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lazy-ahh · 2 months ago

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CHAOS LIKES COMPANY. A.K.A I LIKE YOU

pairing mohawk! mark grayson x (vigilante) male reader

you always imagined your grand exit would be more dramatic - maybe a hail of gunfire, a building collapsing in slow motion, at least a decent fucking punchline. instead you're testing a theory: if you disappear now, will mark grayson (your idiot, your disaster, the love of your shitty life) even notice? were you gonna be a tragic loss that haunted him forever, or the weird stain on the couch he learned to ignore?

this is for you MM (mohawk mark) anon! hope you enjoyed this one <3

you’re standing on a rooftop, the city sprawled out beneath you like a toy set some rich kid smashed in a tantrum. the wind’s tugging at your hair, the strands whipping across your face like it’s personally offended by your existence. not that you mind—gives you that "tragically windswept" look, and hey, maybe the audience is into that.

"nice view, huh?" you say, grinning at no one in particular. "seriously, take a screenshot or something. this is prime wallpaper material."

mark—mohawk mark, because this universe just had to make him extra—lands beside you with a thud that cracks the concrete under his boots. his black-and-blue suit is all "look at me, i’m edgier than the original", complete with that ridiculous "i" logo stretching down to his knees like it’s trying to escape. his mohawk’s practically defying gravity (and common sense), and the bags under his eyes make him look like he hasn’t slept since the invention of energy drinks.

"who the hell are you talking to?" he asks, squinting like he’s trying to spot your imaginary friends.

"the audience," you say, like it’s obvious. "you know, the people watching our lives like some messed-up reality show? hi guys, love ya, don’t forget to leave a like and reblog."

"the… what?" his nose scrunches up, and oh, that’s adorable.

"don’t worry about it." you wave a hand. "they’re cool. mostly. some of them probably ship us already—oh, and spoiler alert, they’re gonna love the angst fest coming up."

mark blinks. "what does that even—you know what, never mind." he shakes his head, but you can tell he feels it—that weird shift in the air when you break the fourth wall like it’s made of wet paper. he doesn’t see them, but he knows something’s off, like the universe just glitched for a second.

"you’re weird," he mutters, but there’s no real bite to it. just that same fond exasperation he’s had since you were kids throwing rocks at mailboxes (okay, you threw rocks—mark just watched and panicked, because back then, he was a "rules" kind of guy. boring).

"and you’re rocking a haircut that screams ‘i got into a fight with a lawnmower and lost’," you shoot back, reaching out to flick his mohawk. he swats your hand away, but he’s grinning now, all sharp edges and "i could kill you but i won’t (today)" energy.

"shut up," he says, but it’s half-hearted. then, quieter: "you’re the only one who gets to say shit like that and live."

and oh, that stings a little, doesn’t it? because you’ve known each other forever—since back when he was just mark, not invincible, not this version of him with blood under his fingernails and a smile that’s too wide to be sane. you know him better than anyone, even when he’s pretending he doesn’t care.

and yeah, maybe you’re a little (a lot) in love with him. maybe you’ve always been.

"lucky me," you say, forcing a smirk. "guess that means i’m special."

"guess it does," he says, and for a second, his eyes flicker with something almost soft.

(too bad you won’t be around long enough to enjoy it. because let’s be real—this is mark’s story, and in every universe, the best friend always dies. you’ve read the comics. you know how this ends. but hey, at least you’ll go out in style, right? saving this idiot’s life like some tragic, self-sacrificing idiot. classic.)

"so," mark cracks his knuckles, the sound sharp in the quiet before chaos, his fingers flexing like he's already imagining them wrapped around someone's throat. his grin is all teeth, too wide, too eager—the kind that makes normal people back up slowly and call the cops. his boot taps impatiently against the rooftop ledge, vibrating with barely-contained violence. "wanna go wreck some bad guys?"

you sigh, dramatic and long-suffering, like he’s just asked you to help him move a couch instead of commit several felonies. "oh, sweetie," you drawl, flipping a knife between your fingers just to watch the way his eyes track it—hungry, amused. "i was already doing that. you’re just late to the party." you tilt your head toward the alley below, where a bunch of armed goons are currently trying (and failing) to look intimidating. "see? they even brought balloons."

mark rolls his eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t get stuck, but before he can fire back some half-assed insult, he’s already leaping off the roof, arms spread like he’s embracing the inevitable chaos. you don’t even hesitate—just tuck your weapons back and dive after him, the wind screaming in your ears.

(you always follow. you always will. that's how you'll die, remember?)

the fight starts before your feet even hit the ground.

you land in a roll, coming up with a pistol in one hand and a knife in the other, already firing before the first thug even registers you’re there. the bullet takes him in the knee—"oops, guess you won’t be running anymore. well, not on that leg, anyway."

mark, meanwhile, doesn’t bother with weapons. he is the weapon. he plows into a guy twice his size like a freight train, sending him flying through a storefront window. glass shatters, the guy screams, and mark just laughs, kicking him in the ribs hard enough to crack bone. "aw, what’s wrong?" he taunts, tilting his head. "thought you were tough?"

one of the half-conscious goons on the pavement groans, dragging himself up on trembling elbows. his face is a mess of blood and regret as he glares up at you through one swollen eye. "what the fuck?" he slurs, spitting out a broken tooth. "i thought you guys were supposed to be heroes- AGH!"

your boot connects with his family jewels before he can finish that thought - a picture-perfect punt right to the baby factory, the twig and berries, the ol' troublepuffs. his voice cracks into a shrill, eunuch-like squeal as he folds like a lawn chair, hands cupped protectively over his now-useless crown jewels. "heroes?" you echo, tilting your head with mock sympathy as he dry-heaves onto the asphalt. "aw, cupcake. we're the guys your mom warned you about."

a bat comes swinging at your head from the blindside - amateur hour. you duck without even looking, feeling the whoosh of air ruffle your hair as you pivot and sink your combat knife deep into the guy's meaty thigh. he screams like a banshee as you twist the blade, feeling tendon grind against steel. "shhh, it's okay," you coo, patting his sweaty cheek with your free hand while he trembles. "you're doing great for someone with the fighting skills of a concussed koala."

then - classic move incoming - another meathead charges you with a crowbar raised high. is this also a reference to the author's other fictional crush? you sidestep like a matador, snatching his wrist mid-swing and using his momentum to yank him face-first into your rising knee. the satisfying crunch of cartilage tells you his nose just became abstract art. as he wheezes through the blood bubbling from his nostrils, you grab a fistful of his greasy hair and introduce his forehead to the nearest car hood. DING. "and that's the dinner bell!" you announce as he slumps to the pavement. "congrats, you just failed villainy 101. solid d-minus for the effort."

another shrill scream tears through the alleyway, high-pitched and desperate enough to make you pause mid-swing. you glance over your shoulder just in time to see mark - your personal hurricane of violence - plant his boots against the pavement, grip some poor 6'2 bastard by the waistband of his jeans, and heave. the guy goes airborne with a comical yelp, flipping ass-over-teakettle before crashing windshield-first onto a parked sedan. glass explodes outward in a glittering shower, the car alarm immediately wailing like a wounded animal.

"ohoho," you purr, letting your (new) bloodstained bat rest against your shoulder as you backpedal toward the nearest brick wall. you prop yourself against it, crossing your ankles with deliberate casualness as you watch mark work. the way his muscles flex under that skintight suit should be illegal. the way his mohawk bobs with each brutal movement? downright obscene.

mark doesn't even pause for breath before stomping toward the next threat, those unfairly thick thighs straining against his suit with each step - god, the way that fabric clings to him should be classified as a war crime. his fingers curl around a dented street sign, biceps flexing obscenely as he wrenches it free from the concrete with a screech of protesting metal. when he swings, it's with the practiced ease of a major league slugger, his whole body twisting in a way that makes his ass look absolutely sinful in that skin-tight suit - and then the aluminum connects with some mobster's jaw in a spray of saliva and enamel, three pearly whites skittering across the asphalt like tiny dice.

you swallow hard, your mouth suddenly dry. it's ridiculous how good he looks like this - all coiled violence and barely-contained power, his mohawk sticking up in every direction like he just rolled out of bed (your bed, preferably). the way his shoulders bunch under the fabric when he lifts the sign again, the way his thighs flex as he plants his feet - christ, you could write poetry about those thighs.

but then something tightens in your chest, sharp and sudden, stealing the breath from your lungs. you turn to glare at no one in particular, pointing an accusing finger. "woah woah woah, hey! don't you dare. i know what you're going to write in the next paragraph and i swear to god-"

because one day - soon - you won't be here to see this. won't be here to watch the way the streetlights catch the sweat on mark's neck, or the way his nose scrunches up when he's trying not to laugh at your shitty jokes. one day, you'll just be... gone. and mark will keep fighting, keep living, with some other poor bastard at his side who isn't you.

the thought hits you like a punch to the gut. fuck...

(you hope, when it happens, it's quick. you hope it's saving his stupid, reckless life. you hope he misses you, just a little.)

"homerun!" you crow as you look back at mark, pushing off the wall to deliver slow, sarcastic applause, trying to erase your negative thoughts. no need for allat when you're still alive and breathing, right? one of your gloves comes away sticky with someone else's blood. "ten outta ten for form, but i'm deducting points for lack of showmanship. where's the flair, grayson?"

"shut up," mark growls through gritted teeth, but the way his lips twitch betrays him. he chucks the ruined sign aside like trash before lunging for his next victim - some meathead who clearly skipped neck day. mark's fingers close around the guy's throat, lifting him clean off his feet until their faces are level. the thug's sneakers scrabble against empty air, his face blooming an impressive shade of eggplant as mark just... watches. his head tilts slightly, eyes dark with something between scientific curiosity and outright glee. it's the same look kids get when they poke dead things with sticks.

you whistle low through your teeth, nudging an unconscious goon with your toe. "y'know most heroes don't commit felonies on the daily. pretty sure throttling dudes counts as excessive force."

"we're not most heroes," mark snarls, finally dropping the gasping thug in a heap. he wipes his palms on his thighs, leaving smears of red across the blue fabric. "and i literally saw what you did to those guys back there," he jerks his chin toward the alley mouth where four bodies lay in increasingly creative positions, "so don't even start, hypocrite."

your grin stretches wide enough to hurt. he's got you there. while mark was playing fast and loose with the geneva suggestions, you'd been busy turning a switchblade into a modern art installation in someone's shoulder socket.

"touche, mohawk," you concede, flipping your bat in a lazy arc. "but in my defense?" the aluminum cracks against the skull of some sneaky bastard trying to flank mark. the guy folds like a lawn chair. "my felonies have panache."

mark's answering laugh is all teeth and no remorse. the sirens wailing in the distance mean it's time to bounce, but neither of you move just yet. not when there's still blood in the air and that electric hum of violence buzzing under your skin.

(and if your eyes linger on the way mark's chest heaves, on the wild light in his eyes - well. that's between you and the audience. you can't judge him, can you? perverts.)

luckily for the two of you, the universe apparently decided this shit-show wasn't over yet, with one final act left. with a running start, you plant one boot against the side of a overflowing dumpster and push off, tucking into a neat flip that would make any olympic gymnast weep with envy. you land in a crouch behind two meatheads who clearly skipped villain orientation day - their matching "we do crime" energy is almost cute in its patheticness.

the first guy telegraphs his punch like he's sending smoke signals. you catch his fist mid-swing, twisting his wrist in one fluid motion until the bone gives with an audible snap. his scream is high enough to shatter glass. "dude," you sigh, shaking your head as he crumples to his knees, "you gotta warm up first. this is just sad. i'm embarrassed for you."

his buddy takes this moment to make a terrible life choice, fumbling a glock from his waistband. the barrel wavers wildly as he tries to aim.

you blink. "oh, rude."

the gunshot cracks through the alley, but you're already moving - twisting sideways just enough that the bullet parts your hair like a fucked-up comb. before the echo even fades, your knife is airborne, burying itself to the hilt in the guy's shoulder with a meaty thunk. his shriek is music to your ears as the gun clatters to the pavement. you saunter over, planting a boot on his chest for leverage as you yank your blade free. "thanks for the target practice," you muse, wiping the blood on his shirt before he passes out. "tell your friends."

meanwhile, mark has apparently decided physics are optional. you turn just in time to see him grab some poor bastard by the belt and collar, muscles straining under his suit as he heaves - the guy goes sailing through the air like a ragdoll, crashing through a fruit stand in an explosion of splintered wood and flying oranges. before the first body even stops rolling, mark's already pivoted to grab another thug, launching him ass-first into a trash can with enough force to dent the metal. the clang echoes down the alley like a demented church bell.

"having fun?" you call, spinning your pistol around your finger before slotting a fresh magazine home with practiced ease. the click of it seating is downright pornographic.

"shut up," mark pants for the umpteenth time, but there's no heat behind it - just that breathless, unhinged laughter that makes your stomach do funny things. he grabs the last guy by his collar, hauling him up until they're nose-to-nose. for a heartbeat, they just stare at each other - then mark slams their foreheads together with a crunch that would make a butcher wince. the guy's nose practically explodes in a crimson spray, his eyes rolling back as he collapses in a boneless heap.

suddenly, it's quiet.

the aftermath looks like a tornado hit a butcher shop - bodies strewn about like broken dolls, glass glittering amidst pools of darkening blood, the distant wail of sirens growing steadily closer. mark's chest heaves with each breath, his knuckles split and dripping onto the pavement. his mohawk's gone full hedgehog mode, sticking up in every direction, and there's a smear of someone else's blood across his cheekbone that you have the sudden, overwhelming urge to lick off. weird. last you checked, you were a picky eater.

when he turns to look at you, his eyes are alive - pupils blown wide with adrenaline, that manic grin still tugging at his lips. it's terrifying. it's beautiful. it's so mark that your chest aches with it. so mark that you can literally feel the blood in your veins start to make its way down.

"so," you say, holstering your gun with a flourish, "same time tomorrow?"

mark scoffs, rolling his shoulders as he turns to leave. but he doesn't check if you're following - doesn't need to.

(you always do.)

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

"i feel like i'm going crazy. like my brain's been stuffed with cotton and set on fire at the same time." you stare at the water-stained ceiling talking to no one in particular, fingers digging into your pillow hard enough to tear seams. the eyebags under your eyes have gotten so dark they look like bruises (at least now you and mark match, his from violence, yours from... whatever this is). your hair's a disheveled mess, strands sticking to your forehead after days of bedrotting and only wearing t-shirts and sweatpants. you need to do your laundry soon, you were about to run out of t-shirts and sweatpants from your closet. you can feel death crouched at the foot of your bed like a stray cat waiting to be let in. "i'm literally about to die and what do i do? play fucking martyr instead of just... just..." your voice cracks as you press the heels of your hands against your burning eyes.

this was supposed to be some noble gesture - giving mark a trial run at life without you. you'd dove into the plan half-delirious, imagining how he'd come pounding on your door by sundown, all wild-eyed and vibrating with barely-contained panic. he'd drag you out of bed by your ankle, that adorable angry crease between his brows as he yelled about how you can't just disappear for hours, how he'd torn the city apart looking for you, how maybe - just maybe - he'd been a little more brutal than usual with the criminals today because what if something had happened to you and -

except that's not what happened.

three days. seventy-two hours of radio silence. the notifications on your phone have tapered off to nothing. you keep checking it like a pathetic loser, thumb smearing fingerprints across the cracked screen as you scroll through increasingly distant messages:

sidehoe #1 🐈💨 2:43 AM

we both know you don't got other sidehoes, so why is there a number next to my nickname??

manwhore <3

why would i tell you who the others are? you'd just kill them anyway, so i gotta keep the huzz safe, you feel me?

and don't worry, marky, you'll always be number 1 in my heart <33

sidehoe #1 🐈💨 7:58 AM

oh shut up

8:02 AM

okay when i said shut up, i didn't mean literally

8:15 AM

you alive?

9:29 AM

you haven't watched the tiktoks i sent yet watch them or you're going to get it tonight

9:31 AM

when i said you're going to get it tonight i meant i'm going to grab you by the throat and glue your phone screen to your eyes or sexual intercourse don't even make fun of me for calling it that whichever one gets you to answer my fucking messages

8:16 PM

whatever

"it's like..." you rasp to the empty room, throat raw from disuse. "like when you stop texting your boyfriend first to see how long it takes him to notice you're gone. except you're the idiot who breaks after five minutes because the silence makes your chest hurt, while he's just... fine." you let your phone clatter to the floor, screen-up so you can watch it stay dark. "fuck. that doesn't even make sense. i fucking hate myself."

outside your window, the city keeps turning. somewhere out there, mark's probably elbow-deep in someone's ribcage, not even realizing there's a you-shaped hole in the world. the thought makes you laugh - a wet, broken sound that turns into a sob halfway through. you roll over and bury your face in the pillow that stopped smelling like him days ago.

(you always knew you'd die for him. you just never thought you'd have to watch him stop needing you first.)

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

that suffocating dread finally lifts one night - not because it's gone, but because you've grown too tired to carry it anymore. it had clung to your ribs like tar for days, weighing down every breath no matter how many shitty jokes you cracked or how many bad decisions you made. hiding in your room didn't help either, the walls pressing closer each day like they knew what was coming. part of you wondered if the danger was you all along, if you'd somehow become the villain in this story. but no - you know how this ends. you've always known. you'll die saving that reckless, mohawked idiot who still doesn't realize you're in love with him.

after your first proper shower in days (the water scalding your skin pink), you crack open another soda and watch the bubbles fizz against the can's rim. the carbonation burns your throat as you gulp it down, the sugar rush doing nothing to steady your hands as you strap on your gear. your suit smells like old blood and gunpowder when you shrug it on, the familiar weight of weapons settling against your thighs as you step out into the night.

you take your usual patrol route - yours and mark's route, the one where he always complains about stopping for hot dogs but eats three anyway. every shadow makes your pulse jump, half-hoping you won't see him, half-terrified this might be your last chance if you do. the city stretches below you, all glittering lights and oblivious crowds. it looks peaceful from up here. you almost feel peaceful after finally accepting that you only have a few pages left before your book ends. (liar.)

"but of course," you murmur to no one in particular, gloved fingers tightening around the rooftop's edge, "you've got different plans for me, right?" the wind doesn't answer. then -

a rush of air colder than the night itself. the scent of leather and that cheap citrus body wash mark refuses to stop using.

"where the fuck have you been?" his voice loud like a gunshot, raw with something between rage and devastation. you don't turn. can't. the city lights blur beneath you as you focus on keeping your breathing even. "i said," mark snarls, closer now, "where the fuck have you been, you stupid son of a bitch-"

"you've been doing fine without me." your mask hits the concrete with a dull thud when you pull it off. the smile you force feels like a death rattle. "see? proof you won't completely lose it when something does happen to me-"

"will you fucking quit that?" mark's boots scuff against concrete as he storms forward. when you finally turn, his face is a mess of anger and fear, eyes glassy under the moonlight. "you always - fuck - you always talk like you've got one foot in the grave. why do you keep talking like that? are you- " his breath hitches, hands flexing at his sides like he wants to shake you or hold you or both, "are you planning on killing yourself?"

the laugh that tears from your throat sounds alien even to you. "what? no, i'm not-"

"stop lying!" mark's shout echoes off the rooftops, his composure shattering as tears finally spill over. your chest caves in at the sight - mark never cries, not even when he's bleeding out in some alleyway. his hands find yours with desperate urgency, calloused fingers trembling as they squeeze yours hard enough to bruise. "just... stop. if you're hurting, tell me. am i - " his voice breaks, "am i really not someone you can trust with this?"

he drags your joined hands up, pressing your knuckles to his forehead like a prayer. his breath brushes your wrists as he leans into the contact, hot against your skin. when he speaks again, it's so quiet the wind almost steals it: "i might be a disaster, but i fucking care. so please... let me in."

the dam breaks.

"i'm sorry," the words spill out in a broken whisper, saltwater dripping off your chin as tears carve hot paths down your wind-chapped cheeks. "god, mark, i'm so fucking sorry."

your hands slip from his trembling grip, moving on instinct as you drag him into the tightest embrace your battered body can manage. one hand finds its way between his shoulder blades, fingers spreading wide over the familiar topography of his suit's fabric as you rub slow, grounding circles into the knotted muscles beneath. the other settles at the dip of his waist, thumb tracing absentminded patterns against the curve of his hip through the thin material - that same spot you've secretly ached to touch for years, now warm and solid under your palm.

his breathing hitches when you pull him closer, his forehead coming to rest heavily against your shoulder as his hands fist in the back of your jacket like you might vanish if he lets go. (and he's almost right.) the scent of his shampoo mixes with gunpowder and copper as you tuck your face into the mess of his mohawk, your lips brushing against the shell of his ear when you murmur another apology into the space between you.

but it wasn't enough to just whisper apologies into his skin, not when you still hadn't told him the crushing truth - that soon you'd be nothing more than another ghost haunting his memories.

his breath is warm against your neck as you hold him, his heartbeat thundering against your chest in a rhythm you've memorized through countless battles. you let your fingers card through the short hairs at the nape of his neck, smiling faintly when he shivers at the touch. "hey audience," you murmur silently against mark's shoulder, your voice barely a thought, "funny how i can take a bullet without flinching, but can't say three stupid little words to the guy who actually gives a shit if i live or die, huh?"

mark shifts in your arms, his calloused palm sliding up to cradle the back of your head like you're something precious. the moonlight paints silver and blue along the curve of his cheekbone when he tilts his face up, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that makes your throat tight. you press your forehead to his instead, breathing him in - the citrus of his shampoo, the iron tang of blood from split knuckles, the unmistakable scent that's just mark. your thumb traces the arch of his cheekbone, wiping away tear tracks you pretend not to notice.

(you don't say i love you. but when his lips brush yours in something too soft to be a kiss and too tender to be an accident, you think maybe he knows anyway.)

OH MY GOD 4.5k WORDS??? THIS MIGHT BE THE LONGEST ONE-SHOT I'VE EVER WRITTEN, and honestly... i think i might have cooked with this one-

#lazy-ahh #invincible #invincible variant #mark grayson #mohawk invincible #mohawk mark grayson #male reader #x male reader #invincible x male reader #invincible variant x male reader #mohawk invincible x male reader #mohawk mark grayson x male reader #4th wall breaking reader trope is currently my favourite #MM anon i love you man #I NEED THAT INVINCIDIH-#are you sure?

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blueberrybirdsworld · 1 month ago

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Collision 6/20

Summary:

Lando always had a type : blonde, models, not ready to settle down. Yet once he met her, all his world is changed and he slowly start to realises maybe he was wrong all this time.

It's a prequel story of The Cat Distribution System, on how Lando Norris fall in love with Ariana. Could be read seperatly.

Pairing : lando norris x original female character

Genre : SMAU, Fluff, slow burn, enventual smut and angst

Warning : none

CHAPTER 6 :

Serie Masterlist

PLEASE FEEL FREE TO COMMENT AND REPOST TO MAKE THIS STORIE LIVE :)

Texts messages

Lando hey again this might be a bit of a weird message or maybe not? depending on how you take it

Ariana Starting strong, I see.

Lando rude, I’m trying to be brave here

Ariana You’re texting like someone about to tell me they broke my window or something

Lando no windows were harmed I swear this is actually a good thing, I hope

Ariana Okay I’m listening

Lando right, okay so I was wondering, if maybe you’d wanna go out with me like officially on a date, a real one with like a location and… time

Ariana ...You’re asking me on a date?

Lando yes I am you pick the when I’ll just, show up and try not to be an idiot

Ariana I don’t think you’re an idiot Just… aggressively unsure of how to flirt

Lando wow okay roasted but also not denying it

Ariana I’m smiling Just so you know

Lando THAT COUNTS AS A WIN are we calling that a yes?

Ariana Yes I’ll go on a date with you On one condition

Lando name it I will fight a goose for you if I have to

Ariana …Why a goose?

Lando idk they’re terrifying feels like a real display of commitment

Ariana Right Well luckily no goose involved Just let me choose the place

Lando obviously your call jazz night? murder mystery dinner? interpretive dance in a warehouse?

Ariana All tempting But I think I’d like to take you to the National Gallery

Lando the big art place?

Ariana That’s the one They’ve got a new Impressionist wing open. It’s quiet. Peaceful.

Lando you want to go look at paintings with me?

Ariana Yes I want to watch you try to interpret Monet while pretending to understand it

Lando rude I’ll have you know I once read a caption next to a Van Gogh

Ariana Oh, you’re cultured then

Lando deeply, just don’t ask me to pronounce “Renoir” out loud

Ariana Deal Saturday afternoon?

Lando YES i mean yeah, Saturday’s good

Ariana I’ll see you Saturday, Lando

It was a rare London morning, one of those crisp, cloud-silvered days where the city felt paused in time. Ariana liked days like this. The air was quiet. The streets still. The kind of day where one could walk without a destination and still feel complete.

When he arrived outside the National Gallery, Lando felt, for once, a bit like an imposter.

Museums were not his thing.

He’d spent the drive before reading random facts about Van Gogh, Monet, and “why people stand around looking at paint.” He even watched a ten-minute YouTube video called Art History For People Who Know Nothing About Art.

All because she’d asked.

And when she stepped out of the museum entrance to greet him, wearing a long navy coat, a creamy scarf wrapped elegantly around her neck, boots that clicked softly on the stone, and her hair tied up with another bow, this time a white one.

“You came,” she said softly, the corners of her mouth rising in that quiet way that always made his chest feel too tight.

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

She blinked once, pleased, then turned and led him inside with her usual poise.

He followed. Always would.

The halls were nearly empty, just as she’d planned.

They moved slowly through echoing corridors where masterpieces hung in golden silence. The air was calm, the lighting soft, almost sacred. She walked like she belonged there, fingers occasionally clasped behind her back, eyes tracing brushstrokes with reverence. Lando stayed beside her, his steps quiet, eyes shifting between the walls… and her.

He didn’t know if he was supposed to look at the art or look at her.

The way she stood in front of a painting, tilting her head just slightly. The way her lips parted in thought. The quiet awe in her expression, like she wasn’t just seeing paintings, she was listening to them.

“You okay?” she asked, glancing at him with a smile.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, just… trying to figure out if I’m meant to stare at the art or stare at you.”

That made her laugh, quiet and lovely. “Well, the art doesn’t blush.”

“I’m not entirely sure you do either.”

“Oh, I do,” she said, lips curving. “I’m just very good at hiding it.”

In one of the next halls, she slowed.

“What’s your favorite painting so far?” she asked.

He hesitated. “Uhhh…”

Her brows lifted, amused.

“Be honest,” she teased. “You have no idea, do you?”

“I googled stuff just before,” he admitted, sheepishly. “So I wouldn’t embarrass myself.”

That made her laugh harder. “That’s actually adorable.”

“I tried to memorize a few facts,” he muttered. “Like how Van Gogh used to eat paint or whatever.”

“Oh my god, no,” she said through giggles. “Stop.”

“You asked!”

She turned to face him fully now, mischief in her eyes. “Then maybe I should give you a private tour. A real one.”

He grinned. “I’d like that.”

So she led him to a painting, something soft and glowing, a Turner piece and explained how the light in it was revolutionary for its time. She showed him a Botticelli and pointed to hidden mythological symbols. Then a Rembrandt, explaining how the shadows were more than shadows, they were character.

“And here,” she said, stopping at a portrait of a woman with downcast eyes, “is a painting I’ve always thought looked like she knew something no one else did.”

“Like you?”

She glanced at him, a quiet smirk in her eyes. “You really can’t help yourself, can you?”

He lifted his hands in surrender. “You’re just very… paintable.”

Eventually, they reached a quieter part of the museum.

Ariana slowed again. Her steps softened. Then she stopped in front of a large oil painting bathed in soft gold and faded blues.

“This one,” she whispered. “Is my favorite.”

They stood in silence.

It was a painting of a woman in profile, seated by a window, looking toward a garden in bloom. Light flooded the scene, casting her in a warm, melancholy glow. The room around her was still, peaceful, dreamlike.

Ariana sat on the bench in front of it, hands in her lap, staring like she always did, like the painting was a memory only she understood.

Lando joined her, keeping a respectful distance, letting her sit in her stillness.

After a few minutes, her voice returned.

“What about you?” she asked, eyes still on the canvas. “What’s your favorite thing? Outside of racing.”

He thought for a second. “Spending time with people I actually want to be around. Eating good food. Driving fast for no reason.”

She smiled softly.

“And… music, I guess.”

She turned to look at him now. “What kind of music?”

He hesitated.

Then said it, without shame.

“Avril Lavigne.”

She blinked.

Then gasped — dramatically. “Seriously?”

“Hey. Classic. Don’t judge.”

“I’m not judging,” she said, grinning wide. “I’m delighted.”

Then she turned, tucked one leg beneath her, and, in a soft, teasing voice, began to sing an Avril Lavigne song.

“He was a boy, she was a girl… can I make it any more obvious?”

Lando laughed, full and loud. She kept going.

“He was a punk, she did ballet…”

Her voice was melodic, almost shy at first, but beautiful, sweet and clear in the quiet gallery.

She stopped there, smiling to herself, cheeks actually pink this time.

“That’s us,” she said simply. “Isn’t it?”

It hit him like a wave.

Us. She’d said “us.”

Something shifted in him then. The moment slowed, narrowed, quieted in the way only moments before a kiss do. He looked at her, really looked, her mouth still curved in a smile, eyes soft, glowing from the inside out.

“I think so,” he said, voice low.

And before he could talk himself out of it, he leaned in.

His hand moved to her cheek, gently cupping it, and his lips found hers in a kiss that was nothing like the ones he’d given before. It was quiet, but hungry, soft at first, but deepening as she leaned into him, her fingers curling gently into the fabric of his coat.

The painting watched them.

A frozen garden, a quiet window.

Their kiss, breathless, unplanned, perfect.

When they finally broke apart, Ariana rested her forehead against his.

“You kissed me in front of my favorite painting,” she whispered.

“Seemed fitting.”

She laughed. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I know,” he murmured, brushing her cheek with his thumb. “But you like it.”

“I do.”

Even after they pulled apart, slowly, reluctantly, the air between them still hummed. Ariana stayed close, her breath brushing against Lando’s lips, her eyes locked on his, wide and bright and slightly disbelieving.

“Well,” she whispered.

“Yeah,” he said, just as softly.

She smiled, a real one this time, not the quiet, restrained ones she gave strangers or even new friends. This one reached her eyes.

“I wasn’t planning on doing that today.”

“Neither was I,” he said. “But you started singing Avril Lavigne and… I kind of lost all self-control.”

She laughed, tilting her head back just slightly. “So it’s my fault?”

“Absolutely.”

Ariana bit her lip, standing from the bench. “We should go.”

“Do we have to?”

“I don’t think the gallery lets people make out in front of 18th-century oil paintings,” she teased.

He followed her out, one step behind, a lazy smile stretching across his face. “That feels discriminatory.”

Outside, London had tucked itself beneath winter’s hush.

The sun had dipped low, casting long shadows across Trafalgar Square. The lights were soft, golden, glittering against the cobblestones, and the sky overhead was painted in pale lilacs and cold pinks. Their footsteps echoed as they walked side by side, the city gently breathing around them.

Neither of them spoke at first.

Their hands kept brushing, fingers grazing with just enough contact to feel the pull, but not enough to hold. Lando's pinky bumped hers once. Then twice.

Ariana didn’t move away.

“Is this the part where I offer you my coat?” he said eventually.

“I’m not cold,” she replied, glancing at him with a smirk. “Are you trying to be the gentleman type now?”

“I’m trying to impress you.”

She raised a brow. “After the museum kiss? Bit late for that.”

He chuckled. “You think that was my final form?”

“You kissed me in front of a Turner, Lando.”

“And you sang Avril Lavigne in a gallery. I feel like we’re even.”

She bumped her shoulder against his gently. “You’re not what I expected, you know.”

“What did you expect?”

“I don’t know. More…” she paused, considering. “Loud. Maybe a bit cocky.”

He gave her a look. “I am cocky.”

She smiled. “But you’re also soft.”

“Don’t tell anyone. You’ll ruin my reputation.”

They walked a few more steps in silence, their steps falling in rhythm, brushing shoulders now and then, warm in a way that made the cold irrelevant.

Ariana’s breath came out in a visible puff.

“Thank you,” she said suddenly.

“For what?”

“For trying to care about the things I love.”

He stopped walking for a second, then caught up. “You’re welcome. But it’s not hard, Ariana. I like listening to you talk about the things that matter to you. Even if I don’t understand all the art stuff.”

“You understand more than you think.”

“Really?”

“You noticed the way the shadows worked in that Rembrandt. Most people don’t even look.”

He smiled, half proud, half surprised. “Maybe you’re just a good teacher.”

“Maybe you’re just paying attention,” she said, quieter now.

That stayed in the air between them for a moment. Neither of them tried to touch it.

When they finally reached the quiet street near her flat, Lando felt something in him tense, not with nerves, exactly, but with hesitation. The kind that always came at the edge of a good thing. The moment where you weren’t sure if you should say more or let it be perfect as is.

Her building stood ahead, three stories, red brick, quiet windows glowing softly behind sheer curtains. The world was still. Like it was waiting for him to decide.

Ariana stopped at the gate, fingers wrapped around the iron bar.

“This is me,” she said softly.

He nodded, rocking on his heels. “Yeah.”

She didn’t move.

He didn’t either.

The pause stretched.

“Well,” she said, drawing the word out with the faintest smile. “I suppose this is where you kiss me goodnight again?”

He blinked. “Wait—is that allowed twice in one day?”

She leaned just slightly on the gate, hair swaying with the wind. “Depends on if the second one is better.”

Lando laughed, that warm, quiet kind of laugh that came from the chest. He stepped a little closer, his hands sliding into his coat pockets like he didn’t trust them not to tremble.

“I wasn’t sure if I should,” he said honestly. “I didn’t want to… ruin the balance.”

She tilted her head. “What balance?”

He hesitated. “This thing. It’s delicate, you know? Like I’m still learning the rhythm.”

Ariana’s gaze softened.

“You don’t need to know the steps yet,” she said. “You just need to keep showing up.”

He looked at her for a moment, lips parting like he might say something more. But instead, he reached out, one hand brushing a strand of hair from her face, fingers pausing lightly at her jaw.

Then, slowly, carefully, he leaned in and kissed her again.

Not in front of a painting this time.

Just beneath a winter sky, next to a quiet gate, where nobody watched but the stars.

It was slower than the first kiss. Warmer. Surer. The kind of kiss that says I’m not going anywhere.

When they parted, she exhaled softly against his lips.

“You’re getting better at that,” she whispered.

He smiled. “Told you that wasn’t my final form.”

She stepped back toward her door, pausing with her hand on the knob.

“Text me when you’re home?”

“You’ll be my first message.”

“Good.”

And with one last glance, soft, full of meaning, she disappeared inside.

Lando stood there for a moment, watching the door like it might open again.

It didn’t.

But he smiled anyway, hands stuffed in his pockets, heart full and loud.

And then he walked home.

Taglist : @angelluv16, @httpsxnox, @anunstablefangirl, @chocolatemagazinecupcake, @mayax2o07, @freyathehuntress, @verogonewild, @lilyofthevalley-09, @esw1012, @its-me-frankie

Let me know if you wanted to be added to the taglist !

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nanenna · 7 months ago

Text

Jeez Louise This is a Mess

Sleepy King (Nenna edition) Master Post

Apologies in advance, I'm not very familiar with John Constantine, trying to do anything from his perspective is definitely an unwise decision. I have chosen it anyway. He's almost definitely OOC.

---

John watched the Fentons and the mayor just saunter through the brand new hole in the mayor’s wall like this was just a normal Friday for them. Considering how weird the town was as a whole, it probably was. And he meant that by the old meaning of the word and as literal as one could possibly interpret it. He’d never been anywhere where the veil was so thin over such a large area, with æther so thick in the air of course it was affecting the locals. Probably had something to do with whoever or whatever had cloaked the whole town.

John turned to Tall Dark and Broody, “So, what happened to all the bugs and trackers you put on them originally?”

Batsy frowned, “Danny’s are still in the Fenton residence, expected since he clearly changed his clothes. His parents’ trackers and bugs all went offline not long after arriving home, the ones I placed inside the residence are malfunctioning.”

“And that’s not the least bit suspicious?” John asked.

“It’s incredibly suspicious,” Batsy said with a completely straight face before turning and also walking right out the brand new hole. “I suggest you actually use the comm I gave you earlier, they’re explaining the situation to Masters.”

Unfortunately Mr. Gargles Gravel for Breakfast had a point, John sighed and did put in the comm, though he knew it would be spotty with the use of magic to follow the group. Batsy and Wonder Woman could follow however they liked, John did not have the energy for that.

The comms were staticky, cutting in and out even without John’s abuse of the thin veil to quick step around town. Not surprising, the amount of pure death magic radiating off the two dead-alive people in that tank would be enough to mess with most electronics even if the veil weren’t practically non-existent.

“Somehow this place feels cozy,” Boston commented as he followed John.

“You would think so.”

The conversation on the comm was getting worse, the bugs were clearly slowly giving up the ghost. John only caught a few words here and there, and those were only because they were Ghost Speak, something that shouldn’t be possible for flesh and blood mouths to speak. It’s just bits and pieces, names and titles mostly, but if he’s understanding this right…

“Huh, that may change the situation a bit.”

“What are you going on about?” Boston asked.

“It sounds like Pariah isn’t the Ghost King anymore. But Batsy’s bugs are losing the war against æther, so when we get there you’re gonna need to go spy on them.”

“Will that work?”

“Try to keep out of sight, but even if you get caught the worst they’ll do is kick you out. Undead solidarity.”

Boston grumbled, but when John met back up with Batsy and Wonder Woman staring through a window right to where the group was talking, Boston did as he was asked and slipped right through the wall and inside. John cast a quick spell to spy through Boston.

Boston floated slowly into the room, seemingly becoming braver as the Fentons looked right past him without reacting. Unfortunately, he got a little too close to the one person in the room that could definitely see him. The kid jumped out of his seat in surprise.

“Don't sneak up on me like that!” The kid whined as he picked himself up off the floor. Then he froze, eyes glaring at Boston. “How did you sneak up on me? You didn't activate my ghost sense at all.”

“Oh, you can see me? And ghost sense?”

“You don't know who I am?”

“Uh… Daniel Fenton?”

“Well yes, but ghosts don't usually call me that.”

“Then what do they call you?”

“How about you tell me your name first?”

“I’m Deadman.”

The kid burst into laughter. “Are you for real?”

“Danny, is it Youngblood?” The sister asked.

“Huh?” The kid looked to his older sister, then back to Boston. He gestured, “You can't see him?”

The Fentons all shook their heads.

The creepy mayor came back into the room holding a cardboard box, knocking a thin layer of dust from the top. “Here it is!” He looked up and frowned. “Who are you, and why are you in my home?”

“I’m Deadman and I’m uh… lost?”

“He didn't set off my ghost sense,” the kid added. He turned back to Boston, “Are you even a ghost?”

Batman, who’d spent the last few minutes getting into the perfect position while he waited for the most dramatic moment chose then to crash through the window. John started cursing as he rushed to climb in after the loon, already prepping a spell. The moment he had a clear line of sight he shot off the revelation spell at the kid.

It did… well not much.

Really about all it did was give the kid a couple extra accessories. He expected them, but he also expected it to somehow reveal the kid’s undead status too. Make him look all glowy and ghostly like he had when he’d first arrived last night, because John was pretty sure the kid hadn’t been kidnapped after all. Or at least not how they originally assumed, he was pretty sure some spirits considered an unwilling summons a kidnapping.

Still, there the crown was. Just floating over the kid’s head, toxic green æther flames around it like a death energy aurora. And like any teenager the kid seemed completely oblivious, having to be told the crown was even there. Once he got a hand on it though he said something odd, “Okay, crown retrieved.”

John just tucked his hands in his pockets, waiting to see what they were doing. Why did they think they needed to find the crown?

“We may have a problem,” The creepy mayor said as he pulled an identical crown from his cardboard box.

“What.” The kid looked back and forth between the crown in his hand and the one in the creeper’s. “Why are there two?”

And, well, John agreed. Why the fuck were there two? He already started muttering an identification spell as the kid turned to him.

“What did you do?!”

“I didn't do anything,” John protested, “that was purely an identification spell, it can't duplicate things!”

“Well clearly you did something wrong,” The kid’s mom said while glaring at the him.

Of course things got dicey after that, the kid and the creepy mayor got into a fight over the second crown, things turned into a right mess, and John was quite content to let them squabble among themselves. He moved to go stand next to Batsy and Wonder Woman, Boston with him, waiting to see how this went.

Of course the tussle then turned into fighting over the ring on the kid’s finger, still blaming John for just revealing the crown and ring the kid had apparently had this whole time.

“Alright, that’s enough. Shut up!” John may have put a bit of intent into that, and it worked beautifully. The whole group stopped and stared at him, finally shutting up. The parents managed to get between the kid and the creeper, each one still with one of the crowns.

The crowns he now knew were both, somehow, legitimate.

John pointed at the kid, “Just call the crown, it’ll listen.”

The kid gave him a disbelieving look. “Oh sure, I’ll just,” he hunched forward a little bit, clapped his hands, and whistled like he was calling a dog, “here Crowny, Crowny, Crowny.”

For a brief moment nothing happened, then the creeper mayor jerked forward as the crown yanked itself from his hand. It went to go join the other crown floating over the kid’s head, one of them grew wider so the other could nestle inside it, both spinning in place but in opposite directions.

Everyone was staring at the display.

“What uh… what are they doing?” The kid asked nervously.

“They… like each other?” The sister asked skeptically.

“Great, wonderful, fabulous, just what I need in my life.” The kid sighed and turned to glare at John. “What. Did. You. DO?!”

“I didn’t do shit,” John replied, much to the parents’ combined horror. “Looks like somehow they’re both legit, my best guess is one of them isn’t from this timeline.”

“Oh,” the sister said, grabbing everyone’s attention. “The Nasty Burger explosion happened after the fight with the king, right?”

“The what?” the kid’s parents asked.

“Oh,” the kid responded, “I’m starting to see why the council of eyeballs hates my guts.”

And wasn’t that a concerning sentence. John desperately needed a drink, thankfully he had a flask on him and chose that moment to take a swig. “Alright, so there should be a second ring too, no point leaving that on Dark’s finger in case he gets out again.”

“Vlad did it,” the kid said while pointing at the creeper.

“Excuse me!” Creeper actually put a hand to his neck, like some fainting Victorian lady.

“Vlad tried to steal the ring and crown, so he let Dark out of the sarcophagus and I had to go clean up his mess, like always.” The kid glared at the creeper, it was starting to paint a really concerning picture.

“I’m sure Vladdie was just trying to keep these powerful artifacts safe,” the kid’s dad said loudly and happily. Yeah, there was the concerning picture again.

“I’d believe it if all he took was the ring, but the crown was safely sealed away with Pariah and he let the guy out to steal it.”

“Just call the ring,” John said gruffly.

“Here Ragey, Ragey, Ragey.” The kid whistled and clapped his hands again. The ring showing up on the kid’s other hand was expected, the glowing green hell hound that came sprinting through the wall and practically tackled the kid wasn’t. “Cujo! Hi! Who’s a good puppy?!”

Keeriest, John needed a stiffer drink.

#nenna writes #sleepy king #dpxdc #danny phantom #fanfic #fanfiction #dc comics #dc stands for disregard canon #justice league

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readerihardlyknowher · 19 days ago

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hello!! I was wondering if you could do a spencer agnew x reader fic (fem!reader if that’s okay) where spencer and reader are coworkers at Smosh. Both are cast and have never really gotten along the best but one day things kinda click for them in a video during a shoot (kinda acquaintance to friends to lovers). During this shoot and once the video airs, other Smosh workers and even fans start to notice the change, like how they always want to be touching or near each other in some way in other videos or even when not filming. It’s just that neither of them realize then the smosh peps try to start and force them into spaces and situations together to hopefully get them to realize their feelings and admit them. Thanks! And hopefully this made sense lol

Okay, so this was originally going to just be a oneshot, but I've been working on it since last week and it's not even close to being done yet, so I'm releasing it in parts.

A Loving Feeling | Pt. 1

Spencer Agnew x Reader Warnings: None WC: 2,195 Pt.1, Pt. 2

It wasn’t that Spencer was bad per say, nor was it that you were particularly stuck up, but rather, you both just hadn’t interacted all that much. It made no sense as to why, really. You knew everyone else loved him, even the more bubbly ones like you, but you just never sat down and chatted with him. Frankly, it had gotten a little annoying how often people brought him up in conversation. Whenever you talked about a videogame you liked, Shayne would bring up how Spencer had already done a playthrough last year. If you brought up a show you were watching, Angela would mention how Spencer tried getting her to watch it. It was kind of pissing you off, and you didn’t really know the guy. It’s not like you watched many Smosh videos anyways, but you especially didn’t watch the videos with him. If you started to like him just from his on-screen persona, then that wouldn’t feel right at all. And if you hated him for his on-screen persona, that also wouldn’t feel fair.

Which is why you were a little nervous to see that you both were supposed to be on camera together as two sisters in a Spud Hut video. You figured that it shouldn’t be too difficult, it’s just a few minutes on camera and a few minutes talking it out beforehand. It’s mostly improv, but you still wanted to get some things straight, like names.

When you walk up to the man (who is currently dressed as a middle-aged woman) you had yet to have spoken to, you suck in a breath, mentally preparing yourself for him to roll his eyes and walk away from you. You don’t even know why you think this, because he’s never been rude or standoffish to you in the past, but since you two had never really spoken anything’s on the table.

“Okay, so I don’t know about you, but I think my character’s screaming ‘Carrie’,” you begin, because nothing better than just jumping in without saying anything like “Hey! Nice to finally talk to you! Sorry we haven’t talked in the whole ass year that I’ve been here!” But to your surprise, he looks down at your outfit with a nonchalant glance and nods.

“You’re absolutely right, that’s a Carrie for sure.” The smile on his face felt like ice cold water in the heat. You felt relieved, safer, that there didn’t need to be anything to worry about. “For alliteration purposes I’ll be Mary.”

You smile back at him, still a little nervous, but now mostly alright. You don’t know how it’ll be improvising with him, you don’t know if you have a similar sense of humor, you don’t know anything about this man you’ve worked in the same building as for the past year except you apparently have the similar interests.

It’s time to get on set, and you both wait until you’re given the go ahead to enter the kitchen where you’re filming. When you’re finally told to head on, you feel Spencer’s arm lock with yours as he walks merrily into the room, where Chanse, Angela, and Damien are standing. You remind yourself to get in character as you walk up to “order.”

“Well I’ll be, this place is… unique, Mary,” you begin, giving your character a southern accent. Spencer glances over at you with a nod. When he speaks, his voice sounds hilariously high-pitched.

“I do agree, Carrie. I don’t know what on earth anyone sees in a place like this.”

At this, Chanse steps forward, introducing himself in character.

“Hi, my name is Jerry Spruce, I’m the owner of the Spud Hut. Our special today is the Oyster Spud,” he says, painfully in-character. You internally cringe at the concept of an “oyster spud” but you nod and put on an impressed face.

“An Oyster Spud? That sounds very well refined, doesn’t it, sister?”

“Very much so, sister. I do say, I heard there was the famed fettuccine alfredo spud here?” Spencer asks, which gets a nod from Chanse.

“Yes, our fettuccino alfredi spud is world renowned. I can get both of those ready for you now.”

You look over at Spencer, feeling less and less awkward by the minute. He turns back to you and catches you staring, so you speak to cover it up.

“Sister, I’m disappointed. You know, a moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips,” you say, mimicking an older, judgy aunt as best you can. Spencer’s face breaks out in a small smile as he tries not to break.

“Sister, I know you are not talking to me about what to eat. I’ve seen the things you put in your mouth and it’s filthy,” he ends with a snap, acting all sassy. You mirror him, yet this whole time you still keep your arms locked.

“I can’t believe you’d call your husband filthy then, Mary,” you finish with another snap, which makes him gasp and clutch the pearls around his neck with his white-gloved hand.

“Well, I’ll tell you Carrie, that the reason your husband left you is because I showed him how much better he could have had it with me.”

By this point, Chanse has now brought over the potatoes, but you two are both so into the fake argument that you take the potatoes from his hands and begin to walk out.

“I am telling mother all the cruel and sinful things you’ve been doing, Mary,” you say, not taking your eyes from Spencer’s. He huffs out a laugh and turns up his nose.

“Have fun talking to a grave then, Carrie.” And with that, you are off the set. Still though, you have to be silent for an extra minute while the crew makes sure you’re not needed again before taking off the costumes. So for that time, you both just look at each other and try not to laugh. Once you’re both given the green light to take off your mics and undress, you let out a snicker and unloop your arm from his. For the first time since walking into the kitchen, you both aren’t pinned to each other’s side. As you undo your mic, you speak.

“God, that was really fun,” you say to no one in particular, looking down partly to see what you’re doing, but mostly to avoid eye contact with him.

“Yeah, it’s no wonder Shayne and Amanda keep saying we should be in videos together. We nailed that shit,” he says, now undoing his own mic. Your snaps up to look up at him at this. You didn’t know he was also getting those same words as you were.

“Yeah, we definitely did.” There’s a pause for a moment before you let out a nervous sigh before looking up at him. “Hey, I feel bad that we’ve never really talked before. I don’t even know why I never just came up to you to break the ice, but I guess at some point I just thought it was too late and so it’d be awkward and all, so I–”

“Hey, don’t worry about it. I get it, I meant to introduce myself when you joined, but then I didn’t,” Spencer says, before finally looking up at you and extending his hand to you. “Let me start over. Hey, I’m Spencer, director of games. It’s nice to meet you, I’ve heard so much about you.”

You stare at his hand for a moment, a little shocked by his actions, before meeting his hand in a handshake.

“Nice to meet you too. I hear we have a lot in common,” you say, a small smile on your face. He chuckles in response, shaking his head before looking you back in the eye.

“So have I. My break’s in a couple minutes. How ‘bout we go grab lunch and talk about it?” Spencer asks. Once more, you’re surprised. Upon first glance at the man, you’d never guess he’s the type of person to be so bold and nice. You just thought he was an introverted shy guy, which you guess he can be at times, but right now he’s asking to hang out to get to know each other more. The thought of finally mending the gap you had unknowingly placed between the two of you makes you smile.

“Sure, that’d be awesome. Let me go get out of this old woman apparel.”

“Aw man, I thought it suited you pretty well.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Have you been on TikTok lately?” Courtney’s voice draws your eyes from your computer. Confused, you shake you head.

“No… why?” You ask, thoroughly suspicious of the mischievous grin on her face. You watch as she pulls out her phone, tapping and scrolling for a couple seconds before shoving it into your face. As you adjust to the closeness, you watch as someone clipped a part of the recent Spud Hut video you were on, specifically the parts with you and Spencer. You don’t see why she was so insistent that you saw the video until you notice someone found you two in the background, still in costume and arms still locked, laughing and looking each other in the eye. Your face twists in confusion, since clearly that must have been a mishap with the camera angles to accidentally keep you two in, just barely in the corner. Glancing down at the caption, your eyes widen.

Literally the cutest non-canon couple at Smosh. There’s a reason they haven’t appeared in videos together up until now 🧐

Your heart practically stops at the sight of those words. You don’t know why, you’ve been shipped with other people in the cast before, but this just felt weird. Maybe it’s because you two had been getting closer and closer in the weeks since filming. You have gone to his apartment a couple of times, mostly to play videogames and hang out with his cats, but there had never been any tension with him. You’ve just become good buddies, which is why this feeling of nervousness and blush makes you confused.

“What? Why would people think that’s anything? It’s clearly just us talking. These fans are crazy,” you say, a little too frenzied to set things straight, which Courtney clearly notices.

“Interesting. Anyways, so how have you two been getting along lately? I’ve seen the both of you chatting it up after shoots, ready to say I was right?” They tease, leaning forward and confronting you on your stubbornness.

“Yeah… fine, you were right. He’s actually… he’s actually really cool,” you admit, somewhat grumbling to avoid the embarrassment you know is coming.

“You guys talking about me?” You hear an all too familiar voice ask from behind you. Just as you turn your head to see him, you feel two pairs of hands resting against the back of your seat.

“Actually, we were,” Courtney says, making your cheeks feel even warmer. “But anyways you guys. In one month. My birthday party. You both better come.”

Your smile widens at that, always excited to hang out with your friends outside of work.

“Yeah, of course. Where will it be at?” You ask, still feeling Spencer’s hands lingering behind you.

“Just our place, it’s nothing too crazy. Just gonna have some drinks and play some games and stuff. So be there or be square!” They say jokingly before walking off, leaving just you and Spencer. You look up, seeing his face from upside down when he looks down at you with a smile.

“Will you need a ride, my lady?” He asks, his voice teasing, but gentle. He normally doesn’t drink much at these events anyways, while you normally get a little tipsy. Not good for driving. You smile back at him.

“Indeed I will, my lord,” you respond, making him smile even wider before letting go of the back of your seat. This grants you the opportunity to turn around to see him as he backs off some more. “Alright, it’s time for me to head back to games. See ya.”

You reply back before watching him turn around and head back the way he came. For a moment, you can’t seem to take your eyes off him, just watching as he walks, before shaking your head and returning to your work on your computer.

You think back to the TikTok Court showed you, how suddenly your fans have turned to shipping you and Spencer. Shaking your head of the thought, you remember how you need to get Courney a gift, so you pull out your phone to text your new friend.

To: Spencer From: You Wanna go to the mall or something later to get Court gifts?

You barely have time to set your phone down before you get a response that makes your smile widen.

To: You From: Spencer Sounds cool. I’ll drive you after work?

You shoot off an affirmative text, ignoring how much happier you feel having received such a quick response. Yet again, you have to shake the thought of him off your head, bringing yourself back to reality as your computer screen waits for your return.

#spencer agnew #spencer agnew x reader #smosh fanfiction #smosh fic

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san8ny · 1 year ago

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Thinking about..Ex-girlfriend Ellie <3

[an: not an original trope, i cringed everytime i attempted to proof read so i couldnt..srry]

Ex-Girlfriend Ellie who scoffs when you’re mentioned at all, but is all fucking ears, tilting her head back and giving the person a side eye,

“I mean..you can continue, not like I care at all but like, it’s rude to interrupt someone so..”

Ex-Girlfriend Ellie who’s once paid some instagram tarot reader a good 10 bucks to see if yall were compatible despite not believing in it before,

Ex-Girlfriend Ellie who’s bitterly venmo requesting her money back when the girl says no,

“Shit isnt even real, you scammed me gimme it back bruh”

Ex-Girlfriend Ellie who’s definitely got a fake account to keep tabs on you, which might look, to the average eye, some middle aged woman who posts her food and her kids, with some biblical verses in her bio— when it’s ellie with some google found, random ass photos of people

“Im so fuckin smart..” she geeks, pumping her fist when you accept her follow request

Ex-Girlfriend Ellie who’s looking down at her phone dumbfounded when she’s blocked on the account thr next day, throwing her hands in the air—forgetting just who she learnt that trick from..

Ex-Girlfriend Ellie who’s even more confused when her door is knocked, you on the other side, phone in-hand with the same account pulled up,

“Er..that’s not me?..” She says awkwardly, scratching the back of her neck as she leans on her doorframe.

Ex-Girlfriend Ellie who cries dramatically and is on her knees when you tell her with a strict finger to leave her alone, practically groveling at your feet in pure anguish as she pleads!

“P-please! You don— you don’t understand! You can’t!”

Ex-Girlfriend Ellie who hiccups, eyes puffy with long lashes coated in tears as she wraps her arms around your calves—only you could ever have her in this state! I mean, look at how distraught she is at the sheer idea of possibly leaving you alone forever!

She doesn’t care in the slightest if the neighbors hit her with a noise complaint.

Ex-Girlfriend Ellie who soon enough has you on her bed, in a warm mating press, breathy moans of never having you leave her side, telling you she’d rather die than ever have anyone else fill your shoes as your sloppy cunts kiss, wet noises echoing off the drywalls of ellie’s cheap apartment,

“C—cum! Cum, nee— need you so..o—oh! Oh, my god? Loveyousomuch, loveyousomuch”

Ex-Girlfriend Ellie who’s an utter loser, pathetically feeling tears well up again as the idea of you getting up and taking your stuff after this hits— so she takes you for another round, this time with her 8inch strap.

It’s a disgusting mess, really.

Ex Girlfriend Ellie who you’ve got a twitchy mess as you use her so deliciously, quickly becoming overstimulated once more when she realizes she’s orgasmed like 5 times already; Milky fluids all over thighs as she ruts into you— fucking a mixture of your cums back into you with whats gathered around her strap.

Ex-Girlfriend Ellie is pretty much in another word from the pleasure, mouth ajar as her moans leave in pants— begging for a kiss as her rosey tits bounce a bit against you

“Ple—uh, uh! Please, just ‘wan a kiss, c—can’t, uhm!— can’t reach yo—ou!” She whines tiredly, her sweaty upper body leaning forward on your back, littering sloppy kisses all over you, cmon..give her a kiss :(

Ex-Girlfriend Ellie who you eventually give into, giving a chaste kiss to, but she doesn’t return the same one back— instead, opting to swipe her tongue around and suckle your blush coloured tongue, bobbing her head up and down while the saliva gathers on her tastebuds, excess dribbling down her chin and splattering somewhere on the already ruined bedsheets,

“F—wuckin’ wa—ah..’wan you all..”

Ex-Girlfriend Ellie who watches you sleep while she lazily licks at your worn-out pussy, humming as she probes a finger on the engorged clit— giggling when you sleepily swat a hand down to push her head away, but she’s latched on.

Ex-Girlfriend Ellie who, even if you move a thousand miles away from, will always be there because she’s yours.

#lesbian #ellie williams x reader #Ellie williams smut #wlw #tlou 2 smut #ellie williams #sappic

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cecilysass · 2 months ago

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Sexualizing Scully (in Never Again and the whole series)

I’ve been thinking about CC changing the original Never Again script because he was worried about sexualizing Scully, and I’ve been trying to get inside his head on this issue. Ready for a long essay no one asked for? Okay.

CC’s decision to eliminate the sex scene from Never Again reveals a pretty absolute mindset from him at the time — hanky panky for Scully takes her into a titillating area, which is not okay, because the show doesn’t sexualize Scully. According to ep co-writer Glen Morgan, CC said “every other woman on television was jumping into bed, and they had worked very hard to differentiate Scully from other female television characters.” So button up, Dana.

I admit that like many others (including possibly GA), I have always been frustrated by this particular kind of “we don’t want to sexualize Scully” logic from CC, because it really seems to be confusing sexually objectifying a female character with depicting her acting from sexual motivations which is really only confusing if you’re a straight cis man who is used to thinking any combination of women and sex as somehow being about men’s tastes. In other words, it doesn’t seem problematic to show Scully acting sexually if you’re thinking of a female character as a subject and not as an object.

CC is often credited as being a pioneer in his commitment not to sexualize Scully. Everyone (CC, 1013, media, fans) frequently claims the decision not to emphasize Scully’s sex appeal was rare for TV at the time. This is kind of true, if maybe a little overstated.

By the time Never Again aired, in 1997, primetime TV also had Captain Janeway, Buffy Summers, Murphy Brown, Elaine Benes, Anita Van Buren. These are not “de-sexualized” characters necessarily, but also not at all accurately described as oversexualized stereotypes. Some of those characters predated Scully. It was a less common choice to deemphasize a female character’s sex appeal on TV, but it’s also not really fair to say it was all Baywatch babe caricatures all the time. I think we can say this was something that was actively changing in the 1990s that would continue to evolve in the next decades. I do think it’s worth observing that some writers of the time had figured out how to write complicated female characters … who also sometimes had sex.

One quibble I have with the “1013 was special because they didn’t sexualize Scully” claim is that … they did sexualize Scully. All the time? No. But sometimes? Absolutely.

Some of this I just don’t really think is debatable. If this had been a series starring DD and Nicholas Lea, would Krycek nervously take off his clothes in the pilot to show Mulder his bug bites? Well, of course we would have written outstanding horny fic about it if he had, but come on: NO WAY. (Because 1993, heteronormativity, etc.) As it was, they knew they were sexualizing the female lead a little and exploiting both leads’ sexual chemistry as a tease to get audiences interested in their pilot. Come on. They knew. This isn’t rocket science. They had a little show on Fox, and they were trying to get people to watch.

(There was an interview years ago when GA said something to this effect, too. Something like: the bumps could have been anywhere on my body, but they had to be a place I had to take off my clothes.)

As many have pointed out over the years, Scully was also semi-regularly a focus of male sexual fantasy. Sometimes this was pathological and violent (see: Donnie Pfaster, twice). Other times, this was benign and played for gentle laughs (see: Frohike, Pendrell). Sometimes, the fantasy was quite vividly enacted on screen (see: Philip Padgett, Guy Mann). Please note that I’m not saying this should or shouldn’t have happened, only that it did.

That said, I think Carter did take pains to avoid sexualizing Scully as an overall principle, and I think this was effective. He emphasized her intellect and her professional motives. We love Scully for this. It’s part of what makes the character who she is. Credit where credit is due.

Unfortunately, he did seem to believe that Scully being seen as a serious character meant not having sex at all. I don’t want to erase asexuality, and I sometimes hear people saying they recognize that in Scully. If this works as representation for people, it’s positive. But for me, I just don’t see Scully written as ace. I think she was being written, by men, as embodying an old trope about women not having sex or being too overtly sexy to be seen as trustworthy or taken seriously (see: Madonna-whore complex).

Now mind you, Mulder’s sexuality was a problem for the show, too. For sure. As with Scully, they wanted him devoted to the quest / platonic partnership only, which means he couldn’t really have an outside romance as a competing motivation for him. I’d argue this did eventually paint the writers into a MSR corner, because both characters’ energy and emotions were really only focused towards one another as an extension of their quest. But they did let Mulder have porn, lots of suggestive talk, sexually aggressive exes (see: Phoebe, Diana), several ambiguous possible sexual encounters (see: Marita, Diana), and one unambiguous one night stand (see: Kristen).

Scully does eventually get an ex who directly comes on to her—and notice who gave him to her. She also gets a vibrator in canon—also a female writer—but that takes decades, people, decades. Mulder’s been carrying on with that porn forever by that point.

I think this relates to my cynical idea that Carter’s insistence on avoiding sexualizing Scully is really about his protection of Mulder as his hero / protagonist, not Scully herself. More on that later.

One of my least favorite pieces of “Chris Carter deemphasized Scully’s sexuality” evidence is Ye Olde Story About The Busty Baywatch Network Scully. If you look at any number of interviews with Carter dating back to, say, 1994-1998, he often tells the same story about the network wanting to hire a leggy busty actress to play Scully and him insisting on Plain Jane Gillian Anderson instead. Often Pamela Anderson, the lead actress of Baywatch, is specifically mentioned in the story, or sometimes it’s just a “Baywatch type” actress.

The repetition of this story is kind of gross, for two big reasons. Reason #1 is that it frames Carter as a hero for ... what? Rejecting the network’s toxic beauty standards to hire absolutely stunning GA, who, yes, is short, but isn’t exactly a radical rethinking of what’s attractive? I understand that Gillian Anderson isn’t “a Baywatch type,” but it’s not like she wasn’t a woman considered sexually appealing by MANY people. Including, incidentally, Chris Carter, who outright admitted Scully was his type.

It is absolutely good we got GA. No one questions that. But in my opinion Carter got way too many kudos for choosing this supposedly non-sexy actress for Scully. Because honestly. “non-sexy GA” can’t even be said with a straight face. Even DD eventually started saying in 1996 that this story was weird and overdone, although he said it in a kind of an awful way: “That’s overblown. You look at Gillian, and she’s a beautiful woman. And how often do you see Scully in a bathing suit? Gillian’s not 6 feet tall and doesn’t have what’s-her-face’s tits, but she’s got as nice a face as any of them.”

Reason #2 is that Carter’s story seems to remind GA at every turn in those early years that she wasn’t hot enough for success if it weren’t for him insisting on her. This has an especially icky residue given her struggles over body image and equitable salary. (If you don’t think it had the potential to have that effect, just take a gander at DD’s quote when he was probably sincerely trying to be supportive above, and try to get into the toxic 1990s mindset of how people talked about women’s bodies.)

Finally, one more complication regarding the sexualization of Scully: jealousy. I’d argue the jealousy trope was a kind of sexualization. The show has no issue with jealousy for vaguely sexual / romantic motives coming from Scully, even though the “hot women jealously bickering over the male hero” is a trope that seems pretty clearly derived from straight male sexual fantasies, too. Scully shows jealousy of female rivals for Mulder’s respect or trust early and often. Again, not saying this should or shouldn’t have happened: only that it did. (Actually, if you know me or my fanfic, you know I’m pretty down for some jealousy stories lol.)

In earlier seasons, Scully’s jealousy is played for laughs and is more ambiguously motivated, mixed up with professional jealousy. For example, she’s threatened by Bambi Berenbaum not only because she’s a hot woman who has Mulder’s attention, but also because she’s a competing scientist. By the Diana arc, Scully’s jealousy is tightly tied to plot and is angst-ridden. It’s also much harder to explain, at least in late season 5’s The End, without romantic jealousy as some sort of driving motive. We can say in One Son there is a professional explanation—she thinks Diana is dirty and Mulder is being disrespectful of his partner—but why on earth is Scully sitting heartbroken in that car in The End if not for personal reasons?

And then there’s this, some cut dialogue from Sixth Extinction that has Scully and Diana arguing over Mulder. Here both characters are written managing to reference one another’s physical appearance in a way that has absolutely no relevance to their ostensibly professional conversation.

There’s no universe in which you can convince me this is in character for Scully (or for Diana really), and it frankly shows objectification of both female characters. But this dialogue was cut, so maybe someone felt similarly at 1013.

Mulder is not shown as being jealous in the same obvious, overt way, and I don’t think Carter would have let that happen. This is where I start to suspect that the whole “Scully isn’t sexualized” claim of Carter’s is actually more about his protection of Mulder’s character than Scully’s.

Carter didn’t want to sexualize Scully because he didn’t want Mulder to be seen as the kind of male character who would seriously be distracted by lust for his co-worker and partner beyond easy, low-commitment jokes. He wanted Mulder to be seen as pure of heart (porn aside) and entirely devoted to his quest. He wanted him to have a partner he wouldn’t be thinking dirty thoughts about, especially because 1013’s writers often seem to have a worldview in which desire and respect can’t coexist. And he wanted Scully to be uncomplicatedly devoted to supporting him.

So Scully is jealous of female attention of Mulder because it’s consistent with her devotion to the work, and Mulder is equivalent to their work. But Mulder’s not going to be shown spinning too much about male attention to Scully because he’s gotta stay single-mindedly devoted to the quest. (Until it is a threat specifically to his work, as when it’s Doggett replacing him on multiple levels.)

Of course, by creating characters who only are interested in this mutual quest and in supporting one another— and then by casting constantly-handsy Duchovny and longing-eyed Anderson and presumably directing them to keep all that shit under control all the time — CC definitely created the perfect hothouse conditions for MSR. Apparently directors were telling them to dial back their performances of scenes all the time. And honestly, that feeling of constant restraint reads in the final cut. Even when they are just sitting there talking about a corpse they always look like they are holding back and buttoning in all these feelings. It’s constantly sexually charged. Desire and respect appear to be sharing space all the time. It’s a textbook case of getting the opposite of what you’re ostensibly trying to do.

I know I’ve touched on some hot button issues here. I welcome discussion if you’re so inclined.

#xf meta #the x files #dana scully #fox mulder #x files meta #txf meta #meta #don’t read if you don’t like critique of the show or CC #I’m a Virgo and this is my love language

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kitbunnyroo · 4 months ago

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thinking about...abandoned android boyfriend....

lemme apologize from now...this is a looong one. it could be structured better, but it's literally just me updating this over the course of some hours/days (?). hope you enjoy this ridiculously long tidbit thooo! <3 (help y'all hit that 30 fast....tyyy!)

also omg thank you all for all the love on the centaur man post??? we love big strong bby fr, 100% will bring him back if y'all wanna see more of him 🤍🤍 (also, not proof read nothing i write is, so forgive any errors plsss)

like picture it, you just find him in a scrap yard cause your pet ran into it or something right...and you can tell that he's functioning, so you're confused as to why he got put for scrap? considering these things are crazy expensive, and the people who threw him out were ever so kind enough to leave all his original packaging, you took him back home.

it did take a while to get his station set up in a little corner, but it wasn't too bad, especially as you looked into the illuminated green eyes of the android who stood a good head or two taller than yourself once you figured out how to get him up and running again.

after you explained in even greater detail how he came to be in your possession, you could almost hear the mechanics in his brain recalibrating all the missed system updates as he now addressed you as master/mistress. not ideal, but who are you to complain once he fixes the drip in your sink that almost cost you hundreds of dollars. maybe having an android in your home wouldn't be so bad.

time flies and you come to find out he was scrapped cause beyond functionality, he had somehow developed a conscious of sorts. which when you think about it, anybody else would be freaked out by their machine suddenly smiling and showing human emotions. was it freaky? hell yeah. was it bad?....not so much.

there was lots of reassurance to be done...he thought that once he started to slip and his consciousness shone through again you'd dump him to be scrap metal too...well, after they remove the scarily realistic skin-like material that outlines his hardware. "So...you're not going to power me off and box me up like the last family did..?" he'd find himself asking after long conversations about how you don't really care he got more human-like as the days went on. living on your own it isn't that bad to feel like you have extremely helpful company rather than a machine in your empty halls. and when he looks at you oh so sweetly? how can you not tell him this is his home too.

android housemate, doing his best to make sure you're always happy. always stress free. always well taken care of. always healthy. always satisfied. so when he's cleaning your room and finds a vibrator, he's everything and appalled. why would you have this when he's right here? was he not good enough? did you not want him to help you? was it his fault? but he simply places it on it's charger and closes your door. when you get home that day you can tell something's off, it's the same air as the early stages when he thought you'd throw him out. so you just make sure to be extra sweet to your caring housemate.

android housemate, now doing research on human pleasure, watching porn, reading all sorts of articles and Quora forums. this seems easy enough to do...he just doesn't understand why you wouldn't ask him to help. darling android housemate realizing that his fans start to go double time when the pixels start to look like you instead of whoever is actually in the videos...even more so when he realizes that's what an imagination is like and that his is picturing himself with you in these videos...he wonders if that can happen....

yandere (???) android housemate who's suddenly gotten all clingy once you're home. as usual, dinner is hot and plated, desert already lined up, but as you shower you can hear him making the time to pick out your outfit from your drawers instead of double checking all is well in the rest of the house...odd, but you don't pay the particularly revealing choice of clothing much mind. dinner goes as usual, till he offers you a much more...inviting? smile after you tell him about your grievances of the day. his eyes never leaving you, even as you eat and he updates minor software...you ask if he can close the windows cause there's a much too warm of a breeze coming in, and he's suddenly glad he has the capabilities to hide the blush that threatened to rise to his fabricated cheeks since it was just his fans. he was getting a bit too much enjoyment from the sight of you wearing an outfit he had picked, enjoying his meals that he makes you everyday, you chose him from the scrap yard that he's convinced held many other androids...

yandere (??) android housemate that's gotten cold to you since you brought home another human and claim that they're your partner. he'd thought that he was being clear with his consecutive months of flirting since his research began, but apparently not clear enough. now he's forced to watch as you bring this human over, it is nice to hear you brag about how lovely he treats you though, especially when he sees them almost shrink where they sit, obviously he can already tell they won't be able to treat you better than your housemate. how could they? they're just a weak human, and he's an android that's learnt every last one of your tastes.

yandere (?) android housemate that's gotten over his chilly attitude in favour of comforting you after your breakup and every proceeding one from then on. on one hand he doesn't enjoy seeing you hurt, but on the other hand he knows the only one meant for you is him, so he'll continue to let these humans know that they won't ever hold a candle to him when it comes to your affections. you don't have to be in pain, you just have to realize he's the one for you. and you can go back to your blissful life.

yandere...android housemate who's worried after you stumble through the door after a work/college party, clearly intoxicated out of your mind. he effortlessly picks you up and takes you to your room, laying next to you when you refused to let him go cause his generated warmth was nice compared to the cold of the air conditioned room. he listens to you babble on about who knows what, and then about your latest break up, and then he's shocked when you blurt out that he'd make such a good boyfriend if he wasn't an android...and somehow, somewhere in his wiring, that hurt? but it also lit something cause you went on to praise all he does for you, especially highlighting his advances and he comes to the conclusion that you only started looking for a human partner because you had assumed that although he had a conscious, he couldn't feel romance. and boy was he now determined to prove you wrong.

yandere. android housemate, now doing everything possible after that night to display romantic affection. sensual massages after particularly aggravating days where his fingers work wonders to the tension coursing through your body, at first you don't think much of it, but when you feel the spikes of breeze specifically from him after every one of your moans, you try to keep your voice down. he downloads them to his software though, and is quickly researching the different modifications available for his kind.

yandere android housemate that gets tired of being referred to by his model name and demands you give him a proper one. and you do. and he loves it. thankfully, he's still linked to the cards of his previous family, so he can make purchases using their money instead of yours without suspicion. he gets his "personal" modification made under their card, leaves right after you do for school/work, and he's back before you're home, already getting things sorted for when you're back. now he just has to hide the tent that forms whenever you call him by the name you gave him....

newly named yandere android...you're not sure anymore. after walking in on him far too many times since you're used to him usually being smooth, but now he has an...enticing, length of dick just hanging between his legs, it's kind of awkward. even more so when you find yourself outside his newly appointed bedroom to ask him to do something, and end up overhearing his whiney voice floating through the air. now you can't help but wonder how it feels if the rest of his skin feels like regular human skin...maybe an android boyfriend won't be so bad after all...

your android housemate, putting in extra work to keep you happy once he realizes you're not bringing home any more humans. even the vibrator and any other toys you might've had are stored away rather than readily available near your bed. maybe if he does a good enough job, you'll finally ask him for help. you swear you see a subtle throb in his pants sometimes when the thought runs through his not so little android brain.

your android boyfriend with fans so loud when you finally ask him to touch you, that you could've sworn you misread his intentions. but as soon as you try to back out of the situation he's pulled you against his chest with one of hands deeply entangled in you hair while the other hugs you close to him, if you didn't know any better, you'd think he was desperate for that moment...that and the fact that once you're finally in bed he takes initiative to slip under your blanket next to you instead of going to his own room, his hands finding their way snugly around your waist to cuddle you but surely making their way lower down, quicker when he realizes that not only are not trying to stop him, but you're basically leaning into his touch. the frenzy he goes into when you whisper his name that you gave him has your legs quivering on his shoulders, toes pointed every which way as those same illuminated eyes stay glued to your body, confusingly realistic tongue moving more enthusiastically with every sound you make.

your android boyfriend. who now takes any chance he can get to ask if he can fuck you. if his tongue game was this good...what else was he capable of? the thought barely has time to run across your mind because as soon as you agree he's gonna have you folded in half and stuffed full of the most realistic dildo you've ever felt. it didn't feel fabricated in the slightest. from the throb of the veins in your walls to the way it drags so fucking good inside of you, and he makes sure to study your body as he goes. this particular spot made your eyes roll? he's going right back there. you like having you sensitive bits teased while his balls are slapping your skin so hard you can hear them through the wet mess? he's abusing them. by the time he's done you've came enough times to lose count, and best believe he makes sure to endlessly thank and praise you through every bit of it. comments of how good you make him feel, the dimming of his eyes enough to let you know he really does feel it, thanking you for letting him be this close to you, begging you not to go when you try to squirm away from the overstimulation (he calms down a bit so you can catch yourself whenever it's really too much), not to mention the starved kisses he gives you whenever the position allows (all the time). he'll have your back against the wall and hold you up so the only place you can go is further onto his cock while his tongue finally gets to explore your mouth. you'd never believe an android could be so adorably vocal. the moans, the whimpers, the whines. (he can't bring himself to degrade you though, sorry </3)

your android boyfriend making sure he puts the utmost effort into after care. if you let him hit, he's sure to run you a shower or bath of your preference, and trust that when you're out he's already got you a freshly made meal with an accompanying drink. he always makes sure to ask if he was too rough with you, gently massaging your muscles while you relax after your meal. if there's anything, anything at all you desire, he already does it for you, but now he'll go the extra miles if it means you'll be even happier.

your android husband, proposed after years of taking you out on the most wonderful dates, planned more of the wedding than you did since he only wanted you to worry about looking your best, he does let you help if you want though <3. android husband who can't cry, but you almost swear you see him sobbing as you walk (or he walks if you'd prefer) down the aisle, the tears slowing down but never to a complete stop till it's finally time for the "I do"s. your android husband who takes you on a splendid honeymoon of nothing but relaxation, good sights and food, and even better sex. he knows he can't get you pregnant, but that doesn't mean he can't try extra hard once the topic of children roll around. if you do want children though, he's not against adoption (or a sperm donor once their background checks out)

(for his family he invited his previous family, who were surprisingly chill with him using their cards to fund your vacations and now wedding...talk about rich rich)

your android husband <333.

this totaled to 2,264 words (woah??), and i can NOT lie?? i like it. hope you enjoyed this terribly long read and tysm again for all the support like hello!!🤍✨

#kit🐰rambles #oohhh its a long one #he's so....mmm #can we tell i had extra fun with this one #monster nsft #monster boyfriend #monster fucker #monster imagine #monster kink #monster love #monster smut #monster x human #monster x reader #monster x you #gender neutral reader

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everythingacotarbxm1012 · 1 year ago

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The Shadowsinger and the Emissary

Formerly : They're Mates - with Y/N Pt 1

Summary - Feyre meets Rhys's Inner Circle and witnesses the strength of the mating bond.

Warnings - abusive family mentioned.

Other Notes - 1k words; Please note that most of these lines/plot points are inspired or directly quoted from ACOMAF; I originally posted this where Reader was given the name 'Vee' but am putting this one out for anyone who might prefer y/n.

Part of The Shadowsinger and the Emissary Universe.

✨💫

Feyre looked up to see the same two males from earlier standing in the doorway, grinning, and a new presence. A beautiful female with wings like the others. She wore a deep blue gown that reached the floor––her hair resting over both her shoulders. The two males wore black leather with a sword strapped against their backs. Feyre noted the power each of them seemed to hold.

The male who was a bit large than the other, spoke up with a light chuckle. “We don’t bite. Unless you ask us to Feyre.”

The female shot him a pointed look. “Last time I checked, nobody wanted to take you up on that offer, Cassian.” The male who stood between the female and Cassian let out a light, short, laugh before whispering something into the female’s ear making her eyes twinkle subtly. Feyre watched as Cassian gave his own pointed look.

“No secrets in front of our guest, Az,” Cassian said with a grin.

The light danced across their faces allowing Feyre to observe their physical features for a moment. Similar to Rhysand, all three were dark-haired. Both males had tanned skin and hazel eyes. Feyre couldn’t quite tell the eye color of the female standing next to Az, but she gave off an air of beauty and power.

Cassian grinned again, looking Rhys and Feyre up and down. “You made poor Feyre dress up, brother,” he said before winking in her direction. His features were rough like someone had molded him, from the earth.

The second male was more classically beautiful, though hard to read. He was certainly the one who would be a surprise in the dark, the hidden knife. Feyre noticed the light sparkle in his eyes anytime he looked at the female to his left. It piqued a curiosity in Feyre.

Rhys said, “Azriel––my spymaster,” indicating the one in the middle. He then indicated the female. “Y/N. An emissary for the Night Court.” A name, Feyre later learned, Az had adopted for the emissary after she declared she did not want the name her abusive family had given her.

She immediately offered her hand with a warm smile. “Welcome, Feyre.” She gently squeezed Feyre’s hand before she quickly let go and Feyre does her best to not seem eager as she stepped back to stand next to the High Lord of the night Court, again.

“You’re brothers?” Feyre asked. The two males before her looked similar. The kind of similar where people who come from the same place do, not familial similar.

“All bastards are brothers in some sense,” Rhys responded, sticking his hands in his pockets.

Before Feyre could ask Cassian said, “And I command Rhys’s armies.”

Feyre nodded, shifting on her feet slightly before her eyes glanced to see Azriel taking another glance in the emissary’s direction. She looked right back with a smile that showed a clear fondness for the spymaster. The moment went as quickly as it came when Az turned his gaze to Feyre. “Cassian also excels at pissing everyone off. Especially amongst our friends. So, as a friend of Rhysand, good luck.”

Feyre was giving more attention to not being recognized as the girl Under the Mountain. She wondered, for just a moment if they knew––maybe they didn’t. That was quickly answered when Cassian nudged past the Night Court’s spymaster requiring Az to flare his wings to keep himself balanced. Feyre watched Y/N’s hand fall to Azriel’s lower back to assist. Feyre noticed the fleeting moment of eye contact between the spymaster and the emissary, but it quickly became a second thought as Cassian asked his question about how Feyre had made the bone ladder in the Middengard Wyrm’s lair, when as he put it, “you looked like your own bones could snap at any moment.”

Y/N shot Cassian another pointed gaze, but it turned into a grin after Feyre made a sarcastic comment of her own. The general laughed and Azriel’s eyebrow lifted with approval as the shadows swirled around him, tighter. Feyre’s need to understand the gift only furthered when the shadows swirled up and around Y/N’s wrist playfully, before weaving around the ends of her hair.

Her curiosity once again was pushed to the side when Feyre heard, thankfully, a familiar voice…Mor. “I hope Cassian’s howling means Feyre told him to shut his fat mouth.”

Y/N quickly whispered something into Az’s ear, his shadows lightened slightly from around him. Feyre’s curiosity about the nature of their relationship increasing.

“I don’t know why I forget you two are related,” Cassian told Mor, while glancing over at Rhys for just a moment. “You two and your clothing.” The High Lord rolled his eyes, but Feyre had her own focus on the emissary and the spymaster who were both standing in silence, stealing glances at each other.

“I wanted to impress Feyre. You could have tried to make an effort to comb your hair,” Mor responded.

Cassian braced his feet a little farther apart on the floor in a fighting stance Feyre recognized, perhaps too well. “Unlike some people, I have better things to do with my time than sit in front of the mirror for hours,” the general bit back.

“Yes,” Mor the said, tossing her hair over her shoulder, “since swaggering around––”

“We have company,” Azriel said in a soft warning, spreading his wings as he tried to herd everyone.

“Relax, Az,” Mor said as she dodged the spymaster’s outstretched wing. “We won’t fight. We promised Rhys.”

Feyre barely noticed Az stop in his tracks, letting out the smallest of huff and his shadows seem to become thicker. She then watched as Y/N took one of Az’s hands in her own, gently pressing her lips to the back of it. His shadows lightened around him. Apparently the question about their relationship reached Feyre’s face because Rhys leaned down slightly to say, “They’re mates. Azriel and Y/N. They’ve known each other a little over 500 years and been mates just under 500.”

Feyre considered that fact, thinking there was something delicately beautiful about nearly 500 years of commitment between the two. Now she just had a few thousand more questions about the court’s spymaster and emissary. Question she decided were for another time as Mor indicated the empty seat beside her. Feyre knew the image of Az whispering into his mate’s ear and the twinkle in her eye would be etched into the back of her mind forever.

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #acotar fanfiction #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #acomaf #rhysand #feyre archeron #rhysand x feyre #cassian #morrigan #mor #3rd person pov

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muxshwriting · 16 days ago

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pink skies

Daniel Ricciardo x reader

summary: after your husbands retirement from formula one, you take the time to show him how much he matters at home || warnings: i cried writing this, it is inspired by all the sad danny ric edits on tiktok, missing danny ric hours, angst, fluff, starting a family || word count: 1058 || masterlist

Everybody in Singapore that day knew. It wasn’t official, nothing was confirmed, but everyone knew. This was the end for Daniel Ricciardo, the last hurrah, the final race.

You watched as he hovered by the car before heading back to the garage, how he teared up in every interview and didn’t try to hide his emotions anymore when asked about the future. He’s savouring every moment he can in this world before it’s all stripped away from him without so much as an apology.

You can’t help but feel admiration for the man you married as he stumbles into your arms in his driver’s room after all the interviews, clinging to anything he can to keep himself upright. It doesn’t matter how long you have to stay at that track if it means Daniel can leave with a clearer conscience and a bittersweet smile.

He spent the next few hours saying goodbye to every engineer that had created his car across the year. His signature smile remained on his face, even as tears fell. He smiled like a man who could see the storm approaching but refused to run.

It’s well past midnight when Daniel finally takes his first step outside the paddock and admits to himself that this is it. You hold him close that night, closer then most others.

“You deserve so much more.” You whisper into the night air, knowing you could never say this to his face. “You deserve such a perfect goodbye and they are all too self-centred to give you what you’ve earned.”

Daniel holds in a shuddered breath at your words, still pretending to sleep. He hasn’t slept well at all recently, not since people stopped answering his questions about his contract. But he could always count on you. If there was one constant in a rocking sea, you were his land.

You both returned to Australia, to a friends ranch that was far enough in the outback that you could ignore the real world. Slowly and steadily, day by day, you saw your old Daniel peeking through the downtrodden exterior. There was a chance that the restless optimist you had originally fallen in love with could return, ready to chase the next thrill with the confidence of someone who had never doubted the ride in the first place.

Two months later, you’re back at home, curled up on the sofa with Daniel resting his mop of curls on your lap. You reach for the remote and turn on the TV, flicking through channels when the formula one appears, in Las Vegas. At the familiar sound, Daniel perks up before you can change it onto something else.

“Can you turn it up?” He asks quietly, so that you can barely hear him.

It was almost like 2023 again, where you could watch Daniel watching the races but sense his longing for that life back. But this time, there a quiet acceptance that the chapter had closed and he was able to watch someone else’s chapter of the story play out.

Before the race has even started, he’s sitting upright, elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. “Max is gonna win it.” He mutters under his breath. “He’s gonna win it all.”

The race passes with a palpability until it’s all but confirmed. Daniel jumps up as Max crosses the line, shouting at the TV and celebrating like he was the won to win the championship. You’re able to snap a video of his celebration and silently send it to Max before Danny notices your phone in your hand. He’s back wearing mischief like a second skin as he sweeps you into his arms and spins you around.

“Danny!” Your laughter bubbles from beneath the surface and Danny’s joins yours.

“He won it! I knew he would…”

You can’t let the melancholy settle for too long. “You should call him.” You suggest gently. “You know he’d love to hear it from you.”

“Yeah…” He replies. “Yeah.”

The rest of the season passes as a blur, only catching glimpses of the other races and news of results. Danny’s preoccupied by your new domestic life, tending to the animals and watching the sunrises and sunsets. Although, there’s a lot more sunsets than sunrises as sleep claims him long into the mornings.

Summer swells and Christmas draws closer in Australia. You’re surrounded by everyone who loves you and Danny and there’s no place better than this one, in this exact moment.

You settle into the evening, still feeling the buzz in your veins as you settle in the doorway of your home. Danny joins you, an arm wrapped around your waist as you lean into him. Together, you stare in silence as the sun begins to slip below the horizon and the sky becomes a smattering of oranges and yellows and pinks.

“Thank you.” Danny whispers to you.

“For what?”

He takes a breath. “In Singapore, when you thought I was asleep, you told me I deserved better. I didn’t think I did then, but you made me realise that I do now. So… thank you.”

You laugh lightly, realising what he had heard. “You deserve everything.” You grasp his hand, pulling it down to rest on your stomach. Danny’s had one too many glasses of wine to understand what you’re trying to tell him, resting his head in the crook in your neck and nudging it against your skin.

“You’re so drunk Danny.”

Danny scrunched his nose in such an adorable way. “And you’re sober.”

“I know.” You replied, cryptically.

“We should change that.” Danny tries to lead you back inside but you keep his hand pressed against you.

“I can’t.”

“You can!”

“Danny…” You raise an eyebrow at him, motioning for him to look down and finally notice where you’ve been holding his hand. “I can’t.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

“Oh my god. You’re- Oh my god! I’m gonna be- You’re-“ He’s stumbling over his words, a smile wider than the sun on his face. it almost makes you think the sunrise has reversed and the day has returned.

“Breathe Danny. You’re gonna be a dad.”

He’s gasping for air as he processes every emotion he can in a fleeting second. “…I love you.”

You grasp him close as he holds you like he never wants to let go.

“You deserve everything…”

#daniel ricciardo #daniel riccardo x reader #danny ric #dr3 #dr3 x reader #danny ric x reader #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #formula one x reader #formula 1 #formula one #muxsh #muxshwriting

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slut4celebs · 4 months ago

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Like Real People Do

Billie Eilish x Australian!Reader

Word Count: 1,524

Trigger Warnings: teeth rotting fluff. billie being scared to get in a relationship with reader?

Request / Synopsis: "billie x fem!reader fic where they meet because finneas produces readers first album? And reader grew up somewhere outside of the USA near the sea and nature and is like completely out of tune with the whole typical Hollywood character? And Billie is just happy to talk to a normal person for once" In which Billie falls for someone who isn't like every other fame hungry Hollywood wannabe.

Los Angeles was full of people, but only about five percent of the population were authentic, real people. She didn't understand how out of all those people, she was able to be introduced to (Y/n), one of the five percenters. She was kind, confident, and out of tune with the Hollywood-esque nature of the people who lived there. She wasn't fighting for the fame she deserved with her singing voice, instead, she showed up and wrote and sang. Her voice was outstanding and natural, and when she first heard it, she was genuinely shocked and amazed. "She's great," she had remarked to her brother, who was working to produce her music.

Finneas smiled, spinning his chair to look at Billie. "I'm telling you, she's going to be the next big thing. She's so natural in there, She's not like everyone else I've met out here. You're going to love her." He promised as he gave the girl a thumbs up as she finished singing. "She's from Australia, I found her on TikTok. She has only like sixteen followers, but I saw so much potential in her." He pulled up her account for her to look through. Billie did, seeing various videos of her singing original songs and covers, going on nature hikes, and Bondi Beach.

She didn't know how much she believed Finneas until she got to know (Y/n) while she and Finneas were working on the album. "I think you'd like it out there." She hummed, sitting on a rock. (Y/n) had convinced Billie to go on a morning hike with her, and the two of them were looking out at the view in front of them, a beautiful sunset shown behind the hills around them. "It's more peaceful. Unless you're in the city. I do… go to the city often, Bondi Beach is one of the prettiest beaches." (Y/n) rambled about her home, chin resting on the knee that she had pulled up to her chest.

That was the moment that Billie realized she was falling for her. When they talked, it was seldom ever about Hollywood, albums, celebrity parties, or Instagram followers. It was about genuine things like nature, a cool bug she saw on her hike, or the deer she saw on her evening runs. Billie appreciated seeing this side of humanity. (Y/n) gave her hope in people. Most people wanted to befriend Billie because of who she was. (Y/n) just liked to be around her. At first, Billie had been apprehensive when (Y/n) wanted to hang out. That was until (Y/n) suggested her apartment. Secluded, no one needed to see them. No paparazzi to get their pictures. (Y/n) just wanted to be around her.

Billie sighed when she realized she was falling for (Y/n) to the fullest as she sat by Finneas. They were almost finished with the album, and then (Y/n) would be headed back home until its release. Billie felt sad about this, but she was nervous to tell (Y/n). However, Finneas could see how this was affecting his sister as she watched (Y/n) with the hint of a small but sad smile on her lips. "You should tell her." He had said, looking up to (Y/n) as she sang. It was a song about heartbreak, of all things. It was absolutely squeezing Billie's heart as she stared up at her.

Blinking at her brother's words, she glanced over to Finneas. "I can't do that. She doesn't like me that way." She argued, returning her gaze to (Y/n). The air was still for a moment as they made eye contact with (Y/n) when she finished singing. Finneas clicked on the microphone, telling (Y/n) she was doing amazing, and asked if she'd like to sing their next song. (Y/n) agreed, giving two thumbs up. Finneas set up the instrumentals for the song they wrote, telling (Y/n) to start when she was ready.

Once the microphone was off, Finneas watched (Y/n) for a long moment before turning to Billie. "So what? She's going back home this Friday. If she doesn't like you, you two can still be friends. You know how easygoing she is. This could be your last chance though. This album does have a chance for not picking up." Finneas said, turning his full attention back to (Y/n). He wanted to give Billie a chance to think about what he had just said. He knew that she needed space and time, that she couldn't just be forced into understanding that this really could be her last chance.

Once (Y/n) finished, Billie stood up giving her two thumbs up. "That was really good. I have to head out, but I couldn't just couldn't help myself from listening to you sing. Bye, Finneas." She waved to (Y/n) and her brother softly. She just needed to give herself a second to think about what Finneas had said to her.

Of course, Billie knew what her feelings for (Y/n) were. She just didn't know if (Y/n) felt the same way. She was typically a very confident person, but with (Y/n), she found herself confused. She didn't want to mess this up. She wanted to be with (Y/n) but she didn't know if this could ever work. After all, once Friday hit, they were going to be in two separate time zones. (Y/n) was going to be nineteen hours ahead of Billie. However, if she could convince (Y/n) to stay, maybe help hype the album so it gets picked up. She knew that (Y/n) wouldn't go for that though. After all, she made it clear that if she was going to make it, she wanted to do it on her own.

"I thought you'd be here," (Y/n) found Billie where they first hiked together, a bit away from LA. Her accent sounded like a song to Billie. She closed her eyes for a moment to soak it in before she turned to (Y/n) with a smile on her face. "Hiking is the best way to clear one's mind, huh? Plus, you can't help but just… take in that view. It's beautiful here." She stated, taking a breath. Despite the air being thicker than where she would usually hike Los Angeles was just more populated. "So. what did bring you out here exactly, Billie?"

Billie patted the spot next to her and (Y/n) sat beside her. She took the girl across from her in before taking her hand. "I'm hoping this doesn't mess up our friendship, but… I like you. I just needed to tell you that before you left. I don't want you to leave. I know that this place isn't your home. I wish I could help make it a home for you though. You are one of the most natural, calm, and caring people I know. You're authentic, and I have grown to love that so much over the couple of months you've been here. I'm not ready to lose that." She admitted with a gentle smile. She was glad that she listened to Finneas, the feeling of telling her lifting from her chest.

(Y/n) had smiled at her words. "I feel the same, Billie. That's why… I extended my stay at my apartment and signed the lease. I even found a way to transfer my job here just in case the album didn't take off like your brother and I hope. I have been wanting to tell you this for a while, but I didn't know how." She said softly. She took in a breath before continuing. "I really like you, Billie. You're fun, kind, and so compassionate." She said softly, squeezing Billie's hand. Her smile widened when she saw Billie leaning in and allowed for them to connect their lips. When they pulled away, it felt like all of the stars had aligned for them.

"So, you extended your stay..?" Billie leaned away slightly but moved to gently cup (Y/n)'s cheeks as she talked. "I'm glad because it would be a tragedy of epic proportions if I couldn't kiss you every single day." She stated with a playful look in her icy, grey-blue eyes. (Y/n) let out a soft chuckle, nodding a bit at her words. "As for the album… It's going to take off. You're amazing. You deserve all the love."

"Thank you, Billie." (Y/n) said softly, kissing Billie again. "I can't help but agree though. It would be an absolute tragedy if I couldn't do that every day." She said softly, as the two turned, watching as the sun began to set. "We should head back down while there is still some daylight." She held out a hand, to which Billie took it and allowed her to lead them down to the car. (Y/n) let go of Billie's hand, just in case of the paparazzi being around them, but Billie quickly took hold of it again because she didn't care. She only cared about being with (Y/n).

#billie eilish x reader #billie eilish #anne's pop girlies

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elliezato · 1 year ago

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‪‪❤︎‬She's Jealous‪‪❤︎‬

pairing: modern!ellie williams x reader

summary: Ellie gets jealous when she sees you kissing another girl

warnings: MDNI! cursing, drugs/alcohol, fingering, bathroom sex, public sex??

a/n: This is my first fanfic so idk how to feel about thisss. Also, I feel like this story isn't very original but I keep replaying this situation in my head, helpp. I'm open to recommendations! I will probably only write ellie x reader fics for now but let me know what you want and I'll write it! I get writer's block and need inspo!! Anyway... I hope you enjoy:)

♡︎.You and Ellie have been broken up for about a month now.

Parties have never really been your thing but your friend Dina has been begging you to go to one with her.

"It's been almost a month. You can't keep isolating yourself in your dorm like this."

You lay on your bed while Dina tries to convince you to go out tonight. She's right though. Things haven't been the same since you and Ellie broke up.

"Listen. Come to the party tonight. I hate that this breakup is holding you back. who knows. maybe you'll meet someone!"

Dina leaves and you make up your mind.

You change into a pleated mini skirt and throw on some baby tee you haven't worn since your relationship. Ellie liked it when you wore skirts and you knew that. Some part of you was hoping she would be there so she could see you. You apply a thin wing of eyeliner and put on your docs.

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

Later that night you walk into the party. The house smells of weed and music covers the sound of people talking. You see Dina and Jesse from across the room. They're drinking and dancing with a few other of your friends. You hesitantly walk over to join them.

"Y/N!! thank god you're here!" Dina hugs you with one arm and a drink in the other.

"Damn, this is the first time I've seen you out since... you know" Jesse laughed as he took a sip from a red solo cup.

You sat on the couch and drank as you watched your friends enjoy the night. You hated yourself that you couldn't get up and have fun. The air felt hot and there was nothing left in your cup. As you get up to get another drink you feel eyes on you.

There she was. Ellie stood there with a drink in her hand. Your heart sank. This was the first time you've been in the same room as her since the heat of the breakup. Her eyes were on you as you slowly walked past her to get a drink. You look at the ground as you pass her, doing everything you can to avoid eye contact. When you look up to get another cup, you see Ellie standing in front of you. As she opens her mouth she say something to you, you feel hands on your waist.

"What's a pretty girl like you doing at a party alone?" The girl looks you up and down with a soft smile on her face.

From the corner of your eye, you see Ellie take a sip from her drink and walk away. You feel yourself sadden as Ellie leaves your presence. Fingers run down your waist. You look behind you and the girl is still there. It's been a long time since someone has hit on you. Honestly, the last time you romantically got attention from someone was with Ellie.

"You alright? What's upsetting you baby?" The girl whispers in your ear.

At this point, you'll do anything to get your mind off Ellie. A new relationship isn't what you want but it couldn't hurt. You turn around and face the girl. You've never seen her before but she's honestly really pretty. It wouldn't be hard to distract yourself around someone this attractive.

"m'nothin" The alcohol is hitting you. Usually, you'd feel guilty flirting with anyone other than Ellie, but right now, nothing matters.

She pulls you closer by your waist and passionately places a kiss on your lips. The sudden proximity makes you tense. Her hand travels down your hips while the other grabs your face. Something about this feels wrong but you push the thoughts back.

"I'm sorry, I have to go. I came with my friend and promised I wouldn't leave her" You lied so bad, you almost cringed.

You remove yourself from the girl's grasp and take your drink as you walk away from her. The pain of the breakup is sinking in again. You wander around the party to find Dina but she's off with Jesse. There's no point in being at that party anymore. You down the rest of your drink and walk outside. The air is cold and dry. Snow falls gently as the music from the party echoes.

"What the fuck were you doing? Kissing another girl? Already?" Ellie stares at you with a joint between her lips.

"Ellie." You look at her in shock.

"We've been broken up for barely a month and you're already making moves on other women!?" She laughs under her breath as a cloud of smoke leaves her lips.

"Why do you even care. We're not together" You look at her with sad eyes. The tough act was never your strong suit.

She grabs your face with one hand and tilts your head towards her. You gasp at her touch. Snow falls down on the both of you. Your breath is visible in the cold air and the only thing keeping you warm is the heat of the situation.

"Are you trying to make me jealous, hmm?" She looks at you with lustful eyes.

"No! she kissed me..." Your voice trails off as you feel the touch of Ellie's fingers trace your jaw.

Nothing could've prepared you for this. The last time you two spoke was the breakup. This was a topic that was hard for the both of you. Clearly, the thought of the other stayed lingering in your minds. Her touch felt nice. You could feel yourself practically melting in her hand. The similar scent of weed got stronger as her face got closer.

"It worked." She takes one last hit of her joint before tossing it on the ground.

"What?" You look at her dazed and confused. Your eyes soften as her fingers trail down your neck

"I'm jealous." She admitted as she tightened her grip on your face. "Let's go back inside and show them who you belong to, yeah?" Ellie gives you a dirty grin.

You follow her back into the party. Even with Ellie, you didn't want to be back in there but that didn't matter in the moment. She walks through the crowd of people holding on tightly to your waist. You look over at her face a notice a cocky grin stuck to her lips. You can feel the eyes of the other girl you were with earlier staring at you. Ellie notices the girl staring at you. She grabs your face in front of her and kisses you. You pause as her lips touch yours. You missed this. Fuck. You missed her touch so bad. Leaning in for more, Ellie playfully pushes you away.

"God you're just as needy as I remembered." She pulls you away from the crown and leads you into an empty bathroom.

Ellie pushes you against the door causing it to shut behind you. Her lips passionately press against yours. You let your hands roam her figure. Fingers running underneath her baggy band tee. She grabs your hands and pulls them away.

"You're not getting it that easily" She glares at you as she takes your wrists by one hand and holds them above your head. "I'm going to make sure everyone knows how good I'm fucking you" Her breath is hot against your ear.

Her tongue explores your mouth and her other hand runs up your shirt. You let out a soft moan as her fingers draw circles around your nipple. She lets go of your hands and strips off your shirt. Her kisses move down your neck, leaving marks for everyone to know she you were hers. Her tongue reaches your nipples and she traces small circles around them. Her mouth moves further down your chest. Fingers moving down your waist meeting the hem of your skirt. She stops kissing your body and looks up at you. Her fingers slide up your skirt and meet your damp underwear.

"Fuck- You're so wet and I've bearly touched you" She continues kissing down your waist.

She pulls your underwear down your legs and throws them off. Her fingers finally graze your wet folds. She picks you up by your waist and places you on the counter. The granite is cold against your thighs. She sloppily kisses your lips as she inserts a finger into you. You throw your head back and hum at her touch. She grabs your chin and forces you to look at her.

"Look at me while I fuck you with my fingers." She glares up at you. Her face is desperate to feel you.

Your hands run through her hair as she pulls her finger out. She adds another finger and slams them into you. You hold the counter with one hand and the other pulling at Ellie's half-up half-down updo. You're holding in your moans remembering there's a crowd of people right behind that door. You close your eyes as Ellie curls her fingers inside of you, hitting the right spots.

"Fuck Els- s'good" You quietly whimper trying to hold back.

Tears are forming in your eyes. You can feel the warmth building up in your stomach. Ellie can feel you're close. She stops her motions and pulls her fingers out of your cunt. Your slick coats her fingers, dripping down her arm. She brings her fingers to your mouth. You clean Ellie's fingers with your tongue, whimpering for more action.

"I'm not going to give you anything if you're not going to moan for me. I want to hear you" Her fingers slide out of your mouth and find their way back down to your inner thighs.

"They're gonna hear" You bite your lip as your thighs press together.

"That's the point baby. Tell me how bad you've missed me" She keeps eye contact as she moves her face down to your hips.

She pulls your tighs apart, spreading your folds with her finger. Her tongue rests right above your clit, waiting for you to beg.

"Fuck- I need you Els. I need you to fuck me." You give into her commands wanting to feel her touch.

She finally complies and licks circles around your puffy bud. She thrusts her fingers into you once again while tasting you on her tongue. You squirm under her touch. Pornographic moans leave your lips as she starts to suck your clit. Tears fill your eyes as you look down at Ellie taking you in.

"You taste so good, I've missed your pretty pussy" She smiles against your folds removing her fingers.

The vibrations of her voice cause you to moan as you push her face closer to you. Her tongue slides down your folds and she pushes it into you. At this point, you're a moaning mess. Anyone who walks by that bathroom knows what's happening. Her nose gently rubs against your clit as her tongue fucks you.

"mmm~ i'm gonna fucking cum-" Your hips grind against her face.

She holds your waits pulling you closer. Her tongue slides out and sucks your cunts as her fingers push deep inside you. The heat in your stomach feels like it's going to burst. Only Ellie could have you panting and desperate to cum like this in a bathroom.

"That's it baby, cum for me okay?" She feels how close you are.

Her pace fastens as she gets you to release onto her fingers. Your hips buckle as whimpers and moans fill the room. She continues but slows her pace milking your orgasm. She licks the wetness from your cunt and you pant in her arms.

"I missed you" Your eyes look at her as she moves closer to your face, kissing your lips.

You can taste yourself in her mouth as she sloppy kisses you. She holds your waist and guides you off the counter. You're a mess. Makeup is running down your face and your hair is falling from the ponytail it was in. Eille was still completely dressed as she watches you put your clothes back on. She takes your hand and places a gentle kiss on your neck.

"You're such a slut for me" She grins as she places her hand on the door nob. "I don't want to ever see you tasting another girl's lips, got it" You nod in response.

You realized how hot the room was when Ellie opened the door and you felt the coolness of the party on your skin. She takes you by the waist and leads you back into the party. Ellie wore a cocky smile knowing she was the only person at this party who could get you moaning like that. Eyes were on you when people realized who was in the bathroom.

#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams #ellie x fem reader #ellie tlou #ellie x reader #ellie the last of us #tlou2 #smut #wlw #lesbian #sapphic #ellie smut #ellie x you

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blueberrybirdsworld · 1 month ago

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Collision 3/20

Summary:

Lando always had a type : blonde, models, not ready to settle down. Yet once he met her, all his world is changed and he slowly start to realises maybe he was wrong all this time.

It's a prequel story of The Cat Distribution System, on how Lando Norris fall in love with Ariana. Could be read seperatly.

Pairing : lando norris x original female character

Genre : Fluff, slow burn, enventual smut

Warning : none

Serie Masterlist

CHAPTER 3 :

The Royal Opera House in Covent Garden stood like a monument to a time when art was worshipped like religion. Tonight, its grand entrance gleamed under a halo of soft amber lights, a string quartet playing near the entrance as elegant guests stepped from black cabs and town cars, their breath visible in the cold air.

Inside, everything glowed: marble floors reflecting chandeliers, velvet staircases winding upward like ribbon, golden balconies, the scent of expensive perfume and old wood. People murmured in soft voices, as if too loud a sound would shatter the illusion.

Lando Norris stood near the entrance, hands shoved in his pockets, tugging a little at the stiff collar of his tailored black suit.

“This is a bit much,” he muttered.

Pietra turned and shot him a look. “This, is culture. Behave yourself.”

Max adjusted his cufflinks beside him, eyeing the crowd like he wasn’t sure he belonged on. “Did you really drag us to a ballet?”

Pietra’s eyes twinkled. “Not just a ballet. The Nutcracker. Classic. Winter tradition. Magic. Glitter. Men in tights. Dreams.”

Lando lifted a brow. “Men in tights, huh?”

“Oh, grow up,” she laughed, swatting his arm. “It’s a masterpiece. And it’ll be good for you.”

“Good for me how?”

“Perspective,” she said smugly. “You’re always going on about cars and adrenaline and lap times. Well, try precision, beauty, and five pirouettes en pointe. Let’s see you do that.”

“I drive at 300km/h for a living,” he said dryly.

“And tonight you’ll sit still for two hours and appreciate that not everything is solved by horsepower,” Pietra countered. “Now straighten your jacket, we’re in a royal box. This is the Royal Opera House. Respect the moment.”

Lando sighed but complied, pulling at the lapel of his suit jacket. The group—dressed to the nines—ascended the staircase like tourists who had accidentally wandered into the dream of a duchess. The women glittered in long satin dresses, the men striking in black tie and sleek silhouettes.

And though Lando looked good he felt like he was walking through someone else’s story. The grandness, the quiet, the elegance—it wasn’t Monaco nightclubs or paddock chaos. It was another world entirely.

Inside their box, the lights dimmed.

Pietra leaned forward, eyes wide and sparkling. “Okay, okay, so,” she whispered like a child about to spill a secret. “The Nutcracker is a two-act ballet. In the first act, there’s a Christmas party, and a girl named Clara gets this magical nutcracker doll from a mysterious man. That night, everything becomes enchanted. The doll comes to life, there’s a fight with the Mouse King—don’t laugh—and then the nutcracker transforms into a prince.”

Max leaned closer. “And then?”

“Then they travel to the Land of Sweets, meet all these magical characters from different countries, and it’s all dreamy and symbolic and kind of romantic.”

“And people like this?” Lando asked, genuinely puzzled.

Pietra grinned. “People love this. Watch. You’ll see.”

The lights dimmed further.

A hush fell over the entire theatre.

And then, the curtain rose.

It started gently. A twinkling overture, warm lights over a wintry backdrop of a Christmas tree and glittering snow. Children ran across the stage in costumes, dancers moved in character, graceful and composed.

Lando was watching with polite curiosity when, halfway through the first act, everything shifted.

The moment she stepped onto the stage, it was like time paused.

Ariana.

His breath caught.

No warning. No introduction. No spotlight drama.

She entered as if summoned by the music, wearing a pale blush gown that shimmered under the lights, hair pulled back with a delicate silver ribbon. She was Clara. The Clara. The lead.

Lando blinked once. Twice.

His heart was suddenly very loud.

Pietra’s mouth dropped open.

“Oh my god,” she whispered. “That’s her.”

Lando didn’t move. He couldn’t. His eyes were locked on her.

She floated across the stage—not just graceful, not just pretty—but impossibly, breathtakingly alive in a way he hadn’t seen before. Every movement was deliberate, yet effortless. She leapt and landed like gravity didn’t apply to her. She spun in tight, impossible circles, arms open as if catching stars.

She wasn’t just performing.

She was the story.

And suddenly, Lando understood.

Why she moved like that. Why she held herself the way she did. Why she had looked at him like noise in a quiet room. Because this—this was her universe. This was the language she spoke.

And he’d never even asked.

He felt a strange, tight twist in his chest. A mix of shame and awe.

He hadn’t known.

Hadn’t known she was this.

Throughout the rest of the ballet, he barely blinked.

He wasn’t the only one. The entire box was mesmerized. Even Max, who had made at least three jokes on the way in about falling asleep during the performance, now leaned forward, chin in hand, watching every scene like he was afraid to miss something.

They watched Ariana twirl through snowstorms, dance with the Nutcracker Prince, glide through dreamscapes and magic lands. Her expressions were soft and full of wonder, her body arching in impossible angles, muscles whispering with the kind of strength he hadn’t realized ballet required.

There were no words spoken on stage.

But Lando had never felt someone say so much with silence.

When the final curtain fell, the theatre erupted in applause.

The entire company bowed.

And then Ariana stepped forward, alone, bathed in golden light, cheeks flushed from exertion but serene, glowing. She bowed deep, arms sweeping with practiced elegance.

Lando clapped, but he couldn’t stop staring. Something twisted hard inside him again—like the moment you realize you’ve underestimated someone so completely it hurts.

Pietra leaned in close. “So… still think ballet’s boring?”

He swallowed. “She didn’t tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“What she does. Who she is.”

“Well, you didn’t actually ask,” Pietra said gently.

The applause was still echoing in Lando’s ears when they stepped back into the velvet-lined corridors of the Royal Opera House. The performance had ended, but he felt like he was still inside it somehow—like something had cracked open inside him and the air hadn’t quite settled.

Pietra turned to the group, eyes alight with the glow of champagne and satisfaction.

“So,” she said, with the flair of someone about to drop a bomb, “slight update. These weren’t just regular tickets.”

Max raised a brow. “Pietra…”

“They were donor tickets. Which means…” she leaned in closer, “they come with an invite to the post-show gala.”

“What gala?” Lando asked, distracted.

She grinned. “The gala. In the grand reception room. Dinner, champagne, the company dancers mingling with donors and patrons. Which means…” she gave Lando a pointed look, “she will be there.”

Lando’s pulse jumped before he could stop it.

He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

Five minutes later, he was striding through the gilded maze of corridors, ascending the wide staircase toward the reception hall, his jacket adjusted just enough to pass for elegant despite the nervous energy thrumming beneath it.

The gala was already in full swing.

Crystal chandeliers spilled golden light over towering arrangements of white roses. Waiters in white gloves wove through clusters of well-dressed guests with silver trays of champagne and amuse-bouches. A small quartet played softly in the corner, the music smooth and expensive.

And then—like a moment conjured from thin air—

She entered.

Ariana.

Her hair was pulled into a sleek high ponytail, the ends curled slightly and brushing her bare back. She wore a floor-length white silk gown that clung to her like poured light. The back dipped scandalously low, revealing the clean lines of her spine and the soft muscles of her shoulders. The neckline was delicate, held by thin straps, the fabric moving like water as she walked in heels she made seem silent.

He didn’t have the words for it.

Maybe no one did.

And apparently, he wasn’t the only one who thought so.

Almost instantly, she was surrounded. Dancers from the company enveloped her with cheers and laughter, their energy infectious. Some older patrons came forward, offering her flowers wrapped in tissue paper, others fawning with compliments, air kisses, and flutes of champagne she accepted with elegant restraint.

Lando watched from a distance, frozen in place.

Then he arrived.

The lead dancer from the ballet.

Tall, chiseled, with cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass, and a dancer’s arrogant poise. He wore a midnight blue tuxedo that looked custom, his dark blond hair slicked back, smile gleaming like it had been rehearsed. And he greeted her like they were the only two people in the room.

His hand went to her waist first—innocent. Then her back. Lower. Too low.

Lando’s jaw tightened.

They were laughing at something. She leaned in to whisper something in his ear, and the dancer grinned like he’d just won a game no one else had even noticed being played.

Max appeared beside Lando with a champagne flute. “Dude. You look like you’re ready to fight someone.”

Lando didn’t respond.

“You gonna talk to her?”

“I’m trying,” he muttered. “But she’s surrounded.”

“And the blond guy?”

“Don’t ask.”

Pietra sidled up next, watching Ariana like a hawk. “She’s like… otherworldly tonight.”

“She always is,” Lando murmured.

Pietra glanced sideways at him, then smirked. “You’re so screwed.”

It was almost an hour after that Ariana slipped away.

He saw her excuse herself from the circle gently, handing her untouched champagne to someone else, her smile soft but clearly rehearsed. She walked through the tall glass doors onto the balcony that overlooked Covent Garden below, the city twinkling with holiday lights.

She stood there alone, arms resting lightly on the marble edge, her gown catching the breeze.

Lando didn’t wait.

He moved.

Quiet steps. Fast heart.

When he stepped onto the balcony, she turned—slowly, calmly. Her expression unreadable.

There was a long pause before either of them spoke.

“You followed me,” she said, voice soft, without surprise.

“You left the room,” he replied.

“Not everyone would follow.”

“I’m not everyone.”

Her gaze lingered on him for a moment longer. Then she turned back to the city lights.

He took a breath. “You were incredible tonight.”

A pause.

“Thank you.”

“No,” he said, stepping closer. “I mean… really. I didn’t know. I didn’t know that was you. That you could do… that.”

She tilted her head slightly, looking at him from the corner of her eye. “You never asked.”

The words landed like a dart.

“I should have asked.” he admitted.

A flicker of something passed over her features—disbelief, or maybe disappointment.

“You didn’t seem that interested.”

“I was,” he said quickly. “I am.”

“But only now,” she said, her voice still calm, but with a slight edge. “Only after you saw me on stage. In a silk dress. Under lights.”

“That’s not true,” he said, stepping closer again. “I just didn’t know how to talk to you. You… you’re—”

“Different?”

He hesitated. “Not what I’m used to.”

She gave a small laugh, almost bitter. “That much is clear.”

He stepped closer, so close now the chill of the air seemed to warm between them.

“I didn’t come out here to fight,” he said, quieter now. “I just… needed to talk to you.”

“You’re doing that,” she said, her tone unreadable. “But why?”

He looked at her for a long moment. Then asked, quietly, “Can I ask you something first?”

She nodded, cautiously.

“Do you even know what I do?”

Ariana blinked, taken off guard. “No,” she admitted.

Lando gave a crooked smile. “Formula One driver.”

She stiffened. Visibly.

He watched the breath leave her lungs, slow and sharp like a cold wave.

“That’s sound… dangerous.”

“Sometimes, yeah.”

She turned to face him fully now, the silk of her gown catching moonlight, her arms crossing lightly in front of her body. “I don’t like dangerous things.”

He tilted his head. “Why not?”

“I prefer things I can control,” she said simply. “A set rhythm. A choreographed routine. No improvisation. Nothing sudden or reckless.”

He smiled—just a little. “I’m sudden and reckless.”

She didn’t smile back. “I noticed.”

There was a quiet beat between them, the breeze fluttering a piece of her hair across her cheek. She didn’t move to brush it away.

“I like being surprised,” Lando said. “The adrenaline, the edge of not knowing what’s coming. That’s… where I live.”

“Sounds exhausting.”

“Maybe.” He took a small step forward, dropping his voice lower. “But it’s also kind of beautiful, if you learn how to see it. You should come watch sometime.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Just once,” he said. “You let me into your world tonight. Let me show you mine.”

“I don’t like danger,” she repeated, but softer this time.

He gave her a look that lingered, slow and deliberate. “Maybe you don’t hate it as much as you think.”

The tension between them shifted again—less prickly now, more charged. Her lips parted like she wanted to speak but changed her mind.

“You really didn’t know I was a dancer?” she asked, quietly.

“No. And I don’t know why it makes me feel like I’ve missed a hundred important things.”

“You did.”

Her voice was soft. Closer now. He could see the curve of her collarbone, the gentle rise and fall of her breath.

“I want to know them now,” he said.

She searched his face, something undecided flickering behind her eyes. Then he ask—

“That dancer earlier. The one who played the prince.”

Ariana stiffened. “We trained together since we were thirteen. He’s like a brother.”

“…Didn’t look like a brother.”

She smirked. “You’re jealous.”

He didn’t deny it.

“You’re possessive for someone who barely knows me,” she said, stepping a little closer. Just enough for her perfume—something floral, sweet, and faintly powdery—to wrap around him.

“I want to change that,” he said, voice low. “The barely part.”

The distance between them had all but vanished.

A wind passed through the balcony, her silk skirt brushing his legs, her ponytail swaying softly. Her eyes searched his face—carefully, cautiously.

“Still not sure about you,” she whispered.

“Good,” he whispered back. “I’m not sure about me either.”

Her lips parted.

Then— Someone called her name from inside. The spell shattered.

She stepped back, visibly pulling herself together.

“I should go,” she said gently.

Lando nodded, pulse thudding.

But as he turned to leave, she called softly, “Lando?”

He paused.

Her eyes met his, one last time.

“You look good in a suit.”

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pathologicalreid · 1 year ago

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Spencer x fem!reader fic based on “Work Song” by Hozier?? Whatever storyline or category you want!!

work song | S.R.

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: general cm violence, near death experience, blood, gunshot wound, hospitals. word count: 1.77k a/n: hozier song request makes my brain go brr. i hope the people of tumblr enjoy this bc i most definitely enjoyed writing it.

boys, when my baby found me

Your hair whipped your face as you spun around through the labyrinth of a warehouse that your team had found themselves in. It seemed like an impossible task, trying to navigate this space, but you had already cleared over half of the space.

A small noise, like a shoe squeaking, caught your attention, causing your ears to rise like an animal hunting for prey. Turning a corner, you had your flashlight and firearm raised, coming face to face with Morgan. The both of you relaxed ever so slightly, no longer ready to pounce.

Ricocheting throughout the warehouse, you heard a deafening gunshot. The sound bounced off of the metal walls of the building, making it almost impossible for you to determine where the sound originated from. Meeting Morgan’s eyes, he nodded his head to the left, signaling for you to go that way while he went right.

You affirmed his tactics, turning slowly and making your way to the left. The rusted building was now so eerily quiet that goosebumps were sprouting across your body, even under your bureau jacket.

Continuing your way down the narrow passageway, you saw movement inside of a room. Sliding your back along the wall, you peeked into the room, seeing two bodies on the ground. You whispered almost imperceptibly into your radio, calling for medical. One of them was the local officer that the BAU had been working the case with.

The other one was Spencer.

You pivoted so that you were entirely in the doorway, facing the UnSub, he raised his gun at you, but you were already pulling the trigger, hitting him square in the forehead. Breathing heavily, you lowered your firearm before scrambling over to Spencer.

I didn’t care much how long I lived, but I swear I thought I dreamed her

In your ear, you could hear Morgan shouting, “Y/N, Reid, sound off, dammit!”

Something needed to happen. You needed to do something, but you had such severe tunnel vision that the only thing you could think about was Spencer.

He was gasping for air on the metal ground of the warehouse, lying in a pool of his own blood. You observed in horror as the red puddle spread with each passing moment.

Launching into action, you tugged your jacket off, stuffing the fabric onto Spencer’s side in an attempt to staunch the bleeding. Even Kevlar vests had an Achilles heel, and the UnSub had managed to strike him precisely where there was a gap in the material. All the while, you were muttering the words, “Stay awake.” Just those two words, over and over again, like a prayer.

You hummed, using one hand to apply pressure to his wound and lifting the other so that you could smooth his hair back. His skin was alarmingly clammy, and you knew that, even with your attempts, he was losing too much blood. “Y/N,” he muttered, sounding like he was using all of his strength to say your name.

Gently, you hushed him, “It’s okay, Spence. Don’t talk, you’re gonna be just fine,” you insisted as his blood soaked through the knees of your jeans. You weren’t sure who you were trying to console at that moment.

“It makes sense-“ he said, being cut off by a cough, sending blood spurting out of his mouth. If his lung was collapsing, there was nothing you’d be able to do. You tried to shush him again, but he had more to say – he almost always did. “That I’d see you while I’m dying.”

Choking on tears, you leaned your face onto your shoulder so that you could wipe them away without moving your hands. “I’m here, I’m really here,” you urged, he wasn’t hallucinating, and he wasn’t dying. Not on your watch. “It’s me, Spence. I’m right here,” you told him carefully.

He opened his mouth again to speak, and you wanted to tell him to save his strength. You also didn’t want to deprive him of his words. “You…” his voice trailed off as he searched for the words, “You’ve always been my favorite dream.”

Sniffling, you shake your head, “I’m not a dream, I’m right here.” You told him, watching carefully as his eyelids grew seemingly heavier, “baby, open your eyes.”

in the low lamplight I was free

His skin was pallid. Even in the dim, orange light of the warehouse, you could see a sickly sheen forming on his skin. His body temperature was dropping, and it was all you could do to not cover his body with yours as you tried to keep him warm. “Spencer, please,” you rasped, urging him to open his eyes.

Your only solace was that his chest was still rising and falling. His breathing was rickety, but he was still breathing, and that had to count for something. “Spencer,” you cried, watching as blood sept through your jacket, flooding between your fingers as you tried to keep him in one piece.

“Love, open your eyes,” you begged, your eyes flooding with tears until everything was just a blur of red.

His heart was beating, you could feel it beneath your hands. A weak, unsteady beat under your trembling hands. “Baby, please, oh my god,” you pleaded, verging toward incoherent babbling.

You were second-guessing if he was still breathing. If his heart was still beating. With that realization, you screamed.

when my time comes around, lay me gently in the cold, dark earth

At first, you were just screaming, letting the vibrations of your vocal cords portray your emotions, and then you screamed for your team. You had never felt more alone, kneeling in a puddle of Spencer’s blood, and no one was coming to help you.

This couldn’t be how it ended. You refused to acknowledge it, even as you felt the life leave his body.

Leaning your head to the side, you spoke into your radio, “I need medical. I’m in the upper west wing of the building. The suspect is dead, I have an officer and an agent down.” Tears continued to stream down your face.

You heard footsteps behind you as people piled into the room, but you didn’t dare take your eyes off Spencer. Not when there was a chance that it would be the last time you looked at him while you were both still breathing. “Agent,” someone said, but it didn’t register. They kept repeating themselves until two strong arms wrapped around you, dragging you away from Spencer.

Now sat on the floor, you clocked the paramedics that were now frantically working on Spencer, packing his wound, and cutting off the Kevlar vest.

Breathing heavily, you watched out of the corner of your eye as Rossi approached the local officer, checking his pulse. Emily was hovered over the UnSub, collecting his weapon from his corpse.

You were still being firmly held back, trying to pry the tattooed arms of Derek Morgan off of your torso. “Stop, let me get to him. I need to get to him,” you struggled against his grip, but any attempts at freedom were futile. The medics were saying awful things about a weak and thready pulse and pneumothorax.

Clinging to any semblance of hope that you could find, you listened to them talk about Spencer’s pulse, knowing that a pulse meant he was alive.

Your breathing quickened as you looked up at Morgan, Hotch was hovering behind the two of you, “I should’ve called for medical sooner.” Your voice was miserable, you had sat there with your jacket to his side for far too long. He could’ve gotten help from professionals.

“You radioed almost five minutes ago for medical,” Morgan informed you. “The EMTs just couldn’t find you in this damn maze.”

While you had no recollection of calling for help when you first found Spencer, you also knew that Morgan would get no pleasure out of lying to you.

You heard one of the paramedics say there was no pulse, and you didn’t remember anything that followed.

no grave can hold my body down

Crumpled in a ball, you picked at the crusted blood in your fingernails as you focused on the steady beeping of Spencer’s heart monitor.

According to Emily, who had been there when you woke up in the hospital, you had passed out around the time that the medics lost Spencer’s pulse. The doctor said it was just a result of stress. Thanks to some IV fluids and hydroxyzine, you were able to be discharged.

Spencer had been out of surgery for several hours now. The doctors had been careful to use the term “if he wakes up”, while you had made sure to say “when he wakes up.” You were playing the most horrendous waiting game, and there’s nothing worse than playing a game you have no interest in.

You were now donning a pair of black sweatpants and an old Academy t-shirt. Being the only team member permitted to see Spencer while he was still sleeping – girlfriend privileges, as Morgan phrased it – you waited with only the noises of his monitor to keep you company in the ICU.

Nurses came in and out, trying to manage his pain without the use of narcotics, making sure his blood transfusions were helping, and every once in a while, they’d check on you.

At this point, you had been nursing the same cup of ice water for hours, remembering the last thing Spencer had said to you: You’ve always been my favorite dream.

There was something so peculiar about being with someone who read so much, especially when he said such eloquent things while bleeding to death. You sighed, slumping back in the chair, you looked back at Spencer, only to be surprised that he was looking right back at you.

You jumped slightly in the chair, leaning over so that you could look at him, “Hey,” you whispered, maintaining the reverent tones of the Intensive Care Unit. “How do you feel?”

He’d lie to you and tell you he was fine, but you could tell by the way his heart rate increased that it was a lie. His eyebrows furrowed as he clocked the white patient ID bracelet on your wrist and your bloodshot eyes, “You’ve been crying,” he observed.

Despite yourself, you smiled softly, “I thought you were dead.” Your voices were each raspy, yours from screaming and his from being intubated.

Slowly, he unfolded his arm so that his hand was extended to you. Without a second thought, you placed your hand in his. He hummed softly, “And leave you? Never.”

I’ll crawl home to her

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