#the other .. no idea where i stand on that one

[moonstruckme]

MAAAAEEEEE I was wondering if I could request a Peter Parker fic where he just kind of adopts shy!reader without her consent like “yeah we’re friends now, we spend time together and also we’re probably gonna fall in love and date but why don’t we just start with me walking you home from class” or some such nonsense. Also wondering if you could keep his spidey-powers; I love that little mutant freak

I hate you for doing this to me

Ugh our mutant freak <3 Thanks for the request babe!

tasm!Peter Parker x shy!reader ♡ 920 words

You’re never alone on the way home from class anymore. You’re not sure what changed at the start of the spring semester, if you just started putting out helpless-pedestrian energy or if it was something else, but soon after the start of classes your walks home from your night class on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Friday began being accompanied by none other than Spider-Man. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, it’s Peter. 

You and Peter have molecular biology together. On the first day of class, he rushed in just as your professor started lecturing. Every seat was full except the one next to you, and when you offered it to him silently with a nod of your head, Peter looked so relieved you’d think you handed him an A in the class. He’s been glommed onto your ever since; some days he asks you to stop for coffee after class, some days he offers to study with you in the library, and he always walks you home. You don’t know what you did to deserve the company, but you appreciate it. 

“You ever been there?” Peter asks, nodding to a stand advertising New York City’s Best Vegan Hot-Dogs. 

“No,” you say.

“Well, seems like we’ve gotta try them at some point. I mean, they’re the best in New York.” 

A smile tugs at your lips. Peter’s always doing that. Making plans, saying we. It’s like the idea of you two hanging out beyond the end of your class is a foregone conclusion in his head. You haven’t been able to figure out if that’s just the way Peter talks or if he means it. You hope it’s the latter. 

“You think so?” 

“Oh, yeah,” Peter says with affected certainty. “I mean, why would you doubt the sign? Everyone knows you have to get things like that certified.” 

You glance up at Peter, but one look into his smiling eyes is too much for you. You have to turn your face away. “I’m pretty sure there are three #1 Indian Restaurants in my neighborhood.” 

“Oof. Must make for some brutal decisions when you’re craving Indian.” 

Two weeks ago, you offered to buy Spider-Man dinner for walking you home. It was stupid—he can’t eat through the mask, which he told you kindly and which you could have figured out if you thought about it for more than a second before opening your mouth—but you were feeling guilty about stopping to pick up takeout and indebted for all the time he spends walking you home instead of preventing mob activity or whatever Spider-Man does. He professed, upon smelling your takeout, that Indian food is one of his favorites, too. 

You haven’t told Peter about your vigilante escort. Spider-Man never comes to you while Peter’s around—presumably because you don’t need his help if you’ve already got a companion—and it’s the sort of ridiculous story you know will sound made up out loud. Why do you know that Spider-Man likes matar paneer? What makes you so special? They’re unanswerable questions, and you’d never be able to look at Peter again if he laughed at you. 

“Hey.” Peter bumps your hip with his. You go stiff at the contact. “You okay?” 

“Hm?” You look up, and he’s watching you with concern. “Yeah, sorry.” 

“You seem a little quiet,” he says. And when your face heats, “Well, quieter than usual.” 

“Sorry,” you say again, embarrassed. “I think I’m just tired.” 

“Oh, yeah? Class was a long one, huh?” 

“Yeah.” 

“That makes sense.” Peter sounds disappointed. You blink at him in confusion, and he almost winces. “I don’t suppose…I mean, if you just want to get home I get that, but I was wondering if you wanted to grab food? With me?” 

Your steps stutter. It’s not that you and Peter have never hung out before. Or even that all the time you’ve spent together centers wholly around class—there have been coffees, chats in the hallway, walks in the park near your university building—but it’s something about the way he asks, like it’s important this time, like it means something. You want for it to mean something. 

“I could still grab food.” You’re not quite looking at him, fiddling with the contents of your jacket pocket. Popping the lid to your chapstick on and off. 

“Yeah?” Peter asks hopefully. 

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure?” 

“Mhm.” 

His voice softens, a smile in it. “Could you look at me, maybe?” 

You glance up, regretting it instantly as always. Peter is resplendent. Dimples framing his smile like parenthesis, hair mussed by the wind that beats at you while crossing every street, he’s the sort of handsome that’s only just starting to figure out how handsome he is. You think you probably make it easier for him. To figure it out. 

“Do you really want to,” he asks in a sincere tone, “or are you just appeasing me? If you’re tired I can take you straight to your place.” 

Your heart thudders. If you have to look at him for much longer you worry you’ll melt into the cracks of the pavement. “I want to,” you say. “I’m sort of hungry, too.” 

“Okay, awesome.” He sounds happy again. You think if you were lucky, that’d be the only thing you were put on Earth to do, make Peter happy. “Maybe we could try one of those Indian places near yours? See who’s really number one.” 

“Sure.” You smile up at him, brain buzzing when Peter beams back. 

“Sick! I could really go for some matar paneer.” 

[kazumist]

no idea what the hell your relationship with him is in this but i thought that the idea of caleb randomly proposing to you with some leftover spaghetti sauce by the corner of his lip on a random thursday would be funny.

you and caleb have this weird thing where you’d pretend to be a couple whenever there’s a couple discount going on.

it doesn’t matter where it is. be it some lowkey cafe, a good restaurant, or even a department store—you’ll be calling up caleb to join you for the discount. and right now, there is a couple discount going on in a new cafe that you wanted to visit. 

they were offering fifty percent off as long as you’re with your boyfriend or girlfriend! why wouldn’t you take up on that offer? you had to drag caleb to it.

“why are we here again, pips?” caleb asks as you pull him to the cafe. “because there is a couple discount going on where everything is fifty percent off as long as they’re with their partner!” you answer him, not looking back. “and you chose me because...?”  he trails off. you stop in your tracks.

“uh.. because why not? don’t act like this is anything new to you, caleb.”

“are you sure it isn’t because you couldn’t ask anyone else?” you gave him a playful glare in return. “do you want me to ask someone else then?” you ask him back. caleb seems to have shut up at that.

reaching the cafe, you two found yourselves a seat. you timed your arrival at the place perfectly, choosing a slow hour to enjoy their discount offer. “may i take your order?” the waitress asks as she approaches your table. before your order could leave your lips, caleb beats you to it.

“one strawberry cheesecake for the lady and i'll have...  a latte will do.”

“well, today is your lucky day, sir! we just have a 50% discount for couples who order here today.”

“really now? how lucky of us indeed.” caleb steals a glance at you. it was quick. a teasing glint in his eyes. unnoticeable to the waitress. but you saw it as soon as he shifted his gaze back at the waitress until she left your table to send your orders to the counter.

“how did you know that i wanted to try their strawberry shortcake?” you asked him. “i saw you staring at it a little longer compared to others and took a wild guess. i got it right, didn’t i?”

“always so observant.”

“only for you, pipsqueak.”

-

the next time you two went out for another couples discount going around, you were stunned.

caleb was the one who invited you to eat out today. and this time it was in a restaurant. as the two of you were enjoying your meal in peace, caleb suddenly got on one knee with a paper ring hidden in his palm and started spewing the most nonsensical wedding proposal monologue you ever heard.

“fun fact: i have always loved you. having the privilege to stand by your side as we grew up together was the biggest blessing that i could ever receive in my life. and i don’t think that being just your boyfriend isn’t gonna be enough for me as time goes on. so, will you continue to be my best friend forever and marry me, pips?”

what the actual fuck is going on?

you weren’t even aware that there was a discount going on in the first place! but when caleb shoots you a smooth wink, you knew you had to act your part. with a famous cliche of saying yes! a thousand times yes! you put a palm on your mouth for the extra effect of showing how “shocked” you were.

once you two left the place, you elbowed caleb by his side. “ow! what was that for!” you huff at him. “that was for you being insane for pulling up that stunt earlier.”

“but i was serious about that though.”

“what?!”

[wandaluvstacos]

all of these mentioned above are not regulations on housing. They are product regulations. Which are good! But they have very little to do with housing; no one is installing lead pipes in a house because lead pipes are not made. Because of regulations on products. Same with asbestos shingles.

Trump deserves to be [redacted], and I'm sure whatever regulations he cut are probably good ones because the GOP is a death cult who loves the suffering of others, but housing regulations in the US are notoriously awful and they're why we're in this housing crisis mess to begin with. This idea that "oh well landlords are just evil" does not take into account that... landlords are evil everywhere. Human greed exists in every country in the world. And yet some places (mostly in Asia) do not have a housing crisis.

There are some good housing regulations, for sure. A home should be habitable, with proper wiring and plumbing and all that. But that's not the problem, because we all know how to BUILD a house. There are millions of people who can figure that out. It is the regulations that stand in the way of building homes that are actually the issue. Trump and the GOP do not care about those, because they like those. Zoning was created as a way of segregating neighborhoods after the Fair Housing Act made it illegal to discriminate against race. Zoning regulations, parking mandates, the way the US requires every apartment building to have two staircases and giant elevators... these are all things that make building housing extraordinarily expensive, impractical, and unpleasant. Parking mandate regulations is why you literally cannot build charming downtowns anymore. Building an insane amount of parking - especially via underground garages for apartment buildings-- add thousands of dollars of cost to each unit in an apartment building. And parking mandate numbers were just... made up. No reason. Local officials literally just guess how much parking they THINK is needed.

I don't expect random people on Tumblr to understand the intricacies of urban design and the battles raged on that front, but not ALL regulations are good across the board. Many of them were invented to fuck over Black people, or keep poor people out of a neighborhood, or were thought up in response to one problem a guy had 50 years ago. This NIMBY idea of "oh well the only reason we can't find housing is because it's EMPTY and being HOARDED by greedy landlords" is just... not true. Landlords suck ass, but they exist everywhere. They exist in West Virginia, where housing is cheap, and they exist in California, where housing is not. It's really important to look into WHY housing is more expensive in some places more than others, and A LOT of it has to do with those local regulations. Lead and asbestos and the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory simply have nothing to do with it.

Homes are expensive because of landlords hoarding them for profit, not because of regulations.

[fireinmoonshot]

protective | joaquín torres x fem!reader

Pairing: Joaquín Torres x Fem!Reader Summary: When you get involved in a car accident on your way home from work, Joaquín rushes to the hospital to be by your side. Warnings: Mentions of a car accident and blood, reader has a concussion and broken bones and gets dizzy at some points, Joaquín mentions wanting to kill someone. Word Count: 1.7k A/N: I love the idea of protective Joaquín so thank you so much to the anon that sent in the request asking for it! I instantly thought that this scenario would be fun to write and I really did enjoy it so I hope you will all enjoy reading it too! 💗

Joaquin stifles a yawn as he sits down on the couch and picks up the remote to try and find something to watch. You’re due home from work any minute now and even though he’s exhausted from his own work, he always likes to stay up to see you when you get home.

He’s flicking through the TV channels when his phone starts buzzing in his pocket. He smiles to himself, assuming it’s you calling to ask him something, and pulls it out of his pocket. His smile drops as he sees that the phone call isn’t from you but from a No Caller ID number. Frowning, he answers the call and holds it up to his ear.

“This is Joaquin Torres,” he says, a little hesitantly.

“Mr Torres, I’m calling from the public hospital to confirm that you are the emergency contact of…” The woman on the other end of the line trails off, likely checking something on a piece of paper in front of her, before reading your name out.

Joaquin stands immediately immediately, not even bothering to turn off the TV as he heads straight for the front door. He’s already trying to put one shoe on as he confirms that he’s your emergency contact. 

“I’m calling you to inform you that she has been involved in a minor car accident, Mr Torres. She’s in a stable condition but–” 

“I’m on my way, tell her I’m on my way!” He hangs up the call, shoves his phone in his pocket and finishes pulling on his shoe before grabbing the other one and pulling it on as well. He barely even remembers to lock the door as he runs outside, heading straight for his car in the driveway. 

You’ve been in a car accident. Minor or not, an accident is an accident, he thinks as he puts the key in the ignition and turns it, putting the car into reverse so he can get out of your driveway and get on the road to you.

He’ll never admit it to anyone but you, but he drives a little over the speed limit to try and get to you just a little faster, cursing to himself the whole time that you didn’t live closer to the hospital. That he should have called you earlier to check on you. Or he should have offered to come and pick you up from work like he sometimes did. He’ll never forgive himself if you’re seriously hurt. 

When he eventually pulls into the hospital parking lot and pulls into a park, his hands are shaking as he exits his car. He shoves the keys into one of his pockets as he begins to run towards the front doors of the emergency department. It’s dark outside now, a chill in the air, and the thought of you inside the hospital all alone makes him run faster. 

The nurses at the front desk are more than helpful, one of them offering to escort him to where you are. His breathing is heavy from how fast he’d run into the hospital as the nurse stops just outside a room where a curtain is drawn. 

“She’s just in there,” she tells Joaquin before walking away.

He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself for what he’s about to find on the other side, and pulls open the curtain. 

You’re laying on the bed in the middle of the room, your arm in a sling and a bandage around your head. At the sight of blood showing through the bandage and a cut on your lip, Joaquin’s heart crumbles in his chest.

“Angel,” he mutters, crossing the room in only a few steps until he’s by your side.

You blink your eyes open, a little weary from the painkillers they’d pumped into you. “Joaquin? What are you doing here?” You manage, voice thick from sleep. 

One of his hands moves to cup your jaw, a finger tentatively examining the cut on your lip. The look on Joaquin’s face is enough to wake you up. You can tell he’s terrified.

“They called me and told me you were in a car accident,” he starts. “Angel, what happened? Tell me everything.”

You look up at him and smile a little at the fact that he’s here and you’re no longer alone. One of your hands reaches up to rest on top of his, taking comfort in the feeling of his warm skin on yours. 

“I was driving home and some guy ran a red light and t-boned me,” you explain. “Everything’s a little foggy after that cause apparently I passed out. But I’m lucky I didn’t get hurt too badly. I just have a broken arm and a concussion, they said.” 

Joaquin is suddenly angrier than he thinks he’s probably ever been. “Where’s the asshole that ran the red light? Did they bring him to this hospital?” He turns around, looking through the open curtain out to the rest of the emergency ward and removing his hand from your jaw in the process. “I’m gonna kill that hijo de puta.” 

“Baby, it’s okay,” you try to bring his attention back to you. You reach out and brush your fingers along his wrist, the only part of him you can reach without sitting up or straining yourself – something that your doctor had recommended you not to do yet. 

“No, no, it’s not okay, angel,” he shakes his head, running a hand through his hair and starting to pace up and down beside your hospital bed. “That pedazo de mierda could have hurt you or even killed you, he deserves worse than what I’d be able to do to him. I should go and see if he’s here and make sure he’s getting arrested for this.” 

You watch him as he continues to pace. It’s rare to see Joaquin like this. Usually he’s the most soft, gentle, sweet boyfriend – the one all your friends are jealous of and the type of boyfriend that everyone wants. But seeing how protective he is over you when it comes to something like this makes for a change, and not an unwelcome one.

“Joaquin, baby,” you try again. “The police are handling it.”

If he hears your words, he doesn’t show it. He continues pacing back and forth, swearing under his breath and saying various other sentences in Spanish – most of them things that the nurses would probably not like to overhear. 

“I’ll be right back, angel. I’m gonna go talk to the cops,” he says, glancing back at you over his shoulder. He reaches for the curtain to close it again as he exits, only to see you standing beside the bed, starting to sway. “Woah, angel, what are you doing?!”

He rushes back to you, grabbing you gently and helping you sit back on the edge of the bed before you fall over. You squeeze your eyes shut. You’d figured that the only thing that was going to stop him was if you did it physically since talking hadn’t done anything – but what you hadn’t counted on was the fact that you were going to get dizzy from the sudden movement and the strain of standing up for the first time after your accident.

Joaquin cups your face in his hands. “Mi amor, what are you doing?”

You open your eyes and look up at him, noticing his furrowed eyebrows drawn in worry upon what he’d obviously just seen. It probably hadn’t looked too good from his point of view. “I was trying to stop you from leaving but I got dizzy,” you admit.

One of Joaquin’s thumbs swipes gently back and forward over your cheek. “I’m sorry,” he mutters. “I got a little carried away there, didn’t I?” 

You nod a little but stop quickly as your head spins again. Joaquin notices and promptly instructs you to get back into bed properly, but to do it slowly and carefully. He stays beside you the whole time, helping you when needed, and then sits on the edge of the bed beside you, one of his hands taking hold of one of yours. 

“It’s okay, Joaquin,” you reply to him finally. “You were worried about me, I know. If I was the one who got a phone call saying you were in an accident, I’d be the same way. But I’m okay. Really. I’m a little banged up but it’s nothing I won’t heal from. The last I heard from the nurses, the police were already questioning the man who ran the red light. He’ll get what he deserves when it comes to punishment. I’m sure of it.”

Joaquin’s grip tightens on your hand a little at the mention of the man who’d caused the accident. “He deserves worse than a little bit of jail time for hurting you,” he murmurs, shaking his head as he thinks it all over. “I’m not leaving your side until you’re all healed, you know?” 

You smile at him. “I’m counting on it. I’m going to need you to wait on me hand and foot until I’m better. I won’t be able to open anything with this broken arm. I’m going to need help with everything,” you say, a little teasingly. “I expect flowers every day as well.”

He chuckles. “As if I don’t wait on you hand and foot already, angel.” He reaches up a hand, one of his fingers swiping along your bottom lip. “This is going to be a bitch to heal, though,” he says, referring to the cut. “Every time I kiss you, it’ll make it hurt.”

“I think I’ll just suffer the pain in order to kiss you, Joaquin,” you admit with a small laugh, your hand squeezing his. “You’ll just have to be a little more gentle with me sometimes when it comes to kissing me.”

Joaquin smirks a little. “That’s gonna be a pretty difficult thing to promise…”

You roll your eyes jokingly before catching his hand in yours as he tries to move it away from your face and pressing your lips to the palm of his hand – even though your lip stings a little at the pressure. Joaquin’s face softens instantly at the small gesture.

“You’re really okay?” He asks softly.

“I’m going to be,” you insist. “I’ve got a pretty good Doctor at home.”

He grins. “Yeah, I’ve heard he’s also really good looking so you’re pretty lucky…”

[cheriladycl01]

Summer Fruits - Carlos Sainz x Reader

Plot: Picking berries in a field with Carlos Sainz in the summer in your prettiest sundress.

"Come on Carlos, its such a nice day today!" you say to your boyfriend Carlos who was lazing about on the sofa while you had the wide doors open to the back garden so the warm summer breeze could come through the room.

"I'm just so tired after last weekend though, we should just stay here and cuddle all day" he grins pulling you closer into him as he hugs you tightly.

"Carlosssss please! I wanna go out and do something!" you complain as he smushes your face against his making you grumble before it turns into a laugh.

"See your perfectly content here mi amor, why do we have to leave?" he asks sitting up with you falling onto his lap.

"Because i want to go out to a farm and pick fruit in a cute dress and have a picnic with you and talk about how well you've been doing in Williams and how im so proud of you!" you grin at him, you were beyond proud of him.

"Okay, well maybe we should go get dressed if were going for this ... fruit picking?" he asks with an eyebrow raised.

"Mmmmm i was researching this place where they give you a basket and you can pick as much as you can fill the basket with" you smile and he cocks his head to the side.

"How on earth does that work?" he asks in shock.

"What do you mean?" you frown.

"People could bring in tubs and hoard more if they wanted to, thats no way to run an effective business!" he offers looking horrified at the idea.

"Mmmm well they have a no bags policy so it would be hard to sleep out with a tub yano?" you smile and he thinks for a second.

"If i owened my burger pancake shop i wouldn't run it like that ... with the promise of potentially stolen produce!" he exclaims.

"Oh come on, I'm already dressed so ill make the picnic and then you can get out of ... whatever this current get up is" you suggest looking at his Nike basketball shorts and scrumpled up team top.

"Okay okay, ill wear a nice shirt and shorts hows that?" he asks hands in the air in defence.

"Perfect, off you pop!" you say lightly tapping his cheek as you get off him and smoothly guide into the kitchen your sundress swaying as you do.

"Have i ever told you how beautiful you look in these dresses" he whispers into your ear as he comes up behind you.

"Carlos!! Go get ready!" You giggle as you try to flick him away from opening up the tassle that ties up the top of the dress.

"Fine fine!" he sulks before going up the stairs.

You craft the picnic making little salad and vegetable boxes. Taking cupcakes and cookies from the pantry that you'd baked earlier on in the week when Carlos had been at the Williams Factory with Alex prepping after last race.

You add some juice and champagne just for good measure as Carlos comes running down the stairs looking the the mirror pushing back his hair.

"Ready?" you ask him and he nods taking the basket off you a hand going to your waist as he pulls you in for a kiss.

"Yes, im guessing im driving?" he smiles and you nod, you never liked driving unless it was when Carlos was tired after a long weekend of racing but other than that you remained passenger princess.

You guys drove to the location in his car, this one was perfect for a summers drive, a convertible Audi that just felt right on the roads you were curving round.

The breeze was nice, taking away the impact of the sun for now.

Once you got to the farm, you could see it was pretty busy making you grab Carlos' hand.

"And this is why i like to stay in" he teases and you lightly slap his shoulder.

"Come on, i think we pay and get baskets over there" you grin and pull Carlos along as you walk up to the stand that had a number of wicker baskets and a little old lady behind the counter of the wooden shack handing them out and taking payments.

"Hiya can we just have one basket please?" you ask politely. You pay for the basket despite Carlos arguing that he would and could pay for it, which you knew yet decided to ignore.

You guys walk through seeing some kids running through a corn maze before going straight to the open grass field where loads of other couples and families were gathered with lunches they'd brought with them.

Carlos lays the blanket down, before laying down on his back patting the place next to him.

You guys just cuddle and talk for a little bit watching the fluffy clouds go past and discussing the shapes of each that were of a notable sort.

"Lets eat, im hungry!" you say, sitting up and grabbing the basket and decanting all the food you'd brought.

"Wow you brought a feast!" he grins, going straight in for a carrot stick and houmous. He takes notice of the mini sandwiches excitedly not knowing what to eat next.

"Such a treat mi amor!" he grins and you chuckle.

"Yet YOU complained!" you grin handing him a glass of orange juice mixed with the champagne you'd brought.

"Mmmmm, yeah im glad you convinced me. Its a really nice day!" he claims and you can only laugh agreeing with him. The picnic finishes up once all the foods done and Carlos shakes out the blanket making sure no mud or grass is stuck on the base. He folds it up with your help, which he kept arguing wasn't helpful.

He takes the basket in one hand with the blanket under his arm and your hand in the other as you guys him closer to the open fruit field. You guided him through a row of strawberries showing him what you found and asked him which ones you should choose.

"These look the best colour" he points at some smaller red ones which you grinned at. The smaller ones always taste better and you held it up to him.

"Looks good, but only take the higher up ones yes?" he says and you laugh, finding it funny how serious he looked right now.

"Ohhh look there some blackberries over there! We can get fresh ones for your nutritionist to make you that compote with the oats that you like. She'll be chuffed with that!" you mumble off leaving Carlos to run after you now also holding the fruit picking basket.

"Slow down, mi amor have you even got all the strawberries you'd like?" he asks trying to keep up with you.

"Mmmmm, maybe but we can come back for more if not!" you grin taking a look at the blackberries before pulling a few ripe ones that caught your eye.

"These look perfect don't ya think?" you grin showing him the stem you'd just plucked off.

"Mmmmm as perfect as you" he grins cheesily making you shake youd head, tapping him on the chest as you lean up to kiss him. He kisses back despite the amount he's holding.

"I love you" he sighs with a shake of his head.

"Come on omg they have Raspberries" you cry grabbng his arm once again, leaving Carlos to shake his head.

Taglist:

@littlebitchsposts @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount

[sylvieisoffline]

Steamy Interrogation

word count: 3k words

tags: 🔞 Explicit sexual content / NSFW (18+) MDNI! | Slight Gunplay (used as a prop)| Dubcon | Improper Use of Evol | Power Imbalance | Mild Objectification | Overstimulation

Please only consume what you can handle.

note: Aaaand I'm back with another Sylus fic! I swear I have the other LIs in my drafts, it's just that I'm so inspired doing Sylus' ones first haha. Have y'all seen Magnum Opus? It's soooo good and I'm so satisfied with how they gave us a peek into sylusmc's dynamic in a free 5-Star Card. Hope you enjoy this one and please let me know in the comments what you'd like to read from me next. divider by: @cafekitsune

You text Kieran after a particularly arduous mission, asking if you could use the hot tub on their penthouse again. You were already in front of the unit but insisted on waiting for his reply before you go in.

It had been a sort of an after-mission ritual. When after one mission had you very sore and your gym buddy / best friend Kieran started offering access to one of his brother's places. You were reluctant at first, initially overcome with embarrassment with the idea of taking baths on another person's place. Someone you haven't met moreso.

"My brother doesn't stay there anyway. He just bought the place 'cause it looked nice and wanted to have someplace to stay whenever he's here in Linkon—which he rarely does now by the way. Even Luke is sulking with how busy he's become that he doesn't even visit now."

You agreed then, asking him, like, ten more times after that even if he kept reassuring you that it was fine.

You were pulled back to reality when your phone pinged with a new notification.

“Sure, left the doors open. Make yourself at home ;)”

You thanked him, entering the unit and depositing your stuff on one of the couches. The place is quiet—sunlight slicing through the tall glass windows, steam already curling from the water’s surface. You strip without much thought and slip into the heat, letting it swallow the tension in your shoulders. After a while, you climb out and sit at the edge, towel draped lazily across your lap as you dry your hair.

That’s when you hear the bathroom door open.

Heavy, deliberate steps echo into the space, followed by the unmistakable sound of a safety catch clicking off.

“Don’t move.”

You freeze.

Your breath catches as you look up—and see him.

Not Kieran.

Someone else. Taller. Sharper.

Ruby eyes locked on you, gun aimed steady and unshaking.

“Who the hell are you?” “I—I thought this place was empty,” you stammer, arms instinctively tightening around your towel. “Hands where I can see them,” he says coldly.

You raise your arms slowly. The towel lifts with you, but slips slightly—your bare body catching in the low light.

His right eye glows as he's scrutinizing but his expression doesn’t change. You can't help but marvel at the sight.

You momentarily hope that he doesn't sense the ugly feeling other than fear simmering in your system after being entranced in his eyes like that.

“Drop it.” “What?” “The towel.”

You hesitate. But he doesn’t lower the gun.

Your fingers loosen, the towel falls in a soft heap by your feet. You stand there, completely bare under his gaze.

“Turn around,” he commands.

You swallow hard and obey.

Behind you, the silence stretches—then breaks.

You hear the rustling of clothes. Heard the sound of his belt being unbuckled. Something heavy hits the floor as goosebumps crawl through your skin.

You hear footsteps again—bare this time. He comes closer.

The cold press of the barrel nudges the small of your back.

“Move.”

You step forward, slowly, heart racing, body burning with both dread and something else.

He deliberately walks behind you, still holding the gun to the small of your back while nearing the tub. You hesitantly dip yourself back in the bubbling water and hear him follow suit.

The soft click of metal resounds in the bathroom as he sets the gun down on the ledge. Then, you hear something unfamiliar—an electric hum, faint and low. A red current crawls up your limbs before you can react.

You gasp.

Your wrists are yanked back behind you—locked in place. Your ankles drawn together, suspended in a precise tension as your body floats slightly above the water’s surface.

“What—what is this—?” “It's my evol, miss.” he murmurs, voice low and unreadable.

You struggle, but his Evol holds firm.

Then suddenly—he’s behind you.

You feel him.

The weight of his chest just barely grazing your back, his breath curling against your ear, and lower still—the unmistakable, thick heat resting against the dip of your ass, barely sheathed by the water. He hasn’t moved, hasn’t truly touched you, but your body reacts anyway—muscles twitching, skin hypersensitive, breath stuttering.

“You didn’t answer me,” he says, and this time, his hand grips your jaw, tilting your head just enough to expose your throat. “Let me ask again—why are you here?”

“I—I didn’t know—Kieran said—”

The second his name leaves your lips, the man scoffs.

“Kieran.” His voice dips, a bitter curl at the edge. “Of course.”

The tension in the air shifts—something sharper than suspicion settling between you.

He clicks his tongue, almost amused. His hand leaves your jaw, his breath brushing your neck as he trails his lips along your skin—just barely grazing, barely touching. Then, he parts his lips and nips.

A sharp little bite just beneath your ear.

You gasp, your hips twitching again despite how sensitive you already are.

“Still doesn’t explain why you’re here.” He breaths,“Why you’re shaking.”

Another nip—this time lower, right at the curve of your throat, then down along your collarbone. Each bite is purposeful, not deep enough to bruise but firm enough to sting just slightly, a wicked contrast to the warm water sloshing around your body.

His hands slide up, cupping your breasts, thumbs brushing lightly over your nipples before he skirts around to let his mouth follow. His teeth scrape one, then he sucks it into his mouth with slow, deliberate pressure.

You arch into him with a choked whimper, the mix of pain and heat making your thighs tense under the surface.

“Why you’re so fucking wet.”

Heat sears through you, your body betraying you with another twitch. Your lips part to deny it, but he’s already moved.

His tongue circles your nipple again, slow and wet, before he switches to the other. His Evol tugs your arms tighter behind your back, just enough to make your chest arch out toward him—putting everything on display, just how he wants it.

“Look at you,” he purrs, mouth trailing back up to your throat. “Bound, dripping, squirming…All from a little teasing.”

Another sharp bite at the side of your neck makes you moan, your head falling against his shoulder. He moves back to the spot behind you as he repositions your body to not sink further into the tub. He chuckles low in his chest, the water rippling as his hand disappears beneath the surface, his fingers ghosting over your folds—barely a touch, but enough to make you squirm.

One slow stroke.

Another.

You gasp, your knees buckling in the water, but the Evol keeps you suspended, helpless.

“Sensitive,” he notes, fingers teasing your bud. “How convenient.”

You barely register the meaning before his fingers press more firmly against you, slipping between your folds. You jolt. Your Evol-bound wrists twitch, but the restraints hold firm. His thumb brushes your clit, expertly timed with another push—your body jerking as sparks shoot up your spine. You cry out, unable to contain the sound this time, trembling violently in his grip.

“Interesting,” he muses, stroking once. Twice. A slow, torturous pace. “You’re not denying it.”

A humiliated moan leaves your throat, and he chuckles—a deep, quiet sound that makes your stomach twist.

“Too easy,” he murmurs. “Is that all it takes?”

A slow drag of his fingers up and down. Dipping inside, teasing at your entrance but not pushing in anymore. His thumb brushes your clit in the lightest touch, barely a graze, but it still sends a violent tremor through you.

You bite your lip, trying to stifle a moan.

“Don’t be shy now.” His free hand grips your chin, tilting your head back against his shoulder. “I want to hear you.”

He presses his thumb down fully this time, circling once—slow, precise, devastating. You scream, hips jerking into his touch, body desperate for friction.

“That’s better,” he murmurs, dragging his lips against the shell of your ear. “So desperate. Maybe I should just leave you like this. Struggling. Needy.”

The thought makes you whine. Your fingers flex uselessly, your ankles twitching against the unrelenting grip of his Evol.

“Or maybe,” he breathes, “I should push you a little further.”

You barely have time to process the words before he thrusts two fingers inside you.

A cry rips from your throat, your body clenching down instinctively around the sudden stretch.

He hums. “Tight.” Another stroke, deeper this time, his fingers curling just right. “You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you?”

You shake your head desperately. “N-no—”

“Liar.”

A sharp thrust. Another. His pace is still measured, still controlled, but every movement is meant to unravel you, to keep you right at the edge.

And it’s working.

Your thighs tremble, the pressure in your core winding tight, pleasure building so fast it’s nearly unbearable. Your breathing turns ragged, broken moans slipping past your lips.

“You gonna cum already?” he taunts, his fingers pressing deep, thumb rolling slow, teasing circles against your clit. “So quick. Is that all it takes?”

You shake your head again, but your body betrays you—the telltale tension coiling impossibly tight.

“Come for me.” His voice drops to a whisper, dark and commanding.

“Now.”

And you do.

Your body jerks violently against the restraints, waves of pleasure crashing over you as you convulse around his fingers.

But he doesn’t stop.

His fingers keep moving, prolonging every aftershock, pushing you straight into overstimulation. Your legs shake, another cry spilling from your lips.

"S-sir, 's too much. Pleas—"

“Too much?” he purrs, amused. “You sure?”

He finally withdraws his fingers—only to drag them up, pressing them against your lips.

“Open.”

You hesitate, but the look in his eyes leaves no room for refusal. You part your lips, your own taste spreading over your tongue as he pushes his fingers in.

“Good girl.”

Then—he shifts.

The water moves as he steps even closer, his Evol releasing your legs just enough for you to feel him lining up against you. You choke back a sob, realization dawning through the pleasure-drunk haze.

“You already took my fingers so well,” he breathes, his cock pressing against your entrance now, thick and hard. “Let’s see how much more you can handle."

When he finally presses himself against you again—thick, hard, ready—you’re already dripping around nothing.

“You’re going to take every inch,” he says lowly. “And you’re going to thank me for it.”

He pushes in slowly, deliberately. You dig your nails into your palms as you struggle to accomodate his girth, each inch more unbearable than the last. You moan, helpless under the flood of sensation.

Your entire body arches—mouth falling open in a silent scream as your walls stretch around him, the sudden intrusion overwhelming. He’s thick, hard, relentless from the first stroke, and your Evol-bound body can do nothing but take it.

Then he begins to move.

“Fuck—” His voice finally drops from its usual cool tone, his grip tightening on your waist. “So fucking tight.” he growls into your shoulder. “You’re taking me so well for someone who wasn’t expecting company.”

Slow at first—just enough for you to feel every ridge, every pulse. Then faster, deeper, brutal. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the air again, water splashing around your bodies. Your voice is a blur of moans and gasps, lost in the sound of him fucking you like he owns you. Every thrust is deep, purposeful—like he’s trying to brand his shape inside you.

“That’s it,” he growls, hips snapping against yours. “Take it.”

Your mind is blank, fogged with the blinding edge of overstimulation. Pleasure coils violently in your belly—shame and ecstasy twined too tightly to separate. Your climax crashes over you before you can stop it, hips jerking in the water as you sob through it, Evol still locking you in place.

But he doesn’t stop.

If anything, he thrusts harder, riding out your orgasm only to build another. His hands grip your hips now, fingers digging bruises into your skin as he pistons into you, his pace brutal and fast.

“That’s it,” he growls. “Let go. Come for me again."

Your body locks around him, shaking with every thrust as he fucks you hard, water splashing around both of you as the pace builds again. Each slap of skin sends sparks through your body, and your climax slams into you harder than the first—violent, uncontrollable, teeth letting go of your lip as you scream.

But the man doesn’t let go. Not yet.

His grip is bruising on your waist as he thrusts through your orgasm, chasing his own release, panting now—low, guttural noises ripping from his throat until finally he drives into you one last time and groans, spilling into you, body tight with tension.

Your Evol restraints dissolve, and you slump forward, boneless and shaking. He catches you, pulls you against him, your bodies still half-submerged in the water.

But he’s not done.

You barely register movement until he lifts you—just enough to sit you on the edge of the tub, legs spread, dripping, glistening in the soft steam-lit glow.

“Don’t move.”

His tone is lower now, huskier. Almost reverent.

He kneels in the water between your thighs, hands parting you again, spreading you wide for him. You flinch from the contact, still sensitive—but that only makes him smirk.

“So soft,” he murmurs, fingers stroking your swollen folds before his tongue finally presses flat against you.

Your head drops back with a cry, the sudden rush of wet heat too much, too sharp. He licks slow, dragging the flat of his tongue up and over your clit in lazy, deliberate strokes.

You buck against him, fingers digging into the tiled edge of the tub, helpless to the fire blooming again in your core.

“Still sweet,” he mutters between licks. “Still twitching for me.”

His tongue circles your clit again, over and over, switching between soft teases and sudden hard flicks that make your thighs jerk and close around his head—until his Evol restrains you again, keeping your legs spread wide open for him.

He moans into you at the same time he presses two fingers back inside, tongue working in perfect rhythm, dragging you toward the edge again.

“Come on,” he growls against you. “Give it to me. Again.”

You don’t stand a chance.

You cum again, thighs shaking violently, your cries echoing in the steamy air, body collapsing into shudders as he licks you through every aftershock—until you’re a wrecked, panting mess above him, still twitching from the overstimulation.

Your body gives out the moment it’s over.

Every last drop of strength drains from your limbs—your mission fatigue, the emotional whiplash of being interrogated at gunpoint, the overwhelming pleasure wrung out of you in waves—it all crashes down at once.

You collapse into his arms.

His hands shift under your legs and behind your back, lifting you gently from the tub. You hear water dripping off you both as he carries you across the marble floor, steps unhurried, expression unreadable—but his hold is firm. Protective. Possessive.

He sets you down on a soft surface, kneeling beside you. He begins to wipe you down with a patience that doesn’t quite match his earlier ruthlessness. You flinch once, still sensitive, and his touch instantly softens.

He doesn’t say anything. But his eyes linger on every part of you he touches, watching the way your body reacts—memorizing you all over again, even now.

When he’s done, he scoops you up again, walks you into the bedroom, and lowers you onto his bed.

His sheets smell like him—amber, leather, gunmetal.

You barely register the soft rustle of fabric as he dresses you in one of his button-downs, sleeves swallowing your arms. He tucks the hem under your thighs and smooths it out over your belly. It’s oversized, but warm. Familiar.

He pulls the covers over you and leans down to press a kiss to your forehead, lingering a moment.

He then leaves the room, shutting the door with a soft click.

In the living room, Sylus towels off, pulling on a pair of sweatpants and a loose black shirt. His fingers run through his wet hair before he picks up his phone and dials.

The line rings once.

“What?” Kieran’s voice comes through groggy and irritable. “It’s late, man.”

“You didn’t think to tell me you've already met my Beloved?” Sylus says flatly.

There’s a pause. Then an incredulous laugh.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Sylus’ jaw clenches.

“The woman you’ve been letting use the penthouse. The one you’ve been hiding from me.”

“What? I wasn’t hiding—wait.” There’s a beat of silence. “You met her?”

“I did more than just meet her.”

“Sylus,” Kieran says, voice rising with panic. “What did you do?”

Sylus groans and rubs the bridge of his nose.

“What didn’t we do?”

There’s a choked sound on the other end of the line.

“Are you fucking serious?! You better not have hurt her or els—”

“Calm down,” Sylus cuts in, voice cool again. “If anyone’s ass needs to get handed back to them, it's yours—for letting strangers use my property without telling me.”

“She’s not a stranger,” Kieran snaps. “She’s the only one I’ve let use it. You’re lucky it was her and not, I don’t know, someone actually dangerous.”

“Hmph.” A rare hint of amusement glints in Sylus’ tone. “Then you’ve made your one good decision today.”

“Sylus—seriously, just…Be gentle with her, okay?”

“I always am,” he replies smoothly, ending the call before Kieran can protest further.

He returns to the bedroom quietly.

The lights are dim now, your breathing soft and even beneath the covers. He slips in behind you, sliding an arm around your waist and pulling you into his chest.

His nose brushes your slightly damp hair. He inhales deeply—like he’s grounding himself in the scent of you, the warmth of you in his bed.

You shift in your sleep, instinctively curling toward him. He smiles against your temple and presses a soft kiss there.

“We’re finally reunited,” he whispers. “My Beloved Sorceress.”

And he holds you tighter—like he never intends to let you go again.

© sylvieisoffline's original work | all rights reserved | translation, plagiarization, and copying is strictly prohibited

[stormsies]

Sexy to Someone

જ⁀➴જ⁀➴જ⁀➴જ⁀➴જ⁀➴જ⁀➴જ⁀➴

summary: reader attends her first Devils game as Luke’s girlfriend, though she can’t help but get a little self conscious along the way

a/n: i didn't intend for this to be this long but i just had sm fun writing it. there's a short lil epilogue at the end of this bc i was in a silly goofy mood! (also for the sake of this, pls pretend Jack did not get injured this season T-T)

warnings: insecure reader, allusions to sex, but this is mostly fluff!

wc: 2.4k

જ⁀➴જ⁀➴જ⁀➴જ⁀➴જ⁀➴જ⁀➴જ⁀➴જ⁀➴જ⁀➴જ⁀➴

You had been to a handful of Devils games in your lifetime. It seemed only natural—and like a requirement to being a citizen of New Jersey. Plus, hockey was a sport you genuinely enjoyed - you could recall a number of evenings spent at The Rock, nursing an overpriced beer while sitting next to your girlfriends. 

But you could confidently say you had never been to a Devil’s game while dating one of the players.

Luke and your relationship was still a fairly new, delicate thing. So new, that you still found yourself pinching yourself at the realization that he was really yours. And so new, that you honestly felt nervous when he personally asked you to come to one of his games. Although his shy little grin had tugged on your heart strings and melted away any cause for concern.

So, you had agreed, starting to feel the excitement of being able to cheer for your boyfriend in person. 

Luke had breathed a sigh of relief when you told him you’d come, “Thank god - I already bought the tickets.” 

“So, where am I sitting?” his eagerness had made you laugh.

“Right at the glass,” he smiled down at you.

Now it was your turn to breathe a sigh of relief. When Luke had popped the question, your immediate anxiety had been prompted by the prospect of possibly sitting with the other WAGs. You felt like you still didn’t even deserve to call yourself one, and the idea of being introduced to any of the women sounded like the most intimidating trial you could possibly be faced with. 

“Oh wooooooow,” you drew out the word for dramatic effect, teasing Luke. “Never been that close before.” Which was true, you were used to cheaping it out in the nosebleeds.

“Only the best for you,” Luke wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer, “besides, wanna see my girl up close.”

You could get used to being called, “his girl.”

Now you stood in your apartment, getting ready to support Luke in person against the Columbus Blue Jackets. Standing in front of your full-length mirror, you pulled his jersey over your head, recalling his reaction when he first discovered you owned it. That had been back when you were only friends, still tiptoe-ing around your feelings for one another.

Luke had been over at your apartment, rifling through your closet when you told him you’d had a spare rain jacket he could borrow on a particularly rainy spring day. It was an oversized, well-loved thing that used to be your dad’s; but in his pursuit to find the jacket, his eyes skimmed over a familiar white jersey sporting the number 43.

He couldn’t contain the shit-eating grin that slowly spread across his face (or the light blush that tinged the tips of his ears) at the realization that you owned his jersey. You had worn his name and his number. The thought was enough to make him delirious - though, he’d never tell you that seeing as you were only friends, much to his dismay. 

Carefully, he took his jersey off the hanger and called to you from the other room, “Y/N! Think I found it…is this it?”

When you entered your room and saw him standing there, holding his own jersey, your face turned beet red. Suddenly, you wished that your floor would open up and swallow you whole. 

“Luke…” was all you could think to muster up. 

“Didn’t know you were such a fan,” he laughed, “I can sign it for you if you want!”

“Get out.” you deadpanned, though there was no bite to your words.

It only made Luke throw his head back, laughing even harder.

Now, instead of feeling astronomical levels of embarrassment, you could look back on the memory and laugh too. 

Surveying yourself in the mirror, you straightened out the white New Jersey Devils jersey that you were now wearing. The sweater was accompanied by a simple pair of black leggings and a pair of red converse, though you felt there was something missing.

“Oh,” you murmured to yourself, rummaging through a drawer to find the pièce de résistance.

You placed the devil horn headband atop your head like it was a crown, careful not to ruin your meticulously braided hair. 

The headband was something you wore to every game you attended with friends, one of them claiming that it was the statement piece that pulled the entire ensemble together. You had laughed then, sure that you all looked ridiculous in your devil horns, red and white striped overalls, and red heart-shaped sunglasses. But that was just your group’s thing - going all out for the games. It had become somewhat of a tradition that you didn’t wanna break, even if you were attending this one alone.

You heard your phone chime, perched on your nightstand, announcing a text from the man of the hour:

Lukey ♥️: Excited to see you ;) 

You feel butterflies erupt in your stomach, picking up your phone to quickly shoot a text back before his pre-game warmups begin.

Y/N: Excited to watch you play! About to leave, see you soon 🫶

Though you’d have no way of knowing it, your words warmed his heart and sent a wave of motivation coursing through Luke. He’d be sure to give you a show.

Closing your phone, you took one more look at yourself in the mirror before deciding that you looked good enough. It wasn’t like you could spend any more time mulling over your appearance if you wanted to make it in time to see warm-ups. Turning on your heel, you quickly grabbed your keys and purse, mentally preparing yourself for the Tuesday evening Newark traffic.

Prudential was buzzing, much like your thoughts at the moment.

The atmosphere of the stadium was electric, just like it had been during every other game you’d attended. But as you walked through the concourse in search of your section, you found your attention being drawn to the other attendees - mainly, the other women.

As you made your way to your seat, you passed by several stunning women, many not in jerseys, but in figure-flattering, red dresses paired with custom-made NJ varsity-style jackets. Others donned sleek black bodysuits and sparkling red boots, while some sported white and red-accented sweaters paired with black leather pants.

It was then that the earth-shattering realization settled upon you that you didn’t look like a WAG, you looked like - well, just a fan. 

Were you supposed to dress up like them? Of course you were, you were Luke’s girlfriend now. You had become so accustomed to wearing your usual spirit wear that you hadn’t even stopped to consider what Luke would think. Would he be embarrassed by you? You felt your face heat up, thinking about the hip-hugging black dress you had hidden in the back of your closet. 

Why didn’t you wear that? It would have gone nicely with that red cardigan…

As your mind was filled with all the possible outfit combinations you could be wearing besides the one you currently found yourself in, you quickened your pace, eager to find your seat and settle in. 

When you finally find it, just behind the glass as Luke had said, your nerves ease for a moment, replaced by the thrill of sitting so close to the ice for the first time. Before your mind has the chance to wander again, warm-ups begin and the team begins to trickle out onto the ice.

You feel your heart quicken as you spot Luke, his tall figure effortlessly gliding across the ice. He’s followed by Jack, who spots you before his brother can. Jack gives Luke a nudge to the shoulder, nodding his head in your direction as you offer up a shy wave.

“Oh wow, she actually came!” he teases.

Luke rolls his eyes as he skates towards you, “Of course she did…”

You watch as Luke draws closer, first making a pit stop to throw some pucks over the glass to a group of kids near you. Your heart warms at their shrieks of glee and Luke’s subtle smile.

When he reaches you, Luke’s grin only widens as he takes you in. You feel your face warm again, once again remembering your less than glamorous outfit as Luke's eyes rake over you. There’s something unreadable in his eyes, though he breaks eye contact to toss a puck over the glass to you, “Got something for you,” he calls.

You reach up, catching the sleek black puck with ease, “Luke, you could get me one of these anytime,” you laugh, “And you better go! Get your head in the game!” you tease, but his lingering presence makes you glance over your shoulder, growing more self-conscious under the curious eyes that watch your interaction. You couldn't help but worry about the potential rumors circulating about your relationship—though Luke seemed completely unbothered by it.

“Just tryna give you the whole experience,” he replies, beginning to skate backwards towards his team once more, “Meet me outside the locker room and I’ll sign it for you.” he winks, turning on his skate and leaving you once more.

You bring the puck closer to you, smiling to yourself over his antics.

Maybe it was the fact that you had the best seats in the house, or that Luke scored both a goal AND an assist—sending you jumping out of your seat—or even that Mrs. Fields won the dessert race for the first time all season (you honestly couldn’t believe your eyes). Whatever it was, you could confidently say this was the best hockey game you’d ever been to. And being able to call one of the star players your boyfriend? Definitely a nice bonus.

The crowd was brimming with excitement at the conclusion of the game, beating the Blue Jackets healthily with a final score of 5-3. You hung back in your seat for a while, waiting for the stadium to empty a bit more before you made your way to the locker room as Luke had instructed.

Now, you stood in the hallway outside the room, fiddling with your puck while you waited for Luke to exit. You were filled with a strange mix of nerves, excitement, and pride. 

Being able to watch Luke do what he loves in person was like nothing you’d seen before, and the fact that he wanted you there–really wanted you to see him–made your heart swell.

But then, you began to remember the look he had given you upon seeing you at the glass–that unreadable expression. Was it embarrassment over you? Your appearance? He had definitely expected you to be wearing something different–something nicer.

As you start to contemplate whether or not you should take off your head band, you hear the locker room door swing open. Luke steps out, and any exhaustion from the intense game he’d just plays feels like it leaves his body upon seeing you standing there, waiting for him eagerly. 

“There you are, you did amazing tonight! I mean seriously, you-” your praise is cut off by Luke, who quickly breaches the distance between you two and pulls you into a hug, lifting you up off the floor.

“S’cause you were here.” he mumbles against you

You giggle, “No come on, that was all you Luke.” You feel him grin into the crook of your neck.

He sets you down, pulling back to look down at you, “Maybe, but seeing you in the stands is definitely a huge motivator,” he brings a hand up to fiddle with your devil horns, “You look adorable, by the way.”

“No- I,” squirming, you scoff at his words, “I’m sorry I didn’t wear something…I don’t know? Sexier? I kinda look like a dork…especially compared to some of these other women.” Your voice grows quieter, losing more and more confidence as you ramble on. Your eyes find your feet, focusing on your red shoes–though the color just feels gaudy now. Luke laughs.

“Baby, are you kidding me?” You feel a hand grasp your chin, Luke gently pulling you up to meet his eyes. “You’re already wearing the sexiest thing you could be–-my name on your back.”

You shake your head as if it will rid you of the blush settling across your face, “Luke…”

“Seriously Y/N. When I saw you at the glass during warm-ups I had to get out of there quick!” he chuckles, “You have no idea what seeing you wearing my jersey does to me.”

You swat at his arm playfully, because you are still in public after all. Though you’d be lying if you said hearing his words didn’t give you a boost of confidence. It was exactly what you’d needed to hear. 

“These horns are a nice touch too. Always thought that was cute…kinda your thing.” he smiles down at you, and you can tell by the look in his eyes that you mean it.

“Alright alright,” you take his large hand in your own, “I get it…you ready to go celebrate?” You were fully anticipating Luke would want to go out with Jack and his other teammates to keep the good vibes going. He blows out a puff of air and grips your hand, leading you down the hallway, “M’ready to go home baby. Just wanna celebrate with you.”

You hum, feeling the cool air fan over you as you two exit the stadium, “I think that can be arranged.”

“Good, I need you all to myself tonight.” Luke leans down to pepper a few kisses to your face while you giggle. “Maybe you can keep this on too,” he runs a hand through your hair, touching the headband again, “think you’d look pretty sexy wearing it while we-”

“Luke!” you squeal, covering your face with your hands, the two of you laughing the entire way to your car.

Epilogue:

Pulling into your apartment’s parking garage, your ears perk up at Luke’s voice, who had opted to take a short nap while you navigated the late night traffic.

“We could hear the crowd going crazy during the second intermission, what happened out there?” he asks, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

You smirk at the realization you’d be the one to tell Luke this earth-shattering news, “Oh…Mrs. Fields won the dessert race.”

You can practically feel Luke pause, his entire body turning towards you, “What?!”

“Yup.”

He runs a hand through his hair and shakes his head, “No wonder we played so good.”

“Hey! Thought it was because of me,” you poke at him, teasing once more.

“Oh of course babe,” he grins, “You AND the cookie.”

[linoxpudding]

Written In The Stars- Lee Know

summary: he's your soulmate, but he's already in love with someone else

pairing: lee know x fem!reader

genre: angst, soulmate au, unrequited love

word count: 1828 words

a/n: this was requested, really loved this concept— should I do part 2? 👀

PART 2

Masterlist

~°~

You had always dreamed of meeting your soulmate. As a hopeless romantic, you had imagined it all—the instant connection, the rush of emotions, the realization that this was the person meant for you.

From the time you were little, you'd trace the blank space on your wrist, imagining the mark that would one day bloom there—the sign of your destined person. Stories of soulmates finding each other had filled your heart with longing, whispering promises of a love so deep, so undeniable, that nothing could stand in its way.

And then on a fateful morning, three months after you turned thirteen, it happened.

A delicate star-shaped pattern shimmered on your wrist, fading from golden light into solid ink.

This was it.

Your breath had caught in your throat, your heart pounding as you traced over the pattern with shaking fingers. It was real.

Your soulmate was out there.

And you were going to find them.

************

You had spent years searching—watching, waiting, hoping. But soulmarks were unpredictable. Some people found their destined person right away. Others searched for years, only to meet their soulmate at the most unexpected moment.

For you, it happened through Bang Chan.

************

You had known Chan for a while now, having met through mutual friends, and occasionally you hung out with his group that consisted of your mutual friends from college. One evening, he invited you over for a casual get-together at his place. You had no idea how much your life was about to change.

When you arrived, laughter and conversation filled the apartment. People greeted you warmly, but your attention was drawn to him.

Lee Minho. 

There was something about him that intrigued you. Maybe it was the way he carried himself, confident yet not overbearing. Maybe it was his sharp eyes that held mischief and mystery. He was handsome, almost unfairly so, with an aura that pulled attention effortlessly.

The moment you met, there was some sort of instant spark. 

As the night went on, he was leaning back in his chair, eyes sparkling with amusement as he watched you argue with Jisung, another close friend of Chan that he introduced you to, over some ridiculous topic. And then he joined in.

The two of you had gone back and forth for at least ten minutes, teasing and taunting each other like you had known each other for years.

“Wow,” Minho had finally said, crossing his arms with a smirk, “Chan, where have you been hiding this one?”

Chan had laughed, “Right? I knew you two would get along.”

And from that moment on, you did.

The banter was easy, natural, like a rhythm you had both unknowingly fallen into. He would throw a jab, and you would return it without missing a beat. It became something of a game— one that neither of you acknowledged but played anyway. 

After that night at Chan’s place, you and Minho exchanged numbers, a silent agreement to keep in touch. But life was busy— too busy for long conversations or one-on-one meetings. Your interactions were limited to occasional group hangouts, fleeting moments where you’d exchange teasing remarks and match each other’s humor effortlessly.

For a while that was enough, until you saw the mark.

************

It happened weeks later, on a movie night at Changbin and Hyunjin’s place. It was a casual kind of movie night where everyone showed up in sweats, curled into couches with blankets draped over their laps, trading playful jabs between mouthfuls of popcorn. The air smelled like butter and cinnamon-scented candles, and the TV flickered with a half-watched movie as conversations overlapped.

Minho sat across from you, comfortably leaning into the cushions, his usual smirk in place as he fired off another joke. The room erupted into laughter, but yours was the loudest— it always was when it came to him. It was effortless, the way the two of you fell into banter, the way he made you laugh like no one else could.

And then, in the midst of it all, he reached for his coffee.

It was such a small thing, so inconsequential, yet it changed everything.

His sleeve rode up slightly, exposing the inside of his wrist for the briefest moment. But that moment was enough.

Your laughter faded. Your pulse stilled.

Because there, etched into his skin, was your mark.

The very same pattern you had spent your whole life tracing absentmindedly, the one you had dreamed of seeing on someone else one day. On your soulmate.

Lee Minho was your soulmate.

The world should have stopped. This should have been the moment where everything clicked into place, where the universe finally made sense. But before the thought could fully form, a voice cut through the haze.

“Sorry, babe. I’m late.”

A woman appeared beside him, her tone light, affectionate. She leaned in without hesitation, pressing a kiss to his lips as her hand came to rest on his shoulder like she had done it a hundred times before.

Minho turned to her, his smirk softening into something warmer, something real. It was love.

You thought you knew him well enough. Well enough to anticipate his dry jokes, to recognize the mischievous glint in his eye before he spoke. But clearly not well enough to know he had a girlfriend.

And that was when you knew. Minho wasn’t waiting for a soulmate. Because he was already in love with someone else.

You barely remembered the rest of that night. You smiled, you laughed when appropriate, you responded to conversations, but your mind was elsewhere. On him. On her. On the way he looked at her, touched her, stood beside her like she was his world.

And that realization destroyed you.

************

You told yourself it didn’t matter.

The mark wasn’t a command. It wasn’t a guarantee of love, just a promise that this was the person who was meant to understand you like no one else could.

So you stayed.

Not because you were waiting. Not because you were hoping. But because leaving felt impossible.

Chan’s group became your own, and Minho was always there—laughing, teasing, existing so effortlessly in your world. 

At first, it was unbearable.

Every time he absentmindedly rubbed the mark on his wrist, a quiet frown flickering across his face, your stomach twisted. Did he feel it too? Did he ever wonder?

But then his girlfriend would call, and he would answer with a voice so gentle it made you want to scream.

She was perfect. Kind, beautiful, talented, and Minho loved her. He was happy.

And you? You were just his friend with the same mark.

************

The months that followed felt like moving through water—slow, heavy, suffocating.

You tried convincing yourself that nothing had changed. That Minho was still just a friend, a fleeting presence in your life, someone you saw in passing at group hangouts and laughed with over inside jokes. But knowing the truth made every interaction feel heavier, every lingering glance, every easy banter laced with something you couldn’t ignore.

And yet, he remained blissfully unaware. He didn’t know. He didn’t see.

Not until that night.

The party at your friend’s penthouse was loud, the music thrumming through the walls, laughter and conversation bleeding together into a dull hum. But you weren’t part of it. Instead, you stood in the dimly lit kitchen, gripping the counter so tightly your knuckles turned white, trying to steady yourself against the weight in your chest.

You weren’t sure why you had come. Maybe some part of you still craved the normalcy of being around him, of pretending nothing had changed. Maybe you were just tired of avoiding him.

“Hey,” he greeted you, entering the kitchen. His voice was soft, but it made your stomach drop, “You're still here?”

You didn’t turn right away. You couldn’t. You replied weakly, “Yeah, needed a breather.”

He hummed, reaching for a glass of water. His movements were effortless, casual—until he caught sight of your wrist.

His body went rigid beside you. His eyes flickered from your mark to his own. You felt it before you saw it— the way the air shifted, the sharp intake of his breath, the stillness that settled between you like a physical thing. 

You felt your chest tighten.

“…It’s you,” he whispered.

Slowly, hesitantly, you followed his gaze down to your wrist.

You swallowed. “Yeah.”

You watched as realization hit him like a crashing wave, his expression flickering through shock, confusion, and something deeper—something you didn’t want to name.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

And then, finally, he did.

“But…” His voice was quiet, almost fragile. He swallowed, staring at you like he wished he could unsee it. “But I love her.”

Three words.

Three words that carved into you deeper than you thought possible.

You exhaled slowly, forcing yourself to meet his gaze, to absorb the quiet devastation in his eyes— the same devastation mirrored in your own.

“I know,” you said, offering him a small, trembling smile. “I know, it's okay.”

His head snapped up, his eyes dark with something unreadable. “No, it’s not.”

And that was the difference between you.

You had spent weeks coming to terms with the inevitable, had learned to swallow down the ache every time you saw him with her. But for him, this was the first time. This was his moment of realization, and it was breaking him apart in real time.

His voice was rough when he spoke again, like he was fighting against something he didn’t understand. “How long have you known?”

Your lips parted, the answer lingering on the tip of your tongue. But what would that change?

“Does it matter?” you asked softly, finally meeting his gaze.

His jaw clenched, his eyes flashing with frustration— at you, at himself, at the cruel twist of fate that had led you here.

“I should’ve known,” he muttered, shaking his head, his voice filled with something raw and painful. “I should have—”

“Minho.”

Your voice was steadier than you felt. He looked at you then, really looked at you, and you could see it—the weight of it, the way his heart and mind waged a silent war.

He didn’t want to hurt you. But he loved her.

You reached for him before you could stop yourself, your fingers just barely brushing against his wrist before pulling away. A silent offering. A silent goodbye.

“It’s okay,” you repeated, softer this time. “You love her.”

And that was the end of it.

Minho exhaled, a shaky, uneven breath. He opened his mouth, like he wanted to say something, anything, but no words came.

There was nothing left to say.

So you smiled, even as your heart cracked, even as you felt the finality of it settle into your bones. And then you turned, slipping out of the kitchen and back into the party, leaving Minho alone with the mark that had changed everything.

Minho was never meant to be yours.

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

Taglist:

@kaiyaba @lov3rachan @pixie-felix @ellemir2404 @willowhanji @skzimagines @wavetohannie @jamroses @kayleefriedchicken @kokinu09 @nightmarenyxx @vietjeb @my-neurodivergent-world

[adieutristana]

of course! thank you for requesting <3

so i lost this request but did get a screenshot. anyways never tone it down! being sassy is not a bad thing!

summary; headcanons of arcane women with a sassy girlfriend.

characters included; jinx, vi, mel, sevika, caitlyn, lest.

tags/warnings; fluff, maybe some crack?, possibly suggestive in some parts, s2 spoilers, reader is feminine/femme, can’t think of anything else

men and minors dni.

jinx;

✧.* jinx is right there with you- hello season two.

✧.* she never sees your attitude as a problem, frankly. she's usually the one to be told that she has an attitude problem despite never seeing anything wrong with it. why would she see it as a problem?

✧.* but if anyone else were to insinuate that you had an attitude problem, you need to tone it down, any of that, believe that jinx is jumping in and defending you. both with her words and physically.

✧.* "hey, i'd watch what you're saying," she'd bite, right before whipping out her pistol and pressing the cold barrel to some poor guy's neck. jinx isn't bothered by how his eyes widen, he immediately starts trembling or even his blubbered apologies. "she'll talk to you how she wants to talk to you. got that?"

✧.* seriously, though, i think jinx would consider it pretty fun to have a girlfriend just as, if not more sassy than she is. she’s been told to tone it down, to watch her mouth, but you’ve always understood because you’re the exact same way. and that makes it so much more fun.

✧.* sometimes you guys feed off each other, and jinx finds it one of her pastimes. she's always had a smart mouth, especially when it comes to her sister, randoms in zaun, and topsiders. could you imagine sassing them together? incredible.

✧.* "fancy topsider here- that top's outta season, you know?" you'd giggle, playfully elbowing jinx in the process. it'd earn a laugh from her, though a grimace from said topsider. "i know. you guys are all high and mighty but can't even follow your own rules? please. i could do better tying together yarn."

✧.* and then there's times where someone's getting under your skin, you say something witty back, and she finds herself falling for you all over again. something about a girl who isn't afraid to speak her mind and is confident.. it's so attractive to jinx.

✧.* the fact that you're so confident, you don't give a shit how others perceive you, it's just amazing to her! she loves that you're so sure of yourself and you're not afraid to ruffle some feathers if need be. you're just expressing yourself in the way that works best for you!

✧.* "jeez, toots, do you have any idea how hot that was?" she'd grin, slinging an arm around you and pulling you in close to her side, her lips landing on your cheek in a wet kiss. "all i did was stand up to some dickhead." "still, that was hot! agh, you should've seen yourself!"

✧.* jinx also really loves that you're not afraid of how she perceives you, even though you're in a relationship. jinx is used to people being afraid of her, willing to do anything they can to avoid crossing paths with her. they'll lower their voices around her and try to say things they know will keep them on their good side- but not you.

✧.* and if anything? she finds that intriguing. because she knows you'd never be rude to her or sass her necessarily, but the way you're so confident around her knowing her reputation has her falling deeper and deeper.

✧.* like.. you could just be talking to jinx about something so mundane, and the way you hold your chin up and the tone you use would make her want to jump you and kiss you senseless.

vi;

✧.* are you kidding?? vi would find it so, so attractive! don't know who here has heard of the stereotype of 'femmes with attitude problems' but that's basically what i got from this request, and my god does vi love it. you're not afraid to mouth someone off in a pretty skirt, and that does something to her!

✧.* you could be talking off someone who's annoying you, your tone one that people would usually reprimand all while holding your chin up high, and it would leave vi feeling weak.

✧.* would she want you to be like that to her? depends on the context, usually not- behind closed doors after hours, sure. but gods, just seeing you with your brows furrowed, tossing your hair and crossing your arms while mouthing someone off is just incredible to vi.

✧.* she doesn’t see it as a problem the way she knows others might. while vi sees how it could be a problem, with the way you get yourself into situations with respected figures, she still thinks it’s a good thing.

✧.* vi loves that you’re confident. loves that you’re sure of yourself, and you don’t care what others think of you. she’s confident in her own ways as well- the brawl, the strength. the way she’s built herself out of seemingly nothing. but it’s different when it comes to you.

✧.* vi isn't exactly shy, but she's the more quiet and calm of you. and she likes to have that balance- the one who stays out of the way for the most part, and the one who isn't afraid to cause a stir. the confident one. you bring out each other's strengths and compliment each other.

✧.* “and then, i told him his mother was probably so disappointed when she’d seen how he turned out! and all he had to tell me was to watch my tone. can you believe it?” you’d ask, scoffing with your arms crossed over your chest. “no,” vi would shrug, though she’s honestly too awestruck to form meaningful sentences. “but you handled him well, if that’s all he had to say.”

✧.* vi makes sure to reign you in sometimes though- not because she thinks your attitude is a problem, but because she knows others might and she doesn't want to see things escalate to a dangerous point. it's all out of concern for your safety :(

✧.* "hey, you probably shouldn't be using that tone with her-" "why not?" you'd protest, furrowing your brows. "because she could send people to whoop your ass in minutes. you're right, but she'll just be offended. please."

✧.* she'll never voice her admiration for your demeanor and attitude necessarily, but she has a sneaking suspicion that you already know. it's in the way that she can only stare at you while you're being sassy, the way she's flushed when you're next to her walking like you own the damn city. you may not actually own the city, but you've got that exact hold over vi's heart.

mel;

✧.* i feel like she'd be a bit taken aback at first, usually people are very careful with how they speak to mel. she's one of piltover's most influential figures if not the most influential, a councilor. so seeing your confidence and the fact that you don't really care about making a good impression on her, it surprises mel.

✧.* but that surprise turns into intrigue rather quickly. she's never seen anyone quite like you, and it's interesting. that air about you is something she grows to admire over time, because it's something she's never had.

✧.* mel has to be very careful with what she says, both as a medarda and as a councilor. she has a reputation to keep, and public relations to preserve. so in a way, she admires you for being unafraid to speak your mind. for being unabashedly yourself. she sees something in you that she wishes she had.

✧.* but she isn't jealous! not at all. if anything, she just respects you a lot more for being able to do some of the things she could only dream of.

✧.* and trust me, there are times where she wishes she could tell someone off. wishes she could throw some smartass remark in their face, but she can't because of who she is- and you're more than happy to step in for her. she comes from a prestigious family, but you don't.

✧.* "darling, it's fine, really-" "no. they were messing with you, why would i just let that slide?"

✧.* "hey! you think just because you're a councilor, you can talk to her like that?" you'd scoff, placing your hands on your hips. pressing your glossed lips together in a scowl, while tugging your girlfriend close to you. daring him to challenge you. "and who are you?" "her girlfriend. who are you?"

✧.* while mel won't say anything after the fact beyond shaking her head with crossed arms, she really does appreciate you sticking up for her. she just warns you to not go too far, because it could reflect badly on the both of you in terms of press.

✧.* and seeing you be so confident, so sure of yourself, does inspire mel a good amount. she's always had problems with her perception of herself, having grown up with a mother like hers. finding out that she was a mage didn't help any either, and she's felt lost. but seeing you so secure in yourself, not giving a damn what others think, it makes her think that maybe she could be like that, too.

✧.* not exactly like you, no. you both are your own people, but that's the beauty of your partnership. two people from different walks of life, with different attitudes, who compliment each other. who love each other.

✧.* "and then, i walked off! because who the hell am i to let someone waste my precious time?" you'd scoff, tossing your hair over your shoulder in that dramatic way you often do. all the while, mel is just staring- her hand rested in her chin. "you're awfully cute, do you know that?" and you'd chuckle, placing a light kiss to her cheek. "i do, but it's always nice to hear it from you."

sevika;

✧.* yeah she's smitten. i think at first, sevika might try to act as if she's annoyed by your behavior, but truly, it's attractive to her. your confidence and demeanor is like a magnetic pull.

✧.* sevika is also confident and unafraid, but she's gruff. she keeps to herself, she's more rough around the edges, and she's not nearly as expressive as you are. so it's familiar to her, but your approach is new.

✧.* she doesn't know exactly what to make of you. one of the first times she'd spoken to you out of turn was to let you know- "you're... different. somethin' about you, i've never seen it before. huh."

✧.* though after more time spent with you (though reluctant at first) she grows to accept and even admire your attitude. sevika's never been the most friendly or warm person, but part of her rough demeanor and harsh words are a survival tactic. but for you it comes naturally- your sass and rough words are just a part of who you are.

✧.* and after even more time, i think she'd come to appreciate it. maybe even find it funny. seeing the look on people's faces when some dressed-up girl with her hands on her hips starts mouthing off is pure gold to sevika. they'd underestimated you, and you had no problem putting them in their place.

✧.* there's times you just get fed up, you're not being listened to by someone and it's frustrating. they underestimate you, maybe because you're not as traditionally aggressive as the rest of zaun's folks, maybe because of your appearance. either way, it gets under your skin. "hey! i'm talkin' here, in case you forgot," you'd scoff, snapping in front of the person's face. sevika watches from the sidelines, and she'll step in if she needs to. but she also knows you can handle yourself just fine.

✧.* or there's times where sevika's brought you along to the casino with her. you're sat next to her along with a group of guys from the industry- some old acquaintances, colleagues who had left the world of crime, the like. you're not exactly participating, but you know what's going on. sevika's got these guys in a trap, she always does. she's a damn good player.

✧.* until someone decides he's done with her skills and moves, slamming his deck of cards down on the table. "fuck this, 'vika. you've gotta be cheating, there's no way-" "that she's winning? maybe you just suck at this! ever thought of that, huh?"

✧.* sevika's trying so damn hard to bite back a laugh, but a little chortle does escape her. "the fuck are you laughing at?!" he'd ask, his jaw open in an expression of shock. offense that you'd dare talk to him like that. "you heard the girl."

✧.* the two of you balance each other out that way. the roughened woman on the front lines, who takes no bullshit and fights like no tomorrow- with the headstrong, sassy woman. the one with a pretty face, yet a sharp tongue.

caitlyn;

✧.* caitlyn might be a bit jealous at first. she's got a lot of thoughts, and she's a very opinionated person. she comes from a long line of influential figures, and her role is an important one to the people of piltover. but it's precisely those things that make it so she has to watch what she says. caitlyn can't say exactly what she wants to or means, because she has a reputation to keep and she can't afford to burn any bridges.

✧.* but it's nothing personal, of course, and with getting to know you better that jealousy turns to admiration. she's happy that you're able to advocate for yourself in that way, and that you have some of the freedom she doesn't.

✧.* and her seeing a pretty girl mouth someone off and put her foot down? seeing you know exactly what you're saying, what you're worth, and how to express yourself? yeah caitlyn doesn't have a chance.

✧.* with the amount of opinions caitlyn has and things she wants to say, the thinks that it's good you're outspoken, good that you're 'sassy.' she understands that others may see it as a problem, but she's never gotten that perspective herself. the way she sees it- more power to you.

✧.* "don't hold back," she'd tell you. "if you've got something to say, say it, damn it. it's only too much for people who can't take it."

✧.* the two of you become rather attuned to one another, and it's like you can tell what cait is thinking and vice versa. if caitlyn won't say it, you sure as hell will.

✧.* you'd be observing while at a gathering with your girlfriend, an event with some of the most influential figures in piltover in attendance. she's dressed to the nines, poised and proper in everything she does- though other guests are testing her patience.

✧.* "hey, leave her alone," you'd say, idly twirling your empty glass in one hand. "dunno what you've got going on, but she's clearly not interested in your ideas. i bet she thought of the same thing when she was twelve."

✧.* though the person on the receiving end is flustered and trying to brush off what you've just said, caitlyn is enamored. it's mere seconds before the woman is pulling you into the next room, slamming her lips onto yours. "gods, that was great," she'd mutter between rushed kisses, her arms snaking around your waist. "the look on his face."

✧.* your confidence just makes you all the more attractive to cait. you've got a good head on your shoulders, and you know that. you're damn beautiful, and you know that. there's no beating around the bush, only your shameless expression. it's amazing.

✧.* as far as caitlyn is concerned? she's got nothing to worry about as long as she has you by her side. she knows how to command a room, and you know how to demand one. you're better together!

lest;

✧.* she might be a bit taken aback at first, though it isn't a matter of intimidation. you're just different to lest, and she's not sure exactly what to do with that. she's always been the more peaceful, more observant one. she sits back and does her job while stroking clients' egos and telling them what she knows will make them happy.

✧.* she's expressive, yes, but she doesn't have nearly as much bite as you do. her confidence is something more innate, she just is and doesn't have the same air as you do. but lest does come to appreciate your demeanor and fire for what it is. comes to love it, in fact.

✧.* she's just in awe. you're so beautiful, so confident, but you've got a mouth on you. she's heard what others have said: that you need to know your place, that your attitude is a problem, that you need to watch yourself before you get into some real trouble.

✧.* but to lest, these traits are only something that makes you all the more alluring. the way she puts it, it's as if you've put a spell on her with your words and body language alone. a spell she hopes never wears off.

✧.* she's so in love with the way you carry yourself, and how secure you are within yourself. you don't take shit, that's for sure- whether it's a "hey, i wasn't done talking," or "i know the idea's good, i've only been pushing it this whole time!" the way you know exactly who you are and what you're worth enraptures lest.

✧.* you could be out in public with her, someone casting sideways glances at you for some reason you can't quite figure out- though it doesn't exactly matter. her tail swishing side to side, wide eyes keeping watch of everything around her. though she notices you looking at someone for a bit longer than usual. "everything alright, dear?" she'd ask.

✧.* "yeah," you'd affirm, though you'd be clenching your fists at your side. "just looks like someone has a staring problem. a real bad one." she'd look over to the figure, someone who seemingly doesn't belong here anyways. "i'll take care of him. don't worry about it."

✧.* it's mere seconds before you're marching over to the guy, tapping your foot and telling him off- "do i have something on my face, huh?" "no, i-" "then stop staring!"

✧.* she also comes to learn that you'll step in for her if needed. you never cause any harm- you're sassy, not violent. but if a client is getting a little too demanding with her and you're by her side, lest can count on you to tell them they need to remember she can very easily drop them.

✧.* afterward, you're always quick to tug her close to you, pressing light kisses to her spotted cheeks. "you okay, love?" you'd ask, your voice uncharacteristically tender. "i'm okay, darling, really," she'd affirm. pressing closer to your touch. "but thank you. i probably wouldn't have done that myself."

[vivwritesfics]

Celebrity Crush

"Carlos says you're a fan," Pedro said and she nodded again, unable to find the words.

Carlos settled his hands on her hips, squeezing slightly. He loved having her on his lap, as close to him as she could possibly get. The way she grinned down at him, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

"What movie?" He asked, comfortably laying back against the sofa cushions.

"Kingsman," she answered, trying desperately to hide her smile. "We watched the first one the other day. I thought we could watch the second one together."

Laying her head on his shoulder, she managed to hide her smile by kissing his neck. Carlos tightened his grip on her, holding her against him. "Who is in it?" He asked.

She swallowed. Busted. But, no, she could recover. He didn't know anything. "You remember the first one, right? The guy who keeps swearing, Coilin Firth and Mark Strong?"

He released a hum. "The one where their heads explode?"

"That one, yeah," she answered and kissed his cheek.

It was a fun film, if Carlos remembered rightly. So, he had no problem watching the second one. If that's what his love wanted to watch, that was what they would watch.

She moved onto the sofa beside him, laying against him with her legs thrown over his lap and her head against his shoulder. Carlos kissed the top of her head as the movie began, not suspecting a thing.

For the first little bit of the movie, it was smooth sailing. He had no idea what was coming, and she kept her lips shut as they watched the movie. His thumb brushed over her calf absentmindedly, keeping part of her attention on him.

But then he came on screen. Him. That fucking guy.

The second he stepped in front of the screen, Carlos turned to her.

She wasn't looking at him, keeping her expression on the screen. But, by the way her lips turned up, he could tell she knew. She knew he was watching her. And he knew exactly why he was watching her.

"Mi Vida," he said and tapped her calf. "What's this?"

Pedro Pascal. Her celebrity crush. Carlos knew this, she didn't exactly hide it. As much as she loved Pedro Pascal, she made it clear that she loved Carlos more. But she couldn't wait until his gorgeous hair started getting those mouth watering greys (couldn't wait, but she would take her Carlos however she could get him).

He went to move for the remote (with no intention of turning the movie off), but she grabbed his arm. "Carlos, please," she mumbled with a pout. "He's not in much of it."

He held her chin and stared down at her. His gaze so intense, but she was loving it. He glanced at her lips, oh so aware of where her mind was going. But he didn't kiss her. His small form of revenge for seeing Pedro Pascal on his screen.

"You're horrible," she mumbled and got closer to him. Carlos simply laughed and held her closer.

***

F1 stuff. That was where Carlos said he was. She left him alone, texted him back when he texted her

So why the hell was he calling her?

Not even calling her, but facetiming her. Laying against her pillow, squinting at her screen, she slid her finger across the screen.

It wasn't just her boyfriend that stared back at her.

Actually, Carlos wasn't there at all.

It took her tired brain a moment to realise what was going on, who's familiar face filled her screen. "Hello," she said quickly, eyes wide as she sat up. Fuck, she couldn't quite believe it.

Pedro Pascal said her name.

Holy shit, this was real!

"Oh my god, you're Pedro Pascal!" She cried. He released a chuckle at her. "Oh my god," she said again. "You're Pedro Pascal! Why does Pedro Pascal have my boyfriend's phone?"

Pedro pulled the phone away from his face, revealing Carlos and the red carpet going on around them. A premier. The premier for the Gladiator II movie, she realised.

"Cariño," Carlos said, standing side by side with the man of her fantasies. (Fuck, that was her dream threesome right there). "I thought you'd want to meet Pedro."

Her mouth was dry as she nodded.

"Carlos says you're a fan," Pedro said and she nodded again, unable to find the words. She'd dreamed of this moment time and time again, but never had it had her unable to speak.

But that was fine, because Carlos was there to help her. Even with his "competition" (she was never going to leave him for Pedro Pascal, even if Pedro was on his knees, begging her), he was doing all of the work for her.

Before they had to go, she had one favour to ask of Pedro. "Could you show me my boyfriend?" She asked sweetly, and Pedro was happy to do so. He stepped back, flipped the camera, and let her take in all of Carlos.

Yeah, that was her man.

That was her man!

Thanking Pedro, the phone was passed back to Carlos. "I love you," she said immediately, before he could say anything. "I love you so fucking much."

"I love you too, Cariño," he said, unable to take his eyes off of the screen. Him, all dressed up in his suit and her in her pyjamas, in the bedroom they shared.

She was utterly beautiful.

"You're gonna get it so good when you get home, Carlos Sainz."

"Oh yeah?" He challenged, eyebrows going up.

"Fuck yeah."

[imnotshua]

show me how - kmg

٠࣪⭑ pairing: kim mingyu x fem reader ٠࣪⭑ summary: you meet mingyu in a bar and then you fuck. that's it, that's the tweet. ٠࣪⭑ genre: generic au, strangers 2 lovers, smut ٠࣪⭑ rating: explicit. minors do not interact with me, i'll block you. ٠࣪⭑ warnings: swearing, drinking, one night stand. ٠࣪⭑ smut contents: gendered terms, mingyu has an enormous cock (canon), kisses, v fingering, oral (f receiving), v sex, mingyu 🔛🔝, wet patches <3. teasing but it's good natured. if you think i've forgotten anything please let me know so i can fix my post! ٠࣪⭑ wc: 2k - complete ٠࣪⭑ a/n: i needed a break from angsty wonwoo and this just sort of happened, my bad, lads and ladettes. please note this is unbeta'd and unedited because it's 1am and i'm tired now thank u vm, any mistakes are my own but do lmk if u see any so i can fix ٠࣪⭑ thank you all for visiting my little corner of the internet. i hope u like this one<3

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · · Jeonghan always does this. He insists it’s his job as department lead to take the new recruits out for drinks, as a sort of ice breaker. Terrible idea, you always say, to feed newbies (far too much) alcohol on their first Friday, and expect them to feel totally comfortable in his presence come Monday. That’s why you’re always there too, because you can rein Jeonghan in (sometimes) and it’s not your department to actually worry about. 

Tonight is like any other. Jeonghan is playing matchmaker for some unsuspecting interns and Seungcheol is trying not to make moon eyes at him. Ridiculous, if anyone asks you, which no one does. You’re perfectly content sitting at the bar nursing your drink and texting Seungcheol to let him know what a down bad loser he is, until someone too enormous to ignore takes the seat next to you. And you’re annoyed, even though it is the only spare seat in this place, because his giant arm knocks yours as he calls down a bartender, sending your drink splashing over the counter. 

“Shit, I’m so sorry,” he says, grabbing for tissues and mopping up the mess. “Let me get you another.”

“Oh. No, I’m good actually.”

“That was a full glass of wine.” Here we go.

“Yes it was.” 

Seungcheol is texting you already. 

Cheolie: who is THAT guy Cheolie: you should fuck him immediately oh my god Cheolie: he’d swing you round like a bat

Why on earth would I want to be swung around like a bat?

“C’mon, let me make it up to you,” says Tall Stranger. Even sitting down he’s a head above you. He’s probably terrible for your mental health. ”I’d feel guilty all night if I can’t replace it.” 

“I don’t take drinks from random men.”

Cheolie: idk dude but he could do it Cheolie: he’s your type!!!!!!!! Cheolie: when did you last get laid even “Technically you’d be taking it from the staff. I’d just pay for it.”

He’s not even hot. He’s just tall

Cheolie: bitch i can see his cheekbones from here Cheolie: 11/10 easy

Finally turning looking at him properly, you have to give Seungcheol credit where credit is due. All smooth skin, big eyes, and perfectly full lips. You could cut your finger on that cupid's bow. 

“I guess you’ve got me there,” you say.

“I’m Mingyu.” He smiles wide. Oh nooo, he’s hot. 

I’m not fucking a stranger from a bar! Go tell Jeonghan you wanna suck his dick and leave me alone

Cheolie: :))))))))))))

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

“My apartment was definitely closer,” Mingyu says between wet kisses pressed to your jaw. 

You push him off to pull your shirt over your head and he gapes at your chest. Pervert. “Well, we’re here in case you turn out to be a killer,” you say. Mingyu crowds your space again so fast, slipping impatient hands down your body, warming your skin with them. Snaking one between your legs and finding the material of your underwear a little damp. “At least then my roommates could find my body.” 

“Not a killer–” he says against your neck. “But I am about to murder this pu–”

“Oh my God, never say that again.” 

“Noted.”

The best thing about one night stands with guys might actually be that you can say and do pretty much anything, and there’s little to no embarrassment. You can tell Mingyu here that it’s his job to make you come before he does, and all he does is nod, dumb and horny, and a lot into it. 

He moves back on your bed, pillows shoved out of the way and spine pressed against the headboard, and looks at you with something like trepidation. If trepidation could be sexy or whatever. You climb into his lap and take your time unbuttoning his shirt. Mingyu watches your hands as you brush against his skin and asks if he can kiss you.

“Since you asked so nicely,” you say, offering up your neck. 

Unfortunately, he’s ever so good. Just smiles sheepishly (very hot) and tugs your chin down to catch your bottom lip between his. It’s better than you expect. Attractive men don’t kiss this well, usually, because they never had to work for it. Unfair, really. “Let me make you feel good,” he whispers against your lips, deft fingers tugging your underwear to the side.

Everywhere goes tight as he rubs circles over your clit. Mingyu holds up your skirt with his other hand, leans back to watch, and the heat creeps over your neck. What was that you were thinking about little to no embarrassment? Disappears the moment you see his jaw slacken, cheeks flushing with want, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “You feel so soft,” he says. “So fucking wet.” God, who made him? You drag an unsteady breath as a finger slips inside, curls it just enough to make you whimper. He strokes you gently, working you open, slipping another finger in just as soon as he thinks you can take it. You can’t. 

“Fuck,” he gasps. He leans in to drag his teeth across your shoulder.  “You just got so tight. Wanna feel that on my cock.”

“Do you always narrate?” Your words come thready. Embarrassing times ten. 

“Uh– yeah,” he laughs. “Should I stop?”

“No, no. It’s okay.” 

“Gonna make you come now, baby,” he says. “It’s gonna be fast, okay? Need to fuck you.”

“Cocky–” you start, but he’s laving a flat tongue over the lace of your bra, making your nipple pebble through the thin material. His fingers slide deeper, his wrist coated in you, and the way he uses the heel of his palm against your clit is leaving you breathless. He smiles with pleasure as your moan catches in your throat. Applies the pressure, just the right amount, to have you bucking against his hand. “Needy.” He says it like it’s praise.

“I’ll snap your fingers off inside me, Mingyu.”

“Do you always threaten people?” He teases your clit again and it’s blinding. He moans as you clench impossibly tight. 

“Yea– fuck. Shit. Gonna come.”

Mingyu's lips find yours in a second. Licks into your mouth, kisses you through it. Hums happily, so annoyingly pleased with himself, as you shudder your way through your orgasm, a wet patch forming on his jeans. 

The rest of your clothes come away just as quick, and Mingyu groans like a fucking loser. It’s both gross and horribly attractive. Doesn’t move his hands from your body as you make fast work of his belt, lifts his hips to help you pull his jeans down and free his hard length. 

“What the fuck is that?” 

Mingyu blinks. “What is what?”

“That can of fucking Pringles you’ve got between your legs?” 

“It’s not that big.”

You can’t quite believe it. “Oh my God, you are going to murder my pussy,” you cry. “This is cruel and unfair. They’re gonna put ‘Death by Monster Cock’ on my headstone.”

“This is unbecoming.”

“Your dick is unbecoming.”

Mingyu looks ready to cry. “Are you going to touch me yet? I think I’m going to explode.”

“Yes, yes, fine. But this had better be as hard as you get.”

Unfortunately when you take him in your hands, Mingyu does actually get harder (hahaha you’re going to die) and you try to decide how you’re actually going to take this. 

“God– fuck,” Mingyu murmurs as you work your hands over him. He all but melts against your headboard, and you wonder just how many people have survived him. Not like– the size of him (well, that too) but the way he looks right now, sweat beading on his forehead, the way his pretty pink lips fall apart, like sins are spilling out of them. You roll your fist over the head and he keens. Mingyu sounds so good, you could get used to this. He groans, loud, pushing into your circled fingers like he’s desperate. You like how his chest heaves, all tight breaths and strangled half-formed noises. 

“I need– need–” 

“What do you need, baby?”

“Wanna be inside you,” he breathes. Pulls you down onto the bed, rolls on top to press a kiss to your sternum, and nudges your legs apart to slot between them. His cock slips against your cunt, still wet from his fingers. Reaches over to fish a condom from the pocket of his jeans (how presumptuous!) and tears the packet with his teeth (hot). “This okay?” he says, as he rolls it on. 

“Yes. Yeah. Be gentle, okay?” Embarrassing times a million.

Mingyu’s eyes go soft. Ew. 

“I’m always gentle.”

He is. The stretch hurts but he’s slow with it. Gives you a second to adjust, to angle your hips just right, before he moans, tells you you’re beautiful, that you feel so fucking good around him. He braces himself above you, slides into you so agonisingly beautifully deep you think you can feel him in your stomach. A moan escapes you, “Feels good, Gyu,” you whisper, and Mingyu swears. 

“You’re so tight,” he gasps.

“Pretty sure a cave would feel tight for you,” you laugh. Mingyu’s cock jolts inside you. “You’ve got the Hubble Telescope for a dick.”

“Please stop saying weird things,” he begs, and slips out just to slide back in. Pushes the air right out of your lungs. You forget to blink. Mingyu takes your broken cry and your nails digging crescent moons into his arms for the praise it is, and fucks you like you need him. His hands hold your thighs, rubbing slow circles into the skin with his thumbs, pulling them up around him to give him better access to your centre. Lets you hold on to him just to anchor yourself, almost lost to the pressure of your building release. 

Mingyu is so good at kissing. He nudges your cheek with his nose, bites open mouthed and wet at your jaw, presses one–two kitten kisses at the seam of your lips before he’s licking into your mouth, all soft lips and sensuality and tongue. He whines into your mouth as he fucks you, gasps desperately when you clench. His fingers are splayed across your body, touching everywhere he can reach with his huge hands, cups your breasts and moves to pull a nipple between teeth and grins lazy when you whimper, when you arch into it. 

He’s starting to fall apart now. Stuttered breaths and hasty thrusts, chasing your heat and his own release. God you wished he’d come inside you. He looks so pretty when he’s desperate. Eyebrows raised and eyes wide and mouth open. “Gonna come?” you ask. He nods with fervour. “Make me come again first.”

Mingyu doesn’t waste time. Loves a challenge, it seems. He pulls out without warning, leaving you empty and pulsing around nothing, fists his hand around his cock and thumbs off the condom as he dives between your legs to eat you out like a man starved. It’s embarrassing how wet you are. How he has you coming apart faster than you expect, how the way he sucks on your clit has you seeing stars. “C’mon, baby, show me how you come,” he groans between licks. “M’not gonna last.” 

His free hand teases at your clit, slips further to gather up the wetness on his fingers just to take it and run it over his cock. Fuck that’s so hot. He watches your mouth fall open, he’s all doe-eyed and too sweet for the moment, and you think he really must kill people, but by accident probably. He hums as he licks into you again, your fingers find purchase in his hair, pulling him against you tight and desperate and needy, and then his tongue flicks over your clit fast fast fast and you’re gone. Coming fast and hard, and he’s moaning at the taste of you, at the wetness pooling between your legs and soaking through the mattress. Mingyu’s done for too, “baby, you look so good,” he’s cooing, sitting up on his calves and bucking into his own hand and spilling his cum over your body. Spreads the mess over the soft skin of your stomach and tells you you look so pretty. 

God. You’re ruined. Upon your headstone will read death by softboy (with monster cock.)

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

thank you so much for reading! if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging so my fic can get seen outside my own little space <3 i love seeing your feedback. if you'd prefer to scream at me directly, feel free to send me a message <3

[moldycheezeit]

Chapter 1

You were a good kid, great kid even. But no one ever really knew, well maybe your high school science teacher and Alfred, but they were the only ones.  

Someone out there is probably thinking ‘‘well what about your mom she would surely care?” Well to bad she wasn't there, well at first she was, during the pregnancy, but when it was time for you to come into the world all of a sudden she didn’t fit into said world. So death took her away from you minutes after you were born. 

For that and maybe because you look like her, they probably wouldn’t know because they barely look let alone talk to you, they neglected you and it hurt because these are the people who are supposed to love and care for you. But with the help of Alfred you learned to take care of yourself which leads you to this moment. Like right now where you are standing at this very moment. At the school's science fair because you, even if people don’t believe it because of how pretty you are, are really smart when it comes to science. You learned for your love of science by reading a book that your mom had written and left behind after she passed. She left behind many more things for you but this stood out among the rest. It was mostly filled with ideas on things to create and ways that could make it possible. So you tried the one that you found the most interesting and figured out a way to create it. Of course it took a bunch of trial and error but you made it work with what you had. Seeing as Bruce never gave you any money ,like an allowance, you had to find scraps to make your inventions work. Now let’s get back to that competition. 

You are currently standing next to the table with your invention ‘the gauntlet’ yea you didn’t know what to name it. What it can do is tell you any sickness or disease if you were to type in the symptoms of your patient. It takes the form of a bracelet but when activated it basically takes up the back of your hand and half of your forearm. It has two screens, one that you use to type and the other that gives off a hologram-like screen. Yea it’s clunky and doesn’t look right at the moment, but for your first model it’s great. 

While standing around waiting for the judges to come see your product you see a man. He looked to be in his 40’s and had short brown hair, a weird looking goatee, and was wearing… sunglasses? Indoors…welp at least he’s not wearing something stupid like a bat suit. He does look familiar but you can’t remember were from. You notice he’s looking around at the invitations and talking to the creators. And he seems to be heading in your direction like right now. He’s 5 tables away, 4, 3, 2– “Hey kid what’s this you got?” The man is smiling like he’s actually interested in what you have to say. That is not really normal. “This is a gauntlet I created to tell you of any sickness or disease if you were to type in the symptoms of your patient.” You had responded to the man’s question confidently. “Wow you really programmed it to do all that.” He questioned, interested in the gauntlet that sits in the display case. “Yes, it took me a while to do it though.” You had said, uttering the last part to yourself. “ I can imagine seeing as I've done a bunch of stuff just like it.” The uh.. Weirdo, yea lets go with that, had told you. Now that surprised you, But before you could ask any questions the weirdo ,as you've dubbed him, started walking away. “Alright see you later kid, hope you win with that invention you got.” you could hear his voice starting to fade a bit as he walked away. And all you could think was ‘ Man was a weirdo.’ 

It's been a while since the judges had come over to your table, because right now they were deciding on who the top 3 will be. You kinda hoped one of them would be the red haired kid who made that moving metal arm out of scraps. To you it was just really cool. You can't help but hope to get in the top 3 as well because the winners get cash. ‘ I need that money so I can create more inventions, yea using what I have on hand is good but there is a limit of how much I can do with it. Not like Bruce would give me any.’ you had rolled your eyes thinking about that last sentence. Hopefully with the creations your mom thought of they could help you get enough money to never rely on that man again.

Just as you ended that thought the speakers in the hall started projecting what the announcer was saying into the mic. “ Can all the contestants make their way to the stage, the judges have finally made their decisions.”  You and all the other contestants start making your way to the front where the judges are.  luckily it's not that far of a walk and when you get there you all stand in a crowd.  when you all get there the announcer starts speaking “ even though we had a lot of good intentions this year only about three of you can make the top.  so we'll start from 3rd to 1st place in order of who got which.” As the crowd stands there in anticipation  the announcer starts speaking again “ In third place is kidd with his metal arm that he has made to help people who are missing limbs, we hope to see more in the future for him.” as people clap you see the red-haired kid you saw earlier walking up to get onto the stage in the announcer hands him a third place medal and a check with money on it. “ Now for second place Elijah who has made a machine that can take packages of  food and can make them into full meals.” Just like before you had seen this kid Elijah start walking up to the stage and when he got on the stage he had received his second place medal in his check that he had won. “And finally for our first place we have a (y/n) Wayne who has shown us a gauntlet. That can help people in the medical field  identify diseases  if they have a hard time figuring out what they are or what the patient has.” You're surprised to hear that you knew you were smart but you didn't know you would win first place. As you walk up to the stage you have a rush of excitement in you. Finally, you can have money to help create your inventions, your mom's inventions. you can finally fulfill the dream she had that she wrote in her books from before you were born.But when you go on stage the announcer only handed you the first place medal you were surprised to not see a check that came with it then out of the corner of your eye you see the same weirdo man from earlier with a big check walking towards you. “ Hey kid you won just like expected, hopefully you can put this money to use and make more amazing creations like the one you made for today.” But you couldn't help but say “ you look familiar.”  and happily he answers your question saying “I'm Tony Stark kid.” Ah.so that's why he looked so familiar. 

If you watch one piece see what I did there. ٩(^ᗜ^ )و I thought it would be a funny thing to put in. Also sorry I keep posting at like 1am its really the only time I'm free

Taglist : @cxcilla @starslightzz @jackchanzzz @simpingpandas @galaxypurplerose @spqce-buns @peche4et3chocolat @ryuushou @moon0goddess @fanficloverlol

[revelboo]

So..when does the lost light crew build a cat highway for all the humans so no one gets stepped on xD?

I had to google to see what that was and I’m dying. Ultra Magnus absolutely would, but he’d add things like rope bridges and swinging steps as a combined enrichment/exercise effort that ends up making most of the humans miserable. Bots just finding humans stranded in weird places because they don’t want to climb over rope netting to get to the next section- Magnus has inflicting American Ninja Warrior style obstacles on the humans in a very misguided attempt to keep them entertained.

MTMTE Scenarios- Enrichment

Whirl x Reader

• “You know it’d be a lot easier if you just let me carry you. Though I do love watching the struggle,” Whirl says, head tipping to watch as you try to swing the step you’re standing on close enough to the next dangling step to grab it. “So close. Actually, no. You’re nowhere near making it.” Annoyance and pure spite the only things motivating you to keep trying as you swear under your breath. That and not getting carted around at the end of his swinging arm. Who carries something fragile like that? But after almost falling twice, you’re about ready to admit defeat. Can’t figure out why the bots had thought this was a good idea. Sure giving you and others a means to get around without risking getting stepped on was a good idea in theory, but then it had turned into enrichment. Grabbing for the cable on the next step, you miss and scream as you lose your balance, grabbing and wrapping yourself around the step you’d been standing on so you’re upside down dangling under it and clinging for dear life as Whirl howls with laughter.

Drift x Reader

• “I think that’s a bit ambitious,” Drift murmurs, frowning as you study the walkway designed to allow the humans safe access to the ship. Most of it seems to be ramps and bridges built against the wall, but some sections are a bit more intensive. Like the series of bars meant to be crossed by a human dangling underneath and swinging hand over hand. He has nothing but confidence in you, but you’re also going nowhere near that mess. Not when he can just carry you where you need to go. Venting at your tired ‘looks fun,’ he smiles faintly. You know as well as he does that you’re not up to that, but there’s a note of longing in your voice that makes his spark ache.

Megatron x Reader

• Venting as tension strings him tight, he watches you tense, fingers flexing on the handle before you’re backing up as much as the pulley will allow and running to fling yourself, spinning and screaming as he lunges after you, spark constricting. Almost stepping on Swerve in an effort to keep his cupped hands under you, terrified you’ll fall. And as soon as your feet hit the next platform, he’s scooping you up as you look up at him, grinning and face flushed. His spark unable to take this. “Megs,” you whine in protest as he carries you off.

Swerve x Reader

• “You good there?” Because he’s not. Watching you holding onto a narrow ledge and sliding your little feet carefully along it is killing him. Understands wanting to be self reliant, but this is ridiculous. If you fall and he’s going to lodge a complaint with Ultra Magnus. Maybe kick him in the knee. “I’d be happy to carry you.” Please let him carry you. Swears his spark has almost stopped twice watching you when your feet have slid on the ledge. Even if you don’t fall, he’s going to kick Magnus for this.

[dearlenore]

THE FIRST, FIRST LOVE COMPLEX • S.REID • PT2

SUMMARY: after revealing the shocking truth of Spencer Reid’s first, first love, the team does as the unsub instructs, retracing his steps all the way to Las Vegas.

PAIRING: fem!reader x spencer

tags: reader is a cutie pie, reader wears sun dresses and bikinis, reader is flirty bombshell, mentions of eating disorder, mentions of death, stalking, etc

a/n: i finally wrote part two please don’t hurt me

w/c: 4.8K

PT1

TAGLIST: @miyah-kaulitz @celestial-dome @lqu91s @ningeology @anthropsych @kore-of-the-underworld (sorry if I couldn’t tag u angels🥹💋)

The BAU’s jet touched down in New York just past noon, the sky a dull, unbroken sheet of grey. Heavy clouds clung to the tips of the city’s steel giants, muting the sunlight and casting a somber haze over the skyline. The low hum of the engines faded, but Spencer’s mind continued to race — fast and relentless — like a needle skipping on a broken record.

He sat rigid in his seat, shoulders tight and posture stiff. While the others moved with calm efficiency, gathering their bags and briefing one another quietly, Spencer remained frozen. His fingers drummed a frantic rhythm against his knee, each tap betraying the nervous energy buzzing beneath his skin.

She’s out there somewhere.

The thought looped through his mind like a mantra — or a curse. Every worst-case scenario unraveled in his head, each one more suffocating than the last. His last memory of you played over and over, taunting him. Your bright smile had been framed by golden sunlight, hair tousled by a lazy breeze as you lounged on a park bench with a book balanced in your lap. He remembered the way you’d tucked your hair behind your ear without looking up, too engrossed in the pages to notice him watching.

She’s safe like this, he had thought at the time. Happy. Warm. Free.

But now? Now you were somewhere in the heart of a city too vast, too unpredictable — a place that swallowed people whole. And Spencer had no idea where you were or what the unsub’s next move would be. That uncertainty clawed at him, tightening his chest until breathing felt like a conscious effort.

“Reid.”

Hotch’s voice cut through the spiral of thoughts — calm yet commanding. Spencer blinked, suddenly aware that the others were standing near the exit, waiting for him.

“JJ and I will handle this,” Hotch said firmly. “You stay here and go through the evidence again.”

“I should be there,” Spencer shot back, his voice too sharp, too fast. His breath hitched. “If he contacts her, if there’s a pattern I missed—”

“You’re too close to this,” Hotch interrupted, tone steady but unyielding. “We need her calm when we find her, not terrified because you’re pacing like you are now.”

Spencer opened his mouth to argue, but no words came. Hotch was right — Spencer knew that — yet the logic did nothing to quiet the gnawing panic threatening to consume him. His mind refused to slow down, cycling through probabilities and variables, imagining scenarios he couldn’t control.

“We’ll bring her back safe,” JJ added softly. Her hand squeezed his arm — brief, warm, and grounding. “I promise.”

Spencer swallowed hard and nodded, but the tension coiling in his chest refused to loosen. As Hotch and JJ disembarked, Spencer stayed behind, staring blankly at the clutter of files spread across the table.

His gaze fell to the photograph at the top of the stack — your face, mid-laugh, eyes crinkled with warmth. The memory of that moment blurred with his anxiety, twisting the image in his mind. What if this unsub had already—

No.

Spencer inhaled deeply, shakily, and forced himself to refocus. He grabbed a pen, determined to find something — anything — that could lead them to you before it was too late.

The law firm’s reception area was sleek and imposing — marble floors polished to a mirror sheen, towering glass walls that seemed to stretch endlessly upward, and a front desk staffed by a sharp-looking receptionist whose tailored blazer was as precise as her clipped tone. She barely flicked her gaze up when Hotch and JJ approached.

“We’re here to see Y/N L/N,” Hotch said firmly, flashing his badge with practiced ease.

The receptionist’s eyes barely lifted from her computer screen. “She’s assisting Mr. Connelly in a meeting,” she replied flatly. “I can leave her a message.”

“It’s urgent,” JJ pressed, her voice calm yet underscored with quiet insistence. “It’s a matter of her safety.”

The receptionist’s cool façade faltered, her gaze flicking from JJ to Hotch and back again. For a moment, she hesitated, clearly debating whether to push back or comply. Finally, her professional demeanor gave way to uncertainty. “I… let me get her.”

Moments later, you appeared from the hallway — heels clicking crisply on the marble, posture sharp and poised. A sleek blazer framed your figure, lending you an air of effortless confidence. Yet despite your composed appearance, warmth still lingered in your eyes — a warmth that flickered brighter the moment you recognized JJ. She was Spencer’s co worker, the one you were convinced he would be with once you were gone.

“JJ?” you greeted, surprise softening your features. “What are you doing here?”

JJ’s smile was brief, weighed down by something heavier. “Can we talk somewhere private?”

The concern in her voice dimmed your initial excitement, and you nodded, gesturing for them to follow you into a quiet office down the hall. The room was simple — modern furnishings, a tidy desk, and floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city. As soon as the door clicked shut, JJ’s warm expression shifted to something more serious.

“We believe someone’s been following you,” Hotch said, his voice low and firm. “We have reason to believe your life is in danger.”

Your smile faltered, confusion knitting your brows. “What? Why?”

“We think it’s connected to Spencer,” JJ added gently. “He didn’t want to scare you, but… we need to get you somewhere safe.”

“Spencer?” His name felt foreign on your tongue — distant yet familiar all at once. Your expression softened for a brief moment before unease crept in. “I haven’t seen him in… God, years.” You paused, your mind scrambling to piece things together. “Wait… is this about those weird letters I’ve been getting?”

JJ’s gaze sharpened. “Letters?”

You nodded, moving to your desk and retrieving your purse. “I thought they were just from some weird admirer, but… yeah. They’d show up in my mailbox — poems, quotes about angels and music. It was sweet at first, but then they started mentioning things about my past.” Your fingers drifted to the delicate chain around your neck, absently toying with the pendant — a nervous habit you hadn’t shaken. “I figured it was just someone from high school who remembered me.”

Hotch’s expression darkened. He exchanged a grim look with JJ, and the silent weight of their concern settled over you like a cold shadow.

“Those letters are likely from the person targeting you,” Hotch said, his tone leaving no room for doubt.

You blinked, the air suddenly feeling too thin. “This has something to do with Spencer?”

“We believe the unsub’s fixation started with him,” JJ explained carefully. “But somewhere along the way, they became obsessed with you.”

The weight of her words pressed heavily on your chest. Memories of Spencer stirred — late-night conversations whispered across shared coffees, the warmth of his hand on yours when he thought no one was looking, the way his gaze softened when you laughed. He had always been cautious with you — overly protective in a way you didn’t fully understand at the time.

Maybe now you did.

“I need to get my things,” you said quietly, your voice thinner than you intended. You reached for your purse, suddenly aware of how exposed you felt — the glass walls, the polished floors, the endless corridors all seemed too open, too vulnerable.

“We’ll walk you out,” Hotch said firmly, his stance shifting slightly as if preparing for the worst.

JJ offered you a small smile — one meant to reassure — but there was no hiding the tension that hung in the air.

The moment you stepped back into the reception area, the city’s distant noise seemed louder — sirens wailing faintly in the background, muffled conversations humming just outside the glass walls. As you walked between Hotch and JJ, their presence was comforting yet unsettling — a constant reminder that someone, somewhere, was watching.

And you had no idea what they were planning next.

Spencer barely looked up when Hotch and JJ returned to the station with you. He was pacing near Garcia’s workstation, phone in hand, scrolling through messages for any missed calls. His fingers trembled slightly against the device, his mind spinning in frantic loops.

When he finally noticed you walking in, relief flooded his face — but the tension in his body didn’t ease. His anxiety kept him rooted in place, shoulders rigid and breath uneven.

“Spencer…” Your voice was soft, almost hesitant, yet it broke through the buzzing noise in his head.

“You’re okay,” he breathed, his voice tight. “Thank God.”

You crossed the room quietly, your steps measured. Your hand found his arm — gentle, barely a touch — yet steady enough to pull him from his spiral.

“I didn’t know what was happening,” you said softly, your fingers curling slightly against his sleeve.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer said, his eyes flicking between yours like he was trying to memorize your face all over again. “I should’ve told you sooner — I should’ve kept in touch. I—”

“You’re here now,” you interrupted quietly, your voice steady but tender. “That’s enough.”

Before Spencer could say more, Penelope’s voice broke the moment.

“Spence… you need to see this.”

Her fingers hovered above her keyboard, her usual brightness dimmed beneath a layer of unease. The screen displayed a new email — subject line: “For My Angel.”

With shaky hands, Spencer clicked the message open.

The letter was written in the same looping script as the others:

She saved my life once, your angel did.

Her music was like light — soft and warm — and she never knew I was listening.

She’s everything pure in this world, and you’re tainting her.

I’ll take her away, away from you, and give her the peace she deserves.

She won’t need to suffer anymore.

Attached were two video files. Spencer clicked the first.The screen filled with a sunlit beach — the camera shaky and handheld. You stood near the water’s edge, the breeze teasing strands of your hair loose from their pins. The fabric of your bikini clung to you as you laughed, warm and carefree, before playfully splashing Spencer.

“I’m serious!” Spencer’s voice laughed from behind the camera. “You’re gonna get cold.”

“The water is nice, come on!,” you teased, your smile softer than your words. The sound of your voice — light and fond — was enough to hollow out Spencer’s chest.

The video cut off.

The second file played — a dimly lit restaurant this time. You sat across from Spencer, your fingers slowly tracing the rim of your cocktail glass. Your gaze flicked downward as you stirred the straw absentmindedly, a soft smile tugging at your lips.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you murmured without lifting your eyes.“Like what?” Spencer’s voice countered.

“Like you’re profiling me,” you said quietly, finally glancing up.

“I can’t help it,” Spencer’s voice returned, quiet and certain. The look on his face — the love in his eyes — was undeniable.

The video ended.

“That’s enough,” Spencer muttered, stepping back from the screen. His chest felt painfully tight, like he couldn’t draw in a full breath.

“Why would they send this?” you asked softly. Your voice didn’t tremble — it barely rose above a whisper — but the unease was clear in your eyes.

“He’s fixated,” JJ said carefully. “Not just on Spencer — on you. He’s convinced that somehow… you saved him.”

“Saved him?” you repeated, your brows knitting together.

“In high school,” Spencer murmured, piecing it together. “The music, the kindness — you must’ve done something that he clung to.”

You lowered your gaze to your hands, your fingers loosely fidgeting with the chain of your necklace. “I used to play my flute in the park,” you said quietly. “There was this boy… I didn’t know his name, but he was always sitting alone. I played because… I don’t know, I thought maybe it’d help.”

“That’s it,” Hotch said grimly. “You gave him something to hold onto.”

“And now,” JJ added, “he thinks he’s saving you in return.”

For a long moment, you were silent — your fingers still absently twisting the necklace chain.

“We need to find him before he gets that chance,” Spencer said firmly. His voice was low, but the urgency behind it was unmistakable.

You gave a small nod, your fingers tightening around the delicate chain. The air in the room felt heavier than before — thick with unspoken fear — but when Spencer’s hand found yours, you let him hold on.

Quietly, you let yourself believe that somehow, despite everything, you’d be safe.

The morning air was cold — the kind that clung to your skin and sank into your bones — and it carried with it a weight that pressed heavily on Spencer’s chest. He stood beside Hotch and JJ, his fingers twitching restlessly against his side, the unease winding tighter with every breath.

The plan had seemed secure — two officers stationed with you, experienced and reliable. Spencer had reviewed their backgrounds twice, grilling Hotch on their credentials as if he could force some kind of guarantee. But it hadn’t been enough to quiet the gnawing panic in his chest.

He’d argued. Begged, even.

“She should stay here,” Spencer had insisted, voice rising despite himself. “Or— or somewhere safer. A hotel, one with security, or maybe—”

“I just want to go home,” you’d interrupted, your voice quiet but unwavering. “I can’t breathe in here. I need to feel normal again.”

Spencer’s protests had faltered. He’d hated that he understood.

He knew that suffocating feeling — that desperate need to reclaim some semblance of control after fear had robbed you of it. He knew what it felt like to want your space back, to convince yourself that normalcy could be enough to keep you safe.

So he’d let you go — but not without hesitation.

He remembered standing by the station doors, fingers clenched at his sides, feeling like there was something more he should’ve said — something that might’ve changed your mind. When you turned back for him, your gaze softened, and suddenly he couldn’t hold himself back.

He’d closed the distance in an instant, arms wrapping tightly around you. His fingers curled into the fabric of your coat like he could anchor you there with him.

“Please be safe,” he whispered into your hair. His voice had wavered, barely audible even to himself.

“You’ll see me tomorrow,” you promised, voice soft yet certain. “Bright and early.”

But Spencer had held on just a little longer, as if he knew that promise might be one you wouldn’t get the chance to keep.

The apartment felt foreign — like someone else’s home disguised in your own familiar comforts. The faint scent of lavender still clung to the air, and the pastel throw blankets you’d folded just the night before lay neatly across the armchair. Yet none of it felt real. It was like you were standing in a stage set, where everything looked familiar but nothing felt safe.

You’d brewed a cup of tea — something warm and calming — but your fingers barely touched the mug. It sat untouched on the counter, steam curling lazily upward.

Detective Alvarez and Officer Greene moved with quiet diligence, checking the locks for the fifth time that morning. Their presence should have been reassuring, but instead, it only deepened the unease gnawing at your chest.

“We’ve got this,” Alvarez said, flashing you a confident smile. “No one’s getting in.”

You tried to smile back, but it felt thin, forced. The words didn’t stick.

Your gaze kept drifting to the windows. Each shadow seemed to stretch too far, each silhouette in the corner of your eye felt like someone lurking just out of sight.

You turned on the TV, letting the dull hum of the morning news fill the silence. The voices blurred together — static, muffled — but you kept the volume high, hoping to drown out the noise in your head.

Then there was a knock at the door.

“Miss L/N?” Greene’s voice called. “It’s me.”

You frowned, setting your tea down. “Didn’t you just check in?”

“Just want to update you,” he answered. “Everything’s clear outside.”

Something felt off — the words too casual, too light. You hesitated, fingers curling around the door handle. Still, you turned the lock and opened the door just a crack — enough to see Greene’s face.

He smiled, but something was wrong. The smile didn’t quite reach his eyes — too tight, too forced.

And then you saw it — the smear of blood just beneath his collar.

Your breath caught.

Before you could react, he shoved the door open. The impact sent you sprawling backward, your shoulder striking the wall and your head slamming against the sharp corner of your bookshelf.

“W-What…?” Your voice barely broke the air, slurred and thin as dizziness clouded your vision. The room spun, shadows warping and shifting.

The man standing above you wasn’t Greene. His uniform hung loose on his frame, and the dark glint in his eyes twisted your stomach with dread.

“Im sorry it had to be this way,” he murmured, voice low and venomous.

The street was a blur of flashing lights and frantic voices when the BAU arrived. Spencer shoved past the officers crowding the sidewalk, ignoring the calls for him to slow down. His breath hitched when he reached the threshold of the building.

Two bodies.

Detective Alvarez lay crumpled in the stairwell, his chest dark with blood. Officer Greene’s body was slumped near the front door — his badge still clutched tightly in his hand. Blood smeared the floor like a cruel map of what had unfolded, but none of it mattered.

You weren’t there.

“She’s gone,” Spencer whispered, his voice barely holding together. His chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven bursts. “He took her…”

“We’ll find her,” Hotch said firmly, placing a steady hand on his shoulder.

“He has her right now!” Spencer snapped, his voice breaking as he turned sharply toward him. His breath stuttered again — this time more ragged, more desperate. “Right now…”

“Spence…” JJ’s voice was softer as she approached. “We found something inside.”

Spencer barely heard her. His gaze remained fixed on the bloodstains, the smeared footprints leading away from the doorway. His mind kept looping back to the last thing you’d said to him.

“You’ll see me tomorrow. Bright and early.”

But tomorrow had arrived — and you were nowhere to be found.

The living room was a wreck — papers strewn across the floor, cushions gutted and tossed aside, the coffee table shoved halfway across the room. The scent of overturned candles and stale air clung to the space. Yet none of it mattered — not the mess, not the chaos.

What stole Spencer’s breath was the envelope on the coffee table.

His name was scrawled across the front in jagged, uneven letters — the ink pressed so hard into the paper it had nearly torn through. His fingers trembled as he reached for it, dread coiling tightly in his chest.

“Spence…” JJ’s voice was soft, but it barely registered.

With shaky hands, he tore the envelope open. The paper inside was rough beneath his fingertips — thin and cheap, like something torn from a notebook.

“I trusted you to keep her safe. How could you let her suffer like this?

She’s perfect — but she’s broken.

You never even noticed. While you smiled and held her hand, she was starving herself just to stay small enough for you to love her.

She’s an angel… my angel.

I’ll fix her now. I’ll save her from you.”

Spencer’s breath faltered, his fingers tightening around the paper until it crumpled in his grip. His vision blurred as the words seared themselves into his mind.

“What… what does he mean?” Spencer rasped, his voice thin and uneven.

JJ stepped closer, her expression carefully composed yet unmistakably concerned. “Spencer… did she ever mention struggling with food?”

“Yes.” His voice broke on the word. “She’s… she’s always smiling, always full of life…she got better…”

But even as the words left his mouth, memories began to surface — disjointed and sharp.

The quiet way you’d push food around your plate, always insisting you weren’t that hungry.

The faint tremor in your fingers when you were tired — or when you thought no one was looking.

The way your dresses sometimes seemed a little too loose, like they didn’t quite fit the way they once had.

Moments he’d brushed off as nothing — little things that felt insignificant at the time but now twisted painfully in his mind.

You were hurting… and he hadn’t seen it.

“Oh God…” Spencer’s breath hitched, and his knees buckled. He sank onto the edge of the couch, the crumpled letter still clenched in his fist. “I didn’t see it.” His voice broke, raw and strained.

“It’s not your fault,” Hotch said firmly, stepping into his line of sight. “This unsub is projecting his own obsession — twisting it to blame you.”

���No,” Spencer choked out, shaking his head. His voice faltered, barely more than a whisper. “I should’ve known… I should’ve noticed.”

JJ knelt beside him, her hand resting gently on his arm. “Spence… you love her. That’s what matters right now.”

But Spencer barely heard her. His mind spiraled, looping back to the last time he’d seen you — the softness in your smile when you’d promised him “bright and early.”

He thought about the way you’d hugged him a little longer than usual — how fragile you’d felt in his arms.

You needed him… and he hadn’t seen it.

“I can’t lose her,” Spencer whispered, his voice breaking. “I can’t…”

“We’re going to find her,” Hotch said firmly. “But we need you with us — thinking clearly.”

Spencer forced a shaky breath and wiped a trembling hand across his face. He clung to the only thing that mattered now — the promise he silently made to himself as he stared at the crumpled letter in his hand.

He would find you.

He wouldn’t fail you again.

The room was silent except for the furious rhythm of Garcia’s fingers flying across her keyboard. Spencer hovered beside her, too restless to sit. His breath came in shallow bursts, his mind cycling through worst-case scenarios on a relentless loop.

“Come on…” Garcia muttered. “Come on, you sick freak… give me something…”

The seconds dragged painfully on — each one tightening the coil of panic in Spencer’s chest.

Then — ping.

“Got him!” Garcia cried. “A security camera caught him heading toward an abandoned warehouse five miles outside the city.”

Hotch was already barking orders, agents scrambling for their gear. Spencer didn’t wait — he was out the door, heart racing.

The warehouse reeked of mold and rust, the air heavy with dust that clung to Spencer’s throat. The floorboards groaned beneath his steps, each creak splintering the silence. His pulse pounded in his ears — too loud, too fast.

Then he heard it.

A faint sound — soft, stifled sobs.

His chest tightened.

“Y/N…”

He followed the sound, moving faster now. His heart nearly stopped when he saw you — slumped against a metal pole, wrists raw and bruised from the rope that bit into your skin. Your hair clung to your face, damp with sweat, and your breathing was shallow.

“Y/N…” Spencer’s voice broke on your name.

Your head lifted weakly. “Spence…”

Before he could reach you, a figure emerged from the shadows.

The unsub.

He was wiry, face gaunt and eyes wild. The knife in his hand gleamed under the dim light.

“You didn’t deserve her,” the man spat, his voice shaking with rage. His glare locked onto Spencer, burning with venom. “You let her suffer, and you didn’t even notice.”

“Please…” Spencer raised his hands, voice tight but steady. “You don’t have to hurt her.”

“I would never! She’s not safe with you,” the man snapped. “She’s too kind — too good — and you didn’t even see how much she was hurting.” His voice wavered. “But I did.”

Spencer’s heart twisted painfully. “I know you believe that,” he said carefully. “But you’re not helping her this way.”

“I can fix her!” the man barked, his hand tightening around the blade.

“By starving her?” Spencer’s voice rose, breaking with emotion. “By scaring her like this?”

The unsub flinched as if Spencer’s words had struck him. His grip faltered, the knife dipping slightly.

“I wouldn’t starve her! I- I’m not like you.” The unsub held his head with his free hand, waving the knife about. It went quiet for a moment.

Then your voice broke the silence.

“Hey…”

Both men froze as you lifted your head. Your voice was soft — weak yet unwavering.

“Hey,” you tried again, a little stronger this time — gentle, soothing, like you were speaking to a frightened child.

The unsub’s gaze flicked to you. His face twisted with confusion. “You… you don’t have to be scared,” he stammered. “I’m saving you.”

“I know,” you said quietly. “I know you think you are.”

Spencer’s breath caught. He wanted to move — to reach you — but he knew better than to push.

“I remember you,” you said, your voice steady. “From high school… you used to sit on the far bench by the fountain.”

The unsub blinked rapidly. “You remember?”

“Of course I do,” you said with a faint smile. “I used to play my flute there… and you’d always listen.”

“You… you played beautifully,” he whispered, voice breaking. “You don’t know what that meant to me. I was… I was going to kill myself that day. But then I heard you playing, and I thought… maybe there’s still something good in the world. You were that something.”

Tears pricked your eyes. “I’m so glad you didn’t,” you said softly. “You deserved to find peace… to heal. But this isn’t the way.”

The knife wavered in his hand.

“I know you think I’m broken,” you continued gently. “But I promise… I’m okay now. I’m trying to be.”

The unsub shook his head fiercely. “No, no… you’re not okay. I saw you — barely eating, wasting away. He let you hurt yourself.” His eyes flicked back to Spencer, sharp with blame.

“I know,” you said carefully. “But that wasn’t his fault.”

Spencer’s breath hitched.

“I was sick,” you explained gently. “The weight loss… it wasn’t my eating disorder. It was my medication.” Your gaze shifted to Spencer, soft and unwavering. “He’s always been there for me. And right now… I need him.”

The unsub’s face crumbled. His fingers slackened around the knife.

“You’ve been carrying this pain for so long,” you said softly. “But you don’t have to anymore. Let me help you now, the way you once helped me.”

The blade clattered to the floor.

“I just wanted to protect you,” the man whispered brokenly.

“I know,” you murmured, eyes kind. “But it’s over now. You protected me.”

The team rushed in, Morgan and Hotch seizing the unsub before he could react. The man barely resisted — his gaze stayed locked on you, his expression crumpling as tears streaked down his face.

“You saved me,” he mumbled as they dragged him away. “You saved me back then… and you saved me now…”

“And you saved me,” you responded.

Later, after you’d been checked over by paramedics, you found Spencer sitting quietly outside the ambulance. His head hung low, wrists encircled by handcuffs — protocol after crossing into the scene without waiting for backup. His fingers twisted anxiously, his breathing uneven.

“Hey…”

Your voice pulled him from his thoughts. When he looked up and saw you standing there — bruised but smiling — his chest caved with relief.

“You’re okay…” His voice broke, and he blinked rapidly.

“I’m okay,” you promised. “Thanks to you.”

“I… I should’ve known,” Spencer stammered. “About the medication… about everything. He was right — I didn’t see it.”

“You couldn’t have,” you soothed. “But you’ve always been there when it mattered.”

Spencer swallowed hard. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if—”

“You don’t have to think about that.” Gently, you reached for his hand, your fingers threading through his.

Spencer exhaled shakily, eyes flicking downward.

“Do you remember…” You paused, smiling softly. “When I used to play for you?”

His gaze lifted, brow furrowing slightly.

“I’d still play for you someday,” you offered. “If you want.”

Spencer let out a breath — a faint, tired laugh — and nodded.

“I’d like that.”

[nik0nk1]

I’m sorry to ask but can we please have more Beerus! Reader x mark content😩🙏🏾

There was this one scene from Dragon Ball I’m not sure which one tho where beerus meets cheelai and he kinda falls for her like instantly😭 can we have some moments between reader and mark and how they stop villains together and he attempts at making food for her but it’s not the best best but Debbie helps him make it more manageable and reader knows he tried and she eats it no problem and just overall sweet yet still crackhead moments with mark and maybe how she interacts with Debbie and Oliver :3

Author's Note: honestly nddbshssjss nddjdsjddj love it, also this will be the second to the last Beerus![Name] and the last will be the reactions of Mark's variants on Beerus![Name] please suggest other more ideas in my inbox(⁠^⁠.⁠_⁠.⁠^⁠)⁠ﾉ

So without further adu, here are some Beerus![Name] moments with some of the invincible characters( mostly Mark lol Also sorry if there isn't any romance moments jdjjjddjs:( )

Beerus![Name] Moments

[Name] Just Wants Food, Mark is Her Unpaid Butler Now, Cecil is Developing Stress-Induced Baldness, Debbie is the Only One She Listens To, Earth is Off-Limits Because She Said So, Mark Keeps Getting Dragged Into Fights, Everyone is So Tired, [Name] Moved In Without Asking, She’s Claiming Planets Like Trading Cards, Cheetos Saved Earth, Canon? Don’t Know Her

♪•|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|•♪

[Name] Claims the Planet & Moves in With Mark (Cecil Is Bald Now)

Cecil had never been more stressed in his entire life.

"YOU CAN’T JUST—" He inhaled sharply, rubbing his temples as his headache intensified. "YOU CAN’T JUST CLAIM THE PLANET!"

[Name], sitting on Mark’s couch, kicked her feet up onto the coffee table. "I just did."

Mark, standing next to Cecil, pinched the bridge of his nose. "Why are we at my hou-"

He gets cut off by Cecil "Why would you do that?!"

[Name] shrugged. "Because it was there?"

Cecil looked like he was on the verge of a stroke. "DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS?!?!"

[Name], sipping from a juice box, tilted her head. "Yeah. It means I live here now."

Cecil inhaled deeply. "No, it means every government on Earth is PANICKING because some unknown Viltrumite just casually declared ownership over the entire planet—"

[Name] waved him off. "Oh, that’s dumb. I don’t want their government stuff, I just wanna live here. That’s your problem."

Cecil visibly aged ten years in that moment.

Mark groaned. "Where are you even staying—?"

[Name] smirked. "Here."

Mark blinked. "…Excuse me?"

[Name] gestured around. "Your house. I’m moving in."

Silence.

Cecil stared. "I need a drink."

♪•|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|•♪

Meeting Debbie: The Unexpected New Roommate

Debbie had just walked in, holding groceries, when she was met with the sight of:

1. Cecil looking like he was on the verge of an aneurysm.

2. Mark rubbing his temples in pure exhaustion.

3. A complete stranger lounging on her couch with a juice box.

Debbie blinked. "What the hell is going on?"

[Name] turned, grinning. "Hi. I live here now."

Debbie froze. "…What."

Cecil groaned. "SHE CLAIMED THE PLANET, DEBBIE."

Debbie slowly turned to Mark, eyes narrowing. "Mark. Explain."

Mark sighed. "Mom, meet [Name]. She’s…technically a Viltrumite, technically super strong, technically declared Earth as hers, and—" He sighed deeply. "—she’s apparently moving in."

[Name] grinned. "Nice to meet you, Debbie."

Debbie stared at her. Then at Mark. Then at Cecil, who looked done.

Then she sighed, set the groceries down, and walked into the kitchen.

Cecil blinked. "Where are you going?"

Debbie didn’t even turn around. "To pour myself a glass of wine before I deal with this bullshit."

[Name] smirked. "I like her."

♪•|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|•♪

Settling In (Mark’s Personal Hell Begins)

Mark had no idea how his life spiraled into this mess, but here he was—watching [Name] casually make herself at home.

She stole his room.

She stole his bed.

She stole his snacks.

She was just…there. Constantly.

Like now, for example.

Mark walked into his own room only to find [Name] sprawled across his bed, eating his bag of Cheetos like she owned the place.

Mark sighed. "Why are you in my room?"

[Name], not looking up from her phone, casually replied, "Our room."

Mark choked. "WHAT?"

[Name] blinked at him. "I live here, Mark. This is our room now."

"YOU CAN TAKE THE GUEST ROOM!"

[Name] shrugged. "Nah, this one’s better."

Mark groaned. "I hate you."

[Name] smirked. "No, you don’t."

Mark left the room and walked straight into the kitchen, where Debbie was making coffee.

He sighed. "Mom."

Debbie, without looking up, replied, "She’s your problem now."

Mark groaned, dramatically collapsing onto the counter. "Cecil’s gonna kill me."

Debbie smirked, sipping her coffee. "Cecil’s already dead inside."

♪•|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|•♪

Mark & [Name]: The Most Chaotic Duo Ever And Stopping Villains Together

Mark had long since accepted that fighting alongside [Name] was not a normal experience. He was used to strategy, teamwork, and at least some level of planning.

And [Name]?

Pure, unfiltered chaos.(As usual)

Like today, for example.

A B-list villain named Overload had been terrorizing downtown, his electricity-based attacks shorting out power grids and causing city-wide blackouts. Standard superhero work.

Mark was mid-air, dodging arcs of electricity while trying to get close. "[Name], can you—"

BOOM.

The entire street shook as Overload went flying into a billboard, face-first, before tumbling down onto a car.

Mark turned, sighing.

[Name] stood there, cracking her knuckles. "What? He zapped my bag of Doritos."

Mark pinched the bridge of his nose. "You just punched him through a billboard—"

"Yeah, ‘cause he was being annoying. You were taking too long."

"He was mid-monologue!"

"Exactly. Annoying."

Overload groaned, barely conscious. [Name] walked over and nudged him with her foot.

"Hm. Not dead. Cool. What’s for lunch?"

Mark stared at her. "We’re still in the middle of a fight!"

[Name] shrugged. "I dunno, seems like we won."

Mark turned back to Overload, who weakly raised a hand. "…I surrender."

Mark sighed. "I hate that you’re always right."

[Name] grinned. "I know."

♪•|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|•♪

Mark Attempts Cooking (And Fails, But It's the Thought That Counts)

Mark had exactly one mission today: make [Name] a meal.

The problem?

Mark couldn’t cook for shit.

He’d tried. Really, he had. He even watched a few YouTube tutorials on how to make something decent. But by the time Debbie walked into the kitchen, it looked like a war zone.

The stove had suspicious burn marks, the counter was covered in ingredients (somehow including things that weren’t even part of the recipe), and Mark was standing there with flour in his hair, staring at a pot like it personally insulted him.

Debbie took one look and sighed. "Oh my god."

Mark groaned. "Mom, help. Please."

Debbie pinched the bridge of her nose. "Mark, what is this supposed to be?"

He gestured vaguely to the…thing. "…Pasta?"

Debbie stared. "You burned water."

Mark winced. "…Yeah."

She sighed. "Move over, I’ll fix this before she arrives."

After a lot of motherly intervention, the dish was technically saved. It wasn’t perfect, but it was edible. Which was a huge improvement.

When [Name] arrived, Mark was visibly stressed while she sat at the table, inspecting the food.

Mark coughed. "So, uh. I made this for you."

[Name] blinked. "Why?"

Mark hesitated. "…Because I thought you’d like it?"

[Name] stared at him. Then at the food. Then back at him.

Without hesitation, she grabbed a fork, scooped a bite, and ate it.

Mark watched her carefully.

She chewed. Swallowed. Paused.

Then nodded. "Not bad."

Mark exhaled, relieved. "Oh, thank god."

Debbie crossed her arms, raising a brow. "You’re way too nice. That was barely passable."

[Name] shrugged. "I’ve eaten worse. One time I had to survive on a planet that only had meat that regenerated while you chewed."

Debbie and Mark both stared.

Mark hesitated. "…I don’t wanna ask."

[Name] nodded. "You really don’t."

Debbie sighed. "Mark, if you ever cook again, I’m supervising."

Mark groaned. "Noted."

[Name] grinned. "Don’t worry, I still think it’s cute that he tried."

Mark turned red. "Shut up."

♪•|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|•♪

[Name] & Debbie: The Most Unexpected Friendship

Debbie never expected to befriend a Viltrumite Goddess of Destruction, yet here she was.

[Name], despite her terrifying power, was surprisingly respectful toward Debbie. And by respectful, that meant she actually listened whenever Debbie scolded Mark.

Like when Mark forgot to take out the trash.

"Mark, I told you to do it before heading out."

Mark sighed. "I was busy—"

[Name], lounging on the couch with a bag of chips, turned. "Mark, just do it. She’s right."

Mark groaned. "Not you too."

[Name] nodded. "She made me food, so she wins this argument."

Debbie smirked. "See? She gets it."

Mark threw his hands up. "Oh my god."

Another time, Debbie had been stressed from work. [Name] had noticed and, instead of saying anything, simply plopping onto the couch beside Debbie.

Debbie blinked. "What are you doing?"

[Name] shrugged. "I dunno. You looked tired, so I’m keeping you company."

Debbie stared. "…Huh."

[Name] then grabbed the remote. "Wanna watch bad reality TV? I heard humans find it entertaining."

Debbie hesitated, then sighed. "…Yeah, actually."

[Name] smirked. "Nice. Let’s watch people make terrible life choices."

And that’s how Debbie ended up watching The Bachelor with a god-tier Viltrumite who could destroy planets but instead spent the evening judging contestants like a drama-loving auntie.

Debbie decided she definitely liked her.

♪•|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|•♪

Cecil’s Hairline Is Gone

Cecil genuinely considered retirement after this.

[Name], somehow, had hacked the system of life itself. She claimed the planet, got a free house, free food, and a free personal punching bag (Mark).

Debbie, at some point, just accepted it.

♪•|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|•♪

Overall: Chaos, Friendship, and Cheetos

Mark had no idea how his life ended up like this. His team-ups with [Name] were less about strategy and more about damage control.

And his mom somehow got along better with [Name] than he did.

But at the end of the day, when [Name] casually threw an arm around him after another insane fight, stealing his fries while grinning, he figured…

Maybe this wasn’t so bad.

Even if he was never getting his snacks back.

And Mark?

He was never getting his bed back.

Author's Note: HOPE YALL LOVE THIS ONE DJJDNJDDJ

ndbshshhshsjsejjeeejebddjssjjjddj a g. g h. hh h. hh. h. h h

[authortelevision]

george, the hockey player: chapter one ₊˚⊹♡

words: 2,747 ✦ .ᐟ

♯┆ george clarke slow burn, university au, hockey george

you start university in bristol as a film student and meet a hockey player who will change your life completely

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The train ride to Bristol had been a mix of nervous excitement and mild existential dread. The city, with its hilly streets and graffiti-covered underpasses, felt like a place where something big could happen. But right now, all that mattered was getting through move-in day without looking like a complete disaster.

You haul your suitcase up the stairs of your new flat, already regretting bringing so many decorations. The shared kitchen is a mess of half-opened suitcases, stacked IKEA crockery, and the awkward small talk of strangers who will, apparently, be your new best friends.

A girl with pink-streaked hair and round glasses glances up from where she’s struggling to assemble a drying rack. “Oh, thank God. Someone else who looks just as lost as I feel.”

You laugh, setting your bags down. “Completely lost. Do you need help with that?”

“Please. It’s like IKEA’s playing a cruel joke on me.” She grins. “I’m Lily, by the way. I do history, unfortunately.”

You introduce yourself just as the front door swings open and two more people walk in, dragging boxes. One of them, a guy with messy brown hair, lets out an exaggerated sigh. “This is it. Our prison for the next year.”

“I hope not.” says a voice from behind him.

The four of you quickly exchange introductions, and you learn that the negative voice is Matt who is studying Economics, and the other is Sam, taking Biology. Within ten minutes, you’re all gathered in the kitchen, swapping stories about where you’re from and who packed the weirdest thing (Matt wins with his five-kilo bag of protein powder). It’s surprisingly easy, the awkwardness fading fast.

Then, Lily claps her hands together. “Okay, so Freshers’ Fair is happening today. We need to go.”

Sam frowns. “That’s the one where all the societies try to recruit you, right?”

“Exactly. It’s essential. Free stuff, maybe a few weird clubs, and we can all pretend we’re super well-rounded people.”

You weren’t sure if you had the energy after lugging all your stuff around, but the idea of seeing what Bristol Uni had to offer was tempting. Plus, it beat sitting in your empty room.

“Alright,” you say, standing up. “Let’s go get bombarded by enthusiastic second-years.”

————

The Student Union building is packed, a sea of students weaving between booths with banners ranging from “Join the Debate Society” to “Quidditch Team Tryouts This Weekend!” Every few steps, someone shoves a flyer into your hands, promising everything from cheap cocktails to life-changing friendships.

Lily gets dragged away almost immediately by a group advertising a Feminist Reading Club. Sam disappears in the direction of the Rugby stall, while Matt, despite his initial complaints, is deep in conversation with a Chess Society rep.

That leaves you wandering alone for a bit, taking it all in. The Hockey Society booth catches your eye, but only cause there’s a crowd gathered around it, and a bunch of sporty-looking guys are chatting with possible members. You consider stopping, but hockey isn’t really your thing.

Instead, you find yourself drawn to a quieter stall tucked between the Art Society and the Drama Club. A banner reads “Photography Society – Capture the Moment”, and a student with a camera slung around their neck waves at you.

“Hey! You interested in photography?”

“I mean… kinda?” You glance at the sign-up sheet. “I do film, so I guess I already mess around with cameras.”

The student grins. “That’s basically half of it. We do sports photography, exhibitions, and the occasional trip. No pressure, though.”

It sounds like exactly the kind of thing to make friends you need. Before you can overthink it, you pick up a pen and sign your name.

By the time you regroup with your flatmates, your bag is full of leaflets and your group decides to escape the chaos and grab something to eat. The campus cafés are packed, so you settle for the Student Union bar, where the tables are sticky, the nachos are cheap, and the music is just a little too loud for a casual conversation.

Matt dumps his bag of free society merch onto the table with a dramatic sigh. “Alright, let’s see what we’ve got.”

He pulls out a ridiculous amount of random freebies like stress balls, lanyards, a frisbee, and even a reusable coffee cup with Bristol Uni Quidditch Team printed on the side. Sam snorts. “Did you even sign up for Quidditch?”

“No, but they were giving out free stuff, and I’m not an idiot.”

Lily rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. She turns to you, seeing your tote bag. “So, what made you go for Photography Society?”

You take a sip of your drink, considering. “I think I just wanted something creative that wasn’t coursework, you know? Something fun, no pressure.”

She nods. “Good call. I was considering the Creative Writing Society, but then I overheard a guy saying they only discuss ‘serious literary work,’ and I feel like I’d get kicked out for writing fanfiction.”

“That sounds insufferable,” you say with a laugh.

“What about you, Sam?” Matt asks. “You looked way too invested in that rugby stall for someone who claimed they definitely weren’t joining a sports team.

Sam shrugs, looking vaguely guilty. “Okay, maybe I’ll go to tryouts. I haven’t played since school, but it might be fun.”

“You just want an excuse to go to the sports socials,” Lily teases.

He smirks. “And what if I do?”

The conversation drifts into plans for the rest of Freshers’ Week—pub crawls, club nights, and the dreaded 9am introductory lectures no one is ready for. It’s strange how quickly everything is falling into place, like the awkwardness of earlier has already faded into something more natural.

Eventually, you all decide to head back to the flat, the evening air crisp as you make your way across campus. Bristol feels alive at night, students spilling out of bars, the hum of conversation echoing down cobbled streets. The streetlights cast long shadows, and for a brief moment, you pause to take it all in.

Lily nudges you. “You alright?”

You nod, smiling. “Yeah. I think I am.”

————

The next morning, you wake to the sound of footsteps in the hallway and the faint clatter of someone making something in the kitchen. For a few seconds, you forget where you are, then the unfamiliar ceiling and the plain white walls bring you back to reality. Your new life at university has officially begun.

After forcing yourself out of bed, you shuffle into the kitchen, where Lily is perched on the counter, eating a bowl of cereal. She’s wearing an oversized hoodie, her pink-streaked hair all over the place. “Morning,” she says between bites.

“Morning,” you mumble, grabbing a mug and searching for the kettle.

Matt wanders in next, still in his pajamas. He blinks at you both. “We should’ve made a pact never to speak before noon.”

Lily laughs. “Good luck with that. We’ve all got a welcome meeting at ten, I’m not sure where yours is but mine is in the Oliver building.”

Right. The dreaded introductory stuff. You groan internally but force yourself to stay optimistic. First years always say it’s useless, but there could always be something important about the university you wouldn’t know about.

After breakfast, you grab your bag and head out with Lily, who insists on walking with you even though the history department is in a completely different building. “Moral support,” she says dramatically as you weave through the crowds of students trying to find their way around.

The film department is tucked inside a modern glass building that looks sleek and intimidating. Inside, the lecture hall is already filling up, the hum of conversation blending with the sound of chairs scraping against the floor. You slide into a seat near the middle and pull out your laptop, trying not to look as awkward as you feel.

A few minutes later, a girl with short curly hair and a nose ring drops into the seat next to you. “Hey, do you mind if I sit here?”

“Not at all.”

“I’m Ava,” she says, setting her laptop down. “Film Studies?”

You nod. “Yeah, first year.”

“Same! What kind of films are you into?”

That kicks off an easy conversation, by the time the lecturer finally arrives and starts their speech about “the power of storytelling in visual media,” you and Ava have already bonded over your mutual love of indie films and your shared distaste for pretentious film bros who only talk about Pulp Fiction.

The lecture itself is mostly introductions—professors explaining what to expect, a few awkward icebreakers with the people sitting nearby, and a long-winded speech about academic integrity. By the time it’s over, your brain is buzzing, and you’re more than ready to escape.

“Wanna grab coffee?” Ava asks as you head out of the building.

“Definitely.”

The two of you make your way to the campus café, where you spot Sam and Matt sitting by the window, deep in conversation. When they see you, Sam waves you over.

“How was your lecture?” Matt asks as you slide into the seat across from him.

“Long.” You take a sip of your coffee. “What about you?”

“Boring. I already regret choosing Economics.”

Ava laughs. “Wow, you’re all so motivated.”

“Oh! This is Ava, by the way, we both do film studies.”

As the conversation continues, it starts to hit you, this is your new life. New friends, new routines, new experiences waiting just around the corner.

————

By the time the sun sets, the nerves of the first day have been replaced with something else entirely: anticipation, excitement, and the lingering feeling from the vodka shots you definitely shouldn’t have taken so quickly.

Your flat has changed into pre-drinks. The tiny kitchen table is covered in half-empty bottles, discarded mixers, and the remnants of an intense game of Ring of Fire. Someone’s put on a ridiculous throwback playlist, and now everyone is shouting the words to Mr. Brightside like it’s a national anthem.

You’re sat on the counter, legs swinging, cradling a drink you don’t need but don’t want to put down. “Okay,” you announce to no one in particular, “I think I might be a tiny bit drunk.”

Lily cackles from where she’s trying to apply eyeliner on a very uncooperative Matt. “No shit. You’ve been swaying for, like, ten minutes.”

You blink, realizing that the floor does seem to be moving slightly. “That’s just because I’m—” You wave your hand in the air, trying to find a reason. “—graceful.”

Sam laughs, throwing an arm around you dramatically. “You’re gone.”

But the night is young, and there’s only one destination in mind—Lola Lo’s. Everyone has been hyping it up since you arrived, promising neon lights, questionable cocktails, and the kind of night you’ll only half remember.

After one final shot (a terrible idea in hindsight), you all spill onto the street, voices loud and laughter echoing down the road. The walk to the club is only fifteen minutes, but your brain seems to have abandoned all sense of coordination.

Somewhere along the way, you trip over nothing and stumble into Lily. “Okay,” she says, catching you, “I think we need a pause.”

You find yourself plopping down onto the curb, the cold pavement grounding you slightly. Sam sits next to you, amused. “You know they’re not gonna let you in like this, right?”

You groan, resting your head on his shoulder dramatically. “I know.”

Matt crouches in front of you, squinting like a concerned doctor. “Alright, what’s the game plan? We can’t have you getting turned away at the door.”

Lily laughs. “We could walk in first and pretend we don’t know them.”

You gasp, offended. “Betrayal.”

Ava, who has been quiet up until now, holds up a bottle of water she somehow smuggled out of the flat. “Here, drink this. Try to look less… like this.” She gestures vaguely at you, which is fair.

You take a sip then make a face. “This isn’t gonna work in time.”

Matt nudges your shoulder. “Alright, let’s problem-solve. How do we make you look sober?”

“Serious face,” you declare, straightening up and attempting your most responsible expression. It lasts about three seconds before Sam bursts out laughing.

Lily wipes away fake tears. “Oh yeah, that’s gonna fool the bouncers.”

You groan, dramatically falling back onto the pavement. “Okay, new plan. I’ll just live here now. The curb is my home.”

Ava rolls her eyes but helps you up anyway. “Nope. We’re getting in that club. You’re gonna drink water, act normal, and stop being a liability.”

You let them half-drag, half-walk you down the street, still giggling. Maybe you won’t get into the club. Maybe you’ll wake up tomorrow with no recollection of this conversation.

Somehow—somehow—you make it past the bouncers.

Lily had given you a very serious pep talk before you reached the front of the queue: “No swaying. No giggling. And for God’s sake, don’t say anything stupid.” You had nodded along, doing your absolute best to channel the energy of someone who had only had one sensible drink and definitely wasn’t clinging to Sam for balance.

Miraculously, the bouncers barely look at you before waving you inside, and suddenly, you’re in.

Lola Lo’s is everything people hyped it up to be, neon lights glow under bamboo decor, the music vibrates in your chest, and the air smells like a mix of fruity cocktails, sweat, and regret. Your flatmates disappear into the crowd, leaving you standing in the middle of the dance floor, still slightly overwhelmed.

But there’s one thing you do know, you need another drink.

Stumbling your way to the bar, you lean against the counter, blinking up at the bartender like focusing really hard will make you seem more sober. “Can I get a—” You pause. What did you want? A cocktail? A vodka and coke? You squint at the menu, as if the words will rearrange themselves into the perfect choice.

Eventually, you just blurt out, “A rum and coke, please,” and slap some cash onto the bar, feeling very responsible.

The bartender hands you your drink, and you turn around. Too fast.

Because the next thing you know, your arm collides with someone, and suddenly, your entire very full drink sloshes forward, spilling straight onto them.

“Oh shit—”

The guy flinches, looking down at his now-soaked shirt. “Oh, for fu—” He cuts himself off, exhaling sharply before looking up at you.

And that’s when you see him properly.

Tall, messy brown hair, sharp features softened by the kind of face that probably gets away with way too much just by smiling. But right now, he’s not smiling, he’s staring at you, stunned, as cold rum and coke drips down his front.

“Oh my God,” you gasp, hands flying to your mouth. “I am so sorry.”

“It’s fine—”

“No, no, it’s not fine!” You grab a handful of napkins from the bar and start patting at his chest, which is definitely not helping, because now you’re basically rubbing the mess into his already ruined shirt. “I didn’t mean to—oh my God, I’m such an idiot—”

He lets out a breathy laugh, finally grabbing your wrist gently to stop your attempts at fixing the situation. “Hey—hey, it’s fine. Seriously.”

You look up at him, wide-eyed, and suddenly, your brain catches up with what’s happening. You just spilled an entire drink on a very attractive guy and are now borderline manhandling him in a drunken panic.

This is not how the night was supposed to go.

“I’ll buy you a new drink,” you blurt out.

He smirks. “What, for me or for you?”

You open your mouth, then shut it. That was a fair question.

Before you can respond, Lily appears out of nowhere, looking between the two of you with sharp amusement. “What the hell did I miss?”

The guy chuckles, shaking his head. “Your friend just redecorated my shirt.”

Lily glances at you, then at the napkins still clutched in your hand. Then she grins. “Oh, this is fantastic.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “Kill me now.”

But when you peek up, the guy is still looking at you, not annoyed, not pissed off, but amused. Like this is the most entertaining thing that’s happened to him all night.

“I’m George” he says, still smiling.

George. You’ll keep that in mind.

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author notes:

hello everyone !! sorry i’ve been gone for so long !! i’ve been very busy with uni life and have kind of abandoned this account !! but i’m back and i’ve decided to bring my uni life into this new slow burn i have !!

I KNOW THAT GEORGE DIDNT GO TO BRISTOL BUT I DIDNT KNOW ENOUGH ABOUT HIS UNI TO WRITE ABOUT THAT ONE !!

much love x