#which is dramatic because I will be fine and things will keep going

[lvmimis]

cw: fluff. established relationship. a little suggestive, no explicit smut. implied shower sex.

Perhaps it’s because of the almost eerie silence in the shop at the late hour, compounded by the fact that you’ve just turned off your background music and are preparing to close up shop, but the footsteps at the front of the door are loud enough to be perceptible before he knocks. You’ve considered setting up a camera, but there are few things of this world that can easily harm you, especially with the sealing spell that you and your mentor have surrounding the perimeter once the clock strikes 10 pm.

Once he passes through the barrier, you can feel the estimate of his demonic energy, intense like a jolt through your body. A bit overwhelming, but you recognize it, and the warning passes just as quickly as it arrives. 

Nero. 

You don’t bother moving, instead leaning your elbows on the surface of your artifact examination desk, directly across from the door, and you can hear him fumble with the key for a moment, murmuring something unintelligible and slightly frustrated under his breath. It brings a mischievous smile to your lips, which abates when he finally pops the door open, and you realize he’s covered in blood from head to toe.

“Oh heavens, Nero!”

Moving quickly, you cross the distance quickly towards him, a napkin quickly grabbed from the checkout counter on your way over, but he’s more entertained than injured by the time you’ve started dabbing at his face and pulling off his jacket at the same time.

“Aren’t you a sensor?” he asks. “I’m literally fine, just kinda disgusting,” he teases, but he doesn’t move from the entrance to your shop as you start to inspect him from head to toe. You don’t respond immediately as you continue to do your own evaluation since he has the habit of undermining his own injuries, but the smell does have a less human quality of it, and once it really settles, you cover your wrinkling nose.

“You couldn’t shower before you came here?” you ask, your face weary. You don’t deny that you are still glad that he came here first, but your urge to kiss him is expectedly easier to suppress than usual.

“Couldn’t wait to see you,” Nero grins. The urge to kiss him rebounds, but you resist again. Not yet. He goes to step further but you give him a warning look, holding out your palm just short of his chest.

“Undress. I’ve already started cleaning up, I don’t need you tracking blood and devil guts all over the floor and ruining my merchandise.”

You try to keep your voice businesslike, hiding how excited you are to see him. After all, this arrangement between the two of you, as his actual girlfriend rather than one of two mutual piners, is still relatively new, and now that you live in Fortuna again, you’re trying to be cautious of your feelings, lest you fall right into the role of lover and nothing else.

Nero rolls his eyes, but he complies. Dirty boots are kicked by the wayside (which you’ve decided you’ll nag about later), and you find a plastic bag to collect pants, socks, shirt, jacket… he raises an eyebrow as you reach over to collect the Blue Rose from him.

“Okay, now you’re overdoing it.”

He’s gone from compliant to irritable with a tick of his jaw, but you don’t back down, letting your palm curl more to bid him to hand it over.

“It’s gross too, I’m going to clean it,” you insist. 

“You’re being dramatic, I’ll just mop the floor myself.” 

Despite saying this, he doesn’t move from his spot, because against his better personal desires, he does still respect you more than anything. 

“Are you going to take my sword too? Since I’m at fucking customs when all I wanted to do was see my girlfriend?”

Admittedly, you do glance at the Red Queen, now posed carefully against the wall of your shop.

“Actually, it’d be too complicated for me to clean it now that I think about it,” you say, tapping your chin with a finger.

“You mean you can’t carry it,” he corrects you. Your eyes snap back to him, and he appears somewhat satisfied as you admit, “Probably not.”

Nero’s standing in only his underwear now, crossing his arms. His face and hair are still slightly covered in blood, as are his palms and fingers, but you have to admit that the unmarred pale skin of his previously covered body is a satisfying contrast, especially when the natural pump of a recent life or death battle really accentuates the taut, well developed muscles of his torso, arms and leg. His… package is satisfying to look at as well, your eyes passing over quickly, and redirecting themselves back upwards. If you’re a little distracted by how good he looks naked, he notices, a grin reappearing on his face.

“So what are you thinking about, sweetheart?”

You pull your eyes away from the ridge of his Adonis’ belt and look back into his sky blue eyes. The warmth in your cheeks is subtle even if you keep your voice unflappable.

“There’s a hole in your underwear.”

He flushes immediately, then looks down to check, and you find yourself giggling. “I’m kidding, come upstairs.”

Taking him by the forearm, you pull him up the stairs with you into your apartment, not realizing in your haste that by the time you’ve reached the top he’s carrying the bag in your other hand instead. He knows the way and doesn’t really need your permission to enter, but the way your fingers tighten around him still makes him warm all over, even if you’ve been dating officially for a few months now, and he has already bedded you before - the same way he’d imagine a high schooler brushing hands with his crush. Despite your desperation to play it cool, the affection in your soul transmits through even your hold, and as you usher him into your bathroom - the bag of soiled clothing left behind in the hallway - the speed at which you turn on your own shower and start to undress yourself makes it clear that you miss him. Terribly. 

“Do you want to…” your voice trails off as you start to become embarrassed. Your clothes are already off, and you are standing before him, in full-frontal nudity, only now aware of the entranced look that overcame him during the process, his eyes now unabashedly focused on your breasts.

“If I said no, would you believe me?” he whispers, eyes still unwavering. You run your hand through the heating water, then rub grime and blood off his right cheek.

“Not at all,” you whisper. His gaze readjusts to look into your eyes.

“You don’t need to ask.”

You raise your arms to wrap around his neck as he dips to pull his underwear off. Your legs wrap around his waist as he carries you, one lateral step after the other into the shower.

The water is warm now, pouring over both of your bodies without shivers. Nero is still looking into your eyes and you’re still looking into his, eye contact unbroken as the steam rises around you.

“I missed you,” you finally admit.

Seconds later your lips connect as water washes both of you clean, and you kiss enough to replace any time you were apart. He steps forward and with your back pressed against the wall of the shower, he smiles again, cheeky, loving.

“I missed you, too.”

[kerorowhump]

So ok I wanted to make a post talking about my thoughts on ep110 but I feel like they're gonna be scattered but bear with me

I think the most important thing I wanted to mention is that the way the starfruit is described feels symbolic of what Keroro actually wants deep down

essentially a hybrid of the best of both, coming together into a single unit. all keroro does want is for keron and earth to co-exist in harmony, but his flawed way of imagining that is explored a bit more in 110b.

Any sort of invasion, even a peaceful one, despite being the best possible scenario for him in the situation he's in, still implies changing things about earth in order to achieve it and... as he realized, he doesn't want that!

Having a nightmare about successfully invading... Even with the starfruit representing literally the best possible scenario. It highlights his impossible task, but it also served to make him reflect about the invasion and his feelings on it at all.

In fact this whole episode is huge in this regard because the whole reason he got sick in the first place was stress and failure to adapt (hey! remember those old posts I made about how he doesn't quite feel at home on either planet and even though he loves earth it feels unwelcoming too in many aspects...) and it's easy to see why, normally we can see his stress, but this season won't let us forget (thanks to that beautiful timer device). With this constant reminder of what he has to do, where usually he likes to not think about it at all.

Coming to terms with his feelings towards earth and his own role in regards to it when it comes to invading, realizing you don't want anything to change about it really, in the second half that is.

The entire first half he spends it severely downplaying his negative feelings, which is nothing new, he often does this.

Trudging through his daily tasks sluggishly, doesn't ask for help or complain at all, actually the opposite is true.

Losing strength and physically lighter, like someone who doesn't want to be a weight and can't stand up for what he believes in. Ready to give up.

The kind of lethargy one experiences when under extreme pressure (and already depressed if I'm allowed to add), which is why when he tastes the starfruit (which again, what it represents...) which is one new positive thing he hadn't experienced before (something to keep going for), he literally breaks down in tears. And then attaches way too much importance to it (in a dream yes, but that's still his subconscious so, if anything it counts more).

Normal phrase to say for someone whose feelings are totally stable and not at all experiencing an extreme low. Normal tantrum behavior showing perfectly fine emotional regulation, not dramatic at all.

So anyway in my opinion from what I've observed so far anime keroro really isn't one to explicate his real feelings/needs or even do much self reflection on them at all. Normally, these occur when he's under huge stress. On average he has tantrums or indulges in escapism.

When Aki asks him a simple question on it, he has to stop and think about it, despite literally almost dying from the severity of them. My alexithymia king.

And then and only then, when it feels like he'll actually be listened to (by the way, getting ignored seems to be a big trigger for him! just based on observing his reactions... when people don't pay attention to him or praise something else while he's there... and stuff like that), does he say it in a way that feels so understated.

But to me it's really huge, because I don't think he has ever admitted these two facts so naturally. Or at all?

And as I said the shot with the timer feels especially devious in this context, it's a reminder to us the viewer that anyway how Keroro feels about the invasion doesn't matter, because he really has no agency or choice about it at this point. It's also a visual reminder of the obvious other underlying reason for his stress, that he doesn't outright say, but is shown to us regardless.

I think maybe, in such a context, even praise for a job well done could start mattering less to him, because the outcome is what's unfavorable, the thing he dreads.

That might be why this did nothing for him. Throughout the day so many duties, things he has to do, but not many times that he's asked how he feels about it (which is why he often ends up snapping in extreme ways). Like "what's the point?" of even thinking about it, if the situation is set in stone no matter what?

And I know Aki said may disease and we settled on that, it's the closest thing for sure, it lends a description for the type of disappointment he feels about what he has to do. But I do feel like it's not about "may" for him, it's more long lasting, it's just reaching a boiling point now due to the set timer. And may disease (while not clinically recognized) is best described as a type of minor depression. Keroro doesn't really have responsibilities tied to japan school/work (even if it's representing it), so you also have to see the bigger picture of it here... of why it manifested... He himself says he carries stress and unease every day. So it's not limited to may, it's circumscribed to his situation.

So yeah that's it these were my thoughts on the ep

[itspileofgoodthings]

.

[stillfruit]

i love not knowing if i'll ever be healthy again i love all of the time i've used to move my body become nothing i love spending my adulthood wasting away year after year for various reasons baby!

[tommygotwrittenoff]

i need eddie to get another guy friend in season 8, and buck loses his shit about it (again), so he breaks up with t because he's convinced that the weird feeling he gets when he sees them together is because he is Really attracted to the new guy.

[nochepsicodelica]

"Stop. Moving," Toji groans, sleepily, as he tightens his arms around you and buries his face into your back. This is the third time you try to wake him up by shifting on the bed and he is not having it.

"It's time to wake up, Toji. If you don't want to get up, you can stay here while I go make us breakfast."

Toji hums in disapproval. "What's the point in staying behind if you're not gonna be here? Let's just..." he sighs, nuzzling his face into your back, getting comfy, again. "...stay in bed a little longer. Let me keep you like this for a few more hours- minutes. I said minutes."

"Baby," you say, through a laugh. "It's almost ten. I know that if you could, you would stay in bed all day-"

"We would stay in bed all day," he corrects, his voice a low grumble.

"We would stay in bed all day," you repeat. "But... I want breakfast, and I know you'll want breakfast, too, once you smell all the food. I know how much you love your bacon," you add, trying to persuade him.

"Brunch sounds better," he mutters, stomping on your argument.

"No, breakfast sounds better," you argue, to which he groans, dramatically—almost childishly. "Oh my god, Toji," you say, in utter disbelief of the way he's acting.

"Shh... let's sleep," he murmurs.

You sigh, defeated. "Five minutes. That's all you get. Five more minutes." Toji doesn't even respond, too busy dozing off to make the most of these measly fives minutes, you "generously" offered. And, yes, you were generous, because five minutes became ten minutes, and then fifteen, until you reached the limit you had set—twenty minutes.

After the twenty minutes, you start moving around a little. You flip onto your back to get a look at the sleeping hulk that's been clinging to you. He just adjusts to the new position, not bothered in the slightest as he rests his head on your shoulder.

"Toji," you call, softly, waiting a few seconds to see if he reacts. When his steady breathing is still all you hear, you decide to try again. "Bear," you call, dragging your fingertip along the slope of his nose. "Wake up," you murmur when his brows pull together. "Hi, baby," you coo, smiling when he just blinks his sleep-ridden eyes.

"That didn't feel like five minutes," he mumbles, his voice raspy.

"It was twenty," you respond, a soft laugh following. You press a kiss to the top of his head and watch the way he subtly eases up a little more. The crease between his brows is gone, now. "Let's go have breakfast, alright? Some coffee will do you good."

"Fine," he grumbles, before rising slowly from where he lays on you, like he weighs tons.

You turn over to see the subtle jut of his lips, a small detail that never fails to make you laugh when he doesn't get what he wants.

"What's that thing you always say to me? 'If you keep pouting, I'm gonna kiss you'," you say, mimicking his voice.

"I'm gonna kiss you," he mutters under his breath, like the grumpiest bear.

"Ooo, I'm sooo scared," you say, your voice doused with sarcasm. "Please, don't do it. I definitely don't want you to kiss me," you jest, smiling to yourself as you walk towards the door. Your hand doesn't even reach the doorknob, before you're caged against the wooden slab. Two enormous hands rest on the door, preventing you from getting it open. He's discovered a loophole that gets you to be the one who wants to kiss him.

"Pay the Toji Tax," he murmurs, tiredly.

"Now, why would I do that? I haven't asked you for help with anything," you argue.

"You need my help getting the door open," he says, matter-of-factly.

"I don't need your help getting the door open. You just need to move out of the way so that I can open it."

"So, ask me to move. Simple, no?"

"Can you pretty please, with a cherry on top move so that I can open the door and make us breakfast?" You plead, your voice monotonous.

"Sure, for three kisses," he says, naming his price.

"It's unfair to Toji Tax me when you're the one keeping both of us from getting out."

"I'm sorry you feel that way, but you either pay the price or you rot in here with me until your precious little breakfast time turns into brunch, or even lunch time. Hell, dinner time might even roll around."

You turn around, slowly, your expression contemplative. A hum, just as mindful, reaches Toji's ears.

"You'd starve both of us for three kisses?" You question, your expression unchanging from its depiction of disbelief.

"Shamelessly and repeatedly. You wanna make it seem like kissing me is a job, I can play along and treat it that way. You can't go until you finish your task, and if you do it wrong, you get to do it again."

"Tojiii," you whine.

"Babyyy," he mocks, smirking at your rising impatience.

"Fine," you agree, bending to his will. You reach out to cup his face, but Toji takes a step back before you can touch him.

"What did I just say about getting it wrong? You really don't wanna kiss me, do you?"

"I do," you argue.

"Well, it doesn't feel like it. Seems like you just wanna get it over with so that i'll let you open the door."

"I'm sorry. I do wanna kiss you."

"How bad?" He pokes, loving the way you tilt your head, your expression unamused. "Plead your case, ma. How bad do you wanna kiss me?"

"So bad," you utter.

"Don't believe it," he responds, not moved enough by your words.

"Toji, I wanna kiss you so bad," you repeat.

"No, you don't," he denies. "I'm not feeling how much you wanna kiss me."

"Baby," you start, your voice exaggeratedly sentimental, your gaze filled with a saccharine amount of love. "I wanna kiss you so damn bad. It's not even funny."

"The way you're making it up is funny, though," he fires back. He's having a ball with this, biting the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from cracking. Then, he sees you powering up, getting ready to go full siren. "You got it," he says, encouraging your theatrics.

With a deep inhale, the show commences.

"Pleaseeee! Oh god, please, please, the prettiest of pleases," you cry out. "If you love me—shit—if you value puppy lives... Oh my goodness, I can't even get it out. It's... it's too much. My desire-" you break out of your own drama scene to release a cackle at your word choice. "My... desire to kiss you..." you press your lips together, finding it difficult to hold it together when you see how entertained Toji looks. You use it to your advantage, adding a little head shake and dragging yourself down on the door, appearing to have crumbled to the ground. "I can't contain it. I just... I can't. Please," you whisper, weakly, looking up at Toji, pathetically, from where you sit on the floor.

Toji is very familiar with your dramatic fits, but this one takes the cake. You stunned him for a solid ten seconds. He peers down at you, his hands still planted on the door.

"And you called me dramatic earlier. Did you hear yourself just now? All that for some kisses?"

"Not just any kisses. Your kisses," you respond, with a satisfied smile and a nod.

"Get up," he commands, offering you his hands for assistance in standing up. You take them and push yourself up and off the ground, smiling softly when your hands remain in Toji's. He loves when you look at him like that—with your eyes all shiny and that smile on your lips that expresses the joy you find in these ridiculous moments with him. In one fell swoop, you pull his arms around you and reciprocate the gesture, giving him a big squeeze. Obviously, to him, it's anything but a big squeeze, but it brings a smile to his face anyway.

"Please, let me make you breakfast," you plead.

"You still have to kiss me," he insists.

You smile as you take half a step back to be able to see him. Stubborn as ever, he still really wants his kisses.

"Come here, baby," you call, your voice so sweet that it's almost a coo. You outstretch your hands in preparation for cupping his cheeks.

"Mmm... I like that," he murmurs, lips pulled into a smirk as he tightens his arms around you a little more and starts leaning in. "Three kisses, pretty, but you know I won't complain if you want to give me more."

"We'll see," you tease, smiling as your lips connect for the first kiss. Your hands gently mold into the softness of his cheeks, your fingertips grazing his jaw. It's soft, sweet, a little impatient on both ends, but controlled for the most part. Like you're kissing without a limit, that second kiss is easily melted into and attained, leading you to the third and supposed final one.

Once that one concludes, you decide to be nice and reward him with a bonus kiss. This one lasts longer, and you hum into it, like kissing him is your favorite thing to do in the world. Your thumbs stroke his cheeks a couple times, before you release him with a loud "mmmwah!" and step back, releasing an irrepressible giggle.

"Give me another one, just like that," he requests, taking that step towards you, again. "Come on," he pleads, grabbing your hands and pulling them up to place them on his face. "One more, doll?" His hands lower to your waist, and when you smile and roll your eyes, he knows he's won.

"Alright, only one more, bear," you comply, standing on your tippy toes to meet his lips one. last. time.

Once your lips brush against his, you hold them there for a few seconds. No movement, nothing crazy, just warm softness. You can feel yourself wanting to laugh, but you hold it together for a few a couple more seconds. After you do the same "mmmwah!" sound, you finally let your soft laugh out.

Toji smirks, his gaze darting between your eyes and the lips he just kissed, as he unwinds his arms from your waist and steps back, giving you the space to open the door and let both of you out.

"Toji Tax paid. You can open the door now," he says, grinning contentedly at the way you press your lips together in amusement, before turning around and pulling the door open.

Breakfast would be yet another task and a half for you to complete. With Toji trailing back and forth after you in the small kitchen area, refusing to be anywhere you weren't, you're surprised nothing ended up burning.

[yuzujjn]

` ꣑꣒‎ ONE WIN, ONE DATE : 심재윤 ─── 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗃𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺 𝖽𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝗂𝖿 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗈𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍

ʬʬ. football player!jake x cheerleader!reader 𖥔 ݁ ARCHiVE 7OO wordcount fluff . . . skinship, kisses ꒰˵ˊᯅˋ˵꒱ happy bday to jakey, && for my juni bby

YOU'RE STANDING ON THE SIDELINES, pom-poms in hand, watching jake tear through the field like he owns it. he’s got this intensity in his eyes, the kind that makes your pulse pick up because you know he’s giving it his all—just to win this game. all for one reason: he bet you that if he wins, he gets to ask you out.

it’s been a fun, flirty thing between you two for weeks now, but this? this is new. he made sure the whole team knew about his little bet, which has them teasing him endlessly about finally "making a move on his dream girl." you catch a few of his teammates smirking and nudging him before the game starts, and jake just rolls his eyes with a lopsided grin, eyes glancing at you every now and then. you swear you can feel his gaze even from across the field.

the game is close, way too close for your liking. you’re on edge, practically jumping each time he gets the ball, and maybe you’re clapping a little louder than anyone else (not that you liked him, or maybe you did). in the final minutes, it’s tied, and jake’s team has the ball. you watch as he gets the ball, weaving through the opposing team with an ease.

the crowd holds its breath, and so do you.

with a swift, clean kick, jake scores, sealing the win. the stadium erupts, but jake’s eyes find you instantly, a smug, triumphant smile on his face as he’s mobbed by his teammates. when they finally let him go, he sprints over to you, his eyes lighting up with joy.

“so…” he starts, leaning over, hands on his knees, slightly out of breath but still managing to look cocky. “still gonna pretend you’re not into me?”

you roll your eyes, though your cheeks are definitely giving you away. “who said i was ever into you?”

“i could tell.” jake flashes that heart-melting smile, moving closer. you’re aware of the other cheerleaders watching, and you’re definitely aware of his hand grazing your waist, lingering just long enough to make your heart race.

“oh, yeah? you’re that confident?” you ask, trying to sound unaffected, but your voice betrays you.

“confident enough to win a game for you,” he says with a smirk. “and i did say i’d ask you out if i won.”

“so ask away, sim,” you challenge, folding your arms.

he lets out a chuckle, his fingers brushing yours as if testing the waters. “okay, let me ask properly, then.” jake clears his throat dramatically, taking your hand in his. “y/n, would you do me the honor of going out with me?”

you’re pretty sure the butterflies in your stomach are doing somersaults, but you manage to keep your cool—sort of. “hmm… maybe. depends. what kind of date are we talking about?”

jake grins, squeezing your hand gently. “whatever you want. something fun. something that’ll make you smile like that.” he nods at you, obviously noticing the way your lips are curving, despite your attempt to stay composed.

“fine,” you say, relenting with a playful eye roll. “but only because you tried so hard.”

he leans in, closer than before, his voice just above a whisper. “only the best for you.”

your heart skips, and you glance down, trying to hide the way his words affect you. but jake isn’t done; he tilts your chin up, meeting your gaze. "guess you’re stuck with me now.”

“guess so,” you whisper, feeling heat rise to your cheeks as you realize he’s not moving back. his hand is still at your waist, his thumb gently tracing circles on your hip. the stadium is still loud around you, but it feels like it’s just the two of you here, his face inches from yours.

“think i can get a ‘good game’ kiss?” he asks with a wink, his voice teasing but hopeful. you roll your eyes, but you can’t hide the way you’re smiling now.

“don’t push your luck, sim.” but before he can respond, you lean up, giving him the quickest, softest peck on the lips. it’s barely there, but it’s enough to make his eyes widen in surprise and a smile spread across his face.

“you’re making me want to win every game now,” he says, looking down at you like you’re the only person in the world.

“i guess you’ll just have to keep scoring, then,” you reply with a grin, stepping back slightly, though your hand stays in his, fingers tangled together.

“oh, trust me, y/n,” he murmurs, tightening his hold on you, “i’ll be scoring a lot.”

[oikarma]

look me in the eye | pt.3

pairing: max verstappen x rbr!engineer!reader

summary: the rb21 is unfixable-the whole world knows that, now-but you've become so much more than just his engineer and they should know that too.

a/n: i just...max verstappen...and thank you guys sm for the love you've shown this series! here is the last part <3

part one / part two / part three

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

The moment you step out of the storage room-you figured that out when Max shoved you against a nice metal rack and some probably important things crashed to the ground-reality crashes down on you like a tidal wave.

You just kissed Max Verstappen.

Max Verstappen just kissed you.

You don't know how it can get worse, but it will. He looks completely at ease, like he didn't just change the trajectory of your entire life in the span of a few heated seconds. Meanwhile, you feel like you're about to combust. Your lips are still tingling, your mind racing, and you’re suddenly hyperaware of the noise outside: the team is still celebrating, the media is still circling, and maybe you're being a little dramatic but people will want answers that you can't give.

Max notices your panic before you can even say anything. He leans in slightly, lowering his voice. "Breathe."

You shoot him a glare that lacks any real venom. "Don't tell me what to do."

His lips twitch. "Then don't look like you’re about to pass out." Which is ironic, because if he hadn't kissed you senseless, you probably wouldn't look like...whatever you look like right now. You need a mirror. Your hair is all messed up from the frenzy-his is too, though it suits his post-race look-and you straighten the collar of your shirt.

Damn you. You shove past him, desperate for space, for air, for something that isn't Max Verstappen and his infuriating ability to act like everything is fine. Your body betrays you, though, because even as you move, you feel his warmth lingering, his presence like a gravitational pull you can’t escape.

And then, as if the universe is determined to make your life a nightmare, Christian Horner appears. The devil himself.

You barely manage to school your expression into something neutral as he approaches, eyes sharp, mouth set in a line that promises nothing good.

"Max." He nods at Red Bull's star driver before turning to you. "We need to talk."

Max doesn't move. "She's busy," he quips.

You whip your head toward him, eyes wide. "Max."

Christian doesn't look amused. "Now."

You sigh, throwing Max one last look before following Christian into one of the back offices. The second the door closes, he lets out a heavy breath and pinches the bridge of his nose like he's trying to will away a migraine.

"You know why we're here."

You cross your arms, steeling yourself. "If this is about that stupid interview-"

"Stupid?" Christian cuts you off and his eyes narrow quickly. "Do you have any idea what you just walked into? The media is losing it. The fans are in a frenzy. And now I have PR breathing down my neck asking if Max Verstappen is in a relationship with one of his engineers."

This isn't good. No, not at all. Today is not a good day to have Christian Horner mad at you. "It's not-"

"It doesn't matter what it is," Christian interrupts. "Believe me. The only thing I care about is what it looks like."

You don't have an argument for that. Because he's right. Perception is everything in this sport, and right now, the perception is that you are tangled up in something that no team principal wants to deal with.

Christian sighs and it's like all his fury is evaporating. "Look. I really don't care what you do in your personal life. I don't even care what Max does, as long as he keeps winning. But I need to know if this is going to be a problem."

You hesitate. "Define 'a problem.'"

Christian levels you with a look. "Are you going to be a distraction? To him? To yourself?"

Your mind flashes back to the kiss, to the way Max looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered in that moment. Your heart stutters.

"No," you say, more firmly than you feel. "This doesn't affect my work."

Christian watches you for a long moment, then nods. "Good. Then handle it."

You swallow. "Handle it?"

"Either shut it down or control the narrative," he says. "But I don't want any more surprises."

You nod, even though you don't know what exactly you're affirming with that nod. The problem is, you don't know if you can shut it down. You don't know if you even want to.

When you leave the office, Max is leaning against the wall, waiting. Of course he is.

He leaps up when he sees you. "What did he say?"

"That I need to handle it," you explain.

Max’s expression doesn’t change. "And are you going to?

"I don’t know."

There it is again. You can't read Max Verstappen. He asks, "Do you want me to?"

All your problems come from the same thing-you should say yes, no, whatever it takes to shut down all this that's happening. You should make him go on some press circuit and laugh it off as a misunderstanding, to make sure your name isn't attached to his ever again. You should be walking away from this mess because it's not part of your job description and getting involved with an athlete never seems to end well. Even if it's Max Verstappen.

But you don't.

You never do, it seems.

Instead, you look at him: the way his jaw is clenched, the way his fingers twitch like he wants to reach for you but won't unless you let him, and you keep making the same choice.

"I think," you say carefully, "we should talk."

Max’s lips curve slightly. "Dinner?"

You groan, shoving his shoulder. "Not helping."

His laugh is soft, but there's something else in his eyes now. Something serious. "Then let’s talk."

It's been a long time coming, but right there, you realize you're past the point of no return.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

The ride back to the hotel is suffocating. Not the air-no, the air-conditioning in Max's car is great, thankfully, because it sure cost a lot-but because Max is sitting next to you, silent, his fingers drumming against his thigh so close to you if he shifts just a little his hands will be on yours. You push that thought aside. Now's not a good time to get worked up over him. Not now.

You should say something. You should clear the air. But every time you open your mouth, nothing comes out. Instead, you replay everything in your head: the kiss, the way he looked at you after, Christian's warning, and the way Max had asked if you wanted him to handle it. Like it was his responsibility. Like he was willing to do whatever you asked, even if it meant pretending none of this ever happened.

The thought unsettles you more than it should.

"You're thinking too much."

You blink, snapping out of your spiral. Max is watching you instead of the road. Stupid, stupid.

You roll your eyes. "And you’re not thinking at all."

He smirks, eyes darting back forward for a moment before they rest on your face. "That’s not true. I'm thinking about dinner."

"Max, this isn't a joke." You let out a frustrated sigh, turning to face him.

"I know." He's suddenly serious, his voice quieter. "That's why we should talk. Properly. Without Christian breathing down your neck."

You hesitate. You know he's right. You can't keep avoiding this, can't pretend that what happened in the storage room didn't just flip your world upside down. But you also don't know how to have this conversation without risking everything.

Max waits patiently, letting you come to your own conclusion. He always does that. He gives you space, but never too much. Always just enough to make sure you don’t run.

"Fine," you mutter. "But not dinner. We saw how that went."

He raises a brow. "Drinks?"

"No."

"A walk, then."

You sigh, but you don't argue. You suppose a walk is neutral territory. You can talk without the pressure of sitting across from him at a table, without the weight of eye contact that lasts too long.

When you arrive at the hotel, you don't give yourself time to hesitate. You step out, waiting for him, and he follows without question after tossing his keys at the valet. There's a cool breeze, and you focus on that instead of the way your fingers still tingle from where they brushed against Max's earlier.

You walk side by side, the silence stretching, but it isn't uncomfortable. It never is. That’s part of the problem, isn't it? It's always been too easy with him.

"I meant what I said," Max finally says. "I don't want this to be a problem for you."

"It's not that simple, Max."

"It could be."

You huff out a short laugh. "For you, maybe."

He stops walking, and you do too, turning to face him. There's something in his expression that makes your breath catch.

"I like you," he says, and your heart stutters. "And I think you like me too."

You swallow hard. "Max-"

"I know it's complicated. I know Christian is watching us like a hawk. I know you're worried about your job, your reputation." His voice is steady, unwavering. "But I'm not going to pretend this isn't happening just because it's inconvenient."

Your mouth feels dry. It does sound simple when he's saying it.

"Tell me to stop. Tell me this is nothing, and I'll walk away."

You hate him for that. Hate him for putting the choice in your hands, for making you responsible for whatever happens next.

But you don't tell him to stop. You don't say anything at all. You look at him clearly: this man you've watched grow up from a boy. You've seen him destroy things in fits of rage after bad races, you've seen him beam like the sun, and you've seen the way his eyes turn stormy oceans when they look at you. He sees you too.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

bahrain 2025 post-race interview

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

y/n 🌎 gee, max, you're going to get to my ego

y/n 🌎 first "my everything," then "the constant"

y/n 🌎 and what's that about always? i don't believe that.

my mashed potato Are you referring to us or you being the constant? Because I don't believe in that either, but you have me as long as you want

y/n 🌎 are you SERIOUSLY CHECKING YOUR PHONE DURING AN INTERVIEW

y/n 🌎 sorry for all caps i just like it a lot when you get all romantic

my mashed potato i know ❤️

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

a/n: max verstappen and 3-post series are very special to me

[rosemariiaa]

~Off the Rails ( And into my head)~

𐙚- pairing: Paige x Azzi

𐙚- w/c: 5.6k

𐙚- rosie’s note: suprise + happy gameday! i was def supposed to be working on my stalker fic buttt this was too cute not to play around with, if u guys enjoy this one i’m happy to write another part <3, happy reading lovelies 💌

𐙚- themes: au, fluff, gay being gays

Azzi is pretty sure the city is trying to kill her.

Okay, maybe that’s a little dramatic, but between dodging aggressive taxi drivers, the sensory overload of Times Square, and her hotel room’s heating system making threatening noises at three in the morning, she’s convinced New York is testing her.

Which is fine. She likes a challenge (sometimes).

Her days are structured enough that she doesn’t have too much time to dwell on it. Wake up, drink expensive hotel coffee that tastes like disappointment, go to fittings, castings, brand meetings — smile, nod, pretend she isn’t internally cringing at people aggressively poking at the clothes on her body. It’s exhausting but manageable.

The castings are the worst part.

The first one seemed easy enough — a sleek downtown studio, all glass windows and marble floors. She felt okay at first, just another model in a sea of long legs and sharp cheekbones. But when it was her turn, the woman in charge — someone with wire-rimmed glasses and a voice like nails on glass — squinted at her like she wasn’t quite sure why Azzi was there at all.

“Smile,” the woman had said, and Azzi did.

“No,” she snapped, “not like that. Softer.”

Azzi tried again.

“No, softer. Relax your face.”

Azzi wasn’t sure how to relax her face when she suddenly felt like her whole body was being dissected under a microscope.

By the end, she walked out feeling like a mannequin someone had forgotten to put away properly.

“Don’t take it personally,” her agent had said over the phone. “They just want to see how you handle pressure.”

Right, Azzi thought bitterly, because nothing screams ‘grace under pressure’ like being told you’re smiling wrong.

She hated that it got to her — that her ex’s voice kept creeping into her head after things like that.

You’re too uptight, he’d say. You need to stop caring so much about what people think.

Like he wasn’t the one constantly picking at everything she did. Like he wasn’t the one who could ruin her whole day with a single passive-aggressive text.

She knew he was out of her life now — had been for months — but sometimes it still felt like she was waiting for the next thing to go wrong. Like if she let her guard down for too long, something bad was bound to happen.

Honestly, at this point, she wouldn’t mind if a woman chased her for a year or two.

Azzi immediately freezes at the thought.

Jesus Christ, you sound insane. Get it together.

(But also…she’s not wrong. It’s true.)

The only part of her routine that feels normal is the train.

For some reason, she’s taken to riding it instead of calling for a car like most models do. Maybe it’s because she doesn’t like feeling babied, or maybe it’s because she just enjoys the quiet anonymity of it. No cameras, no managers, no overly chatty PR people. Just her, her music, and a bunch of exhausted New Yorkers trying to get from point A to point B.

And then there’s her.

Tall. Athletic. Platinum blonde, but not in a fake way — it looks like it actually belongs to her, like she was born to be blindingly golden.

The first time Azzi sees her, she doesn’t think much of it. Just another stranger on the train, another person she’ll never see again.

The second time? Okay, weird coincidence.

The third?

Alright, what the hell is going on.

Azzi doesn’t mean to stare, but she’s a model — her job is literally to pay attention to details, to notice symmetry and proportion, and — oh god, is she actually justifying this to herself right now?

Still, she keeps catching herself analyzing the girl before she can stop it. The slight shift in her posture, the way she spreads her legs a little too wide like she’s claiming space (gay?), the loose sweatshirt hanging off her broad frame like she just threw it on without thinking.

And her face.

Azzi thought she was intimidating at first. The sharp jawline, the piercing blue eyes — classic I could beat you in a fight energy. But then she looked closer.

She wasn’t intimidating at all. If anything, she looked like an adorable golden retriever who was trying very hard to pretend she wasn’t.

The kind of girl who could probably bench press Azzi without breaking a sweat, but would also apologize profusely if she accidentally bumped into someone.

So, yeah. Weirdly interesting.

But Azzi isn’t a weirdo. She’s not about to obsess over some random subway stranger just because she happens to exist in her general vicinity every morning.

…Except the next day, she catches herself checking the train doors, waiting to see if she’ll walk in.

And she does.

Of course she does.

Azzi tells herself she’s just being observant. That’s all.

And then the blonde glances up, makes direct eye contact, and —

Smirks.

Not in a mean way. Not even in a particularly cocky way. Just this tiny, amused flicker of a smile. Like she knows something Azzi doesn’t.

Azzi immediately looks away. Get it together, Azzi, what is wrong with you.

The train stops. She doesn’t think — just moves, bolting out of her seat like she suddenly has somewhere incredibly important to be.

She does not look back.

Definitely not.

…Okay, maybe just a little.

—

Azzi tells herself she’s not thinking about her.

She’s not.

She’s thinking about work — about that weirdly aggressive casting director who kept telling her to “soften” her face, like Azzi’s somehow been walking around looking like an axe murderer this whole time.

She’s thinking about her schedule — her agent’s endless texts about last-minute fittings and branding meetings that always seem to run twenty minutes longer than anyone expects.

She’s thinking about dinner — the overpriced sushi place she keeps passing by but can’t quite convince herself to go into because eating alone at a fancy bar feels way too much like one of those sad girl in a movie moments.

She’s definitely not thinking about the blonde girl.

Except she kind of is.

Not on purpose! It’s just — her brain keeps circling back to her like a song stuck on repeat. Like a stray thread that Azzi can’t quite stop tugging at.

It’s just because she keeps showing up on the train, Azzi tells herself. That’s all.

New York’s massive, but the subway isn’t. People stick to patterns, routes, habits — it’s not that weird to see the same face a few times.

(But why is it always her face?)

It’s annoying, honestly — how the thought of her keeps creeping in when Azzi’s trying to focus.

Like this morning.

Azzi had been walking down 5th Avenue, mentally rehearsing her introduction for a big casting — something charming but casual — when she caught herself thinking, I bet the blonde girl’s never nervous before big things. I bet she just shows up and — boom — owns the whole room.

Or last night, when Azzi had tried watching a movie in her hotel room, only to completely zone out halfway through because she was too busy replaying that stupid smirk in her head.

What was that even about?

And God, it’s embarrassing — how her brain won’t let it go. She’s barely said two words to her! She doesn’t even know her name!

She’s just interesting, Azzi tells herself. That’s all.

And it’s true. She’s interesting the way a puzzle is — a bunch of pieces that shouldn’t really fit together, but somehow do.

Azzi hates that she notices things like that. Hates that she keeps wondering what her voice sounds like — if it’s sharp and dry like her smirk or if she’s secretly one of those people who laughs too loud without meaning to.

It’s just curiosity, Azzi thinks. Just passing time. It’s not a crush.

…Right?

—

Azzi’s morning is already off to a chaotic start.

She overslept (her phone alarm somehow managed to betray her), her hotel room’s shower took forever to heat up, and her only clean outfit is one of those weirdly fancy streetwear fits that somehow manages to look like she’s either trying way too hard or not trying at all.

So when she stumbles onto the train — hair still damp, blazer oversized enough to swallow her shoulders — she’s not exactly feeling her best.

And, of course, that’s the day the blonde girl’s already there.

Sitting in her usual spot, legs stretched out way too wide, one arm casually draped over the back of the seat like she’s been living on this train her whole life.

Azzi thinks about walking to the next car — just avoiding the whole situation altogether — but the doors are closing, and she’s already been spotted.

Too late now.

She sits across from her, tries to act normal. Looks down at her phone, pulls up Instagram like she’s definitely not thinking about the blonde girl sitting four feet away.

Except the blonde clears her throat, and Azzi glances up before she can stop herself.

“You again,” the blonde says, voice low and a little scratchy. Her mouth curls up in that familiar half-smirk. “‘M starting to think you’re following me.”

Azzi snorts — way louder than she means to — and immediately wants to disappear.

“Oh yeah,” she deadpans, “I moved to New York just to ride this train and stare at you like a creep.”

The blonde’s smile spreads wider. “Hey, you said it. Not me.”

Azzi rolls her eyes but can’t help the laugh that slips out. It’s too early for this. Too early for that smile and the way her blue eyes practically sparkle when she’s teasing.

The train jerks to a stop, and a new wave of people crowds in. One of them shuffles too close, nearly stepping on Azzi’s foot. She shifts, tucking her legs in a little.

“Here.”

Azzi looks up just in time to see the blonde motioning to the empty seat beside her — like it’s no big deal, like it’s just common sense.

“Oh,” Azzi says, too startled to play it cool. “Uh… thanks.”

She squeezes into the seat, awkwardly aware of how close their shoulders are now. The blonde smells like something fresh — clean laundry, maybe, with a hint of expensive cologne (Valentino?). It’s stupidly attractive.

Azzi stares straight ahead, willing her brain to stop overthinking.

“You always this quiet?” the blonde asks.

“Depends,” Azzi mutters. “You always this talkative to strangers?”

The blonde barks out a laugh — short and rough, like she wasn’t expecting it.

“Woww,” she drags out, still grinning. “Alright, cool. So we’re throwing insults now?”

Azzi shrugs. “Just calling it like I see it.”

The blonde hums, like she’s deciding whether or not to be offended. Then —

“Book club,” she says suddenly.

Azzi blinks. “…What?”

The blonde nods to the book tucked under Azzi’s arm — The Housemaid by Freida McFadden. “Didn’t take you for the book club type.”

“It’s actually just me, Azzi to be exact,” Azzi corrects, a little dry. “No club.”

The blonde’s head tilts like she’s intrigued. “Hmm. Pretty name.”

Azzi doesn’t register it right away — not until the blonde’s eyes flicker away like she hadn’t just casually called her pretty (well her name..but still!).

“Oh,” Azzi stammers. “Uh… thanks?”

The train starts to slow, and the blonde stands, tugging her bag over her shoulder. “See you tomorrow, pretty girl.”

Okay, now she called her pretty. Azzi freezes. Doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe, just sits there like an idiot while the blonde steps off the train and disappears behind the closing doors.

Pretty girl.

See you tomorrow, pretty girl.

Azzi’s face burns all the way back to her hotel.

Later that day, Azzi’s sprawled on her hotel bed, pillow half-smothering her face.

“This is stupid,” she mutters into the fabric. “I’m being stupid.”

Because — what is she even doing?

She’s barely spoken to this girl, first “conversation” and yet here she is — half-convinced she’s developing some kind of pathetic subway crush. It’s not like her — she’s never been one of those people who fixates on strangers like they’re characters in a rom-com.

But there’s something about her.

The way she carries herself — so casual, so comfortable in her own skin. The way she always looks so put-together, like her hair’s been freshly done and her sweatshirt just happens to fall perfectly over her frame.

And okay, fine — the way she called her pretty girl.

Azzi groans into the pillow.

You’re not in high school, you freak, she tells herself. Get it together.

But later, when she’s brushing her teeth, she catches herself mumbling, “How do you even ask someone out when you’ve barely had more than one conversation?”

And she doesn’t have an answer.

Azzi leans over the sink, toothbrush still hanging from her mouth, staring herself down in the mirror like her reflection might have answers.

“Okay,” she mutters around the foam, voice muffled. “Let’s think about this.”

She spits, rinses, and braces her hands on the counter.

Pros:

first: The blonde’s obviously into her. Right? You don’t just call someone pretty girl and not mean something by it.

second: She’s funny — annoyingly funny — in that teasing way that makes Azzi want to roll her eyes and smile at the same time.

third: She’s hot. Like, objectively hot. The kind of hot that makes you stupid, apparently, because Azzi can’t seem to stop thinking about her.

fourth: They take the same train. Built-in excuses to see her without seeming desperate.

fifth: She’s probably not a serial killer. (Azzi pauses — yeah, that one’s more hopeful thinking than fact. Moving on.)

Cons:

first: What if she’s not actually into her? What if pretty girl was just something she says to random strangers like it’s her thing? Some people are just effortlessly flirty like that. (God, imagine how embarrassing that would be.)

second: Even if she is interested, what if she’s straight? Straight girls are so naturally flirty. Or worse — what if she’s got a girlfriend? (Or a boyfriend? Or a situationship? Or some weird on-again-off-again ex who’s still lurking in her life?)

third: What if she’s just messing with her? Like… some kind of elaborate joke that Azzi doesn’t get because she’s new here and clearly out of her element.

fourth: What if they do go out, and it’s terrible? Awkward silences, forced small talk, maybe the blonde’s whole flirty-train-persona is just her best material and there’s nothing else underneath.

She groans and drags her hands down her face.

“This is so dumb,” she mutters to her reflection. “You’ve had, like… one conversation. Chill.”

But her brain doesn’t let it go. Because honestly?

The cons are all just hypothetical. Possible, but not certain.

The pros…

The pros feel real.

The blonde’s smile, the warmth in her voice, the way she’d leaned in just a little closer when she called Azzi pretty girl — none of that had felt fake.

And even if it’s just a harmless crush, even if this whole thing turns out to be nothing…

What if it’s not?

What if she’s funny and charming and sweet in that slightly annoying way? What if she’s someone Azzi could actually… like?

Azzi leans closer to the mirror, narrowing her eyes at herself like she’s trying to read her own mind.

“You’re being insane,” she says flatly.

And yet… she’s still thinking about it.

And tomorrow, she knows she’s going to be checking those train doors again.

—

Azzi wakes up to the faint glow of sunlight spilling through her window. For once, she doesn’t feel like her skull is being crushed by exhaustion. She reaches for her phone on the nightstand, squinting at the screen.

Two hours until the shoot.

Nice. Enough time to shower, get ready, and maybe even clean her disaster of a hotel room.

The shower’s warm and steady, and for a moment, Azzi stands there with her eyes closed, letting the heat loosen her muscles. Her thoughts wander — first to her shoot, then to her growing laundry pile, then… well, then to her.

The blonde.

Azzi doesn’t even know her name, yet here she is, fully thinking about her in the shower like some kind of weirdo. She groans and steps out, grabbing a towel and trying to push the image of that stupid smile out of her head.

She throws on a cropped long-sleeve top and matching Fenty sweats — perks of the brand deal — then tidies her room. By the time she’s packing her purse and slipping her phone inside, she’s feeling accomplished. Productive. Grounded.

And then she promptly ruins it all by walking straight into someone.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” Azzi blurts, instinctively reaching out like she can somehow fix it.

The other girl’s gripping her forehead, wincing. “It’s okay,” she mutters, voice strained. It takes Azzi half a second to recognize it — that voice. Her stomach flips before she even looks up.

No way. No way is this happening right now.

Sure enough, when the blonde pulls her glasses off with a grimace, there she is — same platinum hair, same sharp jawline, same frustratingly charming smile… except this time, her eyes are squinted in pain.

Azzi freezes. Why does she look even hotter with glasses? Focus, Azzi. You just hurt her. Stop being weird.

The blonde blinks a few times like she’s still adjusting to the light, then — somehow — smiles.

“Oh, book club,” she says brightly, still pressing her fingers to her forehead. “You staying here too? What a coincidence.” Her grin widens like she’s genuinely delighted by this.

Azzi’s eyebrows furrow. Coincidence? What was so exciting about that?

Then she feels her face warm — her whole body warm, actually — and quickly nods. “Uh, yeah. Sorry, again. Are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” the blonde assures her, still smiling. “But…” She pauses, tilting her head. “I think you kinda owe me now.”

Azzi snorts before she can stop herself. “Yeah, right.”

The blonde’s face falls into an exaggerated pout. “Wow. Really? You’re just gonna assault me in public and not even try to cheer me up?”

“Oh my god,” Azzi laughs, shaking her head. “Fine. What do you want?”

The blonde taps her chin, like she’s seriously thinking about it.

“I don’t have all day, blondie,” Azzi warns, but she’s smiling now too.

The blonde lights up like that’s exactly what she was hoping for. “Sushi,” she announces. “I skipped breakfast and i’ve also been wanting to try that new fancy sushi bar up the street.”

Azzi sighs. “Fine. But my driver’s off today, so we might have to take the train.”

“No problem,” the blonde says easily. “You can drive my car.”

Azzi stops mid-step, turning to stare at her. “Wait… you have a car?”

“Yeah.” The blonde shrugs like it’s no big deal.

“Then why have you been taking the train?”

The blonde’s smile falters for a second, like she hadn’t expected the question. But then she shrugs again, casual as ever. “I like it.”

Weird, Azzi thinks, but she decides not to press. Instead, she just gives a skeptical look. “You seriously want a stranger to drive your car?”

“You’re not a stranger,” the blonde insists. “We’ve had — what — two conversations now?” She pauses, grinning. “Well, one and a half, I guess.”

Azzi huffs a laugh. “Yeah, sure. Real deep connection we’ve got here.”

“You did just give me a concussion,” the blonde points out. “I think you’re legally responsible for me now.”

“Oh my god.” Azzi rolls her eyes, fighting a smile.

“You know,” the blonde adds, eyes glinting. “I think you have to hold my hand while we walk, though.”

Azzi turns to her, unimpressed. “You don’t have two legs?”

��Well…” The blonde drags a hand dramatically down her face. “You did ruin my eyesight, I don’t wanna be hitting poles left and right..sooo…” She trails off, shrugging innocently.

Azzi can’t help it — she laughs again, quietly, and she hates that it makes the blonde’s smile widen like she’s just won something.

“Fine,” Azzi sighs. “Let’s go.”

She grabs the blonde’s hand, warm fingers wrapping easily around hers.

It’s supposed to be casual, practical — just an excuse to get her moving — but then the blonde’s fingers slide between hers, lacing together like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Azzi swears she feels her heartbeat stutter.

She tells herself she’s imagining things — that this girl is just the type to be annoyingly comfortable with casual touch. But then she feels the blonde shift a little closer, their arms brushing as they walk.

Azzi doesn’t say anything. She’s not even sure she wants to.

And maybe she’s imagining it, but she swears she can feel the blonde’s thumb trace over her knuckles — slow, deliberate — like she’s testing the waters.

Azzi bites the inside of her cheek, fighting a smile.

Yeah… she definitely has a crush.

—

Azzi never pictured herself like this — sitting in the driver’s seat of someone else’s car, navigating unfamiliar New York streets, her hands gripping the wheel a little tighter than necessary.

She glances at the blonde in the passenger seat —wait.., she reminds herself — but then realizes… no, she’s still not actually sure of her name.

They’d had two conversations — well, one and a half as the blonde stated — and Azzi still hadn’t asked. Not that it mattered. Except now it kinda did.

It’s quiet. Not uncomfortable exactly, but still… quiet.

Azzi turns her eyes back to the road, trying to focus. This whole situation feels surreal — like some bizarre fever dream. She didn’t move to New York thinking she’d end up driving a complete stranger to a sushi bar. She came here to focus on herself — her career — to hit reset after… everything.

“You’re a pretty good driver,” the blonde says suddenly, like she’s genuinely impressed.

Azzi laughs under her breath. “I think you’re just saying that ‘cause you’re scared for your life.”

The blonde grins. “Nah. If I was scared, I’d be giving you directions like my grandma — you know, all ‘slow down, watch the curb, both hands on the wheel.’”

Azzi smiles despite herself, relaxing just a little.

“So…” the blonde draws out the word. “Why’d you move to New York?”

Azzi shrugs. “I guess it just felt like the right place for me.”

“Yeah?” The blonde leans back in her seat, stretching her legs out comfortably. “And what do you do, exactly?”

“I model,” Azzi answers. “Not full-time yet, but… working on it.”

The blonde’s eyebrows lift. “Ohhh, so you’re like one of those people who always looks good without trying?”

Azzi scoffs. “Yeah, sure. I totally woke up gorgeous this morning.”

The blonde laughs softly, then her tone shifts — still casual, but more curious. “Okay so… why’d you really move here?”

Azzi hesitates, debating how honest she wants to be. “Honestly?” she says finally. “I needed a change. And… a getaway.”

“From what?” The blonde’s head tilts. “Or who?”

Azzi exhales through her nose. “Weird ex,” she mutters.

The blonde makes a face like that’s all she needs to hear. “Understandable,” she says easily. “So… what’d your boyfriend — I mean, ex-boyfriend — do?”

Azzi’s grip tightens briefly on the steering wheel. “How do you know it was a guy?”

The blonde shrugs. “I just assumed. I mean… you don’t look gay for real.”

Azzi’s mouth falls open in mock offense. “Excuse me?”

The blonde grins like she’s been waiting for that reaction. “Whattt?”

“I take offense to that,” Azzi says, flicking her shoulder without thinking.

The blonde gasps dramatically, clutching her arm. “Oh my god — did you just hit me? I’m already injured!”

“Oh, please.” Azzi rolls her eyes, but she’s grinning now too.

“So” The blonde pauses, eyes still sparkling. “You like women?”

Azzi nods. “Yeah.” Then, narrowing her eyes playfully, “You?”

The blonde snorts like the answer’s obvious. “I thought everyone could tell.”

“Oh, they could,” Azzi quips.

The blonde lets out a laugh — loud and unrestrained — and suddenly, the tension that had been lingering between them slips right out the window. The air feels easier now, warmer somehow.

As they pull up to the sushi bar, Paige hops out first, casually rounding the car just as Azzi locks the doors. Before Azzi can even think about it, the blonde’s fingers find hers again — no warning, no hesitation. Just warm skin sliding against her palm, fingers lacing like they belong there.

Azzi glances down at their hands — Paige’s hand in hers. The blonde doesn’t say anything about it, doesn’t even look her way — just keeps walking like this is the most natural thing in the world.

Azzi doesn’t say anything either. Maybe she doesn’t want to.

Inside, the sushi bar is small and cozy — warm lighting, soft music, and the faint scent of soy sauce lingering in the air. They slide into a booth by the window, Paige stretching her legs out comfortably while Azzi flips through the menu.

“I’m just getting the spicy tuna rolls,” the blonde announces, tossing her menu aside like she’s done this a hundred times before. “Easy choice.”

Azzi snorts. “That’s boring.”

“Okay, model, what’s your go-to?” the blonde challenges, grinning.

Azzi hums thoughtfully. “Salmon sashimi… and tempura shrimp rolls. Oh, and gyoza.”

“Damn,” the blonde laughs. “Ordering the whole menu?”

“You literally said your ‘easy choice’ like you’ve never eaten anything else in your life.”

“Maybe I haven’t,” the blonde shoots back, grinning wider.

They both end up ordering a mix of everything — the blonde insists on adding edamame, claiming “you can’t not order edamame,” and Azzi doesn’t argue.

“So…” the blonde leans her elbows on the table. “You’re a model, huh?”

Azzi nods, fiddling with her chopsticks. “Trying to be.”

“I feel like I’ve seen you before,” the blonde says thoughtfully. “Are you, like… famous?”

Azzi laughs, shaking her head. “Not even close.”

“Well…” The blonde shrugs. “I’ll keep an eye out.”

Azzi smiles despite herself. “Guess so.”

“What about you?” Azzi asks, leaning back in her seat. “You just hang out on trains and get concussions for fun?”

The blonde grins. “Nah… I’m kinda retired.”

Azzi frowns. “From what?”

“Basketball,” the blonde says like it’s nothing. “I design sometimes, though — clothes, mostly.”

“You’re a designer?”

“Sometimes,” the blonde repeats, like it’s more of a side project than an identity. “I moved here ‘cause I know some people working in fashion. Some models too.” She gestures vaguely, then pauses. “Guess I know one more now.”

Azzi smiles, but there’s something tugging at the back of her mind.

“You know,” she says slowly. “I still don’t know your name.”

The blonde freezes, blinking once like she’s surprised.

“Oh,” she says, like she just realized it too. “Paige.”

Paige. The name settles in Azzi’s mind like something she’s supposed to remember — something important.

“Nice to meet you… Paige.” Azzi smiles.

“Likewise.” Paige’s smile is lazy, soft — like she’s already known Azzi for years.

Their food arrives, and the conversation drifts between light teasing and easy conversation. Paige’s smile never seems to falter — it’s so constant that Azzi wonders if her face just naturally sits like that.

The sushi plates were nearly empty now, chopsticks scattered across the table like forgotten utensils in a game of pick-up sticks. Paige was still talking — something about her old basketball days — but Azzi wasn’t really listening. Not properly, anyway.

She was too distracted.

By the way Paige’s fingers danced along her water glass. By the way she smiled — wide and easy, like she didn’t have a single thing to hide. By the way those blue eyes — god, those blue eyes — kept flicking back to her between sentences.

Azzi barely noticed her own phone screen lighting up beside her. She figured it was just a reminder or some random email.

“Wait, hold up,” Paige said suddenly, interrupting herself. “You keep checking the time — you got somewhere to be?”

Azzi blinked back into focus. “Shit,” she muttered, checking her lock screen properly for the first time. “Yeah… I’ve got a shoot soon.”

“You’re working today?” Paige’s eyebrows lifted. “Damn. Busy woman.”

Azzi snorted. “Something like that.”

“Oh, wait,” Paige said suddenly, snapping her fingers like she’d just remembered something important. “I ordered dessert.”

Azzi blinked. “Dessert?”

“Yeah.” Paige grinned. “Figured I’d earn some extra points in case you tried to knock me out again.”

Azzi huffed a laugh, shaking her head.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” Paige said, leaning back with a smug smile. “But you laughed, so…”

Azzi tried to fight her smile but failed

By the time they left the restaurant, Azzi was running late.

“You sure you’ll make it in time?” Paige asked as they walked back to her car.

“Yeah,” Azzi sighed. “Just gotta take the train since my driver’s off today.”

“I can take you,” Paige offered like it was nothing.

Azzi frowned. “I thought you weren’t feeling good enough to drive?”

“I’m feeling better now,” Paige said with a grin that Azzi didn’t fully trust.

“Uh-huh,” Azzi muttered.

“Look,” Paige said, twirling her keys around her finger, “it’s for safety measures.”

Azzi shot her a look. “Safety measures?”

“Yeah,” Paige said like it was obvious. “Gotta make sure you actually make it inside.”

“You’re weird.”

“I get that a lot.”

When they reached the building, Paige stayed parked at the curb, one hand still on the wheel.

“I’ll wait ‘til you’re inside,” Paige said casually.

Azzi gave her a look. “For safety measures, right?”

Paige grinned. “Exactly.”

Azzi smiled, grabbing her bag before heading to the door.

She turned back once more before walking inside, just in time to see Paige driving off.

Azzi reached for the handle — and nothing.

She tried again — still locked.

“What the hell…”

Peering through the window, she saw dim lights and empty chairs. The place was closed.

Her phone? Dead.

“Of course,” Azzi muttered.

With a sigh, she fished out her portable charger from her bag — dead too.

“Perfect.”

Azzi paced for a second, chewing her lip before finally deciding to call her agent from the nearby payphone — something she hadn’t done since, like… middle school.

“Azzi?” her agent answered almost immediately. “Where are you?”

“I’m at the building,” Azzi said. “No one’s here.”

“Because the shoot’s postponed, remember?”

Azzi froze. “Wait… what?”

“I texted you earlier,” her agent explained. “You didn’t see it?”

Azzi closed her eyes, exhaling sharply. No, she hadn’t seen it — because she’d been too busy sitting in that sushi bar, watching some blonde idiot grin her way through stories about terrible basketball injuries and spicy tuna rolls.

“My phone died,” Azzi muttered. “I didn’t see it.”

“Well… you’re off the hook for today. Go do something fun, I guess.”

“Yeah… okay.”

They hung up, and Azzi stood there for a moment, still processing everything.

Now she was stuck outside this empty building. Paige was long gone. And the last thing Azzi felt like doing was walking all the way back to the train station.

She groaned under her breath, leaning against the cold brick wall.

This is what you get for thinking with your heart — or worse… your hormones.

With a sigh, Azzi turned toward the pay phone again, fumbling for some change in her bag. She figured calling a cab was her best bet now — walking to the train station in this heat felt like some cruel punishment she didn’t deserve.

She’d just fed a quarter into the slot when she heard the familiar rumble of an engine — low and steady, like the sound of a car that had seen some things but still ran perfectly.

Azzi turned her head — and there it was.

That same black Jeep pulling into the parking lot.

The same freakishly tall blonde stepped out, holding a small paper bag and looking around like she was lost. Paige’s eyes landed on Azzi, and she grinned, jogging over like this was just a casual meetup and not the second time she’d shown up unannounced.

“Hi there,” Paige said, all smug like she knew something Azzi didn’t.

Azzi let out a soft laugh. “What are you doing here?”

“I forgot to give you this.” Paige held up the bag. “I actually ordered the dessert for you and yeah.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, and I locked my keycard in my room, sooo…” Paige winced. “Yeah.”

Azzi snorted. “Dumb blonde things?”

“Dumb blonde things,” Paige confirmed with a grin.

“What about you?” Paige asked. “Why’re you still out here, shoot over already?”

Azzi sighed. “My phone’s dead, so I didn’t see my agent’s text. The shoot was postponed, and I was too busy listening to you talk my ear off to even notice. Then you drove off, so I was stuck here debating whether to walk to the train or just call a cab — but my driver’s off today, and it’s so hot and I—”

“Whoa, whoa.”

Paige grabbed her hands — actually grabbed her hands — and Azzi froze mid-ramble.

“Calm down,” Paige said softly, her fingers giving a gentle squeeze. “Just… breathe, kay?”

Azzi exhaled shakily, her pulse still racing for a reason that had nothing to do with the weather.

“Better?” Paige asked, her eyes searching hers.

Azzi nodded. “Yeah… better.”

Paige smiled. “Good. Now c’mon — I’ll take you back to the hotel. No problem.”

Azzi blinked. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.” Paige grinned again, a little softer this time. “Besides… I owe you for the amazing sushi date.”

Date? Date. Oh..a date.

Azzi masked the nervousness with a laugh under her breath. “Yeah, fair.”

Without thinking, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Paige’s waist in a quick hug.

“Thank you.” She said.

Paige went rigid at first — like she hadn’t expected it — but then her arms lifted, curling loosely around Azzi’s shoulders.

“‘S no problem, Az,” Paige murmured, her voice lower now — softer.

Azzi froze, pulling back slightly. “Az?”

Paige’s face went pink. “Oh… uh…” She scratched the back of her neck. “I mean… I just figured… I dunno, is that okay?”

Azzi grinned. “Yeah… it’s okay.”

“Cool,” Paige said, scratching the back of her neck. “Cool, cool…”

Azzi shook her head, turning toward the car.

She wasn’t sure what was more surprising — the fact that Paige had called her Az, or the fact that Azzi kinda hoped she’d say it again.

Az.

[awordsmith]

tangled up 𝜗𝜚 s.r

۶ৎ in which you and Spencer join forces to babysit both Jack and Henry.

who? spencer x bau!reader  when? s6 genre: novella content warnings: not proofed, contains nothing but pure fluff, reader and spencer get mistaken as Jack and Henry's parents... reid with warmth !!  word count: 4.9k a/n: first novella fic whaaaa....i've been wanting to write this one for a while, but i knew it wouldn't be that long, so this is perfect for my first novella fic!!; enjoy!

The morning was cold and frosty, and the only thing able to mend it: a large, hot latte. Hotch approached your desk as you set your things down. He leaned over and whispered conspicuously, “Are you sure you can come tonight?”

You rolled your eyes and whispered back, just as secretive, and perhaps some more to show how dramatic he was being, “Yes, Hotch,” you saluted him, “Jack will be in good hands.”

A gruff sound came from his throat–as if signifying his disbelief, “If you say so, do you remember what time?”

“Hotch?”

He looked around, glancing back at you with pressed lips. “Yeah?”

“I got this,” you pushed his hand–gripping your desk–off.

“Right,” he nodded, “no I know.”

You raised a brow and crossed your arms, “so why are you stalling? Is this about your date? Because if you don’t want to go–”

“No,” he dusted his suit off, “I’m–I’m walking away.”

“Uh-huh,” you biot back a smile, feeling Spencer slide up next to you, “and what was that all about?” He kept his inquisitive gaze on your boss.

“Hotch had a date,” you stated, turning to look at him, “I’m babysitting Jack.”

He raised his eyebrows and nodded–but when Penelope called you to the roundtable room and you began to walk away with her, you could hear him mutter, “Why didn’t he ask me?”

JJ rushed in, she apologized for being late as she took her seat. The team watched her; she was flushed, but her face showed clear urgency. She rolled her eyes, “Please do not question me today, I already have enough explaining to do.”

It was silent, but then you just couldn’t help yourself, “...JJ?” She looked at you with a slight warning, but you still asked, “What happened?”

The air in the room evaporated as JJ sucked in a breath, then deflated against her chair, throwing her head back, “Henry’s babysitter quit this morning.” You kept quiet, waiting for her to elaborate. “Will and I were going to go out tonight, we’ve been planning this for weeks now.” she huffs, running a hand through her hair.

Spencer caught your eyes, and though you shook your head, knowing it’d be a bad idea, he still said, “Well, hey, you know I could watch him for you–if you still wanted to go.”

JJ raised a brow and began to shake her head slowly, “I don’t know, Spence–”

“I wouldn’t be alone,” you noted Hotch raising an eyebrow as Spencer motioned toward you, “— is watching Jack, we could babysit them together.”

JJ glanced at you, then at Hotch–hopeful, “Would you both be okay with that?”

Hotch eyed Spencer’s grin for a moment, “Fine, but — has to keep an eye on Reid too.”

“Uh–what?” Spencer threw his arms up, “I’m a great babysitter–are you laughing?” He glared slightly at Morgan.

“Sure you are,” you reached over and patted the top of his hand, you held his gaze for a split second–the both of you trying to hold in your laughter.

You could hear giggling inside. Jack clung to Hotch, he was eight, and yet he still adored his father. The night was young, but starting to grow darker. Today, you had only been called to air a case, so you worked from the office, which you didn’t have the pleasure of doing most days, making it pretty unique.

“Oh, hey guys,” Spencer called, walking up behind you. You frowned, noting his relaxed attire.

“And I didn’t think you owned anything but sweater vests.”

“Oh–you just had to comment.” He sighed.

“That I did,” you nodded, “that I did.”

The front door opened right as Hotch checked his wristwatch, “you guys made it!”

“Would you believe it? Hotch hasn’t canceled yet.”

Your boss glared at you, but your remark earned chuckles from the others, “Yep, and I’ll be late if I don’t leave now.”

JJ stepped out of the house and moved aside, “come on in.” Henry popped his little head out from behind Will and motioned for Jack to follow.

Hotch leaned to the side, eyes only leaving Jack once the boys disappeared behind a corner. “Okay,” JJ approached you, hands on your shoulders, “I am trusting you.”

“Hey–uhm Hi!” Spencer waved, sticking his head over your shoulder, “I’m here too.”

“Yes, that’s why I’m telling her to be careful.”

After a bit of teasing Spencer, Hotch, Will, and JJ left in their cars. “Come, on, it’s freezing out here,” you stuffed your hands into the pockets of your zip-up.

“Let the night begin…”

Spencer stayed, feet glued to the floor for a moment as he watched you wander into the house. He couldn’t help the small smile that grazed his face; he covered it with a hand, closing the door behind him.

Inside you were asking the boys what they wanted to do. Hotch had picked you up from your apartment and you, him, and Jack drove over together–so when Henry suggested the movie theatre, you could only glance at Spencer, wondering if he’d be willing to drive.

He huffed, rolled his eyes, and fell back on the couch in the living room. “We can see what movies are playing, I guess.”

You huffed a laugh and gripped the couch with both hands as you learned over it, watching Jack and Hnery jump on top of Spencer.

“Okay, okay.” He pushed Henry’s foot out of his face and shot you a look when he heard you cover up a snort with a cough.

Upon scrolling through the nearest movie theatre, you found the newest Spider-Man movie was playing, but you had already missed the 7 o’clock one and the next showing was at 8:30. You, Spencer, and the boys agreed to that time, which left you about an hour before you had to leave. Spencer offered to pay and though you had debated with him about going half–he insisted.

You agreed, but only if he let you pay for the snacks. Spencer wasn’t a boyfriend and he wasn’t one of the girls, so it felt weird letting him pay for everything. He was older than you yes, but only by a couple of years, and though you had to remind him of that several times, he never once failed to pull that card over on you.

“What’s that?” Spencer motioned toward the bag you had brought–that you were now unloading on the kitchen counter.

“Ingredients,” you shrugged, “it isn’t real babysitting if you don’t bake something.”

“You bake?” He sat up, throwing something on the television to distract the boys before he made his way toward you.

You brushed it off, “Somewhat.”

“Okay,” he nodded, rounding the counter and meeting your hip with his, “so what are we baking tonight?”

“We?” You raised a brow. He nodded, lips forming a thin line to suppress a grin. “Oh, no,” you huffed a laugh, “we are not–do you even know kitchen etiquette?”

His face scrunched up, “I’m a quick learner.”

“Sarcastic Spencer never fails to amuse me.”

“Mmm,” he nodded, “what’s first?”

You shook your head, a grin escaping you. You snatched the butter he had picked up and smacked him on the shoulder as you went to go find a bow for it, “Wash your hands.” 

“Something smells good.” Jack rounded the counter.

“That would be the cookies.” You spun around and bent to your knees, pulling the oven open. 

“When’s the movie?” Henry came waddling in, Spencer not too far behind.

You glanced at him, expecting him to answer for the both of you. You smiled to yourself, pulling off the oven mitts when he said, “uh…we have about five more minutes before we should leave.”

You nodded and began searching for a container to put the cookies in, “boys, do you wanna go outside and help Uncle Spencer start the car?”

“Awesome!” Henry shouted, running off to find his coat.

“Can we really start the car?” Jack looked between you and Spencer.

“Of course,” you smiled, nodding.

“Cool,” he too ran off.

“If either of them wrecks my car, I’m holding you responsible.” He jabbed a warning finger in your direction.

You scoffed, wiping your hands on a rag, “right. Spencer, you drive a van.”

“An SUV,” he corrected.

“Yeah, well, you don’t seem the type to care about messing things up.”

He held a hand to his chest, mock hurt flashing across his face, “–and what is that supposed to mean.”

You shrugged, but a cheeky smile pulled your lips upward.

“I’ll see you in the car,” he wandered off in search of the boys. You grabbed three cookies and set them aside on a napkin.

When you walked toward the door, you found Spencer and the boys already secure in the car. You locked the door and made your way down the drive.

“I have something delicious,” you handed each boy a cookie, promising to help Spencer clean out his car if it turned out they made a mess.

You took the third cookie and bit into it. Spencer watched you and he pulled off, turning onto the street. He hit a red light when you were halfway done with it, “were you not going to offer to share?”

Your eyebrows shot up momentarily, “you like sweets?”

“Half you met me?” he shot back.

You huffed, yanking his hand from the steering wheel and toward you, placing the cookie into his hand. The light turned green, so he steered with one arm and used his other to eat the cookie. It was a darling sight, truly. You giggled when a few crumbs fell onto the floor.

“I blame you,” he muttered, his mouth full of cookies as he made his proclamation.

Spencer had bought the tickets online, so as you parked, you made a game plan with the boys. Spencer and Henry would go to the bathroom because he forgot to say something back at the house and you and Jack would stand in line. There were a few games around–and of course, the boys asked to play when they saw them–but you only had ten minutes till the movie began, so you promised when the movie was over, you’d stay a bit longer to play.

There were only three lines open and from what you could tell, pretty long. Jack stuffed his hands into his tiny jacket pockets–he looked comfortable. “Do you know what you want to get?”

He pressed his lips together and notably looked around at the freezers and small box-like shelves separating the lines. They were only about two inches higher than him, maybe three or four higher than Henry.

“I’ve never been here.” You frowned. Jack had never been to a movie theatre or he had never been to this theatre? 

“What do you mean?” You stepped forward as the line moved up. A father and his daughter–probably around fourteen–stepped behind you. You took notice, but only because you’ve programmed your brain, they weren’t really important.

Jack shrugged, “What kind of snacks do they have.” You understood Jack didn’t want to speak more on the subject and because you cherished him, you dropped it–but you made a mental note to speak with Hotch about it later.

“Well, I think they have…gummy bears and–oh look–they have cornetto–personally I prefer the cup version–but that’s just me.” Jack laughed and stood on his tippy toes, trying to get a better look at the ice cream flavors.

You caught Spencer walking toward you, Henry skipping a few feet in front of him. He caught your wave and nodded toward Jack, who now stepped to the side of the counter–looking through the glass. “How much time do we have?”

Spencer checked his watch once more, his casual attire contrasting. He wore his glasses–which you absolutely adored–a pair of blue jeans substituted his normal khakis, and he wore a black hoodie with red writing on the back. He wore tenashoes instead of his work shoes and his silly socks were hidden beneath the fabric of his jeans. It made you frown slightly: you couldn’t tease him about it.

“Do you want anything?” You asked as the boys began listing off candy to the cashier.

“No, I’m good.” He shook his head, stuffing his hands into the singular pocket of his hoodie.

“Wanna share a bowl of popcorn?” You pleaded and eventually, he gave in.

You asked for two smaller bowls so you could split the large bowl between you, Spencer, and the boys. Spencer physically winced when you swiped your card–you saw it happen. It sent a flutter through you and your face reddened as much as it could. You covered it up with a laugh, hoping Spencer didn’t find it weird, though the look he threw you said otherwise.

You found your seats, the boys settled in the middle of the two of you. You separated the popcorn between the boys, but then realized it’d be an issue sharing with Spencer if he was all the way on the other side, so instead, you gave him one of the smaller bowls, filled his and Hnery’s, and shared the big bowl with Jack.

You made it in time for the credits which you hated, but Spencer loved. It put a goofy smile on his face as he explained every ad,s aying how they were trying to tug at your heartstrings or logical side. “But we’re too smart, aren’t we?” He met your gaze.

The boys turned toward you, where you now adorned a serious nod, “oh, yeah, we’re way too smart to fall fo that, right boys?” 

“Yep!” they nodded triumphantly. 

“And why is that?” Spencer rounded the question back to him.

“Because we’re profilers,” Jack asked hesitantly.

“Exactly,” you jabbed a finger at him, messing with his hair a little. He laughed and leaned away, pushing your hand toward the popcorn bowl.

Spencer watched you–but not just your person. He wanted your actions, your facial expression, the way you interacted and spoke to Jack, the way you joked with Henry, the way you took every opportunity you could to tease him about absolutely anything. 

He felt his heart tense and then fall to his stomach once he realized what was occurring. Was he falling in love? Was this what that feeling was? Was this how falling in love happened? You noticed minuscule, insignificant things about a person like the way they laughed? Or the way smiled? You analyzed them so thoroughly that you could tell what they would say before they said it. Or know the action they’re about to take before they make it?

He couldn’t tell. Spencer had never been in love before. He had never fallen in love. But was that what this was? He didn’t have a definitive answer, he just knew he wanted to be closer. To you. To you in every way. He wanted you to want to be close to him and he wondered if that was love.

Because if it was, wouldn’t that mean he’d already fallen? But it didn’t feel right.  It felt…like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Like he had been searching for an answer he knew was somewhere in his brain, but hadn’t figured it out until just now.

The movie played and he tried his best to watch it–he grasped the general concept, but he was more focused on, well, you.

Did he love you? Could he say that with genuine confidence? He wouldn’t know until he tried it out, but he couldn’t. Because what if he didn’t? What if what he felt for you was simply pure friendship–he’d be making a crucial mistake, one) if you didn’t like him you’d be weirded out and if you did he chanced hurting you, two) you worked together, that was an issue in and of itself.

He jumped when you stood, watching as you stretched. “What?” You raised a brow, a tired smile forming you mouth.

He found himself smiling back, his stomach flipping, “nothing. Just…tired.”

“Ugh,” you rolled your eyes, yawning, “me too. We should head back now, it’s pretty late. We need to take them baths.”

“Yeah,” Spencer glanced at Jack, who was now standing, and Henry, who was fast asleep in his seat.

Spencer tried waking him slightly, but he wasn’t budging, “just carry him,” you suggested.

Deciding it was the only option, Spencer gripped Henry’s armpits and heaved him upward as gently as he could. You watched him as he laid Hnery’s head on his shoulder, the boy snuggling into the crook of his neck, hugging your coworker tightly. 

“Awww,” you sounded like Penelope but you didn’t care, this was too cute a moment not to capture. Whipping out your phone, you ignored Spencer’s pleas and snapped multiple photos from every angle.

Heading to the lobby of the theatre, you nudged Jack, “I’m guessing you don’t want to play some of the games anymore?”

Jack shook his head and rubbed his eyes, “no. m’just tired.”

You nodded, pulling him into your side as you walked, “Me too, buddy, me too.”

You passed an elderly couple on the way out, Henry slightly waking up when the cold air hit his face. “Are we home?” He asked.

The elderly couple snickered and said, “You’re a cute family.”

You opened your mouth to correct the woman, but her husband added, “You look just like we did, don’t they?” before you could. He turned to his wife, made clear by the matching rings.

“Oh, they do,” then she bent over and asked Jack, “What movie did your mommy and daddy take you to see.”

Instead of correcting the couple, Jack glanced at you, then Spencer, and grinned–though it was sleepy– “Spider-Man 2.”

“Ah, I’m afraid I haven’t seen that one, is it good?”

“Really good,” Henry answered from Spencer’s arms.

They laughed again, then apologized for keeping you and made their way inside.

You and Spencer said nothing as you made your way to the car. Jack and Henry were silent as well. You wondered just what was going through Jack’s head. Maybe he was too tired to understand or care about the women’s words. Yeah, that must have been it.

You decided you would ignore it just as you would ignore the flutter that continuously courced through you the entirety of the night.

With much prodding, you were able to get Henry into the bath. Jack didn’t take much convincing, but he assured you he could do it himself, which you shouldn’t have believed because he ended up getting shampoo into his eyes.

Spencer finished helping him, though it was hard because Jack insisted on showering. Eventually, the two boys were tucked into Henry’s twin-sized bed, and you and Spencer had a little free time before the others arrived.

You grabbed the bowl of cookies that you’d tucked on the counter near the fridge before you’d left. You meant to eat them at the kitchen counter, but Spencer wanted you to watch some movie he had put on. You would blame and hold him responsible for any crumbs that didn’t land in the bowl.

His chuckle was low and light, just like every other time you found yourself making him laugh. It sent a flutter through your chest and you had to turn away to keep from letting him know just how flustered that one sound could make you.

You shivered, you typically brought a sweater with you everywhere just in case, but you were going to JJ’s house, and you knew she’d let you borrow a few blankets. 

“Where are you going?” Spencer caught your wrist as you stood. Your heart jolted and you couldn’t help but stare at it. You blinked a few times before he let go. He sucked in a breath as if you’d stung him. You weren’t sure what he meant by that or if he meant anything at all by it. Spencer was normally an awkward person, but this didn’t feel like something he’d be awkward about, in fact, Spencer would never be put in this situation simply because Spencer hated physical contact.

Maybe that’s why he had such a reaction. You brushed it off, letting a shy smile replace the longing frown, “Just the hall closet to find a blanket…want one?”

Spencer shook his head and wanting to escape the atmosphere, you bottled toward the hall. You retrieved the first blanket on top. It was white with little blue bunnies. Cute. You thought, it must be Henry’s. 

“I’m back,” you hopped on the couch, keeping a cushion between the two of you, for fear of making him uncomfortable.

He declined your offer of a cookie and opted to lean back. It might have just been your imagination, but you were sure Spencer kept sneaking glances at you. You thought he must be bored, he’d put on a '90s romcom. Though you loved the, you were surprised when Spencer put it on. But then maybe he put it on for you and that’s why he kept glancing at you.

You huffed under a cookie, that’s so like him. 

Halfway through the movie, you’d discarded the bowl of cookies with four left and began to feel the lights dim. Or maybe it was just you. You took a moment and laid your head back but it was uncomfortable. As you shifted on the couch, a yawn escaped you. 

Spencer caught it, attention now fully focused on you, he smiled at your dreary state. He moved one leg under him and without really thinking much about it–if it’d make you uneasy or not–he took you by the shoulders and lowered your head into his lap. You noticed, but barely. He pulled the blanket over you as your arms wrapped around his thigh. Your head snuggled into him and when a satisfactory hmm released itself from your throat, he snorted a little. 

He loved you, or at least he thought he did. Spencer had never loved anyone. Well, he loved his mom, but he knew he was programmed that way. He loved quantum physics and math and chemistry and psychology, but those were very broad terms, and still not a being. He liked cats, but he couldn’t love a cat–well, he could–but that was a different discussion.

You, on the other hand, he always wanted to be around. You, on the other hand, he always wanted to talk to. You, he fell asleep thinking about; you, he dreamt about; you, he woke up to.

You were always on his mind, there was no way around it. In every conversation–though he rarely voiced it–he could always draw back to you. Penelope bought a new pink fluffy pen? You loved pens. Dereck couldn’t sleep at night because of his neighbor. You could sleep anywhere–it was a skill. Spencer couldn’t sleep at all, really, and when he did–well, he’d already know what he’d dream about.

He couldn’t escape you–but well, he didn’t want to.

The biggest evidence of his feelings for you? He hated–absolutely loathed–the thought of you talking to/dating/marrying anywhere else. He made a face, the thought disgusted him;; it made him sick.

The front door unlocking jolted him out of his thoughts… how long had he sat there watching you? Going back and forth in is mind? His mind began wondering and the lights began to fade. His shoulder drooped and he began pushing you backward, fixing you until you were both comfortable. 

“Just for…a bit…” he yawned before the lights went out.

Spencer jerked when he heard the front door unlock. He was always keenly aware of his surroundings–it was a bad habit he picked up in his years at the BAU.

JJ and Will stepped through the door as quietly as they could, the credits were rolling. The movie must have just ended. 48 minutes?

“Hey–” JJ whispered walking toward him.

He rubbed his eyes and tried to sit up, but was weighed down, and upon looking–found you still sound asleep. He smiled, but when he realized JJ could see him, he fixed it to a plain expression.

Spencer held up a hand and pressed a finger to his lips, his eyes widened slightly in concern when he looked down at you. Which was ridiculous, he couldn’t stay in this position the entire night, much less on JJ’s couch. You both had work in the morning and you needed to get home. Right…but where was Hotch? How would you get home?

He was startled by your shifting movements. Upon glancing at you again, he found you stirring. JJ covered up a small laugh, and turned back to Will, shushing him as he stalked over.

“Hotch texted, he should be here soon,” JJ whispered.

Spencer nodded as you lifted your head, he raised his arms just enough for you to have free reign, if you pushed out of his hold, he’d have no choice but to let go.

But you didn’t, you pulled him closer and buried your face into where his thigh met his hip. “Five more minutes.”

JJ snatched her phone from her pocket and began snickering, “Penelope is going to love this.”

“Hey–come on, JJ–don’t–” Spencer’s protests went ignored as JJ clicked a few photos and slipped her phone back into the back pocket of her jeans.

A knock sounded on the door not a moment later, Will went to open it while JJ sat on the arm of the couch and smiled down at her two coworkers. “Do you think she can hear us?”

Spencer opened his mouth to say no, but raised a brow and glanced at you questioningly, he wasn’t sure you knew where you were, let alone could make sense of a complete sentence. “I’m gonna go with probably not.”

They chuckled to themselves. Hotch waved, before following Will down the hall toward Henry’s room. You yawned and rolled onto your back, stretching over Spencer. “Hi,” you blinked up, a slow smile turning up your lips.

He met your sleepy gaze with one of his own, “hi,” he answered.

Hotch came back out with a very asleep Jack, calling out your name, You sighed, forcing yourself upward. “Guess I better go.”

Once again, Spencer felt his subconscious take hold of his body as he held an arm across your stomach, “I could take you…I mean I wouldn’t mind, besides,” he nodded toward Hotch and Jack, “he should get Jack home.”

JJ watched in silent awe. It was one thing for Spencer to shake hands with someone let alone hug them, so when she stepped through her doors and found you snuggled up to him, her suspicion-radar was going off. Spencer definitely had a thing for you, or at the very least felt most comfortable with you. In her mind, you were his person, and that didn’t have to be romantic, it was just how it was.

Now, though, watching his eyes, there was no doubt in her mind. Spencer Reid was in love. She wondered what kind of catastrophic event occurred for this to happen.

“You sure?” You murmured, rubbing your eyes. You were halfway leaning against his chest, and halfway using his shoulder to stay steady.

“Yeah, of course.”

Hotch seemed to get the gist of the conversation, whispered a few goodbyes, and headed out the door.

“You made cookies,” JJa noted.

“Yep, there’s four left, but they’re probably all stale now.”

“Well, maybe you two can babysit again and make me fresh ones.”

“I helped, you know,” Spencer added.

“Yeah, ‘helped’ so much I almost had to buy you a new pan.” After a good laugh, you stood and stretched, catching Spencer’s yawn, “well, it’s getting pretty late, we should head out.”

“Alright then, drive safe.”

“I’m always a safe driver.”

“I know you are, Spence.” She pressed her lips together, glancing at you, wondering if you even felt a smidgen of what Spencer felt for you.

The car ride was smooth, Spencer had been over a few times, and with his memory, he knew the way by heart. “Thanks for doing this.” You grabbed his hand as he pulled into your complex.

Spencer jolted, his head jerked down: his focus on where your hands connected. “Oh–sorry, I forgot–”

You snatched your hand away, but Spencer was quick to grab it back. “No–no it’s…” he stared at you. He could lose his mind and still be able to put a name to your eyes. They were like none he’d ever seen–which is opinionated, of course, in his mind, you were all there ever was. “It’s fine.”

“Are you sure?” You frowned, “I…know how you hate people touching you.”

“Well, yeah,” he shrugged sheepishly, “but when it’s you it’s okay.”

Your heart leaped at that and maybe it was because you were half-awake and when you were half-wake you became even more delusional than you were daily. “So, you don’t mind if I touch you?”

“No, not at all.” He replied immediately as if he had been programmed to.

You couldn’t help the goofy grin that made its way onto your face, “good to know.”

You opened the car door and started exiting his vehicle. “Hey, —?”

“Yeah?” You yawned again, the sky a blue-black kind of color.

“What does that mean?”

“What does what mean?” You frowned.

“You know,” he tried motioning with his hands, which only made you snort.

“Nope,” you shook your head, “no idea.” You spun around, starting the path to your apartment, “see you tomorrow, Spencer.”

Spencer frowned, he knew he would think about this the rest of the night, if he could sleep he’d probably dream about it, and when he woke up, it would most definitely be the first thing on his mind.

a/n: lol i've been working on this forever (like a month) and i cried in my maths a few days ago because i couldn't understand it–#mathisnotforme

@darkmatilda @theylovemelody

[prettyinsophie]

Cum with me…to the gym

3k words

Your visit to the gym with Abby escalates quickly when you find out that a certain area can also be worked on by the adductor machine.

warnings: fingering (reader receiving), oh and the fingering is in public so yeah…

I lowkey hate this but it’s the only thing I’ve managed to finish writing throughout the whole year…sigh. I recently watched Arcane so…maybe I’ll start publishing about Vi or Sevika or both.

“Oh, c’mon! We still have two more exercises to go before finishing with some cardio!” Abby exclaims with a devilish smile across her lips, enjoying seeing you sweating and panting after doing three sets of Bulgarians.

After weeks of your best friend begging you to pay a visit to the gym, you obliged with the condition of getting to see Wicked afterward since Abby’s not a big fan of long movies, let alone musicals, so here you were; hair-sticking to your face, red cheeks, and skin glowing with sweat because Abby’s routine is no joke.

“Two more?! Can we just do one more? Pleaseee?” You beg in a whiny pout, giving her puppy eyes because you feel like you’ll pass out any moment now if you keep going. Of course, you’re being dramatic, but that’s just your zodiac sign being true to itself.

Abby playfully rolls her eyes, suppressing a smirk because she thinks you look adorable like that. She won’t tell you that, though, at least not in a non-mocking tone. “The machines are easier, and you can hit whatever weight you want. Sounds fair?”

You purse your lips, looking at her while she chugs some water down. It’s so unfair how godly she looks right now while you feel like a sticky mess. You nod, defeated more than anything because you might as well complete the routine properly. “Fine…”

The gym is fairly empty, but that doesn’t surprise you since it was one of your conditions to agree to come. And so you walk to the bench press, which was as hard as any other machine even with the lowest weight. You were more of a workout-at-home type of gal, after all, and Abby always mocked you because she’s a gym rat and this is her second home. To each their own, you don’t like being around strangers that much.

“What’s this one for?” You ask with your head tilting to the side, confused but willing to learn all about the stupid machine, eager because it’s the last one you’ll use today and for a while.

“This is the leg adductor, great for toning your legs and inner thighs. I’ll show you how to use it and then you can give it a go, yeah?”

“‘Kay…”

You can’t deny that it’s fun to see her in a trainer-like role, and you decide that it’s not that bad and that the reward will come later when you watch the 190-minute-long film. You watch Abby setting the machine and its weight intently, trying to make mental notes of everything so you won’t need her help for each little thing. And here goes…your eyes definitely find her hands gripping the handles more interesting than the exercise itself, or the way her thunder thighs push the weight inwards almost effortlessly. Phew. She finishes her set and stands from the machine so you can give it a go.

“See? Easy.” She smiles before adjusting the weight so it’s lighter for you.

You hesitate to get on it because it looks silly, and you definitely feel exposed with your legs spread open in your yoga pants.

“Oh wow, didn’t know you could open up this much,” She teases with a quizzical grin and her head cocking to the side, which makes you scoff and roll your eyes.

“Shut up, I do pilates after all, don’t I?” You excuse your almost obscene spreading, and to only make it worse, you’re wearing a thong and you plead that Abby won’t look down because you’re certain she’ll be able to catch a detailed glimpse of your pussy.

“Chill, I’m just fucking with ya. Let me help you…” Abby snorts, amused at how you respond to her mindless teasing. She bends down in your direction to adapt the position so you won’t be opened up like a christmas present, “…and there! Now hold onto these and try to push the weight inwards slowly, if you do it fast you’ll hurt yourself.”

Abby instructs and you do as you’re told. Slowly, you push your legs together, gripping the handles because the weight is definitely challenging, and after the bench press, Bulgarians, and squats, your legs are not the strongest, but you manage to do it.

“How’s the weight? Do you want me to lower it?” Abby asks, leaning on the machine’s weight rack, “Y-Yeah…it’s too heavy.” Your voice quakes tiredly, and the blonde wants to poke fun at you for it but decides to save it because she knows you’re doing your best. So she lowers the weight so it’s more comfortable.

It’s definitely difficult to do it with your wobbly legs, but it’s also fun in its own way. You close and open your legs at a slow pace, breathing deeply as you do each one, and with Abby watching is only making it harder to pretend you’re not struggling as much. Although it hurts, you’re not sure if you’re targeting the right area since you keep clenching your core unconsciously, and it only causes you to breathe heavier and heavier for some reason. Abby’s on her phone since you got the hang of it, and yes, you can do the exercise, but with each push from your legs, your body gets hotter and your breathing gets sharper. The last rep comes, and the pressure is overwhelming even after taking small breaks between each set. The muscles in your lower stomach tighten, and that’s when you feel your pussy clenching around nothing, and you realize…

This fucking exercise is fun because it’s stimulating you, and your friend in front of you probably has no idea of what’s happening since she’s watching instagram reels.

Your back arches ever so slightly from the seat, a familiar reaction from when you pleasure yourself, and the pooling between your thighs only worsens as you get closer to the end of the rep, clenching every muscle because it feels so good. A loud, raspy gasp escapes your lips, and your eyes immediately seek Abby, checking if she’s seeing what’s engaging between you and the machine, but she remains still so you keep going. Your thighs are shaking, begging you to end the exercise but you keep going despite already hitting the fifteenth one.

‘Almost…’ Even the voice in your head is ragged. Your cunt is throbbing, your abs are inhumanly clenching and the band in your stomach’s about to snap. The sweat is running down your face and your neck, but all you can focus on is that aching pooling in the pit of your stomach.

With your chest heaving and your lip caught between your teeth, you close your legs one more time and groan softly at your release, the chemicals in your brain plastering colorful dots in your vision, and you finally let go since your body’s all weak and shaky. You can barely ride out the bliss when it hits you.

You just had an orgasm. At the gym. With Abby two steps away from you.

“Fuck…” A throaty breath catches Abby’s attention, and thank god your yoga pants are black and not pink today.

“You finally done? I know you’re a newbie but it took you long enough.” Abby puts her phone in her pocket and looks down at you with that kind and charming grin of hers, and then there you are, a panting mess.

“I…need to go to the bathroom,” You announce breathily, quickly getting off the machine because you need to take care of the situation in your pants. The blonde frowns and you know she wants to ask if something’s wrong, but she sees you in a rush and simply points at the ladies' room. You almost run, cursing in your head again and again because what the fuck is wrong with you? The bathroom stalls are empty so you enter the last one, immediately banging your head against the door.

“You’re a fucking pervert. You’re pathetic!” You whisper, and your legs threaten to give up once again, which only upsets you further.

You rest your head against the door and look up, battling the tears brewing in your eyes. This is it; the lowest you’ve reached so far. Who knows if one of the few people out there saw you? Shit, shit, shit. You haven’t had time to play with yourself but this definitely wasn’t the solution to that!

Deep breath in and out, but no matter how calm you are now, the wet spot in your pants remains.

“Hey…you in here?” Abby’s voice makes you jump startled, and you curse again in your head.

“Y-Yeah, last stall.” Your voice is weak and raspy, but you manage to get the right tone to not let her know you’re about to cry.

“You okay? You looked…I dunno, weird.”

Abby’s worry makes your heart clench, and guilt showers you like a bucket of cold water. She’s your best friend though; you know every small quirk, have seen each other’s awkward phases, and most importantly, have kept secrets you know aren’t for anyone else to know. So you’ll be fine, you’re adults now so this isn’t a big deal, right?

You open the door and pull her arm so she’ll join you. Rapidly, you close the door again as if the entire bathroom isn’t empty. Abby chuckles, amused by the sudden move from you, but the smirk fades as soon as she sees the sulky look on your face with your lips almost pouting and your eyes glossy. “Hey…what happened?” Her brows meet in a concerned frown, and she reaches for your hand.

The embarrassment is strong enough to block your throat and tighten your chest. You bite your lip, looking up when Abby’s thumb gently rubs the back of your hand.

“I…” How could you even put it into words? No fancy vocabulary would make this any better, “...the pressure of the exercise was really strong, and I…don’t know how but I think I came.”

Abby’s heart dropped to her stomach, and for your sake, she contained as much shock as she could inside her, but the truth is…she found that adorably amusing and even kind of hot…? You look defeated, just like a puppy who knows did something wrong, and she wants to pet your head and cuddle you.

On your side though, you’re certain she’s thinking you’re a freak that should be locked away from society. You look away from her. Your heart thuds in nothing but shame, pumping the blood to your cheeks, painting them a bright red color.

“How bad is the situation?” Her voice is lower than usual, and you assume that is in case someone enters the bathroom.

“My pants are soaked…” You nearly sob, sniffing but holding it in.

Abby hums, taking a step close to your position against the door, and she hesitantly brings her hand to your clothed crotch as if to make sure you’re telling the truth. Your body reacts to that, naturally, and you jump a little, looking at her with your eyes widening because that’s unknown territory.

“Okay…listen, it’s completely normal, yeah? Tons of girls have gone through the same thing so it’s not like you’re the first one.” She soothes you, her voice low and smooth, almost like a lullaby, and her hand moves to your hip, squeezing it lightly to comfort you.

You huff in relief, still embarrassed but that statement definitely took some weight off your back. “Thank god, I feel like a pervert.”

“You probably are, but that’s okay too.” Of course, she pokes fun at you at the first chance, but she manages to make you laugh a little.

The scenario is a little weird. You’ve been in the most insane and random situations together, but this could top any of those other ones. Your back’s against the door, and Abby’s just centimeters away from you; her hand gripping your hipbone rather firmly, causing your hips to jerk unconsciously. Your eyes meet hers, and she has such an indistinct look on her face that you can’t say you’ve seen before.

“You’re still sensitive,” She states huskily, and you catch her licking her lips.

“Well, yeah. I just had an orgasm.” You also state, almost sarcastically because it’s more than obvious why your body is reacting to her grip.

“You know…having multiple orgasms will help you relax your tensed muscles.”

…okay?

She takes the one step that kept you away from each other, and now both hands are on your hips as she glances down at you with her usual crystal-clear blue eyes gone several tones down to navy. You gulp nervously, your arms on your sides as you stand awkwardly.

“What exactly are you suggesting?”

“Lemme help you.” She answers on the spot, with no hesitance or stuttering. And -shockingly- no hint of it being a joke.

You want to say no for the sake of your friendship more than anything, but your body’s been craving release for months, and if your best friend is willing to help you with such devotion then who are you to reject the thoughtful offer?

“Okay…”

Your answer takes Abby by surprise, but she doesn’t press on it because she doesn’t want you to change your mind, not when she’s getting worked up herself.

“Try to keep it down, though.” She winks a snarky smile at you, and before you can tell her to fuck off, she slips her hand down your pants, cupping your aching core.

“Fuck, you are soaked,” Abby whispers surprised, her voice coming out ragged at the realization, and she begins to move her fingers over your folds, spreading them and feeling the slickness of your previous orgasm.

You wanted to be cocky, but one of your hands goes straight to your mouth to muffle the whimper you almost let escape. You know your friend’s anatomy almost as perfectly as her personal traits and her thick fingers were always secretly acknowledged by you, and now they’re spreading your pussy, teasing you better than you’ve ever done it yourself.

“I didn’t know you were a thong girl,” Abby mutters sultrily, obviously noticing the lack of clothing for your cunt. Her fingers find your clit and she starts tracing slow circles, mostly to see your reaction.

Your eyes are fluttering, and your whimpers come out as hums with your hand blocking your lips. Her touch is gentle but firm, and god is it heavenly. It’s definitely better than your own, and you can’t believe you’re doing this in the bathroom of the gym Abby’s attended for the past years. Still, your hips roll in the direction of where she’s touching you, pathetically writhing under her to feel her calloused fingers even more against your throbbing clit.

“You like that?” Oh her voice…is as sweet as honey right now and it sends a shiver down your spine. You nod your head, too scared of being caught, but Abby -being the jerk she is- yanks your hand off your face, letting it rest on your side and very clearly hinting at you that she wants an answer vocalized.

“Y…Yeah,” You manage to gasp under your breath, your head hitting the door when her fingertips rub a little faster, right in that magnificent spot with the right amount of pressure to turn your legs into jelly.

Abby’s having the time of her life. You look angelically sexy, as if you were trying to seduce her with those red lips of yours; parted open and inviting hers to get a taste. She can’t, though, and she won’t…for now. She wants to see every twitch of your brows, every flutter of your lashes when you blink repeatedly, and every bead of sweat that rolls down your forehead and causes your flushed cheeks to glow under the dim light of the bathroom.

“Abs…” It kills her to hear that beloved nickname of hers coming out of your lips in a needy gasp. She purses her full lips, pitying the situation because she wishes you could just whimper her name out loud. Later…she thinks to herself.

Abby calls out your name as well, matching your discreet and low tone, “...yeah? Feels good?”

You nod again, not risking a moan coming out. Your chest heaves, feeling tight because you can barely breathe. It’s almost like a fever dream…or a wet one, in this case. The blood is pumping hot and fast, adrenaline rushing all over you as she sends you to the fucking moon in steady circles. A loud gulp jumps on the walls of the stall, your best attempt at trying to keep quiet.

You feel that familiar pressure in your belly, but Abby whispers your name again. Her eyes are darker, with a loose strand of her blonde hair falling over her face, and she leans down. “I really wanna finger you, ‘s that alright?” She almost begs you, her pretty brows arching in eagerness for what your answer will be.

Your heart’s about to leap out of your chest at this point, feeling like you’re close to suffocating, but you lick your puffy lips and whisper a very needy ‘yes’. And Abby does not waste a single second before guiding one of your legs around her hips and immediately lowering her two digits to your entrance, spreading your arousal so her fingers won’t come in dry. You close your eyes at the weird sensation, but your hips jerk in her direction more aggressively than before.

“So wet for me…I wish I could taste that sweet pussy,” Abby hoarsely mutters in your ear, and before you can react, her middle and ring finger slip inside you oh so smoothly, stretching you open with her thick and long digits.

“Fuck…!” You hiss agitatedly, unconsciously clenching around her from how overwhelming everything is at this point. Abby slips them out and thrusts them until her knuckles become an obstacle, groaning under her breath as well, which only makes it harder for you to keep quiet. Why were you doing this again? Whatever the fuck was the reason, you wish she would’ve brought it up long before today.

Heat’s consuming your body, colored in a passionate red from your cheeks to your chest, probably from holding your breath, or the force Abby’s fingering you with. Either way, it’s all stimulating you in a way you know you shouldn’t be enjoying. Your heavy sighs are getting progressively louder, but the loud beating of your heart in your ears silences them.

Abby’s fingers thrust forcefully, almost abusing your soaking cunt, and squelching sounds filter out, causing the blonde to groan once again in your ear. Seemingly, the pornographic sound of her fingers pumping in and out only encourages her to seek deeper, finding a spongy spot at the very top when she curls both fingers expertly.

“There!” A normal whimper escapes, and as if to punish you, the door of the ladies’ room opens with two voices following as they chat about gains and what to have for lunch in terms of protein goals. Eyes wide as plates, you look at Abby, silently asking her what to do, unsure if it scares you more to keep going or stop.

Abby has her priority clear; you. So the solution is to cover your mouth with her hand and angle her fingers higher and deeper inside you, hitting the spongy wall repeatedly with the two girls chatting in the background, making enough noise to quiet the squelching of her fingering. Abby cages you between her body and the door, and her groans soon become growls, like a hungry animal salivating over its prey.

Tears brimmed in your wide eyes, beginning to tear up as you breathed raggedly through your nose and winced against Abby’s hand. You should’ve stopped, but the adrenaline rush of possibly -hopefully not- getting caught only caused your muscles to clench tighter, and the pooling in the pit of your stomach to swoop like a crashing wave. You’re close, so fucking close that you’re seeing stars this time. Abby’s eyes even shine before your eyes roll back and your body spasms like you’re being electrocuted. Creaming and cumming all over Abby’s fingers and in your yoga pants for the second time today. A loud ringing in your ears almost concerns you and makes you think you passed out, but it only lasts a minute or two before opening your eyes again and seeing your blonde friend looking at you like she just saw a UFO or something.

She keeps her fingers inside until the two girls leave the bathroom, and you can’t say it isn’t awfully awkward to feel the emptiness when she pulls them out and retrieves her hand from your lips as well, letting you pant loudly while you ride out the thunderous orgasm.

Your eyes meet, and Abby’s cheeks seem to get pink, which would’ve been funny in any other situation. “You, uh, you good?”

It’s so awkward that it makes your stomach cringe uncomfortably. “Yeah, just…recovering.”

Abby nods, letting you know that she understands, but you can tell she’s also embarrassed, probably regretting talking to you the way she did…publicly.

“Are we still watching Wicked?” You ask out of the blue, trying to lighten up the mood, and when Abby snorts everything returns to normal.

“Not only are we watching it, you’re getting eaten out afterward,” She taunts you sweetly, licking her dripping fingers clean.

[zeroseuniverse]

Family at it’s finest

Word count: 727 Summary:But the moment he realized just how seamlessly you had become part of the Dream family, he knew he was done for. Pairing; Jeno x reader

Taglist: @sh0dor1

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Jeno had always prided himself on being composed—cool, calm, collected. He liked to think he was the kind of guy who didn’t let things faze him, who could keep his emotions in check no matter the situation.

But the moment he realized just how seamlessly you had become part of the Dream family, he knew he was done for.

It had started with Jisung. The maknae had latched onto you like a koala, treating you as if you’d been around since the trainee days. If Jisung wasn’t trailing after you, begging you to play games with him, he was dramatically sighing whenever you left the room, whining about how you were “way cooler” than any of them.

Jeno had chuckled the first few times, thinking it was just Jisung being his usual over-the-top self. But then he caught the way Jisung’s eyes practically lit up when you walked into the room, how he always saved you a seat next to him, how he actually listened when you gave him advice—something he rarely did with anyone else.

Then there was Chenle, who had declared you his new bestie within a week. The two of you had some kind of telepathic chaos going on—whether it was plotting pranks on the others or cackling at inside jokes no one else understood. It was one thing when Chenle teamed up with Jisung, but with you in the mix? It was game over for everyone else.

Jeno had come home one evening to find the two of you whispering in the kitchen, shooting him the same mischievous grin before bolting. The next thing he knew, his phone was flooded with embarrassing pictures of him mid-workout, courtesy of a very smug Chenle.

“Traitor,” he had muttered at you, shaking his head.

You had just laughed, nudging his arm. “Oh, come on, it was funny.”

And somehow, he hadn’t been able to argue.

Renjun, of course, took full advantage of your presence. You were his new partner-in-crime when it came to teasing the others, especially Jeno. Every time Jeno tried to impress you even a little—whether it was casually flexing his arms while stretching or making sure you saw him land a perfect flip during dance practice—Renjun was right there with a smirk.

“He’s trying so hard right now, it’s adorable,” Renjun had whispered to you once, loud enough for Jeno to hear.

Jeno had nearly choked on his water. You had only smiled, eyes twinkling with amusement, and that was the moment he knew Renjun was never going to let him live this down.

And then there was Mark and Haechan.

Oh, they had fully adopted you.

Mark acted like an overprotective older brother, constantly checking in and asking if the guys were annoying you too much (to which you’d always reply, “They’re fine, but you? A little bit.”). Jeno would watch the way Mark would dote on you, and something in his chest would tighten—because he wanted to be the one you leaned on like that.

Haechan, on the other hand, had taken to calling you his “favorite sibling” just to get a rise out of the others. He was constantly draping himself over your shoulder, dramatically declaring you were the only one who truly understood him.

“I should’ve known you’d like Haechan the most,” Jeno had grumbled one evening after Haechan had basically clung to you like a barnacle for an entire movie night.

You had tilted your head, giving him a playful look. “Who said he’s my favorite?”

Jeno had blinked, throat suddenly dry. Before he could even think of a response, you had grinned and walked away, leaving him to overanalyze your words for the rest of the night.

And that was the thing.

Jeno couldn’t even be mad.

Because, honestly? Seeing you laugh with them, watching how easily you fit in with his family—it only made him fall harder.

There was something about the way you belonged with them, the way you made their world brighter just by being in it. And Jeno, who had always thought he was so good at keeping his emotions in check, found himself slipping, heart racing every time you looked at him, every time you spoke his name, every time you smiled just a little softer when it was directed at him.

He was done for.

And, honestly? He didn’t even mind.

[clockwayswrites]

Danny in Metropolis part 4

oh look, gave in, masterpost

by HH discord vote, wrote on this while waiting for my nerve test today (good news, nerves good. bad news, hands bad because ?????. other news, OW) which was nice because this is very soft and I was very nervous about it all. Apparently I had another chunk not posted here too so have a decent bit!

-

“Yeah, well, you just met—saw? You just saw my parents. They’re just sort of like that. Everything always becomes dramatic,” Danny said, some of his humor fading as he talked about his family.

“I’ll remember not to come over for dinner,” Conner said with a purposefully light tone.

Danny snorted. “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t subject you to that horror. Easier to just eat out anyways.”

“And yet you don’t eat lunch,” Conner pointed out.

Danny ducked his head and rubbed at the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, school lunches aren’t exactly appetizing.”

“Yeah, that’s fair,” Conner agreed after a beat. Him and Dad might still have some issues that they were working through, but Clark made sure that Conner always had a lunch to take to school, no matter how busy he was with a story. The only times there wasn’t a lunch is when Clark was off world for three or more days.

Conner wondered if Dad would mind making an extra one.

“Anything you hate?” Conner asked curiously.

Danny gave a little shrug. His fingers twisted restlessly against Conner’s. “That’s a complicated question.”

“I’m okay with complicated answers.”

“Turkey and chicken, but only if it’s the whole bird. Hot dogs. I guess all meat can be iffy a lot, depends on the day. Tofu. Um, plain broths and Jello at this point. Anything fake cherry favored. Lime Gatorade,” Danny listed off in a rush.

Conner blinked. “Okay.” He’d do his best to remember that.

“Okay?”

“Yeah. Like, I think that’s actually not that hard to work around. And you can remind me if I forget anything, but, like, I’ll try not to,” Conner said. He gave Danny’s hand a reassuring little squeeze.

Danny stared down at their clasped hands like it was the most confusing thing.

Conner tried not to worry too much about it. Danny could be odd like that.

The shop was actually a pretty nice one. Maybe it was a little too hipster, but it was a coffee shop. The music could be worse and the spray painted art on the wall was actually pretty cool. There was no one waiting, so Conner pulled them up to the front where they could easily read the menu to make their choices.

He nudged Danny gently with his elbow. “They have some vegetarian stuff, if it’s one of those days.”

“The beetroot sandwich is damn good,” the heavily tattooed barista who was waiting on them said.

“Yeah?” Danny said, looking over that on the board. “I’ll do that, I guess, and a large iced coffee.”

“Whole milk, skim, or oat milk?”

“Oh, um, whole is fine,” Danny said.

“Same drink for me, but I’ll do the avocado BLT,” Conner decided. He went to pull out his phone to pay, but Danny beat him to it, holding out a credit card.

“My treat, since we couldn’t work at my place,” Danny said quickly.

Conner huffed. “Fine. But next study session is my treat then.”

“You two can go ahead and have a seat, I’ll bring your stuff over soon,” the barista said with a smile as they handed back Danny’s card.

Conner followed Danny’s lead over to a comfortable looking pair of armchairs around a low table. They were forced to finally let go of each other’s hands to sit, and Conner tried not to pout. Now that he knew Danny would let him, Conner figured he could find another excuse to hold Danny’s hand if he worked at it.

Danny pulled out his sleek, new laptop and set it open on the table. The assignment was already open on the screen, glaring in the large, red text that Mrs. Simmons liked to use for all of her assignment headers. It was especially bold on the black background of the dark mode that Danny seemed to keep everything in.

Under every poet’s name, Danny had typed a sentence or two about them. It was far from academic writing (some of it was actually hilariously blunt), but it actually had some really useful information.

“Damn, Danny, you call this only a little?” Conner asked as he scanned over the notes.

Danny fidgeted in his seat. “I mean. Just like I said, I'm not good at English work and I don't want to be why you get a bad grade.”

“Hey,” Conner leaned over and bumped their shoulders together, “it's just a grade.”

“Yeah, try saying that in my house with two doctorate already and a third on the way with my sister,” Danny muttered.

“Well, good thing we aren't in your house then,” Conner joked. When Danny rolled his eyes, Conner reached out and tapped Danny’s hand, getting the other to look at him. “It’s just a grade, Danny, but I'll do my best to make sure that it's a good one, okay?”

Danny’s smile was a little wobbly, but at least it was there. “Thanks.”

“Course. Tell me what you've done so far.”

His smile turned shier, but Danny started to explain that he’d wiki searched the poets and also scanned whatever there most famous poem was. He didn’t really know how to talk about the poems, but tried to write a word or two about them. As they went through the list, it was clear that Danny already had some he didn’t like, by the way his nose wrinkled as he talked about them, scrunching up his freckles. He also had some good points about some poets that they shouldn’t do as two white guys. Conner didn’t know if he actually really counted as a white guy, not with Clark, but he figured since socially Clark was seen and raise as one, it fit as much as anything.

(Not like Conner could talk about the whole half alien clone thing anyways.)

[jyeoulzhu]

wtf!

summary . y/n casually pulls aeri to the safer side of the sidewalk mid-yap session, leaving her malfunctioning. she clings to their sleeve, still in denial. later, y/n buys her ice cream and warms her hands in their hoodie pocket.

pairing . giselle x gender neutral reader

y/n and aeri have been walking for at least fifteen minutes, and in that time, they've managed to argue about the most irrelevant topics known to mankind.

it started with aeri suddenly gaslighting y/n into thinking that fish can drown. y/n, visibly distressed, refused to believe such nonsense, but aeri, being the menace that she is, kept insisting until they pulled out their phone to look it up. turns out, some fish actually can drown, which made aeri victorious and y/n existential.

"okay, but hear me out," y/n says, still recovering from the betrayal of science. "if the ocean is a giant soup—"

"oh my god, we are not doing this."

"listen."

"no. absolutely not."

"LISTEN."

"if you call the ocean a broth, i am literally going home."

y/n dramatically puts a hand on their chest. "aeri. be serious for a second. the ocean is made up of water, salt, animal carcasses, and seasoning from pollution. tell me that's not a soup."

aeri looks at them like they just committed a federal crime. "you need to be arrested immediately."

y/n cackles, too proud of their logic, and they keep walking, aeri muttering about how she needs better friends under her breath. the streetlights cast a soft yellow glow over the sidewalk, the air is crisp, and the sound of their footsteps fills the quiet night.

and then—it happens.

y/n reaches out mid-conversation, fingers grazing her wrist before gently wrapping around it, guiding her to the inner side of the sidewalk. it's so effortless, like they do it all the time, like it's natural.

aeri freezes.

wait. wait.

she stops walking, her brain malfunctioning, and y/n gets a few steps ahead before noticing she's no longer beside them.

they turn around, confused. "what?"

aeri squints at them. "did you just sidewalk-rule me?"

y/n raises an eyebrow. "uh, yeah?"

"why?"

"so you don't get hit by a car???" they say, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

aeri crosses her arms, trying so hard to act unbothered despite the full-on butterfly migration happening in her stomach. "what if i wanted to get hit by a car?"

y/n gives her the driest look known to mankind. "then do it when i'm not around."

she scoffs, annoyed that they sound so casual about it while she's literally about to go into cardiac arrest.

they keep walking, and aeri, despite her brain yelling at her, does something unhinged.

she grabs onto their sleeve.

not their hand, not their arm—just their sleeve. like she needs to hold onto something, like she's making sure they don't go anywhere.

y/n glances down, noticing it, and instead of teasing her, they just let her.

and that's when aeri realizes.

she's fucked.

—

they end up at a convenience store because y/n randomly decides they need ice cream, and aeri, still lowkey malfunctioning from the sidewalk incident, blindly follows.

she watches, in a daze, as y/n stands in front of the freezers, contemplating flavors like it's a life-or-death decision.

"okay, so like..." y/n furrows their brows. "cookies and cream is elite, but chocolate chip cookie dough has that texture."

aeri barely hears them. her mind is too busy replaying the moment from earlier like a glitching simulation.

"you good?" y/n asks, waving a hand in front of her face.

she blinks. "huh?"

"you've been staring at the freezer like it owes you money."

"oh," aeri says, stupidly. "yeah. i'm fine."

y/n narrows their eyes. "are you still thinking about the ocean soup thing?"

she snaps out of it immediately. "NO. SHUT UP. STOP BRINGING IT UP."

y/n just laughs and grabs the cookies and cream. when they get to the counter, aeri reaches to pay first, but y/n literally side-steps her and taps their card before she can even react.

she glares at them. "why."

y/n shrugs. "because."

aeri, still recovering from the sidewalk thing, is now recovering from this too.

—

by the time they're heading back, the city is quieter, the night air cooler, and the ice cream cups they bought are half-eaten. aeri is happily rambling about some drama she saw on twitter, and y/n is nodding along, responding every now and then with "no way, fr?" to make it seem like they're listening (they are, mostly).

at some point, y/n yawns.

"tired?" aeri teases, nudging them.

"you talk a lot."

"um, RUDE??"

"nah, i like it," they say casually, stretching their arms over their head.

aeri pauses.

hold on.

what the hell is she supposed to do with that information.

before she can think about it too much, y/n does something even worse.

they wrap an arm around her shoulders.

casually. like it's nothing.

like she's not about to explode.

"your hands are cold," y/n mumbles, pulling her a little closer.

aeri literally forgets how to breathe.

her brain is SCREAMING. her soul has left her body.

she's so frozen in shock that she doesn't even realize when she leans into them a little. just enough to feel the warmth, just enough so y/n knows she's not going anywhere.

and if she falls asleep thinking about it... yeah. nobody needs to know.

[fclsebnnyodair]

. ۫ ꣑ৎ . loser stiles and his out-of-his-league pretty girlfriend.

pairing: stiles stilinski x fem!reader.

summary: when stiles finally asks you to be his girlfriend and you say yes, he can’t believe it —and he’s not the only one. you two come in very different fonts. but, you’re so quick to prove him and his self-deprecation that you like him, fully and shamelessly.

warnings: used of y/n… im sorry. a little fluff? reader being a menace and the end of stiles life (in a good way).

a/n: i tried my best to be funny and make it a little longer. a mother needs to feed her kids. based on this req <3

stiles stilinski had spent a solid seven-teen years being a complete and utter dork. a nerd. a disaster in human form. the kind of guy who could tell you, unprompted, that the fear of long words is called hippopotomonstrosesquipedaliophobia but somehow still couldn’t spell “necessary” on the first try.

he was the guy who tripped over air, made obscure pop culture references no one asked for, and had a deeply unhealthy relationship with sarcasm.

so, naturally, when you—actual goddess, the prettiest face in beacon hills, social butterfly extraordinaire—agreed to date him, stiles was convinced he was being pranked.

“she said yes,” he had told scott the night it happened, voice shaking, hands gripping his best friend’s shoulders like he was trying to transfer the shock through sheer physical contact. “she said yes. to me. like, willingly. no coercion. no hostage situation. just… yes.”

scott, ever the supportive best friend, blinked at him. “huh.”

“what do you mean huh?”

“I just—” he rubbed the back of his neck, looking way too amused. “I mean, don’t take this the wrong way, but… dude, that’s y/n.”

exactly.

you weren’t just popular. you are the cool kind of popular. the kind that made people want to be around you instead of just tolerating your presence because of high school hierarchy rules.

you had this effortless confidence, this ability to make everyone feel like they belonged—even stiles, who had spent most of his life on the outskirts of social normalcy.

you are the type of person who could go from hanging out with the lacrosse team and his girlfriends to sitting with the theater kids in the same day, and everyone would be happy to have you there. people gravitated towards you.

meanwhile, stiles had spent most of freshman year trying to convince people that his name was, in fact, not short for “stilton” like the cheese.

It didn’t make sense. and yet, somehow, here they were.

dating you was like winning the lottery, except instead of money, stiles got the incomprehensible love and affection of a literal angel.

which was great.

except for the fact that he had no idea how to be cool enough to keep up with you.

“you’re overthinking it,” you told him one day as you sat in your car, legs propped up on the dashboard.

“I always overthink it,” stiles replied. “It’s literally my defining trait.”

you laughed, and god, that laugh. It was the kind of sound that made people pause, made them turn their heads just to see what could possibly be so funny.

“okay, fine,” you said. “then tell me. what’s running through that giant brain of yours right now?”

stiles exhaled dramatically. “alright, let’s start with the obvious. I am a disaster. you are not a disaster. explain.”

you tilted your head, amused. “you really don’t see it, do you?”

“see what?”

you smirked, leaning in a little closer. “you’re kind of amazing, stiles.”

he blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

“you make me laugh,” you continued, like you hadn’t just dropped a bomb on his entire worldview. “like, really laugh. you make things interesting. and you care so much about the people around you. I like that.”

stiles stared at you, brain officially malfunctioning. “uh. are you… are you sure you’re not under some kind of supernatural influence?”

you rolled your eyes, shoving his shoulder playfully. “just shut up?”

and just like that, he realized something insane. you actually liked him.

not just in a “haha, he’s fun to have around” way. not in a “pity date” way. not even in a “this is a temporary thing before I move on to someone more worthy” way.

you liked him. dorkiness, sarcasm, ADHD-riddled brain and all.

maybe he wasn’t as out of your league as he thought.

still, he spent the next few weeks in a state of perpetual disbelief.

he kept waiting for the moment where you would realize you had made a grave mistake and move on to someone who, well… had the ability to walk in a straight line without tripping over absolutely nothing.

but you didn’t.

In fact, you made it very clear that you were, for some ungodly reason, into him.

like, full-on, public displays of affection into him.

which was insane.

because now, not only did stiles have to deal with his own confusion, but also the confusion of literally everyone else at beacon hills high.

It started with a completely normal lunch. stiles, scott, lydia, and you were all sitting together, as usual, while he rattled off some extremely important information about why the original ‘star wars’ trilogy was superior to the prequels.

“you just have to accept that Jar Jar Binks was a crime against cinema,” stiles was saying, mid-rant, when he felt a hand casually slip into his.

he froze.

the table went silent.

you, completely unbothered, just kept eating your fries, fingers lazily intertwined with his.

scott immediately stopped chewing. lydia raised an eyebrow. somewhere behind them, he was pretty sure he heard jackson choke on his drink.

stiles, being the mature and composed individual that he was, blurted out, “are you—did you—was that on purpose?”

you gave him a deadpan look. “no, stiles, my hand just accidentally fell into yours.”

scott made a choked sound that was very unhelpful.

“I just—” stiles floundered. “you’re—you want to hold my hand? In front of people?”

you smirked. “what, do you want me to sign a permission slip first?”

lydia rolled her eyes. “stiles, stop acting like you just won the lottery.”

“but I did,” he said, eyes still wide. “this is like if someone found bigfoot, but instead of running away, bigfoot started dating them.”

you snorted and leaned closer, whispering, “you’re an idiot.”

and then—just to completely obliterate stiles’s ability to function—you kissed his cheek.

the cafeteria erupted.

all right, maybe “erupted” was an exaggeration. but scott definitely lost all ability to contain himself, because he burst into uncontrollable laughter, clapping stiles on the back so hard he nearly faceplanted into his lunch tray.

jackson muttered something about how the world was officially broken.

and lydia? lydia just sipped her drink and said, “honestly, this might be the funniest thing I’ve ever witnessed.”

stiles, meanwhile, was still sitting there, trying to process the fact that you had just kissed him in front of the entire student body.

“okay,” he breathed. “alright. cool. totally fine.”

you squeezed his hand. “you’re so lucky I can keep up with you.”

“I strongly agree.”

scott shook his head, grinning. “dude. just take the win.”

yeah.

maybe he should.

────୨ৎ────

now stiles had zero business being on the lacrosse team. he was only there because coach finstock occasionally needed a warm body to throw onto the field, and also because scott insisted that he “needed to be included in the team dynamic.”

that was stupid, because stiles was about as useful on the field as a drunk giraffe.

still, here he was, suited up, trying his best to not die.

you were sitting in the stands, chatting with some of the other girls on the cheer squad, but every so often, he caught you watching him.

why on earth would you be looking at him when there were actual athletes running around?

at some point, coach finstock (in a moment of pure insanity) decided to sub stiles in.

naturally, it went horribly.

he got knocked over in under a minute.

hard.

like, wind knocked out of him, stars in his vision hard.

by the time he sat up, still gasping for breath, he vaguely registered that someone was calling his name.

then, suddenly, you were there, pushing past some of the other students on the sidelines, crouching next to him.

“oh my god, are you okay?” you asked, eyes scanning him for any visible injuries.

“you,” stiles wheezed. “just—taking a quick—dirt nap.”

you sighed, shaking your head. “you really shouldn’t be allowed to play this sport.”

“tell that to coach crazy over there,” he muttered.

you rolled your eyes, then—without warning—cupped his face and kissed him.

right there.

on the field.

In front of everyone.

stiles was pretty sure his soul left his body.

by the time you pulled away, he was definitely malfunctioning.

“god,” he managed.

you smirked, brushing some dirt off his jersey. “maybe if I keep doing that, you’ll actually start scoring points.”

scott, who had jogged over at some point, burst out laughing, —again.

“please don’t encourage him,” he told you.

you just shrugged, standing up. “what can I say? I like an underdog.”

stiles, still staring into the middle distance, finally processed what had just happened.

then, very calmly, he said:

“I have no idea what’s going on, but I’m definitely not complaining.”

────୨ৎ────

stiles finally gets it. he gets you. 

It took three months of dating before stiles finally stopped expecting you to give up on him.

because the truth was, you could.

but for some ridiculous, unexplainable reason—

you didn’t want to.

and maybe, just maybe, that was the best part of all.

stiles stilinski had exactly one defense mechanism when faced with overwhelming emotional stimuli:

panic.

pure, unfiltered, high-octane panic.

and you?

you loved it.

you lived for it.

In fact, stiles was about 80% sure that her actual favorite hobby—above reading, music, and being generally awesome—was finding new and creative ways to make him short-circuit.

your weapon of choice?

kissing him.

at random.

without warning.

In the most inconvenient and socially inappropriate moments possible.

────୨ৎ────

stiles was already having a rough day.

coach had made him run extra laps for “being a distraction” (which was not fair, because technically speaking, it was danny who had laughed first).

so there he was, post-practice, dripping in sweat, hair a mess, brain still recovering from almost getting hit in the face with a lacrosse ball, when you materialized out of nowhere.

“hey, loser,” you greeted, leaning against the locker next to his.

stiles jumped about a foot in the air. “jesus—you can’t just sneak up on a guy like that!”

you, completely ignoring him, hummed thoughtfully. “you look cute when you’re sweaty.”

stiles immediately turned red. “I—what—who?”

and before his brain could fully reboot, you leaned in and kissed him.

right there.

In the locker room.

With scott and half the team still standing right there.

stiles froze.

his brain immediately short-circuited.

somewhere in the background, he could hear the distinct sounds of his teammates reacting.

jackson made a disgusted noise.

“seriously? right here?”

danny, ever the neutral observer, just snorted. “I mean, props to her, I do love watching stilinski suffer.”

scott, instead of helping, just shook his head fondly. “dude. just accept it.”

you, for your part, just smirked against stiles’s lips, completely unbothered, and pulled away with a satisfied little hum.

stiles, meanwhile, was still frozen in place.

mouth slightly open.

face burning red.

brain? completely fried.

“did I break you?” you teased, poking his cheek.

stiles let out a strangled sound.

jackson groaned. “oh god, get a room.”

you turned to him, smirking. “jealous?”

jackson scoffed. “not even remotely.”

you shrugged, looping your arm through stiles’s. “good. because I’m not sharing.”

and then you walked off, dragging stiles with you—leaving the entire locker room howling in laughter.

────୨ৎ────

stiles had one sacred rule in life:

the library is a safe space.

the library was for quiet and learning and pretending to do your homework while actually texting scott about supernatural nonsense.

the library was not for being publicly humiliated by your ridiculously hot girlfriend.

unfortunately, you did not respect the sanctity of anything.

stiles was sitting at his usual spot—textbook open, pen in hand, pretending to study—when you slid into the chair next to him.

“hey,” you greeted, voice suspiciously sweet.

stiles narrowed his eyes. “you’re up to something.”

you smiled, all innocent. “me? never.”

he squinted harder. “what do you want?”

you tilted your head. “can’t I just want to spend time with my adorable boyfriend?”

stiles immediately turned red. “I—you—stop that.”

“stop what?”

“being cute,” he hissed, glancing around to make sure no one was listening.

you grinned. “make me.”

before stiles could formulate a response, you very casually leaned forward and kissed him.

and not just a quick kiss.

oh, no.

this was a calculated attack.

a slow, lingering kiss, tongue and all—just long enough to completely fry his brain, but not long enough for him to actually do anything about it.

by the time you pulled away, stiles was bright red, gripping the edge of the table like his life depended on it.

“why?” he gasped out.

you shrugged. “felt like it.”

stiles gaped. “we are in library.”

you smiled sweetly. “uh-huh.”

“In a library.”

“yup.”

“where people can see us.”

she leaned in, lips brushing his ear. “I know.”

stiles let out an undignified squeak.

and that was the exact moment lydia martin—who had apparently been sitting three tables away—very loudly shut her book and said, “I’m going home. this is disgusting.”

you just laughed.

stiles, meanwhile, buried his face in his hands.

────୨ৎ────

now, there were rules when it came to dating in front of parents.

rule #1: no PDA.

rule #2: seriously, no PDA.

rule #3: do not test sheriff stilinski’s patience.

you had no regard for any of these rules.

stiles had just walked you to the door, ready to say a very normal, appropriate, and respectful goodbye, when you suddenly grabbed his hoodie, pulled him way too close, and kissed him stupid.

right there.

In his driveway.

where his father could definitely see.

and as if that wasn’t bad enough—

the front door creaked open.

sheriff stilinski cleared his throat.

you pulled away completely unbothered, turned to the sheriff, and grinned.

“good afternoon, mr. stilinski.”

stiles, meanwhile, had stopped breathing.

the sheriff raised an eyebrow. “you trying to kill my son?”

you smirked. “not today.”

and then you smiled—like a menace—patted stiles on the chest, and walked off, leaving him to deal with the aftermath.

the sheriff stared at him.

stiles stared back.

after a long, painful silence, his dad just shook his head and muttered, “unbelievable.”

then, he walked inside—chuckling to himself.

stiles, still standing frozen on the porch, groaned.

you were going to be the death of him.

and, honestly?

he wouldn’t have it any other way.

[steddiealltheway]

One thing that sucks about fighting monsters from some weirdly dusty and gooey parallel universe to your own… is going back to school. Specifically going back after telling all your friends that they’re actually trust fund assholes and your girlfriend - ex-girlfriend - ends up with the one guy she swore up and down was just a friend.

Not that Steve really blames Nancy for that. Jonathan’s a good dude. Plus, it’s not like Steve was the perfect boyfriend or anything. He tried, but maybe it just wasn’t enough.

Maybe it’ll never be enough.

Steve takes a sudden right, making a detour from all the student rushing into the lunchroom in favor of being anywhere but there. He barely registers walking out of the school until he notices the woods in front of him. Why does everything always lead him back to here?

He doesn’t know why, maybe it’s what Dustin call his “mother hen” instinct, but Steve continues walking into the woods, wondering if maybe there are more monsters lurking about that he can spot early this time. God knows he would do anything for those kids - not that he would tell them that. Dustin especially does not need the ego boost.

So Steve wanders, listening closely for any unusual noise.

And then he hears one.

It’s just the thud of something metal sounding against maybe… a tree? Something solid. Then a crunch of leaves. And…

Singing?

Steve slowly peaks around a tree and finds the source of all the noise.

Eddie Munson.

Steve nearly rolls his eyes but finds himself fondly watching the boy as he drums on a wooden picnic table singing some song Steve has never heard. It’s when Eddie does some type of ridiculously uncoordinated twirl that Steve ends up snorting. It’s loud enough that Eddie ends up hearing it, startling mid turn and head bang that has him misstepping and landing right on his ass.

Steve tries to let some sheepishness bleed through the amusement in his expression. “You okay, man?” He asks, stepping forward to offer him a hand.

Eddie eyes it wearily. “Depends. What are you doing out here?”

“Just…” Steve stares at Eddie for a moment, trying to find a normal answer, but instead he shrugs and sighs, “I don’t know, man.” He takes another step closer and pointedly looks down at his offered hand.

Eddie narrows his eyes at him before taking it carefully. Steve is caught off guard by the cold metal rings but hauls Eddie up easily who wobbles when he gets to his feet. “Thanks,” Eddie breathes out, lingering in Steve’s space.

Steve just nods and wonders if Eddie Munson’s eyes have always been so big and brown.

“So, Steve Harrington,” Eddie starts, drawling out his name while taking a step back and brushing dirt off his pants, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Steve raises an eyebrow.

Eddie marches over to the picnic table and gestures dramatically at his lunch box. “I’m assuming you’re here for the goods?”

“The what?”

“Drugs, Harrington. Are you alright?” Eddie asks with a tilt of his head leaning forward as if assessing him.

Steve shrugs. “Fine. And no. I’m not here for your drugs which you evidently keep in your lunch box for any teacher to find.” Eddie’s brows furrow. Steve rolls his eyes. “I know you sell, but Tommy usually does this part.”

“I know,” Eddie replies as he hops up on the bench and crosses his arms. He faces Steve and bends at the waist - Steve ignores the urge to reach out and steady him so he doesn’t fall again. “So what are you doing out here? Are you here to… beat me up?” Eddie asks dramatically, hopping onto the table and pretending to brandish a sword.

Steve simply raises his eyebrows and crosses his arms.

Eddie’s arms drop. “Okay. Surprising but I guess you would’ve already taken a swing if you wanted a fight.” He squats down on the table until he’s eye level with Steve. “You’re not here because of the rumors, right?” Eddie asks, dropping his voice and appearing weirdly serious.

As for the rumors, Steve’s sure he’s heard more than he can count - including one about Munson being a vampire - so he’s not sure what he’s talking about. He’s also not sure if he wants to know which rumors he’s talking about. Steve runs a hand through his hair and settles his hands on his hips. “I just needed to clear my head. I didn’t know you were out here.”

Eddie squints at him. “You’re clearing your head by taking a walk in the woods?”

“Yes.”

They hold eye contacts for a few moments, and Steve can’t really tell what they’re silently sizing each other up about. Eddie reluctantly stands up and jumps off the table. “Fine. What are you clearing your head about?”

Steve stares at him.

“What?”

“Why do you want to know?”

Eddie steps closer to him and obnoxiously twirls a piece of hair around his finger. “Because you’re Steve Harrington, and I must be the luckiest guy in all of Hawkins since I’ve got you here alone with me.”

Steve laughs loudly and gently shoves Eddie away. “Shut up.”

Eddie’s cheeks flush pink, and Steve can almost see him biting back the words “make me.” Then he’s reminded of the rumor that Eddie bats for the other team, and Steve suddenly wonders if it’s true - not that he would mind.

Steve pushes the thought away as Eddie smiles sincerely and pushes some hair in front of his face. “Maybe I wouldn’t mind the company. Plus,” he turns and sprawls back on the picnic bench, “You can tell me anything. I’m great at keeping secrets, and even if I wasn’t, it would be your word against mine.”

Steve considers what he’s said before asking, “And how crazy of a secret would you not only keep but believe?”

Eddie smiles almost manically. “Try me.”

Steve looks around wondering if the government people or whoever they were can hear him out here. He’s not sure if it’s been long enough to guarantee there’s not someone keep track of each of them, waiting for them to slip up. He also wonders how cruel it would be to unload all of this onto Eddie. Steve knows life was much simpler before he knew that demogorgans existed.

“I’ve been fighting… some monsters recently,” Steve settles on, hoping Eddie doesn’t take it so literally.

“Yeah?”

Steve nods and takes a step closer to where Eddie is sitting, gesturing at nothing as he continues, “It started when I was an asshole to Nance and then she ran off with Jonathan and the rest is history there but… they really dragged me into some heavy shit.”

“I can imagine. It’s not every day that your girlfriend runs off with another guy. Which is a shitty thing to do by the way.”

Steve tries to steer the conversation away from his failed relationship without setting off Eddie’s alarm bells. “It’s not that I really blame them. I mean you’ve seen them, everyone has, they’re kind of made for each other. Who am I to get in the way of that? Especially since I was a shitty boyfriend. But that’s not the point. Before Nance left, I was pulled into helping some…” he pauses, trying to think of a way to talk about the kids out of context without sounding like a creep. “Well, there was this guy who needed help and so… I helped him and his friends out.”

Eddie fixes him with a carefully blank look. “Helped this guy out… how exactly?”

Steve shrugs and sits next to Eddie as he figures out how to phrase things. “He… well. His cat… di- escaped! It escaped. And I was helping him find it, and we actually grew pretty close.”

Eddie knocks his knee against Steve’s. “So… you and this guy grew… close.”

Steve nods and smiles. “Yeah, he’s this dumbass genius k-,” he cuts himself off before he can say kid. “Anyways, then his friends needed help, and I helped them fight… their monsters.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows at him. “So you helped… multiple guys… fight their… monsters?”

Steve nods. “Yeah. But that’s over and now I have to go back here and pretend that none of that ever happened. It just… sucks, man.”

Eddie nods. “Uh. Yeah. I can imagine pretending for so long is... exhausting.”

“Tell me about it,” Steve says with a laugh.

A silence falls between them and Eddie glances over at him. “You know… you don’t have to pretend with me.”

Steve smiles and wonders what not pretending means now, but it’s sounds good nonetheless. “Yeah, I think I’d like that.”

Eddie softly smiles and his eyes move down to Steve’s lips slowly. “Yeah?”

And oh. Oh. There was definitely a miscommunication somewhere along the way. And… okay. Fighting monsters and helping guys fight their monsters is maybe not the best phrasing. But Steve thinks he likes Eddie remaining so blissfully ignorant.

So, Steve kisses him.

And yeah. Maybe there are quite literally hundreds of different ways he could’ve let Eddie remain oblivious to the whole vague Upside Down retelling, but Steve can’t really complain when Eddie kisses him back, finding the scrape of stubble against his face surprisingly pleasant.

And Steve finds himself taking his time thoroughly allowing Eddie to believe this story that Steve wishes were true rather than the real thing. It’s only when Eddie’s watch beeps that they finally pull away for longer than a few seconds.

“Shit,” Eddie mumbles, resting his forehead against Steve’s, “Time to head back in.”

“Can’t skip?” Steve asks, wondering why he’s trying so hard to solidify his false story.

Eddie sighs and pulls away. “Unfortunately, if I skip anymore, they’re not going to let me graduate. Although right now I think spending more time with you might be more important than my diploma.”

Steve laughs and feels himself pleasantly flushing. He nudges Eddie’s shoulder with his own before standing up and offering his hand to him again. “Come on. We can’t have you not graduating again.”

“Again? Harrington, are you keeping tabs on me?”

Steve raises his eyebrows at him as Eddie takes his hand and pulls himself off the bench. “And what if I am?” He flirts easily.

Eddie smiles giddily and grabs his lunch box. “Then I really must be the luckiest boy in Hawkins.”

Steve doesn’t say anything when Eddie doesn’t let go of his hand as they walk out of the woods toward the school. It’s only as the school slowly comes into sight that Eddie drops Steve’s hand and shoves his hands into his pockets. He stops in his tracks and turns to Steve. “Hey, thanks for not pretending with me.”

Steve glances at the school before moving in to give Eddie one final kiss. He lingers in it before breaking away to say, “Thank you for listening.”

They wordlessly separate as the head back to the building, knowing that even with the few weeks of school left and both of their tarnished reputations that they can’t truly risk it all.

As Steve makes it to his class just before the final bell rings, he’s left to wonder if maybe he really does have some other type of monsters to fight. And he really hopes Eddie Munson can be there to help him with those ones again.