#like it just didn't feel like the natural way she would respond to things not going her way

[mee30p]

(This would've been out sooner sorry work has been kicking my ass so i haven't had time to write so enjoy this short ish one, i am writing at 3:00am (˶˃⤙˂˶) )

Mother ♡︎♥︎

☽ Summary: Reader is a naturally motherly person to anything that breaths and when she meets Daryl she can't help but go into overdrive when she see's him alone in the rain.

☽ Warnings: Mother son dynamic between Daryl and Reader, Not a ship between reader and Daryl (for once), Fluff, Daryl tearing up, mentions/insinuations of abuse, reader is older early 50's?

☽ Word count: 1.3k

Daryl Dixon was never a man of words, it is simply just the way he was raised. if he spoke up about how he felt there would be a price to pay at the hands of the cruel man who was his father. So in result Daryl was always alone, he’d say he preferred it that way but deep down he didn’t he’s always yearned for a connection for someone one to care for him. But years of building up emotional calluses have their downfalls as no one ever dared to understand him, because he always violently cut people out of his life. There was the odd person who he’d let in like Rick or Carol for example but he never let them care too much. It made him tense, antsy, uncomfortable because he knew letting someone in meant he’d have to show them the bad things, his soft side and that got him hurt.

Daryl has never been nurtured, he was taught that feelings were weak and he was undeserving of love by his father. If he dared to think differently he would be beaten, burned, kicked so he became numb and disgusted by the idea of intimacy even platonic nurturing makes his skin crawl. It’s easier for him to keep thinking that. People who came near him were out to hurt him and that it was always the same.

Daryl didn't know why he did it. But it was a response that came immediately to him when someone approached him; he responded rudely, treated them poorly, and treated them in a threatening manner. At the prison, it was the same he wasn’t kind to everyone, he only let a few in but as soon as people started dying again he shut himself off and refused to accept help or new friendship. So really nothing had changed.

People stopped trying to approach him after a while, because either he intimidated them, or they figured it was useless to try anymore. That was until tonight, the rain is bucketing down as you approach him with an umbrella you managed to scavenge a few nights ago. You are a new addition to the prison but you’ve pulled more than your weight through helping cook, clean, read books to kid everyone has noticed and been a ‘victim’ to your motherly nature and your incessant use of “Darlin, baby, honey, sweetpea, sweetheart, baby boy/girl” no one is safe and tonight neither is Daryl Dixon.

“Honey, why don’t you come outta the rain, you're gonna catch a cold if you stay out here” You call out, your thick honeyed southern drawl moving through the air and catches Daryl’s attention, he’d never taken the time to get to know you, not that it was needed as you inserted yourself in his life anyway. “Naw” Is all he offers back as he moves around, pacing up and down you can tell your care and attempt at comfort is making him uneasy but you’re a stubborn woman. “Come on Darlin I'll make you a tea from my stash and we will get you all dried up” You offer but your tone is making it clear you will drag him by the hair if you need to.

“I’m fine” Daryl says his tone getting more snappy and defensive as he looks at you with a deep scowl his glare could cut steel. You won’t have any of his bullshit though, you’ve spent enough time on earth to deal with stubborn men like this hell you used to foster troubled children like this. “Don’t give me that tone, now come over here before i drag you inside by the locks of your hair” You threaten with a small motherly frown.

One thing about Daryl Dixon is that he’s a sucker for motherly attention as the lack of it when he was little has left him yearning. With a loud and rather dramatic sigh he relents quite easily. “Fine” he grumbles and you hum with a sweet smile as Daryl walks over to you and you have to pull him under the umbrella as you walk back into the Cell block. “Now tell me Darlin what are you doin’ out in the rain by yourself?” You hum your honeyed accent wrapping around Daryl like a warm blanket as you and Daryl step onto the the shelter of the prison block. You face him with a warm motherly smile that makes the smile lines from years of love and mothering disappear. It was no secret you are older than most, you are in your 50’s but full of motherly love towards anyone. “Dunno.. was just gettin air” Daryl mutters as he looks down at his boots. God you make him feel like a whiney idiot the way you mother him but he can’t help but love it. “Could’ve asked for an umbrella” You chime as you reach out pushing a few wet locks off Daryl’s face. You oughta get him a haircut. For once Daryl doesn’t pull away from your touch but he flinches at first but after a moment he almost leans his face into your hand.

“Your gonna get a cold if you don’t dry up, come on sweetie I’ll make ya up a tea with my stash” Your accent is thick as molasses and just as sweet as you grab Daryl’s arm gently guiding him to your cell where you have a camp stove and a stash of water and tea leaves because of course. “Sit down honey�� You offer pointing to your bed, Daryl frowns hesitantly. “S’ gonna get wet” He mutters with a sigh but you let out a “tch” and a wave of your hand. “I ain’t worried… what I am worried about is you gettin a cold” You hand him a towel from your pile and a blanket which he takes hesitantly but it’s clear he appreciates it.

After about 5 minutes the kettle boils and you pour Daryl a cup of tea even going so far as to put some cold water to make sure he doesn’t burn himself. “Drink that up” You hum handing it to Daryl. Daryl takes a sip of the tea, heat fills his body sure the tea didn’t taste the best but hell it’s one of the nicest things anyone has done for him in a long time. He hasn’t had this kind of platonic motherly love ever. You step towards Daryl and hold up a towel to which Daryl tilts his head and frowns. You gently take the cup of tea from him and putting it to the side before you hold up the towel again and you gently start to dry Daryl’s hair and face taking time and care making sure his face is dry before moving to dry his damp locks.

Your actions made Daryl flinch and grumble at first about how he doesn’t need to be babied but you shush him making him quiet quicker than anyone has. Your gentle motherly touch is everything to Daryl he had a shit day. The supply run didn’t go well they all got ambushed by some assholes and people got hurt but your motherly love makes his worries melt away. Daryl finds himself leaning into your touch and his eyes water not from you drying his hair but because he hasn’t felt cared for in so long.

You notice and he can’t wipe his face quick enough. “You okay my love?” You hum quietly as you hold his face in your hands. “Fine” Daryl grumbles but his voice is shaky, you know exactly why he is tearing up. You rub his cheek gently with your thumb as you look into his blue eyes. God Daryl feels helpless to stop the flood of emotions appearing onto his face as you mother him and comfort him. He hates it but can’t stop himself from enjoying it. A singular tear rolls down his cheek as he looks at your kind face, he inspects every wrinkle created by sad, happy and stressful times on your aging face. 

“It’s okay baby boy, you deserve this don’t let any fucker make you think otherwise okay?” You whisper as you press a kind kiss to his forehead. 

[dreamlandiasims]

ok i have a LOT of thoughts about the last post (i'm sorry this is gonna be quite the ramble):

first off i'm very curious to know like what people's takeaways were from the conversation. do we feel like erwin was in the wrong for running away from things, do we feel like frankie was in the wrong for lashing out/making it all about her, or do we feel like neither are in the wrong and it's just an unfortunate situation on all sides?

for me, all 3 kinda hold true at the same time. my main focus with this scene was establishing that they're coming at this whole situation from different places. with everything that's happened so far, frankie still feels like it's all happening to her, an inconvenience to her, and can't really acknowledge that she's had an active role in the way things have played out.

personally i feel like erwin's retreat is justified. we know from his and frankie's earlier conversation about the history of strangerville that he's aware of the more sinister happenings but is just trying to live his life in spite of them, and acknowledges that he's actually quite scared of the roswells/biosim tech. he did take frankie to the lab, which was a big step outside of his comfort zone, but getting her to the door was as far as he was willing to go. then everything happened with jill and he got so caught up in the possibility of achieving his ufology dreams that he stopped thinking about the potential consequences. so his conversation with meredith was a bit of a reality check for him.

where he could've helped himself, though, would've been to at least try and explain what happened to frankie or cahill. but also tbh frankie especially hasn't really shown him a lot of compassion so far, so i don't totally blame him. if she had been gentler in the moment and created space for him to explain his decision, he might not have shut her out.

ok but ALSO, frankie's moment of "i need your help" is also a big step for her. even though in her mind she's still "owed" erwin's help, she can't often admit that she does have to rely on other people sometimes. bittersweet tbh that she was finally able to voice that but it didn't change erwin's mind... that probably won't help her immediate character development...

[fanged-fanfics]

☆ "You Can Have My Last Name" — Zaunites x GN Reader ☆

Genre: Fluff || they/them pronouns for reader || No warnings needed

A/N: I'm pretty sure this idea is like. Everywhere by now. But people from Zaun/the Undercity don't really have surnames so plot is basically what if Reader offered up theirs. Simple and cute type stuff idk I wanted some fluff

──────.𖥔 ݁ ˖˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ──────

Viktor

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Mentioned the nature of his lack of a surname rather casually, while venting about how Piltover kept trying to say his paperwork was 'invalid' for lacking one. He explained to you that it was common for anyone in the Undercity, and that most from there didn't have one at all

ᯓᡣ𐭩 More confused than anything when you offer yours, or he at least pretends to be. The truth is the idea flustered him coming from you so casually, so to cope he acted like he didn't know what you were implying

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Thinks about it for several weeks afterwards, subconsciously mulls over how your name would sound paired with his in his mind. He writes it down a few times too, just to test it out. Finds out pretty quickly that he likes the sound of it

Vi

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Doesn't miss the implications a bit, as a matter of fact she IMMEDIATELY flirts back by asking if you'd really give your precious name to any pretty face you come across

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Teases you about the idea relentlessly any time the subject of names is brought up, or in any way she can really. Often makes jokes that she's gonna make a fool out of the name

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Secretly actually very honored that you'd offer it up to her but she doesn't feel like admitting that yet, you're gonna have to deal with jokey teasing for a good while first

Jinx

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Snarkily says she wouldn't be a good fit for your name to hide the fact that she really doesn't think she deserves to be considered a part of your life

ᯓᡣ𐭩 "Ohh, you might be crazy too if you're gonna give it to someone like me"

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Feels kinda bad that she wouldn't have anything like that to offer you in return. She loves the idea of having a family to belong to again, but her own self doubt gets in the way of admitting that to herself

Ekko

ᯓᡣ𐭩 "Oh- uh- what??"

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Genuinely very caught off guard. Not at all in a bad way, he just doesn't know how to respond to such a sudden and blatant flirt. Quickly tries to think of something to say as you're chuckling and reassuring him it's okay

ᯓᡣ𐭩 He ends up telling you through his fluster that it's not really gonna bring you any good to proudly announce a Zaunite as part of your family name. But in the end, he gives you a soft smile and says it's a nice thought he isn't against

Sevika

ᯓᡣ𐭩 "Is that so?"

ᯓᡣ𐭩 More keen on the idea than you'd might think- tells you it wouldn't be such a bad idea, but you'd have to prove it's a name worth adopting first, teasingly daring you to make it a name you'd both be proud to wear

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Tells you to reconsider once or twice, but mostly because she loves seeing how determined you get when defending her right to bear your name

Silco

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Doesn't pick up on what you're implying at first at all, simply tells you that isn't how that works and you're talking nonsense

ᯓᡣ𐭩 You have to prod into the implications a little more to get him to finally register what you're actually trying to say. It takes him a moment, but when he catches on he falls silent for a while

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Ends up mildly tripping over his words while telling you he's not really someone to give such an important thing to, and that you should get a better head on your shoulders and keep focused (largely to hide the fact that the offer genuinely caught him off guard. He's never gonna stop thinking about it)

Vander

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Actually not against the idea. Seems to chuckle it off at first, but once he realizes you're being serious he fondly mulls over the idea with you while cleaning up for the night

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Recognizes the idea might not be very feasible, but hey, what's wrong with having hope? Everyone's allowed to have dreams to chase, right? No harm in chasing this one together, then

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Promises that once things are settled down enough that he'll try to make it happen with you. As long as the kids he takes in are all alright with you, of course

[ssa-dado]

I could totally see Aaron being jealous. Maybe a oneshot of her meeting Sean Hotchner for the first time.

Covering Up - SOS

Aaron Hotchner x fem!bau!reader Genre: fluff Summary: You’re late, and while Gideon’s passive-aggressive remarks are expected, it’s Hotch who really has you on edge. But it’s not just his authority; it’s the way you inadvertently caught the attention of Hotch’s brother, Sean. Warnings: None, just wanted to clarify the story is set around late 1998 or early 1999, before Hotch became Unit Chief (Gideon was in charge instead). Word Count: 3k Dado's Corner: You didn't see this coming, did you? Something cute to celebrate the end of the year. Sorry it took so much to respond, I totally forgot about this ask... hope you like itttttt. Again, HOTCH IN LOOOOOOOVE but doesn't want to admit hahaha what a fool.

masterlist

You were late today. Remarkably late.

For the first time ever in your life.

And while the idea of Gideon giving you one of his passive-aggressive “I’m not mad, just disappointed” speeches wasn’t exactly fun, there was one person who truly terrified you in this situation.

Hotch.

How ironic: it wasn’t your boss you were afraid of - it was your fussy coworker. The same coworker whose desk, unfortunately, happened to sit right in front of yours.

Perfect.

You were still trying to salvage your dignity in the elevator, jabbing at the elevator button, fumbling with your hair as the doors closed. Maybe an updo would make you look less… late. But by the time you reached your floor, the mess you’d made felt more “distressed damsel” than “competent federal agent.”

So, naturally, you made the split-second decision to undo the whole thing, pulling your hair loose halfway to your desk.

You winced.

Not because anyone was watching - everyone seemed too absorbed in their own work - but because if someone had been looking, you’d have perfectly executed that clichéd, overly dramatic hair flip straight out of a low-budget action movie.

The kind made by men, for men.

The ones where the femme fatale struts into the room, stiletto heels clicking, hair whipping in slow motion, cleavage doing all the talking, her entire existence engineered for the male gaze.

And here you were. No stilettos. No slow motion. Just… the hair flip.

Fantastic.

You shook it off, hoping to slink to your desk unnoticed, now more focused to brace yourself for the silent judgement of-

A man.

Not the man you expected - Hotch.

An actual man, a somehow handsome man.

Oh God. He’d definitely seen you do the dramatic hair flip.

His smirk confirmed it - no need for a profiler to figure that one out.

A man, sitting comfortably in Hotch’s chair. And, notably, no Hotch in sight.

“Are you here for a consultation with Agent Hotchner?” you asked, doing your best to sound at least professional as you set your bag down.

He chuckled – like you were the punchline of some inside joke you weren’t in on. “Actually, yes.”

Though you couldn’t help but study him... it was in your nature afterall.

He was about Hotch’s height, blond, blue-eyed, and generically good-looking in a way that probably gave him the nerve to sit at an agent’s desk without any kind of second thought.

But what really stood out? He looked about your age.

Very early twenties - which, mathematically speaking, made him way too young to be here asking for a consultation.

Not that you were one to talk. You were constantly reminded you were “too young” to be working for the FBI. So, at least you had that in common.

“Agent Y/L/N,” he read from your badge, dragging out the syllables for some of his twisted reasons you chose to ignore. Then he smirked. “You’re young.”

“She is.” Hotch’s voice cut through the air before you could form a response, making you startle slightly. He was suddenly there, right behind you, like he’d materialized out of thin air.

“Sean,” he said, his tone clipped in that uniquely Hotch way that made you feel guilty even if you’d done nothing wrong, “I told you to wait for me outside.”

“And why are you so late?” Hotch added, his focus snapping to you with laser precision, his brows drawing together in that way that made your stomach twist in both irritation and… something else.

Classic Aaron Hotchner.

Two seconds on the scene, already cataloging what annoyed him. Efficiency at its finest.

“Damn, Aaron, relax. It’s barely been a minute,” Sean said, standing up finally, though not without flinching slightly under the weight of Hotch’s glare.

He stepped closer to you, extending a hand like he wasn’t about to be vaporized by the man’s disapproval. “I’m Sean, by the way. I don’t think we’ve ever met.”

Before you could decide whether to shake his hand or politely tell him to run for cover, Hotch’s voice sliced through the air, as sharp and unyielding as ever. “No, you haven’t. Y/N, this is Sean, my brother. Sean, this is Agent Y/L/N, my partner.”

It took approximately two seconds after those words left his mouth for Hotch to realize he’d made not one but two rookie mistakes.

The first? The fact that, for some reason, you got to be “Y/N” while Sean - his brother - was firmly stuck with Agent Y/L/N.

A seemingly innocuous choice, but an interesting one.

Almost as if Hotch didn’t want Sean to forget who you were. Or worse, as if he wanted to keep that small, intimate privilege - using your first name - exclusively for himself.

And why?

Perhaps because, whether he admitted it or not, you’d managed to take up residence in his overworked brain. You weren’t just his colleague - you were his very own walking, talking paradox.

Equal parts intellect and quick wit, you could quote anything from your beloved dead philosophers as easily as you could dismantle someone’s argument with a single sarcastic comment.

You lingered, persistently, in his thoughts - too vividly, too often - so much so that you’d even started showing up in his dreams.

That might explain why his tongue betrayed him now - a slip you would undoubtedly label as ‘textbook Freudian.’

Somehow, through the cracks in the armor of the man who prided himself on control and precision, a truth he had no business acknowledging had leaked out.

Because, inexplicably and irreversibly, he’d just let his younger brother - of all people - catch the faintest glimpse of something he refused to admit even to himself: that he wasn’t entirely indifferent to you.

Not that Sean picked up on it - yet.

No, Sean’s focus was already drifting toward his second mistake, the one Hotch really hoped would keep Sean too distracted to notice the first. And, to Hotch’s silent horror, it worked like a charm.

“Partner?” Sean repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Are the two of you…?” He let the insinuation hang, his expression a mix of confusion and amusement.

Because here’s the thing - thanks to the way Hotch had worded it, Sean wasn’t just thinking that his big brother was casually sleeping with you. Oh no, this was way bigger.

This was Sean, standing here wide-eyed and completely convinced that his older, emotionally constipated, miserably single brother - who’d spent years brooding after his breakup Haley - had somehow not only managed to get a girlfriend but had kept it a secret.

And worse? That this whole scenario meant Hotch was maybe, just maybe, a little happy these days.

That alone was enough to blow Sean’s mind.

But before his imagination could run too far, you stepped in, your voice sharp and immediate. “God, no,” you blurted, practically recoiling from the suggestion.

“No,” Hotch said at the same time, though in stark contrast to your reaction, his was flat and unbothered.

Sean chuckled at your synchronized denial, which only prompted Hotch to fix you with one of his looks - the kind that felt like it could peel layers off your soul. Judgy, silent, but impossibly loud at the same time.

The kind of look that made you curious.

“Was he like this as a kid,” you asked Sean, “or was he ever actually a normal person?”

Sean’s smirk widened. “The only difference between then and now is that now they pay him to act like this.”

You laughed, loud and genuine, and Sean joined in - a perfect snapshot of solidarity between two survivors of Hotch’s relentless Hotch-ness. “Though I have to wonder… maybe he misunderstood the government’s contributions as a green light to act this way. It’s kind of like when you teach a dog to stand on two legs for a treat, and then he just keeps doing it.” You commented.

You and Sean burst into laughter, your voices echoing through the bullpen, while Hotch just stood there.

Watching. Seething.

But not entirely for the reasons he’d expect.

Sure, he was irritated that you had the audacity to make fun of him within perfect earshot - a clear, deliberate payback for all the grief and micromanagement he’d put you through.

But there was something deeper beneath his discomfort, something far more unsettling.

It wasn’t just that you were laughing at him - it was that you were laughing with Sean.

That easy, effortless kind of laughter, the kind he so rarely managed to coax out of you. Sean, his little brother, was already pulling it out of you like it was the simplest thing in the world. Like he’d cracked some code Hotch didn’t even know existed.

And that stung. More than it should’ve.

Because as much as he told himself it was ridiculous - childish, even - he couldn’t shake the flicker of jealousy curling in his chest.

A low, unwelcome burn.

It wasn’t just about the laughter. It was the way you looked at Sean. The way you seemed curious, intrigued by him in a way that made Hotch feel like an outsider in his own space. Like he was standing just outside the circle, close enough to see but not close enough to touch.

And he hated that.

He hated how much it bothered him.

Hated that he cared at all.

Hated the fact that, for all his discipline and carefully crafted walls, you always managed to slip through the cracks.

Unnoticed until it was too late.

Though you weren’t quite as unnoticed by everyone else.

Standing on the mezzanine, there was Gideon, watching you with that unshakeable calm of his. His eyes locked onto yours, and before you could even catch your breath, he called you over to his office.

It was probably for showing up two full hours late, but who could say?

Panic was all over you, though you were certain you kept it well-hidden - at least, you hoped so.

But before you could second-guess yourself, Hotch, who had been silently observing everything, grabbed a file from his desk and walked toward you at a precise angle that turned his back to Gideon.

Then, in a blur of words, he started speaking faster than you thought possible.

“I covered for you,” he said, voice low and hurried. “Tell him you went to see your mom yesterday. You took the 5:07 a.m. train. It broke down in Baltimore - stuck for an hour and forty-two minutes. That’s why you’re late. It’s all fact checked. If he asks - and he probably won’t - you don’t have the ticket because after a 90-minute delay, the company offers a full reimbursement if you send in the original.”

Before you could process what he was saying, he thrust the file into your hands.

“I filled out all the interrogatory statements for the Arlington case. If he asks why I had them, say I’m an idiot and that you cracked the unsub before I did, so the paperwork fell to me.” His dark eyes bore into yours, and for the first time since you’d met him, he sounded almost…desperate. “Don’t panic.”

Your brain short-circuited. The only thing you managed was a breathless, “Thanks.”

He watched you go, tracking every step you took until you disappeared into Gideon’s office. His jaw tightened, his fingers twitching at his side like he was bracing himself to pull you out of trouble if it came to that.

Though Sean, ever the opportunist, broke the silence. “Since when do you cover for people?” he asked.

Hotch didn’t bother looking at him, his focus firmly fixed on the files in his hands, though his grip had tightened ever so slightly. “Since her boss called her in for something unfair. She’s the first - well, second - person to arrive every day and the last to leave. She works harder than anyone here, including me, and she never complains about it. It’s not fair to punish her for being late once when she’s the one who picks up everyone else’s slack. This is a one-time thing, and frankly, it’s probably for the best - at least she got some sleep for once.”

Was that an over-articulated answer to what was likely more of an exclamation than an actual question? Yes. But better to be thorough than shallow - or at least, that’s what Hotch told himself.

Sean, on the other hand, had no qualms about being a bit shallow.

“You’re sure that’s the reason she was late?” Sean asked, his tone dripping with faux innocence. “Not because she, you know…” He trailed off, tilting his head, the mischievous grin practically begging Hotch to take the bait.

No. Of course not.

Not that there would’ve been anything wrong with it. Not because he wanted to come off as paternalistic or prudish about it.

Hell, if you really did, he hoped it was… fine.

Great, even.

But then, there was that annoying, traitorous part of him whispering - shouting, really - that he hoped it wasn’t too good.

Or serious.

Or anything worth bringing up more than once.

Damn it, Hotchner, could he not just be a normal, well-adjusted adult and be happy for someone else’s happiness without making it weird? Apparently not.

Still, he needed to give an actual response. Out of the 600,000 words available in the English language, what did he choose? The most original, expressive, and earth-shattering one of all: “No.”

Of course, it probably came out sounding way too sharp, betraying every tightly-coiled emotion he was trying to keep hidden.

Luckily - or unluckily - Sean was too busy zeroing in on something else to even notice.

“So,” Sean began, dragging out the word, “she’s single.”

…it wasn’t even a question.

Hotch exhaled through his nose, his patience already wearing thin. “Yes.” He admitted. “But don’t think about it.” He stopped him, already knowing where this conversation would eventually go.

“Why not?” Sean asked, his smirk practically carved into his face now. “You like her?” The teasing lilt in his voice was impossible to miss, but beneath it, there was a flicker of genuine curiosity.

Yes. Absolutely.

More than liked.

Liked in a way that he thought about you far too often, in places he shouldn’t, and at times he didn’t have the luxury of indulging.

Liked in a way that made him occasionally catch himself smiling in the middle of a meeting because some stray thought of you had slipped past his defenses.

Liked in a way that he imagined you during his early-morning runs, wondering if you’d find the sunrise as breathtaking as he did - or if you’d roll your eyes at his choice of music.

You probably would, because it was either the original cast recording of whatever Broadway musical he’d recently become obsessed with, or something from The Beatles.

Not just their classics, but the deeper cuts - the kind his mom had played on repeat during her own Beatlemania phase back in the ’60s, which was, admittedly, a phenomenon he’d inherited in his own way.

He liked you in a way that felt ridiculous, really.

Like the time he caught himself wondering if you’d like the tie he was wearing, not that he’d ever admit he chose it with you in mind.

Or when he stayed up too late re-reading one of your old case reports, pretending it was for work when it was really just to admire how sharp and thoughtful your insights were.

But admitting that? Out loud?

To Sean, of all people?

He’d rather reorganize the mountain of case files sitting on your desk alphabetically and chronologically - twice.

“No,” Hotch said instead, his tone clipped and matter-of-fact. “I work with her, Sean.”

Sean wasn’t one to let things go easily - especially when he sensed he was onto something. “Okay, so you work with her,” he said, dragging out the words like they were some kind of weak excuse. “But that doesn’t explain why I can’t take a shot. What’s stopping me?”

Hotch’s jaw clenched as he shifted his attention back to the windows of Gideon’s office. He didn’t want to say it, but he also didn’t trust his brother to let the subject drop without some kind of deflection. “You’re not her type,” he said flatly.

Sean blinked, caught off guard for a moment before recovering with an incredulous laugh. “Not her type? How do you know what her type is?”

Hotch didn’t respond right away.

He didn’t need to.

The deadpan look he shot Sean over his shoulder was enough to say ‘I know her type because I know her’.

Sean, however, wasn’t deterred. “Okay, genius, enlighten me. What exactly is her type, then? Because I’m charming, good-looking, and - let’s not forget - single.” He motioned to himself like he was presenting the world’s greatest catch.

Hotch sighed. “Her type,” he began almost whispering, now suddenly afraid that someone would hear him, “is someone more serious. Someone who knows how to respect her work ethic, her intelligence, and the fact that she’s earned her place here. Someone who doesn’t think he can waltz in and-” He cut himself off, realizing he was veering dangerously close to sounding personal.

Too personal.

Too bad he stopped talking before he could drop the one crucial piece of information Sean probably needed to know: as far as Hotch knew, you only dated older... much older.

And him being the same age as you? Yeah, that definitely didn’t work in his favor.

Sean tilted his head, a slow grin spreading across his face. “So… basically, someone who isn’t me. But someone who is… maybe a little more like you?” He watched the way Hotch’s shoulders stiffened at the suggestion.

Hotch turned fully to face his brother, his expression dark. “Sean,” he warned, his voice a low rumble.

But Sean wasn’t fazed. “I’m just saying, Aaron. You’re standing here, going on about how she deserves someone serious and respectful and all that, but you’re practically describing yourself. So maybe the reason you don’t want me going after her is because-”

“That’s enough,” Hotch interrupted, his tone sharp enough to cut through any further teasing. “It’s not appropriate, and it’s not happening. End of discussion.”

Sean held up his hands in mock surrender, though his smirk stayed firmly in place. “Alright, alright. But for the record, you didn’t deny it.”

Hotch didn’t bother dignifying that with a response. Instead, he turned back toward the windows of Gideon’s office, his gaze locking on your profile once more.

Sean followed his brother’s line of sight, leaning closer “She really does have you all twisted up, doesn’t she?”

Hotch ignored him.

But as much as he wanted to pretend Sean was wrong, the burn in his chest told him otherwise.

Because 'twisted up' was probably an understatement for what you were doing to him.

---

taglist: @beata1108 ; @c-losur3 ; @fangirlunknown ; @hayleym1234 ; @justyourusualash ; @khxna ; @kyrathekiller ; @lostinwonderland314 ; @mxblobby ; @person-005 ; @prettybaby-reid ; @reidfile ; @royalestrellas ; @ssa-callahan ; @softestqueeen ; @theseerbetweenus ; @todorokishoe24

[evermoreness]

hi lovely!! i had a random idea for a fic where reader is harry’s kindergarten teacher and he lets it slip to you that single dad james thinks she’s pretty? im just imaging a little 5 year old letting that information slip like it’s the most casual thing in the world and meanwhile james is dying of embarrassment hahahha. i just thought it would be cute :)

— This idea is so cute! Thanks for sharing with me, hope you like it! @iloveremmy

secret crush | james potter

pairing: james potter x muggle!reader

summary: dad!james is definitely ready to love again after some time, he just didn't think it would be harry's kindergarten teacher.

obs: feel free to send any requests!

masterlist

The small classroom was filled with laughter, crayons, and the chaotic energy only a group of five-year-olds could create. The walls were covered in colorful drawings, some resembling actual objects and others looking more like abstract masterpieces only a parent could pretend to understand.

At the front of the room stood y/n, the most beloved teacher in the entire kindergarten. She had a natural warmth about her, making every child feel special. She was also quick-witted and funny, always finding a way to make the most mundane things exciting. Her students adored her.

And at the center of it all, sitting on one of the tiny chairs like he was some kind of prince, was Harry Potter.

Harry was an interesting child—smart, playful, and with a sass level that could rival a teenager. He had a mop of messy black hair that never seemed to stay put, big green eyes that sparkled with mischief, and a personality far too charming for a five-year-old.

He had been extra sassy today, insisting he was "way too advanced" for their ABC exercises and that "Uncle Moony reads him much harder books." You had learned by now to just nod along when Harry said bizarre things like that.

You had taken a particular liking to him. Not that you played favorites (at least, not openly), but something about Harry made you want to protect him even more than the other kids. Maybe it was the fact that he was being raised by a single dad, or maybe it was the way he always looked at you with that cheeky little grin whenever he was about to say something absurd.

Right now, that cheeky grin was in full force.

"Miss y/l/n," Harry said, swinging his legs under the table as he colored.

"Yes, love?" you replied, crouching down to his level.

He leaned in as if he was about to share the most confidential secret of his life. "My dad thinks you're pretty."

You blinked.

Oh.

Oh!

You opened your mouth to respond, but Harry, apparently very pleased with himself, continued. "He says you're too young to have this many kids"

Well, you definitely held back the laughter, but as you didn't have an answer to that, you just changed subjects. You leaned over to glance at Harry’s drawing. It was a messy but clearly heartfelt attempt at a stick figure version of himself and his dad, complete with what looked like… a broomstick?

“That’s a great drawing, Harry!” you praised, ruffling his hair. “Is that you and your dad?”

Harry nodded, proudly holding up his masterpiece. “Yeah! That’s me, and that’s Daddy, and he’s flying really fast on his broom because he’s the best at Quidditch!”

Let's say Harry Potter was a really imaginative kid. He would always say some really funny stories about witches and sometimes, he would full on create new words. Like he was just doing now. You found it cute, but little did you know that it was actually all true.

You grinned. “I bet he is.”

Harry’s little legs swung as he beamed. “Yeah! And he says he used to be the best Seeker at Hogwarts! I wanna be like him when I grow up!”

“That’s a great dream,” you said, genuinely warmed by how much Harry admired his father.

James was tall, lean, and had the same messy hair as his son. He was dressed casually, but there was something effortlessly charming about him. And then there were his eyes—warm, hazel, and currently widening in horror as he realized what his son was in the middle of saying.

"And my dad also said—oh, hey, Dad!" Harry greeted, as if he hadn’t just delivered a verbal nuke seconds before.

James, who had clearly heard enough, looked like he wanted the earth to swallow him whole. "Harry," he started, his voice a little strained, "what exactly have you been telling Miss y/l/n?"

Harry, completely unfazed, gestured at his teacher. "I was just telling her how you think she's pretty."

You had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. You found it cute how a grown man was becoming all flustered right now.

“I mean—” James rubbed the back of his neck. “I might have said something along the lines of you being… you know… a good teacher.”

Harry frowned. “No, you didn’t.”

James glared at his son. A warning look. A look that screamed drop it, drop it now, child.

Harry, of course, did not drop it.

James let out an awkward, nervous laugh, running a hand through his already messy hair. "Yeah, um, I don't know where he got that from—"

"You said it last night," Harry reminded him. "When you were talking to Uncle Pads and you said—"

"Okay, that's enough, kiddo!" James cut in quickly, picking up Harry like he was a sack of potatoes. His face was an interesting shade of pink now. "Time to go, say goodbye to your teacher!"

Harry, enjoying this far too much, gave you a knowing look before waving. "Bye, Miss! See you tomorrow! Oh, and it's okay! My dad only likes you a little bit."

James groaned. "Oh, for Merlin's sake—"

You, to your credit, simply gave James a bright, amused smile. "It’s fine. Kids say the funniest things."

James, still trying to compose himself, let out a breath. "Yeah. They do."

You tilted your head, studying him for a second. "Though, I have to say, you do have a very smart kid. And very honest."

James gave you a sheepish smile. "Yeah… unfortunately, he gets that from his mother."

There was a flicker of something in his eyes—something sad, something that made you instinctively soften your tone. "She must've been wonderful."

James nodded. "Yeah. She really was."

For a moment, there was a comfortable silence between them. Then, because James couldn't handle any more embarrassment today, he awkwardly cleared his throat. "Right. Well. We'll be going now. Before Harry decides to share my entire life story."

You grinned. "That’s probably a good idea. Have a good evening, Harry. James."

James hesitated for half a second, then nodded. "You too."

As he walked out, still carrying a smug-looking Harry, you couldn't help but shake your head, laughing quietly to yourself.

James Potter, huh?

This was going to be interesting.

As soon as they were outside, James crouched down and gave Harry a look of pure exasperation. “Alright, Prongslet. Why?”

Harry just grinned up at him, utterly unapologetic. “I like Miss y/n. You like Miss y/n. Uncle Padfoot said you should talk to her more. I was helping.”

James dropped his head in his hands. “You and Sirius are banned from talking to each other ever again.”

The aftermath

James Potter was dying.

Not literally—he had survived multiple Quidditch accidents, a war, and Voldemort himself—but right now, standing outside of Harry’s kindergarten classroom, he was convinced that actual death would be less painful than the secondhand embarrassment he had just experienced.

His five-year-old son, his sweet, traitorous, utterly clueless son, had just casually exposed his very real, very secret crush on Miss y/n.

He was never showing his face in that classroom again.

…Okay, that was a lie.

He’d be back tomorrow.

And the next day.

And the day after that.

Because Harry loved school, and James definitely wasn’t going to pull him out just because he got caught being a pathetic twenty-five-year-old with a schoolboy crush on his kid’s teacher.

But, Merlin’s beard, how was he supposed to look you in the eyes again?

But instead, he found himself standing there like an idiot, because—screw it—he wasn’t actually opposed to talking to you.

At first, James had been mortified, barely able to meet your eyes when he picked up his son. But as the days went by, he found himself lingering a little longer each time. It started small—asking how Harry was doing, if he was behaving (spoiler: he wasn’t), and if he was making friends.

But then your conversations stretched longer.

“So, uh,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “I actually wanted to talk to you about Harry.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

James nodded, trying to look serious. “Yeah. His, uh… behavior.”

You blinked, looking at Harry, who was currently playing with another student and doing absolutely nothing wrong.

“…His behavior?” you echoed.

James cleared his throat. “Yes. It’s, uh, very concerning.”

You folded your arms, clearly humoring him. “What exactly is concerning about it?”

James hesitated. “Well. You know. The talking thing.”

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh. “The talking thing?”

James sighed, knowing you weren’t buying it. “Yeah. You know. The way he just… talks. No filter. Says things. About me.”

You did laugh then, shaking your head. “James, you do realize that’s completely normal for his age, right?”

James groaned. “I was hoping you’d say there was a cure.”

You grinned. “Afraid not.”

James huffed, but there was a smile playing at his lips now. “Brilliant. Well, at least tell me—how do I make sure he doesn’t casually ruin my life every time he opens his mouth?”

You shrugged. “Sorry, but I think you’re doomed.”

James sighed dramatically. “That’s what I thought.” He glanced at Harry again, who was still happily playing, then looked back at you. “Well, I guess I should be glad he didn’t say anything too bad.”

You smirked. “Oh, no, just that you think I’m really pretty and smile a lot when you talk about me.”

James groaned. “Merlin’s sake, why would you repeat it?”

You laughed. “Because it’s funny.”

James shot her a look. “For you, maybe.”

You tilted your head, grinning. “Oh, come on, James. It’s not that bad.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You do realize that I’m going to be forced to relocate and change my name now, right?”

You snorted. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” James deadpanned. “I’ll be John Smith from now on. You’ve never met me before in your life.”

You shook your head, still laughing. “Well, John Smith, if it makes you feel any better…” you hesitated for a second, then shrugged, your voice softer. “I don’t mind what Harry said.”

James froze.

Your eyes were warm, teasing but also… something else.

And suddenly, James realized—maybe this wasn’t as embarrassing as he thought.

Maybe Harry had just given him the best excuse in the world to talk to the woman he’d been secretly crushing on.

And maybe—just maybe—he was okay with that.

For the first time that day, James grinned.

“Well then,” he said. “In that case, I think I can survive the humiliation.”

You chuckled. “Glad to hear it.”

From that day forward, James’s routine of picking Harry up from school became a little different.

At first, he told himself he was just being polite—nothing wrong with staying an extra minute or two to talk to Harry’s teacher, right? Totally normal. Every parent did that.

Except every time, those one or two minutes stretched longer.

And longer.

Until one day, he realized he was actively looking forward to pick-up time—not just to see Harry, but because he’d get to talk to you.

Getting to know each other

James had fully intended to keep his distance after the Incident—as he now called it in his head. He had absolutely not planned to linger when picking up Harry, nor did he intend to talk to you for longer than necessary. But that's not exactly what happened since they had been talking a lot lately.

"Everything good today?" James would ask, standing at the doorway.

"Harry was a little sassy during storytime," you would say, amused. "He insisted he already knew how it ended and started narrating over me."

James sighed, rubbing his temple. "Of course, he did. Did he at least get it right?"

"Surprisingly, yes," you said. "Honestly, he’s way too smart for a five-year-old."

James smirked. "He gets it from me, obviously."

"Oh, obviously," you teased, raising an eyebrow.

And then, the next day…

"Harry told me today that he was going to ‘summon his broom’ to get out of naptime."

James coughed. "Uh. Kids have wild imaginations, don’t they?"

"Mhm," you said, amused. "Though, I have to say, that’s a very specific thing to imagine."

James quickly changed the subject.

And then, the next day after that...

He found himself lingering near your desk, watching Harry shove his tiny arms into his backpack with all the grace of a rampaging hippogriff.

“So,” James started, leaning against the desk, “should I be worried about his academic future, or is struggling with backpack logistics a phase?”

You grinned. “Don’t worry, it’s a phase. I think.”

James sighed dramatically. “Merlin’s sake, that’s a relief. I was beginning to think I’d have to enroll him in some kind of Backpack Etiquette for Beginners course.”

You chuckled. “Well, I do give him stickers when he remembers to pack up neatly.”

James blinked. “That’s brilliant.”

You shrugged, smirking. “Bribery works wonders at this age.”

James laughed. “Noted.”

And just like that, their conversation stretched past the usual parent-teacher exchange.

James found himself not in a rush to leave.

You didn’t seem to mind.

And Harry, for once, didn’t interrupt with any more mortifying revelations.

A win for James.

A week later, James arrived earlier than usual and found you organizing a small shelf of children’s books.

“Expanding their literary horizons?” he asked, stepping closer.

You looked up, smiling. “Trying to. Some of them are still convinced books are just really boring building blocks.”

James smirked. “Ah, yes. The tragic underappreciation of literature.”

You chuckled. “Exactly.” you tilted your head. “Did you like reading when you were a kid?”

James shrugged. “I liked it. But I wasn’t the sit-quietly-and-read type. That was Remus.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Remus?”

“My best mate,” James explained. “Loves books. Absolute nightmare when you try to pull him away from one.”

You grinned. “Sounds like the kind of student I’d love to have.”

“Oh, absolutely,” James said. “Meanwhile, I was the kid causing problems in the back of the class.”

You pretended to gasp. “You? Causing trouble? I would never have guessed.”

James smirked. “Shocking, I know.”

You fell into easy conversation after that, sharing stories about school, books, and the different kinds of students you had over the years.

James barely noticed the time passing.

Neither did you.

"Alright, I have to ask," you said one day, arms crossed as you leaned against the doorway. "What’s up with Harry and the ‘Uncles’?"

James blinked. "What do you mean?"

"He talks about Uncle Padfoot and Uncle Moony constantly," you said. "Are they even real people?" you said, knowing that those names were definitely not usual. Maybe they were imaginary friends.

James tried not to laugh, he couldn't explain it to you in a detailed way, you were a Muggle after all. "Padfoot and Moony are my best mates. They are very real. It's just their nicknames. Padfoot is Sirius, Moony is Remus."

You smiled, trying to understand why they were even called that. "I swear, sometimes Harry sounds like a tiny old man when he quotes them."

James laughed. "That… yeah, that tracks. They’ve been around his whole life."

You smirked. "So, which one gives the worst advice?"

"Oh, definitely Sirius," James said immediately. "He told Harry once that he could read his mind and my poor kid spent the rest of the week scared to think"

You burst out laughing. "That’s terrible!"

"I know!" James said, grinning. "Remus had to be the voice of reason that day, convincing Harry that his uncle couldn't read his mind"

The small talk everyday was becoming a habit.

James would ask about your day, and you would roll your eyes and dramatically recount whatever chaos had ensued in your classroom—kids throwing crayons, glue disasters, the occasional crying over absolutely nothing. You were expressive, funny, and had this energy that James found… comforting.

You, in turn, asked about James—not just about Harry but about him. His work, his hobbies, things he liked. And James found himself telling you, actually enjoying your chats instead of awkwardly stumbling over his words like he thought he would.

But, of course, Harry noticed.

"Dad," Harry groaned one afternoon as James leaned against the classroom doorway, chatting away with you while other parents picked up their kids. "You’re doing it again."

James blinked down at his son. "Doing what, Prongslet?"

Harry huffed dramatically, grabbing his tiny backpack. "Talking and talking and talking."

You burst into laughter. "Oh no, Potter, you’ve been caught."

James narrowed his eyes at his son. "Maybe I like talking to your teacher, kiddo."

Harry groaned even louder, stomping toward the door. "Ugh, come on! We're always the last ones now!"

You laughed, nudging Harry’s nose playfully. "Oh, come on, am I that bad?"

Harry sighed dramatically. "No, but Daddy talks to you too much."

James cleared his throat. "Well, I just—y’know—parent stuff. Making sure you’re doing okay."

Harry squinted at him. "Uh-huh. Sure, Dad."

You smirked. "Guess I must be very interesting, huh?"

James ran a hand through his hair, looking away. "Uh… yeah. I mean, no—I mean—"

You just chuckled and waved at Harry. "See you tomorrow, little tornado."

Harry grumbled something under his breath about adults being annoying and led the way out.

James followed, but not before sneaking one last glance at you.

Getting some advice (from the professionals)

By the time a couple of weeks had passed, James knew he had to do something.

Because this? This standing-in-the-doorway-every-day-for-way-too-long thing? This was not normal behavior. He wasn’t just talking to you about Harry anymore. He liked talking to you, period.

And that? That was terrifying.

You were the first person he’d felt anything for since Lily. It wasn’t the same—Lily had been his great, big, all-consuming love. But you? You were warmth, laughter, easy conversations, and teasing smiles. And that was something.

Which meant he was going to do the scariest thing he’d done since facing off against Voldemort.

He was going to ask you out.

Sirius and Remus, of course, had opinions.

"You just gotta charm her, Prongs," Sirius said confidently, lounging on James' couch. "Lay it on thick—tell her she’s the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen, maybe throw in a ‘your eyes shine brighter than the stars’—"

Remus snorted from his chair. "Yes, James. Do that. That definitely won’t make her think you’re a lunatic."

Sirius furrowed his brows at his boyfriend "Hey! I think it worked wonders when i charmed you to like me"

Remus gave him a look "When did exactly you charmed me, pads?"

Sirius was quick to answer "Second year, of course, and it worked!"

Remus was trying not to laugh "Do you actually know that it didn't work, i just liked you back?"

Before Sirius could even snap back, his face surprised, James groaned, dropping his head into his hands. "I don’t need to charm her. I just… need to not make a fool of myself."

Sirius smirked. "Well, that’s impossible. But, hey, shoot your shot."

James was pacing his living room, gripping his hair. "I can’t do it. I can’t do it."

Sirius was looking deeply amused. "You, the James Potter, too scared to ask a woman out? This is history in the making."

Remus, sitting in an armchair, gave a long-suffering sigh. "James, it’s just coffee."

"Just coffee? Moony, I haven’t dated since Lily!" James threw his hands up. "What if she says no? What if she thinks I’m a terrible father for even thinking about dating?"

"Mate," Sirius said, sitting up. "I promise you, the last thing she’s thinking is that you’re a terrible father. She likes you."

James scoffed. "She doesn’t like me."

Sirius smirked. "Oh, yeah? Then why does she always smile at you? And laugh at your terrible dad jokes? And talk to you for an eternity?"

"That’s just—she’s nice!" James insisted.

Remus gave him a knowing look. "James. Just ask her."

James groaned. "Fine. But if I make an idiot of myself, I’m blaming both of you."

He was really going to ask you out.

Taking actions

It was a Friday afternoon. James had spent the entire day hyping himself up. This was it. No more standing around like an idiot. No more pretending he was just talking about Harry.

He was going to ask you out. Casually. Coolly. Like a totally normal, smooth person.

(He was absolutely not smooth.)

"Hey, y/n," James started as he leaned on the doorway of the classroom, trying to look relaxed.

You, who was organizing a chaotic pile of paper, looked up and smiled. "Hey, Potter. You’re right on time for the usual end-of-the-day complaints from your son."

Harry, currently sulking with his backpack, threw up his hands. "They played ring around the rosie today! Do you know how boring that is?!"

You laughed. "What, not exciting enough for you?"

"No!"

James smirked. "That’s tragic, mate."

Harry crossed his arms. "Can we go now or are you gonna talk for twenty years again?"

James cleared his throat. Now or never.

"Actually," he said, looking at you, "I was wondering if you wanted to grab a coffee sometime."

You blinked. "What?"

James internally panicked. "Casual coffee. Like—like two people, drinking coffee, talking, existing in the same space—"

You raised an amused eyebrow. "Are you asking me out?"

James wanted to die. "I—I mean—yeah? But, like, you don’t have to—"

You grinned. "James."

He swallowed. "Yeah?"

"I’d love to."

James froze. "Wait. What?"

You smirked. "I said yes, Potter. You good?"

James stared at you, processing, before a slow grin spread across his face. "Oh. Well. That’s… good. That’s great. That’s—"

Harry groaned. "Finally!"

James turned to him. "Oh, what now?!"

Harry threw his hands up. "It took you forever to ask her! I thought you were never gonna do it!"

You laughed. "Seriously?"

James groaned. "Can’t anything be a secret in this family?"

You just smirked. "Apparently not."

James, still grinning, nodded. "Alright then. Coffee it is."

And for the first time in a long time, James felt something that wasn’t just surviving. He felt happy.

[mariasont]

haiiii!!! i would LOVE smth ab spence and hotch competing for the readers attention. like in a schoolboy way where they’re obvs friends, but it doesnt stop them from trying to show off in hopes the reader will laugh at them

SCHOOLBOY-ESQUE - S.R & A.H

a/n: im dead i loved this request hahahaha thank you 4 requesting i hope you like <3

masterlist

pairings: spencer reid x reader x aaron hotchner

warnings: two men acting like children, fighting over the reader (all in good fun), a lil suggestive comment at the end

wc: 1.3k

To say the day started out strange would be an understatement. You were well-liked on the team, sure, you considered everyone to be your friend, but did you think that it was that level of friendship where they would drop dead for you? Not really.

So, when you walked into the office to find not one, but two different things on your desk that were definitely not there last night, you were thoroughly surprised.

The first thing that caught your eye, naturally, was the steaming to-go cup of coffee from your favorite cafe. You checked the label, and yup, it was your favorite — butter pecan latte.

Thought you could use a boost - S

You clutched a hand to your chest, searching the bullpen for the boy genius but coming up short. You'd thank him later.

The next thing that caught your eye was the paperwork that you had not completed last night. It had been a beast of a task, a stack you'd planned to tackle with bleary eyes this morning. But it was no longer blank. Every line and box had been meticulously filled out, albeit in handwriting that looked more like chicken scratch than anything else. 

A standard yellow sticky note sat on top.

Took care of this for you. Hope you got some sleep. - A.H

You stared at the paper, mouth slightly open as you tried to wrap your head around the sudden wave of generosity. Hotch? Spencer? This was suspicious. Very suspicious.

The very precious world as you knew it had to be ending. And to further prove that theory, the rest of the day pretty much unfolded the same.

"God, it's freezing in here," you mutter to JJ, leaning into the conference table as you wrap your arms around yourself.

JJ gave you a sympathetic smile, but before you could respond, you felt movement behind you.

"Here," Spencer offered softly, draping his cardigan toward you.

You blinked up at him in surprise, but before you could take it, Hotch's black suit jacket was already being settled over your shoulders. He muttered something about it being warmer, giving Spencer a pointed look before returning to his place at the head of the room. 

Spencer froze, his outstretched cardigan still dangling in his band, his brows furrowing slightly in disbelief. JJ's lips twitched as she leaned over to whisper. "Are we... interrupting something?"

You shot her a glare, cheeks warm as you tugged the jacket tighter around your shoulders.

Later, you found yourself hunched over your desk; nose practically pressed against the screen as you tried to decipher a particularly dense report. It was the kind of document that tended to make your brain feel like soup. Your concentration was hanging on by a microscopic thread when Spencer's voice broke through your thoughts.

"You're going to strain your eyes like that," he said, holding out a pair of blue-light glasses you swore he had just pulled from thin air. "Here, these should help filter the light from the screen."

You blinked at him, surprised. "Uh, thanks, Spence."

He grinned, leaning casually against the corner of your desk like he didn't have the entire bullpen watching him. "It's actually proven that prolonged screen exposure can lead to significant digital eye strain. In fact, did you know —"

"Reid," Hotch interrupted, voice cutting through the air as he emerged out of nowhere, holding some sort of ergonomic chair cushion. He looked to you. "Your posture isn't great either."

You blinked, again, looking at Hotch, who somehow looked calm and cool while holding a memory foam cushion like it was some sort of tactical device. 

Your posture wasn't great? How were you supposed to take that.

"Try this," Hotch continued, placing the cushion behind you in your chair before you could argue. "It'll help your back."

Spencer shot Hotch a look that bordered on indignant. "Right. Because back pain is so much worse than irreversible eye strain," he muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Um, well, I appreciate both of you," you said, cheeks heating as you glanced between the two. Their behavior was getting harder and harder to ignore, and if you didn't know better, you'd think they were competing.

The rest of the bullpen had noticed too. How could they not? Prentiss gave you an exaggerated look from her desk, her eyebrows wiggling in silent commentary. You bit back a smile and tried to focus, though the two men clearly had other plans.

Lunch was no better.

The team scattered around the table in the break room, half-heartedly picking at salads, sandwiches, and takeout. You were mid-sentence, recounting a mildly funny story to the group about your night last night, when Hotch handed you a carefully packed container.

"Eat," he instructed. "You skipped breakfast."

The words might have sounded bossy, he kind of always bossy, but he said in such a concern, gentle tone that you felt like you should've been the one concerned. You stared back down at the meal — an elaborate chicken pesto wrap — wondering when he'd even had the time to notice let alone get this.

"Wow," you teased, moving your gaze to him. "Do you just... carry emergency food for everyone, or am I special?"

You hadn't meant it as a challenge, but apparently Spencer took it as one.

"Actually," he piped up, slide a piece of dark chocolate onto the table in front of you, "this had flavonoids that improve brain function."

"So I'm getting the VIP treatment today, huh?"

"Seems like it," Prentiss muttered into her coffee.

"Food for energy is practical," Hotch defended.

"And so is cognitive stimulation."

You felt a laugh bubbling up. They were serious. Hotch and Reid — two of the most brilliant minds you'd ever met —were locked in some unspoken,  schoolboy-esque competition. 

It escalated even further (you didn't think that was possible) later in the bullpen.

It started out simple: Reid was showing off his eidetic memory (as always) by reciting a list of obscure psychological terms. His voice was quick, words flowing almost like water, and you had to admit it was impressive. You'd barely had time to compliment him when Hotch walked by, dropping a thick binder onto your desk.

"Your report. Already printed and formatted."

"Are you serious?" you asked, flipping through the neatly organized pages. "I was planning on staying late to finish this."

"No need."

Reid, not to be outdone, stood straighter. "Oh, well, if you have time now," he stated, already grabbing a deck of flashcards from a drawer in his desk. "I could help quiz you on behavioral patterns. Might be helpful."

You couldn't even help it — you laughed.

They froze, both of them looking slightly off guard, like they weren't expecting that reaction. You shook your head, attempting to contain yourself as you gestured to the two of them.

"Okay, seriously. What is happening today?" You were still grinning. "Did you two make some kind of bet? Or is this just... you being competitive for fun?"

Hotch cleared his throat, straightening his tie. "I don't know what you mean."

Reid shoved his hands in his pockets, but his ears were bright red. "Me neither."

You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms as you regarded them both. You let the silence linger for a moment longer, their baffled expressions only fueling the grin tugging at your lips. Slowly, you stood from your chair and approached them.

Both Hotch and Reid seemed rooted in place, caught off guard as you closed the distance between you all. You leaned in just a little, tilting your head so only they could hear you clearly.

"Listen, boys. There's no need to fight over me." you said, looking Spencer square in the eye before turning to Hotch. "I'm open to the idea of being shared."

Before either man could recover enough to reply, you spun on your heel and headed towards the break room, leaving them standing there like statues. Behind you, Hotch cleared his throat while Reid, still bright red, muttered something about needing to find more flashcards.

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[shdysders]

lacy

pairing: tara carpenter & female reader

summary: in which you’re taras lacy.

word count: im sorry if this is too repetitive, tbh I haven’t checked it out completely.

Tara wished more than anything that she had never noticed you.

She didn't even know when it started, only that she wanted it to stop.

Maybe it began the day you arrived—new to town, unfamiliar yet impossible to ignore. You weren't loud or attention-seeking, but there was something about you that unsettled her.

The way people turned their heads when you walked by, drawn in as if you belonged here more than she ever had. The way you spoke, soft but certain, like every word mattered. Tara hadn't meant to pay attention, but it was like trying to ignore a song stuck in her head.

At first, she told herself it was curiosity. A natural awareness of someone new, nothing more.

But curiosity didn't make her stomach twist when someone said your name. It didn't make her feel like she was always a step behind you, lingering in your shadow, caught between admiration and something far uglier.

And it definitely didn't make her hate herself for caring.

The first time Tara saw you, it was in the crowded hallway between classes. She hadn't even realized you were new at first, just another face in the sea of students.

But then, she noticed the way people reacted to you—how eyes lingered, how heads turned, how conversations paused just slightly as you passed, as if your presence demanded attention without you even trying.

She expected you to be shy. New people always were. She had been, once. But when you walked into class and the teacher asked you to introduce yourself, you did it like it was nothing.

Your voice was steady, carrying across the room with a quiet kind of confidence. You told them your name, where you'd moved from, a few surface-level facts. Nothing extraordinary. And yet, Tara felt a strange, unwelcome pull, like she had to listen, had to commit every word to memory.

She figured that would be the extent of it—that you'd settle in like everyone else, fade into the background once the novelty of being new wore off.

But then she saw you again. And again. And again.

You seemed to be everywhere. In the cafeteria, in the hallways, in the casual mentions of her friends.

It wasn't like you were trying. That was the worst part.

You weren't loud or overly outgoing, but people naturally gravitated toward you anyway. Teachers liked you, students wanted to befriend you, and you made it look so damn easy.

And then, just when Tara had thought she could get away with pretending not to notice you, you had noticed her first.

She had been at her locker, switching out her books, when she had caught movement from the corner of her eye. Then your voice—light, friendly, like this was something you did all the time.

"Hi, I'm Y/N. You're Tara, right?"

Tara had glanced up, and there you had been. Close enough that she had no choice but to acknowledge you.

You had smiled—not in a way that felt forced or overly eager. Just warm. Easy. Like it was second nature to introduce yourself to everyone you met. And Tara had hated how much that stuck with her—how natural you had made it seem, how different you were from her in all the ways she had wished she could ignore.

She had nodded, offering a small, awkward smile, unsure of how else to respond. "Yeah. That's me."

You had shifted your books in your arms, tilting your head slightly. "I think we have more than two classes together, so I figured I might as well introduce myself."

Tara hadn't known how to handle that—how effortlessly you had spoken, how you had said it like it was the simplest thing in the world. She had just nodded again, murmuring a quiet, "Oh. Cool."

That should have been the end of it.

But it wasn't.

Because she had heard that same introduction in other classes—watched as you had walked up to different people with the same soft smile, the same easygoing tone. You hadn't hesitated when teachers had asked you to introduce yourself, hadn't stumbled over your words like she would have. You had spoken like you belonged here, like you weren't the least bit concerned about how people perceived you.

And maybe that was the worst part—because for you, it was easy. It wasn't something you had to think about, something that had sat heavy on your shoulders like it had for her. You hadn't hesitated, hadn't second-guessed yourself, hadn't fumbled over your words like she always seemed to.

Tara hadn't even remembered what she had said in response—something short, something dismissive. She had just wanted the conversation to end.

But it hadn't. Not really.

Because after that, she had started seeing you everywhere. And suddenly, you hadn't just been some new person anymore. You had been the person who had smiled at her like it was effortless. The person whose name had seemed to follow her, weaving itself into her life whether she had wanted it to or not.

It was like the universe was pushing you toward her, weaving you into the fabric of her life whether she wanted it or not. And maybe that was the worst part—because no matter how much she wanted to, she couldn't ignore you.

Not when the whole world seemed to notice you, too.

Tara hadn't even noticed how you looked at first.

Not like anybody seemed to. Everyone was just caught up on the fact that you were new.

That wasn't what had made you stand out to her. It was everything else—the way people reacted to you, the way your name kept coming up in conversations, the way you just... existed so easily in places where she had always felt like she had to fight to be seen.

But once she noticed, she couldn't unnotice.

She didn't know when it started. Maybe it was the first time you passed her in the hallway, and she caught the faint trace of your perfume—something light and clean, barely there, but still lingering in the air after you were gone. Maybe it was the way people naturally leaned in when you spoke, like they wanted to hear more, like you had some unspoken gravitational pull that drew them closer.

It wasn't intentional. She hadn't meant to pay attention to any of it. But that was the thing about you—everything you did had a way of creeping in when she least expected it.

At first, it was easy to dismiss. Just a passing thought. Just something in the background, barely worth acknowledging.

But then she started noticing more.

How your skin always looked impossibly smooth, soft in a way that felt almost unnatural, like you had never known anything sharp or cruel. She wasn't looking—God, she wasn't looking—but sometimes the sun would hit just right, and she'd catch a glimpse of warmth on your cheekbones, a glow that made it impossible to ignore.

How you pressed your lips together when you were concentrating, as if you were holding back the urge to say something out loud. How you had a habit of breaking the tips of your pencils on purpose, just so your writing would look a certain way. How you always flipped your notebook to a fresh page even when there was still space left on the previous one, like the mess of unfinished thoughts bothered you more than wasted paper.

She wasn’t looking for these things. She wasn't sitting there, analyzing you like some kind of fascination. But they kept showing up anyway, slipping into her awareness before she could push them out.

And it annoyed her. More than it should have.

Because it wasn't fair. It wasn't fair how effortless you made everything seem, how your confidence didn't feel forced the way hers always did. It wasn't fair how teachers seemed to already like you, how students naturally gravitated toward you, how your name had worked its way into her head without her permission.

And it really, really wasn't fair how you weren't even trying.

It wasn't like you were trying to be liked, trying to stand out. You were just... existing. Living. Doing things without overthinking them, without worrying about how they might come across. And maybe that was the worst part—because for Tara, none of that had ever been easy.

And now, she couldn't stop noticing.

Because everyone loved you. That much was obvious.

Tara saw it in the way people reacted to you, how they laughed a little too easily at your jokes—even the ones that weren't that funny. She saw it in the way conversations seemed to shift when you joined them, like people wanted to impress you without even realizing it.

And she hated it.

Not just because you had that effortless charm, that unshakable ease that made everything seem so damn simple—but because it was real.

You weren't fake. You weren't putting on an act or twisting your words to make people like you. You were just nice. Genuinely, painfully, unreasonably nice.

And it made her stomach twist.

Because no one was that sweet for no reason.

Tara had met people like that before—people who smiled too easily, who said all the right things, who made kindness feel like a performance. She knew how to spot it, how to pick apart the cracks in the mask until the real person underneath showed through.

But with you, there were no cracks.

You weren't pretending. You weren't forcing it. You were just...like that.

And that only made it worse.

Because if there was something ugly underneath—some hidden flaw, some selfish motive—Tara could have handled that. She could have told herself that you weren't as perfect as everyone thought, that you were just playing the same game as everyone else.

But you weren't.

You were real. And that was the most infuriating part.

There was something about you that didn't belong in the same world as the rest of them—something too soft, too delicate, too untouched. Like you had never seen the worst in people, never been hurt enough to carry the weight of it.

Tara wanted to find a reason to hate you. She wanted to pick you apart, to find the thing that made you less than what everyone thought you were.

But every time she tried, she came up empty.

Your eyes were the worst part.

Wide, bright, completely open—like you had never needed to guard yourself, like the world had never given you a reason to. Tara couldn't stand it.

It wasn't just the way they looked, soft and untroubled, but the way they felt. The way they held a kind of quiet innocence, an unshaken belief in the goodness of things. Like you had never learned to expect the worst from people. Like you had never been hurt badly enough to make you wary.

She didn't know what to do with that.

Because when you smiled—really smiled, the kind that crinkled the corners of your eyes and made your whole face light up—it made her feel off balance. And when she caught you staring out a window in class, lost in your own world, your expression so effortlessly peaceful, it made her angry.

It wasn't fair.

How could someone exist like that? How could you walk through life so untouched, so light, when she had spent years learning how to carry weight that never seemed to leave her shoulders?

Tara felt rough in comparison. Sharper edges, colder glances, a world of difference between the way she saw things and the way you did. And it made her hate looking at you for too long, because the longer she did, the more she felt like she wasn't supposed to be near you at all.

Like whatever you were made of—whatever softness, whatever lightness—it wasn't meant for her.

And maybe that was the problem.

Because the more she fixated on you, the more she realized it had nothing to do with you at all. It was her. The way she bristled at your kindness, the way she flinched at the warmth in your eyes, the way she resented how easy the world seemed for you. It wasn't because you were perfect—it was because she wasn't.

Because she had never been.

She had spent so long being haunted by things she couldn't change, by bloodstains she couldn't scrub away, by ghosts that never let her breathe. And then there you were, unburdened, living in a way she no longer knew how to.

You existed in a world that had never touched you the way it had touched her, never carved out pieces of you and left you scrambling to fill the gaps. And she hated that she could see it so clearly.

She didn't want to compare. She didn't want to feel like this. But she couldn't help it.

It made her stomach twist. Not because she hated you. But because she hated that she cared.

Because every time she looked at you, it wasn't just you she saw. It was herself. The jagged edges, the shadows under her eyes, the way she had learned to live with the weight of everything she had been through.

And the worst part? She wasn't sure if she envied you or resented you for it. Maybe both. Maybe neither. Maybe she just hated that, for the first time in a long time, she was forced to acknowledge just how much she wasn't doing well at all.

And it wasn't something she could ignore.

Not when it followed her everywhere—this awful, gnawing awareness of you. She'd already come to terms with the fact that it wasn't just you that got under her skin. It was what you represented, what you made her see in herself, all the things she tried not to think about. But knowing that didn't help. If anything, it made it worse.

Because even when you weren't there, you were.

Like the scent of your perfume that lingered long after you'd walked away, like the faint trace of your voice in the back of her mind, like the ghost of something she didn't ask to be haunted by.

She could be sitting in class, half-listening to a lecture, and suddenly, she'd remember the way your eyes lit up when you talked about something you loved.

She could be walking home, exhausted, barely thinking at all, and she'd catch a whiff of someone else's shampoo—not even yours—and somehow, you'd still come to mind.

It made her stomach twist. It made her furious.

Why couldn't she shake you? Why did her brain insist on keeping you there, tucked away in places she couldn't reach to rip you out? She had more important things to think about—more RRAL things, things that actually mattered.

And yet, you lingered.

She wasn't watching you. She wasn't.

And yet, you lingered.

No matter how much she tried to push you from her mind, you were always there. In the corner of her vision, in the spaces between her thoughts, in the background of her day like a song stuck on a loop. It wasn't intentional. She wasn't looking for you. But somehow, she always knew where you were.

It was stupid. Unfair. Irritating.

She told herself it was just awareness. Just familiarity. You were everywhere—laughing with your friends, answering questions in class, moving through the world like you belonged to it in a way she never quite had. It made sense that she would notice you. Anyone would.

But not like this.

Not enough for her gaze to land on you before she even realized what she was doing. Not enough for her to recognize your laugh from across a crowded hallway or pick up on the little shifts in your expression when you thought no one was looking. Not enough for her to feel the weight of you in her mind, refusing to leave.

She wasn't stalking you. She wasn't obsessed.

She was just aware of you. Too aware.

It wasn't the same thing.

Because Tara tried to ignore it. She really did. Tried to ignore you.

Because it wasn't a big deal. She wasn't obsessed.

She wasn't even paying attention. She just happened to notice when your name came up, that was all.

It wasn't like she was waiting for it or anything. But the second Mindy made an offhand comment about running into you earlier—something stupid, something that shouldn't have mattered—Tara felt herself tense.

Tara had rolled her eyes—acted like it was weird that Mindy even remembered it.

She didn't even think before responding, throwing in something to cut you down, something small enough to pass as harmless but sharp enough to stick. Maybe you were only nice because you wanted something. Maybe you were trying too hard. Maybe you weren't actually that great, and people just didn't see it yet. It wasn't like she was lying. She was just balancing things out, making sure no one got too carried away.

But it wasn't just Mindy. It was Chad, too. It was Anika. It was Ethan. It was anyone who spoke about you in a way that made it seem like you were drawing them in. Like they were starting to see you the way everyone else did. Like they were falling for it. And Tara couldn't stand that.

Because how was she supposed to ignore you when no one else did? When every conversation, every passing comment, every stupid mention of your name pulled her attention right back to you? It was exhausting. You were everywhere, even when you weren't. She could try to pretend you didn't exist, but the world wouldn't let her. It was like the universe was making sure she never forgot about you.

They were her friends. She'd been through hell with them. She had nearly died with them. And yet, somehow, you were slipping into their world like you belonged there. Like you could just show up and be part of something that wasn't yours. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. And maybe it didn't make sense, but that didn't change the fact that every time she heard your name, she felt like she had to do something about it.

And maybe that was the worst part—because no matter how much she told herself it didn't matter, no matter how much she tried to act like she didn't care, she knew she was lying. It had already taken over her life.

Everywhere she went, you were there. Not in a way that was intentional—at least, she hoped it wasn't—but in a way that made it impossible to ignore. In the halls, in the cafeteria, in the classroom when she was supposed to be paying attention to something else. She could tell herself she wasn't looking for you, but somehow, she always knew exactly where you were.

And it was ridiculous. Tara felt ridiculous. Out of everything she had been through, THIS was what got to her?

She had survived Ghostface attacks, lost people she cared about, fought to keep herself together through things that actually mattered. And yet, here she was, completely unraveling over something as stupid as this.

Over you.

It wasn't even real torture. Not like the kind she knew. No one was chasing her with a knife. No one was trying to kill her. But in some ways, this was almost worse. At least with Ghostface, she knew what she was up against—knew how to fight back. But this? There was no strategy, no way to escape something that wasn't even real.

She had seen Ghostface before. In shadows, in reflections, in the dark corners of her mind where her worst memories lived.

But Ghostface wasn't everywhere. You were. She didn't see them in the cafeteria, in the halls, in the stupid little moments of her day that were supposed to be normal. Ghostface wasn't sitting at the next table, laughing with friends, tucking a strand of hair behind their ear without a second thought.

But you were. And somehow, that made it worse.

And maybe that was why she let it linger. Why she couldn't stop herself from noticing you, from letting you take up space in her mind. Because compared to everything else, this was the safest kind of suffering she had ever known.

And it wasn't fair.

Because she wanted to roll her eyes, to look away, to force herself not to care. But then you showed up, hair tied back, a ribbon perfectly in place, and there it was again—that stupid, twisting feeling in her stomach that made her feel sick.

You were everywhere—woven into conversations, slipping into places she wasn't expecting. If it wasn't someone mentioning something you said in class, it was a passing comment about how put-together you always seemed. Nothing dramatic, nothing over the top—just little things. Things that shouldn't have mattered.

But they did.

Tara ignored it for as long as she could, convincing herself it was nothing. That you were nothing.

And then, that one morning, when she saw you—hair pulled back, the ribbon keeping it in place, and suddenly, it was like something in her snapped.

It wasn't fair.

It wasn't just that you looked nice. It was that it suited you. That it was effortless, like everything else you did. You didn't have to think about these things the way she did, didn't have to overanalyze every little detail about yourself. You just existed, and somehow, that was enough. Enough for people to notice, enough for them to admire you, enough for her to—

No.

Tara had clenched her jaw and forced herself to look away, but it didn't help. Because even when she wasn't looking, she still heard your voice. Still caught the way people spoke about you.

She had been through real things. Painful things. Things that should've left her numb to something as trivial as this. And yet, here she was—annoyed, unsettled, tangled up in thoughts about you like it was something that actually mattered.

It made her want to say something. To remind everyone that you weren't all that, that you weren't perfect, that you had to have some kind of flaw they weren't seeing.

But every time she tried, the words never came out right.

And she couldn't figure out why that bothered her so much.

She didn't want anything from you.

That was what she told herself, over and over, trying to make it true.

But it wasn't.

It was a cruel, twisted lie—one that sat in the pit of her stomach, coiling tight whenever she saw you, whenever she heard your name, whenever she caught herself paying too much attention.

Maybe it was the way people gravitated toward you. The way they leaned in when you spoke, the way their laughter felt lighter, easier, when you were around.

Maybe it was the effortless way you existed, never seeming to second-guess yourself, never needing to prove anything to anyone. Maybe it was the fact that, somehow, without even trying, you had become the person people noticed. The one they admired.

Or maybe—maybe it was worse than that.

Because deep down, she knew it wasn't just about what you had.

Maybe she wanted you.

The thought made her feel sick.

No. No, that wasn't true. It couldn't be true.

Tara clenched her fists, nails pressing into her palms, forcing herself to breathe through the tightness in her chest. She wouldn't let that be true.

She refused to.

And she tried. She tried so hard. She swears she does. She lists every reason why you shouldn't get under her skin.

You're just a person.

Just some girl.

You're not special.

You're not different.

But it doesn't work.

Because every time she tells herself you're nothing, something proves her wrong.

She remembers once, in class, when her pen slipped from her fingers and rolled off her desk. Before she could even react, you passed by, stooping down to grab it without hesitation. You barely looked at her, barely acknowledged it, just handed it back like it was nothing.

Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And for some reason, that stuck with her.

She had stared at the pen in her hand for too long afterward, gripping it too tightly, something unfamiliar twisting in her stomach. Because it was proof, wasn't it? Proof that you weren't some perfect, untouchable figure. You were just... nice. Not because people were watching, not because you wanted something in return, but because that's just who you were.

And that made her furious.

Because it meant she had no reason to hate you. No excuse to dismiss you. No justification for the way you consumed her thoughts.

So she convinced herself of something else instead.

You did it because you wanted people to like you. That was it. That had to be it. You wanted to be seen as the good one, the kind one, the one no one could ever say a bad word about. That was your game. That was your angle.

Tara had clenched her jaw, forcing the memory away, pushing down the irritation bubbling up in her chest.

She hated it. Hated how irrational it was, how impossible it was to shut off.

She was angry—at you, at herself, at the fact that no matter what she did, she kept coming back to you.

So she tried to blame you. To twist everything in her head until it wasn't her fault.

That was easier. That was safer.

Because if she could convince herself that you were calculated, that your kindness was just another way to make people adore you, then none of this was real. None of it meant anything.

But then there were moments she couldn't twist, moments she couldn't justify no matter how hard she tried.

She remembered it too clearly—the way you had walked up to her locker, casual as ever, barely a second thought in your step. You weren't hesitant. You weren't nervous. Like talking to her was the most natural thing in the world.

She heard your voice before she even turned around.

"Hey, Tara."

She almost ignored you, almost pretended she hadn't heard, but then you were already beside her, standing just close enough that she had no choice but to acknowledge you.

You had smiled at her. Not a big, beaming one, not something fake or forced, just an easy, natural expression, like talking to her was as simple as breathing.

"I missed a few things in history today. Could I check your notes?"

Your tone was light, normal, like you had no idea what you were doing to her. Like this was just another conversation, nothing worth reading into.

And that should've been true.

But she didn't think before she spoke.

"Maybe you should've paid attention."

The words came out colder than she intended, sharp and clipped, designed to sting.

She saw it happen in real time—the way your lips parted slightly, like you weren't sure you heard her right, the way your brows furrowed just a little before you caught yourself.

For a second, you hesitated.

Then you nodded. "Oh. Right. I—yeah, never mind."

It wasn't dramatic. You didn't snap back, didn't get angry, didn't even try to argue. You just stepped back, confusion flickering across your face before you covered it up with something more neutral.

"Forget I asked."

And then you turned and walked away.

Tara watched you go, jaw tight, fingers curling around the strap of her bag like that would somehow ground her.

She should've felt victorious.

She should've felt relieved that, for once, you weren't perfect, that she had managed to knock you down just a little.

And for a split second, she almost did.

But later that night, when she was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, the memory kept replaying in her head. The way you had looked at her—not angry, not annoyed, just... confused.

Hurt.

She swallowed hard, shifting under her blankets, trying to force herself to sleep.

It shouldn't matter.

It didn't matter.

But then why did she feel so awful?

She tried to remind herself that you weren't even real—not in the way other people were.

People made mistakes.

They stumbled, they faltered, they showed cracks.

But you? You didn't. Not once.

And it was driving her insane.

She noticed it during the class presentations. It wasn't a big deal—not at first. Everyone messed up in some way. Even she did, tripping over a few words, losing her train of thought for half a second before catching herself. It was nothing. The teacher didn't care. No one in the class cared. She didn't even care when she sat back down.

But then you went up there.

And you were perfect.

No notecards, no nervous pauses, no hesitations. Just confidence, effortless and unshaken, like you hadn't even considered the possibility of messing up.

Tara sat in her chair, arms crossed tightly over her chest, watching—waiting.

You had to mess up. You had to.

But you didn't.

You stood there, talking about the effects of climate change on marine life, explaining things so smoothly that even the people who hadn't been paying attention to the class all week were listening. You weren't just speaking—you were engaging. Like this was easy for you, like it wasn't something that needed to be practiced or worried over.

Like it came naturally.

Tara's fingers dug into her arm, her jaw clenching tighter with every second that passed.

She had spoken about the history of space exploration. She had done her research, put effort into making it good. And she had been fine—just fine. Not perfect, not effortless, not... whatever you were.

People weren't perfect. They slipped up, they stammered, they fumbled for words. They made mistakes.

So why didn't you?

Why did you always have to be so... untouchable?

She wanted to believe it was fake. That you just hid things better than others, that you practiced more than you let on. But there was nothing forced about the way you carried yourself, nothing fake about the way people listened to you without being asked to.

It wasn't fair.

Maybe she was waiting for you to fail. Maybe she needed you to slip up, to show that you weren't above everyone else, that you were just as flawed as the rest of them. Because if you weren't perfect, then maybe—just maybe—she could stop feeling like this.

But you didn't.

And that just made her hate you more.

But hate didn't feel like enough. Not when you had to be doing this on purpose.

You always seemed to show up at the worst times, right when she had finally convinced herself that she was over it. Right when she had let herself breathe. And then, like clockwork, you appeared—effortless, untouchable, ruining everything without even trying.

It was worse on days when she was already on edge, when she thought she had finally shaken this—whatever THIS was—only for you to walk in like you owned the world, like the universe had conspired against her just to put you in her path. It felt cruel, like a joke she wasn't in on, and it made her want to scream.

Tara told herself you knew exactly what you were doing. That you could see the way she bristled when you walked into a room, how her voice sharpened whenever she spoke to you. That you enjoyed it—the way she got worked up over you, the way you managed to worm your way into her head every single time.

You didn't even have to try, and yet you ruined everything.

It had to be intentional. Because if it wasn't, then what did that say about her?

If you weren't doing this on purpose, then it meant none of it mattered to you. Not her resentment, not her irritation, not the way she spent so much of her time thinking about you. It meant you weren't playing a game with her. You weren't even aware there was a game to play.

Tara tried to ignore the truth staring her in the face. She tried to hold onto the idea that you were calculating, that you knew exactly how perfect you were, how impossible you made things for her. But no matter how much she wanted to believe it, the lie never stuck.

Because you never hesitated when you spoke to her. You never held back a smirk, never threw a knowing glance, never showed any sign that you even noticed how she felt.

You weren't out to get her.

You weren't thinking about her at all.

And somehow, that was so much worse.

Nothing was simple anymore. Nothing was simple when it came to you. Not even the things that used to feel like hers.

She could be out with her friends, forcing herself to have fun, trying to lose herself in the conversation, in the noise—until someone says your name. Until someone mentions how nice you are, or asks if she thinks you're pretty. And just like that, the night is ruined.

Because it's always like this. No matter where she was, no matter what she's doing, you found a way to be there. She could be in class, staring blankly at the board, only to realize she's twirling her pen between her fingers—the way you do. She stops immediately, gripping it so tightly her knuckles turn white.

Or maybe she's shopping, minding her own business, when she would see a shirt on display and know you would wear it. It's your style exactly. The kind of thing you'd throw on without a second thought and somehow still manage to look perfect in. Her first instinct is to scoff—of course you would. You would love it.

But then, a split second later, an image flashes in her mind: you actually wearing it. And she hates how easily she can picture it, how good you'd probably look, how—no.

She shoves the thought away, as if she can physically push it out of her head, but it's too late. The damage is already done.

Even her own actions aren't safe from you. Sometimes she finds herself fixing her hair in the mirror, smoothing it down, tucking it behind her ear—before catching herself and realizing that you do that, too.

Or worse, she'll be doing something completely normal—pouring a drink, typing on her laptop, flipping through a book—and suddenly, she'll wonder how you would do it. Would you hold your cup the same way? Would you skim through pages faster? Would you—ugh.

It's infuriating. She feels like you've infected her, like your presence has seeped into every corner of her life, poisoning even the smallest, most meaningless moments

And she hates that.

She hates that you don't even have to try. That you exist, and that's enough to ruin everything.

She can't escape you.

And nothing is hers anymore.

She hated you.

Hated your voice, the way it carried through a room, light and effortless like you didn't even realize people hung onto every word you said. Hated your stupid little habits—how you always tapped your fingers against the edge of your desk when you were thinking, how you twisted the strap of your bag around your hand while you walked, how you laughed at things that weren’t even that funny but somehow made everyone else laugh, too.

She hated how people talked about you, like you hung the fucking stars, like you were this perfect, untouchable thing. And most of all, she hated that no one else saw it. No one else felt this like she did.

She avoided you. Walked the long way to class, skipped out on group projects, refused to meet your eyes when you talked. She kept her distance, convinced that if she didn't see you, didn't hear you, maybe—just maybe—this would stop.

It didn't.

Because the space you left behind wasn't empty. It was filled with you. With her own thoughts, her own frustration, her own pathetic, pitiful obsession.

And then it happened.

It was something small. Stupid. You bumped into her in the hallway—nothing dramatic, just the kind of passing accident that happened a hundred times a day. You barely reacted, just glanced up, gave a polite sorry, and kept walking.

But Tara burned with it.

The casualness of it. The audacity of it. Like you didn't even think about it. Like it was nothing to you.

Before she even realized what she was doing, she was scrubbing at the spot where your shoulder brushed against hers, like your presence was something she could wipe off.

It was irrational. She knew that. But she couldn’t stop.

Because this—this was proof.

She didn't just resent you. Didn't just dislike you.

She loathed you.

And she loathed herself even more.

Because the thing was.

Tara had always been like this.

Always wanted what she couldn't have.

She had jealousy in her bones.

She'd known it since she was a kid. She had been jealous of Sam, jealous of Mindy, jealous of Amber. She had envied people for things she couldn't name, couldn't help—the way they fit so easily into spaces that never seemed made for her, the way things always worked out for them, the way they had things she didn't, even if she wasn't sure what those things were.

Her parents used to comment on it, her jealousy. Not in a cruel way, just in that casual, offhanded way adults said things they didn't realize would stick.

You've always had jealous eyes, Tara.

She remembered her mom saying it once, maybe twice.

She remembered her dad laughing when she got upset over something small and saying, Tara, not everything is a competition.

She hadn't thought much of it back then. She had just assumed everyone was like this. That it was normal, natural, a part of being human.

But then there was you.

And now—now she understood.

Because this was different. This wasn't the kind of jealousy she had known before, the kind that burned quick and hot and then faded into something else. This wasn't petty, wasn't simple.

This stayed.

Her eyes always found you. It was like she had no say in the matter, no control over it. She could be sitting in class, staring at the board, not even thinking about you, and then—before she even realized it—her gaze would drift. It didn't matter how much she told herself not to look, didn't matter how much she swore she wouldn't.

She always did.

And every time, it pissed her off more than the last.

Because she was jealous. She knew that now. But of what?

The way people loved you? The way you moved through life so easily, like the universe had carved out a space just for you? Or maybe it was something deeper, something uglier—something that made her stomach twist and her throat burn.

Tara couldn't stand it. Couldn't stand that she wasn't strong enough to fight it.

But no matter how much she tried to ignore it, her eyes still followed you.

They always would.

And it wasn't supposed to be like this.

Tara had spent so much time convincing herself that this was simple—that it was just hate, just bitterness, just something sharp and cruel that would fade if she ignored it long enough. She thought if she pushed hard enough, fought hard enough, she could make it go away.

But no amount of distance, no amount of denial, no amount of desperate, clawing frustration could change the truth.

She wasn't just angry.

She wasn't just jealous.

She worshipped you.

Not in a way that was soft, or sweet, or kind. Not in the way people were supposed to love things. No, it was cruel. It was agonizing. It felt like punishment, like some sick, twisted joke the universe was playing on her.

She hated you, and she needed you.

She needed to see you, to know where you were, to hear your voice even when it made her blood boil. She needed to compare herself to you, to pick apart everything you did, to watch you shine and tell herself that one day—one day—she would glow just as brightly.

But she wouldn't.

Because that was the truth, wasn't it? The part she could no longer ignore, no matter how hard she tried.

It wasn't just about you.

It was about her.

Tara Carpenter was the problem.

Her rotten, rotten mind was the problem. The way it twisted things, the way it poisoned everything, the way it clung to you like an obsession she could never shake.

Because you weren't just someone to hate.

You were everything she wanted to be.

[a-simple-imagine]

Perfectly Pathetic Pt.2

synopsis: you try to fix things with cady while maintaining your friendship with the plastics

pairing: regina george x fem!reader, elements of cady heron x fem!reader

words: 6.6k (6666 to be exact)

A/N - it’s here at long last besties!! get it while it’s hot because i might delete later idk how i feel about it

WARNINGS - swearing, toxic relationships and general toxicity, d-slur, and bullying

PREV //

come Sunday, you wake up with a throbbing head and zero energy left in your body but memories sit crystal clear. you remember Regina trying to come onto you. her scaring Cady away. Gretchen rubbing your back as you listen to her whine about Jason for the millionth time. weird night. you check your phone but don't bother to reply to anyone except Karen who wouldn't stop sending you explicit details about some reality show she was binging. but alas the weekend was over and you're forced to brave the embarrassment of going back to school after a party. happens every time. people do dumb shit and are forced to face it on Monday.

the first person you come across is none other than the red-headed new girl herself. you have got to imagine she is mad at you after what happened; the lies Regina told. it was not your fault but you should probably try and make peace.

"Hey! New girl," yelled down the hallway, you walk a little faster in order to catch up. you watch her glance around a little confused as you approach.

"Oh," her expression seems to neutralise as she realises it's you. "hi."

"did you have a good Sunday?"

"it was alright," the fact she was speaking to you was a good sign. "I spent it with my mom."

"cute," you flash a smile. Cady was clutching her books pretty tightly. "I thought we should maybe talk about Saturday."

"We don't have to to."

"but I want to," you insist. "please?"

"Regina already told me,"

"Regina is a liar," you blurt out. hopefully, that wouldn't get back to her. "I don't know what she said exactly but it's not true," she looks at you with curious eyes. "I wasn't stringing you along or anything,"

"Sure,"

"I like you, Cady. you're... different," you express. "I wanna be your friend. and I was really happy when you showed up at the party,"

"Really?"

"mhmm," you hum, nodding to prove your point. "cross my heart." you mime the action of drawing a cross across your chest. you're not sure they're gonna forgive you but the bell for homeroom would ring at any moment so time was running out.

"Okay," replied after a moment. a small smile that's quick to fade.

"do you want to finish working on our assignment later?" you ask.

"Sure," they shrug. "meet you out front?"

you're not entirely convinced you're forgiven but you'll take what you can get. you're about to respond when your eyes spot Gretchen amongst the crowd. you lock eyes for a second before she bolts in the opposite direction. with a heavy sigh, you charge after her.

"Gretchen." yelled down the hallway causing a few heads to turn. people naturally darted out of your way but you almost smashed into a few people. "Gretchen," is she getting quicker? "will you just stop?" the answer was apparently no because she just kept going until you manage to grab her arm forcing her to stop. "what the fuck?"

"oh hey, I didn't see you back there." she lies, offering a less-than-genuine smile.

"I was literally yelling your name?" your brow furrowed. you could almost see the gears turning in her head trying to come up with some kind of excuse.

"Sorry, I'm tired- mustn't have heard you." was that the best she could do? you just roll your eyes.

"Can you not tell Regina I was talking to Cady."

"Why?" she asks despite already knowing the answer.

"Please, Gretchen? it's really not a big deal, okay so let's just keep it between us."

"I said you should stay away from her and you ignored me."

"I know and you were probably right but," you shrug. "it's too late and besides, I have to do a presentation with her, that's why we were talking. you can even ask Karen."

"I won't tell anyone." that was a lie. She won't tell anyone except Regina obviously. always trying to be in her good graces.

"if you promise not to tell, I'll... tell Jason something bad about Taylor? like she has crabs or something?"

her eyes light up at the prospect. "really?"

you nod. Taylor had never liked you so you weren't exactly on the best of terms and if making up some rumour about her gets Gretchen off your back then great. "but you can't tell Regina, deal?"

"deal," Gretchen smiles brightly. thank fuck for that. you start walking together now. "so what happened at the party?"

"don't you already know?" you tease. "thought that pretty little head of yours knew everything."

"I'm working on it."

you shrug. she'd probably find out eventually. "nothing really. Regina told Cady some stuff about me."

"that you don't like her and are only pretending to be her friend?"

"so you did already know,"

"I don't know what you see in Cady."

"I don't know." she just wasn't like anyone else. a new avenue to discover. most of these people you've known for years. the bell rings out and suddenly you remember you were supposed to drop off a take-home quiz by homeroom today. you had actually done it but forgot it was in your locker. "oh shit,"

"What?"

"I just forgot to hand something in i'll see you later," with a quick wave goodbye, you rush off back the way you've come. it wasn't like you were bad in school or anything. just sometimes you'd forget to bring in homework. one... or four late quizzes later and suddenly Ms. Norbury is giving you extra work to make up for it. it's not like you have a life or anything. As you grab the paper from your locker, Karen Shetty emerges.

"Morning," sang dazzlingly as she shoved your locker door closed.

"good morning," you smile softly, a glance over her outfit. "you're particularly chirpy today and look great,"

a tiny theatrical gasp, she puts a playful hand over her chest. "thank you,"

"where did you get the cardigan?"

"thrifted it,"

"oooh, I love that," you say. "also it goes so well with that super cute bracelet you're wearing,"

"Aw thanks, my friend made it."

"that's so cute, she must be a really great friend," you tease.

"she is," Karen nods. "where are you headed?"

"I gotta drop this off to Ms.Norbury or I'll fail math,"

"Can I come?"

it wasn't exactly an exciting trip so you don't know why she would want to? plus you were late for homeroom now. "I guess?"

"did you have fun at the party?" Karen inquiries as you begin towards Ms Norbury's homeroom class.

"it was alright,"

"I heard you got into a fight with Regina,"

"hardly a fight," you sigh. it was gonna be a very long day. "it's fine. you know how she can be,"

"was it over Cady?"

"Why does everyone suddenly care about Cady?" you stress. "it really doesn't matter."

a shrug. "I heard from Gretchen that Connor is grounded now because he didn't tell his parents about the party and they found out because somebody was sick in like a vase or something,"

"ew," you giggle, scrunching up your nose in disgust. "like they just found cold vomit in a vase?"

"mhmm," Karen nods eagerly. you make a fake gagging action as you knock on the open door. why is it always so awkward to walk into an already full classroom? ms. Norbury invited you further inside and you can't help but look at the people staring at you.

"so you do know how to hand things in on time," you resist the urge to roll your eyes. "great. now if you can just do that all the time."

"I make no promises," you answer, placing your homework down on her desk. when your eyes meet Cady's she waves a little. you flash a smile.

"come see me after school and I'll let you know how you did and if I need anything else from you,"

"Okay," you sigh. wasn't your first extra credit quiz. nor your last probably. you leave the classroom quickly, grabbing Karen's hand. she'd been waiting at the door.

"lots of people in there,"

"yeah because we're supposed to be in homeroom," you advise her.

"I didn't hear the bell,"

oh, Karen. "just come on."

it was a rather lifeless day thank god. you were grateful for the peace. and ms. Norbury hadn't given you any more work. you still had your tutor sessions but they never bothered you too much. now you're sitting staring at your laptop pretending you're doing research. Cady is scribbling in her notebook. Once again you're bored. and you can't help but watch Cady and wonder if she really has forgiven you. sure you were together right now but only because of this stupid presentation. you sit up a little straighter, taking a sip from your water bottle. "are you mad at me?"

it's sudden and she seems perplexed as she glances up at you. "huh?"

"I don't want you to be mad at me"

"I'm not mad," she urges, going back to her little scribbling. "you said Regina was lying, I believe you."

"just like that?" it seemed too easy.

"just like that,"

"how do you know I'm not lying about Regina lying though?"

"I don't." a shrug, she looks at you. "I'm just trusting you so can we please get back on track." you're not sure you would forgive someone as easily as this. it seemed naïve. or maybe she was just a better person than you. either way, this was what you wanted so...

"This is so boring," you whine loudly, pushing your laptop away so you can dramatically collapse against the table.

"if you actually help instead of complaining, we'd get it done quicker."

"Cady," you sigh loudly. "let's not, I'm just here to be pretty, okay? I shouldn't be forced to do homework too."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," you sit up properly once more. "ask away."

"Why do you hang out with Regina?" the question catches you a little off guard. why did she wanna know that?

"What does that have to do with the book?" you counter, a playful raise of your brow. "if you stayed on topic, we'd get it done quicker."

"I'm serious."

you shrug a little. "why wouldn't I? She's like one of my best friends."

"why though? I've seen the way she treats you,"

"you just don't get Regina," very few people did. sure she was kinda mean and pushy, you'd never deny that but the rest of the school didn't get to see her other side. which was also kinda mean but a tad softer. the blonde was fierce. if someone fucked with you, or Karen, or even Gretchen, she'd go to war. you've watched her destroy girls just to prop Gretchen up to Jason. maul boys for making fun of Karen. you only got away with half the shit you did because you were friends with Regina. maybe she kept you around because you showered her with love and attention but she, in her own way, gave it right back. "she can be a lot but she's really cool."

"she's horrible to literally everyone."

"yeah but that's like kinda funny," Cady gives you a look suggesting she doesn't agree which was fair but she didn't exactly pick the nicest people to be friends with. Damian was funny in class and you liked to tell him gossip that Gretchen told you. you never really spoke to Janis too much but you've seen her around. heard what she says about you. She makes jokes right to your face. "don't act like Janis doesn't do the exact same thing. why do you hang out with her?"

"That's different,"

"is it?" you challenge. "or is Regina just popular?" Cady seems to not have an answer because she goes back to the book. "she's my friend and I like her. simple as."

"I'm sorry for asking,"

"Don't worry about it," you weren't particularly angry. you knew how people viewed Regina. a mixture of high admiration and fear. "So did you enjoy your first party?"

"yeah. not exactly what I was expecting,"

"they're not all like that," you urge. "sometimes they're fun. sometimes you wanna stab yourself in the eye to get out of it."

"did you have fun?"

"fun is not the word I would use but it was an experience," After Cady left you kind of just sulked with Gretchen until Karen found you and insisted you had to dance together. you spent the rest of the night with her. "I'm happy you came. I wish Regina hadn't messed everything up."

"sorry I left."

"you don't have to apologise." you smile. "we're hanging out now even if you're making me do homework. and there's always next time."

"I'm not making you do homework," Cady argues. you just smile. shuffling along the bench so you're right beside her. She has the book open in front of her and a notebook full of scribbles. you repeatedly tap the notebook with your finger.

"Are these not notes for our project? is that not homework?"

"yeah but these are my notes," she expresses, snatching up her notebook to place on the side away from you. As your eyes meet, you can almost pinpoint the exact moment she gets flustered. a dusting of pink gracing her cheeks. "you're just fucking about."

a dramatic gasp before a smile takes over. "I would never."

Cady smiles and before you have time to react she is leaning in to connect your lips in the softest of embraces. it reminds you of the first time Regina kissed you. only it never had the chance to become anything more before you pull back.

"Sorry- I didn't. I don't know why I did that." that dusting of pink is now a deep shade of red. panic in her voice. eyes firmly on her homework. you're unsure of what to say exactly. you liked Cady. maybe even the same way she apparently liked you. but you just weren't sure yet.

"It's alright, don't worry about it," you express. "uh... should we get back to the book?"

you weren't mad or upset with Cady. her kissing you had just left you feeling... weird? so even as you parted ways and you got texts later in the evening, you couldn't bring yourself to reply. you just needed some time to think.

Lunchtime is weird. Everyone is quiet. Painfully quiet. Karen and Gretchen are just eating their lunch. Regina is staring at the label of her yoghurt. you're sat there anxiously like a child bursting with energy. this was so unlike them. "can someone just talk already," you blurt out. a little startled, everyone looks at you. "sorry. just nobody is talking and it's freaking me out. normally Gretchen never shuts up."

"why are you even here?" Regina asks, twisting the dessert in her hand. you wish she'd just eat it instead of inspecting it.

"why wouldn't I be?"

"shouldn't you be over there with the pyro-dyke and her band of freaks." her head nods in the direction she means but her eyes never leave that stupid label. the nickname referred to Janis and Band of Freaks must mean Cady and Damian.

a sigh. "you're being ridiculous,"

"I'm being what?" Regina asked firmly. her yoghurt placed down slowly as her eyes zone in on you. sharp and daring. Karen gently nudges your leg with hers but you're not sure if it was an accident or a warning. you glance at her and then at Gretchen who is keeping her eyes firmly on her food.

"nothing. sorry," you say softly.

"stand up," voice low but commanding. you can't tell if she's serious so you remain seated. watching her. "stand up. now." she was louder now. attracting attention. putting on a show as various people looked to see what the commotion was. "you wanna run around with freaks and lesbos, then go."

"Are you-"

"go." you swallow hard. willing yourself not to crumble under the pressure of everyone's gaze. you could argue back but you know better than to challenge her when she's this pissed off. so you just push up, grab your tray and leave the table. you lock eyes with Janis along the way who is next to Cady. you can't join them like Regina so angrily implied, it'd just make things worse for them and yourself.

your last few classes of the day are spent wondering what you've done to piss off Regina today. you've hardly even seen her. maybe Gretchen told her about the hallway yesterday? She promised not to plus this seemed like a massive overreaction. you're at your locker, grabbing your stuff when Gretchen approaches. "Regina said if you can behave yourself you're allowed to come shopping with us,"

"hello to you too Gretchen," you slam the metal door shut. "no thank you.."

"Seriously?"

"she basically banished me from the cafeteria today, why would I wanna go anywhere with her?" you ask but it was mostly rhetorical as you start down the hall.

"you know she was only joking," the brunette trails after you.

"was she? felt pretty real to me,"

"that's just her humour," Gretchen assures you. "you have to come. Regina will be upset,"

"Regina doesn't have emotions," you fire back, pushing through the double doors, you almost collide with another person. "Jesus, watch out."

didn't take long to realise who it was. "it's Karen actually,"

"I know your name, baby" you pat her shoulder. "why are you right outside the door?"

"waiting for you," she takes your hand. "we're going shopping."

"I don't wanna do that," you express but Karen is already leading you towards Regina's jeep. "Karen, let go" you groan but put up little resistance. the blonde is leaning against the side eyes on you as you're being dragged across the front lawn.

"you found her then," the blonde comments, pushing away from the metal of her jeep. "thought we'd have to start putting up lost dog posters or something."

"why am I even here?"

"Isn't it obvious- get in the car." Regina climbs in and everyone else does the same. "we need someone to carry the bags."

why were you here? why had you given in so easily? You didn't even want to go shopping and now you're staring at yourself in the wall-length mirror of a dressing room, trying on outfits. with a heavy sigh, you step through the curtain

"what do you think?"

"you look great," declares Gretchen.

"beautiful," an eager Karen. She had picked it out.

Regina turns from the large mirror at the end of the space where she was inspecting the dress she was trying on to you. "ew." is all she says before turning back.

"yeah, I never liked it," Gretchen remarks quickly.

"try this," Karen shoves a hanger in your hand before pushing you back towards the dressing room. you stare at your reflection once more. you didn't think it looked too bad but maybe Regina was right. it wasn't exactly your style but that's because Karen picked it. it was more you than most of the outfits she tried to get you to wear... it did sit a little weirdly. you can hear Regina talking to the girls, sending them each on an errand. and then it's silent. you begin to undress when the blonde calls your name. you stop what you're doing. She says it again and you walk out.

"what's up?" you question cautiously. you weren't about to let your guard down around her.

"what do you think of this dress?" the blonde spins to face you. hands on her hips. your brow furrows. why did she want your opinion? your eyes drift. taking in Regina. notice every curve. She really was a sight to behold.

"looks good."

"That's all I get?"

"What were you expecting?"

The girl turns back. "A shower of complements but guess you're not even good for that anymore."

"I said it looks good?"

"I'm done with you now. go change out of that ugly outfit already."

you wanna say something but you decide to just bite your tongue and head back into the dressing room.

come the weekend, Regina is out of town with her parents which means you've ended up with babysitting duties. Gretchen and Karen had both decided they were coming over to your place. you didn't mind. so now you're loitering on the bed with your back against your headboard scrolling through your phone. Karen is snuggled up in half a blanket using your lap as a pillow also scrolling through her phone. it's silent but comfortable. Gretchen vanished about ten minutes ago and hasn't returned. "do we have to start hanging out with Cady?"

"What?" you glance down from your phone. 

"I don't wanna hang out with her, she's creepy."

"that's not very nice, Karen," you scold. "but no. why would we?"

"Because you're like a thing now," Karen answered, pressing her phone to her chest. She meets your stare. "you kissed"

"excuse me?" your heart practically skips a beat. you undoubtedly hadn't told anyone that Cady kissed you and you're almost certain she hadn't.

"what? Gretchen told us that she saw you and Cady making out after school on Monday," Gretchen fucking weiners. of course. but how did she know?

"by us you mean?"

"me and Regina," fuck.

"When was this?" you wonder. and as if summoned on cue, Gretchen emerges through the doorway and you can't help but raise your voice. "you told Regina I was making out with Cady?"

"What?"

"Karen told me so don't lie," you demand. "I thought we had a deal."

"I didn't tell her about the hallway."

"Are you stupid?" you press. Gretchen sits on the edge of your bed, fluttering her eyelashes.

"I'm sorry," a hefty sigh. the girl shuffled up the bed so she was beside you. "are you mad at me?"

"Obviously."

"but you love me?" you don't reply and she nudges your shoulder with hers. "right?" you stay silent, glimpsing at her withan empty expression. you did love her but you were pissed off with her right now.

"look at this," Karen shoves her phone straight up and into your view. it shows a picture of herself. you assume she had just taken by the outfit.

"adorable," you smile walmly but it quickly fades. Gretchen had very much fucked you over. That day with Cady, you hadn't seen anyone around other than a few stray students. why was Gretchen even still there? and why hadn't she asked you about it before telling Regina?

"did you see what Kelsey posted today?" Gretchen questions, pulling out her phone. "it's so pathetic. like she's clearly doing it just for attention." you let your head fall back against the wall as Gretchen proceeds to talk in your ear. your mind drifts to the day in the cafeteria when Regina embarrassed you in front of everyone. you had thought it was an extreme reaction to a conversation in the hallway but turns out it was because of the kiss. was she that jealous of the idea of you and Cady? That made little sense when she was running around with Shane.

"Does Regina hate me?"

"of course not," Gretchen insists, a comforting hand placed on your shoulder. "you know anger is basically her love language. she just cares a lot."

"Regina thinks Cady is a freak," Karen contributes. "and that you hanging out with her makes us look bad."

"We were just doing homework."

"I saw you kiss her," Gretchen retorts.

"she kissed me,"

"you have been hanging out with her a lot," Karen states

"and you invited her to Connor's party," Gretchen resumes.

"yeah but..." you trail off because you really don't have a comeback. All those things were very much true. "this is stupid."

"if you had just listened to me-"

"Jesus, we get it Gretchen" you huff sharply and then feel bad for it. "sorry but you have to stop saying that- I should be able to talk to a girl without it being the end of the world."

"maybe talk to less weird girls?" Karen proposes brightly. "like me.... or Gretchen.... oooh or Regina."

"Thanks for the suggestion." you tap her nose gently, making her face scrunch up. "but I meant other than you three."

"you can talk to whoever you want," Gretchen reassures you, dropping her head to your shoulder. "as long as Regina approves."

"you sound insane,"

Gretchen shrugs. Karen's attention has returned to her phone. and you were suddenly so aware of how insane being friends with Regina George truly is.

the bell for first period has you walking down the hallway towards your history class. you share it with Gretchen who you haven't spoken to since Sunday. you're still mad at her.

"Hey, can we talk?" your brow furrows a little. it was Regina. and you were still mad at her too for last week.

"I have to get to class," you huff but she doesn't take the hint; instead she takes your hand and drags you straight into the nearest closet. it smelt like chemicals, dust and... vanilla. you imagine the vanilla is the girl, not the room.

"what the hell?"

"Just give me a minute,"

"why are we in a closet?" you wonder. it was cramped. a painfully buzzy lightbulb hung over head, flickering through an array of intensities. shelves full of supplies.

"I'm sorry, okay?" your eyes were looking anyway but at her until now. staring into blue-green eyes. did she just... apologise for something? was this a dream? your dreams never normally included Regina apologising but that seemed like the only way this could be real. "I'm sorry I got mad over you and Cady. you've just been acting weird since she joined"

"Are you... fucking with me right now?""

"what? I can't apologise?"

"I never said that," you did imply it but you would never say it. "I'm just confused." a shrug of your shoulders.

"I just don't like it. I don't like her," she wasn't about that. you weren't confused about her feelings towards Cady. you were confused as to why she was apologising for it? also, why do you have to do this in the closet? couldn't you have done this in a place with such a dizzying aroma? "I get like angry when I see you together. and then when Gretchen told me you kissed her-"

"she kissed me."

"Whatever," a dismissive wave. "I mean, it just was a lot y'know."

"not really" Your brow furrows.

"you're not that fucking dense, are you?" as the blonde takes a step forward, you take a step back crashing into a bucket and mop. She grabs your wrist. maybe an attempt to save you? "careful." said much softer. caring almost. it makes you suspicious. more so than the apology you hardly believed in the first place.

"we're gonna be late for class," you answer quietly. you try to pull your arm away but her grip doesn't falter. it's firm and tight; possessive almost. "Regina, please,"

"you promised to stay away from her," Regina mentions softly. you think back to that day. Regina straddling your lap. hands on your chest. moving against you. soft lips. it makes you blush. she pulls you closer. "promised you didn't like her more than me." her other hand gently cups your cheek. "was all that a lie?"

"no," you shake your head slow and stern. "no. i-"

"you kissed her." stated firmly.

"she kissed me," you argue back. her fingers press a little harder into your cheek.

"don't remember asking," expressed as she leaned in close. hot breath hitting your skin. vanilla fills your nostrils. "tell me you love me," whispered. you swallow hard. "please."

"Regina..." grip on your wrist tightens.

"go on."

"I... love you," you sound more confused than sure.

"more than cady?"

"you're my best friend,"

a once gentle hand now grips your chin. "more than Cady?" asked again.

"uh... more than Cady,"

"say you're obsessed with me." her lips loom mere inches from yours threatening a kiss.

"I'm... obsessed with you." her eyes are so intense, it's kinda scary. it's always treacherous being so close to her.

"Good," her lips press into yours. fierce and strong. but gone just as quickly. "I'll see you at lunch." she lets go and leaves without another word. The door to the closet closes with a click. insane. you remain for a few minutes. a little lost. a little confused. then you leave for class.

sat at a table under the beautiful shade of a massive umbrella during your free period. Cady is opposite. Gretchen was supposed to be here too but you don't know what happened to her. probably worried about sitting with Cady. "why are you doing work?"

"It's a study period. you should also be doing work,"

"It's almost lunchtime don't be ridiculous," you groan loudly. the bell rings mere moments later bringing a smile as the animals are released from their classrooms out into the wild. "see."

"you didn't do anything,"

"never do. That's half the fun of a free period before lunch."

"hey baby," that was Regina's voice. you look up promptly, half expecting her to make a comment or demand your presence but instead, she takes a seat right beside you.

"Hello," you try not to think about earlier. about how weird this is and focus on the fact she seemed to be in a good mood. her arms snake around you, drawing you back into her embrace.

"Cady,"

"hi Regina,"

"you look good today," Regina comments. your brow furrows. she was being weirdly affectionate. should you be concerned? probably but you were gonna enjoy her openness. the last week had been so weird and you kinda of just wanted things to go back to normal. and while this wasn't exactly normal, you prefer this to outward anger.

"thank you,"

"Now say it back," you roll your eyes but wear a playful smile.

"you look radiant Regina," said playfully. She gives you a quick squeeze and you finally settle in her embrace.

"I know," hummed in your ear. "so do you wanna come to mine after school?" muttered in your ear.

"what's the occasion?"

"I want you to," Regina declared. "why does it matter? you're coming over."

"am I now?" you ask playfully.

"We should get food," Regina lets go and gets up. you watch her for a moment expecting her to bark a demand but she doesn't. she just walks away. it freaks you out so you bid farewell to Cady and go scampering after the blonde.

"you good?"

"course," she states as you fall in step.

"you're being strange," you observe. "I was half expecting you to drag me away from that table."

"what's the point?" she asks. "you'd just go running back to the little nerd."

"no running is involved."

"running. skipping. drooling." the blonde teased. when you enter the lunch room, Gretchen is already sitting alone at your usual table. "like a love-sick little puppy dog."

"Okay, ew, no,"

"where have you been?" Gretchen wonders as you approach. She knows where you've been. you text her.

"no love involved whatsoever,"

"Who are you in love with?" Gretchen asks.

"no one,"

"I got tater tots," Karen announces as she zooms past with a try, taking a seat at your lunch table.

"oooh, they have tots today? let's go get food," you grab Regina's hand and start pulling her towards the food. Gretchen comes scrambling after the two of you. "I'm starving."

"aren't you always," Regina comments. the sea parts as she leads the way to the front of the line. it's unfair. but you never call her out. you always take advantage.

"Who are you in love with?" Gretchen repeats

"nobody, we moved on,"

"god keep up Gretchen," Regina huffs. you're so excited about your tater tots you practically run back to the table with your little tray. your two friends in toe. you take your usual seat next to Karen. Regina sits opposite with Gretchen.

"Cady keeps looking over here," Karen announces, popping a tot in her mouth. "it's creeping me out."

"she's so weird," Regina sighs. "if she's anything like her freaky friends it's because she's obsessed with our dear sweet puppy,"

"she is not obsessed with me,"

"This is what happens when you give losers attention, " Regina persists. "they think they have a shot. soon she's gonna think she can just come over and talk to us and it's your fault."

"Firstly, she would never do that. She's intimidated by you," you express. "secondly. she is sweet, you gotta lay off her."

"as she should be," the blonde looks disgusted. "also gross. She's so fuckin weird."

"you guys are being mean,"

"Is it mean if it's true?"

"still yes," you insist. "I like cady."

"We know," Gretchen states. Regina shoots her a dirty look.

"you don't get to talk Gretchen," Regina spits. "you never shut up about Jason like he's not disgusting."

"Cady would be cute if she just learnt how to dress. and do her makeup," Karen interjects.

"I don't even think that would help."

"Can we stop talking about her please?"

"don't wanna hear us shit talk your girlfriend."

"not my girlfriend." you argue. "but I would like this to end. quickly. let's go back to Jason that dude fuckin sucks."

"he's so sleazy," Karen adds. and the conversation flows into something other than you and Cady. thank god.

you're lying on Regina's couch. in Regina's room. alone. after school. you expected Karen and Gretchen to be here too but alas they weren't here. after this morning, you wouldn't be surprised if this was some cult worship ceremony. the door creaks open and in walks the infamous blonde. a glance before going back to your phone.

"my mum wants to know if you're staying for dinner,"

"am I?" you don't even know why you're here. and knowing Regina she could kick you out at any moment.

"I said yeah but you don't have to," a shrug.

"guess you're not mad at me anymore then,"

"When was I mad at you?" she questions, sitting down on her bed.

"When are you ever not?" you tease. "sometimes I think you hate me."

"if I hated you, you wouldn't be here," the blonde comments.

"you've been so short with me recently." you sit up properly.

"Because you've been acting different." the girl insists. "and it's weird. and I don't like it. I want you to go back to how you were."

"I don't even know how I've been acting different?" you lean back. "I think you're just jealous."

"jealous of what?"

"Cady." you see her eyes narrow. jaw tense.

"you are obsessed with her."

"not obsessed," you correct. "I don't even know what is going on between me and Cady."

"but you like her?"

you shrug. "do you like her?"

"no," it makes you smile for some reason. same old Regina. number one cady hater. "not even a little. she's strange. can't dress for shit. really awkward."

"tell us how you really feel," you chuckle a little.

"you'll just call me mean," like she wasn't already being mean.

you shrug. "I like when you're mean."

"I know," a smile quirks at her lips. the blonde pats the space next to her. "come here,"

"why?"

"Just come here," a dramatic sigh. you push up and cautiously walk over to sit down next to her. "why are you acting so scared of me?"

"I don't know," you shrug. "kinda expecting you to push me off the bed or something."

"why would I do that?" her brows furrowed.

"Because you're evil," a smirk slowly takes over her lips. you nudge her softly with your shoulder.

"I love it when you call me evil,"

"I know," you reply. "because you're obsessed with me."

"you wish."

"I don't have to wish," you tease. "because you're obsessed with me."

"you're really pushing your luck here," Regina comments. "stop." her tone suggested she was done playing. the blonde falls back against her bed. you just look at her as she starts typing on her phone. "and stop staring at me freak."

"but you're so pretty,"

"your girlfriend wouldn't like you saying that."

"not my girlfriend," you insist. "no more than you are." the blonde doesn't respond and you both fall into a comfortable silence. you lie down beside her. "why did you invite me over?"

"make out. prove a point. why do you think i asked in front of cady?" you just shrug. the girl sighs loudly and discards her phone off to one side before rolling onto her side to look at you. you just turn your head to face her.

"for someone so smart, you really are stupid," you'd be offended but there was hardly a point. she just watches you, watching her. you crack under her gaze and look away but she just reaches over and forces you to look at her. "do you know why I keep you around?"

"Because you love me?" said playfully but quietly. you know it's not the answer she was looking for.

"I like the way you look at me," she admitted quietly. "everyone stares at me but you... you look at me like I'm the only person in the entire world." she went on. "like you just can't get enough." you don't know what to say. Regina was like nobody you had ever met but in a different way to Cady. She just commanded attention. a beauty beyond words. and sometimes you wonder why you ever caught her eye. the girl shuffles closer now. "you can run around with freaks. you can be confused about Cady. but at the end of the day, none of it matters." that hand on your jaw loosens and begins to trail down over your neck. "you'll always come running back to me."

"What makes you think that?"

"It's in the way your breath hitches when I'm close. the way your eyes linger when I walk away. the way you so easily melt under my touch," her voice was gentle but taunting. her hand slipping lower and lower down the length of your body. you could hear your heart beating loudly in your chest. an onset wave of heat flushing your cheeks. "I can say or do whatever I want," her hand stops at your thigh, squeezing roughly. body leaning into yours. pressing you further into the plush fabric of her bed. "and you'll always be mine." whispered sharply before her lips meet yours and the fire makes the rest of the world melt away. you reach up to draw her closer. deepen the kiss and the way she groans makes your head spin. but then she pulls away unexpectedly. "oh I forgot to mention Shane is coming over after dinner so you gotta be gone by then. Cool?" you can feel the emotions stirring. it's weird and confusing. Shane's name fills you with anger; annoyance even. through no fault of his own. was she fucking serious? but at the same time you couldn't move. maybe a wiser person would have stopped everything right here. walked away with their dignity in their hands. Cady was probably a safer option. she liked you. and maybe you liked her too. but there was just something about Regina. being on her good side meant the world worked for you too. it was a world you'd become so accustomed to, you can't imagine it any differently. you can't imagine a life without the blonde. you didn't want to leave. you wanted to chase the high of each kiss. the pain as her nails dig into your skin. the firey mess of being with her.

"cool." you nod simply, pulling her back into the kiss. dignity was overrated when it came to Regina George anyway.

[the-californicationist]

Please! I need the part 2 of “Captain Price opens a package, thinking it’s intel, but it’s a sex pollen.“ I'm on my kneesss pleaseee it was so good! 😭♥️

Anyways, I'm your new follower 😍, and some of the stories you write is just so damn good😍 (Sorry for bad grammar's, English isn't really my first language, uwu)

im sorry but idk what a part two even looks like. i know a lot of people have asked for it but its... just some couch sex?? idk i'll try.

Laswell clicked the door shut behind her, and part of you wished she had locked it. Gaz was sure to tell the rest of the team, but you could do without an audience. What would they even see if they barged in here?

The captain had let his cock loose from the confines of his pants, and they were sliding down his thick, muscular ass with every selfish thrust. He was rubbing himself like a naughty dog against your clothed pussy, begging for entrance with every forward movement. Your shirt was pulled down, revealing your breasts, and now they were covered in pink marks from the roughness of his beard as he moved his mouth across you.

Feeling him take each nipple and suck it so gently into his mouth, pulling it in like delicious nectar through a straw, drinking you although you were dry, tasting you even though you had no flavor. It was too much, but he couldn't stop.

You felt a little wrong to be enjoying your commanding officer so much. His humping was making your body respond even as it waited for your guilty conscience to catch up.

"Cap... oh, my fucking God... No, Captain. We shouldn't..." you tried to protest on his behalf, knowing he was being controlled by the powder.

"Corporal," he spoke with his mouth full of your flesh, "I can stop... now. It'll give you... enough time... to run..."

His bright pink eyes flashed up at you in warning and he used both his arms to pin you on either side of your head, forcing you to look at him, the intensity of which went right to your rapidly-melting core.

Suddenly, in a moment of lucidity, he looked you right in your eyes and finished his sentence,

"But that will not be bloody true for long."

As if warning you, he rubbed his hardness up and over your belly, letting it ruck up your shirt, and you felt its incredible heat. It was like a long, steel brand. His skin was smooth, but it was scalding and swollen with his blood. The huge tip left a wet trail of desire wherever it went.

"It's okay, Captain. You can have me if you --"

There mere suggestion of your consent was all he needed to let the dam burst and the river run free. His need crashed from him with an explosive force. He all but ripped your clothes from you, nearly hurting you in the process, making your ankles ache from the sudden pressure as he shucked your pants and boots away in one go.

Your panties were torn from you, sturdy though they were. The fabric made a whining, popping noise as the elastic split. Air rushed across uncovered skin, and your body doubled down on its plans to produce as much natural lubrication as possible. It seemed to know you'd need it.

He didn't touch you. Not with his hands. There was no preparation of any kind. Price fed himself into you like a hand into a glove, a body part in need of sudden and immediate warmth. He took control of your head again, pinning you in that same furious way, and you had a singular view of his face, twisted in a sort of sublime agony as he sank himself into you for the first time.

The pressure was almost unimaginable. Your body was making a lurid, wet, slicking noise as his cock forced you in half. You tried to allow him in, tried to relax, but there was little you could do. He was immense and heavy. It felt like a fist on a strong arm, like a forge hammer, hot and searing. The only thing more tormenting was his voice purring darkly in your ear.

"Fuck, you're warm..."

He pulled himself out of you inch by inch, leaving a terrible hollow where you were once whole.

"Wet for me. So wet. How?"

Back in. And in. And in. It seemed to go forever in and it made you wonder how deep you were.

"It feels so good to have you 'round me, love..."

When the rosy head of him found the end of your wet hole, it sort of... settled there. Locked in, like a key into a tumbler, and each fold of you a lifted pin, fitting him as if you were crafted for it.

"Thought 'bout how you'd feel. Sometimes... dreamt it."

You felt your body give away your surprise. He was too gone to notice it, but not you. You would have been able to feel the planets shift an inch to the left if they dared. You could feel everything. Each and every pore and hair and breath was awake and alive and living in the rawest possible way. Could he have really been thinking of you like you were thinking of him?

"Bloody fuckin' hell. So tight. Too tight."

He was right. It was too tight. He was squeezing himself in with each of these aching, crazed thrusts, shoving himself inside of you hungrily, all the way up to your pounding heart, it seemed. You felt yourself slipping around him like hot oil, running down his shaft and matting the coarse, dark hair that cradled his root.

"John..."

You used his name in place of his title, and he noticed. Noticed it like a hawk notices a hare. Right in your ear, up against your cheek, he responded, too quickly, too much teeth,

"Yes, love. Yes. Yes? Tell me."

He was grunting now, clearly on the edge of his pleasure. You aimed to take him over it, to plunge him into blinding darkness. You whispered, and each word hit its mark like the straight shaft of an arrow, striking into the target one after the other, tearing through the bullseyes like they were nothing but air.

"You're gonna make me come, John."

Again, that unearthly snarl came from his chest, the one you'd never heard before come from the mouth of a man. It was a cry and a scream and a prayer and a plea and had he not been pinning you down prone with his own prostrated body, he would have been growling it from his knees. He commanded you as he worshiped you,

"Give it to me. Give it to me. Give. It. To. Me."

Your body listened before you could even register his words.

From the bones in your hips, you felt your muscles tighten along his iron rod like a fist, closing in on him knuckle by knuckle, and each closure brought you closer to that brink where the darkness turned to blinding white light. You could feel the sparkle of it, that peppery gunpowder flash and then...

"Holy fuck, love..." He stared at you as if you were the sun lighting up his whole life. Like he'd seen you before, all sherbet pink and blazing orange, in the dawn, in the mornings, cutting over the horizon.

Price had come in you. You felt it. It slid along the cleft of your ass and soaked into the fabric of the couch. He didn't mind it. You couldn't. His body was still thrusting as hard and as heavy as before, fucking up into you as if he hadn't just filled you with his thick, hot cream.

"I can't... " he gasped, wrenching his eyes shut, "I can't stop..."

"It's okay, John..."

"I can't bloody stop, love. I'm... fuck, I'm sorry..."

"I'm okay. It's okay," you whispered to him, trying to soothe him.

You pet the hair back over his brow and he leaned into your touch like a cat, purring for more of it. You laced your fingers through his hair and held him tight at his scalp, turning his head so that you could talk to him right into his ear,

"Fuck me how you need to, Captain."

Did you enjoy this tale or maybe some other work by me? Consider buying me a coffee, if you have the means. Kudos, likes, reblogs, and feral comments also work as well ^_^ Thanks!

AO3 Link

[bbystark]

♡ simon is a bad stalker part 2 ♡

badstalker!simon x reader series - pt one three

♡ masterlist ♡ request more! ♡

summary: in which you meet your stalker, but not in the way you thought. mdni

a/n: the response on my last fic?? omg?? crazy. this is for @madzzz0797 and everyone else who requested! i love yall.

simon isn't someone to be stunned. the dude has seen some shit, not much has the capacity to knock the air out of his lungs.

except you, of course. "i want to meet you."

what in the actual fuck.

the words rattle around his skull, and he has to actually brace himself against the wall.

there is actually no way. he shouldn't be surprised, really. despite the fact that you didn't even know his name, he knew everything about you.

he knew the reason you started seeing a therapist wasn't because you were afraid of something happening to you, it was the fact that you didn't know what was going to happen.

above all else you really just hated not understanding what the "why's" in life. of course you weren't going to the police. only you would be primarily focused on figuring out why he was doing what he was doing, personal safety aside.

simon has no idea how to respond, so he simply hangs up. he's suddenly overwhelmed by the consequences of his own actions. he hadn't covered his tracks well because he somehow simply missed the severity what he was doing.

to him his motive was simple; he found you to be one of the only good things left in this world and it was only natural that he tries to protect you from the bad.

but then he realized that to you, some strange man was interfering with your life and literally sending personal drivers to your rescue seemingly out of nowhere.

again, simon thinks, he's completely fucked.

he weighs his options, like he has any. so far, you've taken the situation relatively well, and it seems like the only way he could do any type of damage control is to give you what you want.

on the other hand, he wants to run for the hills. to ghost you, essentially. but he knows he can't for the same reason he started this whole thing in the first place.

simon had an undeniable need to keep you safe and close.

° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 °

when the line goes dead, you audibly say "what the fuck!?" to no one. he's the one stalking you, and he hangs up? what a dick.

then, as you begin to sober, you realize how much of a fucked up situation you're in. you contemplate calling a friend, spilling your guts about everything. then you realize it's 3am, and you should probably go to bed.

the following week you kind of just... go on as usual. you still feel watched, but for some reason you don't feel it as intensely. you wonder if you spooked your own stalker, and the thought almost makes you giggle.

then you come home one day and you immediately know something is off. your cat doesn't greet you as quickly as usual, (something that started when simon started coming around, he knew how much you worried about the thing being lonely, so he took it upon himself to drop by and give it attention every once in a while).

then you see it, a box of pastry on your kitchen table. you drop your purse on the ground, approaching it like it was an explosive.

a pretty little bow is wrapped around it (simon had seen your pinterest, he doesn't understand the bow obsession, but he knows you would like it)

you open the box, a note taped on the lid. it was your favorite croissants from your favorite bakery, and you shiver a little when you realize the box is still warm.

you snatch the note from the lid, shooing your cat away from sniffing at the croissants.

"i'm sorry. we can meet soon, i promise."

you roll your eyes. you can't believe he's suddenly back with a note and pastries like he's an ex you broke it off with.

and then it sinks in, he said you would meet soon.

almost as if on cue, your home computer chimes.

you pick up your cat, clutching to her like she would be any help in the situation. you open your inbox and pale when you see a blocked email.

you open it, almost dropping your cat when you see that it's a zoom link.

your stalker just sent you a zoom link like you were about to have a business meeting. you click the link before you can change your mind, seeing the little pop up that informs you one person is in the meeting.

there was no way you were about to have a meet and greet over zoom with your fucking stalker.

you immediately close out of the tab and walk away, setting your cat down and laughing at the absurdity of the situation. you laugh like a psycho for a long time, your cat throwing you judgmental looks.

then you stop laughing, and you find yourself sitting in front of your computer with your cursor hovering over the 'join meeting' button.

you check one more time that your camera is turned off and will your shaking hand to click the stupid button.

° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 °

simon watches as you laugh, and it does nothing to help calm his nerves. he silently hopes that you choose not to join the stupid video call because he's not even sure he could get any words out if you did.

the zoom was soap's idea, saying it might take the edge off (and the risk of you calling the cops). simon thought it was stupid but reluctantly agreed at the prospect of being one step closer to you.

he's pulled from his thoughts when the annoying doorbell chime lets him know that you did it, you actually joined the meeting. with your camera off, of course, not that it mattered when simon had your whole place bugged anyway.

his heart stops, he sees you staring at the screen, taking in a scarily large man in a mask and hood. he doesn't know where to put his eyes, much less what to say.

you break the ice for him, "this is way fucking weirder than just meeting you in person."

he wants to laugh, but stays silent, watching as you instinctively lean farther and farther away from your screen.

he watches you for a second before responding. "thought it would be easier like this."

for you or for him, you have no idea. you don't ask about the mask, assuming he just didn't want you to be able to identify him.

"yeah okay. um," he watches your face screw up as you try to find the words.

you settle with a simple "what the fuck?"

you watch him as he shifts in his seat, room dark and giving you no hints as to who he was.

"name's ghost." you scoff.

"i-," he stops and collects his thoughts, "i don' wanna hurt you."

you raise an eyebrow. "then what do you want?" he stays silent.

his silence irritates you, and you spur on. "what's the endgame here, ghost? because it's starting to get real fucking weird, i mean if you're gonna murder me eventually just get it over with because these little acts of kindness are driving me fucking insane."

his callsign coming from your lips sends a thrill through him, and he has to really concentrate to respond.

"...didn't really think about it. just know i want to keep you safe."

you balk at him. you had no idea why you thought he would spill his whole manifesto and confess his every thought to you.

"you know what you're doing is wrong right? being in my apartment, following me around? despite the good things you do for me?"

his entire body warms when you acknowledge the small things he's done for you, he revels in the fact that you know he's taking care of you.

"'spose so." a beat "then why are you doing it?"

he doesn't have an answer for you. "listen, ghost. you're going to meet me in person and you're going to have a lot more answers or else-" you find your voice wavering. "or else i will go to the police."

you don't give him time to respond, you simply end the call and or good measure unplug your computer, like it will somehow distance you from what happened.

you go to your bedroom, sitting on your bed heavily. you were shaking, uncontrollable shivers wracking your body.

you had just dug your grave deeper, in your childish and immature quest to understand you had just given your stalker an open invitation to come to you.

you were so fucked.

[erenstitanweave]

❥HOW WE LOVE IV

pairing: various x reader (ambessa, sevika, viktor)

rating: giving/receiving love languages headcanons

a/n: hi everyone, so sorry this took forever!! my mental health hasn't been in the best shape lately but i wanted to get this out for you all asap, so here it is!!

SEVIKA

giving:

sevika is quite literally a softie under all the walls that Zaun has caused her to build up around herself

i think she'd give her lover acts of service the most with a side of words of affirmation, but let me cook

we see in the show that her doing things for people (especially silco) is like second nature to her, so i think that would be the more outward and first way she'd express her love

it doesn't really matter what the task is either, you don't even really need to ask her to do it either, she just does it.

she usually keeps a very watchful eye over you, often not letting you out her sight if she doesn't have to

she makes it a point to remember what you need at certain points, remembering every scenario in which you showed how you feel to her and making sure she responds accordingly

after her walls slowly let down with how much time she spent around you, she'd let out small instances of the soft nature she holds inside her

she's a sucker for making sure you know exactly what she thinks of you, especially when she knows you need it

she makes sure she lets you know that she cares for you deeply, even going so far as to tell you why she cares for you and what she loves most about you

i think it would take her a while to fully open up to her lover, but once she does, she's sure that it'll be only you that she ever does it to.

receiving:

sevika is so used to doing things for other people, she rarely does anything for herself or has anyone doing things for her

with how she reacted when jinx made her an arm, i think she rarely has ever had someone do something significant for her, or even just something in general

i think she'd really appreciate it if you did things for her, but i don't think she'd know how to react at first

she's well aware of doing things simply because someone asks you to do it, but if you did something for her that she didn't even ask for? she's already seeing you in a different light than before

it could be something as simple as bringing her a lighter when she misplaced her own, or even using your own to light whatever she's smoking and she would silently appreciate it a lot more than she thought she would

i think quality time would be a big one for her, especially since half of her time was spent doing favors for silco or handling whatever dirty business he needed handled

it doesn't have to necessarily be romantic either, although, i don't think she'd be opposed to that either

it could really be just sitting together in the last drop while she's actually on "break" playing card games or just having a drink together, just being around you makes her day better

i can see physical touch being something she likes as well, although i don't really see her doing much of pda, only because she'd rather not have you possibly be endangered because she has her hands all over you

VIKTOR

giving:

i feel like viktor would give his partner a lot of praise, even on things considered "minuscule"

think about it, to him, an accomplishment IS an accomplishment, no matter how small it may seem

now, do i think he'd be massive about it? no. but i DO think he'd let you know whether through his words (or actions) that he does recognize every accomplishment

words of affirmation doesn't just have to do with accomplishments for him, i think he'd give subtle compliments as well

now, there are two ways i can see him going about this. one, he GENUINELY gives subtle compliments and doesn't entirely gauge your response in the moment. or..he does compliment you on purpose to see your reaction, only doing it subtly to dodge any accusations of doing it on purpose (he totally finds it hilarious)

viktor just screams observant to me, not JUST observant but he somehow notices every little detail in my mind

new haircut? he's the first to say something. new perfume or cologne? he mentions it as soon as you step into the room, you don't even have to BE next to him.

receiving:

i think viktor is a simple man receiving wise, but him loving acts of service and words of affirmation

side note, to any artists who draw viktor drinking coffee straight from the coffee pot, i LOVE you

no, but seriously, i could see him adoring when you bring him food or water/coffee whenever he's holed up in his lab

i think it brings him a sense of comfort knowing you'll care for him even when he's basically drowning in his work (and his own genius)

even if it's a bit strange to him in the beginning, he warms up to it once he realizes how much better he feels both mentally and physically once he actually eats/drinks whatever you bring him

i personally think that words of affirmation is what makes him fall for you especially, but just hear me out for a sec

no doubt viktor had to do a LOT to climb his way to his position, i think someone acknowledging his intelligence beyond the seemingly obligatory compliments would be more impactful to him

i think it would make him feel good no matter if you were someone who were an inventor like him or not, just the fact that you were putting in enough effort for him makes him happy

slightly off topic, i feel like he would love someone who can quip back at his sarcasm, especially if they try to equally match him or even exceed his energy

just making light jokes with him even for five minutes would somehow energize him for the rest of the day in my mind, no idea why

AMBESSA

giving:

ambessa is a proud woman, one who doesn't keep anyone who she doesn't want around her in her presence

i think ambessa would shower her lover in gifts, but not just any gifts, spoils of war.

as her lover, you'd certainly reflect the part outwardly, that was something she'd make sure of

i could see her giving you relatively anything you ask for, even if she had to fight to get it. (i.e.: garments, jewelry, etc.)

despite this though, ambessa does use gift giving as a means to satiate you in the beginning of your relationship, at least, until she fully trusts you

her gifts (sometimes) are a way for her to show her love during the long periods of time where she may not see you, and other times, well, it's a way she tries to express her emotions

she actually loves what quality time she can get with you, her favorite things to do are any type of spa treatments or just having you sit with her while she tells you stories of her countless battles

something i think she'd do is have your wrist in her hand, trailing your fingertips across her scars as she tells you the story of how she proudly earned them

i don't think she'd exaggerate much about her stories though, maybe in cases where she isn't proud of how it ended out/how she got the scars

occasionally possessive though, she loves it when people admire you by her side but HATES it when the admiring goes too far

receiving:

as for receiving, i think she'd like quality time and acts of service the most

ambessa doesn't seem like the person to keep anyone around who doesn't benefit her in some way, (we see where mel gets it from) so i could see the relationship sprouting from you doing any type of favors for her

regardless of whatever kind of favors they may be, i think i'd come to a point where she realizes she actually wants you around and not what you do for her

however, this doesn't mean she doesn't appreciate what you do for her while you are together, not at all

when she loves, she loves HARD, and this is especially for acts of service in particular

she'd appreciate every little thing you did, especially if you did it without her having to ask you to do it. in her mind, it means so much more when you do it on your own accord

i don't think it would really matter what you do, just the fact that you'd love her enough to do something to alleviate her when she's constantly on guard

physical touch, though, i feel like she'd love it in certain situations especially

ambessa was relatively untouchable in battle, and even then, not many people could say that she allowed them to touch her intimately besides casual hookups

i think she'd like non-sexual touches especially, in her mind, i could see her as considering them much more intimate than just a simple touch

i think she loves being held, especially after not seeing you for a while? it makes her feel like ambessa and not the wolf of noxus

[forgeofthenine]

Ok so we've had tail HCs for a non-tief SO, how about some tail headcanons WITH a tief SO? Which of the boys would notice them doing the horny tail thing at them first? Would they notice but pretend NOT to to be polite, or just start doing it back and confusing everyone in the party except for Karlach etc etc 👀👀 - my tief!Tav would like to know, for a "friend", who may or may not be very horny for Dammon *wink wink nudge nudge* XD

Surprise, guess who's dropping in :)

I'm currently rotting away at home while recovering from a work injury so I thought I'd finish this request up. Luckily I shouldn't be away from work too long (though the injury is looking slightly more iffy recovery time wise than we first thought). I hope you all enjoy, I love some casual tail stuff being dropped in my requests. I'm also slightly shocked that it's taken me this long to write for a female character considering I'm very much bisexual...

The Bachelors (+Karlach) when your tail gives away your feelings

Dammon

Dammon is a very perceptive person, deceptively so

Having lived in the hells for even a short time will do that to a person

Naturally, he tends to look at peoples body language

So you can bet he notices every little curl and lift of your tail when you come to visit his forge

He's also quick to show his own interest, curling and flicking his own tail in a less than subtle way

If you didn't realise that you were even doing 'the tail thing' you'd definitely notice Dammon doing it back to you

It's honestly something he finds extremely flattering, having someone showing such open interest in him is a definite ego boost

And Dammon is a very confident man, he has no qualms about anyone seeing him return such a display of affection

When the two of you are together it's like you're having full conversations only through your tails

Your party members also have no idea why Karlach is always laughing at the sight and leading them away

She will tell you later on to "hurry up and get on with it" with a firm slap on the back

Dammon is definitely a very happy tiefling when you take her advice and wrap your tail around his for the first time

Zevlor

He genuinely convinced himself that he's just imagining things

This poor, tired paladin is so convinced that someone like you would never see him in that light

So when you start doing the tail thing Zevlor completely ignores it at first

It doesn't matter how obvious you are, you could bend over his desk and curl it up over your back like you're in heat, and he'd still believe it's not what he thinks

And everyone can see the way you're pining for him, curling your tail up and away from your body every time he speaks

Zevlor is also mildly scandalised by how open you are with the gesture, only learning later from Karlach that you have no clue what it means

It becomes a regular thing for you two, much to the dismay of all the other tieflings around, purely because Zevlor is just slightly too embarrassed to mention it

It's only after the tiefling refugees are safe, and he's had a few drinks in him, that he'll indulge your long standing desires

Though it's only in private that he'll respond to it, his tail carefully curling and winding around your own

Rolan

The first time Rolan sees you curl your tail like that he almost chokes on what he was drinking

Your fussing over him as he coughs doesn't help the blush growing on his cheeks

He tries to ignore when you do it, despite the fact his own tail itches to reciprocate

Once Cal and Lia see you lift your tail while talking to Rolan it's all over for him

The teasing is absolutely endless, to the point he'll start to blush when you merely enter the same room the three siblings are in

It's a wonder he doesn't simply pass out when you do the tail thing while talking to him with your crew and the other tieflings around, he looks like he's about to

As much as he enjoys the sight, it's all horribly embarrassing that everyone knows, though it's not embarrassing enough for him to stop you

It takes a long time, and plenty of confidence gathering, but Rolan does eventually do the tail thing back

He has to make sure you two are absolutely alone first, but it's very apparent when he returns the gesture

Though, Rolan looks just as grumpy as always while doing it

Karlach

Karlach has few ways of showing affection to people she cares about while her body is still a walking furnace

When she sees the way your tail curls and lifts as you speak to her she's absolutely beaming

Karlach responds almost immediately, her tail mirroring your own in a clear expression of interest

The others in the group can't figure out why the two of you are animatedly moving your tails, they end up deciding it's just a normal tiefling thing

If you don't even realise what it is you're doing and question why her tail is 'like that' she'll absolutely cackle

Expect to never live it down and to always be lovingly teased over it

It becomes a regular thing for everyone on the crew to see, they do ask questions when the two of you don't do it while talking to other tieflings though

Karlach doesn't only express her interest in how her tail moves, you'll get plenty of flirting from her too

But doing the tail thing is a simple way for you two to reinforce your interest in each other until you're able to touch her

Dammon, having seen how you both interact, is hardly shocked at how quickly Karlach intertwines her tail with yours when she's able to touch others again

She's still going to do the tail thing to tease you though

[knoxic]

Teasing and Loving

Eris Vanserra x Reader

Summary: smut, Eris being a simp, smut, emotional talk, smut

wc: 2,8k

warnings: p in v, unprotected sex, trying for a baby (hinted at), oral (m and f receiving), cum eating, no beta

a/n: technically it was part of the How to be a High Lady series but it works better as a one shot imo

"Love?" Eris called out to her, pushing her office door far enough to fit his head in, at her nod he let himself in, closing the door behind him. "A letter arrived from Winter." He gently set the letter on her table, away from the other papers scattered around the place.

"Oh, what did they want?" She looked up from the book she was studying, catching the amused grin he tried to hide.

"I don't know, it's for you." He slid the letter closer to her as if to make a point.

"Ah, I'm still getting used to receiving letters like this..." She felt slightly embarrassed but brushed it off, she closed the book carefully and placed it aside before picking up the letter. Eris had made his way around her table and was leaning against it by her side, watching her every move.

"Hello, fellow High Lady! I was hoping we could spend some girl's time together, perhaps while our males discuss some court business, let them handle all the work for a while, now that we are allies, they ought to be friends too. So, what do you say? We could meet here in Winter and I could show you the wonders we have, or, you could show me what Autumn has been hiding all these years, Kal and I have always wanted to visit Autumn, the few hours we get to spend there for the meetings do not do it justice, that I'm sure of.

Eagerly waiting for your response,

Your fellow High Lady, Viviane."

"Viviane is asking if I want to spend some 'girl's time' with her," she giggled, "And I think Kallias finally crowned her High Lady." She showed Eris the letter, pointing to the first and last phrases.

"About time," Eris uttered, "Was starting to think he didn't have it in him."

"Eris." She gave him a pointed look. Sometimes his old self would come up, a natural response, they were both working on it.

"Habit, sorry." He smiled at her, faking innocence but quickly erupted into laughter, making her join him. It was so weird for him not having to insult someone at any opportunity encountered, that when he did, out of nowhere, it was funny.

"You're so stupid." She said, stomach cramping from how hard she was laughing.

"Darling, you marry this stupid, deal with it." Eris sighed, running a hand through his perfect hair trying to compose himself. "So, will you?"

"Yes, it's been way too long since I've had a girl's time." She started searching for some paper so she could write back to Viviane.

"Not to sound insecure or anything but... what exactly do you females do on your 'girl's time'?"

"Just girly things, males and our sex life, you know," she responded nonchalantly, "Last time I had one, one of my friends had even reenacted some scenes..." Eris' face at that moment was something she'd paid to see again. His eyes looked like they'd pop out of his head, his cheeks flushed redder than she'd ever seen before, his mouth was hanging open and he looked like a fish when he trying to talk.

"Relax, Eris! I'm just joking." She laughed, her belly protesting. She saw through watery eyes the moment Eris regained his composure, his smirk gave her a hint that they had a long night ahead.

Two big hands pulled her body up, making her squeal and laugh even harder. Eris picked her up and turned them both so he was now sitting on her chair, his lips kissed her neck while his hands found the ticklish spots around her body.

"You think you can fuck with me and not be punished for it, little witch?" His voice was rough with lust, her laughter died down and turned into soft moans.

"Careful, I might reenact what you'll do next with Viviane..." A hand smacked her cheek, the warm feeling of the scalding fire that ran through his veins made her shiver with goosebumps, the whisper of his slender fingers running up her spine only making her tremble harder. The effect Eris had on her was insane.

"Don't you dare. Not the time to play, love." He bit her shoulder. She nodded, knowing Eris wouldn't actually be mad at her for misbehaving, but he would be stressed, and while he'd never act like his father, an stressed Eris was more sad than anything, and she hated that. He was done being used and beaten, the stress he endured all these centuries was enough to mess with his head so hard that now he could barely bear feeling stressed.

She nodded against his neck, kissing and nuzzling his shoulder. In response, he tugged her closer to him, his fingers finally working on the buttons of her dress, pulling apart and setting her down on her desk to take their clothes off.

When Eris was done unbuttoning his shirt, her hands found his muscular chest, pushing him back, signaling for him to sit. She quickly got down on her knees, Eris purposely slipped the fabric of her dress where her knees would meet the floor, making sure they wouldn't hurt so much. Her fingers worked on the strings of his trousers, when they slipped inside the waistband, Eris lifted his hips for her to slip them out, his briefs following suit, during their undressing, Eris had also taken his boots off.

Her hands danced around his torso and tights, lightly scratching his skin, her fingers followed his happy trail before touching his cock, squeezing him the way he liked while running her hand up and down. His warm fingers caressed her arms, encouraging her to keep the pace.

After he was completely hard, she started licking his tip, running her tongue against the underside, slowly going down and licking the whole expanse of his member. His quiet sights and humming making her skin tingle, leaning away from him she admired her artwork, the way his skin was redder in certain spots, his breath was ragged even with so little action, his eyelids almost fully closed and his hair the same messy hair she saw at home. His vulnerability came with a messy version of Eris that would make anyone question if it was really him, his usually perfect styled hair seemed to have never seen a hairbrush, his enviable posture sometimes slumpy.

"Don't stop..." He whined, his head lolled from one side to another.

Taking pity on him, she brought her mouth back down, taking as much of him as she could, bobbing her head slowly, taking him deeper everytime she went down until her nose was pressed against him.

"Gods... What did I do to deserve you?" Eris mumbled, when she looked up, his eyes were fully closed and his mouth had formed a pleased smile.

Eris wasn't really into blowjobs, at least not like the other males she knew, he'd never refuse it of course, but he wasn't one to ask for it. She never asked and Eris never said anything, but she had an inkling that it might have something to do with his father, the way he viewed and treated females, Eris was bound to have heard and, perhaps, seen some disgusting things.

Her mate's hand gently cradled her head, not moving her, just holding. His hips twitched every time her mouth fully enveloped him, she noticed how much effort he was putting into not thrusting up.

"You can fuck my mouth if you want." Her voice was raspy and breathless when she spoke, immediately going back to sucking on him, paying special attention to his tip. His eyebrows furrowed like he was in pain, mouth opened in a silent moan, the muscular thighs under her finger tensed. Suddenly Eris was pushing her head away and yanking her up into his lap.

"For someone who claims to hate teasing, you're doing it way too well, sweetheart." His hands slipped through her hair until he had a good hold of the back of her head, he pushed her closer to his mouth, just enough that she could touch him if she stuck her tongue out, when she tried to lean in for a kiss, he pulled at her hair. He laughed at her pout and gave a mocking peck to her bottom lip, a mere brush that could never be called a kiss.

"You're mean, you know that?" She pushed at his chest, not exactly trying to push him away, all her strength went to keeping her smile at bay.

"But my love... someone needs to take that seriousness off your pretty face."

"You just say that because you can't be serious around me, I smell envy..." She sniffled jokingly, the only scent that filled her nose was arousal, the musk smell of Eris and the slick coating her thighs.

Eris giggled, throwing his head back, one of his hands left her waist to rest at his abdomen, his body convulsing with soft laughter. None of the males she met before laughed like that, in fact, she wasn't sure if they ever truly laughed. Eris, despite his upbringing, knew how to have a good laugh.

"Oh Gods... I couldn't have asked for a better mate." His  head was still thrown back, if the sight of his body slumped in her chair didn't say anything, his relaxed smile sure did. "Kiss me." The hand that remained on her waist ran up to her cheek, "Kiss me." He repeated, bringing her head closer. "Drown me with the taste of you." Their tongues danced. "Make me forget how to breathe without your hands on me." Her hips lifted enough to take him inside her warm cunt, the feeling making them both groan. "My body is yours, my soul is yours, my heart is yours, take my mind too. My every thought is yours, everything I think is formulated with your face in my mind, everything I plan is thinking of you and us, our future, our family..."

Their heartbeats synchronized, their mouths dancing, the rhythm of her hips rocking their bodies, their chests collided with rapid breaths, hands here and there squeezing and feeling. "Eris–"

"Yes! Yes, yes, please!" His hands went back to her hips, helping her bounce on top of him, her head dropped to his shoulder, nodding.

Eris gasped, as pleasure threatened to push him off the edge, he braced an arm on her waist and lifted himself off her chair, his unoccupied hand pushed the paper off the desk, he'll help reorganize them later. Feeling the kisses she planted on his neck, combined with her sigh of pleasure when he slipped her down his cock, almost made his knees buckle.

He set her down onto the desk, curving an arm under her head, giving her time to adjust to the new position before he started to thrust, his forehead resting on hers, their breaths fanning each others faces.

Her hands ran the whole expanse of Eris' back, encouraging him to thrust into her, each snap of his hip against hers threatening to push her off the desk, the arm he slung under her head being the only thing keeping her from doing so. The intensity of having sex with Eris never failed to amaze her, she wasn't sure if it was because he was her mate, or if it was really just in his nature to be intense, probably both. Due his accidental edging, Eris already felt close to cuming, the fact that she kept squeezing him didn't help, he was sure she was doing it on purpose, brat, he really taught her well. He couldn't stop his hips from stuttering so he just stopped, resting his cock fully inside her, his head dropping to her chest to suck on her perky nipples, trying to pretend it was all in purpose, unfortunately for him, it didn't foul her. Her soft giggles filled his ears, both her hands moving to his head, running her fingers through his wild red hair.

"Have I already told you I love your messy hair?"

Eris pulled back from her breast to look at her, a expressionof shock on his face before a breath burst out of him, "My hair is not messy, love." He answered while giggling, thinking she was joking. She only rolled her eyes in response, moving her hips against his, Eris' mouth feel open, his eyes slammed shut.

"Close already?" She smiled up at him, knowing too well the effect she had on him. Her legs moved so she had a firm grip of him, now being able to move her hips better, squeezing his cock whenever he was pushed deep inside her.

"Keep doing that–" His words were cut off by a groan, "And I'll cum before you." Eris' whole body trembled.

"It's okay." She pulled his head closer to hers, nuzzling his nose before initiating a kiss. She doubled her efforts to make him cum, moving her hips harder and faster, licking into his mouth like an starved female.

Eris groaned, his body tensed, his knees buckled, his arms gave up and he fell fully against her, she could feel his thighs shaking and a hot liquid filling her cunt. She felt every spurt of cum, his cock throbbing, the way that even when he was finished he was still hard. As soon as he regained control of his legs, he trusted slowly into her, pushing his cum as deep as he could.

When he came down from his high, Eris pulled back from her mouth, not once had she stopped kissing him, his eyes roamed through her beautiful body, his hands squeezing her breasts and stomach, sliding down until his thumb met her clit, rubbing lazy circles on her, just enough to feel good.

Eris slid his cock off of her slowly, catching the small spurt of cum that came out and pushing it back inside her. After meeting her gaze one last time, he fell to his knees, his mouth placing gentle kisses and nibbles on her plump thighs.

His nose brushed her clit, their scents mingled together filled his nose, his tongue licked her slit like the starved male he was, slurping his own release mixed with her wetness. Her moans drew him insane, she was a quiet female so to know she made those beautiful noises because of him, was maddening. Her hands brushed his hair out of his face, careful fingers touching his pointed ear, making it twitch involuntarily. She felt more than heard her mate's groan, the vibration directly on her clit pushed her off the edge she didn't even know she was treading. Eris didn't stop, the pleasure building up inside her as if she never reached her release at all. His slender fingers pushing through her throbbing slit, curling into a spot inside her that made her see stars, after years of experience, Eris could definitely bring her orgasm after orgasm if he wanted to, and that's what he did. Pushing his fingers as deep as they'd go and pulling them out before she could slip off again, he played with her until he was sure she was too deep in pleasure to hold it back.

When he was done, she could barely feel her own body, still tingling with pleasure and her mind too fogged up. She felt warmth and his scent enveloped her, her cheek pressed into something hard, his heartbeat helped bring her back to herself. Eris' hand brushed her locks behind her ear, caressing her hair mindlessly, he planted kisses where he could reach, head, forehead, eyes, nose, until she stared back at him, eyes still shining as she smiled.

"That was good." She said, voice barely a whisper. Eris hummed in response, smiling back.

He helped her into his shirt, knowing she was too sensitive to wear her dress again. After that they went back to their chambers, still holding one another as they went. All the servants had gone to bed by now, so no one saw their half dressed High Lord and Lady walking through the corridors.

"Are you too tired for a bath?" Eris asked agaisnt her neck, never one to stay away from his mate. "Hungry? I can go make us something." He brushed her jawline with his nose, arms tightly holding her against him.

"Not too tired, and kind of hungry but I'd rather have you here with me." She answered with her eyes closed, bathing in the affection he poured on her.

"I'll draw us a bath, and then we'll go eat something." It was natural for them, so many times had Eris gone to visit her in the middle of the night with an empty stomach, right after finishing all of his work for the day. It only got worse when he became High Lord, so many things to be fixed that the only moment they got to themselves was at night, when Prythian was asleep.

Taglist: @callsigns-haze , @lilah-asteria , @mybestfriendmademe , @coldmermaidhologram , @rcarbo1 , @andreperez11 , @st4r-girl-official , @tenshis-cake , @pirana10 , @esposadomd lmk if you want to be added/removed

A/n²: I accidentally wrote "you can duck my mouth if you want"... and when I read it midway through the smut it was... cringe, I stopped writing. had to go feed the ducks

[mischievousmoony]

hi i saw your request were open, and i really love you’re work and i was wondering if you could do something with james where the reader talks very quickly and quietly and often is told that she needs to speak up. and james always knows what she says and its kinda just fluffy? no worries if you don’t want to write!! have an amazing night/day

- 🪷

is this my first emoji anon? 🤭 thank u love, i had a lot of fun with this request

𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚔 𝚞𝚙

⟢ james potter x reader ⊹ 1.9k ⟢ warnings/tags: not bully per say but other students are rude, fluff

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

"Miss. Y/L/N, have you found a group to work with?" Professor McGonagall asks as students around you huddle in groups of four whilst you stand alone at your desk, packing your things.

You mumble a response as you stuff your books into your bag, attempting to flee the scene as fast as possible. It wasn't anything to do with Professor McGonagall, but rather the fact that you always felt a little scrutinized when talking to anyone in a position of authority.

McGonagall squints as she tries to decipher your words. She finds herself having to make a guess.

"If not, I am more than happy to assist in finding–"

"She's with us, Professor!" James jogs over, returning from enlisting members for your group. As you straighten out your leafs of parchment, James starts packing away your ink and quill for you.

"And 'us' entails?" Professor McGonagall questions.

With a casual flick of his thumb over his shoulder, James gestures to a pair of Ravenclaws standing by the door.

"Very well," McGonagall hums in approval before walking off to ensure any other stragglers have found a group before they depart.

James would prefer to have Sirius and Remus as the other half of your group, but McGonagall has permanently banned James and Sirius from working together ever since they turned a simple demonstration into their own personal stand up comedy gig, resulting in some arguably intentional mishaps in their spellwork.

You've just latched your bag closed when James takes it from you and slings it over his shoulder without giving it much thought. He’s always absentmindedly doing you little favors, like it's his second nature.

"So, Cody has nothing better to do on a Friday night, why am I not surprised?" James says teasingly. "He’s insisting we hit the library and get a head start on the project. You free right now?"

"I'm free," you confirm, looking over James' shoulder at your group mates.

You hate group projects for a multitude of reasons. At least with most Ravenclaws— especially the two you're partnered with, Cody and Isla— you don't have to worry about them not carrying their weight.

This makes your main concern having to work with people you don't know that well. All you did know about them is that they're the kind of Ravenclaws that other Ravenclaws say give them a bad rap. They have a raging superiority complex, and you’d be surprised that James is okay to work with them if you didn't know him. That boy thinks he can make a friend out of anyone, save for some rivals he has in Slytherin.

So, you’re mostly surprised that they want to work with the two of you, but that probably has something to do with James being at the top of the class. Otherwise, they wouldn't normally branch out to students outside of their house.

You suddenly feel uneasy, realizing that for this project, you’ll be the student that the others are weary of not pulling their weight. You feel your hands get clammy over the potential judgement running through Cody and Isla's heads as James leads you over to them.

"Are we going or what?" Cody asks rather unmannerly.

James opens the door for everyone, "Lead the way."

You filter out into the hallway. Soon, the four of you fall in step with each other as James throws an arm around your shoulders.

"How long are we planning to spend on this today?" Isla asks.

"Well, if we dedicate the afternoon to it, we could get all of the research out of the way in one go." Cody responds.

James meets your eye with a sideways glance, and an entire conversation is shared through a couple facial expressions.

His lips curl into a knowing half-smile, See? No plans.

Your eyes twitch with amusement before they shift toward the pair. A microscopic scrunch of your nose conveys, I don't want to spend the whole day with these people.

His face contorts, Me neither, and he shakes his head, we can't anyway.

Your head tilts curiously.

"We have plans later," James verbalizes.

"We do?"

“Sirius got his record player repaired.” James smirks, “And I may have some butterbeer and a certain record waiting for us back at my dorm.”

Your eyes widen with excitement, “James, you didn’t!”

“Oh, but I did.” James says proudly.

“Sorry,” Cody interrupts, “you can’t work on the project tonight because you have to go listen to music?” Cody asks, and the rhetoric nature and judgmental tone are lost on you.

You dive into an explanation on how it’s not just any music, but your favorite band’s brand new album. And not just that, but the limited edition record complete with bonus tracks not available anywhere else.

The record was wildly out of your budget and although record stores far and wide all received copies, they didn’t receive very many. You had accepted that you would likely never get your hands on a copy, but you hadn’t accounted for James’ readiness to move mountains at your whim.

You excitedly speak about your favorite band and everything you know about the new record, and it’s like you can’t get the words out fast enough. James listens intently, grinning widely and nodding along with your every word, interjecting occasionally with commentary of his own. You're too busy raving to notice the shared look between Cody and Isla.

"Is this supposed to be a private conversation or are we expected to understand you?" Isla sneers as the four of you reach the library doors.

James' grin falters as watches your excitement fade. You mumble out an apology, which James found completely unnecessary.

His tone flattens out from amused to deadpanned as he addresses Cody's earlier question, both to alleviate some attention from you and to deliberately ignore Isla, "We'll stay for an hour, maybe two. But after that, yeah, we're going to go listen to music with our friends."

Ever the gentleman, even when annoyed, he holds the library's door open for everyone. He eyes the back of Isla's head with offense as she passes, but his eyes soften when you walk through next.

The four of you quickly find a table, as not many are occupied to begin with.

James musters up a semblance of professionalism as he forces himself to stop glaring at Isla as she and Cody begin to discuss a plan for the project. Cody takes it upon himself to divide up areas of research without consulting the rest of the table.

"Hold on," James' brows furrow at his audacity, "What if I don't want to be in charge of researching the wand mechanics? And Y/N has an exceptional understanding of magical theory, she should be in charge of the magical formulas."

Cody and Isla's eyes fall on you and this time you don't miss their criticism.

"You have an exceptional understanding of magical theory?" Isla's face contorts into that familiar sneer.

James doesn't try to hide the way he rolls his eyes. He nudges you, "What was it you were saying earlier? The idea you had for the project?"

You gulp before you dive into an explanation. It feels like Cody and Isla were burning holes through you with their stares, so you try to distract yourself by gazing down at your hands as you them wring together.

In the middle of your explanation—

"Couldn't you at least look up so that I might have a chance at reading your lips?" Cody grumbles.

If looks could kill, James Potter would be a wanted man.

"S- sorry," you practically squeak. You do look up, but the glare on Cody's face intimidates you into mumbling even more. Even the most skilled lip reader wouldn't have a clue as to what you are saying.

"Merlin, could you just speak up?" Cody snaps his fingers in your face and your words die in your throat.

James suddenly wishes he had a beater's bat handy.

"Oi! Get your hand outta her face!" He raises his voice to levels that would surely attract Madam Pince's shushing any minute.

Cody retracts his hand but stands by his actions, "We'll hardly get anything done today if she can't even speak clearly. How do you expect me to deal with this?"

"Alright then, new plan," James says through gritted teeth. He stands abruptly, and his chair scrapes loudly across the floor as it shoved back by his sudden ascent. "The two of us will research the wand mechanics and magical formulas on our own, you two can have the rest. I'll let you know where we'll go from there next class."

James' hand finds yours in a grip that is surprisingly gentle considering the way he is currently conducting himself. He tugs on your hand, prompting you to rise from your own seat.

"You're just going to leave?" Isla asks.

At the same time, Cody protests the plan, "There's no way that I'm accepting that."

"Well, Cody, if you wanted to be in charge, then I guess you shouldn't have been such a cun–"

"James!" This time you're loud enough to speak over James' biting words.

"See you in class" are James' parting words to the very stunned Cody as he pulls you away from the scene.

Once in the hall, James can't help himself from raging over Cody's behavior.

"What a slimy git! Who does he think he is?"

You squeeze the hand that James still has wrapped around yours as he tugs you through the halls.

"James," you call gently.

"Don't know why I said yes to working with them. They basically cornered me, I'll have you know! I should've ran the other way when I saw them–"

"James," you try again, more firmly.

"Maybe if we talk to Minnie on Monday we can get our group switched. You don't suppose we can work with Sirius and Remus considering these extenuating circumstances?"

You dig your feet into the floor, "James!" you call out one last time, finally earning his attention.

James spins to face you, his hold on your hand not letting up.

"Yeah?"

"Calm down, would you?" You're voice comes out tinged with laughter.

James' troubles melt away at the sound of your laughter. His eyes search your face for any sign that it's false.

"You're not upset?" he asks, knowing you've been sensitive in the past to people's commentary on the way you talk.

"No, the look on Cody's face when we stormed away was healing enough."

This earned a laugh from James, "It was pretty satisfying."

James gives your hand another tug so that you fall into step with each other again. He only drops his hold on you to sling his arm over your shoulders.

"Dunno why people become such dunces around you." A playful smirk dances on James' lips, "Distracted by that pretty face, maybe, whereas I know how to multitask."

You shake your head at his antics, but your lips can't be stopped from curling into a grin.

"I can't deny the fact that you're the only one who seems to always hear me."

In the past, you've considered the possibility that James can always tell what you're saying because you feel more comfortable around him than anyone else, prompting you to speak more clearly. In actuality, James doesn't even need your words to know what you're thinking. He's known you for a long time, and he's spent every minute of it learning everything there is to know about you. By now, he might know you better than he knows himself.

"I guess I just might be the luckiest guy around, then, that I don't have to miss a second of your charm."

You sigh at his teasing and knock your shoulder into his, completely missing the genuine adoration in his eyes as he studies the way you smile at his words.

He can't wait to see how your smile looks when you find out that record he got you is signed.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

[hard-core-super-star]

you could love me if i knew how to lie [K.Bishop]

pairing: kate bishop x stark!reader

summary: after spending all your teenage years engaged in a somewhat unserious rivalry, kate bishop makes her way back into your life as the last thing you need: a security guard. maybe it'll be the push you need to admit your feelings for her...or maybe just an excuse to bicker with her.

warnings: none, i think?; brief mentions of past hookups; slight angst? [idk if it counts]; lots of bickering; a sprinke of exposition; tipsy confession; kate is totally NOT jealous; did not proofread this enough :/

wordcount: 2.9k

a/n: HI! so, a long while ago i wrote a mini-fic about kate and stark!reader. my plan was to turn that mini-fic into a full fic because i never liked how it turned out BUT instead...i wrote a sequel, set way further into the future [or i guess, the canon timeline?]. anyway, tony is dead, kate is hawkeye 'cause clint is fully retired, and she's the sole CEO/owner of bishop security while R is the CEO of stark industries. i'm planning to mess around more with this AU so let me know what you think! hope you enjoy, see you next time <3

* * * * * * *

Kate Bishop was a pain in your ass.

There was no other way to put it. No way to sugarcoat the place the brunette occupied in your life.

Sure, maybe you were being petty. Maybe there was no real reason for both of you to be at each other's throats besides your own competitive nature and your dad's penchant for snarky comments about his business rivals.

Then again, the young CEO wasn't exactly a rival. At least, not ever since she took over for her mom...and since Tony Stark died. A fact you try not to think about most days.

Needless to say, things haven't been the same since the snap. Since those five years came and went, leaving behind nothing but pain, confusion, and regret. Enough regret to fill up the entirety of Stark Tower with it.

Maybe losing your dad should have made you more grateful to be alive. To have the opportunity to help the world rebuild after Thanos. Maybe it would have had you not ended up just as cynical as Tony.

All you could think about was what you lost. The people and things you'd never be able to get back.

Maybe it was that train of thought that led you to take over Stark Industries. Sure, Pepper wanting nothing to do with the place had a lot to do with it too, but you could have let it go. Could have allowed her to sell it to Eleanor Bishop or whoever else she wanted to.

But you were just as stubborn as your dad. Maybe even more, considering how much you loved hanging out with Natasha and Steve.

So, instead of walking away like you should have, you took over the company. While you weren't exactly sure what running a company of this level entailed, you were your father's daughter and you had more than enough of his smarts to figure out what to do.

At least, you thought you did until some wannabe super villain threatened you.

You didn't think much of it when it happened, you were used to stupid threats made by even stupider people. It never amounted to anything in your experience so you didn't think twice when you decided to "respond" to the threats.

The response in question being a very unserious, sarcastic remark that earned you the front page of the New York Times. Naturally.

Unbeknownst to you, your little stunt also earned you the attention of your old "rival" turned superhero. Everything you'd heard about Kate had come from Yelena and your attempts at hacking her computer.

The years that had gone by didn't seem to matter to the brunette, though, at least considering the ease with which she broke into your apartment. You'd be surprised if you didn't know she was just as good at hacking as you. (Maybe Yelena had a point when she told you that you needed a security update, but you'd never admit that outloud.)

You let out the loudest sigh of your life when you walk into your living room only to find Kate Bishop herself standing in the middle of it, dorky superhero suit and all.

"Dang, don't look so excited," she says, the corners of her lips quirking up into a small smirk. Despite her efforts, you know her nervous tells too well to be fooled by her fake nonchalance.

"Don't sound so hurt," you reply. "You can't tell me you were expecting me to be happy to see you after everything."

The shrug your words receive looks so natural you almost believe her act. You know better than that, though. "I thought that's exactly why you wouldn't mind seeing me. It's been a long time."

She's not exactly wrong. As annoying as she can be, you have missed her. Going to boring, fancy events isn't the same when she's not there to bicker with you. Maybe it's childish, but it's the only thing you've known when it comes to the brunette.

Just long arguments over ridiculously expensive appetizers and loaded glances across ballrooms. That's all your relationship with her will ever be.

"Yeah, five years to be exact," you say, not even trying to hold in your bitterness. "Not that you ever showed any concern about what happened."

Her eyebrows furrow slightly, her mouth opening and closing a few times as she stumbles over her response. "I...didn't think you needed me to-"

"I didn't need you," you correct her, already feeling your blood boil. "I just thought you had a shred of decency. Guess I was wrong, hooking up with anything with a pulse seemed much more important to you."

Her jaw clenches, and you hate the rush of satisfaction you get from the sight. After what the two of you have been through, the last thing you should be doing is pushing her buttons, and yet here you are. As stupid as it may be, some things never change.

"You're the one that turned me away the last time I tried caring," she says, her voice far more serious than usual.

The reminder she sends your way is the last thing you need right now. Even though you know she's not doing it to hurt you, it still stings. Mainly because she's the one who never returned your calls. She's the one who continued hooking up with other people after spending the night wrapped up in your arms.

"A drunken hookup isn't exactly "caring", Katherine."

The brunette groans in response, throwing her head back in frustration and allowing you to see the long column of her throat. For a split second, you come up with a different idea to work through your frustrations. As appealing as it sounds, you know it'll just make things worse.

"How are you still so insufferable?" Kate asks, her voice straddling the line between annoyed and amused.

You shrug. "It's a skill."

Her annoyance seems to clear for a second, like clouds parting to make way for the shining sun. "Yeah, right. You're something else, that's for sure."

Her words are technically a tease, but they soften you up all the same. They shouldn't, they should infuriate you, make you want to throw her out of your apartment and never talk to her again. They don't, though.

But instead of showing it, you decide to change the topic. The sooner you figure out what the hell she wants, the quicker she'll leave you and your bitter past with her alone.

"What do you want, Kate?" You ask with a sigh.

Her eyes linger on your face for a second too long before she answers. "Nothing. I'm just here to keep an eye on you before you do something else stupid."

"I don't need a guard dog," you reply.

She rolls her eyes, matching your energy far too quickly for your liking. "I'm not a dog, but you do need a guard. Running your mouth like that is only going to get you hurt."

You scoff. "I can handle myself just fine."

"Sorry, princess, I have direct orders from Yelena to keep you safe until this all blows over."

Of course, Yelena sent the archer to you. You're not sure if it's truly an "Avengers" thing, or if it's simply the Russian being an overprotective friend. Either way, there's no way for you to get rid of Kate which means...you're stuck with her, whether you like it or not.

"Fine," you huff, sounding far too much like your teenage self. "But don't think this means you're forgiven or anything. We're still not friends."

Even though a smile tugs at her lips, there's no mistaking the flicker of disappointment in her eyes. The longing you know all too well. "Yeah, I know."

As weird (and slightly uncomfortable) as it is, you move toward your kitchen with the archer following right on your tail. You're not a fan of the idea, or of having her breathing down your neck all the time, but complaining will just make things more difficult. And even though you're particularly known for being difficult, you're actually trying to not make things worse.

It's much easier said than done and yet...you and Kate actually start working toward some sort of normal. Well, there's nothing normal about having her following behind you like a puppy all the time but you can't say you don't like it.

You vow to not admit it, to not let her know just how nice it is to be around her. Just how much you've missed seeing her.

You're pretty sure it's your worst kept secret but thankfully, Kate can be quite oblivious most of the time. It's probably something to do with how much attention her constant rambling requires.

However, after weeks of keeping your act together, of pretending like you don't notice the looks she sends your way or the constant brushing of her hand against yours, you break. Or well, she breaks.

Despite her attempts at trying to keep you inside, you go out to bar with a few people from Stark Industries, using the excuse of some stupid business meetings to convince her. She knows it's a stupid excuse. That despite your insistance that you're there to talk business, you're really just looking for a way to put some distance between you.

It's not the worst plan in the world, and, at first, it works perfectly. Kate escorts you into the bar and then leaves you alone with your friends, giving you space to go back to some sort of normality even while the threat of someone attacking you lingers as a possibility.

Ultimately, it's not an attacker who approaches you during your night out. It's simply a decently dressed guy that tries far too hard to charm you.

He ignores your attempts at kindly declining the drink he offers to buy you and when his hand wraps a bit too tightly around your arm, Kate appears at your side.

"We should go," she says, her tone leaving no room for arguments.

The insistent guy opens his mouth to try but before he even knows what's happening, the brunette peels his hand off of you and leads you away.

You're not necessarily mad about it, the guy was being way too annoying and slightly creepy. That being said...you're also not about to let Kate think she can step in like that when she's not told to.

You try to escape from her grip but she simply holds on tighter, looking back to glare at you as she continues leading you through the throng of people.

"Kate," you warn, easily meeting her glare with one of your own. "What are you doing?"

The way her grip on you tightens is telling enough but you need to hear the words from her lips. "That guy was flirting with you."

You barely hold back the urge to roll your eyes, her habit of being far too blunt in moments of stress growing less endearing every time. "Yeah, I noticed. What's the problem with that?"

For once, Kate's actually speechless.

She opens and closes her mouth at least five times, making disgruntled noises that don't even border on words. You're equal parts annoyed, amused, and endeared (even if you'd rather not admit it).

"He's clearly a creep!" She finally says as if that will clear things up.

And maybe it does. Maybe it clears everything up and makes perfect sense. Maybe it means you should stop fighting against the truth that's been chasing you since you were a teenager. 

You're just as stubborn as Kate when you want to be, though. It doesn't matter how obvious it is that telling her how you feel is what you need, you'll ignore it forever if you have to. Even when it proves less than optimal for your mental health.

After a moment, you settle on an answer. "How can you possibly know that?"

"You can always tell, their eyes give them away."

You can't stop yourself from laughing in response. "As if you don't spend half the time you're with me ogling my chest."

"That's different!" She exclaims, clearly both embarrased and annoyed.

"Hardly."

She groans, although you're not sure if she's annoyed with you or with herself. "That's not the point! The point is he was being weird and it's my job to protect you."

In any other situation, her words would be sweet. Even now, there's no denying the way your heart skips a beat at the sound of them. Despite this, though, you still decide to hold onto your bitterness.

"You know, I'm more than just a stupid Avengers mission. Just because you've been jealous of me your whole life-"

"Jealous? Who says I was jealous?"

Her response genuinely surprises you. You can't tell if she's serious or not so you decide to bite despite your better judgement.

"Um...everyone? Even your mom. Everyone said you were jealous because your dream was to be an Avenger. You didn't understand how much pain it brought, how difficult it was to be involved with that kind of life. How little I wanted to do with it."

It's your last sentence that seems to strike a chord with her.

She stops in her tracks, using her grip on you to maneuver you until you're in front of her. Until you can't hide from her knowing gaze.

"Wait, is that why you've always hated me?" She asks, her head tilting to the side in a far too adorable show of confusion. "Because I asked you about the Avengers, once?"

It doesn't matter how badly you want to stay mad, she has a way of scrambling all your thoughts before you even know what's happening. Although, the few drinks in your system might have a lot more to do with that than her stupid puppy dog eyes.

"It was more than once!" You exclaim. "All you cared about was talking about Iron Man."

The second the words leave your lips, you feel ridiculously silly. It's like all the stupid things you did as a petulant teenager come back to haunt you in an instant. You wouldn't say you regret them (Kate can be a real pain in the ass when she wants to be) but you are embarrased by them.

"y/n..." Kate trails off, looking equal parts amused and confused. "You're actually serious?"

It would be easily to lie again. To make a joke, shrug it off, and pretend like nothing happened. Like you weren't so close to admitting how you feel.

For some reason...you can't bring yourself to do it. It makes no sense to you and yet, the answer rushes out of your mouth before you can even try to stop it.

"Well...yeah." You shrug. "I had a crush back then, y'know?"

"WHAT?"

You know where her surprise is coming from but all it does is make you want to shrink into yourself again. To ignore her once more until you go back to way things have always been. To the annoyance and the snarky comments and the comfortable distance you've always managed to keep.

"Whatever," you huff, shrugging her off of you. "It doesn't matter anymore."

You try to walk away, to put some distance between you before you continue revealing truths you've successfully kept hidden all your life. Kate's too stubborn for that, of course, so her hands grip your waist before you can get too far, easily moving you backward until you hit a wall.

"Say it again." Her voice is so low it almost startles you.

"What?" It's impossible to stop yourself from sounding breathless...or from allowing your eyes to dip down to her lips.

"The truth, y/n," she says. "Tell me the truth."

It's almost hilarious how quickly you melt for her. All it takes is a low tone to her voice and a sharp gaze from this close proximity for your legs to shake underneath you.

Deep down, you know where it's really coming from. Whether you want to admit it or not, you've spent the last five years aching to tell her the truth. That despite the way you've always acted, you feel so much for her. And hatred is the last thing on that list.

"You're insuferable," you reply. "Almost as insuferable as my crush on you."

As soon as the words leave your mouth, the tension in Kate's frame dissapears. Her grip on you loosens somewhat but she doesn't step away form you. If anything, she moves closer.

"I thought you hated me."

"Well, maybe a little at first. You were really annoying back then." She laughs, the sound so warm it makes you blush. "I think I still am. And an idiot apparently." 

"We already knew that, though."

For the first time in a long time, there's no bite to your words. No real fire to feed Kate's competitive streak. Just...the smallest amount of real affection. The kind that comes from knowing someone for almost all your life.

"Wish I knew you liked me sooner," the archer says, leaning in the slightest bit. "I would have kissed you and saved us all this trouble."

You roll your eyes, even though a part of you appreciates her cheesy flirting. "You did kiss me, actually. And it only made everything worse."

She's silent for a moment before a smirk forms on her lips. "Maybe we can try it again. Let me fix what went wrong last time."

Just because she's clearly being a flirt doesn't mean she isn't being genuine. It's easier said than done, but maybe...maybe you two have a chance of working things out. Of finally putting your pride aside and accepting how you feel.

"Stop being an awful flirt and kiss me, Bishop."

It's surprising, but she actually listens to you for once, and before you know it, her lips are on yours and nothing else matters.

Including the danger that lurks in the shadows of your periphery.

[resident-idiot-simp]

Fuck the idea of the X-Men being concerned about their Logan after hearing about the new Logan and Deadpool won't leave my head.

This Logan is so violent and feral him and Deadpool have done unspeakable things to one another and enjoy it. They HAVE to wonder if their Logan was stopping himself from doing similar stuff.

The professor had said before his thoughts were pretty dark and Jean had seen stuff that had spooked her which lead to lots of distance between them multiple times. She had admitted to others it unnerved her because of just how violent some of it was. She has worried about those he was close to because of it.

Logan had been upset after that because he couldn't help it. It was just how his brain worked.

This Logan however was so much worse. It was beyond disturbing for Jean who had told the others. After this discovery the questions started.

Did their Logan deep down think and feel this way? Was this normal or was this Logan just different? Jean could confirm that in retrospect some of this was definitely in their Logan, but it was hard to say how much.

Maybe theirs had suppressed it well enough you would have to dig to find these thoughts. This Logan was much more animal then theirs was or was it that this Logan just isn't hiding it.

Deadpool has commented on it when asked saying this Logan was less worried about being himself and he loved it. One quote that got passed around was of him saying. "He's a feral he should be acting like this it's natural, do you guys just not know that? A bit pathetic considering this is a school."

That had caused quite a bit of ruckus considering the implications. Sure ferals existed and everyone knew they were more animal then human, but with them being as rare as they were you didn't see them often. Lots of people had only heard stories about them. Hearing and experiencing were two different things and Logan had always seemed pretty tame... Or at least compared to this new one.

When questioned on how he knew how ferals were supposed to act he laughed, "I'm a merc where do you think they go when you goody two-shoes won't take them in because they're too disturbing for you?" This statement too caused a lot of upset.

Deadpool seemed to have a lot of answers If they were true or not it was hard to tell and impossible to determine considering he didn't like sharing. He was insane sure but he seemed to always be right on things he went out of his way to predict or point out.

Someone eventually asked if the old Logan was the same, which had (for the first time the X-Men head ever seen) silenced him. It took him a while as he thought over the question before answering.

"Yes and no, no because If you train yourself out of habits and thought processes they usually die down. However if he just didn't stop himself he would be the exact same. Which honestly would have been better."

When asked to explain why exactly it would be better to be like the new Logan, Deadpool had looked...sad.

"Are you telling me you would rather live a life that's not really you? To be inauthentic just to fit other people's ideals? To change yourself so much that you become practically unrecognizable to the person you were?"

Silence followed that as wide eyes took in wisdom from the unlikely source.

"That's a sad life to live knowing everyone likes that inauthentic version of you better. That you can never be yourself and are shamed when you try to be. That's a damn travesty."

No one knew how to respond and Deadpool had just shrugged, "That's not a life I'd want to live, that I'd want anyone to live." He threw in before walking off to find his Logan and daughter who....oh...was that why Laura always seemed to hate this place?

(x)