

6. @madhalo

7. @mrtophat518

8. @fenicearts420

9. @cosmicoreo9

10. @s0ck-1t

11. @niranutcake

12. @madhalo

13. Me

14. @alex-dolmatescu2-0

15. @libbytwq

16. @alex-dolmatescu2-0

17. @rr3d2y

18.

19. @niranutcake

20.

21. @messydoodlesyt

22. @messydoodlesyt

23. @icedbeverageenjoyer

24.

Outro : me

Last but not least.. Please do enter your submissions in the discord server below this sentence :D

You can post your part outside the server if you want but I'm only taking the ones submitted in the server itself :)

Andddd that's about all! You can ask questions here and in the server. Yeetus chat!

[cherry-smokes]

My Strange Lady

Life has thrown many curveballs at Steve, so he shouldn't be so surprised when he begins to grow fond of a very peculiar librarian. Paring: Single dad!Steve Harrington x oddball!reader Word Count: 3.1K Note: this is a reader insert, I just don't really use y/n in my work so instead the reader goes by the nickname Birdie here.

─────────── · 𓅫 · ───────────

Steve always wanted to be a father. He had a plan, fall head over heels in love and have a big wedding. While his big house always gave him the creeps as a kid because of how empty it was, Steve wanted to fill his own with kids and a dog if they wanted one. The halls wouldn’t feel haunted, they would be full of memories. Crawling with proof of life there. Crayon marks on the walls, stains on the carpets, baby gates and everything. While he didn’t get the wedding, or the big house, he did get the crayons and the stains. He got Robbie.

His sweet baby. Who came out with the same head of hair as his daddy and an even bigger heart. Steve made sure to let him feel as deeply as he wanted to. He knows how long it can take a person to come out of that cold shell when they’ve been conditioned to think that feelings are a sign of weakness.

Steve wouldn’t trade their little life for the world. Of course he still spends endless hours at night fretting over whether or not he’s good enough to fill both roles in Robbie’s life. Dad guilt. You can’t escape it, but Robbie is healthy and happy and so very loved.

When Robbie started sleeping in his own room Steve struggled with it more than he did. He would wait for him to fall asleep and lay on the floor next to his small bed with a pillow and a blanket. He did this until his shoulder started perpetually aching and then he realized maybe it was time to stop.

Steve has tried to devote every waking moment of his life for the past five years to Robbie. He’s on his own here, so as much as he wanted to be a stay at home dad Steve took up a job at the hospital working the front desk. It paid well enough and gave them both good health insurance. So he braved through putting Robbie in daycare and tried his best not to spend his day worrying about how he was doing. If kids were being nice to him, if he was being nice to others. If he was eating his lunch and if the adults at the daycare center were being sweet to him. It’s a little easier now that he’s in kindergarten. Steve’s more used to the dynamic of Robbie being away for a few hours a day. Steve's met his teacher, a nice older lady with glasses that make her eyes look buggy and a kind soul. Robbie adores her, he makes her drawings with messy handwriting misspelling his appreciation for her. He’s good like that. He loves sharing, sharing his feelings and his snacks. He gives out compliments like they’re nothing but the best part about it is that he really means them.

He’s such a kind kid. That’s probably why he almost cried when he told Steve he forgot to return some books he got at the library and now they’re overdue. It’s four thirty in the afternoon and the library closes at five. While Steve tried convincing him that it would be okay if they returned them tomorrow morning before school, Robbie wouldn’t budge.

The poor guy just felt so guilty.

So now Steve’s rushing into the library hand in hand with Robbie ten minutes before they close, praying to whoever will listen that the cranky librarian Debby isn’t cruel enough to turn them away. He prays even harder that she won’t scold Robbie for an overdue return. Instead of Debby he spots a much younger woman standing at the desk stacking books neatly into a big leather bag. It’s bulky and she pulls things out and puts them back in as if she’s playing Tetris with her books, glasses cases, hand sanitizers, and various other miscellaneous objects. She has a deadpanned look. She kind of reminds him of a younger, much prettier version of Debby.

Her hair is in a messy updo. She’s in all black, in an off the shoulder sweater with some frilly lacy shorts and tights. He catches a glimpse of her shoes from under the desk, bright red ballet flats. The amount of rings she wears make clinking sounds against each other as she sorts out her bag.

“Excuse me?”

Her head snaps up. He gets a good look at her finally, and she really is much prettier than Debby.

“Returning books?”

Steve snaps out of his daze and nods his head.

“Yeah, sorry we’re so late I know you guys are about to close but my boy just really wanted to return his books.”

The woman shrugs as she moves to sit down by the boxy dated computer on the desk. “We don’t close until five. It’s four fifty two, you’re allowed to come in until five. I’m getting paid regardless of if people come in or not.”

He expects her to smile, or give him any inclination that she’s trying to make them feel better about the situation. Instead she just has the same somewhat bored look on her face and he realizes she’s just saying it because it’s true.

He hopes his confusion isn’t visible on his face as he hands over the books along with Robbie’s library card. She grabs them and begins logging them into the system. She looks at the card and then to Robbie.

“Are you Robert?”

The boy nods.

“These books were due yesterday.”

The boy tucks into his father’s side in shame.

“I’m sorry.”

Steve’s about to tell her off. Scold her for making a kid feel bad about something that was an honest mistake but she speaks up before he can.

“Thank you. Deadlines are probably only implemented on kids your age to try to build up a routine of responsibility and time management. It’s probably a good sign you found it so important to turn them in before the end of the day today. Most kids wait at least a week before they bother coming in here.”

Robbie looks just as confused as Steve. The woman looks between the two of them. Something lights up in her eyes as she notices that their eyebrows scrunch the same way. She’s not made of stone. It’s sweet, and she decides to just explain what she meant.

“This was very responsible of you Robert.”

He eases up, and suddenly he isn’t hiding into his father’s side out of shame but instead out of shyness.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

She finishes logging the books in and stacks the books on the return cart next to her. She spends a second organizing them from thickest to thinnest, which isn’t a huge difference since they’re children’s books but it’s curious to Steve that she takes the time to do it. When she turns around she holds out the library card to Robbie.

“Robert.”

He reaches out to grab it before speaking up. “My name is Robbie.”

“It says Robert on the card.”

“It’s a nickname.”

“Would you like me to change it in the system?”

Robbie shrugs, then you shrug and as Steve’s about to thank you to walk away but Robbie speaks up once more.

“You’re nicer than Miss Debby.”

You think about this for a moment.

“Deborah’s old. People get mean when they’re old.”

“Why aren’t you mean?”

Steve thinks you might turn mean at his son’s insinuation that you’re old. But for what seems to be the tenth time in the span of the last few minutes, you surprise him again.

“I’m not as old as Deborah. Maybe I’ll get mean when I’m her age. We’ll have to wait and see.”

Robby finally seems at peace with this answer and says his thank you’s once more. Your rings clink again as you wave to him. Steve says goodbye and thank you quickly as Robby starts rushing out with a tight grip on his hand.

“We have to go fast, she's closing!”

He looks behind him and he swears for a second, he almost sees your lips quirk up. Maybe it was the light or his lack of sleep catching up to him that made it seem that way. As they walk to the car Steve can’t help but realize he never got your name.

─────────── · 𓅫 · ───────────

Steve loved when weekends came around. He always asked for time off, wanting to spend them with Robbie. On days where he has to go into work he’ll usually have Robbie stay with whoever’s available. Usually Robin or Hopper. To Steve’s surprise Hopper fights for his Robbie time like he’s fighting for his life. He loves that kid almost as much as Steve does. Almost.

Luckily, this was a free weekend for Steve. He savored getting to sleep in a little. He always wakes up feeling like he could use a few more minutes of sleep. He’s restless, wakes up multiple times in a night and tosses and turns too much, for multiple reasons. One of them is that his bed just feels too big. He’s been thinking about getting a smaller one but they’re expensive, he’d rather save the money for when Robbie grows and needs a bigger bed himself. His extra few minutes of sleep are interrupted by a sudden weight next to him.

He feels him before he sees him. Small digits poking at his face and whispering. “Daaaad. Wake up. Rise and…and uh…”

“And shine?”

Steve’s voice is rough with sleep. He peeks an eye open to look at his son. His hair is wild, sticking up in different directions and his pajamas are askew, one pant leg higher than the other. Steve’s heart swells as he opens his arm to bring Robbie in for a morning cuddle.

“Mornin’ buddy”

Robbie tries to mimic his fathers gruff voice, but it comes out a little warbled when he replies. “Morning buddy.”

Steve can’t help but chuckle. He ruffles up his son’s hair before asking what he wants for breakfast. Robbie hums, and makes a big show out of thinking about it as if Steve doesn’t already know the answer.

Weekdays mean quick breakfasts. Eggs, toast and jam, pre-cut fruits, things that can get them both fed and out the door. Weekends mean pancakes. Steve makes them extra special for his kid. Uses fruits to make little faces in an attempt to convince him that eating healthy can be fun. It works like a charm, Steve feels pretty smart for that.

Robbie eats like his dad. He just about inhales his food and Steve, like a hypocrite, has to ask him to slow down through a mouthful of pancakes himself. Robbie, being the angel he is, starts chewing slowly. Probably too slow, but Steve has learned to pick his battles. Robbie waits until he’s done chewing to speak up.

“Can we go to the book house today?”

Steve loves the terms his son uses for things. He gets the point across so Steve’s never really felt the need to correct him. Not yet at least, he just wants him to be a kid a little longer. Before he starts wanting to spend more time with his friends than his old man. So naturally Steve agrees to take him to the book house.

They walk in and browse the shelves for a bit, Robbie picks up some children’s books and then Steve walks him over to the ‘grown up’ shelves so he can find something somewhat interesting to read. He’s never been a big fan of reading for fun, but lately he finds it’s better to read in bed than stare at the ceiling thinking about every past, present, or future thing in his life.

He looked away for a second. Just one second. He was reading the inside cover of Frankenstein, when he turned to make a joke to Robbie about how it would be too scary for himself, he was gone. Everyone talks about how your stomach drops when you lose sight of your kid. Steve’s didn’t just drop, he felt like he was about to throw up all of those smiley pancakes he ate this morning.

He rushes out of the isle they were in and turns the corner. Just before he was about to start screaming like a madman he spots two familiar heads of hair over by the check-out desk. Steve can’t even find it within himself to be mad at him for roaming off, he’s just happy he didn’t get lost. Or worse.

He starts walking towards the pair, seemingly in a very intense conversation with each other. He wants to interrupt and beg Robbie to never scare him like that. Maybe give him a quick lesson about the importance of not running off, but he’s derailed when he gets close enough to hear the conversation.

“-it’s my auntie Robin’s name, but-but with different letters at the end because I’m a boy and she’s a girl.”

“Robin can be a gender neutral name. It’s a type of bird, not all Robin’s are girls.”

“What kind of bird is that?”

“It’s a Robin. They have a red-well kind of red, kind of orange. Like a brick colored chest. They sound like this-“ she then proceeds to whistle in a way that really did sound like a Robin. “You’ve probably seen them around, or heard them. They’re pretty common.”

Robbie’s jaw drops. “You can speak bird?!”

Steve finally walks up, drawing your attention away from his carbon copy of a son and to the original model instead. He tries to find something casual to say. Or clever. Anything really, but your hair is styled differently than it had been the other day and you’re wearing a pretty blue cardigan. He gets distracted and you beat him to the punch.

“Hi Steve.”

He waves and before he realizes he never told you his name.

“Uh- hi. Sorry I didn’t introduce myself properly the other day but at least Robbie did it for me.”

“He didn’t. I looked you up in the system. There’s only two Harrington’s on there so I assumed the second one was you.”

Steve feels something warm crawl up his neck. Something he probably hasn’t felt in the last five years. “You looked me up?”

“I got curious.”

You’re so…honest. Like you could really care less about niceties and ‘polite’ manners like introducing yourself to people. Not in a rude way, just in a sort of…odd way. To him at least. Maybe some people wouldn’t find it all that strange. People who didn’t have parents like his, maybe that’s why Robbie didn’t seem to mind.

“Dad-dad the lady speaks bird!”

“Bud you should call her by her name-“ “I don’t speak with birds, I just mimic them.”

You speak over each other, except you finish your sentence and Steve cuts himself off. He reaches a hand out to shake yours. “Sorry, we didn’t catch your name?”

Your hand reaches out to him, and he feels a spark shoot up his arm. An actual spark, static probably. You both flinch away and you give the softest laugh while gesturing to your sleeve. “Sorry. Wool.”

He laughs, a breathless thing and he and Robbie stand patiently waiting for an answer to his, kind of, question.

You stare back at them for a moment before coming to your senses. “Oh right!” You give them your name and it dances around Steve’s head for a moment. His son saves him any embarrassment of looking like a total doofus.

“Is it a nickname like Robbie?”

You shake your head no. “Nope. Just my full government name. People usually acquire nicknames from loved ones or in honor of something meaningful they did.”

“Meanful?”

“It means something special buddy.”

His son makes an ‘ooooooh’ sound before dramatically gasping and throwing his arms on your desk. Steve watches you freeze suddenly, like you were finally caught off guard. For some reason you can’t figure out what to do other than place your arms on the table as well, parallel to his own. “You just did something me-meanf-ugh! Special! We can call you uh…uhhh-“

Steve decides to take the reins on this one.

“Birdie?”

“YES!”

Robbie dramatically throws himself at Steve and starts shaking him. He realizes now maybe chocolate syrup wasn’t a smart choice on the pancakes. “You’re so smarty pants!”

Steve pats his son on the head endearingly as he thanks him for his compliment.

“Do you know a lot about birds?”

You look at him when you realize he’s talking to you and nod.

“They’re really fascinating creatures. For being so small they’re actually quite smart. Some Bowerbird’s actually build nests that are reminiscent of auditoriums to make their calls reverberate off the walls. They also decorate their nests in very meticulous ways to attract partners. It really begs the question of whether birds are able to have aesthetic opinions.”

"Huh, strange."

"Yeah. I have a bird watching club here but it's usually just me. Sometimes Deborah joins, but I think it's just to avoid telling people where to find the self-help section. They usually end up telling her their life story. I think people assume librarians are close enough to therapists but Deborah is the last person I would go to."

Steve can't help but let out a real laugh. It comes from deep in his chest and escapes him before he can stop it. You smile, or at least you begin to before you stop it promptly.

"Can we be in your club?"

Robbie's never shown any interest in birds. Steve is thankful he suddenly is, because a full smile actually breaks through from you. Steve isn't sure if it's the air conditioning in the library, like the static from your cardigan, or if it's just you. Regardless, your smile is followed by shivers up Steve's spine.

"Sure, it's a public library. So it's technically also a public club, anyone can join. It might be boring but the garden is nice." You lean down towards your bag and pull out a crumpled flyer. It's not colorful. Plain white paper with plain black lettering that states "Bird Watch Club, Sunday mornings" along with the library's address and what looks like a hand drawn sketch of a bird. He couldn't say which one but it was pretty. He thinks the flyer looks a little off-putting. Kind of like it's a trap to lure someone in. When he sees a much softer, kind of happy look on your face, the flyer doesn't seem so scary. You're like the Mona Lisa, not frowning but not quite smiling.

"We'll see you tomorrow morning then."

─────────── · 𓅫 · ───────────

a/n: this ended up wayyyyyy longer than I planned. I'll probably have more parts to come. I've gotten attached to Robbie.