#usually only have 1 girl and then that 1 girl has to be every single thing

[snowysosturn]

The Underdog - Chris Sturniolo Part 2

Part 1 Part 2

Pairing: Chris Sturniolo x Y/n

Summary: Chris is a rising star in the MLS - talented, charming, and known for being a player, both on and off the pitch. He’s never had a girlfriend, but always had a soft spot for Y/n, the girl who knew him before the fame but never took him seriously. Once their paths cross again, will history repeat itself or start to feel like potential?

Warnings: slight mentions of being emotionally unavailable

I stare down at the phone in my lap, double checking that I read it right.

"What’s up Y/n"

There’s absolutely no way he texted me that fast. I mean, who even does that? But I suppose, Chris has always been this way with me.

I lock my phone without replying and drop it beside me like nothing.

Not happening. 

Not tonight.

Not ever.

I don’t even announce it to the room. If I even hinted at that text, the girls would lose their minds. And I’m not in the mood for the teasing. Not when I’ve worked so hard to keep this peace I’ve found.

Maya suddenly pipes up from my bedroom floor, taking me out my trance. “So, Y/n any boys on the go?”

I shake my head casually. “Nope. Just enjoying being single, it's only been two months since Shane and I broke up, I’m not looking for anything right now.”

She gives me a look, and I shrug.

“The only version of talking to men I actually like is rejecting them or putting them in their place. I’m at peace on my own right now.”

Everyone laughs, but it’s true. I’ve got nothing in me for romance or messy situationships. I recently got out of something real, something heavy, and the thought of starting over, teaching someone how to be good to me from scratch? 

Hard pass.

Tasha nods in agreement. “Yeah, I’m convinced the dating pool is radioactive.”

I smirk, leaning back into the cushions on my bed. “Exactly. I’d rather take a nap and mind my business.”

No matter how still I sit, or how silent I stay, Chris’s message still lingers in the back of my mind, bubbling quietly beneath the surface.

“Speaking of naps” I mumble, stretching out my arms and grabbing my phone again, “I think I’m gonna call it a night.”

The girls groan in agreement, “We’ve all got placement in the morning” I remind them, sitting up and brushing pizza crust crumbs off my hoodie. “And there’s nothing worse than dealing with moody teenagers when I’m moody and sleep deprived.”

“Don’t remind me” Maya says, already yawning. “If a 10th grader even breathes wrong in my direction tomorrow, I’m faking sick and going home.”

We all laugh, but it’s that tired kind of laugh that trails off into silence.

-

My alarm went off at 7am, but I couldn’t pull myself out of bed until ten minutes later. I lay there staring at the ceiling, trying to convince myself that today wouldn’t be as long as I thought it was going to be. I finally dragged myself up and started into my routine, a quick shower, skincare, brushing my teeth while scrolling through emails, and a mental rundown of the day ahead.

It’s Friday, thank god. The only thing standing between me and the weekend is one school day, a few lessons on mitosis, and the chaos of teenagers who definitely have their minds on anything but biology.

I get dressed in something comfortable but teacher appropriate, black trousers, trainers, a knitted sweater. Toss my hair up into a claw clip, throw some concealer under my eyes, and swipe on some lip oil. Nothing all too fancy. Just enough to look somewhat presentable.

I grab a croissant on my way out, throw my laptop and USB into my tote bag, and head out. The air outside is crisp for a Houston morning, and the city already feels louder than usual. It's like the buildup to Sunday’s final has made every street corner buzz with energy.

Posters of Dynamo players are plastered across shop windows, orange flags hang from balconies, and every other person I pass is wearing a jersey.

Chris Sturniolo included. His face is printed across a bus stop ad, arms crossed, cocky grin. I roll my eyes before I can stop myself. Of course he’s everywhere.

I reach the school gates at 8.45am and head to my classroom. A couple of students are strolling about the hallway, dragging their backpacks and laughing way too loudly for this hour.

The classroom is cold, so I flick on the heat and drop my bag at my desk. I load my slides before I glance through the notes, not that I don't know them by heart. I’ve taught this lesson three times already. I could probably do it in my sleep now at this stage and considering how tired I am, I just might be running that risk.

The bell doesn’t ring for another ten minutes, so I sit on the edge of the desk, swinging my legs slightly, and take a bite of my croissant.

Outside, I can see a couple of boys kicking a football across the field. One of them has a Dynamo backpack. I exhale a laugh through my nose. The final’s not until Sunday, but it’s all thats going to be on anyone's mind today.

And honestly? Fair enough.

The team’s gone further than anyone expected. There’s something about your home team winning that makes people feel like they’re a part of it too , like the victory belongs to the city, the people itself. And I won’t lie, it’s been nice. For Houston to feel like this again.

I lean back and stretch, rolling my shoulders. Just one more day. One more round of teenagers pretending to listen. One more lukewarm cup of tea from the staffroom.

Then we can all pretend to care about mitosis while secretly counting down the hours until kickoff.

I actually do wonder who’s going to start on Sunday. I open my phone and click onto Instagram, scrolling through the Dynamos feed, to see if theirs any consistencies in their starting lineups. 

Chris starts almost every game it seems, so it’ll be interesting to see how it plays out come Sunday.

I haven’t spoken to him in years. And even then, I barely did. He’d try cocky little smirks in hallways or dumb jokes in passing but I never entertained it. Never gave him the satisfaction.

Now he’s in the final. Playing for Houston Dynamo. Texting me.

And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little curious.

Just a little.

Then a thought passes through my brain.. You know what else would be interesting to see?

How much I could actually mess about right now.

I slide into my DM’s, hovering over Chris' message.

“What’s up Y/n.”

Short. Casual. Confident. Classic Chris.

I stare at it for a moment, thumb paused above the keyboard.

I mean.. I’d never actually go there, not in any real kind of way. But maybe, maybe, I might enjoy putting him in his place a little. For old time’s sake.

“Shouldn’t you be focusing on Sunday instead of texting girls?”

I hit send before I can hesitate.

A soft laugh escapes me, because I know that’s not the response he was expecting. If he thought he could slide back in like that, he clearly forgot who he was messaging.

Suddenly the school bell rings and I put my phone back into my tote and stand up as the first group of students shuffle in. Whatever reaction he has, I’ll deal with that later.

-

The bell rings and it’s finally break. I finished up my third lesson of the day, the last group of kids filing out with half the understanding of mitosis and none of the attention span.

I gather my things, shoving my lesson planner and pens into my bag, and make my way toward the staff room.

As soon as I pull out my phone, a notification lights up my screen.

Chris Sturniolo: “Wow no need to do me like that, I need something to take my mind off it.”

I scoff, rolling my eyes. My fingers move faster than my brain.

“Oh yeah, and women is the answer for that?”

I hit send and shake my head, slipping the phone into the pocket of my trousers.

If he thought I’d fold that easy, he clearly still doesn’t know me. Let him chew on that while I sip a cup of overly sweetened tea and pretend to mark homework I’m not even slightly in the mood for.

I wonder what he’ll reply, and what kind of spin he tries next.

a/n: I know im going to have a field day writing this series

taglist: @mattybearnard @sturn-33 @ncm9696 @yourfavsturniologirl @crazy4jewel @sodakid1234 @stupendoustreewinner @lovealwayssturniolos @matthewsturniolosss @m4ttsmunch @loveexxx @ilusa @starkeyszn @wonnieeluvvr @dylnblue @valxrieq @maggot3647 @cigarettecemetary @ribread03 @chrisstvrns @bandasaruswrx @noplaceissafeanymore @amexiass @witchofthehour @mattssgf @jetaimevous @v33angel  @ivysturnss @urmom69lol @ashlishes @watercolorskyy @sturnioloshottiekay @amelia-sturniolo3 @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @pvssychicken @alizestvrnss @chrisstxrnsaxe @sophand4n4 @vickytaa @marrykisskilled @bxtchboy69 @yourfavsturniologirl @julisturn @sydneyylainn @sophia-77n @trevorsgodmother @sturnslutz @yourmother29 @girl24cherry @astronea @pinkdyit @mattswrinkleton @asmine @sagesturns

[that-one-girl2020]

Saja Boys x Rumi’s Sister! Reader Pt. 4

A/N: Hello all of you. Wow, you all keep popping out of the kpop woodwork but thank you for all the support! I love reading your comments! I decided to post this today since I was able to squeeze it out tonight.

Reminder for people, I can’t tag more than fifty people so the tag list is closed. But, feel free to share outtake ideas in the comments or dm me!

TW: Self mutilation (just scratching on the arms), insecurity, and toxic mentalities (Thanks Celine)

Word Count: 4,457

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 5 || Part 6 || Part 7

(Reminder: Baby = Jum, Romance = Chungae, Mystery = Hyeon, and Abby = Kwan)

That night, as the Saja Boys laid outside the venue for Huntr/x’s fan sign event, there was nothing for them to do but scroll on their phones or talk to each other. Each had a single sleeping bag and only Jinu had a chair to get more comfortable so the boys were a little miserable. But, needs must in war.

“Sooo… who else has been hardcore simping for (Y/n)?” Kwan suddenly asked to fill the quiet.

“Hardcore.”

“Yeah, same.”

“Yes.”

“Obviously.”

There was just something about you that called to them. Maybe it was the way you smiled or the way you laughed without restraint? The way you treated them with normal kindness despite knowing that they served Gwi Ma? The way Gwi Ma’s voice quieted when they were around you? The way you made them feel more human than they had in centuries?

There was more to say between them. Of course there was, they were fond of this half human, half demon girl and they were plotting to destroy her world and kill her sister and her friends. And the moment you told them your weakness, they would have to exploit it to make the Honmoon and the Hunters shatter.

The Saja Boys felt a creeping feeling of despair.

~~~

That morning, you had gotten the girls up and made them something to eat then let the wardrobe and makeup team up. Their outfits were already set out in the living area along with the girls' makeup. The girls hated this part, usually doing their own makeup but it kept appearances up when there was a team doing final checks on their appearances. And pampering them. It also gave more people more jobs.

It was totally chaotic and you caught yourself scratching every now and then before your focus was drawn to something else.

“Okay okay okay, girls, team, everyone down to the cars! Gotta get the venue set up!” Bobby ushered everyone toward the elevator, the girls and you going down first and Bobby would follow with the rest of the team. You were so thankful for a private garage. It kept rabid crowds of fans trek crowding them.

When they got there, they set up the tables and the posters quickly, you making last minute adjustments to their appearance. For fan sign events, you stood behind the girls to get them anything they needed and to take care of gifts the fan gave them to keep room on the table.

Bobby set the last of the posters in front of them as the girls did final stretches and settled into their seats. “All right, team, I know everyone is all Saja, Saja, Saja, but we’re gonna turn it into Huntr/x, Huntr/x, Huntr/x! Yay! These fans slept on the sidewalk, overnight!” He did his best to hype them up.

“And I got all the fuel you guys’ll need to get through the next few hours,” You told them, nodding your head to the box of drinks and snacks you had for them.

The girls did their little circle, cheering each other with their pens, “Happy fans, happy Honmoon!” They whispered.

You took your place behind the girls as the doors opened and the fans flooded in, spearheaded by five people in sleeping bags, “Let’s bring them in! Welcome!”

The five sleeping bags eagerly waddled up to the table despite Bobby’s urging to go in a single file without pushing. You couldn’t help but giggle, it reminded you of the sleeping bag Mira had you design for her for the Met. Maybe they were Mira fans…

“And who should I make this out to?” Rumi greeted them.

“‘To our biggest fans.’”

‘Wait. You knew that sly, antagonistic, pretty voice.’

The sleeping bags dropped and the Saja Boys smoothly posed. Your jaw dropped. Did they really spend all night on the sidewalk just to mess with the girls? Were they that petty? Apparently, yes. Yes they were.

Bobby moved quickly, greeting the boys respectfully despite the interruption and the girls' complaints as they snapped their pens, summoning another table for the boys. But as soon as half the line split to line up in front of the Saja Boys’ table, Rumi stood, “The Saja Boys will sit with us!”

Zoey and Mira protested but the half of the crowd swiftly rejoined the original line as Bobby teared up at Rumi’s genius. The girls rearranged themselves, spreading out though Mira and Zoey clearly didn’t want to.

You couldn’t help the frown you had as Chungae and Kwan sidled up to Mira while Zoey fawned over Hyeon. And Jinu was whispering with Rumi. You did your job, grabbing five more waters from your box to pass out to the boys. It kinda… hurt when they didn’t acknowledge you, you knew they couldn’t, not with the fans and the other girls here, but still. It stung.

You couldn’t help but giggle when Kwan started passing out signed sketch outlines of his abs though.

You blinked and then sighed fondly when Hyeon started barking at a fan for some reason. You bit your lip, you wanted to pull him back but you couldn’t make any contact with the boys like this. You scratched at your arms in stress.

“No!” Zoey hit him with her pen, scolding him, “Bad Saja Boy!”

Hyeon backed down unhappily, pouting as he bit back a growl at the girl. He crossed his arms, sulking. ‘She hadn’t noticed how the fan’s eyes kept flickering up to stare behind them, at you,’ Hyeon mentally growled.

At the same time, Kwan, Mira, and Chungae started fighting over who would sign a fan’s leg cast first. Seeing the huge problem, you grimaced and quickly rushed over since no one else was doing anything.

“Woah, woah, woah,” You waved your arms over them, smiling tensely down at them, “Good idols don’t further injure their fans,” You hissed pointedly though your customer service smile didn’t waver. You shoved Chungae’s pen in his hand and slid the man’s leg over to him first.

”So sorry about any discomfort sir, they were just so excited to sign for you,” You bowed to the fan and scurried back to your place. You made sure to keep a watchful eye on them.

‘Why couldn’t they be like Jum? Jum was just quietly signing the posters and whatever the fans asked to be signed—within reason. Jum is being perfect. Be more like Jum guys.’

Speaking of Jum, he waved you over and you leaned down to offer your ear when he crooked his finger to the squeals of some of the fans. “Do you have any energy drinks? It was a long night on the sidewalk…” He whispered. Your face heated at the sensation of his voice in your ear and his breath fanning over your skin.

‘No! Bad thoughts (Y/n)! Focus on the boy, he wants an energy drink!’

Straightening up stiffly, you didn’t dare say anything because you knew you would stutter and stumble and make a mess of yourself. You smiled and nodded your head, hurrying over to your drink and snack stash. You were not running away from the hot maknae.

Jum couldn’t help but smirk and chuckle fondly as he watched you scurry away to get an energy drink for him. The back of your neck was flushed so he could imagine the flustered look on your face. He hadn’t even meant to, he was just really tired. But your reaction definitely gave him a little bit more energy, at least enough to smile at fans and send hearts at them every now and then. Jinu would owe them big time for this one…

“Here you go, Jum,” His name slipped out without you meaning to but, thankfully, no one seemed to hear you.

Jum took the can with a smile, making sure your fingers brushed as he did, “Thanks (Y/n).”

And then he cracked it open and took a long drink, his throat bobbing with every swallow.

‘Was this fan service!? Run (Y/n)!’

You got out of there as fast as you could. You scurried back to the safety of your drink and snack stash so you could bury your face in your hands until your face cooled down. ‘In front of the fans too…’

You looked up in time to awe over the cutest little girl ever going up to the table with a drawing, her eyes on Jinu. You couldn’t see Jinu’s face as he slowly took the drawing, other fans shouting about how much they loved Jinu.

You blinked, cocking your head in confusion when Rumi suddenly stood, her arms held out to gesture at Jinu, “Isn’t he great? Woo! Jinu, everybody! Yeah Jinu!” Rumi cheered. It set off the crowd of fans, cheering and clapping wildly as they threw bouquets of flowers to each of the Saja Boys.

“‘Woo, Jinu’?” Mira echoed in disbelief. You grimaced, she didn’t sound happy at all…

Jinu then stood, “Unfortunately, the Saja Boys have to run. Thank you, everyone.” The rest of the boys followed his lead.

You stood at attention when Bobby suddenly waved to you, “(Y/n), can you show them to the back exit and call one of the cars around?” He trailed off into muttering about how the boys never had any managers or employees with them, a little disgruntled.

You started to nod when Rumi’s protective streak flared anew, “No!”

Everyone was looking at her.

”Uhhh, I mean, I was gonna ask (Y/n) to get me a, uhhh…” Rumi trailed off, her mind blanking on what to say. The Saja Boys already kidnapped her sister once and put her in danger, she didn’t want them doing it again.

“Some more water! You wanted some more water, right Rumi?” Zoey chimed in, her smile strained as she tried to help.

“Yeah! Yeah, I need some more water!” Rumi agreed quickly. All eyes went to the half full water bottle on the table. She quickly snatched it up and chugged it down. Aggressively.

“Okay… I’ll get you some more water, you can go ahead (Y/n),” Bobby reassured and you smiled awkwardly. There was no getting out of this. Not that you really wanted to get out of it…

“It’s fine, I’ll be right back Rumi,” You reassured your sister before leading the boys to the back as they waved to the fans, “This way.”

As soon as the boys were out of sight of the fans, they sagged with exhaustion, tossing the bouquets out.

You grimaced, and fished them out of the garbage, “Come on guys… I know you guys are tired but, just take some pictures with them later or something, the fans’ll like that…” You knew they were exhausted and probably aching from sleeping on the sidewalk all night but you couldn’t just let them do that right in front of you.

Jinu was quiet behind you, staring thoughtfully at the girl’s drawing in his hand.

“Tired…”

“Too much effort…”

“Can’t do it…”

“Nghhh…”

You shook your head at them, leading them to the back exit as you juggled the flowers in your arms to get your phone and text one of the drivers to come around to the back door.

“Okay, wait right here and one of our drivers will come and take you guys wherever you need to go,” You told them, shoving your phone in your pocket.

You almost fell over when someone’s body weight was suddenly on top of your shoulders, their face resting in the crook of your shoulder. “So tired…” Hyeon groaned. You blushed but couldn’t move before Chungae and Kwan plopped on the ground to lean their back’s against both sides of your legs. Jum pouted, settling with just leaning his head against your arm as all four boys tiredly closed their eyes. You were stuck.

It was like when a cat or a dog deigned you with the honor of them laying in your lap so you didn’t dare shift even a millimeter in the horrible case of you disturbing them. Your muscles were tense and you felt like your legs were going numb but you didn’t dare move.

You looked up flatly when you heard Jinu snickering to himself. “These are your children, shouldn’t you take them?” You hissed at him.

Jinu held his hands up in surrender, “Hey, they like Mama more, that’s not my fault,” He smirked.

The cluster of five people all looked at him in deadpan. Did this guy really just insinuate that he and you were their parents? “Ew.”

Your phone chimed and you slowly shook the boys off, “Alright, car’s here guys.”

They whined but released you and got to their feet. Chungae took your hand in his, swinging them back and forth as he pleaded, “Come with us, wanna cuddle…”

‘Okay, so Chungae got childishly clingy when he was tired. Noted.’

“I can’t, you guys can’t keep kidnapping me. I gotta stay with the girls for this event,” You told him and started herding the boys outside and to the car.

“Fine…” Chungae huffed, mindlessly giving you a kiss on the cheek before he shuffled into the car first, “Bye darling…”

‘Was he really that tired?!’ Your face combusted.

Looks like they were taking turns.

Hyeon was next, taking your hand and pressing a lingering kiss to the back of it before he followed after Chungae, “‘Till next time, princess.”

Kwan wrapped his arms around you, squeezing you in a tight hug and oh gosh. You can feel all his muscles. “See you later, babe.” And then he was climbing into the car too.

Jum approached you with a cool air, but his eyes didn’t meet yours as he took your hand in his and gave it a soft, shy squeeze, “Thanks for the drink earlier, beautiful.” You opened your hand as he climbed into the car to see your favorite candy. Was this gift-giving…?

Jinu tried to hide his chuckle at how red and flustered you were as snores started sounding from the car already. You pouted at him. “You look like the co-host from ‘Play Games With Us!’ after the spicy challenge,” He quietly cackled.

Was your face really that red? You pressed your hands to your cheeks to cool them down, tossing the flowers into the car after the boys. “Shut it, pretty boy,” You grumbled petulantly.

Jokes on him, now he was flustered and blushing. Jinu could dish it out but he couldn’t take it when the flirting was directed at him apparently.

Jinu cleared his throat, looking away from your little smirk as he fumbled with his hands. “Okay, uh, I’ll see you around.”

“Okay. Bye Jinu,” You waved as he fumbled to get into the car as you walked back to the door.

“Uh, byeee, ugh,” he cringed at the way his voice came out. You didn’t get to hear him mutter and groan at himself as he quickly closed the car door behind him and the car soon took off.

You shook your head in amusement at the boys and went back inside to finish the event with the girls.

It was hours later of Rumi glancing worriedly at you out of the corner of her eye until the event finished, Bobby grinning happily at the success of the event.

“Great job girls!” He cheered, circling the table as employees cleaned up the venue. He showed his phone to Mira and Zoey joined to see what it was, “The internet loves this, and the internet is never wrong!”

You looked over their shoulders as Mira snatched Bobby’s phone to go through the stories, “Rujinu! That’s genius.” It was a picture of Jinu and Rumi’s feet touching under the table with the caption, ‘Rujinu?! Playing footsie?!’

Mira tapped through to a drawing of Zoey with a glowering baby Jum in her arms and Hyeon at her side with a beaming smile, “Zoeystery. Where did they come up with that?”

And an edit of Mira with Chungae and Kwan on each side of her, the three surrounded by hearts, “Miro-mabby?” Mira tried to sound out the poly ship name as her fist clenched.

“Aw, you’re so cute together!” Zoey cooed lightheartedly.

Your eyes widened when Mira clicked again and this time it was a collage of Jum whispering in your ear earlier, drinking the energy drink, and you burying your red face in your hands with the caption, ‘(Y/n) is literally us, same girl! I hardcore ship it tho! (Y/n) + Baby!’ With plenty of hearts.

Zoey gasped excitedly, “They even did you, (Y/n)!”

You bit your lip, flushing as Mira turned her head to look at you, “You were blushing over them?” She asked you incredulously.

You stared flatly back at her, “I don’t wanna hear it when you kept watching Abby make those sketches of his abs.”

She shrugged, “Point taken.”

Zoey nodded, “Yeah, fair enough.”

~~~

Rumi didn’t know what to do.

On one hand, she had Zoey and Mira with this diss track, racing towards their goal of destroying all demons and trapping them in the demon realm with Gwi Ma for eternity.

On the other hand, she had Jinu and the constant niggling in her head that not all demons deserve to suffer.

And below it all, the protective determination to protect you, her sister. The faster she completed the Honmoon, the faster her and your patterns would be gone so you both could live normal lives. That’s what she wanted for you.

Rumi couldn’t talk to you about what was going on, you wouldn’t understand. And she didn’t want to freak you out over Jinu knowing about her—and by extension—your patterns.

But she did have to talk to Jinu. Maybe there was hope for him. And if there was hope for him, then there must be hope for you and her.

That’s why she gave the note to Derpy to give to Jinu.

So, early in the morning as the sun was just barely about to come up, she saw Jinu waiting for her. “She wants to meet, and she’s late?”

Rumi couldn’t help but sneak up behind him and land on the wall, making him shriek and flail as he turned and saw her suddenly crouched behind him. “You made me come all the way out here so you could jump-scare me?!” He panted, gripping his chest as he felt his heart slowly come down from the hummingbird speed it had jumped to. (Y/n) would never treat him like this…

Rumi jumped down smoothly, ignoring his question. “Follow me.”

He did. “Well, I’m glad you’re finally ready to talk. Although, you could’ve picked somewhere nicer for a date.”

Rumi faltered, “‘Date’? No! Ew! What are you talking about?”

Jinu pointedly held up the invite she had sent him, reading, ‘Save the Date.’

“That doesn’t mean—“ She sighed frustratedly, “You’re so old. This is strictly a business meeting.” She snatched the invite from him, going back to her walk as he trailed after her.

“Right… I thought you were into your friends. Glad it’s not me,” Jinu mused as he followed the purple haired girl.

Rumi blanched again, “What?! No! No way! I— They— We— Just, just keep your nose out of my love life, okay?! Business. Meeting.”

Jinu held up his hands in surrender, “Okay, loud and clear,” He agreed and the two resumed walking, Rumi with much redder cheeks than she had arrived with.

“What if I told you there’s another way to get your freedom?” Rumi asked him, her face serious and solemn now.

“Go on.”

“Help us win the Idol Awards. Because when we win, the Honmoon will be sealed,” Rumi explained, hopping up onto the wall with a touch to the Honmoon so it glowed out over the city. “And that will guarantee your freedom. Gwi Ma will be permanently cut off, and all the demons will be gone from this world. My sister and I will finally be free of these patterns. No more hiding. No more secrets. You can be on this side when the Honmoon is sealed. Away from the demon world, away from Gwi Ma. You can be free from those voices forever.”

Jinu looked away in consideration. Rumi didn’t know his true story, she thought he had made a deal for his family, when in reality, he made the deal for himself. Besides, her thinking was flawed, even he could see it. She was telling herself comforting lies.

“But I am a mistake.”

Jinu frowned at her words, looking up at her.

“Have been since the moment I was born. So, I have to believe. Because if there’s no hope for you, what hope is there for me?”

After a moment, he couldn’t help but ask, “And your sister? Is she a mistake too?”

Rumi looked down, conflicted. “(Y/n)… I don’t want to think so, I love her. But… if we weren’t born the way we were, maybe she would’ve been able to use the Honmoon like us…” Rumi trailed off softly, unsure and bitter over her own conflicted thoughts and emotions on her sister.

They were interrupted by a middle aged woman offering a bracelet to Jinu to give to his ‘girlfriend.’ The two flailed, stumbling over their words until the woman gave Jinu a flat look and Rumi the bracelet with the advice to find a better boy since Jinu was hopeless.

“Well, there’s your answer. Hopeless.”

Rumi gave the bracelet a soft, thoughtful look, “That’s the funny thing about hope. Nobody else gets to decide if you feel it. That choice belongs to you.” She held the bracelet out to offer him, “Here. Think of it as a… friendship bracelet.”

When Jinu took too long to think about it, Rumi turned away to leave with a sigh. “Wait.” He told her, holding his hand out for the bracelet when she turned. She smiled softly and slid it into his hand.

Looking at the bracelet in his hand, he couldn’t help but say, “For what it’s worth, I don’t think you or your sister are mistakes.”

Then they went their separate ways.

~~~

It was all getting to be too much for you.

The girls were at the venue for the Idol Awards since early this morning, practicing their performance for Takedown. You had asked Bobby to deliver snacks to girls for you because you were busy running errands in the city. Bobby had reassured you that he would do that while you did your errands—i.e. getting some air.

Since the fan sign event, you had been scratching at your patterns more and more. The Idol Awards were tomorrow and it seemed like you couldn’t escape Takedown whenever you were in the apartment with the girls. It always seemed to be playing, whether the girls were changing lyrics, working on choreography or just rehearsing singing the song.

And the more time you spent with the Saja Boys, the less you wanted the Honmoon to be completed.

Jum pretended to be aloof but he liked to give you little things that reminded him of you. He often found you while you were out running errands just so he could follow you while you did, no matter how boring it was like getting groceries. The both of you had gone back to the cat cafe the other day and had taken selfies on his phone with the cats. He had a whole album of them now.

Chungae came to your balcony most nights to whisk you up to the tower roof balcony. You two would sit and look out over the city, just talking. He would insert a flirty line every now and then to see you blush and rile you up but would always smooth it over with a fond smile.

Hyeon was more of a wildcard. He would find you while you were getting a breath of fresh air at the park or just in the city. Like he had a built in radar for you, he would find you when you felt stressed and he would distract you. He was a little protective though, growling at people he felt were too close to the two of you.

Kwan was starting to make a foodie out of you. He would barge in during random parts of the day when you were alone to drag you off to a new food place he had found or heard about. No matter how bizarre it seemed, he would always try it and you somehow ended up trying it too. He would draw you into little debates, getting you wound up in your bickering until you were laughing with your eyes passionate as you argued your point.

And Jinu was like a ghost fading in and out between all these different interactions. He was probably the calmest besides Jum and Chungae—it was a little weird that those two were the calmest when they were the two youngest of the group. Jinu introduced you to Derpy, his tiger and the little demon bird that always accompanied him. You laughed when he explained that he had made the hat for Derpy but bird kept taking it. Jinu and you bonded over music. You shared modern music with him, not just modern kpop, but jazz, rock, punk, pop, classical, everything you could think of. The two of you would sit under the night sky, an earbud in each of your ears as you listened to music.

You didn’t want to lose the five boys that had somehow wormed their way into your heart, not when they made you feel more safe and seen than even Rumi did. Besides, if even the five boys who were so kind and comforting to you ended up trapped on the other side of the Honmoon, then what hope was there that you would get to stay? In your stress, your patterns have progressed more than Rumi’s has. She could still wear shorts and skirts if she wanted to, even if her arms and neck had to be covered. But you?

Your patterns have progressed well onto your legs to the point where you couldn’t wear shorts or anything that showed your legs at all. The stress was making you scratch so bad despite you taking Jinu’s advice and trying to keep your nails short, that you had to start bandaging your arms under your sleeves to try and mitigate the harm you were unintentionally doing to yourself.

“(Y/n)?” You looked up at the call of your name. Oh yeah. You were trying to get some air so you went for a walk.

Who is it?

Outtakes:

*Before the Series*

You: “You completely wrecked your private jet?!”

Huntr/x: “It wasn’t our fault! It was the demons!”

You: *Pulling your hair out* “That is literally your excuse for everything!”

…

Jinu: *Resting semi-comfortably on a chair* “So…How you guys doing?”

Saja Boys: *Laying on the cold hard cement sidewalk, plotting Jinu’s death* “Shut the f*** up.”

…

Random Fan: “Awww, Mira, Romance and Abby get along so well, it’s so cute!~”

Mira, Romance, Abby: *Currently trying to kill each other*

Other fan: *side eyeing their friend* “Yeah…so well…”

Random Fan: *Manically whispering* “I will die on this ship.”

…

Jinu: “So, you like those other girls, right?”

Rumi: *Bipanic mode activated, blue screen mode activated* “Uhhhh…”

…

Rumi: “Yeah…me and my sister were born as mistakes.”

The Saja Boys, Mira, Zoey: *Ready to fight* “I’m sorry, what?”

Tag list: @brights-place @itmechaosartist @reni502 @chin-chii @cultish-corner @enerofairy @mama-m1na @akariis4snowball @gremlinartstudio @shynotded @shadowmoonlight0604 @omgsuperstarg @neigesprincess @sleep-7372 @hurts-my-brain @kiwibackie @gh0stied3ath @naysha140 @theferretkids @lelantyuu @sexyindependentdowntospendit @hornehlittleweeblet2 @moonymoo1 @moochiwoochi @cheolright @crescent-z @prorpy @mey-archive @cami1qx @nerdalicios @xxsadlovexx @latisthegenderfluidwannabealone @blackheart34 @anonymousewrites @scarletrosesposts @justanindiangirl12 @beexboo @tatsuri-zomushiki @call-me-nyxx @queenofviolenceandnerds @randomfan218-blog @jaybbygrl @unholycheesesnack @ocean-mochi @iviorienne @confusedparticle @otakusimp1 @nosbaby07 @fries11 @ri-eveowe @1950schick @libdarkheart @yourjustassaneasiamx @the-bookish-artist @anduinandwrathionlover @eternallyrosyfire @lysira340 @lansy-4 @strayharmony943 @maximumtrashchild @bleufu1 @minepugs @valeriele3 @arieslucy @nisarelle @suzieq1948374

[sceletaflores]

GIVE IT TO HER LIKE A MAN!

꩜ masterlist ꩜ update blog ꩜ requests ꩜ taglist ꩜

｡𖦹°‧➵ pair: dbf!joel miller x fem!reader

｡𖦹°‧➵ wc: 5.1k

｡𖦹°‧➵ contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, no outbreak au, no ellie, joel’s pov, swearing, age gap (52/23), semi-public sex (more of a semi-public ALMOST over the pants handjob?), p in v, clothed sex, unprotected sex, rough sex, hair pulling, spit kink, degradation, pussy spanking, creampie, fucking in your childhood bedroom RAAAHHH, one (1) single line about joel wanting to slap you, one (1) single use of the word daddy, erectile dysfunction? we don't know what that means in this house because that old man can fuck like he's twenty, porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.

｡𖦹°‧➵ nat’s note: hi babies! i'm back! did you miss me? cause i missed you and oh em gee i'm so excited to be rejoining the party. this actually wasn't what i planned on posting but the angsty joel fic is kicking my ass so hard that i had to take a break from it. i just needed to word vomit some raunchy, freak-nasty porn to cleanse my palate! i don’t normally go for the dbf trope but it's just so joel i couldn't not dip my feet in these waters. it's also more like dad's-close-but-distant-acquaintance-joel because in my head that man has little to no friends honestly. hope you love it, mwah!

dividers by @cafekitsune & @saradika-graphics!

joel gives the best graduation gifts...

Joel isn’t the type to get invited to these kinds of things.

Graduation parties for Ivy League brats. Champagne in fancy crystal flutes and catered hors d'oeuvres getting passed around on silver trays. Men in loafers and pastel polos calling each other “old buddy” without any irony. It’s a far cry from his usual crowd—his mangy old t-shirt and stained blue jeans stick out in the place like a damn sore thumb.

The invitation came from a distant friend, someone he used to work with before his career took him in an entirely different, much shiner direction. He was here more as a favor than anything else. Tommy’s been worried about him, says he needs to get out more.

“Meet some new people, drink a few beers.” He’d said with his hand clasped on Joel’s shoulder. “It ain’t healthy to spend every weekend fixin’ shit around the house, Joel.”

Joel doesn’t see the problem. He’s fine the way he is. But somehow, he still got roped into going when he could have used any excuse to pull out at the last second. He could have faked sick, faked busy, faked like he had anything else to do besides sit at a fancy oak table on a back porch bigger than the whole first story of his house, decorated in Yale blue balloons and streamers. 

He regretted giving into Tommy the second he pulled up in the driveway—a too-big Craftsman style place in West Lake Hills, all clean laid brick and perfectly manicured lawns. Joel couldn’t for the life of him remember why he said yes in the first place. Maybe it was the guilt of worrying his brother. Maybe for the decent catered food and overpriced beers he knew would be there when he first got the address.

What he hadn’t expected—what hit him in the goddamn chest when the door swung open after he knocked—was you.

And Christ, did you look smug about it.

It had been months ago. The only reason Joel was even in Connecticut was to meet with a client, a big time East Coast entrepreneur who wanted a new add on to his ten car garage and was fine slinging around the money to pay for a round-trip flight and a cushy hotel room.

He hadn’t planned on going to the bar that night, but after hours of back-and-forth about permits and material costs, he needed a drink. Just one, maybe two—enough to take the edge off before heading back to the hotel.

It was a shitty little dive about ten minutes from where he was staying. The beer was cold, the lights were low, and he wasn’t supposed to be making decisions with his little head. But then he saw you across the way, right in the middle of the dancefloor.

You were in a circle with a few other girls, your dress riding up higher and higher each time you’d roll your hips to the heavy bass blaring from the overhead speakers.

Joel watched you like that for a while, leaned up against the bar lazily sipping at his beer. He hadn’t planned on doing anything about it, just sat there and enjoyed the view. But you’d caught him looking, and instead of turning away and pretending not to notice, you’d smirked.

Joel should have known right then that he was in trouble.

It wasn’t long before you left your little group and made your way over, slipping on the stool beside him like you belonged there, like you’d already made your mind up about what was going to happen next. You’d leaned in close, close enough for him to catch the scent of whatever perfume you’d rolled over your throat before heading out—something rich and heady that damn near made his head spin.

“Hey, cowboy.” You’d said with a tilt of your head, the long column of your neck dewy with a light sheen of sweat he wanted to feel under his tongue. “You’ve been watching me?”

There was no accusation in your voice, just a quiet sort of amusement, like you already knew the answer.

Joel had huffed a laugh, he didn’t see the point of denying it. He was a lot of things, but subtle wasn’t one of them. “Yeah.” He’d admitted, taking a slow sip of his beer before setting it down. “What about it?”

Your eyes dropped down the length of his body, studying him, and he’d let you. Let you take your time looking, even as heat crawled up the back of his neck.

“Buy me a drink?” You’d asked, smiling up at him like butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth.

That was all it took.

One drink turned into two, which turned into three, and then you were leaning into his space like you were made to be there. Your index finger teasingly tracing along the collar of his shirt as you whispered something filthy in his ear that had all the blood in his brain rushing down south.

Joel really shouldn’t have let it go any further than some goddamn footsie under the bar and a few dirty words whispered over the rims of shiny glasses, he was too old for shit like that. But you were just so damn tempting—confident and sharp and pretty as all hell.

Before Joel knew it he had you pressed up against the side of his truck, giggling into his mouth, fingers tugging at his belt like you couldn't get it off fast enough. You’d tasted like the fruity cocktails he bought you and something sweeter underneath, something distinctly you, and Joel had to have more.

You let him have it too—fisting his shirt and dragging him into the backseat without a care in the world, all eager hands and breathless laughter as you straddled his lap.

It was supposed to be just that. A reckless decision with a pretty young thing as the cherry on top of his trip. A one-night deal he’d let himself have because, fuck, it had been a long time since someone looked at him like that.

Joel tried his damndest to think how he should’ve, tried not to let some one off fuck turn him all sorts of ass backwards. He tried his damndest to boot you out of his mind the next morning when he was boarding the flight back to Austin—but you stuck anyway, like a burr in his goddamn brain. 

The way you’d looked sprawled out under him, eyes glazed over with pleasure, lips parted, or the way you’d moaned his name like it was a prayer you needed him to hear. The way you’d rode him nice and slow, dragging your nails down his chest just to watch him shudder. The way you’d kissed him after, lazy and sweet, before sneaking off into the night like a goddamn thief.

Joel could've sworn he saw God that night, a smudged silhouette in the fogged up windows of his truck.

And now you’re here, standing in the doorway of some polished, high society home, looking like sin wrapped up in tulle and pearls.

Joel wasn’t a man who spooked easy, but seeing you again, surrounded by people who had no goddamn idea what you’d let him do to you in the backseat of his truck all those months ago, knocked him on his ass harder than a sucker punch.

The recognition was damn near instant, your eyes shining just as much as the sparkly sash that read “GRAD!” in big glittery letters. The initial shock gave way to a tiny, secret smile as your gaze slid up and down his body shamelessly, like this was some kind of funny inside joke. 

Joel was seconds away from turning tail, walking back down your ridiculously long driveway and getting in his truck to get the hell out of there, but then your father was walking up behind you with a big grin on his face. He clapped Joel on the shoulder roughly and introduced his “Old buddy Joel Miller from his blue-collar days!”

You were all coy smiles and wide eyes. A sugared, “It’s so nice to meet you, Mr. Miller. Thank you for coming…” passing through your glossy lips.

The same lips that left shiny red smudges along the skin of his cock when you slid him down your throat, peering up at him with glassy eyes. The memory alone was enough to get heat stirring deep in his gut, and the way you looked at him now—all demure and polished, like you were some angelic scholar fresh off a podium—only made it worse.

Joel is too damn old for this.

“Very top of her class,” your father boasts, swishing his beer bottle through the air towards you flippantly. “Can you believe it? Just think of what we were doing at her age, brother. She sure as hell didn’t get any brains from me, that’s all her mother.”

Joel tries to chuckle with him, but it sounds strained, forced. He keeps his eyes facing forward, knee bouncing restlessly under the table. You’re looking at him again, hot and persistent against the side of his face. The heavy weight of your gaze practically begging him to look back. He doesn’t.

This dinner is it’s own form of torture, because of course, you just had to sit in the empty seat next to Joel—close enough that he can feel your knee bump up against his every few minutes.

He’s done a good job avoiding you until now, always walking the other direction when you waltz into the same room, not making eye contact when your gaze would sweep over the crowd hoping to catch his, trying for once in his life to be a good man.

A good man that suffers through this damn party without doing something he'll regret, that leaves at the end of the night and never has to see you again.

“Yeah,” he says, nervously starting to pick at the label of his own beer. Some snobby, imported New England brewery, probably sixty bucks a six-pack. “Good times.”

Joel can see you lean forward out of the corner of his eye, the neckline of your dress sliding down an inch as you stare at him, attention rapt. “What were you like back then, Mr. Miller?”

Joel nearly winces, his fingers tightening around the neck of his beer hard enough to turn the skin around his knuckles white.

‘Mr. Miller’ echoes in his ears lewdly, blaring like church bells. Your voice is nothing but a honey-sweet mockery, so syrupy he can nearly feel it trickling down his throat to add to the warmth settling low in his stomach. 

Your father snorts over the lip of his bottle, answering you before Joel could open his mouth. “Joel didn’t go to college, honey. He went into the trades right after graduation,” he takes a long sip, Joel feels your knee bump against his again. “That’s how we met.”

You hum, nodding your head languidly. “You’re an architect too?”

Joel shakes his head, not looking at you as he answers. “Carpenter.”

Your father launches into some story about his old work days with Joel, about how back in the day, they were “real men” with “real jobs,” but Joel can barely process any of it. He nods along absently, lets out some half-hearted chuckles when he needs to.

Joel nearly puts his knee through the table when he feels your barefoot brush up against his ankle, hiking his jeans up ever so slightly. He shoots you a glare as subtly as he can.

It’s a look so sharp, so warning, that it should be enough to make you back the hell off from whatever game you’re playing. You’re not even looking at him anymore, eyes glued to your father as you nod along to whatever story he’s telling now. 

But there’s a knowing little smile on your lips as your hand creeps beneath the table and falls into his lap, the pads of your fingers pressing against the inside of his thigh.

Joel goes still. Rigid as his breath catches on a sharp inhale.

Christ, you’re trying to kill him.

Your father’s voice pulls him out of the silent panic and heavy arousal waging a war inside of him. “How’s business, Joel?” he asks, leaning back in his chair. “You and Tommy still running things at a hundred miles a minute?”

Joel barely registers the question as your hand inches higher and higher. He can hear his own pulse pounding in his throat, in his chest, in his cock, already half-hard in his boxers from some goddamn heavy petting like a wet behind the ears teenager. 

“Yeah, we–” Joel pauses, willing his voice to steady with a quick cough to clear his throat. “We’ve been pretty busy with Summer rollin' around.”

Your father hums in agreement, cracking open another beer. “Of course, my schedule’s been a killer too this season,” he brags shamelessly, tone heavy with understanding like he and Joel are in the same boat. Only your fathers boat is a three million dollar yacht sailing for blue-print meetings with big shot celebrities and architectural digest interviews. “It’s a miracle I even had time to fly in for the party, isn’t that right sweetheart?”

Your hand slides up the length of his cock in one slow stroke, your palm grinding roughly over the tip through the tented denim.

“Yes, daddy.”

Your voice has gone all light and airy around the edges, almost melodic as it buries itself in Joel’s ears. At first, Joel thinks you’re talking to your father, but when his eyes flick over to you, you’re looking at him—your eyes half-lidded and sparkling with something dangerous as your fingers tug at the tab of his zipper.

Joel’s hand flies to your wrist, squeezing tight enough to stop your pawing at his now fully hard cock. “Alright if I use your bathroom?” he asks sharply, his voice a little too loud. He tosses your hand away and stands abruptly from his chair before he’s got an answer.

“Of course,” your father says easily, thankfully not noticing the tension at the table, or the way Joel’s trying to subtly hold his hands over his crotch. He turns his attention towards you, “Would you show Joel where the downstairs bathroom is, honey?”

Your smile only widens as you slip your sandal on and calmly stand from your own chair. “Sure,” you say breezily, but you’re not looking at your father, dark eyes still glued to Joel’s. “Follow me.”

The flowy fabric of your dress swishes behind you as you walk through the yard, Joel hot on your heels. He waits until you're both in the house, stepping through the open sliding glass door and out of view before his hand flies to your arm and squeezes hard.

Joel hears you wince softly, but you don’t try to fight your way out of his grip. He leans down closer, his lips inches away from your ear. His voice is low and rough as he grits out, “Take me to your room, now.”

You lead him through the kitchen and up the stairs silently, but Joel can still see the smug smile on your lips as you turn the corner. The need to slap that bratty shit right off your face wracks through him like thunder, anger burning hotter in his chest with every step.

You push the door to your bedroom open and step inside, barely turning to face him before Joel slams the door shut behind him and stalks past you. His eyes are dark, filled with a mix of rage and want as he stares you down.

“Do you think this is a goddamn game?” His voice is teeming with fury, the calm facade he scarcely maintained at dinner now entirely gone. “That you can do whatever the hell you please because your Daddy’s sittin' across from you?”

You bite your bottom lip, leaning against the door with your arms crossed behind your back coyly. “You didn’t bring me a present.”

It’s a taunt if Joel’s ever heard one, and it finally breaks him.

He crosses the room in three large strides, pinning you against the door. His hands on either side of your head, caging you in. Joel cranes his neck down, his face inches away from yours. He can smell your perfume this close, it’s different than what you wore at the bar—something soft and girly and sweet that has his cock straining in his boxer.

“You’re real fuckin' proud of yourself aren’t you?” he spits roughly, watching the way your pupils dilate, eyes going glossy under his intensity. “Does your old man know how much of a tramp his precious little baby girl is? That she’s got such a greedy fuckin' pussy she can’t help herself from rubbin' his buddy Joel’s cock under the table like a desperate slut.”

“Joel,” you whisper breathlessly, all the attitude draining from you at the drop of a hat the second he gets a little mean. Your eyes are stuck on his lips and, after a beat, you start leaning in, like you’ll die if you don’t kiss him.

Joel stops you with a hand fisted in your hair, keeping you still a few centimeters away from his lips. A pitiful whine falls from your slack mouth, wide eyes flicking back up to meet his with a pleading look.

“You want me to kiss you, princess?” he asks, mean and condescending. Your breath puffs over his lips, hot and needy as you nod your head as best you can. Joel laughs, dark and cool as he shakes his head slowly. “Whores like you don’t get kissed baby, they get fucked.”

It does something to you—Joel can see it in the way your lashes flutter, in the way your thighs press together, like you can feel his words between your legs. He watches the rise and fall of your chest quicken, the way your lips part as a little breathless sound escapes them, and he knows he’s got you right where he wants you.

Desperate. Squirming. Ready to let him ruin you.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, low and almost reverent, but the wicked curl of his lips betrays the softness in his tone. “Bet you’re already soaked, aren’t you?”

You nod, your chest rising up to press against his with every breath.

“Words,” he demands, voice sharp as a needle. Your thighs twitch at the sound of it.

“Yes,” you breathe shakily. “I’ve been wet since you got here.”

That has Joel groaning, jaw ticking as his cock twitches heavily in his boxers, pre-come oozing into the cotton.

He doesn’t waste another second. He drops your hair to grab your shoulders, pulling and pushing until you’re tumbling onto your old bed. You let out a sharp gasp as your back hits the mattress, the force of it bouncing you a few times.

Joel looms over you, watching you, finally letting himself get a good look at the picture you make. Splayed across dainty floral sheets, chest heaving, staring up at him with need written all over your pretty face. It practically pumps off of you in waves, he can almost taste it.

Without another word, Joel reaches for his belt, his heavy gaze never leaving yours. The metal of his buckle clinks loudly in the quiet of the room, underscored by the quick pants of your breath. It snaps with how hard he yanks it out of his belt loops, the leather cracking in the air menacingly.

"You wanted this," Joel mutters, popping the button on his jeans, dragging the zipper down with a sharp hiss. "You practically fuckin’ begged for it."

You make a desperate little sound at the sight of his cock finally being freed from the confines of his jeans—thick, heavy, and leaking when it slaps against his stomach. Your legs spread wider like an offering, like you need it in you now.

Joel huffs out a laugh, grabbing your ankle and yanking you down the bed, making you squeak in surprise. He climbs on the mattress, his body completely blanketing yours so you couldn’t move if you wanted to.

His hand drags down your body, over the swell of your breasts, over your ribs, the curve of your hip, until he’s gripping the hem of your dress. Joel slips his hand under the skirt, rough palms gliding up the soft skin of your thighs before gripping the meat of them hard enough to bruise.

The thought of you finding the marks tomorrow, pretty shades of purple and yellow branding your skin as a reminder of this moment, of what Joel did to you—it makes his stomach flip with a sick thrill.

It doesn’t take much for Joel to push the bunched fabric around your hips the rest of the way up, exposing the barely-there scrap of lace covering you.

He makes a sound low in his throat when he sees the little damp spot blooming along the powder blue fabric. “So fuckin’ needy,” he mutters, tracing his middle finger along the wet seam of your pussy, featherlight, teasing. “Can’t even sit through one damn dinner without beggin’ for my attention like a two-bit truck stop whore.”

You nod frantically, lips trembling, pupils blown wide as you blink up at him.

Joel tsks mockingly, raising his palm to give your clothed pussy a sharp slap that has you crying out. “Use your words, baby.”

“Yes,” you gasp. “Please, Joel.”

Your voice is so soft, so wrecked. And Joel feels himself get impossibly harder, his cock throbbing where it’s pressed against your stomach, blurting pre-come onto the delicate pink tulle of your dress. He can hardly wait any longer.

Joel hooks a finger into the leg of your panties, dragging them down hard enough that he hears a rip. He can’t find it in himself to care, he just pulls them far enough that they pool around your ankles uselessly.

He finally takes himself in his hand so he can drag his cock through the wet mess of your pussy, bumping it up against your hole but not giving you a damn inch. A devastating noise falls from your lips, slow and sweet as molasses, your hips buck up off the mattress, trying to take him in. He presses one heavy hand down on your stomach, keeping you still.

“Ask me for it,” Joel whispers darkly, slapping the head over your glistening clit. “Beg for my cock.”

Your fingers curl into the sheets, frustration and desire burning in the inky black of your pupils. “Please, Joel. It’s all I can think about, can only think about you,” you ramble senseslessly, voice breathless. “About you fucking me. About your cock stretching me open. Please fuck me, please, want it so bad.”

Fuck, he loves hearing you beg.

Joel grips your hips, holding you steady as he presses inside, slow at first, just enough to make you gasp, enough to let you feel how thick he is stretching you open. He curses, head falling forward as he watches himself disappear inside you inch by inch.

Your hands scramble along the length of his back, nails scratching uselessly as you try to adjust to the sudden fullness. Joel knows he’s too big, the stretch too much all at once without prep. He knows it. He just doesn’t give a damn.

“I know, it’s a big stretch ain’t it?” Joel coos, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles over the skin of your hips. “You can still take it, darlin’. It’s what you wanted, wanted me to lose my goddamn mind and ruin this sweet little pussy.”

You nod desperately, a loud cry bursting from your chest as he pulls you back until his hips are flush with your ass. Your velvety heat feels scalding around him, snug and perfect, like it was made for him—made for his cock.

“Fuck, baby,” he stays there for a beat, buried to the hilt—forcing you really feel the full, aching stretch before he starts to move. He drags his cock out to the tip, almost all the way, before slamming forward again, knocking the breath from your lungs. “That’s it—take it all, just like that.”

Joel sets a brutal pace, fucking you so deep he swears he must be in your goddamn guts. His grip is merciless, his fingers digging into your hips as he uses them to pull you back against him, meeting every punishing thrust. The dirty sound of skin on skin fills the room, mixing with the slick squelch of your pussy as it tries to suck him back in each time he pulls out, the pretty soft gasps and moans you’re struggling to keep quiet the cherry on top of it all.

It’s so loud, a symphony of lewd sounds bouncing off the walls enough that Joel would be worried that someone might overhear if your house wasn’t such a maze.

Joel watches you writhe beneath him, your back arching, hands grasping at his shoulders, his arms, his hair, desperate for something to hold onto as he fucks into you with ruthless precision. Every thrust sends a shockwave through your body, makes your breath hitch, your legs trembling where they’re locked tight around his waist.

“Poor thing,” he mutters, voice a low rasp in your ear. “Too dumb to talk now, huh? Just layin’ here, takin’ it like a good little whore.”

Your eyes roll back in your head when he tilts his hips, the new angle forcing his cock to rub up against your sweet spot with every thrust. “Joel–”

Joel leans over you, breath hot against your ear as he mutters, “This what you needed, baby? Needed Daddy’s friend to hike your pretty dress up and fuck you good and hard like this?” He speeds his hips up fast enough to get the bed shaking on its frame. “Actin’ like a spoiled little brat all night just so I’d drag you up here and teach you some fuckin’ manners?” 

“Yes, yes, yes, fuck—” Your words slur together, breathy and high-pitched, your fingers twisting in his hair as he keeps up that relentless pace.

Joel reaches up to snatch your jaw in a tight grip, the rhythm of his hips never faltering. “Open your mouth,” he growls, fingers digging into the meat of your cheeks meanly. When you don’t, too fucked out of your mind to listen, he shakes your head back and forth like a bad dog. “Open it.”

The command breaks through the pleasure filled haze clouding your mind, and your mouth falls open obediently. Your slick lips parting enough for Joel to see the enticing pink of your tongue. A groan claws its way out from deep in his chest, and he leans down close to spit into your mouth.

Your moan is a high, choked whine as your eyes flutter shut, your pussy squeezing around his cock impossibly tighter. 

“Don’t you dare fuckin’ swallow,” he says, fucking into your clenching heat harder. “Hold it right there.”

You open your eyes to stare up at him like he’s some kind of God, your lashes clumped together and glossy with unshed tears—gaze glazed over with a kind of bliss that makes something dark and satisfied wriggle to life in his chest.

“Good girl,” he mutters, barely above a whisper, but the words hit you like a sack of bricks. Your walls squeeze around him, and he groans low in his chest. His hands grip your thighs, spreading you even wider so he can watch the way his cock disappears into your puffy pussy, shining with your slick every time he pulls out. “Look at that. Fuckin’ made to take cock, aren’t you?”

You moan around closed lips, nails digging little crescent moons into his shoulders so hard that he can feel his shirt ripping under the force of it. Joel can tell you’re getting close, your whole body trembling violently as the coil of your orgasm winds tighter and tighter.

“Go ahead and swallow for me, baby girl.” Joel needs to hear you, needs to hear you say his name when you come on his cock. “Wanna hear that pretty voice.”

The sound of you swallowing is music to Joel’s ears, his hips stuttering as he watches your throat work.

“Please,” you gasp, fat crocodile tears rolling down your cheeks. “Need to come, need you to make me—”

“Yes,” he hisses, his thrusts turning sloppy for a beat before he regains his rhythm. “You gonna come for me, baby? Gonna soak my cock nice and good?”

His words push you right over the edge. Your entire body tenses, pleasure rolling through you in a white-hot wave as your climax crashes over you, stealing your breath. You sob Joel’s name, thighs shaking uncontrollably, body shuddering beneath him as you clench down so fucking tight he can barely move.

Joel groans, his jaw going slack as he watches you fall apart, losing himself in the feel of your pussy milking his cock. He grits his teeth, hips snapping erratically as he chases his own release. 

“Fuck—gonna fill you up, baby,” he groans, voice wrecked. “Gonna fuck you full of me, make you mine.”

With one last thrust, Joel spills inside of you. He buries himself as deep as he can go, warmth flooding your core as spurt after spurt of come paints your insides, thick and hot. His body shakes with the force of it, a deep, guttural moan falling from his lips as he rides out his orgasm.

Joel just stays there, panting, his forehead resting against yours.

For a moment, both of you are too overwhelmed to move. You just lay on the mattress tangled together in the aftermath, breaths mingling, bodies slick with sweat. Joel smooths his hands up your sides, grounding himself as you both come down from the highs of ecstasy.

When you finally stop shaking, Joel pulls back just enough to look at you, to take in the wrecked, spent look on your face. He brushes his knuckles over your sweaty cheek, softer than before. “Still think I didn’t bring you a present?”

You let out an amused huff, pushing your hands up under the back of his shirt so you can trace the column of his spine with gentle fingers. “Trust me, it’s the only present I’m getting that’ll be worth a damn. Money can’t buy this, Miller.”

Joel chuckles, low and smooth as warmth blooms in his chest. He presses a lingering kiss to your shoulder. “You earned it, baby.”

mini nat's note: thank you so much for reading! mwah.

[cruel-seduction]

Not So Golden Now, Are You?

Summary - Where in your not-quite-friendship with James Potter thrives on mutual mockery—you call him daddy’s babygirl because he flaunts his daddy's money, he calls you whatever gets under your skin fastest. It’s never serious… until he parrots back a joke you made about your looks, the kind of joke people only make after crying over it alone.Which you were sure that you never made about him. What he thought was harmless banter turns out to be your breaking point, and while everyone else laughs it off, you don’t. Not this time. And now James—cocky, clueless, James—is stuck trying to fix a crack he didn’t mean to make, humiliating himself in ways no Marauder ever has… all in the hopes of earning a single, goddamn, laugh from you again.

Tone: Gritty, emotional, enemies-to-lovers like kinda (idk I am confused myself. What do you mean just cause I wrote it I should know what it means) with heavy hurt/comfort and a golden boy begging for forgiveness.

Part - 2

There was a particular type of hell reserved for group hangouts where everyone was prettier than you. You know the kind—flawless skin, perfect hair, the kind of laugh that didn't sound like a dying kettle.

And unfortunately for you, that was every single Gryffindor gathering.

Especially when Lily Evans was present. With her radiant glow, timeless hair, and bone structure carved by Aphrodite’s jealous cousin. And not to forget Marlene McKinnon, who looked like she got ready by having woodland creatures sing her into a custom-tailored outfit.

Meanwhile, you looked like you were personally styled by anxiety and unresolved childhood trauma.

You were sitting cross-legged in the Gryffindor common room, huddled in a circle on worn rugs and beat-up couches with the usual suspects: Sirius, James, Remus, Peter, Lily, Marlene, Dorcas… and unfortunately, you.

You were always the +1. A friend of a friend. Mostly tolerated. Occasionally useful. Never the moment. Or that’s what you liked to believe. You leaned back on your palms, casting a casual glance at Lily, who was radiant even while fiddling with her shoelace.

And then you did what all insecure, self-deprecating people do—you made a joke before anyone else could beat you to the punch. “Some girls are born to be photographed. I was born to stand next to them and make them look like paid models by comparison.”

It was said with a wink and a smirk, aimed at Lily—because that's what you did. Make fun of yourself first, before someone else could. Maybe to hear that you’re not just a background character. Those people actually liked hanging out with you. That you were not a charity case. The group chuckled. Lily swatted your shoulder gently, "Oh, come on, you're gorgeous, shut up."

You held up your hand. “No, no. I bring balance. I’m the garlic bread on the table of ten-star entrées. Comforting. Slightly burnt. Easily ignored once the main course arrives.”

Sirius snorted. “You are the garlic bread. Bit crunchy, slightly dangerous, but always there.” You faked a smile, the thing you have mastered for years.. “See? Someone appreciates my contribution to visual mediocrity.”

James was leaning back in one of the armchairs, lazily bouncing a snitch between his fingers. You hadn’t said much to him—your friendship was more a result of mutual proximity than actual emotional investment. You didn’t like him, really. Or that’s what you tried to believe whenever your heart beats too loud near him or whenever you catch yourself smiling, whenever he laughs or whenever you care about him too much but c’mon friends care about each other. That’s not love. Right?. He was loud, always joking, and had a superiority complex that made you want to shove him into a broom closet and lock the door.

Still. He had his moments.

“Honestly,” he said, voice casual, “we should give (Y/N) a badge or something. Hogwarts’ Official Pretty-Girl Enhancer.” He didn’t even look up. Just tossed the snitch in the air again. “Without her, hot girls everywhere would lose contrast.”

There was a beat of silence. Not loud. Not dramatic.

Just… still.

Like someone had knocked the air out of your lungs without touching you. And then, like the smug bastard he was, he added with a grin, “MVP of average.”

Your face didn’t move. You didn’t laugh. You always laughed at yourself, even if it hurt—but not this time. Because he said it with such ease. Such dismissive amusement. Like it was true. Like he just casually confirmed the thing you’d been trying to pretend wasn’t already gnawing at your insides.

Sirius barked out a laugh. “Oi, she’s gonna hex your balls off, Prongs.”

James just shrugged. Still grinning. Still not looking at you. And you? You wanted to melt into the floorboards. Or maybe launch yourself off the Astronomy Tower. Either one was fine.

You looked around—Remus furrowed his brow slightly, eyes flicking toward you, but didn’t say anything. Peter was too busy stuffing his face with biscuits. Marlene giggled absently.

But Lily. Lily noticed. Her gaze snapped to you, sharp and immediate.

She cleared her throat, forced a smile. “So! Who’s ready for Hogsmeade this weekend? I heard Honeydukes is stocking those fizzy sugar spiders again—”

And just like that, the moment passed.

Except it didn’t. Not for you.

Because you weren’t angry. Not really. You were humiliated. Quietly. Sharply.

And that was always worse.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

James Potter didn’t think much of it at first.

You always laughed at jokes. Even the ones aimed at you. Especially the ones aimed at you. It was your thing—sarcasm, wit, never letting anything stick long enough to scar. You insulted him all the time. Called him an overgrown golden retriever with the emotional range of a teaspoon. Told him he looked like a walking ego with legs. And he gave it right back—always.

So when he made that comment earlier about you being the "MVP of average," he expected you to roll your eyes, maybe call him a narcissistic broomstick with daddy’s money, and then snatch the last chocolate frog from his hand out of spite.

He didn’t expect silence.

He didn’t expect that deadpan look on your face.

He didn’t expect you to leave the circle early, claiming you had to finish a Potions essay you definitely finished last week. But hey. Maybe you were just tired. That’s what he told himself.

Right up until that night.

The dorm was dimly lit, soft firelight flickering across the old stone walls. Sirius was balancing Bertie Bott’s beans on his nose, Peter was whining about something in his sleep, and James was halfway through retelling a Quidditch story that no one had asked for.

That’s when Remus spoke. Quiet. Cold. “Do you ever think before you open your mouth?”

James blinked. “Er—what?” Remus didn’t look up from his book. “About what you said to (Y/N).”

Sirius, for once, stopped being a jackass long enough to glance up too. James frowned. “It was a joke. We always—she always says worse things about herself.”

“You just took someone’s worst fear and turned it into a punchline,” Remus said. His voice wasn’t angry. That would’ve been easier. It was disappointed. And that? That cut deeper. “She doesn’t think she matters, James. And you just proved it.”

And then it hit him.

The way your laugh hadn’t had that sharp, mischievous ring to it. No sass. No playful dig. Just… that sound. Bitter. Hollow. Like someone smiling at their own eulogy.

He sat up straighter. His mind flicked back to earlier—your crossed arms, your stiff posture, the way you stared at the fireplace without saying a word while the rest of them laughed.

The way Lily had cut in, voice suddenly chipper, shoving the conversation forward like she was trying to outrun something. The way you never came back with a comeback.

And James Potter, who could bullshit his way out of every detention, every prank, every emotional disaster, suddenly found himself choking on silence.

His breath caught.

All he could see was your face when he said it. That flicker in your eyes. That little twitch of your mouth that wasn’t amusement—it was restraint. Control. You’d been swallowing it down, choking on the embarrassment while he and Sirius laughed like idiots.

“You think she’s fine because she’s funny,” Remus muttered, standing and tossing his book onto the trunk at the foot of his bed. “But sometimes funny is just... the mask.”

James didn’t sleep that night.

Because now he remembered every time you called yourself “forgettable,” how you always stood behind Lily in photos, how you never really let anyone compliment you without joking your way out of it.

And now? Now he realized he hadn’t made a joke. He’d hit the bullseye on someone’s deepest wound and laughed about it.

He remembered the way you stayed up all night when Remus was sick during exams, rewriting all his notes, color-coded and organized like some kind of academic art piece.

How you always, always made Sirius laugh on his worst days. Even when he came back from Christmas break with bruises on his wrists and a cigarette burn he didn’t explain, you were there. Mocking him gently. Loving him fiercely. Whispering, “I’m proud of you, Sirius Black,” like your voice could stitch him back together.

He remembered how you scolded them like a mother one minute and made them snort Butterbeer through their noses the next. How your eyes always twinkled before a comeback. How you once threw your shoe at him for transfiguring your ink into glitter, then asked if he was cold and tucked a scarf around his neck anyway.

He loved that about you.

God, he loved you.

Not that he’d ever admit it. Not to himself. Not out loud. Not when everything between you was built on chaos and roasting each other like Sunday dinner. But you mattered to him. And tonight, he’d made you feel like you didn’t.

He’d taken the thing you feared most—and instead of seeing it, understanding it, protecting it—he’d dragged it out in front of your friends and slapped a joke sticker on it. All because he didn’t think. Because he figured you’d laugh. Because he always made you laugh. But you didn’t.

And now, the damage was done. James Potter had humiliated the girl he secretly, stupidly, undeniably loved. And now?

Now he was completely, utterly screwed.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

James couldn't sleep.

His bed felt too stiff, the blankets too heavy, and every creak of the castle sounded like the echo of your laugh—that hollow, bitter one that had etched itself into his skull. He needed air. Space. Somewhere to untangle the storm inside his chest.

So he walked.

Up the stairs, past the darkened classrooms and snoozing portraits, until he reached the one place that had always helped him think. The Astronomy Tower. He pushed the heavy door open quietly, half-hoping for solitude. But he stopped dead the moment he heard it.

A soft sound. Muffled.

A sniff.

Then another.

And then your voice—barely a whisper. Wavering. “God, pull it together…”

James froze.

He crept quietly around the stone barrier, heart hammering. And there you were, tucked into the hidden nook behind the telescope—knees hugged to your chest, jumper sleeves soaked from wiping your eyes. The stars above cast pale light across your face, catching the streaks of old tears, fresh ones still trailing silently down.

He didn’t think. “Hey,” he breathed.

You jumped, swiping at your cheeks violently, like you could erase the evidence before he fully saw you. “Oh,” you croaked, blinking fast. “James.”

You said his name like it burned your mouth. “What are you doing here?” you asked quickly, voice stiff, pretending like your throat wasn’t raw.

“I could ask you the same,” he said, carefully stepping closer.

You sat up straighter, already slipping your mask back on. “I, uh—nothing, just allergies,” you lied, blinking up at the sky. “Stars make my eyes water. Bastards.” He didn’t laugh.

“Really?,” he said, gently. You didn’t look at him.

“I’m fine.” He crouched down beside you. “Are you?”

You nodded quickly, too quickly. “Yeah, it’s nothing. Really. Just—long day. You know me, dramatic as ever.”

He hated that.

The way you hid pain behind humor like it was a shield. Like you weren’t allowed to be hurt. You sniffed, voice light, too light.

His jaw tensed. “Is this about earlier?”

You didn’t answer.

“I’m serious,” he said, moving to sit beside you now. “That thing I said... I didn’t mean it like that.”

You gave a little shrug. “Doesn’t matter. It’s fine.”

“No,” he snapped, sudden and sharp. “It’s not fine.”

You turned your head, startled.

He looked at you, eyes burning. "You think I don’t see it, but I do. God, I do. I saw your face today—the way your smile cracked like glass, the way you laughed like it physically hurt, like it was splintering something inside you just to pretend. And I can’t take it. I can’t keep watching you fold yourself smaller just to make everyone else feel okay. I need you to tell me what’s wrong. Don’t shut me out like this, don’t lie to my face with that same soft “I’m fine” when your eyes are screaming everything but fine. I know I hurt you. I know I did. And maybe you don’t want me to carry that, but I should. I am. You’re allowed to be mad, to be heartbroken, to want to scream or cry or even hate me for what I did. You don’t have to protect me from your pain. You don’t have to smile through it just to keep the peace. I don’t want peace if it means you breaking yourself into pieces to give it. So don’t look at me like that and say it’s fine."

Your lips parted slightly, but you didn’t speak.

“I thought you’d laugh,” he said quietly. “We always mess around. I didn’t know I—I didn’t realize it was something real. That it would actually...”

He trailed off.

You exhaled shakily. “It’s not your fault.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, James,” you snapped, eyes finally locking on his. “It’s mine. I told myself it was okay. That I’d be the sidekick. The friend. The funny girl who stands in the background. The contrast. Because if I say it first, if I laugh about it—then it can’t hurt, right?”

Your voice broke on the last word.

James felt like the ground had cracked under him.

“But it still did,” you whispered. “When you said it out loud, it just—it felt like someone had pulled the last thread holding me together. I don’t think you understand what that moment did to me. It wasn’t just words. It was everything I’ve ever feared, wrapped in your voice. Like it wasn’t a joke anymore. Like it was real. Like everyone around us already knew, and you just finally said it out loud. That I really am the filler in the photo. The extra. The one you crop out or blur past. The shadow to someone else’s light. I’ve felt like that for so long, like I’m just there, taking up space, trying to smile pretty enough that no one notices I don’t belong. But hearing it from you—it shattered something in me. And the way you said it, so fucking casually, like it didn’t matter... that’s what kills me. It’s like I didn’t even register as something fragile to you.

And I know I didn’t say anything. I just laughed it off like always. Like I’m good at doing. Like I’ve trained myself to do. But inside, I was screaming. I was begging for someone to just see me—really see me—and pull me out of this mess in my chest. I kept hoping, stupidly, that maybe you saw something more in me. Something worth holding onto. But maybe that was my fault. Maybe I made that up. Maybe I wanted too much. I’m sorry. No—really—I’m sorry. For having expectations. For thinking I could be someone that mattered to you, even for a second. I should’ve known better. I always do.”

His heart twisted.

You wiped your nose, furious at the tears that wouldn’t stop.

“I’ve spent so long convincing myself I was fine with it,” you said, quieter now. “But when you said it? I don’t know. It felt like the whole world joined in.”

James swallowed hard. “I’m sorry.”

You looked away.

“I mean it,” he continued, voice thick. “I’m such an idiot. I didn’t mean it like that. When I called you the “MVP of average,” I thought I was being funny—stupid, harmless—but I wasn’t thinking, and I sure as hell wasn’t seeing. Not the way you needed me to. Not the way I should’ve. And it’s killing me, knowing those words came from me, from someone who looks at you like you hung the stars and then taught the sky how to shine. You think you’re the shadow to someone else’s light? No. You are the light. You’re the kind of light that slips through curtains at 4am and makes a broken person believe in warmth again. You're the reason color exists in a world I forgot was turning grey. And me? I’m just the fool who thought he could throw around careless jokes and you'd somehow still know how goddamn divine I think you are.”

He continued, His voice so pure of determination that it made you think he has practised this script thousand times before but the pureness in his eyes made you think otherwise. He continued “If you asked me to, I’d write your name into the marrow of my bones just so you’d know you’re etched in me. If you told me you liked the rain, I’d drown smiling just to taste what you love. I would pour honey on my heartbreak if I thought the sweetness might remind you of your laugh. I'd salt my wounds if it made them smell like your perfume. I would tear out every page where I wrote someone else's name, just to make space for yours. I didn’t say what I said because I had to—I said it because I thought I was close enough to be stupid and you'd forgive me. But I forgot… I forgot how deep words can slice, especially when the person hearing them already walks around stitched together with silence. Remus had to tell me. That’s how blind I was. You laughed, and I believed it—because I wanted to believe it. And that’s on me. That’s my failure. But now that I know? I’d beg if that’s what it takes. On my knees, on broken glass, under the weight of every word I should have never said. I’d beg a thousand times over, not just for forgiveness—but for another chance to look at you right, to say it right. Because you’re not average. You are the goddess I whisper prayers to when no one’s listening. And I—I am just the fool who didn’t realize he was already living in the temple of your presence. Let me stay. Let me make it right. Let me love you like I should’ve from the beginning.”

Your eyes flicked to his—raw, red, vulnerable. Then you stood. Fast.

The cold air caught your breath as you turned your back to him.

“You don’t get to make this about your guilt,” you said, voice low and hard. “I’m allowed to be angry, James. I’m allowed to not forgive you.”

He stood slowly behind you.

“I know.”

You didn’t look at him as you stepped toward the stairs.

“I’m not the girl who falls apart in front of people,” you said. “And I’m sure as hell not the girl who forgives the boy who made her feel invisible so easily with just some speech he gave her..”

And then you walked away.

James didn’t follow.

He just stood there—alone, under a sky full of stars—and watched the one person he wanted to make smile disappear down the steps, carrying a storm in her chest and tears he’d put there.

And for once in his life, James Potter had no idea what the fuck to do.

[mooniscrying]

my only anchor | part 1

pairing: azriel x reader  summary: you have always loved azriel, but he has yet to ever feel the same way. you have longed for his love achingly, watching in the shadows as he falls in love many times. you still hope one day he'll feel the same way, and yet just when you think he may reciprocate, elain takes his breath away.  warnings: angst, insecurity, self-deprecation, unrequited love </3 or is it? word count: 1.1k a/n: hello loveys! It's been YEARS since I’ve written a proper story, so I apologize in advance for any mistakes. This story has been on my mind for a while, and after having broken up recently, a fire has lit up inside me to drown out all the sadness and pain I feel with writing. I hope this story heals you in some ways it does for me, enjoy lovey! <3

my only anchor masterlist | masterlist | TAGLIST

You couldn’t remember a time where you weren’t hopelessly in love with the shadowsinger. All of the small moments as kids where he took notice of you— the shy and quiet little girl moping in the corner, hoping to blend in with the background to avoid the prying eyes of everyone. Any speck of attention was not your forte, it always made you uncomfortable, made your heart race and palms sweat. 

And despite all this, he saw you. From the way your fingers tapped mindlessly against your legs as you watch with keen observant eyes of those around you, to the way you crinkled your noise a tiny bit when you were upset, to the way your eyes shone brighter than the stars when you shared your little stories to him. It was relentless and endearing how he took notice of every single little thing about you. 

He was your anchor, a stable force within you. He had a way of pulling you out of your comfort zone, helping you gain the confidence you needed to be comfortable in your own skin. Encouraging you to engage in social settings, even if it was just to listen, to simply be present, “I’d rather have you next to me, listening along with me to the chatter of all of these people,” he once told you. 

When in truth, you were also his anchor. You were the very light in his life that pulled him from the dark, guiding and comforting him. You saw past his brooding stern demeanor, making him smile and laugh more times than he can count. 

You embraced his shadows, his darkness, welcoming them with open arms, letting it consume and comfort you. Most of all, you had a way of reading him without him needing to say or do anything. You never pushed nor forced, you’d simply lay your head on his shoulders as you clasped his hand into yours, “It’s okay Azzy, I'm still here, I'm not going anywhere.” 

Thick as thieves, you were both inseparable. Gravitating to one another unconsciously, like souls meant to be intertwined. You were so deeply in love with him, and you were certain he felt just the same. 

You couldn’t be more wrong in your entire life. The moment she came into the family was the moment you became completely invisible, cut off from the one person you could rely on.

You’ve watched from the sidelines for centuries as Azriel bounced from one woman to the other, especially as he chased the love and longing he had for Gwyn and Mor. And yet despite how much it hurt you, he still made sure that you were a priority in his life. Never forgotten like you are now.

But could you blame him?

Elaine was gentle, soft spoken, and kind. Much like you, and yet she was everything you only wished you could be. She was graceful, she was bright, and she was endearing. People gravitated to her without her even having to say anything. She was noticed instantly, igniting the primal instinct of those around her to protect her, to include her, and to keep her safe.

And you could do nothing but go back into the darkness of your own shadows, lingering in the corner and watching as Azriel slipped through your fingers. And the worst part of it all? 

He didn’t even notice. 

It was dinner time with the whole family as usual. You sat to the right of Azriel, with Elain to his left. It was a habit for you both to fill each other’s plates with all your favorite foods. It was natural for you both, something that everyone liked to tease you both about, and yet you and Azriel thought nothing of it. Just waved it off with a smile because in truth, it just felt right to you both. 

You began filling his plate with all of the good hearty stuff he liked to indulge in once in a while. You grabbed a few slices of roast beef, 2 baked bread rolls, a generous heaping amount of potatoes, and a few pieces of broccoli and carrots.

It was only after you finished plating his food that you realized your plate was empty. You were so happily engrossed with plating his food that you failed to realize that all the movements Azriel has been making to grab food weren’t to fill your plate, but to fill hers. A pile high of food completely different from your taste buds. 

You felt the beginning of your tears in your eyes, and yet you held them back as much as you could. Everyone around you was happily talking and eating, completely oblivious to the way your heart was being torn apart. You wanted to get up and leave the room, to do nothing but cry for the rest of the night. But you didn’t want to cause a scene, you didn’t want to burden anyone with your own pain— they all deserved a good time with a good meal at the end of the night.

Coming back from your thoughts, you fought the urge to look to your left. You fought with all your heart, to ignore the whispers and giggles from them both. You especially tried to ignore the way Azriel ate happily at his food, never once wondering how his plate was already so full. That night, all you could eat was a slice of strawberry cake, going unnoticed by everyone, by Azriel, of just how little you ate. 

Despite how completely invisible you felt, it couldn’t stop you from caring and loving him from the shadows. It didn’t stop you from filling his plate every dinner time. And it most certainly didn’t stop you from doing what you’ve always done.

You refilled his secret snack cabinet in the kitchen when it was going empty, you replaced his gloves and clothes when you noticed it starting to wear out during training, and you made sure a cup of warm tea was always placed in his night stand— knowing how it helped him sleep easier. 

You were so in tuned with making sure you never stopped loving him in ways you’ve always had that you failed to realize that it was no longer being reciprocated. Your bones were starting to ache, your stomach was feeling emptier than usual, the headaches were becoming a frequent visitor, your skin becoming pale from the lack of sleep, and you were slowly drifting away from not only Azriel, but your family too.

The only solace you realized was at night, where you could cry out your heart with the moon looking down on you. You let out a sob, recalling just how loved you used to be by Azriel. How he kept you strong and how he looked out for you just as much. And yet you were so easy to forget, so easy to be tossed aside, as if you were nothing to him. With one final cry, you’ve accepted the one fact you’ve been avoiding— you lost the only anchor you had in your life.

my only anchor masterlist | masterlist | TAGLIST

[moonlight-records]

Rich Boys Don't Have Hearts | LN4

pairing: Jock!Lando Norris x Nerd!Reader

summary: Formula Ivy Academy, or FIA for short, is the most renowned private in the world who takes such a select few. Usually those from wealth with status and secrets and so much to lose. Yet, you are selected to join the FIA on a full scholarship. You have nothing to lose and everything to gain scares a lot students, especially their star athlete who will do anything to protect those he cares about. Though, he didn't expect you to have as much of a...bite to you for a little nobody.

warning: cursing, bribery, jealously, angst (ig???), possessive!lando maybe??? def ooc Lando at points i know it, leclerc & reeader are besties, open ending??? maybe???

fc: none!

wc: 4.4K

current | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

Formula Ivy Academy was the most renowned private school tucked away in Monaco for the brightest people. Whether that was inventors, politicians, artists, thinkers, or athletes was anybody’s guess since FIA was very hush hush about what happens behind their walls. Which, in theory, should be the first sign not to get involved with a school like that. With the amount of money, fame, and reputation of how secretive this academy was, why the hell would anybody want to go there?

Well, anybody who wanted to be anybody, obviously.

Everybody and anybody tried to get in. Thousands of applications went in every semester. Most applications that were submitted were from those that came from wealth that expanded to celebrities and even royalty applied and were rejected.

The rest of the world only dreamed of going there and some had the balls to apply though they knew that they would be rejected. They didn’t have the funds to cover even a quarter of the tuition cost. The only way most people would be able to get in was on a full ride scholarship and according to rumors, full ride scholarships to FIA was like winning the lottery. A one in a million chance for most people. It seemed that FIA was painfully selective about who they let in.

Yet, you were that one in a million person who got accepted into FIA with a full ride.

“Who is she?”

“I think that’s the new girl.”

“Really? She’s really pretty, how come she’s never been here before?”

“Rumor is she’s not from wealth.”

A few gasps erupted, “What?! How did she get in?”

“Full. Ride.” There were some murmurs, “apparently she was valedictorian at her high school and she applied and the school was impressed. She has to keep her GPA at least a 3.5 to keep her scholarship and,” there was a pause and throat cleaning, “she needs it if she’s going to stay.”

You roll your eyes hearing these girls before shaking your head. Casting your gaze at them the group quickly realized that they were talking much louder than attended and quickly scattered. You sigh softly while shaking your head because it was tiring.

You’ve been listening to the whispers and murmurs about yourself for almost a month straight since moving into the dorms back in August. The only places you found peace was in your dorm, since FIA had been so nice to accommodate you with a single room dorm so you can avoid that whole roommate thing, and the vast walls of the library but alas, instead you found yourself walking through campus as more people look and whisper.

You’re cutting through the green to get to your dorm building when a larger pair of Jordan clad feet fell into step besides yours. The pace was deliberate and rhythmic to match yours. You didn’t have to look over to know who it was. You stayed silent and forced your neck to look the other way though it’s no use. Everyone is looking at you and the new found walking partner though when you met their gaze they looked away. You let out a silent huff before craning your neck like a flower turning to the sun but the sun was actually the most annoying boy to ever roam campus who was 1 of FIA’s 20 star athletes and apparently, you’re upstairs neighbor that you try to avoid the best you can. He’s smiling, curly hair unruly, green and white jersey with his lucky ‘4’ on the front and his iconic gray sweatpants.

“Well, if it isn’t ‘Miss Popular’. You know I was getting a bit worried that you had already left before I got the chance to really know you.”

“First off, don’t call me ‘Miss Popular’ because I’m not,” you roll your eyes, “second you can’t get me to leave that fast. I’m sure the whispers and rumors about me are going to die down rather fast considering I think people are realizing that there really isn’t a lot going for me.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I don’t have wealth like that nor do I care. I’m here to get my degree, make connections, and get a head start on my career and I plan to make sure that happens,” you glance at Lando then forward again, “There’s not much to me.” You shrug as you enter the building and you head down your hall towards your room.

“Bullshit.”

You scoff and look over at Lando, “excuse me?”

“I said bullshit. I don’t think that’s the real reason you’re here.” Lando stares down at you, “I doubt you’re just some random insanely smart person who got in with an amazing application. Celebrities and even royalties themselves get rejected but they let you in? Full ride? Just because they like you?” He scoffs. “But fine. Let’s go with that story but I highly fucking doubt that you’re going to keep your head down and just mind your business for the next four years. There’s a lot that happens here at FIA, a lot that would be rather dangerous if it got out. A lot of reputations on the line.” Holding out a stack of cash, “Maybe it would be for the best if you left, don’t you think?”

You stare at Lando in disbelief. Lando’s known as one of the friendliest athletes on campus. He’s always smiling and laughing and making everyone feel welcomed. Even you, the rare times you spoke before this moment but it became crystal clear in this moment that it was nothing more than a ruse to bribe you out of this school and this life. For what? Protecting the students' reputations? You could care less about your classmates and what they do in their spare time. It was none of your business and honestly you probably would forget about most of them and any scandalizing thing they do now.

But Lando wouldn’t believe that and it upset you more because it made sense. You were a nobody who got accepted into the most renowned school that was super selective. Everyone here had three things: money, power, and secrets. You have none of those. You are just a simple person with a simple life that really just wanted to further your education and make a better life for yourself so you didn’t have to worry when you grew older. Pay your parents back for all the sacrifices they made for you. Give back to your friends who saved you when you were drowning…or jumped in so you weren’t drowning alone. Unlike everyone else who had everything to lose and nothing really to gain, you had nothing to lose and everything to gain.

You stare at the stack of cash in Lando’s hand trying to mentally count how much was there, “How much—”

“100,000 in USD,” Lando finishes, “more than enough for you I’m sure. Unless you want me to just pay for whatever school you transfer to, I can do that as well.”

“No, no, the cash is fine—”

Lando smiles wider, “I th—”

You reach out for the money before slamming your hand down. The bills go everywhere as they fall from Lando’s hand and the Brit is stunned. His eyes widen as he stares at you in pure shock before his face darkens.

“IF I was shallow and had no self respect,” you snap back, “how dare you try to bribe me? You probably wouldn’t believe this but I actually do not give a single care about you or any other student on this campus. All you guys care about is your fame, your wealth, and the carefree lifestyles that you all get to have. Unlike you all, I actually have to work for my shit and I will continue doing that. I don’t have time to collect evidence of all these scandals and sell them to news outlets. Besides, I need connections so the last thing I want to do is ruin that chance by breaking the number one unofficial rule of FIA which is what happens within FIA walls stays within FIA walls. What do you take me for? A shallow tool?” Looking Lando up and down, you sneer slightly, “You know what you can do for me, Lando?”

“What?” The Brit snaps.

“You can take your cash and shove it up your fucking ass right along with the lacrosse stick that’s been wedge up there,” you give him a mocking smile, “have the day you deserve.” You turn, flipping Lando off as you continue down the hall before going into your dorm, slamming it behind you. Finally, tears spill past and you clamp a hand around your mouth to silence your cries. You stumble to your bed, vision blurry before crumbling against it, hiding your face into your comfort, sobbing as the weight of Lando’s words settles.

Nobody wants you here. Nobody trusts you nor likes you. To them, you’re nothing more than an outsider who was going to ruin all their reputations. Obviously, someone like you just could not be here to further your education and take this chance to connect and get a huge head start down your career path. That was all just some ruse to really make a quick buck off the rich and their bullshit drama. That you will never be accepted by them and you should quit while you’re ahead. Another sob rips out of your throat as you bury your face further, body shaking, trying so hard to will yourself to stop crying but it was so hard as a month worth of worry and pains had manifested as the cold hard truth and the reality was heartbreaking.

Then it dawned on you. It wasn’t bullshit. What was bullshit was the fact Lando thought you were so shallow. Actually, it was bullshit the entire campus thought you were that shallow. Are they so self absorbed that they really assumed you had applied just to expose what goes on behind the walls of FIA? God, you needed money but you weren’t that desperate for money. Unlike them, you actually gave a fuck about what you wanted to do in life. Especially because you were happily picking something that wouldn’t be destroyed so easily by mere rumors or a single photo to destroy your entire reputation. You didn’t care how much you got to gain to expose all of them, especially Lando after that lovely chat, because that’s what they expected of you. Instead, you were going to completely ignore them. Prove them wrong. Prove Lando wrong.

Settling, you sit there for a bit before slowly lifting your head. You ignore the oncoming headache or the fact your face is wet and puffy. You sniffle softly before patting yourself down and pull your phone out with slightly shaky hands. Arthur Leclerc was a rare friend you had. Well, you assume anyway but now you weren’t sure as you text him.

Do you hate me?-YN

Y/N, how many times do I have to tell you that I don’t hate you. Nor does Mick, Ollie, Kimi, or Charlie.-AL

Well, Lando just tried to give me 100K in USD to get me to leave the school since everyone hates me and nobody trusts me and that I’m here to expose everyone for money and not for my education and to get a head start of my career.-YN

…He fucking did what?-AL

Yeah.-YN

Oh my god. I’m going to punch him at practice. Actually, I have piano so I won’t be at practice—I’ll have Charlie do it. No, he won’t—Kimi will-AL

No-YN

Don’t ‘no’ me! Y/N! You just told me that Lando bribed you because the rest of the school doesn’t trust you for some stupid fucking reason! Also, I know that you were actually warming up to Lando for this to be the reason? Oh god I should tell the couch! I’m going to tell coach—AL

No. No, I don’t need any more issues than already. I just…I just need reassure that you actually like for who I am-YN

Of course I do Y/N. Me, Charlie, Mick, Ollie. We adore you. You’re a breath of fresh air to us, really. You remind us that not everyone is stuck up and snooty and loves to be careless and wild because money and fame will save them. You remind us to slow down and enjoy the moments. You remind us to do things that we love even if nobody else cares because we enjoy the things we love. I promise, we wouldn’t trade you for anything in the world.AL

Arthur…that’s so sweet I might cry again but I won’t.-YN

It’s okay to cry!! I can come over with ice cream and blankets for cuddles-AL

No no, it’s fine. I don’t think I have any tears left. I kind of let out a month’s worth of sadness just out, so, I’m good but I might take you up on the offer for ice cream and blankets after your piano practice-YN

Okay, yeah. God Y/N. I’m so sorry this happened to you.-AL

It’s fine. I’m kind of upset Lando did this privately because the look of shock on his face when I smacked the money out of his hand was priceless.-YN

You WHAT?! Oh my god! You didn’t tell me that!!!-AL

Yeah well, I’m done being sad. I’m angry now.-YN

Anyway, yeah he basically found me. Walked me to the dorms asking if I was avoiding him and stuff. I had said that I just wanna focus on my education and get a jump start at my career and he literally was like ‘bullshit’. I was like ummm what?? Yeah so he goes on about how im a threat and all this—me, the nobody but whatever—and he was giving me cash or offering to pay the tuition of the school I would transfer to in full if it meant leaving since I’m just a wee peasant who’s only here to gossip and get paid by the news and get the school shut down. So I was like, “oh no the cash is fine”…-YN

Oh my god. What did he say?-AL

Oh he was gonna go on that I was making the right choice before I smack the money out of his hand. Man he was pissed-YN

I could imagine.-AL

Arthur, when I tell you watching his face darken out of anger was—kinda scary. Though mama ain’t raised a bitch so. I went off about how I can’t believe he thinks I’m shallow and that I truly could care less about my classmates and that I need these connections so why would I risk losing those connections by outing everyone, ya know???-YN

Oh I know.-AL

Thank you! So then I was like “you know what you can do for me” and he was like “what?!” all snappy and shit. I told him he can pick his money up and shove it right up his ass along with his lacrosse stick and have the day he deserves and the I flipped him off as I left…then I broke down and cried and now we’re here-YN

I AM SO PROUD OF YOU FOR THAT!!! AS YOU SHOULD! Oh my god, I am buying you dinner for that because that is amazing. Also, Lando can go fuck himself and I will personally make sure it happens at practice.-AL

Arthur!-YN

It’s fine! I already laid out that Charles is just to make Lando go a bit insane. No physical harm, all mental.-AL

…Fine. Only because there’s no way I can convince either of you to not do anything-YN

You’re learning! Okay, I have to run but I will see you later tonight. You don’t have to, considering how news gets out around here but, Charlie would like to see you at some point just to make sure you’re okay so, just show a sign of life to him? Please? I’ll cover the ice-cream if you do-AL

I will, promise.-YN

Alright, see you see y/n!-AL

You too, Arthur.-YN

It’s only been 20 minutes since your conversation with Arthur and you really didn’t want to leave your dorm let alone the field after everything that happened. You had finally found the energy to climb into bed curled up under the comfort while staring at the wall before frowning. You know that if you didn’t Charles would go insane with worry and blow up both your phone and Arthur’s and you really didn’t want to upset the only rare few people in your corner. Sighing, you force yourself out of your bed and go through your closet.

The school had uniforms that students must wear to classes. Outside of classes, students were free to wear whatever they wanted and you chose a baggy hoodie with a t-shirt underneath and fuzzy pajama pants that had snoopy all over them. Sliding your crocs on, you grabbed your keys, phone, headphones, and lanyard with your ID before heading out of your dorm and to the field. Putting your headphones on, you gently bobbed your head to the beat of the music as you crossed the green towards the field. Seeing the empty bleachers, you make your way up the ramp as you look out at the field.

There were the two lacrosse nets at the opposite ends of the field. The boys were lingering around the benches as they all chatted among themselves with five minutes to spare in this break. You scan among them, thankful that none of them spotted you. Expect the one that was sitting on the bench away, staring at a small group down. You saw the ‘16’ on the jersey and knew exactly who it was. You straightened up slightly when the player turned and saw you before lighting up like a child on Christmas and scrambling over to you, almost tripping over his own two feet.

“Mon chérie, there you are. I was worried you weren’t going to show that I was about to start calling for a sign of life,” Charles grins as he stands below the bleachers laughing softly. You can’t help the small smile that appears on your face as you lean over the edge of the bleachers looking down at Charles.

“Sorry, I was just—gathering myself.”

“I could imagine,” Charles frowns. “I truly am sorry that happened to you,” Charles whispers. “Just say the words and I will tell the coach or I can punch him. Really, I am angry enough to go through with it.”

“No you don’t have to punch him or tell coach,” you reassure Charles, “I think me slapping the money out of his hand, telling him off, telling him to shove the money up his ass, and flipping him off while telling him to have the day he deserves is probably enough.” You smile, “besides, I have no plans on transferring at all. Especially not after this. Him having to see my face should be enough of a hell for him.”

Charles laughs breathlessly while smiling up at you, “You truly are something else Y/N.” He grins while shaking his head, “Arthur mentioned something about ice-cream and blankets?” He questions.

You go to answer but feel someone just staring at you. Casting your gaze up you lock eyes with the sea green eyes staring at you. It seems that you and Lando are in a stare off that neither of you intend to lose but you only forfeit when you hear Charles scoff below you. “Charles,” you murmur softly and Charles looks up at you, a slight pout on his face, “please be nice so you can join Arthur and I and probably the others for ice-cream and cuddles. That’s what we mean by blankets.”

Charles gasps softly, “and I can join?!”

“If,” you start, “you leave Lando alone.”

Charles narrows his eyes at you and weighs his options, “okay, deal.”

“Leclerc!” Lando shouts, voice clipped, “lets go! No more talking!”

“Duty calls,” Charles murmurs and you shake your head, murmuring to Charles that it’ll be fine. You sit in the stands and switch between watching the practice and looking at your phone. You stand up when the coach blows the whistle to have the team come in to wrap practice up. You make your way off the bleachers and linger at the entrance of track as the team all heads to the bench to gather their things. You watch Charles swiftly grab his water bottle and bag before making his way over to you.

“You did it!” You applaud happily, “you survived practice and didn’t kill him.”

“I know, I know. Took a lot of self control,” Charles murmurs as he steps closer, “I’m pretty sure he was targeting me after seeing me talk to you. The audacity of him, can you believe that?”

“I could, sadly,” you roll your eyes, “he’s an ass. Just ignore him. Why don’t you get change and I’ll wait here and we can then head back to my dorm together?” You offer, “Arthur said he’d bring the ice-cream and Mick would bring the blankets.”

“Okay, I’ll be right out!” Charles says and is off.

You watch him leave and smile slightly before looking away and nearly jumping at Lando who just spawns in front of you. You look up at the Brit and all the emotions from early claw at your throat for an escape. You want to scream. You want to cry. You want to curse him out. You want to ask him why. There are so many questions in your head and you know that no matter what, you won’t get any answers so you settle for this stare off with Lando, even if your neck gets a cramp.

The silence is finally broken by Lando, “What were you talking to Charles about?” His voice is cold and icy. It almost seems uncharacteristic of the Brit but then again, he was full of surprises!

“None of your business.”

“I think it is my business since he’s a teammate of mine and I am also co-captain, so,” he lets his voice trail off as if indicating his importance, “kind of my responsibility to make sure our players are accounted for and safe.”

“Oh? Is it because he’s with me? Cause if you were really concerned, I doubt you nor Max would really be okay with the heavy partying that happens. Then again you two would be hypocritical.” You retort.

That strikes a nerve. He clenches his jaw and stares down at you in anger though he stays silent because he can’t really argue with you. Instead, Lando takes a deep breath while glaring, “well, is coming back to your dorm?”

“Why do you care?”

'“Cause I really don’t need you being so fucking loud and distracting me.”

“Seriously? You’re rarely in your room. When you are, you’re doing anything but homework. The only thing I might give a damn about is your streams for the poor people that watch you.” Crossing your arms over your chest, “but if you need to know since apparently hell has frozen over with you doing homework, I am having a few guests over and Charles is one.”

“Who else?”

“You don’t get names,” you snap. “First off, it’s not your business. Second, you don’t care because I’m just a nobody who’s here to gather intel and sell the secrets and make so money and get the school shut down instead of learning more and making connections and wanting a better future for myself since I’m not privileged like that,” you mock before scowling at him, “you think I’m dumb? No way am I giving out the names of the few genuine friends I have here.”

Lando goes to argue before Charles cuts in, loud and clear, “Oh mon chérie!” Charles stops next to you and glares at Lando who glares back at you, “Oh. Am I interrupting something?”

“Yes. You are.”

“No, you’re fine.”

You and Lando stare at each other before you turn to Charles who slings an arm over your shoulder, “Ready to go then?” Charles asks you, smiling and you nod. “I am.”

“Well. Have a good evening, Lando,” Charles tells him as you just turn and start walking off, leading Charles with you.

Your gut twists and you can’t help yourself even with Charles talking your ear off since you stopped so Charles could tie his shoe. You’re about to look back at Lando until Charles tells some stupid story which gets you to laugh loudly and you nudge Charles when he stands saying that it was a good story.

You hear a thud or something which gets you to turn.

Lando is standing there holding with his head of the lacrosse stick now snapped off. He’s got Max and Oscar on either side of him both concerned and worried while trying to talk to him but Lando is staring at Charles as if he’s trying to strike Charles down mentally before finally looking at you before. He stares at you for a moment before looking at Charles and scowling before turning sharply and heading to the locker room with Max and Oscar trying to figure out what the hell just happened before following Lando.

You stand there watching the trio head off. Your eyes fall on the broken lacrosse stick head. You can’t wrap your head around why Lando was so determined to figure out who was hanging out with you. Was it to turn the little friends against you? Was he just upset that you weren’t bending to his will and made a fool of him earlier today? Why was he like this

“Y/N?”

“Hm?”

“Are you okay?” Charles asks softly.

“Yeah, yeah,” you shake your head and smile, “I’m okay. Just…distracted, that’s all. Come on! I’ll race you,” you start and take off, giving yourself a head start as Charles is cursing and scrambling after you.

Even if Lando wanted you to leave and threw the world’s biggest tantrum as it seemed, you were quite comfortable staying here since you added a new life goal to your plans. It was a very simple life goal.

Make Lando’s regret trying to bribe you.

[chaoticwriting]

THE FATHER 2

Part 1

After the last incident, Danny totally expects the public to be afraid of him or even persecute him for killing the Joker. He did kill in front of a live stream after all. What he doesn't expect is the public giving their full support to him. Almost every single news media paints him in a good light, saying he is just protecting his children and bringing up all his previous charity.

However, there is one big problem Danny doesn't foresee. Danny doesn't even know about the problem because his children are the one that are suffering from it.

-Gotham Academy-

Emma: *Slamming her phone on the table* For the love of god, stop making thirst trap of my dad. He is too old for some of you (He is 20).

Becky: I know right. This is like the sixth thirst trap video that I see of dad.

Carl: I hate this so much. My crush just accepted my confession but on the condition I will introduce her to dad.

Larry: And you agree?

Carl: What? No! Of course not.

Emma: Ugghhh, this is the worst. Maybe we should ask Uncle Tucker to remove all of Dad's thirst trap online. I'm so done with this.

Larry: I don't know. This is the first time girls decide to talk to me voluntarily. I really am enjoying this attention.

Carl: You're happy now until one of the girls decides to confess to you and just as you thought because she likes you, it is because she has a crush on dad.

Larry: I know you just experienced it but you don't need to curse me like that.

Carl: Hmph.

Larry: Hey, has anyone seen Colin? I haven't seen him since last night.

Becky: *Whispersing* Don't you hear? Colin got shot after he went to patrol the night before yesterday. Dad grounds him cause he tries to sneak out injured last night.

Carl: Oof. Colin really doesn't learn does he? Dad has super sense. He literally can't sneak out.

Larry: Yeah. I don't even know why he wants to be a vigilante so much. I guess he is just kind of something. Couldn't be me to be honest.

Emma: Of course he is not like you. You are not even capable of waking up by yourself in the morning.

*Riiiinngggg*

Becky: Well that is our break then. Let's go to class.

Larry: Eh, it's not like Miss Brown gonna scold me if I am a little late anyway. She has been trying to get Dad's number from me for a while now.

Carl: Does dad even have a girlfriend? Or boyfriend? Hell, a partner? I never saw him gone on a date once so far.

Emma: Chances are probably super low. Like to say he is dense is an understatement. A woman tried to flirt with him once but he just replied to all the flirting with the straightest face possible.

The rest: *Giggles*

-Gotham Libraries-

Contrary to what his kids have been believing in, he actually knows when someone is flirting with him. It's just that he takes note from the dense anime protagonist and uses it in daily life whenever he is not interested in a person flirting with him. Which is like daily.

But here is the problem. He can respond to a flirt very easily. He learns a lot of that from when he was dating Sam. But he never actually flirts with someone first. And he isn't sure just how to approach the problem.

Having decided that he has stayed long enough, Danny picks a random book from the space section and brings it to the checkout table.

Danny: Hey Barbara.

Barbara: Hey Danny. Borrowing another book?

Danny: Yeah. I just finished the previous one last night. It is a good book. Thanks for the recommendation.

Barbara: You're welcome. How's the kids doing? Still causing trouble for you?

Danny: It's the same shenanigans everyday. Going to lectures, doing paperwork, taking care of the kids. What about you?

Barbara: It's the same with me. Barely any people come to the library these days. Usually it's only either you or my friends.

Danny: Oh. Errmm, Barbara.

Barbara: Yes?

Danny: Would you be free this weekend?

Barbara: Are you asking me on a date?

Danny: Depends. If it is, what would you say?

Barbara: Hmmm, let me think.

Danny fidgets as Barbara taps her finger on the counter. Barbara loves to tease Danny since he is so cute when he is nervous.

Barbara: I think I am free this weekend. So I am available for a date.

Danny's face beams a smile as he hears that.

Danny: So is that a yes?

Barbara: What do you think, big guy?

Danny: Then I will come pick you up at your apartment then?

Barbara: Come pick me up at my dad's house. I will be ready at 5.

Danny: Okay. Have a good day.

Barbara: You too.

Danny then walks out of the library, skipping a little. He has been gathering courage to ask Barbara out on a date for a long time now. They first met when Danny first borrowed a book from a library. It's nothing crazy. Just interaction between two people. But after meeting up a few more times, Danny realizes that he might have a crush on her. After getting convinced by Tucker and Sam, Danny decided that today is the day he asks her out. And he succeeded.

Now, it is just to make sure that the date goes well.

-Clocktower-

Batman: That's it for tonight. Everyone returns back to the cave.

Black Bat/Spoiler/Red Robin: Roger.

Oracle: Hey, B. Can I have a day off this weekend?

Batman: Why?

Oracle: I have a date that night.

Spoiler: You are dating someone?

Oracle: It's not official yet. He only just asks me out on a date this morning.

Batman: Yes. Keep your comms up. In case a breakout happens your way.

Oracle: Okay.

Red Robin: Who are you going on a date with?

Oracle: Danny.

Spoiler: As in that Danny?

Oracle: Yes.

Spoiler: Oh wow! You work fast. How do you know him?

Oracle: He always comes to the library to borrow books. I met him long before he became famous so it is not so hard to talk with him.

Black Bat: Is he nice?

Oracle: He is very nice. It's very hard to even make him mad. The only time I remember him being in a slightly bad mood is at Christmas. He doesn't like it apparently. Wait, Hood is entering the line.

Red Hood: Oracle, you betray me!

Oracle: Tough luck loser. How do you know anyway?

Red Robin: I told him just now.

Red Hood: Yeah! You dare ask him out on a date first before me? I will remember this.

Oracle: He is the one that actually asks me out. We are going on an official date this weekend. I'll take a very nice picture of us together so that you can see from afar.

Red Hood: But your status still isn't official yet. I still have a chance.

Oracle: Over my dead body.

Red Hood: Oh, I will.

Spoiler: Errr, guys. What is happening?

Red Robin: They have a bet on who will get to date Danny first. Apparently Hood gets a massive crush on this guy after what happens in the livestream. Oracle gets the news and they quarrel a little bit. After that I propose a competition between the two.

Spoiler: But both of you don't know that Oracle is already close with Danny. Girl, that's dirty.

Oracle: All is fair in love and war.

Batman: What is his background?

Red Robin: As far as I can see, he is pretty clean. There is even what I suspect some vigilante works that he might have done because he is related to the disbandment of GIW that were supported by both his parents and his godfather. But after some digging into the old GIW files, there are traces of Danny and his friends helping the local ghost hero fighting either other ghosts or the agents themselves. There was also the unexplained money that he suddenly had early on in his career as CEO but so far, it doesn't seem like anything bad.

Robin: Hmmm.

Red Robin: What is it brat?

Robin: I feel like his face is very familiar.

Batman: Explain.

Robin: I need to confirm this with mother. But I am fairly certain that his ancestors have connections with the Al Ghul.

Red Robin: As in blood related?

Robin: No. But there is a book that mother finds about a man who has a very similar appearance to him. The book tells the tale of a kind immortal who spends his lives helping others while learning stuff from them.

Spoiler: A cult of assassins teach young children to be kind?

Robin: Shut it, Brown. I am not finished. The part of the story that interests me is the tale called The Beheader of Demon.

Spoiler: I take it back. That sounds like something a cult of assassins will teach young children.

Robin: The tale tells a story of the immortal meeting a demon who kills people just to find immortality. When the demon finds out that the immortal is well, immortal, he pursues the immortal, trying to kill him and forces the immortal to give away his immortality to him.

Red Robin: What happened next?

Robin: The Demon's head is severed and the Demon's subordinates run away bringing the Demon's body to the pool of revival.

Spoiler: So is this a true story?

Robin: Mother confirms it is a true story. I do not know whether he is a true immortal or not. However, I do know that his ancestors or maybe even him, is good enough to beat grandfather even if he has backup.

Red Hood: What about the other tales?

Robin: There is nothing of note. Some mention of the immortal's supernatural ability, like summoning the dead or the ability to move mountains and divert rivers.

Red Robin: That is not something to take note of?

Robin: No. Because in those stories, the only consistent thing about him is that he is kind. Never harm someone unless provoked.

Batman: Compile all the tales into a file. Red Robin, lists out all the possible powers of target.

Oracle: Oh wow. My date is now a target. How could this get better?

Red Hood: If he is really dangerous, I volunteer to stalk monitor them while they are on the date.

Oracle & Batman: No!

Red Hood: Tsk! Party pooper.

Batman: Red Robin and Spoiler, follow them. Priority is keeping Oracle safe.

Red Robin & Spoiler: *High five* Let's go.

Oracle: Ugghhh, you all better don't mess with my date. Or else I'll make sure you regret it.

Part 3

[r3starttt]

GHOSTFACE ELLIE

PAIRING: Ellie x reader

SUMMARY: Quiet girl turns out to be a psycho <3

CW: phone sex. guided masturbation. fingering. knife play.

AN: as always @clairoscharm thanks for reading my stuff and supporting my delusional ass AND total creds to this for the dialogue

TAGLIST | KINKTOBER: @s4pphic-myth @levilvrr @girlkisser168 @bilsvlt @tlouloser @marsworlddd @softlikesilk-chiffon @grey-jedi12 @slut4ellienabby @roos4lm4 @elliezlils11utt @1-800-fantasy @ellieswifee232 @rob1nbuckl3ys @abbys-muscles | ELLIE'S TAGLIST: @ilovetaylorrr @imdrowningindispair @rkivedpages @elliesmistress @aouiaa @chlobearsworld @crispers @bruhhtsukjf @twopeoplee

Lying in bed, the glow of your phone the only light in the room, you scroll mindlessly, your limbs heavy with the dull ache of hours spent in the same position. A pillow is wedged between your legs, more out of habit than comfort, and the phone in your hand holds you captive in an endless loop. It’s been five hours, maybe more.

Your attention flits from one post to another until, once again, you land on her. That girl. The one you’ve been following for months now. She’s pretty, but not in an obvious way. She wears glasses, those chunky ones that somehow make her even more intriguing, and her wardrobe is an exercise in minimalism: basic tees, old Converse, jeans that have seen better days. Yet, it suits her. She doesn’t need anything more.

She’s intelligent, too. You’ve seen it in the rare moments she speaks up in class, offering insight that stands in stark contrast to the usual drivel from the self-assured brunette at the front of the room, whose every comment is met with the weary nod of a teacher who’s simply given up.

But not her. She’s different. She only speaks when she has something worth saying.

You’ve never really spoken to the girl you’re watching now, the quiet one, the one with the pins on her backpack that match all your obsessions. But you’ve heard her, overheard her really—laughing with her small group of friends, a sound that’s more music than noise. And that laugh, paired with her intelligent, effortless aura, keeps you coming back to her profile. You scroll through her feed again, trying to piece together more of who she is. But it’s hopeless, really.

You know better than to hope.

You’ve overheard her laughing with her friends, and once—just once—you caught a snippet of conversation that seemed to be about someone like you. They joked about how a person like you would be the perfect way for her to "get out of her comfort zone," before she rolled her eyes and tossed a gummy at her friend, who ate it off the floor with a grin. The image of that moment clings to you, taunting. Maybe if you were the kind of person who ate floor gummies, maybe if you filled your pink backpack with pins and trinkets like hers, she’d notice you. Maybe then you wouldn’t seem so insignificant.

But it’s a foolish thought, really. All of it becomes irrelevant when you see her newest post, a fleeting story—her hair, damp and messy, clinging to her face, and an oversized red shirt, soaked through in the same vibrant hue. The image is imperfect but mesmerizing. Did she mean to post it? Probably not, because just as you finish taking a screenshot, Instagram glitches, and the story vanishes, no longer available to view.

"Fuck," you mutter under your breath, a single word of frustration, though it’s nothing compared to the soft whimpers and low murmurs that follow as you shove your hand between your legs. That same position you were in a few minutes ago now doing the opposite, relaxing your stiffened body into something comfortable and private. Something that gets interrupted by your phone vibrating in a disturbing tone.

Your eyes open, your mouth closes and the finger teasing your clit quickly abandons its place to rest over your stomach. The sudden sound taking your breath with the vibrations. The pad of your thumb slid over the screen, hanging the call without even glancing to look at the number. Whoever it was should be able to use their fucking fingers and type whatever message they needed you to know at ten pm on a Friday.

The agitation slowly faded into that anxious palpitation in your heart, your body catching your needs again as the wet under your panties grew again. You took your time, sliding your shirt over your head, the small shorts being tossed somewhere in the floor and your panties and bra resting at the edge of the nightstand next to you beside your phone.

She was in your mind- creepy, but it'll be enough for your horny brain to work into making you cum. And truly it was working amazing, circling at your clit, caressing your own skin in hopes to trick yourself it was someone else. Your thighs clenching whenever you were too harsh on yourself. Nipples hard between the pads of your fingers. Your mouth opening the slightest to catch your breath at the somehow pretty sound of your wet.

But the vibrations appeared again. A disturbing sound that made you anxious.

With a groan you turned yourself on the side, managing to grab at the phone with wet still on your hands. Who cared anyway.

The phone buzzed in your hand, the screen flashing with an unknown number. You hesitated for a second, half-expecting it to be a wrong number or maybe some random perv dialing at the worst possible time. Or maybe it was just some grumpy old person calling the wrong number altogether—some mundane accident that you could dismiss with a quick tap.

But then, through the crackling line, your name came through, distorted and warped, like someone speaking through an old, broken radio. Your brow furrowed, confusion setting in immediately.

"Who’s this?" you asked, your voice sharper than you intended. Had you been too careless? Maybe given your number to someone you didn’t remember in class?

"Long time, huh? Didn’t think you’d answer," the voice replied, dripping with mockery. The eerie, disembodied tone was layered with heavy breathing, the kind that made your skin crawl.

You sat up straighter, fingers gripping the phone tighter. Your confusion only deepened, your eyebrows knitting together in suspicion. "Who is this?" you repeated, but instead of an answer, the voice laughed, a low, unsettling sound that rattled your nerves.

"Don’t be so impatient," they teased.

A heavy silence followed, stretching on far too long. Your heart started to race as the seconds ticked by, tension building until you almost hung up. Just as your thumb hovered over the screen, ready to end the call, the voice cut back in, calm and unnervingly intimate.

"I think you left the door open."

Your eyes immediately shot to your bedroom door, closed just like you’d left it. But something about the way they said it made you second-guess yourself. You suddenly wanted to throw the blankets off, get dressed, and rush downstairs to check every door, every window. You always locked up before bed—double-checking, even—but now that doubt gnawed at the edges of your mind.

"You know," the voice continued, smooth and casual, "you shouldn’t leave it unlocked. Makes it too easy for someone…"

Your pulse hammered in your ears, and a cold chill settled deep in your stomach. Every word felt like a creeping shadow, something lurking just out of view. You tried to force yourself to move, to shake off the growing panic, but their next words stopped you cold.

"I wouldn’t do that," they said, a twisted hint of amusement in their tone. "I’ve been watching you."

A wave of nausea rolled over you as the realization hit. This wasn’t a prank. This wasn’t some random caller. Whoever they were, they knew too much—things they shouldn’t know.

Your mind raced, heart pounding as you scanned the room, trying to process what was happening. "Who the hell are you?" you managed to stammer out, your voice shaking, but they ignored the question entirely, continuing as if the conversation was on their terms.

"How long do you think you have left?"

The playful edge was gone now, replaced with something colder, more deliberate. The words cut through the air like knives, sharp and precise. Whoever this was, they weren’t guessing—they knew something you didn’t, and it left a sick feeling crawling up your spine.

"I don’t—" you began, your voice faltering under the weight of the moment, but the distorted voice on the other end silenced you. "Go lay down again," they whispered, the words almost affectionate, but twisted in a way that sent every nerve in your body on high alert. "Come on, if you're good enough maybe I'll have pity. You're good at causing that." They definitely knew you.

You hesitated but obeyed their every command. Each step against the cold floor of your room sending a shiver up your warmth body, a thin layer of sweat growing on your forehead at the silence between the line. "There we go." He mocked you.

"See? wasn't so hard to obbey." You heard their slow, heavy breathing, each breath dragging out in an unsettling, deliberate rhythm. It was shallow, almost raspy, like they were too close to the phone. "Come on, lay down." His tone was quieter, almost a mumble. You did as they ordered, adjusting yourself in almost the same comfortable position you were in, before this creepy guy called to entertain himself tonight.

"You're shy now?" he chuckled. Your body reacted before you could even process, trying to make this have any sense. Your eyes wandered all over the dark in your room, there was absolutely nothing. Not a window half open or the courtains allowing much inside view, the door was closed too. "Spread your legs, yeah... just like that. Now, put your hands over your thighs- no, lower... yeah, closer." His every command was followed. The tip of your fingers caressed the inside of your thighs, sliding your hand up and down, over your knee and then down until you got too close to your pussy, the wet growing shamelessly fast. He didn't really put any more rules, his breathing increasing withint every touch you applied over your body. growing into it eventually.

"Good, good girl"

Your hands stopped in the inside of your thighs, gripping at your own flesh at the mix of fear, shame- mostly wanting her to just come inside and finish the main plan she'd had on her brain when you answered her call. "Don't stop now, you were doing so good..." Her voice had a fake pity on it, mocking you. "Move them over your stomach, come on."

But you didn't.

"I know you wanted this." Ellie whispered, it was the closes her tone got to that robotic distortion you've heard before. "You were whining my name."

Your breathing was unsteady, your stomach tightening in everything but pleasure.

"Let me hear you again."

Your hand slid between your legs, hesitant on the show you were about to give her. She must be able to see, right? somehow.

You rubbed small circles on your throbbing clit, scissoring your folds to make it last longer. "Fuck- good girl.... just like that." Your lips parted open, allowing the front teeth to show up a little. Whines coming in the warmth of your breath before her name started to slip in between. You were ridiculously wet. each touch on your pussy loud and explicit. Profanity elicting out of you withing every touch over you nipples, down your stomach and against your pussy. She didn't have to ask, you'd do anything for her, anytime.

"Fucking pretty girl... hear that. So wet for me." Her voice was almost a whimper. there was no shame and fuck if she was here. actually seeing it in front of her eyes. She'd be on her knees for you, offering to help, to touch, to clean. "Yeah... fuck- please-" her breath was loud, a cruel trick to make yourself think she was close.

"Wanna cum?" you nodded as if she could see. she had to see. "Stop- stop." the tone was firm and you had nothing to do but whine at it, rubbing your clit one last time. You did leave your hand there, just needed any sorth of pressure between your wet pussy.

The call ended. And you desperately abandoned your body to pick up the phone and call again. The tone would ring and ring until it didn't, was it a joke?

The back of your head crashed against the messy pillow behind you, catching your breath for the millionth time this hour. There was a mess consuming you. The fear and uncomfortable of being seen by her, as creepy as it could be, it made you wet. She was a craving you would kill to suffice anytime and you've got her so close. Even if she was cruel, if this was a joke to laugh at you, you'd still do it again.

Your eyes drifted to the end of the bed, glancing at your naked body before crawling to pick up your clothes. You made it to the mere edge of the mattress, stretching to pick at your shirt and maybe at your shorts too.

The door cracked slightly, letting in some light from the hallway. But no one came in, there was no sound, no step, no loud greeting. "Dressing already?" your attention turned to meet at the strange mask covered person- her. The black robe adorning her body, way too loose. Her boots were so loud against the floor, almost as loud as the sound form the door when she slapped it closed. You were drooling.

"Eager?" Her knees folded slightly, getting to your height. You heard the shine of her blade, watching it just a few seconds later beneath your chin. "Put that back." Her head tilted to the side, you could barely see her through the dark circles covering her eyes. It took you a while until you put the shirt back to where it was, tossed somewhere you'd think about later.

The cold of the blade dig the slightest into your neck as you turned back around. Her other hand was quick to get rid of the mask, allowing you to have the prettiest sight. There was no actual reaction but a whimper that had to brush through your lips as you sensed her lips over yours. It was sloppy and gross and desperate, all while the mere tip of the knife cut between your breasts, digging hard enough to let the blood drip down your stomach, stopping the second your back hit your matress. It eventually stained the pretty blankets beneath.

She slid under your neck, nibbling and sucking at the skin while her knife rested flat against the fat of your thighs. Her legs crawled to trap you in between, leaving enough space for your legs to spread a little, enough to fit her hand in your pussy, really. Which didn't take long, craving to hear your voice this close, right next to her ear again. "Fuck baby, so fucking wet for me?" you nodded, already a disturbing mess at the feeling of her hand cupping at your cunt, slapping at it.

Her digits got trapped the second she landed on your clit, not paying too much attention as she could only care about tasting you, licking at your skin and sucking at the trail of blood under your breasts. Leaving her name stained on your tender withint every kiss and sucking and touch.

"Lemme hear you, come on." She slid her digits with ease, thrusting in and out of your wet pussy. You clenched at her, cupping the back of her neck- up her hair, and forcing her to kiss you, needing to savor her for once. She was whining, as wet as you beneath that tough costume.

"Fuck- just like that baby? yeah? gonna cum for me..." There was a sloppy kiss between each word. Quiet whines and moans pressed against your skin to overlap the wet of her thrusts on your pussy. "Ellie- Fuck- els...." she chuckled at your words. Her quiet ego being fed at the sight of you, so fucked for her. "My good girl, mhm?" her weight felt too heavy, and her kissed too overwhelming. But she was fucking you good, way better than what you've imagined.

The knot on your stomach grew bigger with every praise, every squeal of her fingers against your pussy, every moan she'd let out and the vibration you'll get on your skin.

But the knife cut deeper this time, just as you'd open your mouth to have the orgasm you've been denied for so long. You saw her eyes, her flushed cheeks and those freckles you'd admired from afar in hopes to someday see them this close.

The warmth on your stomach now growing- drenching on the sides of your body. But fuck it was a good sight to see, what she'd been craving for a while now. Your pretty whine and her hand drenched in your wet not transformed into pure horror and pain.

"Good girl, yeah baby. I know" your hands wandered anywhere, not even thinking on defending but holding her, pressing her closer to you. Have her one last time. "I know."

[streamsofmoon]

18+ | vi x f!reader

synopsis: vi's perspective to the pizza delivery guy before the delivery.

a/n: i'm happy that you all enjoyed the pizza delivery guy fic and at your request, here is a part two!

part 1

vi has noticed how the pizza delivery guy looks at you. how his eyes linger longer than they should when he's passing off the order. how he tries so hard to make you laugh, taking your polite giggles as success.

it used to irk vi before; she's quite protective of you. some might even say possessive would be the right word. you're hers to have and to hold, to kiss and to fuck, to love until the end of eternity. no one in their right mind would ever threaten that.

but then it got interesting.

"what's this?" vi asks, showing a napkin that has a phone number on it. there's also a name but vi can't be fucked to care about it. you had just ordered from that pizza place and of course, pizza delivery guy had been the one to bring it.

you're busy chewing on a mouthful of cheesy goodness, cheeks adorably bunched up, as you make a questioning noise. then you’re swallowing, looking at the number with a tilt of your head.

"oh, that's odd," you say before taking another bite of your slice. "i'm guessing it's from the delivery guy."

vi scowls. "yeah, no shit," she murmurs, balling up the napkin with a little more strength than necessary. "that's bold of him. what did he think was gonna happen?"

"that i'd call him?" you reply innocently, licking pizza sauce off your fingers. "he doesn't know i'm taken. you're usually hiding in the back or coming home from work when the pizza arrives. so he's probably taking his shot." you shrug, a mischievous smile curving your lips. "why, you threatened?"

vi snorts loudly, instantly rolling her eyes as she shoves some pizza into her mouth. she doesn't say anything else, though, which prompts you to crawl into her lap. which vi immediately makes space for as she sets her plate to the side.

"you know you're my one and only, right?" you say softly, looking at her with adoring eyes. "as if i'd ever fall for anyone else when i have you looking at me."

"i know," vi murmurs, greasy hands going to squeeze at your waist. "you're just as obsessed with me as i am with you."

"exactly," you whisper, leaning to plant a kiss against her mouth. a kiss that turns deep with her tongue licking into your mouth, teeth tugging at your bottom lip as you moan into it.

that solidifies vi's slightly shaken resolve; something that shouldn't have been shaken in the first place.

but the thing is that you're so amazing; you're everyone's dream girl. you're beautiful and fantastic, you've got a heart of gold. you make vi love every single day because she knows that you exist. the fact that other people are attracted to you isn't a shock, but other people know to stay away from you. because she's always there by your side, sending off warnings to anyone who dare come close.

this is the first time someone has broken through her barrier, and it genuinely stings.

the barrier needs to be rebuilt again—stronger this time.

so vi orders pizza again a week later, knowing the pizza delivery guy will show up without fail. then she times thirty minutes and begins the plan that's been simmering in her head for days.

you're in the living room, curled up on the couch as you scroll through your phone. something's firmly captured your attention, allowing vi to descend on you without alerting you. there's barely any time to yelp when vi grabs your phone, tosses it on a cushion, and gets flat on your back.

"vi—?" you try, cutely puzzled, but a gasp escapes you when skilled fingers slide your panties to the side. "oh..." your mouth drops open, a tiny moan at the back of your throat as vi presses two fingers in.

vi groans at your warmth, slightly wet, as she uses her thumb to tease at your clit. your hips jump at the touch, your thighs parting wider for vi to slip between them. "good girl," she praises sweetly. "always ready to open up for me. already getting so wet from my touch."

"fuck," you whimper, slowly starting to roll your hips into the push and pull of vi's thrusts. "yes, a-always for you..."

"that's my baby," vi coos, her thrusts getting sharper and meaner. every thrust creating a shlick and squlech to show just how soaked your cunt has become.

she makes you cum once and fucks you through until you're cumming again, back arched and thighs trembling. you're crying when she expertly pushes you into another orgasm, too fast and rough enough that it makes you squirt all over her fingers and some of the couch.

"vi, i—" you choke on your next words, eyes rolling back as vi stakes her claim on your neck. as she digs her teeth into the bolt of your jaw, panting into your skin as her own hips rut into the couch below.

all it takes is thirty minutes until there's a knock on the door.

the pizza has arrived, and you're struggling to grasp at some semblance of sense. vi leaves you on the couch with a kiss and answers the door with your slick still on her hands.

the guy looks at her in shock, taking her in, and vi's pleased to see the barely hidden terror in his eyes.

"do i owe you anything?" she asks nonchalantly, knowing damn well she doesn't. but she's enjoying this too much to let it end quickly.

then, as if you hadn't just been fingerfucked through the couch, you appear in all your freshly fucked glory. you whine to her that you're hungry and you're a beautiful dirty mess, covered in her marks with thighs slicked from your release. you greet him happily, oblivious to his shock as he takes you in.

vi knows he knows, judging by how he stares down at your thighs when you take the pizza box. the oversized shirt lifting just enough to tease what lies underneath.

as you leave, vi notes how his eyes don't leave you, and this is where she rebuilds that barrier even stronger than before.

"watch your eyes next time," she threatens, meaning it with her entire soul.

then she slams the door in his face.

[captain-huggy-bear]

Quinn Hughes

Thoughts

Quinn and Anxiety

Stomach Squisher

Quinn the giver

Quinn and an Alternative partner

When you're on your period

Quinn and Period sex 18+ MDNI - {Jack mentioned} + [1]

When you're in hospital

Flowers

After a long day

Reassuring

Drabbles/Prompts

Valentine's Day

How he reacts to some guy being a creep towards you

Breaking point

Marking you up - 18+ MDNI NSFW

Forgotten Goodbye Kiss

Casual dominance

He cuts his hair

Body hair

“This is the end of your all-nighters, you hear me, baby?”

"What I'm trying to say is... I like you."

“Hey… hey… why are you crying?”

“I’ve seen the way you look at me”

"I'd like my good morning kiss now, thank you very much"

"Can I?"

“Every morning I fall in love with you all over again."

“Let’s keep it professional, alright”

“Hey...it’s just me now. You don’t have to pretend anymore...you can talk to me."

One-shots

Late Bloomer - Quinn x Fem!Reader - Quinn finds out he's your first boyfriend in your mid-20s, you're expecting him to freak out.

The Sleeves - Quinn x Short Fem!Reader - Jersey sleeves are just a little too long for you.

Fishbowl Blues - Quinn x Fem!Reader - You're more stressed and worried over Quinn's busted lip than he is.

Practically Ancient - Quinn X Fem!Reader - You end up down a rabbit hole of instagram comments and profiles and can't help but compare yourself to all the women who would gladly date your boyfriend. You can't help but wonder why he's even with you.

'You're Blushing.' - Quinn X Fem!Reader - You're friends with Jack and Luke first, they decide to tease you good naturedly about your reaction to their older brother, Quinn.

To Fight a Ten Year Old - Quinn X Fem!Reader - In which Quinn is prepared to time travel to whoop some ten year old butt because you tell him a story from your childhood and he takes it personally.

Scratchy - Quinn X Fem!Reader - 18+ MDNI - Quinn will do most things to make you laugh, his favourite thing about growing out his beard is the fact that it's a weapon of mass destruction when breaking that laugh out of you. It also makes you a little weak at the knees and hot behind the collar too which is a bonus.

A Love that Gives, Gives, Gives - Quinn X Fem!Reader - Sometimes you think you have the perfect fitting bra and it turns out that it's actually a traitor in disguise. Sometimes your boyfriend is personally offended that an article of clothing would hurt you so much because he's a sap.

Squish Time - Quinn X Fem!Reader - Sometimes there is only one way to regulate your nervous system and that is squish time.

Guard Dog - Quinn X Fem!Reader - You are feeling particularly protective of Quinn after the game against the Washington Capitals and run into Dubois.

The Collection - Quinn X Fem!Reader - You keep every single puck that Quinn has ever given you, he finds your collection that you've been shyly hiding away. It might just be the thing that makes him realise you're the girl he's going to marry.

The Missing Puck - Quinn X Fem!Reader - It's the Hughes Bowl...and you're missing your usual warmup puck from Quinn. You think he's forgotten, he most definitely has not, but he didn't think this through. Fuck. Sequel to The Collection

A Little Misunderstanding - Quinn X Fem!Reader - Your parents assume that Quinn, the man you mention over the phone all the time, is in fact your boyfriend. He's very much not, but Quinn thinks its funny to pretend he is...until it gets a little too real and maybe some truths are told and feelings are aired.

Perfect Fit - Quinn X Fem!Reader - You fit perfectly into Quinn's family, knowing how much they love you just makes Quinn realise that you're it for him.

Teacher!Reader Series -

You teach teenagers History in Vancouver, while dating a pro-hockey player, Quinn Hughes. Recurring teenage OCs like David for the lols.

The Teacher's Always Right - Quinn X Fem!Reader - Your students badger you about your relationship status and you let slip you're dating a hockey player who plays for the Vancouver Canucks. They don't believe you, you're petty enough to arrange a school trip to Rogers Arena just to prove your point.

National Teacher Day - Quinn X Fem!Reader - Quinn has a big surprise for National Teacher Day that puts your relationship out in the public space

In Your Element - Quinn X Fem!Reader - Quinn finally gets an opportunity to each lunch with you at your school, but he arrives a little early and sees a different side to you, when you're absolutely in your element

The Little Things Mean A Lot - Quinn X Fem!Reader - Sometimes it's the small things that make you fall in love all over again, like your favourite Singapore chowmein from your favourite Chinese takeaway after a long day of teaching and parent's evening

In Sickness and in Health - Quinn X Fem!Reader - You've convinced yourself that you're not actually that ill, mostly because setting cover for your lessons is more trouble than its worth. Quinn is having none of it.

Priorities - Quinn X Fem!Reader -When Quinn gets a text from you 2 hours before his game, he shows where his priorities lie when he drops it all for you. A kind of sequel to In Sickness and in Health but you don't need to read that to read this.

In the Firing Line - Quinn X Fem!Reader - You break up a fight at your school getting hurt in the process. There's only one person you want to call in that situation.

The Jello Incident - Quinn X Fem!Reader - You come home from work and tell Quinn all about the jello incident at school and then fall asleep on him.

Morning Sickness - Quinn X Fem!Reader - Quinn is getting increasingly worried about you as you're sick every morning and every evening, you're adamant that you're fine. Turns out you're right in a way.

Drabble: You're reaction of him being out on IR

Baby Shower Surprises - Quinn X Fem!Reader - Quinn organises a baby shower for you with your high schoolers. It might just be the sweetest a bunch of teenagers have ever been.

[p1astr81]

hey, as a psychology student, I barely see ff involving this area so what if a ff where yn is a psychologist in F1 and she ends up falling for oscar? but you can add some obstacles to make it more interesting haha

for the sake of this, reader is a sports psychologist!

ignore how this lowkey isn’t a psychologists job okay im sorry😭

As part of the sport’s initiate to protect all of its drivers—from Formula 3 to its top competitors in Formula 1–they’ve decided to hire a group of sports psychologists. The group was hired to work track side every weekend, and has their own individual offices in the Formula 1 hospitality. The FIA claimed their hospitality was too full.

You happened to be one of those psychologists.

You spent most days doing absolutely nothing. Most drivers were too embarrassed to pay a visit to any of your offices. Or too conscious of getting caught visiting one and getting blasted on social media.

Some did visit. Particularly the rookies. Lando was the only one to frequent your office. He’d pop in after particularly bad races just to rant to you. He liked how good of a listener you were and how easily you could soothe his worries.

Which is why when he noticed Oscar carry a bit too much tension in his shoulders, he recommended that he pay a visit to you. “One visit wouldn’t hurt.” He reasoned when Oscar was too hesitant.

The next weekend, there was a knock on your door. “Come in,” you called, closing out of your tabs.

“Hi,” you looked up at his quiet voice. Stood as he walked into the room.

“Hi!” You beamed. “Have a seat, make yourself comfortable. There’s snacks, water, take whatever you need.” You gestured to the cart beside the couch and you sat in the chair across from him.

Lando had mentioned how you were nice and a good listener. But he never mentioned how pretty you were, or how infectious your smile was.

“What brings you in?” You didn’t have an intimidating clipboard, nor did you ask him questions like he was in an interrogation room. You also didn’t have those obnoxious overhead lights on. Just the sunlight and a few warm lamps. It was a cozy space.

Oscar leaned into the fluffy sofa, sinking in it like a cloud. “I just feel stressed lately. It’s probably the championship but it’s really having a physical effect on me. I feel really sore lately.”

Still, you smiled. “Have you tried anything to manage the stress? Meditation? Relaxing music? Picking up a hands-on hobby helps a lot of people, too.”

“No.” He said flatly.

“Okay, well trying one of those could help, and I’m always here to talk if you think that might help.”

Oscar definitely thought your talks helped. He’d gone to you almost every single day. Most of the time, he wasn’t even discussing racing. He’d ask you about your life, tell you about his.

And the one day, after a month and a half of ‘sessions’, he’d asked you out for dinner.

He should’ve seen it coming. Your sigh. How you told him I’m sorry, we should keep this professional.

He avoided you for the following three weeks. Three long weeks of his mind plagued by the memories of you. By your laugh. Your smile. Then he decided he’d had enough of his torturous mind.

He went into your office without knocking. “I’m having difficulty focusing on my races because there’s this really cute, nice girl who I can’t stop thinking about, but she doesn’t seem to care about me.” He threw himself onto the sofa like it was another session.

You sighed, finding your usual place in the chair. “I do care about you, Oscar. But we can’t be anything more than-“

“Professional! I know, you’ve said that before.” He grumbled, then sat up. “Why?”

“Why do we have to be professional?”

“Yes!”

“Because we both work for the same people.” You sighed. You were too calm. He envied it. He was breaking down because he couldn’t have what he wanted.

And you were calm.

That should be him. He should be that calm, that composed. It usually came easy to him, but now it was taking everything in him to not get a taste of your lips.

“Last time I checked, you don’t have a contract with Zak brown.” He laughed, pacing the room now.

You tossed him the stress ball you kept on your desk. He took it and sat down, squeezing it like it personally wronged him. “Maybe not, but I can’t date any driver, it’s not just you. It’s not a good look. They’ll fire me for it, I know they will.”

He was thinking quick. “Does it say that in your contract?”

You thought for a moment, then, “no.”

“Then it’s wrongful termination.”

You chewed your lip. Still risky in your mind, but boy were his big brown eyes convincing. You sighed. “Okay. I’ll go to dinner with you.”

“Yes!” He jumped up with a pump of his fist. A bigger victory than you’d ever heard on his radio. “I’ll pick you up uhm- er- Sunday night?”

“Better win then.”

And win he did. Not only the race, but also you.

He married you four years later—and you still had your job in the paddock.

[marauder-misprint]

Hair

part 1 part 2 part 3

Remus Lupin x fem!reader

microfic - 948 words

cw - fluff

“Hair tie… hair tie… hair tie…” you mutter to yourself as you search every surface of your dorm looking for one. You open every drawer and lift up anything that might be hiding one underneath. None of your roommates seem to have one. How did a dorm of multiple girls not have a single hair tie? 

“Where did they all go?” you ask yourself before turning to see the time. “Shit.”

You grab your school back and bolt out of your dorm, hair unfamiliarly flying behind you. You had made a habit of always wearing your hair up in a bun. It kept it out of your way during lessons. And now, partially since you had woken up late, you were on your way to class with your hair down and no breakfast. 

You sit next to one of your friends and she gives you a curious look.

“Hair down today?”

“I couldn’t find a hair tie.”

“My spare broke or I’d offer you that one.”

You sigh. Your hair falls in your face as you lean over to grab something out of your bag. This was going to be a long day. It wasn’t as if you never had your hair down; it was that your hair was usually down when you weren’t doing anything. You toss it over your shoulder as you sit up. The professor begins his lecture, but you struggle to pay attention. Your notes are nothing but random words you pick out of his droning sentences. Your attention keeps drifting, wondering where on earth all of your hair ties went. 

You lean forward slightly to re-dip your quill in ink. You swear as a lock brushes against the well and streaks the hair black. Your friend nudges you softly. 

“I think Remus is staring at you?” she whispers, using her own quill to point across the classroom.

The Gryffindor boy was looking in your general direction, but it wasn’t an obvious stare. You assume he’s zoned out and just happened to be staring near you, especially since he didn’t look away as you stared back at him.

“No, I don’t think so…” you mutter. You glance down at her notes which are covered in small doodles. “He’s probably bored.”

“He wouldn’t be the only one,” she sighs and returns to her doodling.

The class drags on for what feels like hours. By the end, your friend’s notes look more like a garden than something to be used to study later. Your own notes have random scratches in between the miscellaneous bullet points you managed to get down. There are eight tally marks in the corner; you marked one every time you looked over at Remus to find him still staring at you. You’re unsure if he looked away from you all class. Part of you wishes your friend hadn’t pointed it out because now it was bugging you. Was he staring at you or was he out of it for the entirety of the class? Was he able to sleep with his eyes open?

“I’ll catch you in Herbology,” your friend giggles as she leaves you behind. 

You watch her leave. How did she put her stuff away so quickly? And then you notice why she was giggling. Remus was approaching your desk. That or he was taking the longest route out of the classroom. Behind him, still at their own desks, you see his friends all with wicked grins adorning their faces. 

“Hi,” he says as he reaches your desk. You’re just getting to putting a stopper in your ink well. “All good?”

“Hi yourself. Yeah, all good. You?” 

You briefly look down to put your things into your back and your hair falls into your face again. You swear under your breath.

“Me too. I’m good. Yeah.” He looks over his shoulder, back at his friends. “You look… nice.”

You look up at him with a faint blush and wide eyes. You certainly weren’t expecting a compliment when he walked over, although you weren’t really sure what to expect. 

“Thank you?” You internally groan that it came out more as a question. But the looks on his friends’ faces make you wonder if this is some cruel version of a joke.

Remus slowly reaches out with a shaky hand and tucks some of your hair behind your ear. 

“You don’t usually wear your hair down, do you?”

“Couldn’t find a hair tie this morning.”

“I can see if Sirius has an extra one with him, if you want,” he says. “But, uh, I think it looks good down. You should, um, you should wear it like this more often.”

Your faint blush deepens quickly to a scarlet. His face is also flushed. Your heart pounds in your chest as you look into his brown eyes. Maybe he had been staring at you all class

“You think I should?” you ask, standing up. 

He smiles at you, a more confident air taking over him. Your stomach flips. 

“Your bun is nice, but this… this suits you.”

Slinging your bag over your shoulder, you reply, “I’ll consider it. But if Sirius has a hair tie he’s willing to part with, I’d appreciate it.” You pause. “At least for classes today. And then I’ll find you to get it back to him.” 

His face lights up at the suggestion to see him after class. 

“Yeah… Yeah! I’ll go see what he has!”

He turns to get his things and the hair tie from Sirius. You walk to the door to wait for him there. He holds out a black hair tie for you.

“M’lady,” he says with a smile. “You have Charms next, yeah?”

[theconstantsidekick]

Thunderbolts* ft. Static (2) | b.b

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Stark!Reader, Tony Stark x Stark!Reader (siblings)

Genre: angsty as heck

Summary: So Bucky's wife, Y/n is intent on overhearing every single conversation he has during this stupid gala... Naturally that leads to less than ideal conversation between the married couple.

(These scenes incorporate y/n, codenamed—Static, into the pre-existing story as a character without making drastic changes to the plot or mythos. All the major plot points from the MCU remain in place with the addition of the reader as Static, who is not only a Stark but also enhanced. Whatever events from the canon aren’t mentioned, take place without much change.)

Warnings: MINOR SPOILERS FOR THUNDERBOLTS* (nothing you haven't seen in the trailers), Cursing

a/n: TIME SKIP BABYYY

Thunderbolts* ft. Static (1) | Thunderbolts* ft. Static (3) | Series Masterlist | Static: Get, Set, Glitch | Captain America: The Winter Soldier (ft. Static) | Static Verse Masterlist

“I know how crazy this is gonna sound—”

Bucky nearly jumps out of his damn skin.

Jesus Christ. He will never get used to how quietly she moves. Like a ghost. A gorgeous, terrifying ghost with excellent timing and no mercy.

She steps out from the corner like she’s materializing from the wall itself—shadow-born and smug about it. Clearly pleased with herself, she keeps going like she didn’t just scare the hell out of him: “But when I saw you talking to Valentina’s assistant?” She glides over to the railing, settling in like she owns the place. “Mel, I think her name is?”

Bucky grits his teeth, trying to rearrange his face into something neutral.

No good. She’s already seen the tell.

She leans casually, falsely, like this is just idle party banter. “The only thing going on in my head was—” she lets out a half-laugh. It’s hollow, theatrical. “This is where the crazy comes in—was that, ‘I hope to God my husband was flirting with that girl.’”

Just the sharp glint of something she won’t name.

And then her smile drops, “Imagine my disappointment when I found out he wasn’t?”

The knife slides in clean.

Bucky doesn’t answer right away. He glances around, mostly for show. No one’s close enough to overhear—he already knew that—but the delay buys him a few seconds.

See, he also already knows that she heard his entire conversation with Congressman Gary about how he’s planning to get Valentina’s assistant to switch sides and hand them some evidence. He also already knows that she knows that Congressman Gary is too much of a shit to try going that route. And now by the looks of it, he also already knows that she eavesdropped his entire conversation with Mel—the aforementioned assistant. 

So yeah, he tries to buy time. He tries his best to delay this obviously doomed conversation for a few seconds longer to have a better ground to stand on. 

Not enough, apparently. Because what comes out of his mouth is a truly idiotic choice.

“Are you spying on me?” he says, with all the authority of a man asking if his pants are on backwards.

Too casual. Too defensive. Too late.

He’s standing like a guy with something to hide—hands shoved into his pockets, shoulders hunched, eyes doing everything but meeting hers. It’s pathetic. If it were anyone else, maybe the bluff would pass. But not her.

Not Y/n.

Her smile sharpens to something almost affectionate in its cruelty. “Kinda part o’ the job profile, dear,” she says, sweet as venom. “Used to be yours too.”

And there’s the hit.

Direct. No blood, but it lands.

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t let himself.

But she knows.

Of course she does.

“What is your problem?” Bucky snaps, voice low but tight.

Y/n doesn’t even blink. She tilts her head, mouth pulling into a sharp, sweet mockery of a smile. “My problem, Congressman,” she says, like the title is a slur, “is that the job of having a secret little rendezvous to sway the big bad villain’s right-hand man usually belongs to a super spy.” Her eyes narrow, glittering. “Not a government official with a hero complex.”

He steps in—closer, just enough that the air between them crackles. “She works with Valentina, day in and day out,” he explains, hands raised slightly in front of him, not pleading, not exactly, but close. “She would definitely have access to something that we can use as evidence to get Valentina impeached.”

Y/n doesn’t budge. Doesn’t twitch. She stands with the kind of stillness that says she’s two seconds from throwing a punch or walking away forever—either’s on the table. Her face stays unreadable as she says, “If you wanna bullshit me, babe, you’re gonna have to try a lot harder.”

He throws his hands down by his sides with a scoff, pacing now, like a dog in a too-small cage. “I’m not bullshitting anyone! The investigation on Valentina was a bust!” He runs a hand through his hair, jaw clenched. “There’s nothing on her. The clock’s ticking—if we don’t find something soon, she stays Director of the CIA. And we both know that’s too much power in the wrong hands.” He turns to face her again, pointing slightly for emphasis. “So we need evidence. Of her illegal operations. At O.X.E. And this—Mel—is the only lead we’ve got.”

Y/n doesn’t blink. Doesn’t soften.

“Is that right?” she asks, voice like a challenge tossed across a bar right before a barstool flies.

“Yeah.” He meets it head-on. Chin lifted, shoulders squared.

Then she steps in. Real close. So close he can see the tension in her jaw, the faintest twitch of her left eye—her tell when she’s really mad. And yet, her voice? Smooth. Controlled.

“You know,” she says, almost conversational, “if this actually were just a bit of political sleuthing, I would’ve been real fucking proud.” Her lips curl, a dangerous grin blooming. “Fuck, I might’ve even been a little wet—’cause everyone knows there is nothing hotter than a mid-level government official trying to game the system.”

His heart and brain probably get their signals confused. “Really?” he asks, stupidly, and hates the genuine curiosity that sneaks in.

She stares at him like he just farted in church. “No, Bucky. I’m being sarcastic.”

“Oh.” He tries to recover, straightening, nodding like that somehow smooths over the humiliation.

Let’s move past that, please God. I am begging.

Almost like she reads his mind—because of course she does—she adds, “But I would’ve been proud.”

He freezes.

Just long enough to start letting that warmth creep in.

Then she slices it open. “Except,” she says, stepping just far enough back to twist the knife, “when you gave Mel your card, you weren’t hoping she’d call you with some classified files she stole off Valentina’s desk. No.” Her voice is razor-sharp now. “You were hoping she’d call you with a mission.”

And that? That hits.

Because it may or may not be kinda sorta true.

And it’s not just about the mission.

It’s about what Y/n is really saying.

He misses the game. The danger. The agency.

And maybe—maybe—he misses being the kind of man she would’ve been proud of.

But he can’t say that. Not now.

Motherfucker, he thinks.

Fuck it, he thinks.

If she’s gonna read him like a goddamn paperback, what’s the point in pretending?

So he straightens, pulls his hands out of his pockets like they weigh a thousand pounds. Gathers what little dignity he’s still got left off the floor. 

Breathes once. 

Twice. 

Then swallows.

Audibly.

And says, “And what if I was?” It lands like a grenade tossed under her feet. Her eyes widen, the corner of her mouth twitches—just barely. She wasn’t expecting that. Not from him. “What if I was hoping for her to send me off? What if I was excited about being out on the field?” he shrugs, casual as hell—like it wasn’t a big deal. Who knows? He thinks. Maybe it wasn’t a big deal, he thinks as his pulse slams behind his ears. 

Her posture shifts—chin tilted, arms still crossed, but the grip of her fingers tightens against her biceps. “Then that would mean you miss it,” she says, and her voice has lost all the venom.

Now it’s just… quiet. Precise.

“And what if I do?” He says it low, but steady. Steady matters. He’s not even sure what they’re talking about anymore. The old job. The old him. Them.

But he’s not backing down. Not this time.

“Would that be so bad?”

A long pause.

Then— “Yeah,” she says. And it lands just as hard. “’Cause then what the fuck was the point of running for Congress?”

He flinches. Not visibly—he hopes—but inside it’s like something cracks just a little. Still, he fights through it. “I might have been powerful, but I had no power,” he says, jaw tight, eyes locked on hers. “Now—I can make meaningful change.”

She exhales. Loud and annoyed. Like he’s being deliberately stupid. “Only once you have the votes to pass a bill—Yes! Then you can.” She shakes her head, frustrated. “Come on, man. You ran for a seat in the House of Representatives. People voted and you won. So do the job your constituents elected you for. Listen to what Congressman Gary just said—read the damn packets!” She uncrosses her arms now, stepping closer, her voice rising—not in rage, but in urgency. “Sponsor bills. Propose legislation. Oversee the executive branch—and get the Director of the CIA impeached for doing illegal shit—” 

“That is exactly what I was doing—”

“—with due process!” she snaps, voice cracking from the strain. 

She rubs a hand over her face, smoothing her fingers across her brow, like she’s trying to press the tension out of her skull.

He watches her. Watches the exhaustion settle into her shoulders like it lives there.

“You’re supposed to work within the system, Bucky,” she mutters, softer now, but not gentler. Just… tired. “Otherwise, why do it at all?”

That finally tips something in him. Maybe it’s the fatigue. Or the fact that he still hears her voice in his head even when she’s not in the room. 

Frustrated, he closes the distance between them, now face-to-face, toe-to-toe. “If I have the means and the ability to take Valentina down, am I just supposed to ignore it because it aligns with my job description?”

“Yes,” she replies instantly. No hesitation. No compromise.

He blinks. “Why?”

That’s when she laughs.

A full-body thing. She throws her head back like he’s just delivered the punchline to a long-running joke only she and the cosmos understand. Her eyes shut. Her jaw clenches. And then—“God,” she mutters under her breath, “Tony was right.” His gut twists. She opens her eyes, and the heat is gone now. Replaced by something far more vulnerable somehow and yet extremely distant. Something he can’t quite name. “I really do have a type.” 

The words aren’t meant for him, even though he can clearly hear them—no. They aren’t even meant for herself, honestly. He knows her well enough to know that. No. They are meant for her brother… even if he isn’t around to hear them.

She turns her gaze back to him. Steady. Measured. “Democracy isn’t infallible, Bucky. It’s not perfect or absolute. What it is, is a process. And the only way to fix all its flaws is to keep working at it—not ignore it.” She scoffs then, a short exhale through her nose. “But you can’t see that, obviously.”

His brows knit. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” she says, enunciating each word now, “that you fucking hate institutions, Bucky.” She gestures broadly, like she’s pointing to the air around them. “And hey! I don’t blame you. So do I. Which is why you’re not going to see me running for government anytime soon.”

There’s something bitter in his throat now. He swallows it down like poison. “So what you’re basically saying is that I don’t belong here.”

She looks at him then.

She sighs—not harsh, not heavy. Just a breath between sentences.

“At the risk of sounding like the nagging wife,” she says, tilting her head with a dry little smirk, “you did shoot Kennedy, dear.”

Bucky fucking loses it. “That was not me and you know it! That was the Winter Soldier!”

Y/n loses it just as fast. Her face splits into a wicked grin as she throws her hands up. “Which worked in the focus groups!”

He stares at her, open-mouthed. 

Did she just—?

A callback and a metaphorical punch to the gut? Oh yeah! Assassinations might be the most well-known skillset in her repertoire, but making you sound like the most profound dumbass is her most polished area of expertise.

No matter what he says after this, he’s gonna sound fucking dumb. 

So he says some dumb fucking shit, “That is different, Y/n!”

She cocks her head, arms folding across her chest again. “Really? How?”

“You know how!”

“No, I really don’t,” she replies, flat and smug. “Explain it to me like I’m five.”

He drags a hand down his face, lets out a groan like the words themselves are physically painful. “Jesus Christ.”

The fight that was burning within him just a minute ago is now a singular piss poor flame.

“Why are you doing this?” he asks. Not biting now. Just… tired.

She freezes, just for a second.

They’re at opposite ends of the hallway, two balconies flanking them. Music from the fundraiser below wafts up in muffled bursts, but here it’s quiet. Too quiet. The kind of silence that used to be filled with the weight of her body pressed into his side.

Now? It's just space.

Which, Bucky thinks, is weird seeing as they aren’t standing all that far away from each other. Really, barely 4 feet between them. But considering that there used to be a time when they were practically stitched together at the ends, this is more than enough. 

She looks stunned right now.

She looks…

Had this been a year ago, he would’ve—

What’s the fucking point now?

“Why are you doing this, Y/n?” He asks again. He exhales hard and leans back, shoulder hitting the wall behind him with a soft thud. Hands disappear into his pockets—one of those grounding, practiced stances he’s picked up from her over the years. From watching her lock into her own body before tearing someone else down. He wonders if she notices. 

He tilts his head and half-smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “You preach democracy. You practice law. During the Accords, you told Steve you believed in the power of people. You said that even if the System wasn’t flawless, it was put in place after a lot of struggle so it deserved a chance.”

He shrugs like it’s nothing, like this hasn’t been burning a hole through his chest for months. “Well… here I am—giving it a chance. So what the hell is your problem with that?”

Her arms drop from where they were crossed, her posture shifting like something’s dislodged inside her.

And when she finally does answer, her voice is quiet. Not weaponized. Just honest. “Because it’s not an honest one.”

“Says who?” he replies evenly. He doesn’t get riled. Doesn’t flare. Just says the thing anyone would say. “You? Why? ‘Cause I’m using the experience that I have from my previous job? Since when is that illegal?”

She grits her teeth. “Since your previous job wasn’t exactly legal?”

His brow rises, just slightly. Not defensive—bemused. “And yet, everyone knew exactly what the fuck I did before they voted. I didn’t hide it. Fuck! It was in the damn campaign slogan—Rebuild with Barnes—and I still got elected.” The hit lands perfectly. He steps toward her—not looming, just closing the gap. Voice calm. Controlled. “Which brings me back to the original question… Why the fuck are you doing this?”

She hesitates.

Just a second too long.

Then—like something snaps inside her ribcage—

“Because you broke us up to do it!”

The words hang there, raw and terrible and so, so human.

He blinks.

All night, Bucky’s been pretending to lose his cool.

Okay—fine. Maybe not entirely pretending. But most of it? It was performance. A bit of theater. Playing the part of the “Unhappy Husband” in their usual tango. Hit your cues, raise your voice, storm off left. It was familiar. A routine they knew by heart.

But this? This isn’t part of the act.

This cuts straight through the armor.

He’s moving before he even knows it, closing the space between them in a few sharp strides. There’s heat in his chest and fire curling up his throat, and yeah, he’s vibrating—he can feel it. With rage, sure, but underneath it… it’s just hurt. Barely controlled. Barely contained. Like he’s a wire stretched too thin and waiting to snap.

His jaw tightens hard enough to ache. When he speaks, his voice is low. Cracked around the edges. “It might have happened around the time the campaign began, and I might have been the one who said it—who officially broke it off.” He exhales—loud, sharp, like it stings just coming out. “But you do not get to stand there and act like we weren’t already broken long before that.” 

He shakes his head, laughing—but it’s not a good laugh. It’s the kind of laugh that’s hollowed out from the inside. The kind you use when you don’t know what else to do with your mouth except let it break. 

“And I’m not talking about Marrakesh,” he says, voice rising. “We survived that. Fuck knows how. And fuck knows why, but we did. We clawed our way through it, shoulder to shoulder. You and me against the goddamn world.” He’s losing hold of the reins now. He can hear it in his own voice—can feel it in the way his body shakes like he’s held together by nothing but thread and willpower. “It hurt, Y/n. Fuck, it hurt. But somehow—somehow—we survived it.” His hand flinches like it wants to grab something—her, maybe—but he tucks it back into his side like it’s something dangerous. “Only for you to—”

He stops. Cuts himself off.

“For me to what?” she asks, slowly.

Her voice is soft, but there’s that familiar spark underneath it—defiance, steady and sure. Like she’s not bracing for the answer. Like she already knows it. He exhales hard through his nose, dragging a hand through his hair, trying to scrub the heat out of his skull. Then he steps back, puts some distance between them—not just physically, but so he can collect what little composure he has left. He straightens, squares his shoulders, lifts his chin. When he meets her eyes again, his voice is controlled. Barely.

“Every time you came home from a mission,” he says, “you looked at me like you hated the fact that I was around.” His jaw flexes. “I think you were disgusted with me.”

“Bucky…” Her voice is faint, and her expression says no before the word even forms. But he keeps going. He has to.

“I saw it in your eyes,” he says, cool and certain. He’s not yelling now. Not accusing. Just… laying it down, piece by piece, like a damn autopsy. “I thought maybe it was ‘cause I wasn’t doing enough. Just sitting there, wasting space, moping around the apartment. Every conversation ended with you telling me to get out more. Do something.”

He looks down, shoulders rising and falling in a small shrug. “So I did. I decided to run for Congress.”

When his gaze snaps back up, there’s no hesitation in it. Just memory.

“And when I told you that… you laughed.”

Her grunt is loud and exasperated. “Because I thought you were kidding!”

And damn, that stings more than he expects. Hits right in the ribs.

“Of course you did,” he mutters, the words clipped and quiet through clenched teeth.

Her face falls instantly.

He gives a dry little shake of the head, something between a sigh and a laugh that doesn’t quite land. “How dare I—the Winter Soldier—think I could be anything more, right?” His voice is calm now, deadly calm. “Of course you thought it was a joke.”

He doesn’t wait for a response. He turns on his heel and starts down the stairs, every step punctuated with finality.

But then—

“Did you get a concussion while I was taking a piss?”

Her words are so fucking absurd that Bucky is compelled by some force—resembling God himself—to turn around. Not completely though. No. He turns his head just enough to glance at her over his shoulder, eyebrows raised, eyes squinting.

“…What?”

“I think you can do anything you want to.” She says it like it’s obvious. Like it’s fact. Like gravity or thermodynamics or the Earth being round. Like him being capable was never even in question. As if unlike the fallible nature of democracy, her words are irrefutable.

“What?” he repeats. God, he’s an idiot.

Now he turns fully.

She’s at the top of the staircase. He’s a few steps below, looking up at her like he does at the moon every time he thinks of her—during the sleepless nights which have begun haunting and taunting him now that she isn’t around. Warm gala light halos around her, but even then, she’s brighter. Has always been.

She sighs. “I think you can do anything you want to,” she says again, word for word, not budging an inch on the certainty. Her hands disappear into the pockets of her suit jacket before she continues. “You wanna start a band? I’ve always had a thing for drummers—I’ll buy you a set. You wanna play baseball? I know the guy who coaches the Yankees. I’ll make the call. You wanna discover a new particle? I’ll dig through Tony’s shit, drag out the particle accelerator.” She throws her hands up slightly. “Fuck, Bucky. You can do anything.”

He’s quiet for a beat.

Then climbs two steps—until they’re eye to eye again.

“There’s just one thing I can’t do, right?” he asks. “This. Just not this?”

She doesn’t flinch. “Even this,” she says. “You could be the goddamn President of the United States if you wanted. A good one, too—one I’d actually want to vote for.”

He stares at her.

Completely, utterly lost.

“I don’t under—”

“But you don’t want to,” she cuts him off. Not unkind, just… blunt. Like a truth she’s been holding in her teeth. “You don’t want to be Congressman Barnes.” 

Her eyes drop to the floor. Her shoulders lower with her. 

“There was a point in our lives,” she continues softly, “where I could say you were my own heart. So I hope you won’t think I’m out of line when I say… I think the reason you’re doing all this,” she gestures vaguely around the room—meaning the suits, the speeches, the job, the gala—“is because you feel like you have something to prove.” 

She finally looks at him again. 

The moment’s long and slow. 

“But it’s been a second, since you’ve been my heart,” she says, gently. “So I don’t know what or who needs this proof.”

He just stares.

What the hell is he even supposed to say to that?

“Y/n—”

“And just so you know?” she says, voice tilting upward into something bitter and brittle and still standing. “I saw the way you looked at me too.” She doesn’t pause. Doesn’t let him cut in. “The resentment. The irritation. The way the sound of my voice grated on you like sandpaper on open skin.” She huffs a laugh. “By the end, I think even my breathing pissed you off.”

His chest aches.

Not in the way that heartbreak cuts clean. In the way that regret festers—slow and ugly.

“Maybe we weren’t meant to survive Marrakesh,” she says, half under her breath. Like the words were waiting for this hallway to finally be spoken.

Then she brushes past him. Her shoulder knocks into his—not harshly, not gently either. Just enough.

And she walks down the stairs without looking back.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t call out. Doesn’t follow.

Can’t.

His fingers twitch at his sides, like they’ve forgotten there’s no hand left to hold.

Like they didn’t get the memo.

A breath. Then another.

God, she’s wrong.

Not all the way. Not completely. Just… where it matters most.

He did have something to prove. Still does, maybe. To the public. To the ghosts. To that version of himself that still wakes up at 3AM choking on gunpowder and guilt.

Of course he wanted to show he could be more than what they made him.

But that wasn’t the whole story.

His jaw tightens as his eyes find the stairwell again, like maybe she’ll reappear. She doesn’t. Of course she doesn’t.

What she missed—what maybe she never really let herself see—is that this whole reinvention, this political theater, this slow, painful march into legitimacy… none of it was for them.

It was for her.

Everything Bucky ever does is for her. He’s not entirely sure it’ll ever be otherwise.

Y/n Stark is his axis. The fixed point. The gravity well he’d gladly orbit for the rest of his life.

She might be the moon, but Bucky has never been anything less than enthusiastic about the idea of rewriting the laws of physics to be the one who revolves around her… he still would.

So when things started to shift—when the house got quieter and the silences got longer, when she stopped laughing at his jokes and started sighing like he was another thing to manage—he hadn’t blamed her.

He’d blamed himself.

Because it was his fucking fault.

He hadn’t hated her voice. He missed how it used to sound when she said his name.

He hadn’t resented her presence. He resented how he’d become someone she couldn’t stand to look at.

But he doesn’t say any of that.

More than that maybe, he can't really bring himself to say any of this anymore—not with the distance that they have created now. It would be funny, he thinks—if it weren’t so morbid, because there was a time where it would’ve taken industrial equipment to separate the two of them from each other, like they were glued together—so close that one could hear the other's thoughts. But now the gap between them is so large that Bucky can't even stop her from walking away. 

The space between them isn’t measured in feet or stairs or square footage anymore.

It’s measured in the things they didn’t say.

And it stretches out like a whole other life.

Read the next part here. Find the Static Verse Masterlist here.

i am having so much fun with this time skip shit! god I'm an asshole i love it!

@mirandastuckinthe80s @rattyfishrock

[reiderwriter]

♡ Girls Just Wanna Have Fun ♡

Week 5 of my Playlist Series ♡

Summary: Spencer isn't used to clubs, but when duty calls, he's made to feel a little bit more welcome by a girl who seems to know him better than a stranger should.

Warnings: Smut 18+ Minors DNI!! Hotchner!Reader (Reader is Hotch's sister), semi-public sex (x2 oops), oral sex (m receiving), fingering, dry humping, hand job, cum play, dirty talk, degradation and name calling (slut only), use of daddy/sir even though this is like solidly season 1 Spencer lmao, corruption kink, loss of virginity (surprisingly the readers)

A/N: Every single intrusive thought I've ever had about s1 Reid tied up in a nice little bow masquerading as a song fic. It is finished, and now I feel flushed. Please expect only fluff from me until my next intrusive thought (maybe half an hour, probably no longer).

Masterlist || Spotify Playlist

Flashing lights and the scent of dried up alcohol stains weren't usually signs of Spencer Reid's presence. He'd managed to get through college - two degrees and three PhDs - without stepping foot into a nightclub. But now that he'd joined the BAU, it seemed to be an unavoidable occurrence. 

“The unsub hunts at this nightclub, I get that, I do. But why am I the one going in? He's targeting women,” he panicked as his older team member helped adjust his clothes to conceal the weapon he carried. 

“Because, pretty boy, it's student night, and you're the only one here who can pass for a 21 year old. I guess late puberty has some benefits.” Derek smacked his arm playfully, leaving the younger man wincing slightly. 

“But I'm not a woman.” 

“Yes, but you'll be able to walk around and note any suspicious behaviour, and then we can tail suspects you flag,” Hotch explained to him again. 

“Just act natural, kid, it's not like it's your first time in a club.” 

“It is.” His warnings fell on deaf ears though, as they pushed him out of the van and into the crowd of students queueing to enter. 

It didn't take you long to notice him after you arrived at the club.

The sweater vest was enough to make him stand apart slightly, as much as he was trying his best to blend in. A slight tingle of familiarity raced up your spine as his eyes awkwardly met yours, his scan of the room stopping short as he flushed and turned his eyes down. 

Pushing slightly to the crowd, you leaned over the counter next to him and tried to get the bartenders attention. It was loud and busy, but catching attention and keeping it was a skill you'd mastered early, a skill that you were thankful for as you realised the man's eyes were guiltily flicking between your ass and the crowd once again. 

“Are you going to stare, or are you going to introduce yourself,” you giggled, sliding closer to his perch at the bar, as he panicked, standing straighter. 

“I wasn't, um… your dress, there's a rip at the edge of your skirt, I was trying to figure out if it was part of the design because I know some clothes these days have damage built into the design, or if it was in need of some emergency… sewing.” His hands gesticulating awkwardly throughout his explanation, as if anxious to show you the jumble in his brain was entirely pure and innocent, even as the flush on his face said otherwise. 

“And your name is?” 

“I-.... Spencer. My name is Spencer.” 

You stood a little straighter hearing the name, that familiarity warming you more. Spencer. Spencer. Spencer. You turned the name over in your head but took another step closer as the crowd shifted in a wave, feeling the heat coming off his body. 

“Well, Spencer,” your tongue made the decision to act for your brain, the words coming out before you could stop them. “What conclusion did you draw? Do you think the rip was intentional or not?” 

Gently, you grabbed his hand and led it to the fabric. The skirt wasn't scandalously short, but short enough to suit the dark heated atmosphere of the club at least, but as his fingers grazed the back of your thighs, still hesitant in his actions, you found yourself wishing it were just that bit higher, so his hands would have to reach further up. 

With a gaze over your shoulder at the crowd, Spencer found himself at an impass. He'd already noted a few people of interest, loiterers, men getting a bit rough and aggressive in the club, people on the outskirts (like him, he supposed) that could possibly be their unsub. 

He'd been given the all clear to disengage and leave the club as effortlessly as he could  bit something in your initial gaze had pinned him to place at the bar, and refused still to let him see reason. 

“I think it's a design feature. To draw attention to…” he swallowed hard, but you weren't sure if he was just being delicate about his words or if he was reacting to the hand that was now on him, dragging nails up from his abdomen to his chest. 

“Good observation, Spencer.” 

“Your name. You didn't tell me what your name was.” He said, grabbing your hand to stop its progress and breathing deeply as if to clear his head. 

“Y/N. We should dance.” Without giving him time to react, you abandoned your drink on the counter and pulled his arm around your waist, dragging him out to the crush of people in the middle of the dance floor. 

His protests were lost in the pulse of the music, as you kept your back to him and began grinding and swaying against him. His hands tightened on your hips as he gently started moving with you, and you threw your head back to catch his eye again. 

Spencer didn't know what he'd gotten himself into. He knew that very little actually dancing actually went on at a club, that this was just a more polite socially acceptable form of foreplay, but he didn't know that it would have such an effect on him. 

A mess of sweaty, intoxicated people spilling drinks and other fluids, and he thought he'd stay there forever if it kept your hips torturing his cock like that. 

When you glanced up at him, he was a man lost to his senses, lust clouding his eyes, mouth slightly open in a pant, you reached up to his neck and pulled his lips down to meet yours. 

You were surprised when it was his to guess to reach out first, his hand that trailed under your shirt without tours guiding it. You'd picked up a fairly innocent man at the bar and turned him into a pervert in the space of one dance. It felt like the club was watching you, how his hands grazed the skin under your breasts and caused the shiver up your spine, how your back arched to press deeper against his election. 

You may have tempted him into taking this risk, but he was the one gleefully nosediving into his fall from grace. 

“Spencer,” you whispered as he came up for air, lips resting at your ear. “I think we should get some fresh air.” 

Something in that seemed logical. It was colder outside. Maybe it would cool off whatever had lit him up like a pyre on the dance floor. Maybe the fresh air would clear his head. Or maybe just the open space would help him detangle his hands from you, would lead his thoughts away from burying himself deep in you. 

He would gladly take you outside, bid you farewell, and return to his job and his life. It was a solid exit for his first cover - who was going to question the young lovers leaving together. 

You had a feeling that the idea of outside would have Spencer pulling away from you, but you hadn't had your fill of fun just yet. 

So just as you led him onto the dancefloor, you kept a hand over his, around your waist, and you guided him out of the club, down the street a few paces, and into a darkened alleyway. 

“Y/N, we shouldn't be-” he tried to stutter out as you pulled him in for another kiss. His brain was trying to protest, but his hands were already back on your ass, pulling you up and closer to him. 

“What was that?” You said between kisses, his mouth launching an assault against each inch of your skin. 

He gasped for breath and pulled back, realising that he'd lifted and pinned you to the cold brick wall of the alley in his haste to feel you pressed against him. 

“Y/N… I don't want to take advantage of you, I'm not-” 

“I'm taking advantage of you, Spencer,” you said, nipping at his neck slowly raking your hands into his shoulders. “Am I allowed to do that? Can I take all of you, Spencer?” 

His eyes rolled back in his head as he let put a groan of pleasure, your lips sucking at the tender flesh of his nape. 

“I-I'm not a student, and-” 

“I know, but you are such a pretty boy that I decided I wanted to have some fun with you.” 

His resolve broke in half as you uttered your compliments, and his lips met yours in a moan as his hands pushed your skirt up around your waist. 

His finger trailed between your hips and his, using the wall to balance you as he pushed aside your panties and began slowly stroking your sex. 

Your hips pitched forward to press more of his slender fingers against you,  desperate to feel him stretch your cunt open first with one, then two, then however many he decided was good enough for you. 

Leaving one hand on his shoulder, you let one trail down his pants, stepping one foot down to allow you access to his zipper. 

He pauses Again for a second as you manage to get his pants open, your hand pulling his cock free from the constraint of his clothing. Spitting on your hand, you wrap around it firmly and slowly pump up and down, looking him directly in the eye as you watch the pleasure pour over him. 

His forehead rests against yours as he melts into your touch, so desperate, needing to cum so badly that he's willing to let it happen in this dark dirty alley. 

“Spencer, I want to have a lot of fun with you. Will you let me?” 

“Yes, fuck Y/N.” He nods, his hips rocking into your hand with each slow stroke you give him. 

“Spencer,” you say, rocking your hips forward and pushing your panties further to the side once again. “Spencer, please fuck me. Take my virginity, Spencer, please.” 

His mind whirled at the sentence, the pleas dropping from your lips. Virginity. You were a virgin. 

You'd had him cock stiff after three minutes of conversation  had pulled him into an alleyway and lost him in a fog of pleasure, and you were still innocent. Untouched. 

You wanted to have your fun with him. You'd chosen him. 

He couldn't articulate the lust that coated his tongue, so he simply pushed it into your mouth  grabbed his cock from your hands, lined himself up with your drippy cunt and pushed in with a single thrust. 

You gasped and let out a moan, not quite fully pleasurable. Your hands again found his shouldend, his back, but your nails were sharper this time, digging in further, almost piercing skin. 

“Fuck, Spencer, yes,” you said, breathing shakily as you slowly started moving around his cock. 

“Did it hurt?” 

“It doesn't hurt anymore. Now, please Spencer, fuck me and don't hold back. It's more fun that way.” 

He pulled your hips closer, moaning as you tightened around him. Pressing one hand against the wall and keeping another hand gripped so hard around your hip you knew it'd bruise, he began moving. 

He began slow, trying not to lose himself in the feel of your unused, tight hole. But with each small moan, each scratch against his back, he lost a little bit more of that control he was begging for. 

With his hands engaged, his brows furrowed I'm frustration that he couldn't stroke your bundle of nerves, he couldn't force you to cum on his cock as quickly as he wanted to. 

“Y/N, look at me.” You opened your eyes at the words, unaware that they'd closed tight as you emptied all other senses to just feel him. 

“Touch yourself. Right there, that's it,” he watched your fingers rub delicately against your skin, spoke little words of encouragement, and told you to increase your speed and pleasure. 

“That's it. That's it, now it's time for you to cum, Y/N. Cum on my cock, rub your little clit for me and cum around my big cock, Y/N.” 

“Shit… shit, shit, shit, Spencer, oh my god.” Your hands shook, and your hips twitched, and with a cry, you reached that high you'd been craving since you met his eyes earlier. 

He pulled out of you, slowly pulling you off the wall, as he held you up, letting your legs regain their strength. His cock was still hard, still coated in your arousal as he took care of you. 

You caught your breath fast, regained tour strength quicker as you noticed he didn't plan on getting himself off anymore. He let you have your fun with him and was happy to end it all there. 

You weren't. 

“Spencer,” you sang again, wrapping a hand once again around his erection as he tried to straighten out your now slightly more ripped skirt. “Spencer, it's more fun of we both cum. I want you to make a mess of my hand, can you do that for me?” 

You stroked his cock with a firmer grip than before, your arousal lubricating each stroke, his pre-cum mingling with it to aid you further. You suddenly wondered what he would taste like, but knew your legs would be too weak to do everything your heart desired today. 

There was always tomorrow. 

He leaned his weight back on the wall behind you, forcing you back as well as you pumped him quickly so desperate to hear him moan your name as he spilt his seed. 

“Y/N,” he moaned, and you were triumphant. His hips jerked once, then twice, then a third time, and he stilled, heaving breaths as he buried his head in your shoulder. 

He swallowed and regained his breath, and as he pulled away, you pulled your fingers to your lips and lapped up the final drops of cum that he left there. 

Most of it had his the wall, dripped to the floor, but you enjoyed these few drops and smiled brightly at him, pulling a handkerchief that you knew would be in his pocket out and cleaning the two of you up. 

He flushed again as he came back to his senses, especially as you attempted to put his clothed to rights, stepping back to replace his softening cock in his pants.

“Well,” you said after setting yourself to rights, “Thank you for the fun night, Spencer. See you tomorrow.” 

You skipped off quickly before he had a second to even process your words. 

The next day at the local precinct was a blur for Spencer as he tried to drag himself from the drug induced haze of meeting you. He'd stroked himself to completion two more times in bed after he returned to his motel room, reliving the sound of you begging him to take you, the words ‘pretty boy’ on your lips as you spread your legs. 

It'd taken his entire brain, or what was left of it, to not jump out of his skin every time Morgan had teased him with the words that morning.

“Now how did you like your first club experience, pretty boy? Did any college cuties throw themselves at you?” 

He spat up his coffee, choosing that moment to choke, and begging god for this to just be the end of Spencer Reid entirely. 

Because there was no way Morgan would actually believe that that was exactly what had happened. 

“Morgan, Gideon wants you in the interrogation room, and- wow, Spencer, you should change your shirt. What are you, 5? You can't drink coffee properly?” Elle said, chuckling slightly.

“I choked,” he frowned, but it fell on deaf ears as his teammates walked away quickly to get back to their jobs. 

He wished he could recover so quickly, even now the image of you having your fun with him the night before playing like a movie in his head. 

Looking down, he realised Elle was right, and he really did need to change his shirt. Hotch always had a few spare on hand, even for cases out of the office. He grabbed some tissues, dabbing against the mess of coffee on his shirt, suddenly thankful for lukewarm police precinct coffee, and started making his way towards Hotch. 

“Hey, Hotch-” he made it three steps before your voice cried out. 

“Ronnie!!” You shouted, throwing your hands around your elder brother as he caught you in a hug. 

“Y/N, we're at a police station. If you're going to come see me, you have to at least call me Aaron.” 

“And not take the chance to embarrass you in front of your peers and coworkers? Not a chance, Ronnie. Not a chance.” He chuckled fondly, brushing away his complaints quickly as he turned to introduce you to JJ first, then Elle and then the frozen statue that had replaced Spencer. 

“And, Y/N, this is Dr. Spencer Reid. Spencer, this is my sister, Y/N. She's a student at the university.” 

You held out your hand with a triumphant grin as Spencer stared in wide-eyed horror at the apparition in front of him. 

“Hello, Spencer. It's very nice to finally meet you. My brother has told me a lot about you, and I'm very excited to pick your brains.” 

The air seemed to explode around Spencer as each breath became deliriously hot, filling his lungs with fire. It was moments before he realised that he wasn't actually breathing at all, and the air was actually quite normal. 

Your hand remained out, ready to greet him, and to the surprise of his coworkers, he took it in his for a short shake. 

“Y/N. Hotch's sister, Y/N. Nice to meet you, Y/N Hotchner, Hotch's sister.” 

He could practically hear the audible sound of Elle and JJ smacking a hand against their faces in horror at his stupidly obvious reaction to the woman in front of him. If he wasn't careful, he'd be spouting confessions of desire soon, and knowing that Aaron Hotchner carried two guns on his person even now did nothing to calm his thoughts. 

“Okay, well, Y/N, I'm busy with some interrogations now, but I can drive you back to your apartment in half an hour if you're okay to wait with JJ?” 

“Are you busy, Spencer?” You asked instead, keeping her eyes locked on the man who still weakly shook her hand, unaware of when the right time to stop would be. 

“I was serious when I said I wanted to pick your brain, my brother said you had a PhD in Engineering and I'm struggling through a class right now that I need some guidance in if you can spare five minutes?” 

Spencer stared between Hotch and you, looking for the right answer to please present itself before he imploded right there. 

“Yes. PhD, I have a PhD. Three actually, but whose counting? Me. I just counted them. One of them is in mathematics, actually, so I guess I'm always counting.” He finally dropped your hand, and you gave him a wider smile that dropped his heart to his stomach. “I am free, unless you needed me for something else, Hotch?” 

His gaze was pleading, though he wasn't sure if he was begging for his life, five more minutes alone with you or the power to extricate himself from this situation entirely, but Hotch nodded his acceptance quickly and let you lead Spencer off to the small, empty visitors room at the opposite side of the precinct. 

You shut the door behind you when you walked in, leaning over to close the blinds as well before you turned back to Spencer. 

“Your shirt is wet. You should probably take it off,” you giggled as you trailed a hand up his arm once again. 

His hand grabbed yours before you could do any more damage to his tender nerves than you'd already managed that morning. 

“You knew the entire time? Who I was?” 

“I walked over because you seemed familiar, but I only figured it out when you said your name. My brother does talk about you a lot.”

“Hotch is going to kill me,” he said, slumping down into the chair behind him. “Y/N, your brother was outside the club. He could've seen us leave.” 

You climbed into his lap, and his eyes finally met yours again, his tongue stopping its hopeless tirade as you relaxed into his chest. 

“I have two older brothers, Spencer. Do you know how often they've been able to tell me what to do?” Your hands started down his shirt, making quick work of the buttons as he stared up, enthralled. 

“Not once have they been able to stop me from doing something I wanted.” 

He scoffed quickly, unable to help himself. Your hands gripped either side of his face and lifted his head to meet your gaze again. 

“And right now, Spencer, I really want you.” A roll of your hips was enough to have him hissing and grabbing your hips. You started steadily rocking into him, eyes still locked with his. 

“Y/N, please let's be sensible.” 

“I don't want to be sensible, I want to have fun. I want to suck your dick right here, and let you cum in my mouth. I want to scream your name and let everyone know who is giving me pleasure. Can't I do that, Spencer?” 

“No,” he groaned, his eyes screwed shut as you dry humped him, trying to get yourself off on his lap, his.cock rising with each of your quiet moans. 

“Spencer, please. I want your big, hard cock back inside me. Please, please, please. I'll be a good girl, I promise.” 

His eyes shot open in incredulity as he watched you use his body as you saw fit. 

“Good girls don't lose their virginities in alleyways, Y/N. Good girls don't throw themselves at their brothers' coworkers. Good girls listen when they're told no, and don't try to suck cock in public, like little sluts.” He spat each word at you, bit you enjoyed each insult he hurled your way, enjoyed the way his body recoiled as he finally called you a slut. 

He seemed slightly shocked by his anger himself, but you didn't seem to care. It took you only seconds after to push your lips against his again and have your hands on his cock once again, pulling him out of his pants as his hands explored you just as eagerly. 

“Yeah, Spencer, your little slut. I'm such a little slut for you, please fuck me.” 

He buried a hand in your hair, tipping your head back so his tongue could probe deeper, his other hand already under your shirt and teasing one nipple. You lifted your hips and sunk down onto his cock, neither of you stopping to think again about your actions as you began to rode him. 

“30 minutes, Y/N, by now we have 24 minutes and 17 seconds. Can you manage that, Y/N?” 

“Yes, sir.” You said, feeling his dick twitch as you rode him. “Oh did you like that? You liked me calling you, sir?” His hips pressed up again, his body answering more honestly than his tongue. 

“What else can I call you? Spencer… sir….daddy?” 

He broke away from his place buried in your neck to push the two of you down to the floor, the new angle had you gasping as a hand covered your mouth stifling any screams you could make before you made them. 

“Be quiet and cum on my cock, Y/N,” he whispered and picked up his pace, one hand gagging you while the other pulled painfully at your nipple, pinching it between two hands and using it to lift your entire chest so your body was arched toward him, letting him go deeper. 

“Yes, Daddy,” you whispered again, against his fingers, tempted to wrap your lips around one and suck it into your mouth. 

“Fuck, just call me Spencer, Y/N.” 

But you couldn't respond, suddenly overcome with the numbness of you orgasm washing over you as you bit back a choked cry. 

“That's it, good job, Y/N. You listen so well, good job.” He rubbed soothing circles into your chest as his hips slowed, working you through your orgasm as he withdrew once again. 

This time though, he didn't try to pull away and leave himself hard, but sat himself up, and lifted you once again too, putting slight pressure at the back of your head until you were on your knees and letting your head fall down, down, down as your lips wrapped around his wet cock. 

You took him in your mouth, and tasted the bitter, salty flavor of your illicit activities, lapping every last bit of your joint pleasure up as he pushed your hair up and down his cock. 

It didn't take long for his hips to press up into your mouth slightly harder than before, his hands holding you steady as he came down your throat. He held your head there for a minute two, as you tried your best to breathe and stay there, taking as much of his cum down your throat as you could. He pulled your head off him and you swallowed the rest, smiling brightly at him as you did so. 

“Thank you for the fun, Spencer,” You said again, grabbing your phone and checking the time. 

Standing up, you pulled your clothes back in place, pulling your skirt down and your panties up, smoothing out the tangles in your hair. 

“Let me go get you that spare shirt, Doctor Reid,” you said, opening the door. “I'm very grateful for your help with my class load, sir.” 

His head fell back into his hands as you closed the door, leaving him to wonder just what the hell he'd got himself in for. 

[captainuranium543]

Ft headcanons nobody wanted part 2

-natsu will occasionally get genuinely jealous over his friends owning appliances for heating. Why should they need those things when they have him, if they just call him over her do a way better job then any of those stupid gadgets. He finds out gray owns a hair dryer and immediately becomes a jealous ex girlfriend. He confronts Lucy in her apartment one night acting so serious he she doesn't even get mad that he broke in, then just goes "care to explain this?" And puts a lighter on the table.

- Wendy is very very quiet. Creepily so. Not elaborating but I think you can imagine the kinds of situations this leads to.

- Mira's eyes glow in the dark and it creeps everyone the fuck out

- erza has the worst hoarding problem. Her dorm room is entirely piled floor to ceiling with boxes of meticulously organized random items she refuses to throw out for some reason

young Mira: "alright this is ridiculous why do you even have this"

Young erza: "say what you want but when you need 746 packets of Mcnolias sweet and sour sauce and find your supply baron I'll be laughing"

- levy is one of the few members of the guild who actively sought it out to join. Before fairy tail she was an orphan and a student studying magic. She left to join fairy tail to learn more about magic in general from real world experience.

- laki will sometimes build creepily realistic wooden statues of her guild mates and leave them around in inconspicuous places so when you find them they scare the shit out of you. Sometimes she hides them too well and it takes years to discover them.

- Lucy has actually written several unpublished novels and the only other person who's ever seen them is levy. Lucy thinks their crap but levy carefully annotates every single one.

- laxus used to occasionally be forced to go on jobs with erza and Mira when they were young both to help and to make sure they didn't kill each other and he hated it.

- I think I might have said this before but I firmly believe levy, Lucy, freed and jellal later on all form a book club because they love reading, the problem is they all have vastly different tastes in book so they can never decide what to read each week and usually just end up playing Scrabble and talking shit about their various teammates

"please guys trust me this one's good"

"I am NOT reading Colleen Hoover Lucy and that's final"

- this one's based on city hero but I personally believe erza and Erik find a shocking common ground over motorcycles. Erza likes vehicles in general and Erik took up bike racing as a hobby, since discovering this is the longest they've been able to be in the same room together without someone throwing a punch.

- Wendy visits lamia scale regularly still to hang out with chelia. she usually brings romeo and they all go out to do whatever dumb kid stuff they want. (Tbh I just like her having friends her own age)

-lucy sometimes randomly lets her rich girl's heritage show in random conversation and it's always jarring. You'll be having a normal chill convo with her and then she'll look you dead in the eyes and ask you what colour your personal carriage was growing up.

- Natsu is genuinely a really good cook he just has a terrible taste so nobody wants to eat his food. For reference he only ever cooks his food because he enjoys doing it to him it tastes fine either way.

- if you had asked the fairy tail guild who the scariest guild member was in early season 1 the answers would have been erza, guildarts, laxus etc all the usual suspects. Once season 2 starts however the answer is unanimous. It's juvia. Juvia is fucking terrifying when she gets mad. You don't realize how scary water can be until it's filling your lungs and as your vision blurs until all you can see is her merciless stare.

- Mira and freed can drink blood for demon reasons. gray can too after getting devil slayer but he thinks its gross. Surprisingly so can gajeel because of the high iron content.

- gray the type of guy who's bed has only the smallest thinnest blanket on his bed and usually it's on the ground cuz he gets too hot

- meanwhile erza is the type of girl to have so many pillows, blankets and plushies on her bed you wonder how she fucking sleeps in it. Mf has a NEST.

- Lucy isn't even surprised anymore when she finds people in her house, she doesn't know how they keep getting in and honestly she doesn't care anymore she's to tired to deal with it.

- freed plays a lot of really fucking weird instruments. Idk it just seems like something he would do.

- bixlow can speak most languages and it's always really surprising when he randomly says smth like "oh yea I can speak ancient nirvid no prob" like that's totally normal

- if laxus and freed ever did get together (in my heart it's cannon) evergreen and bixlow would be their biggest haters. Yea they love them and they're happy for them but also EW. GROSS. GET A ROOM.

[amorchai]

𝐄𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐀𝐒𝐊 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐎𝐔𝐓.

this is a repost from my old blog. original post was 300 notes.

pairing(s): eddie munson x female!barista!reader

words: 1468

warnings/tags: barista!au, eddie being shy.

eddie liked to think he was a romantic. he enjoyed rom-coms more-so than crime or drama, and as much as he loved horror. he liked the thought of being in love and caring for a person, everything being irretrievably about them. buying someone flowers, kissing their cheeks, and playing the guitar for them.

however, he had never been in a relationship. so, why was it the second the opportunity to be provided with the things he’s yearned for that he’s being such a coward? eddie’s foot taps against the gravel outside the small café nervously while he waited to enter.

he leant against the wall, head low while his eyes scan the little notebook in one hand, the other hand’s thumb picking the nail polish off his pointer finger as he reads frantically and nervously. eddie came here every. single. day. yet he was too nervous to step inside.

step 1 – start light. ask her how she is. step 2 – react to what she has to say, show you’re listening!!!   step 3 – tell her she looks pretty. step 4 – ask her if she’s busy later tonight. step 5 – ask her if she likes italian food. step 6 – if 4&5 are yes’ then make it clear IT’S A DATE.

there is an array of scribbles and differed handwriting across the small page, robin and steve previously fighting over the pen as they gave eddie pointers during the quiet day at family video. robin assuring she’s a girl and knows, steve disagreeing and saying he’s a pro at this kind of thing.

eddie had talked about the barista he was quickly falling for, one day rushing in for a coffee before hellfire club only to meet the most beautiful person he’s ever seen. since then you had seen him in every day, ready for a coffee and sometimes to sit and spend his days tucked by his notepad.

with a smidgen of hope you’d feel the same way, eddie inhales deeply in preparation before stepping into the quiet café. too early to have a lot of people, which was great, because it meant there was no queue holding him back from talking to you.

a smile creeped upon your face from the moment you saw him, glancing at his pad once more before stuffing it back in his back pocket. his eyes lock with yours and a goofy grin reaches the metal-heads lips, and you feel yourself swooning from behind the counter.

“hi eddie,” you’re so sweet, talking so delicately and calmly that eddie wants to reach over and kiss your precious cheeks right then and there. but he sticks to the list, wanting to be a gentleman and take his time.

step 1 – start light. ask her how she is.

eddie’s usually quite confident, flirty with you. leaving you with a wink and unfortunately nothing farther. so, you immediately notice the turn in attitude. his lip twitches while he smiles and eyebrows are furrowing, eyes blinking rapidly.

“morning, it’s- yeah,” he begins, cursing to himself as he purses his lips and watches as your eyebrows raise in interest, you’re confused by how uncertain he seems. eddie continues before you can question him, “uh- how are you doing, how are you?”

you giggle at eddie’s rambled tone, light and airy and eddie feels himself relax that little bit more hearing it, if only it wasn’t over how much of a fool he sounded. “i’m better now that you’re here, quiet morning.”

eddie nods, the flirty message flying right over his head as he tries to think back to the notes.

step 2 – react to what she has to say, show you’re listening.

“looks quiet too, i can imagine the boredom.”

you nod this time. fingers fidgeting with the till register while looking up at eddie from across the counter, “well my favourite customer has come in so i think that’s the cue for my boredom to leave.” eddie blushes, physically blushes at this, cheeks quickly turning a light shade of pink from your words and tries to play it off.

“wonder who that might be.” you both laugh, eddie’s nerves slowly leaving him part by part as he thinks he can do this. maybe he can ask you out after all, it seems to be going so well.

step 3 – tell her she looks pretty.

god, you did look pretty. so so pretty. cute apron over your autumn-coloured clothes while your eyes sparkled in the morning glow, skin radiating and lips kissable. if you were together, eddie would make sure to tell you every day just how gorgeous you really were, he knows he would.

before eddie can muster up something else to say, you’re talking, “what can i get for you today, eddie?” you would be able to make eddie a drink every day without question if it weren’t for his change in personalities.

one day it’s plain black coffee, no milks or sugars added, pure black coffee. or it was the most sickeningly sweet hot chocolate, syrups galore with sugar and almond milk to top it off, a ‘heart attack in a mug’ you always said to him. no in between order to suffice, eddie was one or the other.

“hot chocolate, please.” it was one of those days. when he ordered that he was happy or energized, not needing a wakeup call and wanting to indulge his sweet tooth. you know how he liked his hot chocolate order; he didn’t need to add that part.

“to-go or to-stay?” you ask, eyes hopeful as your hands hover the takeaway cups and mugs to the side and eddie drags his eyes away from your pretty mouth and towards your eyes, feeling he’s been caught, “to-stay, sitting in today.”

“working on more of your music?” you ask him, and eddie lets out a little nod with his lips pursed yet again. you can tell he’s thinking of something else and you’re proved right when he suddenly splutters, “you look really pretty.”

you freeze your movements with a shocked smile, “thank you.” eddie continues before you can say much more, “seriously, really, really pretty.” eddie’s eyes scan over your frame once again and you try to not show how much his words affect your beating heart.

“are you flirting with me, munson?” you tease him, laughing as he scrunches his face, shaking his head as if to escape all his thoughts while leaning forward, hands on the counter. you tightly hold the mug for his drink between both your hands, smile dropping as you look up at him expectantly, “i’m just going to rush through this because i’m so fucking nervous, okay?”

“okay?”

step 4 – ask her if she’s busy later tonight.

“when do you get off?” eddie asks, tone abrupt compared to the nervous tone moments ago, almost slightly desperate and you’re lucky the café’s quiet and therefore no onlooking eyes to your flustered expression.

you stutter this time, briefly while you reply, “i-uh i close tonight, finish at seven.” eddie grins, wide and happy before he asks, “are you busy after?”

your eyes widen knowingly, “no, no i’m not doing anything tonight, no.”

step 5 – ask her if she likes italian food.

“do you like italian food?” eddie asks and it’s as if everything falls into place. eddie munson is asking you out. finally. after the months of you hinting that you like him without the courage to ask him out yourself. he was looking at you with so much hope, scared that you may say you don’t want to go out with him to eat italian food.

he must be an idiot if he thinks you don’t like him back.

“i love pasta.” you’re so quiet with your response, almost a whisper. but more than enough for eddie to hear and he’s positively beaming from ear to ear as he builds up to his final question.

step 6 – if 4 is no and 5 is yes then make it clear IT’S A DATE.

“perfect. i’ll be here at seven to take you to dinner, it’s a date,” eddie drums his hands against the counter when he leans back and you can only nod dumbfoundedly from the switch of him being precious and nervous to asking you out on a date.

“i’ll uh- i’ll bring your drink out to you once it’s done.”

eddie chuckles at the fact that’s all you respond with, squeaked tone endearing as he winks at you. “i’ll be over there, writing you a song,” eddie nods over to the side, pulling the pad and pen out his back pocket and chuckles once more when you react to his flirtatious manner with a small, “oh my god.”

he finally got that date with the cute barista; he just hoped the hours would go by quickly until it reached seven.

amorchai masterlist . taglist form

amorchai © ─ all rights reserved. no reposting/translating/copying will be tolerated.