#they’re in the back of my mind that’s all

[mariasont]

HI i have an idea and its making me really giddy

ok so reader is a translator for the bau and they’re always reading and translating texts or calls or anything like that. and the reader to spencer is basically like penelope to derek. they flirt all the time and all of those lovely things.. and it’s kinda just where they’re flirting on the phone and morgan teases reid about it and reid gets all flustered

IDK IF IT CAN WORK I JUST LOVE FLUSTERED SPENCER :(

anyway i’ll probably be in your inbox a bunch uhhh so call me h or something

-h

Warm Under the Collar - S.R

summary: spencer insists he is not flirting. morgan insists that spencer absolutely is. one of them is lying. pairings: spencer reid x translator!reader warnings: heavy flirting, pre-relationship mutual pining, verbal sparring as foreplay, workplace hr violations, use of angel wc: 0.6k

“Are you thinking about me, Dr. Reid? Because I’ve been thinking about you.”

Spencer exhales, tugging at the collar of his dress shirt as if loosening it might alleviate the sudden stranglehold of your words. He wasn’t sure if it was always this constricting or if it was conspiring against him at the mere sound of your voice.

He rolls his eyes, performative, really, because you can’t see him, and it’s easier to feign exasperation than admit the effect you have on him. His mouth, however, twitches in betrayal, flirting with a smile before he crushes it. 

The crime board he was supposed to be focusing on, filled with monochrome photos and reports, was now blurring into meaningless scribbles as his thoughts veer off-course, plummeting headfirst into you.

“I’m always thinking about you.”

The words come easily because they require no effort to be true. Always isn’t hyperbole, it’s a mathematical constant, an irrefutable fact.

He was thinking about you before he even called you, felt the shape of you in his mind like an afterimage burned onto his retinas. 

Thought about what color you were wearing, whether your hair was up or down. He wondered if you’d eaten, if you were drinking enough water, if you’d remembered to bring a jacket to the office because the temperature had dropped unexpectedly. 

“Always? Spencer, if you wanted me that bad, all you had to do was say so.”

He isn’t sure why he hesitates — why his brain takes a detour through all the ways he has said so, if not in words, then in the way his thoughts orbit you like a law of nature. 

“I feel like I did say so. Quite literally. But if you’d like me to be more explicit about it, I’m happy to oblige.”

Another pause. He wonders if you’re smiling.

“Mmm, well, I’m certainly not going to stop you.” You sigh, a little dramatic. “Go ahead, be explicit.”

Spencer physically winces at how hot his face gets. The very concept of explicit sits indecently in the pit of his stomach.

“Tempting.” He exhales, rubs a hand down his face, forcibly redirects. “But I do actually have a job to do. And, lucky for me, it just so happens to require your specific set of skills.” 

He leans against the crime board, half-smirking despite himself, because if nothing else, this is fun — the sharp back-and-forth, the way you press all the right buttons just to see what happens.

“I have a recording that needs translating. Think you can focus for long enough to help me, or do I need to, I don’t know, compliment your intelligence first to get you in a professional mindset?”

“Complimenting my intelligence to get what you want? Interesting. Manipulative, even.”

He groans, tilting his head toward the ceiling, appealing to some higher power for patience. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t say I was going to —”

“Too late, you put the idea in my head, and now I expect it. Preferably in an eloquent, well-structured speech. Bonus points if you make it poetic.”

“Or,” he counters, “you could translate the recording first, and I’ll… circle back to stroking your ego at a later, more convenient time.”

A small pause. The kind that feels intentional, like you’re weighing your options.

“I guess that works,” you say. “Send it over, pretty boy.”

Spencer shakes his head, fingers moving on autopilot as he sends the file, because if he thinks too hard about the way you lilted that last pretty boy, he might die. “Alright, thanks. Be good, angel.”

He hangs up, still grinning like an idiot, still entirely too warm under the collar. He exhales, staring at the phone in his hand like it might have the decency to cool him off, maybe undo the physiological mess you’ve left him in.

“If I have to listen to one more of your phone calls with her, I’m sending y’all an invoice.”

Spencer freezes when he sees Morgan standing behind him.

He clears his throat, ignoring the flush he knew was climbing up his neck. “Flirting is an unsubstantiated claim.”

Morgan just stares at him. Stares. “You don’t even believe that.”

Spencer mutters something about professionalism because he’s nothing if not a walking contradiction.

💌 masterlist taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[rosegolden13]

Hardware store owner!John Price drabble <3

He’s on his smoke break in his office in the back, window open to let in the cool evening breeze and let out the stink of cigar. Store’s been slow today, but that’s no surprise for a random weekday.

Gaz and Soap are messing around out front, their voices carrying into his office from the cracked open door. No doubt they’re playing their makeshift version of floor hockey with a roll of duct tape as a puck and the yard sticks as sticks. Normally, he’d tell them off, but with no customers in, he let them have their fun. It would be closing time soon anyways.

The mechanical ring signalling the arrival of a customer is familiar enough that he tunes it out entirely. It isn’t until that sweet chirping filters through his door that he finds the need to immediately tap out his barely finished cigar, despite the fact that both Gaz and Soap are free to help you. Those muppets don’t know about the leaky sink you’ve been struggling with or the marigolds you’re desperate to help bloom. He needs to be there. It’s only reasonable.

His pace quickens a bit when he hears how your voice seems to be laced with anxiety, words spilling into one another. By the time he gets to the front, Soap has got his palms up, clearly trying to placate you like you’re a spooked horse. 

“Poison?! I-I don’t want to kill them!” You’re wringing your hands, stress palpable, as your bracelets clash against one another on your wrist. And this is what he’s been waiting for since you last came in, another chance to help his favorite girl.

Gaz is moving towards you as if to reach out a hand to place on your arm, but before he can, John’s heavy hand is on your shoulder, standing just behind you. “I’ve got this one, boys. Start cleaning up for me, will ya?”

Gaz and Soap exchange knowing smirks as they head off with a simple “sure thing, cap’n” and a “you got it, Price”. You’re looking up at him and he has to fight back the rush of pride that flows through him when he catches the relief in your expression. 

His thumb absently runs over the fabric of your flowy pink top, feeling your warmth through the thin fabric. “What’s the problem, doll? Never seen ya worked up like this.”

“John, oh, thank God. There’s mice in my attic- a whole family of them. I really wouldn’t mind, but there’s droppings everywhere. Animal control told me to call the exterminator. But I couldn’t live with myself if I had to- They’re only looking for a warm place to stay!” The words are a rush from your glossed lips, his hand rubbing over your shoulder the whole time and then squeezing gently once you’re done. 

God, you’re adorable. This passionate over the lives of a few woodland critters. He’s never flinched at bloodshed, but he’s not one for needless killing either, especially of anything as small and helpless as some mice.

His smile is patient as he looks down at you. “No exterminator necessary. I’ll handle ‘em for ya, lovie. Got a few humane traps I can set up for ya, free of charge. Wouldn’t want ya to get your finger trapped in ‘em.”

Your trust in him is all the payment he needs. Oh, and that sweet smile you give him as you babble happily about how he always knows just what to do. 

—

He follows you back to your place in his pick-up truck.

As you lead him inside, murmuring sheepishly about how it’s a bit of a mess inside, he’s focusing on how your smaller form squeezes in next to his in the tiny entryway, how you put your keys away with a gentle metal clatter, the movements unconscious because you’ve no doubt done them day after day. The intimacy of being in your space gets to his head, filling his mind with thoughts of placing his keys over yours on the little hook. 

You’re leading him upstairs to the attic soon enough. While he busies himself with setting up the traps, you sweep up mouse droppings. Settling into the work, a comfortable silence lingers over you both. John’s taking note of the christmas decorations, old books, and various bins you have stored up here, making a mental reminder to offer to come over if you ever need help getting the boxes down from here. He wouldn’t want you tripping down that rickety ladder leading up here. 

He’s setting down one of the last traps, placing it by a crack between the wall and floor that he wants to offer to fill for you, when you shriek, the sound loud enough to cover up the scurrying claws of the mouse that had just ran right by your sneakers. In an instant, your hands are digging into his hairy arm, clinging to him. 

It takes him a moment, looking between your hands and then your scared expression, before he’s springing into action. “Shh, darl’. It was jus’ a mouse. Can’t hurt ya. I won’t let it.”

He lets you hug his arm, using his free hand to gently rub your other shoulder. There’s a slight heat in his cheeks that he hasn’t felt since he was a teen, that small thrill of being alone in the dark, tucked close to another warm body. One touch from a pretty little thing and the seasoned captain is falling apart.

The moment is broken when you pull away with a sheepish smile. You’re apologizing again and again for getting spooked like that but John’s just watching you with a smile, sneaking glimpses at the crescent shaped divots your manicure left in his arm. He doesn’t want them to fade, mind wandering to how you could tear up his back with those claws.

Once the job is done, you say goodnight to him at the door, the yellow porch light casting a halo over his hair. He promises to come back once any of the traps are filled to bring the mice to a field so they don’t end up back in your attic again. 

And, no, doll, you don’t need to repay him but, how could he ever say no to a homecooked meal sometime?

[loveinhawkins]

Eddie could pretend that he only says it because fear and adrenaline—a lethal combination—have destroyed his brain to mouth filter. Which, sure, there’s something in that; all things considered, he’d say that’s a reasonable reaction to the whole cursed Hawkins experience.

But he knows it’s not just that. And he knows that if he really dug deep, he’d find exhilaration lurking underneath all the fear, and maybe that’s weird, but he can’t help it—can’t help thinking, as the RV speeds out of Forest Hills, God, if we’re all actually having fun now, imagine what we’d be like with a normal Spring Break.

He grabs a moment alone with Steve, sat in the field, and the conversation turns to confessions, stupid minor things like what they sing in the shower, but they’re on a tightrope nevertheless, one wrong move pitching them into morbid territory, and Eddie has a vested interest in avoiding that, if only so Steve doesn’t look so goddamn worried—

And so, studiously casual, Eddie admits that in the halcyon summer of ‘85, he started a club. At Steve’s confused look, he adds that he was the only member, because the club existed only in his head.

“Okay…” Steve says slowly. “What was the club?”

No matter what happens next, Eddie tells himself, at least it’s gotten Steve’s mind off recounting flambé supplies.

He takes a deep breath and says that the club of one was the Homosexuals Doomed by Steve Harrington’s Legs Society.

And Steve… laughs. Lies back in the grass, full-bodied, genuine, and Eddie’s heard cruel laughter, and he knows deep in his heart that this is not it.

He laughs too, relief soon giving way to joy. “You dick,” he says, beaming, “stop laughing! I just bared my soul, Harrington.”

Steve tries to speak several times, overcome with giggling. Eventually he gets out, “I hated that goddamn uniform,” which makes them both laugh harder, and then Steve’s sitting up, and he grabs onto Eddie’s wrist, and Eddie suddenly feels the heat of summer in the touch, and maybe finally dares to hope.

“But, Eddie,” Steve says—teasing and sincere all at once, Eddie can hear it—“you just made the shorts worthwhile.”

[rhythmic-idealist]

I hope it’s okay to reply, in my and many drivers’ opinion this does NOT apply to driving. It really is kindly intended! But hear me out.

Following right-of-way laws and customs makes traffic patterns safe and predictable for everyone involved.

Whereas being beckoned by a driver that’s trying to cede their right of way to me leaves, first of all, a lengthy pause: I have to figure out what’s going on. That takes so long that I then have to figure out if I took too long, and maybe they think I refused their offer, and so they’re going to go first after all (this happens sometimes). Then there’s a follow-up “oh, are you still offering?” that takes us longer, we have to communicate via kind of awkwardly inching our vehicles and gesturing to each other, and surrounding bikes and pedestrians don’t know whether and where they can cross.

Accepting your right of way on the road sometimes feels unkind internally — this is the element of personal sacrifice that I would argue actually being kind in this situation requires! You unfortunately gotta swallow it, bite back your instincts about being a jerk who isn’t holding the door, and be willing to drive effectively and efficiently for everyone.

Hope you don’t mind me using your reply as a jumping-off point for that opinion!

Offer to let other people go ahead of you in line, especially if you're approaching the line at the same time. This is double applicable if you're in a store and the other person has fewer items than you.

This is a small gesture of kindness that in most cases will cost you very little time or effort. It shows consideration for other people's time. Especially in the case of being in a store and letting someone with fewer items than you go first, there is no sense in making someone else wait for you who would otherwise be able to get in and out much quicker.

[no-144444]

confronting- o.piastri

pairing: oscar piastri x fem! Skyf1interviewer! reader

summary: a confrontation in a hotel room doesn't go so well thanks to Franco's loud mouth...

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five

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Entertaining the idea of dating Oscar when you knew you’d be gone at the end of the season wasn’t fair. He deserved someone who’d be there for every race, be there for him. You weren’t that person. You weren’t the person anyone should want, you just weren’t like that. 

Qatar rolled around and Oscar won the Sprint, and he was P3 in the race. You were meant to do the interviews. He knew that. That’s why he frowned when he was met with Jenson’s face at the end of the race. 

“Where’s Y/n?” he asked, not holding the microphone up to his mouth. 

Jenson smirked. “Missing her?”

Oscar nodded. 

“She’s with Franco, he was pretty upset after the crash.”

“Oh,” he nodded, and the interview began. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

It’s not like you were trying to avoid him, it was just… easier that way. And Franco really was quite shaken after the crash, so that part wasn’t a lie either. You just didn’t want to deal with all of the shit the media and people online would give the two of you. You just wanted a nice, clean break from the world of F1, and the people online who shipped you and Oscar would never let that happen. It was upsetting, because he really was a good friend to you, and you thought you were a good friend to him. Maybe it could’ve been something else, if things were different. You sat with Franco, calming him down since he was pretty upset that his second last race of the season was fucked by a silly turn-one incident. 

“What’s going on with you and that model?” you asked. He chuckled. 

“Oh my, you saw it too? It’s so embarrassing,” he sighed. “Even my mother has been asking me about it.”

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” you laughed at his reaction. “We can talk about anything you want.”

“What’s going on with you and Oscar?” he smirked and your face fell slightly. 

“Nothing,” you shook your head. “We’re friends.”

“Friends?” he pried. “You two seem like more than ‘friends’ to me.”

You rolled your eyes. “We’re not. We’re just friends,” you assured him. 

Franco sat up, leaning closer to you. He was so close his breath was on your cheek, his eyes staring longingly into yours. You knew what he was doing.  “So he wouldn’t mind it if someone kissed you, no?”

You laughed, pushing him back down to his previous position of lying down. “Stop being weird. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind. He shouldn’t care anyway.”

“Let’s test that,” Franco challenged. “Kiss me in front of him, and then we’ll know. I’ll ask Lando to tell me about it, they’re close, right?”

You sighed, something about it felt a little bit… manipulative. And it’s not like you were looking for Oscar to like you back, he didn’t. That’s what he’d said the last time, it was only a joke, a prank, a mistake. Which was fine with you, of course. It made sense. You couldn’t be there for him while you were supposed to be there for someone else. Someone else on his team. 

Ok, so maybe the move to Indycar isn’t just about Sky starting to cover it. Maybe, they need more European fans, and you have to go over there and sell it to them with a relationship with Pato O’Ward. Maybe McLaren is paying you a lot of money to do that. 

Just maybe though. 

“I can’t do that Franco,” you explained. “It’s not fair. And anyways, I’m kind of… seeing someone.”

“Is it Oscar?!” he questioned. You shook your head. “Lando? Lance? Zhou? Yuki? Who?” “He’s not in F1!” you giggled, watching as Franco freaked out. 

“Who is he?! You have to tell me right now!” he begged, taking your hands. 

“He’s in Indycar, that’s all I’ll tell you,” you smirked and his jaw dropped. 

“Is that why you’re leaving?!” he almost shouted. 

“No! Sky really is just branching out, but yes, it is nice that I’ll actually be able to watch his races,” you chuckled. 

“I’ll miss you,” he frowned. 

“I’ll miss you too,” you chuckled, pulling him in for a hug. “Now, I have to go do my post-race duties, so I’ll see you in Abu Dhabi, alright?”

He frowned even deeper. “Alright,” he mumbled. “I can’t believe you’re leaving me!”

You left the Williams garage with a smile on your face, very much amused by your conversation with Franco. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

You pulled up to the media pen, really to meet with Jenson and Nico, your co-hosts this weekend, but they were nowhere to be seen. Regardless, you prepared yourself with the running order. 

Lance, Lando, Max, Checo, Zhou, and Fernando. That’s all you had to get through before you got on a flight to Abu Dhabi the next morning. After another few minutes of waiting, Nico and Jenson showed up, acting slightly strange. They weren't really speaking to you, only with each other. It’s not like they were excluding you, just… not asking for your input. They seemed guilty too. 

Lance, Lando, Max, and Checo were all fine, polite and out of there quickly. Oscar didn’t show up. Unsurprising, as you had been avoiding him. Zhou and Fernando went by in a flash, and you were back to your hotel by 2am. 

When you walked into your hotel, you were not expecting to see Oscar Piastri standing outside your door. 

Holy shit. You were so astronomically fucked. 

“What are you doing here?” you questioned. He turned to you. 

He cleared his throat. He’d been thinking of a response to that question since the second he’d started waiting outside for you. What was he doing? This was insane. His plan was to make you stay, but he was much too upset to talk rationally when he got the text from Franco about you seeing an Indycar driver. Honestly, it crushed him. He genuinely thought you’d liked him. “I wanted to… talk? Or something, just to gauge what the fuck is going on here,” he was getting heated, and you understood he was probably angry with you, and it’s not like he didn’t have a reason. 

“What do you mean?” you asked, opening your hotel room door and letting him inside. 

“You’re going to Indycar?” he questioned. “What the fuck?”  

You gulped, hard. “Yeah?” 

“Why?” he demanded. “What does Indycar have that F1 doesn’t? F1 is faster cars, faster drivers, more money, more races, more countries, more-”

“Oscar! Did it ever occur to you that this wasn’t my fucking choice?!” you shouted over him. Silence. “Indycar doesn’t have Sky coverage, but Europeans are interested in the sport and they need a known interviewer to go there and make it easier to sell it to people, and I got picked. That’s it.” 

“So it has nothing to do with whatever Indycar driver you’re fucking?” he scoffed. Your face fell. Your eyes fell to the hardwood floor beneath your feet. “Yeah, I know.”

Your face soured and you looked up again, offended. Who did he think he was? He had no say in your life at all. You’d hated him for 2 years, and you had no real reason to, now you had one. “I owe you nothing Oscar. I’m an adult in a consenting relationship, and yes he’s in Indycar, is that a crime?” 

“Is that why you’re going over there?” he asked, stepping closer to you. You could cut the atmosphere in the room with a knife. “Or are you running away from something here?” 

“Fuck you,” you pushed him back. This wasn't the Oscar you knew. He was different, angry, mean, and rude. You owed him nothing. “Get out.” 

He nodded, and left without another word. 

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mclaren masterlist

navigation for my blog :)

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five

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[ryuucam]

HANDS OFF !

˓𓄹 ࣪˖ what’s their favorite part of your body? multi-fandom scenario

contains nsfw (duh), oral (both receiving and giving), handjobs, boobjobs/paizuri, marking (a disgusting amount tbf), lots of spit, nipple play, breeding, bondage (m! receiving YES!!!) sub!character but idk if anyone minds actually, ass slapping + ass play, last part is shorter bc i had no more ideas ..

notes writers block is so real u guys .. also i just spent 20€ on hsr somebody sedate me!!!! please!!!! (gallagher and sunday are almost in all of those i need a lobotomy)

he likes your HANDS, likes the way they’re smaller and softer than his. loves when you run them through his hair, even when you pinch his cheeks (even if they end up red and swollen after).

he’s the type of person that loves holding your hand during sex. it doesn’t matter if he’s being rough, or if it’s just gentle lovemaking, you best believe your hand is getting held tightly by his. it’s comforting, grounding, it shows you that he’s here, no matter what, and you can trust him to take care of you. when his hands are busy doing other things (such as keeping your legs open or restraining you from squirming so much), he likes having your hands holding onto his shoulders, or cupping his face, anything’s fine as long as you keep touching him.

handjobs are his guilty pleasure. sure, they may be nothing over the top, but he thinks there’s nothing as arousing as having your small hand (or hands) wrapped around his cock, doing your best to bob them up and down, even if the amount of precum he’s leaking makes everything so sticky and wet. he just sits back, enamored with the little huffs and puffs you let out every once in a while, struggling to grab his whole cock. but that’s what makes you so charming to him, how cute you look when you’re so intent on nursing on his dick, how you whine at him to just help you out. he’s not a mean man, but just this once he’ll just sit in silence watching you.

kaeya, ayato, alhaitham, kaveh, neuvillette, lyney, childe, kinich (genshin impact) welt, sampo, luocha, jiaoqiu, aventurine, gallagher, phainon, anaxa (honkai star rail) chigiri, kunigami, nagi, itoshi sae, kaiser (blue lock) byakuya, nagito, kokichi, rantaro (danganronpa) mikey (lazy ass), chifuyu, ran (lazy ass n2), nahoya “angry”, kokonoi (tokyo revengers) dazai, ranpo, fukuzawa, tachihara, odasaku, jouno, nikolai (bungou stray dogs) deku, aizawa, sero, mirio, dabi (my hero academia) hinata, oikawa, iwaizumi, matsukawa, semi, kenma, yaku, akaashi, suna (haikyuu) whitney, syndey, wren, brian (degrees of lewdity) gojo, shiu, nanami, sukuna (jujutsu kaisen)

he likes your THIGHS, and likes napping on them even more. regardless of how much he likes to laze around, the soft skin always lulls him into a deep sleep. and when he’s not sleeping, he’s tracing countless patterns on them as he talks about his day - or listens to yours. he bites you sometimes, then licks and kisses the skin better. call him a freak, but he’d die for your thighs, no questions asked.

have you guys ever seen those memes that are like “i’d be happy to die crushed by my gf’s thighs”? that’s him. point blank. he spends hours and hours between your legs, overstimulating you to the point of tears, and the more you cry and try to close your legs the more he enjoys it and keeps going. he starts by kissing your legs, inching closer and closer to your core, leaving numerous hickeys and bite marks all over your inner thighs. when he starts sucking and licking your clit, his hands squeeze the fat of your thighs, further bruising the flesh. you can’t even get mad at him, really, because the massages and creams and who-knows-what he gives you during aftercare makes up for it.

when you’re not feeling like having full on sex, you both agreed on letting him fuck your thighs. it’s a win-win, really, since he gets off and you can lay down and rest (as much as you can while having your boyfriend rutting in your legs from the back, to be fair). the slick coats your skin, making it easy for his cock to slide in and out of your thighs. his tip peeks out from the front, red and throbbing while he overstimulates himself. he groans in your ears, about how “you feel so fuckin’ good, sweetheart, you’re such a doll for letting me fuck you like this”. well, you can’t really resist him when he’s like this, so when his cock doesn’t go down after the nth orgasm he’s had, you just tell him to fuck you properly. he can’t wait.

diluc, albedo, xiao, gaming, zhongli, kazuha, thoma, wanderer, pantalone, childe (genshin impact) caelus, dan heng, dr ratio, moze (honkai star rail) isagi, bachira, rin, sendou (blue lock) makoto, kiyotaka, gundham, hajime, shuichi (danganronpa) mikey, kazutora, inui, mitsuya, souya “angry” (tokyo revengers) atsushi, tanizaki, chuuya, tecchou, sigma, mark twain, poe (bungou stray dogs) kaminari, tokoyami, shinsou, monoma, tamaki, hawks (my hero academia) kageyama, yamaguchi, hanamaki, sugawara, goshiki, fukunaga, bokuto, atsumu (haikyuu) kylar, robin, doren, mason, alex (degrees of lewdity) choso, ino, gojo, geto (jujutsu kaisen)

he likes your BOOBS. a worrying amount, actually. he feels like a teenage boy all over again, but he can’t help the way his eyes always drop down to your cleavage (regardless of the shirt you’re wearing, or lack of thereof). his hands are always grabbing your chest, squeezing the fat like they’re stress balls, and he won’t stop unless you whine enough or he’s satisfied (very unlikely). he could spend his whole life tugging and circling on your nipples, sucking on them, biting your tits, anything, really. and obviously your boobs end up swollen, bruised and overstimulated, but can you really be mad at him, though, when he looks at you like a kicked puppy?

a while ago, one of his friends showed him a video of this dude fucking his girlfriend’s tits, and the thought hasn’t left his head ever since. not to say he doesn’t like your pussy, or mouth, but there’s just something so lewd, so messed up about sliding his cock in and out of your boobs. he’s lucky to be dating a cutie like you, honestly, since you let him do just that. he’s a freak, he knows it, but your tits are just so soft, so warm and tight and wet that his dick slides against them so well. sometimes you’re sweet enough to take his tip into your mouth, licking and suckling on it, spreading precum all over your lips. he’s a meanie, though, cumming all over your tits and face. other times, he just rubs his cock all over your chest, pace quickening against your nipples. and no matter how many times he cums, his dick always gets hard again when he sees your doe eyes and pretty tits. be patient with him, yeah?

having you ride him is definitely one of his favorite positions, since it’s a win-win for both of you: you’re taking all of his cock (or at least, you try to), and he has your tits bouncing right in his face. yeah, having you twitch and squirt all over is length is nice (well, more than just nice, but you get my point), but he’s so mesmerized by your boobs. as stated above, he’s no better than a teenage boy, and just a handful of tits is enough to get him going and cumming deep inside you. sometimes he grabs your chest, sucks on your nipples hard enough to bruise them, but when you get sick of all the marks and spit, your best bet is to just tie his hands up. all he can do is whine, “c’mon baby, don’t be so mean. just wanna touch you” and “you’re bein’ so mean to me, i’ll be good, yeah?”, but you know him well enough to know they’re all lies. well, all the more reason to take control for once, no? he does deserve a little punishment every once in a while.

venti, kazuha, ayato, ororon, wriothesley, capitano, dainsleif (genshin impact) caelus, luka, gepard, jing yuan, boothill, moze, blade, gallagher, sunday, mydei, phainon (honkai star rail) isagi, aiku, reo, ness, nagi, rin itoshi, sendou (blue lock) mondo, nagito, kazuichi, korekiyo, kokichi (danganronpa) baji, kazutora, ran, shinichiro, izana, inui, hakkai, draken (tokyo revengers) dazai, ranpo, akutagawa, chuuya, fyodor, nikolai, jouno (bungou stray dogs) deku, shoji, bakugo, todoroki, sero, tamaki, monoma, shigaraki (my hero academia) kuroo, fukunaga, kageyama, tsukishima, osamu, kita, bokuto, sakusa, iwaizumi (haikyuu) kylar, robin, eden, sydney (degrees of lewdity) toji, gojo, higuruma, choso (jujutsu kaisen)

he likes your ASS. it’s a classic: who doesn’t? he likes laying his head on it, likes groping it when you’re wearing short, or skirts, or… never mind, he’s always touching it. whistles when you walk by, slaps it when he passes by you. call him childish but he could care less.

most of the time, he’s fucking you from behind, just so he can see the fat of your ass recoil and bounce when it hits his pelvis. he’s so rough, but he just can’t stop when you’re wrapped so tightly around him, not when the room is filled with the squelching sounds of your cunny. when you whine too much, he just slaps your ass, leaving big, red handprints on it, but he knows you don’t mind it. you won’t mind if he sticks his thumb inside your puckered hole, right? he doesn’t care about that “embarrassing” nonsense you keep on blabbering about, just let him take care of you. you seem to cum harder when he’s playing with your hole, anyways.

kaeya, dottore, tighnari, alhaitham, itto, zhongli, pantalone, childe (genshin impact) sampo, jing yuan, gallagher, mr reca, mydei, boothill, anaxa (honkai star rail) leon, gundham, kaito, k1bo (danganronpa) sae (canon), aiku, kunigami, barou (blue lock) baji, nahoya “angry”, draken, rindou, kakucho, mitsuya (tokyo revengers) kunikida, tachihara, jouno, mark twain (bungou stray dogs) bakugo, kirishima, aizawa, mirio, overhaul (my hero academia) bokuto, ushijima, hinata, yaku (haikyuu) bailey, sirris, mason, wren (degrees of lewdity) geto, shiu, gojo (jujutsu kaisen)

[thebastardscull]

May I request some NSFW Sevika headcannons? I love your writing btw! 💚

Of course! This is my first time writing NSFW stuff though, so please be kind 💕

18+ only, minors do not interact

In cannon? She knows what she’s doing! She knows how sexy she is. You’ve seen that smirk and the way she carries herself. I firmly believe she was very popular with the girls at Babette’s because she knows how to lay it down. Definitely vers/switchy but usually only when she’s in a relationship with someone or very very comfortable around them. There was a girl named Selina at the brothel she would bottom for, but she moved away from Zaun and she hadn’t bottomed for anyone else until you.

She’s so sweet in bed. But that’s really hard for you to remember when your knees are pressed to your chest, she’s pushing the back of your thighs down with one hand while the other drives her fingers into your cunt with a blinding force. Each push and pull making a sloppy ‘shlick shlick shlick’ sound that’s barely audible over your gasps and cries.

God, she’s so fucking sweet. And she runs her mouth when you’re under her, silver eyes locked on your messy, clenching hole. “So fuckin’ pretty, baby.” She’ll say. Or; “Love this pussy. I love you. I’m gonna keep you all to myself, pretty girl.” And her favorite, “Can’t wait to marry you. Can’t wait to make my wifey feel so fucking good. Yeah? You wanna be my wife? Yeah you fucking do.” (Refers to herself as husband but that’s another story.)

But when she bottoms? She’s pathetic. Whether you’re grinding your clit onto hers or bottoming out into her with the strap (one of the bigger ones, she’s a size queen), she’s a whining, wriggling mess. “Please please please! I -ah!- faster baby please!” She pants and bucks her hips and scrunches her pretty eyes together when you hit that perfect spot inside her. Baby girl loves getting her nipples bit/licked/pinched/sucked! They’re sooo sensitive, especially with her piercings. “Mmph- baby I think I’m gonna cum if you bite them again.”

She gets so. wet. Her inner thighs are coated with her cum, it makes a mess of the sheets under her. If you’re using the strap, 99.9% of the time it’ll be on your pelvis and on the front of your thighs. Don’t worry though, she’ll make sure she’s cleaned you up before she’s putting her mouth on your cunt.

Isn’t shy about sitting on your face. She’s built like a brick shit house, but she knows you love it. She grips your hair in her hand while she rides your face, shamelessly pulling you closer to her while she uses your mouth. Her muscular thighs clench around your head and she’ll suffocate you a little bit. But if you die, this is a good way to go out. “Your mouth feels so good, Janna, just like that baby.”

Whines when she cums. It’s a cute, high-pitched sound that makes her jaw drop open as she quivers and shakes. She cums hard. Grabbing you or the sheets or anything she can get her hands on. Your back is regularly marked with red lines that she places delicate kisses to once you’re done.

Loves giving you hickeys! She’s sloppy and feral with it. Open mouthed kisses, suckling and licking and the soft skin of your neck, shoulder, breasts, or thighs. She doesn’t mind if you cover them up, but if you’re wearing clothes that openly show them off? Don’t think for a second that she’s not pulling you into a dark alley or a bathroom somewhere to show you just how much she likes it.

—

Author’s note:

So I’ve never written anything remotely smutty in my life but I really hope you guys like this one! My brain is running on 20% right now so forgive me if this is a little scattered 😭

As always, my asks are open and I’d love to hear your ideas! Kisses 💕

[hacash]

#you know I’m a bit lukewarm on starmer personally and I don’t like a lot of the social policy decisions his government has made#but I have been both surprised and impressed by how he’s handled the trump situation and subsequently the trump-Zelenskyy meeting#*that* is what I wanted when I voted for an uninspiring speaker who used to be a human rights barrister!#also#‘keir starmer - who is not a tactile individual if we’re being honest’ fucking took me out#but they’re absolutely correct#he’s neither tactile nor particularly dramatic in his presentation of himself#so you can know 100% for certain that when he does things like whip out a letter from the king mid convo#or walks out into the street in breach of typical protocol to hug someone#that he is very much doing it pointedly and on purpose (via @teacakesanddreams)

I hope you don't mind my sharing your tags, but I think this is a really good example of why voting for the best-not-perfect candidate is important. Like, I don't like some of Starmer's social policy decisions either, but at the end of the day I voted for him and a Labour government because they were better than the alternatives.

And regardless of what you think of anything else Labour has done, you can't deny this weekend has been a class act: not just symbolically but with everything that's been happening with the other European leaders (and Canada) in responding to Trump's absolutely piss-poor response to Russia and Ukraine. I'm sure there'll be things that could go better, but I feel like a lot of what's been done has been done well. But can you imagine the Tories doing as good a job at backing Zelenskyy up in the face of all the bullshit from the White House? Can you imagine Farage's response?

We have Labour in power right now probably because a lot of people looked at them and thought 'well, they're not the best but they're better than the Conservatives and Reform'. If all of those people hadn't made the choice to vote for the best-not-perfect candidate, we'd probably have had one of those two parties in power, and last weekend would have gone very fucking differently.

[moody-alcoholic]

This Is Going To Hurt

Part 3 - Useful Hostage

Summary: Poly141 x reader, established relationship, medic reader, kidnapped reader, mini fic.

CW: Dead dove don’t eat, use of weapons, death, torture, blood, assault.

AN: My birthday is on Wednesday so I'm taking a break from writing to do birthday things.

Masterlist and A03 links coming soon™ Part 1, Part 2

Enjoy <3

You actually get a break from the torture. Which means you get some sleep. Maybe it’s a thank you, but more likely they’re going to let you get your strength back up before it continues. The room you’re being held in is small, there’s only the door, no windows or vents. 

In fact you haven’t seen the sun since you were taken. You have no idea what time of day it is, how long it has been. There’s no point in trying to keep track, they purposely avoid a schedule, come for you at what seems like random times to take you to the bathroom or for more torture. 

You’re woken mid sleep and dragged back into the wetroom. That’s what you’ve started calling it, you always leave the place wet and shivering. It’s getting harder and harder to fight against your instincts and keep quiet, not panic. The safe space in your mind is getting harder and harder to imagine, it’s almost like the mental barriers you try to put up are being pulled down one by one. 

“No one is coming for you.” The stranger says, you turn your head to look at him while you gasp for air.

“You’ll die here. Alone.” You can’t help but scoff. You always knew this would happen, now they’re switching up their tactics. Maybe they’ll try and flip you, try and promise you a new life. It’s not going to work, it will never work. 

He doesn’t try the new tactic for long before switching back to the questioning. At one point you think you pass out because the next thing you know your straps have been undone and you’re rolled on your side heaving onto the floor. 

Angry voices ring in your head before you’re hauled back to your room. Everything hurts, your stomach and your lungs. The wound on your arm- you’re pretty sure is infected at this point. You can barely keep yourself up as you're thrown back into the room and the door is slammed closed. Like you have the energy to do anything right now. You pull yourself up into the corner of the room. 

Laying down just makes your stomach turn. You wish it would end. For the first time you feel your resolve slip. 

He’s right, they’re not coming for you. You’ve always known that, you just didn’t want to admit it, somewhere deep down you hoped they would come for you. You feel tears come even though you’re too exhausted to cry. 

You just hope they’re safe wherever they are.

___

“We’re in.” Soap says in Price’s ear. 

“Keep it tight, we need at least one of them alive.” Price says. This is their only chance to get intel, without having to resort to other methods. Price and Gaz move to the front door of the small house. There’s at least 5 people in here, all hostile.

Price pushes through the door first hearing Gaz following behind him, Ghost and Soap will be making their way around the ground floor so Price makes a b-line for the stairs. He looks around quickly, making sure Gaz is following him as they make it up the steps. 

They take it one room at a time. There are 2 people both sleeping. They take them out silently, hands over their mouths, their throats slit. Price takes the first one, Gaz gets the second one. 

There’s no third floor which means the last 3 are on the ground floor. 

“Ghost, sitrep.” 

“Ground floor’s clear. 2 down, one in custody.” He responds. 

“We’re clear here too.” Price responds and nods at Gaz to make it back down the stairs. When they make it into the living room, Ghost and Soap already have him tied to the chair. 

“He speaks English.” Ghost says his eyes meeting Price. They’ve done a good job, they were quick, they have what they need. 

“Yeah, beggin’ for his life when we got him.” Soap says. Price sighs walking round the chair to stand in front of the man. He shouts something in Arabic. Price’s patience is wearing thin already. He has to keep cool, keep it together. 

It’s like there’s a timer in his head though, ticking down each second, minute, hour. The longer they take, the more chance you’ll be killed. The thought makes his stomach sink, he swallows the lump in his throat and lets the adrenaline calm his mind. 

“You took a hostage. Female, British, medic, we want to know where she is.” Price says. The man's eyes flick to him, there’s blood on his forehead.

“I don’t know anything about a medic.” He says. It’s a lie, Price knows that. He nods at Ghost who throws his fist into the man's face. As Ghost straightens back up, Price watches the man spit blood. 

“The hostage. Where is she?” Price asks. 

“Fucking American pigs!” He snaps spitting at Price’s feet. Price crosses his arms looking over at Ghost, who pulls a knife off his vest. 

“The hostage!” Price snaps. The man just laughs and Price lets out a sigh. Ghost walks over and plunges the knife into his thigh. He screams thrashing against the chair, shouting in Arabic. Price goes over bending down in front of his face. 

“Tell us where she is.” He orders through gritted teeth. 

“I don’t know.” He says between breaths. Price doesn’t believe him, he has to know something. Suddenly there’s a beeping Price shoots up watching as everyone raises their weapons towards the origin of the noise. 

Soap is the closest and he moves over to the table. “It’s a laptop.” He calls lowering his weapon. 

“Bring it over.” Price says and he comes over placing it down on the coffee table. When they open it, it shows a page with a video. In the middle a chair, the backdrop is all al qatala flags, Price sees the red ‘live’ watermark flashing in the corner of the video.

“What the hell?” Gaz asks. Price reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. 

This can’t be good. 

__

The door to your cell opens, jolting you from sleep. It’s Sayyid, he has a bottle of water. You don’t even want it. 

“How are you feeling?” He asks putting the bottle down on the floor. You scoff as you move yourself back into the corner. Your body is stiff and sore, you wonder how long you were asleep for. 

“Fuck you. You don’t care.” You say. 

“I came to ask for your help.” He says, you look up at him confused. You can’t believe what you’re hearing. You laugh, maybe you’re dead and this is hell.

“There was a missile strike, injured are being brought here.” Sayyid says. 

“Oh my God you’re not joking.” You say. He looks somber as he shakes his head. You get up to your feet taking a step towards him.

“I’m not helping patch up terrorists.” You say with anger in your voice. How dare he ask you to help the very people keeping you here. 

“Innocent people are hurt too. Civilians with no affiliation. You took an oath when you became a medic. Do no harm.” He says. Fuck him, how dare he throw that in your face. 

“Fuck you!” You spit your fist crashes into his face. “I spent the last few days being tortured and you want to lecture me about not wanting to help terrorists.” 

The door to the room opens, someone steps in but Sayyid shouts at them holding his hand up. You watch as he rubs his cheek. You wish you had the energy to throw a proper punch, you wish you broke his nose. 

“Your allies are the ones firing the bombs at us!” He snaps. You shake your head, you don’t have to help them. No one would blame you. 

You look back up at Sayyid. You would blame yourself though, you will blame yourself. Do no harm, who dares wins, none of it fucking matters at the end of the day. 

You joined to help people, to make a difference. You've treated the enemy before and if you get out here you will again. You won’t treat them, the people holding you here, just the innocent people caught in the crossfire. 

“Why are civs coming here and not going to a hospital?” You ask. He looks up at you sad. “Shit, they hit the hospital.” 

Fucking Americans. Why did they fire on a hospital? Maybe it was a stray? 

“They’re diverting critical cases elsewhere but we have to pick up the rest.” 

“I can’t believe this. I’m your prisoner. Why do you even trust me?” You say throwing your arms up.

“I don’t but what are you going to do? Run? You wouldn’t make it to the door.” He says. “We need- I need help. You might as well be useful.” 

“Okay. I need to see what you’re working with though.” You say crossing your arms. He nods and moves to the side so the man standing behind him can grab you. 

His grip is strong, his fingers digging into your skin as he drags you down corridors and staircases. You catch your first glimpse of the outside world. It’s dark out, you don’t get to look for long before you’re dragged away. You’re moving deeper and deeper into the building and down more stairs. You’re pretty sure you’re on the ground floor, or a basement by now. 

You’re about to go through some double doors that you assume lead deeper into a basement. This place is huge, way bigger than you thought it was. Suddenly there’s an eruption of shouting. You’re stopped and you turn behind you to see 3 men walking towards you. They sound angry, they have weapons in their hands. 

Sayyid walks past you talking to them. He gets shoved out the way and two of them grab you. You resist this time. 

“What the hell!” You snap. You look back at Sayyid who looks confused as you’re dragged back to the stairs.

“What’s going on?” You ask as you’re pulled up them. Something's wrong, somethings changed. They shout at you in Arabic as they continue to drag you down the corridors. You’re bought into a room and it makes your stomach sink. 

There are more terrorists, all holding weapons. One of the walls is covered by al qatala flags, there’s a chair and a camera, lights and a microphone. The whole place looks like a shitty movie studio. You’re dragged over to the chair and they force you down. You have to squint and the lights are bright in your eyes. 

The two men stand directly behind you. One them presses the barrel of his weapon against the base of your skull. You feel sick, your body freezes up. You look over and you can see yourself on a laptop screen, this is live. They’re doing a livestream? Why? 

There’s no way this ends well, you wonder if 141 are watching. You hope not. 

One of the men comes up to you and hands you a piece of paper. You look down at it then back up at him. 

“Read.” He says. You swallow looking back down quickly. 

“I can’t read.” You say. You’re not going to give them what they want that easily. He hits you with the butt off his weapon, it stings forcing your head to the side. His hand then grips round your neck forcing your head up to see him. 

“Read!” He spits before letting your head go. You clear your throat and look back down at the piece of paper in your hands. 

“In response to the recent missile attacks by the Americans on civilian targets including a local hospital.” You pause for a second looking over at the laptop. The barrel of the weapon is pressed harder into your head. 

“We have no other choice but to-” Your eyes snap up at the man standing next to the laptop. This can’t be real, this is not how things work. 

You’re worth something to them, you're a hostage. You look back down at the words on the paper. Apparently not. 

“Execute the hostage.” You finish. This is it, this is how you die. You feel fear rise in you, there’s no way you can get out of this you’re dead anyway. The paper is ripped out of your hands. You look back over at the laptop. Now you really hope they’re not watching. 

The man by the laptop moves to the front of the camera and says something in Arabic. You look down at the floor, you're not sure what you're feeling. Sadness, fear, confusion.

You're about to die.

You won’t cry, you won’t give them the satisfaction. When he’s done talking he comes over and presses a pistol to your temple. 

You look into the camera, you wish you could see them one more time, the people in the room start chanting when they’re done the man moves to stand in front of you. The barrel moving to your forehead. You look at him, right in his eyes. 

See you in hell fucker, you let yourself smile. He doesn’t deserve to break you, even now. You let out a breath and think of them all, John and Simon, Kyle and Johnny. You never stopped loving them. 

There’s a loud bang of a door being thrown open. Someone shouting in arabic. The gun barrel is pulled from your forehead. The man moves and you look over to see Sayyid rush in. There are more angry voices, people shouting. You wish you knew what they were saying. 

The same man turns back around to you, you see confusion in his eyes.

“Is it true, you are part of 141?” Your stomach sinks. How did they know? You didn’t tell them. His fist crashes into your face.

“Answer!” He demands. You’re not going to say anything. He pulls out a knife pressing it up against your throat. 

You swallow and it digs into your skin. “Where are they?” He spits. You keep as still as you can, your heart is pounding in your chest. you hold your breath.

“I don’t know.” You say through gritted teeth. You feel the blade slice into your skin. It makes your eyes water. Sayyid says something again. The knife is dragged away from your neck. Your hand goes up to it and you feel blood pool between your fingers, the wound is not deep, just enough to bleed. 

You look up at Sayyid who smiles at you. What the hell? What the fuck just happened? You watch the livestream get turned off. There’s another shout, another order, the barrel of the weapon is moved off the back of your head. You feel a sharp pain as something hits you over your head and everything goes black. 

__

No one moves. No one says a word. 

Price can feel eyes digging into the back of his head, looking at the same screen they just saw you on. 

“She’ll be dead already.” The terrorist chuckles.

“John?” Price hears Laswells voice in his ear. 

“Send traffic.” He replies, trying his best to keep a level voice. 

“I traced it to a relay but that was as far as I got. Chances are you’ll be able to pick up the signal from there. I’ll send you the details.” She says. Price doesn’t reply, ending the call.

He reaches down, unclipping his pistol. He’s not even thinking as he clicks the safety off and shoots the terrorist in the head. 

“Laswell has a lead. Let's move.” he says putting his weapon back in his holster and walking to the exit.

Now they have even less time.

Banners by plum98

[loves1ckmoth]

CLINGY

Loser!Ellie x Reader

Warnings ♡: Fem!reader as always, needy/clingy ellie, Ellie cries after losing reader in the mall, reader comforts her, reader talks more than she usually does in my regular fics, she's more dominant as well, reader and ellie almost pounce on eachother, ellie helps reader put on a dress in a changing room, they kiss a couple times, petnames (my girl, els, darling)

Word Count♡: 1193

Clingy. A word Ellie heard all too often from previous partners. You’d never call her that, no, of course not. You liked her never straying from your side. But it got difficult in crowded areas. Especially on days like today.

You wanted to go out to the mall to pick up a few things. First, your favorite lipstick ran out. Then your friend texted you about an event, and then the dress you were going to wear to said event ripped when you tried it on. The nail in the coffin? Your favorite perfume ran out.

So here you were, walking around a crowded mall on a Friday afternoon. You would’ve prepared to wait, but the event was tomorrow and you needed your things now. Ellie said she’d tag along under the guise of wanting new games, but you knew it was because she didn’t want to be alone at the house.

Sadly enough for you both, everyone in their mother had decided to come as well. It must’ve been a big sale day. That only meant you’d have a better selection of things. While you were grabbing a new bottle at your perfume place, Ellie had distracted herself with some cologne. While you grabbed two bottles of your favorite, you saw a sign.

“Buy two get one free.” As if the universe had planned it all out, Ellie wandered back to your side. “Find something you like, darling?” You ask. She shrugs, but you can tell something’s caught her eye. She’s never been one for subtlety.

“Go grab it. The sign says it’ll be for free. But let me smell it first. I don’t want you smelling of something awful.” She beams and dashes off to grab it. When you sniff it, you find the smell more pleasant than most colognes. You agree and take it up the register. She taps her fingers impatiently as the woman behind the counter rings you up.

You lead her out of the store and she looks through the bag. She eyes your perfume. “Did you need two?” She asks softly. You nod in response. “I’d prefer to come back less. These last me a couple of months each. It’ll at least be half a year before we come back. Though… I did see some room sprays. Perhaps I’ll grab one if they’re discounted.”

You two walk in silence as you navigate through the crowd, trying to pinpoint which store you need to stop at is closer. You only notice her hand slipping from yours too late. By the time you’ve escaped the crowds and into the dress store, Ellie is nowhere to be seen. Your heart twinges and you’re sure she must be panicking somewhere by now.

You walk up to the store clerk and speak softly to her. “Hi, would you mind holding onto my bag? I’m here to buy a dress but I’m afraid I’ve lost my partner. I promise I’ll be right back.” The clerk nods and sets the bag behind the counter.

You leave the store and try to peer out into the crowds, your worry only growing when you don’t spot her. You tap an embarrassing amount of shoulders of girls who look like her, only to apologize when they aren’t. When you don’t find her in the crowds, you try stores. When she isn’t there, you finally check the mall bathrooms. There is where you finally find her.

The moment you walk in, you hear sniveling from a stall. You knock gently, prepared for the embarrassment if it turns out to not be her. “Ellie, are you in there?” Your voice gently rings out in the emptiness of the bathroom. A whimper sounds out from inside the stall and it slowly opens.

She sits there, eyes red and puffy and she grabs you tight. You coo softly, holding her back. “There’s my girl. I was looking all over. Stupid me, then. Should’ve checked my phone for you. Silly me, right?” Your voice is calm, and she looks you over. “Didn’t mean to let go. Shouldn’t have cried like this.”

You shake your head and kiss her lips. “You’re fine. We’ll get all this sorted, yeah?” You caress her softly and bring her out of the bathroom. You wash her face and dry her with a few paper towels before bringing her out with you. This time, you squeeze her hand extra tight so you don’t lose her.

By the time you manage to get back to the dress store, your hair is mussed up from brushing shoulders with everyone in the damn place. Ellie tries her best to fix it for you, and you giggle as she sticks her tongue out to concentrate. You nod and move her hands away from your hair, returning to what you set out here for originally.

You get your bag of perfumes back from the clerk, and Ellie checks inside to ensure you have all your belongings. Ellie is subdued slightly from her losing you earlier, but she does her best to help you pick out a new dress. You’d prefer one like the one you ripped, but when you don’t find something similar, you try to find something else you like. Ellie is attentive, doing her best to find something you’ll like.

Ellie prioritizes comfort overall, and as she looks at the dresses in the store, she realizes comfort might be harder to come by. But, she manages to find the perfect one. Appropriate for big and small events, and comfortable. She brings it over to you as you frown at an ugly feather dress covered in patterns that don’t mesh.

“You find anything good, Els?” You ask, slowly turning only for her to shove the dress in your direction and accidentally into your face. You splutter as you’re met with fabric and Ellie frantically apologizes and pulls it back. Once your face is out of the dress, you take it into your hands to study it. You smile up at Ellie. “This is nice. I assume you want me to try it on?”

She nods fervently, then shakes her head, then flushes bright red, leaving her face blotchy. “Pretty please?” The puppy face she has makes you want to tackle her and ravage her right in the middle of the store, but you hold yourself back. You have more self-control than she does.

“Come on, it’s got a zipper. I’ll need help putting it on.” That’s all you have to say to have her scurrying alongside you and shoving you into the dressing room. You slip out of your regular clothes and have her zip up the dress for you. You smooth it all out and look in the mirror. “Is it all good in the back, Els?”

She gulps, her eyes glancing between you and the dress. She nods slowly and twirls you around to get a better feel of the dress. “Perfect.” You smile and take it off again. “Good. We’ll get it, I’ll grab some new lipstick, and we’ll get you some new games. Alright?”

She hums an agreement this time and grips you tight as you leave.

Second post of today 😵‍💫 I managed to get a lot of writing done today ♡ Hope you all like this one!! Likes and reblogs are most appreciated ♡

[folkwhoreberry]

Can u make an Oscar x reader story where they’re childhood best friends and reader is like a famous singer or something and they’ve been hinting about their relationship but no one even knew they had a connection

This was super long 😭 sorry if u don’t understand

Steering Hearts

oscar piastri x reader

or... the one where you swear you’ll be moving on with his favourite athlete

word count : 1.7k

warning : reader wrote “good graces” by sabrina carpenter, english is not my first language!!!

on the radio : good graces by sabrina carpenter

🐨☘️

sweat dripped down your forehead, but you didn’t mind it, not even one bit.

with the microphone in your hand and the blinding flashes coming from the crowd, chanting your name and lyrics as you sang, how could you?

you stood in a line with your backup dancers, singing your hit song from your latest album, ‘good graces’.

“I’ll tell the world, you finish you chores prematurely,” you sang into the mic as you danced, “break my heart and I swear I’m moving on with your favourite athlete.” and that was the line that made the crowd scream. all because of a simple hand movement you did while singing - your free hand moving in circles imitating a steering wheel.

one simple hand movement - and the internet went crazy. because you wore an orange bodysuit while doing so. and lando norris and oscar piastri just so happened to be in the crowd.

an hour later the concert finally finished, you said your final thank yous to the crowd and crew before going backstage, where you were met with your manager and assistant, handing you a bottle of water and a towel to wipe of the sweat.

“you absolutely smashed it out there!” you manager praised you, a big smile on her lips as she patted your back.

you smiled and nodded and response, too out of breath to talk. you leaned against the nearest wall and kept drinking your water, until a familiar figure appeared in the corner of your eyes, along with another person trailing behind them.

“you did amazing, love!” oscar immediately said after coming close enough to you, his arms wrapping themselves around you without caring about the sweat covering you. “aw, thank you, osc.” you responded with a smile. “hey, it’s my nickname for him!” lando said from behind oscar, to which you rolled your eyes and clicked your tongue at.

“you’re tiring, aren’t you?” oscar whispered in your ear, making you hum in agreement. he chuckled, bringing one of his hands up to play with the ends of your hair. “so should we go back to the hotel?”

——————

the next morning was a mess on stan twitter. rumours of you dating the mclaren so-called ‘playboy’ lando norris were circulating all over the internet.

there were pictures of him and oscar going backstage after the show, videos of you smiling and waving to where the two boys were during the concert, sightings of the 25 year old filming you on his phone while you performed, and of course the orange outfit you wore that night, a colour that is often associated with mclaren, lando’s team.

——————

a week had passed since then, everyone somewhat calmed down from it, only sparking when lando was asked about it in interviews.

now, it was the morning of the australian grand prix - the first race of the 2025 season, and also oscar’s home race.

the paddock was full of excitement, reporters walking around with their cameramen and microphones, fans eager to meet their idols, and the drivers just trying to peacefully get from one place to another.

and there was you - walking through the paddock with you manager, just casually talking to her and occasionally turning to wave to a camera pointed at you pf take a picture with a fan.

“miss l/n, miss l/n! is it true that you’re dating lando norris?” one of the reporters asked you, pointing a microphone at you to hear your answer. you just smirked and snickered, ignoring g the question. “then why are you wearing a mclaren jacket?”

they weren’t wrong, you were wearing a mclaren branded jacket, white leather with their logo on the back, which you wore to support you boyfriend of course. you just kept on ignoring the cameras as you made your way to the mclaren garage, which luckily was the first one out of the rest of the teams. you walked inside, where you were met with oscar, who promised you he’ll meet you at the entrance.

“hey there, love. how was the drive here?” he asks you kindly, wrapping his arm around your waist and leading you further inside, to the front of the garage. “alright, not too much traffic.”

he hummed in response, leading you to the secluded spot he prepared for you in the back of the garage to watch the race.

“I gotta go get in the car now, darling. cheer for me, yeah?” oscar said with a smile, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head before he moved aside to take his gloves and helmet, walking to the front of the garage towards the track, where the national anthem will be played before the start of the race.

the race started just minutes later, and your heart was beating with each turn oscar took and each place he gained or lost.

after almost two hours the race ended, and you were happy that your boyfriend ended the race with no missing kind of any serious injuries, not even caring what place he finished in.

you watched oscar’s car roll into the pit lane and saw him climb out. you were glad he was safe, your heart finally settling after nearly two hours of tense turns and overtakes. the mclaren garage erupted in applause, but you stayed in your secluded spot, waiting for oscar to come over.

a few minutes later, you saw him approaching, wiping sweat off his forehead with a towel. his smile brightened the moment he spotted you, and you grinned back, leaning against the wall of the garage.

“how was that?” he asked, his voice still a little breathless from the race.

“you were incredible,” you said, stepping closer to him. “I swear my heart was in my throat the entire time.”

he chuckled, pulling you into a quick hug, the scent of sweat and fuel faint on his race suit. “you’re always so dramatic,” he teased, his lips brushing the top of your head.

“I think it’s justified,” you quipped, lightly smacking his chest. “especially after that last turn. I was ready to jump on the track and drag you off myself.”

oscar laughed, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “I’m just glad I didn’t give you another heart attack. next time, I’ll make it easier for you.”

you smiled, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before stepping back. “well, go do your interviews, mr. piastri. I’ll be waiting for you back here.”

“yeah, yeah, I know the drill,” he said, giving you a wink before heading off toward the media pen.

you found a spot near a screen in the garage to watch him and lando give their interviews. they stood side by side, casual as always, but you knew they were in for the usual bombardment of questions. sure enough, one interviewer didn’t waste time.

“lando, there’s been a lot of speculation about your relationship with a certain singer. any comment?”

lando smirked and shot oscar a sideways glance. “oh, we’re really doing this again?” he said, crossing his arms and pretending to think. “well, I can’t blame people for talking. she’s a fantastic performer, you know?”

oscar snorted beside him, shaking his head. “he’s full of it,” he added with a grin. “no relationship there, sorry to disappoint.”

they both shared a laugh, shrugging off the question as the interviewer quickly moved on to race-related topics. you had to bite back a smile as you watched the whole thing unfold. the internet was going to lose it - again.

——————

the next day, you had a concert in the same city, and once again, oscar and lando made an appearance. as the show started, the crowd was electric, and the energy only grew when you hit the chorus of your song, ‘good graces.’

“break my heart and I swear I’m moving on with your favourite athlete,” you sang, throwing in that same steering wheel motion you did at the last show. the screams from the audience were deafening, and you couldn’t help but grin at the chaos you’d created again.

you stole a glance toward the back of the venue, where you knew oscar and lando were. it was hard to miss them, even in the dim light of the concert hall. oscar had that proud, supportive look on his face that never failed to make your heart swell, while lando - well, lando was grinning like the mischievous devil he always was.

once the concert ended and the cheers died down, you headed backstage. it wasn’t long before oscar and lando followed, dodging a few cameras as they made their way through the halls.

“well, if it isn’t the star of the show,” oscar teased as he approached you, his smile lighting up his whole face.

“that’s me,” you said, still catching your breath from the performance. “did I live up to your high standards?”

“always,” he replied softly, stepping closer to pull you into his arms.

just as you leaned into him, you felt a flash of a camera, and before you could react, oscar’s lips were on yours. it was a quick kiss, nothing too showy, but the click of the camera and the flashing lights around you meant only one thing—the internet was about to go wild.

“oh great, here we go,” lando muttered from the side, raising an eyebrow at the photographers. “guess we’ll be dealing with questions about this tomorrow.”

you and oscar both laughed as you pulled apart, but deep down, you knew this was going to cause another storm online.

sure enough, overnight, the internet exploded with headlines, pictures of oscar kissing you backstage, and a new wave of speculation about your relationship. it was everywhere - your fans, his fans, random gossip accounts.

the next morning, after a quick talk with oscar, you decided it was time to put an end to the rumors once and for all. you posted a simple picture on your social media - one of you and oscar, arms wrapped around each other, lips interlocked, and of course a cheesy caption.

oscar did the same, posting a cute picture of the two of your from a random cozy night-in you had, paired with a caption you made him change three times because of how oscar-ish it was.

the response was instant - fans flooding the comments with excitement, support, and some playful teasing.

lando even chimed in, posting a candid picture of you he took with the caption “wrong papaya mate guys”.

you couldn’t help but laugh as you scrolled through the reactions. it was all out in the open now, and honestly? it felt pretty damn good.

————————————————————————————

a/n : took me so long to write it (two days lol) but oh my godddd am I a sucker for singer!reader it feeds the oc’s in my head

[munsonsmixtapes]

I Know You Want My Touch For Life

rockstar!eddie x popstar!reader

You and Eddie meet at an awards show and realize that you have much more in common that you initially thought.

This is based on the song "Juno" by Sabrina Carpenter

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it) breeding kink

The lights begin to dim as you sit down at your designated table. You have a drink in hand as you try your best to act like you’re sober. You don’t know how many drinks you’ve had but you’ve been downing them like they’re water, feeling all giggly because of all the effects. 

The show is starting and you make small talk with the other people at your table, all of you yapping away as the host comes out on stage. It’s an actress who you can’t remember the name of because to be honest, something, or someone else has captured your attention. 

Eddie Munson is across the room, sipping on something before laughing half-heartedly at a joke the host has made. Everyone but you is in on the joke but you’re not paying attention. Eddie has captured all of it. He looks so good in his suit and you honestly can’t believe that he’s real, that he’s in the same room as you, because for a while, you were convinced that your brain has just made him up. 

You don’t know what you’re doing. The alcohol has definitely taken control of your brain because before you can stop yourself, you’re pulling your phone out of your clutch and pulling up his instagram account, curious to see if he’s following you back and to your surprise, he is. 

He knows who you are. You’ve been crushing on him for so long and you know he likes you too. Well, he did. You vividly remember him saying that you were his celebrity crush a few years back but you’re not sure if that’s still true. 

Because of your drunken state, you end up liking basically every photo on his profile, commenting nonsensical emojis on every one you’re liking which is something you’d absolutely never do if you were sober. 

Once you’ve looked at his profile for long enough, you go to DM him, trying to think of something to say but just come up with the word “hot” in all caps which is all you seem to be thinking as you go back to his profile, continuing to like and comment on his posts. 

Eddie sees you out of the corner of his eye and now he can’t seem to stop looking at you. His very obvious crush on your is getting even bigger and as he watches you from across the room, he wishes that he could be the one sitting next to you and not that guy who you’re giggling with. 

He doesn’t handle his jealousy well, always acting impulsively, usually doing something he shouldn’t. He’s actually sober tonight for once which actually makes him feel calmer than normal. He’d definitely do something he’d regret if he had a few drinks in him which he squally would have by now. 

“You should ask her out,” Grant whispers to Eddie as he follows his line of sight. Eddie just scoffs then turns back to the stage, suddenly remembering that there’s a show going on before him. 

“Right,” is all he says as he claps for the girl heading towards the stage to get her award. Holy shit, it’s you. And you’re stumbling as you try to get up the steps while still somehow looking so graceful. 

Before Eddie can stop himself, he’s rushing towards the stage, reaching out to help you up since clearly no one else is going to do it. You’re putting your hand in his and suddenly it feels like electricity is moving through his body. He’s quick to gather the train of your dress which is the reason why you’ve been tripping and he follows you up the steps, watching your every move to make sure that you’re okay. 

He’s following you to where the presenters are standing, admiring how you take the award so gracefully. You grab hold of his hand and pull him close to you as you stand in front of the mic. 

Your mind is nothing but hazy, foggy from the alcohol and you’re trying your best to think about your speech that you had written up, leaning into Eddie, making it impossible for him to resist your touch, how good you smell. It’s intoxicating. 

“Oh my gosh,” you gush, smiling wide as you look down at the award in awe. You can’t think anymore, all of the words evaporating from your brain as you look out into the audience then over to Eddie who’s smiling down at you like you’ve hung the moon. 

“I can’t believe I won,” you slur, much more drunk than Eddie realized and he doesn’t want you to make a fool out of yourself, suddenly feeling protective over you. You haven’t been in this industry for as long as he has and he would hate for you to make the same mistakes as he’s done. 

“C’mon, honey,” he says, leading you back towards the stairs and you feel your cheeks getting hot at his nickname. To anyone who doesn’t know the two of you, it almost looks like you’re a couple. You’re eating that up, wishing that you were a couple like you have been for years. Maybe this will be the night you finally make a move. 

Eddie leads you back to your table where there’s conveniently an empty chair next to yours. You invite him to sit and he does, wanting to look out for you, to make sure you’re okay, especially after having so much alcohol in your system. 

He makes you drink some water to help sober you up and you actually kind of like him bossing you around. You don’t usually like being told what to do, but with Eddie? Oh, you’ll do anything he says as long as he’s looking at you with those pretty brown eyes. They’ve quickly become your weakness. 

Once the water is drained from your cup, he seems satisfied so he stands from the table only for you to reach out and grab hold of his hand to stop him. You’re giving him pleading eyes, close to batting them to get him to stay. 

“You can’t go,” you tell him. “We’re having fun.” Eddie feels bad for leaving, but he’s gotta get back to his table, feeling guilty for abandoning his band mates for a girl. 

“Tell you what,” he says, sitting back down only for a second. “There’s an after party at that hotel down the street. Meet me there and we can have some fun.” You feel yourself getting wet just thinking about it as he pulls away, pressing a kiss to your knuckles before heading back to his table. 

-

Eddie finally gets the chance to check his phone that had been vibrating constantly throughout the show. When he does, he’s in shock seeing your name so many times in his notifications. There have to be at least fifty just from you amongst the thousands he gets every single day from fans. But this is different. It’s you. And you were spamming him. 

It’s strings of nonsensical emojis but he gets the gist. You’re clearly thirsting over him and he’s eating it up. He could tell you were into him when he was sitting with you, but now he’s got proof. He’s really hoping that it wasn’t just how you were feeling when you were drunk and that you’ll actually take him up on his offer. God, what he would give to have his way with you. 

He desperately wants to see that pretty dress of yours on the floor of some random hotel room, his own clothes strewn across the room as he’s got you pinned to the dresser, pounding into you from behind as he forces you to look into the mirror that’s on top of it. 

And when he finally opens the DM from you, well, fuck, now he’s got to have you. It’s not an option anymore. 

So does your name Eddie “the freak” Munson mean that you’re actually willing to get freaky or am I reading it wrong? 

He’s honestly impressed you were able to write that out without any errors and now he’s gotten even more hard as he wonders what kind of stuff you’re into, what he’ll let him do to you. What you’ll do to him. 

He’s scanning the place for you, keeping an eye out for that beautiful dress of yours. He spots you over by door talking to Gareth. And even though he loves the guy, he’s now an opponent. Jealousy is coursing through him, something he’s never been able to handle well and now he’s not sure how he’s going to get his band mate to go away by speaking to him nicely. 

“Hi,” you beam when Eddie approaches and he has to compose himself when he sees your hand on Gareth’s shoulder. 

“Hi,” he replies, mimicking your smile, hoping he looks as cute as you do but knows he doesn’t. 

He’s so hot that it’s unfair. Even after sobering up, you still want him so bad, still wanting an answer to your question. You’ve seen him so many times at events like this and now more than ever, you do desperately want to pin him to the wall and take him right there, not even caring who’s watching. 

Your attraction to him that’s been building over the years is so strong that it’s almost tangible. You’re so wet that it’s almost uncomfortable, your need for him growing by the second. You hope you didn’t weird him out with your emojis and DM and that he’s still willing to give you a chance. 

“Hey, Gareth, I think that blonde you were talking about earlier is checking you out,” you subtly point to the woman who’s closer to the stage and Gareth whips his head in her direction just in time to see her wave him over. He’s quick to flee, finally leaving you and Eddie alone. 

He steps closer, his eyes darkening as he does so. He’s biting down on his bottom lip as he lets his eyes slowly rake over your body before pulling it flush to his. His hands rest on your waist as your arms wrap around his neck. 

The want is there but neither of you are making a move, just staring each other down with lust filled eyes. It’s like you’re waiting to see who’s going to make a move but neither of you wants to be the first to do so. 

“So jealousy is what motivates you to make a move,” you observe and Eddie just leans forward, his lips right by your ear. 

“No, it’s actually dirty DMs, but seeing you with Gareth did make me act faster.” He pulls away just in time to see your gaze moving to his lips and he purposely wets them to make them look more inviting, his tongue swiping across them slowly as if to tease you and it seems to work because you’re pulling him in before he can even finish. 

It’s desperate with roaming hands and breathy moans, definitely not suited for a public space but neither of you seem to care, too caught up in each other to notice the dirty looks that are shot your way. Eddie’s backing you out of the room and towards the elevators before it can get too inappropriate for anyone to see and you’re pushed into an elevator as soon as it opens. 

Eddie’s got you pinned to the wall, his tongue flicking into your mouth as you let out a moan as he grinds against you. Your hands are tangling in his hair as he scoots to the side to press the button that will lead to the floor he’s staying on. You’re then back against the wall in a flash and he grabs hold of your legs, wrapping them around his waist, mumbling something against your lips that you can’t hear as he carries you out of the elevator. 

You’re still wrapped around his waist as he uses his key card to unlock the door to his room. As he’s occupied with that, you’re sucking on his best, trying your best to leave a mark so people know exactly what he’s gotten up to tonight. Another trophy for the night. 

Once the door is unlocked, he heads inside and lets it slam behind him as he sets you down on the bed. He drops to his knees to help you take off your heels and you smile at him, admiring how he can be such a gentleman. Once he pulls them off of your feet, he sees the imprint that they’ve left behind and begins to massage them, his cock somehow hardening even more when he hears you moan at how good it feels. 

You lie back on the bed and Eddie kisses up each leg, giving them some love before spreading them, pushing up your dress to see the wet patch that’s formed in your panties. The white fabric is now almost see-through because of how wet you are and he decides that he’s got to have you right now or he’s going to explode. 

He pulls down your panties and tosses them to the side to find that you really are wet beyond belief and that only makes him want you more, especially when you’re looking up at him like you want to devour him. And he thinks he just might let you. 

Eddie pats his pocket for what you assume is a condom and even though you feel crazy for suggesting what you’re about to, you do it anyway. It’s spontaneous, but hasn’t the whole night been that way. Certainly neither of you planned to be here like this tonight, but you supposed that it’s just fate. 

“I don’t want to use a condom,” you tell him and he’s now intrigued. “I know it sounds crazy, but I-I kind of like the idea of having a baby with you. I know we just met, but-“ 

“You don’t have to convince me,” he shakes his head, cutting you off. He’s down on his knees again, placing himself between your legs as he pulls you to sit up. “Whatever you want,” he presses his forehead to yours. “I’ll give it to you. So if you want a baby, let’s have a baby.” 

“You’re serious?” You honestly didn’t think he’d agree and especially not so quickly. You’re strangers, after all and you’ve never even thought about having kids, especially not with your career, but having a baby at the height of it all with the man you’ve been crushing on for years just feels right. 

“Yes,” he whispers, pressing his lips to yours as he helps you lie back. His clothes are off in a flash and he’s helping you take off your dress in the blink of an eye, taking a moment to take in just how beautiful you are. Oh, he’s going to love this. 

He lies on top of you slowly as he pushes inside of you, his hands finding yours as he begins to thrust, slowly at first, but once you get into a rhythm, you’re moving fast and hard, trying to keep up with each other as the only sounds that can be heard are your filthy moans and skin slapping against skin. 

Eddie is not shy about letting you know how hot he thinks this all is, that he’s actually obsessed with you potentially getting pregnant, how much he wants to fill you and it only makes you want his baby even more as the filthy words fall from his lips. 

“I like the way you fit,” you tell him as you run your hand over where you’re connected and his eyes darken as he watches you, pushing his cock even farther inside of you until he’s bottoming out. 

“Me too,” he rasps as he somehow moves even faster, even harder. “Fuck, I’m going to love filling you.” He leans down so that his lips are right by your ear, his breath making the hair on your arms raise. “Fuck, you’re gonna look so hot, sweetheart. I’m so honored that you asked me to do this, but how did you know I had a breeding kink?” He bites down on your earlobe before pulling away, so close to coming just by looking at your fucked out face. He’s already made a mess of you and he’s barely done anything. 

“Swear you’re going to be the death of me. When you showed up in that dress tonight, I swore I was done for. I mean, jesus, you have no idea what you do to me. When you dmed me tonight, swore I was going to explode in my pants. And by the way,” he leans down and presses another kiss to your lips. “The answer to your question is yes.” 

“What?” You ask through a breath. 

“You asked if my nickname “the freak” means that I’m willing to get freaky and the answer is yes.” He kisses you again and you feel even more dizzy and this time, it’s not from the alcohol. “But we can explore that some other time because right now, this is all about getting you knocked up.”

“You gonna make me Juno?” You asks as you buck your hips against his and you just know that he’s close. You can feel it. You can see it on his face as his eyes are practically rolling into the back of his head. 

“Fuck yes,” he whines as he begins to unload, still pounding into you as he orgasms, pumping in and out until he collapses on top of you, both of you absolutely spent, just lying there until he eventually pulls out and cleans the two of you up before climbing back into the bed, pulling you to his chest with a contented sigh. 

You lie discussing the possible future and there’s just something about being there that just feels right, almost as if it’s fate that brought the two of you together. Baby names are thrown back and forth as you both begin to feel tired. 

“Hey,” Eddie speaks up as you pull him closer to you, lying your head on his chest. 

“Hm?” You ask, eyes fluttering shut. 

“Juno would be a really cool song name,” he suggests and you laugh it off but you begin to think that maybe he’s onto something.

[urrmomzfavorite]

PAC WHY PEOPLE FALL FOR YOU

HEYY bestieee ✨ Let’s move on from that balding man who’s been making you cry and check out my MASTERLIST instead. Let’s find someone who’s actually meant for you—preferably someone with a full head of hair. I mean, I’ve had my Vin Diesel moment too, queen, but let’s be real… it’s not actually him. 💀 Time to upgrade to someone who doesn’t make you question your life choices, okay? 😘

Pile One

You come into people’s lives like a quiet storm. You look so innocent, so pure—but you come with surprises. You will never be what is expected of you, and that’s what people love about you. They never know what they’re going to get; their preconceived ideas of you shatter the second you open your mouth.

You’re incredibly smart, clever with your words, and skilled at finding creative solutions to problems. Your good looks, ability to identify people’s strengths, and ease in forming connections (or conundrums) make you the perfect leader. People get close to admire your beauty, bask in your light, and quickly find themselves wrapped around your finger.

You make people surrender to you—they have no choice but to bow to your power. Some find this uncomfortable, but the ones who swim in the sauce? They demand more, getting lost trying to decipher you. You’re multidimensional, a force to be reckoned with, a beauty that commands worship, and a sharp mind. How could anyone not fall for you?

✨💖 Heyyy cuties! 💖✨ Don’t be shy, take a little peek at my other posts—you know you wanna!

Pile Two

“Did it hurt falling from heaven?” You little demon. Pile Two, you’re intoxicating—a sweet poison. (I’m hearing Sweet Nothing by Calvin Harris playing in the background.) It’s hard to resist you; your sweet words turn people into believers of your gospel. They need to hear you, be near you, and earn your attention. It’s fun… until it gets clingy.

Pile Two, that push-and-pull power play you act so coy about? It’s dangerous. You’re the match to their gasoline. They’d been floating in still water, comfortable in their stillness—then you disrupted it all. You glide through life with ease and charm, and they find you refreshing. “It’s exactly what I needed,” they say. You’re a cold glass of water in the desert—needed, awaited.

You break a lot of hearts, some intentionally, others because people take care of that themselves. They get intrigued by you and talk themselves out of approaching you. But oh boy, no matter what, you linger, becoming a core memory, a core regret.

By the time they realize you’re what they needed, you’re already gone. It’s hard to hold onto you; you feel like a dream. They’ll swear they imagined you, like a mirage… until you reappear, reminding them how dull life felt without you.

✨💖 Heyyy cuties! 💖✨ Don’t be shy, take a little peek at my other posts—you know you wanna!

Pile Three

It’s your world, and we’re just living in it. Yes, babe—we’re aware, and we’re into it. (I’m the voice of the people!) Pile Three, you’re impossible to miss. That Easy A line? “Google could find me if I was a crack in concrete.” You know, when she comes back to school after the rumor about her losing her "virginity" spreads. You could easily be sexualized by your peers. They fantasize about having you because you seem unreachable, like they’d need to be someone important just to stand next to you.

You’ve got the it factor, that star quality. You belong under a spotlight, and everyone sees it. Your style? The way you put outfits together? Chef’s kiss. People want to be your friend, your lover, part of your circle—but stay wary of energy vampires. They don’t know if they want to be you or be with you. A little bit of both, perhaps? Probably.

Copycats try to mimic you, but it’s never quite right. You’re authentic; they’re just desperate to be liked. Even if others can’t explain it, they feel the difference. You’re put on a pedestal—and honestly? That’s where you belong. 😘

✨💖 Heyyy cuties! 💖✨ Don’t be shy, take a little peek at my other posts—you know you wanna!

[azzifuddfanpage]

You should do one where P and A went to that self defense class are just argue the whole time over who’s stronger

This Is Not a Competition (Except It Totally Is)

———

love this prompt! Paige and Azzi for sure have fought over this before

and they got that pesky rizz ah type flirting

1.4k words

——— Paige, Azzi, and a couple of their teammates stood inside a small self-defense studio, watching as their instructor- Coach Denise, demonstrated how to break out of a wrist grab.

“This is about leverage, not strength,” Coach Denise said, twisting her wrist free from her assistant’s grip with effortless efficiency. “It doesn’t matter how strong your opponent is if you use the right technique.”

“Okay, but what if I am the strongest one here?” Azzi said, cracking her neck as a smirk spread on her face. She shot a look at Paige, who scoffed.

“You wish.”

“I literally bench more than you.”

“No you don’t Azzi,” Paige argued, her lips curling into a dramatic pout, even though she knew Azzi definitely did.

Ice, groaned. “Y’all really gotta have this same argument every day?”

Coach Denise ignored them. “Pair up and try it.”

Naturally, Paige and Azzi squared up. Paige smirked as azzi grabbed her wrist, her grip firm but not tight enough to hurt. 

“Go ahead, babe,” Azzi teased. “Get out of this.”

Paige yanked her arm back but Azzi barely budged. Paige narrowed her eyes. “You’re not supposed to use your full strength.”

“I’m not,” Azzi said smugly, letting her fingers brush against Paige's hand. 

Paige huffed, adjusting her stance before twisting the way Coach Denise showed them. Azzi’s grip broke, but instead of letting go, she immediately reached back and caught Paige’s wrist again, pulling her in closer.

“Wow so close,” Azzi mocked teasingly, grinning. “But I still got you.”

Paige rolled her eyes. “Let’s see you get out of this.” Before Azzi could react, Paige maneuvered behind her and trapped her in a loose but effective headlock.

Azzi let out a surprised laugh. “Oh, you think you’re slick.”

“Yeah, actually.” Paige squeezed playfully. “Tap out pretty girl, you know you can’t handle when my arms are ‘round you like this hm.” Paige said her smirk growing as she heard Azzi’s breath hitch.

Azzi grumbled but tapped Paige’s arm, knowing she was definitely not in the right mind space to fight her girlfriend off, after the way she had just held her. Paige let her go, looking far too pleased with herself.

“That doesn’t count,” Azzi said immediately. “I wasn’t ready, and…” (her voice dropped to a hush whisper) “…you know I could get you off if we were home.” Azzi said, pouting and running her finger along Paige's arm. 

Paige smirked, basking in her victory. “Sounds like a you problem.”

Ice and Nika exchanged looks before Nika muttered, “They need to be stopped.”

Coach Denise sighed. “Alright, new rule. Paige and Azzi can’t be partners.”

Azzi and Paige turned to argue, but Denise held up a hand. “I don’t make the rules,” she said shrugging her shoulders as if it was not her rule that she just made. 

Reluctantly, Paige and Azzi split up. But as they moved to new partners, Paige shot Azzi a cocky wink.

“I still won.”

Azzi  just shook her head. “We’re rematching in the gym later.”

“Looking forward to it.”

Nika groaned. “They’re literally sick in the head.”

Even from across the gym the girls didn’t keep there distance completely. 

Once Paige and Azzi were forced to split up, Paige really tried to focus on her new partner, but it lasted all of thirty seconds before her attention started drifting.

She practiced the wrist escape move once, then twice, then got distracted by the way the mat was slightly peeling up in the corner of the room. Then she got bored and started bouncing on the balls of her feet, shaking out her arms like she was about to sub into a game. Then she thought about how that reminded her of basketball, which reminded her of Azzi, which meant, obviously, she had to go bother her.

“Paige,” Ice warned, already seeing where this was going.

“What?” Paige said innocently, even as she took a casual step toward Azzi.

“Don’t.”

Paige ignored her and wandered over to where Azzi was paired with Nika, who looked like she wanted to be literally anywhere else.

“Hey,” Paige said, tapping Azzi’s  shoulder. “You miss me?”

Azzi shot her a look. “We’ve been separated for, like, one minute.”

“Felt like forever.”

“You’re so annoying,” Azzi muttered, but the corners of her mouth twitched upward anyway.

“Maybe a little.” She said softly. 

Nika groaned. “Paige, if you’re gonna be here, at least grab her wrist so I can sit down.”

Paige shrugged. “Don’t mind if I do.” She immediately reached for  Azzi’s arm, but Azzi saw it coming and effortlessly dodged, stepping behind Paige in one smooth motion and tapping her shoulder.

Paige blinked, turning around. “Hey. That wasn’t—”

“Leverage, not strength,” Azzi mimicked Coach Denise’s earlier words with a smirk. “Maybe you should actually listen to the class.”

Paige huffed. “Okay, first of all, rude. Second of all—” She suddenly lunged again, this time managing to grab  Azzi’s wrist. “Now let’s see you get out.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but with one swift movement, she used the exact technique from earlier and broke Paige’s grip, shooting her a satisfied look.

“See?” Azzi said. “Technique. Not strength.”

Paige squinted at her. “You definitely used strength.”

“Did not.”

“Did too.”

“Paige!” Coach Denise suddenly called from across the room. “Do not make me separate you again.”

Paige sighed dramatically and held her hands up in surrender. “Fine, fine, I’m going.” But as she turned to leave, she whispered to Azzi, “You totally used strength.”

 Azzi just grinned. “And I totally won.”

The self-defense class was supposed to last an hour, but thanks to Paige and Azzi’s non stop bickering, it had already run over by ten minutes. Coach Denise had completely given up on keeping them in check and instead focused on making sure the rest of the class actually learned something. Meanwhile, Ice and Nika had taken it upon themselves to keep score.

“Alright,” Nika announced, tapping at her notes app. “Paige got out of Azzi’s grip once, but Azzi caught her immediately. Then Paige put Azzi in a headlock, which, honestly…”

“Focus,” Ice warned.

“Right, right. Then Coach split them up, so we didn’t get a tiebreaker.” Nika glanced up. “Unfortunate. We might never know who’s stronger.” She said, her voice full of fake pitty, ultimately grateful they wouldn’t have to listen to their arguing anymore. 

Azzi, stretching her arms, scoffed. “We already know who’s stronger.”

Paige turned from where she’d been working with her new partner. “Oh? Because last time I checked, I made you tap.”

Azzi folded her arms. “I let you have that one.”

Paige grinned. “Oh, did you now, that’s really not what it looked like to me.”

Nika and Ice exchanged looks.

“I’m so tired,” Ice muttered. “This is our life now.”

Coach Denise clapped her hands, signaling the end of class. “Alright, that’s a wrap. Some of you actually learned something. Others…” She narrowed her eyes at Paige and Azzi “Maybe not so much.”

Both of them had the audacity to look offended.

Coach Denise sighed. “Just—stay safe out there. And please don’t go around putting each other in headlocks just because you can.” She said her focus strictly on the two girlfriends. 

“No promises,” Paige and Azzi said at the same time.

As they grabbed their bags and filed out of the studio, Paige leaned into Azzi’s space, voice low enough for only her to hear. “You know, if we really wanted to settle this, we could do a little one-on-one. Winner gets bragging rights?”

She raised her eyebrow. “And what does the loser get?”

Paige smirked. “That depends. What do you want?”

Azzi’s eyes widened and she shoved Paige's face away.

“Alright big head, we’ll see.” 

Paige wrapped her arm around Azzi’s waist pulling her in to press a sloppy kiss to her forehead.

Azzi groaned loudly pretending to wipe it away dramatically, but leaned in closer to her blonde girlfriend. 

Nika and Ice trailed behind them, watching their teammates banter back and forth with the easy kind of love that made their competition more fun than serious.

Nika sighed dramatically. “They’re gross.”

Ice nodded. “Disgusting.”

But neither of them could quite hide their smiles.

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

My Fault London: Nick Leister headcannons

Note: All these headcannons are mature aka SPICY HEADCANNONS ✨Mentions of drinking! Afab reader! Step-Sister reader!

Nick Leister who… doesn’t really care that other people are around. He doesn’t mind being public with you, but it’s you who gets anxious. ‘What if someone sees us?’ ‘What if someone hears us?’ He doesn’t care. He does whatever he wants because he can. At social events, while everyone’s mingling about with their drinks and fake smiles, he’s face deep into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent and drilling himself into you like no tomorrow. Backed up against a wall legs wrapped around his hips. He’s drinking up every sound you make, certain on easing your worries about getting caught while hitting that spot that has you seeing stars. He knows people will question him, ask him where he’s been and what he was doing. He wants to answer you, but he smiles and says he just needed a breath of fresh air.

Nick Leister who… waits for your mother and hid father to leave for the weekend, going on a business trip and ignoring their ‘Be careful! Be nice to each other!’ And oh is he nice, so nice because he takes his time kissing you through the kitchen, caging you against the countertop with his arms and hips, heated kiss so deep you don’t notice his hands shaking as they rest on your waist, just under the hem of your shirt. He’s so nice, letting you run your fingers through his hair, and groaning when you pull just right to make his head spin, nails raking against his scalp and he lives for it.

Nick Leister who… catches you trying on his clothes, a large shirt covering your frame. He watches from the doorway, watches you spin around in his shirt, a tie of his loosely around your neck. He grins when he realizes he likes the sight of you in his clothes more than he’d realized. He especially likes taking them off you. ‘They’re not yours, it’s only right I help you take it off. Don’t you think?’ He’ll lift the shirt off you, leaving you in a tie as he takes his time with you, showing you why you don’t go snooping (though for what it’s worth, you definitely don’t regret it after having his face between your thighs) He’ll get on his knees, looking up at you after asking where you need him most.

Nick Leister who… does whatever you ask of him. It starts with little things at first. ‘Can you pick me up from..?’ Or an occasional, ‘Can you pick up some coffee for me?’ Simple favors. Something only a good ‘house-mate’ would do. But he loves when you ask for help on other things. Like when you tip-toe into his room late at night once your parents have gone off to bed, large sleep shirt draped over you as you shyly knock on his door. He’ll let you in, buying the fake excuse that you ‘had a bad dream’ and let you stay in his bed. And he’ll help you all the same when you ask him to get you off, ripping off your panties faster than you can finish your question. He’s between your legs in an instant, eyes rolling to the back of his head when you pull him closer, grinding onto his face because his tongue is ‘oh-so-good’ and he grinds into the bed beneath him at your moans.

Nick Leister who… loves seeing you in that pretty bathing suit. Watching you run into the water, hair tied back and not a care in the world, running into the waves and letting the water roll off your skin when you call for him to join you. And he does, painfully and running as fast as he can as to avoid the questions about the growing tent in his pants. He’ll throw you under water, splash and grab you, but all he can think about is how much better you’d look when he takes it off you. And he does, finally after so many torturing hours of watching you run around in that little bikini. He’ll skip his fingers under the fabric, fingers working their way through your folds to get to where you need him most. He’ll kiss down your chest, nipping and biting at the skin like if his life depends on it, leaving little hickies and bite marks over the swell of your breast. He isn’t going to hide it. Doesn’t want too. He’ll push the fabric to the side, lowering his swim trunks just enough to get inside you, and fighting the urge to finish right then and there.

Nick leister who is just addicted to you <3

[gold-onthe-inside]

career day, pt 2

who? single dad!spencer reid x history prof!reader summary: in continuation of career day, pt 1; spencer asks you out for coffee after a conversation in the playground, meets your adorable nephew, and has a much needed heart to heart with maya. content warnings: mention of childbirth complications, r is averse to childbirth, reference to spencer's knee injury word count: 3.3k a/n: again, maya's 12, please forgive her.

They’re all guided to the teacher’s lounge, encouraged to have snacks and coffee while they wait for the school day to end, but Spencer’s not really in the mood for small talk, silently grabbing a cup of coffee while you’re peppered with questions, particularly from parents who want their kids to get into a prestigious college and see you as their way in. Never mind that I went to Caltech and MIT, he thinks sourly, slipping out of the lounge with his coffee.

Spencer takes a moment to himself, leaning against the wall in the hallway just outside the teacher's lounge. He takes a sip of his coffee, trying to drown out the sound of the voices coming from within. The parents' questions echo around in his head, and he can feel himself getting more annoyed with each one. Maybe it's the nerves from his presentation or the fact that you're getting all the attention instead of him, but he finds himself feeling resentful.

Rather than do or say something he can't take back, he just leaves the building. He takes a deep breath as he steps outside, the fresh air helping to clear his head a bit. He walks over towards the empty playground, the swings and slides deserted at this time in the middle of the school day. He sits down on one of the swings, staring off into space, still holding onto his now-cold cup of coffee.

“6th graders can be rough,” he heard you say, your boots crunching over the fall leaves as you joined him, leaning against the poles holding up the swing.

Spencer looks up as you approached, a slight smile on his face. "Yeah, they don't hold back, do they?" he says, taking a sip of his coffee. He glances at you as you lean against the swing set. "You seem to be the more popular one today," he teases, unable to hide the hint of jealousy in his voice.

"Yeah, I've been told I ooze cool aunt energy," you said, chuckling a little.

He rolled his eyes playfully. "Must be nice." He takes another sip of his coffee. "I guess I'm just the uncool dad with social anxiety."

"There are more important things than being cool," you said, your voice earnest and he glanced up at you, one of your shoulders shrugging. "Like being a parent who shows up. Who actually takes an interest."

He felt his annoyance melt away a bit as you said that. "I guess being uncool has its perks then," he said with a small smile.

"Yeah, that's what I keep telling my nephew," you said, huffing a little.

Spencer chuckled at your comment, but then something clicked in his head. "Wait, you have a nephew?" he asked, a surprised look on his face. The boy whose shoelaces you’d been tying that morning…

"Yeah, I came for my nephew," you answered, your brow furrowing, placing your hand on your heart unconsciously. "My bad, I should have clarified."

"Well, now I feel like an idiot," Spencer said, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "I just assumed you were here for your kid or something."

"Pretty safe assumption to make," you replied, shrugging nonchalantly. "Though, I expect better from a fancy behavioural analyst."

"I'll try to live up to your expectations next time," Spencer responded sarcastically. But then he turned to you, a question at the tip of his tongue. "You don't have any kids of your own, then?"

"No," you said, shaking your hand, pocketing your hands.

"Any reason why?" Spencer asked curiously. He took another sip of his coffee, studying you intently.

"Um... I guess, I haven't found the right person yet," you said hesitantly. "That and the whole delivery process freaks me out."

Spencer raised an eyebrow at your reply, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "Scared of childbirth, huh?" he said, teasing you a bit.

"You know how many women die from childbirth complications every year?" you asked him, raising a brow.

"Actually, the maternal mortality rate in the United States is steadily declining," Spencer replied, not missing a beat. "It's currently around 26 per every 100,000 live births."

You narrowed your eyes at him. "You just... had that lined up in your head?"

Spencer chuckled. "No... well, yes... kind of," he said, shrugging casually as if the information weren't already stored in his mind. "I have an eidetic memory, so this kind of statistical information tends to stick."

"Huh," you said, pursing your lips, slightly impressed. "How many live births a year?" you asked him, just to test him really.

Spencer doesn't even hesitate before answering. "It’s currently around 3.7 million per year," he says without any hesitation, taking another sip of his coffee.

"That sounds like way too many," you muttered with a frown.

"On the contrary," Spencer replied, trying to cross one leg over the other on the swing and failing, "it's actually quite reasonable given the population size. In fact, the annual live birth rate has actually dipped a bit in recent years, which could indicate a potential decline in the population growth rate." He took another sip of his coffee, clearly enjoying the chance to talk about statistics.

You looked at him, raising a brow. "Huh."

Spencer couldn't help but notice the slight look of awe on your face. "You sound impressed," he said, a hint of smugness in his voice as he sipped his coffee.

"Don't be smug, it's not an attractive look on you," you said, shaking your head as you smiled, looking away.

"I wouldn’t be so sure," he remarked, smirking where he sat, hiding it with his cup of coffee, and pointing at you as he said, “You kind of have a tell.”

“What? No, I don’t,” you retorted but he shrugged, pursing his lips.

“Hate to break it to you, but that little thing you do when you look away… That’s a tell.”

You huffed, unable to deny it as you shook your head. “You always profile everyone you meet?”

“Not everyone,” he said, sipping his coffee, his hazel eyes never leaving yours.

“So, I’m special, am I?” you asked, raising a brow.

“Would that be so bad?” he countered, watching you shake your head.

“No,” you said quietly, your own gaze latched onto his, the two of you standing alone in the empty playground until the bell rings, signalling that the school day was over. Spencer got up with much effort, trying to ignore your snicker. “You okay, old man?”

“In my defense, I’ve had reconstructive knee surgery, okay?” he retorted, walking with you to the pick-up zone as kids came rushing out of the building.

“Seriously?” you asked, chuckling, walking backwards as you both talked because you were just that cool.

“Seriously.”

“What’d you do, fall off a ladder at the library?” you asked, still teasing.

“No, I, uh…” He rubbed the back of his neck. What was the protocol for telling someone you might potentially ask out that he’d gotten shot on the job? “Just had a bad day at work,” he said lamely, watching your brow furrow.

“Okay,” you said, leaving it at that as your attention drifted to the boy running towards you, the same one with his arm in the cast from this morning. “Hey, slugger,” you greeted him happily, squatting to his level. “How’s the arm?”

“Itchy,” he replied miserably. “Ryan stuck a pencil down there and now I can’t get it out.”

You tsked, pushing his glasses up his nose and smoothing back his hair. “I’m sorry, baby. We’ll get it out, okay? And we’ll get donuts on the way back, alright? Chocolate with sprinkles, just how you like ‘em.”

“Classic,” Spencer mused, nodding. “I like your taste.” The boy frowned as he looked up at Spencer.

“You’re Maya’s dad,” he said plainly and Spencer smiled, tucking hair back behind his ear as he squatted.

“That’s me. You can call me Spencer, though.”

“I’m Benjamin,” he said, holding up his left hand to shake Spencer’s hand. “But everyone calls me Benji.”

Spencer squatted in front of Benji, shaking his hand with a rueful smile. “Got it.”

“I really liked your presentation,” Benji said, his glasses slipping down his nose again and he pushed them up with his left hand. “Ian’s mean to everyone. You should just ignore him. That’s what I do.”

“Sounds like a smart move, Benji,” Spencer said, smiling at him warmly. “I’ll keep that in mind next time.”

“We should get going,” you said, before you could think too hard about how sweet and attractive Spencer was talking to Benji like that.

“Yeah, Maya likes taking her time before coming out,” Spencer said apologetically. “But um… I was hoping I could maybe… I mean, if you’d want to… get coffee or something some time?”

“Yeah, coffee sounds great,” you replied warmly, pulling out your phone from your pocket to exchange numbers with him while Benji shuffled off, distracted by a caterpillar. You punched your number into his cellphone, one that seemed like it was a decade old, but you didn’t say anything, swapping phones again. “I’ll see you around, then, Doc,” you said, smiling at him, and he feels like a lovestruck teenager watching you call Benji back and walk with him to your car.

Spencer had gotten Maya her own cellphone much earlier than most other kids, his own paranoia over being away from her for days at a time ranking higher on the list of concerns than cybersecurity. Worry had always been a familiar friend on his shoulder, gnawing at him, but had grown bigger recently as Maya withdrew from him more often than not. Almost always holed up in her room, in a world he had started to feel locked out of.

He knocked on the door to her room, her nameplate hung on the door in the style of California licence plates, before twisting the knob, ducking his head in. “Hey, monkey,” he said softly, finding her lying on her stomach, on her bed, a dolphin body pillow tucked under her arms, barely looking up at Spencer as he walked in.

“Dad, I don’t need you to tuck me in anymore,” she said, sounding exasperated and he frowned.

“Right,” he said unhappily. “You’re all grown up now.” She only looked up when he sat on the edge of her bed — coral pink bedsheets with soft blue pillows. “I know it’s natural for you to… seek independence and autonomy—”

“Dad, don’t go all profiler on me,” Maya griped, sitting up to look at him, brow furrowed, and he wet his lips.

“I’m not trying to,” he said patiently. “I’m just saying… I’m new to this, okay? Up until this year, I’ve always tucked you in at night, or called to talk about your day… And I get it, you’re older now, you’re in middle school, you don’t want to be treated like a baby. Just… I’m asking for a little time to get used to it, okay?” he said, keeping his voice soft and gentle.

She was silent for some time, picking at the fabric of her pillow, refusing to meet his eyes. At one point she’d been all over him, hanging off his arm for dear life whenever he was at home, climbing into his lap the moment he sat on the couch to watch TV with her. It was hard to accept that she had moved past that phase in her life. “You’re always at work anyway,” she mumbled, trying to sound indifferent, but her gaze remained down-cast, voice a little small.

Spencer's face fell at her words. "Is that why you didn't tell me about Career Day?" he asked softly, his heart breaking a little. "You didn't think I would come?"

“It’s not that,” she said, trying to sound indifferent but failing. She fiddled with the fringe of her pillow, her lower lip caught between her teeth. Looking at him was difficult, because she saw how hurt he was — not over being not asked to join career day, but over her lack of trust in him. “I just know you’re really busy, and you’re rarely home.”

"Monkey, come here, please," he asked gently, needing to hug her before he said anything else to her.

She hesitated for a moment, but then, quietly, she set the dolphin plush down and climbed into his lap, like she used to do when she was younger. Spencer hugged her, wrapping his arms around her. "I love you more than anything in the world, monkey," he whispered. "I will always be here for you when you need me."

She pressed her face into the crook of his neck, her little hands clenching tighter in the fabric of his sweater, feeling him hug her tight against his chest. “Promise?” she asked, voice small.

"Cross my heart, monkey," he said softly. "And I'm sorry if I embarrassed you at school today."

She gave a soft little huff, pulling back far enough to look at him, her gaze still downcast. “Well, you did embarrass me,” she mumbled, still sounding grumpy. “You were such a dork, Dad,” she said with a huff of faux-exasperation, but cuddled against him once more.

"Yeah, I know," he sighed, burying his nose in her hair as he hugged her.

She was silent for some time, burying her face in his chest, feeling him hug her tight against him, and she could feel the tension from him, could practically hear the cogs working in his brain as he desperately tried to stay calm; to not get too emotional over one stupid mistake on his part, and she almost felt guilty.

Almost.

“Dad?” she asked, voice a little muffled against his sweater.

"Yeah, monkey?"

She pressed her face against his chest, quiet for some time, her gaze still cast down as her fingers fidgeted with the fabric of his sweater. “You’re not… mad at me… right?” she asked, voice a little small, tentative almost.

"Not in the slightest," he replied instantly, looking at Maya and tilting her chin up to meet his gaze. "I'm not a cool dad, and that's okay."

She looked up at him, meeting his gaze with a slight frown, though it was a fond one. “You’ve never been a cool dad,” she said, as if stating the obvious, though her tone was affectionate.

"I know," he said, sighing sadly as he tucked a curl behind her ear. "But I'm doing my best."

A little frown appeared on her face, a tug between her eyes, at the sad look in his eyes; the little self-deprecating tilt to his tone. She felt awful, almost guilty for making him sound that way. With a slight frown on her face, and a little more emotion than she’d been willing to show before, she threw her arms around his neck, burying her face back in the crook of his neck. “I know you are,” she mumbled against his skin.

He wrapped his arms around Maya's waist, taking a deep breath as it relaxed the tightness in his chest. "I just want you to be proud of me, that's all."

She pulled back, looking at him, her gaze a little more open and vulnerable than before, but still a little defiant and stubborn. “I am proud of you,” she said, sounding exasperated. “You’re an FBI agent, a genius and you’re a great dad.”

"Even if I'm the dorkiest dad in the world?" he asked, the corner of his mouth curling up.

She huffed out a laugh, rolling her eyes and giving him a slight shove. “Yes, even if you’re the dorkiest dad in the world,” she said with an air of fond exasperation.

He kissed Maya's hair, stroking the back of her head. "I love you, monkey."

She sighed, though the small fond smile never left her face, her arms around his neck, cuddled up close to him. “I love you too, Dad,” she said, finally looking up at him, giving him a small smile.

He kissed her forehead again, just because he could. "Alright, we ready for bed?"

She let out a loud groan, sounding exasperated. “But, I don’t want to go to bed,” she whined, giving him her best puppy dog eyes, as if that might sway him.

"You know we need at least 8 hours of sleep," Spencer chided gently. "And you need even more for that brain of yours to develop."

She let out another groan, though there was no real defiance behind it, more of a petulant teenage attitude. “I know, I know,” she said with a sigh, rolling her eyes. “Eight hours, like a grown-up.”

"That's my girl," he murmured, tucking her in. "You brushed your teeth?" he asked, smiling when she let him tuck her in without a fight. She rolled her eyes again, a little huff escaping her, though it was more fond than anything.

“Dad,” she groaned in faux-exasperation. “I’m not five. I brushed my teeth, okay?”

"For two whole minutes?" he asked, raising a brow.

Another sigh escaped her, exaggerated and put upon. “Yes, Dad, the full two minutes. Even used my timer and everything,” she said, rolling her eyes, though there was a hint of a smile on her face.

"Huh, maybe you are all grown up after all," he remarked, kissing her forehead. "Guess you don't need me to read to you tonight then."

She went very still, giving him a wide-eyed look, clearly shocked and appalled that he would even think that. “No, no, no, wait—” she protested, sitting up straight in bed. “You have to read to me, Dad. That’s not fair—”

Spencer laughed, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Sure?"

She nodded, looking at him earnestly. “Yes, Dad. It’s not bedtime if you don’t read to me,” she said, settling back against her pillows, arms out from where he had tucked her in, geese lining her cotton blue pyjamas.

“Okay, tradition’s tradition,” Spencer replied, his voice non-chalant as he picked up her copy of Eragon, settling into bed next to her and opening up the dense novel to where they had last left it. He slid the bookmark out, holding it against the back of the book, and Maya snuggled into his shoulder, following along to his soft, soothing voice.

As Spencer read to her, she felt herself growing drowsy, her eyes drooping a little, a yawn escaping her and he smiled, looking down at her. “Time to sleep, monkey,” he murmured, settling her head against the pillows.

As he tucked her in, she looked up at him, still not quite ready to let him go. “Dad?” she mumbled, her eyes still closed, but she wasn’t quite asleep yet either.

"Yeah?"

"Can you... stay here for a little while?" she asked, quietly, so much so that he almost wasn't sure he had heard her correctly. Despite all her teenage huffing and her constant efforts to show how big and grown-up she was these days, there were still moments like these, when she reminded him that she was still a little girl at heart.

"Sure, I'll be right here," he murmured, stroking her hair as she closed her eyes.

She let out a soft sigh, a content little sound, and snuggled even further down into the blankets. "Thanks, Dad," she mumbled groggily, her voice soft and thick with sleep.

"You got it, monkey," he whispered and she smiled sleepily, her grip on his hand loosening as she slipped into the comforting embrace of sleep.