#there's just something about the song that gets me every time

[vincinnamontoast]

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 CAITVI X READER SFW & NSFW HCS 𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚

word count: 3.4k

contains: my random unorganized caitvi x reader hcs. lowercase intended, lightly proofread, nsfw towards the end. sorry this took me forever (</3)

❥ caitlyn is so insistent on you and vi quitting your jobs and just being her cute little housewives

❥ caitlyn keeps track of all of your periods, always making sure you have enough snacks and pads/tampons.

❥ all of you get a bit snippy with each other during your periods—because, unfortunately, they’ve synced up. But no matter how catty things get, you’re always there to take care of each other.

❥ vi loves to cook and caitlyn likes to clean up after. they’ll ask you to do little things like cut the carrots while you all yap

❥ caitlyn sleeps pretty early while you and vi stay up running around together. you try to be quiet for her but you and vi have each other cackling every 5 seconds. eventually you both are kicked out of the bedroom and have to continue your giggly shenanigans in the living room

❥ vi is the most physically affectionate, always wrapping an arm around you or caitlyn, pulling you into her lap, or resting her chin on your shoulder. caitlyn shows her affection in subtle ways—brushing your hair out of your face, fixing vi’s collar absentmindedly, always making sure you’re both taken care of.

❥ they both gang up on you when you’re flustered. If you blush, you’re done for.

❥ if you get cold at night, caitlyn will tuck an extra blanket around you, and vi will just throw herself on top of you like a human furnace.

❥ vi insists on braiding caitlyn’s hair but gets distracted halfway through and just leaves it half-done. caitlyn tries to act like she doesn’t care, but she secretly waits for you to fix it.

❥ caitlyn makes vi fancy cocktails and tea, even though she always complains it’s too strong or not strong enough. but vi always drinks it anyway.

❥ vi hates to admit it but she can’t sleep without either of you and a little night light in the corner (my baby girl ugh)

❥ vi tends to leave her boots and gauntlets lying around. you and caitlyn have tripped over them too many times. And unfortunately for you and caitlyn, vi loves her punishments

❥ vi fidgets constantly. If she’s not cracking her knuckles, she’s bouncing her knee or clicking a pen until caitlyn snatches it away.

❥ vi is always teasing you when she realizes something makes you flustered. she will never let it go.

❥ caitlyn tends to overthink everything. vi and you have to stop her from spiraling into a “logical” breakdown over simple things.

❥ caitlyn gets very particular about how things are arranged—her tea set, books, weapons. vi purposely moves things just to annoy her, which leads to you getting onto vi and caitlyn whining/fussing.

❥ caitlyn is secretly a perfectionist. If she cooks for you, she’ll throw out an entire batch if it doesn’t look right, even if it tastes fine.

❥ vi loves to bake and will randomly come back after a couple hours with a bunch of cookies and pastries for you all to share with a big smile on her face

❥ vi and caitlyn tend to stare at you a lot. caitlyn doesn’t do it nearly as much as vi does, but they are both mutually obsessed.

❥ vi is always humming or singing some song softly when she does like literally anything around the house. she loves when you follow her around to hear it (bc yes this bitch can sing.)

❥ they’re both incredibly protective—sometimes to an intense degree. It’s never their intention to be overbearing, but after everything they’ve lost, losing each other would be unbearable. they’re not willing to take that risk.

❥ vi plays with your hair all the time, whether it’s running her fingers through it or twirling a strand absentmindedly.

❥ vi games a lot and begs you to play with her. If you don’t, she’ll insist you and caitlyn are close. caitlyn will be reading or scrolling through her pinterest, while playing with your hair. (she can be on that app forever.) listening to vi yell and rage quit is just a part of your everyday life.

❥ If you or caitlyn are standing next to vi, she’ll always have a hand on you—your waist, your hip, the back of your neck. It’s like a grounding thing for her. physical touch is a big need of hers.

❥ vi struggles with separation anxiety, though she does her best to hide it and refuses to admit it. still, when you or caitlyn are busy or absent, she catches herself fidgeting—twitching her fingers, bouncing her leg, and blinking back tears she doesn’t want to shed.

❥ vi deliberately calls you the most ridiculous pet names just to see your reaction. “hey, sugar lips.” “vi, please.” she’s shameless, fully aware of how cringe she is—and she loves every second of it.

❥ vi is always trying to sneak kisses when you’re distracted.

❥ caitlyn brings you and vi tea in the mornings, adjusting it exactly how you like it.

❥ vi is better at comforting through actions, hugging, cooking, kissing, cleaning, and caitlyn is better with her words. they will give you both but they are better in certain areas in their own ways.

❥ the advice caitlyn gives is always the best, she loves hearing you rant and complain. vi does too, but she spaces out sometimes.

❥ caitlyn writes little notes for you both, usually sweet but sometimes sarcastic. (“vi, if you leave your boots in the hallway one more time…”) she’ll pack you both lunches with cute little sticky notes.

❥ caitlyn gets really quiet when she’s worried, but she’ll hover around you and vi until you ask what’s wrong.

❥ you and vi secretly love getting scolded by caitlyn.

❥ caitlyn likes to have some space after an argument; vi does not. caitlyn needs time to breathe and collect herself—it never takes too long, but vi wants things fixed immediately. she always caves first, apologizing even when it’s not her fault. and every time, it breaks both of your hearts.

❥ caitlyn will brush her fingers over your knuckles or the inside of your wrist absentmindedly, like she’s memorizing the feeling.

❥ vi tends to lean against walls, arms crossed, looking effortlessly cool—but if you or caitlyn walk by, she immediately straightens up like a puppy looking for attention.

❥ caitlyn carries herself with elegance, but when she’s comfortable, she relaxes—crosses her legs lazily, rests her head on your shoulder, lets herself just be.

❥ vi cannot keep her mouth shut or hide her expressions. baby is naturally expressive, so even when she insists she’s not upset, it’s obvious—the way she pouts, puffs her cheeks, and huffs under her breath gives her away every time.

❥ vi will spam call and triple or more text, while caitlyn will call or text twice at most to get your attention. but you can bet your ass you’ll be getting a mini lecture about not picking up her calls. you know something is wrong if you have more than 3 missed calls from her.

❥ they’re both highly observant, picking up on even the smallest details of your mannerisms.

❥ caitlyn has a very subtle smirk when she’s amused, and you and vi live to make it appear.

❥ caitlyn always bites her lip when she’s thinking, while vi taps her fingers against whatever surface is nearby.

❥ vi would absolutely fight anyone who looks at you wrong. caitlyn, meanwhile, will just ruin them socially. a terrifying duo truly.

❥ vi carries you if you’re tired. no hesitation. “c’mon, baby, you’re walking too slow.” she is a bit of a fast walker.

❥ vi would take a punch for you without thinking. caitlyn would make sure you never get into that situation in the first place.

❥ vi lives to make you laugh. she gets so excited to hear you cackle and giggle. and she knows she’s funny asf too.

❥ late nights when caitlyn has work in the morning (vi does too, but she loves staying up), you and vi roll into each other—kissing, giggling, playing games. you beg caitlyn to stay up, but once it hits 11 PM, she struggles to keep her eyes open.

❥ caitlyn sleeps early and wakes up early. vi, on the other hand, stays up late but still manages to wake up early—a leftover habit from prison. but if caitlyn doesn’t get her full eight hours, you can expect her to be moody and pouty all day.

❥ If you have a bad day, caitlyn will make you tea and quietly listen while vi pulls you into her arms and presses little kisses to your hair until you feel better.

❥ vi loves making caitlyn laugh—really laugh. It’s rare, but when it happens, she looks at caitlyn like she just won the lottery.

❥ caitlyn lets vi be reckless only to a point—then she pulls rank. “vi, no.” vi groans but listens.

❥ vi hates dressing up, but if you or caitlyn ask nicely? yeah, she’ll do it. she’ll grumble the whole time, but she’ll do it.

❥ vi walks on the outside of the sidewalk, keeps an arm around your waist in crowds, subtly but firmly making sure you’re safe at all times.

❥ caitlyn is more of a silent protector. she notices things before they become threats, watches your surroundings like a hawk, and is always one step ahead.

❥ vi has a terrible habit of pulling you onto her lap, no matter where you are. she’ll just grab your waist and plop you down.

❥ caitlyn is more likely to respect your privacy, but if you’re heading to the bathroom, expect vi to be right on your tail—watching you pee. deadass.

❥ vi loves hearing you talk about things you’re passionate about. even if she doesn’t understand half of it, she just grins and watches you like you hung the stars.

❥ vi always finds the stupidest excuses to get your attention. “baby, come here.” “what is it?” “…nothing, just missed you.”

❥ vi is obsessed with forehead kisses, especially when she’s feeling soft. It’s her way of saying, I love you without words. melts when you kiss and squish her cheeks.

❥ she lovesss being babied, which you and caitlyn love doing.

❥ If you’re wearing something cute or whatever? vi wolf-whistles and dramatically fans herself. caitlyn groans in the background. “vi, please.” caitlyn comes behind you to kiss below your ear “mmm so beautiful, sweetheart.”

❥ vi sulks when she’s sick and will only take medicine if you or caitlyn give it to her. “I’ll take it if you kiss me after.” caitlyn is the best caregiver when the both of you are sick, you will feel better in no time.

❥ If vi is feeling needy, she’ll flop down on top of you with zero warning. “what are you doing?” “dunno. just love you.” because you will give her attention. she is very puppy.

❥ caitlyn tucks your hair behind your ear so gently it makes your heart ache. she does it every time—even if it wasn’t in your face.

❥ If you fall asleep somewhere uncomfortable, caitlyn will immediately move to fix it. you wake up to a pillow under your head, a blanket over you, and buried in caitlyn’s arms.

❥ caitlyn is very particular about your tea (as well as vi’s. she knows how you both like it). If she makes it, it’s perfect. If vi makes it? caitlyn tastes it, sighs, and subtly replaces it with a better cup. vi will pout about this. It’s inevitable.

❥ caitlyn keeps an eye out for little things you might need. you offhandedly mentioned needing more hair ties? she has extras in her pocket the next day.

❥ caitlyn is secretly so touch-starved. If you initiate affection, she melts. put your arms around her waist? kiss her temple? she gets so soft.

❥ caitlyn fixes vi’s bandages with the most exasperated look, but you can see the tenderness in her hands. “honestly, violet, do you even try to be careful?”

❥ vi leans against caitlyn or you dramatically whenever she’s bored. you both just sigh and let it happen. she gets bored pretty easy.

❥ vi hyperfixates hard—if she wants something, she needs it now. caitlyn, on the other hand, is patient and willing to wait.

❥ they both compete to see who can make you blush more.

❥ the kisses you all share before parting for work, events, or anything else are downright sickening—it takes forever to break free from their hold.

"when will you be home?"

"do we need to pick you up?"

"you have your location on? I asked you not to turn it off."

"please be home before dinner."

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

NSFW:

❥ caitlyn and vi are lowkey kinky and into some wild shit—behind closed doors, it’s a whole different story.

❥ vi is a big moaner—whimpering, gasping, completely unashamed. caitlyn, on the other hand, has a softer moan but lets out more groans and grunts.

❥ both of them are very vocal and talkative during sex—whispering, teasing, praising, and never letting a moment go by in silence.

❥ this is so random but vi decides she wants to go zip-lining for her birthday, and the way they both effortlessly slip on, adjust, and tighten their waist harnesses has your legs squeezing together. they notice. grinning at each other before tightening your own harness, vi leans in, voice teasing—"you like that, pretty girl?"

❥ vi is best with her mouth and fingers, but she’s a god with the strap regardless—just a little more reckless, rough, completely lost in it. caitlyn, on the other hand, is all precision, focused on hitting every spot and angle with near-perfect accuracy.

❥ vi gets so into making you squirm. she’ll kiss you deep and then pull away just as you’re chasing after her lips.

❥ caitlyn loves whispering in your ear—low, sultry, making promises that send a shiver down your spine. “you’re being so good for me, love.”

❥ vi lives for praise during sex. tell her how good she’s making you feel, moan her name like it’s the only word you know, and she’ll melt—eyes hazy, lips parted, desperate to hear more. She craves it, thrives on it, and if you whimper out a “just like that, baby” or a breathless “you’re so good to me,” she’ll only go harder, more determined to pull every sound from your lips.

❥ vi has a thing for spit—messy, unrestrained, completely shameless. she loves the way it glistens on your lips after a kiss, the way it drips down your chin when she pulls away just to admire you. and when she presses two fingers against your tongue, eyes dark and teasing, voice thick with want—"c'mon, pretty girl, let me see,"—you don’t even hesitate.

❥ vi is a mess between you both—panting, whining, completely unraveling. caitlyn keeps her steady, fucking into her with slow, precise thrusts, while you cradle her face, kissing her deep, swallowing every gasp and moan. she tries to keep up, tries to kiss you back, but she’s losing herself fast—her body trembling, fingers digging into your waist as she chokes out a desperate, “fuck, baby—” before her words melt into nothing but needy whimpers.

❥ you never stand a chance against them. vi is relentless, all hands and teasing remarks, while caitlyn makes sure you’re completely overwhelmed.

❥ caitlyn and vi love ganging up on you. one whispering filth into your ear while the other makes sure you feel every word.

❥ vi is all passion and need, caitlyn is slow and deliberate.

❥ vi bites. hard. jawline, neck, thighs—she wants to leave marks, wants people to see them and know you’re hers.

❥ vi has a filthy mouth. whispering in your ear, voice low and husky, telling you exactly what she’s going to do to you.

❥ If you’re in public, vi will lean in, press her lips just below your ear, and murmur something filthy—acting completely normal while you try to keep your composure.

❥ caitlyn has a thing for control. she’ll make you wait, make you beg, smirking as she keeps her touch just out of reach. “patience, love. I’ll give you what you need—when I decide you deserve it.”

❥ vi loves whispering dirty things in caitlyn’s ear while she is teasing you—grinning as caitlyn’s composure finally cracks.

❥ If vi is feeling extra possessive, she’ll wrap an arm around your waist, nipping at your neck while caitlyn smirks and watches. “damn, cupcake, she looks so pretty like this, huh?”

❥ the moment vi realizes she actually loves you taking control, she’s gone—gripping your hips, looking up at you with blown pupils, breathing all heavy. scratching at your back and whimpering in your ear. to see her undone is heavenly.

❥ she loves when you grab her by the jaw, forcing her to look at you while you shove your fingers inside her, curling them into her. If you’re feeling mean, you can even whisper, “what’s wrong, vi? thought you were tough?” and watch her whimper.

❥ eye contact is their thing during sex—intense, unwavering, drowning you in it. Vi’s is raw, desperate, like she’s trying to etch the sight of you into her memory, needing to see every reaction. caitlyn’s is calculated, focused, like she’s studying every twitch, every shiver, just to use it against you. It’s so intimate it makes your chest ache, so intimidating it has you squirming, but they don’t let you look away. not for a second.

❥ vi is loud. she groans, pants, grits her teeth like she’s trying to hold back, but the second you really start working her up? she loses it.

❥ If you drag your nails down her abs, tracing every ridge of her muscles, she shudders—grabbing at your thighs, fingers twitching like she doesn’t know whether to fight back or let you have your way.

❥ pull vi’s hair. grab her by the roots, tug her head back, and she moans—not even trying to hide how much she likes it.

❥ she’s obsessed with your confidence. If you lean in, teasing against her lips, voice all sultry, “you’re so desperate, vi,” she growls—trying to flip the script, but her grip is weak, and you’re already pinning her back down.

❥ if you take your time, dragging things out, teasing her just enough to make her beg? she hates it—but she’s also so into it. “please, baby, don’t be mean—need you, fuck.”

❥ caitlyn is a quiet mess when she’s being topped—breath hitching, lips parting, biting her lip like she’s trying to hold back. It’s absolutely gorgeous.

❥ caitlyn has a weak spot for when you talk her through it. “you feel good, cait? you’re so beautiful like this.” her head tilts back, her breath shuddering, and she completely submits.

❥ vi gets so soft when you take your time. kissing her shoulders, whispering her name, telling her how beautiful she is. “fuck, baby, I—” her voice cracks, and you feel her clench around your fingers.

❥ when vi is strapping you, she’ll dip down, lips brushing your ear, voice low and wrecked—"I wish I could feel what it’s like to be inside of you." there’s something desperate in the way she says it, in the way her hips stutter for just a second, like the thought alone is enough to drive her crazy. and then she’s fucking into you harder, chasing the next sound you’ll make, needing to feel you in every way she can.

❥ when vi is topping caitlyn, you can’t help but just watch—completely mesmerized, warmth blooming in your chest at the sight of them tangled together, loving on each other so deeply. It’s something intimate, something raw, and you adore them for it. but then, as if they can feel your gaze, they both turn to look at you—eyes soft, full of something even deeper. caitlyn reaches for you, vi smirks, breathless, and then comes the invitation, low and tender—"come here, baby."

❥ they love you so much, and they love each other just as fiercely. being in a relationship with them is like having a force of nature on your side—wild, protective, and all-consuming in the best way.

a/n: they’re so cat and puppy omg, hope you like <3!

[allthingssteddie]

Steve adjusted the headphones on his ears, scanning the control panel in front of him. He and Robin had just started their new job at the local radio station, and they were still getting used to the equipment.

As they went live on air, Steve’s eyes scanned the request list. One name kept popping up Eddie Munson.

“Another request from Eddie,” Robin said, raising an eyebrow. “He’s really got a thing for sappy love songs, huh?”

Steve’s eyes narrowed as he read out the request. “All my loving by the Beatles . Dedicated to ‘My sweet heart’

Steve's gut twisted with a pang of jealousy. Who was this "sweetheart" that Eddie was so fond of? He couldn't shake the feeling that Eddie was secretly pining for someone.

As the song played on, Steve's mind wandered. Eddie would confide in him if he was seeing someone, wouldn't he? They were inseparable, after all.

But with each new love song request from Eddie, Steve's irritation grew. Robin raised an eyebrow, noticing Steve's simmering anger. "Someone's jealous," she teased, but Steve just scowled, his eyes flashing with annoyance.

As the days went by, Eddie's requests kept coming in, each one more romantic than the last. Steve's jealousy simmered just below the surface, making him irritable and snappish.

Robin raised an eyebrow as Steve read out yet another request from Eddie. " 'Love Song' by The Cure. Dedicated to 'My sweetheart'," Steve growled.

Robin's eyes sparkled with amusement. "You got it bad," she teased, nudging Steve with her elbow.

Steve's scowl deepened. "Shut up, Robin," he muttered, trying to compose himself.

But it was no use. Steve's anger and jealousy were getting the better of him. He couldn't understand why Eddie was being so secretive about his love life.

Didn't Eddie know that Steve was his best friend? Didn't he trust him enough to confide in him?

As the song played on, Steve's mind seethed with questions and doubts. Who was this mysterious person that Eddie was pining for? Every time Steve asked Eddie about his love life, he would just become nervous and change the subject. It was infuriating.

Why was why didn’t Eddie trust him enough to confide in him? The more Steve thought about it, the more his anger and hurt grew. He felt like Eddie was shutting him out, and it stung. He really was starting to feel depressed about this and was not looking forward to going to work the next day, but something surprised him..

Steve's eyes widened in surprise as he stared at the request on the screen. " 'Head Over Heels' by Tears for fears his favorite song.. Dedicated to 'My Stevie'."

He felt a shiver run down his spine as he processed the words. Could it be? Was Eddie's mysterious sweetheart... him?

Steve's eyes darted to Robin, who was trying to stifle a grin behind her hand. "Is that me?" Steve mouthed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Robin's eyes sparkled with amusement, and she nodded.

Steve's heart skipped a beat as he turned back to the microphone, his voice shaking slightly. "Well, it looks like we have a special dedication... to 'My Stevie'."

As the song played on he heard a knock on the glass. Steve's eyes widened in surprise as he saw Eddie's goofy grin and enthusiastic waving through the glass. He couldn't help but laugh at Eddie's antics, feeling a warmth spread through his chest.

"Looks like we've got a special fan out there," Steve said, trying to compose himself, but his eyes kept drifting back to Eddie's joyful face.

Robin chuckled and nudged Steve with her elbow. "I told him to be more obvious," she whispered, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

Steve's cheeks flushed, but he couldn't deny the flutter in his heart as he waved back at Eddie, the song's lyrics taking on a whole new meaning.

Side note I just know Steve and Robin are going to be working at the radio station on season five.

[edamameimei]

exactly what i need

"she's so beautiful, sometimes i stop to close my eyes."

pairing: sophia laforteza x singer!reader

synopsis: you're an up and coming artist who was lucky enough to be chosen as the opening act for katseye's tour. throughout your time traveling with the girls, you start becoming closer to their leader.

just a fluffy fic with some suggestive themes! some angst near the end, i couldn't help it. but it's a happy ending! lowk love the idea of oblivious!reader and jealous!sophia hehe. CW: kissing, swearing, and some suggestive themes like i mentioned before.

a/n: as someone who learned to play the ukulele just for this song, i HAD to write something based off of it. and it just had to be about sophia!!! as always, i want to put out there that this is not a REAL portrayal of the people mentioned in this fic. all events are fictional and are for entertainment purposes only.

wc: 3890 words

now playing: lemonade - jeremy passion

Lara: HEYYYYY BESITEEEE

Lara: do u wanna open up for us on our tour

Lara: ofc u do ill let our managers kno u said yes

You: bruh i just got out of the shower

And that’s how you find yourself backstage, preparing for yet another soundcheck. Although you’ve done concerts before, they were never quite like this. Before the Katseye tour, you’ve only ever performed in small venues, being a new up-and-coming artist. But as you stand backstage at yet another concert hall, you can’t help the nerves that slowly build in your body. You feel your hands shake as you struggle to put in your in-ear monitor, cursing every time the wire gets caught in your hair. You’re about to ask one of the sound technicians to help you, but you feel someone’s hand wrap around your wrist, tugging you gently. You look over to see Sophia smiling at you softly. 

“You need help?” You can’t help the shy smile that forms on your lips as you nod sheepishly. The leader of Katseye giggles, assisting you with the in-ear monitor. As she does so, she makes light conversation with you. “How are you feeling?” What you want to say is, ‘nervous as hell,’ but knowing Sophia’s tendencies to over-worry, you decide to keep that to yourself. You instead opt for a more positive response. “Great! I feel really good about tonight.” It’s what you’ve said in the last three cities you guys were in, but it’s not like it isn’t true. You do feel good about your performance, it’s the before that gets you feeling overwhelmed.

The Filipina smiles at you, her lipgloss shining in a way that makes your heart flutter. When she’s done assisting you, she pulls you into a tight hug, rubbing your back comfortingly. “You’re gonna kill it. Like always.” The way she says it makes you melt into the floor. You think it's silly, the way Sophia makes you feel. But it’s just another one of your infatuations, another girl you find attractive and will never tell to their face. 

Surely that’s all there is to it. 

Your part of soundcheck consists of you singing an acoustic version of your songs and the songs you have chosen to cover for that night. It’s also a chance for you to engage with your fans and Eyekons (whom you hope by the end of the night will also become your fans). You’re in the middle of finding another song to cover when you hear a random voice in the audience asking what your favorite color is. You couldn’t help but laugh loudly at the random question. You look into the audience, searching for the person who asked the question. Once you find them, you speak into your mic while raising an eyebrow, “Did you just ask me what my favorite color is?” Your incredulous tone causes everyone in the audience to laugh. 

The person nods their head excitedly, happy to be noticed by you. You smile back at them and begin to think about their question. You notice that the person’s nails are painted a very pretty shade of blue. You bring the mic back up to your lips. “I like the color of your nails. That’s my favorite color I think,” Quickly, you add, “I mean that genuinely. Like, I’m not trying to flirt with you… Unless?” You take the opportunity to wink at the person in the audience and the crowd begins to ‘ooo’ at your words. You laugh shyly, looking away. 

If there’s one thing about you that your fans know, it’s that you love to flirt with them. You find it hilarious and it’s a bit that you find yourself doing continuously. Also, your fans love it just as much so who are you to deny them the titillating banter? You stand up from the stool you’ve been sitting on, looking back at the person with a raised eyebrow while gesturing to yourself and then to them. You say into the mic, “What are we?” And you once again hear the audience laugh at your response. It brings you joy–  the attention. You can’t deny it. 

Although, someone backstage wishes you’d direct that attention somewhere else. 

Sophia had always been a big fan of your music. Lara was the one who introduced the girls to your music, telling them how talented you were. Since then, Sophia always had your songs on repeat, even playing one of them during a live. When one of your fans noticed, they immediately reported it to Twitter which caught your attention. 

In response, you tweeted, “Huge honor to hear that katseyeworld listens to my music! I'm a big fan myself :)” 

Your mention on Twitter was all Lara could talk about. At some point, you and the Indian girl exchanged numbers, talking constantly. And soon enough, you and Lara were hanging out often, quickly becoming best friends. Sophia was excited about Lara becoming your friend. However, seeing photos of you two together out and about in LA stirred jealous feelings within her. The feeling intensifies when Lara brings you over one day and the whole time, you are attached to the girl’s hip. Sophia found it quite endearing how shy you were at first with all of them but God,  she wanted to be that close to you. 

So, when the conversation about opening acts comes up while talking about their tour, Sophia quickly suggests you. She explains how you mesh well with the girls. She mentions how your vibes are very similar to Katseye’s concept. Of course, Lara lights up at the idea and quickly texts you about the opportunity. Sophia can’t contain her excitement when Lara announces you accepted the invite to tour with them. 

A chance to spend three months with you? That’s more than enough time. 

To do what? Only time could tell. 

Unfortunately, at one point on the tour, you end up feeling sicker than you ever did before. 

You lay in the bed of your hotel room, tissues stuck up your nose and constantly coughing up a lung every two minutes or so. You made the announcement just five minutes ago that you will not be performing tonight and you can’t help but feel even more terrible than you already do. You hate to think about letting people down, especially your fans. That’s why you’ve kept your phone on ‘Do Not Disturb’ so you won’t experience the chaos in real time. 

Also, the constant vibrations of your phone would increase the pain you’re experiencing in your head. 

You sadly continue watching whatever show you put on your laptop, covered in blankets with a pout on your face. Suddenly, you hear a knock on your door. It causes you to groan quietly, having no energy to open it. You then hear a familiar voice through the door. “Y/n? It’s Sophia!” It’s embarrassing how quickly you jump out of bed, nearly tripping all over your clothes and luggage as you get to the door. You open the door to reveal a very pretty Sophia Laforteza holding two full plastic bags. You tilt your head in curiosity. “Hey... What brings you here?” Sophia holds up the bags in her hands with a wide smile. She hands them to you as she speaks, “I wanted to stop by and give you these… It has cold medicine, cough drops, different teas– I wasn’t sure what kind you liked so I got a variety…” You look at her in disbelief, you couldn’t believe someone could be so kind. You smile at her with sincerity in your eyes. Your voice is slightly hoarse as you speak. “I… You didn’t have to do this.” 

Sophia shoves you lightly, a teasing smile on her face. “Of course I did. I gotta make sure our rising star gets better for the rest of the tour…” She winks at you, causing you to blush. You set the bags down on the counter and look back at her with an apologetic smile. “I’d hug you right now but I can’t get THE Sophia Laforteza, leader of Katseye, get sick in the middle of her tour. I’d have Eyekons banging on my door…” She laughs, her eyes turning into crescents. You mentally pat yourself on the back, feeling pride in making her laugh so hard. She shakes her head and waves you off. “Oh, I’m sure Eyekons would be banging on your door for a completely different reason…” Her comment makes you raise an eyebrow. You let out a nervous chuckle as you respond, “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

The smirk that forms on her glossy lips causes your knees to go weak. She tilts her head, responding in a low, teasing tone. “I’ve seen the tweets on Eyekonville… They can’t get enough of you.” She giggles at the way your eyes widen at her words. She crosses her arms, taking a step back. “Well I’ve gotta get back to my room but when you start feeling better,” she gives you a playful smile, “let me know so we can hang out.” You wordlessly nod your head in response. The Filipina sends you one last smile before walking away, leaving you speechless. You’re not quite sure if you feel hot because of the interaction or if your fever is getting worse. At this point, you’re not even sure which one would be worse. 

You’re in the East Coast part of the tour when Sophia’s words seem to make more sense. 

After a few long hours of practicing, writing new songs, and filming with the girls for their tour vlogs, you finally get a few moments of peace. You decide to stroll around the city to get some fresh air and explore before you get too busy again. As a new artist, you’ve never had issues with people coming up to you randomly. It’s somewhat of a privilege to keep your privacy like this. 

That’s why it catches you off guard when a group of girls find you on the street and ask for a picture with you. And how could you say no? 

PopBase: Y/n L/n, the opener for Katseye’s tour, was seen walking around Charlotte and talking with fans, per several X users.  

User01: met Y/n L/n in Charlotte! they were so sweet )): 

User02: SAW Y/N IN DOWNTOWN CHARLOTTE!!! They had me blushing and kicking my feet a lil im ngl 

User03: all these Y/n stans and Eyekons saying Y/n was flirting with them. When will it be me???? 

User04: Y/n said I looked hot today I stay winning in life methinks 

Back at the hotel, you find Sophia standing by your room, scrolling through her phone. She looks up when she hears your footsteps, beaming when she spots you walking closer. She waves with a wide smile on her face. “Hey! I was looking for you…” You can’t help but blush at her words, your heart doing flips at the thought of Sophia waiting specifically for you. You put your hands in your pockets, trying to seem as nonchalant as possible. “Yeah, I was just taking a walk around the city.” She nods in response, pointing at her phone. “I saw it on Twitter. You met some fans?” You let out a loud laugh and shake your head, feeling embarrassed by all the tweets floating around since you were discovered wandering around downtown. 

You look down at your feet as you respond. “I did. It’s the first time anybody has ever noticed me so it was… Cool.” You feel the Filipina place a hand on your arm, squeezing it. You look at her with a shy glance, your heart beating faster with every second that passes. She gives you a sincere smile. “You deserve the attention. You’re so talented.”  Her hand moves from your arm up to the collar of your shirt. She moves her other hand to your collar and begins to fix it. There’s a playful smile on her lips. “It looks like you were giving them a lot of attention too.” She tugs at your collar causing your breath to catch in your throat. You look at her, wondering if the building tension between you two was in your head. She lets go, stepping away from you. She bites her lip and your mind must be playing tricks on you because is she checking you out? Sophia grabs your hand, pulling you away from your room. You allow the Filipina to do what she pleases because you’d be stupid not to. “Where are we going?” She pulls you towards the elevators, pressing the ‘down’ button. She looks at you with a twinkle in her eyes. “Giving you my attention, come on.” 

You’re sitting on one of the couches in the lounge, waiting to be called for soundcheck when Sophia sits next to you, laying her head on your shoulder. 

The action causes you to freeze, your mouth becomes dry. You’re overwhelmed by the scent of her perfume and you are hyper-aware of her hand resting on your thigh. In the last few cities, you’ve noticed the Filipina becoming much more touchy with you and you’re trying your hardest to stop thinking about it. She’s naturally a touchy person, you’ve noticed that about her. With her members, she’s quite attentive, always making sure they’re doing well and supporting them when need be. You tell yourself that’s what she’s doing for you. 

It’s here in New York that you realize how much of a problem it is for you. What you initially thought was an infatuation has become much more, and you’re not really sure what to do with that information. 

You feel Sophia shift next to you, suddenly wrapping her arms around your torso, pulling you closer to her body. She nuzzles her head into your shoulder, letting out a content sigh. Your hands stay in your lap, feeling shy about the proximity. You can feel her take a glance at you and you hear her let out a small giggle. She pinches your cheeks, cooing, “Are you okay?” You nod in response, feeling your cheeks heat up at her words. Your voice shakes a bit when you talk. “Yeah. A little nervous.” She pulls away slightly, looking at you with concern written in her expression. “Nervous? About the show? You’re gonna do great.” She places a hand on your cheek, her thumb caressing it gently. You wonder if she can feel the heat radiating from your face–  if she notices how much redder you’ve become with her simple touch. She tilts her head, leaning in closer towards you. She whispers, “Relax…” But you can’t relax. Not when Sophia Laforteza exists. 

When they finally call your name, you immediately stand up, almost stumbling on your feet. You hear Sophia giggle and it makes you blush even more. You speed walk away, needing to be out of this situation as quickly as possible. 

It is now the last leg of the tour and you have accepted your fate. You like the Filipina a lot more than you anticipated. 

Through all the not-so-subtle touches, glances, and small flirtatious remarks, you also got to know Sophia on more of a personal level. She always ends up in your hotel room somehow, staying for long periods to talk about everything and nothing all at once. You find yourself listening for most of it, but you don’t care. You’re mesmerized by her voice and how animated she is when she talks about something she’s passionate about. At some point, you also begin divulging your details, telling her things you haven’t said out loud in years. You tell her about your life before becoming an artist, about your family, things you’d rather not speak in detail about. 

This night is no different. 

You exit the bathroom, drying your hair with a towel as Sophia lays on her stomach on your bed. She is looking for something to put on the TV for you two to watch for the night (or, more specifically, have it in the background while you two have yet another yap session). When you sit down next to her, she immediately scoots over, leaning her head against your leg. Even though you’ve gotten used to Sophia’s need for physical touch 24/7, you still can’t help the nervousness you get every single time. You hear her sigh dramatically, throwing the remote behind her. You giggle as you watch her roll onto her back, maneuvering herself so she can lay her head in your lap. You instinctively move your hand to her hair, playing with the soft strands. She closes her eyes, a soft smile forming on her lips. 

“Have you ever been in love?” You halt your movements, your eyes widening at the girl. You’re completely caught off guard by her question. She whines when she feels you’ve stopped playing with her hair and swats at your hand, telling you to continue. You clear your throat, obeying her command. “Umm… I don’t know… I’ve never really been in a relationship before…” Her eyes snap open at your sheepish confession. She gapes at you in surprise. “Really?” You shrug, suddenly feeling embarrassed by your lack of knowledge in the love department. “Yeah… I mean. I’ve talked to people but I’ve never… Gone farther than that.” The Filipina covers her mouth in shock causing you to look away. Your cheeks burn hotter than they ever have. You feel Sophia remove herself from your lap to sit up, grabbing your shoulders. She continues looking at you with a surprised expression. 

“But, you’re always flirting with your fans and Eyekons, you really never dated someone?” Her statement causes you to look back at her with a raised eyebrow. You chuckle, shaking your head. “That’s different. That’s just for fun. Sometimes I flirt with people as a joke.” The moment your words leave your mouth, Sophia immediately detaches herself from you, scooting away. You look at her with a confused look. Your confusion turns into panic when she stands up from the bed with an unreadable expression. You stand as well, worried. “You good?” She nods, looking towards the door. She speaks softly, “Yeah… I just remembered the girls and I planned to do something tomorrow morning so I should probably get back so I can go to bed.” Before you can respond, Sophia makes her way toward the door. Before leaving, she turns to look at you with what looks like a sad smile. “Goodnight, Y/n.” You feel frozen in place as you watch her leave the room without another word. You run your hands through your hair, wondering what went wrong. 

“Fuck.” 

Lara: bro whatd you do

You: IDK U TELL ME!!!!!

There are four cities left in the tour and Sophia still isn’t talking to you. 

After that night in the hotel, she has been avoiding you. The Filipina doesn’t even try to hide it. Every time you walk into the room, she immediately leaves. When you two are told to vlog together, she does as she is told, but once filming is over, she is gone before you can say a word to her. It sucks. And you still don’t know why. 

You think about your conversation with Sophia over and over again, trying to find at what point it went awry. But it only leaves you more confused than before. It wasn’t like you two were talking about anything that substantial. 

That is until you recount the events to the leader’s members. 

They all sit on your bed, looking at you with deadpanned expressions. You groan because you didn’t realize you’ve fucked up this badly. You wave your hands wildly, giving them a pleading look. “Well! Tell me what I did so I can fix it!” Daniela sighs, crossing her arms. She speaks as though her words were obvious. “You said you flirt with people as a joke, Y/n.” You look at her, still confused. “What does that have to do with anything?” Manon groans, throwing a pillow at your head that you unsuccessfully dodge. It hits you like her words. 

“You dumbass! You two have been flirting with each other for the last like three months! She must think it’s been a joke to you this whole time!” 

Another city, another sound check. 

Except this time, you feel more nervous than you usually do. 

Since the girls intervened with you, you’ve been trying to figure out how to win the Filipina girl back in your life. You can’t believe how oblivious you’ve been the last few months. You’ve been so busy overthinking your feelings that you didn’t even consider Sophia’s. There couldn’t have been a chance in hell that Sophia Laforteza would see you the same way you do. But, as you reflected on the past few months, you realize that all signs were there. 

And now you’re gonna try to make up for it. Try is the keyword. 

You are in the last few minutes of your soundcheck when you decide to finish with a cover that you’ve been shamelessly practicing for hours the night before. You run to the other side of the stage, grabbing your ukulele. Its appearance makes the audience cheer and you feel your cheeks heat up. For some reason, holding a ukulele embarrasses you. But you can’t back away, you’ve gotta see this one through. You place your mic on its stand, clearing your throat. You speak into it, your voice shaking slightly. “So. I think you guys and I have been getting pretty close the last few months…” You hear more cheers from the audience, agreeing with your statement. You chuckle nervously. “So, I’m gonna tell you guys a secret.” Once again, everyone cheers in response. You hear individual voices saying things such as, “What is it?” or, “Tell us!” 

You strum the ukulele, the random chords reverberating throughout the concert hall. “I really like someone… And I really fucked up– pardon my language,” Everyone laughs but quickly becomes silent, wanting you to continue. “And so, I dedicate this song to them. I hope they listen to it and I don’t know… Consider giving me another chance?” The audience screams a collective ‘Yes!’ When everyone finally quiets down, you begin playing the chords to the song, hoping a certain Filipina is standing backstage listening in. 

“She’s my sunshine in the rain…” 

After saying your goodbyes to the audience, you quickly run off stage, looking around frantically. Disappointment begins to settle in your chest when Sophia is nowhere to be seen. However, a familiar hand grabs onto yours, pulling you into an unknown direction. You can’t help the smile that forms on your face being pulled by Sophia. Once you two are alone, she wraps her arms around your neck, pulling you into a deep kiss. You respond immediately, wrapping your arms around her waist. After a few moments, she pulls away slightly, resting her forehead against yours. She whispers teasingly. “You’re only flirting with me from now on, okay?” 

You kiss her again, relishing the way her lipgloss tastes. When you pull away, you respond, breathlessly, “Got it. Totally noted.”

a/n: i hope you guys enjoyed, let me know what you think! this one was rlly fun to write and it helped w my sophia brainrot lately. my inbox is open for requests and any thoughts so send them if you wanna :)

[urno1luv]

all i can think about is ningning taking your virginity and making you her puppet, so i have to share it with u!!

like imagine being best friend with ningning and one day at sleepover she decides she wants to fuck you and she doesn’t know what to do so she randomly comes behind up and start massaging your boobs and you’re kind of confuse but it feels good and she’s like you like that? but you know you shouldn’t!! she’s your best friend after all, best friends don’t do that

then you confess to her you’re a virgin and she’s like i know babe but she still asks you if you can make her feel good so you try

then it leads to her fucking you with a strap!!

i hope you don't mind but i changed a little bit of the request bc i couldn’t write this, my brain was just not working👉👈kinda long

hot best friend ningning x oblivious reader

You'd had a hundred sleepovers with Ningning before — messy skincare routines, late-night snacks, and half-hearted movie marathons where you both ended up scrolling your phones instead. Tonight was supposed to be just like any other night.

Except... it wasn't.

Maybe it was how she'd been looking at you all evening — eyes lingering just a little too long, her playful teasing feeling heavier somehow. Or the way her fingers would brush your thigh under the blanket, pretending not to notice how your breath caught every time. You tried to tell yourself you were imagining it.

Ningning was your best friend. She'd always been touchy, always called you baby in that soft, sing-song voice. But when she suggested sharing the bed instead of setting up the couch like usual... something shifted. Now you're lying side by side in the dim light, both in oversized t-shirts and tiny shorts, bodies close under the blankets. Her perfume lingers between you — warm, sweet, dangerous.

"You tired?" she asks softly, her voice low, lazy. You shake your head, trying not to notice how her leg is pressed against yours. "No... not really."

There's a beat of silence.

You feel her shift, propping herself up on one elbow. When you glance at her, her eyes are already on you — darker than usual, half-lidded, like she's sizing you up.

"You always get so shy around me."

Your stomach flips. "I'm not—"

She cuts you off with a soft little laugh, fingers brushing over your bare thigh — just barely there, like she's testing how far she can push. "You are."

Her voice is quieter now, closer. "It's cute."

Your breath catches. You should pull away, crack a joke — anything to break whatever this is. But you don't.

You just lie there, heart pounding, heat pooling low in your stomach as her fingers trace slow circles against your skin. "You ever wonder what it would feel like?" she murmurs, leaning in so close her breath is warm against your lips. "What?"

Her eyes flick down to your mouth — then back up, lazy and deliberate.

"If I kissed you."

Your whole body goes still. You've never thought about Ningning like that... or maybe you have, but buried it so deep you forgot it was even there.

"I..."

She smiles — soft, teasing — like she knows exactly how flustered she's making you.

"You can tell me to stop." Her fingers slide higher, brushing just under the hem of your shorts. "But I don't think you want me to.

You don't. God, you don't.

"Ning..."

That's all you get out before her lips are on yours — slow, testing — like she's been holding back for way too long.

She tastes sweet, like the strawberry lip balm you borrowed earlier, her hand slipping under your shirt to rest against your waist. When she pulls back, her eyes flick between yours, waiting.

"You like when I'm soft with you, huh?" she whispers.

You nod, breathless.

Her lips brush your jaw, trailing lower — your neck, your collarbone — until you're tilting your head back without even thinking.

"But I could be so much meaner if you asked."

Her hand dips lower between your thighs, fingers brushing where you're already aching for her — barely there, just enough to make you gasp.

"You gonna let your best friend take care of you, baby?"

She's teasing, playing with you — but there's heat behind it, like she's been waiting for this moment longer than you'd ever realized.

You whimper — half nodding, half falling apart — and that's all the permission she needs.

Her fingers are still teasing between your thighs — featherlight touches that have your whole body trembling under the blanket. Ningning's smile is lazy, half-lidded, like she’s been waiting to get you like this for way too long.

"You always this quiet, baby?" she murmurs, lips brushing your jaw.

Your heart's pounding so hard you're sure she can feel it under her palm. You're dizzy — from the heat, from how close she is, from how good her hands feel without even really doing anything yet.

"I—" Your voice catches in your throat. You squeeze your legs together, trying to squirm away from her touch — but she just smiles, pressing her thigh between yours to keep you in place.

"You what?" she whispers, breath warm against your ear.

Your whole face burns. You've never felt like this before — not with anyone. Every brush of her fingers sends a fresh wave of heat pooling between your legs, but...

"I've never..."

You can't even finish the sentence.

Ningning freezes — just for a second — and then she laughs.

It's low, soft, teasing — like she just stumbled onto the best secret in the world.

"Oh my god..." she breathes, grinning down at you. "You're a virgin?"

You bite your lip, turning your face away — but she catches your chin between two fingers, making you look at her.

"Baby..." she coos, mock-sweet. "Were you just gonna let me ruin you without even telling me?"

You feel like you're going to die — but the worst part is how wet you are just from the sound of her voice.

"I didn't— I didn't think—"

"You didn't think I'd find out?" Her thumb brushes your bottom lip, smirking when you gasp. "Or you didn't think I'd like it?"

Your breath catches.

She likes it?

Her eyes flick down your body — to where you're squirming under her, thighs clenched tight around her leg — then back up to your face.

"Oh, baby..." she purrs. "You're so cute."

Her fingers slide higher, slipping under your shorts — still not touching where you want her, just teasing along the inside of your thigh.

"You want me to be gentle with you?"

You should nod. You should say yes. But the way she's looking at you — like she wants to devour you — makes your whole body ache.

You shake your head, breathless.

Ningning's smirk deepens.

"Didn't think so."

Her fingers brush over your soaked panties, and you gasp — hips bucking up into her hand without even meaning to. She watches every little twitch, every shaky breath, like she's studying you.

"You've been thinking about this, haven't you?" she murmurs. "Letting your best friend touch you like this... even if you didn't wanna admit it.

You whimper — and that's all the answer she needs.

"Don't worry, baby..." she coos, finally slipping her fingers beneath the fabric. "I'll be gentle..."

Her lips brush your ear — voice dropping lower —

"...at first."

You're gone. Completely. All those years of friendship, every line you thought you'd never cross — they're already ruined under her hands, and she's only just getting started.

Her hand drifts lower under the blanket, fingers brushing between your legs again — but this time, she doesn't tease. She cups you through your ruined panties, palm pressing down just enough to make your hips buck into her hand.

"You want me to stretch you out, baby?" she whispers against your lips. "Wanna feel what it's like to really get fucked?"

Your breath catches — and you don't even realize you're nodding until she's already smirking down at you like she owns you.

"Good girl."

You barely register her slipping out of bed — too dazed, too soaked between your thighs to do anything but watch as she opens her overnight bag and pulls out...

Oh.

You sit up on your elbows, eyes wide.

"Ning... you brought that to a sleepover?"

She flashes you a wicked little grin, the black strap-on hanging loose from her fingers.

"I was hoping you'd finally let me fuck you sooner or later."

Your whole body burns — but before you can even think of something smart to say, she's crawling back onto the bed, strapping the harness low on her hips like she's done it a million times before.

"You still want me to be gentle, baby?" she purrs, stroking the silicone along your thigh — not quite where you need it, just enough to make you squirm.

You bite your lip, eyes flicking between her face and the strap — heart pounding so hard you're sure she can hear it.

"...No."

Her smile curves slow and dangerous.

"That's what I thought."

She hooks her fingers under your shorts and panties, sliding them down your legs in one slow motion —Ningning freezes — just for a second — and then she laughs.

You're already soaked again, slick dripping down your thighs — and Ningning sees it. Her tongue flicks over her bottom lip, eyes locked on your messy little cunt like she's ready to eat you alive.

"Fuck, baby... you're so wet for me."

You whimper — half embarrassed, half aching — but she just shushes you, leaning down to kiss your thigh.

"I'll make it feel good," she promises softly. "Gonna make you forget anyone else ever even touched you."

She lines the strap up between your legs, dragging the head through your slick folds — slow, teasing — just to watch you squirm.

"Look at you..." she murmurs, voice low and sweet. "All shy and innocent — and now you're about to let your best friend fuck you."

You gasp, clutching at the sheets as the tip nudges against your entrance — stretching you open inch by inch, so slow it hurts.

Ningning groans low under her breath, even though she can't feel it — like she's imagining how tight you are, how wet.

"You're so fucking tight, baby..." she breathes, hips rolling forward just a little deeper. "Relax... let me in."

You try — but she's so big, and it's so much — and she can feel you clenching around the strap, watching every little whimper that spills from your lips.

"You're taking me so well, baby..." she coos, kissing your cheek. "Such a good girl for me."

She doesn't stop until she's buried to the hilt — hips flush against yours, her breath hot against your neck.

You feel so full you're dizzy — stretched open and ruined on your best friend's cock, panting into her mouth as she starts to move.

Slow at first — gentle — just rocking her hips against yours while one hand slips between your thighs to rub soft little circles over your clit.

"That's it, baby... let me take care of you..."

You can't do anything but take it — legs wrapped around her waist, nails digging into her back as she fucks you into the mattress.

Every thrust makes you gasp — this slow, steady rhythm that has your body melting under her. "Does it feel good?" she whispers, biting at your jaw. "Is this what you've been waiting for?"

You nod, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes — so overwhelmed you can't even speak. Ningning loves it. "Poor baby..." she coos, pressing her thumb harder against your clit. "Gonna come for me again, huh? Gonna let your best friend fuck all those shy little noises out of you?"

You're already so close — hips grinding up into hers, breath catching with every slow, deep thrust. She leans in — lips brushing your ear —

"Come for me, baby... let me ruin you."

And you do — falling apart under her with a broken little cry, legs shaking around her waist as she fucks you through it. When it's over, she doesn't pull out right away — just holds you there, cock still buried deep, pressing soft kisses along your jaw.

"You did so good for me..." she murmurs, brushing sweaty hair out of your face.

"Such a pretty little slut."

You're still trembling when she finally pulls out — slick dripping down your thighs, body wrecked from the inside out.

But Ningning just smirks, pulling you close against her chest. "You want me to clean you up?" she whispers, trailing her fingers down your stomach.

"Or shall we find out how many times i can make you cum before the sun comes up?"

[hotchnersangel]

Hi Hi! So i saw few of your Aaron fics were based off of songs and Ive wanted an I can see you by taylor swift fic for him for so long.

Specifically the, “I can see you in your suit and your necktie, pass me a note, saying meet me tonight.”

ITS JUST SO HOTCH CODEDD

okayyy thanks queen😋

I CAN SEE YOU

Aaron Hotchner

A/n: omg this is my first request so im screaming and kicking my feet right now, i hope i do you justice my love!!!!!!!!! ps, I LOVE TAYLOR AND THIS WAS MY SURPRISE SONG!

cw: implications of sex, dadbod!hotch, pining, kinda objectifying hotch but goddamn hes so hot, bau!reader probably some more but i cant think xxx

Finding your person was never as easy as it came across, in fact, you had a chronic fear that maybe that day would never come. The overriding question of if someone would ever be able to see you so deeply, so intimately and trace your being so intricately with nothing but the kiss of their heart. That was until Aaron Hotchner stood under a strobe light and shon a lifeline when you were in complete darkness, consumed by the ache of your despair.

The relationship between the two of you was… well, flummox. Especially recently; Aaron had become more comfortable around you and it was visible to a watchful eye if you studied every intricacy and atom of his being, which you did. Though, he never let his poker face fall in-front of the rest of the BAU. He was incredibly skilled at the art of deception, which made his yearning of desire towards you that much easier to conceal.

The feeling of his shoulder brushing past yours in the hallway sends one thousand hot electric bolts through your body causing a full body reaction to his touch. Your cheeks mirror a gentle shade of rose as you duck your head down, suddenly finding appeal in the stone flooring. Despite what feel’s like your obvious flirting, Aaron isn’t sure if his feelings were reciprocated. There was certainly a tension between the two of you, but of what nature led you to disclose such information. Was it simply lust, was it… friendship? Was it loneliness? Or simply, was it love?

The feeling that you get when he is near you sends goosebumps down your spine. The way your smile brightens just wide enough for it to not hurt when you smile when he is near, or when he cracks a joke which was awfully rare nowadays, though when it happens you feel a warm and fuzzy sensation inside your belly. He makes you feel a sort of creeping sensation… like something is crawling across your chest, maybe a feeling of a fly or nat, but no- realisation kicks in and you are simply faced with the love-bug.

He similarly feels an alike reception of feelings towards you, though verbally he fears he cannot communicate them with you in fear of getting a reply. He tried for so long to deny his feelings, deny deny deny that you even existed in a romantic sense- but everything he ever did led back to you. No matter how many times he ‘picked up’ a girl in a bar, how many times he was goggled by women around him, no matter how many times he found different ways to infiltrate you out of his mind, it would always run back to you.

You are currently sat at your desk, gazing at Aaron Hotchner as he is sat on his desk, filling out paperwork. The way his eyes skim the page so tentatively makes you wonder what they would feel like when they landed on you for a long duration of time… maybe in a scenario where you were alone in the tension between you- with nothing left to yearn upon apart from the worshipping of one anothers bodies. What would he do, if you went to touch him now? God, it’s all you could think about. The feeling of running your hands across his broad chest and big big arms. Those huge, delicious arms.

You can imagine the way his hands could hold you trapped to the wall while his body boxes you in until you have no option but to submit to him. Your eyes catch his as his gaze wanders away from his case files and back onto you. The feeling of drunken giddy fills both of your stomachs as you narrow your eyes daringly at him, a small smirk lifting the left side of his face. His eyebrow perches upwards as he inspects you, like he was reading every invasive thought going through your head and in return… he retaliates with similar thoughts. The way he could caress your body and how the small gesture could make him want you even more, which he never deemed as possible.

He wished you knew how you made him feel, how your cheeks may flush a little more deeper at the confession that he could see you. Everything about you. The way you laugh, the way you smile, what each micro-expression of your face meant, what your movements implied about your mood, what you need in each and every moment. He saw everything. He saw you.

You see him walk out of his office, his very large and veiny hand holding a stack of files that would take you two to carry. He walks down each step like he was entitled to the world, like the sight of him in his suit and his necktie wasn’t driving you insane.

You couldn’t help but goggle at the sight of him. He always looked… beautiful but today, well today he looked scrumptious. Like he was sculpted by the greek gods and dressed in robes fit for roman emperors- with a little more coverage, unfortunately. The way his black suit hugged his bulky arms and larger waist made your mouth water. The quick glance over his neck tie was enough to send your mind spiralling into where else that could be used. Tying your hands together maybe? Please.

He walks up to your desk, stopping besides you, arguably closer than he should have. His knee was brushed against yours as you looked up at him through your lashes, your innocent eyes hiding the most hideously devilish thoughts of what you want to do to the man in-front of you.

“Your caseload.” He puts simply, placing the folder down in-front of you. Can he hear the way your heart is racing in your chest? Because you start to contemplate if you’re going through a severe heart condition like AF with this irregular pattern.

“Thanks.” You smile up at him, which he catches and nods in return.

“Oh,” he pauses as he turns to walk away, looking back in your direction and moving his hand on top of yours, the touch unraveling a relentless fire spreading wildly through your body- guiding your hand towards the file.

“Have a thorough read on page 3, there is some serious information.” He singles into you eyes, making the world around you spin. You nod, losing your words as you watch his lean figure clamber up the steps and return to his office.

You open the file, starting on page three- your eyes greeted by a small note written in his cursive hatching. ‘Meet me tonight.’

You stomach flips and suddenly, the rest of the day seems to fall into an extremely long and painful blur, over and over, constant reminders that you had to wait, had to restrain yourself to not climb onto hid body like a child in a wild play. Instead, you stayed composed for the rest of the day until the inevitable time occured and suddenly you wished it was a few hours ago, again.

You swallowed your nerves and followed him subtly out of the building, until he opened his car door allowing you to take a seat before heading to the drivers side. When he does, he looks over to you intently and smirks.

“You can follow my orders?” He speaks with a decided tone of smugness.

“When you have orders I agree with, yeah.” You shoot back, looking at him through your naturally glassy eyes. Your lips softly plumped with the lipstick combination defining them. Which, drove Aaron crazy. The urge to smother his body with your lipstick felt overwhelming but he simply just sat and stared.

“Fuck, I can’t do this any longer.” He sighs and looks at you intensely, his eyes singling onto you with intent.

“Do me instead.” You shrug casually and he lets out a strong sigh, moving forwards until his forehead rests against yours. A deep, breathy sigh escaping from his lips as his hand moves to cup your cheeks.

“Say the word and I will step back and let you out of the car.”

“You clearly aren’t very good at your job if you think that I don’t want this, Mr Unit Chief.” You tease him with a playful grin.

He tilts his head at you, hitting an angle that excites you deeply. The sight before you simply knocking you off your feet. Taking your breath away. All the clichè’s.

“I know you want this,” he repeats and finally attaches his lips to yours. Your body moving into a panicked state, flushed with excitement, nervousness, anticipation and lust. A soft shudder attacking your nervous system sending your body into overdrive, making you wonder if this is a dream or not. But, as you feel Aaron pull away, your lip between his teeth.

He looks at you and says, “I can see you, baby.”

And suddenly, the world around you stopped and the silence carried the passion between you and Aaron Hotchner.

[skyguytoast]

𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐀𝐌 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐑𝐎𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐁𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄....

warning: some of the headcanons are explict, +18.

a/n: hii again, i guess writing headcanons allow me to pour out my thoughts about this movie, hope you enjoy and if you fell like comment or reblog, this literally makes my day😻😻

• Sam would never openly admit he was in love—not at first. Instead, he’d annoy you just to get a reaction. A poke to your ribs, flicking a paper ball at your head, pulling your hair lightly when you weren’t paying attention. He thrived off of your exasperated looks and playful shoves, convincing himself it was just fun. But deep down, it scared the hell out of him—this thing he was feeling, this pull toward you he couldn’t ignore. • When Sam finally admitted his feelings to himself, he didn’t waste time hiding them from you. No grand gestures, no cheesy romance movie confessions—just raw honesty. One night, while you sat together, he fidgeted with his rings before finally muttering, "I think about you all the time. And I don’t know what to do about it." His voice was quiet, but his eyes held nothing but sincerity. • Your first kiss wasn’t planned—it just happened. You leaned in to kiss his cheek, and at the last second, he turned his head, your lips colliding in an accidental but electric moment. You froze, staring at each other for what felt like forever, before his hand found your face, adjusting the angle—then he kissed you for real, slow and deliberate, as if he was memorizing every second. • Sam never officially asked you to be his girlfriend —he just assumed you were. You liked each other, you spent all your time together, so why did you need labels? But when he noticed how much it would mean to you, he actually tried. He showed up at your place, awkwardly holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers, and grumbled, "So... do you, uh, wanna make this official or something?" • Sam wasn’t big on PDA, but he always made sure you felt his presence. A hand resting on your back, fingers hooked into your belt loops, a casual arm around your waist when he pulled you close. Sitting together, his hand would absentmindedly rest on your thigh, tracing tiny circles with his thumb. It was never too much—just enough to remind you that you were his. • Behind closed doors, though? Sam was needy. He always had to be touching you—arms wrapped around your waist, head resting in your lap, kissing your temple as he pulled you against his chest. At night, he’d curl up behind you, pressing sleepy kisses to the back of your neck before muttering, "You’re stuck with me, you know that?" like some sort of half-assed love confession. • He made you a playlist, and it was the closest thing to a love letter you’d ever get from him. The songs were scrawled onto the back of a CD cover, his handwriting messy but unmistakable. You skimmed the tracklist and smirked. "'Can’t Take My Eyes Off You'?" you teased. "Didn’t take you for a Frankie Valli guy." He shrugged, avoiding eye contact. "You like it, don’t you?" • Even though he’d never say it outright, Sam loved how you listened to him. When he rambled about obscure bands, the evolution of punk, or why a specific 1979 guitar riff was way better than its 1980s version, you actually listened. You asked questions, nodded at the right moments, and even remembered random facts he told you weeks ago. It made something in his chest go tight. • You had a habit of stealing his sweatshirts and t-shirts, and even though he grumbled, he secretly loved it. Seeing you in his oversized hoodie, drowning in his scent, made something primal in him soften. One day, he crossed his arms and smirked, "So, uh… think I could borrow my sweatshirt back? Or are you just gonna take over my whole closet?" • Sam wasn’t the type to talk about the future, but in quiet moments, he let it slip. Like when you were sprawled across his bed, talking about nothing, and he absentmindedly murmured, "You know, I’d go anywhere with you." Or when he pressed a kiss to your forehead and whispered, "I don’t know how you put up with me, but I hope you never stop." Because even if he didn’t say the words I love you all the time, you felt it in every little thing he did.

+𝟏𝟖 (𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐘 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒)

• You were Sam's first time. Before you, he had only known the fleeting pleasure of his own hand and imagination. He had touched himself countless times, stroking his hardening cock until thick ropes of cum painted his stomach. But nothing could have prepared him for the ethereal, overwhelming sensation of being inside your tight, wet heat. Your body was his new temple, and he wanted to worship every inch of it. With each thrust, each deep stroke, Sam felt a primal connection, a claiming that transcended the physical. You were his now, in a way he had never belonged to anyone before.

• Sam whines and whimper whenever you give him a blowjob. When your luscious lips wrap around the head of his cock, Sam is helpless to keep quiet. Guttural moans and whimpers tear from his throat, his back arching off the bed as he fists the sheets for support. Tears of overwhelming sensation prick the corners of his eyes, his vision blurring as you take him deeper, your nose pressing against his pelvis. The wet heat of your mouth, the flick of your tongue, the gentle suction - it's all too much, yet not enough. Sam's balls tighten, his cock pulsing and throbbing against your tongue as he fights the urge to thrust into your mouth, to fuck your face until he paints your throat with his release.

• Sam adores being at the mercy of your desires, in the delicious agony of giving up control. He loves the feeling of your body moving above him, your breasts bouncing hypnotically as you ride him with wild abandon. The sight of you taking your pleasure from him, using him for your own satisfaction, is the ultimate turn-on. Sam's hands roam your body, squeezing the globes of your ass, thumbing your nipples, mapping every dip and curve. He wants to learn you by touch alone, to commit your body to memory. As you chase your orgasm, Sam loses himself in the erotic dance of your coupling, drunk on the sensation of being so deeply, thoroughly fucked.

• But Sam also knows how to take charge when you need him to, to give you what you crave. He pins your wrists above your head, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh as he holds you down, immobilizing you completely. His hips snap forward, driving into you with a force that rocks the bed and shakes the headboard against the wall. The room fills with the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin, of your desperate moans and his whining grunts. Sam's blue eyes darken with lust and possession, his gaze boring into yours as he marks your body with his touch, his teeth, his cock.

• In the missionary position, Sam braces himself above you, his arms trembling with the effort of holding back, wanting to prolong the moment. As he feels his climax approaching, Sam buries his face between your perfect breasts, motorboating your cleavage and breathing in your intoxicating scent. He nips and sucks at the sensitive skin, determined to mark you as his. As his orgasm builds, Sam's grip on your hips tightens, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh, no doubt leaving bruises behind. With a whimper that's part pleasure, part pain, Sam hilts inside you one last time as he comes, his cock pulsing and jerking, flooding your womb with his hot, thick seed. His face remains buried in your cleavage as his body shaking with the force of his release. In that moment, Sam knows he would do anything, anything at all, to keep you by his side, to hold onto this feeling of utter completion and belonging. You are his, and he is yours, and nothing will ever tear you apart.

[munsonsmixtapes]

I Never Got to Say Goodbye

ex boyfriend!eddie x reader

You see Eddie over a year after your break up and you both realize that you never stopped loving each other

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) unprotected sex, hurt/comfort, angst, a guy gets handsy with reader

You sit at your vanity in your room, dreading to get ready. You don’t even want to go out, but you feel like you have no choice. Your friends are trying to get you to meet someone new but how can you when you’re still not over your ex? 

You’re not even sure why you broke up anymore and you’re wondering if he feels the same. If he lies awake playing your breakup over and over, wishing that you would have just stayed together. But you suppose it was just a “right person, wrong time” sort of thing, that it was more the situation than anything that led to your relationship ending. 

You put on your makeup and get dressed as you put on the mixtape that one of your roommates had made for you. You’re dancing around as get ready, loving every song that’s been put onto it. She knows you so well, knows exactly what you like. But then you freeze when the familiar guitar riff floats through your ears. 

“I can’t dance,” you tell Eddie as he guides you around your living room. He’s trying and failing to teach you how to dance but he’s just so determined to show you how. 

“Sure you can,” he says, turning up the volume of the stereo before taking your hands in his. He steps forward and you step back as he guides you through the moves, being so gentle with you like always. “Eyes on me, okay?” 

You nod and keep your eyes on his pretty brown ones as he slowly shows you the steps. You’re not even sure how he learned this but you love seeing the fluid steps and wonder how he does it so well. There’s just so much about him that you want to know and you hope you’re together long enough to find out every single thing about him.

A knock at the door pulls you out of your flashback and you’re quick to turn off the music before hurrying to answer it. Janet is on the other side, a bright smile plastered on her face like always. You know she’s waiting on your to finish so you all can leave and you’re actually kind of pissed at her for not at least letting you finish your flashback. 

You’ve been having a lot of those lately. It’s like your brain is trying to torture you with all of the memories because it knows just how much you’ve been missing Eddie. You miss him so much that it actually hurts. It’s to the point where it’s gotten so painful to think about but you don’t want the memories to stop.

You grab your purse and follow Janet and the other girls out the door. Luckily, the club is just down the street so you don’t have to hail a cab to get there. They’re all talking about finding someone to hook up with but of course, all you’re thinking about is your ex and how much he would have hated a place like this.

Being in that close proximity to strangers-drunk strangers at that-was his worst nightmare and the loud music was so overstimulating which you totally understood. It was something that he would always push through for you because of how much you loved it and now you know you’re going to miss having him by your side, whispering silly things into your ear and staring down any man who even looked at you. 

As the four of you get in line, Violet slips some condoms into your purse that you’re sure you’re not even going to need but you let her anyway. It’s easier not to put up a fight, especially when they’re all just trying to help. 

The club is newer and allegedly very hard to get into and as you look up at the name, you notice that it sounds very familiar, something you’ve heard a billion times but you’re sure that it’s not actually what you’re thinking of. 

“Ed’s?” You ask with a laugh. “That’s the name of a bar, Eddie, not a club. And why do you want to own a club anyway? That’s not exactly your scene.” 

“For you,” he says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world before pressing a kiss to your lips. “I want you to have a place you can call your own, where you can make the decisions. You always complain about the music and the prices and now you’d be able to have whatever you want.” 

“You’re doing this for me?” You feel tears welling up in your eyes at the gesture, wondering how you got so lucky to have someone who cares that much about you. That pays that much attention and is willing to drop a bunch of money just so you could be happy. 

“I’d do anything for you, you know that,” he winks and your heart flutters. 

“Ed’s,” you nod, having a newfound love for the name. “I like it.” You lay your head on Eddie’s chest while he runs his fingers through your hair, your favorite lullaby. 

“I thought you might.” 

You’re thrown back into real life to the bouncer outside the club asking for your ID. When did you get to the front of the line? Did you really zone out of that long? 

You shake the thought away and pull your wallet out of your purse, retrieving your ID and handing it to him. Once he sees that you’re of age, he hands it back and you head inside. As you walk through the doors and take in everything, you still think about how familiar everything looks, almost as if you’ve seen it before. But it can’t be what you think it is…can it?

Your friends have separated from you yet again so you head to the bar for a much needed drink. As soon as you sit at the bar, you look around and see just how busy it is. The bartenders are working hard to stay on top of their orders and as much as you really want a drink, you’re willing to wait as long as you need to. 

You pick up the menu and look at the drinks, the deja vu coming over you again as the names all sound familiar. They’re based on metal songs, songs that you’ve heard so many times you could sing them from memory. 

They would all play so loudly in Eddie’s car as you’d drive around town, screaming the lyrics as loud as you could through giggles because you were just so happy to be around each other. 

You haven’t even been able to listen to any of them since the breakup because it just hurts too much. At first, you were only listening to them because of Eddie, but over time, you really grew to appreciate the genre and even started listening to them on your own. 

Eventually, one of the bartenders comes over to take your order and your mouth falls open as you make eye contact with him. You definitely must be hallucinating because he looks so much like Eddie. As you stare at him, taking in his features, his longer hair, his beard, and nose ring, his own eyes widen which causes you to believe that he is in fact real. 

The last you heard, he was in Chicago. What was he doing back in New York? And why hadn’t he told you? Oh, that’s right. He probably doesn’t have your number anymore and considering that you haven’t kept in contact, you don’t really deserve to know what’s going on in his life anymore. 

And that just kills you. You wonder how much about him has changed besides his appearance. He obviously still opened the club even though you aren’t together anymore. And it seems to be doing really well so you can’t help but feel your heart swell with pride. He got everything he ever wanted. And the stab to the chest is that he didn’t even need your help to do it. 

“What can I get for you?” He asks and now you don’t even want a drink. You want him to sit next to you while you tell each other everything that’s happened over the past year. You want to tell him just how much you fucking miss him. 

“Rum and Coke,” you reply and he smiles, loving to see that you’re still ordering the same drink. 

“You got it,” he nods and moves around the bar, fixing the drink. You watch him, staring at his back, wishing you could hug him from behind like you always used to do. He’d just laugh and turn around , wrapping his arms around you and giving you a squeeze. You miss everything about him, but you’re pretty sure you miss his hugs the most. They were always so tight and long, his favorite way to show you just how much he loved you. 

Loved. As in, past tense. You never stopped loving him but you’re not sure if he still loves you. Considering how he’s been treating you like every other customer, you don’t think he does. You almost want to just get up and leave but he sets your drink on the bar in front of you. 

“One rum and coke,” he says, wiping his hands off on a towel and you can’t even look him in the eye. It’s just too painful. 

Eddie can’t fucking believe that you’re here. He hasn’t stopped thinking about you since you broke up, well, more specifically, that day and how much he regrets the whole thing. It still plays in his head on a loop, torturing him. What he would give to go back in time and beg you to stay.

“So what are you saying?” He asks, crossing his arms over his chest. Surely you’re not suggesting what he thinks you are. No way are you breaking up with him. You just can’t be. You’ve been through far too much to just give up on each other.

“I’m saying that what’s the point of even being together if we can’t be together? We’re both always busy and we see each other once every few weeks. That’s not a relationship Eddie.” He knows your right, but he’s sure that you just need to push through and you’ll get through it just like the two of you have every time you’ve had something you needed to work through.

“So you want to break up?” He almost looks like he’s going to cry and you just can’t bear to look at him if he does. You don’t need this to be any harder than it already is.

“I didn’t say that…but I don’t see any other choice.” You’re both crying now and the whole thing is just pitiful, the two of you looking at each other with tears streaming down your faces, having a conversation you never thought you would. 

“No. No, we can make this work.” He’s taking your hands in his and as much as you love that he’s fighting for you, you know you just can’t keep going like this.

“How?” You ask and he reaches up and wipes your tears, resting his hands on your cheeks. This is one thing he just can’t fix and that breaks you.

“I don’t know. I guess maybe it’s for the best,” he shrugs, finally seeing it from your perspective. He feels like his heart is being ripped out of his chest and he’s not entirely sure what he should do about it. You’re always there to fix things for him and the one time he really needs you, you’re not going to be there.

“I guess so,” you sniff, the two of you now breaking into sobs, knowing that things between the two of you will never be the same. 

You moved your stuff out of his apartment that week and you both cried the whole time, the pain all consuming as he helped you pack up your stuff, being his sweet self which just added salt to the wound. You broke up with him and he still helped you move your stuff, being nothing but a gentleman about the whole thing. 

He didn’t even beg you to stay or anything like you thought he would. He just silently helped you pack stuff into boxes then put it all in the truck you rented. All he did was cry, not even uttering a single word to you as he did so. 

He hasn’t seen you since that day and he has no idea how you got even more beautiful since then. You’re wearing a pretty silver dress and the biggest standout is that you’ve cut your hair. The short style looks good on you, but Eddie thinks that everything looks good on you. 

He doesn’t know how he ever let you slip through his fingers, who he let you move your stuff out of his apartment, why he even went as far as helping you pack everything up. It was the hardest thing he ever had to do but he felt like it was the right thing for both of you. 

But now that you’re here tonight, he’s wondering if it’s fate giving him a second chance. God, if he’s offered one, he’s going to take it. Just thinking about it, he feels the weight on his chest lifting, like everything finally makes sense again. 

You’re sipping on your drink so elegantly, giggling with a man who’s now occupying the stool to the left of you. You seem to be having a good time and now you’re holding Eddie’s heart in your hand, squeezing it as you continue to giggle with the man and he can feel it, his chest aching as he watches you slip through his fingers once again. 

But as he’s turning his back to help the other customers, he sees the man’s hand sliding up your thigh and something about watching this happen is making his skin crawl. Just thinking about this guy touching you like that makes him want to break every single one of his fingers, especially because of how uncomfortable you look. 

You’re trying to scoot away but don’t have the strength, the guy grabbing hold of your arm and holding you there so you’re unable to move. Even from your profile, he can see the fear in your eyes as you try to push him off. 

 Eddie’s had enough of this and rounds the bar, grabbing hold of the guy and pulling him off the stool. As soon as he looks the guy in the eyes, seeing that he’s not even phased tells Eddie that he does this a lot and that doesn’t sit right with him. He’s seen red now as he holds the guy by his shirt and he knows he really shouldn’t but before he can stop himself, he raises his fist and punches him square in the face before letting security take care of him. 

He shakes his fist afterwards because of the tingly feeling just as you’re throwing yourself into his arms, wrapping your arms around his neck as you bury your face into it. He doesn’t exactly know what’s going on, pretty sure that you’re trying to thank him, but he doesn’t need it. He did it because it was the right thing and honestly would have done it for anyone. 

You pull away and Eddie feels every part of him ache when he sees that you’re crying. He notices your face change, your eyes widen as you slip your arms from him, almost as if you think that you’ve made a mistake.  

“I’m sorry,” you tell him as you step away, quickly adjusting your dress before wiping your tears from your cheeks. There was a time where that was Eddie’s job but being chronically single since the breakup, you’ve learned to do it for yourself again 

“For what?” He asks, tilting his head to the side as he slips his hands into the pockets of his jeans to prevent from reaching out for you. 

“For hugging you,” you reply as if it’s obvious, but clearly it’s not since he’s still looking at you like a confused puppy. Has he always been this adorable? 

“Baby-” he cuts himself off, the nickname coming so naturally like it hasn't been months since he’s called you that. “You can hug me anytime you want. Especially after that.” 

“Sorry,” you shake your head. “This is just weird for me, I guess. I-I wasn’t expecting to see you here and I guess old feelings are just flooding back.” You’re chuckling awkwardly like you shouldn’t be saying it, but it’s honestly music to Eddie's ears.

Eddie’s brain short circuits as you finish speaking. Old feelings? So you don’t still love him. You don’t feel the same way as he does and that absolutely kills him. This whole thing has just become torture but he can’t get himself to walk away because he’s still wrapped around your goddamn finger. Some things just never change. 

“Well, I um-” you cut yourself off, now feeling flustered. “I should get back to my friends,” you jerk your thumb over your shoulder and Eddie couldn’t be more disappointed. He really wishes he had more time with you, realizing just how much he missed you now that you’re leaving again. If he doesn’t say something now, he’s going to be kicking himself for the rest of his life. 

“Wait,” he calls after you and you turn around, clearly caught off guard by him still having something to say. “I get off in about an hour. Do you want to…go somewhere?” 

“Eddie…” You look hesitant, almost caught off guard and now he’s trying to think of how he can backtrack since he’s clearly made you uncomfortable. 

“I just want to talk.” You think about it and Eddie can practically see the gears turning in your head. You want to, you really do, but there’s so much that you want to say that you probably shouldn’t. 

You want to tell him how much you miss him, how you miss being wrapped up in his arms, the way he’d squeeze you tight before the two of you fell asleep. You miss the humming that he did or the tv constantly playing on low volume in the background because he hates silence. 

You miss his kisses and even though it’s been over a year since your last one, you still vividly remember what his lips felt like. They were almost always chapped and he often tasted like the mint gum he chewed to cover up the tobacco for you. 

“Okay, yeah,” you nod, craving to be in his presence so badly. Being here with him now, all of that anxiety and dread you’ve been carrying around with you is gone, replaced with warmth that’s spreading throughout your body, the calm that always coursed through you when you were around him. For the first time in so long, you finally feel like you’re home. 

-

Eddie’s feeling clammy as he stands outside the club. He’s smoking a cigarette to help ease his anxiety but it’s not working. He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous to talk to you. Maybe because there’s so much uncertainty. There’s so much he wants to say and he’s unsure how you’re going to take it all. He wants to tell you just how much he misses you, how much he still loves you. It’s fucking breaking him being apart from you and when you left, he felt like he lost his purpose, his passion for everything gone with you in the moving truck. 

And the thing is, he doesn’t even blame you for leaving because what else were you supposed to do? That’s what happens when people break up. He just wishes he had gotten the chance to say goodbye since you made the decision to leave while he was at work. He got home and all of your stuff was gone, those cute little mugs you had collected over the years gone from the kitchen cabinet, your books that you would read to him every night before bed disappeared from his bookshelf along with everything else that you owned. 

Seeing you tonight made his feelings for you even stronger and now he can’t even fight them off like he usually does. They have to make themselves known, wanting Eddie to not deny them anymore. He guesses he can’t now and he honestly has no idea what he’s going to say to you without looking like a lovesick fool. 

So he just continues to smoke his cigarette until it’s gone, then reaches for his pack to get another one when you exit the club, giggling with your friends before saying goodbye to them and heading over to him. You’ve gotten even more beautiful since he last saw you a couple hours ago and it hurts so bad knowing that he can’t have you. After getting your closure, the two of you will go your separate ways and Eddie will go home to a bottle of tequila and put on the mixtape he made for you while he drinks until he cries himself to sleep. 

He’s pathetic and he knows it. He’s imagining you telling him that you miss him too then sharing a kiss that’s filled with fireworks. He really needs to get a grip and stop wishing for something that will never happen.

“So,” you speak up, standing there awkwardly as you fiddle with the strap of your purse in your hands. “Where are we going?” Eddie completely forgot to come up with a spot and now he’s panicking, saying the first thing that comes to mind. 

“Dina’s,” he says as he takes one last drag of his cigarette before putting it out underneath his boot. Your eyes widen at the name, memories flooding your mind of sitting in your favorite booth, the two of you giggling over pancakes and a milkshake with two straws. 

Eddie suggesting that place is like a stab to the gut, too painful to go there and try to relive the good memories of your failed relationship, but you think that maybe it won’t be too bad. 

“Dina’s, wow, I haven’t been there since-” you cut yourself off, wondering if this is even a good idea, talking things over with your ex, bringing up the past as you both mourn what could have been. You’re just not sure if you should be doing this. Maybe it’s not too late to catch a cab and go home.

“Since our anniversary,” Eddie finishes, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket, seeing that you’re not wearing one, your shoulders bare, your arms wrapping tighter around your body to try and warm yourself up but it’s not working. It’s taking everything in him not to give you the jacket right off his back but he knows you won’t take it, too stubborn like always. 

“Right,” you nod, knowing that this will be nothing like that. It will just be an awkward and painful conversation that you really wished you hadn’t agreed to. You have tried so hard not to think about Eddie, pushing out every single thought you’ve had but there is always going to be little pieces of him sprinkled into your life. Whether you like it or not, there’s always going to be something that reminds you of him, taking you back to that painful place where you left him as you moved out that day. 

Eddie leads you to his van and you can’t help but feel like this is a date. You wish it was, though. Maybe you’ll be able to turn everything around and he’ll be your boyfriend again. Or your friend at the very least. 

He opens the passenger door like he always used to and helps you into the van and it’s just like old times. You look around the van as he rounds the hood and it looks exactly the same, the stickers that have been on the dash since you’ve known him are still there, even the ones you gave him. 

They’re curling up at the edges, the adhesive wearing off, but that only means that he’s loved them so much that they’ve been there a while. You run your fingers over them as Eddie gets into the driver’s seat, watching you from where he’s sitting with a smile that’s filled with admiration. 

He starts up the van and catches you singing along to the next song on the tape he’s got in. It’s the last one you made for him that he plays in a loop because apparently he loves to torture himself. It’s got his name written across it in your handwriting with sloppily drawn hearts all over it. 

He can’t keep that stupid smile off of his face and joins you, both of you laughing through your duet as if no time has passed. Things are so different now but one thing you at least know for sure is that Eddie still loves ABBA. 

You sing the rest of the song, your laughter fading away as another one starts and now it’s just awkward silence. Neither of you know what to say even though you unknowingly still love each other. If only the two of you could get over your anxiety and just say it already. 

But you can’t. You won’t. You already hurt him once and you’re not going to do it again. He’s doing so well and you’re not going to stumble into his life and claim your have feelings for him when he’s definitely over you. 

If only you could see how lovesick Eddie still is. If only you could get back all the cobwebs that have gathered in your past and see the future that’s right in front of you. Eddie is still as head over heels for you as he’s always been. He never stopped loving you even when everything went to shit. He’s tried, god, he’s tried. He’s wanted to forget you, but you’re always still there, stuck in his mind forever. 

He pulls up to the restaurant and you’re thrown back in time again, another flashback that you can’t seem to escape as much as you want to. You remember the tender touches of your hands across the table and the loving stares and now you’re just sitting across from each other like two people on a blind date. 

You hate that you still remember your exact orders even though you haven’t even thought about this place since the last time you sat in this very booth. His hand is resting on the table as he looks at the menus and god, you just want to reach for it, to know if they’re as rough as you remember. You hope he still uses that lotion you always used to buy him. 

He’s sitting there, looking so pretty with his hair tucked behind one ear, moving an unlit cigarette between his fingers that’s always been a nervous habit. You hate that he’s nervous but you completely understand why. This is uncharted territory. You’re completely different people now and this whole thing was completely unplanned. 

You mimic him and look at your own menu but you’re not even hungry. You’re actually feeling sick thinking about why you’re actually here. You’re nervous as shit to have this conversation. You just know he’s going to break your heart and you suppose you can’t even be upset with him since you deserve it for leaving him all that time ago without even so much a goodbye. But the thing is, you actually actually left because you were terrified to see the look on his face so you fled to avoid the pain of seeing how heartbroken he was. 

“So,” he says, taking a deep sigh as he sets his menu on the table, looking you in the eyes as he does so. 

“So,” you repeat in the same fashion and furrow your eyebrows when he brings his hands up to cover his face, scrubbing at his eyes. He then slaps his hands onto the table which startles you, looking at you with that fire that you’ve missed the entire night. 

“I’ve gotta be honest,” he says, his gaze still burning into yours. “I’ve missed you. Like, so much that I can’t even stand it.” He knows that it’s rushed and that he probably sounds crazy and eyes widen at his confession, he’s terrified that he’s scaring you away. God, he’s driving you away again, fucking up one more time before you leave his life for good. He just can’t seem to get it right. 

Before he can even finish his speech that he’s been writing in his head for months because in the blink of an eye, you’re sitting right next to him, a goofy but adorable grin on your face. He has no idea what’s going on but he sure as hell isn’t going to deny you being in such close proximity to him. 

“I’m sorry,” he replies, nervous all over again because even though you’re smiling at him, he can’t help but feel iscared that you’re going to slip through his fingers. “I-I don’t know why I said that. I just-”

“Eddie,” you cut him off, your hands cradling his cheeks like they used to and his eyes widen as he stares at you, wondering what you’re going to do next. 

“Yeah?” He asks, his voice small for the first time tonight. 

“Will you please just shut up?” You ask before pressing your lips to his, pouring out all of your repressed emotions for the past year pouring into it and you don’t even care that you’re crying. You just need this and apparently Eddie does too because his arms are wrapped tightly around you, his own tears trailing down his cheeks as he involuntarily whimpers against your lips. 

This is the best way he’s ever been shut up in his life and it’s crazy to him just quickly you’re both able to do this after so long, picking it up like it’s nothing. It gets progressively more hungry and as you’re sticking your tongue into his mouth, you suddenly realize where you are, deciding that you can’t exactly do what you’re doing here. So you stand from the table and offer him your hand which he gladly takes. 

You’re both out the door in a flash and as soon as you’re heading down the alley between the diner and the other building, you’re pulling Eddie into the dark, pressing yourself to the wall as your lips find his again, somehow even more hungry than before. You’re both crying again but you’re too caught up in your need for each other to be embarrassed. 

His hands are sliding up your dress as he kisses down to your, nipping at whatever skin he’s able to get his teeth on as he goes. It starts off as gentle kisses as he murmurs the words “I missed you” against your skin but it gets progressively more intense as he begins to suck on your skin, making your brain feel fuzzy. 

“I missed you too,” you moan as he pushes you gently against the wall. He’s pulling down your thong and you let him despite being so out of practice that you’ve felt so nervous about sleeping with anyone else. Being with Eddie, though, just feels so right. 

You unbutton his jeans and pull them down with his underwear, so caught up in your thoughts that you don’t even notice that he’s slid himself inside you, both of you grunting at the tight fit.  

He’s moving slowly at first but progressively gets faster, missing the feeling of being inside you, missing the way you moan, the way you grab onto him, scratching up any part of him you can get your hands on, missing you. God has he missed you. It feels so right being here with you now.

He’s moving so fast, your legs wrapping around his waist as he pumps and pumps, his lips finding yours again, biting down on your bottom lip as another moan slips past your lips. It’s loud and he’s eating it up, wondering how much more he can get out of you before you’re absolutely spent. 

You’re close already but to see how long you can hold out. You’ve gone so long without him between your legs that it doesn’t take much for you to orgasm, to completely undone as he bottoms out inside you. He’s still going as you whine his name, pumping in and out, in and out until he reaches his own orgasm, moaning so loudly that you’re almost concerned that someone is going to hear him. 

The words “I love you” fall from his lips and you melt when you hear them, so happy that he still feels the same way, that the love you have for each other has never faded. You’re both smiling now as you pull him into another kiss, mumbling the words back to him against his lips. A laugh escapes his lips as he pulls away and he picks you up and spins you around. He’s the happiest he’s been in so long. 

“C’mon, angel,” he says, grabbing hold of your hand and leading you back to his van that’s around the corner. “Let’s go home.”

[imagine-it-was-us]

where we land || Lando Norris

Inspiration: Ed Sheeran where we land

Author's note: These are getting out of hand. Started as the creative outlet and ended as sleepless nights where you can't go to bed until you let our mind bleed out on the keyboard. Ed Sheeran and his music will always have a special place in my heart. And this particular song makes me miss the relationship I never had. So enjoy, I am really proud of this one. Hopefully you will find it bearable.

Pairing: Lando Norris x Reader

Warnings: none, just angst.

Summary: do I love you? do I hate you? || I can't make up my mind || so let's free fall (and part ways for the year I guess??) and see where we land.

Word count: 6.8k+

“Lando, this isn’t working”, she sighed. It was obvious that this short sentence took every last bit of energy she had. After this, there was nothing left – no emotions, no desire to fight, just nothing. A blank expression followed.

He looked up from his computer, unphased. 

“What’s not working?” 

“Us.” 

The mood slightly shifted, yet nothing too shocking. It felt like this conversation was overdone way too many times. They have been here before. That's why he didn’t even take a second to think about what sparked this conversation. It felt like it was a casual chat between an old married couple. 

“Yeah,” Lando muttered, exhaling sharply. “Let’s take a break. We’ll make up anyway.”

That was it. No argument, no hesitation. Like it was routine. Like she had just told him she was stepping out for a moment, and he expected her to come back.

When you think about it, it was devastating. The level of indifference was what hurt the most.

They had known each other their whole lives – friends by proximity before choice. Their families lived in the same neighborhood, close enough that their bond felt inevitable. Even as kids, they were opposites. He was the reckless daredevil, climbing trees and riding his bike at full speed down the steepest roads, while she was the quiet dreamer, lying on the grass for hours, lost in her thoughts. But somehow, they worked. They always had.

As they grew up, their lives took different directions, but they never drifted too far. When Lando got into karting, and later, into the high-stakes world of racing, she wasn’t his biggest supporter in the traditional sense. She didn’t attend every event or cheer the loudest. But she cared. She always asked how he was feeling, if he was okay. She avoided getting too involved, not because she didn’t believe in him or was not interested, but because she couldn’t shake the fear of what could happen. The crashes, the risks, the reality of what came with high-speed racing. Maybe that fear had even shaped her, pushed her toward a career where she could save the ones who weren’t as lucky. And yet, no matter how different their paths became, they had always made time for each other.

Then came that one Christmas. The night everything changed. He was on the brink of signing with McLaren, and she had just over a year of school left, set on studying medicine, becoming a paramedic. They spent the whole evening talking – about dreams, about the future, about everything. And the one constant in all their scenarios? Each other. They didn’t officially get together until months later, when the butterflies finally settled in. What started as something gentle and fragile grew into something more. Something that should have been unbreakable.

But it wasn’t.

Between her relentless studying and his deep dive into the world of Formula 1, the distance between them grew. The small sacrifices they used to make for each other became harder. At first, they convinced themselves it was just a rough patch. They had fallen in love as teenagers, blindly, without knowing what love truly required. Clashes were inevitable, but they always told themselves it was just temporary. That love would always outweigh the tension.

Until it didn’t.

The fights became more than just stress-fueled bickering. Trust started to crack. The rumors, the online hate she received for simply existing in his world, the missed races, the missed plans, the days of unanswered calls. The moments of doubt that neither of them wanted to admit were growing stronger.

They had tried. God, they had tried.

The guilt would always swing between them like a pendulum – one of them messing up, the other one forgiving too easily, hoping that this time would be different. And when it wasn’t, they’d take a step back, hoping the distance would fix what being together couldn’t. Then, like clockwork, one of them would cave. One apology, one touch, one whispered „I miss you“ would pull them back in.

The boat had been rocking for years. But at least before, there had still been waves. Now, sitting in their Monaco home, she wasn’t sure if they had finally reached the calm, or if they had simply drifted so far apart that the water didn’t even touch them anymore.

And that was worse than all the fights combined.

“That’s it?”

He lifted a shoulder in an infuriating half-shrug. “What do you want me to say? We take a break, we come back. It’s what we do.”

“That’s exactly the problem, Lando. I don’t want to pause on this empty shell we still call the relationship. I just don’t think I can.” 

Deep down, words coming out of her hurt her. Yet she was just so tired of this game, then at the end there was no happy ending.

Lando exhaled, closing his laptop and putting it away, jaw clenched. Maybe he thought she was being dramatic. Maybe he was just waiting for the inevitable moment when she’d take it back.

But she wouldn’t, not this time. She just stood up from her end of the couch and exhaled. 

“It will take me a couple of days to gather everything I own from this apartment. I will do it once you leave for Las Vegas, so I won’t disturb your calm before the GP. I will just grab my essentials for now,” she said like she was reciting a groceries list. 

Lando didn’t respond right away. He just sat there, eyes fixed on the coffee table like it held all the answers he couldn’t find in her face. Maybe he was searching for something to say – some magic combination of words that would break the cycle, that would make this easier. But there was nothing left to say.

Finally, he nodded. “Okay.”

She felt her stomach twist. Part of her had wanted him to fight – really fight – for this, for them. But wasn’t that the whole point? They were tired. Exhausted. Running on empty, pretending they had more to give when they didn’t.

She swallowed, shifting on her feet. “I think we should do it properly this time.”

His eyes flicked up to hers, guarded. “What do you mean?”

“No breaks. No texts, no calls, no checking in. Not even a happy birthday or Merry Christmas.” The words came out steady, even though her heart was hammering against her ribs. “We give it at least a year. If we’re happier – truly happier – then we’ll know. We’ll let it go for good.”

Lando stood up, facing her. “And if we’re not?”

She exhaled, forcing a small, tired smile. “Then we’ll see where we land.”

He let out a breath, running a hand down his face. For a moment, he just studied her, like he was trying to commit every detail to memory. Like maybe, deep down, some part of him was realizing that this was the last time he’d get to see her like this. Here. His.

Finally, he gave a slow nod. “Alright,” he murmured. “One year.”

One year to figure out if this was really love, or just a bad habit neither of them knew how to break. One year to see if they could be whole without each other. Or if, after everything, they still made sense together.

She was about to turn toward the bedroom, ready to start packing, but he moved first. His arms wound around her, and she didn’t hesitate before wrapping hers around him just as tightly.

And that was what made it hurt the most. Because after six years give or take, after all the fights and make-ups and everything in between, this was still the safest place each of them had ever known. His heartbeat against her ear. Her scent wrapping around him like home. The way neither of them wanted to be the first to let go.

But they had to. So, after one long, lingering moment, she forced herself to step back.

Lando’s arms fell away slowly, reluctantly, like he was holding onto the very last seconds of whatever this was.

And just like that, they let go. Not with a bang, not with a fight. Just a quiet understanding that, for the first time in years, it was time to stop holding on.

______

Remember the “No Merry Christmas” part? Well, that was their first slip up. 

At first, no one questioned it. 

When they said their goodbyes, when she packed up the last of her things, when they let go without a fight – no one questioned it. Not their friends. Not their families. Not the people who had known them as a unit for years.

Because this was just how they were. Messy. Cyclical. A little dramatic but never final. Everyone assumed that, in a few weeks, they’d find their way back – like they always did.

Yet red flags were being waved when she showed up on your parents doorstep and asked them to let you crash at theirs for the time being. 

And when the world around you was lighting up, getting ready for the most wonderful time of the year, she was really feeling dead inside. That was when the questions started.

As she had to find a new job outside Monaco, she landed in the local hospital, in her parents' area. Her new coworkers, who knew her family, would try the small talk, asking how he was doing as the season went to the end. Sometimes even her patients would recognize her and ask her about F1 and her used-to-be boyfriend. A friend, who you haven’t talked to for weeks, would bring an article and ask for you to comment on it. It was even from her own aunt – the one she only ever saw at Christmas– who asked, completely oblivious, “What size are Lando’s feet again? I want to knit him those socks I promised last year.”

And just like that, he was everywhere. Like an echo of a life she wasn’t living anymore. Like a mistake she wasn’t sure she had actually made.

Because wasn’t that what everyone kept implying? That they had been stupid for doing this? That this break – this “proper” break, this one-year promise – was just a long, drawn-out way of making them both miserable?

And if so—was Lando feeling it, too?

Was he being ambushed with casual mentions of her in conversations that had nothing to do with her? Did he hear her name in places he wasn’t expecting it? Did it catch him off guard, did it sting, did it make him wonder if they had just ruined something they were always meant to fix?

She stopped herself from wondering. After all, she could dwell in these thoughts forever and never move forward. She knew she had to. This break was not only about figuring them out. It was also about figuring who you are outside the relationship you grew up in. 

So for now, she did the thing she knew the best – threw herself into work. That’s why when Christmas Eve rolled around, she had her life line to escape hushed voices and petty looks, asking about her life. Also, Norris' family would always eventually roll around for a quick cup of tea – it was a tradition started by their parents even before the both of them were around so she for sure believed that them being on break would not stop their parents from interacting. Never did on any other break. 

She did what she always did when the walls started closing in. She grabbed her coat, threw a scarf over her scrubs, and braced herself for the short, freezing walk to her car. A twelve-hour shift awaited her, filled with last-minute holiday accidents and bad luck, and she was oddly grateful for it. A perfect excuse to be anywhere but here.

She said her goodbyes, wished everyone a Merry Christmas, and stepped outside.

And nearly crashed straight into Adam Norris. Her hand shot out to steady herself, boots skidding slightly against the icy porch. “Oh – I’m so sorry,” she blurted, barely catching her breath before –

Her stomach dropped.

Because it wasn’t just Adam. It was all of them.

His entire family stood there, wrapped in warm coats and holiday cheer. And Lando – of course, Lando – was in the middle of it all, hands stuffed into his pockets, gaze locked onto her like he hadn’t been expecting this either.

She barely let her eyes flick to his before looking away, heart hammering.

“You’re always in such a rush, aren’t you?” Cisca asked, her voice as warm as ever.

“Yes, I’m working tonight, unfortunately,” she added, making them hear what she wanted rather than expressing her feelings. 

“Oh, your mother told me about the shifts you’re taking and they still make you work during the day like this? That’s so sad,” she said, empathetically. His mother was always the angel and they had a great connection before this break. 

She gave a light shrug, desperate to keep the conversation surface-level. “What can I say? Gotta work if I ever want to give my parents a break.”

It was the lie she’d been telling everyone. That she was saving for a down payment. That the extra shifts were a means to an end. A practical excuse for why she spent more time at the hospital than at home, drowning herself in work instead of drowning in the what-ifs of a relationship that no longer existed.

But it didn’t matter. Not when she could feel Lando’s eyes on her. Not when it took every ounce of strength to keep her own from slipping back to his.

“Well,” Cisca sighed, stepping aside to give her space to pass. “Stay safe, darling.”

She hesitated. A half-second, barely noticeable. And then, before she could stop herself, the words slipped out.

“Merry Christmas, fam.”

The moment she said it, she regretted it. The slip. The weakness. The betrayal of her own rules.

And then there was Lando.

For the first time since she stepped outside, she met his gaze. A brief, fleeting glance. A quiet acknowledgment of everything that still lingered between them.

She barely made a sound when she whispered, “Merry Christmas, Lando.”

Then, before she could give herself time to second-guess it, she turned on her heel and walked away, pulling her coat tighter around herself.

She didn’t wait for an answer. She couldn’t. Because she knew if she did – if she heard his voice, his words – her carefully built defenses would crumble.

But as she made it to her car, something soft, something broken, floated through the cold December air.

“Merry Christmas, love.”

And somehow this moment stung Lando more than anything else ever had.

______

Spring was warming up the air, shaking winter from the trees and stretching daylight just a little longer each evening. She had always hated this time of year – hated the way it pressed against her chest, thick with stress and expectations. First, it was the exams, the all-nighters, the anxious flipping of textbooks. Then, later, it became Lando’s schedule. The season kicking off, his world spinning faster while she tried to hold onto the edges.

This year, though, spring was something different. Unusually dull. Unnaturally calm. But it was for her to figure out if it was the kind of calm that comes before or after the storm.

By all accounts, she was doing well. She was thriving at work, getting used to the rhythm of long shifts and fast decisions. She had found herself a new apartment – small, but cozy, a space that was hers and hers alone. She even picked up jogging and pilates, things she used to roll her eyes at but now clung to as some kind of personal victory.

Some days were perfect. She would wake up, stretch in the morning light, sip her coffee in silence, and almost – almost – forget why her life looked the way it did now.

Emphasis on ‘almost.’

Because when you spend six years wrapped around someone else’s life, untangling yourself doesn’t happen overnight. Their friend groups overlapped too much, their histories bled into too many places, and avoiding him completely was impossible.

They had been careful, though. Calculated. She planned around GP weekends, making sure to show up to gatherings when he was halfway across the world, and skipping the ones when she knew he’d be visiting the home town. It worked. Until, inevitably, it didn’t.

That night, she hadn’t planned to see him. It was supposed to be a quiet evening. Just a handful of friends, drinks, some music humming in the background. Nothing major. Nothing painful. But then, sometime between her second glass of wine and the last lazy notes of an old song drifting through the air, she felt it.

That awareness. The way her skin prickled before she even turned her head. He was there.

Just across the room, laughing at something, his head thrown back, the sound of it familiar enough to sink straight into her bones. He looked... good. Relaxed in a way she hadn’t seen in a long time. And for a second she let herself wonder if she looked that way too. If he saw her and thought, ‘She’s okay. She’s moved on. She doesn’t miss me the way I miss her’.

It was unbearable. The way it made her stomach twist, the way it pulled something raw inside of her. It wasn’t just the sight of him, it wasn't just the proof that he still existed outside of her world – it was the realization that she still felt it. That she still felt everything.

So she left. Quietly. Without goodbyes. Without looking back.

By the time she got home, she was already peeling off her jacket, kicking off her shoes, slipping beneath the covers in the dark. Sleep would fix it. Sleep would dull the sharp edges, smooth over the crack in her chest.

Morning light bled through the thin curtains, painting soft streaks across the room. She stretched, rubbing at her puffy eyes, the lingering ache of last night still pressing heavy against her ribs.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that he got to be fine. That he got to laugh and exist so easily in a world without her while she sat here, caught in the ghost of something that refused to fade.

Yet there was a surprise waiting for her when she picked up the phone.

A missed call at 3:48 am. And a voice note from him on her Instagram DMs followed.

Then, for just a second, something fluttered in her chest. A spark of something she didn’t want to name. Because maybe he had seen her last night. Maybe he had felt it too.

But reality was quick to sink its claws in, dragging her back down. No. This wasn’t that. This was probably drunk Lando. This was ‘bad decisions wrapped in nostalgia and gin’ Lando.

She should ignore it. But her thumb was already moving before her brain could stop her.

Click. Play.

“Heeeeeeeyyyy pretty girl.”

She sucked in a sharp breath.

He was drunk. The kind of drunk where words ran together, loose and careless.

“I’m so sorry for the call, I realized that you are probably working or worse – asleep – and just canceled it. Like I know that you would stab anyone who would dare to wake you up if it’s not important, and since I guess I no longer am, I—”

A hiccup. A pause.

Her stomach twisted. She should stop listening. But she didn’t.

“I just don’t know… Whenever I see you, you seem so fine, so moved on… And then there’s me, stuck between fake and being down. And you know what I do when I feel down? I go to the bar, the club. You name it. I scan a crowd looking for you. I never find you, because duh, why should I? You only went to these places for me.”

Her chest tightened. She had hated clubs with all her heart. The noise, the people, the way she never really fit into that world. She only went because he loved it. Because Lando loved the music, the energy, the thrill of it. And yet… after all this time, he was still looking for her in places she never truly belonged.

“So, I get the random girl and imagine it is you. I imagine you still care, laugh at my pick-up lines, take me home with you. I even moaned your name one time and the lady was pissed off, I got smacked, lol. Could you imagine…”

A sharp exhale left her lips.

God, he was an idiot. Saying things he had no business saying. Telling her things she shouldn’t know. She wanted to be mad. To roll her eyes, to call him out for being reckless, for dragging her back into the mess they were supposed to be untangling.

But she wasn’t mad. She was something else entirely. Because there, tangled between the words and the drunken confessions, was something she wasn’t ready to face. Regret. And worse – feelings that she thought was lost during all this. The kind that made the edges of her world blur for a moment, tilting just enough to make her wonder…

What if?

And then – 

“I should have fought for you, you know? When you asked for this break. I was an idiot for letting you walk out the door so easily. Screw the ‘let’s see where we land’ thing. I already know where I’m landing. Now the ball is in your corner or whatever. So yeah, good chat. See you around.”

Silence.

Her heart was pounding.

She stared at the screen, her mind racing.

This wasn’t just some drunk butt dial. This wasn’t some half-hearted message he would brush off in the morning.

This was a line drawn in the sand. This was him saying, ‘I know what I want. Do you?’

She swallowed, her hands shaking as she locked her phone and pressed it to her chest.

She needed to breathe. She needed to think.

But later that day, when she opened the chat to replay the message and dissect every word it was gone.

Not even a trace of it ever existing.

And just like that, she was left with nothing but the weight of what could have been.

__________

She didn’t want to be here.

That much had been clear from the second she stepped onto Silverstone’s pavement, a familiar hum in the air, the smell of petrol and rubber hitting her in a way that made her stomach twist.

It wasn’t just the track – it was everything it represented. The years spent here, the routines, the nerves. The way she used to pace behind the pit wall, hands shoved into the pockets of a McLaren hoodie that wasn’t even hers, chewing on her bottom lip as she watched Lando push the car to its limits.

It was muscle memory to be here, and yet, it had never felt more foreign.

She had almost backed out, too, with the kind of last-minute excuse that wouldn’t fool her mother but might have been enough to let her go on with her weekend and avoid the inevitable. But the tickets had been a Christmas gift – from the Norris family, as per usual – and her parents had been so excited.

“It’s been too long since we all did something like this together. You used to go with him all the time while we were watching from the sidelines. Now we can switch places, you will be fine” her dad had said. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

Fun. Right.

So she had caved. And when it was time to leave for Sunday GP, she still wanted to blend in the crowd. She knew there would be plenty of McLaren fans, so if you can’t beat them – join them. She took out a random t-shirt that was probably used way too many times. It was only after pulling it over her head that she realized which one it was.

His.

One he had left in her drawer ages ago, one she had slept in more nights than she could count.

It smelled like fabric softener instead of him now. That should have been a relief. It wasn’t. For a split second, she had almost taken it off. Almost buried it back in the drawer like it was some kind of cursed relic. But then she exhaled. It’s just a shirt. No one will even notice.

And at first she was perfectly flying over the radar. Her parents visited the paddock, while she stayed behind, blending in the crowds. She had perfected the art of blending in – cheering when appropriate, clapping at the right moments, never once letting her gaze wander too long in the direction of the papaya garage. And it was working wonders. 

But then she ran into Emma. The fellow paramedic, who she had known both from the medical, and sports field, as she was a couple years older and worked with Papaya for a few years. One second, she was keeping her head down, avoiding anything orange, and the next, she was being pulled into McLaren hospitality because “It’s dead quiet before the race, and you have a paddock pass, so why not?”

She should have said no. Instead, she sat with Emma, catching up over bad coffee, pretending she wasn’t hyperaware of exactly where she was. Yet every time footsteps neared, her body tensed, anticipation coiling in her stomach like a reflex she hadn’t quite unlearned. It wasn’t that she couldn’t see him – it had happened before, and they had managed to be civil, distant in a way that felt almost rehearsed. But being here, surrounded by everything that made Lando Lando, made her feel too exposed.

Don’t get it wrong – she would always be a fan. Even if life took them further apart, even if one day they became nothing more than a distant memory, she would still admire him. The raw talent, the skill, the way he could take a car and make it his – that would never change. 

But it had been eight months, and for the first time, she was starting to find a rhythm outside of them. A clarity she hadn’t thought possible. And yet. Eight months, and still, his drunken voice note rattled in her head like an echo trapped between her ribs. Eight months, and the thought of seeing him in his element – seeing him – made her stomach twist in ways she couldn’t quite decipher. Would it set her back? Or would it confirm that she was finally past it?

Five minutes into chatting, laughing like she wasn’t standing in the center of everything she had left behind, Oscar Piastri appeared, cradling his arm like it was more of an annoyance than an injury. It was impossible for her not to know or like Oscar – they would always lightly catch up and laugh whenever she visited a paddock. And she sure as hell knew that he was aware what was the reason behind her being absent recently. 

“Hey, do me a favor,” he said, surprised to see her in the paddock, but not making a big deal out of it. “Tell me I’m being dramatic.”

She raised a brow. “You’re being dramatic.”

Oscar grinned. “That’s what I needed.”

They fell into easy conversation – nothing deep, just lighthearted jabs about how McLaren clearly needed her back on call, and how she had ditched them for something far less entertaining.

And then, as she was mid-sentence, Oscar’s eyes flicked to her shirt.

Her stomach dropped. She glanced down, realizing how obvious it was now, when she dropped her jacket off. The faded Lando Norris on the back. The small details only a real fan – or someone owning a similar t-shirt – would notice, proved this shirt wasn’t just merch, but his.

“That is not just any McLaren shirt.”

Her face went hot. “Oscar –”

“You’re both so full of shit,” he cut in, laughing.

Before she could protest, before she could even think, he was pulling out his phone.

“Oscar,” she warned.

“Relax,” he said, snapping the picture. “I’ll make it tasteful.”

So when later that day, after the GP was done and gone, her phone buzzed, she wasn’t surprised to see that Oscar had tagged her in a story, meant for a close friend's circle. At least he had decency not to post it publicly, sparing her from the speculation of people online.

A casual shot – Oscar grinning, arm still wrapped in tape, her beside him, mid-laugh. The caption?

“I’m here catching up with a friend, being all nice and all, and she’s still in his corner.”

She rolled her eyes and locked her phone, pretending she saw nothing. Lando rarely if ever checked other driver’s stories, so she thought that maybe she was safe. 

What she didn’t know, that Lando was also tagged in it. 

It was late by the time the high of his first home win finally started to wear off. It should have lasted longer. It should have been everything. And for a while, it was. The roar of the British crowd, the Union Jack wrapped around his shoulders, the feeling of standing on the top step at Silverstone – his Silverstone. It was a dream he’d had since he was a kid, a moment that was meant to feel like an ending and a beginning all at once.

But the thing about dreams is that you never picture them alone. And she wasn’t there. Not where she should have been, anyway.

He’d looked for her. Not consciously, not obviously, but when he turned toward the grandstands where his family sat – where she used to sit – his eyes found nothing but an empty space. And it was stupid to expect anything different. They weren’t that anymore. They weren’t anything, really.

But for the first time since she walked out, he let himself admit it. It still felt wrong doing this without her.

Later, exhausted but unwilling to sleep, he opened his phone, torn between drowning in nostalgia or holding onto the adrenaline of the win. He chose the latter. Scrolled through the tags, looking for a story to share. When he saw the notification from Oscar, he barely thought twice. Probably some congratulatory post, maybe something teasing him for taking so long to win here.

But when he clicked it, the world narrowed to a pinpoint.

Because there she was.

Not in the stands. Not in his family's section. But she had been there. And she was wearing his shirt. An old one, something he barely even remembered giving her, but she still had it. Still wore it.

His stomach tightened. She hadn’t wanted to see him. Hadn’t let him see her. But maybe he wasn’t the only one still looking for pieces of the past.

And maybe she wasn’t quite ready to let them go either.

______

There were still three days left until their one-year mark. Not that she was counting. 

362 days had passed. 362 days of learning how to be her own person again. And, honestly? She wasn’t half bad at it. 

She had figured out how to be alone without feeling lonely. She’d chased things she never made time for before, threw herself into work, into new routines, into a version of herself that wasn’t just an extension of him. And she liked who she was becoming – someone stronger, more driven, more sure of herself.

But did she still feel a pit in her stomach every time she thought about the fact that he wasn’t there to see it? Absolutely.

And maybe that was why she had convinced herself she just had to make it to a year. A clean number. One final milestone to tell her that they had really done it – walked away, stayed away and allowed them both to breath.

But then came the invitation. Max, persistently begging her to come. It’s his birthday, he’d want you there. And also, it was hard to lie to herself that three days would make her change her mind. 

Before she knew it, she was standing in the middle of the chaos, clutching a drink she didn’t want, in a room that felt too damn small. The music was loud, the air thick with laughter and voices overlapping in that familiar, comfortable way. She had spent years in rooms like this, at parties just like this, orbiting the same people, the same circles. But tonight, she felt like a stranger.

And then she saw him. Across the room, back turned, laughing at something Max had said. Easy. Effortless. Like nothing had changed.

The last time she saw him, Lando was leaving Silverstone with his name echoing through the crowd. A winner. A hero. And she had watched from the screen of her phone, watching him have everything he ever wanted. 

That realization made her stop in her tracks.

Because here he was, months later, standing in the center of a world that kept spinning without her. With only three GPs left, he was still a contender for the whole damn championship. He had managed to dodge all major drama, kept his head down, thrived. And now, surrounded by friends, by people who cared for him, cherished him, celebrated him – he looked free.

Happy.

And just like that, the thought hit her like a punch to the ribs. Maybe this should be it. Maybe this night should be her closure. Because if this past year had proven anything, it was that he didn’t need her. And as much as it twisted something deep inside her, maybe she was okay with that.

Maybe she could give up the what if in exchange for the freedom she had convinced herself he deserved. Even if her heart didn’t waver. Even if she was still his in ways she wished she wasn’t.

She turned on her heel, ready to leave this place. She knew that he was aware that she was here. So the checkmark ticked for their friends – she was here, she had cheered for him. Now it was time to leave all this behind them. Just as she was about to put the empty glass on the table by the door, she heard a familiar voice:

“Leaving so soon?”

His voice cut through the noise like a blade. She could barely hear it, but somehow, it still sent a shiver down her spine.

She didn’t turn back, not right away. She let out a breath, eyes shutting for half a second, before finally facing him.

“I was just –” She cleared her throat, finding it suddenly dry. “I was just stepping out.”

Something flickered in his eyes. He didn’t call her bullshit. Didn’t need to. Instead, he simply gestured toward the door.

“Me too.”

As they stepped outside, the air outside was crisp, a quiet relief from the overwhelming heat of the party. She crossed her arms over her chest, less for warmth, more for something to do. Lando stuffed his hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels as he exhaled, long and slow.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

And then–

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

She let out something between a laugh and a scoff. “I wasn’t going to.”

His lips twitched. “Max?”

“Max.”

Silence again. But this one wasn’t uncomfortable. It wasn’t unfamiliar. It was them. The kind of quiet that only came after knowing someone for years. The kind that held more weight than words.

Lando rocked back on his heels. “You didn’t have to come.”

She let out a breath, steadying herself. “I know.”

“Then why did you?”

She shifted on her feet, gaze flickering toward the door, toward the party she could easily slip back into. Away from this. But she didn’t move.

Instead, she sighed, voice softer now. “Because it’s your birthday.”

Lando exhaled through his nose, looking away for a moment. “I thought maybe you were done.”

“I thought so too,” she admitted. “I was trying to be.”

His gaze snapped back to her, something sharp behind his eyes. “Trying?”

Her stomach twisted. This was exactly what she had been afraid of – this conversation, the one she wasn’t sure she was ready to have. The one where she had to admit that all the time, all the space, all the growing hadn’t undone a damn thing.

“I didn’t want us to slip back,” she confessed. “Back into something that wasn’t healthy. Back into us, but wrong.”

Lando nodded, slow. “And do you think we would?”

She looked at him. At the way he was standing now, steadier, stronger, more him. At the way his face, older in ways that had nothing to do with time, still softened at the sight of her. At the way she still felt it. That pull. That certainty.

She swallowed hard. “No.”

He stepped forward. Not much. Just enough. And this time, he was the one to break the silence.

“You know what I realized?” His voice was quiet, careful. “That I could have the best day of my life, and it still wouldn’t be quite right.”

She stiffened.

“Because it’s not about someone seeing it,” he continued. “It’s about someone being there. It’s about looking over and knowing –” he broke off, shaking his head, then tried again. “I didn’t need you to see me win at Silverstone. Hell I didn't need you to witness any of this. I just –” his voice dropped even lower – “needed you. And then I saw you in that damn picture with my t-shirt on. It took everything in me not to drive to Bristol, looking for you.”

Her throat tightened. “Lando.”

“I know we did the right thing,” he said, brushing it off. “I know we needed time. I know we needed to fix things.” A pause. Then he looked dead into her eyes. “But tell me. Right now. That if we part ways now that you will be the happiest version of yourself.”

Now, she was standing in front of the person who had been both her greatest love and her hardest lesson. Now, she was staring at him, the weight of their history pressing in from all sides, and she still couldn’t imagine a life where she didn’t look for him in every crowd. Now, she was tired of pretending.

“I don’t regret what we did,” she whispered. Something flickered in his eyes, but he didn’t pull back. “I think we needed it,” she admitted. “I think we needed the space. The time. I think we needed to figure out who we were without each other.”

She swallowed hard, forcing herself to continue. “And I did. I figured it out.”

Lando didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. “And?”

She hesitated, because saying it out loud made it real. Made it true. But after all the turmoil she owed him that much.

“I had good days,” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “Really good days. Days where I laughed so hard my ribs ached. Where I felt strong. Where I was proud of who I was becoming.”

Lando’s jaw tensed. She inhaled sharply. 

“And then there were the other days. The ones where something amazingly good or amazingly bad happened, something I wanted to share, but I’d reach for my phone and realize – ” Her voice cracked. “Realize you weren’t there.”

Lando shut his eyes for a second, like he needed a moment to steady himself. “Yeah.”

Her chest tightened. “And you?”

His lips parted, but for the first time all night, words didn’t come so easily. So he exhaled, rubbed a hand over his jaw, and met her gaze with the kind of raw honesty that left no room for doubt.

“I had the best day of my life, and it still felt wrong because you weren’t there to see it.”

She blinked, chest tightening, but he wasn’t done.

“I had the worst day of my life too. And every instinct told me to go to you. And I couldn’t.”

Her throat burned.

“I used to think what we had was everything,” he murmured. “And then we broke apart, and I thought – maybe I was wrong. Maybe we were just young and caught up in something that was never meant to last.”

She held her breath.

“But then I lived without you. I learned how to be on my own. I grew. And I still came to the same conclusion.”

His fingers twitched at his sides, as if he was holding himself back.

“You are the only thing in my life that I’ve ever been sure of.”

Tears burned at the back of her eyes, but she forced a watery laugh. “That’s funny,” she whispered. “Because I was just about to say the same thing.”

Lando’s shoulders fell, something breaking apart and putting itself back together all at once. And then he stepped forward. And so did she.

And when he kissed her, it wasn’t about picking up where they left off.

It was about choosing each other again. And they landed exactly where they needed to.

[captain-huggy-bear]

I was watching the video where the Utah team were asked their Karaoke song, Clayton's being Wagon Wheel. Then I listened to it and then I realised that I think he'd call you mama when you're pregnant (tbh I think he'd sometimes call you it even if you're not pregnant or a mum) Also I'm less than 200 away from 1000, should I do a celebration? Maybe prompt lists or something idk? Let me know what you think baring in mind it'll probably take me 500 years to write everything anyway lol Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :) Writing Masterlist

You feel like a very sick, very achy whale. That's really the only way to explain how being 7 months pregnant felt. You were dealing with feeling sick every day, baby deciding she wanted to twist and turn at all hours and kick you at every opportunity. She was heavy as well causing your back to ache, your ankles to swell and your entire body to hurt.

You're just trying to grab something to eat but have to stop halfway to the kitchen, hands pressing to your back, leaning in such away that your bump presses out further. You're starting to get fed up with this pregnancy stuff and Clay hates watching you feel so wrong in your skin every day...even as he thinks you look the most beautiful you ever have, carrying his baby.

Hands are sliding over your lower back, long sturdy fingers pressing into the tense muscle there as Clay presses his chin to your shoulder, having spotted your discomfort a mile off. He knows this pregnancy is being rough on you and he's trying his best to be attentive, supportive even when he's away on a roadie.

"How you doin', mama?" Even as you're annoyed at him for getting you pregnant and putting you in this position, you can't help but relax into him, shoulders pressing back against his chest as his hands move around to your belly, rubbing across the taut fabric of your t-shirt there. The moment you found out you were pregnant Clay had started calling you mama more than he called you baby, a shift that melted you ever single time. Even when you were irrationally and hormonally angry at him.

"Everything hurts and your baby is making me sick." You moan at him, huffing and annoyed even as your body relaxes into him, putting your weight back on him. He just huffs out a laugh at you, knowing you're not actually upset with him and that even if you were he has no right to be upset about that. Not when you're dealing with all the aches and pains of giving him a baby.

"My baby? Mama, you cannot blame me entirely for her actions." He says this even as she kicks you under his palms as if she knows exactly where his hands are and aims for them. You're almost certain she'd be a penalty box baby.

"You put me in this position."

"I know...I know." He hushes you, pressing a light kiss to your shoulder before nuzzling into the crook of your neck. He feels bad on some level for how uncomfortable you are, even as he's happy you're having his baby, "What's hurting the most right now?"

"My back, your baby is a fucking giant. Big ass head." It's ridiculous you think, that he's only 5ft 10 and yet his baby feels like a giant. You can't even begin to contemplate how large she'd be if he'd been someone like Michael...it makes you shudder in dread. God help his future partner if she decides to have a baby with him.

"C'mere, mama." He's pulling you back against him even as you start to resist his movements, trying to pull away from him unsure what he's about to do and overly suspicious of his motives. You don't want any of his hairbrained schemes right now, you're too uncomfortable for it.

"Clay..?"

"Come here. Trust me, baby." You stop resisting until he's pressed flat against your back, hands sliding over your bump and underneath with a softness, a gentleness that always surprises you. For a man who can shoot a puck at 90mph he can be astoundingly gentle.

It's almost a shock, the good kind, how Clay's large hands cup your belly from underneath and lift until he's taking the brunt of the 10lbs you're certain your baby is going to end up being.

"Oh..." You sigh back into him, relaxing so completely that you're almost jelly. Head leaning back onto his shoulder, eyes closing. It's instant relief from some of the back pain and the aches, all of that weight lifted from you by his hands so easily because to him the weight is nothing, but then he's not carrying it all day, every day.

"That feel better, mama?" He mumbles it against your temple, pressing intermittent kisses there as he watches the way you ease into him, the smile of relief on your face. You're his baby too, his first baby, and you're important, as important if not more than his baby baby. Taking some of the pressure off you, helping you feel good? That's more important than anything else.

"Mmmmm...yeah, much better." You're so soft against him, pliable, boneless. Clay feels a certain sort of pride at the fact he's able to help like this, that he can take some of that pain and pressure away even for a few minutes.

"I'm sorry she's being mean to you..." God, he can't wait to meet her, but he also hopes she's not as difficult once she's here. Terrified she's going to be a hellion that has him pulling his hair out from stress. All she's done is spend the pregnancy kicking you, keeping you awake at night and making you vomit while making you crave food you hate and be unable to stomach foods you love. If anyone should get an award for patience and resilience it's you.

"She's going to be a handful...but I love her anyway." You smile as he kisses your temple again, firm enough you can feel it, but not too rough that it'll jar you.

"You're going to be the best mama, baby."

"I hope so..." You mumble as he eases your belly back down. Pulling you to lay on the couch with your swollen ankles in his lap. Fingers massaging against the swollen skin as you lean back into the couch pillows.

"You worried?" He watches you, assessing you as he works his fingers into the arch of your heel, pressing at tense little spots. You're biting your lip worriedly as you watch him, gone into that spot in your head you go to sometimes, even as your hand strokes across your belly in an attempt to sooth the baby who's started kicking you again.

"Mmm, just get scared sometimes that she might hate me," There's this part of you that's terrified you won't bond with your baby, that no matter how hard you try she won't love you back...or worse that you'll mess up, do something that makes her hate you.

Clay's hand smooths up your calf to the back of your knee, his eyes impossibly soft as he looks at you. A gentle reassuring smile pulling at his lips.

"Not possible, mama. Promise she's going to love you as much as I do."

And you believe him. In that moment, it's hard to imagine that Clayton's wrong. He knows you better than anyone else, the only other person who knows your baby almost as well as you do. Knows what makes her kick, how best to get her to settle so you can sleep and what foods stop her making you vomit. In that moment you can't imagine that he could possible be wrong and it makes you want to cry because all you want is to be a good mum to your baby, to be a good partner to Clay, to have it all work out.

"...thank you."

"Anytime, mama."

[spencerfuckngreid]

Burning Up || Spencer Reid + 18

· Pairing: Spencer Reid/Reader · Category: Angst, Smut · Warning: Soft sex, happy ending. · Words: 3082 · Summary : A tension exists between you and Spencer. He actively resists and maintains distance every time you come near. He has an internal conflict between what is right and what is wrong. · Inspiration: Song: "Burning Up" Madonna

· Spanish on Wattpad. English isn't my first language, be kind! · Masterlist · TikTok

The room was charged with a subtle electricity that always seemed to build between you two. The rest of the team had already left to rest or go over leads in other areas, leaving you alone with Spencer.

You had tried to focus on the files in front of you—the photographs, the scattered notes on the table—but your eyes kept drifting toward him. Seated across from you, hunched over his notebook, Spencer scribbled something with the intensity of someone trying to find a logical way through chaos.

It was that intensity that drew you in—it always had. Spencer had an aura that made him seem untouchable, as if his mind operated on a level no one else could reach. And yet, the more time you spent near him, the clearer it became that there was something beneath the surface. Something vulnerable. Something passionate. Something he worked hard to bury under layers of professionalism.

"Don't put me off, 'cause I'm on fire."

The lyric echoed in your mind, and you bit the inside of your cheek to suppress a smile. The irony wasn’t lost on you.

"Y/N, are you listening?" His voice pulled you from your thoughts.

You blinked, realizing you'd been staring in his direction—though not directly at him. "Yeah, yeah… of course. What were you saying?"

Spencer frowned slightly, adjusting his glasses with a quick motion before pointing at the map spread out on the table. "I said that the profile suggests the suspect will likely return to where it all started. It’s a pattern that—"

"Uh-huh, I get that," you interrupted gently, leaning forward to get a better look at the map. "But what if that’s exactly what he wants us to think? What if he's breaking the pattern on purpose? I know it’s not typical… not a common choice… but at this point, we should at least consider it."

Spencer studied you, his brown eyes scanning you with curiosity. He always appreciated a fresh perspective, but this time, his gaze lingered a little longer than necessary before shifting back to the map.

"Do you wanna see me down on my knees?"

The lyric hit you harder this time, making you press your lips together. There was something about the way he always pulled back whenever you got too close that only made you want to push his limits even more.

"It’s a possibility..." he finally said, breaking the silence. "But the pattern is the only solid lead we have right now."

You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms as you looked at him, frustrated. "Always so logical, Doctor."

"It’s my job," he replied without looking up, his attention still on the papers.

"And it’s also what keeps you safe, isn’t it?" The words slipped out before you could stop them.

Spencer’s head snapped up. "What do you mean by that?"

"You hide behind logic, Spencer," you said, leaning forward. "It’s your shield. But some things aren’t logical—you can’t just avoid them because they scare you."

He blinked, caught off guard by your bluntness, but before he could respond, you pushed yourself up from your chair. "I’m getting coffee. Do you want anything?"

He shook his head but didn’t say anything else. As you walked out of the room, you could feel his eyes on your back, and it only made you want to turn around and challenge him again.

"I'm burning up, burning up for your love," you thought, clenching your fists as you made your way to the coffee machine.

The words you had thrown at Spencer still echoed in your mind as you waited for the coffee to finish brewing. You had crossed a line, and while you didn’t regret it, you knew he wouldn’t just let it slide.

Back in the conference room, Spencer was exactly where you had left him—except his posture had changed. His back was stiff against the chair, and his pen, usually in constant motion, lay motionless on his notebook. When you closed the door behind you, he looked up, his expression more guarded than usual.

"What was that all about?" His tone was colder than you expected.

"What was what?" you asked, trying to keep your tone light as you walked closer.

"That whole thing about me hiding behind logic." Spencer stood up to face you, adjusting his glasses. "I don’t know what you’re trying to imply, but if this has anything to do with—"

"—you and me," you interrupted, setting your coffee down on the table with more force than necessary. "That’s exactly what it has to do with."

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, it seemed like he was going to argue. But instead, he looked away, his gaze dropping back to the papers. "There is no 'you and me,' Y/N. This is work, and the only thing that matters is solving this case."

The way he said it—so sharp, so final—should have made you back off. But instead, it only fueled something inside you, a need to break through that carefully crafted façade of perfection.

"Are you really going to keep pretending you don’t feel anything, Reid?" you asked, stepping closer. "That you don’t notice how the air changes when we’re in the same room?"

"What I notice," he started, pushing himself up from his chair, "is that you’re crossing lines you shouldn’t be crossing."

"That you want to want me, but you can't let go," you thought as you watched him. You could see the way his self-control tightened, as if every word was a struggle to hold his ground.

"Maybe those lines shouldn’t be there," you said softly, taking another step forward. You were close enough now to catch the light, clean scent of his cologne.

"Y/N, stop..." His voice was low, as if he were speaking more to himself than to you.

"I can’t stop." You moved even closer, forcing him to step back until his back met the wall. "And neither can you, so stop trying."

He lifted his hands slightly, as if to create some invisible barrier between you, but his eyes betrayed the war raging inside him. "This isn’t right," he said, his voice laced with an intensity that almost made you hesitate. "We can’t do this. I can’t do this."

But he didn’t move away. His hands remained raised—but he didn’t touch you, didn’t push you back. His eyes stayed locked on yours, and the tension in his body was almost tangible.

"Then say it," you challenged, your voice barely above a whisper. "Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t feel anything. Tell me you don’t want—"

His lips parted, like he was about to say the words. But nothing came out. Instead, his breathing quickened, and his hands slowly dropped to his sides.

"That’s what I thought," you said, your tone victorious but laced with quiet softness.

Spencer closed his eyes for a moment, as if gathering every ounce of willpower. "This is a mistake," he murmured finally.

"Maybe." You leaned in just enough so that your face was inches from his. "But some mistakes are worth making."

Spencer took a deep breath, as if trying to steady himself, but it wasn’t working. "This can’t happen," he said more firmly, stepping to the side to put space between you. "Not just because it would be inappropriate, but because… because it wouldn’t work."

You followed him, moving back into his path, challenging every barrier he tried to put up. "It wouldn’t work? Or you don’t want it to work because it would complicate your perfect, structured life?"

"It’s not that!" The words came out too fast, too forceful. He immediately glanced toward the door, as if worried someone else might have heard. Then, in a lower voice, he added, "This isn’t about avoiding complications. It’s about doing the right thing."

"And what if the right thing doesn’t feel right?" you challenged, tilting your head.

"Then we ignore it," he replied, crossing his arms over his chest as if that could shield him from the weight of your words.

"Do you wanna see me down on my knees?"

The lyric echoed in your mind, giving you the push to take this one step further.

"You’re not as good at lying to yourself as you think, Spencer," you said, stepping closer again. "Not with me."

"Y/N," he murmured, and this time, there was something almost pleading in his tone. "Please, don’t make this harder."

"Harder for who? You?" You held his gaze, unwavering. "Because for me, this is simple. I know what I want. And what I want is standing right in front of me."

The color in his cheeks deepened, but his posture remained rigid. "It's not that simple," he said, though his voice no longer carried the same conviction.

"Why not? Why are you afraid of feeling something you can’t control? Why won’t you admit that you’re already feeling it?"

The silence that followed was deafening, and for a moment, you thought he might give in. But then, Spencer stepped back, putting the smallest but most significant distance between you.

"I can’t do this," he said, his voice low, as if each word drained his energy. "Not with you. Not now. I’m sorry."

Disappointment tangled with frustration, but you knew he wasn’t running because he felt nothing. He was running because he felt too much.

"Fine. Have it your way," you finally said, stepping back. "I won’t push you anymore. I just... I can’t pretend this isn’t happening. If you’re ever ready… tell me. But I won’t wait forever."

Spencer looked at you, his eyes reflecting the war within him, the battle he couldn’t put into words. He didn’t stop you as you gathered your things and walked out of the room.

Out in the hallway, you leaned against the wall, exhaling slowly. "I'm burning up, burning up for your love," you murmured to yourself, letting the song finish the sentence you couldn’t say out loud.

—

The hotel room was dimly lit, the only glow coming from the small bedside lamp. You had tried to distract yourself with case reports, but the words on the screen blurred into meaninglessness. Every time you closed your eyes, the confrontation replayed in your mind: the conflict in Spencer’s gaze, the way he said no… but also how he hadn’t been able to step away until the very last second.

"Unlike the others, I'd do anything."

The lyrics echoed in your head like a taunt, mocking your attempts to stay calm.

You got up from the bed, unable to stay still. There was something suffocating in the air, a mixture of regret and longing that kept you moving, as if pacing back and forth could silence the thoughts running wild in your head.

Across the hall, Spencer sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together. His hair was a mess, his glasses sitting on the table beside the phone. He hadn’t even tried to sleep—how could he, after what had happened?

He had gone over every word, every look, searching for a logical angle, a way to make sense of what had transpired. But there was no logic that could save him from what he felt: guilt, yes, but also an unrelenting desire burning beneath his skin.

"This can’t happen," he whispered to himself, as if saying it aloud could make it true. But even as he spoke, his eyes drifted toward the door, as if something—someone—on the other side was pulling him in.

At some point during the night, your paths crossed again. Maybe it was chance, or maybe it was inevitable. When you opened your door to step out for some air, you found him in the hallway, his face pale, his eyes dark.

"Spencer," you whispered.

"I needed… to walk," he said, though it was obvious he was looking for something more than that.

Silence stretched between you, thick with everything neither of you dared to say.

Until finally, he shook his head. "I shouldn’t be here."

"But you are." You took a step closer.

His gaze locked onto yours, and for a moment, both of you stood frozen, caught in a place with no turning back.

"It’s too much," he admitted in a breath, his voice cracking slightly. "I don’t know how to handle it."

"You don’t have to handle it," you murmured, stepping close enough that he could feel your warmth. "Just… go with it."

Spencer didn’t move, as if fighting every instinct in his body. But when he finally looked up at you, there were no more defenses in his eyes—only raw, consuming desire.

"I can't keep pretending," he murmured, stepping toward you.

"Then don’t," you whispered.

The space between you disappeared in an instant. His mouth found yours with a desperation that stole your breath, his hands gripping your face as if afraid you’d vanish. Spencer had always been methodical, in control—but in that moment, there was none of that. He was pure fire, everything he had suppressed finally unleashed.

Your hands clutched at his shirt, pulling him closer as you stumbled backward into the room. The door slammed shut behind you, but you barely noticed. All that mattered was the weight of his body pressing against yours, the way his breath mingled with yours, the low, ragged sounds escaping his throat.

"This is insane," he muttered against your skin, though his lips kept moving along your neck.

"I think you need a little insanity," you teased, breathless, fingers tangling in his hair as his hands roamed your back with a frantic kind of urgency.

For Spencer, this moment felt like crossing a line he had never thought he would. But in the end, he realized he had been standing on the edge of that line since the moment he met you.

The air was thick, heavy with heat. His breath mingled with yours, uneven, as his lips traced your neck, alternating between kisses and gentle bites that made your head spin.

"This isn’t—" he started, his voice a whisper against your skin. But there was something desperate in the way he touched you, as if he needed to feel you, to confirm that this wasn’t just a dream.

There was no time for more words. Spencer’s logic, his self-control, his professionalism—everything unraveled. With a near-violent impulse, you pushed him toward the bed. Clothes—an obstacle neither of you could ignore—began to fall away between kisses and gasps. Every movement was a battle, a push and pull between his deeply ingrained restraint and the undeniable force of desire. But now, in this space, nothing was holding him back.

Your body burned under his touch, and though he tried to keep his distance, his hands betrayed him, exploring every inch of you, his palm gliding over your torso, down to your waist, as if he was finally allowing himself to have you. This wasn’t the distant, controlled Spencer you had known. This was a man on the edge—of need, of madness—consumed by what he felt for you.

"Y/N," he whispered between kisses, his voice raw, as if clinging to your name was the only thing grounding him. "This... I can't..."

You didn’t let him finish. You silenced him with a kiss, deep and hungry, and he laughed into your mouth. There was no case to solve, no walls left to break down. Just the need to be together, no more excuses.

With a determined move, you pushed him back, taking control, feeling the way he yielded under your touch. Spencer was completely in your hands, and for the first time, he didn’t seem to want to fight it. His grip on your back tightened, pulling you against him as if he needed the physical connection, the proof that this was real.

"I don’t know if I can handle what I feel," he admitted, his voice rough with emotion. But when his hands found your face and he kissed you with a raw, burning intensity, it no longer mattered what he thought.

You moved with him, and the world blurred away. The softness of the bed beneath you, the heat of his body against yours, the way his lips trailed lower, leaving a path of fire across your skin... The rhythm between you was frantic, yet tender, as if both of you were trying to prove that this wasn’t a mistake, not like Spencer had tried to convince himself before.

Spencer paused for a moment, breathless, exhausted, looking down at you. "Y/N..." Everything was clear in that instant.

"Yes," you whispered, cupping his face, pulling him closer. And in that kiss, nothing else mattered. No words were needed. Everything between you finally made sense.

When the morning light filtered into the room, the silence between you had shifted. Spencer lay beside you, staring at the ceiling as if searching for patterns, lost in thought. Reality had changed—you had changed—and you both knew it. His mind was running a thousand miles per hour.

"I can’t... I can’t promise this won’t get complicated," Spencer murmured, his voice quiet but filled with the resistance that defined him.

"You don’t have to promise anything," you said, turning to face him, resting a hand on his chest, gentle. "What, you expect this to be easy? That sounds boring." You teased.

He gave a subtle, lopsided smile, and somehow it put him at ease, helping him come to terms with the situation.

The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable. Neither of you knew what would come next, but for now, all you could do was accept it. The tension that had defined your relationship until now had transformed into something else entirely.

"You know you got me burning up, baby."

· Requests via DM ·

[kisseudoll]

THAT’S THAT ME, EXPRESSO ──────𝖺𝗅𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗇𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗅𝗒, thinking about you every night, what’s gotten into them?

◜ᯅ◝ 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 in enhypen hyung line + fluff 𝟎𝟎𝟎 && no warnings ⟢ 𝖶𝖨𝖲𝖯𝖲&𝖪𝖨𝖲𝖲𝖤𝖲

𝗰𝗹𝗶𝗰𝗸 + 𝗳𝗲𝗲𝗱𝗯𝗮𝗰𝗸 & 𝗿𝗲𝗯𝗹𝗼𝗴𝘀 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝘄𝗲𝗹𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗱

𝐿𝐸𝐸 𝐻𝐸𝐸𝑆𝐸𝑈𝑁𝐺

heeseung’s laying in bed, his thoughts consumed with only you. he doesn’t know why, but lately you’ve been on his mind more than he can explain. he’s tried pushing it aside so many times, but it’s like your presence lingers in his brain, especially when it’s time for him to go to sleep. you’re not exactly close, so why does it feel like something more? heeseung lays in bed confused and frustrated. in the end, his thumbs hover over the screen on his phone, he sends out a simple text.

“why have you been on my mind lately?”

𝑃𝐴𝑅𝐾 𝐽𝑂𝑁𝐺𝑆𝐸𝑂𝑁𝐺

jay isn’t the type to dwell on anything, but for some reason you crossed his mind. it’s not like you chatted every day—it was just casual exchanges here and there, but there’s something about you that just sticks with him. maybe it’s the way you carry yourself, the way you laugh, or how effortlessly you exist in his mind. lying in his bed, jay stares at his phone. he sighs, annoyed at himself for thinking about you this much. jay finally gives in, beginning to type a message.

“is it weird i keep thinking about you?”

𝑆𝐼𝑀 𝐽𝐴𝐸𝑌𝑈𝑁

jake doesn’t even seem to realize how often you pop up in his head until now. it isn’t until he hears a song you’d like—or even something funny he swears you’d laugh at. but tonight as he lays in bed, it’s different. you’re not just a casual passing thought; it lingers, leaving jake restless. he flips onto his side, staring at the bright light of his phone, thinking of a response to whatever is going on in his head.

“be honest, did you put a spell on me or something?”

𝑃𝐴𝑅𝐾 𝑆𝑈𝑁𝐺𝐻𝑂𝑂𝑁

sunghoon doesn’t get it. you’re not even close, yet for some reason he’s always thinking about you. it’s annoying, really—your voice, your smile, the things you do that shouldn’t matter to him yet somewhat do. lying in bed, sunghoon runs a hand through his hair, absolutely frustrated with himself. he’s never been the type to overthink, but this? you’re driving him insane. before he can stop himself, he grabs his phone to text you.

“why do you live in my mind rent-free?”

from her 2 you ◜ᯅ◝ : this was going to be ot7 but i got tired. anywho finally writing for my ult group after escaping the fandom… (me)

[aemonds-gf]

dating Martin from modern world hcs

Author Note : I’m still so rusty at writing but Martin has definitely awaken something inside of me, I hope I did him justice. Feedback is appreciated and requests are open for him, Aemond and aegon.

Trigger Warnings : Martin might be ooc, no use of {y/n}, written with afab in mind, allusions to smut, pussy slapping, spanking, bondage, use of spreader bar.

Martin is fairly observant. He noticed some of the snacks you like to eat and started stocking up on them, he made a place for them in his pantry so when the both of you have a sleepover, you'll feel like you're at home.

Before Martin asked you out, he made a playlist of all of the songs that reminded him of you, out of the blue one night he sent you the playlist and you've been drawn to him since.

He takes you out for late-night dinner dates at his favorite rundown diner. Not many people dine there anymore; mostly, it's the older folks, but that makes it quiet. Every time, both of you order the same thing: blueberry pancakes with a side of oatmeal.

Martin doesn't start conversations much; he much prefers to sit back and paint while you tell him about the day you had at work or college or whatever you were doing that day. He relaxes this way.

When he is unable to sleep, he finds solace in taking walks under the moonlight at the park near his apartment. After spending a few months together, he invites you to join him one night. It was a balmy summer evening, with warm air and a peaceful atmosphere. As you walk together through the park, the moonlight lights your way, creating a soft glow around you. The gentle rustling of leaves and distant of the town sounds add to the tranquil ambiance.

Martin may not appear to be the type, but he is a hopeless romantic and, to add to that, he's touch-starved. Whenever you're together, he finds subtle ways to touch you, even if it's not obvious to those around you in public. For example, if you're reading, he might softly stroke your thigh, or when you both decide to watch a movie, Martin will lay his head in your lap.

Martin is accustomed to receiving strange looks; he knows he's the outcast. As a metalhead with even more exotic pets, he embraces his uniqueness. This doesn’t bother him—he doesn’t feel a need to fit in with everyone else. However, he doesn’t want you to endure the same treatment he does. He would do anything you wanted or needed. Want to wear that outfit? Go for it; he can fight. Want to dye your hair? Go ahead, he’ll stand by you and protect you from everything.

Martin will get you anything you want, he's down for anything. Tickets to your favorite concerts, or maybe a fair you'd like to go to. Never worry because he'll always try to be there for you.

We can all agree that Martin is a freak in the sheets, #1 number one pussy eating champ™. Martin loves to eat you out, he'll have you sit on his face, the edge of his bed, or the bathroom sink. Just anywhere.

He loves bondage, loves to make intricate patterns with you. Loves different color ribbons, rope. Speaking of bondage, he loves to use his spreader bar. Martin had surprised you with it one night, after a long day of work. You felt a bit nervous about the contraption, but Martin, being the loving boyfriend he is, reassured you that if you didn't want to, you didn't have to.

Definitely has a praise kink, he loves to be told that's he doing a good job. He praises you a lot too, his favorite phrases are "his favorite girl, his good-girl, and his favorite cumslut."

Wax play is a must for him, Martin enjoys to mixing the wax. He loves to make you his muse, and your body becomes his canvas. Blue candles are a favorite of his.

Brat taming, he's quite good at it. He likes to feel like he's in control, and will spank you as punishment.

Size kink, need I say anymore

Postion wise, he's simple taste. He enjoys missionary and reverse cowgirl. If you wanted to do something spicer he's down, to try everything once.

It's easy to turn Martin on, wear his band shirt with your just your panties underneath. Listen to his reptile facts, he'll meet you in the bedroom.

[chrissturnsfav]

https://www.tumblr.com/chrissturnsfav/775610247682408448/bed-chem-by-sabrina-carpenter-is-meant-for

i was literally just thinking abt this!! need something written with bed chem being one of her songs and her singing it on stage while looking directly at him😩😩😩😩

⋆.˚✮ singer!reader performs bed chem but rapper!chris knows it's all for him

the bass rattles the stage under your heels, the crowd screaming so loud you can barely hear the track starting. but you don’t need to. you know every breath, every pause, every second of this song.

and you know exactly where he is.

up in the private box, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, silver glinting in the lights, lips curved in that cocky little smirk. he always looks at you like that.

you step forward, slow, deliberate, hips swaying in time with the beat. the lace of your dress clings, the slit riding high, and you swear you hear someone in the front row lose their fucking mind when you drag your hand down your thigh.

but your eyes are on chris. duh!

"how you pick me up, pull 'em down, turn me 'round, ooh, it just makes sense."

your voice is smooth, sweet, dripping over the mic like honey, and chris—damn, he's eating this up. jaw clenched, hands rubbing together, that little shake of his head like he can't believe you're really up here doing this.

good.

you turn, arch your back just enough, let your fingers trace down your own skin like you're thinking about him, like you’re thinking about last night, like you're thinking about how he was cursing in your ear and telling you how good you felt around him, voice all rough and needy.

chris' tongue swipes across his bottom lip. the crowd is going insane, but he's still. watching.

you push it further. step to the edge of the stage, tilt your head just right, drag your lower lip between your teeth as you hit the chorus. your voice is breathy, soft, a whisper of something sinful.

his grip tightens on his knee. yeah. you've got him.

he mouths something, and you almost laugh. but you don't. not yet. instead, you turn away, hips moving with the beat, hands sliding up your own body like you’re imagining his instead.

by the time the song ends, you know exactly what's waiting for you when you get off this stage. and you can't wait.

thank you for reading!! <3

tags 🏷️: @sturnobsessedwh0re , @idrk2292 , @mattsbrat , @ribbonlovergirl , @matthewsroses , @mattsdemi , @emely9274 , @frankoceanfanpage , @ifwdominicfike , @marrykisskilled , @strnilolover , @cayleeuhithinknott , @sturns-mermaid , @sophand4n4 , @sturnsrecord , @purpledragon222 , @faiyaz555 , @jocelyncsblog , @dvinesturn , @slut4chris888 , @chriss-slutt , @ilovedanielcaesar , @annsx03 , @snoopychris , @chrissweetheart , @slutformatt17 , @mattsturnii , @dominicfikeenthusiast , @mattsbratt333 , @ivysturnss , @tessasturns , @coquettechris , @courta13 , @sturniolo101 , @malsmind , @mattsleftball , @softhyunieeee , @whore4mattsturniolo , @tezzzzzzzz , @corspebridedelrey , @softhyunieeee , @sturn1oh0

@chrissturnsfav ™

[vmiina]

autumn leaves

married!dean winchester & married!reader

summary dean finally found peace with the woman of his dreams and their newborn babygirl, believing that he has escaped the supernatural life. but fate is cruel.

warnings angst very little fluff dean does not catch a break GRIEF major character death very mild descriptions of violence dean being the best girldad ever (this is dedicated to the bitches with daddy issues) unfortunately has a couple timeskips

notes based on the song autumn leaves by bts, most of my fics are made with a song in mind but this one deserves a honorable mention !! this song has been going triple platinum with me for the last few years, genuinely one of the most beautiful songs i’ve ever heard. glazing? never heard of that !!. also i do apologize for this fic before anyone even reads it. do not like seeing you guys, or dean winchester happy (that’s a joke)

dean thought he had finally found the peace he has spent a lifetime searching for. after years of hunting, the bloodshed, the loss, and the endless pain, he had settled down with you— the woman who had given him a sense of calm he never thought he could have. the love he felt for you, the way you understood him when no one else could, gave him so much hope. together, you decided to start your own little family, to create a future that didn’t involve the never-ending cycle of monsters and death.

you were pregnant when autumn came, the trees turning shades of gold and red as the world seemed to reflect the new life growing inside you. it felt like a new chapter was unfolding, one where the nightmares of the past could be put to rest. dean spent the next weeks fixing up the house, getting it ready for your baby, feeling more grounded than he had ever before.

then— the best moment of both of your lives’ happened, your baby was born. a little girl with your eyes and dean’s smile. dean could hardly believe how perfect she was, how she completed the family you’d always dreamt of. he spent every moment doting on her, watching her grow with a sense of joy and pride that was foreign to him.

you had been talking about names for months, but the moment dean held her for the first time, he just knew. “layla.” he had said, the name slipping from his lips like it had always belonged to her. and for the first time in his life, he thought that maybe he could have it all. a little family, a home, the whole apple pie life.

but fate— as it always does, had other plans.

one cold evening, as the leaves outside swirl in the wind, an old enemy from dean’s past resurfaced, a demon—one he thought had been vanquished years ago—had come back, angrier and more powerful than before. the first sign that something was wrong when the lights flickered, the house growing unnaturally cold. dean’s instincts kicked in, he knew something was off. but before he could react, the door slammed open, and the demon appeared.

dean immediately rushed to protect you, but the demon was too powerful. it spoke in a voice that chilled him to the bone, a voice dripping with venom and rage. it wanted revenge for something dean had done in the past, and it was not going to stop until it tore everything from him. the creature was relentless, overpowering him, and in the chaos, the last thing he saw was you stepping in front of him, trying to protect him and layla.

“run!” you screamed, voice shaking. “take her and run, dean! please!”

dean tried to fight back, to reach you, but the demon was too fast. in a heartbeat, it lunged and the world seemed to freeze. dean saw you falling the ground, the life draining from your eyes, before the demon turned its focus on him. the demon’s laughter echoed in the room as it vanished, leaving nothing but a deafening silence. dean collapsed to his knees beside you, his hand reaching for your still form.

“no— no please,” he whispered, voice breaking. “not you. not now. i can’t— i can’t do this without you.”

but you were gone. his heart shattered as he had you in his arms, the warmth of your body slowly slipping away. your little girl was crying from the nursery, but dean couldn’t move. he couldn’t breathe. the life he had fought so hard for, the future he’d finally gotten, had been ripped from him in a blink of an eye. when he finally gathered the strength to move, he found his daughter, the tiny girl he had promised to protect, innocent face scrunched up in fear. layla had no idea what had just happened, why her mom would not be around anymore, why the world just collapsed around her.

dean took her in his arms, holding her tightly against his chest, the sound of her crying tugging at dean’s heartstrings. “i’m so sorry,” he whispered to layla, feeling like he had already failed her. the world had become an incredibly cruel place, and he was now the only one left to fight for her.

as the leaves continued to fall outside, the final moments of your life seemed to linger in the air, a harsh reminder of how quickly everything could get taken away. dean didn’t know how to move on. how to face another day without you. how to raise your daughter alone, when he had always relied on you to balance him, to help him see the light even in the darkest moments. but now, all he had was her. the only piece of you left in the world. and as he rocked her to sleep, dean whispered a promise— a vow to keep her safe, no matter the cost. the price of love in his world has always been too high, but he would fight for her, because that’s all he had left.

the days that followed felt like a blur— like time had lost all meaning. the house was too quiet, too empty without you. dean moved through it like a ghost, going through the motions only because he had to. he had a daughter now. your daughter. the only piece of you still here, still breathing. he had no choice but to keep going.

god it hurt.

the nights were the worst. the weight of the silence pressed down on him like a vice, squeezing the breath from his lungs. he would find himself reaching for you in bed, only to be met with the cold, empty space where you should have been. his arms ached to hold you, his fingers desperate to brush against your skin, to tangle in your hair. but you were gone.

and in the next room, layla stirred, her small cries cutting through the silence.

dean forced himself up, dragging his exhausted body to where the crib where she is, tiny and fragile and completely unaware of the hole that had been ripped through his heart. he scooped her up, holding her close against his chest, whispering soft, broken words. “hey sweetie,” his voice cracked as he rocked her gently, trying to calm her. “it’s okay— i got you, i got you.” he didn’t, he didn’t have anything.

dean winchester had faced monsters, demons, and the literal end of the world. he had fought many battles no man should have survived. and yet, standing here, holding the daughter her mother would never get to know, he had never felt so lost.

days turned into weeks. he tried— he really did. he changed diapers, warmed bottles, learned how to hold her just right to get her to stop crying. but nothing calmed the constant ache in his chest. everytime she looked up at him with those big, innocent eyes, all he saw was you. and it broke him all over again. he barely slept, barely ate. the grief clawed at him like an open wound that refused to heal. and in the quiet moments, when he was alone with his thoughts, he wondered if fate had been planning this all along. letting dean believe he could finally have happiness, just so it could be taken right away from him.

one night, as the wind howled outside, rattling the windows, dean sat in the rocking chair by the crib, staring blankly ahead. layla had finally drifted off, her tiny fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. the weight of her against his chest was the only thing anchoring him to this world.

he swallowed hard, pressing a kiss to her soft hair. “i dunno what the hell i’m doin’ kid,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “but i swear to you, i’m gonna figure it out. i have to.”

because he had made a promise. to you. to her. and no matter how much it hurt, no matter how broken he was, he would keep it.

dean never knew how much one little human could talk until layla started stringing full sentences together.

at five years old, she was a force of nature— bright, curious, and full of boundless energy that he often struggled to keep up with. she had your eyes, that same spark of mischief and wonder, and everytime she smiled at him, it was like he was staring right at you as a child. it was the most beautiful and the most painful thing ever.

“daddy, why do cows say ‘moo’?” she asked one morning, swinging her legs back and forth as she sat at the kitchen table, a half-eaten bowl of cereal in front of her.

dean rubbed a hand over his tired face, still groggy from another late night. “uhh… ‘cause that’s just what they do, baby.”

she hummed, seemingly considering his answer, then tilting her head. “but why?”

dean sighed. “i dunno, layla. why do you ask so many questions?”

she grinned at him, cheeky as ever. “'cause i wanna know stuff!”

dean chuckled, shaking his head as he took a sip of his coffee. he never got tired of her endless curiosity, even if it exhausted him most of the time.

then came the question that made his heart stop.

“daddy… what was mommy like?”

he froze, the coffee cup halfway to his lips. his grip tightening just slightly, and he forced himself to breathe. he should’ve known this was coming. it wasn’t the first time she asked about you, but it still hit like a punch to the gut every single time. dean set his mug down and looked at her, his little girl watching him expectantly, her big, eager eyes waiting for an answer. he swallowed past the lump in his throat.

“she was amazing,” he said, voice quieter than before. “the best person i ever knew.”

layla’s face lit up. “really?” dean nodded, a small, sad smile tugging at his lips. “yeah, sweetie. she was kind, and smart, and she was the most beautiful woman ever. just like you.”

“did she like pancakes?” she asked with an innocent smile that had him melting. dean huffed a laugh. “yeah, she did. especially when i made ‘em.” she furrows her brows at his words, not quite believing them.

“but daddy— you always burn pancakes!” she huffs out, crossing her arms. “hey,” he said, feigning offense. “i’ll have you know that i’ve gotten better missy.”

layla laughed, and for a moment, the conversation felt light, warm— something dean could handle. but then, as kids do, she hit him with another question, this time one that sent a chill down his spine.

“why isn’t she here?”

dean’s chest tightened, he set his coffee aside and ran a hand through his hair, trying to find the right words. he hated this part. hated that he had to tell her why you’re not here, why layla would only ever know you through stories and pictures. he looked at her, his little girl who deserved to have both her parents, and felt the familiar ache in his heart. “mommy…” he exhaled slowly, searching for words a five year old could understand. “she had to go away.”

layla’s brows furrowed again. “where..? why?” dean doesn’t know how long he can keep on answering these questions, but he’ll try, and he can’t blame her, she’s just a kid.

“someplace… far, and because she wanted to keep you safe.” he manages to murmur, his throat feeling tight. layla stared at him for a moment, as if trying to make sense of his answer. then in a quiet voice, she asked. “did she not want to stay with us?”

dean’s breath hitched. “baby, no,” he said, voice breaking just slightly. he reached across the table, taking her small hand in his. “mommy loved you more than anythin’ in the whole world. she didn’t wanna leave. she just… didn’t have a choice.”

layla’s lower lip wobbled. “i miss mommy.” she whimpers, looking down at her little feet. dean closed his eyes for a brief second, willing himself to keep it together for his little girl. when he opened them, he pulled her into his arms, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “i know,” he whispered. “i miss her too.” layla curled into his chest, her small arms wrapping around his neck. “is she watching us?”

dean’s eyes burned. he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to keep the tears, he refuses to show her, away. he presses his chin firmly to the top of her head. “yeah,” he murmured. “she’s watchin’ and she’s real proud of you.”

a moment later, her expression shifted, her usual curiosity returning. “daddy?” she softly says, tugging at the collar of his shirt. dean lets out a soft hum, wanting to hear what the little girl has to say now. “do you think mommy would like my drawings?” dean chuckled, relieved by the sudden change in subject. “she’d love ‘em,” he said, ruffling her hair. “especially the ones where you make me look like a potato.”

layla burst into laughter. “that’s ‘cause sometimes you look like a potato!”

dean gasped dramatically. “that’s it, you’re gettin' it now.” layla shrieked with giggles as he adjusted his grip on her, tickling her until she was breathless with laughter. for a moment, just a moment, the weight in his chest lifted. the grief, the pain, the emptiness—it was all still there, lingering beneath the surface, but layla’s laughter was louder, brighter, stronger.

and maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

as the golden leaves drifted past the kitchen window, dean held his daughter close, silently vowing—as he always did—to keep going. for her. for you. for the family he had left.

layla was no longer the little girl clung to dean’s hand and begged for bedtime stories. she was too grown up, and though she had your eyes, she wore them with a hardness that dean could barely recognize.

she was angry. at him, at the world, at everything. dean had tried to keep her safe, to protect her from the truth of her mother’s death, to shield her from the supernatural world that had once taken everything from him. but now, with each passing day, layla only pushed him further away.

it had been a long week of arguments. ever since she started high school, layla had been more distant, more independent. she came home late, snuck out whenever she could, and when she was home, she spent most of the time holed up in her room, listening to music that dean did not understand. he had tried talking to her, tried to keep the bond between them strong but she only shut him out.

tonight, something snapped.

“i’m not a kid anymore!” layla shouted, slamming the door behind her shut as she stormed into the living room. dean barely looked up from his beer when she started in on him, her face flushed red. “you can’t keep treatin’ me like one! i don’t need you to follow me around and tell me what i can and can’t do!” dean stood up slowly, fighting the exhaustion that had been creeping up on him for weeks now. he did not want to fight, but his patience was wearing thin, and his body was weak from the constant strain of his past. he had never really given himself time to rest. he couldn’t.

“baby, this is about more than just going out late. i’m just tryin’ to keep you safe— i don’t want you out of the house this late, not with everythin' goin' on.“

her face hardened, the air in the room seemed to thicken with tension. “everythin' goin' on? what does that even mean, dad? you’re just using that excuse again, i’m not a kid anymore, you can’t control me!”

“it’s not about control, it’s about keepin' you safe. you don’t know what’s out there— what could happen—“ he says calmly, his tired eyes meeting his daughters.

“keep me safe from what?!” layla stepped closer, her voice rising, fists clenched at her sides. “you think i dunno what’s out there? i grew up with you! i’ve seen the blood, the pain. i’ve seen how you’ve shut down, how you’ve been miserable since mom—“

the words hung heavy in the air like a sharp blade, cutting through dean like nothing else. he flinched, the rawness of her voice piercing deeper than he ever expected. she was angry, sure, but in that moment it was not just anger. she was hurt, and it was aimed straight at him.

“don’t you dare—“

but layla was not done. “don’t you dare tell me i dunno what you’ve been through, or what’s out there. because i do, dad. you think i haven’t seen how it destroyed you? how it ruined everythin'? you’re just holdin' me back because you’re scared— scared that i’ll end up like her, that i’ll get taken from you too. well guess what? i’m not mom! i’m not her, okay?”

dean felt as though the air had been ripped straight from his lungs. her words hit him like a punch to the gut, leaving him stunned and speechless. he stood frozen, trying to process his daughters words, the way they felt like the past he couldn’t escape, the past he was trying to outrun. it felt like the air in the room had closed in around him, the words echoing in his mind as his chest tightened. he sees so much of you in her— your eyes, your warmth, pieces of your personality. everytime he looked at her, he saw you. it had been one reason he kept going, the one thing that made his life feel slightly more bearable.

but now she was throwing it back in his face. she was not you. she was not that girl who would do anything to protect him, who would hold him together when he was on the brink of falling apart. she wasn’t that innocent child anymore, and she did not want to be reminded of what had been lost.

dean blinked, shaking his head, trying to clear the fog that was clouding his mind. he opened his mouth to speak, to tell her everything, to explain that he was only trying to protect her. but no words came out. his throat felt dry, his heart thumping in his chest as he watched layla’s figure fade out of the house, into the night, her anger and pain still hanging in the air like a thick mist.

she was right, in a way. she was not you. she was not the girl who would do anything to protect him, the girl who would hold him together when he was on the brink of falling apart. and dean knew that. he’d failed her, he knew he had. but all he ever wanted was to keep her safe, even if it meant pushing her away. and now he could not stop the fear that gripped him. that same fear that had haunted him since you were taken. and now it was creeping up on him again. the world was not done with him, and it was just starting with layla.

he stood frozen for a moment, the silence of the house, pressing in on him. he tried to shake it off. “layla,” he muttered under his breath, moving quickly toward the door. “layla don’t go out there. it’s not safe, layla!” but it was too late, the door had already slammed shut behind her, and she was gone into the dark night. dean cursed under his breath, his pulse racing as he ran after her. he pushed past the front door, not even bothering to close it behind him, his eyes scanning the yard, the street. she was out there, somewhere, and he could already feel it. the same presence he had felt when she was younger. the cold chill going through him signaling that something was terribly wrong.

he called his daughter’s name again, but the only response was the wind rustling through the trees and the distant hum of city lights. the silence was killing him.

then, he felt it. a sharp pain in his chest. something was coming for them— for her.

his breath hitched as a dark shadow appeared in front of him, the air around him growing unbearably cold. dean’s defenses rising up, his hand already reaching for the gun he still keeps at his side, but his limbs felt heavier than usual. there was something wrong with him. he had been worn down, physically, emotionally. and now, he was not sure if he could even fight back. a dark figure materialized before him. it was the same demon that had killed you, the one that had haunted him for years, lurking in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to strike again. it still was not here to kill him, at least not physically, it is here to tear his life apart.

“you thought you could hide from me, winchester,” the demon sneered, its voice guttural, dripping with malice. “you thought you could run and bury your pain. but you can’t. it’s never gone. you and your precious daughter are mine. always have been.”

dean’s breath quickened. he could feel the weight of the demon’s words in his gut, in his bones. but he couldn’t move. not like this. not in the state he was in. his body giving out on him. “no,” dean gritted out, pulling the gun from his waistband. his hand shook as he aimed it at the demon. “not again.”

“you can try, but it won’t matter. she’ll be just like her mother.”

before dean could even react, the demon vanished, and in its place, the air grew colder still. a familiar, hollow silence fell over the street. dean’s heart hammered in his chest, his eyes darting around in fear, desperate to find layla. he took a few steps forward, calling her name, voice as loud as he could get it. “layla!” but his words were lost in the night. and then, he heard it.

a scream.

one so desperate and raw that it stopped dean in his tracks. his heart dropped to his stomach as he ran toward the sound. the closer he got, the more his chest constricted, the more the world around him seemed to close in. when he finally reached the alleyway a couple blocks away, he stopped dead in his tracks. layla was there, her back pressed against the brick wall, her eyes wide with terror. she was shaking, her hand gripping her chest as if trying to hold herself together, but blood was slowly spilling from a wound— the same wound that had taken you. a deep, gaping hole in her chest, just like that he had seen all those years ago.

dean’s breath caught in his throat as he dropped to his knees beside her. “no! layla, please—” he practically yells out, voice cracking as his hands reach out.

“dad…” layla’s voice was barely audible, a whisper carried on the wind. ”i’m sorry, i’m sorry— i didn’t… i didn’t mean what i said.”

dean’s hands shook as he pulled his daughter into his arms, cradling her tightly to his body. “i know baby, i know. it’s okay, you’re okay,” he whispers against her head, pressing a gentle kiss there. he could feel her body growing colder, her pulse slowing. “layla, please… stay with me, baby. i need you. don’t leave me— please, please don’t leave me.” but she didn’t respond, her breaths labored, shallow. the life in her was slipping away, just like her mothers had. dean’s vision blurred as tears welled in his eyes. the same helplessness he had felt when you were taken crashed over him, drowning him in an ocean of grief he had never truly recovered from.

“i love you,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “don’t go, please. you’re all i have left— you’re my world, layla.” her breaths quieting, the life fading from her eyes. her body falling limp in his grip.

dean didn’t remember screaming, but his throat was raw, burning with agony of a loss too great for anyone to bear. he held layla’s cold body against his chest, his hands gripping her too tightly, as if sheer will could keep her there, keep her from slipping away completely. but she was already gone. his baby girl. his layla. his world.

the night around him was too still, too quiet, as if the universe itself was mocking him, watching as he broke apart all over again. his tears dripped onto her blood-stained shirt, and his mind flashed back— his daughter at five years old, making dean play with her dolls. his daughter at ten years old, stubborn but sweet, sneaking into his rooms during thunderstorms because she was too proud to admit she was scared. his daughter at thirteen years old, rolling her eyes at his dad jokes and cringing, but laughing anyway. and now, she was gone.

his chest burned with something raw and ugly. grief. guilt. rage.

this was his fault.

he should have stopped her, should have forced her to stay inside, should have done something.

she had been angry. she had been hurting. and now, the last thing she would ever remember was their fight. the way she had yelled at him. the way she had thrown your death in his face like it was a weapon, cutting him open right before she was taken away from him too. “i’m sorry.” he whispered, voice hoarse. “i’m so sorry, baby. i should’ve protected you. i should’ve kept you safe. i should’ve—“ but the words didn’t matter, nothing did anymore.

his entire world is gone, first you, now her. and for the first time in decades, he had no reason to keep fighting.

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

The disparity between your Motley Crue section and GNR terrifies me, so as your seemingly one Nikki Sixx fan, I have come with a request.

Fluff.

I know, how terrible, how foul, how utterly depraved. But I almost never see fluff of this man & Jesus fuck does he deserve all the softness and comfort.

(I would not complain about smut, though seperately cause he is absolutely horrifically hot in the sense he's really pretty and sweet on the outside and then there's something dark swirling behind his eyes)

A/n: The difference is insane I get a little giggle out of it every time ngl

Warnings: Nikki cries but other than that it's fluff, if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

Nikki was a big name in a big city and craved attention, when you first started dating you didn't care, you still didn't really, but you did worry about him.

You tried getting him to open up more but it was pointless, he switched the topic or laughed it off. Eventually you gave up, when he was on stage he was having fun and when he was with you he was definitely having fun, but you just moved in together and it was new.

Nikki was used to being alone, he was always alone. He had his band, but once Motley got big there was no need sticking together all the time, and he grew up with his grandparents mostly but he was still relatively distant. Now you were around all the time, at shows, the bar, when he came home and when he left. That's not to say he hated it, he just wasn't used to it.

He came home one night after a show and dropped his stuff by the door, having planned to just crawl into bed but he saw you in the kitchen so he went there first. "What're you doing?" He asked, coming up behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist. You giggled when he kissed your cheek and returned it before speaking.

"Making dinner, why?" You asked, stirring the noodles in the pot. "Tired?" Nikki didn't respond, he was just stuck staring in the pot hugging you from behind. "Nikki?" You spoke again. When you didn't get a response you just left him, figuring he had had a long day or something of the sorts.

The radio was on in the background, Deep Purple came on. You weren't big on them but Nikki always liked them and you knew the song so you started humming along to it, swaying your hips as you did. Still no reaction from Nikki but he smile softly, you felt it against your neck as he watched you cook.

He got ingredients when you asked him to and helped with cleaning up as you went but if you didn't tell him to do something he was right behind you, giving you a squeeze here and there.

This felt different. Something was wrong. Very wrong. It's not that Nikki wasn't cuddly, per se, he definitely could be, something was just... wrong.

You sat down and ate, he said nothing. You finished cleaning up, nothing. Watching TV and getting ready for bed, still nothing, you even tempted him with lingerie but he barely batted an eye, only gave a wry chuckle and shook his head at you.

Nikki got into bed and laid down where he always did, head on his pillow, splayed out for you to cuddle up to. He stared at the ceiling while you stared at him, thinking for a moment.

Nikki looked to you, a brow raised in curiosity. "What're you doing?" He asked just as he had earlier.

You let out a heavy sigh and crossed your arms over your chest, resting your weight on one side. "You're acting weird." You stated. Nikki thought for a moment and then laid his head back, giving the spot next to him a small pat.

You did as he silently asked and got in, but you paused as you did. Instead of curling up against him you copied his position, didn't even use his arm as a pillow like you did every other night.

Nikki gave you a sideways look and waited for you to roll up into him, but you didn't. "Are you mad at me?" He asked finally, his voice much too soft for your liking. It was weird, all of it, nothing was normal. He could be sweet, sure, but this wasn't sweet soft, this was 'did I mess up again?' soft and you didn't like the look in his eyes.

"No, I'm not, of course I'm not mad at you." You said, reaching over to cup his face in your hand. "It's your turn to cuddle tonight." He raised a brow at you but seemed to understand pretty quick when you pulled him closer. Nikki was big and strong and happy with that so he was always the big spoon, if you were on the couch you were laying on top of him, it didn't matter the setting.

He let his head fall on your chest, your arms wrapping around him and rubbing his back. You tried to remember the tune of the song you were humming along to earlier and started again, letting him listen to it and your heartbeat, putting him to sleep.

Only he didn't sleep, you heard sniffles coming from him and quickly went to check on him. Nikki shook his head and pushed his face further into you, hiding. You wanted to push him on it, get him to tell you what was wrong so you could help but instead just let him cry into you while you held and comforted him until he finally fell asleep.

It's what he did for you, and you could be his pillow every now and then if it made him feel better.

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

steve singing the cheesiest pop songs into a fake microphone at eddie just bc he's in a good mood and because eddie 'hates' it

steve singing these songs morphs into steve singing the same songs but swapping out lyrics to whatever eddie is doing, or they're doing, or to something that happened in a hellfire campaign etc

steve still singing those songs around everyone else but also starts to sing his changed lyric masterpieces to eddie specifically

One particular instance being when Steve starts to sing Frankie Valli at him while trying to convince him to go out with him and robin to this club they'd heard about.

He and Robin were trying to convince him from their spots behind the counter at Family Video, arguing about if he should come with them or not long enough for Steve to come around the counter and actually do his job, stacking away tapes onto the closest shelves, when Sherry comes on over the radio.

Steve starts to bob his head along while Robin tries telling him again that it's a good place, that she has it on good authority that it's a place for other Friends of Dorothy, but she doesn't get far before Frankie AND Steve start to sing.

Eddie can quite literally note believe what he's seeing.

Steve is staring him down, his eyes full of glee as he croons Eddie's name back at him, a well-worn copy of Gremlins acting as his mic.

"Eddie~! Eddie Baby! Eddie~! Eddie Baby--" Steve's long, high pitched (though somehow still in tune) crooning of his name in place of Sherry's is (luckily) funny enough to keep his face from showing exactly how he's feeling about being called baby.

"What in the hell are you doing?"

"I agree with Buckley."

Steve ignores them, signing about his moonlit party or something, putting the tape where it goes on the shelf to Eddie's right just in time to turn and snatch up Eddie's hands in his to sing "I'm gonna make-a you my-i-ine~!", right to him, tossing his head around with the last line and spinning away to keep shelving tapes.

Eddie's face blazes hot.

"Oh my god, this is actually doing it for you, isn't it?"

He looks over at Robin, ready to snap at her, deny it all, but she looks so sincere under that mirth.

He sighs.. "Yeah."

"Can you come out tonight?" Steve sing-asks, jumping into his space and startling him.

"Really??"

He's grabbed up Ghostbusters this time, "YooOOOuUU better ask your Uncle~ Tell him everything is alright"

"He won't care!"

Steve's voice pitches lower as he continues to ignore Eddie's comments, stepping away to a nearby shelf "Why don't you come out?" then higher immediately after, as he slides the tape onto it's shelf, "With your red flannel on"

"I can't wear a dress?"

"Mmm, you look so fine~!"

"Shut up, Harrington!" Eddie's cheeks are on fire

Steve continues to ignore him, stepping back into Eddie's space and snatching him up in a spin, one hand on his hip, one grabbing his opposite hand, "Move it nice and easy,"

He's front to front with the man of his dreams and said man is, shimmying his hips to the tune, "Well you make me lose my miiiind!"

Steve goes into more long belts of "EeeEEdie bay-ay-bee" as he spins away back to shelve more tapes, leaving Eddie both entranced and bewildered at the front of the store.

"He'll be so bummed if you don't come now."

Eddie sighs, leans back against the counter to wait out the rest of the song, "Yeah.. I know."

- - - - - - - - - - -

and then they go to the bar and then steddie kiss and robin kisses a super cute girl and they live happily ever after the end

this exact scenario has haunted me every time sherry comes on the radio so today you finally get it too lmao