#turns out many of them have been calling me by nicknames

[bunny-jpeg]

pls can i req sugar pie, pithivier, fried dough, chocolate milk + champagne w/ team principal!oscar piastri 💝

bakery menu

thank you for the awesome order! the idea of team principal!oscar is super interesting and i love it to be honest! i put him with mclaren just because it would be easier and something about that (horrid) orange is just alluring to me.

sugar pie: “gonna let daddy hear ya?” + pithivier: "if you don't behave, i'll let the boys take care of you." + fried dough: "i know virginity is a stupid concept... but i want to take yours." + chocolate milk: tenderness + champagne: sugar daddy situation served by oscar piastri (formula one)!!

tags: smut/pwp, team principal!oscar, tenderness/loss of virginity, driver!reader, age gap (20s/30s), sugar daddy situation, (slight) daddy kink, (slight) jealousy, protected sex

"mister piastri! you shouldn't have!" you chirped as your eyes went wide at the sight of the gift your team principal gave you.

"well, only the best for my crow." he said cheekily as he got the necklace out of the box and then put it around your neck softly. once it was secured on your neck, he rubbed the back of your right shoulder and smiled, "my little bird."

crow was a nickname that oscar came up with that the rest of the team and the fans picked up on. crows were smart and had long memories, a skill that secured your victories on the track. but, oscar called you his crow because you liked your shiny objects.

and he was more than happy to provide them to you.

you placed your hand over the pendant on the necklace. you didn't even notice the engraving on the back, "belonging to oscar piastri". and when you turned to hold him tightly, he patted the side of your head while he locked eyes with his competition.

with your face in his chest and his hand moved to the back of your head. he gave a cheeky wink to ferrari's new driver. the other man who vied for your attention. but he wasn't even important enough to name, because oscar had you wrapped around his fingers. his delicate little crow. so eager, so sweet. perfect all for him.

when you pulled away to look up into his eyes. a smile spread across your face as you said softly, "tonight, i'll wear it for you in bed." and your lover smiled. that smile only grew when you leaned up closer to his ear and said, "i know you'd like that, daddy."

you had been planning this for weeks. you were a virgin, something that caught the attention of many, many men. a star racer who never had sex, that was quite the combination. but, you finally wanted to lose it. and to no other than the man who made you the driver you were okay. oscar. even his name brought a smile to your lips.

he looked at you with eyebrows raised as he asked, "seems i picked the right day to give it to you." he held your chin for a moment and gave you a slight peck when you were out of view from others.

the relationship was private, under lock and key. neither of you wanted the association that you fucked your way to the top. that wasn't the case, you were still a virgin. you just connected with oscar despite the close to decade in age difference. but you understood and he did the same with you. mutual attraction.

you nodded, "isn't that your superpower? to pick the right times? tire changes and what not." then winked at him. you looked pretty in the silver necklace.

he couldn't wait to yank on it in the bedroom tonight.

-

the bed of the hotel you were staying in was nice. soft in a way that most hotel beds weren't. everything was perfect, even your naked body in front of the bed in nothing but the necklace he gave you.

he licked his lips and started to unbutton his shirt, his gaze felt heavy on you. but not in an oppressive way. it was heavy with love, affection, admiration and most of all, lust. oscar wanted you.

he said as he got the first few buttons undone, "i know virginity is a stupid concept... but i want to take yours."

you clasped your hands behind your back and looked down at him. you felt the heat in your cheeks, "that's silly daddy." your voice a low mumble. he could barely hear you.

he leaned a little forward in his spot on the bed, “gonna let daddy hear ya? i want you to be loud, that's why your room is at the other end of the hallway. no one can hear you when i make you feel good."

you giggled, "dirty, dirty, daddy. going to dirty talk to you too."

he quickly got the shirt off his shoulders and tossed it to the farthest corner of the room. he beamed at you as he said, "oh? i know you'd like that. you eat it up when i make those little comments. which one was your favourite again? that time i played with your clit for over an hour."

you two never had penetrative sex, but you knew very clearly how nimble and talented oscar was with his fingers.

you swallowed before you said, if you don't behave, i'll let the boys take care of you." and felt the heat burn your face.

oscar laughed as he got off his undershirt, exposing his toned body to you. he was all smiles and laughter while he worked on his belt. "that's it." he said, "like i'd let anyone else have you." he knew his words were tinged with possessiveness, but he also knew that you loved it.

you watched him get undressed and you kept your hands to yourself. you went to go get a condom and once every stitch was off of him, you held it out to him. you admitted softly, "i don't know how to put it on."

oscar replied, "i understand. don't worry, i'll take care of it. just like i do everything else, right? I take care of you?" he reached out for you and got you onto the bed. you laid amongst the pillows and oscar took a moment to admire you.

you nodded as you got comfortable, "thank you, daddy." and gave him a shy smile which only made his cock twitch with want. he honestly didn't know how he managed to restrain himself this long.

he guessed it was like wine, and oscar now wanted to drink you up. savour you as he got between your legs and stroked his cock a few times before he put the condom on.

"safe and sound." he said as he tossed the wrapper to the side and put a hand around his cock to inch it inside of you. he was careful, slowly sank into you. "tell me if it hurts."

"it's okay... it hurts a little, but nothing too bad. keep going." your voice was light as you kept your legs open for him. you could feel the excitement force your stomach to twist in knots. you were losing your virginity to your older boss.

it felt right, it felt good. and when he started to rock against you. you felt pleasure unlike anything else. your noises were sweet, as were your words. you held onto the covers under you and let him use you as he pleased.

you knew he would take good care of you. he was everything to you. he made you a champion (despite his protests otherwise), his heart was the car engine as were yours. you were both connected in such a way that it only felt right to give yourself over that way.

to be so painfully intimate. you loved him. he leaned in to give you a brief kiss before he moved your hips to have better access to you. the stutter in your heart felt you shivering and your toes curling. his movements made your core throb with sexual desire for him.

you remembered touching yourself in your f2 career to the pictures of him online. you had some saved to your phone and you'd spend late nights under the covers touching yourself. now it was happening, this dream was a reality. you were a star on the track and the apple of oscar's eyes.

his pace increased, but not by a painful amount. this was your first time, he was going to treat you like fine china. you were a delicate teacup that he needed to not shatter. his little crow didn't need to limp to tomorrow's race. racing with a pain in that area was never fun, oscar knew from experience.

"look at you." he said softly as he rutted against you, "look at the sight of you under me. you did so well today, you are going to win it all. and then when you walk away with the trophy. i'll show you what i do winners."

you giggled and felt the pick up in your pulse as you held onto his broad shoulders. he pressed into your further and the pace quickened. he rocked you against the bed and you felt the pleasure in your mouth. there was something so painfully erotic about the entire thing, this all felt hot.

it was everything you wanted from him. you moaned a little louder.

"you have no idea what you do to me. i'm envious of those logos because they can be printed and stretched across your pretty tits." his tone was tinged with humour. but deep down he was envious of the logos because they highlighted your best asset to him. your beautiful breasts.

the same one that he leaned down to suck on. he bit them lightly as he continued to move against you. you couldn't help yourself and let out a sweet moan that made his pleasure only grow inside of him.

"i bet you are, sir. but they look good on you too. and that orange, look like a traffic cone. a sexy traffic cone." and were quickly silenced by heated kisses.

he chuckled when he pulled away and continued his movements. he watched you rock against him as he said, "you look better in it. a real eye catcher on the track. with those soft lips and beautiful eyes. i can see why you are so popular in poster sales. everyone wants a little bit of the crow. but she always comes to nest in my arms."

and you giggled at his words. they rang true, but they still made you flustered. you held onto him by the shoulders and let him move against you. it was a heavenly feeling. your eyes fluttered shut as you said, "i'm close. please, daddy. let me cum. it feels so good."

oscar pressed his chest against you, hitting the deepest parts of you. he heard your angelic moans before he replied, "cum for me, babe. my little crow."

the necklace bounced against your breasts as he fucked you. it was almost as beautiful as you fully coming apart at climax. your core clenched around him, you tensed up for a moment before you relaxed and dropped your arms outspread on the bed.

you shakily exhaled and let oscar to move against you. the pleasure grew in him quickly. your cunt was perfect for him, it was a beautiful sight to see you all blissed out while he continued to thrust against you.

the sex was still gentle, so oscar's climax wasn't as intense. but he didn't need to feel like he got hit by a train to have a good time. he finished inside of you, protected by the condom. he went in for another heated kiss.

he slowed himself to a stop and then pulled out. quickly he threw out the condom as to not cause a mess before he got back into bed with you. as soon as his hands were on you, so was his mouth and he started to leave heavy kisses across your heated face. he melted into you and you into him. curled up in one another and deeply in love.

"my little crow."

"daddy."

legs tangled together and oscar's lips across across the apples of your cheeks. he held your hand, how tender. how loving. pressed more kisses against you. you were his superstar, his trained driver. and with time, he'd make you a trained lover too. only perfect for oscar himself. <3

[prettyboyeddiemunson]

perfectly imperfect.

summary: steve harrington comes into your campus workplace and flirts with you every chance he gets. after months of turning him down, you finally give in and decide to give him a try. after all, he’s the hottest ticket on campus among the girls, so there has to be something to it. right? 

word count: 3.5k

warnings/notes: smut, breast play, oral sex (brief; f receiving), grinding, handjob, premature ejaculation, catching feelings 

a/n: this is a college au with steve, based on a dream i had! i’m thinking he’s probably right around the age he was in season 4, so that would make him around 19-20 in this fic. as always, reader is 18+ and sorry if anything like this has been done before! i don’t have time to read fic much anymore, so i don’t know what is out there. i hope y’all enjoy!

also shoutout to my bestie @andvys for suggesting I write this dream as a one shot! ily and thank you for everything 🥺

_____

“what would you recommend, babe?”

you had to suppress an eye roll at the nickname. it was nothing new with steve harrington; every time he walked into the cafe where you worked, it was always the same old song and dance. he would walk in, smile at you, flirt, ask what you recommended, and would eat or drink it while sneaking the occasional glance at you. he was a blessing and a curse that you just couldn’t escape, not even outside of work. you had two classes with him–World History and Foundations Mathematics–and he would try to chat you up then, too. you knew his reputation around campus wasn’t a very good one; he was quite the player, apparently. you overheard girls talking about him at work and in class, talking about the time they had with him and how he never called or spoke much to them when he was done. you weren’t about that sort of life, but you had to admit you were growing curious about him. he had to be good if he was getting around and getting a reputation; the girls never said he was terrible. in fact, the opposite was true. you had been on many dates since you started going to college two years ago, but nothing ever stuck. you were mostly having flings yourself, but at least you let those down easily and didn’t just leave them hanging like he did. 

“i recommend what i always do every time you come in here,” you said. “the scones are good today; get one of those.”

“i think i have an appetite for something else,” he said, eyeing you up and down. “i think i want to experience something a little sweeter.”

“you think you’re really smooth, don’t you?” you asked, chuckling. “do you realize how many guys come in with the same line every day?”

“damn, i’ve got competition?” he asked, shaking his head. “here i thought i was special.”

“oh, you’re special, all right,” you said, grabbing a scone and putting it on a paper plate. “i don’t think you realize just how special you are.”

“well, that’s a relief,” steve said, digging in his pockets for money. “i really wish you’d go out with me, though.”

“why?” you asked. “so you could fuck me and leave me, like you do all the rest?”

he shook his head. “no, it would be different with you. you’re different.”

you laughed, shaking your own head. “how many women have you used that line on?”

“come on, harrington,” someone said from behind him. “i want my coffee.”

“just a minute,” he said, leaning in close to you. “one date. we don’t even have to have sex, if that isn’t what you want. just give me a chance.”

you eyed the line behind him, and knew there was no getting out of it this time. he wasn’t going to let up until you gave in, apparently. you sighed, rolling your eyes before meeting his. “fine. one date and i’m calling the shots.”

“thank you,” he said. “that’s all i wanted.”

“yeah, i’m sure,” you said. “it’s two dollars for the scone.”

he handed you two one dollar bills and a ten. “a little tip for you, babe.”

you went to hand it back, but he was already gone, the line moving forward as you were forced to be professional yet again.

****

the night of the date came faster than you wanted. he had pestered you about it every day in class and at work, until you finally set it for the following friday night. you were off work and didn’t have many classes that day, so you thought it would be perfect. it would give you a chance to get ready, to prepare yourself, and to brace for what might happen. you’d been giving it a lot of thought since he’d asked, and you decided that maybe you wanted to sleep with him, after all. you would see how the date went first, of course, but you had no reason to expect that it would be bad. steve seemed like a decent enough guy; he was just a playboy. most men his age were, though, especially college frat boys, so you didn’t know what else you honestly expected. 

you spent most of the afternoon working on yourself, and when the date finally came, he came to your room to pick you up. he couldn’t stop talking about how beautiful you looked, and you had to admit that he looked handsome, too. he was wearing a light blue button-up shirt that was done up to just below his neck, showing off a spray of chest hair underneath and accenting his muscular arms. he wore blue jeans that were nice and not torn, brown dress shoes, and his hair was done up in its usual fashion. he looked damn good; even you had to admit that. you followed him as he walked, and he offered you his arm after a little bit. you took it, feeling your heart flutter as you did so. you had already decided, upon seeing him, that you were going to sleep with him. you couldn’t wait to break the news to him at the end of the night.

he took you to a nice restaurant just off campus, an classy little italian place that served the best food. you’d been there a few times, but never on a date. steve paid for everything, and when you were both walking back to campus, you decided to spring the news on him. you stopped walking and he did, too, giving you a puzzled look. you just smiled at him, hugging yourself for a moment before walking over and standing directly in front of him.

“so i made a decision,” you said. “one that i think you’re going to like.”

“what decision is that?” he asked.

“i think i wanna sleep with you tonight,” you said. “if you’re up for it, i mean.”

“i’m always up for that,” he said with a chuckle. “but why the sudden change of heart? you seemed pretty adamant to not sleep with me before now.”

you shrugged. “i guess i couldn’t live with myself if i passed up on steve harrington.”

he laughed. “well, i wouldn’t be able to live with myself if i passed up the most beautiful girl on campus, either.”

your cheeks heated at that, looking down for a moment before meeting his gaze. “so…it’s on, then?”

“it’s on,” he said. “where should we go? my roommate is out with his girlfriend tonight, so my room might be the best bet.”

“okay,” you said. “let’s go there, then.” 

he walked you to his dorm building and up to his room, which was, in fact, empty. it was a little messy, with clothes strewn about the floor, fast food wrappers on the desks, beer bottles hidden not-so-skillfully under the two beds, and posters of half-naked women adorning the walls. you had to resist rolling your eyes for the millionth time; it was such a typical guy room that it was almost hilarious. steve walked over to the bed on the right, sitting down and gesturing for you to do the same. he kicked off his shoes and you did the same, taking a seat next to him as he turned to face you.

“is it bad that i’m a little nervous?” he asked.

you looked at him, shocked. “you, nervous? why would you be nervous?”

he shrugged. “i don’t know. i guess because i’m not used to being with a beautiful woman like you.”

“yeah, and how many girls have heard that?”

“come on, i’m being serious.”

“so am i.”

“i’ve never really used that on someone. you’re the first.”

“wow, i feel special.”

he put one finger under your chin, tilting your head toward him. “you are special, though. at least you are to me.”

“yeah, yeah,” you said. “are we doing this or not?”

“yeah,” he said, drawing you in closer. “come here.”

he put his lips to yours, kissing you gently at first. it stayed like that for a little bit, his lips working softly against yours as you followed his lead. soon, though, he was kissing you a little harder, his tongue pressing between your lips as they met. he mewled softly, grabbing your hips and pulling you into his lap. you straddled him, cupping his face as he kissed you more heavily. you whined, kissing him deeper as he began bucking his hips into yours. you picked up on his cue, grinding against him as you continued to make out. he groaned, grabbing your ass and guiding your movements. you moaned as well, continuing to move on him as he kissed you harder.

“fuck,” he said against your lips. “that feels so good.”

“you’re already getting hard,” you observed. “i can feel it.”

“i can’t help it,” he said. “you just have that effect on me.”

“oh yeah?” you asked, smirking at him as you leaned down to kiss his neck. “well, i feel pretty flattered, then.”

“i really wanna get your clothes off,” he said, tilting his head back to give you more room. “can i?”

you chuckled, shaking your head. “not yet. i wanna keep doing this for a little bit first.”

“you’re going to make me work for this, aren’t you?” he asked with a groan. 

you nodded. “that’s right.”

“you’re such a tease,” he said. “but that’s okay, i like it.”

“oh you do, huh?” you asked, toying with the buttons on his shirt.

“hey, i thought you said we had to wait.”

“i said you had to wait. i didn’t say anything about me.”

“that hardly seems fair.”

“i’m the one calling the shots here tonight, remember?”

that quieted him, and he mumbled a word of permission. you giggled, unbuttoning his shirt and pushing him back on the bed. you started kissing down the middle of his chest, down his stomach to the top of his jeans, and then slowly back up. his breathing was slightly heavier as you worked on him, and he drew you in for a passionate kiss as you came back up. he pulled you on top of him again, where you resumed grinding him for the moment. his hands squeezed your ass, kneading the flesh there as you rocked against him. you whined, moving a little faster as he gasped against your lips.

“you’re gonna make me cum already if you keep doing that,” he said. “please, can i take your clothes off?”

you giggled, nodding. “fine. but not the bra or the panties yet.”

he eagerly removed your shirt and pants, discarding them to the floor with the rest of the clothes. he studied your body with hungry eyes, his pupils enlarging as he took in every detail. you couldn’t help but flush under his gaze, your cheeks hot as he studied you. you pushed him back down, kissing him hungrily, your hips moving again as he slapped your ass. you laughed against his lips and you could feel him smiling, so you kept going. after a minute, steve’s hands found the back of your bra, playing with the clasp. you smiled, knowing that you’d tormented him enough, and you drew back to grin at him.

“you can take it off now,” you said.

“i can?” he asked.

“yep,” you said. “go ahead.”

he didn’t need to be told twice. he practically ripped the garments from your body, taking in every detail of your body as he did so. he licked his lips as he studied you, his eyes moving from head to toe and back again. your cheeks turned hot under his gaze, and you reached out to pull him closer. he went easily, his body pressed flush to yours as you chuckled.

“I think it’s your turn now,” you said. “it’s only fair, don’t you think?”

he nodded, hastily doing away with his clothes. as he did to you, you observed him from top to bottom, your eyes remaining glued on his cock. he was bigger than you expected, with good girth and even better length. a large vein ran up the underside, and his tip was pink and already oozing precum. you reached out to stroke him, and his lashes fluttered as he moaned under your touch. he looked at you with heavy eyes, his lips parted as his cheeks began to flush. you smirked at him, flicking your wrist as his body jerked slightly.

“who has the power now, huh?” you asked.

“you do,” he said, rutting into your hand. “god..”

“you know what I want you to do?” you asked.

“anything,” he said. “i’ll do anything you want.”

“i want you to eat me out,” you said.

“can i?” he asked. “please?”

“mmm hmm,” you said. “go ahead.”

steve turned you over so that you were lying flat on his bed. he kissed your neck, stopping at your breasts to give them some attention. he kissed over each one, sucking one nipple feverishly as he rubbed the other with his fingers. you moaned softly, grabbing his hair and giving it a slight tug as he, too, moaned. you giggled, running your fingers through his hair as he continued to work. he shivered, his eyes trailing up to look at you as he sucked your nipple a bit harder. you arched your back, bucking your hips impatiently as he trailed one hand down your body. he ran his fingers over your clit, barely ghosting it as you gasped. he smirked against your skin, his fingers ghosting your folds next. you wanted to slap him for being such a tease, but it felt so good that you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. 

“you’re so hot,” he said, his hands coming up to squeeze your breasts. he moaned as he watched your nipples harden even more, his thumbs circling them. “the hottest girl i’ve ever seen.”

“oh yeah?” you asked, whining as he started kissing his way down your body. “am i hotter than all those other girls you’ve been with, or did you use that line on them, too?”

“no, just you,” he said, winking up at you as he knelt between your legs. “i swear it’s just you. i told you, you’re different.”

you wanted to roll your eyes, but you didn’t. you were curious as to what he would be like, and now wasn’t the time to offend him or piss him off. you would take him at his word for now; it’s all you could do. you watched as he kissed your inner thighs, painfully slow, and as he kissed around your mound, also painfully slow. he was kissing anywhere and everywhere but where you really wanted him, and you almost pushed his head there. but you didn’t want to do that, so you waited, letting him get it out of his system. he did it again, a little faster, and then finally he was right where you wanted him.

his mouth felt like heaven, and it was a feeling that you’d never felt before with anyone else. his tongue was like velvet, wet and soft and perfect. he lapped at your folds lazily, using the tip of his tongue at first to tease you further. you moaned, sitting up on your elbows to watch him as he looked up at you. he groaned as he pressed his full tongue against you, licking a long, slow stripe from your entrance to your clit and then back down. he did the same motion a few times, before wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking. you arched, falling back on the bed and writhing as he sucked harder.

‘steve…” you moaned. “that feels so good.”

“oh yeah?” he asked, and you could feel him smirking against you. “you think it feels pretty good, huh?”

“yeah,” you said. “you’re good at this.”

his smirk widened, and soon he was fucking you on his tongue. he replaced that with his fingers after a few minutes, paying attention to your clit as he sucked again. his tongue swirled the small bud, moaning against it to add vibration. you gasped and bucked your hips, feeling the tightness beginning to settle in your lower stomach. you didn’t think you’d be so close already, but it had been awhile since you’d gotten off–with yourself or with anyone else. you were pent up, and it was about to come to a head very soon.

“i’m close already,” you told him. “please keep going.”

“already, huh?” he asked, grinning up at you.

“don’t flatter yourself,” you said. “it’s just been awhile.”

“sure,” he said, winking at you. “i’ll take your word for it.”

he kept going, fucking you harder on his fingers and sucking your clit harder. he shook his head back and forth, his eyes on you as he kept going. it only took a few more minutes before you were falling apart, cumming hard as you cried out his name. he kept going as you experienced your high, going slower and more gentle, watching as you arched your back, writhed, and tugged at his hair. he moaned, stopping once you came down from your high. he sat back and looked at you, and you could tell by the look on his face that he was proud of himself for what he’d just done.

“that’s a first,” he said. “usually i have to go for twenty minutes.”

“you poor thing,” you said as you rolled your eyes. “how ever will you survive?”

he chuckled, kissing his way back up your body. “you’re so sassy. i love it.”

“come here,” you said. “i wanna pretend to ride you.”

“pretend?” steve asked. “why not do it?”

“because i wanna make you work for it, that’s why,” you said, smirking at him. 

“but i’m about to burst already,” he nearly whined.

“now who’s the one who might cum too soon?” you teased. “come here.”

he lay back on the bed, tucking his arms behind his head. “okay, babe. i’m here. do whatever you want to me.”

you straddled him, positioning yourself over his erection. you began to grind against it, moaning at the heavy, throbbing feeling of him against you. he hissed, his hands coming out to grab at your hips. you kept going, gliding along him at a steady pace as he looked up at you. he leaned up after a few minutes and started sucking at your nipples, lying back against the pillows and pulling you with him after a moment. you moaned, biting your lip as you started moving a little faster.

“I’m not gonna last much longer,” he said, and you could tell that he was right. he was twitching, his cock throbbing against you as you continued to glide. “please.”

you giggled, getting off of him and taking his cock into your hand. “tell me what you want.”

“I—“ he began, but it was soon over. he came all over your hand, his body in spasms as he bucked into your hand. he squeezed his eyes shut, digging the heels of his hands into them as he came down from his high. “fuck, I knew that was gonna happen.”

you chuckled, holding your hand up to your mouth. “look at me, steve.”

he did so, looking at you with heavy eyes. you started licking the cum off of your hand, making eye contact with him as you did so. he moaned as he watched, and pulled you down for a kiss after you were done. you lay next to him, snuggling against him as he held you close. it was silent, save for steve’s heavy breathing, and you opened your mouth to say something. he beat you to it.

“wow,” he said. “i never…that’s never happened to me before.”

“no?” you asked. “never? not once?”

“no,” he said, shaking his head. “i think it’s because i like you so much.”

you looked up at him. “you do?”

“I do,” he said. “you’re unlike anyone I’ve ever met before, y/n. i think I wanna keep you.”

you smile at him, leaning up to kiss him. “you wanna know something?”

“what?” he asked, brushing some hair out of your eyes.

you kissed him again, a bit more passionately. “I think i wanna keep you, too.” 

—

taglist: @andvys @littledemondani @etherealxwitch @eddieschains @happylilthought @trashmouth-richie @eiightysixbaby @thisbrokencapulet @sunkillerencoder @thatredlipped-classic

[hanibalistic]

I WISH YOU WERE NICER TO ME | BANG CHAN.

genre | minor fluff and angst / platonic au

synopsis | a con man and a computer addict make quite the freelance dream team.

word count | 6.1k+

warning | violence, drink spiking, smoking, alcohol / minor sexual themes, reader is mentioned to have small breasts / no attraction age gap (20!reader & 38!chan) / use of the nickname 'sweetheart' / mentions of dementia, criminal activities

note | chan's character seems tall because the oc version is 182cm. i will likely delete this here once i get the commission art back and switch the names out.

Chan waited until the nursing home was out of earshot to release your wrist. 

He yanked you forward and spun you around to face him. 

His eyes were red, like an uncured hangover, but a red eye has so many causes that you'd rather not narrow it so quickly. For all you knew, he could have been crying, if that was possible for a man like him.

You glanced at his accusing finger before returning your attention to his face. His hair was disheveled, and his face was bare, one less common than the other. He wore a suit, although the buttons barely clasped correctly, and his tie was loose.

He was unprepared enough for you to deduce that the phone call you asked the receptionist at the nursing home to give him was his alarm, and he woke up somewhere other than his home.

He rushed over. He must love his mother.

You knew he did. That's why you paid her a visit at the nursing home. You were curious about truths that would prove him a safe enough partner in crime, and the nursing home hadn't been a good sign when you first found out about it.

A man who cares so much about his mother wouldn't dump her in a nursing home, but a man who doesn't care wouldn't put her in one of the nation's most expensive senior care facilities either. 

There must be a bridge, or many bridges burned somewhere that required this level of security.

You needed to know what bridges they were. His mother wouldn't be the ideal candidate to seek that information from, considering her dementia. Still, you figured you could make a point showing up at a place he never told anyone about.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he asked, his words barely punching through his gritted teeth and clenched jaw. 

"To visit your mom," you replied. "We were having a decent conversation until you barged in and demanded that I leave."

"No–no. No." He closed his eyes and brought his clenched fist to them. His chest heaved up and down as he took a deep, readying breath, and then he relaxed and turned back to you. He licked his bottom lip to rid his mouth of dryness. When his tongue retreated inside, it pulled his lips into a smirk. "I meant what are you doing here?"

"Why did you put your mom here?" you asked. "Why didn't you hire a caretaker and keep her at home?"

His lip twitched. "You can't figure that out on your own?"

"I can make a deduction, but until you tell me the truth, it will remain an educated guess," you said. "Since you are already here, I figured you'd be a good samaritan and tell me the truth."

"How does that information help you?" Chan asked. "You can't possibly use that to screw me over."

"I know where your mom lives. What do you think?"

"You little shit–" he grabbed your shirt collar and yanked you toward him, breathing down your face–"I swear to God if you try anything."

You stared at him. 

He wondered if your indifference to violence was a byproduct of abuse. But he didn't think you've ever looked at him or anything else any other way. Those bland eyes could cross the galaxy and crash onto Earth like a meteorite without making the news. So he thought you must be some version of a sociopath to never feel or express anything.

It wasn't enjoyable to meet someone he couldn't easily read for once, and it wasn't so much an ego destruction but rather discomfort.

Being able to read the room and the mood was what kept him alive. You wouldn't kill him yourself, but you could get other people to do it. A proxy, a hand, a conscience. That's what he was to you, too. Someone to do something.

"If you don't give me a reason to, I won't," you said. "Now, let me go before I scream assault."

Looking around the area, nobody was walking around at this time, but houses were everywhere inside this gated community. If you scream loud enough, some big-headed vice president might come running to your rescue.

He dropped you and wiped his hand on his pants. You pushed your glasses and adjusted them further by scrunching your nose, watching quietly as he struggled with his thoughts.

"What do you want?" he asked.

The nature of his job, or whatever businesses he dips his full weight in, forced him to impermanence.

He switches his phone number periodically, at unpredictable times, and always has more than three numbers under his belt. 

You could access the contacts and messages in the phones he currently owns but not the disabled numbers, so you were here to ask about that.

"Jesus, that's it?" 

He rubbed his eyes and stepped aside to lean his weight against the brick wall next to you. Reaching into his blazer, he pulled out a cigarette pack and crumbled it up after taking the last one out. He dumped it on the floor, and you watched it roll off the slope.

Your nose itched when he blew the first buff. You figured he was a chain smoker. He always smelt like a gross mix of smoke and perfume. 

Through the smoke and squinted eyes, you found his exhausted features. "I didn't think you smoked cigarettes."

He chuckled through his nose. "This will blow your mind. I drink, too."

"An alcoholic?"

"Not enough."

"Then who cares." You shrugged. "I thought you would be more of a cigar person."

"They're the same. One just has a better packaging and reputation," he said. "But yes, I am more of a cigar person."

"I'm learning a lot today."

"Yeah, well." He cleared his throat. "I don't usually talk to my clients this much. Most of them don't show up at my mother's nursing home."

"Most of them think you're an orphan," you pointed out. "You do a good job fabricating your past, but I suppose it'll be a hassle to get a gated community to welcome an outsider without credible wealth and even harder to get a multinational bank to cover your tracks."

He furrowed his brows. "You looked into my bank accounts?" 

"Just the statements."

"That's basically everything," he said.

"Hmm." Your hum was a disagreement, and you tilted your head. "Not really.”

You knew he manages four bank accounts, two of them being savings accounts with a questionable difference in amount, one of them being a regular checking account, and the last one was an account dedicated to his mother's medicine and life expenses.

He has two credit cards and uses them regularly—based on deals and percentages. Other transactions are done through bills to leave no records.

"That's more than the statements!" he exclaimed.

You hummed again; this time, it was in thoughts, and then you nodded. "I suppose."

He took a drag of the cigarette and sighed. 

He knew a minor scope of your capabilities based on the jobs you've paid him to do previously. Intel collection and anonymity were your specialty. It didn't make much difference that you decided to meet him in public, considering he has no records of what you have done nor the evidence to prove it.

It didn't make much sense for you to have the kind of money you do, but he was a man of no questions. He never asked about the businesses you dabble in or how you do what you do. As long as the envelope is thick, frankly, you could be a mass murderer, and he wouldn't care.

This discovery of you loitering around his financial secrets was only a decent surprise. You did it all on your own, too.

"You didn't need to come all the way here to find out who I worked with," he said. "You could have just asked me."

"I wasn't here only for you. I also came here to meet your mother," you said after nudging your head toward the nursing home. Ignoring his eye roll, you returned to the subject at hand. "Anyway, I didn't think you'll give away information just like that."

"You're right. I will lie to you," he said. "But there is always some truth in a lie. That's what makes them credible enough to be believed in. The rest is up for you to figure out."

You raised your brows at the mention of unnecessary hoops you must go through for some basic information. It wasn't as if you could do anything with them. Knowing whoever he ended on bad terms with wouldn't benefit you now, considering you have no alternative to his role in your operations.

You only wanted to know to take precautions or build a silent network. Whatever was suitable for your cause.

"You can give it to me straight," you suggested. "Cut to the chase."

"I can't think of one person working in this business who would do that." He laughed before peering at you. "Even you lie."

"I try not to," you said, not to defend yourself but to tell the truth.

"You should start getting comfortable with it," he said.

"I'll try my best."

"Mmhm." Pushing himself off the wall, he dropped the cigarette on the floor and stepped on it, cutting off its air as smoke released from his mouth.

You looked up at him once he neared, and you watched each other in a moment of dull silence before he reached a hand up to place it on your head. 

He didn't move, awkwardly keeping his hand in place as his body reminded him that he never knew how to be gentle with someone else, and it took over the wrongful instinct.

"You do whatever you have to do," he said. "As will I."

You blinked, glanced down in thoughts, then back up at him. Your movements were precise and observable, sometimes resembling a robot. 

Chan never knew people's facial features could move this way. It was mildly eerie, with the middle of the scale being a generosity granted thanks to your pretty face and young age. If you had been ugly and old, you would just be eerie.

"I already do whatever I have to," you said.

He shifted his weight and tried to feel for the cigarette under his feet. 

"That's great, sweetheart."

He shouldn't have thrown the cigarette away. 

You have never seen Chan in a simple shirt and sweatpants before. 

The existence of a dull attire propelled you to believe that he had a life outside of being a con man, which he must have, but you suspected that it was a seventy-dollar t-shirt and not an off-brand top.

You asked him to dress normally for today’s meeting, and he met the goal a little too perfectly. Even the foundation and minor contour were gone from his face, and his lips were more chapped than usual. 

"You look like you can be my neighbor," you commented.

“You live in a hellhole. Your apartment is four hundred square feet,” he said. “I would never.”

"You used to live in an apartment of that size," you said. "Back when you were still a child."

He rolled his eyes. "What else do you know about me?" 

"Nothing more than what I told you last time," you said. "Your mother mentioned an apartment estate. I assumed that was where you grew up."

He ignored you, but you were correct. He did grow up in a hellhole. The roof leaked whenever it stormed, the fuse sometimes blew if they turned on two electrical appliances simultaneously, and the walls were thin. 

At least the sex noises were arousing for him as a teenage boy, but the marital arguments and children screaming were the worst.

The environment was made somewhere tolerable by his mother being there. He loves her even though she has been callous, stressed, and overworked since his father’s dramatic departure. 

Chan never understood why his father had to be so dramatic about his romantic feelings. That man should have lied about falling out of love and cheating instead of actively pursuing a more desired life. 

"What are we doing here?" he asked.

"I have a job offer," you replied curtly before stopping him by tapping his arm.

A cold breeze brushed over his skin when you opened the locker. Several bags of frozen food landed in the shopping cart under his hands. He looked down and grimaced. 

The variety of your meal choices was mind-boggling—orange chicken, sweet and sour chicken, teriyaki chicken, and General Tso chicken. The whole coop. The last time he was in your apartment, he saw unfinished cup noodles and opened bags of cream cakes that should be refrigerated if not consumed.

You were intellectually well put together, but good heavens, you live like a toddler spoiled by a disastrous uncle.

"This isn't healthy," he commented as he began pushing the cart to follow you.

"I know," you said. 

"You have money. Why don't you order takeout from restaurants?" 

You pursed your lips in thought.

It was convenient, you liked to think. They were effort with a reasonable portion and were easy to consume with something else because they take up such little space. A full meal wouldn’t fit on your desk, and they’d require more attention to eat, so you would miss out on what was happening on the screen.

You were also making up for eighteen years worth of a strict diet your controlling mother imposed on you. It has been two years since you were free from the horrendously stale meals, and you did it by forcing your parents to cut contact by disappearing.

They never looked for you. Last time you checked, they had a newborn child.

Theoretically, you feared for that replacement, but you have never feared for anyone but yourself. You weren't sure if you could.

"I wonder why," you replied with a solemn tap to your chin, mimicking a thinking motion without forcing your face to move an inch. You then pointed down the aisle. "Hey, you might want to close your eyes when we get to the chips section."

Chan scoffed as he leaned his forearms against the cart handle. "Fine, don't tell me."

"I wasn't planning to." 

He rolled his eyes. "What is the job?" 

"A dirty cop," you said, reaching an arm up for a bag of chips on the top shelf. "Or, more accurately, his son."

"You don't mean to ask me to make conversations with a cop, do you?" He whistled softly as he went over your head to grab it for you. He grimaced at the packaging but threw it in the cart anyway. "Horrible flavor."

“It’s sour cream and onion. It’s a widely accepted flavor,” you retorted, focusing entirely on the row of crackers. “Also, I don’t need you to talk to him. I’ll do that. I just need an entrance pass to a club you frequent.”

"Which one?"

"The Inferno Lounge."

"There's a cop in there?"

“Multiple, but they don’t care,” you said. “They don’t record their reservations online; their guest lists are handwritten. I couldn’t change anything if I tried, so I need you to help me sneak inside.”

While the guest list was logged physically, the nightclub would upload its expenses and customers online at the end of the day. You spent several nights scrolling through the lists with chip crumbs at your fingertips, checking out anyone worthy of your interest.

Against your assumptions, most law enforcement officers who frequented the nightclub were old and experienced. Alcohol and private rooms were boldly (or carelessly) purchased with credit cards. As for drugs, even if they wanted to, you doubted the provider took smart payment.

When you passed the candy section, you picked up a cherry lollipop and unwrapped it, popping it in your mouth. You kept the wrapper in your jacket pocket, saving it for the register later.

Chan sucked on his front teeth, his lips jutted out in thoughts. 

You didn’t suggest letting him bring you as a plus one because that would create an association. If one of you gets in trouble, the other will get involved indirectly. It was good to take that precaution.

Turning his head to eye you up and down, he asked, "How old are you?"

"Twenty."

“Tell them you just turned twenty-one, and this is your first night out drinking. For good measure, ask them where the bar is, he said with a snap of his fingers. “They’ll let you in just like that. You don’t even need me there.”

"Dress skimpy but casual," he added with a chuckle. "Kind of like how you are now."

You glanced at your feet. You buy all your clothes based on comfort. The ideal items could be worn outside and to sleep, so you wouldn’t have to change.

"So, pajamas."

"Yeah." He nodded. "What do you plan to do?"

"Find the guy and take his phone," you said. "I just need to transfer some data."

"You don't need me for that," he pointed out.

"I don't," you said.

"Right." He smacked his lips softly. "Again, this could have been a text."

"It could have, but I wanted to ask you something," you said after pushing the lollipop to the side of your mouth. You shoved your hands in your pockets and turned to face him fully. "Your mom said something about a clinical trial the other day. What is that?"

He pursed his lips and felt them twitch upward into a smirk. He didn’t think about it too much at first, but a nurse at the senior home put him up to it. 

With the help of a selected group of patients, a famous brain surgeon at a metropolitan hospital was trying to find a way around a nearly impossible disease. He didn’t care too much about the cure, but rather, he’d like his mother monitored and checked on periodically, so he took her to the screening test.

She wasn't selected. He wasn't too upset about that.

Lowering his head, he ruffled his hair and stood up, sniffing, shaking the jitters out of his body. “It’s no big deal.”

 “It’s for her dementia.” You peered at him, biting on the hard candy. “I didn’t know they were doing research on the disease.”

"It doesn't concern you," he said. 

You wiggled your nose to rid of the oily glasses. You were biting down just a stick now, and you played with it using your teeth. "Fine, don't tell me."

You'll find out on your own.

The rest of the shopping trip was silent. Chan did not excuse himself and continued to walk the shopping cart around the store as you pushed more unhealthy food into the basket. He went ahead when you were at the cash register to buy a packet of cigarettes at the corner area. You waited for him by the automatic doors, stepping close to trigger its sensor whenever it closed, and walked out when you noticed he was paying.

“Are you going to be okay?” he asked, stuffing his thin wallet inside his pocket. 

“I hope so,” you replied. “I’ll probably live.”

“It’s a nightclub. When it comes to people your age, they don’t tend to kill you,” he said. “They do something else.”

You hummed in acknowledgment. Reaching into your shorts pocket, you took out another lollipop and unwrapped it, popping it into your mouth. Chan furrowed his brows when you pulled it past your lips and a soft pop. He was sure you stole that.

“Why don’t you old folks sleep with people your age?” you asked.

He noticed your tongue was red. He scratched the back of his ear with a grimace. “Is that a genuine question?” 

“All my questions are genuine.” 

“Then I don’t know,” he replied. “Haven’t had any trouble with women my age.”

“Yet.” You glanced at his appalled expression as you pushed yourself off the wall. 

Approaching him with a waving lollipop, you brought it up to his face and pressed it past his lips. He parted his mouth to welcome the sweet cherry taste, his teeth clamping down on the stick to keep it from sliding out. 

“Try this for a change,” you said. “It’s better than smoke.”

He hummed. He didn’t think so.

Your drink was spiked. It wasn't a surprise. Why else would they let a nobody inside an esteemed nightclub if not to take advantage of them?

The man who put the pill inside your drink did a horrible job of hiding it, or you were more perceptive. The dimmed atmosphere, loud music, and flashy disco lights would have made it impossible for anyone else to notice, but you did, almost too clearly.

However, holding onto the intention of not bringing attention to yourself, when the man questioned why you weren't drinking from the glass, you took a sip to get him off your back.

None of your observation skills mattered because you put yourself in the same position as those who would fall victim to such tricks.

If anything, you were in far worse shape.

Since the man continued to chase you down, which hindered your task to find the dirty cop, you talked him down over the loud music. The last you heard of him was a string of cuss words as his friends held him back from making an even bigger scene.

That alerted people of your presence, but you managed to fade into the background again until you finally came across your target.

You realized how terrible you were at pickpocketing. Even the drunk air couldn’t save you from being a suspect in thievery. 

You quickly became the center of attention again, except this time, it was to be arrested and not to sleep with. Or perhaps it'd be both. You never know at places like this.

The thirty minutes (for the drug to kick in) counted down while you stumbled around corners and through hallways. You suspected you were walking deeper into the nightclub rather than out of it, but at least the confusing layout must be as disadvantageous to you as it was to your pursuers.

"There they are!"

"Shit," you muttered and picked up your pace.

The hallways looked identical. They were decorated with a dark color scheme and stained with sensual lights flashing through tiny door windows. Bad vocals, cheers, chair creaks, and screechy moans all sounded like forks on a plate. 

Looking behind your shoulder when you heard rapid footsteps approaching, you turned back to face a dead end a few rooms ahead of you. If you turned back, you would only be met with your demise, so it has to be one of the few rooms present. You have to choose. Choose quickly.

"Aggressive much–" Chan paused. His eyes widened when he saw you. "It's you."

You clenched your fist and released the tension. Immediately, you reached for the switch by the door and dimmed the ceiling lights. Ignoring Chan’s confused questions, you brought the gadgets from your jacket before taking it off and throwing it aside. The next fabric to go was your tank, and you threw that somewhere on the table instead of the floor.

"Woah–slow down?" He laughed when you shoved him onto the couch and got on top of him, your legs straddling his thighs and your hands gripping his shoulders. He instinctively held onto your waist, his big hands warm against your skin. "Jesus, sweetheart. Are you into me?"

"Help me," you said quietly. "They're looking for me."

He raised a brow. The initial shock died down gradually, and he checked his surroundings. 

Two phones were lodged where your bottoms met; yours and the cop's, he suspected. Your skin was cold as ice, and goosebumps lined up your shivering arms, which he wondered if it was from the cold or fear. Looking higher up where your nipples perked, he realized he never noticed your chest was so flat.

Behind your shoulder was the hallway light. Chan barely had the chance to hear the commotion before the door bursts open. He didn’t need an explanation to piece the problem together. There wasn’t much that could happen in a nightclub besides the usual.

You squeezed your eyes shut and his shoulders tighter. Just as you were about to lean forward, hoping to hide your face somewhere in the crook of his neck, he slid his hands up your side and pressed his thumbs against the side of your breasts, pushing them together. 

Your back straightened into a soft arch, and a surprised gasp broke out of your lips. Chan peeked over your head at the intruder, one brow raised and his smirk almost condescending. “Are you staying for the show or?” 

Flabbergasted, the man apologized and slammed the door. You didn’t say anything at the sound of the door clicking shut. Instead, you picked up the phone and attached one end of the black cable to it. You grabbed the other phone, the one with a dirty screen, and attempted the same thing. 

Chan watched you miss the charging port several times before he took them from you, getting it right on the first try.

You turned his hand to show yourself the screen and tapped on it, your barely opened eyes darting around, trying to read the tiny words on each pop-up. 

"You're here," you mumbled. 

"I am." He shrugged. "I frequent this place."

"Pervert." He didn’t say anything back.

Your chest heaved with difficulty, and you were clumsier than usual. Chan tried to catch your eyes, but you were too focused on the task. Once he noticed a significant difference in your behavior, he touched your forehead with the back of his palm.

"Lightweight?" he asked.

You grumbled, "Drugged."

His hand dropped from your forehead, and he chuckled. “Tough luck.”

Once the phone showed that the transferring process had started, you sighed and dropped it on the side. You felt horrible, and trying to make sense of your bodily reaction made you feel even worse. Your brain was fighting too hard with your body just trying to relax.

"You're shaking a little," Chan pointed out. "It can't be the drug. It's supposed to relax you.” He poked your abdomen. “You’re not cold either.” 

You glared at him through your lashes. The ringing in your ears grew louder the more you fought the drowsiness. He watched you nonchalantly, without a smile or a frown. This wasn't too amusing to him, you supposed. He hasn't pushed you off either. If anything, he kept steadying you by the waist whenever you dozed off.

You couldn’t sleep before when you were on your feet, still running from the cops. But now that Chan was here, you figured you could take a breather. 

“I panicked," you said. “I feel fear.”

"That's alarming," he said. "You don't seem to feel anything at all."

You lowered your head, blackness fading in and out of your eyes. "Contrary to your belief, I'm not some sociopath without feelings."

"Lots of talking for someone so sleepy," he mused slowly, squeezing your cheek before he reached inside his coat pocket. 

He pulled out an old wooden box and opened it with a faint squeak. Inside were three cigar sticks. He took one out and carefully placed the box next to his leg on the couch. You watched with mild curiosity as he lit up the end of it before putting it between his lips, taking a long drag.

"Have you tried smoking before?” he asked. “This should help you calm down.”

You grimaced and shook your head. He smiled; somehow, this fact was amusing. Tipping your head up gently, with his fingers wrapped over your chin and jaw, he muttered for you to take a huff after he brought the cigar to your face. 

You sniffed, trapped on top of him, and lacked the inhibition to reject the suggestion, parted your lips for him to put the tip in. You inhaled, feeling the hotness spread over your mouth.

He released your face to let you exhale, his fingers grazing a line down your bare chest to your belly. You shivered at the feeling, puffs of smoke coming out in shock, and he recalled the way you reacted when he barely touched your breasts. 

Either you were correct that you do feel emotions, or your feelings were limited to how you biologically react to physical touch.

He has to admit the latter made you so much more tolerable.

"There you go, sweetheart. Good job," he said, pulling the cigar away. "But next time, maybe more smoke in your lungs and less in your cheeks."

You frowned. You reckoned if you had let it travel to your lungs, you would’ve gotten the harsh awakening you needed. But you didn’t; you kept the smoke in your cheeks, and it did almost nothing but make you drowsier. 

Blinking slowly, you looked up at Chan, who hadn’t tried anything inappropriate. You knew he had no ill intentions despite not avoiding your naked torso because if he had them, you would have felt it underneath you, and you would just have to bet that it keeps being that way.

Wiggling forward to get closer to him and find a better position for your numbing legs, you dropped your head on his shoulder and closed your eyes. You relaxed against him; the buttons on his shirt might leave a faint mark up your chest.

"Hey," he whispered as he peered down. "You're not sleeping on me, are you?”

“I want to sleep,” you muttered. 

“I already paid for this room.”

“You can have sex some other time,” you said. “I have to sleep now.”

“Can you at least sleep on the other side of the couch?” 

You didn’t respond and he knew he wouldn’t get you to even if you were awake. He rolled his eyes and threw his head back on the couch. If he wasn’t sitting on his coat, he might have taken it off for you to use as a blanket. He doubted you were cold, though. Your skin has grown warm, and your breathing regulated itself. 

Leaving the room with all the security cameras would be a hassle. You’d have to figure out how to hide your face to avoid getting him in trouble. As for the man who barged into the room, he was willing to take a bet that he could lie about your presence in the room. Plenty of people loitered the nightclub. You couldn’t be the only person with your hairstyle and body size.

Inhaling a puff of smoke, he watched them go up the ceiling after he released it. 

Flashes of his conversation with his mother after you left the nursing home captured his attention. He tried to deter her from talking about you, which he did, but it wasn’t after she mentioned that you seemed like a good person and told him to be nice to you. 

That’s how he maintains friendships, she nagged. But you weren’t his friend. You weren’t anything to each other.

You breathed softly atop Chan. He brought his hand up to your hair, hot air boiling out of his mouth into a tragic exhale when he couldn’t will himself to do something comforting. His hand slid down to your arm, where he squeezed gently, and finally, it stayed at your waist to keep you close and steady.

"You owe me, kid," he muttered.

When a woman came by to provide him services, he shooed her away.

The back of an alley was the last place Chan expected to find you. Seeing you beaten and bruised was less surprising, considering your inability to socialize.

“I thought I heard something,” he said, crouching before you. 

He scanned your face briefly—a pair of cracked lips, a nosebleed, a bed of grabbed hair, and spots of purple and yellow developing around your eye. You were holding onto your abdomen, too.

"Karma came and bit you in the ass or what?" he asked.

“Maybe,” you mumbled. “I met them when I was at the nightclub. One of them was the man who drugged me. I chewed him out in public, so I’m guessing that’s what he was mad about.”

"Mm," he hummed with intrigue. "You shouldn't have done that."

You rolled your eyes. The pain has gradually faded from being noticeable, but you continued to feel wrong somewhere, like a misplaced bone or a sprained joint. It felt heavy as the hit but not like a weight. You have never been beaten before, so you had difficulty explaining it to yourself, and the lack of knowledge agitated you.

"This wasn't my fault," you said. 

"That's not the point," he argued.

"Then what is?"

"Why would I know?" Chan shrugged. "I didn't get physically assaulted. You did. What did you learn?”

Nothing. You have learned nothing because there was no lesson to learn from events that otherwise shouldn't have happened. 

You could learn about natural phenomena, a dessert recipe, or even the making of a pharmaceutical drug. 

A petty man choosing to retaliate against a trivial matter has no value and isn’t natural. It has no reason to exist. It just did for some incalculable reason. Therefore, it was not worth even you, someone who must make sense of everything, to try to understand it.

The only thing the event shed light upon was that you were better than him, not because you put yourself above physical violence but because you wouldn’t be bothered by something so minuscule in the first place. 

You being better wasn't a learning lesson. You already knew that.

"Take me home," you said. "I will pay you the gas money."

"I have an electric car right now. Maybe later."

He scoffed light-heartedly as he grabbed your wrist and threw your arm over his shoulder. You pushed your weight up with his help and exhaled through the discomfort. Chan peered down your shirt and raised a brow.

"They just beat you up?" he asked. "They didn't try to touch you or anything?”

You pursed your lips. There was an attempt, but you couldn’t shut your nasty mouth up for so long that they decided they didn’t like you enough anymore. Whether that was a miracle was debatable; you thought you would be left with fewer bruises if you had stopped talking.

"No."

"Sweet," he whistled, "virginity preserved."

You clicked your tongue and pushed your palm to his face. The velocity wasn't enough, so you gave him a proper slap before a round of random violence ensued.

He tried to stop you verbally, insincere apologies leaving his lips. However, the more he spoke, the worse you felt. Suddenly, you understood your perpetrator's urge to beat you up. 

"Hey, stop it! Stop it!" He shielded his face for a while before reaching for your shoulder and harshly throwing you toward the wall. "What is wrong with you?"

Your back whined in pain when it hit the wall. Once you dropped to the ground, you lay there and did nothing more to stress your body out. 

Turned out you weren't so much better, after all. If anything, you were so much worse than everyone else.

Chan tidied and dusted his clothes with short strings of curses leaving his lips, complaining about his good deeds going to waste on you. Glancing at your lifeless body, he sighed and shook his head. You could do whatever you want. 

Stepping over you, he walked to leave the alley when his phone rang. He paused to pick it up. 

"Hello?"

The voice on the other side was feminine and firm. She introduced herself as a doctor, apologized for a mix-up in some examination results, and congratulated him on his mother’s acceptance into the clinical trial.

"Yes, no problem. I will bring her over next week as scheduled," he said. "Thank you so much, doctor."

The line cut without static. He pulled the phone away from his ear and squeezed it to ground his thoughts. 

There was only one person he knew who not only knew about his mother’s condition but could also switch around digital information like that—you.

Putting his phone away, he sighed and turned back around. He knelt by you and carefully slipped his arms under your side, adjusting his hands on your shoulder and hip.

"She was nice to me." You peered up meekly. "Your mom was nice to me."

No hospital, no police station. You were heading home, he knew. He swallowed a knot before hoisting you up into his arms. Your glasses were broken. He left it there.

He was warm, like last time, and safe, if you’d call him that. 

"I bet she was."

[prof-polaris]

so i went to the doctor today. as one does. because lately i have been experiencing these terrible migraines. also my hair is beginning to grey. both of these are concerning instances.

apparently! according to my doctor! i am one of those people who have been affected enough by the psychic type pokemon around them that they just become a psychic type as well! which was news to me! i will absolutely be blaming this on uxie. couldn’t stop at making my eyes yellow, you also had to grey me at 19 and give me migraines hmm???

anyways. he says the greying and the migraines are from me trying to actively block out all the psychic nonsense going on around me and not actually doing anything with the latent psychic powers i now posses. the solution to this is apparently to float around some pokeballs and make telepathic connections with the pokemon around me to share our thoughts with each other. which should stop the migraines but the greying is probably permanent. oh well.

anyways, here is the headshot they took of me at the doctor because i realized i don’t actually post many photos of myself.

[spotaus]

Late Night quick thing (New Age Sillies)

Bad news: That joke post about including Reset + Orchid is definitely not canon. (I legit got sad thinking about Reset being in a universe where Orchid isn't- because their stories are so so intertwined- but Nightmare 100% would NOT risk the whole twins exploding Error's soul thing.)

Good news: This means I COULD include Kane (Reset's older brother who usually dies in timelines where Reset is born) and use it to develope his character a bit more! Also! Perhaps a Blue × Dream kiddo is finally in the stars for me to design?

[not-neverland06]

we're dating? ♡

logan howlett x fem!mutant!reader

One-shot A/N: I've decided using the same X-men name/powers for the reader in my Logan fics is easier because coming up with superpowers is hard and stupid. They call you flux, like once, it's really just a nickname incoming warning for fluff so bad you'll get a cavity Summary: You're on probation from the team and official house arrest after a little accident with your powers. Logan knows you're going stir-crazy so he takes you to the arcade for some fun. And then your friendship takes a weird turn. (80's timeline in mind, but characters not from the 80’s will be mentioned) Clueless!reader

You’d had an accident, a few weeks ago. Well, accident might be downplaying it too much. You’d destroyed the garden and left a ten-foot crater in the backyard of Charles’ prestigious grounds. In your defense, you had warned them all that it wasn’t a good idea to take your cuffs off. 

The metal bands are entirely necessary to make sure you can’t lose control and wipe out everything around you. Manipulation at an atomic level is beyond fatal. You don’t want to think about what would have happened if you’d had the meltdown and the kids were anywhere near you. 

Charles had been able to shut you down, but now he’s keeping you on probation. You’ve been locked up in the mansion, unable to leave until you managed to get your abilities under control. There’s never been a problem with wearing the cuffs before. You don’t understand why he’s so against them now. 

You’re going stir-crazy. There’s only so many times you can pace your room before you start to lose your mind. He’s not even letting you teach classes anymore. You’re stuck training, all day, every day. 

“Focus!” Charles snaps and you resist the urge to turn his bones liquid. Maybe that would get him off your back. 

Instead of killing your friend, you glare at the large tank of water in front of you. You do what you’ve been doing for the past half hour. It fluctuates from liquid to gas to solid, and then liquid again. An endless cycle of repetition that makes you want to melt your brain so you don’t have to do this anymore. 

You drop your hand and huff. “This is pointless, Charles. What’s this even teaching me?”

He crosses his arms, walks over to you, and pointedly glares at the tank in front of you. You roll your eyes and look back at it. “Shit,” you hiss. In your frustration, the glass has cracked and splintered into dust. Water pools around your stool and leaks through the wood of the floor. You flick your wrist, the glass swirling around you before reforming into the tank. The water follows along, droplets lifting from the floor and dropping back into the container. 

“One moment of frustration, of distraction. That’s all it took.” Charles shakes his head and walks back over to his desk. He picks the cuffs up and you slip them silently back onto your wrists. “How can you be trusted to protect your team on the field if you can’t control this? What are you going to do when you’re panicked and fighting for your life?”

Shame bubbles in your gut. It makes you nauseous and forces your eyes to the floor so you don’t have to face him. He sighs, placing his hands on your shoulders and squeezing gently. You glance up at him briefly and he offers a strained smile. 

“This is for your protection, as much as you hate it, Flux. It’s necessary.” You scoff at the use of your X-Men name. Not much of an X-Man if you’re not even on the field anymore. 

“Right,” you mutter. “Thanks for the lesson in incompetency,” you don’t let him respond and slam the door to his office closed behind you. You feel bad the second you get outside and onto the porch. He doesn’t deserve your bitchiness. It’s your own fault you can’t get a handle on this. You don't have anyone to blame but yourself. 

You let out a dramatic sigh, throwing yourself into a rocking chair and running your hands over your face. The once comforting weight of your cuffs is now oppressing. It just feels like a constant reminder of your failure. You should already have a handle on all of this, but you struggle to even manipulate water. 

“Rough day?” You don’t open your eyes as Logan walks by. He takes a seat on the rocking chair beside you, letting out a low groan as he stretches. 

You let your hands drop into your lap, staring at the sunset so you don’t have to face him. You’ve already dealt with enough dejection today. You don’t need to look at him and be reminded that you want him in a way you can never have. 

“Mhm,” you hum, propping your head in your hand as you watch the sun disappear behind the clouds. The sky is painted in hues of pink and orange that seem too hopeful for how you feel right now. 

Logan chuckles, the sound low and gravely. It makes your heart stutter in your chest and you cringe in embarrassment. You know he can hear the way your heart practically beats free of your ribs when you’re around him. You’re sure with that nose of his he can smell some sort of hormonal change in you every time you lay eyes on him. 

You swear you’ve never felt this way about a man before. You haven’t had many boyfriends before, it’s not really common among mutants. Not many people are accepting of you when they know what you are. And some people are too into you. 

But you've had crushes, and none of them have been as bad as this one is. You want to gnaw on him. It sounds fucking insane every time you think about it. But when you train with him and he tears his shirt off, you want to sink your teeth into him and never let go. 

You feel feral around him, a side of you surfacing that you’re not used to. Maybe it’s because of his mutant abilities. They are very animalistic, it’s easy to blame that on how desperately you crave him. 

You hate being around him and despise not being in his presence. It’s conflicting, and more often than not you sound like a bumbling idiot when you speak to him because your brain is going in a million different directions. 

You hear the familiar click of his lighter and then he shifts again. You risk a peek over at him and regret it the second you do. His head is tilted back, eyes closed in relaxation as he stretches across the porch. Smoke leaks out of his lips as he groans in satisfaction. 

You have to pick your jaw up off the floor and make sure there isn’t drool on your chin. This is insane. You’re a grown woman, how does he have this much of an effect on you? He’s not even doing anything! He’s just sitting there and you want to jump his bones. 

You whip your head around, mumbling incoherently to yourself to get it together. Logan peaks an eye open and you miss the mischievous tilt to his lips. “Something wrong?”

I need to have sex with you or I’m going to explode. 

You stutter for a few seconds, getting your mind back together. “Just training with Charles,” you mutter. 

He sits up a little straighter and quirks a brow. When you don’t continue he sighs. “And?” He prods, impatient for your answer. You hope you’re not reading into it, but you think he’s been as disappointed by your absence from the team as you are. He always complains about being partnered up with Scott. You like to think it’s because he misses you. But you’re probably just delusional. 

“And, nothing,” you sigh. Your hands flop against your legs and you glare at the bands on your wrists. “No progress. I still can’t control them without these on, and my abilities are watered down and useless with the cuffs.”

Logan huffs, you’re caught off guard by the sudden warmth on your thigh. You glance down, eyes widening ever so slightly when you see his hand on your leg. It nearly covers the whole thing and when he squeezes your thigh you think you’re going to pass out. 

You’re friendly. But you’ve never been touchy. At least not like this. The placement of his palm is very intimate and you are struggling not to just get on your knees and profess your undying love. You take in a deep breath, looking up at him so you can get your heartbeat under control. 

But looking at him just makes it worse. Because there is so much faith and fondness in his gaze as he looks at you. His lips are tilted up, eyes soft, and you’ve never had someone make you feel so warm and secure from just a look. 

“You aren’t useless,” he tells you. He squeezes your thigh again before he retreats back to his chair. You have to clamp your jaw shut so you don’t beg him to keep touching you and never stop. “You’re just stuck in this house all day. You’ve got nothing to do but sit in your failure.”

You scoff and throw yourself back in your seat. “Don’t remind me. I’ve begged Charles to let me out.” Your gaze drifts to the crater in the backyard. Some of the kids have been working on filling it in, but whatever energy you’d let go of has left a permanent mark. “He refuses to give me permission.”

Logan laughs, the noise teasing and a little mean. Your brows furrow and you glance over at him with a questioning look. He tilts his head in disbelief like you’re an idiot. “Seriously, Flux? Just fuckin’ leave, who gives a shit?”

“Uh,” you think on it for a minute before weakly settling on, “Charles?”

His face falls and you sink lower into your seat. He looks out at the yard, gaze distant. His jaw clenches a few times before he puts the cigar out on the ashtray beside him. He gets to his feet and you think he might just leave. Instead, he turns towards you. 

You’re caught off guard by the little smirk on his face. “Wanna have some fun?”

Only an idiot would say no. 

You grin and place your hand in his, yelping slightly at how easily he pulls you to your feet. You stumble into his chest and are hesitant to back away when his hand drifts to rest on your waist. He looks down at you, smiling, he squeezes your waist once before he backs up. 

“Come on, kid.” He tugs you inside the house, leading you downstairs to the garage. You already know what he’s going for before the door is even open. 

“Didn’t Scott tell you to leave his bike alone?” Logan takes a step inside. He pauses, glancing over his shoulder and grinning at you. It makes your breath catch in your throat, the happiness on his face. You never see him like this around the others. 

You hate thinking like that. Placing too much importance on your relationship with him will only lead to heartbreak down the road. But, you never see him act the way he does with you with anyone else.

“Since when have I ever listened to Cyclops, sweetheart?” 

“Good point,” you mutter, moving to stand next to him. 

He straddles the seat and looks over expectantly at you. “Don’t you need a helmet?”

You shake your head, “Oh, no, it’ll ruin my hair.” You laugh but he gives you a deadpan look. You don’t regenerate the way he does. An accident would be a lot more fatal for you than it would be for him. You huff, “Relax, Lo, I can use my powers.” When he looks like he’s not going to drop it, you let some energy swirl around your fingers. It solidifies the air around your skin, you reach up and flick at his skull hard enough to hear the metal ding. 

He grunts, glaring down at your hand while you grin. “See,” you whisper, sliding onto the back of the bike and wrapping your arms around his waist. “I’m perfectly safe.” He shakes his head and starts the bike. 

The ride to the arcade is spent in silence. Logan always seems to break every speeding law known to man whenever he takes Scott’s bike out. You’re not sure if he does it to purposefully piss the man off, but it makes you cling to him like a wild animal. You feel like if you hit one speed bump you’re going to go flying. 

By the time he parks your legs feel like jello. He laughs a little at the way your face has blanched. Again, he offers you a hand and holds the door open to lead you inside. You’re trying not to look a gift horse in the mouth, but this whole thing is odd. 

You guys are friends. And you’re friendlier with each other than most of the mutants in the school. But this feels different somehow. For one, Logan kind of despises the arcade. It’s an amalgamation of bad smells and loud noises, and it overwhelms his already sensitive senses. You’ve heard him complain about the smell of body odor and fake cheese enough times when you went on a field trip with the kids. 

Secondly, he’s being more touchy than he normally would. You’re not complaining. You weren’t exactly hugged a lot as a kid, mainly just passed between different mutant fetish clubs. Logan isn’t known for handing hugs out so easily. But right now, he doesn’t seem to be ready to not have at least one hand on you. 

Maybe he’s just cheering you up. You need to stop drifting so far into your mind and just enjoy the night. “Alright, what’s first bub?”

You grin and drag him towards the claw machine. “I’m horrible at these things,” you inform him as you put your quarters in. “But, I hold out hope that one day I’ll be able to actually beat this monster.”

Three failed attempts later, it’s become embarrassingly clear that you will never beat the claw machine. Logan isn’t even trying to hide his amusement as you become increasingly more frustrated. There’s a certain point where this game stops being fun and starts to be an affront to your character. 

Logan peers into the machine and asks, “What are you going for?”

“The pigeon,” you mutter. Your tongue pokes between your lips, and your eyes narrow in concentration. You aim the claw over the pigeon perfectly and slam your hand down on the big red button. 

You’re allowed five seconds of celebration before the damn thing slips out of the claws grasp and tumbles into the pile of stuffies below. “Dammit, Bart,” you let the ridiculous name you’ve come up with for the toy slip.

Logan snorts, leaning against the glass while you jam another quarter in the slot. “Bart?” He teases. 

You shake your head and give him a look out the side of your eye. “What, you think I call myself Flux because I’m good at coming up with names?” You give up after the last failed attempt and turn to face him with a huff. 

He clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “Tough luck, kid.” He slings an arm over your shoulder and pulls you towards the concession stand. 

“Shut up,” you laugh, slapping lightly at his chest. 

The rest of the night is nice. He doesn’t play much except for the strength-oriented games. And then you kind of just exploit him for more tickets. By the time you get back to the mansion, you’ve forgotten all about why you were upset in the first place. 

Nothing had gone wrong, you didn’t have a total meltdown and wipe out the entire arcade. You don’t know why Charles was so afraid of letting you out. 

Logan walks you back to your room, his hand heavy on your lower back as you head up the stairs. You’re talking endlessly, filling up any gap of silence with rambling you’ve lost track of. You don’t know what it is about him that invites you to yap the way you do, but you’re always embarrassed by it the second he leaves. 

You reach your door and smile up at him. “Thanks, Lo.”

He gives you a soft smile, his eyes wrinkling endearingly at the corners. He reaches up and brushes some hair off your shoulder. There’s a certain shift in his expression that has your breath stopping short. Whatever else you were going to say to him tumbles off into an incomprehensible whisper. 

He leans down and every inappropriate thought you’ve ever had about him suddenly surges to the front of your mind. Your lips part in anticipation, thinking he’s going to kiss you and your fantasies are going to come to life. 

His lips brush against your cheek so gently you almost don’t feel them. “‘Night Flux,” he leans back and your body goes with him. He backs off with a smile, walking down the hall to his own room. You feel dazed, eyelashes fluttering rapidly as you fan your cheeks and try to come to terms with what just happened.

He didn’t kiss you, but you oddly aren’t disappointed. You go to bed that night with a lovesick grin on your face. Well, you would have. Were it not for the annoyingly British voice ringing out in your head, “Training’s at four tomorrow morning. Consider it your punishment for sneaking out.”

“Fuck,” you hiss to yourself. Stupid fucking telepaths. 

You thought the arcade was a one-off moment. But Logan keeps sneaking you out of the mansion. Charles hasn’t officially lifted the house arrest, but he’s given up trying to keep you inside. Besides, you’ve essentially got a chaperone since Logan is always with you. 

You make lunch for the two of you and he’ll take you out to the woods for a picnic. Or you’ll go to the movies together. Sometimes you don’t even do anything, just linger around each other. You enjoy the company, and you love having these quiet moments together with no one else around. 

Your favorite part of all of this has to be the way he’s started touching you. He’s always got a hand on your leg or back. And if he can’t do that, then you’re tucked into his side. It’s feeding into a starved part of you that you’ve left neglected for far too long. 

It’s only been about two weeks of these fun little adventures and odd behavior. You’re dreading the moment they’ll stop. You’re not sure when Logan’s going to deem you properly cheered up, but you’re hoping it’s not anytime soon. 

There have been a few more moments where you think your friendship might turn into something more, and every time you’ve been interrupted. You’re actually starting to feel a little edged. You’ve been considering just grabbing him and planting one on him. But every time you think about it you get sick to your stomach. 

You don’t want to make a move on him and end up getting rejected. You know he’s just being a good friend and taking care of you so you don’t end up spiraling too far in your head. It’s happened before, when you’ve been struggling with your abilities. He’s just keeping you from shutting down again and you don’t want to make him uncomfortable because you’re hopelessly in love. 

When you walk out of your room this morning you’re immediately smacked in the face. “What the fuck, guys?” You yell at the two kids running past your room. Not the best language for someone who's supposed to be a role model. You can’t be bothered though, not when they’re running around throwing pink rolls of streamer at your face. 

“Sorry!” Mary calls over her shoulder, laughing as she pins a heart up onto the wall. You’re sure Charles won’t appreciate the hole in his old ass mahogany wood. It’s only as you watch her run down the stairs that you register just what is going on. 

There is pink and red everywhere. It looks like Dollar Store Cupid has thrown up all over the mansion. You’ve been so caught up in your attraction to Logan that, ironically, you’ve forgotten what month it was. 

You grumble bitterly to yourself as you trudge down the stairs. Another Valentine’s Day alone and single. How lovely. You spot two kids giggling to themselves by the banister, they lean in like they’re going to kiss and you gag. “Hey!” You snap, and they jump apart, eyes wide with fear. “Quit it, get out of here.” They scramble off and you feel just a little bit vindicated. 

“Not a fan of young love, Flux?”

You groan and roll your eyes, turning around to find a very smug Scott watching you bully teenagers. “Shut it, Summers,” you warn. You point an accusing finger at him and he raises his hands in surrender. Faux innocence played across his insufferable smirk. “When you’re in a committed relationship, you don’t get to judge me.”

His brows turn down in confusion, “Wait, but aren’t you and Logan-”

He’s cut off by the sound of a loud crash down the hall. You both turn around just as one of the classroom doors slams open. A bright pink explosion hurtles from the doors and a throng of coughing students follows. 

Jubilee walks out a minute later, a guilty expression on her face. “Sorry, I was just trying to make it more Vanetine-y.” 

You glance over at Scott, grinning widely at him while you pat his shoulder and walk past him, leaving him to clean up the mess. “Enjoy the young love, Summers.”

You actively avoid Logan all day. You’re already facing constant reminders of how lonely you are. You see kids walking around with baskets of bears and chocolates. Or you catch them passing notes in class with scribbled hearts all over the front. 

There’s only so much a girl can take before she loses it. The last thing you need is to be faced with the man you have the worst unrequited crush on in history. But he doesn’t seem to get the hint. He’s everywhere you go, popping up around corners and trying to catch your attention. 

You keep brushing him off and pretending like you have something urgent you’re going to be late for. Eventually, though, he was going to catch up with you. 

It happens in the kitchen. Most of the kids are in their rooms or the library. The noise has died down and you’re alone. You grumble to yourself, ripping down a pink streamer that keeps drifting across the top of your head and pissing you off. You grab a frozen meal from the fridge and are about to microwave it when he speaks. 

“Huh, thought you’d want something a little more romantic than a frozen burrito.” 

You gasp, clutching your chest and whirling around on him while your heart races. “Logan, Jesus, you scared me.” He’s frowning at you, eyes glaring at the frozen package in your hand. “Um,” you toss it back in the freezer but the look on his face isn’t going away. “Yeah, I might just go with cereal instead.”

He looks at you and then glances behind him. You peer around his shoulder but you don’t see anything. Without much warning, he grabs your wrist and pulls you towards the stairs. “Logan?” There’s no point in trying to resist him, he could just toss you up the stairs if he wanted to. Still, the silence is kind of creeping you out. 

You call his name a few more times but give up when he makes it clear he’s not going to be answering you anytime. There’s a rotten feeling in your stomach. You have this awful idea like you’re in trouble for something. Like a little girl who's gotten her hand caught in the cookie jar too many times. 

He stops you in front of his door and nods towards it. “You want me to go inside?” He crosses his arms and glares down at you. You huff and mutter, “Jesus, fine.” What the hell is wrong with him?

You grab the doorknob to his room, glaring at him while you do. You throw the door open dramatically, taking a step inside and surveying the area. “Wow,” you suck your teeth and shake your head. “You have not decorated at all.”

“Shut up, smartass,” he mutters in your ear. Chills prick at your skin from his proximity. A shudder goes down your spine as the low tone of his voice reverberates through you. “Look a little harder.”

You roll your eyes but acquiesce. Another run over the room finally shows you what you missed. You gasp and rush towards his bed, “Holy shit, Bart!” He chuckles behind you as you pick the stuffed pigeon up. 

“Went back for him after we left,” Logan tells you. 

You glare at him, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “How many tries did this take you?” He mouths a smug one and you roll your eyes in irritation. You look back down at the pigeon and smile.

He smells like the inside of a claw machine. His head is sewed on crookedly and you’re pretty sure he’s missing an eye. But he’s absolutely perfect to you. You’re about to thank Logan when you spot something metal wrapped around the stuffie’s neck. “What’s this,” you mumble to yourself. 

You slide your fingers under the chain and tug it off Bart’s neck. Logan’s dog tags dangle off your fingers and you stare at him in shock. A sudden cold dread washes over you and you find yourself immobile. “Logan,” you trail off, an unspoken question following his name. 

He smirks, walking towards you and slipping the tags out of your hand. “I wanted you to have this,” he says, his voice low like this moment is too precious to break, “so you know you’re not alone. You’re always so afraid of what’s going to happen if you lose control out in the field. But you forget, you’re not alone. You have me, you’re always going to have me.” He places the tags over your neck, untucking your hair from the chain. 

You don’t even have words for him. It’s such a deeply personal gift. But this also feels incredibly intimate. There’s no possible way for you to reason this away. This isn’t something “just friends” do. 

He seems to prefer your silence, anyway. One of his hands drifts from your neck and cups your jaw. With the utmost tenderness, he lifts your face to his. “Wanted to do this for a while,” he whispers. You almost ask what he’s talking about, but his lips are already covering yours. 

It’s incredibly soft, this kiss, softer than you’re used to. He’s barely putting any pressure on you and it makes you realize that you’re still not moving. You’re just standing there in shock, eyes wide open while the man you’ve wanted since you’ve known him kisses you. 

You drop Bart to the floor and your arms come up to twine around his neck. You finally close your eyes, let your body melt into his knowing he’ll catch you. The second you reciprocate he really kisses you. Neither of you hold back, each of you pouring all the pent-up desire you’ve felt for each other. 

You’ve spent so long dancing around this, around each other. It’s like a missing puzzle piece is returned to you as Logan holds you. You feel full, complete, warmer than you ever have before. 

You part from him - needing air - painfully slow. You don’t want to spend a second away from him now that you have him. You wish you didn’t have to breathe. Wished you could have kept kissing him and never stopped. 

Logan chuckles, pressing a kiss against your forehead like he can read your thoughts. You can feel the dorky smile that’s about to split your cheeks. You bite your lip, hoping it might suppress it, but you know it’s pointless. 

You look up at him with a cheeky twinkle in your eye. “Are you asking me to be your Valentine, Lo?”

He scoffs and pulls away from you slightly. “Do you have to ask your girlfriend to be your Valentine?”

Your eyes widen and your mouth opens and closes rapidly. “I- Well- I mean,” you take a full step back from him and shake your head. “What?” You finally settle on. “I mean, I’m not objecting, at all, but what?”

Logan tilts his head, a disbelieving look on his face. “What do you think we’ve been doing the past three weeks?”

You shake your head, stuttering and struggling for an answer. “I don’t know. I thought you were being a good friend!”

He smiles, there’s no irritation on his face at your cluelessness. If anything he seems to be more endeared to you. “You think I take all my friends on romantic picnics in the woods?”

You sigh, letting out a long disappointed breath. You can’t believe you’ve been so blind. When you think about it, his behavior lately makes a lot more sense. You’re not sure how you were able to trick yourself for so long. 

“Well,” you start, walking back towards him as he pulls you into a hug, “certainly not Scott.” He huffs and shakes his head. You give him a sheepish smile, brows knitted together. “I can’t believe we’ve been dating this whole time.”

He just presses another kiss to your temple and shrugs. “It’s alright, sweetheart, you can make it up to me by being my Valentine again next year.”

There’s something unspoken in his voice. A promise that he’s planning to be around for a lot longer than a year. You smile at him, silently promising the same. “Only if you’re mine.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

a/n: i’m gonna gag actually. Made myself cringe there at the end. I want a valentine next year so bad, it’s sad. But what’s the point of a valentine if it’s not going to be Logan?

end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

dividers by @/thecutestgrotto

[foxy-eva]

Over the Edge

Summary: Spencer is desperate for you to take care of him

Request: whiny and desperate Sub!Spencer who gets called pretty and gets edged for as long as reader wants (initially requested to @imagining-in-the-margins) 

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Category: Smut 

Content Warning: (18+, minors DNI) Sub!Spencer, Softdom!Reader, mentions a safeword (but it’s not used), nicknames, praising, edging, orgasm control/denial, handjob, blowjob, facesitting, unprotected penetrative sex

Word Count: 3.4k

Masterlist

Spencer didn't say a word when he stepped through the door, making it obvious that his workday had been too long and too exhausting. He found you on the couch, a sigh escaping his throat before he kicked off his shoes and plopped down beside you. 

You reached out your hand to find his cheek, gently brushing a loose curl back. He immediately leaned into your touch. 

“Hi love,” you cooed. “I missed you.”

Spencer found your eyes, a certain desperation shining through as he looked at you. You opened your arms for him to find comfort inside your embrace. 

“I missed you, too,” he mumbled into the softness of your shirt. “So, so much.”

Your hand found his head as you began gently stroking his disheveled hair. Leaning down, you placed a tender kiss on his forehead. 

“Long day?” You asked softly, already knowing the answer. He nodded. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Spencer shook his head before looking up at you. “I wanna forget about it,” he whispered. 

You raised an eyebrow at his words, already suspecting what he was implying. Still, you wanted to hear him say it. A playful grin appeared on your face when you wondered, “How can I help you with that?” 

“Can you… can we, uhm,” he began muttering as he sat up. 

The way he suddenly got all shy made your heart flutter. His cheeks began blooming when he cleared his throat, clearly looking for the courage to ask for what he was craving. 

His hands found your waist as he pulled you closer. “I want to forget about everything except you,” he whispered right before placing a feather-light kiss on your lips. 

You leaned back to look at him. His eyes were wide and curious. The warm amber of his irises was mesmerizing and you took a moment to admire their beauty. 

“You’re so cute when you're needy,” You purred and noticed how his pupils dilated slightly. “Let me take care of you, my love.”

A relieved sigh fell from his lips before he nodded. You got up and took his hand in yours, leading him into the bedroom. Right then Spencer wished for nothing more than to just follow your lead. Too many thoughts had occupied his brain and he craved the feeling of finally being able to turn his head off. 

He watched intently as you began unbuttoning his shirt. “Tonight is only about you. You won’t have to make any decisions,” you began explaining. “But that also means you’ll have to follow my rules.”

“I know.” 

You had played around with power dynamics before and were open with each other about your expectations. You still wanted to make sure, so you asked, “Do you remember them?”

How could he ever forget. “I have to do as you tell me. I have to ask permission before touching you. I cannot come unless you allow it. I will get punished if I disobey you. And I have to use my safeword if it gets too much.” 

You confirmed his words with a nod. “And what is your safeword?”

“Yellow as a warning that I’m reaching my limit. Red for a full stop.” 

When the last button of his shirt was undone, you found his eyes once more and said, “Thank you for trusting me.” 

Your words made him smile. He leaned in for a kiss but halted before his lips touched yours. “Can I kiss you?”

Instead of answering, you wrapped your arms around his neck and closed the distance. His lips felt soft yet demanding when you melted into each other in this kiss. Spencer's hands hovered over your waist and for a moment you damned your own rules. 

“You can touch me,” you breathed against his lips, longing for his nearness. 

He didn't waste any time to get ahold of your body, his hands roaming over your waist and back, desperately feeling you up as you deepened the kiss. 

He pressed his body against yours and you could feel his hardness straining against his pants. After what felt like forever, you pulled back and Spencer chased your lips with his for a split second. When he didn't find them, he whined at the loss of contact. 

He found you smirking at him when he opened his eyes. Without a warning, you placed your palm on the outline of his length. Spencer hissed in response and almost stumbled backwards.

“Already getting desperate?” You snickered. 

“Please…,” was all he could answer. 

“Why don’t you take off your clothes?” You suggested as you stepped back. 

The way he began hurriedly shedding his clothes looked clumsy, almost comical. It only proved how much he already needed you. It made you smile.

When he stood completely bare in front of you, you took a moment to admire his body. Your eyes wandered over his shoulders, his chest and followed the trail of hair from his navel down to his hard cock. 

“My pretty boy,” You chirped when you found his eyes again. 

The rosy color on Spencer's cheeks had turned a shade darker and his pupils had almost completely swallowed the gold of his irises. 

“Can I see you, too?” He tentatively asked. 

You looked down at your body and chuckled when you realized you were wearing gray sweatpants and a washed out t-shirt. That was certainly not what you would usually wear in situations like that.

“Not that you're not beautiful like this,” he quickly added when he noticed your reaction. “You’re always so, so beautiful.” 

“Nice save,” you quipped and decided to use the opportunity for a little challenge. “Now be a good boy and lay down on the bed. You have to wait for me. I want you to be just as hard when I return. However, you can not touch yourself.”

Spencer watched as you grabbed some clothes from the dresser. He lay down on the bed before asking, “How long do I have to wait for?” 

“I haven't decided yet. I’ll leave the bathroom door open, so I can hear you,” you answered, implying that he could still use his safeword. 

When you disappeared into the bathroom, you took your time to change into the purple lingerie you had bought just a few days ago. You checked yourself in the mirror and decided to test Spencer’s patience some more. 

He was only a few feet away but you could still hear his heavy breaths. “I hope you’re behaving,” you snickered while you began fixing your hair. 

“Yes,” he answered. “I just miss you already.” 

When you were done with your hair, you decided to put some light make-up on. You knew Spencer didn't care about that but you wanted to stall him some more. More than ten minutes passed before you came back into the room. 

“Good boy,” you praised him when you found him lying on the bed with his hands by his sides and his cock still hard. 

You noticed how his erection twitched when he laid his eyes on you, his sight slowly wandering over the purple lace and your skin. 

“You look so beautiful,” he breathed, watching intently as you sat down beside him on the mattress. 

You let your hands brush over the curve of your chest, feeling the soft lace under your fingertips. “Yeah? You like it?”

Spencer couldn't get enough from looking at you. It was as if he was getting drunk on the sight of you wearing lingerie in his favorite color. “I love it,” he muttered. 

You lay down beside him and placed a soft kiss on his lips. “Tell me, Spencer,” you began talking while you let your hand wander over his chest. “Did you behave?” 

“Yes I did.”

His skin broke out in goosebumps as you let your fingertips wander down his stomach. 

“You didn't touch yourself? Not even a little?”

He swallowed hard when he felt the heat of your hand radiating against his center as your palm hovered over him. 

“No, I… promise,” he stuttered. 

His cock twitched against his stomach and you noticed how a bead of precum spilled from his tip. 

“Then how are you still so hard? I was gone for so long.”

The way his hips bucked up must have been involuntary. You retracted your hand, denying him any relief. 

“I thought about you,” he admitted.

His confession made you curious. “What exactly did you think about?” 

His eyes closed for a moment. “Look at me and tell me,” You demanded. 

He locked eyes with you again and muttered, “I imagined uhm… touching you.” 

You shifted your position until you were hovering over him. “What else did you think about?”

You began trailing kisses along his neck and felt his throat vibrating beneath your lips as he kept talking. 

“I thought about tasting you,” he said and you gently bit down on his pulse point, making him whimper. 

Your lips brushed over his earlobe and you whispered, “Keep talking.” 

“Thought about you kissing me.”

You descended further down his body, licking over his chest before brushing your lips over the softness of his tummy. You looked up at him and teased, “Kissed you where exactly?”

“Everywhere,” he sighed when he felt your hot breath on his erection. 

You placed a tender kiss on the base of his cock. “Here?” 

“Yes.” 

You took him in your hand and began brushing your lips along his velvety skin. Spencer shuddered when you reached his tip and let your tongue glide over it. 

“What else?” 

Spencer looked at you confused. He had already forgotten what you were talking about just moments before. 

“What else did you imagine, Spencer?” You clarified.

“This,” he whined. “I thought about this.”

You raised your eyebrows at him and he understood the warning. He took a deep breath and continued talking. 

“I thought about you taking me into your mouth.” The moment the last word left his lips, you closed yours around him. 

“Oh fuck!” He groaned as he gripped the sheets with his hands. 

His entire body began trembling as you worked your mouth along his length, taking him further in and wrapping your hand around his base. When you locked eyes with him again, he stared at you doe-eyed and with his mouth hanging open. 

You began moving with a steady rhythm, and you could feel how he tensed beneath you, all the built-up excitement begging to be released. Spencer's moans filled the room together with the filthy sounds of your mouth. Right before he got close to his breaking point, you suddenly let go of his cock. 

“No, please don’t stop!” Spencer protested once he realized what was happening. 

“Now where’s the fun in that?” You snickered as you laid back down beside him. 

A frustrated whine left his lips. You were quick to soothe him by wrapping your hand around his hardness once more. With a firm grip you let your hand move up and down, making him buck up into your fist. 

You kissed his heated cheek and purred, “You're so handsome like this. All desperate and whiny.” 

He whimpered your name, followed by a pathetic, “Please.” 

“Please, what, pretty boy?”

His voice was shaky when he pleaded, “I wanna come. Please!” 

You accelerated the pace of your hand, stroking him hard and fast, aware that you were almost overstimulating him. The sounds he made could only be described as sinful. He twitched against your palm as he got dangerously close to his undoing. 

“I need to come,” he whimpered. “Please, I–” 

“No.” You interrupted him, your hand slowing down.

“Fuck!” He cried out. “Please, I can’t!” 

You removed your hand from him and watched him. His chest was heaving and his face was scrunched up, almost as if he was in pain. 

“Look at me,” You demanded and he did. Then, with a loving softness laced over your voice, you praised him, “You're doing so good, my sweet boy. I’m so proud of you.”

His eyes began glimmering when he heard your words. You reached out your hand to gently brush over his cheek. “Are you still doing okay?” 

“Yeah,” he confirmed. “It’s just a lot.”

“I know, baby. Can you hold on for a little longer?” 

He smiled at you and nodded. 

“Good boy,” you purred. “Do you want to know what you do to me when you're a whimpering mess like that?” 

Spencer's eyes widened. “Yes.” 

You took his hand in yours and guided it down your body to the waistband of your underwear. “Go on, see for yourself,” you chirped. 

He dared to dip his hand beneath the lace, finding the fabric already soaked with your arousal. He let out a pathetic moan when his fingers glided through your slick folds. “You're so wet,” he mumbled and you hummed in response. 

It was as if he had forgotten about his painfully hard cock then. Suddenly he was only focussed on you. Even though you longed for some relief yourself, you grabbed his wrist to pull his hand away from your core. 

“Tonight is about you, though,” You reminded him

Spencer didn't waste any time to bring his fingers to his mouth to lick off your honeyed wetness. The sight was so wicked it made you moan. “Dirty boy.”

“So good,” he groaned before licking his lips. “I want to taste you. Can I, please?” 

“Really?” You cooed as you reached down to gently stroke his erection once more. 

“Yes,” he confirmed. “I want to make you feel good.” 

You found his lips in a tender kiss before you sat up and winked at him. “Since you asked so nicely…”

Spencer waited for your cue to lie down between your legs but you had something different in mind. With one swift motion you pulled down your underwear and tossed it aside. 

You shifted your position until you sat over his face, kneeling on the pillow with one leg on each side of his head. Hovering only an inch over his mouth, you could feel his breath tickling your heated skin as he took a moment to fully take in the sight in front of him. Delicate folds glistening with your arousal, aching to be tasted. 

You put your hands on the headboard to balance yourself and told him, “You can touch me now. Tap my thighs if you want to stop, okay?”

“That won’t be necessary,” he chuckled. 

Spencer was eager as he wrapped his arms around your legs to fully pull you down onto his face, letting you feel his mouth where you wanted him the most. You involuntarily began to rock against him as he let his flattened tongue glide through your slit, relishing the taste of you. 

Spencer closed his lips around you, sucking on your bundle of nerves until your legs started to tremble. You ground against his face, spreading your slick on his chin as he brought you closer to the edge. You tried to catch your breath between your moans and sighs as your whole body started to quiver. 

One of your hands left the headboard and found its way into his curls, harshly pulling his hair until he hummed against your folds. That was when you made eye-contact with Spencer. The look on his face could only be described as pure adoration and worship as he brought you closer to your high.

“You're such a good boy,” you praised him.

Throwing your head back and moving your hips erratically against his lips, you finally reached your climax, waves of pleasure washing through you. He helped you ride out your ecstasy with timid licks against your sensitive nub. 

He let his hands run over your legs in an attempt to ground you as you came down from your euphoric state. When you managed to even out your breathing again, you moved away from Spencer’s face, lying down next to him and curling into his side. 

Your sight fell to his cock, still painfully hard and leaking. You let your fingertips wander down his body until they made contact with him and his entire body trembled at the touch. He was overly sensitive when you began stroking him again, whimpering and mewling at your touch. 

He felt hard and heavy inside your palm and for a moment you imagined what he would feel like inside of you. A fair amount of his arousal ran down the head when you moved your fist up his shaft. You let your thumb glide over the tip, collecting his precum and spreading it over his skin as you moved your hand. 

It was no surprise that he was dancing along the edge of euphoria within moments after teasing him the entire night. “Shit,” he hissed. “I can't–” 

A moan interrupted his words and his hips jerked against your hand. 

Nonchalantly as ever, you chirped, “What is it, pretty boy?”

“Please,” he muttered. “Please can I.. ah… come?”

Accelerating your pace, you became curious how far you could take it. “Not yet,” you cooed as you kept going.

Spencer began writhing beside you, the expression you found on his face something between pain and pleasure. Your grip became looser as you slowed down, making sure he wouldn't come just yet. 

“No!” he cried. “Please!” 

Your hand left his cock as you propped yourself up to look at him. Tears were pricking in the corners of his eyes, desperation written all over his face. 

“Do you want to use your safeword?” You carefully asked, wanting to make sure he was still okay. He was sincere when he shook his head and answered, “No.”

“I think I have tested your patience enough,” you decided. “You are so good for me, my sweet boy. You deserve a reward.” 

Without another word you climbed into his lap and placed his hands on your hips. You sat down on him, your core making contact with his shaft. His fingertips immediately buried into your skin. 

“Tell me, love. When I was getting ready for you in the bathroom before, was there anything else you thought about? Something you haven’t told me yet?” 

“Yes,” he admitted. “I thought about being inside of you.”

Lifting your hips, you positioned the head of his cock at your entrance. Then you slowly began sinking down on him, a loud moan falling from Spencer’s lips as you enveloped him with your warmth. You relished the sensation of being stretched open by him and your walls began fluttering around him. 

When he was fully inside you, you purred, “Like this?”

“Fuck yes!” He groaned and you felt him twitching inside you. 

The way he reacted to your actions made it obvious that he was extra sensitive right then. All his nerve endings were on edge, impatient to finally find relief. You slowly began rocking your hips back and forth, letting your body adjust to the intrusion while Spencer looked at you like he was about to lose his mind. 

“I’m sorry, I won’t be able to last long,” he whimpered when his body began quivering. 

“That’s okay, baby. I already had so much fun with you. You can let go whenever you’re ready.” 

Spencer couldn’t hold back from thrusting upwards, meeting your motions to intensify the feeling. It was as if he held back on purpose, prolonging the feeling of finally feeling you like that. After how much you tortured him tonight, you were surprised that he didn’t give in the second you had begun moving. After a few more hard thrusts, he scrunched up his face and began panting. 

“That’s it,” you sighed. “Come for me.” 

And with a loud groan, he did. His hardness pulsed inside you as he spilled his essence into you, finally releasing all the built-up tension. You kept rocking your hips back and forth, prolonging his pleasure until it became too much and he buried his fingertips into your hips. You sat still on top of him for a few more seconds, just watching him as he came down from his high. 

When you leaned down to kiss his lips, he swung his arms around you to hold you closely inside his embrace. Long forgotten was the workday and all the sorrows that came with it.  As he breathed in your scent, his brain was only filled with you. Being with you, having you close, feeling your heart pound against his chest. Right then, nothing else mattered. 

Please like, reblog and leave a comment! I need your lovely words to stay motivated to write more stories.

Taglist: @adoredfromafar @grumpyy-bearr @frickin-bats @pleasantwitchgarden @cynbx @xserenax-13 @alexxavicry @samuel-de-champagne-problems @evvy96 @reidsbookclub @lover-of-books-and-tea @sebs-oxygen @nomajdetective @kobaltdragon @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @castiels-majestic-wings

[caffeinewitchcraft]

AITA for being proud of my job as a regional Nightmare?

My sister told me she’s making her own post and that if I was so sure I wasn’t TA then I should make my own so here I am.

I’m a regional Nightmare. I’m very proud of how hard I worked to get here. Not many terrors in their 20s get this high up and it’s because I do the work. I get up at 8pm and I’m out in the woods grinding out those quotas until dawn. Sometimes I sleep out there in my uniform just so I can be the first on scene for the multi-part jobs. I’m efficient, I’m punctual, and I’m committed. My goal is to be a Cyptid by the time I’m 30 and, to do that, I have to stay on at all times.

As a result, I work a lot. I’m often not home for days at a time. I have a very strict training regimen and my time for friends and family is virtually nonexistent. That’s why when I do get the time to hang out, I prefer to spend my time intentionally. What I mean by that is that I don’t want to sit on a couch when I could be lifting weights. I don’t want to chill in the pool when I could be volunteering for new scares. I especially don’t want to gossip over tea when I could be getting overtime.

Last Saturday, my sister invited a bunch of family over to her house. My job in the Virginia woods fell through, so I decided to go. Silly (her childhood nickname) said she had something important to tell the family so I thought it wouldn’t be a waste of my time.

Key word: thought.

When I got to Silly’s house, I was surprised to see so many cars out front. Our parents were there and our older brother. The house was packed. There were cousins, aunts, uncles and a ton of people I didn’t know.

At first the event was fine. Silly’s always been a good cook (see, I know you’re reading this, Silly, and see? I do compliment you when do something actually good) and everyone was really enjoying the flank steak (though I did have to save it before she cooked it medium well). But as the day wore on, I could tell people were getting bored. Silly and Mom were focused on cleaning up and said that dessert would have to wait until her fiance got home. Which was kind of rude to be late and I felt really bad for Silly. It seems like my soon to be brother-in-law (BIL for short) is never around when she needs him.

In an effort to help, I engaged some of the people I didn’t know in conversation because the party was getting a little dead and I didn’t want one of my sister’s parties to fail. I was trying hard not to think about the time I was wasting waiting for my future BIL so it also served as a distraction.

It turns out one of the guys was a fellow terror. He worked a corporate job and we talked for a while about the pros of being freelance like me. He asked me a lot of questions and I was happy to mentor another terror.  Corporate can suck the art out of what we do. My clients only care if the quota for their mission is met and don’t enforce such strict timelines. They come to me for quality. Poor guy barely had time to mend his uniform between scares (his cloak was tattered and his hook hand was rusty) so I recommended my tailor and blacksmith.

The guy and I exchanged information. I gave him my business card and he looked for one of his. While he looked, I felt nature calling so I headed upstairs to use my sister’s bathroom (like hell I was going to use the same one as my Uncle Joe). From up there, I saw my future BIL pull into the driveway.

 Being a regional Nightmare is a tough job. Like I said, I have to train a lot to keep my certification. So I thought it’d be a good idea to get a scare on my BIL both to punish him for being late and to make up for all the time I’d already wasted at the party.

So I waited for him to come upstairs to change and, when he did, I pulled out the works. I darkened the room and fell back into the shadows. Then, while he groped for the light switch, I stretched out my leg (I have an extra joint in them) and tried to nudge him. I honestly didn’t expect for him to trip and I DEFINITELY didn’t expect for him to fall backwards. I’ve been practicing this skill on my family since I was sixteen and got the leg extension mod and none of them ever fell like that.

My future BIL fell down the stairs. I panicked and raced over to look over the banister. He was fine! He wasn’t bleeding or anything and, when I saw that, I started to laugh.

Everyone freaked out though. They all said I was being immature and bullying my BIL. I told them it wasn’t bullying, it was my actual job. I said that I was just joking and didn’t know my BIL, a former “Cryptid”, would take it so hard.

My mom jumped in and backed me up, but my sister has always been the Queen of the castle. Silly and Dad kicked me out ( I mean, I let them, I’ve got enhanced strength and I didn’t want to hurt them). Dad called me a disgrace and to not come back home.

I asked him if he was really kicking me out just because I wanted to show off my skills a little? And he said yes. And Silly said I had it coming to me for a long time.

I don’t even know what went wrong.

 So AITA for taking pride in my work?

---.

SillyCreeper says: Oh my god, you actually made this post? You’re an actual idiot. For anyone who believes this story, read mine before you vote. My brother left out a few details like how the party was my GENDER REVEAL PARTY and that he’s not a regional Nightmare, he’s a  Slasher for hire.

OP replies: I am TRAINED to operate as a regional Nightmare. That makes me an independent regional Nightmare.

SillyCreeper replies: Regional Nightmares don’t steal failed missions from corporate Slashers

OP replies: Get your own post, Silly

SillyCreeper: Oh, I already did. Have fun being torn apart on yours, dumbass.

-----

Thanks for reading! If you'd like to read Silly's AITA post a week early, please consider becoming a patron (X)!

Aita for going no contact with my brother after he pulled a Scare on my husband?

I'm working on this anthology during November and I'm having a blast with this story in particular! The family drama keeps going on and on

[caelivir]

synopsis. you’ve been deliberately dodging atsumu miya. he wants to know why.

pairing. atsumu miya x fem!reader | wc. 2.0k (it wasn’t even supposed to be this long) | genres. (implied) university au, tbh i don’t even know what this dynamic is, he calls us princess, reader’s kinda bad emotionally, rain confessions

notes. for my birthday (not gojo’s eff him (/j)) i decided why not take one of my favorite tropes of all time and pair it w the loml. you’re so welcome. this is very dialogue heavy, barely proofread, and a hot mess, but i hope you enjoy regardless.

"(y/n)." the very familiar, sultry yet aggravating voice says the moment you step out of the cafe.

"oh my god!" you jump, clutching a hand over your heart that skipped a beat. it's immediately followed with a glare towards atsumu. "what the fuck, miya? you don't just come up to people like that."

"sorry." atsumu apologizes but his nose scrunches at the word. "nah, not really. didn't know how else to get to ya."

"so you had to find me at my job?" you raise an eyebrow in disbelief.

he shrugs. "yer really not leavin' me with any other choice."

"what are you on about?" you roll your eyes as you take a sharp left, carefully exhaling out. the street is nearly deserted now that the sun sunk past the horizon, leaving only the street lights and the moon to illuminate what would be a pitch black scene. puddles of water are scattered along the walkways, remnants of the downpour that occurred earlier in the day. you had clocked out later than usual, and the next flash of rain is predicted to fall within the next few minutes. you want to get back to your dorm before the worst of it happens.

"ya know what i'm talking about." atsumu huffs. "yer clearly avoiding me."

your shoulders tense when he brings it up, and you pray that atsumu doesn't catch it. "i'm not." you lie, your heart speeding up.

"yer a shit liar. i hope ya know that." atsumu shuts you down right then and there. the fact he's able to makes you wince. that's one of the many bones you have to pick with him. he can always see right through you, and it allows him to get under your skin easily since he knows exactly what to say if he wants to get a reaction out of you.

it's because of that reason that you've been avoiding him. you know yourself well enough that if you were to stand face to face with atsumu miya as you are now, he'd figure out the secret that you've been hiding for two weeks.

atsumu presses his lips together, sighing once he realizes that all he'll get from you from this point forward is silence, but he tries his luck anywayy. "can we talk?"

you let his question fizzle out in the air, continuing down the sidewalk as atsumu follows by your side. the first drops of drizzle fall onto your hand and cheek. atsumu feels them too.

"look, it's gonna rain soon. could ya at least let me take ya home? yer gonna get soaked." atsumu gently reaches out for your hand. the sudden contact and its spark of heat makes you jump. instinctively, you yank your hand away from him. your widened eyes snap towards him, and shame washes over you. maybe the street lights are playing tricks on you, but you swear there's a flicker of hurt in his gaze. you turn away from him because you can't bear the sight of it.

"are ya mad at me? did i do somethin' to upset ya?" atsumu continues.

no, you answer in your head. you can't trust yourself to say it out loud without betraying anything else. it's not that.

"(y/n), please. talk to me." atsumu pleads. you don't think you've ever heard such desperation in his voice before. you've never seen him so raw. it's almost enough to break you, but you refuse to let go the threads of your resolve. the rain is picking up; it's cold as it soaks the threads of your clothes.

"princess." atsumu throws in as a last ditch effort. you know it is because it's the one nickname that gets you riled up the most. it sparks a reaction that atsumu knows will get you talking, but unbeknownst to him it's not for the reason he expects. he wants you to snap with anger, but all your heart does is ache. all it does is melt you into putty in his hands.

"don't call me that." you finally come to a stop, turning so that you can face him, defeat in your gaze. atsumu's blond locks are beginning to lose volume; they stick to his forehead as droplets continue to fall. his hoodie is littered with small, dark stains, a physical consequence of the rain.

"oh now i got yer attention." atsumu scoffs, poking his tongue into the inside of his cheek.

"miya." you warn, voice shaking. he ignores it.

"yer not being yerself, and ya haven't been for the last two weeks." he tells you as if you don't already recognize it yourself. "what's goin' on with ya?"

"nothing!" you deny. "i'm fine!"

atsumu rolls his eyes. "cut the crap, princess."

"seriously, stop calling me that!" you spit back at him.

you're shivering. you can't tell if it's because of your cold, wet clothes or your frustration that keeps reaching new levels. you can sense it; you can sense that your heart is about to claw itself out of chest and dump itself onto the feet of atsumu miya. your hand fists the fabric of your soaked shirt as if to keep it in.

"then tell me what's wrong!" the blond in front of you demands, running a hand through his hair. his voice projects over the brutal force of the rain.

you grimace. that's the one thing you can't do, especially since it involves him. you bite your tongue, hiding your face so that atsumu doesn't see the glassiness of your eyes. "miya... please drop it." you ask him pathetically.

"why?" he pries. this is the other issue with him. he's so damn stubborn to the point that it's infuriating. atsumu miya never backs down until he gets what he wants.

"because it's you!" the first wave of tears break free. they cascade down your cheeks, mixing in the stream of rain on your cheeks; all while your hand remains pointed at atsumu. "because i fell for you!"

atsumu shuts his mouth, going completely silent. you shake your head, laughing bitterly. "i bet you didn't expect that, did you? believe me, i didn't either. day in and day out all we've ever done was argue so i don't know how this happened. i don't know why i have these feelings for you."

wiping your face is a futile attempt yet you still do it anyway. a sob gets caught in your throat, and you choke on it. "i can't stop thinking about you. i can't be near you without my heart attempting to leap out of chest. and so yeah, i've been avoiding you miya, and it's because you've made me so damn weak."

your stare finds atsumu's. you can't get a read on him, but you don't have to second guess that he can see the pain swirling in your eyes. it's so humiliating that even now the first thing that crosses your mind is how good he looks even as you feel your heart being torn apart. his hair is completely stuck to his forehead. his blond ends that are soaked through and through drip their excess water onto his face. you want nothing more than to brush them out of his line of sight, but you can't. you fight that desire by balling up your fists.

"so please just leave me alone. stop trying to find me because i can't take this anymore." you beg through hiccups.

you wait for a response. you wait to see if atsumu will kick your heart aside. in an even better scenario, which is far from likely, he accepts it. you'll take either or.

but he does neither, and that's fine too. you leave atsumu by himself on the sidewalk, and your lack of presence pulls him out of his trance. he jogs to catch up to you, reaching from behind to clasp your hand in his.

"miya, let go-"

"no." he says firmly, a newfound fire burning behind his eyes, one that exceeds the one you feel on your hand. the sight makes you gulp. "ya can't just confess yer feelings for me and leave."

you chuckle weakly, trying to pull yourself free from his grasp. "i think i can."

"no, ya can't. ya didn't even give me a chance to say anythin'." atsumu argues. he doesn't relinquish the hold he has on you.

"what more do you have to say? you don't feel the same, and that's fine-"

"could ya stop assuming things?! i never even said that." atsumu squeezes your hand ever so lightly in frustration. "and by the way, i'm not gonna leave ya alone. i'll follow ya to the edge of the earth if i have to."

you're still crying at this point, and atsumu's words are only making you more upset. "why?! why are you so fixated on me?! why can't you just-"

"because i'm in love with ya!"

in that moment, you swear the rain stops in its place, suspended in the air. surely, you must've been hearing things wrong. atsumu miya, the guy who has everyone dancing to the tune of his hand, is- no that doesn't even sound right. how could he possibly-

"god, i've been in love with ya for so long." atsumu laughs, like it's a relief to finally get it off his chest. "but ya nearly ripped my heart to shreds over these past two weeks."

atsumu squeezes your hand before letting it fall to your side. his own flex by his side as if to hold himself back. "(y/n), ya can insult me to yer heart's content if that's what makes ya happy, but don't dodge me like i'm the damn plague. i hate it. i really do."

atsumu picks up his tear-filled eyes; it makes your own fall even faster because you realize that this hurts him. you want to apologize, but the words are backed up in your throat. your cries steal away your ability to speak.

so you pull him in, yanking him by the drenched fabric of his hoodie and closing the distance between you two. your lips crash onto his, praying that this action is enough for him to understand. it takes a moment for atsumu to react, he's unmoving against you, and once he realizes what's happening, he relaxes. his hands fly to your neck, resting one on either side as he kisses you back.

it's carnivorous. he kisses you like he's been deprived of you. you feel how badly atsumu's been wanting this, how long he's been waiting for this day. you can barely keep up with his hunger. it's hot enough to overpower the chill that comes with the rain beating down on both of you. you'd kiss him forever if you could, but your lungs are begging for air.

when you pull away, atsumu's eyes reveal that he's in a daze, a happy one, like he just came back from soaring through the clouds. his damp hair presses onto your forehead as you both catch your breaths.

he pulls back. atsumu wears a soft grin as he admires you, even though you probably look like a wet dog. one of his hands find their way up to your cheek. you look at him expectantly. "(y/n), i want all of ya. i want yer stubborn ass attitude and yer insults. i want ya to be the only person who can bring me back down to earth. i want yer smiles and all yer laughs. i want to continue lovin' ya." he professes with complete certainty. his flowery words make you beam so brightly that it makes your cheeks hurt.

"i'll give you all of that and more." you swear. "but miya, i need you to kiss me again."

"oh? it seems like i got myself a needy princess." atsumu smirks, but he's already leaning in.

"shut up."

"gladly." atsumu agrees, pressing his lips to yours, smiles on both your faces.

you catch the flu the day after, and so does atsumu. but man, it is so, so worth it.

[opiopal]

I had the stupidest thought ever the moment I woke up, hear me out, OM au where everything’s the same, but the brothers call mc “human” because they didn’t catch their name when dia said it the first time and they’ve been too embarrassed to ask, and when mc finally realizes they don’t tell them but instead prolong the learning of their name,

imagine, everyone’s eating breakfast, they all just got back from the retreat the other day and a few pacts have already been made, breakfast feels a little tense at least between Luci and mc, however it’s silent. mc is just sitting calmly, ignoring luci glaring daggers at them, trying to remember what they need to do at RAD today, “I need to stop by the student council room and grab my note book… then i need to pick up a copy of the history assignment, and then go and turn in that potions essay- which I still need to put my…. Name…. On.” they pause their thoughts for a moment as their brows furrow, suddenly they look up from the plate and around the table,

Mc: do you guys know my name?

If the silence could get silent it did. But those who mc didn’t have a pact with looked annoyed but… glance away? The others avoid eye contact and their cheeks redden, mc raises a brow,

Mc: seriously guys? I’ve been here for how many months now?

mam: I- HEY- of course we know your name!

Mc: are you sure? Cause I’ve heard you guys call me anything but-

They pause as they go to say their name, watching everyone perk up slightly as they were getting ready to. Then they get an idea and go back to eating calmly,

luci, clearing his throat: you were saying?

Mc: hm? No I wasn’t saying,

luci: are… you sure?

Mc: yup! Since you guys are confident, I guess I shouldn’t have even brought it up!

for the next month or two mc avoids any information they could give the brothers that would hint at their name, they even get the others to just call them random nicknames instead of their actual name just to mess with them all. All the brothers are dying of embarrassment while mc thinks it’s the funniest thing in the world.

[riality-check]

The eagerly awaited part 2 of the DILF!Steve concert saga is here!! Part 1, in case you missed it.

"You're not going."

"Come on! I haven't thrown up in an hour!"

"The drive to the venue is an hour and a half."

"Steve-"

"And if you throw up in my car-"

"Oh my God-"

"I'll kill you."

Steve doesn't need to see Dustin's eye roll in order to feel the full force of it through the phone.

"I'll just kill you. You'll have a headstone within the week that says Here Lies Dustin Henderson: Rightfully Murdered for Puking in Steve Harrington's Car," he continues as he packs Capri-Suns into the cooler for the car ride.

He doesn't remember ever being that thirsty as a kid, but if Anna wants strawberry kiwi, Anna gets strawberry kiwi. It helps that it's Steve's favorite flavor, too.

"I'd need a big ass headstone to fit all of that," Dustin snaps.

"Your big-ass ego would demand no less, shithead," Steve shoots back.

"Swear jar, Daddy!" Anna calls from her room, across the house because while she doesn't listen to Steve when he's right in front of her, she can hear him break the swear jar rule from halfway across the world.

He zips up the cooler, fishes a quarter out of his pocket, and throws it into the half-full soup can next to the stove.

(A quarter doesn't mean much, but Anna doesn't know that. The day Steve teaches that kid about inflation is the day his pockets become permanently empty.)

"Did she just swear jar you?" Dustin asks from over the phone.

"You baited me into it."

"I did no such thing."

Steve rolls his eyes. "You're not coming, though, are you?"

Dustin sighs, and, for all his teasing, Steve does genuinely feel bad. "I still feel like if I breathe wrong, I'll hurl, so, no. I don't think I'll manage the car ride, nevermind the actual show."

"Sorry dude."

"Don't be. Some dickhead will live stream the whole thing on Instagram, anyway. I'll live vicariously through them."

Steve snorts and picks up the cooler. He got Anna dressed beforehand, so it's just a matter of getting her to stop playing with whatever toy she dug up - Play-Doh has been the fixation of the week - in her room so they can go.

"Besides," Dustin continues, and Steve hates where this is going. "Anna loved the show, and you've got a reason-"

"Nope," Steve says, knocking on Anna's door. "Don't finish that sentence."

"All I'm saying-"

"I know what you're gong to say, which means you know my answer. I don't date."

Anna opens her door. From the little Steve can see inside, there are at least three containers of Play-Doh open and strewn across the floor. He thinks her Barbies are involved in it somehow.

"Time to go," Steve says, and he thinks, Please don't let there be Play-Doh in the Barbie hair.

"Five more minutes," Anna tries.

"Nope. Clean up and roll out."

"Hi, Anna," Dustin says through the phone.

"Uncle Dusty!" Anna shrieks, and she starts jumping up and down. "Are you comin', too?"

Dustin sighs, and Steve can't tell if it's at the nickname or if he's still cursing the universe. "No, but you and your dad have a great time, okay?"

"Can you, can you tell Daddy I should get five more minutes?"

Steve raises his eyebrows at her. Anna, to her credit, ignores him wonderfully.

"If you clean up," Dustin says, because he's actually Steve's favorite person right now, "you get to do more headbanging at the concert."

Anna gasps like Steve didn't already tell her that earlier today, and she gets to work on putting her toys away. Steve helps, of course, and he finds that there is, in fact, Play-Doh in two of her Barbies' hair.

Fun. They're going to turn into Buzzcut Barbies when Anna goes to sleep because he can already tell that they are the furthest thing from salvageable.

But that doesn't matter right now. What matters is getting Anna in the car, deploying the first two of many strawberry kiwi Capri Suns from the cooler, and making the drive to the venue, which Steve does with minimal road rage and accompanied by the Disney radio station.

Success by all metrics, really.

Dinner might as well be now, so Steve shells out a truly disgusting amount of money for overpriced chicken nuggets and fries at the venue. Anna will only eat half her portion but say she's hungry later, but that's what the snacks and water Steve smuggled in via his jacket are for.

They get to their seats, dinner finished up, just as the lights go down for the first opener. Steve looks to his left, half-expecting Eddie and his friends to be there before remembering that they won't be.

He tries not to feel too disappointed. He fails miserably.

The seat next to him, however, isn't empty. There's a note taped to the back of it, one addressed to Steve and Miss Anna, so Steve feels alright taking and opening it.

At the top, there's a messily scrawled phone number. Underneath, it says:

Here's my number. Probably a bad idea to call with all the noise. Texting works, though you should do that after the show. I'll be a little busy until then.

-Eddie

Steve puts the note in his pocket, puts Anna's ear defenders on, puts his own earplugs in, and looks at the stage, where-

Hang on.

He squints at the stage, where four guys have started playing a song that, frankly, sounds too much like literally all the music Steve listened to yesterday for him to care about all that much. The drummer is pretty small, with wild, curly hair. The bassist looks familiar. The lead singer, who is very talented but not to Steve's personal taste, also looks familiar. And the guitarist-

No way. No way in hell.

It's a total coincidence. Lots of guys have long, curly hair and heavy jewelry and big eyes and are wearing formal wear, for some reason, and catch Steve's eye, and-

"Thank you for such a great welcome!" the guitarist says, and his smile totally isn't doing anything to Steve, thanks very much.

Anna stops moving, where she's standing next to Steve, and climbs up into his lap to get a better look at the stage. She looks out, then back at Steve, then out, then back at Steve, making a face as confused as Steve feels.

Some days, he thinks he ended up with a clone, not a kid.

"I'll get off the mic in a second. I only do the talking because Jeff," the guitarist points at the lead singer, who ducks his head, "is really shy."

Jeff. That name is definitely relevant, but Steve is a permanent resident of denial.

"We fought about what song we were going to include next in our set list, so much so that we didn't decide until yesterday and had to consult a tiebreaker."

Okay, maybe Steve is a less permanent resident of denial than he thought.

"So, thank you to Miss Anna, who did great at headbanging for her first time-"

Anna whips around so fast, her forehead nearly collides with Steve's jaw.

"And to Steve, who's a big fan of American Psycho."

At the song name, the crowd loses their minds, and if Anna wasn't sitting right in front of him, Steve would join them.

Because what the fuck is happening right now?

His question isn't answered. In fact, about five more questions pop up in its stead when, during the bridge of the song, Jeff puts on a clear rain jacket and picks up a prop axe.

Please, God, don't let this traumatize my kid, Steve thinks.

Anna, thankfully, doesn't get scared. When Jeff brings the axe down, again and again, Steve's weirdo daughter fucking smiles. And giggles. It's kind of cute, actually.

When the song ends, she turns back to Steve.

"That's Eddie onstage," Steve says, and saying it, somehow, makes it real.

"I thought so!" Anna says, and she turns back to watch the show. Steve puts an arm around her waist so she doesn't fall off his lap when she bangs her head to the music.

The rest of the songs, in Steve's opinion, are better than the opening song. They're more melodic, which Steve can definitely get behind, and each of them has a gimmick onstage, all based off of various horror movies. It's ridiculous, but also really, really cool.

And Eddie, onstage, because it is the same guy who flirted with him and was so sweet to Anna yesterday, is really, really hot.

Steve has never had a thing for guitarists before. He's never had a thing for musicians before. Hell, until a year ago, he didn't realize he had a thing for men.

Eddie is. Uh. Yeah. Really doing it for him.

Steve doesn't know whether it's his enthusiasm, or the way he moves, or seeing his hair tied up, or the fucking dress pants and suspenders, or just his hands, but he does know he has to get himself in check because this is an all ages show and he's here with his daughter.

He already knows he can't add these songs to his grading playlist, not when they're accompanied by visuals of Eddie playing his guitar.

Sweet Jesus.

"Alright, that's our set!" Eddie says. "Thanks, y'all, for sticking around for us, and let's give it up for the next act!"

The crowd, including Anna and Steve, cheer as they exit and the lights go up.

Steve fishes his phone out of his pocket, fully intending to add Eddie's number to his contacts, and is greeted by not one, not two, but sixteen missed calls from Dustin Henderson.

Naturally, Steve calls him back. "Who died?"

"What the fuck?" Dustin yells, and Steve just puts the phone on speaker to save the rest of his hearing. "Did Eddie fucking Munson just personally thank you from the stage?"

"Swear jar, Uncle Dusty!" Anna says.

"Sorry," Dustin says. "But Steve. Answers. Now."

"How do you even-"

"Instagram live. Is Eddie the guy you were telling me about yesterday?"

Steve takes his phone off speaker. Prior experience tells him that this conversation has a less than zero chance of staying PG, nevermind PG-13.

"Yeah," Steve says. "He is."

"The one who flirted with you, and you forgot to ask for his number."

"Well, I have it now."

"What?" Dustin shrieks, and Steve is incredibly thankful that he didn't take his earplugs out.

"He left me his number on the seat."

"Text him."

"I was going to, until I saw that you called me sixteen times."

"Jesus Christ, Eddie Munson was flirting with you."

Steve rolls his eyes and hands a pack of gummy bears to Anna when she taps his arm. "He could have just been nice. I don't even know if he's into guys."

"Have you looked at him?"

"Wow, Dustybuns, I didn't know you were homophobic."

"I think it's the complete opposite of homophobic to try to get you laid."

"Hanging up!" Steve shouts because a part of him will never see Dustin as any older than thirteen, and no thirteen year old should ever say that.

"Text-"

Steve hangs up the call. "Can I have a gummy bear?"

"No," Anna says, mouth full, in her seat, legs swinging.

"I bought them."

She shrugs. "You gave them to me. Mine now."

Steve stares. She stares right back.

He sighs and opens a new pack of gummy bears.

With his mouth full of sweet Haribo corpses, Steve takes out the note and adds Eddie to his contacts. Before he can overthink it, he sends him a message:

I guess I don't have to ask you what you do for a living. Just so we're even on that front, I'm a teacher, and Anna's full time job is preschool.

He tucks his phone back into his pocket and focuses on making this a good experience for Anna, who somehow wormed her way into a conversation with the intimidating-looking couple sitting next to her.

Because it's totally not like a literal rockstar is going to text him back. Right?

Part 3!!

[luveline]

hey luv (haha) bombshell!reader lives rent free in my head and I have a lil request for you 🫶🏽 can you write spencer calling reader a nickname for the first time and how flustered she gets? especially in front of the team I would ashdfkflsjah i feel like she always teases him with baby, handsome, etc. and he just turns red but when it’s his turn for (non malicious) payback she melts into a puddle of 🥹🫦 and forgets how to act 🥲 thank you queen ily 🫰🏼

thank you! this isn't in front of the team but i can def do that if that was the most important part, ly ♡ fem

"What's that?" you ask, peering over Spencer's shoulder. 

He turns his face to yours, sneaking a kiss against the curve of your neck. Your breath catches at his affection. "It's online shopping," he answers. "Have you seen it? They deliver your parcel the next day, apparently." 

You like the sound of that, wheeling your chair next to Spencer's to sit at his desk side by side. You're in the midst of a very rare occasion in which there's no  case and no paperwork. It won't last long, and you and your teammates are using these spare hours like a paid vacation. You deserve it (even if it isn't technically moral). 

"What are you buying?" you ask, squinting at his glaring screen. 

His gaze flashes between you and the monitor. He turns the brightness down for you. "You need new socks, right?" 

"Don't buy me socks." 

"Why not?" 

"Because I can buy my own socks?" 

"But I can also buy you socks. I felt bad this morning when I didn't have any matching pairs to lend to you. I'll buy you a big pack and this way you'll always have socks when you need them." 

"Spence, that's so sweet," you say, your hand on his bicep, thumb stroking a line he likely can't feel over his layers. "You really don't have to, though. I kind of like the odd sock look." 

Spencer looks down at your shoes. Your socks are mostly hidden. Despite what you've said, you don't like wearing odd ones, it doesn't fit your perfectly kept image, but you like Spencer a whole lot. 

"No, you don't, and that's fine." He clicks on the Buy Now button, a twenty four pack of black and white crew socks jumping into his cart. "What else should we get?" 

"We?" you ask, leaning back. 

You've barely lifted your left leg when Spencer grabs you by the knee and drapes it over his right. "You never have the stuff you need when you come over. We may as well get it all done now while we have time." 

"Are you serious?" you murmur, a slight pout to your lips. 

Spencer's eyes dart down, catch, and lift back to yours. He sounds soft as you do as he says, "Of course I am. Am I being too forward?" 

"You're never too forward. I'm too forward enough for both of us, Spence. But you don't have to buy me things, I can get all of this stuff myself and bring it with me." 

"What kind of boyfriend does that make me?" 

You can't believe he's your boyfriend. You could scream. "The most adorable one ever?" And that's just the half of it. Spencer Reid has a penchant for ignoring his own good looks. He could've been a super model if the whole genius thing didn't work out. "I need a pillow, then. If we're doing this Reid, let's do it. But I'm paying for my stuff." 

"Okay, angel. Whatever you say." 

You almost miss it, his pet name. Your brain assumes sarcasm, but when you play it back, there's only a soft giving in, like he'd do anything you asked him to just because it's you. Because you're an angel. 

You've called him so many pet names and though you knew they flustered him, you're thinking maybe the team was right, and that you were torturing him the whole time. You melt like a little square of butter in the middle of a frying pan, limp in your seat and uncomfortably warm. Angel. It inspires the want to be saccharinely sweet to him, and you would if you could regain your strength. 

You huff a breath up your hot face in hopes of cooling down. 

"What kind of pillow? Do you want a really soft one? They have hypoallergenic, or down feather." He looks at you sideways. "You can't pay for this, it's too expensive." 

"It's sixteen dollars," you say, feeling submerged. 

"Exactly. Are you okay? You look uncomfortable." 

"I'm feeling a bit hot, suddenly. Hot flush." 

Spencer abandons the computer and his online activities to unbutton the top button of your shirt, and then the second, his hands achingly gentle against your collar. "I'll buy a fan," he says, one hand trailing down your arm soothingly as the other searches for paper. "But for now." 

He fashions you an origami fan and fans you diligently. It works for a time, but you remember the dulcet cadence of his voice and the delicate way he strung the syllables together as though 'angel' were the name you were given at birth, and you feel warm all over again. 

[lilreidgirl]

Where do I sign?

Summary: You have a tattoo that you`re teased for by others but when it`s just you and Spencer, you realise that it`s all worth it.

Warnings: MDNI(18+), fem!reader, tattoo, smut/sex briefly mentioned, swearing, alcoholic drinks, ownership kink??, English is not my first language

WC: ~1.2k

A/N: Came up with this a few weeks ago but only now wrote it, hope you enjoy!!

You knew, deep down, when you first got the tattoo that it would raise eyebrows. If anyone found out about it, you could already imagine the reactions: weird looks and perhaps a few teasing comments. You were prepared for the judgment. You understood that most people would likely think it was strange and that was okay.

What mattered was that you liked it and that Spencer did as well. After all, you are the one who has it permanently engraved in your body and he’s the one who’ll be staring at said print on your body for the rest of your lives.

As soon as Spencer mentioned the idea, you were obsessed. Not a single feeling of hesitance found itself into your body the day you got the tattoo. Only pure excitement made shivers run down your spine as you walked into the tattoo parlour, which Spencer had deduced was the best one courtesy of tons of hours of research on online reviews, distances and health department tattoo regulation inspections.

_________

The team had organized a little get together at a bar; family, friends and all, so naturally Spencer brought you.

Spencer wore a white button-down shirt, but it wasn’t a pure snow white—more of a faded off-white, as if time had softened the fabric just a little. The shirt was messily tucked into a pair of black slacks. His hair, which was even messier than the cloth he tucked under his belt, lay unruly and untamed in tousled waves on his head, as if he had just rolled out of bed and let them fall where they may. It was the usual look for him, and you couldn’t help but love how effortlessly charming it seemed.

You chose a pair of blue low-rise jeans, the ones Spencer had always said were his favorite. You paired them with a light grey shirt with three little buttons at the top. You deliberately left two of them undone just enough to catch Spencer`s eye without being too revealing.

The bar was cosy but packed with constant laughs and conversation crossing the table you sat at. Unaesthetically pleasing lights shone from the ceiling a few flickering with the same rhythm as the nostalgic party songs that were played from the big speakers spread out all over the room. Rossi announced the first round be on him, no surprise there.

He and Emily had left to get the drinks, disappearing into the crowd for a few moments, only to return a short while later, their hands full of glasses. Rossi’s arms were loaded with tumblers filled with alcoholic beverages, while Emily was gripping a few more in her grasp. The sight of them juggling so many glasses brought a smile to your face as you watched them make their way through the room.

“Oh, you guys need some help?” you called out, already rising from the stool you’d been sitting on, eager to lighten their load. You moved swiftly, offering your hands to take a few glasses from their arms. He smiled, looking grateful for the assistance.

“Thank you, you`re the fucking best,” Emily praised, a soft chuckle leaving you at the sweet thank you involving such unfitting, vulgar language which infected her to let out a small laugh as well.

After you took a few drinks off their hands, the three of you started moving around the room, weaving through the different people and their conversations, delivering the drinks to their designated drinkers. Each time you made your delivery, you shared a brief exchange with the person before turning to pass the next drink along.

 “Okay, last one! Who ordered a bud light?” Your eyes studied the different faces, landing on Derek’s as his voice announced, “Me, pretty girl.”

Rolling your eyes at the nickname, matching to your boyfriend’s, you made your way to the smirking man, placing the bottle in front of him. “Hear ya go.” You smiled sweetly before turning around, looking to walk back to your seat but being stopped by Penelope’s voice.

“What’s that? Is that Spencer’s signature?” She asked, confusion and a giggle present in her tone.

You stopped dead in your tracks, the ones you had barely made your way down, the sneakers you were wearing making a slight squeaking noise against the friction of the sticky bar floor.

The rest of the teams and their companion’s faces turned to you, more specifically your back, even more specifically, the little sliver of skin revealed between the blue and grey materials of your jeans and shirt. The skin clad with a tattoo reading “Spencer Reid” in his finest handwriting.

Slowly, you turned around, an awkward expression on your face before you met your boyfriend’s eyes and widened your own as a bit of a distress beacon.

“Oh- um…” for a guy with an IQ of 187, he probably should have been able to come up with something to say in that moment, but god was it hard in that stuffy room with countless expecting eyes peering at him.

“Didn’t know you guys were… that. Gee…,” Emily chuckled, her black hair gliding over her shoulders as she turned to look at the both of you one after the other.

“What is that-…,“ You tried to speak up but the rest of the words never even made it past the stage of being formed by your brain cells, the ones you were now hoping would explode so you could die before the situation got any more embarrassing. Defeated by your own inability to speak you looked down, gaze falling on the spotty floor of the bar.

“My man,” Derek grinned proudly, giving Spencer an encouraging pump of his prominent eyebrows as he laughed.

Spencer’s eyes met yours, both of your guys’ cheeks burning different shades of rosy and peach out of embarrassment, but the eye contact between the two of you communicated what you both knew.

It was worth it.

It was worth people thinking you were weird, every time Spencer laid his large hand on your lower back in public where his name lay written in the crevices between your skin’s atoms, reminding you what lay there, reminding you who you belonged to.

It was worth the embarrassment, every single time Spencer’s slender fingers, warm and delicate, gently traced the intricate pattern of ink that adorned your skin. Whether you were in the shower, the steam clouding the air around you, or snuggled up together beneath the soft sheets, his touch was always so tender, almost reverent, as if the tattoo held some hidden meaning only he could understand.

It was worth the teasing and the giggling, every time his eyes, barely hazel anymore because of his blown out pupils, stared intently at his signature, his mark, his claim, dug deep into your soft skin and your even softer soul as he fucked into you relentlessly.

It was worth it because it was proof you were his. Forever. The black ink sewn into your body that is immortally yours, always there to convey how no one could ever love you like he could and how you would never even have a trace of the same love for some other person that you feel for Spencer.

[maxlarens]

Hi! Can i request friends for lovers with lando saying "i can't seem to take neither my eyes, nor my mind off of you, [name]." ✨🫶 thank you

usually i am so Consumed by the idea of the ✨Tension✨ of friends to lovers that i never do a confession scene but here is me making good on that finally. i hope u liked this anon!!!! sorry it took a while.

In hindsight, you think you should have woken up that morning and known. Known via some cosmic force that today was going to be it— the day you’d been waiting basically a decade for, the day you don't think you'll forget as long as you live—

Instead, you wake up bolt upright at three in the morning, heart beating frantic in your chest, to five missed calls from your best friend.

"What?", you groan, angry, into the phone, then, realising he's calling you at three in the morning, a more concerned note seeps into your tone, "Lan, is that you? You alright?"

"I locked myself out," is the gravelly reply.

"You locked yourself out?"

"I— yes," he hisses down the line, "I forgot my keys okay."

You snort, say, "You're a silly billy," without thinking anything of it.

You'll attribute it to sleep deprivation later, but you'll also find that Lando thinks nothing further of it, too used to you throwing affectionate nicknames his way—

"Shuddup," he mumbles.

You think he's drunk, at least tipsy. He'd said something offhandedly on your FaceTime call yesterday about going out with a few friends you don't know. Besides, there's a slur to his words, a tiredness.

"Come up already," you tell him.

"'M right outside."

You hum in confirmation that you've heard him, put your phone back on the nightstand and slip out from under the covers. You're wearing a sweatshirt that's three sizes too big it might be Lando's and pink fuzzy socks, you feel goosebumps rise on your legs as you pad to the front door. You lean heavily against the wall, closing your eyes as you unlock the padlock and swing it open for your friend.

Lando stumbles in. You twist around to look at him. He's not as drunk as you thought he might be. Sleepy though. You can tell by the squint of his eyes, how they're red rimmed and the mess of his hair. Run through too many times with his hand.

"You want your spare key?", you question as Lando turns on his heel, finding you at the sound of your voice.

He frowns, looking at you like you've grown two heads. Crease forming between his eyebrows.

"Nuh," he shakes his head, then reaches forward to take your wrist, hauling you back through the apartment, "Let's go sleep."

You shrug, acquiescing as he leads you to your bedroom. If you hadn't just been woken up from a dead sleep you might have felt a little weird about it. Paid attention to the stirring feeling low in your gut. Instead, you slip into bed and pull the covers back for Lando without a care in the world.

It's not that weird, you think as he kicks off his shoes and rummages around on your hanging rail for a shirt big enough for him. He finds one that you're sure was originally his. You look away as he changes, shucking out of the short sleeve button up you'd helped him pick out, peeling off chinos you'd also picked out. There's a pair of his gym shorts laying around somewhere, you know it— but he doesn't bother to look for them. Just pulls the t-shirt on over his bare tan chest and climbs in next to you.

You've done this before. Many times. And the two of you make a deliberate point of not being weird about, even though it's been a point of contention in every relationship either of you have had to date. And you don't know what it is tonight this morning, but his presence next to you is making your chest tight. Something skitters up your spine as he slots into your space.

As casual as ever he slings an arm over your waist, tugs you closer to him and presses the line of his nose into the back of your neck. Briefly, he reaches to swipe your hair out of the way, mumbling something about it tickling him.

There's something set ablaze in your stomach.

"G'night, babe," he mutters, breath fanning your ear.

God. You have to suppress a shiver. The babe thing isn't even anything different, he calls you that often enough mostly when he's had something to drink, there's just something about it right now. When you're sleep-woozy and he's just undressed in front of you. Maybe you had a weird dream about him again and you can't remember it, even if your subconscious does.

You bite down on your tongue, answer, "Sleep tight, Lan."

He hums. You crack your neck to stop from letting out a noise that would be utterly indecent right now. Unaware, Lando puts his nose right back in the same spot. You lie there for a while, wired and buzzing, until you hear his breathing steady and deepen as he falls asleep. And even though you feel like every nerve ending in your body is on fire, sleep finds you too.

You wake up again, later, to the morning sun pouring in through your curtains. It lights up the empty space on the bed in front of you. Acreage of bed, pillow, not taken up by anyone.

Still, on your other side, Lando's in your personal space to a degree that you don't realise at first. You wake up disoriented, grappling to remember the events of early that morning. There’s still no cosmic thing telling you that you need to remember today. Commit every single second to memory as it happens. You try to roll over, feeling warmth at your back but not thinking anything of it until Lando gripes something unintelligible into your ear—

Okay. Memories return to you now.

You start to contextualise the skin on yours.

Lando's arm is still slung around your waist, but his hand has made it's way underneath your jumper. Fingers dig into the plush skin of your bare stomach, clutching like you'll slip out of his grasp if he's not careful. Somehow, the other arm has forced it's way under your pillow and you can feel the line of his body against your back, where he's gotten as close to you as he could manage. His legs tangle with yours, one of them spreading out into your space, strewn diagonally across the bed. His knee presses up into the meat of your thigh.

You try not to think how easily your bodies fit together.

You're still for a while. Drifting in and out of sleep. You're comfortable, above all else. You don't really want Lando to move. This certainly isn't the first time you've woken up like this, tangled up with each other, you're betting you'll be able to pass it off with a silly comment once Lando wakes up. You'll extract yourselves from each other and get on with your day like usual.

No big deal—

Lando wakes up half an hour or so later and acts like nothing out of the ordinary had happened. He yawns loudly into your ear and rolls over without fanfare—

No big deal—

It's only when you're in the kitchen together— cooking bacon and eggs while Lando drinks coffee from your espresso machine— that the cracks start to show.

You glance at him sideways, watching as he gnaws at the inside of his mouth. His eyes slip off you, directing to the sizzling pan, “What’s up?”, you ask, “Something happen?”

He shakes his head, too quickly, “No. Nope— I—”

He tapers off his sentence, shaking his head. Nose scrunching momentarily. You raise an eyebrow but don’t think much of it. It’s Lando, he’ll tell you if it’s important. Plus, you’re kinda busy right now making sure the eggs don’t burn. A few minutes pass, you ask him to grab plates. He says okay and then drags out an,

“Um,” for so long that you’re a little concerned.

Something nervous flutters in your chest, you’re turning the heat on the burner down low before you know why. You’ve just been friends with Lando for so long, you know when there’s something heavy in his words, when there’s something on the tip of his tongue.

You turn to give him your full attention, your eyebrows furrowing as you look up at him.

“Plates, Lan?”

He’s staring at you. Like, staring at you. Like, slack-jawed, eyes glittering, staring. Like how the guy looks at the girl at the end of every rom-com ever. Like how Harry looks at Sally in every fucking scene of your favourite movie of all time. Like—

Shit. Do you have a massive fuck off pimple on your face? Have you turned blue? Are you being completely out of your mind delusional right now? Because there’s something suddenly wreaking havoc in your stomach. And you really do want to believe that Lando is looking at you in that way, and not just because you’ve got something embarrassing on your face—

“Lando,” you say, firmly, urgency to it, “Spit it out.”

He shakes his head.

You put a hand on his bicep, “Lando.”

It’s got to be that. It’s got to be—

God, your chest feels tight. Your skin feels like it’s on fire. He’s not even said anything yet!

It’s got to be—

He blinks. You think your sudden intensity has made him nervous because he rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck from side to side. A little groan escapes his lips.

“I just—” he sighs heavily, as if it’s too hard to force out; but he’s still looking at you, “What if, I was— ugh, no, nothing, it’s fine—”

“What if you were what?”, it’s out of your mouth before you can think. You think you know exactly what the end of his sentence is. You think perhaps you are too. A pause, then, being braver than you thought you could be, you add, “In love with me?”

He looks immediately as if you’ve sucker punched him right in the gut. Eyes wide and wet and red-rimmed, like kicked puppy, a pleading dog. There’s something scared, nervous, in the set of his shoulders as well. You watch them draw up to his chin as he tries to sink into them.

“Why would you say that?” His voice is downright panicked, “How did you know that?”

Your heart stops beating in your chest, drops into your stomach and falls right out your ass. You shake your head,

“I didn’t. I didn’t. I just guessed, Lan,” you realise your hand is still on his bicep, you squeeze, “Are you?”

“Am I?”, he looks slightly incredulous, baffled at what you’re saying like it’s supposed to be obvious that he is, “Jesus. Of course I am. I can’t– I can’t stop thinking about you. You’re there all the time. And y’know, I see you and you’re just,” he waves an arm between the two of you, gesturing up and down at your body, “You’re fucken’ gorgeous. And you don’t say a thing when we wake up together and I’m basically, on top of you—”

“You don’t say anything either,” you gripe, even though there’s something like joy clawing up your throat, “I thought it was normal.”

Lando tips his head back, groans something halfway filthy, “Normal. I didn’t let half my exes sleep over, and I turned around if they did sleep in my bed. And— fuck, y’know— my keys are actually in my pants pocket right now. I was out drinking and having fun and all I could think about was how much I missed you. How much I just wanted to like, crawl into bed with you.”

“You arsehole.”

“What?”

“You arsehole,” you repeat, “I would have let you in anyway. You didn’t have to lie.”

For a long minute, Lando gapes at you like a fish out of water. Briefly, you think maybe you’ve screwed it by being too mean. It’s never stopped you before, but you’ve also never been in this exact situation with Lando before, frighteningly enough—

One second you’re running through all the possible apologies you could give to make it better, to smooth it all over, and then the next Lando is kissing you—

Or, you feel his hand on your chin first, your mouth forming the first letter of shit, sorry Lan, and then suddenly his mouth is slanting across yours. He tastes a bit like morning breath and a lot like bitter coffee, but his mouth is wet and soft and your lips slot together so perfectly. You put a hand in his curls and find that it feels different to when you card your fingers through his hair.

God.

He’s got a hand on your waist and he’s digging his fingers into your jaw like you’re going to pull away from him without warning and never come back.

“Lan,” you say into his mouth, he pauses long enough for you to speak, lips hovering, nearly touching, “‘M not going anywhere.”

He shakes his head, slanting forward to kiss you again, “No, you’re not,” he pulls back again, pressing his forehead to yours, green-as-grass eyes boring into yours, “Please say you’re in love with me right now?”

Despite yourself, you raise an eyebrow, “Are you in love with me?”

He sighs something ragged out through his nose, kisses you again, says, “‘Course, I’m in love with you. How could I not be,” into your mouth.

You hum from the back of your throat, tongue slipping forward to press against his teeth, tangling against his, “Then of course I am, Lan,” you echo.

How could you not be?

u just know all of lando's gfs/situationships HATED the fuck out of her

[jinxs-gf]

The Human Spider

The Team x Spider!Reader

summary: you are this universe’s one and only spider-person.

warnings/content: set before the 1st episode of young justice s1, a few marvel references, this whole thing is from the perspective of the reader who’s basically Spider-Man so the writing is a bit silly…but I like it

word count: 2.1k

a/n: this is essentially an introduction to this world, I’m really hoping I can pop a couple fics within this little universe 😭🙏🏽 if not then…I’m sorry LMAO. only time will tell. ENJOY!!!

Life was good.

I mean, how could it not be? You got to fight side by side with some of Earth's greatest heroes. Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman, Aquaman, Flash...oh and Black Canary and—

Yeah. It was great. Not to mention how incredibly easy it was for you to defeat the bad guys you'd fought. You definitely didn't have four near death experiences because of them!

Well you did, but they were completely your fault and not at the hands of a couple of phony villains. They happened before you got used to your powers and gone through extensive training.

It seemed like a curse at first, but now you take them with stride. Your super strength foreign as you'd broke nearly everything in your apartment (that hadn't been a fun thing to explain to your Aunt and Uncle when they came home to a trashed place). Sticky hands well...getting stuck to literally everything. The amount of money you spent replacing your clothes after accidentally ripping up your whole closet only trying to get ready for school...that was also not fun explaining to your guardians.

And the webs. Oh boy. You didn't want to think about it. The hole in your wrist that shot out webs like a proper spider freaked you out the most. You nearly turned yourself in to the government after that one. It was something that took the most mental work to control, the weird hole (yuck) closing up when you didn't need it.

The one thing you did appreciate immediately was the abs. Yeah, those were nice to wake up to one morning.

Today was just another day in your life. A simple mission happening in the middle of the city. Actually it was a pretty unusual mission, it wasn't the regular Ice Family or Joker cult you were fighting...but a Rhino. Seemingly a man in a Rhino cosplay. And his henchmen? Definitely not something you see everyday, but you have seen weirder.

Speaking of his henchmen...there was a lot of them. Enough to keep each member of the team occupied. They had insanely advanced weaponry, surprisingly keeping the fight going for a while.

You hadn't realized so many of the guys were on you now, all surrounding you and trying to shoot at you with guns that weren't spitting out regular bullets.

You look to your side and see your best friend (he doesn't think so but that's what you tell everyone so deal with it sucker). Speedy, Green Arrow's sidekick, Roy Harper under the mask, and Pain in the Ass (a nickname you'd affectionately given him) to you.

You were in a compromising position, one that you could easily get yourself out of. But now you've spotted an unoccupied Roy and you wanted to have a little fun admist the chaos.

"Hey pain in my ass! A little help here!" The men were now taking shots with their fists, all failing to land their hits of course. And your best friend had completely ignored you.

"Hellooooo you know I'm talking to you!"

"I told you I wouldn't answer when you called me that. And I thought I made myself very clear." Definitely referring to the embarrassing way he took you down in front of the team after harassing him all week with the nickname a month ago.

"Well you answered right now soo...."

An arrow suddenly flew right past you, nearly grazing your cheek. A couple more followed.

"Um hello?! You nearly took me out!"

"That's my way of saying cut it out while saving your ass. And don't your spidey senses detect that kind of stuff? Danger and threats? You should've seen them coming."

"Huh. Guess you aren't as threatening as you think you are. At least not with that silly little hat on."

He simply glared at you. He was definitely going to kick your ass later. (Again).

With your guys dealt with, you turned to watch as Flash and Kid Flash emptied out a school bus on the road. Well, watched was a strong word. The job was done before you could fully process what was happening.

And suddenly that same school bus was being throw your way by the Rhino-man. Directly above your head actually.

Uh oh.

CRASH!

This was the third time that's happened to you this week!

He had good aim, you'll admit. It landed on you perfectly, but thanks to your incredible strength he seemingly didn't know about (how could he not? You're literally the Spider-Person from tv! Spider-Person...pfft what a stupid name. No one seemed to come up with something better), the biggest indicator to this being his shocked face. Oh how you loved that look. You threw it right back at him. Jokes on Rhino-man, you also had incredible aim.

"It's gonna take a lot more than a school bus to take me out!" Although you could feel the nearly broken rib and bruises you'd need to get checked out before you went home today.

You sighed happily, dusting your hands, "light work to me. Maybe try one of those city buses next time? Might be heavier and more effective-"

The words barely left your mouth before a city bus was being throw at you, "Wait I didn't actually mean it!" You caught the bus this time. And although your senses knew the danger was coming, it was still a bus that caught you off guard with its weight. Your legs and arms quivered at the force of having to hold it up, you could feel every bruise spotted on your body with the strain and it was not fun. While your body healed faster than the average human, it definitely wasn't fast enough to recover from the previous hit.

The back of the bus was fully tipped to the sky. You prayed there was no one in this thing. And sure you were strong, but there was no way you could tip it back on its wheels without potentially hurting someone.

Luckily Superman helped you with that, seeing you struggle. He easily took it off your hands (show off) and maneuvered it so it was placed safely back on the road.

"Thanks Supes!" He gave a nod and his famous smile.

It was only a couple more minutes of fighting and cars being thrown around before the whole thing was wrapped up. The adults would give their words to the police and news reporters, blah blah blah...

While they did that, you and your best friends, the teens (the cooler ones) got together like you always did after a mission.

Superman is being interviewed by the infamous Lois Lane (the talk of the teen team, there was definitely tension there).

All while Wally stands a little behind them making faces and ridiculous poses for the camera. The rest of you stood out of shot either cackling or rolling your eyes.

Wally steps back, clearly offended. "What? All he's doing is flirting with her in front of a live audience. Remember what they said last time? No one's gonna be paying attention to me."

Robin snickers, "What? The whole 'no one can take Superman' 'but you sure can'?" He repeats their words in poorly done impressions.

"That was totally an innuendo!"

"Very mature KF."

"Hey! Robin and Spider laughed with me. And I saw Speedy’s smirk, he sat there trying to pretend he didn't find it funny. Maybe you should get that stick out of your ass, Aqualad?"

Roy, completely serious, replies, "Now that's no way to talk to the adults' favorite."

You perk up, "oh, me?"

Your friends immediately explode into disagreement, apparently in disbelief you'd think such a thing.

It was a simple story, how it all came to be. You got bit by a spider (totally cool about it).

Totally didn't scream your ass off because of it and stay paranoid the rest of the day, constantly thinking there was a creepy crawler on you...no. You found out the next day that you weren't actually paranoid—if you were in the first place, which you were not! Because apparently the spider had camped out in your clothes all day and night...

You totally didn't scream your ass off again that morning at the revelation.

You did scream at the sight of abs on your body that same morning though. And that's the only reason you'll ever thank the spider, forget the cool powers.

After that you thought it would be cool to use your powers for good, inspired by your uncle. You decided to have your own cool hero costume, symbol, and name (which you still haven't gotten. You originally thought of the Human Spider. People on the streets called it dumb, claiming they would not be calling you that). You had (unfortunately) been (TEMPORARILY!) named the Spider-Person. Which was insanely stupid and you needed to come up with something quick before it stuck completely. Maybe the Human Spider wasn't so good but it wasn't as bad as your unofficial name now!

Anyways, as for the cool hero costume. You had to use what you had at the time, which was...your normal clothes. Getting a costume online seemed cheap, and dressing up as an existing character in the media and saving people seemed wrong. It would only deny your identity as a hero. So you put on whatever clothes (mostly colorful pajamas) that you had, covered the bottom half of your face with a bandanna, and called it a night. And boy did that get you a lot of ridicule, but you got the job done, right? The only thing it didn't do was protect your body from scrapes and...stab wounds. You hated little knives.

You're not the smartest in the world and it's not like you had the money someone like Bruce Wayne could pull out of their ass and make cool superhero wear.

Once you were recruited by Batman, he gave you your own hero costume—no, suit. Every suggestion you made was followed. It was perfect. The mask had to be your favorite part though. Something you didn't suggest was the some type of magic on it, something called hammerspace. Basically you could have any type of hair, or ears...probably even a pair of headphones on your head and it won't show through. It'll seemingly disappear to this hammerspace (you weren't sure how it worked exactly, but it works nonetheless so you won't question it). The magic was done by a team member who was needed very rarely named Zatara. Another man with a silly hat on his head.

You attempted to try it with Batman to see if his bat ears would disappear (which was completely encouraged by Robin by the way. No- completely his idea!) He was not happy. (You got benched for a month...no patrols, no missions...and Robin got off scott-free! How was that fair?!)

Wally starts to bring up your part of the fight, specifically the bus incident.

"Hey isn't that the third time that's happened to you this week?"

You sigh, exasperated and playing it up, "yes."

Robin butts in before you could say anything more, "Couldn't you have caught them? Y'know with your spidey senses and incredible strength?" He has the nastiest smirk on his face. His smartass totally figured you out.

"Well yeah, duh. But it's fun seeing the looks on the bad guys' faces when they realize I'm not dead and I can carry a however many pound bus! Is that so bad?"

"No but it's embarrassing for us."

"What? What's that supposed to mean?"

"Yeah, our best friend who's powers include crazy senses that gives them insane reflexes? That best friend can't catch a big, yellow bus being thrown at them? Embarrassing." The one time Roy will take the claim as your best friend is when he's insulting you? Unsurprising.

Kaldur cut in, sensing your defense a mile away, "It is pretty shameful of you."

Your jaw dropped, even Kaldur of all of people was agreeing? Oh this is insane!

You point a figure at your friends, trying to get your threat across, "Well I find that incredibly offensive and you should all take that back before I-"

"Isn't the point of your powers to detect danger before it comes? How come that's the third time this week you've been hit by a school bus? It's embarrassing, Spider." Batman's monotone voice made his words all the more insulting. Your frown deepened.

You sigh, "Yup. Real embarrassing for me. I got that."

"No, embarrassing for me. I've got a reputation to keep up."

He walks away without another word.

"I can't tell if he was trying to joke around like you guys were, but I'm still offended."

"He was being dead serious. And for the record, so were we."

I wrote this before I wrote my Conner fic. I just realized I made Batman tease reader at the end of both fics…??

[hiraethwrote]

NEVER GOT YOUR NAME

✧ pairing: satoru gojo x f!reader ✧ summary: based of this drabble — you're ex is borderline harassing you. he just will not leave you alone, and in a desperate attempt to get him off your back, you tell a little white lie. in panic, you grab the first stranger to walk by and introduce him as your date ✧ cw: fluff, light profanity, one little comment about previous sexual relationship, arguing, word vomit ngl (i'm describing too much sorry) pining, reader is smaller than satoru, mild use of petnames, no use of y/n ✧ word count: 3.5k

He was a menace. A true and genuine menace, who seemed to have some sort of natural ability in finding you, no matter where you were.

Maybe getting a restraining order was the next step — there was no way he managed to just randomly run into at the rate that he was, whether that was in the grocery store, the gas station or just on the street. No, he had to be stalking you, right? The universe wouldn’t be so cruel to give this guy, your god awful ex, the privilege of fulfilling his desires of bumping into you.

Yet, here you stood in front of him again.

His eyebrows pinched together, an innocent little smirk tilting his mouth crooked, feeding you the same lines he always did.

“Great seeing you again,” like you hadn’t ran into him not even three days ago. “You look fantastic, as always. How’ve you been, sweets?” Urgh, one of the many nicknames he had named you — your stomach turning at the sound of it. You were scared you might actually hurl.

“Stop calling me that,” you demanded, keeping your voice low. He always managed to bring your anger right to the surface, to which you had to use all your energy not to blow up in his face. It had already happened once, about two months after you broke up with him. You had raised your voice at him and lashed out, causing some random bystander to interfere — who had then proceed to take his side. Unbelievable, as if he wasn’t the one who had taken you for granted for the entirety of your relationship.

“Sorry, old habits die hard, you know.” So full of shit. You’d been broken up for months, there shouldn’t have been any problem dropping the pet names. He only did it as a tactic to try and manipulate you into his arms again. And to think you willingly used to sleep with this guy. “Since we’re both here, why don’t we grab lunch together?”

“Oh, please,” you breathed, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“It’ll be good for us, sweets-“ don’t punch him, don’t punch him, don’t punch him. “Maybe we can talk some things-“

“I’m actually here on a date!”

Finally he shut up, only for his face to twist into an expression of pure disgust. It was clear the idea had never even crossed his mind — and you would have been able to enjoy his agony had it not been for the fact that it was a complete and utter lie, thrown out in a moment of desperation.

What were you to do when your ex decided to wait around for your date to arrive, and he never showed? You could already picture his face — the patronising pity he would pay you, while you’d be able to read his satisfaction behind his eyes, as he would use it against you for months to come.

You had only bought yourself some time and you needed to think fast.

“Who? I mean, do I know them? Have you met them before?” He stuttered out questions of bewilderment as your limbs were growing ever more frantic at your side.

And then the bell above the entrance of the cafe chimed a sweet tune, eyes snapping towards the sound. “Ah, there he is!” Your arms acted on their own accord, hands grabbing onto the bicep of the person who had been so unfortunate to walk in right as you were spiralling.

Swallowing the worst of your anxiety, you dared turn your head towards the random person, hoping to god he wasn’t ugly (because that would just be yet another thing your ex would badger you about).

Due to his height, you had to angle your head more than expected to meet his piercing eyes that were ogling you with complete confusion — but you only had time to take in his appearance for a slit second before you shot him a pleading look, betting everything on the off chance that he would be able to read the situation — but also finding it in himself to play along to your little performance.

Your fingers squeezed lightly at his arm, bringing him back to reality. Then it only took him a second to make up his mind, the white haired stranger wiping off his confusion and confidently throwing his muscular arm across your shoulders. Once he turned to face your ex, he had painted his features with the smuggest grin one could imagine, revealing a charming dimple.

He tilted forward slightly, which only brought more attention to how much taller he was than your ex, and shot his hand out between them. “Satoru, pleasure to meet you.” His tone matched his expression, not a single speckle of insecurity to pick up on anywhere. Your ex stared at his hand with disdain before begrudgingly accepting the gesture and introducing himself in return. “Hm, don’t think she’s mentioned you.”

Your lips parted in surprise, not expecting this Satoru to take his role so seriously — and then put on an award winning show right off the bat, nonetheless. Was it finally your turn to be blessed by the universe with some good karma in the shape of the most perfect stranger to deal with the situation?

Turning to take a quick glance at your ex, you had to press your lips together to choke back the cackle that threatened to escape. His expression was priceless, Satoru’s innocent little comment rolling of his tongue so effortlessly, causing a slight twitch in your ex’s eye.

“Well, I’m her-“ then he cleared his throat, struggling to finish his sentence. You weren’t surprised his title died in his throat, having never really accepted the fact that the relationship with over.

“He’s my ex,” you said, finding some courage to casually place your hand on Satoru’s chest, hoping and begging you weren’t making him uncomfortable by crossing a line.

“Aaah, your ex,” this Satoru trialed off with an awkward raise of the eyebrows before he turned to look at you again. That’s when you finally got to take a proper look at his breathtaking eyes, the whole ocean trapped in his irises. But you couldn’t let yourself fall completely mesmerised — you shook off the affect his piercing eyes seemed to have. “Sorry I’m running a little late. I stopped by the bookstore down the street to see if they had that book you recommended on our first date.” Then he served you what seemed like a genuine smile.

Stop, not the time to admire the handsome stranger!

You bashfully tilted your head forward while the sweetest chuckle traveled past your lips, also having to sell the performance. “How sweet of you to remember.”

“Of course!” He smoothly removed his arm from your shoulder to slide it along your back, moving it in comforting circles — but he never let it travel too far.

Your ex had his glare glued to Satoru’s gesture, unable to look away no matter how badly he wanted to.

“Never got around to that one,” your ex said with an awkward, forced laugh in an attempt to shift the attention back to him. He probably thought he was being charming (he always thought he was), but his little comment only gave you another reminder to why you had broken up with him — he never cared about your interests, as he couldn’t be bothered to pick up your favourite book, no matter how many times you had asked him if he could at least give it a try.

“Huh, how unfortunate.” Again, your ex couldn’t conceal the little reaction Satoru caused in his face by his incredibly taunting tone.

He cleared his throat again, and you could see how he was grasping at straws trying to redeem himself. “So, what do you have planned?” It wasn’t too obvious, but you could tell — you could tell he asked as a challenge, certain your “date” wouldn’t be able to suffice an answer that would leave him satisfied.

You opened your mouth to answer, but only managed to take a breath before Satoru had already started his lengthy explanation. “Well, first I’m taking her out for lunch, obviously,” he mused, taking a quick glance around your surroundings. “And I didn’t want to ruin the surprise, but I got us entrance tickets for the botanical garden uptown. She told me she’s been wanting to go for months.” Then he turned to look at you.

He said it with such a genuine smile painting the corner of his lips, both of you letting the eye contact linger for a second. For once you were thankful for your ex, because if it wasn’t for him drawing Satoru’s alluring eyes away, you were scared you might just have found yourself swooning a little.

“Oh, yeah, of course,” your ex chuckled in response with a nonchalant eye roll, “she might have mentioned it once or twice.”

“Hm,” Satoru huffed, sucking in his cheeks and eyeing him up and down

Pathetic was really the only word that Satoru would use to best describe the individual in front of him. He just seemed so puny, reeking of insecurity, only amplified by how he had so easily went along with the lie of a botanical garden — something Satoru had just pulled from the top of his head.

A huge, nervous lump traveled down his throat as Satoru held his gaze hostage, his dominant behaviour easily smothering any sprinkle of confidence your ex might have possessed at one point — all by just being there. And it was just so satisfying that it was finally your turn to watch your no-good ex being the one who was tormented for once.

“Well-“ his voice cracked the slightest, Satoru pursing his lips in amusement at the little slip, “I have to get going now. I’ll see you around,” stumbling over his words as his face shyly grew redder. Then he just turned on his heel and left, leaving no time for you to even say goodbye.

Satoru instantly felt your body relax at his side with a deep exhale, the hand that had shyly rested on his chest with modesty falling the second the door was shut — and once you took a step in front of him, he became hyper aware of how close to him you had been the entire time. With the sudden absence of your body next to his, he realised how perfectly you had just seemed to fit next to him. Nearly as if you had been made simply to be by his side.

And stood in front of him, he finally got the chance to take a look at you. A proper look at you, and damn, you were beautiful. Your eyes were kind, which amazed him considering the unpleasant encounter that had just taken place.

The chuckle you’d faked along with his act was still resting on your lips, but now it definitely seemed more real — warm.

“Thank you so much!” You gushed, “I am so sorry I just dragged you into that! I was panicking.”

Satoru watched intently as you spoke, unable to peer his eyes off you. His attention held on to every syllable, entirely captivated by your person, eyes roaming your face to take in every little detail there was to observe.

“Shit,” you suddenly interrupted yourself, taking a glance at your watch.

“I never caught-“

“I really wish I could stay and treat you for lunch, as thanks,” you cut him off, seemingly not even acknowledging how he had tried to speak, rummaging through your bag frantically before pulling out your wallet, “but because of him I’m running late. So, here, take this,” you chuckled lightly while stuffing his hands full of cash. “I really appreciate what you did!” Satoru was barely able to decode what you were saying as it all came tumbling out in one breath.

Continuing to spew a string of thank you’s, you quickly backed out of the cafe, his eyes following you as you jogged lightly down the street and out of sight.

Satoru was left utterly baffled, simply ogling the vacated spot you had occupied seconds ago.

Of all the times Satoru would end up tongue tied, this was the worst possible moment — he was cursing himself relentlessly for not being quick enough to demand a name, and now you were just gone, some random person he’d been lucky enough to cross paths with for a moment.

He knew he should just get on with his day — use the money you had gifted him and buy himself that sweet treat he wanted and forget about you. But he couldn’t — he wouldn't.

Had you just decided to walk into a random cafe you had just so happened to walk past that particular day?

Satoru certainly thought so. Because when he couldn’t rid you from his mind, he had gone back to that very same cafe, childlike optimism filling his body while he lingered the area, waiting for your figure to show.

It never did.

His patience quickly ran out, growing more restless every day that passed where he didn’t see you stroll down the street to return to the cafe to grab the lunch you never got to have.

He couldn’t let it rest in the hands of the universe any longer. After days of casually stalking the area, he decided to strut through the entrance of the building to simply ask.

“And how can I help you today, sir?” The sweet girl behind the counter mused, the perfect customer service smile greeting him as he leaned his entire weight in the edge of the counter.

“Hi there, remember me?”

He saw her shoulders rise slightly as she took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, I don’t,” yet another polite smile.

“I was in here about three weeks ago. Was with this really pretty girl-“

“Sir,” she gently interrupted him, still the same smile on her face, “we see hundred of faces every day. We have no way of remembering them all.”

His head fell back dramatically, huffing in disappointment as his fingers flexed against the marble top. “Thanks, anyway,” he mumbled quietly, shuffling over to a secluded table in the corner, sulking in his lonesome while his eyes were locked on the door, still filled with a light glimmer of hope that you would show.

It became routine — sitting in the same corner in the back, ordering the same thing while he waited for three hours everyday before he eventually had to leave, with a heavy heart, to attend to his duties.

And if the nice barista didn’t recognise him before, she definitely did now, walking over to his table and serving him his plate with a sympathetic smile. “No show today either?” The most theatrical sigh would leave his lips every time she asked the question, sad puppy dog eyes on display as he shook his head. “Sorry, buddy.”

“It’s getting a little sad, don’t you think?” Her coworker would comment once she rejoined her behind the counter, both of them keeping an eye on him with pinched eyebrows.

“I don’t know,” she breathed, crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s a little romantic.”

Then they would share a look, some judgement passing between their eyes before they burst into innocent laughter, wondering how long they would get to witness his yearning before he eventually gave up his dreams of finding you again.

For days, Satoru’s head would snap towards the door every time the tiny bell rang, witnessing all sorts of people come to enjoy a little treat but not a single one of them fit your description.

Maybe this was just too hopeless? Tokyo was the most populated city in the world — bumping into the same person twice was like finding a needle in a high stack. Scratch that, it was like finding a rice grain in the great Sahara desert. But he kept praying, hoping the universe would bless him with his desire.

It was a perfectly okay day.

The temperature was nice — higher than expected for a mid-fall day — but the weather wasn’t much to brag about. For the past week it had been raining. Not pouring, but a light, constant drizzle that tapped quietly against the cafe window as Satoru stared mindlessly out at the scenery of concrete buildings and trees changing colour.

There was only a single string of hope that kept him sitting in that chair day after day, but it was destined to break soon. His head didn’t even turn towards the door anymore when that little bell rang with the familiar chime. He simply rested his chin in the palm of his hand, giving all the responsibility back to the universe.

The familiar barista came to his table, picking up the plate littered with only crumps and not one, but two, empty coffee mugs (that had been more sugar than coffee).

“Same time tomorrow?” She asked sweetly, wiping the table clean while balancing the dishes in her other hand.

He instantly wiped away his disappointment, plastering on the most convincing smile he could muster as he turned to face her. “I don’t think so.” She stared wide eyed at him, mouth parted into a shy ‘o’, a little disappointed to see him finally give up, having started to root for him a long time ago. “You’ve had exceptional service,” he beamed from ear to ear as he got up from his chair, her eyes never leaving him as he stood to tower over her.

He gave her one last tight lipped smile as he passed her. “Goodbye,” she stuttered quietly, keeping her pitying gaze on him as he headed for the exit.

The bell rang one last time, and Satoru was a little relieved he wouldn’t have to hear the obnoxiously high-pitching ding again — his relief short lasted as he crashed into a figure smaller than himself the second he was about to exit.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t watching- well, if it isn’t my knight in shining armour!”

What were the chances?

After all those days — waiting, staring, stuffing his face with sweets — and to think he was just about to give up. Maybe the universe had finally decided to take pity on him, wanting to reward his patience.

You looked as breathtaking as the day you had desperately latched onto his arm — maybe even better. You seemed lighter almost, as if someone had lifted off pounds from your shoulders. Same kind eyes, but a sense of peace glossing over them instead of frustration.

“It’s you,” it fell from his lips involuntary.

“In the flesh,” you chuckled. The sweet, vibrating sound faded into a clear of the throat when Satoru only continued to ogle you without a word. “Oh, sorry, you were leaving-“ you stuttered, stepping aside to let him pass. You were left confused when he didn’t walk past you, but rather kept his glare on you.

“I never got your name.”

“Sorry?” You asked, his voice too quiet to pick up on.

The same smug grin you’d seen on his face so many weeks ago greeted you, swallowing the nervous lump in your throat. “I never got your name,” more assertive now that he had increased his volume.

“Oh,” you said shyly, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. Eyeing his attractive smile, you let your name roll off your tongue before mirroring his expression of happiness.

If it was even possible, his smile stretched even further across his face, the dimples you’d noticed last time appearing on each side of his face. “Nice to finally meet you. Properly this time.”

His natural charm just steamed off him in abundance, something you had only appreciated in glimpses in your stressed haze. “You too,” you smiled.

“I haven’t seen you here since that day.”

“Well, that’s because I haven’t been here since then,” you chucked nervously, glancing towards the register when you felt some interrogating eyes on you — both of the girls behind the counter wringing their heads away from you and Satoru. “My ex has had a tendency to linger in areas we ‘bump’ into each other,” you raise your fingers to gesture the quotation marks, “but I actually think meeting you might have scared him off for good. Haven’t seen him since, so thank you again.”

“Truly my pleasure,” he straightened his posture, his height growing even more impressive. He spoke your name, and despite not really knowing you, he said it with a tenderness your ex always lacked. “I was wondering,” he took a step closer, his eyes flittering between yours, “I owe you a trip to a botanical garden, don’t you think?”

Your breath instantly hitched in your throat, heat spreading modestly across your face.

Of course the handsome stranger who had come to your rescue in a moment of genuine despair had crossed your mind from time to time since then — you had just come to terms with the fact you would never be as lucky to cross paths with the polite stranger again. And the part of you that had been plagued with embarrassment was okay with that.

But the excitement in his eyes as he waited for you to answer slowly erased the uncomfortable feeling.

“Sure, I’d like that.”

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a/n it's finally here and i think i'm happy with it... not entirely sure. think i've seen myself blind on this fic. however, thank you so much for the reception on the little drabble that took me literally ten minutes to write, hope this lives up to your expectations <3 likes, comments and reblogs is much appreciated

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