#me finally watching the finale a week later

[pickingupmymercedes]

Salt and Starlight - Lewis Hamilton

Lewis's 40th birthday special part 1

warnings: none

genre: fluff

wordcount: +2k

a/n: It's a '3 times y/n's made Lewis feel like a teenager (on the brink of turning 40) and the one time he did' (except that last bit is the part 2 coming later)

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

______________________________________________________________

What do you give someone who has it all? He is Lewis Hamilton, after all.

I’d been asking myself that question for weeks.

Lewis isn’t exactly the kind of guy who needs another watch, another car, or another piece of art for his collection.

He’s got it all—trophies, fame, money, and a closet full of designer clothes that probably cost more than my first car.

So, what do you give that man ?

The answer came to me one night when we were lying in bed, talking about nothing and everything.

I’d been reminiscing about growing up by the beach, about the stupid, reckless things I did as a teenager that made me feel alive. Lewis had laughed, that deep, warm laugh of his, and said, “God, it’s been years since I’ve felt anything that… teenagery.”

And there it was. My gift to him.

“Are you sure this isn’t just an elaborate ploy to embarrass me?” Lewis asks, tugging the brim of his bucket hat lower over his sunglasses. The hoodie he’s wearing makes him look like a man trying to sneak out of a high school reunion unnoticed.

Which, okay, is kind of the vibe I was going for.

The drive to Santa Barbara was… well, let’s just say Lewis loved being a passenger princess, most times, and that wasn’t one of them.

He kept fidgeting, adjusting the seat, and asking if I was sure I knew where I was going. (Spoiler: I did. Mostly.)

But by the time we pulled up to the boardwalk, the sun was setting, casting the sky in shades of pink and orange, and he finally stopped asking questions.

The amusement park was exactly how I remembered it—bright lights, the smell of cotton candy and fried food, the sound of laughter and screams from the thrill rides. It was chaos, but the good kind.

The kind that makes you feel alive.

“You’re not serious,” Lewis said, staring at the roller coaster like it might bite him.

“Oh, I’m very serious,” I said, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the line. “Come on, old man. Let’s see if you’ve still got it.”

He glances down at me, a boyish smile breaking through his mock-suspicious expression. “Always.”

And there it is—the grin I was waiting for.

The one that reminds me of the Lewis who still feels like a kid sometimes, who loves the thrill of life just as much as his achievements.

For once, Lewis doesn’t have an itinerary. No obligations, no pressures. Just us.

We hit every ride that promises to throw us around like ragdolls. Rollercoasters that make my stomach drop (and Lewis laugh at my shrieking), bumper cars where I play dirty and spin him into the wall, and that spinning thing that got me questioning my life choices.

By the time we got to the Ferris wheel, the sky was dark, the stars just starting to peek through.

The Ferris wheel was… different. Slower. Quieter.

As we climbed higher, the noise of the park faded away, and it was just us, suspended in the air. Lewis was quiet, staring out at the ocean, and for a moment, I wondered if I’d pushed him too far with this.

“This was the plan all along, wasn’t it?” he says as he leaned into me. His voice is light, but there’s that knowing look in his eyes.

I feign innocence. “What plan?”

“The Ferris wheel. The whole night was a setup for this.”

I smirk, settling into the seat beside him. “You’re giving me way too much credit.”

The wheel begins to turn, the car gently rocking as we rise above the chaos below. The lights from the boardwalk blurring, and for a moment, neither of us speaks.

The world feels smaller up here, quieter.

He shifts closer, and I can feel his gaze on me, warm and intent. “This was a good idea.”

I smiled, leaning into him. “I have those sometimes.”

And then he leans in, his lips brushing against mine.

It starts softly, like he’s savoring the moment, but it deepens quickly, and suddenly the air feels electric. My mind goes blissfully blank, except for the thought that this—this might’ve been what I wanted all along.

When we finally break apart, his forehead rests lightly against mine, and he’s grinning like a teenager who’s just stolen his first kiss. “This feels straight out of a cheesy rom-com.”

“Good,” I manage, still catching my breath. “It’s meant to.”

He laughs, and it’s the kind that bubbles out of him, genuine and unguarded. And I think, there it is again.

That boyish smile I’d give anything to keep seeing.

“You know,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper, “this is exactly how I imagined love when I was a teenager.”

He chuckled, his breath warm against my skin. “Yeah? Did you imagine me too?”

I rolled my eyes, but I was smiling. “Shut up.”

And then the Ferris wheel started moving again, and we were laughing, and for the first time in a long time, Lewis looked… free.

We were still laughing as we stumbled off the Ferris wheel, my hand in his, the cool ocean breeze brushing against our skin.

Lewis had that look in his eyes—the one he gets when he’s trying to play it cool but is secretly having the time of his life.

It’s rare, these days, to see him so unguarded.

“You know,” he said, pulling me closer as we walked, “I haven’t done anything like this in… I don’t even know how long.”

“What, ridden a Ferris wheel?” I teased, bumping my shoulder against his. “Yeah, I can tell.”

He rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “No, I mean… this. Just… being spontaneous. Letting go.”

I stopped walking and turned to face him, raising an eyebrow. “Lewis Hamilton, are you telling me you’ve never been spontaneous? Because I find that hard to believe.”

He shrugged, that infuriatingly charming smirk playing on his lips.

“What?” I ask, bumping my shoulder against his as we weave through the crowd.

He gives me a sideways glance, lips twitching like he’s holding back a laugh. “Nothing. Just you, scheming. Don’t think I don’t know you planned that whole Ferris wheel moment.”

I roll my eyes but can’t help the small smile that sneaks out. “Oh, please. Like I can predict what’s going to happen in the heat of the moment.”

He hums noncommittally, but the way his hand slides into mine, fingers lacing tightly, tells me he’s not buying my act. And I’m not about to argue with him on that. Ever

We walk aimlessly for a while, the neon lights of the boardwalk fading behind us as we drift toward the quieter streets. It’s one of those perfect in-between moments—neither here nor there, where everything feels suspended, and nothing needs to make sense.

That’s when he says it.

“You know,” he starts slowly “you were right earlier. About the Ferris wheel. It did feel… teenagey.”

I smirked. “Told you.”

He hesitated, then said, “So… what’s next?”

I blinked at him, surprised. “What do you mean, what’s next?”

He shrugged, but there was a glint in his eye that made me suspicious. “You’re the one who planned this whole thing. What’s the next stop on the nostalgia train?”

I stared at him for a moment, then grinned. “Well… there is one thing” and before I can stop myself, the words tumble out. “We should get that tattooed. Like, right now.”

For a split second, I expect him to laugh, to brush it off with a comment about how I’m clearly delirious from all the carnival food. But instead, he just raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “What, the ferries wheel?”

“No, ‘40,’” I say, half-joking, half-serious. “Something simple. For this moment, for you.”

To my surprise, he doesn’t immediately shut it down. Instead, he tilts his head, considering. “You’re serious about this?”

“I mean… why not?” I shrug, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious under his gaze. “You’ve got plenty. One more won’t kill you.”

He hesitated, and I could see the wheels turning in his head.

Lewis doesn’t do things on a whim—not anymore. His tattoos are works of art, carefully planned and executed by the best artists in the world. The idea of walking into some random parlor and getting inked on a whim was probably giving him hives.

He looks at me for a moment, his expression unreadable. And then he smiles, that slow, deliberate smile that makes me feel like he’s about to say something I’m not ready for. “Alright. Let’s do it.”

“Wait, what?”

“You said it yourself. Why not?”

And just like that, we’re standing outside a tattoo parlor that looks like it hasn’t seen a renovation since the early 2000s. The buzzing sound of the needle greets us as we step inside, along with the unmistakable scent of disinfectant and a tattoo artist who looks thoroughly unimpressed with our arrival.

“What are we doing?” I whisper as Lewis fills out the paperwork, his calmness somehow making me more nervous.

“Living like teenager, apparently” he says simply, handing me the pen to fill out my form. “You know, like… spontaneous, stupid, matching tattoos. The kind you get when you’re young and dumb and think it’s a good idea.”

The design we settle on is simple: the number 40, styled in a subtle, abstract way that could mean anything to anyone else. It’s perfect.

Mine goes on my wrist, tucked just under my watch strap. His ends up near his elbow, seamlessly blending into his sleeve, the one he’s spent years building.

When it’s my turn, I flinch at the first touch of the needle, earning a quiet chuckle from Lewis. “Don’t start,” I warn, gritting my teeth as the artist works.

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” he says, his voice entirely too amused.

When it’s done, we step back to admire our matching tattoos. They’re small, subtle, and utterly reckless in a way that feels right.

“40,” he says, his voice soft but laced with meaning as he looks at the ink.

I glance at him, my chest tightening in a way I wasn’t expecting. “The big four-oh.” I echo.

His lips twitch, but he doesn’t look at me. “Here we go.”

I grin, nudging his arm with my shoulder. “What? It’s a big deal. A milestone. People throw whole festivals for this kind of thing. They buy sports cars.” I pause, then laugh. “Well, I guess you’ve already got the cars covered.”

“Funny,” he says, finally glancing at me. There’s a glint of amusement in his eyes, but it fades quickly, replaced by something softer, more reflective. “It doesn’t feel like a big deal. Not really. It’s just… a number.”

“Uh-huh.” I tilt my head, studying him. “And how many times have you told yourself that the past month?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Too many.”

By the time we’ve grabbed more food—a greasy basket of fries—it’s late. The boardwalk is still buzzing behind us, but we’ve drifted to the sand, away from the crowds.

The ocean stretches out before us, vast and dark, lit only by the moon and the occasional flicker of a far-off boat.

Lewis sits beside me,  his hands occasionally finding their way onto my back his hoodie pulled up against the chill of the night. I watch as he unwraps his burger with careful precision, like the fate of the world rests on not spilling ketchup.

“Not bad for a last-minute dinner date,” I say, popping a fry into my mouth.

He looks at me, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Not bad at all.”

We eat in comfortable silence for a while, the sound of the waves filling the gaps. I can feel him thinking, though.

The way his fingers drum lightly against his knee, the slight furrow in his brow—it’s all there if you know where to look.

“You’re being suspiciously quiet,” I say, nudging him lightly with my elbow.

He glances at me, a small smile playing on his lips. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

He takes a bite of his burger, chewing slowly as if buying time to form an answer. Finally, he swallows and looks out at the water. “About this. About everything, really.”

“Everything?” I echo, raising an eyebrow. “That’s… vague.”

He chuckles softly, shaking his head. “My birthday. Turning 40.”

I pause, the fry I was about to eat halfway to my mouth. “Oh, you’re having a midlife crisis?” I grin, trying to lighten the mood.

He gives me a look—half amused, half exasperated. “I’m not having a midlife crisis.”

“Sure sounds like one.”

He laughs, but it’s softer this time, his gaze still fixed on the ocean. “It’s not that I’m worried about turning 40. I just… I don’t know. It’s a lot to think about.”

I stay quiet, letting him take his time. You don’t rush these kinds of conversations.

“It’s funny,” he continues. “I’ve spent my whole life in this sport. Every year, every decision—it’s all been about racing. And now I’m here, about to hit 40, and…” He trails off, shaking his head.

“Hm?” I prompt gently, not pushing, just giving him space.

“And I thought I’d feel more certain about where I am.” He exhales, a long, slow breath that seems to carry years of weight. “I’ve told myself so many times I wouldn’t still be racing at this age. But here I am, and I don’t want to stop. Not yet. And now, with Ferrari…”

His voice breaks off again, and I see his hand flex slightly, like he’s trying to grasp something just out of reach.

“You’re scared,” I say quietly, not as an accusation, just an observation.

He laughs, but it’s more bitter than lighthearted. “Terrified…. Not of the racing—I know I can still do that. But of… everything else. Of failing, of not being enough. Of proving the people right who think I’m too old or that I should have stopped like Nico.”

I set my burger down, leaning toward him. “You’re not afraid of proving them right, Lewis. You’re afraid you might believe them.”

That gets his attention and his gaze snaps to mine, something flashing in his eyes.

“It’s not that I doubt myself completely,” he says after a moment. “But it’s there, in the back of my mind. This little voice asking if I’m trying to hold onto something that’s already slipping away.”

I take a breath, my heart tightening at the vulnerability in his words. “You’re not just holding on. You’re still building something. And you’re allowed to want that, even at 40.”

He looks down, his jaw tightening briefly. “I want to believe that. I really do… But then I think about all the things I’ve given up along the way—time with family, relationships, moments I’ll never get back. And I wonder if it’s selfish to keep chasing a dream.”

I nod, my chest tightening. “I get it. And I think it’s good that you’re thinking about these things. It means you care.”

His head tilts slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching. “You make it sound so simple.”

“It’s not simple. It’s messy, and ugly, and complicated, and terrifying. But it’s worth it. You’re worth it.”

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, just watches me with an intensity that makes my chest ache.

“I’ve never been good at slowing down,” he admits finally. “Even now, there’s so much I want to do. So many dreams I’ve had since I was a kid that I’ve never had time for. And part of me wonders if I ever will.”

“You will,” I say softly. “Maybe not all of them at once. But you will. We will.”

He sighs, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he leans back on his hands, staring up at the stars. “Sometimes I wish I still had that recklessness, but with everything I know now.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works; you know that don't you, grandpa?” I tease, trying to lighten the mood.

He chuckles, the sound warmer this time. “Fair point.”

After a beat, he smirks, glancing at me. “You keep calling me old though, but I don’t remember you complaining last night.”

I burst out laughing, shaking my head. “Oh, shut up. You’re ruining the moment.”

He grins, and just like that, the heaviness of the conversation lifts slightly, replaced by something lighter but no less real.

As we get up to leave, I brush the sand off my hands and glance at him. “For the record, I like vintage Ferraris better anyway.”

“Now that you’ve mentioned it. There’s another teenager dream I’ve always had.”

He laughs as he reaches for my waist, and this time, it’s full and unrestrained. The sound carries over the waves, as he turns me around on the sand and captures my lips with his once again.

There, under the moonlight I know how much I love this man—even when he’s scared, even when he’s uncertain.

Especially then.

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[vaguely-concerned]

imagining that while rook is gone, about a week and a half or so in, there's one night where lucanis suddenly appears unannounced in illario's room in the way he has of doing that and which could scare anyone else to death on its own, but of all people in the world illario is the most inclined to only find it mildly annoying to look up from his bad boy Brooding and also facemask-equivalent beauty routine (can't be tragically denied even being doomed by the narrative if you ain't cute) to find his cousin -- now first talon of the crows at least in name -- suddenly staring at him intently and expressionlessly from a few meters away. and when illario (half-jokingly, half-seriously, all-yearningly because crows live bad) is like 'ah so is this finally it are you here to kill me' even with no vengeful purple glow in evidence lucanis just snorts scathingly to show all the seriousness with which he still takes that idea and illario has to wistfully be like 'no, I thought not. so to what do I owe the honour, then, first talon. I figured you'd be pretty busy out there by now'.

and lucanis doesn't say anything at all, just stands there silently for a while and then sits down in a corner of the room with his back against the wall and buries his face in his hands. you have to understand how crucial it is for my vision here that they Do Not talk about it. they never talk about it, not in that moment and not later. illario doesn't have the first idea what 'it' could even be, once he's asked 'is it -- caterina? did something happen to...' (feeling suddenly and absurdly as much like a little boy again as lucanis just had before covering his face) and gotten the slightest headshake in response, nothing else he tries to ask even gets a reaction.

everything is all fucked up and nothing is ever going to be like it used to and the fact that this is where lucanis thought to go about whatever has happened to make his eyes look like that is ludicrous on so many levels and in so many ways. but I do think illario eventually sighs and at least sits down on the floor next to him, leaving a bigger distance between them than he might have once both in self-defense and out of something like consideration. 'I'd ask if you'd like to talk about it, but of course I know you. you never do'. (even with everything else that has happened, illario still knows lucanis better than almost anyone in the world. few things could have convinced him that maybe it really is his cousin in there still quite like this prolonged and complete lack of communication lol.) in the silence they fail to keep each other company in the same way they have for years, but maybe they can at least be honest about it now.

and then when lucanis gets to his feet like this entire very strange silent last half hour never happened to brush dust from his clothes and say he has to go... what can illario really do but go 'sure. great talk, as always. happy to be of service' from the floor as he watches his cousin disappear again into the night. I imagine illario wearing some sort of opulent bath robe or something through this whole thing by the way I think that's an important detail to get in there

[fear-is-truth]

# BEING BRUCE WAYNE’S ❝SUGAR BABY❞ AND FALLING IN LOVE WITH HIM — HCs

warnings — slowburn. brief mentions of sex synopsis — being a broke college student that caught the attention of none other than bruce wayne a/n — this is the fluffy slowburn sfw version… the 18+ one is still in the works

──⟢  fear-is-truth — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

it started when you were a broke college student in your early twenties, juggling classes, part-time jobs, and an unrelenting mountain of bills. bruce wayne, freshly thirty, was already a household name—gotham’s elusive billionaire, playboy, and philanthropist.

you first crossed paths at a charity gala, where you were working as a server, weaving through the crowd with a tray of champagne flutes. you’d only seen bruce wayne in tabloids before, so when you caught him leaning against a marble pillar, watching you, you simply froze.

“you seem a little… distracted,” his eyes flicked to the tray you balanced expertly. “nervous, or just tired of all this nonsense?” you gave him a polite, slightly weary smile. “neither. just trying to get through the night without spilling on anyone important. still got a paper to finish.”

his lips twitched in amusement, but he didn’t press further. at the end of the night, though, you found an obscene tip tucked beneath his empty glass—crisp hundred bills folded neatly, more money than you’d made all week.

weeks later, he appeared again—this time at a hole-in-the-wall café near campus where you worked part-time. it wasn’t his scene; he stuck out like a sore thumb in his tailored black coat, looking utterly out of place among the students.

he didn’t say much that first visit, just ordered black coffee and left another ridiculous tip. but he came back. again and again. sometimes he’d stay long enough for a brief conversation, other times he’d sit quietly in a corner, newspaper in hand. it wasn’t just the tips that stuck to you—it was the way he listened. bruce never made you feel small or dismissed your struggles, like so many others did.

when he first offered to help you financially, he did it with tact that left you room to preserve your pride. “you’re working too hard,” he said one evening. “let me take some of the weight off—just until things settle. consider it an investment in your future.” there was a sincerity in his voice that made it sound like a practical solution rather than a handout.

accepting his help wasn’t easy. you’d been so accustomed to clawing your way through life that the idea of someone else shouldering your burden felt unnatural. after days of hesitation, you finally agreed—but only on the condition that you’d pay him back one day. bruce had only nodded, though there was the faintest hint of a smirk, like he knew you never would.

he never made you feel indebted, though. if anything, he treated it like helping you was a privilege.

when your ancient car finally gave up, bruce didn’t even wait for you to ask for help. within the week, a sleek, brand-new model was delivered to your apartment, the keys tucked into an envelope with a simple note: you need something reliable. you tried to thank him, but he just waved it off. “just focus on getting where you need to go.”

your decrepit laptop, with its constant crashing and refusal to load anything on time, was next. one day, you came home to find a pristine, state-of-the-art model sitting on your desk, already set up and ready to use. you didn’t even have to ask.

bruce never demanded anything in return. the closest he came to asking for favours were the occasional lunches or dinners where he’d pick your brain about your studies, your ambitions, your dreams. he always seemed genuinely interested, never letting the conversation veer into anything too personal unless you led it there.

you realized over time that it wasn’t just the money, the gifts, or even the way he treated you like an equal—it was the steady presence he provided. bruce wasn’t there to fix your life or control it; he just wanted to make it a little easier. and somehow, that made all the difference.

when you stayed up late working on papers, bruce would sometimes settle on the couch nearby, a novel in his hands. he never intruded, but his quiet presence was a reminder that you weren’t alone. on particularly rough nights, he’d bring you a cup of tea without saying a word, setting it gently beside you before returning to his book.

on your birthday, he surprised you with a bouquet of your favourite flowers—something you’d mentioned in passing months ago—and a beautifully wrapped box containing a classic hermès birkin. the card attached to it read simply, “something to carry all those books in.”

his gifts were always thoughtful, never ostentatious in a way that would make you feel uneasy. designer coats, shoes, and bags—each impeccably tailored to your taste, yet discreet. the labels were always tucked away, hidden in folds and linings. they were things you could wear without being worried you’d get mugged. nothing about them screamed, “i have a sugar daddy.”

bruce never tried to “buy” your affection. you didn’t owe him anything—not in the transactional way most would expect. he just wanted to see you comfortable, to help you in ways that went beyond financial support. and, over time, you realized you cared for him too—not for what he could give you, but for who he was.

he had an uncanny ability to remember the smallest details about you. the way you took your coffee. the name of the professor whose lectures you dreaded. how the sound of rain on a window always calmed you. those little moments of attentiveness.

at first, bruce kept you at arm’s length emotionally, cautious about pulling you deeper into his complicated world. but as the months went by, as your late-night talks stretched into early mornings, it became clear that bruce didn’t see this as a favour or an obligation. he cared for you in a way that went far beyond surface-level kindness.

when you went through a bad breakup, he didn’t try to fix it or console you with empty platitudes. instead, he just wrapped his arms around you, letting you cry into his chest.

it wasn’t long before the line between benefactor and friend blurred entirely. he was no longer just footing your bills or buying you thoughtful gifts—bruce got greedy. he didn’t just want to take care of you financially; he wanted all of you.

one night, you were venting about your professors, frustration pouring out in a messy jumble of words. bruce listened intently, brow furrowed as he leaned back in his chair, giving you his undivided attention.

“you’re too nice to me,” you blurted, the words slipping out like a spew of vomit. before doubt could creep in, you leaned forward and kissed him. it was a kiss that changed everything—as you half expected him to gently push you away, his hand came up to cradle your face, deepening it.

the kiss led to one thing, then another, and before you knew it, you were tangled together in his sheets, lost in his kisses, his touch, his quiet attention to your every reaction. bruce wasn’t just passionate; he was thorough in a way that unraveled you completely—it was hands down the best sex you’d ever had.

when you woke up the next morning, still tangled in his arms, a wave of uncertainty hit you. maybe it was nerves or overthinking, but you couldn’t stop wondering if you’d crossed a line you shouldn’t have. sensing your unease, bruce kissed your shoulder, his lips warm and soft against your skin. “i hope you know this changes nothing… we’re fine.”

and just like that, you became his official “sugar baby.” not that the dynamic between you two changed drastically—it simply gave bruce an excuse to really spoil you.

he started sending you to your favourite spa on weekends, claiming you deserved a break from all the stress. when you protested that it was too much, he just shrugged. “self-care is important,” he said, as though it was the simplest thing in the world.

your closet, which had been a collection of fast fashion and thrifted pieces, was slowly replaced with the row, max mara, burberry, and dior.

your jewelry collection grew as well. delicate van cleef & arpels bracelets, tiffany & co. pendants, and diamond-stud earrings from cartier found their way into your life. he gifted you a dainty rolex, understated yet stunning, with a cheeky note: “don’t be late to class.”

despite all of this, bruce was careful to ensure it never looked like you were “living large.” you stayed in your same modest apartment, though it was clear his influence was woven into the details: a state-of-the-art security system, upgrades to your furniture and appliances that made life a little easier.

dinners became a regular occurrence, whether it was a reservation at gotham’s most exclusive restaurant or an extravagant meal in his penthouse.

when you graduated, bruce was there, blending into the crowd in a simple black coat, inconspicuous among the sea of families and friends. you didn’t spot him at first—he wasn’t the type to draw attention when he didn’t want to—but when your eyes finally landed on his, he gave you the smallest of nods. after the ceremony, he approached you quietly, slipping a small velvet box into your hand. you opened it to reveal a key.

“what’s this for?” you asked, already overwhelmed, fingers trembling slightly. “your new apartment,” he replied simply. then, after a pause, “unless… you’d rather move in with me.”

from then on, everything changed. bruce wasn’t just your benefactor; he was your best friend, your confidant, and eventually, your lover.

[revolutionsingingintherainnn]

im desi and i love ur fics sm.... lando watching a bollywood movie with reader and then getting addicted to it. and keeps singing it during race week or his streams? it becomes a whole thing.... please.

thursday nights ₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ.

ׂ╰┈➤ ln x desi!reader ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

ׂ╰┈➤ fluff + humour ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

masterlist ☾☼

movie nights were a steady part of your relationship. every thursday night, lando and you would pick a movie and watch through those netflix chrome extension thingies. lando insisted on doing it on thursdays, because media day was always way more exhausting for him than the actual races. the two of you took turns every week on choosing the movie. you, being desi, would usually something indian, opting for comedy films to ease lando's mind.

since it was the off season, you and lando were cuddled up on the couch, with your dinner plates balanced on your laps. this thursday, it was your turn, and you had the perfect movie in mind: chennai express. as the title card flashed on the screen, lando glanced at you, intrigued.

"what's this one about?" he asked, pulling his blanket tighter around him.

"okay, so imagine a guy trying to scatter his grandfather's ashes in south india," you began, "and then getting dragged into this wild adventure with a runaway bride. it's hilarious, it's chaotic, and the best part, it has shah rukh khan."

lando raised an eyebrow. "shah rukh khan? isn't he the guy that you had a crush on when you were younger?"

"yes, but also that i would drop you in a second for him," you said, laughing. "he's also the king of bollywood. trust me, you're going to love this."

"not sure how much i'm gonna love a movie with an actor that my girlfriend would drop me in a second for, but okay," he said dryly.

you laughed.

as the film progressed, lando became hooked. the over-the-top action sequences had him in stitches, and he couldn't stop laughing at rahul's antics, especially his attempts to speak tamil. by the time the musical number, "one, two, three, four, get on the dance floor" came on, lando was bobbing his head to the beat. and when he finally heard "lungi dance", the man was dancing in his seat with you, as you laughed.

"these songs are a vibe!" he declared, grinning at you. "why didn't you tell me bollywood music was this catchy?"

"because you wouldn't have believed me until now," you joked.

by the end of the night, lando was humming "lungi dance" nonstop. you had fallen asleep to him humming the song in your ear, but it put a smile on your face regardless.

of course, by the time, the season began again, you had shown lando many bollywood movies. it got a point, where the man had a bollywood songs playlist of his own which he listened to more than he listened to other playlists.

he didn't know all the words, but the few words he could understand, he was always singing them.

when the season began, you accompanied him to the paddock. as you spoke to one of the hospitality team members, you heard him whistling lungi dance quietly under his breath as he waited for his engineer to turn up. it wasn't long before his colleagues took notice.

"lando, what is that?" oscar asked with amusement and confusion.

"oh, it's from this bollywood movie i watched during the break," lando responded nonchalantly, as if that was no big deal. "you gotta see it. it's called chennai express. absolute masterpiece. i'll send you the movie playlist too, but you'll listen to it enough through the wall,"

days later, lando's obsession with bollywood music was a constant joke among the team. fans picked on it in a live stream when lando, trying to be attentive while playing, began belting out the lyrics of tan tana tan tan aloud.

"wait, what are you singing?" max fewtrell joked.

"it's from a bollywood movie. judwaa," lando said, with perfect pronunciation as he was trained by you, grinning sheepishly. "blame my girlfriend. she's got me hooked, mate,"

"is this already in your playlist?" max asked.

"yeah, yeah. you'd know if you listened to it," lando grumbled.

"mate, it's hard for me to listen to music i don't understand the meaning of!"

"excuses, excuses, max. y/n is gonna be sad,"

max groaned, while lando laughed.

the fandom went wild with it. edits of lando grooving to bollywood beats flooded social media and "lungi dance" became the unofficial anthem for his streams. mclaren played along and sent a clip of lando teaching oscar the steps of gallan goodiyan in the paddock which left everyone guffawing.

it also led to millions of desi fans sending their song and movie recommendations to lando. they began to send him challenges for different dance numbers, questioned him about his bollywood playlist, begged him to sing a particular song during the race.

lando had taken to singing some of the songs while he was driving. he'd randomly switch on the radio, and will and andrea would be ready to listen to whatever feedback lando had to offer, and all that lando would do was sing, "one, two, three, four, get on the dance floor, booty shake, booty shake, na na, hard core,"

it made everyone at the mclaren garage and wall burst out laughing.

the interviewers would ask him about it too, and lando would laugh, and offer to watch the movie with them and explain everything the way you had explained to him.

"you've created a monster," lando said to you one day as he settled into bed beside you, where you were watching edits of him singing different bollywood songs.

"you say it as if you don't love it," you replied, putting your phone down and smiling at your boyfriend.

he leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to your lips, "i do love it,"

you smiled brightly, pulling at his neck to kiss him once more.

"so, what are we watching tomorrow?" he asked, as he pulled away.

"i was thinking something with more action. singham. we could do a movie marathon if we start early, and watch all the movies in that universe,"

"oh fuck yeah," lando said softly, his body buzzing with excitement, even though his eyes were closing.

"i love you," he said in a sleepy haze.

you pecked his lips once, before repeating the words and watching the way lando's lips curled into a smile.

thursday nights had officially become the highlight of his week.

𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼𓋼𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊

lemme know what you think! this is my prompt list, so y'all can select a number, give me a driver and i will write it as soon as possible! i also have a google form for a taglist if anyone's interested! you can sent in your requests here :)

taglist: @imlonelydontsendhelp ; @greantii ; @anamiad00msday ; @maketheshadowsfearyou ; @nocturnalherb16 ; @justaf1girl ; @peterholland04 ; @phobiccneel ; @winkev1

[burymagdalene]

Rocket Fuel - S. Reid x Reader

After a week apart, Spencer and reader have a day tucked away from society together. Resulting in stolen coffee, Spencer tries to make it up to you with his own trial of coffee making. pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader genre: Good old fashioned fluff tags: established relationship, sharing (stealing) coffee, season 6 Spencer, lots of kisses– PURITAN REALLY wc: 2.3k a/n:  Based on my little headcanon here, I expanded my idea a bit for you guys! Kisses, I hope you enjoy!

You hadn’t seen Spencer in a painfully long time. With a quick departure from work to Louisiana, it had been a week since you’d last seen him. Of course, you have gone longer, but something about this case dragged out how eternal it felt, each day becoming more drawn out like the beginning of the summer solstice. That being said, your copious hours apart have finally ended as Spencer calls you once you’re off work.

“Baby, I just landed. Are you busy? Can I see you?” He quickly rushes out, combining all the words into one jumbled, excited mess. You can hear the chatter in the background and the wind blowing as he’s stepping off the plane.

Resting your phone on your shoulder as you wiggle your key into your apartment, you smile at his voice. “Hi. Yeah, I’m just getting home from work. I can get pretty and we can go out?” You shut the door behind you. 

“Hmm. Can I just come over and stay with you? After this week I kind of feel like seeing you and nobody else again.” Spencer’s voice tapers off to a whisper at the end, not wanting to risk the BAU hearing and getting offended. Which they heard anyway, earning him a soft slap upside the head. 

“If you won’t feel stir crazy, yeah I’d love that. You can help me with a new braid I want to try, I’ve been practicing and it’s killing me…” Spencer is very much used to these calls of help. When you wanted to learn how to do a french braid, you made him watch a video and come over to do it himself since he retains what you’re supposed to do so easily. 

“Perfect. Do you want me to pick you up? Coffee? Are you tired?” Not being able to hold it back, you chuckle a bit. Spencer’s frantically trying to supply you with anything he might’ve missed while he was gone. He’s always like this, desperate to bring you little treats after a case, like a crow leaving shiny gifts on the doorstep of those who feed them. 

“I’d love a coffee Spence. I have this incurable sweet tooth I’ve adapted since you’ve been gone,” you tease while letting out a dramatic sigh “not enough sweetness in my life.” Spencer whines out a sorry on the other side of the line and asks what you want. 

“Okay, a raspberry mocha with an extra shot for the beautiful girlfriend. Sounds… interesting.” Spencer replies and after quick goodbyes he slides into his car to drop off his luggage at his apartment, feed his fish (that you had won during a carnival date and gave to him) and is off walking to get you your artificially flavored coffee that will make your dentist cry. 

Spencer loiters around the aggressively hipster coffee shop you frequent because of its good prices (uncommon in D.C.) waiting for your drink while smiling softly at himself at the idea of smelling you again, shoving his head in the nape of your neck while embracing you, touching your hair, being in your apartment surrounded by your things.

He’s at a point of hazy daydreaming where he doesn’t hear the “mocha for Spencer!” shouted by the barista until minutes later when they make eye contact and he sheepishly realizes he needs to get himself in gear.

Taking your drink he texts you letting you know he’s on the way and starts heading towards your apartment. The past week Spencer has been crammed inside offices, cars, the plane, so walking over and stretching his legs is making him bright eyed and bushy tailed.

Just bright eyed enough that the chocolate-y sweet aroma wafting from your coffee peaks his interest. Spencer brings it closer for a better sniff and makes a little “hm, not so bad” sound. Spencer and you share a similar taste in sweet coffee, though Spencer usually goes for a mountain of sugar added, not really any of the different kinds of flavoring you typically order. He takes a curious sip.

Before he knows it Spencer is on sip number two and is offhandedly thinking about the rise of modernist architecture as he walks past the corporate apartments downtown, devoid of individualism and expression. In fact, he thinks, 420,000 apartment buildings were built in America this year, a world record. With how quickly apartments are popping up, 200,000-300,000 are being destroyed because of the cheaper and less expensive materials that are being implemented currently- 

The cup feels significantly lighter than it did when Spencer first bought it. He gives it a few swishes to gauge his damage and winces a bit. That’s okay! You’re the most understanding and sweet person he knows. He doubts you’ll bat an eye that he stole some sips. Sharing is caring after all. 

The neighborhood finally starts to become more homely and familiar as he makes his way towards your complex. He’s already consumed his fair share of airplane and office coffee today, now with your sugary double shot, Spencer is bouncing with every step knowing he’s about to see you momentarily.

Spencer understands the energizer bunny to his full extent right now. Bounding up your front steps and knocking to the tune of “doot doola doot doo” and reflecting on a memory of an energizer bunny commercial he had seen as a kid. He was terrified of it.  

And right before his eyes his angel finally appears. 

You swing the door open and hug him tightly in the doorway, immediately shoving your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling deeply. The laundry detergent on his clothes was not holding up while he was gone to how he actually smells in person. 

“Hi, my baby,” Spencer mutters into the top of your head. He pulls you back gently by the back of your neck so he can get a good look at your face. “I missed this face so much.” He giggles, he can’t believe how badly he’s been longing for you this week. Pulling Spencer to your living room, you’re still embraced in a hug.

“You don’t even understand. I’m coming jammed in your suitcase next time you have to leave.” You smile back at him, softly running your thumb along his jaw. Spencer blushes sweetly and breaks eye contact.

“Anddd your rocket fuel.” In his bliss he’s forgotten all prior sips of your coffee and hands you the drink. 

You take his offering, smile dropping when you’re holding it yourself. “What the hell?”

Spencer remembers immediately. “I was checking for poison.”

“What the hell?”

“You know, so that if there was poison I’d be the one-”

“This is almost gone?” You can’t help but laugh a little bit at the absurdity.

Spencer pulls his best guilty face. “I’m so sorry. It smelled so good so I had to try it, you know scent accounts for around 75 to 95 percent of the impact a flavor can have. So, I could’ve been doing an experiment to attest to how it tastes in regards to how it was smelling. But I wasn’t actually, I just got carried away. Did you know that if you tried plugging your nose while eating a potato and an onion that without smelling them, they would taste essentially the same? We have to try that some time.” He’s nervously rambling.

You laugh and hand him back the cup. “It’s all yours, Spence.” You turn and walk into your kitchen, knowing he’s going to be following at your tail. 

“I am sorry. Are you sure?” Spencer scratches the back of his neck nervously. Though he stops feeling bad once you turn around and lean against your kitchen counter with a grin. 

“Yes, I’m sure. However, you’re about to sift through my kitchen and whip me up the most delicious coffee that my cabinets have to offer. Okay?”

Spencer nods with a bashful smile, sipping the coffee again. “Okay. Truce?”

“Hmm. Not so fast, it’ll be a truce if and when the coffee you make knocks my socks off.” You tease. 

Spencer kisses your shoulder and gives another kiss under your ear like this second chance has a life changing outcome. A queen giving her jester another chance at entertainment before his beheading.

Conversation flows sweetly as you stand together in your kitchen. You have new flowers on a small table that he comments the origins on. “Why am I jealous that you got yourself flowers and I didn’t?” Spencer half jokes as he rummages through your options of crappy instant coffee.

“Hmm. But you did go out of your way to buy me that coffee I wanted… oh wait.” You poke back at him lightly. Spencer sighs good naturedly and asks you to turn around. 

“I want the drink to be a surprise, don’t look at what I’m pulling out.”

Turning around, you roll your eyes. “Yes, chef.”

Spencer starts concocting his masterpiece and puts away the ingredients after they’re combined. He turns around, moving your hair to the side, away from your neck and places a kiss on the back of your neck. He hums against your skin and places another kiss. “Okay, you can look again.”

You spin on your heels and wrap your arms around his waist, against his back, chin resting on one of his shoulders as you watch him stir together a warm and milky mix of God knows what. You’re a little bit scared.

Pouring the mixture into the mug he gave you on your last birthday with your first name initial across the front, Spencer hands it to you with a ginormous, proud smile. 

Pulling it up to your nose you give it a sniff to see what you’re about to get yourself into, though you guess this could be an onion and potato scenario, or whatever Spencer was saying to save his ass. You take a sip.

It’s not very good. You can taste each ingredient separately and together simultaneously. Way too milky that it drowns out the already weak coffee grounds you have. Spencer definitely makes coffee in a unique way, you’ve tried it once or twice. 

“Mmm, this is so good, baby. Perfect.” You smile against the rim of the cup anyway. 

“Really?” Spencer grins, taking a sip of your coffee again, one that you’re mourning more than ever now.

“Yeah! Thank you!” You lean over and kiss the side of his mouth. Spencer shifts to the side to catch you in a proper kiss. He overzealously pulls you in closer, hands cupping your cheeks, the coffee he made you spills a bit with his movement. 

“Mm- babe,” you pull away to wipe the rim of your cup with a napkin. Spencer just hums in response, that he is not sorry for.

“Let me try?” Spencer asks sweetly after watching you take another sip, curious to know what he did to make it taste so good.

“Uhh, yeah. Sure.” You give a tight-lipped smile, your facade slowly breaking.

Taking the cup from you, Spencer takes another one of his greedy sips. He gulps it quickly, offendedly, and looks at you with a crazed expression. You burst out laughing. 

“What?” You choke out through giggles. 

“This is awful.” Spencer deadpans. 

“Nooo, it's good!” You remedy. You don’t really care how it tastes, it’s just nice to be drinking something he’s made you after all this time. You don’t even care anymore he has your sweet drink either, he deserves it. Sweet thing.

Spencer starts laughing along with you, pulling you in by your wrist and peppering your face with kisses as you try to boost his confidence. “Seriously. I couldn’t have made it better myself.”

“You couldn’t possibly have made this yourself. That’s just awful. I was confident too.” He shakes his head with a smile. Spencer pours out half of what he made you and lifts the top of the remainder of what you actually wanted, and pours it in. He mixes it with his finger, pops it in his mouth to taste. No poison. And hands it to you.

The mixture was pleasant actually, a lot of the flavoring from the coffee shop fell to the bottom, so it made his milky coffee flavorful. You hum in genuine pleasure this time. 

“I can’t believe you tried to lie to me about that coffee. You never have to grin and bear anything for my sake.” Spencer responds seriously as he watches you drink his combination.

You can’t help but feel like when a parent turns a funny story into a life lesson, but you suppose he’s right.

“You looked so proud! I didn’t want you to feel disappointed. I don’t really care about you drinking my coffee. I just care that you’re here.”

Spencer laughs and rolls up his sleeves as he talks, “I swear tomorrow your socks will officially be knocked off with the delectable coffee you’re about to receive.” He picks back up a joking tone.

“Oh I bet.” You kiss his cheek.

The rest of your evening together was full of caffeinated updates either of you may have missed in the past week, Spencer filling you in on a prank he was particularly proud of devising against Derek.

Spencer held up his end of the bargain as well. You woke up from the first good rest you’ve had all week since Spencer left to a raspberry mocha by your bedside table. You hadn’t even heard him leave. 

You skip into your living room to find an empty cup of the same coffee Spencer picked up for himself this time to find him hunched over your coffee table fixing a bouquet of flowers into a vase. 

He looks up at you and walks over, giving you a warm hug, slipping an arm up the back of your hoodie and traces your skin. “I was supposed to wake you up, angel.” He mumbles into your shoulder. 

Pulling away, you walk over to inspect the new vase of flowers he got you. You put your hands on your hips and smile over at where he’s standing. 

“Yeah,” you nod. “Truce.” 

[jaggedamethyst]

circuit breaker 🔬🌌 (part three)

tutor!jayce talis x reader college au

content: adding tutoring to an already packed schedule has gotten overwhelming. there's so much to do, yet not enough time, it seems.

pining (but im not saying who lmaooo), mentions of mental health (panic attacks, anxiety, etc).

notes: hiii. i am addicted to writing for this i fear so don't be surprised if i just keep updating randomly. i've also just started school so this is all in my free time!! but chat...its about to get good af *smiles mischievously*

word count: 1.2k

series masterlist

⭑·ﾟﾟ·*:༅。.。༅:*ﾟ:*:✼✿　　✿✼:*ﾟ:༅。.。༅:*·ﾟﾟ·⭑

You didn’t enjoy this, scrambling for the countless time today to make a meeting. Even more so, you hated the idea of being late to see Ekko, again. He was always so empathetic—understanding. Even if he was upset with you, and you knew he was, he would never make you feel bad about it. He understood things happened. 

It didn’t stop you from speeding into the dining hall and turning to your usual table in a complete frenzy, though. “Ekko, I am so sorry. Time literally got away from me today.” 

He grips a chain he’d been holding, a locket at the top, and pushed it back into his pocket quickly. “It has a way of doing that…time I mean.” 

You sat down, immediately feeling way worse than you already had. “I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be, I’m sure you had a reason, right?” 

“Yes,” you sighed. “I was at tutoring with Jayce. We went over vectors and I finally understand it better.” 

His eyes lingered on the table, “Mm.” A hum from him, seemingly half paying attention. 

“Mm?” You mimicked the sound he made, “What’s mm?” 

“It’s just that I definitely could’ve helped you with that…being a STEM major and all…” 

“I know that…of course I know that but-“ 

He cracked a smile, “I’m joking.” 

You couldn’t help the smile on your face, the lightheartedness finally returning to you both. “I hate you, truly.” 

“You don’t…and that’s okay! I’m extremely lovable.” 

You nodded sarcastically, “Sure, I’ll let you keep believing that.” You looked around, finally taking in how desolate the dining hall actually was. It was a bit after peak hours now, considering you showed up a bit later than normal. A yawn escaped you, then, the day catching up to you. 

Ekko perked up a bit, “You hungry?” 

You tilted your head, “Always.” 

He turned to grab a paper bag from inside his backpack—pushing it across the table to you. Your order down to the sauces, no tomatoes, extra pickles. 

“Oh my gosh, I love you so much Ekko…you’re actually the best.” 

He watched you inspect the bag, each little detail perfect. There was a glint in your eye; it was rather humorous that it was about food, but he appreciated it nonetheless. 

You weren’t looking at him, but he was locked in on you. A genuine and soft look was on his face. “I love you…too.” 

The fries you were eating fully occupied your mind and nothing besides the comfort of your bed could get your mind off of them. Ekko didn’t say much after, letting you eat in silence before offering to walk you back to your place. The sounds of the busy city filled the space between you, him occasionally ushering you ahead with a soft nudge. Neither of you spoke until you were outside your door. 

You leaned in for a hug, “Thank you…I’ll see you tomorrow?” 

“Yup.” He hugged you back, leaning his head into yours, inhaling deeply. “Tomorrow.” 

“On time,” You pulled away, “I promise.” 

His hands found his pockets, nodding simply. “On time.” 

Exhaustion was creeping up on you. At this point, you had class most days of the week, Ekko meetings daily, and tutoring at least twice a week. On top of all of this, you desperately needed a job. Even with the hours that passed and the rest you got, the looming feeling of doom was making you feel anxious. There was a bubbling thought in you that in a few days time, you might genuinely have a panic attack. The signs were there, a fleeting feeling of irritation—the need to constantly be doing something. If you didn’t you’d be left alone with your thoughts and that never worked out well. 

The next day's hours squished themselves together. Despite the feeling, you plastered on a smile and made your way to do everything you had to. You couldn’t chance anyone, especially Ekko, knowing that you weren’t feeling the best. Yet, the emotion often found you in silent cries. You took the long way to tutoring, walking on side roads you knew never had many people on them. In one ear, you let music play, sinking into the emotion as best you could with the consistent sounds of the world around you. It was best you cry now, you thought. You had to focus during tutoring. 

You didn’t sob, but rather let the tears run freely. The cool sensation helped usually—a way for you to identify that you were present in the moment…in your body. You let your legs carry you to the resource center eventually, mindlessly walking toward the room Jayce had reserved. Truthfully, you were glad to see he wasn’t here yet. 

You got comfortable, wiping your face free of the proof of your small breakdown. You straightened at the sound of footsteps approaching the door. 

“Hey,” Jayce backed into the room, a small bag in his hands. He slowly turned, closing the door behind him. You weren’t looking his way, purposely avoiding his gaze—hiding your reddened eyes. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m good,” a sniffle, “Just had a hard day…lot on my plate.” 

He nodded, sitting across from you. “Well…I guess it’s good I made sure to bring some encouragement then.” You finally looked at him. His face contorted briefly at the sight of you before handing you the bag he walked in with. “Here…this should help.” 

Confused, you reached for the bag. “But-“ 

“I asked Viktor,” he interrupted, “He said you would like some of these.” 

“You really didn’t have to, I was just joking-“ 

“I wanted to,” he spoke quickly before pausing. He looked at you, swallowing the already lessening amount of moisture in his mouth. He needed some water. “Besides, the store was on the way here.” He cut himself off, gulping some of the water from his bottle. 

You didn’t speak, just looking at your favorite snacks in the bag. The gesture was a lot to take in, but it was appreciated.

“Can I say something?” 

You nodded, “Of course.” 

“I kind of relate to you…what you said about school. I have a scholarship, too.” 

“You do?” 

“Yup. It’s just me and my mom and we can’t really afford it.” He repositioned in his chair, “I worked really hard before this…for years to make sure I could get a full ride. I couldn’t stand the thought of putting that burden on my mom. But, when I got here, it was like the burden was on me now, to not fail…you know?” 

“Right…” 

“I don’t want you to feel…you shouldn’t feel like it’s all impossible.” He didn’t acknowledge the way you started to cry a little—he thought better of it and you thanked him internally. Instead, he reached for a paper towel. “Sorry, this is all we have…with the white boards…” 

“Thank you,” you chuckled a bit. 

“So…are you gonna eat any of those or can I have it back.” 

“I might be willing to share.” 

Jayce rubbed his hands together, “That’s what I like to hear!” 

The session was great, as usual. You were feeling even more comfortable—confident enough to take the next physics quiz. 

More importantly, you made it just in time to see Ekko’s look of surprise when you got there before him. 

“On time?” 

“On time.” 

taglist

@juskonutoh @sseleniaa @aerina127 @sleepysoldier @bxxerry

[0mg-bird]

How Did It End?

Post Prison! Spencer x Fem!Fiancee Reader

Summary: Almost four months since Spencer came home and the fairytale that once was your life has come crashing down around you.

Warnings: ☹️ ouch. Angst. PTSD. Taylor Swift ‘How did it end?’ coded. hurt/comfort. this hurt to write, don’t hate me. Reid my poor baby has some stuff to work out.

W.H. Auden once wrote,

‘Were all stars to disappear or die, I should learn to look at an empty sky and feel its total dark sublime, though this might take a little time.’

Poetry was something you were no stranger to, given the fact you taught an advanced creative writing class at the local high school.

You once enjoyed poetry.

But now, when the words feel like knives aimed at you, you can’t bear to indulge in the afternoon readings like you used to.

Instead, afternoons are spent in an apartment that somehow lost its warmth. Before, you’d claim it’s because Spencer was gone, that things would be brighter when you brought him home. He’s been home for three months, a little longer, the weather has begun to change, warping into a melancholy winter. You sit at your desk, staring at your computer screen, spinning your engagement ring around your finger.

You’ve been trying to get back into writing, trying to revisit your archived story. Though, it’s hard to revisit a fictional romance mystery when there’s nothing to inspire it.

Groaning, you delete half of the last paragraph you’ve written and try to type something that isn’t cliche. Pushing through the urge to stop, you write until the words flow thoroughly and there’s a key turning in the door.

There he was, the love of your life.

Spencer trudges into the apartment and drops his bag by the door, his shoes find a home beside it. The circles under his eyes are darker than they were this morning when he left, he runs a hand through his hair and glances over at you when you stand with a grin.

“Hi.” You do your best to beam, conveying just how much it excites you to see him.

“Hi.” He mumbles, tossing you a tight lipped smile as he walks towards the bedroom.

Trying to push away the sick feeling in your gut, you turn back to your blind optimism and take your glasses off.

It takes eight steps from the bedroom door to the closet, it takes him three steps to pace and grab casual clothes. In about a minute, he takes off his day clothes and pulls on something that doesn’t feel constricting. You memorized every foot step he makes in this home, it’s easy to focus on when you spent some time not hearing it.

By the time he comes back out to retrieve his bag and sit on the couch, you grab up your laptop and sit on the other end of the sofa.

Paperwork and files soon lay on the coffee table and you watch him organize and complete end of the day tasks. Patiently waiting your turn, when Spencer finally relaxes back into the cushions, you slide closer.

“How was your day?” You ask.

He grunts. “Nothing worth talking about. Oh, I’m going to Connecticut next week to do a seminar, I’ll be gone two days.”

You nod. “That’s exciting, right?”

He shrugs, then there’s silence.

You scoot closer. “I was working on some things, I think I’m finally getting back into the groove of it. You want to read the last chapter I made?”

He motions to the coffee table. “Yeah, just leave it there and I’ll take a glance later. I’m debating on if I want to shower before dinner or after.”

“I was thinking we could go out for dinner, we haven’t in a while.” You offer with a hopeful smile.

Spencer frowns. “I’m not really feeling a social scene right now.”

“Oh, yeah, no, of course.” You quickly say. “We could do take out then, Italian maybe?”

He shakes his head. “We shouldn’t do take out anymore, it’s basically inviting a serial killer into our home, giving him some place to come back later when I’m not around.”

Right. The paranoia.

You knew things were going to be different when Spencer came home, and you did your best to adjust with an open mind. Sleepless nights consoling him, countless days spent trying to pull him from his own mind. Through tears and breaking points and a few instances where he utterly scares you, you know he’s still your same Spence, but just a little hardened now. He’s still the man who spent too much on a ring, still the dorky guy you fell for those years ago.

Things are just…a little rough.

“Okay.” You say to his statement. “I’ll whip something up then.”

At the sight of your willingness to give something up, he feels immensely bad.

“No.” He sighs, shaking his head. “No, I’m being stupid. Italian sounds fine.”

The bad habit of being too harsh on himself has been hard to kick, but it’s getting better… you think.

So you order Italian and eat in front of the television while Spencer fact checks what the characters are saying, criticizing the antics of these fictional people. It feels so normal, the whole situation, it makes you momentarily have amnesia, as if the two of you are exactly like before. You lean into his side and laugh at the sitcom, thinking that this Spencer hasn’t experienced what he has, that everyone around the two of you still feel the happy affects of your love, that you test wedding cakes and look for a bigger place. A place the two of you can buy together and start a family.

“I’m gonna shower.” He says, rubbing your shoulder.

Looking up at him, you smile playfully. “Want company?”

There it was, that reminder that things weren’t like before.

He kind of just shakes his head with a smile and leaves without anything else.

You know he doesn’t mean to, but sometimes he makes you feel about an inch tall. He used to look at you with this heavy gaze, something needy, something that never failed to make you feel like the prettiest girl in the world. His hands would find a home on your skin, he used to kiss for fun.

You don’t remember exactly when he last gripped you in a way that wasn’t just polite.

You know he has fears, he has it in his head that he is a danger to himself and you, that his hands are murderous, but it doesn’t feel the best when you’re constantly rejected by the man you’re going to marry.

Rubbing your eyes, you clean up the dinner mess and then go to the bedroom to slip into pajamas. The floor length mirror shines your reflection, you stop to stare.

Maybe you weren’t the first pick, maybe you hated what you saw sometimes, but the thing about Spencer was he was so sure that no one could ever do it like you. A slew of compliments he’d give you, the fever of his love was scorching.

You give the girl in the mirror a smile, then comb her hair with your fingers and smooth your tank top.

Silly enough, you turn to the side, wrapping your arms around an invisible bump, and you smile fondly at the thought. Two kids. A boy and a girl. Little geniuses. That’s what he and you would talk about. The next thing after he marries you, the next thing he’d do was give you a baby. He swore up and down at night when you laid with your head on his beating heart, he’d give you the family you craved and your face would hurt from smiling so much.

All plans are at a stand still now.

And that’s okay, wasn’t it? This was a rough patch and you’re helping Spencer get through it because you’d help him with anything-

The bedroom door opens, Spencer walks in and you step away from the looking glass.

“I’m going to get ready for bed.” You mumble, walking past him, cheeks burning red.

To say the least, Spencer feels horrible. Here you were, giving him your undying loyalty, holding his hand through all of it, and he’s the reason life has stopped. You’re so brave about it, always patient and understanding.

He hates it.

You should be angry, you should be arguing. He knows his bad moods kill you, he knows you’re waiting for things to be normal again and they won’t. You get up in the middle of the night when he’s asleep and put on your wedding dress, just to smile at yourself and promise that soon, it’ll be better. You think he doesn’t realize, that he’s passed out, but from the bed he watches you turn in front of the mirror and bite your lip, the way you always do when you’re too pleased with something. Then he sees you cry, softly, hand pressed to lips so you don’t make any noise and inconvenience him. You only let the break happen for a fee minutes, then you wipe your tears, take off the dress and tell yourself that it’s all alright.

Things will be okay.

What if they won’t?

What if it all just crumbles, every wall of the castles built?

It’s not a matter of ‘what if’s’ anymore, is it? Not when the two of you argue into the morning about things. You’re trying so hard to give him the benefit of the doubt but when he isn’t giving you anything at all, it makes for situations like this one.

Head in your hands, you pause for a brief moment and breathe before looking back up at Spencer. The two of you have been at this for about an hour and a half, all because you mentioned how unfair he’s being. Here you were, taking the scraps he throws to you like you’re a dog, and he’s saying it’s you who is unfair.

“I know you want things to go back to the way they were, but it’s not gonna happen.” He says in that bitter tone you hate, looking down at you, sitting on the mattress.

“I know things are different, Spencer.” You claim. “But I didn’t think I had to be okay with you hardly looking at me, or-or not baring to ask me a simple question like how my day was.”

He scoffs at you, running a hand through his unruly hair. “I’m sorry if my attention isn’t devoted to you now.”

You stand to match his position. “Don’t make me seem selfish.” You shout.

“I’m- you’re not selfish, I just…what do you want from me?” He questions, throwing his arms out and staring at you with absolutely no love in his eyes.

“What do I want?” You reword. “What I want is some progress. Every day I wake up, and I do my best to convince you that you’re not something evil, that these unforeseen circumstances don’t define you, and it’s like I’m stuck in a loop. I can’t help you if you don’t help yourself.”

A lump forms in your throat, your eyes burn but you can’t find it in yourself to let those tears fall.

“That’s the problem!” Spencer shouts. “You’re looking at me like I’m some sort of sick animal and I can’t stand it!”

“You’re looking at me like I’m not the love of your life anymore, so I suppose some things change.”

Silence.

Spencer’s at a loss for words.

Your tears start falling now. You wipe at them with fever.

“I’m trying to give you time, Spence.”

“Angel-” He tries to interrupt, only to be stopped with the movement of your hand in the air, halting him.

“Don’t. Don’t be like this. I know this hasn’t been easy for you, but I have felt so alone.” You say with a squeak. “And you just… don’t care.”

He shakes his head, demeanor changing. “Of course I care!”

“Really? Because it feels like you gave up on me when you gave up on yourself.” You gasp lightly, trying to calm your shaking hands. “And that’s mean, baby. I know you have been through so much and you lost the game of chance, and I’m sorry- I am so sorry, but you can’t toss me aside like I haven’t formed my whole life around you!”

It’s strange, standing in a room that once knew laughter and the warmth of your escapades. Only now, it’s ghostly and tired and blue. Spencer wants to defend it, wants to shout that you’re just not understanding him but it’s wrong. You understand him better than anyone ever has, and you’re immensely right, he’s abusing the situation. He knows all of this and can’t help but back peddle like his life depends on it.

“I’m not trying to toss you aside, I’m sorry.” He says, reaching out to grab you, deciding his touch can’t be your downfall.

But you side step him. “But you are, do you not understand? Use that smart head of yours to realize the instance here.” You plead. “If you’re done trying, then I am to because I have no more to give. I’m empty, you took it all from me, Spence. What do I get in return? Nothing, not even a fucking marriage.”

There’s a certain level of hurt that mixes with the anger and creates something crazy in your brain, makes it malfunction and all your repressed thoughts come out.

As you go to leave the bedroom, Spencer follows after. “What does that mean?” He asks.

You need to get out, these walls are whispering with your promises of a future, they’re getting louder.

“You aren’t going to marry me.” You state, searching for some place to hide and sink away.

“Of course I am.” He claims, calling your name to stop you.

“You can’t even pretend like you love me, Spencer, you aren’t going to marry me.”

A hand catches your arm and spins you to face him. His eyes are confused and reeling.

“I do love you, I always have.”

There’s a waver in his voice, is there?

I swallow. “Say it again. With feeling.”

“I love you!”

As the air leaves your lungs in a death rattle sort of way, you just can’t feel the warmth. It makes sense, ghosts have no heat, no matter how beloved they are. You know he expects you to give a different statement than what you do, and it hurts when you tell him the truth.

“I don’t think that’s enough now.”

“Don’t say that.” His tone comes out angrier than intended.

“I just did.”

One might describe him as a scared dog, one who lashes out now like he never used to.

“It’s not enough? Then why don’t you just spare yourself?” He spits, resembling a man you’ve never known, tossing your arm aside, probably too harshly.

The knife twists in your chest, you’re convinced you’re bleeding. Slowly, you nod. The ring seems to hold on for dear life, but you still pull it from your finger and offer it forward.

Everything inside of him feels sick as he reaches out his hand, watching as you drop the diamond into his palm.

With your heartbeat in your ears, you go to the door, sliding into your shoes and grabbing your heavy coat to brave into the weather. With Spencer calling your name, you shut the door on his impending questions of where you’re going.

Spencer stares at the door, and for a moment he can’t believe it all happened like it did. But he said the words and you followed his lead like the faithful partner you are and now you’re gone.

It takes him twenty two minutes before he begins to really panic. What if you’re gone forever? What if some force is going to take you now? Where did you go? Are you cold?

And if you left, that meant he’s alone for good, alone like he’s always been. How could he do this to you? He’s horrible, he’s a monster, all of those things he’s thought about are true.

He sets the ring on the counter, then throws the dirty coffee mug into the sink with such force, it breaks.

He paces the apartment while you stand at Penelope’s door, your dearest friend you only know because of Spencer, trying to hold it together until she comes to find you.

“What happened?” She asks, taking in your appearance.

“I don’t– know.” You sob out.

Two weeks later…

…

…

…It’s a weird feeling, having your spine split in half from carrying so much weight uphill for so long. You know a lot about weird feelings now, that empty space in your chest, Spencer sized, that’s your new lover.

Penelope sets a duffel bag by the pullout couch where you hardly move from, she’s been making trips to the apartment over the days to retrieve what you need.

“Hey, lovebug.” She coos softly, sitting by your knees, petting your mess of hair. “How was work?”

You open your mouth to tell her it was fine, that today was actually a good day, all the way up until Spencer texted you and asked if you wanted to move all of your things out.

A strangled sigh leaves your cracked lips.

This sums up how the last two weeks have been, and you wonder if Pen is a little embarrassed for you yet, the way you can hardly get out of bed.

“Emily and JJ and I are going out…why don’t you take a shower and come with us? It’ll make you feel better.” She says in such a gentle tone, one she’s learned that can get you to do anything.

It drags you to the shower, where you sag against the wall and do your daily crying. Then you get dressed and tame your hair and somehow make it to the bar.

Emily and JJ look at you with pity and you have no energy to be upset.

“Reid’s not enjoying it either.” Emily offers in a corner booth, because the conversation has turned to discussing the loss of your life.

Pen and JJ nod in agreement.

The BAU feels like they’re going through this break up at the way Spencer’s moods affect all of them. They’ve never known his anger like they do now, how he’s quick to snap, how the littlest thing sets him off. They’ll spare you, they won’t tell you how he swiped the picture frames off his desk, the ones of you and him. They won’t mention the fact that he hasn’t smiled once, that he looks like he doesn’t sleep.

They won’t tell you any of this but they’ll offer words of condolence or comfort, neither work.

“It’s going to be alright.” Emily encourages, squeezing your hand from across the table. “Heartache doesn’t stay forever.”

JJ nods like it’s going to fix the way you’re as empty as a drum.

“We all know how you’re feeling, don’t worry.” She says, her perfect, Barbie doll smile.

It makes you sick. You really shouldn’t take the anger out on anyone, but you do because there’s so much of it and you can’t stop it from flowing.

“You know what I’m going through?” You question her.

“Yes, I’ve had heartaches too.”

You suddenly can’t stand being here, you need to leave.

“You can go home to a husband, Jennifer, you don’t know how I feel.”

With those as your parting words, you flee, you tell Penelope you need air and you’ll see her at her apartment.

While you brave the cold city, the three women ask themselves how it could have possibly ended like this, with the greatest love of all in shambles. JJ calls Reid, of course she does.

“You need to fix this.” She tells him.

“…How is she?” He asks, sitting on the sofa, eyeing the framed pictures on the wall.

“She’s…lost. She’s ghostly, she-…Spencer, she loves you and she can’t stop. Fix it.”

“I don’t know how.” He says, monotone.

“How did it end, anyway?” She asks, seeing Emily and Penelope return with more drinks.

Spencer sort of sighs, though it’s sad and broken.

“I don’t know.”

- - - -

The air bites, it’s as cold as you feel, makes your bones ache. You wander in hopes of getting lost permanently, but to no avail, you know your city. Your city that feels so harsh and cruel, it’s one big reminder that you used to not walk the sidewalks alone, that you once stole kisses under streetlights. And as you’re walking down fifth avenue and memory lane, your feet drag you to the place you really want to go. In the time you left the bar and got frostbite from the early stages of falling snow, you’ve worked yourself up enough to believe you could stand your ground. Your anger has made a platform to stand on, you’re at the top of the fucking podium by the time you knock on the apartment door.

Why are you knocking?

Your name is on the fucking lease.

You shove the key in the lock and barge in, mouth agape, ready to fire.

And then you see it.

The bedroom door is only halfway shut, but you see movement. In the room that is gray and sullen, Spencer stands with his back to the door, staring at the cascade of white that he has laid on the bed like a memorial, like it was an open casket viewing.

Your podium shrinks.

“I was going to wear my hair up.” You say, causing him to turn and face you.

He’s tired, hair messy, unshaven, and those round brown eyes are the saddest things you’ve ever seen.

“I like your hair up.” He says, the words echo off exposed brick walls.

Heart beats pass, ba-bum ba-bum in your ears and you quickly huff and bush melted snow through your hair.

“I’ll get my things out now, if you want.” You say, choosing words carefully, eyes watching the way his avoid you.

“I don’t have any boxes.” He says, fingers brushing satin and lace before he picks the dress back up, puts it in the dust bag and death marches it to you. “You would’ve looked beautiful…you always look beautiful.”

How is it he can be so blissfully unaware? The smartest man you’ve ever known and he’s saying things to break your heart, with no clue that he’s doing it. You take that dress- that beautiful, vintage gown with the hundred fabric buttons running down the back, and lay it over your arm, then rock back on your heels.

“I can grab what I can and come by when you’re at work to get the rest.” You offer, wishing he’d say all the things you want him to say, like stay and I’m an idiot and I love you.

Spencer only nods. “Yeah. That works.”

“Okay…” You whisper, then drape the dress over the reading chair in the corner, the one too small for the both of you. You used to curl as small as possible on his lap with your legs over the arm and your head on his shoulder.

Every corner of this place is haunted.

In the closet, you pull the string and the lightbulb burns orange. You grab the two handheld suitcases, the ones you came home to find on the bed one day with Spencer telling you he was taking you to London while your school was on Spring Break.

When you come back out, Spencer’s left the room. There was no way he could watch you pull open the drawers where your things sat beside his.

With a knot in your throat, you fold and place things neatly and keep your cool like the mature adult you are.

That is until you grab the MIT t-shirt you’ve worn in. It’s a light gray color now, the neckline stretched so it only hangs right on you and not Spencer. Holding the ratty shirt you refuse to let him toss, that’s when you decide you don’t want to be a mature adult.

You’re a teenager with a broken heart is what it feels like, the world is ending and your soul has been split in half.

One tear comes, and then another, and one more until your face is soaked with your desperation and mourning. You ball that silly t shirt up at toss it away, and decide those suitcases are insufferable and onto the floor they go.

You stare at them, the clatter they made did nothing for comfort. With a raspy sigh, you sink to your knees to put everything back inside, and your blurry eyes drift to Spencer’s socks that appear in front of you after he hears the bang.

Wordlessly and gentle, he lowers his tall frame to crouch in front of you. The look in his eye is fools gold, it makes you think he’s the Spencer he was before everything.

You look at him, sure you look like a mess but you don’t care. Your chapped lips part and he’s prepared for the scolding, for your temper.

It doesn’t come.

“We were supposed to grow old together.” You sob out. “It was gonna be you and me, Spence, wearing matching outfits when we’re eighty, going to senior discount days at the theater.”

Those are the words that bring him back to reality, and the fall is harsh and he’s mortified that he’s done this to you.

You hiccup for air, pushing his hand away that tries to grab the suitcase. “I was going to walk down the aisle to an instrumental version of Heartbeat by The Fray, it’s unconventional but it’s my favorite song.”

“I know.” He whispers sadly.

“We didn’t make a deposit on that little venue with the pond, they gave our spot away but that’s okay, we were going to figure it out because we always do. We always do, Spencer.”

You’re not even sure you’re making sense but he understands, you could go mute completely and he’d understand because you’re his person, who he’s ruined.

“I know. I know, baby, I know.” He keeps repeating, adjusting to pull you away from the mess and into him.

With no strength left, you have no fuel for the fight. You fall into him, face in his chest as he sits against the bed and hugs you like he’s not seen you in years. It’s what it feels like, he hasn’t had you this close in too long. His fingers press into your skin, the warmth is almost groundbreaking in feeling, makes him unsure of where to hold you because he wants to touch everywhere, all at once. A lifeless frame full of hunger, you can’t move as you feel his caring grip in your hair, his lips to your crown as you can’t seem to get a solid breath in.

“Don’t make me leave you.” You plead, curling into him like a whimpering dog, clutching his chest to make sure there’s still a heart in there that beats for you.

Spencer’s crying now, the familiar feeling of fear in his lungs that don’t want to expand if you’re not around. He drags hair out of your face and presses his forehead to yours.

“I don’t want you to leave. Don’t leave me, don’t leave me.” He says with the emotion of the man before.

And just like that, you waltz right back into each other, you know the steps. Sitting in your fairytale, on the cold hardwood floor, listening to the steady beat of his heart, you both determine this isn’t the end of the greatest love affair they’ve ever seen.

You’re not sure how long you stay like this, in his lap, face red and salty as you stare at your bare left hand, but eventually the tears stop for the both of you. Spencer is the first to speak, he gently shifts, his hand sliding up your arm and shoulder to rest on the side of your neck, as if he’s checking your pulse.

“I’m sorry.” He rasps. “I’m sorry for everything, all of it, every single thing I did and said and ruined. I’m an idiot, angel, and you don’t know how lovely you are.”

Like water to a flame, those words are cooling. The grief and remorse in his tone makes you grab that hand checking your lifeline, and hold it.

“I’m sorry too.” You say. “For everything that went wrong and the fact I couldn’t do anything about it.”

His chest shudders, he leans down and kisses your forehead. “It doesn’t matter, it’s over now.”

You tilt your gaze up to meet his eye. “Is it?”

Bless you and the ground you walk on that he should worship better. Spencer gently runs his finger down your cheek and across your jawline. He nods then. “Yeah, baby, it is.”

[faithsotherhouseofchaos]

Slinky the Snake||Lando Norris x fem!reader

Word count — 924

Summary: Lando’s afraid of snakes. Y/N has a snake. Love’s about compromise, right?

A/n it’s 3:30am and I’m finally over the stomach bug and now I can’t sleep mostly because I’ve slept all day.

The first time Lando stepped into Y/N’s apartment, he was struck by how cozy it felt. Plants hung from the windows, books lined the shelves, and her couch looked so inviting that he immediately imagined sprawling across it.

But then he noticed the terrarium. “Uh… what’s that?” he asked, already feeling a strange mix of curiosity and dread building in his chest.

Y/N, who was halfway to the kitchen, froze. Slowly, she turned back toward him. “Oh, um, that’s Slinky’s home.”

Lando blinked. “Slinky?”

Y/N hesitated, debating whether to dodge the topic or dive right in. Finally, she sighed, crossing the room to lift the lid of the terrarium.

“Slinky’s my snake.”

And there it was—a ball python, small and unassuming, poking his head out from under a log. Lando’s eyes went wide, and before he even realized it, he’d taken several large steps back.

“Wait… you have a snake?”

“Yes,” Y/N said, her tone defensive but calm. “He’s my pet. And before you say anything, he’s harmless.”

Lando’s face was a mix of disbelief and mild horror. “Harmless? That thing eats live mice! How is that harmless?”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “He’s a ball python, Lando. He doesn’t even have venom. He’s basically a noodle with a face.”

“A noodle with a face,” Lando repeated flatly, looking at the snake as though it might launch itself at him at any moment.

“Look, you don’t have to love him,” Y/N said, crossing her arms. “But… you like me, right?”

Lando’s gaze snapped back to her. “Of course I do.”

“Then give Slinky a chance. Please?”

Fifteen minutes later, Lando was sitting stiffly on Y/N’s couch, eyeing the snake now draped over her shoulders like a scarf.

“He’s not gonna bite me, right?” he asked, his voice an octave higher than usual.

“Not unless you smell like a rat,” Y/N teased.

“Not funny, love.”

Y/N chuckled, reaching up to gently stroke Slinky’s head. “Relax. He’s just curious. See? He likes you.”

Slinky was stretching toward Lando, his tongue flicking as if trying to taste the air around him. Lando, meanwhile, had his hands gripping the couch cushions as though they might save him from a sudden snake attack.

“I don’t think ‘like’ is the right word here,” he muttered.

Y/N leaned back, giving Lando some space. “You don’t have to touch him today. Just sit with us for a bit. Baby steps.” Lando nodded, though he wasn’t entirely convinced.

The next time Lando came over, Slinky decided to make himself the star of the show. While Y/N cooked dinner, Lando kept one wary eye on the snake, who was exploring the coffee table. At one point, Slinky nudged Lando’s phone, flicking his tongue against the screen.

“Uh… he’s touching my phone,” Lando called out.

“He’s playing with it,” Y/N replied from the kitchen.

“Playing or trying to eat it?”

Y/N walked in just in time to see Slinky knock the phone off the table. She picked up the snake and laughed. “He’s just being clumsy. He gets like this sometimes.”

Lando watched as Slinky managed to tangle himself in a lamp cord, looking entirely unbothered by his predicament.

“Should we… help him?” Lando asked hesitantly.

Y/N shook her head, untangling the snake with practiced ease. “He’s fine. He’s like a toddler—always getting into trouble but too cute to stay mad at.”

Lando frowned, watching as Slinky made a beeline for Y/N’s arm, curling around her wrist like a bracelet. “Yeah… I’m not seeing the ‘cute’ part yet.”

After weeks of awkward encounters with Slinky, Lando finally decided it was time to face his fear.

“Okay,” he said one evening, standing in Y/N’s living room. “I’m ready to hold him.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “You sure? No pressure.”

“I’m sure,” Lando said, though his hands were already clammy. “Just… don’t laugh if I scream, okay?”

Y/N grinned, gently lifting Slinky from his terrarium and walking over to Lando. “Alright, hold your hands out like this,” she instructed, demonstrating the proper way to support the snake.

Lando mimicked her stance, and she carefully placed Slinky in his hands.

“He’s heavier than I thought,” Lando murmured, his voice tight.

“Yeah, but see? He’s just chilling.”

Slinky curled lazily around Lando’s wrist, flicking his tongue in a gesture that Y/N swore was friendly.

Lando froze for a moment, his eyes locked on the snake. But when nothing bad happened, he exhaled a shaky breath. “Okay… this isn’t so bad. He’s kind of… soft?”

“Exactly!”

Y/N stepped back to snap a picture, and Lando immediately glared at her. “Don’t you dare post that.” Lando says as they settled on the couch, Slinky slithered across Y/N’s lap, eventually draping himself over Lando’s legs as well.

“You know,” Lando said, glancing down at the snake, “he’s not so bad. I think I might even like him.”

Y/N smirked. “Just wait till he tries to hide in your hoodie.”

“One step at a time, love. One step at a time.”

[holylulusworld]

A fresh start (6) – New Beginnings

Summary: The world is safe. Thanos is gone. What now?

Pairing: Post-Endgame!Steve Rogers x Plussized!Reader

Warnings: angst, language, plus-sized reader, virgin reader, virgin Steve Rogers, fluff, implied smut, first time, romance

A/N: A short last chapter.

Written for my 16.666 followers celebration. Requested by @elle14-blog1​

Catch up here: A fresh start (5) - First dates

A fresh start masterlist

“Doll?” Steve gasped. “I thought…I mean. You’re so beautiful and sweet. I can’t believe you never had a man before me. There must’ve been dozens of guys interested in you.”

“None of them were you,” you replied, gently touching his cheek. “Maybe I was waiting for the right man, and he sits right before me.”

“Same!” He hastily said. “I meant not a guy, but the right girl. I once thought I found her, but we weren’t meant to be. Now that I met you, I know what love is.”

You giggle because this is the sweetest and cheesiest thing to say. “I love you too, Stevie.”

“Thank fuck!” Steve exclaimed before kissing you softly. He moaned against you, feeling his heart flutter.

“No swear words, Captain,” you said, and cupped his face to deepen the kiss. “But I’m glad you love me too.”

Your confessions didn’t make things awkward between you and Steve. If anything, it made you both realize you have so much more in common than you thought.

His friends gave him advice and tried to strengthen his self-confidence. Steve didn’t listen. He didn’t want to lose his virginity in a hurry for the sake of having sex.

Steve wanted to do things right. He’d taken you out on dates and organized romantic dinners. Steve even went so far as to sign up for a cooking class to learn how to cook for his future wife.

One afternoon, he invited you to a romantic picnic in the park, and the next week, he enchanted you with his first homemade dinner.

You only fell harder for the charming superhero. He proved over and over again that he’s more than a handsome face. Steve Rogers is a kind soul and a sensitive man.

When you both were ready to take the next step in your relationship and after Steve assured you he was here to stay (even though you already knew that much), you let yourself fall.

Steve and you didn’t rush things. You started with soft kisses, gentle touches, and grinding against each other. You were both nervous and, to be honest, a little clumsy.

He was scared to hurt you, and you were afraid he’d be disappointed after seeing you bare for the first time. You were both wrong.

Steve couldn’t take his eyes or hands off you. And you weren’t afraid of getting hurt only because your boyfriend is enhanced. He was gentle and careful, always asking you if you felt good or if you wanted him to stop.

You clawed at him, refusing to stop now that you were finally united with the man you love.

It was worth waiting for Steve. He was a passionate yet gentle lover, and all you hoped for. Even though you ripped three condoms because your hands were busy exploring your bodies.

You laughed about it later, looking at the used and destroyed condoms lying on the ground. Because let’s be honest, Steve can do it all day and night.

Four months later you look at Steve, tears in your eyes as he kneels in front of you. His friends cheer him on as Steve asks the most important question.

“Doll, Y/N,” he whispers your name lovingly. “You’ve changed my life forever, and only because of you, I could save the world one last time. Now that I gave the shield to Sam, would you give me the honor of wearing my ring?”

Bucky and Sam held their breath as you stared at their friend for a moment. You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Stunned, you watched the man you love kneel in front of you, his smile fading with every passing second.

“Fuck, what if she says no?” Bucky whispered while Sam prepared a speech to help Steve cope. “She wouldn’t do that. Right?”

“Why do you ask me?” Sam retorted the moment everyone clapped their hands. Bucky and Sam watched Steve put the ring on your finger before kissing you fiercely.

“Great! Now we missed it!” Bucky grunted.

Sam glared at Bucky. “And whose fault is it, old man?”

“Guys, are you ready to celebrate my engagement now, or do you want to fight some more?” Steve joked as you grinned as Bucky and Sam glared at each other. “Doll, I’m sorry. They come in a package with me.”

You both laughed wholeheartedly before sealing Steve’s proposal with another passionate kiss. Soon you’d be wearing not only his ring but Steve’s name too.

THE END, for now...

[dontopenfairies]

Standing on the porch, she jiggles her key in the lock. “Fuck, it’s not working.” Her leg is shifting on the ground, too.

“What’s taking you so long?” Why is he always so damn impatient?

“It’s not me; it’s the stupid key. And I reallyy have to pee right now, fuck.”

“You’re wearing protection, though, right?”

“Yeah but…” The key finally turns in the lock and she pushes the door open, just as… “Fuck. I just flooded.”

He follows her through the door and she kicks her shoes off, looking down to asses the damage. Her pants are totally soaked down her thighs.

“Skill issue,” he says. “I never flood.” He crosses the room and sits down on the couch, picking his switch up off the coffee table.

“Yeah, and I don’t wet the bed every night…” she says, quietly enough that he can’t hear her. She goes to the bathroom, pulling off her pants and peeling the wet pull-up away from her skin. “Are you going to help me?” she calls out to the living room.

“No,” he answers back.

She rinses off in the shower and goes to the bedroom to get her pajama pants on. When she comes back out to the living room, he’s engrossed in his video game.

She sits down next to him and switches on the TV.

“Noo,” he whines. “Too loud. You’re distracting me.”

“You know,” she says, turning up the volume, but speaking louder, too, so that he can still hear her. “I don’t really appreciate getting lip from someone who still wears diapers.”

He’s pretending to focus on his game, but she watches a pink blush crawling up his cheeks. She turns the TV off.

“That’s what you want, right? To get me to bully you.”

“Fuck,” he says, setting the switch back down on the coffee table. “I lost. You messed me up!”

“Uh-huh…I messed you up? I don’t think it’s all my fault. I was getting quite a bit of a reaction out of you.”

He folds his legs up on the couch and glances at her sidelong.

“I was saying,” she says, reaching out and grabbing his arm and pulling him towards her. “I don’t really appreciate getting lip from someone who wets the bed every night.”

“Not every night.”

“Okay, fine. Almost every night.”

“No, last week I had two—“

“Two nights in a row? That you were dry in the morning? Woww. Good for you. Congratulations.” She pulls his waistband up from under his pants, and he gasps at the sudden tension in his crotch.

“Somebody wearing big diapers like this making fun of me! ‘I don’t flood,’” she says in a mocking voice. “You wouldn’t notice if you did! This big diaper catches all of it! I bet you didn’t even notice last time you wet!” She tugs at his waistband again.

His hands go up over his face.

“Somebody who’s going to be on my lap later, pushing out a big mess into his diaper…”

He squirms away from her. “Maybe I won’t tonight! Maybe I’m going to go to the toilet and you can sit on the couch and have your stupid lap to yourself!” He sticks out his tongue at her.

“Oh, no, no, no,” she admonishes, grabbing his arm and yanking it into a half nelson.

“Owww…stop!!”

“Apologize to me.”

“I’m sorry!! I’m really sorry.” He taps his free hand on the couch. “Uncle! Uncle! I’m tapping out!” She lets him go and he massages his arm. “Owie,” he says again.

“Are you going to be good now?” she asks, pulling him onto her lap. He rests his head on her shoulder.

“Yes. I’m a good boy now.”

She rubs his back. “Let me check that diaper.”

“It’s wet,” he says quietly.

“Thought so. You always get so much more cranky when your diaper is dirty.”

He sits up on her lap and she undoes his pants.

“Not dirty like poop,” he says, watching as she squeezes the front of his diaper.

“Do you need to do that, too?”

He looks away. “Yeah…”

“Okay,” she says, pulling him close to her again. “Since you’re a good boy now, you can do it on my lap. Whenever you’re ready, honey.” She strokes down his back. “Do you need a pillow or a hand to hold?”

Without speaking, he laces his fingers with hers. Just a few seconds later he squeezes her hand, hard.

“Are you pushing? Don’t strain, baby, just relax. Ohh, there you go. Good job, honey. I won’t make fun of you anymore if you’re this good all evening.” She kisses his cheek.

“I’m good now,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry I was being so bad earlier.”

“All is forgiven.” She kisses him again.

[andy-15-07]

The Empress and the General

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x female reader

Word Count: 3399

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

The Colosseum buzzed with the thunderous cheers of Rome’s citizens. The air was thick with anticipation, dust swirling in the golden rays of the sun. General Marcus Acacius, his polished armor gleaming, stood near the Emperor's platform. His piercing gaze scanned the roaring crowd, but his mind was steady, unyielding. He had long served Rome with unwavering loyalty, his reputation as a fierce warrior preceding him.

Today, however, his focus faltered as his eyes fell on her.

Y/N sat gracefully beside her brothers, Emperor Geta and Emperor Caracalla, adorned in a flowing gown of imperial purple and gold. Her presence was like a beacon amidst the chaos, her beauty striking, her demeanor regal. She leaned forward slightly, her eyes sparkling with curiosity and excitement as she watched the spectacle below. Marcus felt his breath hitch—a reaction he hadn’t experienced in years.

As though sensing his gaze, Y/N turned her head, her eyes meeting his. There was a brief moment where the world seemed to pause. A flicker of something—recognition, perhaps—passed between them before she looked away, her lips curving into a small smile.

Marcus swallowed hard, tearing his eyes away. He was a soldier, bound by duty. And she—she was untouchable.

Later that evening, the emperors summoned Marcus to their private chambers. The siblings were striking in their contrasting personas: Geta, the more calculating and composed ruler, and Caracalla, brash and fiery. Y/N sat quietly to the side, her expression unreadable.

"General Acacius," Geta began, his tone measured, "you have served Rome well, and we entrust you with a new responsibility."

Marcus inclined his head respectfully. "Anything for the glory of Rome, my lords."

Caracalla leaned forward, a sly grin on his lips. "Our sister, Y/N, is dear to us. As you know, the court is rife with intrigue. We require someone capable of ensuring her safety."

Marcus blinked, his composure unwavering despite the quickened pace of his heart. "You wish for me to guard her, my lord?"

"Precisely," Geta affirmed. "You will accompany her during public appearances, oversee her security, and report directly to us."

Marcus’s gaze flickered briefly to Y/N, who now watched him intently. "It will be my honor."

The following days saw Marcus in Y/N’s constant presence. Initially, their interactions were formal. She would nod politely when he escorted her, offer a soft "thank you" when he opened doors or helped her into carriages. Yet, there was a quiet curiosity in her eyes, as if she sought to understand the man behind the armor.

One afternoon, as they strolled through the imperial gardens, Y/N finally spoke.

"Do you always take your duties so seriously, General?"

Marcus glanced at her, surprised by her playful tone. "A soldier’s duty is his life, my lady."

"Surely there’s more to life than duty," she mused, plucking a flower and twirling it between her fingers.

"Not for someone like me," he replied, his voice low.

"And what is someone like you?"

Marcus hesitated. "A man who serves. Nothing more."

Y/N stopped walking, turning to face him. "I don’t believe that. You’re more than just a soldier, Marcus Acacius."

Hearing his name from her lips sent a shiver through him. He cleared his throat, trying to maintain his composure. "You honor me with your words, my lady."

She smiled, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Perhaps I do."

As weeks passed, their conversations grew deeper. Y/N shared stories of her childhood, moments of joy and sorrow. Marcus, in turn, revealed fragments of his life—his rise through the ranks, his loyalty to Rome. Slowly, walls crumbled, and an undeniable connection formed between them.

One evening, as they stood on a balcony overlooking the city, Y/N spoke softly. "Do you ever dream, Marcus?"

"Dream?" he echoed.

"Yes. Of something beyond this life. Beyond duty and titles."

Marcus looked at her, the moonlight casting her features in a soft glow. "I stopped dreaming long ago."

She stepped closer, her gaze unwavering. "Then perhaps it’s time you start again."

For a moment, he allowed himself to imagine—a life where she wasn’t the sister of emperors, where he wasn’t bound by duty. A life where they could be free.

Their growing closeness did not go unnoticed. Whispers spread through the court, and the emperors, though initially indifferent, began to question Marcus’s loyalty.

Caracalla confronted him one day, his tone sharp. "Do not mistake my trust for permission, General. My sister is not yours to covet."

Marcus stood his ground, his voice steady. "I have done nothing to dishonor her or your family, my lord."

"See that it stays that way," Caracalla warned, his eyes narrowing.

The tension only served to deepen Marcus’s resolve. He couldn’t deny his feelings for Y/N, but he also couldn’t risk her safety. Yet, Y/N, ever perceptive, sensed his inner turmoil.

One night, as they walked through the palace halls, she stopped abruptly.

"Marcus," she said, her voice firm, "do you care for me?"

He froze, his heart pounding. "My lady, I—"

"Do not lie to me," she interrupted, stepping closer. "I see it in your eyes. You feel what I feel."

Marcus exhaled shakily. "It doesn’t matter. You are—"

"Don’t say it," she pleaded. "Don’t remind me of the chains that bind us."

Her vulnerability shattered his defenses. Without thinking, he reached out, cupping her face gently. "I would give everything to be with you," he admitted, his voice raw.

"And I would do the same," she whispered, tears glistening in her eyes.

Their love, though forbidden, became their solace. They stole moments whenever they could—hidden glances, whispered words, fleeting touches.

But their happiness was fleeting. The emperors grew suspicious, and whispers of betrayal reached their ears.

One fateful day, Marcus was summoned to the throne room. Geta and Caracalla stood side by side, their expressions grim. Y/N stood behind them, her face pale.

"General Acacius," Geta began, "you have served Rome faithfully, but your recent actions have brought your loyalty into question."

Marcus dropped to one knee. "I have done nothing to betray Rome or your trust, my lords."

Caracalla sneered. "Do not insult our intelligence. Your feelings for our sister are no secret."

Y/N stepped forward, her voice trembling. "They are my feelings as well. Do not punish him for what is beyond his control."

Her words stunned the room into silence. Marcus looked up at her, his eyes wide.

Geta sighed, his tone heavy. "This cannot continue. For the sake of the empire, Marcus, you must leave."

Marcus was exiled, sent to the outskirts of the empire. But even distance could not sever their bond. Through letters smuggled by loyal servants, they kept their love alive, vowing to reunite one day.

Years later, as Marcus fought in a distant land, a message arrived. It bore Y/N’s handwriting, her words filled with hope and longing.

"Rome may keep us apart, but my heart is yours, always. One day, we will find our way back to each other."

And with that promise, Marcus held onto hope, determined to defy fate and reclaim the love that had changed him forever.

The quiet of the night was broken only by the rustle of leaves in the wind, but Y/N felt the weight of a decision that had long been simmering in her heart. The golden glow of the imperial palace, with its looming marble columns and opulent halls, had never been more suffocating. The weight of being the sister of two emperors, of carrying the expectations and responsibilities of the empire on her shoulders, had grown unbearable. Even her love for her brothers had not been enough to silence the yearning that had lodged deep within her—a yearning for freedom, for a life not defined by power or politics, but by love and choice.

She glanced out of her window one final time, at the majestic city of Rome stretching endlessly beneath the sky. But her thoughts were not on the glory of the empire. They were on the man she had left behind, the man who had once stood beside her, not as a general or protector, but as a lover—Marcus Acacius.

It had been nearly three years since her brothers had exiled him, a decision that had torn her apart. Yet, with every letter she received from him, with every fleeting moment of longing, her resolve had only strengthened. She could not bear the thought of living without him. He had become more than a soldier to her—he was her heart, her future.

The plan was simple, though dangerous. She would leave in the dead of night, with nothing but a few personal belongings and a letter to her brothers. There was no turning back once she stepped beyond the palace walls. But as she made her preparations, a sense of peace settled over her, knowing that this was the right choice.

By the time the moon reached its zenith, Y/N had left the palace behind. The streets of Rome were deserted, the bustling life of the city hushed under the veil of darkness. Her heart raced with each step, but there was no hesitation. She was driven by a singular purpose: to find Marcus, to build a life with him, far from the reach of her brothers and their empire.

The journey was long and treacherous. She had little more than the clothes on her back, but her mind was resolute. She knew the way to the small village where Marcus had taken refuge after his exile. It was a place far removed from the influence of the empire, nestled at the edges of the Roman world, where the forests were thick and the land untamed. The journey, though, was fraught with danger. There were still whispers of Marcus’s supposed betrayal of Rome, and she knew that Roman patrols could be anywhere, hunting for her.

But her love for him was stronger than the fear that clawed at her chest. She would endure whatever hardships lay ahead, for him. For them.

Days passed before she finally arrived at the small stone house Marcus had built for them. The door swung open as soon as she knocked, revealing a man who looked nothing like the polished general she had known. His once-gilded armor had been replaced with simple tunics, and his face, once smooth and youthful, now carried the marks of exile. Yet, as their eyes met, the love in his gaze was unchanged.

"Y/N..." he whispered, his voice thick with disbelief and emotion.

She smiled, tears threatening to fall. "I had to come, Marcus. I couldn’t stay. Not without you."

He stepped forward, his arms wrapping around her as if afraid that if he let go, she would vanish into the night. The familiar weight of his arms around her brought a sense of calm that she hadn’t realized she had been missing. "You shouldn’t have, Y/N. The empire... they will come for you."

"I’m done with the empire," she said softly, pulling back to look into his eyes. "I’m done with all of it. I want to be with you."

His gaze softened, but a flicker of doubt passed through his eyes. "But what about your brothers? Your family? You’re leaving everything behind."

She took his hands in hers, squeezing them tightly. "I am leaving the empire behind, Marcus. I am choosing you. I have never been happier than when I am with you. I will follow you, wherever we go."

The weight of her words hung between them, a promise that neither of them would ever break. They stood there for a long time, simply holding each other, knowing that this moment—this love—was all they needed.

In the years that followed, their life together was filled with quiet moments of happiness, but also struggles that tested them both. They built a small farm together, the land harsh but fertile, and over time, the house grew with the addition of their children.

Lucius was the first to be born, a strong-willed boy who took after his father’s fierce determination. He was quick to pick up a sword and began practicing with Marcus from the age of six. Aurelia came next, her sharp mind and quick wit making her a natural leader. Even as a child, she could take charge of any situation, and her mother often found herself marveling at the young woman she was becoming.

Cassian was a dreamer, always lost in his thoughts or in the pages of the books Y/N had secretly saved from her royal life. He wasn’t interested in swordplay or fighting; instead, he dreamed of stories and adventures. But even he had a strong will, and when the time came, he would fight for those he loved.

Junia, their youngest, was the spark that kept the family alive. With her mischievous grin and boundless energy, she reminded them all that even in the darkest times, joy could still be found.

But even as they created a life for themselves, the shadow of the empire was never far behind. Marcus had hoped to fade into obscurity, but his past as a general would always haunt him. And soon, the empire came calling once more.

The years that followed Marcus and Y/N’s decision to live outside the empire were filled with both challenges and moments of quiet happiness. As they watched their children grow, the family created a life rich in love, rooted in the simplicity of the land they had chosen to call home. It wasn’t the grandeur of Rome, nor the power of an empire that shaped their world—it was the warmth of their shared moments, the strength of their love, and the joy of raising their children together.

It was early in the morning when the first rays of sunlight pierced the horizon, casting a soft glow over the land. Marcus and Y/N stood side by side in the garden, their hands intertwined as they watched their children play in the fields. The air was fresh with the scent of wildflowers, and the sound of laughter filled the space between them.

Lucius, now a young man of seventeen, raced after his younger siblings, Aurelia and Cassian, who were in pursuit of a butterfly that fluttered just beyond their reach. Junia, ever the energetic one, hopped in circles, her giggles ringing out as she watched her brothers and sister. It was moments like these that made everything worth it—these simple joys that, even in their most difficult days, filled the family with a sense of peace.

"You know," Y/N said softly, her voice carrying the weight of years of love and gratitude, "when I imagined a life with you, I never imagined this. A home filled with laughter, with children, with peace."

Marcus smiled, his eyes softening as he watched their children. "I never imagined it either. But I wouldn’t trade it for anything."

He leaned down, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. "You are my greatest treasure, Y/N. I never knew what it was to truly live until I had you beside me."

Y/N leaned into his touch, her heart swelling with love. "And you, Marcus. I never knew what it was to be truly free until I found you."

They stood there for a moment, silently watching their children. The world outside their home may have been filled with turmoil and uncertainty, but here, in this moment, they had everything they needed. A family, bound by love, and a future that stretched ahead of them, full of possibility.

Later that afternoon, as the sun began to dip below the horizon, the family gathered around a small table outside, their meal simple but filled with warmth. The fire crackled in the background, casting a soft light over their faces. The children chatted excitedly about their day—Lucius had learned how to fish, Aurelia had discovered a hidden grove of trees, and Cassian had spent hours reading the stories that Y/N had brought with her from the city.

"Father," Lucius said, his voice carrying the weight of a young man who had already learned the value of hard work, "how did you know what to do when you were in the army? How did you make those tough decisions?"

Marcus looked at his son, his heart swelling with pride. "It wasn’t always easy, Lucius. The weight of those decisions… it was heavy. But every choice I made, I made with the hope that it would protect the people I loved. And now," he added, his voice softening, "I make my decisions based on the same love, but this time, it’s for all of you."

Lucius nodded, understanding the depth of his father's words. He had learned much from Marcus—not just in skill, but in honor, duty, and love. Aurelia, ever the wise one, placed her hand on his arm.

"Father," she said, "you’ve taught us so much about what truly matters. You’ve shown us how to live, not just survive. And that is something we will carry with us forever."

Cassian, who had been listening intently, looked up from his book. "I think the best lesson you’ve taught me is that it’s okay to dream, even if the world doesn’t always understand. I used to think I had to be like everyone else, but now I know I can be true to who I am."

Marcus smiled, his heart full as he looked around at his children. He and Y/N had given them more than just survival. They had given them a home, a sense of belonging, and the freedom to be themselves.

As the evening wore on, the family sat around the fire, the sounds of nature enveloping them. Marcus reached for Y/N’s hand, squeezing it gently. "Look at them," he said quietly, his voice full of awe. "They’re so full of life, so full of love. We’ve created something beautiful, haven’t we?"

Y/N smiled, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "Yes, we have. They are our greatest creation, Marcus. Our legacy."

Aurelia, ever perceptive, leaned over to her mother. "Do you ever miss Rome, Mother? The life we left behind?"

Y/N paused for a moment, considering her daughter’s question. "Sometimes, I think about it. I think about what could have been, what we might have had. But when I look at this," she said, gesturing to the family gathered around the table, "I know we made the right choice. I have everything I need right here."

Lucius smiled at his mother’s words, his expression thoughtful. "And so do I. I wouldn’t trade this life for anything."

Marcus looked at his children, his heart swelling with love and pride. He had come so far from the man he once was—the soldier who served Rome without question. And now, he was a father, a husband, a man who had built a life worth living, a life where love was the greatest force of all.

As the stars began to twinkle above, and the sounds of the night enveloped them in a peaceful quiet, Marcus stood and held out his hand to Y/N. "Shall we, my love?"

She took his hand, standing beside him as they walked slowly into the night, their children’s laughter echoing behind them. There was no grand empire waiting for them—no throne, no titles, no power. But they had something far more precious: each other. And together, they would face whatever the future held, knowing that as long as they had each other, they would always have everything they needed.

Some time later, the family found themselves gathered in the warm glow of the fire again, the flickering light casting soft shadows across the room. Lucius had returned from his training, Aurelia had spent the day working on their garden, and Cassian, with his book in hand, had wandered out to join the family.

Marcus stood before them, a proud smile on his face. "Your mother and I were talking, and we think it’s time you all start learning about what comes after this life. What comes after the days spent in the fields and the gardens. It’s time you understand that family doesn’t just mean those we’re born to—it means those we choose to protect."

Lucius nodded, his eyes gleaming with a deep understanding of his father’s words. Aurelia set her tools aside, her mind already turning with thoughts of how she could help. Cassian, ever the thoughtful one, placed his book down gently.

Y/N glanced at Marcus, her eyes filled with love, then turned to their children. "We’ve built something strong together. But the world outside this farm won’t always be as kind. You must remember that the true power lies in love and the choices we make—what we give to one another, what we protect with all our hearts."

And as they sat together in the warmth of their small home, surrounded by the peace they had built, they knew that their greatest legacy would be the love they shared, the family they had created, and the lessons they would pass on to the generations that followed.

[mattsobvimyfav]

neighbors (matthew sturniolo)

pt 8

The SUV rumbled to a stop in the driveway, the hum of the engine fading as Matt cut the ignition. The air felt heavier in Los Angeles, like the weight of reality had returned to settle back on all of our shoulders.

Nick, Chris, and Matt jumped out first, each grabbing suitcases from the trunk. Charlie and I stepped out slowly, our legs stiff from the long drive. The laughter and lightness of the trip lingered faintly, but the tension of everything unresolved had crept back in with the familiar surroundings.

“Alright, ladies, welcome back to reality,” Nick joked, setting Charlie’s suitcase by the front door.

Charlie grinned, rolling her eyes. “Reality isn’t so bad.” She turned to Chris, wrapping her arms around his neck as he pulled her in for a lingering hug. His forehead rested against hers for a moment before he kissed her softly.

Nick came over next, grinning as he hugged both of us. “Don’t miss me too much, okay? Group dinner soon.”

“You live next door, if I miss you I'll just come over,” Charlie said, nudging him playfully.

When it was Matt’s turn, everything slowed down. He hesitated for a moment, his eyes searching mine before he finally stepped forward. Without a word, his arms wrapped around me, pulling me close in a hug that was almost crushing. His hands gripped the fabric of my shirt like he was afraid to let go, and my cheek pressed against his chest, hearing the steady beat of his heart.

I closed my eyes, letting myself sink into the embrace for just a second longer than I probably should have. My hands rested lightly on his back, and I could feel the tension in his body, the unspoken words hanging heavy in the space between us.

“Take care of yourself,” he murmured softly, kissing my forehead.

“You too,” I replied, my voice muffled against his chest.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes lingered on mine for a moment before he turned away, walking toward the car with Nick and Chris. I stayed rooted in place, watching as they drove into their driveway the weight of his embrace still lingering like a phantom touch.

Charlie nudged me gently. “You okay?”

I nodded, though my throat felt tight. “Yeah. Let’s go inside.”

As we carried the last of our things in and closed the door behind us, I couldn’t help but feel like something had shifted, but whether it was for the better or worse, I wasn’t sure.

The soft hum of my laptop filled the empty living room as I sat cross-legged on the couch, editing the vlog from our trip. The familiar sound of laughter and waves crashing in the footage felt distant now, almost like a different lifetime.

It had been a week since we got back, and the house felt quieter than ever. Charlie had been spending her nights at the triplets’ place with Chris, leaving me to fend off the creeping loneliness.

The knock on the door was sharp and sudden, making me jump. I froze for a moment, my fingers hovering over the keyboard.

“Y/N, it’s Leo. Open the fucking door!”

My breath hitched, my body instinctively stumbling back a step. My heart raced as I stared at the door, his muffled voice sending a chill down my spine.

Without thinking, I grabbed my phone from the couch, my hands shaking as I scrolled to Charlie’s contact. I hit the call button and pressed the phone to my ear, my gaze fixed on the door like it might burst open at any moment.

“Come on, Charlie, pick up,” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the sound of my own heartbeat.

The phone rang once, then twice. Just as I was about to hang up and try someone else, Matt’s voice came through.

“Hello?”

The sound of him made the lump in my throat swell. “Matt,” I choked, my voice cracking. “Leo’s here. He’s at my door, yelling. I—I don’t know what to do.”

There was a beat of silence, then the call disconnected without a word.

I stood there frozen, staring at the screen. Did he hang up? My heart pounded as I peeked out the window.

Not even two minutes later, I saw them—Matt and Chris walking down the sidewalk, their faces set in a grim determination. Relief and fear tangled in my chest as I backed away from the window.

The pounding on the door intensified, and Leo’s voice grew louder. “Y/N, don’t make me do this! Open the fucking door!”

Before I could even think, the door swung open, and there was Matt, shoving Leo back with a firm hand. Chris followed close behind, his posture tense as he positioned himself slightly to the side, ready to intervene if needed.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Matt growled, his voice low and threatening.

Leo took a step forward, his face twisted in anger. “This has nothing to do with you. I’m here to talk to Y/N.”

Matt’s laugh was humorless. “Yelling and banging on her door like a psycho? That’s how you ‘talk’ to her? You need to leave. Now.”

Leo’s gaze darted to me, standing frozen a few feet back. “She’s mine,” he spat, pointing in my direction. “She knows it, and you all need to stay the hell out of it.”

Tears stinging my eyes as I shook my head. “Leo, we’re done. You wanted a break—”

“A break isn’t a breakup!” Leo shouted, his voice shaking with rage.

Matt stepped forward, his jaw tightening as he blocked Leo’s line of sight to me. “She said it’s over. You don’t get to decide for her.”

Leo’s nostrils flared. “And what about you, huh? You think you can just swoop in and fix everything? You don’t even deserve to be in her life after what you did.”

Matt’s shoulders stiffened, his fists clenching at his sides. “Maybe I don’t. But I’d rather spend the rest of my life making up for my mistakes than treat her like some possession you can just control.”

The tension in the air snapped like a rubber band. Leo shoved Matt hard, and Matt stumbled back a step before retaliating with a hard shove of his own.

Chris stepped forward, his hands raised. “Alright, that’s enough—”

But it wasn’t. Leo swung first, his fist connecting with Matt’s jaw. The sound was sickening, and I gasped, my hands flying to my mouth.

Matt barely flinched. His eyes burned with fury as he swung back, his punch landing squarely against Leo’s cheek. The force sent Leo stumbling back into the porch railing, but he recovered quickly, lunging at Matt again.

The moment Leo lunged at Matt again, my instinct took over, and I stepped forward, desperate to stop it.

“Stop it!” I cried, placing myself between the two of them.

Before I could say more, Leo’s arm swung wide in his anger, and his fist connected squarely with my jaw. The impact sent me stumbling back, my vision flashing white as pain radiated through my jaw.

“Oh my God, Y/N!” Chris yelled, rushing toward me.

Leo’s face paled instantly, his hands flying up as if to apologize. “Y/N, I didn’t—”

He didn’t get the chance to finish. Matt’s face contorted into pure rage, his entire body trembling with fury. “You hit her?” he hissed, his voice low and dangerous.

Matt lunged, grabbing Leo by the collar and throwing him to the ground. Before anyone could react, Matt started swinging. His fist collided with Leo’s face over and over again, the sickening thuds echoing through the night.

“Matt! Stop!” I screamed, clutching my throbbing face.

Chris jumped into action, grabbing Matt by the shoulders and trying to pull him back, but Matt was relentless. His fists continued to rain down on Leo, who laid defenseless on the porch, groaning in pain.

“Matt, that’s enough! You’re gonna kill him!” Chris yelled, finally yanking him back with all his strength.

Matt stumbled to his feet, his chest heaving and his hands trembling, bloodied from the fight. He turned to me, his eyes wide with a mixture of rage and concern. “Are you okay? Where does it hurt, sweetheart?”

I nodded shakily, my hand pressing against my aching jaw. Tears blurred my vision as I stared at the scene before me: Leo lying bruised and bleeding out on the ground, Matt trembling with fury, and Chris trying to keep the situation from spiraling further out of control.

Leo groaned, rolling onto his side, and tried to sit up. “Y/N, I—”

“Don’t,” Matt spat, stepping forward again. Chris quickly put a hand on his chest, stopping him.

“You’ve done enough,” Chris said firmly to Leo. “Get out of here before I call the cops.”

Leo’s gaze darted to me, but I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. He staggered to his feet, wiping blood from his mouth, and limped away without another word.

The moment he was gone, Matt turned back to me, his hands hovering near my face but not quite touching. “Y/N, I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice trembling.

Chris ran over to his house, running inside to grab Charlie knowing that’s all Y/N wanted. Minutes later Charlie comes sprinting full force out of the front door and across the lawn to reach me, not even waiting for Chris as he runs after her.

Matt’s arms were steady as he scooped me up, cradling me against his chest, and I instinctively buried my face into his shirt, feeling the heat of his skin under the cool fabric. My heart was still racing, but his touch grounded me. He didn’t say anything, just carried me inside with a protective gentleness that made the tears begin to flow.

As he sat down on the couch, he adjusted me so that I was sitting on his lap, holding me close to him as if he would never let go. His hands rubbed up and down my arms, trying to calm me down. The sound of Charlie’s hurried footsteps were heard across the porch before she burst into the living room, eyes wide with concern.

“Oh my God, Y/N!” she gasped, rushing over to me. Without hesitation, she grabbed an ice pack from the fridge and sat beside me, gently pressing it to my swollen face. Her hand brushed the back of my head, and she pulled me closer to her, her voice shaky as she whispered, “I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.”

I shook my head, my tears falling harder now, mixing with the ice cold on my face. “No, it’s not,” I sobbed, “It’s just… so embarrassing. I can’t believe this is happening.”

Matt’s hands tightened around me as he placed his head gently on my shoulder. “You don’t have to explain, Y/N. You don’t owe anyone anything,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “We’re here for you. I’m here for you.”

Charlie held me close, her fingers combing through my hair as I leaned against her. “It’s not embarrassing,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “You didn’t do anything wrong, okay?”

But I couldn’t stop the tears. The weight of the situation felt too much to bear, the embarrassment of it all crushing me. The fight with Leo, Matt’s bloody fists, my bruised face—it felt like it was all too much. “Why did this have to happen? Why couldn’t I just have one peaceful night?”

Matt kissed the top of my head, his voice full of regret. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You should’ve never had to go through that. None of it’s your fault. Please remember that.”

I clung to him, feeling the warmth of his body against mine, the comfort of having him close. “My face fucking hurts.” I sobbed louder

“It will,” Charlie giggled, squeezing me tighter. “You’re just emotional and thinking your life is over cause you just got socked in the jaw. I promise you’ll be okay when you come back to your senses.” 

I giggle into Matt's chest through my sobs.

The sound of Charlie and Chris’s footsteps faded as they made their way upstairs, leaving Matt and I alone in the living room. I wiped my tears, the sobs starting to die down, but I still felt the weight of everything pressing on me. Matt gently lifted me off his lap, cradling me in his arms as if I was weightless, and carried me toward my bedroom.

I didn’t say anything as he laid me down on the bed, the soft sheets feeling oddly comforting against my skin. He pulled the covers up around me, his eyes scanning my face for any sign of pain or distress.

“I’m gonna go clean up, okay?” he said quietly, voice rough, but it was clear he was doing his best to keep it together.

Before he could leave, I grabbed his wrist, my grip weak but firm. “Matt, please,” I whispered, my voice small, fragile. “Stay.”

He hesitated, looking at me for a moment, the blood on his shirt and hands a reminder of what just happened. He took in a deep breath, the exhaustion in his eyes almost unbearable. “Y/N, I’m a mess,” he said, his voice quiet and unsure. “I’m covered in blood…”

“I don’t care,” I replied, my voice just as quiet. “Please, stay.”

Matt’s gaze softened, and after a moment of contemplation, he nodded. “Alright,” he murmured, stepping back to the bathroom. “I’ll be right back. Just… let me shower first.”

I lay back against the pillow, closing my eyes for a moment as I tried to gather my thoughts, the emotions swirling inside me. My face still hurt, but the sting was nothing compared to the emotional toll everything had taken.

When Matt returned, he was in nothing but his boxers, his hair damp from the shower. He looked different now, calmer, the blood and anger from earlier replaced by something more vulnerable. He crawled into bed beside me, pulling the covers back gently before settling down, his arm wrapping around my waist, pulling me close. I rested my head against his chest, letting the rise and fall of his breath steady my own.

I had changed into an oversized shirt, the comfort of the fabric a small relief, and I snuggled closer into Matt’s warmth, feeling the tension slowly leave my body.

“I’m here,” Matt whispered, his fingers brushing through my hair as he kissed the top of my head. 

I closed my eyes, the warmth of his body beside mine, his steady heartbeat against my ear, lulling me into a sense of calm. I didn’t know what would happen tomorrow, or how everything would play out, but for now, I just needed him here.

In the quiet of the room, with Matt holding me close, I allowed myself to drift into a deep, much-needed sleep, knowing that I wasn’t alone anymore.

I woke up slowly the next morning, the soft hum of the morning light slipping through the curtains, casting a golden glow across the room. My body was warm, Matt’s arm still draped around me, and for a moment, I felt comforted by the weight of him beside me. Then, as I shifted slightly, I felt a sharp pang of pain in my jaw. I flinched, and the sharp sensation made my breath catch in my throat.

Matt immediately looked down at me, concern flooding his eyes as he noticed my discomfort. “Hey, what’s wrong? What do you need?” he asked softly, his voice filled with worry.

I winced but smiled up at him, despite the pain. “Just… stay with me today, okay?” I whispered, my voice low and fragile. “I don’t want to be alone.”

Matt nodded without hesitation, pulling me a little closer into his chest, his hand softly rubbing my back as if to soothe the unease within me. “Of course,” he murmured. “I’m not going anywhere.”

For the next few hours, we stayed wrapped in the warmth of the bed, doing nothing but lounging and talking in low tones. We flipped through the TV channels, finally landing on an old rom-com that neither of us really cared about but still laughed at together. I didn’t mind the lighthearted distractions; it kept my mind off everything that had happened. We even joked about how cheesy the movie was, poking fun at the overly dramatic dialogue, which lifted my spirits, even if only for a while.

Around noon, we ordered food—comfort food, naturally. Matt had a burger, fries, and a milkshake, while I opted for a simple grilled cheese and tomato soup. As the food arrived, we sat on the couch together, eating while we chatted about nothing in particular. The conversation meandered through random topics—everything from silly stories about the trip to the latest memes we’d seen on Instagram. I felt a small sense of normalcy return, the type of comfort that was hard to come by recently.

After lunch, Matt suggested we try editing the vlog we had filmed on the trip. We moved to the desk in my room, and I set up my laptop while Matt helped sort through the footage. As we watched through the clips, it was almost surreal to see ourselves laughing, joking, and having a good time, knowing everything that had happened since. Matt sat behind me, his hands brushing against mine as we navigated the editing software, his presence a steady anchor.

“You know,” Matt said casually, “this trip wasn’t all bad. There were good parts, too.”

I smiled, glancing at him over my shoulder. “Yeah, the good parts were definitely worth it. And we made some memories, even if things got… messy.”

He chuckled softly, leaning down to kiss the top of my head. “Messy is an understatement.”

Once we wrapped up the vlog, we moved to the living room, deciding it was time to relax with a movie marathon. We picked a series we both enjoyed—one of those mindless, action-packed movies that didn’t require much brainpower. I snuggled up next to him, and we spent the next couple of hours watching as the characters on screen got into wild situations, while we lazily munched on snacks.

By mid-afternoon, we were both a little bored, but content. I glanced over at Matt and suddenly had an idea. “Hey, we should make a TikTok together. Just for fun,” I suggested.

Matt raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “What kind of TikTok?”

“Something simple,” I said, grinning. “Just us, having fun, showing people we’re okay.”

He agreed, and I moved closer to him putting on a song we both knew as we lip synced it. As soon as we finished, I put the caption - we uploaded the video, laughing at how cute we both looked in the process. It wasn’t perfect, but it felt good to share something lighthearted.

After the TikTok was posted, we sat back down, and I rested my head on his shoulder.

Later in the afternoon, the doorbell rang, and Matt went to answer it. Moments later, Nick, Chris, and Charlie came into the living room, their expressions a mix of concern and hesitation. Charlie immediately came over, sitting next to me on the couch, her eyes scanning my face as if to gauge how I was holding up.

"Hey," she said softly, her tone cautious. "How are you feeling?"

I sighed, already sensing where this was headed. "I’m fine," I said quickly, waving her off.

Nick and Chris exchanged glances before sitting down across from us. Nick leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You sure, Y/N? You don’t look... you know... great."

I rolled my eyes, shifting uncomfortably under their pitying gazes. "Seriously, guys, I’m fine. You don’t have to—"

"You don’t have to pretend," Chris interrupted gently. "We get it. Yesterday was... a lot."

Matt came back into the room, standing behind the couch with his arms crossed. He looked at me, his jaw tight as if he wanted to jump in and defend me but held back.

Charlie reached for my hand, her voice soft and understanding. "We’re just worried about you, that’s all."

Something about their careful, almost coddling behavior made me snap. I stood up abruptly, pulling my hand away from Charlie and taking a step back. "Can you guys stop treating me like a baby?" My voice was sharper than I intended, but I didn’t care. "Yes, yesterday was awful, but I don’t need you walking on eggshells around me. I’m not going to break."

The room fell silent, everyone staring at me in surprise. I crossed my arms over my chest, determined to make my point clear. "Can we just drink or do something fun? Let’s forget yesterday happened, okay? I don’t want to sit here and dwell on it."

Nick was the first to break the tension, standing up with a slow clap. "Well, damn. There she is!" he said with a grin, his tone teasing. 

Chris smirked, shaking his head. "Alright, alright. If that’s what you want, we can do that."

Charlie hesitated for a moment, but then she smiled, standing up to hug me. "Okay, fine. But only if you promise to let us know if you’re not okay. Deal?"

"Deal," I said with a small smile, feeling a little lighter now that they’d backed off.

Matt disappeared into the kitchen and came back a moment later with a bottle of tequila and a mischievous grin. "Guess we’re doing this, then."

Charlie poured two shots, sliding one over to me with a sly grin. “Here’s to forgetting yesterday,” she said, raising her glass. I clinked mine against hers, the sharp sound echoing in the room before we both threw back the tequila. The burn was immediate, but the warmth that followed felt like freedom.

"Alright, our turn," Nick called out, grabbing the bottle. He poured shots for himself, Chris, and Matt. They raised their glasses in unison, Nick declaring, "To... whatever this night turns into!" before downing their shots together.

An hour in, the tequila bottle was half-empty, and I was at least seven shots deep, feeling a buzz that made everything a little brighter and a lot funnier. Charlie was giggling uncontrollably at one of Nick’s terrible jokes, and Chris was trying to teach Matt how to shuffle a deck of cards, which wasn’t going well.

I leaned back on the couch, letting the laughter wash over me before sitting up with a sudden idea. "Okay," I announced, clapping my hands together. "We’re all sufficiently drunk, so I think it’s time for food."

Nick groaned dramatically, as I argued with him to order me an uber to go to McDonalds. “Why can’t we just get it delivered like normal people? UberEats exists for a reason.”

I shook my head stubbornly, the tequila making me bold. “Nope. I want fresh fries, not ones that have been sitting in someone’s car for twenty minutes.”

Charlie clapped her hands in agreement, laughing. “She’s got a point, Nick. Nothing hits like fresh McDonald’s fries.”

Nick sighed, pulling out his phone. “Fine, I’ll order the Uber. But if I get a bad rating because of you, you owe me.”

“I’ll owe you fries!” I yelled at him.

Charlie jumped up from her seat, nearly tripping over the coffee table in her excitement. “I’m coming with you, Y/N!”

Before I could reply, Matt shot up from his spot on the couch, his drunk eyes narrowing. “Absolutely not.”

Charlie and I both turned to him in confusion. “What do you mean, ‘absolutely not?’” Charlie asked, crossing her arms.

Matt crossed the room, standing in front of us like a protective wall. “I don’t trust two drunk girls to go to McDonald’s in the middle of the night. I’m coming with you.”

Nick smirked, looking up from his phone. “Tough guy Matt activated.”

“Whatever,” I muttered, grabbing my purse. “As long as we get fries, I don’t care who comes.”

A few minutes later, the Uber arrived, and Matt made sure both Charlie and I were buckled. 

The Uber driver was a middle-aged man with a cocky grin plastered across his face. The moment we got into the car, he started with a casual comment. “So, what brings you guys out this late?” His eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, locking on me with just a little too much interest.

I was too tipsy to care at first, so I laughed and answered, “The holy grail. Fries.”

He chuckled, a little too enthusiastically. “You’ve got good taste. A pretty girl like you deserves fresh fries, not cold ones.”

Matt stiffened beside me, his jaw tightening as he stared out the window, his hands clenched into fists on his lap. I could practically feel the tension radiating off of him, but he didn’t say a word.

The driver wasn’t done. “So, you’re from around here? If you ever need a ride again, maybe you can give me a call directly.”

Matt’s head snapped toward him, but he stayed silent, clearly trying to keep his cool. I knew he didn’t want Nick’s Uber rating to take a hit, but the frustration in his eyes was evident.

Feeling bold and a little spiteful, I decided to stir the pot. “Oh, actually—” I said sweetly, cutting myself off as I unbuckled and shifted in my seat climbing into Matt’s lap, straddling him. His hands instinctively gripped my hips, his eyes widening in surprise as I leaned in.

“Y/N, what are you doing?” Matt started, his voice low and intrigued.

“Showing him who I belong too” I pressed my lips to his, kissing him. He deepened the kiss by grabbing the back of my head to pull my face in closer, while his other hand tightened on my hip. The kiss was hot and intense, fueled by tequila and adrenaline.

I could feel the driver’s gaze darting nervously to the rearview mirror, but I didn’t care. If he wanted to flirt, he could deal with the consequences.

Matt finally pulled back slightly, his breath hot against my lips. “I'm going to have a boner now.” he whispered, though his voice held more amusement than anger.

“Good,” I whispered back, a smug smile on my face.

He groaned softly, shaking his head but unable to hide the small grin tugging at his lips. The rest of the ride was silent except for Charlie’s giggles beside us. By the time we got to McDonald’s, the driver seemed thoroughly flustered, and Matt looked like he was ready to strangle me—but not in a bad way.

The Uber pulled up to the house, and as the driver put the car in park, I turned to him with an exaggeratedly sweet smile, still feeling the tequila running through my veins. "Thank you, mister!" I chirped, leaning forward to kiss his cheek dramatically.

Matt's grip on the bags tightened, and before I could pull back, I felt a sharp smack on my butt. "Let’s go," he growled lowly, his hand lingering on my hip as he gently guided me toward the door. His touch sent a jolt through me, but I bit my lip to stop myself from laughing as we walked up the driveway.

When we stepped inside, the smell of tequila still clung to us, and Charlie was already grinning, ready to spill. “Oh my god, you guys are NOT gonna believe what just happened!” she squealed, making a beeline for Chris and Nick, who were sprawled on the couch.

“What now?” Nick asked, raising an eyebrow as he handed Chris another beer.

Charlie threw herself onto the couch dramatically. “So, we’re in the Uber, and the driver’s this totally creepy older dude, right? He keeps flirting with Y/N—like full-on, ‘call me directly for rides’ flirting. Matt’s sitting there, probably about two seconds from exploding, but he’s holding it in for Nick’s Uber rating. Like, he’s fuming, jaw clenching, hands in fists—the whole thing.”

Chris chuckled, leaning forward. “Oh no, what did she do?”

“She climbs onto Matt’s lap,” Charlie continued, her eyes wide for effect, “like, full straddle. And then she starts making out with him—like, right there in the Uber. I swear the driver looked like he was about to cry.”

Nick nearly choked on his drink. “No way.”

“Oh, it gets better,” Charlie added, holding up a finger. “When we get to the house, she kisses the guy on the cheek—like a little ‘thank you’—and Matt smacks her ass and says, ‘Let’s go.’ It was like something out of a movie.”

Chris doubled over laughing, while Nick shook his head, his mouth open in disbelief. “I cannot leave you two alone for one second. You’re both absolute menaces.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” I said, plopping onto the couch beside Matt, who rolled his eyes but pulled me into his side anyway. His arm draped protectively around my shoulders as the group erupted into more laughter, reliving the story like it was the most ridiculous thing they’d ever heard. 

The party kept going, the energy in the house reaching a chaotic peak. Chris and Charlie were in some kind of dramatic arm-wrestling competition, Nick was trying to convince everyone he could do a backflip off the couch, and I was doubled over laughing at… honestly, I wasn’t even sure what. Everything just felt hilarious.

Matt stood from the couch and stretched, his voice cutting through the noise. “Alright, it’s time for bed,” he said, looking directly at me with a pointed expression.

I grinned at him, feeling bold and bubbly from all the shots. “I’m going to bed with Matt!” I shouted, throwing my hands in the air for dramatic effect.

The room erupted into laughter, everyone yelling, “Goodnight, Y/N!” in unison like it was some inside joke we all shared.

Matt shook his head but grabbed my hand, leading me toward the stairs. I stumbled a little but let him guide me, giggling the whole way. Once we got to the bedroom, he pulled off his shirt and jeans being left in just boxers. I stood in the middle of the room, trying to yank my hoodie over my head without falling over. Eventually, I managed to kick off my shoes and flop onto the bed in just my oversized t-shirt.

Matt climbed into bed, leaning back against the headboard, looking like he was about to say something. But before he could, I crawled onto his lap, straddling his waist. My hands cupped his face, and I leaned down, pressing my lips to his in a messy, needy kiss.

His hands found my hips, steadying me as he kissed back harder “Y/N,” he murmured against my lips, his voice muffled but firm.

“Hmm?” I kissed him again, trailing my hands down his chest as I grinned against his mouth. “What is it?”

“Y/N,” he said again, pulling back slightly. His forehead pressed against mine, and I could feel his breath, warm and shaky. “We can’t… not like this.”

“Why not?” I pouted, tilting my head as I brushed my lips along his jaw. “I want you, Matt. Right now.”

He let out a deep sigh, his grip on my hips tightening slightly before he loosened it. “I don’t want to do this for the first time again while we’re drunk,” he said softly, his eyes locking with mine. “I want it to mean something. I want you to remember it—every part of it.”

I blinked at him, my drunken haze making his words sink in slower than usual. “That’s… sweet,” I mumbled, though I wasn’t fully ready to give up. I leaned in again, “Lets just… Kiss than” I smashed my lips back into his rougher than before.

“Just. Kiss. Than,” He said each word in between kissing,

I grinded my hips into his as I felt his erection grow under me, I moved my lips to his jaw, and finally to his neck where I sucked and bit it softly making sure to leave marks. I continued rolling my hips into him while he was a moaning mess.

“Fuck your making this really hard,” he said through a moan. 

“Good.” I said as my hands grabbed his neck connecting my lips back to his.

After a few more minutes of making out he lifted my hips off him and placed me on the bed next to him.

“Your done. My dick actually hurts” he said, laying down pulling me into him. I giggled as I snuggled into his chest.

“Goodnight sweetheart” He said as he kissed my forehead.

I closed my eyes, the weight of the night finally catching up to me, and fell asleep to the sound of his breathing, feeling more content than I cared to admit.

tag-

@tbfaptbfae @ch0llies @2muchofaslvt @rockstarchr1s @simply-a-simper @mattscore @watercolorskyy @urfungi @sturnsvelocity @mattsturnii @christmastreecake @izzylovesmatt @larnieboox88 @christophersstar @realuvrrr @namelesssav @matts-girlfriend

[wosoloml]

red string theory || lotte wubben-moy x reader

summary: the first time you see lotte wubben moy, you didnt actually see her.

your life was always connected because you are meant to be.

warnings: none, just fluffy fluff with my lotte girl

from this request

a/n: i hope its okay what i wrote it about lotte because i thought this request is so lotte coded

wc: 1,739 words

"Are you nervous about tomorrow?" my work colleague, who is also my best friend, Jules, looks at me with a focused expression.

A few years ago, I attended college in the USA, where I ran my own sports blog for the university newspaper. I especially enjoyed writing about the women’s football team because I witnessed the sport gaining more popularity there.

It felt so empowering to see how all the girls were following their dreams, and I always wanted to share their stories so everyone could see their passion.

I was packing all my work stuff into my bag when Jules called out my name.

"Y/N, can you please help me real quick?"

I sighed but stopped what I was doing and walked into the salesroom.

"Can you make a latte macchiato real quick? Table 7 has a big order, and I’m swamped. Sorry for interrupting you," she said.

I smiled softly at her before glancing at the girl who had ordered the latte. I barely registered her, only noticing how graceful her movements were.

It felt kind of ironic that my last customer of the day would be such a mysterious woman.

But life moved on, as it always does, and that moment faded into the countless fleeting, insignificant encounters you never expect to think about again. Until much later.

----

"Oh my girl, Jules, you made it!" I pulled her into a tight hug.

"Of course! It's your graduation today! I'm so proud of you, my little nerd."

After three years of hard work, endless studying, and way too much crying, I’m finally done. I’m now a certified sports journalist with a focus on women’s football. I couldn’t be happier.

"Now it’s time for you to introduce me to your girlfriend! I can’t wait to meet the mysterious Alessia in person."

Her smile grew even wider as I mentioned her girlfriend. "Come on, she’s right over there, chatting with an old friend from university she randomly ran into here."

----

I’ve checked my phone. 8:00. I arrived at the training ground of THE Arsenal Women’s Football Club.

When I sent my application to a few football clubs as a media coordinator, I never thought my childhood club would hire me. I spent the last few days looking for an outfit and stayed awake the whole night out of nervousness.

It’s already my second week, and I’m still not used to being around all these inspiring and energizing women. You weren’t exactly starstruck, but there was something about being around people you’d admired from afar that left you feeling slightly unsteady.

But it’s different with Lotte. From day one, she helped me with everything. Lotte, however, had a way of disarming you with her easy demeanor. When she introduced herself, it was as if you hadn’t spent the last three days binge-watching match highlights featuring her perfect tackles and precise passes.

Over the weeks, you got used to seeing her around the training ground. She always made an effort to say hi, even if it was just a quick wave or a casual “How’s it going?” Each interaction was brief, professional, and—you told yourself—entirely inconsequential. Except that, somehow, you found yourself looking forward to them.

She had this smile and the way she cared about everyone around her that sticks in my mind, and I can’t stop thinking about her even after work. It’s like we’ve known each other for years.

---

Today was Media Day, and even though I love the girls, I was relieved to have a moment for myself in the cafeteria. Suddenly, someone asked, 'May I join?' At first, I didn’t realize they were talking to me, but when my eyes met my favorite defender's, I knew Lotte was the one addressing me.

'Not at all,' I replied, gesturing to the empty seat.

I don’t want to admit it, but knowing I wasn’t paired up with Lotte for today’s interviews made me a bit sad. That’s why I’m even happier to spot her here during my little break.

She set down her tray, which held a steaming bowl of soup and a sandwich that looked far too healthy for my taste. 'So, how’s life in the media world? Still surviving?'

I chuckled at her words. 'It’s going well. After today, I have a lot of videos to edit, and I still write a blog for a college newspaper, with the deadline coming up, so I’m a bit stressed. The time difference with the USA makes it even harder. But who am I complaining to? I’m sure your schedule is even more packed.' I babbled, feeling a bit embarrassed that I hadn’t stopped talking. It was just a simple question—no need to turn it into a whole essay.

She listened closely the entire time, trying to keep up with me. "Really? You’re very ambitious about your job. I like that. You mentioned the USA. Are you writing for an American college?"

I felt seen, and it made me feel special. I adore her so much. I gathered my thoughts again to answer her.

"Yes! I went to the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill and have always had a passion for writing. They had a women’s football team that was still in its early stages. They inspired me so much that I decided to write about them in the weekly college newspaper. Sorry for beating around the bush, yes, I write for an American college." My cheeks turned red because, once again, I rambled on.

I noticed the sudden change in her behavior. "Wait, really?" She looked at me, kind of stunned and questioning. "I’ve been to UNC too, before signing professionally for Arsenal. Do you mean the North Carolina Tar Heels? I played for them while you were writing for them."

I widened my eyes in disbelief. "That caught me off guard—wow. We’ve been so close and never talked to each other."

“It’s like we were orbiting each other,” she said one day, her voice thoughtful. “Like we were always meant to meet, but the timing just wasn’t right.”

Her words stuck with me, replaying in my mind long after she’d said them.

---------

Over the next few weeks, sometimes Lotte would bring me a coffee. A few days later, I noticed something as she handed me the cup. "Since when do you get your coffee from that shop near Covent Garden? The one with the green awning?" She looked confused and stuttered, "Since forever. It's my favorite coffee shop. Do you know it?"

"Are you joking? I worked there a few years ago."

“I can’t believe this. It’s like we’ve been circling each other our whole lives.”

This connection with Lotte feels so magical, I can’t even process how life always seemed to bring us together.

“Maybe it’s fate,” you said softly, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

She smiled, a slow, knowing smile that made your heart skip a beat. “Maybe it is.”

-------

As the weeks turned into months, your relationship with Lotte continued to grow stronger. The bond you shared deepened, built on a foundation of shared history and the undeniable pull you felt toward each other.

One evening, as you sat on her couch with a cup of tea in hand, she reached over and intertwined her fingers with yours.

“You know,” she said softly, her voice quiet, “I’ve always believed in timing. That everything happens when it’s meant to.”

You looked at her, your heart full. “And what about us? What does this timing mean?”

She smiled, her eyes warm and steady. “It means we’re exactly where we’re supposed to be.”

And for the first time, you believed her.

[agiiiiiiiiiiiii]

Reconnecting

Hey, this is one of my favourites!

nico hischier x reader Theme: fluff, birth, dad nico, alluding to smut Words: 2703

—————————————————————————————————————

The contractions had been coming steadily for hours, and now you were finally in the hospital, gripping Nico's hand tightly as the nurses prepped you for delivery. He was by your side, his face a mix of excitement, worry, and awe as he tried his best to support you. Every time you groaned or winced in pain, he whispered reassurances, his Swiss-accented voice soft and steady.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured as he kissed your forehead, brushing a sweaty strand of hair from your face. “I can’t believe you’re doing this.”

“Well, it’s not like I can stop now,” you joked through gritted teeth, trying to manage the next contraction. Despite the pain, his presence grounded you. You knew he was just as nervous as you were, but he stayed strong, holding your hand like it was the most important job in the world.

When the doctor announced it was time to push, you felt a wave of panic. The reality of what was about to happen hit you hard, and on top of the physical challenge, another thought crept into your mind: Nico’s going to see everything.

“You’re staying up here, right?” you asked breathlessly, giving him a pointed look.

Nico hesitated, glancing toward the doctor before looking back at you. “I mean… I kind of want to see,” he admitted, his voice cautious but filled with curiosity.

Your eyes widened. “Nico!” you hissed, squeezing his hand harder as another contraction hit.

“Hey, hey,” he said quickly, leaning down to kiss your temple. “I’ll stay wherever you want me to. But… you’re amazing, and I just—I don’t know…”

You couldn’t find the energy to argue, and soon enough, you were too focused on pushing to care where he stood. But you did notice when he moved slightly toward the end of the bed, his hand never leaving yours. The sound of encouragement from the nurses and the doctor filled the room, along with Nico’s soft murmurs of awe.

“Wow…” he whispered at one point, his voice barely audible over your labored breathing.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the baby’s cries filled the room. Relief and joy washed over you as the doctor placed the tiny bundle on your chest. Tears streamed down your face as you looked down at your son, Nico quickly moving to your side to see him.

He was crying too, his hand shaking as he brushed it over the baby’s tiny head. “You did it,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re… unbelievable.”

———————————

It wasn’t until later, after the baby was cleaned and swaddled, and you were resting in the hospital bed, that you remembered your earlier self-consciousness. Nico was sitting beside you, the baby cradled carefully in his arms, his face lit with pure love.

“I can’t believe you watched all of that,” you said softly, a hint of embarrassment creeping into your tone. “I probably looked—”

“Don’t even start,” he interrupted, his gaze snapping to yours. “You were amazing. I’ve never seen anything like it. You brought our baby into the world, y/n. How could I see anything but how incredible you are?”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you reached out to stroke his cheek. “You’re too good to me,” you whispered.

He leaned over, kissing you gently. “No, you’re the one who’s too good. I’ll never forget today. Not just because of him—but because of you.”

As he pulled back, the baby stirred in his arms, and Nico smiled down at them, his entire world reflected in his eyes. “We’re a family now,” he said softly. “And I’m the luckiest guy alive.”

——————————

It had been six weeks since the baby was born, and life had been a whirlwind of sleepless nights, endless diaper changes, and so much love that it often felt overwhelming. But tonight, for the first time in what felt like forever, the baby was asleep, and the house was quiet. You and Nico finally had a moment to yourselves.

You were curled up on the couch together, Nico’s arm draped around you as a movie played softly in the background. His fingers absentmindedly traced patterns on your shoulder, sending a familiar shiver down your spine. You tilted your head to look at him, catching the way his gaze softened when he met your eyes.

“I’ve missed this,” you said softly, your hand sliding over his chest.

“Me too,” he admitted, brushing a strand of hair from your face. His voice was warm but hesitant, and you could feel the tension in the way he held you. “You, us… all of it.”

You leaned in, pressing a kiss to his lips, slow and intentional. He responded immediately, his hand coming to rest on your hip, but just as the kiss deepened, he pulled back slightly, his brow furrowed.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, searching his face.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I just… I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to rush anyth-”

You placed a hand on his cheek, your thumb brushing gently along his jawline. “Nico, love, I’m okay,” you reassured him. “I’ve been cleared by the doctor, and I feel ready. I want this… I want you. Please.”

His eyes searched yours, still unsure. “Are you sure? I mean, it was—what you went through—it was incredible, but also…”

You smiled gently, your heart warming at how much he cared. “I know it’s a lot to wrap your head around. But I promise, if something doesn’t feel right, I’ll tell you. We’ll take it slow.”

He nodded, though he still looked a little unsure. “Okay,” he said softly, his hand resting over yours. “But if anything feels wrong, you have to tell me. No pushing through, no trying to be tough. Promise?”

“Promise,” you said, leaning up to kiss him again. This time, he didn’t pull back. Instead, he held you close, his touch careful but full of love.

You guided him gently, reassuring him with soft touches and whispered words, easing both of your nerves as you found your rhythm together again. Nico was as attentive as ever, checking in with you constantly, his focus entirely on your comfort and happiness. His tenderness melted away any lingering fears you had, and soon the hesitation was replaced with the same connection and intimacy you’d always shared.

Afterward, as you lay tangled together under the covers, Nico pressed a kiss to your forehead, his hand resting over yours on his chest. “You’re amazing, you know that?” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

“You’ve said that a lot lately,” you teased lightly, smiling up at him.

“Well, it’s true,” he said, his gaze soft and full of love. “And tonight… was just unbelievable. Thank you.”

You snuggled closer, your heart full. “Thank YOU for always putting me first.”

As the baby’s soft cries broke the moment, Nico let out a quiet laugh, kissing your forehead again before slipping out of bed. “I’ll get him,” he said, glancing back at you with a smile. “You rest.”

Watching him disappear down the hall, you felt a wave of gratitude wash over you. Life had changed so much in just a few weeks, but your love for Nico—and his for you—only seemed to grow stronger with every new challenge.

A few moments after Nico left to tend to the baby, you heard his soft, soothing voice down the hallway. Soon, he reappeared, carrying your tiny bundle of joy in his arms. The sight of Nico in just his boxers, gently rocking your baby, melted your heart. His eyes sparkled as he walked back to your side, carefully settling the baby into your arms.

“He’s hungry,” Nico said softly, brushing a kiss over your temple as he sat down beside you.

You adjusted yourself and helped the baby latch on, the familiarity of the process already bringing you a sense of calm. Nico, however, stayed close, his eyes filled with quiet awe as he watched. He rested his chin on your shoulder, his gaze locked on your baby with a kind of reverence that made your cheeks warm.

“Does it… hurt?” he asked after a moment, his voice low and hesitant, as though he didn’t want to disturb the peaceful scene.

You glanced at him, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Not anymore,” you explained. “It was a little uncomfortable at first, but now it’s… it’s just natural. It feels like this bond—something only I can give him.”

Nico’s expression softened, and he reached out to gently run his fingers along your arm. “It’s amazing,” he murmured. “I don’t know how you do it.”

You chuckled quietly, glancing down at the baby as they suckled contentedly. “Well, it’s not like I have much of a choice. He’s hungry, and I’m his food source.”

“No, I mean all of it,” he said, his voice filled with sincerity. “You carried him for nine months, went through labor, and now… this. Your body is doing all of this. It’s incredible.”

His words made your cheeks flush, a mix of pride and shyness washing over you. “It’s not just me, you know,” you said, looking back at him. “You’ve been amazing through everything. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

He shook his head, his gaze still fixed on you. “You’re the real superhero here,” he insisted. “Watching you now… I can’t even describe it. It’s just—wow.”

You laughed softly, though his awe made you feel both shy and incredibly loved. “It’s not always this serene, you know. Sometimes he’s fussy, and I’m tired, and it’s messy.”

“Still amazing,” he said firmly, leaning over to press a kiss to your shoulder. “Messy, fussy, tired—you’re incredible through it all.”

The baby finished feeding and let out a tiny, satisfied sigh, making Nico grin. He took him from you to burp them, his movements careful and deliberate. “You’re my hero,” he said quietly, glancing back at you as he cradled the baby against his chest. “And his, too.”

The tenderness in his voice made your heart swell. As you lay back against the pillows, watching Nico with your baby, you felt a deep sense of contentment. Life might be hectic and exhausting, but moments like this—filled with love and awe—made it all worth it.

———————————

Few days after, you found yourself sitting at the kitchen table with Nina, Nico’s sister, who had come over to spend some time with you and the baby. The two of you had always been close, and she’d been a wonderful support throughout your pregnancy and the early weeks of motherhood. With the baby napping peacefully in their bassinet, you were sipping on tea and catching up.

“So,” she began, a teasing smile playing on her lips. “How’s everything going now that the little one is here? And I mean everything.”

You raised an eyebrow, pretending not to understand. “Everything?” you echoed innocently, taking a sip of your tea.

She smirked knowingly. “Don’t play coy. I mean… you and Nico. You know, after the baby.”

Your cheeks flushed instantly, and you glanced around to make sure no one else was in earshot. “Oh my God, do we really have to talk about this?” you whispered, though you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Of course we do,” she said, leaning closer with a conspiratorial grin. “Come on, you can trust me. I’m your sister-in-law, practically your partner-in-crime.”

You hesitated for a moment, but the truth was, you did trust her. She was the kind of person who could turn even the most awkward topics into something casual and easy. Finally, you sighed and admitted, “Okay, fine. Oh my god, I can’t believe I am saying this, okay… We did it…..for the first time…. since the birth. Few nights ago.”

Her eyes widened, and she leaned back in her chair, a wide grin spreading across her face. “Oh, wow! And…? How was it? Was it weird? Or was it… you know… good?”

You felt your face heat up even more, but her curiosity and enthusiasm made you laugh. “It was… good,” you said honestly, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “Nico was so sweet. He was really nervous about it, but we took it slow. He kept checking in the whole time, and it just felt… right. Like we were reconnecting after everything.”

Her expression softened, and she reached across the table to squeeze your hand. “That’s so sweet. He’s such a softie when it comes to you—I love that.”

“Yeah, he really is,” you said, your heart warming at the thought of him. “It wasn’t just about the physical part, you know? It felt like this new chapter for us, as parents but still as a couple. Like we’re figuring it all out together.”

She nodded, her smile turning a little mischievous. “And now that you’ve broken the ice, do you think it’s going to be back to normal soon? Or is it still baby steps?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I think it’ll be baby steps for a while. But that’s okay. We’re in no rush.”

“Well, if anyone can balance a new baby and keeping the romance alive, it’s you two,” she said with a wink. “Just don’t forget to take care of yourselves as much as you take care of that little one.”

Her words stuck with you, and as the two of you continued chatting, you felt grateful to have someone like her in your corner—someone who understood, supported you, and could make even the most awkward conversations feel normal.

————————————

Later that evening, Nico returned home after running a few errands, looking relaxed and happy to be back. You were in the living room, rocking the baby in your arms, when his sister walked in from the kitchen with a sly grin on her face. You didn’t think much of it until she stopped in front of Nico, her hands on her hips.

“So,” she began dramatically, her grin widening, “I heard you two finally broke the dry spell.”

You froze, your cheeks instantly flushing a deep red. “Oh my God,” you blurted, glaring at her. “You didn’t!”

Nico’s eyebrows shot up, and his face turned pink as he whipped his head toward you. “Wait, what? You told her?” he asked, his voice a mix of surprise and embarrassment.

“She asked!” you said defensively, though you couldn’t stop the nervous laughter bubbling out of you. “And I thought I could trust her.”

“Oh, come on,” his sister said, waving her hand dismissively. “It’s not like I’m telling the whole world. Just curious.” She batted her eyelashes mockingly, clearly enjoying herself.

Nico groaned, running a hand over his face. “I can’t believe we’re talking about this,” he muttered, shooting you a mock glare. “You told her?”

“She’s your sister!” you said with a shrug, trying to defend yourself but failing to suppress your grin. “It’s not like I told a stranger.”

“Well, now she’s never going to let this go,” he grumbled, glaring playfully at his sister. “Do you have to tease me about everything?”

“Yes,” she said confidently, crossing her arms. “Especially when it’s this entertaining.”

Nico shook his head, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward despite his embarrassment. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, before turning back to you. “And you… we’re going to have a long talk about oversharing.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, your cheeks still flushed. “I’ll try to keep my secrets next time,” you teased.

Nico rolled his eyes but leaned down to kiss your forehead anyway, his affection cutting through his faux annoyance. “You’re lucky I love you,” he said softly, before glancing back at his sister. “And you—stay out of our business.”

“Not a chance,” she said, winking at you as she walked past. “But don’t worry, I won’t share any details with Mom and Dad… for now.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands as Nico laughed, shaking his head at his sister’s antics. Despite the teasing, the lighthearted moment reminded you just how close and supportive his family was—and how lucky you were to be a part of it.

[semetarydrve]

Extra Credit

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CW: smut, light corruption kink, teacher x student, blackmail

Pairing: teacher!Remus x student!Reader

WC: 3.8k

AN: already thinking abt a prt 2 where remus gets territorial abt yn if this one does well ill try to post it next week

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“(y/n)!”

Your head shot up from the absent-minded notes you had managed to jot down, barely legible due to your seemingly never ending exhaustion. You looked up to catch your Defense Against the Dark Arts professors rather disappointed gaze.

“Yes Professor Lupin? I’m sorry I didn’t quiet catch that last part can you repeat the question.” He sighed and shook his head.

“It’s quite alright, you can just speak to me after your last class.” A wave of hushed snickers drifted through the room. Your face flushed in embarrassment and you nodded meekly. “Right, well on that note the deadline for the essay for your quarterly paper is due next week! Feel free to seek help after school tomorrow if you’re struggling.” He finished, people rushing to pack their things. You graciously took the opportunity to pack your things and attempt to slip by your professor in the crowd.

Unfortunately for you he’d been watching carefully, he couldn’t help himself. As the full moon drew closer he couldn’t ignore the thoughts plaguing his brain. His perverse fixation on you was far from new, still able to clearly recall the first day he laid eyes on you. You’d walked in at the tail end of the sea of new faces, quietly finding your seat conveniently at the front of the room. He’d watched inconspicuously, thinking that even under the unflattering cut of your uniform you brought on a deep primal urge to bury his knot deep inside of you.

When you finally passed by his desk he called out for you. With a shaky and apprehensive breath you diverted your path to reach him. He was now sitting at his desk shuffling around papers as students filed out, rolling up the sleeves on his cardigan and button up to expose his scarred arms. You pushed down the rather inappropriate thoughts about him that had plagued your mind since he’d begun teaching at Hogwarts. When the last few people had left the room he beckoned for you to sit in the chair next to his desk.

“Don’t worry this will be quick. First off I want to say (y/n) you have been nothing but an amazing student this year. But the last month or so I’ve noticed a decline in the quality of your work and it’s affecting your marks in my course. Is there something I can help you with?” He inquired. You sighed and shook your head, heart dropping at the idea of your grades being lowered.

“I’m sorry Professor. I’ll do better.” You said softly. His kind hazel eyes found yours and he shook his head.

“No need to apologize. I’m telling you this because I want you to succeed in my course. With just a bit of extra credit you’ll be back on track in no time.” His reassuring gaze made you feel more at ease.

“It’s not just your class I’m struggling with. Because of the workload I have I’ve been having trouble keeping up with everything. Truthfully I’m exhausted.” You sighed. It felt nice to be honest about how hard it was to stay afloat in school. He nodded sympathetically and smiled, placing a warm hand on your knee. This action was innocent enough but just the feeling of the physical boundaries between you being broken for the first time made him twitch in his pants. Now that he was close enough he could let your scent ingrain itself into his memory.

“I understand, I’ve been in your shoes. The last year is always the hardest. Perhaps when we meet after class I could offer some help to steer you in the right direction?” He offered.

“That would be very helpful if that isn’t too much to ask.” You replied, feeling relieved your favorite professor was willing to do that. He thanked you for your time and said he was looking forward to helping you later today.

As the door closed behind you he sighed heavily. He absolutely knew the complications of being involved with a student but never had he met one he was so tempted by. He did his best to keep it completely professional but once in a while he’d find himself staring at you. Dreaming of pinning you down and having his way with you. Even your sense of humor and sly way of thinking drew him in. Sometimes he wondered if you noticed his lingering gaze. His hand absently drifted to his crotch, palming at his growing erection. With a frustrated groan he sat up and ran his hands through his hair, attempting to pull himself together. He situated himself at his desk and began dealing with the mess in front of him, checking the clock during his next periods in anticipation of your return.

Finally class was dismissed for the last time and he sat down in his chair. He’d thought of this opportunity a million times but now that it was happening he was unsure of how he’d actually approach it. When the soft wrapping of your knuckles on his door echoed out, he swallowed the lump that had been building up in his throat thinking about you.

“Come in!” He called out. You quietly closed the door behind you and made your way to the seat he had placed in front of his desk.

“Thank you for offering to see me Professor. I was too nervous to ask on my own.” You said shrugging off your robe and pulling out your embarrassingly sparse notes.

“Nervous for what?” He chuckled. The question was light hearted enough but your face flushed. He spoke with such a sly tone, completely different from his nurturing instructor one. It gave you goosebumps, feeling slightly put off by his gaze. Not only did he sound different but his eyes had also lost their softer nature. Now they focused on you pointedly, slowly raking over every inch of your body. Finally he looked up to catch your eyes and you felt like he could read your discomfort.

“I just figured you were busy with all your other work I didn’t want to be a bother.” You replied trying to fill the silence, your eyes trailed to the two scars running across his face. 'i wonder how he got those?' You thought taking a moment to admire the way they enhanced his rugged look.

“Is there something on my face?” He asked chuckling. You shook your head. “And I could never be bothered by my favorite student.” He added making you smile and put aside the feeling that something was off. Perhaps you were just over thinking it because you did have a bit of a crush on him.

“Well thank you. If you don’t mind I have a few questions actually.” You said moving to pull out today’s notes. He nodded and stood up, circling around the desk and standing behind you. He bent down to get a closer look, his hands resting on the back of the chair. You crossed your legs and leaned slightly to the side to give him a better view of the paper.

“I see there’s more than a few things you forgot to write down today. I guess it would be best to start by covering what you seemed to have missed yeah?” He said gently placing a hand on your shoulder. He peered down at the notes from over you and slowly began massaging you.

“Sorry about that Professor. I just zoned out for a second during the lecture.” You stammered, unable to focus on anything but the sensation of his fingers working over your sore muscles. His right hand found its way to the other shoulder as he planted himself directly behind. The grip was strong and comforting.

“You don’t have to be so formal. You can call me Remus for now. And you what (y/n) I thought of an extra credit assignment that’ll fix your marks.” He said quietly as he leaned down to your ear.

“Just one assignment?” You inquired, trying to ignore the feeling of his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. You felt frozen, mostly confused and a bit afraid, but nonetheless a wet spot marked your panties.

“Mhm. Just one. And you could have it done tonight if you do it right. Does that sound good?” You nodded, unable to speak as you tried to process what was happening. You just knew it felt like saying no wasn’t a wise choice. You were in the last half of your final year, maintaining good marks meant everything. “You’re going to be a good girl and do what I say, and be quiet about it. Do we have an understanding?” He whispered, breath labored as he started to smell you break a sweat.

“Is there no other option? This just doesn’t feel right.” You said shakily, not wanting out right confrontation. He hummed pretending to think about it. His hands left your shoulders and came down to rest flat on the desk before you, effectively trapping you.

“You have two options. You can let me ravish you on this desk…” He started, trailing off.

“Or?” You asked afraid to move or look at him.

“Or you can leave and I’ll slowly but inevitably fail you. Assignments being counted as late, maybe even not turned in at all.” He threatened.

“That’s not fair! I’ll tell the Headmaster.” You protested.

“You could try. But he’s far too busy dealing with Sirius Black on the loose.” Even without being able to see his face you could hear that he was smiling. From your perspective he had a valid point. “So what will it be?”

“Fine.” You said quietly. His mind moved a mile a minute as the very situation he had dreamed about presented itself.

“I knew you’d come around.” He purred. “Now be a good girl and stand up for me.” He stepped back, giving you room.

“Yes Professor.” You said meekly, getting to your feet. For a moment you stood still facing away from him, too nervous to look at him. He gently spun you around by your waist. He looked down at your innocent face and felt his cock throbbing. What a beautiful little plaything you were. He captured your lips in a hungry kiss, your hands instinctively reaching for his bicep. The contact made his body feel hot, thinking about how long he’d been fantasizing about bending you over every surface possible.

"I've wanted to fuck you since the day you pranced into this classroom." He said pulling away breathlessly. Your eyes widened and cheeks flushed.

“Really?” You asked, unable to deny the way his words made your stomach flip. You weren’t used to this kind of attention.

“Yes really.” He said leaning in again for another kiss. He could feel your muscles relax, slowly letting your guard down. Good. "Now be a doll and get on your knees."

“But Professor-“

“Ah ah ah. Remember? You’re going to be good and listen right?”

“I’ve never done that before.” Your words came out small and timid. He couldn’t help but smile.

“You haven’t huh? It’s okay I’ve heard I’m pretty good at teaching others.” He joked. You shook your head and he gently caressed your cheek. “Don’t worry you’ll do great.” He said planting a kiss on your lips and stepping back. You swallowed, now painfully aware of your lack of experience.

“Okay Sir.” You said sinking to your knees. He watched as undid his belt and pants, your hands fumbling. You let out a small gasp as you freed him from his confinements. Bigger than expected was a light way of putting it. You hesitated for a moment, feeling a wave of embarrassment flood your system.

“Go ahead.” Remus commanded, his voice no longer soothing but instead dripping with frustration. He watched as you took the head of his cock in your mouth. He unbuttoned his shirt as you slowly inched him down your throat. He groaned and gripped your head with both hands, pushing you down harder. You gagged and he began thrusting slowly, building up speed making your eyes water. You blinked away the tears making your makeup begin to run down your face.

"Is it too much? Am I fucking your little throat too hard?" He taunted. Your fingers dug into his thighs as you fought his grip. He watched as you struggled, spit dripping down your chin onto the white, now almost sheer, button up. Eyes watery and pleading for mercy. The sight made his hips snap forward, almost cumming right then. "Over the desk. Now." He growled, pulling you to stand by your hair and pushing you onto the desk. Any ounce of self restraint or composure had flown out the window. Now all that mattered was getting to break in his new toy. He yanked your panties down. "Spread your legs." You did as you were told and stepped out of your panties as you opened your legs. He raked his fingers over your hips and thighs giving you goosebumps. Your brain reeled, thighs pressed together for relief from the dripping wetness between your legs and the knot in your stomach. He roughly pried them apart and began lightly tracing his fingers on your inner thigh, inching closer to your clit.

"Please." You cried squirming uncomfortably. He smiled devilishly and removed his hand.

"Please what?" He teased.

"Please touch me." You cried, pushing back against him. He watch in amusement as you begged for his touch, tightening his grip on your flesh and pulling you closer. His cock began slowly sliding between the folds of your pussy, just enough to tease you. The feeling was driving him crazy but now that he had you in front of him he’d savor every moment. Without a word he slipped his cock in carefully. You whimpered and he groaned, shocked by how perfect you felt.

“Now I want you to be very very quiet okay?” He breathed, slowly beginning to rock his hips. You let out a barely coherent ‘okay’ as your focus drifted to adjusting to his size. You reached behind and flipped up your skirt for a better view. He chuckled at your eagerness and gently grabbed the back of your head in one hand and pinned one of your wrists behind you with the other. In one swift motion he started pounding into you, your body pinned in place as he picked up a relentless pace. Without thinking you cried out loudly, immediately regretting your actions as he pulled out.

“Please put it back Remus.” You whined reaching with your free hand to guide him back inside of you. He tightened his grip on your wrist and pushed your face harder into the cool wood surface.

“I told you to be quiet but clearly you can’t.“ He said leaning over you. The adrenaline pumped through you at the feeling of being trapped under him.

“I’m sorry.” You cried, not yet daring to fight against his grip. He released you, stepping back and tucking himself away.

“Don’t be sorry, be better.” He said as you slowly straightened and turned to face him. The look of pure desperation on your face drove him crazy. You closed the distance and placed your hands on his chest.

“I promise I’ll be quiet. Anything you want.” You begged watching his eyes study your face. He actually didn’t have an intentions on stopping this encounter, just curious to see how quick he could have you wrapped around his finger.

"Lay on your back, now.” He watched you scramble to take off your skirt and get onto the desk. He stepped between your legs and you wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him in for a kiss. His lips worked in sync with yours as he pushed your legs open. He ripped open your top, buttons scattering as he toyed with your nipples before running his hands down your body. He stopped at your hip and the other hand wandered farther down. He ran two fingers up to your clit, eliciting a needy moan from you. He pulled away from the kiss to put his fingers to his lips.

"You even taste sweet princess." He said as he licked them clean. He held eye contact as he began to rub slow circles on your clit. You jolted at the contact and laid back on the desk. He admired your cunt, small trickles down your legs making him chuckle. “Fuck you’re wet I might have to cum in your tight little hole.” He said slowly pushing into your heat. You moaned at the sensation, your walls gripping his fingers tightly. He leaned down and seized your throat with his free hand. You raised a hand to the one around your neck, using your fingers to indicate you wanted it tighter. He smirked and replaced the wary grip with a tight, more restrictive one. The combination of his fingers in you and around your throat was heavenly. He curled his fingers slightly sending a wave of unexpected pleasure through you. He took note of this and continued the same motion. Your eyes glazed over and you nodded fervently.

“Don’t stop. I’m so close.” You mewled quietly.

“If I didn’t know any better I’d think you’re enjoying this. Maybe I’ll have to keep you to myself.” His words sent you over the edge. Biting your knuckle as the pressure in your lower abdomen built up, your eyes fluttered shut as you came on his fingers. He continued his motions, relishing in the feeling of you tightening around his digits. Your body felt hot and shaky as you rode the high. He slowly withdrew his fingers and cleaned them with an eager tongue. His hum of approval bringing a small smile to your face. You slowly sat up and placed your hands on his exposed chest where his shirt hung open.

“What happened?” You asked studying the scars that peppered his body.

“It’s a long story.” He replied as your eyes found his. He leaned in for a kiss. It was deep and passionate this time. His hand slipped behind you so he could pull you to the edge of the desk. You melted at the feeling of your bodies pressing together. His teeth bit down softly on your lower lip as he pulled away. “You’re doing so good for me.” He murmured against your lips.

“Thank you. I don’t really know what I’m doing.” Your bare cunt brushed against his pants as he leaned into you making you jump. He took notice of this and smirked as he began to slowly rock his hips.

“That’s okay, you’re a quick learner.” He said, trailing kisses down to your neck. His warm breath gave you goosebumps. “ ‘Nd I guess you aren’t as delicate as I thought.” His hand wandered down your stomach, stopping between your legs. Using his fingers he spread your lips causing you to involuntarily push back for more. “Don’t move.” He smirked and moved to bite your earlobe as he moved his fingers to your clit. You breathed deeply, fighting the urge to buck your hips.

“Professor shouldn’t we hurry? I don’t want you to get in trouble.” How sweet. You were worried about keeping your little secret.

“Unfortunately you’re right my love.” You watched excitedly as he made quick work of dropping his trousers. He pulled you in for another slow and tender kiss while lining himself up with your entrance. You both let out a sigh of relief as he used the hand on your lower back to keep you close while he slid in.

“Remus you feel so good.” You said in a hushed voice. He replied with a half hearted ‘my god’, his attention now focused on watching his cock slowly slide in and out. Slick with the taste of you. He almost couldn’t look away but the small whimpers coming from you drew his gaze up.

“You’re so beautiful.” He said breathlessly, speeding up his pace and rubbing your clit. You dropped your head back as he fucked you, your orgasm building quickly until you felt like you were gonna explode. You dug your nails into his shoulders and he watched in awe as profanities fell from your lips and your body began to quiver.

“I think I’m gonna cum.” You said, starting to feel overstimulated by his fingers.

“That’s my girl.” He cooed. “I don’t know if I’ll last much longer myself.” His voice faltered at the end as he felt himself getting closer to his own release. Your nails buried themselves deeper in his shoulders, earning a feral snarl from Remus. He liked when you lost yourself in the feeling of him. You might shape up to be his favorite fucktoy. A few more strokes and you were unraveling before him. You writhed and panted under him, unable to keep quiet. He grunted and withdrew, cum spurting on your lower half.

There was a brief pause as he held you.

“Did I do good, Sir?” You asked dropping your head on his chest.

“Very. But next week I’d like to-”

“Next week? I thought this was just a one time thing.” You said looking up at him confused.

“Did I say that?” He asked slyly. He cupped your chin and titled your face to give you a soft kiss. “But wasn’t this fun?”

“Yes, Sir I had a lot of fun.” You said nodding, fighting the butterflies in your stomach. It felt wrong but you could help but enjoy his presence.

“Good. Then you’ll be here same time next week. Now get dressed. And quickly.” He said beginning to fix his shirt. He watched proudly as you did what you were told. After your skirt was on he helped you put on your robes, pulling the front shut tight now that your shirt was basically useless without its buttons. As you opened your mouth to ask him a question there was a soft knock on his door. He shot you a ‘follow my lead’ glance before walking over to the door as you quickly fixed your hair. Professor McGonagall stepped in the room and looked over at you curiously.

“(y/n).” She said greeting you.

“Hi professor.”

“She was actually just leaving our tutoring session.” Remus said.

“Oh well I hate to interrupt Lupin but Dumbledore has requested to see you in his office.” She said giving him a knowing glance.

“Ah I see. Thank you Minerva.” He said turning his attention to you. “If you don’t mind (y/n), I’m going to step out if you’d like to gather your things. We can pick up where we left off next week.” He said giving you a small smile. You nodded, turning to pick up your parchment and other belongings. Your mind raced, grappling with the situation. As you grabbed the last of your things you turned and said goodbye to your teachers.

“Brilliant student isn’t she?” You heard McGonagall say as you left.

“Oh she’s a gem for sure.” Remus replied with a chuckle.

[prettygirl-gabi]

Chapter 1: Through the Lens of Dreams

Rating: General Audiences

Warning: none, reader being distant with the team (more so paige)

Paring: Paige Bueckers x !photographer fem reader

Fandom: Women's basketball

Summary: "Paige Blockers" being a blocker...

Welcome to the chapter 1 of my New full length series called :Through The Lens. I hope you all enjoy and there is more to come...stay tuned my loveies!! 🏀💕📸

The assignment came as a surprise. One minute I was doodling in my notebook, bored out of my mind during Professor Gold's lecture, and the next, he was calling on me.

“Y/N, for your final project, how about something a bit more personal? Something that moves you?”

I blinked, trying to process the shift from the lecture’s dull monotony to my name echoing through the classroom. “Uh, like personal?” I asked, my voice hesitant.

“Yes,” Professor Gold said, his tone encouraging. “Think about what inspires you, what makes you feel alive. Your work has always been strong in capturing emotion and detail—why not channel that into something truly meaningful?”

I tilted my head, chewing on his suggestion. What did inspire me? Basketball had always been a big part of my life, from growing up watching UConn Women’s Basketball games with my mom to attending as a fan now. Maybe it wasn’t the worst idea.

“I… guess I could photograph the UConn Women’s team,” I said slowly, unsure if it would land right.

Professor Gold gave a reassuring nod. “Perfect. Use their stories, their passion, their journey. Show us what it means to be part of something bigger.”

A week later, I found myself walking toward the campus arena, my camera slung over my shoulder. It was game day, and I couldn’t help the excitement buzzing beneath my skin. The night’s game against a strong opponent was sure to be intense, and I couldn’t wait to capture it all through my lens.

Coach Geno Auriemma stood near the court, chatting with a few players, and I took a deep breath before stepping up to him.

“Coach Auriemma,” I said, approaching carefully. “I’m Y/N. I’ve been working on a project for Professor Gold, and I was wondering if I could talk to you for a moment about using the team as my subject.”

Coach turned, his eyes scanning me before a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Y/N, right? Professor Gold mentioned you.”

I nodded, feeling a little more at ease under his gaze. “I’d love to capture moments from your team—practices, games, everything. I think it would make for a unique perspective.”

“Unique is good,” Coach said thoughtfully. “We’re always looking for new ways to connect with the fans and our supporters. Just make sure you’re capturing the right shots, no distractions for the team.”

“Yes, sir,” I replied quickly. “I’ll stay out of the way, I promise.”

The game was electric. I had never been this close to the court before, my heart racing as I snapped shot after shot. Paige Bueckers stood out, as she always did—smooth, confident, her presence commanding attention. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her.

But then it happened.

Paige leaped for a block, her form graceful and determined. The sound of the ball slamming against her outstretched hand echoed through the arena. In a flash, the ball ricocheted toward me, and before I could even react, it collided with my camera.

The impact sent the camera crashing to the floor, shards of shattered lens scattering across the court.

Time seemed to freeze. My breath hitched as I stared at the mess of broken glass and metal. My favorite camera—ruined.

“Shit,” I whispered, crouching down to survey the damage.

Later that night, after the game had ended and I had made my way back to my dorm, I couldn’t stop thinking about Paige. The collision hadn’t just broken my camera—it had broken something inside me, too.

I knew I couldn’t keep avoiding her, but every time I thought about facing Paige again, I froze.

The next morning, I dragged myself to class, feeling like a walking ghost. It didn’t help that I shared a seat with KK Arnold, Paige’s teammate. KK wasn’t just my classmate—she was also someone who had seen the whole thing unfold.

“Hey, Y/N,” KK greeted with a smile, settling into her seat. “How’s the camera situation? Saw that you got a little too close to Paige’s shot block.”

I winced, my stomach twisting. “Yeah, it wasn’t… great.”

She chuckled softly, but her expression softened when she noticed my downcast eyes. “Look, Paige didn’t mean to—she feels bad about it, I know she does. It was an accident. She wasn’t trying to—”

“I know,” I cut in, forcing a smile. “It’s not her fault. Really.”

KK gave me a skeptical look but didn’t press further. “Just… maybe try not to avoid practice today? You’ve been avoiding the team, right?”

I bit my lip, feeling the weight of her words. Avoiding practice wasn’t helping me, but every time I thought about Paige, the memory of that broken camera flashed in my mind.

“I’ll think about it,” I murmured, turning my attention back to the lecture.

By the afternoon, I found myself back at the arena. The air felt different this time, heavier. The stands were packed, buzzing with energy, but I stayed focused on my camera, careful not to interfere with the team.

As I snapped photos, I caught glimpses of Paige—so effortless, so composed. Each shot of her was different, yet every one seemed to highlight that same magnetic presence she carried on the court.

Then, our eyes met.

It was only for a second, but it felt like the world stopped. Paige’s gaze held mine, soft but uncertain, like she was trying to say something without words.

I quickly looked away, heart thudding in my chest.

Later, after practice had ended and the court was mostly cleared, I lingered in the stands, replaying the moments over and over in my head. Paige’s block, the collision, the shattered camera—it wasn’t just a random accident. It had changed everything.

But as much as I wanted to hold on to the anger, the frustration, I couldn’t deny the pull toward her.

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-Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

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