#like the ones you get in a pack of like five in a paper bag at the bakery bit
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micahdotgov · 1 year ago
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obviously there are worse things caused by the uk cost of living crisis but has anyone else noticed that supermarket cookies are half the size they used to be. i remember when they were as big as my hand.... the size of them now is ridiculous they’re tiny
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friendlyneighborhoodshark · 6 months ago
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"How to Life" Masterlist
Cleaning and Tidying
Make your bed in the morning. It takes seconds, and it's worth it.
Reset to zero each morning.
Use the UFYH 20/10 system for clearing your shit.
Have a 'drop-zone' box where you dump anything and everything. At the beginning/end of the day, clear it out and put that shit away.
Automate your chores. Have a cleaning schedule and assign 15mins daily to do whatever cleaning tasks are set for that day. Set a timer and do it once the timer is up, finish the task you're on and leave it for the day.
Fold your clothes straight out of the tumble dryer (if you use one), whilst they're still warm. This minimises creases and eliminates the need for ironing.
Clean your footwear regularly and you'll feel like a champ.
Organisation and Productivity
Learn from Eisenhower's Importance/Urgency matrix.
Try out the two-minute rule and the Pomodoro technique.
Use. A. Planner. (Or Google Calendar, if that's more your thing.)
Try bullet journalling.
Keep a notebook/journal/commonplace book to dump your brain contents in on the regular.
Set morning alarms at two-minute intervals rather than five, and stick your alarm on the other side of the room. It's brutal, but it works.
Set three main goals each day, with one of them being your #1 priority. Don't overload your to-do list or you'll hit overload paralysis and procrastinate.
If you're in a slump, however, don't be afraid to put things like "shower" on your to do list - that may be a big enough goal in itself, and that's okay.
Have a physical inbox - a tray, a folder, whatever. If you get a piece of paper, stick it in there and sort through it at the end of the week.
Consider utilising the GTD System, or a variation of it.
Try timeboxing.
Have a morning routine, and guard that quiet time ferociously.
Have a folder for all your important documents and letters, organised by topic (e.g. medical, bank, university, work, identification). At the front of this folder, have a sheet of paper with all the key information written on it, such as your GP's details, your passport details, driving licence details, bank account number, insurance number(s), and so on.
Schedule working time and down time alike, in the balance that works for you.
Money
Have. A. God. Damn. Budget.
Use a money tracker like toshl, mint, or splitwise. Enter all expenses asap! (You will forget, otherwise.)
Have a 'money date' each week, where you sort through your finances from the past seven days and then add it to a spreadsheet. This will help you identify your spending patterns and whether your budget is actually working or not.
Pack your own frickin' lunch like a grown-up and stop buying so many takeaway coffees. Keep snacks in your bag.
Food and Cooking
Know how to cook the basics: a starch, a protein, a vegetable, and a sauce.
Simple, one-pot meals ("a grain, a green, and a bean") are a godsend.
Batch cook and freeze. Make your own 'microwave meals'.
Buy dried goods to save money - rice and beans are a pittance.
Consider Meatless Mondays; it's healthier, cheaper, and more environmentally friendly.
Learn which fruits and vegetables are cheapest at your store, and build a standard weekly menu around those. (Also remember that frozen vegetables are cheap and healthy.)
Learn seasoning combinations. Different seasoning, even with the exact same ingredients, can make a dish seem completely new.
Misc
Have a stock email-writing format.
Want to start running, but find it boring? Try Zombies, Run!.
Keep a goddamn first aid kit and learn how to use it.
Update your CV regularly.
Keep a selection of stamps and standard envelopes for unexpected posting needs. (It happens more regularly than you would think!)
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wileys-russo · 18 days ago
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christmas showcase II a.russo
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lil christmas fic for the maternal instincts universe christmas showcase II a.russo
"what so the state wide budget gets cut, something entirely out of your hands, and now the school expects teachers to pay for the supplies for christmas crafts for the kids?" your girlfriend scoffed in disbelief as you smiled, dumping another armful of stationary into the trolley you'd tasked her to push.
"yeah thats the reality year round love, did you ever have a pizza party in school? teacher funded." you hummed, alessias eyes widening even further as you squatted down, thumbing through the craft paper for the colours you needed.
"what!" "mhm, we've discussed this before less." "well yeah, but-well-" you stood back up and dropped the packs of craft paper onto your ever growing stack of supplies. "butts are for ashtrays, not conversations." you teased, lightly patting her cheek and striding on ahead.
"ugh please don't teacher talk me." alessia groaned pushing the cart after you. "then don't speak like one of my students." you stuck your tongue out at her as the blonde pulled a face.
"hey where's bella? bell!" alessia called out in realisation, head scanning the aisle and not seeing her anywhere. "probably adding more to her list for santa." you chuckled knowingly, and sure enough moments later the five year old came skidding around the corner.
"what did we say about running off?" alessia warned making you smile, the older girl not always having felt comfortable 'parenting' bella, but the last few months she'd really melted into it and taken it in her stride.
"i didn't run! i walked." bella nodded matter of factly, squealing as alessia mocked her and tugged playfully on her ear. "are you nearly done? the monsters hungry again!" bella sighed, patting her stomach dramatically and sagging into alessia's leg as the two of you shared a grin.
"the monster who just insisted you needed an extra two pieces of toast this morning? and who just had a blueberry muffin?" you teased, placing a few more things into the cart as bella huffed.
"no! the muffin was for me, i'm a growing girl who needs her energy to get big and strong, to stay healthy and match ready." bella parroted as you shot your girlfriend a look, the words may have been coming from your daughters mouth but they weren't hers.
"well ronaldo you don't have football for another two months so i am sure we can help you grow another inch or two by then!" you laughed, tugging her beanie down over her eyes as the three of you headed toward the registers.
"thats not funny! daddy said its your fault im so short." bella scowled stomping on ahead. "yeah well your dad didn't hit his growth spurt until he was sixteen!" you called out with a roll of your eyes, tugging the beanie over her eyes again as she stopped to finger her way through the candy display at the front of the store.
"less!" you protested when your girlfriend grabbed the chocolate bar bella was eagerly pointing to, giving her a look. "what? this is for my monster, he's hungry too!" the blonde pointed at her stomach as bella giggled and you sighed shaking your head and beginning to load things onto the conveyor belt.
"thank you." you smiled kindly to the young boy at the register, who you assumed was a football fan given the wide eyed glances he kept shooting your clueless girlfriend, too busy holding the chocolate out of bellas eager reach.
"she doesn't mind when people ask for photos." you whispered to him as his cheeks flushed and you sent him a wink, tugging the trolley forward and loading the last bag, calling out for your daughter who grabbed your outstretched hand.
sure enough alessia hung behind to take a photo with the young boy whose elated grin stretched ear to ear, the blonde jogging to catch up with the two of you as you made your way across the parking lot to the car.
"so, are you and harvey excited for christmas mutant?" alessia questioned as she buckled bella in and you loaded the bags in the back, poking at the teddy bear securely buckled in with her.
"yeah! mummy did you send my letter to santa? did you? did you?" bella asked once you'd arrived home, bouncing up and down on the driveway as you chuckled at her excitement.
"sure did babe, mailed it on friday and put on 4 stamps just like you asked me to." you confirmed, looking down at her with a smile and pinching her cheeks as she squealed and kicked her leg at you.
"mama did you finish your list for santa yet? mummy and i finished ours!" bella accused as alessia grabbed the bags out of the boot, only half listening.
"mama?" "sorry what was that bell?" "your santa list, did you finish it?"
"my...santa list?" alessia glanced at you curiously as you subtly nodded. "oh, yes! yes i did." alessia clarified with a firm nod, bella sighing in relief and racing off to the front door, you and alessia following after and letting her inside.
"so your mums still fine with us coming for christmas?" you asked a little while later, bella not long having gone to bed as you and alessia laid on the sofa watching a film.
"are you joking?" alessia asked seriously, sitting up a little more with a frown as you blushed.
"well its just-you know this is our first christmas together. and i've not been with someone for a christmas since i had bella, i forget how it works." you mumbled, a little embarrassed, groaning and covering your face with your hands.
"it works the same as any other christmas! except this time my family have a beautiful little girl to spoil rotten and i have a gorgeous girlfriend to sit with at dinner." alessia laughed, wrenching your hands away from your face.
"don't laugh! you know i overthink everything." you sighed, playfully hitting her shoulder as she grabbed your legs, tugging you closer so you were practically in her lap.
"well christmas eve we'll be here, and we'll make cookies and watch christmas films and do all the traditions you and bell have for years, which i feel very honoured to learn and participate in." alessia started, absentmindedly tracing patterns on your forehead.
"and make christmas tree shaped pizzas, just like i promised bella." alessia added before you could chime in as you reached up and squeezed her face in your hand which she batted away with a smile.
"then christmas morning we'll go see your mum and dad for brunch. then we'll go to my parents place in the afternoon, have dinner and mums insisting we all stay the night but i told her i had to check that with the boss first." alessia finished with a curt nod, poking your nose with a wink.
"the boss being me?" "no i meant isabella, obviously?" "ha ha ha."
"yes you!" alessia laughed when you attempted to smack her, catching your hand and kissing it a few times before letting it fall back to your side with a thump.
"if she's prepared for a bossy, chatterbox, sugar hyped five year old running around for hours until she passes out then i think that sounds lovely." you smiled as your girlfriend chuckled and leaned down to press her forehead against yours.
"well then we have a plan baby, nothing to overthink now."
~
"-and you're sure you don't mind if they come?!" alessia asked for the tenth time this morning making you laugh. the school you worked at and bella attended having its annual christmas showcase the end of the week and over half the arsenal girls insistent they attend.
"no babe, i already reserved seats for them and they paid for tickets! bella is very very excited they're coming, usually its just nathan and our parents since i'm backstage helping." you assured, pecking her lips a few times as she tried to argue, softening and pulling you back for a proper kiss.
but that ground to an abrupt halt when gagging noises sounded, bella covering her eyes and very loudly demanding the two of you stop 'swapping spit' as she so eloquently put it, still deep in her kissing is gross phase.
"yuck! have you stopped now?" she questioned, peeking out from her hands as alessia cupped your cheeks and pressed her mouth to yours again making you laugh and bella gag loudly again, covering her face with one hand and her teddys face with the other.
"my eyes are burning!" "oh does that mean you can't see this then?" you questioned, grabbing alessia's face right back as the two of you messily kissed as bella dramatically fell to the floor with a thud and a groan.
"oh she was so young, so full of life!" alessia cried out, scooping your daughter up and carrying her into the kitchen fireman style. "i guess we better go downstairs and bury her in the garden, she did love pulling out the weeds every summer." you sighed, moving to open the front door as bella shot up in your girlfriends arms.
"don't bury me the dirt will go up my nose!" "oh my god she lives!" you yelled out, closing the door and throwing your hands into the air. "almost. i think we might have a zombie on our hands!" alessia hummed, skeptically poking at bellas face who giggled.
"i made something at school!" bella wiggled as alessia put her down and she shot off to her room, giving you just enough time to steal a few more kisses before she returned.
"paper chains for the tree and a star!" bella started, waving you and alessia into the living room and practically pushing you both to sit down as she rummaged around in her bag, only having a few more days left before she was done for the year.
"oh very nice mutant, i like that you used a lot of colours." alessia complimented as the two of you shared a look of amusement, everything draped in enough glitter for two pride parades.
"okay now cover your eyes, and no peeking mama!" bella warned as alessia scoffed with offence. "why did you only warn me?" the striker huffed as you grinned. "because you would peek." bella explained patting the girls knee who rolled her eyes but covered her eyes.
you felt something drop into your lap and heard some shuffling before it was announced the two of you could look. you glanced down to see an ornament in your lap, a bright red bauble with mummy scrawled on it in hot pink glitter glue.
"oh bella." you looked to your side to see alessia had one as well, but you couldn't quite make out what it said but it appeared to have more writing on it than yours.
"do you like it? i chose red for arsenal!" bella beamed, puffing her chest out proudly as alessia turned it a little so you could read.
mama's first christmas.
"oh bell, they're beautiful." you smiled softly, picking her up into a tight hug, squeezing your girlfriends knee who seemed lost for words.
"cause its your first one with us! my teacher had to help me with the writing." bella explained, head resting on your shoulder as she reached her other arm out for alessia to join the hug.
"oh less!" you groaned as the blonde practically tackled the pair of you to the sofa in a tight bear hug making bella giggle as alessia kissed all over both of your faces.
"best christmas ever."
~
"does every parent tell their kid they can sing even when they're this horrible?" leah whispered skeptically as alessia shot her a look and lia rammed an elbow in her other side making her wheeze.
"what! just a question." leah grumbled, alessia smiling apologetically to the sharp shush which sounded from a man in the row in front of them. "i think it is sweet." lia defended, the choir finishing their rendetion of santa clause is coming to town as everyone errupted into applause.
"i think leah should shut up." kyra shrugged once they'd sat back down, the blonde shooting her a glare and reaching over alessia to try and smack the young australian.
"stop it! the pair of you." steph chimed in from kyras other side, smacking the blonde as alessia shoved leah and both girls settled back in their seats with a mutter.
"oh this is bell's class!" alessia perked up as K3 was announced and slowly the very nervous looking kindergartens were ushered onto the stage by a few of the year six kids who were helping out.
you peeked out from the curtain and snickered, catching thirteen phones all up and filming before the song had even started, alessia wiggling her fingers at you with a face eating grin.
"you got this!" you gave the kids on stage a thumbs up, moving out of the way so their teacher could stand in the wings, also doing the dance in case anyone forgot as the opening bars of the song began.
"lessi your face is gonna crack in half if you smile any wider." kyra teased, alessia shushing her as she zoomed in on bella who was easily one of the more enthusiastic of the class as they made their way through their dance.
"now see that? thats real talent." leah nodded, putting her fingers in her mouth and whistling as a womans head whipped around to glare at her and she simply pulled a face making her scoff and turn back around.
"oh my god." you couldn't help but chuckle as right as the song finished the entire row of girls were up on their feet, whistling and clapping like they'd just watched someone score the winning game in extra time, a few other parents giving them strange looks as slowly the kids shuffled off stage and they sat back down.
but judging by the shit eating grin on your daughters face and the pride shining in your girlfriends eyes as bella lingered on stage to wave enthusiastically to her cheer squad before being gently shooed off, it was worth it.
alessia had been right, best christmas ever.
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gyuswhore · 18 days ago
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clockwork
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It all began when you noticed tiny things disappearing from your bag; notebooks, charging cables, staplers. You'd get your answer soon enough, but it seems the world enjoys watching you run around in circles.
wc: ~1.4k | contains: Jeonghan x reader, fluff, Jeonghan being a menace in multiple ways
for the @camandemstudios 'a very seventeen christmas' Secret Santa collab!
[a/n]: ring ring, @shuaflix, it's your Secret Santa calling!!! I hope you have fun reading this Alice and I can't wait to hear your thots hehe 🤍 big ty to @highvern for beta-ing and to @amourcheol for coming in clutch with vocabulary when I couldn't think of the phrase for "in full swing" KJNSFKJGNS
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Five days a week, like clockwork, you kiss your boyfriend as he sleeps in the early hours of the morning, packed and ready to leave for the library to get your work done. 
Five days a week, like clockwork, Jeonghan would emerge bleary eyed from the bedroom to the doorway where you’re slipping on your shoes, hugging you for the last time before you have to leave for the day. 
Five days a week, like clockwork, you get to the library to set up your things at your desk by the window, with just the right amount of sunlight, not right under the vent, and certainly not by the busy library entrance. 
Five days a week, like clockwork, you always seem to neglect to pack a minor need in your bag before leaving, insignificant things like an eraser or a specific charging cable, but annoying just the same. 
It didn’t take long before the sneaking suspicion of it all began to creep at your thoughts, but not a single suspect in sight or mind. 
You began to pack your bags the night before instead, double checking and leaving it beside the door before retiring for the night. The next day, you shuffle through your bag one more time, at the door right where you left it, before you’re out the door for the day. The mental checklist is all ticked and sorted, and you’re determined you’ve left nothing behind. 
Halfway through closing the front door behind you, you hear a distinct call. “Wait!” 
Jeonghan opens the door, still half asleep. One of the legs of pyjama pants have ridden up to his knees, the other side, the waistband is dropping below his underwear. Safe to say, he’s frazzled. 
He meets you at the threshold, gesturing you to let him hug you before you leave. You speak into his ear as he squeezes you tight. “You don’t have to do this everyday, Han. I promise I’ve never forgotten your good morning kisses, no matter how loud you’re snoring.”
“Hmm,” he hums but it’s more like a whine. “But you’re gonna be gone aaall daaay.”
“You big baby.”
“Kiss,” he demands as he pulls away slightly. You tiptoe and press a kiss onto his lips. He remembers to behave and keep his mouth closed; he knows how much you hate morning breath.
Just as the elevator is about to close, you hear a distinctly sleepy yell of, “And I don’t snore!”
By the time you get to the library, the good mood you’re in is largely unaffected, setting up your things in your usual spot. The hours pass in relative uneventfulness, and you’re glad about it as you return to your desk with a hole punched stack of papers. 
Sticking a hand into your bag you attempt to find the box of large binder clips you keep to tie together larger stacks of papers. Your fingers grapple onto everything but what you need, even when you quite literally empty your entire bag onto the table. 
Your seatmate, who seems to be in the deep trenches of something mathematical, is not amused. 
The tiny blue box is nowhere to be found. 
Exhaling heavily, you realise you have to deal with your predicament as it is. The idea of dealing with loose papers is not appealing, but you cannot physically staple the thick pile. 
You could’ve sworn you saw the string during your checks the night before, even this morning, right next to your pencil case on the right side of your bag. There’s no holes in your bag, nor have you left your seat to anywhere you couldn’t see it on the desk. 
But even as you deal with the loose stack of papers on the desk, attempting to refocus, there’s only one logical explanation left. It’s hard not to scoff. 
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It’s been a week since you’ve been to the library, the holiday season now in full swing as you retire for the semester. 
Christmas mornings with Jeonghan usually turn into Christmas afternoons, taking full advantage of the errand-less day. By the time you do emerge from the den that is your bedroom, the sun is high in the sky, and Jeonghan is in the process of ordering takeout. 
There’re boxes under the tree, beside which the both of you seat yourselves as you wait for your food. 
You hand him his present, which is flat for the most part. He unwraps the paper and opens the box, only to find a large envelope inside. 
Jeonghan laughs, “Does handing me an envelope need to be this elaborate?”
“I can’t wrap an envelope,” you pout. 
“Right. Because it’s already wrapped,” he chortles. He rips it open to find yet another piece of paper. 
“Medieval dining experience?” Jeonghan reads off the reservation. 
“Brick walls, candle lights and everything. Knights with swords too.” His eyes light up as he registers the swords. 
When he hands you your present, you note that he has three separate packages next to him. 
It’s a polaroid camera, one that you’ve been wanting for a while. However, it looks like it’s already been opened as you take out the camera. He hardly lets you look at it and thank him properly before he’s shoving another box in your direction.
Unwrapping it reveals a scrapbook. Of polaroids. Of Jeonghan’s face. Full of Jeonghan’s face. It’s almost like he ran an entire reel of film dry with the amount of photos in the book. 
“Gently used,” Jeonghan provides. “By me.”
It earns him a big fat kiss, so you suppose he succeeded. 
But there’s one package left, a slightly bigger box that notably rattles as Jeonghan slides it over to you. “Unofficial present.”
You look justifiably confused. Undoing the wrapping paper, all you hear is things rattling around in the box, and you wonder what it could possibly be. 
The box is…a shoebox? The Nike logo glares back at you as you stare. But you don’t recall a pair of shoes ever being this noisy. 
Opening it reveals everything. Quite literally, everything. 
There’s a white stapler with purple flowers on it, a number of white, hardly used erasers, the distinct coil of a charging cable, and…a tiny blue box. Amongst other things. 
Everything that’s mysteriously disappeared from your bag these past months, lies in the shoebox. 
“Sorry,” Jeonghan says, but the smile on his face proposes that he’s far from it. 
You look at the contents of the box, and then back up at him. This repeats for a few minutes as you gape at the situation. 
“W–Why?” You can’t help but release a laugh at the ridiculousness of the ordeal. 
Jeonghan shrugs. “I hoped you’d miss your stuff enough to come back home. Or just start studying at home entirely.”
You stare at him as he picks at the tufts of rug beneath him. “You were gone all day. I just missed you.”
He looks up at you, hint of a smile on his face. “I know I said I was sorry, but I’m not really.”
Surging forward, your arms find his neck as you push yourself onto his lap, holding him tight. “Kinda figured you weren’t. It’s okay.”
Letting go, you bring your lips up to his to kiss him, properly. He pulls you closer, his hands firm on your hip and back. His mouth moves against your own, engulfing you in ways beyond just physical touch. 
Pulling away for a moment, you mumble against his lips, “Just say you miss me next time.”
Jeonghan smiles against your mouth, “I love you.”
“I love you more.”
It was a strange way to communicate, to let you know to take it easy, to spend more time within his vicinity, because he considered your mere presence near him as spending time with you. Jeonghan didn’t ask for much, as opposed to his nature as it sounded. He was a simple man, who simply wanted time with you. 
However, even after the semester resumes, and you leave the house for significantly less stretches of time than before, there are times where your bag suddenly ceases to carry things you’re positive you packed. 
But this time, all it evokes is a smile, and a mellow reminder that there’s a warmth of someone’s arms waiting for you. 
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waitimcomingtoo · 8 months ago
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Meet Me Behind The Mall
Pairing: shy!Peter Parker x popular!Reader
Synopsis: after getting ditched by your friends, you spend a day with Peter in the mall, who’s secret you recently figured out
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In his peripheral vision, Peter could see a tiny piece of paper being pushed onto his side of the lab table. He curiously looked at it, then up at you. You nodded your head towards the note so Peter unfolded it.
“What’s the answer to number 7?” The note read. Peter glanced up at the professor before scribbling down the answer and passing the note back to you. You read his response and circled the correct answer. A few seconds passed when another note was passed across the table. Peter picked it up and opened it to reveal three hearts drawn around the words “thank u!”. Peter felt his face flush and looked over at you again. You gave him a thumbs up before going up to hand in your test.
After class, you caught up with Peter in the hallway and put your hand on his shoulder to stop him.
“Thank you so much for helping me in there. I counted up all the answers I was confident I got right and it wasn’t enough to get a pass. I just don’t get this unit.”
“You’re welcome.” Was all Peter could say. He thought about offering to tutor you or telling you he also struggled with the topic, but he felt too shy to get anything more out than a cordial response.
“I bet you did really well. You always do. God, I wish I was as good at science as you are. It’s just never come naturally to me. How do you always know the answer?” You asked him as you continued to walk together.
“Oh, I don’t know.” He shrugged and immediately scrunched his face in embarrassment. He wished he could be better at conversing with you, especially since you were always so nice to him. He saw a pack of your friends coming down the hallway and they waved you over, putting your conversation out of it’s misery.
“Bye, Peter. I’ll see you next class. Have a good weekend.” You waved to him as you ran to catch up with your large group of friends. He knew he should return the sentiment but instead stayed silent and gave you a pathetic wave back.
That night, the cheap alcohol of the frat party didn’t sit well with you so you headed home early. You were a pretty far walk from your dorm but felt too nauseas to get into a car. Instead, you started walking home and let the cold New York air calm you down.
“Where are you going, gorgeous?”
You felt panic drop in your stomach at the sound of a man’s voice somewhere in the darkness but kept walking to your dorm. The sound of footsteps behind you picked up behind you so you quickened your pace. You could still hear music coming from the party you had left so you knew people were nearby if worst came to worst.
“Hey. I’m talking to you. Where are you going?”The man asked as he caught up to you and walked beside you. You ignored him and tugged your jacket tighter around your body. He suddenly took you by the elbow and you froze in fear.
“Come on. Don’t be rude. Just give me a smile and I’ll leave you alone.” The man said with a sickening smile as he tried to get you to look at him.
“Please. I’ll give you whatever you want from my bag. Just leave me alone.” You pleaded and moved away from him. He snatched your purse from your hands and started to rummage through it.
“What the hell is this? This is just full of receipts.” He grimaced in disgust and pulled out a handful of crumbled receipts.
“I don’t want to throw them out in case I need to return something one day.” You said meekly.
“Do you even have a wallet? All I’m finding is lip gloss.” The man said as he picked up five different lip products from the bottom of your bag.
“Oh, I’m sorry you didn’t find a better person to rob.” You scoffed sarcastically. The man looked up at you with a primal look in his eyes.
“Oh, you think you’re funny? I don’t like girls who think they’re funny.” He said and gripped your elbow again. You tried to pull away but he was too strong. Before you could tell him to let to, Spiderman dropped down next to you. You cracked a smile at the sight of him and let out a sigh of relief.
“Sir, I hate to be the one to tell you this but that purse does not to with that outfit.” Peter sassed and moved his hands in dramatic exasperation.
“Huh?” The guy said and let go of you.
“Now, you better not have left a bruise on this lovely lady’s elbows or you and I are gonna have a serious problem.” Peter warned as he shot a web at the guys pants. He yanked them down and the man’s jeans fell to his ankles.
“Hm. I did not peg you for a boxers guy. Your whole vibe screams “Fruit of the Loom” tighty whities. Yet now I stand corrected.” Peter said as he tilted his head to the side. You covered your mouth and let out a laugh, making the man grow angry. He went to lunge at Peter but tripped over his dropped pants.
“Uh oh. Someone’s angry. Maybe your whities are a little too tighty.” Peter commented as he pinched his fingers together. You laughed again as Peter shot a web at your purse.
“I’ll take that.” He quipped and yanked the purse out of the man’s hands.
“Thank you!” Peter said politely as he caught your purse.
“Hey!” The man shouted.
“Hey?” Peter laughed. “You’re yelling at me like it’s yours.”
The man tried to lunge at Peter again and ended up falling flat on his face. Peter took that as his cue to wrap an arm around you and pick you up to swing you to safety. He landed a few blocks away and carefully put you down. You stared at him through the mask as he put you down, your faces just inches apart. Peter gulped and felt his entire face go red beneath the mask.
“Thank you, Spiderman.” You smiled softly at him as you slowly withdrew your arm from around his neck.
“You’re very welcome, miss. I believe this belongs to you.” He said as he put your purse back into your hands. Your eyebrows knit together suddenly in confusion and you let out a short laugh.
“Wait, Peter?” You asked, making Peter’s heart drop.
“Uh, what?” He gulped. “Who’s that? I’m your friendly neighbor Spiderman.”
“Right. Sorry. You sound just like this guy in my chemistry class.” You laughed and shook your head. Peter felt his blush spread all the way to his ears over you recognizing the sound of his voice. You ran in different circles at school, you being apart of the popular group of girls and him belonging to a small group of local nerds. That being said, your ever present kindness towards him left him to develop a small crush on you.
“Oh. Well, that’s not me. But he sounds really handsome.” Peter replied, making you laugh again.
“He is.” You nodded without an ounce of sarcasm in your voice. This piked his curiosity and he leaned in a little.
“He is?” He asked.
“Oh, yeah. Absolutely.” You nodded. “In a hot nerd kind of way. Like Spencer Reid. But kinda short. Which I’m not sure why I’m telling you now that I hear myself.”
“It’s okay. I like that show too.” He chuckled shyly. “He sounds really cool.”
“He is really cool. At least, I think he is. But I’m not really sure. Everytime I try to talk to him, he looks away.” You sighed like you were disappointed. Peter realized you were a little drunk and probably didn’t know what you were saying. Even if that was the case, it was still nice to hear.
“Maybe he’s just shy. And doesn’t know how to look pretty girls in the eye.” Peter said as he kicked a rock around with his foot.
“That’s a shame.” You smiled sadly. “Because I think he and I could be friends if he ever learned to look at me.”
Peter stopped messing with the rock and looked up at you. There was a smallness to you tonight that shone through your party dress and heavy makeup. Your typically bright hand bubbly demeanor was cloudy by something you weren’t telling him.
“Maybe he’ll start.” He told you.
“I hope so.“ You answered honestly. “He seems nice. I could use a friend like him.”
Standing under that streetlight, Peter noticed a sadness to you for the first time. You were usually in a circle of friends all wearing smiles but right now, you seemed completely alone down to your bones.
“So how was your night?” He asked in a quiet voice. You stared off into the distance as your eyes brimmed with tears suddenly.
“Do you ever feel completely alone despite being in a room full of people you know?” You asked him.
“I do, actually. All the time.” He answered. You looked at him and smiled sadly.
“Do really, Spiderman?” You asked with hope in your voice. It wasn’t that you wanted him to feel alone. You just wanted to know you weren’t the only one who felt that way.
“I do. Is that how you felt tonight?”
“I don’t know. I guess. Sometimes I make jokes and my friends all look at each other. And they all make this face as if they’re thinking the same thing. And what they’re thinking is that I’m a freakish alien who they’re embarrassed to know. That’s how I felt tonight.”
“Well that’s no fun. And you’re not a freakish alien. You’re very funny.”
“And you know that because you’re the cute guy in my chemistry class?” You asked with a hopeful smile.
“I’m not him. I’m just guessing that you’re funny. So maybe you are an alien. I don’t know. This is our first time meeting.”
“Right.” You rolled your eyes. “So how do you think you did on the last test? I actually feel pretty confident.”
“I don’t know because I didn’t take any test because I’m not the guy in your chemistry class. Now can I walk you home? It’s freezing out here and I have no jacket to offer you.”
“Sure, thanks. I’m this way.” You said and pointed in the direction of your dorm. Peter placed a hand on the small of your back and guided you towards your dorm.
“You should get a friend to walk with you next time you leave a party. It’s not safe to be out here by yourself. Especially with guys like that going around snatching purses.”
“I know. I asked my friends but they weren’t ready to leave yet.” You shrugged.
“And they let you walk home alone? Drunk? Sounds like you need some new friends.” Peter joked but you nodded in agreement.
“I know. But you know how friends can be. They still wanted to party. Why should I be their problem?” You shrugged again, making Peter frown.
“It’s not a problem to look out for you.” He said simply.
“That’s easy for you to say. You look out for everyone. It’s your job.” You reminded him.
“I’m not just saying that because of my job. It wouldn’t be a burden to take care of you no matter who I was.” Peter replied, making you stop walking. He looked at you and you looked that you had been waiting your whole life to hear what he had just said.
“Thank you.” You said with a fond smile.
“You’re very welcome.” Peter replied in an equally soft voice. You kept walking in comfortable silence until you reached the girls dorm.
“This is my dorm.” You told him. Thanks again for walking me home. And getting my purse back for me.”
“Anytime.”He nodded. “I just hope it doesn’t happen again. But if it did, you know.”
“You’d be here.” You finished his sentence.
“Exactly.” He smiled. “You can count on it.”
You couldn’t see the smile under his mask but you knew it was there. You held up your purse to show him that you had it before walking up a few of your dorm steps.
“See you at school?” You asked him.
“Don’t think so.” Peter chuckled. You squinted your eyes as if you didn’t believe him but eventually shrugged.
“That’s too bad. Good night.” You waved to him and walked the rest of the way up the stairs.
“Good night.” He called after you.
Once Monday came, you were determined to talk to Peter. You didn’t have chemistry that day so you’d have to find him elsewhere on campus. You knew he usually hung out in the library so you went there to check. Sure enough, he was at a table with his friends Ned and Miles.
“Hey, Peter.” You greeted as you walked up to him.
“H-hi.” He stammered. “What are you? I mean, how are you up? I mean, how are you? What’s up?”
“There we go.” Ned nodded. “I knew he’d get there eventually.”
“I’m good.” You replied. “How are you doing?”
“Ooo. Is this your girlfriend from chemistry class?” Miles asked as his raised his eyebrows suggestively.
“Is that what you told them?” You smiled in surprise as you looked at Peter.
“No. I didn’t. I swear.“ He assured you as his entire face went red.
“He did show us the note you gave him.” Ned told you.
“Oh yeah. Three hearts. I didn’t realize you guys were so serious.” Miles teased Peter as he gave his friends a look that begged them to stop.
“I never said she was my girlfriend.” Peter whispered harshly to them. You could tell he was getting embarrassed so you played along to save him. You frowned and ran your fingers through his hair before letting your hand rest on his cheek.
“What? You didn’t tell them about us, baby?” You asked and titled your head to the side. Miles and Ned’s made surprised faces as Peters entire face went red.
“W-what?” Peter sputtered out.
“I’m messing with you.” You smiled. “But I do need to talk to you.”
“Oh, uh, okay. Sure.” Peter said and moved his bag so you could sit down. You looked at Miles and Ned and smiled timidly.
“Privately.” You clarified. Miles and Ned “oooo”ed as you walked away from their table and went into the hall.
“Dude, follow her.” Ned told him and pushed Peter up from the table. Peter nervously fixed his hair and got up to follow you.
“What’s up?” He asked once you were alone. You looked around to see who was watching before stepping closer to him.
“I just wanted to thank for getting my purse back for me. It’s my favorite bag. And my favorite lip combo was in there. You really saved me.” You said and squeezed his arm in appreciation.
“Oh, you’re welcome. Anytime.” Peter said waved his hand like it was no big deal. Your lips curved into a wicked smile and Peter realized his mistake.
“Shit.” He whispered as you jumped up and down and clapped your hands.
“I knew it!” You whispered. “I knew that was your voice!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He said quickly.
“Yes you do.” You grinned and poked him in the chest.
“I really don’t.” He shrugged but he knew he was caught.
“Then why are you so flustered right now?” You folded your arms to ask him. Peter touched his burning cheek and debated telling you his face always did that around you.
“I’m not.” He lied.
“Your face is hot.” You pointed out as you touched a cold hand to his cheek.
“Psht. Your face is hot.” He scoffed and pushed your hand away.
“Thank you.” You said pointedly. “But you and I both know that I figured out your little secret. There’s no point in denying it now.”
“I don’t have any secrets. So you don’t know anything.”
“Come on, Peter.” You whined. “I’ve been waiting all weekend to tell you that I know. I wanted to text you but I don’t have your number and I couldn’t find you on Instagram. You have one, don’t you?”
“I’m not on social media.” He told you.
“Okay. That’s serial killer behavior but I’m willing to look past it if you confirm my suspicions.” You said and excitedly drummed your fingers on your chin.
“I’m not Spiderman. So I cannot confirm your suspicions.” He whispered for only you to hear. You smirked a little before shrugging.
“I guess you can’t.” You sighed. “It’s weird though, right?”
“What’s weird?” He wondered.
“That I never said you were Spiderman. I just thanked you for getting my purse.” You said with a coy smile. Peter hung his head in shame as he confirmed to you for the second time that he was in fact Spiderman.
“I knew it! I knew it was you. I even recognized the way you walk.” You said proudly.
“What do you know about the way I walk?” He asked with a shy smile.
“You walk really stiff like you’re holding two invisible briefcases.” You explained and demonstrated for him with a near perfect imitation of how he walked.
“What? No I don’t. Oh wait. Yeah, I kinda do.” He realized as he watched you.
“You definitely do. Now can you please just tell me I’m right? I’ve been thinking about it all weekend. I need to hear you tell me I was right.” You begged him as you put your hands on his shoulders. Peter playfully rolled his eyes up to the ceiling and sighed.
“You right.” He mumbled.
“Yes! I knew I was right!” You cheered. “Everything makes sense now. That’s why you’re always disappearing or yawning or bruised. You’re probably up every night getting girls purses, aren’t you?”
“Not always purses.” He instead. “Sometimes it’s bikes. And one time, a mean chihuahua.”
“Wow.” You said with genuine amazement. “So how long have you been doing this?”
“Since I was 15.”
“15? Damn. I was exhausted from working 4 hours a week at Kohl’s at 15. How do you do it? You must be so tired.” You frowned and rubbed his arm kindly.
“It’s tiring but someone has to do it.” He shrugged. “Just like someone has to hand out Kohl’s cash.”
“Thats true.” You chuckled. “And that’s a very selfless way to look at it.”
“Oh. Thank you.” He smiled shyly. “But please, you can’t tell anyone about this. Nobody else knows.”
“Duh.” You replied. “This is our secret.”
“Yeah. Ours.” He smiled and felt his face heat up at the mention of something belonging to only the two of you. Your moment was cut short by one of your friends coming up to you and completely disregarding Peter.
“Hey, girl. I need your notes from class today.” She said to you.
“Oh, sure. How come you weren’t there?” You asked her.
“Liz and I went got coffee instead.” She replied. Peter could tell you were hurt they didn’t ask you to come get coffee but you just smiled and nodded.
“I’ll text them to you.” You told her.
“Thanks. Let’s go to the library. I need you to look at my English paper and tell me if it’s good.” She said and nodded towards the library. You looked at Peter and gave him an apologetic smile.
“Bye, Peter. I’ll talk to you later, okay?” You told him before leaving with your friend.
“Why were you talking to that lesbian?” Your friend asked you as you walked away.
“That wasn’t a lesbian. That was my friend Peter.” He heard you tell her before going into the library. He watched you disappear and let out a little sigh. He knew he was going to over analyze that entire conversation for probably the rest of his life, or at least until the next time you spoke.
That weekend, Peter headed to the mall a few blocks from campus to do some wandering by himself since Ned was busying. He did a little shopping before taking a seat on the mall fountain to check his texts. He was so engrossed in his phone that he didn’t notice you walk up to him.
“Well, well, well.” You chuckled, making him look up at you and blush.
“It’s a fountain, actually.” Peter deadpanned, making you crack a smile.
“You’re stupid. Move over.” You laughed and sat beside him. Your knees were touching which made Peters face warm up the way it always seemed to around you.
“Should I be worried? I’m starting to think you might be stalking me.” He teased you.
“Excuse me? I was just walking around and saw you. You’re the one who keeps ending up placed I’m already in.”
“Sounds like something a stalker would say.” He said out of the corner of his mouth.
“You wish I was your stalker. Now come on, give me the haul. What did you buy?” You asked him and nodded towards his bag.
“Socks and boxers.” He smiled proudly and held up his items.
“Oh shit. You did not come to play.”
“I really didn’t.” He played along, making you laugh again. You stared at him for a minute with a fond smile and he stared back with a matching one.
“What?” He wondered.
“You’re talking to me.”
“So?” He laughed shyly. “You’re talking to me.”
“No, I mean, like. Full eye contact. And full sentences. Who is this man? I’ve been waiting to meet him forever.” You teased him and he playfully rolled his eyes.
“I guess it’s easier to talk to you now that you know my secret. You’re not as scary anymore.”
“I was scary before?” You gasped and pretended to be offended.
“Yes. Girls like you are very terrifying to me.”
“Girls like me?” You smiled coyly.
“Pretty girls who are nice to me. I really wish you were a giant snake or the multi-bear from Gravity Falls or something. That’s way less scary.” He insisted.
“You’d rather talk to the multi-bear than me?”You scoffed. “I have half a mind to forget about you and go stalk some other guy.”
“No, please. Stay. I forgot how awkward it is to shop alone and I still need to get a belt.” He pretended to beg and put a hand on your leg to get you to stay. You looked at the hand on your leg and cracked a smile at the unexpected contact from him.
“Well I would never abandon a man on a belt quest.” You replied, making him laugh.
“Thank you. What about you? What are you looking for?”
He could have said “shopping for” but that’s not what he meant. He wanted to know what you were looking for. You cracked a smile as if you understood what he was asking.
“Better friends, actually. Have you seen any?” You asked with a playful but sad smile.
“I just saw your friends in H&M.” He told you and pointed to the store. You shrugged a little and shook your head.
“Yeah. I saw them too. After they all told me they were busy today and couldn’t hang out.” You admitted without looking at him. Peter frowned and moved closer to you.
“They came here without you?”
“I asked them to hang out. They all said they couldn’t. But now I’m getting a sneaking suspicion there’s a second group chat that I’m not in.” You laughed but he knew it was fake.
“I’m sorry.” He said quietly.
“I came here to cheer myself up and ended up feeling 200 times worse when I saw them all hanging out without me. I didn’t even say anything to them because I didn’t want them to feel bad for not inviting me. Not that they ever care when they make me feel bad.” You laughed again but it ended up in a sigh. You stared at your shoes for a second and Peter stayed silent.
“Girls suck.” You said after a beat. “Not always, of course, but when they suck, they really suck. They know how painful it can be to be the only one left out. But they still did it to me. I don’t understand why.”
“Neither do I. I thought those girls were your friends?”
“I don’t know. I kinda saw this coming.” You admitted. “I started to notice that I was always the one texting first. And always the one trying to make plans. And when they did text me, they were asking me for something. It was never just to check in on me.”
“That’s really hurtful. I’m sorry. I’ve been there too. It sucks when you realize that if you stopped reaching out to someone, you’d probably never speak again.” Peter replied, making you smile sadly at him.
“Exactly. Or when you wonder how long it would take them to notice if you stopped reaching out. And worse, wonder if they’d notice at all.”
“No one deserves to feel that way. Especially not someone as kind and considerate as you. You really do need new friends.” He nodded in agreement, making you genuinely laugh this time.
“We’re friends, right? Because I know your secret.”
“We can be friends.” Peter nodded, bringing a smile out of you.
“Thanks.” You told him and gave his shoulder a rub. Peter felt a sudden burst of confidence and decided to keep the momentum he had built.
“You’re probably gonna say no to this, but Ned and I were gonna get sandwiches and then build legos together tomorrow. You can come, if you’d like.”
“That’s okay. You don’t have to give me a pity invite to your sandwich and Lego party.” You told him.
“It’s not a pity invite. I want you to be there. It would make me happy to have you around.” Peter answered, making you smile once again. It was the simple change from “you can come” to “I wanted you to be there” that made all the difference.
“Do you want to hang out with me today?” You asked him.
“Yeah. I do.” He said immediately. You stood up and held out your hand for him to take.
“Come on. Let’s go look at the home decor.”
Peter took your hand and let you pull him towards the home decor store in the mall. He awkwardly ran ahead of you so that he could open the door for you but it was worth it when he saw you smiling.
“Thank you.” You said curtly and walked inside. He followed you around the store like a puppy dog and listened to your commentary on the various throw pillows and wall art as if it was words from a prophet.
“This would be perfect for you.” You gasped and held up an old Halloween pillow that had a sequenced spiderweb on it along with a spider made up of mostly fallen off beads.
“Is my job a joke to you?” He laughed and flicked the pillow.
“I mean, I did see some funny videos of you online. How often do you miss your webs and fall into bushes?”
“Bushes are rare, actually. It’s usually car hoods and hot dog stands.” He admitted.
“Ouch.” You grimaced. “Doesn’t that hurt?”
“No. Hot dog stands are really soft.” He said seriously. You laughed and kept walking down the aisles of the store.
“I love that I’m the only one that knows this about you.” You told him.
“You really do, don’t you?” He realized with an amused smile.
“Well, yeah. I always knew there was something about you and learning this vindicated me so hard.”
“Something about me? What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. You’re so allusive.” You shrugged. “Always disappearing and reappearing from places. Not on any sports teams but will never miss when throwing something into the trash from across the room. Knows all the answers in chemistry but never raises his hand. Ripped but hides it under Catholic school boy sweaters. I always wondered about you. Now I know.”
“Wow. You pick up on a lot of details. Nobody’s ever really noticed me like that.” Peter said as he looked at the ground so you wouldn’t see how flustered that made him.
“That you know of.” You corrected. “Because I noticed you a long time ago and you had no idea until now.”
“I notice you too.” He said as he looked into your eyes. You smiled at the eye contact and stayed looking at him.
“So, uh, were you just messing with me when you told Spiderman that you thought I was, you know.”
“A hot nerd?”
“Yeah. That.” He laughed shyly.
“I wasn’t messing with you.” You shrugged. “Or him. Either of you. I meant what I said.”
“So did I. I really don’t know how to talk to pretty girls.”
“We’re just regular people. Aside from our razor sharp teeth and detachable feet.”
“Why would you need to detach your feet?” He laughed.
“I don’t know but I used to have these dolls when I was younger where you’d yank their whole foot off to change their shoes. And they’d just have a little nub until you put new feet on them. God forbid you lose one of their shoes. Then they have no feet and had to walk around my dollhouse with nubs”.
“To be a woman is to perform.” He nodded along.
“Shut up.” You laughed and kept walking down the aisles of the store. You ended up buy some statue of an animal that you mentioned your mom liked to collect and Peter carried your bag for you into the next store.
“So who else knows about this secret? Besides us two.” You asked as you flipped through a clothing rack.
“My best friend. But that’s because he accidentally walked in on me in my suit. And my aunt. Who found out in the exact same way.”
“Sounds like you need to invest in a giant trench coat to cover yourself with when entering and exiting your room.” You told him.
“That’s a really good idea, actually. Do you think they sell those here?” He asked, making you laugh.
“So I was the first to figure it out?”
“You were. And now I’m really hoping it’s not obvious.”
“I wouldn’t say it’s obvious. I’m just very observant.”
“Of everything or just me?” He asked you.
“Just you.” You teased, making him blush again.
“What else have you observed about me?” He wondered.
“A few things, actually. You keep flexing your hand and I’m starting to think you’re working up the nerve to hold mine. That or you’re fighting the urge to punch me so I’m hoping it’s the former. I also observed that you haven’t checked your phone once since I found you and you’re letting me pick all the stores we go into.”
“Wow. And what do your observations tell you?”
“That you like me.” You said simply and continued looking at the clothes.
“What?” Peter sputtered. “No I don’t.”
“Says the boy who got my purse back from a burglar. Classic crush culture right there.” You clicked your tongue and shook your head.
“What?” He laughed. “That is not what I do when I have a crush on a girl. That’s just my job.”
“All right then. So what do you do when you have a crush?”
“Avoid eye contact and hope she likes shy tendencies. And open doors for her, obviously.” Peter said as he opened the door for you into the next store.
“Good to know.” You said and gave him a pleased smile as you passed him. He continued to follow you down the aisles of the store while holding your collection of clothes you wanted to try on.
“So why spiders? I’ve always wondered why you named yourself after arguably the worst bug of all time. Why not something more palatable like Lady Bug Man? Or Moth Man and then you could live under a bridge and spook people?” You asked as you handed him another dress for you to try on.
“It was a spider bite that gave me the abilities, actually. That’s where I got the name.” He explained as you disappeared behind a changing room curtain. You opened it up after a few seconds in one of the dresses you had taken off the rack.
“Really? I never would’ve guessed that. I’m learning so much right now.” You said as you turned around and moved your hair away from your neck. Peter blushed and picked up what you were implying and zipped the dress for you. You turned back around and gave him a grateful smile.
“What else do you want to know?” He asked with a shy smile. He usually categorized himself as shy and never wanting to be the center of attention, but right now he was hoping you had more questions to ask him. He liked being the center of attention when it was your attention he was getting.
“Why red and blue?” You wondered.
“Red for my mom’s red hair and blue for the car my dad drove.” Peter said out loud for the first time.
“Aw, Peter.” You pouted. “That’s really beautiful. I love that.”
“Thank you. I never told anybody that before.” He admitted.
“Hm. Something else just between us, then.” You winked at him before shutting the dressing room curtain again.
When you left that store, Peter opened the door for you on the way out with his free hand and held your bags with his other hand. As you walked through the mall, yours hands kept bumping against each others. It happened so many times in a row that Peter was starting to think he was doing it on purpose.
“You can, you know. If you want to.” You said without looking at him.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Peter lied as your hands bumped once again.
“Okay. Never mind, then.” You replied and kept walking. Peter decided to do something for once and took your hand. You didn’t say anything but smirked and gave his hand a squeeze. You stayed holding hands as you went to a few more stores and ended up back by the fountain. Through the streams of water, you suddenly spotted the very group of friends that had left you out.
“Oh God. It’s them.” You gasped and stopped short. Peter thought you were going to drop his hand but you didn’t.
“What are you gonna do?” He asked. “I can stick to the wall if that at all helps.”
“Well I’m definitely gonna need to see that at some point but not right now. I need to hide.” You decided and looked around for the nearest exit. During your search, you heard the sound of your friends laughing and it made your stomach drop. You didn’t want to run away anymore and pretend that the things they did didn’t hurt you. They did. And it was time they knew that.
“Actually, no.” You decided. “Why should I hide to make them more comfortable? They did something mean to me. I shouldn’t run away just so they don’t have to face what they did. I should go talk to them.”
“Let’s do it.” Peter agreed and you smiled. You blew out a nervous breath before walking up to the group of girls.
“Hey guys! So glad your schedules freed up.” You greeted them with a friendly smile. They all froze and either looked down at the ground or at you with stunned expressions. You took your time looking at every one of their guilty faces with an unamused expression.
“We were gonna text you.” Liz said quickly.
“Don’t even worry about it.” You told her. “In fact, don’t text me ever again. I deserve friends who include me. Not people who keep me around just in case they need something from me.”
“So what? You’re gonna ditch us to hang out with losers?” Liz scoffed and looked at Peter. You felt bad that Peter had caught a stray but he wasn’t phased.
“You’re the ones who just lost a good friend. And missed out on a fun day at the mall with the coolest girl in New York. So I’m pretty sure that makes you guys the losers.” Peter stated. Everyone, including you, was shocked to hear those words out of the notoriously shy Peter’s mouth. You looked at him and gave him a grateful smile.
“Yeah.” You agreed. “You guys are losers. You all say bad things about each other behind each other’s back and I’m sure you did the same to me so I can’t say I’m gonna miss this friend group. But I do have to thank you for ditching me or else I wouldn’t have found a real friend.”
“Who? This lesbian?” One of the other girls scoffed and gestured to Peter.
“Yeah.” Peter snapped. “This lesbian.“
“Now if you’ll excuse us, Peter needs to find a belt.” You said and walked away with Peter following right behind you. You didn’t drop his hand as you did a half walk half run through the mall as adrenaline rushed through you. Once you were far enough away from them, you stopped running.
“That felt good.” You said through an out of breath laugh.
“For me too.” Peter agreed. “And I was almost entirely uninvolved in that situation.”
“Come on. I wanna do the Photo Booth and immortalize this day.” You said and excitedly pulled him into the Photo Booth. Peter shut the curtain while you picked the boarder for the pictures, purposefully choosing one that had red hearts all over it.
“Okay. We only have five seconds between pictures so you have to pick your poses quickly.” You told him as the countdown began.
“But I’m so awkward. I don’t know how to pose.” Peter said as the countdown dwindled down.
“Just smile and look like you like me.” You said and pressed your cheek against his to smile for the camera. The camera flashed and you slung your arm around him for the next photo. The camera flashed again and Peter gulped.
“I do like you.” He said in a soft voice as he turned to look at you.
You looked at him and leaned in just as the camera flashed. You were still kissing when the fourth and final flash went off but you didn’t care. You pulled Peter closer by his shirt while his hands snaked around your waist. You pushed him away suddenly with a suspicious look on your face.
“Wait, do the webs, like, come out of your butt ever?”
“What? No.” He laughed. “They don’t come out of me at all. I built devices and developed a web fluid to shoot out of them. I don’t actually produce webs.”
“Oh. Okay.” You nodded and pulled him back into a kiss. He kissed you back for a moment before pulling away.
“Wait, would that have been a deal breaker if I did? Produce webs, I mean.” He asked you.
“I mean, I’d still like you but I don’t know if I could date a guy who could physically produce webs in his body. I just think that would really gross me out. Producing webs is I think where I’d have to draw the line.”
“So does that mean you’d date a guy who doesn’t produce webs?” He asked with a hopeful smile.
“Isn’t that every guy?” You pointed out.
“Oh. Yeah. I guess it kinda is.” He realized. “Well, would you date a guy who is far more likely to shoot webs from his butt than the average man? Given his spider themed career path?”
“Well, I don’t know. I never thought about that before.” You pursed your lips and pretended to give it genuine though. Peter playfully rolled his eyes at you and cupped your face to kiss you again.
“What do you think now?” He asked with your face still in his hands.
“I think I would.” You smiled and tugged his shirt to bring him back into a kiss.
Tag List
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catlvrmax · 10 months ago
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LOST IN THE PADDOCK.
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MV1 X FEM!READER
summary getting lost in the paddock and bumping into the current world champion was definitely not on your bingo card.
cw amara is the only oc, no use of y/n. this is my first time writing rpf since middle school, so bear with me. ALSO, this is a work of fiction: i don't know these people irl, i don't know how they act. NON-DESCRIPTIVE READER.
face claims girls on pinterest but you can obviously disregard them, and imagine whoever you want.
masterlist | taglist
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"Ah, fuck," you mumble to yourself, panickedly walking away from the direction you came from while also looking for your best friend.
You call her name a few times in hopes of her popping her head out of the Ferrari building's corner but to no avail. The group and guides you had been with are nowhere to be found, and you have to avoid bumping into employees wearing the entire rainbow as they hurry around you.
You curse the moment you decided to enter the giveaway for those tickets. Although you weren't a Formula One fan, simply because you never fully listened to Amara's ramblings and analysis, when you stumbled across a giveaway of otherwise very expensive tickets, you didn't hesitate to enter it. Despite entering for her, you kept it a secret. The list of entries was long, and the odds were not in your favour, so you didn't want to get her hopes up. You couldn't contain the bubbling excitement when you got the e-mail verifying your win for two Paddock Club tickets for the Spanish Grand Prix.
After announcing it to your obsessed-with-cars best friend, you decided to make it a five-day trip, planning to sightsee Barcelona before the race weekend and spend a free day after it. The first day had been great, albeit tiring, but you had woken up the next day buzzing with anticipation to walk around the paddock. You were the assigned photographer, as you knew Amara would want to listen to everything the guide said. You were content with taking pictures of the place and her. 
Until now. You were definitely not happy with being the camera guy. Because of that, you'd just lost your group in the middle of God-knows-where, with no idea where the building you came from was. So immersed in your grumbling and reading the map on your phone- you collide with someone. Your phone and water bottle slip from your fingers, and the tote bag slips from your shoulder to your elbow. You hiss at the sudden weight shift.
The smell of rich cologne enters your nostrils, but you don't dare look up. Your cheeks burn. "Sorry." You bend down to grab your things.
The man seems to have the same idea, as seconds later, he's on his knees and gathering his things before you can reach them. "No, it's alright! I wasn't looking where I was going."
He extends his full hands with a smile, and you return a sheepish one before grabbing your things. You take a second to look at him. He wears a Red Bull cap and T-shirt, looking like everyone who hurriedly passed you with papers and phones in their hands. I should ask him for directions. He looks like he knows the place.
"Uh...Is there any way you saw a group of people with guides walking around here? I'm supposed to be with them, but I kinda lost them." You lift the camera, further explaining why you're separated from them.
He can't help but chuckle at your flushed cheeks. "Unfortunately, no," he pauses. "Are you here for the weekend?" You nod. "Haven't they given you a map, then? They usually do, to avoid people getting lost."
You show him your phone. Your fingers brush as he pulls it closer to look at the map. "Yeah, they have. But I can't figure it out. Kind of my first time coming to something like this."
He looks at you briefly before returning his gaze to the phone. "Really?" He sounds surprised. He shouldn't.
You looked out of place compared to the rich-as-fuck members of your group. You had no idea how people dressed for these occasions. Even Amara didn't really know what to pack, so you both agreed to wear comfortable clothes. With the race being during June and in Spain, you would rather be comfortable than sweaty. The only thing tying you to the group was the Paddock Club pass you wore around your neck.
"My best friend is really into this. Loves the sport. I won us the tickets, but I'm barely grasping the basics." You laugh, and he joins. You like the way his eyes crease when he smiles wide.
"Oh, you're the ones that won the tickets! Someone told me about that, I think. Congrats!" You thank him. "How's your weekend so far?"
You shrug. "T'was really fun. Until I got lost while taking pictures of the Ferrari building." He snorts.
Leaning next to him, you try to follow his finger as he scrolls around the zoomed-in map. "You figured it out yet?" 
"I think I have, yeah." He shows you the phone. "We're here. The garages are right there. You'll be watching the race on the floor above them." You nod, slowly grasping your surroundings. Turns out it's easier to figure it out when you're not panicking and a handsome stranger is helping you. "You got it?"
You flash a bright smile. "Yeah, actually, I think I do!" You look at him. "Thank you!"
He shrugs. "No problem. I know it's easy to get lost, especially with so many people running around."
"Still. Thank you. You probably have to be somewhere, and I took up a lot of your time." You step back, turning in the direction he'd shown you.
"Don't worry about it." He fixes his hair under the cap.
"Thanks again." You wave and turn to leave.
"Hey, I forgot to ask you." You turn, confused. "What team are you supporting tomorrow?"
Oh, shit.
It's like a deer caught in headlights situation. You suddenly forget all ten names of the racing teams, desperately racking your brain for an answer. You swear you know all ten.
"Uh..." you nervously clench and unclench your water bottle. "Ferrari?" It's more of a question rather than a statement.
He laughs, and your cheeks return to their warm state. Bad answer?
"Ferrari?" He asks as if saying really? You shrug, and he huffs a laugh.
"I told you I'm not good at this!" 
You hear a shout and simultaneously turn to see a man in a Red Bull shirt beckoning him over. 
"I have to go. But you should watch out for the Red Bulls. I hear they got the better cars!" He winks and waves before walking away from you.
You roll your eyes and smile wide on your lips. Of course, he'd tell you to cheer for his team. The back of your hand touches your cheek. It's incredibly warm. You blame it on the hot weather.
"I'm telling you, mate! She had no idea who I was!" 
Lando rolls his eyes. "And I'm telling you there's no way. Your face is plastered everywhere."
It's Charles's turn to roll his eyes. "Or maybe she was more worried about finding a way back than asking for pictures."
"Yeah, maybe she was being polite. Didn't want to attract any attention to you." Albon adds.
Max shrugs. "I don't know."
"Was she pretty?" Oscar elbows Lando's ribs, as the latter can't contain his giggle.
Max's neck flushes. He shrugs again. "Yeah, I guess."
"Ohhhhh!" George and Lando pat him on the back teasingly, and Charles laughs at Max's expression.
Before they can tease him about this mystery girl more, a woman wearing a headset informs them they have to part ways and get ready for qualifying.
"And Fernando was so bloody nice, too! He was more than happy to sign the cap for you!" Amara waved her hands excitedly as she recounted everything you missed while lost.
You sat near the windows overlooking the pits, watching as the teams got their cars ready for qualifying, far away from the TVs and the crowded tables, not wanting to converse with anyone but your best friend. You chewed on your extremely expensive pasta, intently listening to her meet-up with some of the drivers. 
"I can't believe you met the only driver I know," you whined, lips pouting sadly.
"I swear I didn't realise you were gone until they stopped us to greet the drivers. I was fully into that tyre explanation the guide was giving."
"Gee, thanks." You smile, giving her the middle finger.
"Oh, you know I don't mean it like that. Without you, I wouldn't even be doing the stuff we did today." Amara pulls on your middle finger, and you both giggle.
"So, tell me what you did when you were alone," she urges, sipping her drink.
"You mean when you left me wandering like I was looking for my mother?" She gives you a pointed look. You shrug. "I stopped a Red Bull guy to give me directions. He was helpful and cute. Also took some pictures while I was making my way back here."
"Oh, was he a mechanic or what?"
"I don't know. Didn't catch his name." You smile as you recount his advice. "He told me to look out for the Red Bulls because they have fast cars."
"Well, he's not wrong."
You finish your food and drinks, chatting until qualifying is about to begin. You sit on the balcony, watching the cars drive on the track. You get settled, watching the small screen in front of you, commentary loud in the headset you wear. Qualifying goes by quickly, with Amara explaining things you don't understand and you nodding along.
It's no surprise—in Amara's words—that Max Verstappen came first in his Red Bull. He's the one dominating this season, after all. Second comes Carlos Sainz, and third place takes Lando Norris. Your best friend cheers a little more for him. You shoot her a look, and she just shrugs. "What? He's fast, and he's handsome." You laugh.
You decide to leave before others, not stick around for post-qualifying interviews. Although there's a great chance you can catch drivers, take pictures and get them to sign autographs, you're both far too exhausted to stay. There's always tomorrow, Amara says, and you agree.
You're looking through the Uber app to find a car available to take you back to your hotel when you hear Amara all but screech beside you. You look up, watching as she runs towards a wall decorated with a gigantic poster of three drivers. You recognise Lewis Hamilton and Charles Leclerc and...Oh, shit.
"Can you take a picture here," she calls your name pleadingly.
Your eyes are wide and glued to the tall poster, even as you pull the camera up to your face. You snap a couple of pictures before Amara walks back to you. Her wide smile falters as she watches you stare at the poster intensely. You rack your brain for his name and know that you should know it. Amara has mentioned it before, but you just can't put your finger on it. He's in Red Bull, so it's either Checo Perez or—
"Is that Verstappen?" You point to him.
"Yep. Two-time world champion." Amara looks at the poster and then back at you, eyebrows furrowed. "Why are you looking at him like that?"
"He's the guy from earlier."
"What?!"
yourusername
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liked by amaraiscool, yourmom, and 167 others.
tagged amaraiscool
yourusername chatted with a guy today, turns out he's the current world champion.
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amaraiscool i can't believe you met max verstappen
> yourusername amaraiscool i cant believe you let me get lost
amaraiscool and i can't believe you didnt recognise him.
> yourusername amaraiscool hes cuter in person, too bad you didn't get to see him :))
yourfriend1 THE DRESS IS SO CUTE, AMARA WTF DROP THE STORE!!!!!!
liked by yourusername
yourfriend2 johns freaking out rn lol
> yourusername yourfriend2 AW, i bet hes not being as dramatic as amaraiscool was when i told her :,)
> amaraiscool yourusername met THE max verstappen.
"You should totally text him," Amara says between bites.
She offers you a piece of chocolate, and you offer her a bewildered look. The hotel room's TV is playing a random spanish show, but with no subtitles, you can barely grasp what they're saying. Amara is scrolling on TikTok beside you.
"Text who?" You already know who.
"The two-time world champion. Duh." She rolls her eyes.
Amara hadn't stopped talking about the Max interaction since you'd pointed at his gigantic poster. The more she spoke on it, wiggling her eyebrows, the more you blushed. She had gone over a thousand scenarios, all of which you ended up hooking up with him. You had to remind her that despite his popularity, he was a stranger to you. 
"I don't have his number, 'mara. I told you he just helped me find my way."
She flicks your forehead. "That's what Insta is for!" 
"No."
"But why!?" Amara whines in your ear loudly, like a child when you take their candy away.
"It's weird! He's cute and all," you sit up, pointing your finger up," but he doesn't know my name," you put another one up, "he'll think I'm creepy," you point a third one, "and that is if he sees the requested message."
"Uh, you're ruining my scenario-building process."
"That's what Tumblr is for. Leave my quiet, boring life out of this." You dramatically sigh.
"Isn't that how all fanfiction starts? Boring and quiet life turned upside down?" Amara tilts her head.
"I don't know, 'ave never read any." You shrug, lips pursing.
She huffs a laugh, and you hold in yours. "Liar."
There's a pause. You think over Amara's suggestion. Max Verstappen is cute. And it wouldn't hurt to try and get his number. You'd never see him again after this weekend. And the worst he could say is: "Security, please get her out of here!" 
What the fuck am I thinking? He's a literal superstar. Me bumping into him was a one-time thing. 
Ah, fuck it. It's not the end of the world.
"You know what?" Amara turns to look at you. "If I get the chance tomorrow, I'll talk to him. Try and get his number."
Her eyes almost pop out of their sockets. "What?"
"I mean, I'm never seeing again? Right? It could go either way. He doesn't call for security to escort me like I'm crazy fangirl, or he does, and we pray no cameras recorded the moment."
Amara shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant, but she can barely hold her wide smile. "Sounds like a plan to me."
"Not much of a plan. I'm just indulging in your delusions."
You share a laugh before you fall back in bed beside her. You shuffle closer to your best friend's side, eager to watch the TikTok edit she is staring intensely at.
"Oh, look, it's your future boyfriend!" 
"Shut up."
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youvebeenlivingfictional · 7 months ago
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Okay, so I’m weirdly into the idea of being someone’s estranged wife???
Imagine being Patrick’s estranged wife?? Like maybe he married you bc he couldn’t have Tashi and then just…never signed the divorce papers? And now he’s knocking on your door bc there’s a challenger he’s gonna play in buttttt his bank account’s a little low so could he pretty please crash with you? He’ll sleep on his couch and be on his best behavior, he swears
Queue him crawling into bed with you at 2 am bc it’s cold in the living room and you’re soft and pretty and whoops, he’s hard
Ooo love this
Warnings: Fingering, Patrick Being Patrick, bitter and estranged ex-wife Reader
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"You have any chicken nuggets?"
"What are you, five?"
"Adults can enjoy chicken nuggets."
They certainly could, but you didn't grace that reply with a response, just watched with tepid interest as he rifled through the contents of your fridge.
A single phrase kept resounding in your mind:
I should've left him on the doorstep.
And maybe you should have. It wouldn't be the first time that you'd given Patrick the cold shoulder, and it wouldn't be the first time that he just parked in your driveway and slept in his car. But you just couldn't stand the sight of him out in the cold, pouting and gnawing on his lower lip in the fish-eye lens of your peephole.
"Why don't we order a pizza?" He tacked on.
We. It was always 'we' with him, but never in the action, or the cost—that was a 'you' action, not a 'we' more often than not.
"Who's paying for it?" You asked. Patrick turned to you with a dopey, guilty little smile affixed to his lips as he cocked his hip.
"Well until I sign the papers, the two shall be as one, right?"
"Yeah—Why haven't you signed, by the way?"
"Your guy's never been able to serve 'em." He turned back to the fridge, ducking his head as he looked around. "You got any beer?"
You rolled your eyes. "Third shelf, at the back."
"Bingo. Want one?"
"Not right now. But thanks for offering me something that I bought and paid for. Really appreciate it."
Patrick huffed a soft laugh as he turned toward you again, opening the beer against the edge of the counter.
"Mine mine mine," He teased. "What is it with you and what's yours, huh?"
"Just stating facts, Zweig."
"So self-righteous, Mrs. Zweig." He used your married name with a vinegary smile before taking a deep swig from his bottle, pointedly ignoring the way that you bristled. "So. Pizza?"
--
Just the couch.
Patrick had pleaded it between bites of pizza, scrubbing the back of his hand across his mouth to clear the crumbs and oil left behind. He'd framed it as a reasonable enough request, like it was the easiest thing in the world to let your estranged husband back into your home.
You won't even know I'm there.
As if you hadn't been fighting to find a harmony within yourself for the last year, trying to serve him papers for the last six months, to get your divorce to take, to rid yourself of his last name.
Watching him sort through the garbage bags of clothing that you'd packed up for him to come and take between tours had been a little pitiful, but he'd unearthed what he'd needed to sleep in.
"Still have a toothbrush for me?" He asked.
"No."
"Face wash?"
"Don't you just use soap?"
"Yeah, but you put me on that, uh—That regimen, that routine."
"You never followed it."
"So you threw the stuff out?"
"I wasn't using it, so. Yeah."
"Huh." Patrick straightened, PJs in hand. You couldn't help but watch him strip off as he passed you, eyeing the ripple of his back muscles as he tossed his shirt in the direction of his bag.
"I'm showering," He called over his shoulder, "If you'd like to join me."
"I'd rather chew glass, but thanks."
--
He was sleeping. He had to be, right? It didn't matter if he was or wasn't. It didn't matter that Patrick Zweig was asleep on your couch, just a floor away. It didn't matter that you were worked up, at the midpoint between pissed off and turned on.
How did he always manage to do that to you?
You should've been able to clock early on that it was trouble. None of your friends or family thought it would work out, and you'd been chagrined when they'd been right. For as much as you had once loved him, for as certain as you and Patrick had been sure you would fit, that you would fix whatever needed fixing, no matter what fate had in store for you, you just...Couldn't.
It didn't help that he had been chasing glory on the court, or that you had spent your relationship trying to fill the shoes of a woman that you could never be. It didn't help that the two of you were just fundamentally different, in ways that you either of you were unwilling to compromise. When he'd left, it hadn't been a surprise, but it had been so goddamn hard to serve him papers. But you'd had such trouble trying to pin him down during your relationship, why should the way you broke be any different?
But when you'd been in bed together—Hell, you'd been even more certain that it could work. You and Patrick just fit. Things had been so right with so little conversation or hesitation. Your needs had fueled one another's, and you'd been able to lose yourself in him. It should have been enough.
But it wasn't then, and it wasn't now.
He was asleep. He had a match the next morning, and he needed his rest. You could do the same—You should do the same. You needed to be staring at the ceiling right now like you need a goddamn hole in the head. You drew in a deep breath, closing your eyes and doing your best to focus on your breathing. In for five... Hold...Out...For...Five...In for...One...Two...Three...Four...
Your eyes opened, your breath catching as you heard the door open. You held completely still as you heard the door close again, chased by the soft pad of feet along your floor before the mattress dipped beside you. The covers shifted, lifting and falling as he laid down.
"Are you asleep?" He murmured. It was another moment before his palm skimmed across your belly, his rough cheek nuzzling against the curve of your shoulder. Your breath left you in a soft sigh, your muscles untensing bit by bit.
"I know you haven't been here in a while," You muttered, "But this is not the couch."
He huffed a soft laugh. "I know," He snuggled closer, and it was just a moment before you felt the press of his cock against your hip. You drew in a shaky breath, hands lowering to his arm.
"Patrick," You mumbled. "You should be asleep."
"I can't sleep." His teeth scraped along your jaw as his fingers snaked under the hem of your nightshirt.
"Indigestion?" You squeaked. "Shouldn't've had that third slice of pizza. I told you not to."
Your eyes squeezed shut as he rolled his hips against you.
"This feel like pizza to you?"
"Well—"
"Baby," He pleaded. "You gonna tell me you didn't miss me?"
It took you a moment, and you couldn't help your slight squirming.
"Not even a little."
He laughed again, and you knew that you hadn't been able to sneak a thing by him.
"You don't have to lie. I saw you watching me." He tipped his chin up, sucking a tender kiss to your neck. And you had, but—
"I wasn't."
Patrick tutted disapprovingly. You shuddered, arching up into his touch as his thumb skimmed across your hardening nipple.
"You're a shitty liar, you know that?"
"You're an asshole," You hissed as Patrick lifted his head.
"You like it."
You couldn't get a word out to argue as Patrick's tongue swept between your lips. You whimpered in spite of yourself, sinking back against your pillows and raising your hand to fist in his hair. He was over you in a moment, body shoving your thighs wide as his hands rucked up the bottom of your sleep shirt. You drew in a sharp breath as his head dipped to catch one of your nipples between his lips. You tightened your grip on his, shivering as he teased it with his tongue.
Patrick's hips ground against yours, rolling against where you're growing slick in your sleep shorts.
"How long's it been?" He murmured, "Huh? Since me?"
And it was too embarrassing to say—too embarrassing to admit that you hadn't slept with anyone since Patrick left.
"Shut up," You hissed, "Just—Please, shut up."
His hand snuck beneath the hem of your shorts, swiping gently across your tender clit, and he grinned as your hips hitched up into his deft touch.
"S'okay," He cooed as he eased a couple of fingers into your tight, aching cunt. "I missed you, too."
--
"You gonna come watch me play?"
As with the rest of the last day or so, your answer should be no. You didn't turn to look at Patrick as you rummaged through your dresser for something to wear.
"I've seen you play, Patrick."
"Not lately." He tried again: "It's a challenger."
You hummed, giving a noncommittal shrug as you pulled out a pair of sweatpants and a shirt.
"...Well can I stay here tonight?"
"If you win, sure."
"How will you know I win if you don't come see me?"
You rolled your eyes, hip-checking your drawer shut before pulling up your pants and tugging in your top.
"Fine. Just tonight. You'll have to find somewhere tomorrow night."
"I'll have the prize money by then, I'll crash at a motel."
"Oh, a motel. Hey big spender," You drawled, heading for your door.
"Hey."
"What?"
"You have the papers here?"
It stopped you dead in your tracks, your stomach churning with unease as you looked at him again.
"...What?"
"The divorce papers," He clarified. "I can sign 'em while I'm here."
It would be so easy. It would be so easy to go down to your office and draw the file out of your desk drawer, to plop it down in front of Patrick with your favorite black ballpoint pen, to flip between arrow tabs and instruct, "Sign here, here, here, here, here, and here."
But you found yourself shaking your head.
"I don't have a copy," You fibbed. It took Patrick a moment before he nodded a little.
"Can you get them?"
Hell, were you that out of practice? One night back in bed with you and he was ready to call it? But you were certain that wasn't it—That Patrick was, for once in his goddamn life, trying to make it easy on you after so much hell.
"...Maybe, I don't know," You shrugged. "It's the weekend."
"Okay."
"Coffee?"
"Yeah—Hey."
"What?"
You watched as Patrick pulled the covers away, unashamed of his nakedness as he strode toward you. He grasped your chin, tipping your head for a soft kiss. It took everything in you not to melt into him as he skimmed his hand over your hip, drawing back just enough to give you a sleepy, hazy smile.
"Good morning."
You couldn't help your own, indignant smile.
"Sure, Patrick." You turned away, determined to push on with your day, your life like he wasn't there—like he wouldn't be hanging over you as you made breakfast, or dominating the court as he played, or in your bed again in just a few hours. "Good morning."
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emswritings · 6 months ago
Text
Pandora's friend
Synopsis: Barty and Evan are introduced to Pandora's new friend.
Tags: hufflepuff fem!reader, rosekiller x reader, fluff
Word count: 0.6k
Authors note: I might do more of this if y’all like it
—---------------------------------------------------------------------
“I promise, you’ll love them,” Pandora promises you for what feels like the hundredth time. You were on the way to the slytherin common room with her, because she left her homework with her brother, Evan, and decided that it would probably be easiest to study there, instead of going all the way back to the library. You plug your ears as she says the password, and walk into the common room. Looking around at the dark room, you spot two boys who look extremely cozy, to put it nicely. Pandora either doesn’t care, or doesn’t notice, because she walks straight up to one with blonde hair that looks remarkably  like her, and asks him for her homework back. 
You stand behind her, not so subtly admiring the couple. One has blonde hair and tan skin with green eyes and the other has dark hair and pale skin with brown eyes. You must’ve caught the dark haired boy's attention, because he perks up, and says to Pandora, “Now who’s this treasure? Have you been hiding her from us, dora?”
Pandora rolls her eyes at him, then looks back at you, "Y/N, this is Barty," she gestures to the dark haired boy, "and this is Evan, my twin," she points to the blonder one. You smile at them both, waving slightly. Following her over to some of the desks in the corner of the room, you get your books out of your bag to start studying. Not even five minutes later, you hear a thump, and someone, Evan, coming over to you and Pandora. 
“So, what brought someone like you down here?” Evan asks, taking a seat on the desk you're working at and looking at your hufflepuff robes. You flush slightly at the attention, but reply, “well, me and dora were going to study in the library, but she left her homework here and decided that it would be easiest to work down here.”
“Can we help? We’re super smart,” Barty says, skipping over to the group. He stands behind you and looks over your shoulder to see what you're working on, potions, and starts twirling your hair. You look to Pandora, trying to see if it’s a good idea, but her eyes stay focused on her paper. You turn to the two boys who are looking at you expectantly, and shrug, “sure.”
That leads to you spending the next two hours with them, and you only finish one of the assignments that you had planned to do. It’s no big deal though, since you still have a week to get them done, and you got to talk to two cute guys. You only realize how late it is when Pandora comes back into the common room -you didn’t even know she left- with a plate of food for the three of you.
After the three of you eat, you let out a yawn, and start to pack your things. “Where are you going, doll?” Evan drawls, watching you lazily. 
“I need to head back to my dorm,” you smile, “it’s almost curfew.” That causes a very dramatic eye roll from Barty, who waves his hand towards who you now know is his boyfriend, Evan, “No need to worry about that treasure. Blondie here is a prefect, he can walk you to your dorm.” You smile at him, but decline, saying, “I would hate for you to have to go through all that trouble, besides, I have a test tomorrow, might as well get some beauty sleep.” 
The boys watch as you leave, and then Evan turns to Pandora and says, “You should study here more often.”
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blitzyn · 9 months ago
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a different method final pt
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teacher!zhongli x m!reader
request: drop by to ask will there ever be a chance for part 3 with teacher zhongli? i dont know man. him and reader are so cute together. maybe i am crazy??? wanna see reader actually tries his best and gets his reward-
part one | part two
a/n -> oh my god i need francis mosses and wriothesley to fuck me right this INSTANT
wc -> 4k
cw -> praise, anal fingering, anal sex, mating press, desk sex, semi-public sex, teacher zhongli, student reader, not beta read
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You were nervous. Jitters ran along the length of your spine and pooled in your chest, leaving a deep cavity that filled with anxiety. Why were you so anxious in the first place? It’s just a test. You’ve taken plenty of them during the course of your life.
You tried to play it cool, masking your face with a facade of nonchalance, hoping no one could see how clammy your hands were getting or your heartbeat, or the sweat rolling down—oh god was someone looking at you? Could they see through you? What if they could read your mind? Did they know that you were secretly trying to get your teacher to fuck you again?
You forced to stop yourself from physically deflating in relief when they looked away. Seemed like they were just looking around the room in an attempt to search for a hint or an answer to the question they were on. Right. The test. You’d finished it not too long ago, and now you were in the overthinking stage, wondering if you could’ve worded something better or if a different answer was right, but you forced yourself to calm the fuck down. You studied for this (surprisingly) and you were sure that at least half of your answers were correct. Hopefully.
You nearly jumped out of your skin when you heard your teacher speak, notifying the class that there was five minutes left, and you could see a few write faster as they tried to finish on time. Those five minutes felt like an eternity, watching the agonizingly slow ticking of the clock above the door leisurely make its way to four, then three, then two, one… thirty seconds, and…
Finally!
You took your time packing up, watching your classmates rush out of the door, eager to leave the boring room. It wasn’t until the last person made their way out did you walk up to your teacher’s desk, fiddling with the strap of your bag.
“May I help you?” He questioned, offering you a brief glance as he reached over to grab the pile of test papers. It was frustrating how he could just ignore your past… ordeals like they were nothing, but you were determined to claim your keep.
“Can you, uh, grade my paper? Now, I mean,” you requested, trying to fight off your growing eagerness, but it seemed that it didn’t matter when he quirked an eyebrow. He gave you an unconvinced look, leaning back on his chair to properly look at you, searching your eyes for something. “Please,” you hastily added, hoping it’d be enough to convince him.
“Why not wait until next week?” He seemed to have found what he was looking for as he relaxed his expression, crossing his arms across his chest. “Is there something urgent?”
“No, it’s just…” you trailed off, pursing your lips. You weren’t sure how to explain without sound too eager, but you were almost ninety percent sure he knew why you wanted him to grade it now. “I wanna see how I did. ‘Cause… I studied this time. So…”
An intrigued glint shone in his golden eyes, and his head bobbed in a slow, understanding nod. He returned to the stack and scanned through the list of names until he found yours, pulling out the answer sheet to look over. It was silent for a while, save for the occasional scratch of his pen and the obnoxious tick-tock of the clock. You crossed your arms across your chest and examined the room absentmindedly, finding it too weird to watch him grade in this silence.
“You’ve done well,” he suddenly spoke, the richness of his voice gently guiding you out of your thoughts. “Congratulations.”
You saw that he rotated the paper to you, letting you look at the numbers that adorned the white page. 47/50, it read, marking this your highest grade yet.
“That’s good,” you hummed, risking a glance up at him, only to find him already watching you expectantly.
“Is there anything else I can help you with?” He questioned, and you could’ve sworn that he had the faintest of smirks. It was gone as quick as you saw it, but you were sure it wasn’t your mind playing tricks on you. You paused, feeling the uncomfortable weight of embarrassment creeping in your mind, stopping the words on the tip of your tongue. What were you so nervous about? You did good and everyone knew he didn’t go back on his word.
“You said you’d reward me if I did good,” you reminded, leaning forward a touch too eagerly.
“Did I?” He replied, his expression unchanging even when it was clear what you wanted. “The reward was the knowledge and understanding of this unit. Are you not satisfied?”
Fuck.
“Oh. Uh,” you were mortified—how could you not be? Technically, he didn’t specify what the prize would be. You just assumed it’d include him fucking you like the last two times. You stared at him, pursing your lips, not really bothering to hide the obvious displeasure in your face. “If I say no, will I get something else?”
The corners of his lips raised in a smug smile as he intertwined his fingers together, resting them atop the smooth wood of his desk. You noticed the familiar glint of amusement in his eyes and groaned softly. He was just messing with you.
“I suppose so,” he said, beckoning you closer to him with a refined hand. He flattened it along the curve of your hip, gently guiding you to the edge of his desk as he stood up to press himself against you. “You’ve done well today. You must’ve been very determined to get what you wanted, hm?”
You nodded slightly, almost shyly, shuddering at the feeling of his hand sliding down your pelvis to palm at your crotch. He was (not so) surprised to have felt you already hardening under his touch, but he didn’t comment on it, instead giving your cock an experimental squeeze. Your knees nearly buckled, grateful to have the desk supporting your weight as he stroked and explored your body.
“You’re more sensitive than the previous times we’ve done this,” he noted, leaning back to slot his thigh between your own and tilt your bashful head up. His grip was firm, unrelenting, raising goosebumps along your arms at his—frankly strange—strength. You hardly paid it any heed, of course. It just added to his appeal. “Have you been anticipating this moment since then?”
He refused to let you look away, tightening his grip on your chin to make you meet his golden eyes. You hesitated for a moment, swallowing hard before steeling your nerves. He said you could have this, so you were going take it.
“Yeah,” you replied, rolling your hips into the palm of his hand needily. You bit your lip at the jolt of electricity that traveled up your spine, sending your senses into overdrive. You could smell his cologne—it was rich and smooth, subtle and fitting for a man like him. He was all you could feel, hear, and see as his hand made its way to the front of your pants, deftly undoing the button to tug them down.
“My, I can’t imagine how pent up you must be to be this aroused already,” he teased, his cheeks raised in a minuscule smirk. He swiftly pulled his gloves off and ran his hands ran over the curve of your thighs this time, sliding along the underside to lift you onto the desk. You tensed when the cold surface met your heated skin, but it was soon forgotten when you watched him slide your boxers off, breath hitching as he wrapped his hand around your cock.
He pressed his thumb onto the sensitive head, giving it a quick rub before lifting it, noticing the thin string of precum connecting his finger to you. He tightened his hold again to start jerking you off, listening intently to the slick noises and your breathy moans. He could feel his own dick beginning to harden, straining against the fabric of his slacks, but he ignored it for the sake of pleasuring you.
His touch was addicting. Hypnotizing. Entrancing. Anything and everything under the sun because you couldn’t get enough of how damn good he was. He knew just how tight to squeeze, the right pace, what made you shudder and squirm. The build-up was slow and delicious, clouding over your mind until your thoughts were hardly coherent enough to speak out.
“Damn—you’re… you’re good,” you shakily panted, eyes darting between his warm, strong hand and his own irises. Your cock throbbed, twitching at the sound of his low, amused chuckle. You clutched at the edge of the desk hard enough to make your hands shake, thighs flexing as you writhed. Though, you were careful enough not to accidentally kick him.
“I’m flattered you think so,” he responded, moving himself so that his hip pressed one of your thighs wider. He felt you hook your leg around his waist and tighten when he moved his hand away to prod his fingertips against your lips, wordlessly demanding entry. Eagerly, you complied, opening your mouth to let him press onto your tongue and gather your saliva.
You hummed at the feeling before closing your lips around them, gently sucking on them as you gauged his reaction. You couldn’t catch his overall expression shifting, but you did see his eyebrow raise the slightest bit and feel his cock throb against your ass. He let out a breath when he felt the suction alongside your tongue swirling around his skin, coating his fingers in your saliva. He pushed them further down, resulting in a soft gag from you. He held them there for a moment longer before pulling away, watching you break the thin trail that connected you to him with a swift swipe of your tongue over your slick lower lip.
Without missing a beat, he reached down, and you were fully expecting to feel him prod at your hole, but his hand targeted the handle of one of his drawers. You huffed impatiently and rolled your eyes when he pulled out a bottle of lube, listening to the sound of the cap being flipped open.
“Was the whole finger thing really necessary?” You grumbled, gasping slightly when he tugged your hips forward just enough so your ass hung off of the edge. You gave him a weak glare when he poured some of it on your asshole directly, tensing and shuddering at the sudden temperature drop.
“No,” he replied smoothly, easing his fingers into you. “But surely you didn’t expect to be the only one enjoying himself?” He questioned rhetorically, pumping them in and out slow enough so that the wet squelching was the only thing you could hear. “I also had no intention of using my saliva this time.”
“Could’ve started by now,” you said under your breath, mildly bitter that he had you gagging on his fingers just ‘cause he felt like it.
“Have patience,” he murmured, jabbing his slender fingers into your prostate in response to your vulgar words. He jerked you off with his free hand, paying close attention to each of your reactions, down to the minuscule twitch. “I know you can do that. If you can pass a simple test, how much more is waiting to you?”
You remained silent, swallowing the impending retort. You huffed through your nose, watching his hands expertly working your body better than you’d ever have. Your hips jerked and your cock pulsed rhythmically whenever he curled his slender fingers into that one spot that had you seeing stars. It was hard to keep quiet, and you were sure he was making this as difficult as he possibly could for you.
The heat in your belly intensified with every second—with every jab to your sensitive prostate and stroke along your painfully hard dick. Your labored breaths came out in quick pants, hitching when he teased the leaking tip. You were fully expecting him to take his time, to feel the gradual buildup, so when he suddenly speeds up, you accidentally let out a loud moan.
He gave you a sharp look, reminding you that you couldn’t afford to be loud despite not letting up. You swiftly clamped a hand over your mouth, weakly glaring at him for the sudden onslaught of stimulation, but you could hardly keep up the attitude for long. You squeezed your eyes shut and squirmed, nostrils flaring at the effort as your hips jerked every so often.
“F–Fuck, sir,” you panted, your eyebrows furrowing when you looked up at him pleadingly. “I’m gonna… m’gonna cum.”
“Go ahead,” Zhongli murmured, watching you intently. And, like his rich, smooth voice was a trigger, you did. You bit down on your lip so hard you nearly punctured it, unable to completely muffle your moans as the sounds slipped past your hand. He didn’t scold you for it, instead deciding to continue to move his hands, milking out as much cum out of your cock as he could before you started to whine at the budding overstimulation.
He let you take a moment to gather yourself, shifting to grab a tissue and wipe his fingers clean. He turned back to look at you when you sighed, leaning back to place most of your weight on your palms.
“Do you need a break?” He questioned, placing his hands back on your bare thighs. He was in no rush despite having his painfully hard dick straining against his pants, and you were internally impressed with his self control.
“No,” you replied without missing a beat, hooking your knee around his waist to tug him closer, but he hardly budged. “Fuck me. Now. I’ll be fine,” you urged. It seemed that demands were your strong suit this time around.
“Learning to have patience will benefit you greatly,” he said, and you watched the way he took a deep breath in a manner you knew meant that he was about to go on a long tangent of life lessons or something along the line. You gave him a pleading look, to which he acknowledged with yet another subtle, smug smirk. Good lord, when he wasn’t in a serious setting or teaching, he could be a pain in the ass. Literally and figuratively.
“Stop doing that,” you huffed, but you could hardly maintain that (already weak) sense of annoyance when he moved to undo his pants, eyes quickly and instinctively making their way towards his cock. You could see the tip of it beading with precum and the way it flushed an angry red.
“I’m afraid I don’t follow what you’re trying to imply,” he responded, all of his amusement fizzling away to make room for the faux ignorance. He reached over to grab the bottle of lube to pour a generous amount onto his palm and rub it along his dick, creating quiet squelching sounds that, now that you thought about it, made you cringe.
“So you just casually have lube laying around?” You questioned, looking back up at him curiously like you weren’t about to have sex. You had a strange relationship, honestly.
“I got it recently. Based on your reaction towards our last session together, it was easy to assume that you’d make a genuine effort,” he said, wiping most of the lube off his hand with a tissue before hefting your thighs up his broad shoulders. “You’re quite predictable.”
You didn’t bother to refute this time, wincing slightly at the tension to your lower back. “Ow—careful,” you hissed, shifting to get comfortable when you paused suddenly, feeling the head of his cock press against your asshole.
“You’ll be fine,” he gently assured, resting his free hand beside your head. “Bear with it.”
He pushed forward—gently this time, unlike the way he so roughly shoved himself inside you like the first time. You tensed regardless, mildly uncomfortable with the burn that came with his entry.
“Relax,” he murmured, rubbing a hand on your thigh in a comforting manner, coaxing your relaxation forth. He sank in slowly, breathing in deeply as he fought the urge to shove himself in one go. It felt better this way, he realized, taking his time instead of rushing it out of the sake of irritation. “You’re doing well. Just breathe.”
You nodded sheepishly, resting your head back against his desk. Your chest fell and rose rhythmically, making yourself relax to make things easier for both you and him. You sank your teeth into your lower lip and grunted when he finally buried himself all the way inside you, listening to him grunt in satisfaction.
“Fuck… is it me, or did you literally get bigger?” Your voice was strained, breathy and shaky. Your legs tightened slightly around his shoulders, staring at him needily.
“No, nothing about me has changed,” he chuckled softly, finding your state humorous. “But you have. You’ve improved your character within this room and proved that you’re more than capable of passing my class. You’ve made me proud, [L.Name].”
“Oh. Haha. Really?” You laughed awkwardly, turning your head to the side bashfully. Butterflies fluttered within your stomach at the praise, feeling a sudden rush of giddiness that you were hardly able to hide. “I guess I am doing better, huh?”
He nodded in response, his golden eyes softening. “I will begin now.”
You gasped, instinctively looking down to watch him pull out a bit and softly push back inside. You shuddered at the drag of his cock against your prostate, biting your lip once again to stifle the moans that threatened to spill from your throat.
He moved rhythmically, his gaze locked on your blissful expression. His cock throbbed as he slid in and out, again and again, targeting your prostate with pinpoint precision. “You’re taking me so well,” he muttered, grunting softly, your soft moans mixing in with the wet, gentle slaps that filled the room.
“Shit—don’t say stuff like that,” you stubbornly said, slapping a hand over your mouth when he jabbed his dick up against your prostate with a sharp thrust.
“No? But is it—” He groaned, his eyebrows furrowing when he felt you squeeze tighter around him, letting out a strained, labored breath. He tightened his fingers into fists that had his knuckles turning white, pressing his hips against your ass firmly for a moment before resuming. “But is it not the truth?”
You rolled your eyes, using your lack of momentum to kick his back with the heel of your foot. “You talk too much…”
“Is that so?” He retorted, a faint smirk gracing his features as he bent down lower, brushing his lips against your ear, and ignored the strained grunt you let out at the added tension to your back. “Then what would you like me to do?”
You hesitated, shivering pleasantly as his breath ghosted the shell of your ear. “Harder. Go harder.” The two of you remained silent for a beat, and you quickly realized he was expecting something else. “Please.”
“Good boy. Just because I’m doing this for you doesn’t mean you simply forget your manners,” he scolded lightheartedly.
And, like clockwork, your jaw snapped open to argue, but he wouldn’t allow it this time. He rammed his cock so hard in you stars danced through your vision, your body tensing and clenching down tighter around his cock. His breaths came out shallow and labored, focused on churning your insides to mush while you tried your damn best to keep yourself from getting too loud.
“Fuck—oh my God, sir, please—” you choked out, hands scrambling for purchase. You covered your mouth with one and buried your fingers in his hair with the other, inadvertently tugging on the strands and messing up his ponytail. “Wait…!”
“Is this not what you wanted?” He rhetorically questioned, his voice low, not needing to raise his volume over your surprised and needy moans. “A shame,” he continued, finding no desire to let up any time soon. He panted harshly into your neck, letting his eyes squeeze shut as he savored the feeling of your tight hole fluttering and pulsing around him. This closeness was unwarranted and wrong, he of all people knew that. But as you whimpered and whined into his ear, he also found that he didn’t mind it.
All that could be heard were the resounding slaps and your poorly concealed noises. The desk creaked slightly, straining under your combined weight as he kept you pinned down with his body, ignoring the quiet rustle of paper as a few fluttered off the desk.
“Fuck, m’so close, sir,” came your muffled words, eyes rolling in ecstasy as you dragged your hand down to clutch tightly at his back, fingers desperately curling into his clothes. “G-Gonna cum—don’t stop!”
“Quiet,” he shushed you, giving one of your thighs a brief pinch before he grabbed hold of your weeping cock to stroke it in time with his movements. Slick sounds emanated from you as he jerked you off with dexterity, stoking the raging heat in your belly. “I know you can lower your voice. You wouldn’t want to disappoint me, would you?”
You meekly shook your head, letting go of his back to place both hands over your mouth. You squeezed your eyes shut, feeling yourself jolt up and down as he rammed himself into your ass rhythmically. Your legs tightened slightly around his neck, searching for something to cling to. You were so close and you knew he was aware of it. He refused to let up, pushing you higher and higher, groaning when you tightened around him reflexively.
“Fuck!” You cried out, your hands hardly able to catch your voice as you came hard, body shuddering and convulsing. He squeezed your dick, slowing down considerably to help you through your orgasm, sweat rolling down his temple at the shared body heat and the effort to please you.
He pulled out with a grunt, letting one of your legs fall off his shoulder as he reached down to quickly jerk himself off, sighing in satisfaction when he finally came. You shivered, resting an arm over your eyes in exhaustion as the two of you basked in the afterglow, chest heaving up and down as you panted hard.
“You’ve done well,” he murmured, cleaning his hands off with a tissue to massage your trembling thighs, giving you a moment to recompose yourself. “I’m so proud of you.”
“Thanks…” you replied, taking your arm off your face to look at him. He was disheveled--the most unkempt you've ever seen him. You sighed gratefully when he moved your remaining leg down to grab another tissue and wipe off his and your cum that landed on your stomach.
"Here, take this." He handed you a bottle of water, fixing himself as soon as you accepted it. "It'll do you well to rehydrate yourself, especially after an intensive session such as this."
You drank a generous amount, wiping your mouth after you put the bottle down to retrieve your pants and underwear when he handed them to you. "Thanks. Again."
"Of course." He nodded, giving you more space to put your clothes back on, watching you with a soft expression. "It's getting late. Would you like me to escort you home?"
"I'm okay. I live, like, what, ten minutes away by foot?" You shook your head, wincing slightly at the ache in your back. You stood up and stretched, yawning, as you made your way away from the desk. You noticed a piece of paper on the floor and bent down to grab it, flipping it over to place atop the surface, realizing that it was your test that fell. Staring at the red numbers for a moment longer, you were overcome with a sense of embarrassment.
Man, the things you'd do for dick.
"Don't expect any leniency from me, [L.Name]," he said, walking over towards the window to open it, letting a fresh breeze carry the smell of sex outside. "My demands still remain."
"I know," you sighed, feigning dejection before you grabbed your stuff, walking towards the door. "I'll see you tomorrow."
"I'll see you then."
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rainyinautumn · 2 years ago
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Did someone say COMPLETE DATA ANALYSIS OF ALL THE DEATHS IN THE LIFE SERIES? No? Well. I did it. Here are some neat graphs for you guys to look at so that you don’t have to deal with the gigantic spreadsheet I did!
Let’s start off with the big bad question: what gets people killed in this game, anyway?
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Note that a CAUSE OF DEATH is not the same as a KILL. Cause of death is what pops up in the chat when someone dies (ex. PearlescentMoon was slain by Smallishbeans, BdoubleO100 fell from a high place). The cause of death does not always account for player responsibility (ex. TNT traps). Generally, a player is only considered to be someone’s cause of death if the death occurs through direct PvP combat. HOWEVER, responsibility for an indirect kill such as a trap still goes toward a player’s total kill count—for example, Joel has 14 kills overall, 10 of which are direct enough for him to be considered the actual cause of death. After all, axes don’t kill people without being swung by someone.
A few other whacky things about kill counts:
Self-inflicted deaths do not count toward a player’s kill count (ex. Grian doesn’t get a kill for jumping off Monopoly Mountain at the end of 3rd Life, Scott doesn’t get a kill for blowing himself up at the end of Double Life).
When it comes to Double Life, soulmates are considered to share their three lives. No distinction is made between Soulmate A's life and Soulmate B's life, and each death only counts as one kill (ex. Joel gets one kill for killing Scott with fireworks, even though that also killed Pearl (however, Pearl’s cause of death is still Joel, as her life is considered the same as Scott’s)).
Using the /kill command does not count toward your kill count. Grian.
With that cleared up, let’s look at kill counts.
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By the skin of his teeth, Grian leads the pack in total kills. The top three you see on that graph are the only players who have a KDR (kill-to-death ratio) of more than 1—for you folks who are unfamiliar with those, a KDR of more than 1 means you kill other people more often than you die. Less than 1 means you die more often than you kill other people. Here are the highest and lowest KDRs in the series:
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“What’s this?” I hear you say. “Jimmy Wet-Paper-Bag-of-a-Man Solidarity DOESN’T have the lowest KDR in the series?”
No. No, he does not, and it’s actually really funny you should ask.
Because of Last Life’s mechanic of life transferring, even players that have been in all three installments of the Life Series don’t have the same death count. Eight players died more than three times in Last Life. Another eight died exactly three times. And one player only died twice.
By virtue of starting on yellow and never receiving any extra lives in Last Life, Jimmy holds the record for fewest deaths in an installment of the Life Series with just two deaths in Last Life. He is the only player to ever die less than three times in a game. This means that although he has just one kill, he has fewer total deaths than BigB (who has died a very standard nine times), the only other player with one kill, so his KDR is higher. Congrats, Jimmy, you’re not last in everything. But you are still the only player without a PvP kill.
Speaking of PvP, it’s time to look at how people do that! Here’s a graph of the top five weapons that tend to land PvP kills the most in the series:
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And now here’s weapon preferences by game:
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[Double Life not depicted due to lack of PvP deaths—only 4 occurred, using a diamond axe, a diamond sword, fireworks, and an iron axe respectively.]
Despite 19 more deaths occurring in Last Life than 3rd Life, the two actually have the exact same amount of PvP kills (28). It’s interesting to note the strong preference for bows in 3rd Life, which was a much more warlike game and had several fairly formal battles where people fought from a distance. Last Life required an overall sneakier strategy, resulting in a higher use of traps. In combat, non-ranged weapons like swords and axes were generally preferred due to fights often starting in close proximity and without warning, courtesy of the Boogeyman curse. Comparatively, Double Life saw remarkably few PvP kills, likely due to each person being twice as accident-prone by virtue of being linked to another player—in fact, with a total of 12, accidents accounted for three times as many deaths as PvP in Double Life and overall for more than half (57%) of the deaths in the game.
As for individual player stats sheets, here’s an example of one of those:
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If you want to see one of those for ALL 17 PLAYERS, you can go to this slideshow! More details about the stats can be found in the presentation notes of each slide. And, if you have a really specific question and want to get into the nitty gritty, feel free to send me an ask! Hope you guys enjoyed the data!
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strang3lov3 · 1 month ago
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Rescue Mission
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“You take him beautifully, birdie. Beautifully,” Ezra says, now drawing in and out of you at a faster pace. “Look how happy he is inside a’ ya. You’re soakin’ the fella.”
Tags - smut, dubcon, dbf/dad’s weed guy/uncle!ezra (he’s not your biological uncle. I promise), pussy job, unprotected piv, creampie, cock pronouns in excess, cock nicknames (fella, bastard), Ezra’s cock has a titan’s girth (thank @beefrobeefcal), fire hazards, somno ish, plumber’s crack, smoking weed, a tasteful amount of pussy pronouns, me writing Ezra comes with its own warning, surprise surprise Ezra is morally bankrupt, Beefro contributed so I’m not all to blame, Ezra has a lot more jizz than the average man. i don't know how to summarize this. Fic Help - thank you @beefrobeefcal for being my guiding light. Without you this fic would be nothing! thank you @endlessthxxghts and @noxturnalnymph for your eyeballs! A/N - heddo! I finished my research paper but I still have a few things to do as far as school goes, but the end of the semester is right around the corner!! Thank you all for being so patient with me this month. I love you. Mwah!
This is my submission for @sp00kymulderr’s cock pronoun event. I had so much fun with this!! Thank you for hosting, Gideon!!
After packing your old Vera Bradley weekender duffel bag with the last of your clothes for the long weekend ahead of you, you open up your phone one last time to check the weather. It’s not supposed to snow until later in the afternoon, but you’ll make it to your dad’s before then. 
You haul your duffel into the backseat of your car, then carefully place two 9x13 Pyrex pans covered in tin foil next to it. Your dad asked that you prepare a couple of Thanksgiving sides - sweet potatoes and broccoli cheese casserole. Your dad is taking care of the turkey, with other extended family members taking care of everything else. 
You do one last quick check to make sure everything is in order, taking care to give your cat an extra scoop of food.
Fuck - the litter box. You almost forgot! You thoroughly clean it so your neighbor doesn’t have as much work to do when they’re caring for your cat in your absence, but you realize you forgot to buy a new tub of litter at the store the other day. Not to worry, your dad left you some in the trunk of your car for some reason or another. You’ll just leave that for your neighbor to use. 
You get into the driver’s seat after turning off all the lights and pull up directions to your dad’s on your phone and put on Father John Misty’s newest album, then you’re on your merry way. 
About a quarter way through your drive, you have to turn your windshield wipers on. It’s not bad, but there’s the tiniest sprinkle of snow coming down. It’s probably nothing. People are driving like morons under just the threat of snow, but it’s nothing. It’ll be fine. At a stoplight, you change the music. This time, you listen to Love Deluxe by Sadé, one of your Uncle Ezra’s favorite albums. You wonder if you’ll see him at Thanksgiving. 
Quickly, the snow becomes not-nothing. The further you drive, the worse it gets. The snowflakes are getting bigger and coming down heavier, and the road ahead of you is becoming so covered that you can hardly make out the white and yellow lines painted on the road. You’ve slowed to driving at about twenty miles an hour, and you’re growing nervous. It seems like you’re headed deeper into the storm. 
Forty-five minutes pass, though you’ve not driven more than ten miles. It’s coming down now, and the roads are so thick with snow that you’re driving at what feels slower than a glacial pace. This is getting dangerous. The good news, however, is that you did see plow trucks driving down the opposite side of the median. Not confident in your ability to safely drive through what is now probably three inches of snow on the ground, plus the added slush and ice, you decide to pull over and wait for a truck to salt and plow the roads before continuing on your way. You turn on your hazards and watch the traffic move slowly ahead of you; it seems that nobody else has the same idea as you. 
You text your dad first just to let him know that you’ll be a bit late, that you’re pulling over to wait out the storm and wait for the roads to be plowed. 
Ok. Stay safe. - Dad.
Things could be worse, right? You’re safe and warm in your car, you have plenty of gas in the tank. It’s probably another 45 minutes of just waiting, but finally, it happens: plow trucks drive by, salting the roads in their wake. Halle-fucking-lujah. You adjust your mirrors, put your seatbelt back on, and throw the gear shift into drive. Aaand…
You’re stuck. 
You press the gas again, and you’re still stuck. It doesn’t take long for you to start to panic. But your dad will know what to do, right? You call your dad and explain the situation to him. 
“Try rocking the car,” your dad tells you.
“I don’t know what that means.”
“Forward, reverse. Forward, reverse.”
With your dad on speakerphone, you try just that, but it’s a difficult maneuver. “It’s not working, Dad.”
“Okay, okay. Can you dig yourself out?”
“No!” you whine. “I am not doing that.”
Your dad’s eye roll is audible. “Alright. Cat litter. I left you cat litter in your trunk last time you came up, remember? Sprinkle that around your tires, it should give you enough traction to get out.”
“Cat litter…cat litter…”
“Yes, the cat litter. That I left in your trunk.”
You laugh awkwardly, “Yes. About that.” 
Your dad groans on the other end of the phone, “You have to be kidding. Okay. Hang on, where are you again?”
“Just past…I don’t know. I’ll drop you a pin.” You text your dad your location. The text takes some time to go through, but it does. 
“Alright. Uncle Ezra’s not far from you. I’ll give him a call, see if he can’t pick you up. Hang tight.”
“Isn’t he with you?”
“No,” your dad replies. “Why would he be with me?”
“I just figured he’d be up for Thanksgiving too.”
“I invited him, but I never heard back. Dude probably forgot. Okay, call you back.”
Sounds like Ezra. Ezra always was an…odd duck. You remember him visiting from time to time when you were a kid, and he and your dad would spend a lot of time locked in the garage together. It wasn’t until much later that you realized they were smoking weed. 
Ezra’s not your uncle, not really. It’s just what he calls himself. He’s your dad’s old coworker turned weed dealer turned buddy. Probably still sells your dad weed, though. Ezra also used to sell your dad quarter sticks of dynamite for the Fourth of July, and both of them made you promise not to tell anyone about that.
  Ezra was always a comforting, if somewhat peculiar, presence in your life. He called himself your guardian angel and texted you from an unknown number - he never has the same phone number whenever he texts you - on your twenty-first birthday, promising that one day soon he’d take you out for a beer. 
Your dad calls you back. “Hey.”
“Hey,” you greet him back. 
Your dad cuts right to the chase. He tells you that Uncle Ezra is on his way, that he has your location and he’ll come pick you up in thirty minutes. Worry about towing your car later, et cetera. 
“Okay. Love you. I’ll see you when I see you.”
“Love you too, honey. Be safe.”
-
‘On his way’ your ass. True to Uncle Ezra’s style, he doesn’t show up until nearly two and a half hours later. It’s just like that time he told you he’d pick you up from something at eleven and didn’t show up until the clock said 11:47. ‘Yeah,” he said, ‘Clock still says eleven, don’t it?’  He pulls up next to your car in a beat up old Kia van, the same Kia he’s been driving for years. 
Ezra hops out of his car, clad in snow boots, plaid pajama bottoms, a Carhartt jacket, and a fleece trapper hat. He stomps through the snow and opens your door, then ushers you into his van. “I apologize for the delay. Wasn’t expectin’ to be assigned a rescue mission,” he shouts at you. You’re not sure why he’s yelling. 
You watch Ezra grab your prepared food and the duffel from the back of your car, his ass crack visible through his falling pants. Ezra tosses it all haphazardly in his before getting back into the driver’s seat. He’s covered in snow, stomping off the flakes before looking over at you. With his dark brown eyes narrowed in your direction, he scans you up and down. “What on God’s green earth is the matter with you? You intended to traverse without the proper coverage?” 
“Excuse me?”
It takes your brain double the time to process Ezra’s words. You forgot about the unique way he speaks, his very particular vocabulary. You wonder where he picked up that way of speaking.
Ezra gestures to your torso. Oh, you think. Right. You’re just wearing a hoodie. You suppose it could have been a problem, had your car’s heat gone out.  
“Jacket,” he chastises you. 
“Yeah, no. I got it.”
“Then where is it?”
“No- like, I understood what you-” Ezra stares at you expectantly, with raised eyebrows. “Never mind.”
Ezra shakes his head in disappointment, then puts his foot on the brake of his Kia and pulls it into drive. “My domicile will have to do for you tonight, birdie. If you are amenable to it, of course.” 
“Mhm,” you hum. “Works for me.”
-
It takes Ezra about forty-five minutes to drive back to his house, which is located behind a water tower and a church off of a highway exit. It’s in a secluded area, thick with trees, the snow much heavier on the unplowed roads over here. Ezra pulls into his driveway, then opens the garage via a remote control attached to his sun visor. He gets out of his seat first, then rounds the front of his van and opens your door. “Hold onto me,” he tells you, holding out his arm. “You’re liable to slip and fall on these slick grounds.” 
You take hold of Ezra’s sleeve, and he carefully helps you out of the van and ushers you inside his house. “Get settled in. I shall retrieve your belongings and return to you post haste.”
You toe off your shoes and leave them on Ezra’s doormat, then begin strolling through his home, perusing through his belongings. His home is cluttered yet clean; lava lamps left on, paintings of St. Francis and St. Gertrude on the walls in his game room, which has floor to ceiling bookshelves full of board games and Dungeons & Dragons paraphernalia. A Halloween bucket full of month-old candy on the table. The house smells strongly of incense, and when you turn the corner and enter the living room you see that Ezra’s left his fireplace lit. 
“Awh shit, must’ve slipped my mind,” Ezra says, noticing the same thing you do. He’s got your duffel bag on his back and the Pyrex pans in his arms. He sets all items down, then goes back into his garage without a word. A few minutes pass and you’re left confused by his absence, so you follow him. 
“Uncle Ezra?”
Ezra’s at his workbench, the warm flicker of a flame illuminating his handsome features as he lights a joint. He blows out the smoke, then smiles at you. “Joinin’ me?”
“Uhhh…”
“C’mon,” he urges. “It’s the holidays.” 
You join Ezra at his workbench, still unsure if you want to partake yet. While Ezra smokes, you study his workbench. There’s not one tool in sight, but there’s lucky bingo trolls, little Buddha statues, snow globes, and other little tchotchkes sitting on the bench. It’s lit by old, dim, rainbow Christmas lights, and little ornaments hang from the wire. You touch an ornament depicting John McClane from Die Hard in when he’s in the air vent, turning it side to side as you inspect it. 
“Yippee ki-yay, motherfucker,” Ezra croaks out with a smile then coughs. He offers you his joint. “Let’s have ourselves a merry little Christmas, now.” 
“It’s Thanksgiving, Ez.” 
Ezra’s brows knit together, “What’d I say?”
“Christmas.”
“Oh.”
Ezra’s still confused as he puts the pieces together, and then he realizes you’re correct. “I suppose you’re right, little bird. In any case, s’a reason to celebrate with a little green, no?”
“I’m not sure Thanksgiving is the weed-smoking holiday.” 
“Oh, but it is indeed, little bird. C’mere.” Ezra takes a pull from the joint held between his middle and forefingers, then, still holding the joint, puts both hands on your cheeks and pulls you close, pressing his lips against yours. He blows the smoke into your mouth, “Attagirl,” he says, his lips curled in a wry smile that makes your stomach churn and your heart flutter. You cough a bit, turning away from him to hide your flustered expression. Ezra pats you on the back. “You’re alright. You got it.” 
He pulls off his trapper hat then, setting it on the workbench. His black hair all messy, and he’s gotten grayer since you’ve seen him last, but that little white streak is still prominent as ever. “Let’s get you somethin’ to eat. Betcha need somethin’ in ya,” he says. 
Ezra ushers you inside, then sits you down on a barstool at the kitchen counter window. He opens his once white but yellowing-with-age refrigerator, scratching the back of his head as he examines his lack of contents in it. “I got…uh…” he trails off, bending his upper half to look through condiments and cans of ginger ale. “Wasn’t expectin’ company.” He opens a box of take-out, takes a whiff, and recoils. “Christ almighty,” he exclaims, “Don’t even wanna know what that most unholy concoction is.” then throws the box away. 
You have to laugh. Ezra is as Ezra as ever. Charming, bizarre, endearing, confusing. He’s never had his shit together, not once. You slide out of your barstool, then head into the kitchen to join him. You nudge him to the side, then pull out your Pyrex pans of Thanksgiving sides from his refrigerator. He’s got an R2-D2 magnet holding up a paper full of logins and passwords on it. ‘ezralikesballs’ is his WiFi password, apparently. 
Ezra smirks at you, tapping his index finger against his temple. “Smart girl,” he says, watching as you start pressing buttons on his oven. “Hold it right there–” Ezra pushes you out of the way and opens the oven door, pulling out various Halloween decorations, all of them plastic, before allowing you to preheat his oven. “Didn’t have a proper place to store ‘em.” 
Jesus fucking Christ. How this man made it past forty years is beyond you. You preheat Ezra’s oven, then sit back down at the barstool as you wait for it to heat up. Ezra pours you a glass of ginger ale, and you spend the time until your food is warmed talking. 
Ezra doesn’t have oven mitts or potholders, so you have to pull your pans out with kitchen towels. You carefully pull off the foil, and Ezra’s standing beside you with plates and forks, ready to serve you both. 
“Goddamn,” he marvels, salivating at the sight of the food you prepared. “You made all of this?”
“I did, yeah,” you reply, smiling shyly. 
“Beautiful. Jus’ beautiful.” Ezra serves himself first, a generous helping of both the sweet potatoes and broccoli casserole. He opens a cabinet and pulls out a can of Ocean Spray jellied cranberry sauce, “Knew this’d come in handy. Never hurts to have a can of this stuff for emergencies,” Ezra tells you, waving the can in your direction. He serves you next, then opens the cranberry sauce and puts a bit of it on both of your plates. You avert your eyes from the expiration date on the can. You don’t wanna know.
With a nod of his head, Ezra tells you to go sit in his living room. He pushes an ottoman in your direction with his foot, then sits down on his sofa. He pats the spot next to himself, “C’mere, sweetheart. Uncle Ezra missed his birdie.” You sit next to Ezra, who then turns on his TV. He puts on the Thanksgiving classic, Planes, Trains, and Automobiles, which is also one of his favorite movies. “‘Tis the season.” 
-
Ezra nudges you and leans down to whisper in your ear, “Wake up, sleepyhead. The hour’s come for us to adjourn to my quarters,” he drawls. 
“Hm?”
You hadn’t even realized you were asleep, and asleep on Ezra’s shoulder at that. In your head, you thought you could still hear the movie, that you were following along to it. You’re surprised to see Steve Martin cursing out the airport attendant on Ezra’s TV. 
“Bedtime,” he says. “Upstairs.” 
“Oh. That’s okay, Uncle Ezra. I’m fine right here.” 
“On the sofa?”
“Yeah.” 
“No.”
You turn your head to face Ezra better, stunned. “No?”
“This couch is Hans’ domain. Best not to provoke the fella. Don’t feel like settin’ him off tonight.” 
Hans is Ezra’s cat that you’ve rarely ever seen, but have often felt when his feather-duster tail brushes your foot, heard him when he hisses at you before skittering off into a dark corner. He has to be in his twenties at this point, an Eldritch creature. Hans was ancient when Ezra found him palling around with a raccoon by his garbage, and that was years ago. Ezra’s always spoken about him like Hans is an abusive husband, that one wrong move could result in a reckoning most unpleasant. You’re glad to know the beast is well. 
Ezra stands up first, then stretches backward, exposing his soft, pillowy tummy and happy trail to you. He smirks when he catches you looking. “Your turn, birdie. Up you go.” Ezra bends forward and takes hold of both of your hands, then guides you upstairs and into his bedroom. 
You enter the dark room first, Ezra right behind you with his hand on the small of your back. He turns the lights on and his bed is neatly made with the scratchiest flannel sheets that have to be well over decades old, knit afghans that are even older and have absolutely seen better days. Ezra peels off his clothes, tossing them into a laundry basket on the floor. Clad in nothing but boxers, Ezra gets into his bed. 
God, it is sweltering. Ezra’s house is warm to begin with, but does not heat efficiently at all. You excuse yourself to go to the bathroom and change, pulling out from your duffel only an oversized t-shirt. You’ll just be strategic, so as not to flash Ezra. 
You return to Ezra’s bedroom, and he looks halfway asleep already. “Do Uncle Ezra a kindness, darlin’, and hit the lights for me.” Ezra makes a lazy gesture toward the light switch by the door. 
You turn off the light, and darkness consumes the small bedroom until Ezra turns on his small CRT-TV, Die Hard playing and already halfway through. Another one of Ezra’s favorite films, as evidenced by the name he gave his cat and the little ornament in the garage. You’re not much of a sleep-with-the-TV-on person, but Ezra’s blackout blinds kind of freak you out so it’s nice to have that light. Plus, the volume is low enough. It’s been a long, long day. It weirds you out a little to sleep next to Ezra, but you know that while he’s a strange and bizarre man, he’s ultimately harmless. You slide into bed, exhausted to the point that you’re not even bothered by Ezra’s rock-hard mattress or the scratchiness of his sheets and blankets. The minute your head hits the pillow, you’re asleep. 
-
You wake up in Ezra’s bedroom to that suffocating, smothering heat, the hot air so thick that it burns your nose and your throat. God, how does he sleep this way? His flannel sheets under your body are also warm, and Ezra’s insulating all that heat with his own body. Ezra’s cuddling you tightly, and you’re not sure when that happened, not sure whether he initiated it or if you did. Despite the heat, you don’t entirely mind when he snuggles you closer, curling himself around your body. Nuzzling the back of your neck, strong arms wrapped tightly around you. 
Until you do mind. 
He groans when he presses himself tightly against your frame, his hard cock against your ass as he ruts his hips into you. 
“Uncle Ezra,” you whisper, scooting your body in the opposite direction. In Ezra’s unconscious state, he pulls you back against his body, now fully grinding his hard bulge into your backside with a rhythmic tilting of his hips. “Ezra,” you hiss, voice firmer.
“Wha…” he mumbles, voice thick with sleep, his words slow and slurred. His brow pinched together and his eyes are squeezed shut to block out bluish light from his TV. “What’s ‘a matter?”
“You- your-” You swallow, trying to summon the words. 
“What’s that? You’re havin’ a nightmare of sorts? C’mere, sweet birdie. Go back to sleep. I gotcha.” Ezra presses a kiss against the back of your head.
“N-no, fuck. Ezra-” You wiggle out from Ezra’s hold, then flip over onto your back. 
The loss of your warm body against his cock, that’s when it all clicks for Ezra. “Ohhhh, I get it,” he murmurs, chuckling. “I understand perfectly well.”
“Yeah…”
“I do apologize, little bird,” Ezra says in a raspy, low voice. He reaches for your cheek and drags his pointer finger up and down the soft skin there. “The bastard’s got a mind of his own, doesn’t he?”
Jesus Christ, he’s so fucking weird. He? Ezra’s given his cock pronouns?
“S’alright, go on back to sleep, now.” 
This has to be a nightmare. Or something in between a nightmare and a wet dream. You’ve had those before, anyway. You drift off to sleep once more, then awake again to Ezra’s bulge against you. This time, you feel more of him. His underwear is off, and he’s rubbing the head of his cock against your pussy. “Ezra!”
“What’s troublin’ ya now, birdie, tell me.” 
“You…fuck.”
Fuck, it’s wrong. It’s so wrong and you know it. But goddamn, if his cock isn’t thick. Ezra keeps rocking his hips, grunting softly in your ear as he rubs his hard length against your pussy, arousal dampening the cotton of your underwear. 
“I do apologize for wakin’ ya with my member, but he’s got a titan’s girth, birdie. What’s a man to do?”
Titan’s girth…what the fuck. You don’t even know where to begin deciphering that statement. Right now, the only thing on your mind is fighting the growing heat, that sticky feeling building deep in your belly as Ezra continues to grind against you. His little noises of pleasure aren’t helping in the slightest. 
“Let’s get you outta these,” Ezra huffs rather impatiently, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your panties, then pulls them down with a practiced ease. He tilts your ass, “Yeah, lay like that. You won’t even know he’s there,” he whispers, then slots his length between your lips, coating himself in your arousal as he moves his hips. “Don’t pay him any mind, birdie.”
“Ez- oh, fuck–” you gasp when the thick head of his cock catches against your clit, sparking a pleasure even more intense. “We - you can’t.”
“Oh, I know, angel. He just needs to feel ya a bit, that’s all. Not gonna feel any sort ‘a - fuck–” Ezra notches his tip inside you, only temporarily as he continues rutting, “Any intrusion of any sort.” 
“O-okay.” 
Ezra snakes a hand under your shirt and paws at your breasts, squeezing the soft flesh in such a manner so as not to be too harsh, but god, he could tear you apart. Ever the gentleman, he holds back, teasing your nipples with his fingers instead. You moan a little louder, a little more sweetly when he does that to you. 
It’s an excruciating tease - long, arduous, excruciating. Ezra needs more from you. He could get himself off just like this, fucking your slick folds and no more, but Ezra’s really not one to deprive himself. He’s always been a bit of a libertine in that regard, believing that pleasure’s good for the heart, good for the soul, too. He can’t stave off his hedonistic tendencies much longer, “Ohh, Christ. You feel how fuckin’ hard he is? He needs ya somethin’ fierce, birdie. Needs to be inside that sweet cunt of yours.”
“Ezra…”
“Why don’t you let him in, sweetheart? You need it too, I know you do.”
“We really shouldn’t, Ezra.”
“Says who, sweetheart? Ah–” Ezra notches his tip inside you fully, inching inside you little by little, “You cure what ails him, little bird. Be a lamb, now.” Ezra pushes inside you in one full thrust, burying himself down to the hilt. Ezra did get you sufficiently wet, but it’s still, still such a stretch. You wince in pain, and Ezra covers your mouth to quiet your cry. “You’ll get used to him. Relax, angel. M’gonna have him take good care of ya.” 
With that, Ezra builds a slow pace at first. Just steadily moving in and out of you, his short term goal only to get you used to the thickness of his member. “Ezra,” you sigh. 
“You take him beautifully, birdie. Beautifully,” Ezra says, now drawing in and out of you at a faster pace. “Look how happy he is inside a’ ya. You’re soakin’ the fella.”
Ezra moves fluidly, thrusting in and out of you as he breathes heavily in your ear, whispering swears you’ve only rarely heard him speak. This angle in particular has Ezra hitting that most special place inside of you as that hot, fiery pleasure inside you intensifies tenfold. 
He’s sweaty and warm against you, his body slick with sweat. You clutch his forearm as he fucks you, rocking your hips to match his thrusts. He feels so fucking good, good enough to scramble every thought in your brain. His cock is so long and thick and curved at just the perfect angle. 
Ezra wriggles his arm down the front of you, fingers immediately finding your clit. You gasp when he touches it, rubbing perfect, practiced circles into the sensitive bud. “Oh fuck, Ezra.” 
“Yeah, she likes that, doesn't she, birdie? Don’t take much at all.” Ezra smiles behind you, then presses a kiss against your cheek. He breathes you in as he fucks you, rubbing your clit with precision to bring you to the edge. Within seconds, you’re whimpering, thighs twitching against his large, masculine hand. “Let go,” he grunts. “Come all over him.” 
With his ministrations, his cock fucking you perfectly, you come with a loud symphony of moans, a mixture of swears and Ezra’s own name. Your pulsing cunt coaxes Ezra’s own orgasm along, walls squeezing around him as he paints your insides with so, so much come. A truly astounding amount of come. 
“Ohhh, he needed that,” Ezra groans, pulling out of you with no regard for his spend that spills out of you and onto his flannel sheets. “Thanks for humorin’ him, birdie. Go on and get some sleep now.”
If you enjoyed, please please please reblog with some kind thoughts or send me an ask!! Your feedback means the world to me and keeps me motivated to write, and goes so far in making this blog feel like a community 🩷
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motthe · 20 days ago
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Married+jayce viktor, visit relatives +she/her reader? Continuation please!! I gotta know more
i hope you enjoy the continuation!!!
warnings: more crazy family shenanigans
Dirty Santa had the family in an uproar when cousin Pat drew number one for the second year in a row. Seeing as your grandmother had made the pieces and walked around with the bowl, no one had any real proof Pat had cheated.
You were happy with your number. It wasn’t dead last like you’d hoped but close enough to see more gifts and get your pick of the litter.
Jayce was scrambling to understand the rules again with Viktor’s help, but even then you’d had to correct him on a few rules.
“Okay,” Jayce muttered, thick brows set in a determined line, “stolen twice and it’s frozen, no stealing back, number one gets to go again at the end and you’re stuck with whatever they trade you.”
“Perfect,” you said. “The rules change from family to family but that’s ours.”
Your more rowdy aunt who was a bit too serious when it came to any type of games shouted for Pat to get a move on. You sat back with your husbands, head cushioned by Jayce’s arm and one of Viktor’s hands in yours. You don’t know where your energy went after dinner, but you could fall asleep to your insane family after years of these events. Although loud and encompassing, it was home, and you were happy your loves were sharing in the madness.
“Who’s five?”
“That would be me,” sighed Viktor as he leaned forward. No one had a chance to offer him assistance as he snatched his cane and use the handle to snag a bag. Everyone whooped as it slid down the length and into his lap.
“Show off!” someone called.
Viktor merely smiled to himself, passing you tissue paper as he revealed a pack of pens, a book of crossword puzzles, and a few of those brain teasers you’d see in bookstores made of wooden figures or metal rings.
“That’s right on the nose for you,” you said, tossing the trash to your father who had the black bag by his chair.
“Yes, I’m quite happy with these,” he hummed, flipping through the crossword puzzles.
“I’m glad someone got them who will actually do them,” your mother sighed, clocking herself as the buyer. “They’re good for your brain!”
After a few more turns, Jayce browsed the lingering gifts on the table in the midst of everyone before eyeing the tool set in Uncle Jimmy’s arms.
“Now, son,” your family member began, mean mugging, “think about that decision.”
Jayce hummed, tapping his chin and staring at ceiling. He was so dramatic. God, you loved him.
Finally, he sighed and shook his head. “I’m thinking I need a new tool set.”
“Ooh, that’s cold,” Great Aunt Lynda cackled, sipping her wine. You could’ve sworn she mentioned a dry December when you all were fixing your plates. Apparently she’d had an incident at Thanksgiving, but you hadn’t been here. You all had gone to Jayce’s mother’s.
Now or made sense why your mother had made it clear that no was to bring beer into this house on the holidays—only wine.
Viktor was sipping some of his own as your number was called. Pulling yourself from his side, you looked over each gift that had already been opened. None of them appealed to you, so you went for the smallest gift bag.
Your husbands leaned in as you pulled out what was clearly a gift card, opening the little flap to see where you’d be buying from.
“How much we talking?” Aunt Pat asked.
“If it’s for fast food I’m taking it,” one of your younger cousins declared.
Viktor choked on a sip while Jayce shrugged, clearly confused as he read the brand. “I don’t dont know this store. Is it local?”
“Oh, it’s local all right,” Great Aunt Lynda said. Everyone snapped their heads to her when she spoke.
“It’s not fast food,” you announced, shoving the card back into the bag. “It’s for medicinal purposes, kiddos.”
“Ew! Medicine?” one of the twins whined, sticking out a tongue. “Who’d want that?”
“Ooh,” Jayce said, tapping away on his phone. “That makes a lot more sense.”
“Lynda there are kids playing!” Dad barked.
She waved a hand, draining her wine glass. “It’s a gift card. Be glad I didn’t bring a D-I-L-D-O—they were two for one!”
“A dodo?” one of the kids questioned.
Jayce lost it. You just shoved the gift bag behind your back and told them to move the game along.
In the end, you and your husbands got to keep your gifts. Aunt Lynda was all too happy to waddle over and talk about the best things to buy before you excused yourself for a bathroom break. Viktor was safe chatting away with Jimmy while Jayce was heading for another snack in the kitchen.
You had all of three, peaceful minutes in the bathroom before your phone lit up.
Groupchat: Jayce 💍 Viktor
Jayce: someone save me Lynda’s blocking the kitchen exit and there’s a mistletoe hanging above her!!
Viktor: That sounds like a trap.
Jayce: no shit!
Viktor: I meant for me. If I come to the rescue, I’m sacrificing my lips for yours.
Jayce: So you’re just going to leave me here?
Viktor thumbed up the question, hearing your laughter from down the hall.
You: Hold on my damsel in distress. I’m on the way.
Jayce: I’m glad to see SOMEONE loves me in this marriage
Washing your hands, you pocketed your phone and readied yourself for the last bit of the party which always ended in more christmas games or old home videos.
Only time would tell.
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aemondapologistfrfr · 1 month ago
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You Said You Have All Day?
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michael gavey x ta!fem!reader 
Summary: You’re a TA in Michaels class and he can’t get you out of his mind. You always give him a perfect score until recently and you’re more than happy to explain why. 
Warnings: 18+ both parties are a lil obsessed w each other, swearing, nipple play, handjob, oral(f+m), p in v, unprotected, implied loss of virginity(not specified) 
Authors Note: uh the conditioning might’ve been really wild of me to use but 🤷🏼‍♀️ no bc watching this movie when it came out for ewan and then finishing it traumatized was such a treat 😌 this was a semi request from an anon that i wrote instantly bc i have zero chill! 
Word Count: 3.3k 
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When Michael found out this class met three times a week he was annoyed to say the least but when you took your seat next to the professor behind the desk and announced yourself as the TA he wished he picked a seat closer to the front. You were the best beginning and end of his week and getting to see you on Wednesdays just made him feel gluttonous. On the days he wasn’t guaranteed to see you he would walk by the classroom and watch you grade papers and every night you would appear in his dreams and he would wake up glad he had a single dorm. 
You’ve been constantly on his mind and watching you dutifully grade others' work turned him on to no end. Knowing you actually had a brain made his slight obsession worsen. You never left any marks on his paper besides 100/100. No dots or checks. No trace of you besides 6 numbers and a dash. Today when he sat down after collecting his paper his heart stopped at the 95/100 on the top of the paper. 
Impossible. He checked his work over twice. He scans the paper and stops as he sees your marking. His nostrils flare and clenches his fists on his desk. He had missed one number in the thousandths place. An absolutely fucking useless place. The hundredths place is just fine. More commonly used. He wouldn’t accept this. Everything else was perfect and five fucking points for one number. 
The rest of the class he stared holes into his paper at the marking you left behind. The one single red number that clashed with his black one. He looks up and sees the rest of the class packing up to leave. He grabs his bag and makes his way to the desk. He stares down at you as you continue to scribble on some idiot's paper by the looks of it. He hears the paper crunch in his hand and he starts to smooth it out and you look up to him with a jump. 
“I’m sorry. I didn’t see you.” you look up at him like you’ve been caught. “What can I do for you, Michael?” you tilt your head. His name on your tongue causes him to pause. You know his name? 
“Five points for one single digit? In the thousandths place.” the word like a curse on his tongue. He watches your face slightly crumble before you steel yourself.
“Yes. The answer is wrong.” you blink up to him and his eyes widen. 
“It is not. It was just one mistake. One digit.” he presses his paper on top of the paper you were currently grading. 
“The answer needed to be in the thousandths place. Therefore your answer is wrong.” you push his paper toward him and continue to grade the paper you started on. 
“It was not wrong.” his voice starts to raise and you set your pen down and look up at him. 
“What is it that you want me to do? It’s still an A. You’re still the smartest in the class if not the entire year.” you watch his face flush. 
He snatches the paper off your desk and storms out of the room. He throws the paper away in the nearest trash can and makes a line for his dorm. He throws his backpack on the floor and slams his door shut. He wanted to yell at you so badly and then you complimented him. Then he remembers how you said his name when you looked up at him for the first time. Fuck his mind was racing with the whole interaction and how that was the first time he spoke to you. 
He sits on the edge of the bed and starts the entire conversation over in his head from the beginning. The way you looked up at him with your doe eyes that he imagines looks at him the same when you’re on your knees. You calling him by his name had been a shock and he wants to hear it in many different ways that have his cock straining against his pants. The way you argued with him over one number and then called him the smartest in the class. 
He was infuriated with you and with himself. He knows he should’ve read the problem more carefully but five points is ridiculous. He also knows it’s not your fault and he shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. He groans, rubbing his face and falling back onto his bed. On Wednesday he plans to apologize to you hoping that you won’t hate him. 
                                         ᓚᘏᗢ
Micheal’s palms are sweating as he walks to his morning class. He’s been jittery since he woke up and even got to the room early in hopes to catch you before the rest of his classmates show up but you weren’t there. The room starts to fill and once the professor starts to talk he can’t help but wonder where you are. As if on cue you slip through the door and his eyes bulge. 
You are wearing the lowest cut velvet track pants he’s seen and a matching skin tight zip up that rests above your navel. Your hair is thrown up haphazardly and you walk over to the professor quickly who exchanges hushed words with you before you take your seat. Michael can’t take his eyes off you and when you get up to grab the papers from the other side of the desk and he sees the word ‘juicy’ spread across your ass his mouth dries. 
For the rest of the class he imagines what kind of shirt you’re wearing underneath the zip up. His mind likes to think that you’re wearing nothing under there and that if he had the chance to tug on the zipper he would be greeted by your tits. How you would make such sweet sounds if he licked and teased your nipples. Not that these things would ever happen but he loved to imagine them. He just wished he waited to start this line of thinking until he got back to his dorm. He silently readjusts in his seat and goes over his apology in his head. 
He starts to lose his nerve the longer class goes on and the more curled over the desk you become as you grade. His eyes keep catching on your cleavage and the pen that you rest between your lips from time to time. Once class is dismissed he waits and walks down to the desk. He tries to calm his nerves but ends up just standing over you and staring down at you. 
“Yes, Michael?” you hum not even looking up. 
“I wanted to, um,” he clears his throat and you look up at him tilting your head. “I wanted to apologize. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. I’m sorry.” he scrunches his brows. 
“It’s okay. I figured you would say something.” you set your pen down. 
“I didn’t even think you knew who I was.” he mumbles. 
“You’re the only person I give A’s too. I like to think of you as my best student.” his eyes snap to yours. 
“You don’t teach me anything.” his eyes darken. 
“Don’t I?” you tilt your head. “Have you heard of Pavlov?” he doesn’t understand why you’re talking about some old dead psychologist. “Every time you get your paper back from me it’s always a 100/100. Even if you miss the thousandths place from time to time.” you smirk and his breath catches. “So I knew when I marked you for it the first time you would come up to me.” fuck you don’t know if you should’ve said that. It was an insane thought when you had the idea for your paper but you figured if anyone would’ve appreciated the thought behind it it would be him. 
“You used classical fucking conditioning on me?” he looks at you baffled and amused. 
“Does it make it better if I say I’m using this for a paper?” you definitely shouldn’t have said anything. “But I won’t use your name or anything. It’ll be totally anonymous. I didn’t mean anything by it. I wanted the excuse to talk to you.” he listens to you ramble and decides you’re fucking crazy. But you did all of this to talk to him? He wishes he would’ve come up with something as clever and thoughtful. Did he really just think you conditioning him was thoughtful? “Michael?” your soft voice snaps him back to you. 
“Why do you want to talk to me?” he looks you over. 
“Because you’re smart and I have a thing for cute nerds.” you bite your lip and his eyes catch the motion. 
“Is this a joke? Another thing for your paper?” he studies you skeptically. 
“Choosing you was self indulgent.” you shake your head. “And whatever you want as compensation stays out of the paper.” you feel your cheeks flush at your boldness. 
“My compensation?” his mouth dries out thinking of all of the possibilities. 
“Technically it’s the reward in the scenario.” his head spins as you continue with this ridiculous psychology analogy. “It used to be the constant 100/100 even with miniscule mistakes. Now it can be,” you fingers grab your sweater zipper and he swears his heart stops. “What would you like your reward to be? Hm?” you lower it and he watches as he’s only greeted by more skin. The door starts to open and you zip your sweater back up. 
“Come back to my dorm.” his voice a plea. You’re pushing your chair back in an instant. “Really?” he watches you pack your bag. 
“Really.” you nod your head. You grab his hand and look up to him expectantly. “Lead the way.” he all but drags you down the halls. You chuckle, matching his quick pace, the anticipation settling as a warmth in between your thighs. You come to a stop in front of a door and he looks down at you, chewing his lip. 
“You’re serious?” he searches your eyes. 
“Very.” you lick your lower lip and he opens the door. You figured his dorm would be more neat but all of the papers and books spread around also add up. “Do you have a roommate?” you watch him lock the door and walk over to you. 
“No.” he shakes his head as he stops directly in front of you. He grabs your bag and sets it on the chair next to his. “Can I touch you?” you smile at his red cheeks. 
“I would like that.” his fingers are tugging your zipper down and his mouth waters as your tits spill out. 
He stares at your hardening nipples before bringing his hands up to engulf your chest. He takes your hard buds between his thumb and pointer fingers and rolls them, relishing in the soft whimpers that fall from your lips. He dips down and flicks his tongue against one of your nipples causing you to press closer to his mouth. He sucks the peak into his mouth and begins to lash his tongue against it. He kisses across your chest to your other nipple and you whine when his hot mouth encases it offering it the same attention. 
“These are more perfect than I imagined.” he murmurs against your chest. Your fingers brush through his hair as he sucks at you and he looks up to you taking in your blown pupils. He tugs the sweater the rest of the way off and stands up looking down at you. “Can I keep going?” you nod your head quickly. 
“Please,” you step closer to him and he walks you over to his bed. “I’m here for you Michael. Do whatever you want to me. I want you.” his knees threaten to give out. There are things he’s only dreamed about doing to an actual girl and now you’re here just for him. He lays you back on his bed, eyes watching your exposed tits the whole time. 
“You’re sure?” he watches you nod your head quickly. He slowly pulls the tie on your pants and you lift your hips for him to pull them off. He groans when he’s greeted by your glistening cunt. “Are you always bare like this?” he looks up, enjoying your blush. 
“No.” you shake your head as his fingers run up your thighs spreading them. “I was running late.” your breath catches as he runs his thumbs up the sides of your slit. “Mikey.” you whine and he repeats the action watching your face spread with pleasure. 
He’s never done this before and he refuses to admit that. Sure he’s indulged in adult films and magazines but nothing could have prepared him for you spread out and trembling on his bed for him. You dig into the sheets as he spreads you more before dipping down. There’s no fucking way this nerd is about to eat you out right? Michael looks you over, quickly deciding the small bud at the apex is your clit and flicks his tongue against it and the sounds that leave your mouth tell him he was right.
“Yes, fuck Mikey, yes.” his tongue flicks faster and he looks up watching you arch off the bed. Your fingers bury in his hair holding him against you and you let out a soft squeak as his metal frames press against your skin. He’s licking at you so feverishly your hips start to roll against his face. “Mm, please,” you gasp as your stomach tightens. Your legs squeeze around his head as you arch off the bed holding onto him as you come undone. It tears through you so unexpectedly that you’re left gasping. You never would’ve thought he could do that. 
“How are you feeling?” he looks up at your still shaking body. He hopes he doesn’t sound too desperate for your approval but he needs to know if he did that right and if you liked it. He watches you gather your thoughts and starts to press his lips against your body as he scoots up. His wraps his lips around your nipple and you whine holding him closer.
“You’re making me feel so good.” he smiles at your breathy words as he teases your peak with his teeth. “Will you fuck me? Please Mikey.” you push your chest up into him and he kisses over to your other nipple. He wants to fuck you so badly but he needs to spend some time with your tits. He’s so hard that he knows the second his cock touches your juices he’ll burst. 
“In a minute. Have some patience.” he clicks his tongue before pulling your nipple between his teeth. The soft sounds coming out of your mouth are not helping him calm down but he can’t get enough of them. You start to claw his sweater off and he lifts off to pull it the rest of the way off. Your fingers are quickly at his button and when you shove your hand down his pants he freezes. You smile as you wrap your fingers around his length and watch his cheeks flush. 
“Let me make you feel good too.” when your thumb swipes against his leaking tip he clenches his jaw using all of his restraint not to come all over your hand. He wants to say something but he doesn’t want you to think he’s too inexperienced. “You can come Mikey. I’ll wait until you get hard again. I have all day.” you lean up and press your lips to his neck as you slowly stroke him. 
“I’m not gonna last.” he says through his teeth. You watch his stomach flex as you tighten your grip and you suck harshly on his shoulder. “Fuck.” he twitches in your hand and his come starts to coat your fingers. He watches you pull your hand out with low lids and bring your fingers to your mouth. He feels himself start to harden already as you slowly lick at your fingers. 
“Finish taking off your pants.” you whine tugging at the material. He stands up and gets nervous suddenly and scrunches his brows. “Do you need me to help you?” you get off the bed and get to your knees in front of him. 
You start to tug them down and he chews his lip staring down at you as he kicks them the rest of the way off. Your hands reach for his hardening cock and he groans as your fingers wrap around him and you place soft kisses on the underside. He watches you with a heaving chest as you suck him into your mouth. If you keep this up he won’t be able to last long. You look up at him and he pulls you off. 
“I need to fuck you.” he pulls you up and gets you back onto the bed. He settles between your thighs and you pull him down to your lips. He’s surprised you’d want to kiss him too, any of this. When you move your hips his tip slides up your slit and you whimper. 
“Please,” you writhe beneath him. He lines himself up at your entrance and starts to push into you. He stills when he’s fully settled inside of you. The warmth and tightness of you is the most exquisite thing he’s ever felt. “More.” your soft plea has him beginning to rock his hips. 
He watches your tits bounce with every thrust and he leans down to wrap his lips around one of your nipples. Your legs wrap around his hips as he rocks into you and he’s focusing on you to prolong his own pleasure or this would’ve been done within seconds. Your soft gasps mixed with his name have his hips moving quicker. 
“Yes, Mikey,” you whine, feeling your pleasure start to coil. You know he might blush over it but you want to come around him and you need him to do one more thing. You grab his hand and bring it down between your thighs. “Please,” a soft word and he understands immediately. 
“I’m sorry,” his hips falter along with his demeanor. 
“No, you feel so fucking good I just want more. More please.” he pushes into you with new vigor as he starts to circle his thumb on your bud. “Mikey,” you cry out and he watches your face scrunch in pleasure. The second he feels you start to pulse around him he’s spilling inside of you. His hips softly grind into you as he fills you with his pleasure and the whimpers spilling from your mouth are making his high last forever. 
“You said you have all day?” he looks down at you panting. 
“I do.” you bite your lip as you feel him start to pull out. 
“Can I fuck you again?” he searches your eyes. “If you liked it of course. I should’ve- 
“You can fuck me for as long as you can stay hard.” you smile as he presses his lips to yours. 
ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত
masterlist 🔌
i have never wrote for him so i hope i did him justice 🫣🧎🏼‍♀️
taglist ✍️ 
@clarityisnofun @gabriella-aesthetic @callsignwidow @llynx7 @violetiss3lfish @ka1afbr @akiko-oo @papichulo120627 @lizzylovebooks280501 @thatgirl101blog @1-fuzzy-squirrels @arya-brooke @ashovertheriver @zanygot7straykidsbonk @moonymoo1 @malfoycassimalfoy @april-notthemonth69 @anaviieiraaa @p45510n4f4shi0n @neocockthotology @thereaderwitch @hardkiddonut @faenyra @hiimava11 @daintylittlesunflower @primroseluna @fiction-fanfic-reader @povofjustme @multilover19 @alexxavicry @cedstars @fuckalrighty @mrsmunson-harrington @misspendragonsworld @nz2004 @ninihrtss
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f1byjessie · 1 year ago
Text
HE LIKES MY AMERICAN SMILE ━━ OP81.
love is a wild ride, and logan sargeant's sister is about to find this out the hard way.
( oscar piastri x sargeant!reader )
━━ part five.
You’ve never actually been to Monaco. It was one of the few Grand Prix you’d had to miss. Logan’s retelling of how it was had been slightly skewed by disappointment and frustration at his less-than-stellar results that weekend, but his descriptions of everything had still painted a picture of lavishness and excitement in your mind, and you’d been dreaming ever since for the chance to experience it yourself.
You’re here now, and even just the view from the plane had lived up to the hype. On the ground, it’s enough to leave you breathless. The deep blue water of the Riviera glitters with the golden glow of the afternoon sun, the mountains stand tall off in the distance, and the grand opulence of the city makes you feel like you’ve stepped foot into a whole new world.
You’re not unfamiliar with the lifestyle of riches and luxury, but Monaco is on another level entirely.
Lando, the reason you’re here in the first place, appears beside you. On the ride back to his place from the airport, he’d caught you marveling at the marina and had pulled off onto the side of the road to let you get out and take a longer look. The boats look like miniature cruise ships, sleek and elegant where they rest in the water, swaying gently with waves. It reminds you, vaguely, of back home.
“Ready to go?” He asks, fiddling with his keys.
You spare the marina one last glance, then nod and turn on your foot with the knowledge that you’ll be here for a week longer still and will have plenty of time later to take in the view as much as you want.
Lando’s house, when you arrive, is just as expensive looking as the rest of Monte Carlo.
The exterior is expertly landscaped and maintained, with hedges perfectly trimmed and flowers flawlessly pruned. It’s slightly lacking in regards to the personality you imagined Lando having. His car is personalized and his wardrobe is a look into who he is, but the outside of his house looks… normal, for lack of a better term. It’s beautiful, nonetheless, but it’s simple all the same.
When he opens the door, you take it all back. The interior screams Lando Norris. It’s extravagant in a way that mirrors what you know of his personality, but it’s comfortable. You’ve been to homes that look more like show houses, where the furniture seemingly exists to be viewed but not used, and all the decorations are vague and impersonal enough to fill blank space and do little else. This is the opposite.
There’s a blanket folded haphazardly over the arm of the couch, and mismatched pillows. On the coffee table is a half-empty bottle of water, a book with a scrap piece of paper hanging out from the middle, and an opened pack of batteries. There are pictures on the walls in mismatched frames— friends and family and achievements from throughout Lando’s career that tell a story of his successes and proudest moments.
It looks like a real home. When you tell him, he laughs.
“With how little time I actually get to spend here, you’d think it’d be the opposite,” he comments.
He helps you bring your bags up to a guest room and then gives you a tour of the rest of the house. Letting you ask questions and answering them sincerely.
When you’re back in your room, unpacking your clothes, it occurs to you just how crazy all of this is. You know Lando, but you haven’t known him for very long. Your friendship has only developed over comments on social media, texts, and the occasional phone call over a few weeks. But you’re here, across the ocean in a country you’ve never been to before, spending a week in his house just because he asked you here and offered to help you with your love life dilemma.
Your life is beginning to feel more and more like a movie, and all you can do is hope it has a happy ending.
INSTAGRAM.
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liked by logansargeant, landonorris, and 31,871 others
yourusername a pretty girl with a pretty car in a pretty city
view all 3,832 comments
logansargeant think you might need to get your eyes checked bc all i see is a pretty car sooo
↳ yourusername you have six days. run. hide. i don’t care. but enjoy your time while it lasts
↳ logansargeant i’m telling mom
↳ yourusername she can’t save you now.
user STUNNING STUNNING AND STUNNING 😍😍😍
user all three things i don’t have
user WE NEVER GOT Y/N IN MONACO DURING THE SEASON BUT I AM LIVING FOR IT NOW
landonorris *prettiest
↳ yourusername you’re only saying that cuz it’s your car
↳ user yea we definitely missed smth cuz wTF IS THIS 👀
user lando up in here stealing oscar’s girl
user OSCAR COME GET YOUR GIRL
user is she in monaco??? with lando??? 👀👀
user mclaren boys fighting over the same chick was not on my bingo card
user i need these men to make up their damn minds like bffr first oscar and now lando??? bros get it together pls 😮‍💨😮‍💨
user i think we should stop speculating about the relationships between real ppl bc they’re adults and can do what they want, plus they could just be friends and ppl saying they’re together could make things awkward for them
↳ user nah they’re totally together
“The comments are going crazy,” you tell Lando, staring down at your phone and scrolling the long chain of comments beneath your most recent post.
Some are supportive— people who knew you before your brother got involved with Formula 1 and don’t care about the drama, or they’re other models you’ve become tentative acquaintances with after years of working in the industry. Some are speculative, wanting to know if you’re with Lando, what happened between you and Oscar, theorizing about fights, messy breakups, and revenge rebounds. Some, however, are just mean, calling you a slut for leading on two guys at the same time, or a bitch for ruining their imaginary chances with their favorite driver.
You wouldn’t claim that you’re used to this type of negative attention, but you’re not unused to it either. So much of your job requires a social media presence and with your life in the limelight as a byproduct of both Logan and Dalton’s own very successful careers, you’re no stranger to internet trolls and people who are vicious just because they can be.
That doesn’t make some of the comments hurt any less.
“None of them matter,” Lando answers from beside you, his eyes focused on the road. “It’s just people who don’t know what they’re talking about.” He recites it like it’s something he’s had to say hundreds of times before, and it occurs to you that he probably has, to himself if not anyone else in his line of work.
You’re sat once again in the passenger seat of his car as he drives you back to his place. The streets of Monte Carlo at night are dazzling and even more beautiful than in the day with twinkling lights and a raging nightlife scene, but you’re distracted still by your phone, checking and rechecking to see if there’s any hint of Oscar in your notifications.
There isn’t.
It feels like a dismal ending to what had truly been such a lovely night.
You’re in a gorgeous dress, in a gorgeous car, in a gorgeous city, with a man who’s fun and relaxing to be around, who doesn’t make you feel like a side piece or arm candy, and who is genuinely a friend to you. You went to an amazing restaurant and ate some of the best food in your life with some of the best company, got slightly tipsy off of wine you didn’t have to pretend to enjoy for once, and it’s only the beginning of your time here in Monaco.
But rather than enjoy what you have here in the present, all you can think about is the one thing that would make it that much better— Oscar.
“Maybe I should just give up,” you mutter, finally turning your eyes away from the screen. “He probably kissed me, realized he wasn’t interested, and the reason he hasn’t brought it up is because it was all just a big mistake that he wants to forget.”
Lando makes a sound that you’re not quite sober enough to place. “I think the only way you could know that is if you talked to him.”
“Yeah, well,” you shrug, “that’s not likely to happen any time soon.”
He makes another sound, but you’re too disappointed to really pay it much mind, and by the time he’s pulling into the garage you’ve forgotten all about it.
He helps you out, ever the gentleman as you’ve learned tonight, and then you’re following him to the door, trying not to let your bad mood ruin things too much. You’re still incredibly grateful and appreciative to him for helping you so much despite not having known you very well when it all began.
“Seriously, though, Lando.” You speak up suddenly, just as he’s about to open the door. “Thank you for doing all this for me. Even if nothing comes of it, I’ve already had a lot of fun and you’re a good friend.”
All he does is offer you a smile over his shoulder, before pushing the door open.
When you step in through the doorway after him, you’re momentarily confused by the luggage waiting in the entryway. For a split second, you think you must have left some of yours down here, but then you look a bit closer and realize that it definitely isn’t yours.
There's movement from your peripherals as someone in the living room stands from the couch and crosses the distance to the entryway's threshold.
“You’re back earlier than I thought, Lando—” you snap your head up in surprise just as the voice cuts off.
You stare at him in shock. “Oscar…”
━━ tags: @f1-is-lovely-33 @chasing-liberosis @405rry @aquangxl @bellezaycafe @peqch-pie @formulaal
━━ a/n: tada! i have the rest of this fic entirely planned out from here and i am so excited to get to the juicy parts finally! hope you all enjoy!
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sinkovia · 1 year ago
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Coffee Shop: III
Simon Riley x Fem!Reader
You work at a small cafe that Simon starts visiting when he’s not deployed.
Coffee Shop Masterlist
Simon became a regular at the cafe, and over the two weeks since he started coming in, you grew more comfortable with him. The small conversations flowed easily, and he often lightened the atmosphere with an awful joke. One of your favorites was about two goldfish in a tank.
As he sat in his usual spot, you heard the familiar tear of the napkin, watching him stick the flimsy little piece between the pages of his book and close it. As he got up from his seat, you couldn't resist questioning him.
“Why don’t you have any bookmarks?” shaking your head slightly as you observed the flimsy napkin flaying up and down with the book.
“Why would I spend money on bookmarks when there are free bookmarks right here,” he replied with a matter-of-fact tone, making you shake your head and laugh. “Right, well, have a nice day.”
After he left, you thought for a moment, looking at your bookmark. The idea struck you – why not bring in some paper, markers, and packing tape tomorrow? During your break, you could make bookmarks for him. It was a small gesture that you hoped would bring a smile to his face. 
When you got home, you eagerly packed your bag with small blank pieces of rectangular paper and your high-end markers. The art scissors and clear packing tape joined the mix as you prepared for the creative endeavor. Excitement filled you as you thought about surprising Simon with a proper bookmark.
Walking to work the next day, you felt a giddy anticipation. As he entered the cafe, he couldn't help but notice your extra liveliness, a departure from your usual demeanor. Approaching the register, he found a hot cup of tea already waiting for him.
"You were waiting on me?" he asked, and you responded with a smile and a nod. "Just thought it would be nice if your tea was already ready for you when you walked in," you explained, beaming up at him. Simon, in his typical fashion, decided to tease a bit.
"I actually wanted a green tea today." Your eyebrows raised, lips forming a small "o" of surprise. "I can get you a green tea—" you began, reaching for the cup, but Simon quickly pulled out money from his wallet.
"All jokes, love," he said, and you laughed, taking the bills and putting them in the register, closing it with a soft click. As the time passed slowly during your shift, you occupied yourself with various tasks like cleaning the coffee machine, sanitizing the counters, and refilling the sugar station, hoping to make it to your break sooner. Despite your efforts, only twenty minutes seemed to pass, and you decided to say fuck it since there were no customers coming in.
You grabbed your bag and walked over to Simon, taking the seat across from him at the small table. He looked up from his book, intrigued, as he watched you pull out colorful markers and paper. With bright eyes, you sat up in your chair.
“So what are some things you like?” Simon put his book down and crossed his arms over his chest.
“What’s the paper for?” You pulled out the bookmark from the book in your bag and slid it over to him. He grabbed it, holding it up and fighting back his smile at the small drawings of penguins near an ice globe fighting about communism.
“You want to make me a bookmark?”
“Yeah, it's so depressing looking at the flimsy excuse of a bookmark.” He smiled, looking at the napkin. “So what do you like? Stars? Dogs? Trees? Oh, wait! I have the perfect thing to draw.” 
Simon leaned back in the chair, sipping his tea, and watched you draw away, switching the color of the markers every so often. He found it cute the way you were concentrated on what was in front of you.
It only took you about five minutes, but when you were done, you held the bookmark up to Simon with a smile. He couldn't help but laugh as he grabbed it, examining all the little details you drew. It was the joke he had told you a few days ago.
Two goldfish are in a tank, one says to the other, you know how to drive this thing?
You drew two fish coming out of the top of an army tank, having a conversation with each other. You added them underwater and included little battle fish with helmets charging forward.
Your eyes lingered on his smile as he scanned over the drawing. Your heart warmed, knowing he liked it. You extended your hand, and he handed it back to you. Flipping it over, you looked at him, “What should be on the back?”
Simon thought it would be funny to tell you another joke. “What has two legs and bleeds?”
You thought for a moment, slightly humming to yourself. “A gunshot victim?”
“Half a dog.”
You blankly stared at him, then laughed, “You're awful for thinking of that.” He smiled and brought the cup up to his lips, taking a long sip. “You gonna draw it?”
“I’ll draw something better,” you said, smiling and already starting the drawing. You decided to draw a dog shooting a man. Giving the dog a suit and black sunglasses, you added a large assault rifle and made little bullets fly, piercing the man as he fell to the floor. You slid the final product over, and Simon let out an audible laugh. You couldn't hide the way your eyes locked onto his face.
"This is really good, y/n." You had never felt more proud, and you couldn't stop smiling even after he handed the bookmark back to you so you could put packing tape over it. Carefully cutting the extra tape that hung off the sides, you slid it back over to him.
Simon opened his book, took out the napkin, and replaced it with the bookmark, closing the book. "See, look how much better that looks."
"You're right." He looked up at you, holding your gaze, and you couldn't help but smile. The door opened, and you quickly got up, going behind the counter to take an order. After making the person's order, you walked back to Simon, sitting across from him again.
You took out another strip of paper, and you looked up at him, "Skulls." It was all he said, and you smiled, immediately getting to work. You drew little realistic skulls with blood oozing out of the eye sockets. Leaving some space in the middle, you drew a little grim reaper because Reaper and skulls go together, right?
"The reaper’s a nice touch." You smiled, finishing the last little details. "Thought you would like it."
You looked at the clock and cursed under your breath. Your break was over, and you had to get back to work. "Unfortunately, I have to get back to work. I’ll finish this side before you leave."
"Sounds good, love, and thank you for making them." You smiled as you put the markers and supplies back into your bag. "No need to thank me; I had fun drawing them."
As you stood behind the counter, you thought about what to draw on the other side. Glancing up at Simon, who was engrossed in his book, you decided he would be the perfect thing to put on the other side. You took your time drawing him, using different colors and creating a cute, colorful sketch of him sitting by the window, holding the cup to his lips as he looked down at a book. The drawing depicted a very warm scene, with small rays of sunshine through the window and added details on the table.
The small alarm on his watch went off, and he glanced at you doodling away. He pushed the off button and stayed in the seat, continuing to read until you were done drawing. You quickly cut the extra pieces of packing tape and walked over to him.
"Sorry, that took a bit longer than I expected." You handed him the bookmark, and as he took it, you heard your manager call you to the back.
"Shit, I have to go. Walk home safe." You turned and sped walked into the back towards the kitchen.
Simon turned, pushing the door open and flipping over the bookmark. His eyes grew a little wide upon seeing your drawing of him. No one had ever drawn him before, and the way you captured him so at peace with life and the things around him was something he never thought anyone could see. He felt something swirl deep in his chest, a warmth that enveloped his body despite it being winter. You drew in his watch and the torn napkin, even adding the six dollars he tipped you when he first went there. He smiled and couldn't stop staring at all the small details you added during his walk back home.
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reiding-writing · 1 year ago
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may i request getting stuck in an elevator with early season Spence after hours at the BAU and the lights go out and obviously him being terrified of the dark he starts panicking and reader has to comfort him until he eventually explains his fear of the dark in relation to something happening in his childhood. just some angst and hurt/comfort ig? I live and breathe your content <3
malfunction [ s.r ]
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Summary:
You and Spencer end up staying late to finish some paperwork after a case, when you finally vacate into the elevator to leave it breaks down, revealing some secrets harboured by both of you and strengthening your relationship in the process.
WARNINGS: claustrophobia, nyctophobia, arachnophobia, mentions of spencer’s bullying
pairing: s1!spencer x gn!reader
genre: hurt/comfort
wc: 3.2k
masterlist!!
a/n: glad i’ve curated an audience of angst and hurt/comfort enjoyers <33
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It was late.
12:06AM to be exact.
Silence riddled the bullpen, making the usually bustling office stand completely still.
You might’ve found it a little disturbing if not for Spencer sat a few desks down from you, his mere presence stopping your mind from running rampant with irrational fears of ghosts or demons that might lurk in the dark corners of the room.
It was a little stupid sure, your lanky book-genius of a coworker held no chance of being able to physically protect you from whatever your brain could conjure up, but the mind works in wonderous ways, and he offered you an unintentional blanket of security nonetheless.
You could hear the loose papers of his files rustle as he closed the manilla folder, rubbing his eyes underneath his glasses with a sigh.
Looks like Spencer was done for the night. And by that logic, so were you.
You mirror Spencer as you shut your file, packing it away in your messenger bag and tucking your chair under your desk as you stand, the two of you silently acknowledging each other’s presence as you reach the elevator.
You could practically feel the fatigue surrounding the both of you as you stepped inside, your tiredness bouncing off each other and making you more desperate to crawl into bed and knock out for the night.
It didn’t last for very long.
A loud clunking sound echoed through the metal walls of the elevator, followed by it jolting to a stop, and you had to grip onto the metal bar lining the wall so you didn’t lose your balance.
Your eyes turn first to the small screen above the door, flickering between the numbers 2 and 3 as if it can’t decide what floor you’re currently on.
Then they turn to Spencer.
Spencer's breathing is uneven and his body tense, eyes darting around the tiny enclosed space with a distinct air of panic.
“Reid? Are you alright?” You raise an eyebrow at him, your expression a mix of curiosity and concern.
"N-No, no! I am not alright! This is my worst nightmare come to life." Spencer presses himself against the far wall, as if plastering himself to it will make him part of the elevator and therefore unable to be injured if something goes wrong.
“You do know how unlikely it is to actually get any sort of injury from an elevator accident right?”
"One out of ten point five million. I know that. But this isn't about logic this is about fear." He turns away as he speaks, taking a few breaths in an attempt to calm himself down. "I'm-I'm claustrophobic. And this is not helping."
“Okay- okay- let’s just calm down for a second,” You hold up a hand in Spencer’s direction. You never took him as somebody to have irrational fears like this. You always figured that he’d just use his knowledge to rationalise what was happening and move on. Apparently not.
Spencer looks back at you and nods, taking in another deep breath.
“I'm trying. It's just-“ The elevator makes a rumbling sound that elicits what you can only classify as a whimper to leave his throat. “I can't do this. I can't be stuck in this tiny space for an unknown amount of time. I can't. I just can't. Please. Please, someone. Someone has to know we're in here. They have to.”
“Reid- Calm down.”
You let go of the bar you were holding onto to walk over to Spencer, placing your hands cautiously on his shoulders.
"I-I'm trying. I'm trying."
But he doesn't actually seem to be any better than he was before. His body is shaking, his breaths shaking and uneven.
He's getting very close to having a full blown panic attack.
“Sit down,” You push gently against his shoulders to encourage him to sit, following after him yourself to sit in front of him with your legs crossed underneath you.
Spencer lets out a trembling breath. "What if we die in here? What if no one comes? What if something goes wrong?"
“We’re going to be fine,”
You hold out a hand palm up in your lap as open invitation for him to take it if he needs to.“just take slow breaths Reid,”
"I-I'm trying." He looks down at your hand and almost reaches out for you, but hesitates before yanking his hand back.
He looks away and forces his breath to slow down again. "What if we're in here for hours?"
“Elevators have failsafes Reid, it’ll sort itself out don’t worry,”
Spencer takes a shuddered breath in through his nose, closing his eyes as he repeats your words in his head.
It’ll sort itself out. He doesn’t need to worry.
He meets your eyes with a small nod and you sigh, giving him a sympathetic smile that reassures him he’s going to be fine.
Unfortunately, all of your efforts to calm him down are quickly reversed as the lights cut out, sending the elevator into complete darkness.
His sudden blindness brings a startled cry from Spencer, his body instinctively trying to protect himself and in that split second of shock he grabs your hand.
He clutches at it tightly, eyes squeezed shut.
“Everything’s fine-“ You return his startled grip with a light squeeze of your own.
The grip around your hand feels firm and shaky but the contact helps to ground him, bringing some of his panic down a notch or two.
“It's not f-fine. It's dark. I don’t like the dark . I hate it.”
“You’re scared of the dark?” You sound more surprised than you mean to, and although you can’t pinpoint all of his features in the shadows, you’re sure you can see his eyebrows knit together.
“11% of the US adult population is afraid of the dark.” His tone carries an air of defensiveness through his fear, although he doesn’t seem offended enough at your comment to sacrifice the physical comfort that your hand is offering in his.
“Oh- no- I didn’t mean it as a bad thing-“ You shake your head despite the fact that he can’t see you, tightening your hold on his hand as an offer of reassurance. “I just- didn’t see you as somebody to have a fear of the dark is all-“
“What’s that supposed to mean?” You can hear the slight waver in his voice as he speaks, clearly trying to distract himself in your questions so he doesn’t have to think about his current situation.
You’d also wager he has his eyes shut, as ironic as it is.
“I just meant- you know- your brain rationalises everything so quickly that I figured you just wouldn’t have fears like this?”
He chuckles nervously, the sound echoing in the darkness. "Well, even the most rational minds have their quirks, I suppose. Fear doesn't always follow logic." The tension in his voice begins to ease, and he opens up a bit more.
“Is there a reason you have a fear of the dark?” You could understand his claustrophobia to a certain level, but nyctophobia wasn’t something very common in adults, especially ones who work as field agents for the FBI.
“I uh- it was just something that happened when I was younger, it’s stupid really-” Spencer skirts your question with a half-truth, not divulging any details of his seemingly irrational fear of the dark.
He shifts slightly, adjusting to find a more comfortable position on the floor, his hand tugging yours and in the process forcing you to change your seating position as well.
You squeeze his hand gently. "Do you wanna talk about it? People usually find it easier to rationalise their fears if they voice them to another person,” You use Spencer’s own intelligence against him in the hope that it’ll get him to open up.
As much as you had learned about him in the past two years, you still knew surprisingly little about Dr. Spencer Reid and his life outside of the office.
You knew all about his academics, how he liked his coffee with as much sugar as humanely possible, how under normal circumstances he would rather lick a toilet seat than shake someone’s hand.
But you didn’t really know him; And you figured this might be a good place to start.
“I… It’s not something I like to dwell on,” He tries to shut down your questioning once more, clearing his throat to try and rid of the lump that forms when he thinks back to the origins of his fears. “It’s not exactly a nice thing to remember,”
“I get that, some of my childhood memories aren’t the best either,” You let out a breath that could almost constitute as a laugh of exasperation. “But it might help, and i’m sure that just getting it off your chest will give you piece of mind nonetheless,”
You can hear Spencer take in a breath through his nose, and through the small adaptation your eyes had made to the darkness you could just barely see his lips purse into a line, debating whether or not to divulge his childhood to you.
It’s not like he didn’t trust you with it. Quite the opposite. He’d come to enjoy your presence over the time you’d spent working together.
You didn’t judge his intelligence, nor did you reduce him to it. You just saw him as another person and it was something that he was incredibly grateful for.
He knew you wouldn’t make fun of him if he told you, but he wasn’t worried about that. He was worried that you’d pity him.
That you’d treat him like some fragile object that would break if you spoke too loudly in its presence.
That’s something that he’d never want.
“I- don’t want you to think of me differently…” His voice was still laced with fear as he spoke, but this time it wasn’t a fear of the dark metal box he was trapped in; It was a fear of how your view of him would change.
“Reid…”
“I don’t want to be pitied or have people walk on eggshells for the sake of hurting my feelings…” You can practically feel his apprehension through the way his hand tenses in yours.
“Reid-“
“I’ve just managed to get people to treat me normally and I don’t want all of that to go down the drain-“
“Spencer.”
You can see his eyes snap upwards towards yours as you raise your voice, and you pull his left hand into your own to hold both of them in your lap, eyes chasing his in the darkness to maintain eye contact. “You’re human. Humans have fears and they have bad memories, and it’s not going to change anything about how I treat you.”
“Tell you what,” You give his hands a squeeze, leaning forwards slightly towards him to try and get a better look at his face. “I’ll tell you one of my childhood tragedies if you tell me yours, deal?”
He goes silent as he ponders your offer, ending with a small nod that you can only half see. “Okay…”
“Okay,” You return his nod with your own, running your thumbs over the backs of his hands. “So, i’ll go first,”
“When I was eight, my cousin thought it’d be a good idea to let his pet tarantula crawl all over my face whilst I was sleeping, and I woke up with it half in my mouth,” You practically shudder at the memory. “Needless to say I developed arachnophobia after that,”
You laugh breathily, shaking your head slightly. “It was not very fun,”
“Why would he do that?”
You shrug slightly, arms moving enough that he can feel it where your fingers connect. “He was a bit of a bully if i’m honest, but he’s matured since then thank god,”
“Are you- still afraid of spiders?” Spencer’s eyes practically shine in the darkness, big, round and glistening with curiosity as they scan your face from beneath his glasses.
“Promise not to make fun of me?” Your question is answer enough, but he still nods softly nonetheless. “I think they’re terrifying,”
“Almost 20% of the US population has arachnophobia, it’s a very common fear to have,”
“So is a fear of the dark,” You bring the conversation back to Spencer’s fear once more. “Willing to tell me its origin story yet?”
Spencer sighs, his shoulders slumping and his head leaning back against the wall of the elevator. “It’s-“ He exhales through his nose, his eyes diverting from yours to stare at your interconnected hands.
“When I was in school I was bullied a lot…” He purses his lips and you nod. As sad as it is you’re not exactly surprised.
Someone as insanely intelligent as him was unfortunately bound to be tormented by those who were academically inferior to him, it’s a by-product of jealousy.
“They uh… stripped me down and tied me to a goal post, and- then they just left me there-“ Spencer’s throat catches as he speaks, and you can see through the way his eyes flicker around that he’s replaying the memory in his head.
“I- managed to untie myself after a while, but I spent over an hour searching for all of my clothes and ended up walking home in the dark half dressed…” Spencer’s lip quivers as he reaches the end of his explanation.
“I don’t think i’ve ever been more scared in my life…”
“I’m so sorry they did that to you…” Your eyebrows furrow with sympathy, and you shift your hold on his hands to intertwine your fingers with his. “Nobody should have to experience that…”
Spencer exhales, and you can hear the shake in his breath. “I thought if I just buried it that i’d forget, but I still remember it like it happened yesterday…”
The curse of an eidetic memory you suppose. Destined to remember every detail of the worst experiences you’d ever had.
Although you’re sure that Spencer wouldn’t need an eidetic memory to have what happened to him burned into his brain.
“Spencer…”
“I’m sorry-“ Spencer shakes his head, attempting to pull his hands out of yours. “I told you it was stupid-“
“Hey. No.” You close your hands around his to stop him from pulling away. “That is in no way stupid at all.”
“You went through something awful and developed a fear because of it. That is the furthest thing from stupid Reid,”
“I just-”
You cut off Spencer’s attempt at a rebuttal with a pull of your hands in his, separating them only to wrap your arms around him in a hug. “No excuses.”
Spencer is stiff in your embrace, unsure of what exactly he should be doing. Should he hug you back? Should he pull away to regain his personal space?
He wasn’t exactly sure. He did however, feel like he was going to cry.
He could feel the tears welling up behind his eyelids, squeezing his eyes shut to stop them from falling down his face and hiding his face against the curve of your shoulder so that you wouldn’t be able to see the shadow of his expression.
God he was pathetic.
Sat in his coworkers embrace because he was scared of the goddamn dark.
On the verge of tears because of something that happened twelve years ago.
A twenty four year old man. A fully grown adult.
His shoulders begin to tremble as he thinks about it, and you can feel the way his breath catches in his throat as you bring your hand to the back of his head to hold him closer to you.
“This is pathetic i’m sorry…” He shakes his head against your shoulder, hindered slightly by the way his glasses sit on the bridge of his nose.
“Shhh,” You shake your head in tandem with his, leaning your cheek against the side of his head as you rub your hand over his back. “Don’t be silly,”
"You're not pathetic, Spencer," You reassure him, your voice gentle. "Everyone has their own fears and struggles. It takes strength to open up about them."
He takes a deep, shaky breath, trying to compose himself. "I just never thought I'd be so affected by it for this long."
"Trauma doesn't have a set expiration date," you say softly. "It's okay to still be working through things. And you don't have to face it alone."
Spencer finally relaxes a bit in your embrace, allowing himself to accept the comfort you're offering. "Thank you," he mumbles, his voice barely audible against the fabric of your shirt.
“No problem-“ You don’t finish your sentence before the lights come back on, causing you to squint from the sudden brightness.
The sudden light flooding the elevator exposes the position the two of you had found yourself in, your legs tangled together as Spencer sits in your embrace with your arms around his torso and his hands resting limply by your waist.
“See?” You pull his face away from your shoulder gently, leaning back to finally get a fully clear view of his face. “Nothing to worry about,”
“Yeah…” He nods softly, eyes still a little red from holding back his tears, and he sniffles as he pulls away from you properly when the elevator starts moving downwards again.
“Do you want a ride home?” Your invitation is obvious as you two of you pick yourselves up from the floor, your eyes silently encouraging him to accept your proposal.
“I-“ The elevator came to another halt, this time thankfully opening its doors on the ground for the two of you to leave.
He had his train ticket in his pocket, but he was willing to forget it for now.
“That would be great, thank you…”
“No problem Spencer, let’s get outta here,”
He tries to brush aside the way he feels when you call him by his first name, nodding softly with pursed lips.
“Yeah, let’s get out of here…”
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