#will i do one for every taylor cover... probably

[bestofmultiverse]

Between the pages

Aubrey plaza x fem!reader

"People think that intimacy is about sex. But intimacy is about truth. When you realize you can tell someone your truth, when you can show yourself to them, when you stand in front of them bare and their response is 'you're safe with me'- that's intimacy."

- Taylor Jenkins Reid, The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo

Y/n couldn’t shake the feeling she might be hallucinating.

One drink had turned into three, and it wasn’t even 9 p.m. yet. She’d slipped away from her friends at the bar near her office, brushing off their nagging with a vague excuse. Her first instinct had been to stumble into the little bookstore around the corner—a place she’d been meaning to check out since she started her job at the publishing house.

Half an hour later, she was wandering the aisles, muttering sarcastic comments under her breath about the uninspired titles her boss had decided to publish. That’s when she noticed someone standing nearby: a tall brunette who was watching her with an amused smile, eyes sparkling as if she’d overheard every word.

Something about this woman seemed familiar, but in her tipsy haze, y/n couldn’t quite place why. She was fairly certain they hadn’t hooked up before… probably. She figured she’d remember someone with a face like that.

The brunette noticed her staring and grinned. “That book’s terrible,” she said, gesturing to the one in y/n’s hand.

“Oh, you don’t even know the half of it. The author’s an ass, too,” y/n replied without thinking, the alcohol giving her a boldness she usually lacked.

The woman laughed, a sound that was low and warm. “Sounds like you’ve got stories.”

“Not to be weird, but… do we know each other?” y/n asked, squinting as if that might help her remember.

The brunette chuckled. “I just have one of those faces. Don’t sweat it, baby.”

The pet name made y/n’s heart skip a beat. This woman was gorgeous, and her presence was disarming. Not to mention, y/n was tipsy in a bookstore—probably not the best state to be meeting someone like this.

The woman nodded toward the shelves. “Got any recommendations? You look like someone who knows good books.”

Y/n smirked, feeling a little more at ease. “Well, now you sound like my boss.” She glanced at the shelves. “What are you looking for? A certain genre?”

The brunette’s gaze lingered on her a moment longer than expected. “Something captivating. Sapphic.”

Her smirk didn’t go unnoticed, and y/n felt her cheeks warm. “Evelyn Hugo, then,” she managed, trying not to sound flustered.

The woman picked up the book, barely glancing at the cover. “Good enough for me,” she said with a grin.

“You’re not even going to read the back?” y/n asked, amused.

“Nope.” The brunette’s lips popped on the ‘p,’ and y/n’s eyes lingered there for a second too long.

The woman’s gaze didn’t waver. “Want to grab a bite and tell me about it?”

A short while later, they were seated in a booth at y/n’s favorite low-key bar.

“So you really don’t recognize me?” the woman asked, a teasing glint in her eye.

Y/n stammered, laughing nervously. “Should I?”

The woman chuckled. “Relax. We haven’t hooked up or anything like that.”

“Oh,” y/n replied, a blush creeping up her cheeks.

“I’m an actress,” the woman explained with a smirk, watching y/n’s face as recognition started to dawn.

“Oh… oh my god,” y/n breathed, eyes wide. “You’re Aubrey Plaza.”

Aubrey smiled, raising an eyebrow. “Yep. You finally got there.”

“I am so sorry. I’m just… a little starstruck,” y/n admitted, cheeks burning.

“It’s cute,” Aubrey said with a shrug. “So… you’re a Marvel fan?”

Y/n laughed. “Guilty. Also a dumbass, apparently.”

Aubrey leaned back, amused. “Maybe, but it’s working for you.”

A blush stole over y/n’s face, and she changed the subject before Aubrey could tease her any further. “So, what are you drinking?” she asked.

Aubrey considered for a moment. “An Old Fashioned, I think.”

Y/n nodded and called over the waitress, who looked mildly amused as she took their order, including a pepperoni pizza to share. As the waitress walked away, Aubrey observed, “She seems to know you well.”

“Yeah, she’s used to my friends coming in here every other day,” y/n explained.

Conversation flowed easily, becoming more relaxed with each passing minute. Y/n found herself laughing at Aubrey’s dry humor, and as her initial anxiety faded, she realized she genuinely enjoyed Aubrey’s company. Hours flew by, and as midnight approached, they decided on a late-night walk in the nearby park.

Bundled up against the night chill, their cheeks flushed from the drinks, they walked side by side, laughing about random topics and sharing stories. Eventually, they called a cab, squeezing into the back seat, Aubrey’s arm casually resting around y/n’s shoulder.

At y/n’s door, she hesitated, nerves starting to creep back in. Aubrey seemed to notice and gave her a soft smile.

“I can feel you overthinking from here. Relax,” she teased, sinking into the couch as soon as they walked in.

Y/n laughed, joining her. Aubrey pulled out the book she’d bought. “Wanna read it together?”

Y/n grinned. “I’ll make us some tea.”

They settled into the couch, Aubrey reading aloud while y/n curled up beside her, head resting in Aubrey’s lap. There was a quiet, comfortable intimacy between them that didn’t need words. Aubrey’s fingers absentmindedly played with y/n’s hair as she read the love story of Evelyn Hugo, and gradually, both of them drifted into a peaceful sleep.

Part 2 • part 3 • 4 • 5

[rafeandonlyrafe]

girls night guardian

words: 1.3k

warnings: request!, drinking, partying, violence, college au

“you sure you don't want me to come?” rafe asks, adjusting the strap on your dress for you, wishing it covered up more of your body.

“it's girls night rafey.” you shake your head. “besides, it's just a sorority party. there will barely be any guys there.”

“yeah, alright.” rafe sighs. he trusts you to party on your own without him, its everyone else that he doesn't trust. whether it's a friend encouraging you to drink more than you should or a guy dancing up on you.

“i don't wanna be out super late anyways. will probably head home around 11:30 if you wanna stay up.” you offer, knowing rafe would feel better if he was able to make sure you were home safe before falling asleep.

“definitely will.” rafe cups your face, pressing his lips to yours, smearing the lipgloss you had just reapplied.

“okay.” you smile at him, swiping your thumb across his lower lip to get some of the sparkles off. “love you baby.”

you weren't sure at first when your highschool sweetheart asked to move to the same college town as you. worried living together and attending university away from the outer banks would put too much stress on your relationship, but it's only strengthened.

“i love you so much more princess.” rafe says. you learned not to argue back about who loves who more, rafe will always insist it's him. “you sure you don't want me to walk you there?”

“thanks for the offer, but you know katie only lives three houses down.” you pat his cheek before opening the door, stepping into the cool night, the setting sun casting a warm orange glow among your neighborhood, technically off campus but steps away from the greek life houses, every house being rented by students for the course of their education.

“alright, have fun princess.” rafe says, watching you walk out the door. you close it behind you, but aren't surprised when you hear it reopen a minute later, rafe watching you until you reach katies door. 

you raise your fist to knock, but before you can even make a sound, your best friend flings the door open with a squeal.

“i am so excited for girls night.” she says, looping elbows with you and ushering you back down the steps. knowing katie, she's probably been ready to go since lunchtime.

“me too.” you smile. you love rafe and love partying with him, but it's fun to occasionally leave the boyfriends at home and just have a blast with your girls.

you reach the party quickly, it's only about a two minute walk until you see the sorority house, and hear the loud music. 

it's a rush of hugs and squeals and greetings when you enter, your friend taylor making it her mission to drag everyone towards the dance floor, which the entire living room has basically been converted into, with a makeshift bar in the corner.

you laugh and dance with your friends, occasionally downing whatever alcohol that is pushed into your hands by katie or taylor.

you aren't too drunk, but your bladder has filled so you tell katie, practically having to scream into her ear, that you were going to find a bathroom. you navigate through the hallways, not surprised that it isn't insanely packed like other parties. the sorority girls don't invite as many people as the frat houses do.

you head up the stairs and use the first open bathroom you find, glad that its so clean unlike some of the other ones you've used at parties.

you make eye contact with a man you don't recognize as you exit, causing you to quickly rush down the stairs. the university isn't that small, so it's strange and almost jarring to see an unfamiliar face.

“hey, taylor!” you call out, looping arms with her once you reach the living room, hoping being with your friend would dissuade the man from talking to you, but it clearly doesn't work when he comes up, a flirtatious smirk on his face.

“hey gorgeous.” he reaches his hand out. “im mike.”

“hi mike.” you say politely, but don't reach out to shake his hand. “i have a boyfriend.”

“damn.” he looks around. “i don't see him though.”

“he's around.” you mumble, not wanting this random persistent guy to think that you're here alone. “just giving me some space to dance with my girls.”

“if he's giving you space for your girls, how about for me too?” mike smirks, reaching out towards your waist, but you manage to step back in time before his fingers graze you, taylor in tow.

“hey, she said she had a boyfriend, why don't you just leave her alone?” taylor pipes up, and suddenly mikes eyes turn from friendly to heated, anger overtaking his expression.

“don't think i was talking to you, bitch.” he grunts out, making both of you gasp.

“what did you just call the lady?” a voice rings out from behind mike, and you let out a sigh of relief as he turns and comes face to face with rafe.

mike goes to respond, probably continuing to argue or to tell rafe to piss off, but before his words can leave his mouth, rafe decks him straight in the jaw.

you expected the punch, so you knew to move out of the way as mike falls backwards. he's an inch or so taller than rafe, but with rafes surprise and muscles, mike has no chance as your boyfriend pounces on him, making sure his face will tell the story of his behavior for the next couple weeks.

you watch with wide eyes as rafe punches him. it's not the first time you've seen rafe beat anyone up, but it's been a while, his behavior so different in college than it is when he's in the outer banks.

“okay, okay.” you pull at rafe when it's clear mike can't take much more. rafe pulls away, his eyes suddenly softening, cupping your cheeks in his warm hands. he presses a kiss to your lips as his thumbs swipe over your skin. 

“are you okay baby?” 

“yeah.” you nod. “im fine, promise.” 

“and you're alright taylor?” rafe asks. he's become the honorary defender of all of your friends, especially the single ones who he considers it his duty to protect just as much as you.

“im alright, thanks rafe.” taylor smiles at him in relief, corners of her mouth only raising higher as mike groans on the floor. you'd be worried about her reaction to him if it wasn't for everyone knowing that rafe only has eyes for you. a few girls tried to get with him when you first moved from the outer banks, but rafe made it very clear that he wasn't interested.

“oh my god, thank god you got here fast.” katie says to rafe, joining the group. “i texted him the second that guy came up to you, he just gave me terrible vibes.”

“you were definitely right for doing that.” rafe says. “now how about i get you ladies home?”

your friends nod as rafe wraps his arm around your shoulder, leading everyone out of the house. he makes polite conversations with the girls as he walks them home before continuing the couple feet back to your house.

the second rafe gets you inside, door locked tight behind you, the tension leaves his body and he lets out a deep sigh.

“it's okay, im home.” you rub your hands over his shoulders. “im safe.”

“i know.” rafe pulls you into his chest, needing to feel you. he presses kisses to the top of your head. “but you know im not gonna let you have any more girl nights, right?”

you let out a giggle. “i don't think any of the girls will mind if i haul you along with me.”

“better not.” rafe smirks as you look up at him. 

you grin up at him. “our protector.”

taglist: @winterrrnight @bejeweledreverie @drewstarkeyslut @forstarkey @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @buckyswhxre @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld @wearemadeofstardust0 @leighbronk @starkeysheart @pradabambie @tobesolovelysstuff @alexiskirkland

[maxwell-grant]

So is Worm good from what you have read

"Yes" doesn't begin to cover it but yes. Worm is a brain-rewiring mobius strip disguised as a bible disguised as a superhero web serial that either cured your cancer or shot your dog or both depending on who you ask, and it has many extremely dedicated, brilliant scholar priest surgeons publicly dissecting it on this platform on the regular to the point I don't think I have much to add to the conversations surrounding it, even if I do have some The Thoughts about it. I had never even really seriously thought about superhero prose before and Worm isn't a thing I go back and reread frequently but it did a complete and total 180 on the way I think about superheroes and even fiction, and I've never stopped thinking about it since I've read it.

It is a monumentally impressive story with completely absolutely incredible characters that I cannot stop thinking about. No matter where it was going, even past stretches that were less interesting or more of a slog to read or worse, I could not put the story of Taylor Hebert down for one minute. Tattletale fascinated me every step of the way, I had to keep up with her. Rachel Lindt was a character I feel like I'd been waiting my whole life for. What was I gonna do, not see them through? I feel like Worm easily loses you if you don't particularly connect with the characters enough to justify to yourself the amount of time you'll spend with them, but man, I could not unglue my eyeballs from these people enough (I love all the core Undersiders, to be clear, I'd say it's Rachel > Taylor > Tattletale > Aisha and Alec and Brian, there are very small gaps between these, I just don't go berserk for the last three like I do for the first three, I'm taking Bitch and Skitter to the grave I'm dead serious)

Worm irreparably destroys your ability to engage with superhero fiction the same way ever again, as evidenced by the fact that it destroyed the author's own ability to engage with his own superhero fiction ever again. And everybody who read it has one or several gripes with it with some major dealbreakers in the mix. Tumblr's kinda the only place online where you can really talk about them at length without the spectre of John Wildbow hanging over the discussion, which enables discussion to the point where yes, maybe it does look like to outsiders that nobody can agree on whether Worm is good or what is it even about or whether it even has worms in it (it has at least one, although it's a very big one).

And it is good, it has the Undersiders in it and the Undersiders are one of the greatest groups of characters ever put together, but everyone has at least one major point of contention with Worm whether it's the timeskip or the length or the racism or the gross fatphobia or aspects surrounding the Dallon-Pelham Torment Nexus and etc. I'd say it has maybe the most racist vision of Latin America I've ever seen in a superhero text a hair short of pro-colonial tracts in Golden Age comics and that is a tall fucking order by any metric (part of why I started WEON4 as a project was motivated by spite, to try and make my own stories about non-American superheroes even if just as practice). It is Complicated, and that winds up making it so fascinating to talk about.

Worm has self-sustaining ecological systems of posts up here, far away from the Spacebattles and Reddit battlegrounds where it has different ones and that's not getting into Weaverdice or the sequel or Wildbow's larger body of work, which I haven't gotten to and probably will not any time soon because Worm was enough of a commitment as is. Do I recommend Worm to everyone? It is certainly not to everyone's tastes and I personally find it difficult to describe it simply enough to make it sound appealing or not like a pyramid scheme. But yes I do think it's good, in fact great, in fact, amazing, except when it isn't, and except it Plainly Sucks, but then something like Taylor vs Mannequin or Kevin Norton's interlude or "You needed worthy opponents" happens and it fucks harder than anything has ever fucked before and you don't walk away from it the same, so yes I guess "good" will have to do now.

It's certainly a lot but I definitely found it worth my time to read and then read the texts written about it here. You'll have to take my endorsement of Worm as proof of it's quality and proof of how deranged it makes it's readerbase, they're not mutually exclusive. If you can make it, Worm and the wormosphere has layers and layers to wade through and talk about and enjoy, despite how we're all so very small in the end *gunshot*.

[thatstheproblemwithnapkinman]

something that kind of annoys me is when peoiple genuinely criticise tom taylor's nightwing run by saying "dick is so out of character in those 2 issues where he gets the shit beaten out of him and then falls through his window"

bc

that is taken out of the context of dick recovering from a traumatic brain injury so yeah he's going to be off balance after being whacked in the head MULTIPLE TIMES what are you talking about?!?!

it's ok, just breathe

the panel for reference

Nightwing (2016) #83 pp. 12

don't believe me?

dick gets shot in the head just above his left ear, which you can see in both of these panels and in the cover for nightwing (2016) #50 (if you pretend if's a mirror image bc why is it on the right)

Batman (2016) #55 pp. 21 Nightwing (2016) #50 pp. 2

Nightwing (2016) #50 Cover

you can also see his brain scans in the same issue which nicely show the area of damage and literally list what happened

Nightwing (2016) #50 pp. 2

so he lost bone (skull), blood (obviously), brain tissue (we'll come back to this), cerebrospinal fluid (bc there was a whole in his head), and suffered from severe vascular swelling (we'll return here too)

so, what brain tissue did dick lose?

here's the very basic anatomy of the human brain

John Hopkins Medicine - https://www.hopkinsmedicine.org/health/conditions-and-diseases/anatomy-of-the-brain (i drew the red circle)

now the ears sit just in front of the cerebellum, roughly somewhere around the red circle which lines up with the brain scan showing the damage is roughly in that notch where the temporal lobe and parietal lobe meet

the temporal lobe is involved with speech, rhythm, and short term memory

the parietal lobe is involved with pain and touch recognition, recognising objects, and oh would you look at that, spatial recognition

dick go shot in the part of the brain that tells the body where it is in relation to objects

no wonder he had a hard time fighting and trying to climb through windows, his coordination was all fucky

now the cerebellum is the part of the brain that affects balance BUT but but but we haven't talked about vascular swelling yet

vascular swelling is where the walls of the blood vessels swell (whodathunk) and this causes a reduction in the blood supply as they swell inwards

outward swelling with increase pressure on the brain which is not good either BUT this reduced blood flow = less oxygen to the brain = damage

there's a reason the symptoms of hypoxia pre-passing out are pretty much limited to your brain bc that's the organ that goes first

so with a decrease in bloodflow to his brain, there is a decent change damage was also done to every single part of his brain

now the blood supply does come in past the cerebellum so tbh there probably wouldn't be that much damage if at all however even with that it would explain how dick was still effected from getting shot

so having learned all that, lets take a look at issues 81 & 83 shall we

in #81...

Nightwing (2016) #81 pp. 5

he gets whacked in the head by heartless, someone with enhanced strength

Nightwing (2016) #81 pp. 12

he passes out because he's been whacked on the head near to where he was shot

Nightwing (2016) #81 pp. 13

this is nicely confirmed by babs

Nightwing (2016) #81 pp. 19

he gets pushed back whilst fighting and due to his injury induced lack of spatial awareness, he falls down the stairs

then in #83, after fighting blockbuster, almost getting shot again, and flying through a helicopter...

Nightwing (2016) #83 pp. 12

he falls through his window

so yeah, i do think this is reasonable for dick to do given he's recovering from a brain injury and has just been hit in the head and probably hit it whilst falling down the stairs

and if you've made it this far, i want to emphasise the 20 million valid reasons to criticise tom taylor's nightwing run, but this just isn't one of them

[cosyvelvetorchid]

angsty, and the word is toaster

I don’t get a lot of opportunities to write angsty stuff so thank you.

🩶

**********

Buck sat on the bench in the locker room; his jacket on and bag by his feet, ready to go home. Except he didn’t know where to go.

He was supposed to be going to Tommy’s after shift—that had been the plan they made, but he didn’t know if he should. Or could. Not after their fight 48 hours ago.

The only communication they’d had for the last 2 days was Tommy letting him know when he was going in the air and when he’d safely landed back at the station, and Buck hearting the messages so Tommy knew he’d seen them.

Buck was still just so pissed at him. And worse still Tommy didn’t even seem to grasp the reason why. Or if he did he didn’t seem to think it was important.

Buck knew what he had to do—everybody he’d asked had told him to just get his head out of his ass and talk to Tommy.

As he walked up to Tommys front door, he hesitated in using the key that Tommy had given him last week. He thought about how happy he’d been when Tommy had presented it to him, and how he’d almost been late for his own shift the next day because he wanted to get a key to his apartment cut to give back to him.

The door opened making him jump. Tommy stood in his loose shorts and tank top—his usual Muay Thai get up—and was covered in glistening sweat. This would usually turn Bucks brain to goo, but not tonight.

“I heard the Jeep.” He said plainly. “You hungry?” He stepped aside allowing Buck in. His voice wasn’t the usual happy one he greeted Buck with, but it wasn’t angry either. He sounded tired.

“Yeah. You wanna order in?” He dropped his bag next to Tommy’s by the door.

Tommy nodded. “Order wherever. I’m gonna take a quick shower.” He placed a quick kiss onto Bucks cheek and climbed the stairs. This was the first time in three months that they hadn’t greeted each other with a full on mouth assault. Buck didn’t know what to do with that.

His stomach was beginning to twist. This was the point in every relationship he’d had to far where the cracks began and inevitably led to an eventual break up.

In part because, as he had realised since meeting Tommy, that they just weren’t right for him. But also because he tended to stick his head in the sand and not confront the problem at hand.

Buck 3.0 (Taylor’s version), would ignore the problem, order dinner and hope that they could just move on from the issue. But he wasn’t him anymore—he needed to confront the problem and deal with it.

No matter the outcome.

He quickly climbed the stairs to Tommy’s bedroom. Tommy was removing clean clothes from his dresser whilst waiting for the shower to heat up.

“You order something?” He asked.

“Uh, no.” Buck replied. “We, uh.. we need to talk about this Tommy.” He said, releasing a shaky breath.

Tommy sighed. “There’s nothing to talk about, Evan. Everything’s fine.”

“No. No it isn’t. You.. you’re being.. different, and-and I can’t.. I don’t want to ignore what happened.”

Tommy shut the drawer and turned to face him. “What is there left to say, Evan? I saved a kids life. I’m not sorry for that. You seem to think there’s something wrong with that. I don’t. Neither of us are going to win this fight so why continue it?”

That got bucks hackles up.

“You think I have a problem with you saving a kids life?!” His voice was raised “Tommy, the problem is that you were so reckless when you did it!”

Tommy scoffed. “Really? You want to accuse me of being reckless?”

“Running into a burning apartment without proper equipment is reckless. Don’t play dumb—you know that.”

“He would have died, Evan. And as for the reckless part, I’ve heard the stories of your past behaviour—hell, you’ve told me most of them. I think it’s pretty hypocritical to chastise me for something you’ve done more than once.”

Tommy wasn’t wrong—it was hypocritical for Buck to be pissed off when he’s done some really stupid shit himself.

“You’re right—it probably is hypocritical. Maybe karma is teaching me a lesson, or maybe the universe is showing me what it feels like to be on the other side of it to change me or something, I dunno. But that doesn’t take away from the fact that what you did was dangerous and reckless.”

“What should I have done? Let the kid die?” Tommy threw back, his own voice raised.

Buck ran an angry hand through his hair. “No, Tommy. Of course not!”

“You want me to not do my job?” Tommy said and Buck tried to keep calm but god damnit he just wasn’t getting it!

“No, Tommy! I want you to understand that I love you and don’t want you to die!”

And there it was. Those three words that he’d been skirting around saying for weeks. Neither had said it yet and Buck was trying to take it slow and not get ahead of himself by saying it too soon.

His loud voice echoed around the room, followed by a deathly silence as Tommy’s face softened, taking in Evan’s words. Buck continued talking; needing to get the words about before his nerves got the bed to him.

“It’s not about you saving a kids life—I’m proud of you for doing that. It’s that you-you just went ahead and-and did it, no questions asked, without thinking about the fact that you have someone that wants you to come home.” He closed some of the distance between them as his voice softened more. “Of course I don’t want you to not do your job, or stop saving kids or stop saving anyone. I just.. I just need to feel like you care enough to come home to me; that you’ll be more careful so that you can. Because Tommy I.. I don’t know what I would do if I lost you.”

His voice began to crack at the end and tears were threatening to spill.

Tommy closed the remaining distance and wrapped his arms around him. Buck leaned into Tommy’s warmth and gripped the back of his shirt tightly.

“I’m sorry, baby.” He whispered into Bucks ear. “I promise from now on I’ll be more careful.”

“Thank you.” Buck mumbled into Tommys shoulder.

“And hey-“ Tommy added pulling back to look at Buck. “I love you too.”

Buck couldn’t hide the grin that formed on his face and Tommy just had to kiss him about it.

After Tommy eventually got his shower—with Buck joining him so that they could properly make up, of course—they lounged on the sofa, eating pizza and watching one of Bucks documentaries.

“Oh hey, did they find the source of that fire?” Buck asked.

“Toaster.”

“Half an apartment building burnt down and it was all because of a toaster?”

“Technically, it was the kid who put his Lego men in to the toaster because they were cold that did it.”

“Oh. Well, yeah that’ll do it.”

[evermoredeluxe]

How Taylor Swift’s Eras Tour Took Over the Entire World

By Chris Willman

By Alissa Gao for Variety

On the morning that Taylor Swift’s “Eras Tour” is about to begin a three-night stand in Dublin, the older gentleman taking charge of my passport at airport customs has clearly had his fill of Swifties, probably processing them by the hundreds already today. When I reveal myself to be one too — despite being arguably the wrong gender, inarguably old and lacking a telltale “Lover” mascara star over my right eye — his disdain is palpable. Suddenly, I’m getting way more screening questions than anyone not on a watch list should. “What do you like about her?” he sneers, peering up over specs.

This is probably the wrong time for me to point out Swift’s Irish heritage, or to assert that she is this generation’s James Joyce. (The original king of the Easter eggs, right?) I wouldn’t really go that far — I’m only on record as doing my best to certify her as this century’s Beatles. Trying to figure out how to answer him, the past 18 years of extolling Swift in print flash before my eyes. I end up murmuring the bare minimum: “Um, her songwriting.” This seems to disturb him further. He snaps back: “Aren’t they all the same song” — a slight pause, and I know what’s coming next — “about her breakups?” Then, abruptly, he stamps me through, sparing me a detour to Interpol for more grilling.

In the cab into town, the driver is blasting a local talk-radio personality sharing his dismay about the fans of an awful superstar taking over his country. The host reads an email sent in from a hater who says, “A year ago, when tickets went on sale, my partner and I made a reservation to take our kids out of the country this Friday morning. … Thank you for creating a safe space with your show.” I start to wonder if Swift might have met her match at the Cliffs of Moher.

But from my drop-off forward, the next three days are like living in a Swift-topia. The mile and a half to Aviva Stadium each night is like Disneyland when it shuts its doors early for an affinity group. Whether stopping in the pubs or walking through the charming neighborhood of Victorian brick homes adjoining the fancy new stadium, there’s that warm feeling of people who are united by one quality: They are all super in touch with their feelings — or else they wouldn’t be Swift fans. And they all are happy to stop on the street or over pints to talk about poetical expression. (Well, except for the occasional taciturn, invariably straight young male who has signified his supportive-plus-one status by wearing a jersey bearing the name of Swift’s Super Bowl beau, Travis Kelce.)

So it is that I end up chatting with a middle-aged gay man in a sequin-covered shirt whose female companion whispers to me, while he steps away to trade friendship bracelets with a 10-year-old girl and her mum, that Swift’s music just helped him through a difficult breakup. The girl then runs off to trade her homemade bracelets with a pair of high-helmeted Dublin policemen loaded up to their own elbows with friendship swag — unexpected accessories for long arms of the law.

All the stories about American Swifties swarming overseas to catch “The Eras Tour” turn out to be true: You couldn’t swing a neon golf club around here without hitting a Yank. Approximately one out of every five fans I approach is visiting from the States — and the jubilation they’re feeling about the night’s impending concert is compounded by the fact that nearly all of them financed a European vacation and a concert ticket for roughly the same amount they would have paid on a secondary ticketing site for a typical four-figure ticket to one of last year’s predatorily repriced U.S. shows.

Remember the venerable stereotype of the Ugly Americans, brusquely trampling over refined Europeans in their travels? Thanks to Taylor Swift, who has a gift for laying out global welcome mats, this is the summer of the Spangly American.

At the stadium on night one, just down the row from me are a group of millennials from New Jersey, several in glam unitards inspired by the “Lover” or “1989” portions of the career-spanning show and looking like they were costumed by Swift’s own designer, with fake jewel-encrusted microphones to match. I ask how many hours went into perfecting these nearly pro-grade outfits.

“About 80 hours for mine,” says Megan McLaughlin. “Hers probably longer,” she adds, nodding toward one of her sisters, Margo Steinberg. “She knows all the glues and the best gems.” Indeed, confirms Steinberg, “I was working on mine since January. And, yes, I did quit my job to finish it!” She adds, when I ask if she cares to share any secrets to a particularly good look, “You have to use the B-7000 glue.” (A third sister,��Amelia McLaughlin, admits she resorted to buying her spangly dress off Etsy — “I was doing a PhD, but I had to match these girls’ enthusiasm” — while a fourth, Carolyn McLaughlin, skipped the glitter and went for a red dress that matches Swift’s from the “I Bet You Think About Me” video.)

Certainly, there is an element of cosplay to many of the fans’ outfits. Some have seen footage of the new segment Swift added to the tour beginning in April 2024 — devoted to her most recent album, the 31-song “Tortured Poets Department” — and have managed to manufacture gowns that look like they’re made of paper and feature lyric excerpts printed on them in script, à la Swift’s custom-made Vivienne Westwood dress. I meet a group of American women who became friends as literature majors in college who have “Tortured Poets”-themed outfits, one duplicating the Westwood dress and the other with handmade printouts of the latest album’s lyrics pinned all over her black dress, as if she were literally pulling pages out of Swift’s playbook.

It’s the devotion to lyrics, even more than glitter, that is most impressive about the bespoke outfits fans have concocted for the occasion. There are scores and scores of Swifties wearing homemade T-shirts — sometimes singular, sometimes matching with a friend, like walking Burma-Shave signs. Some of the messages are obvious, like the dozens of laddies wearing “It’s me, hi, I’m the husband/boyfriend/father, it’s me” shirts. (Bet that seemed really original at one time.) But a lot of them refer to more obscure songs or stanzas, as if every nearby street or stadium loge section is full of human Easter eggs, begging to be unpacked. It’s hard to think of any other superstar in the history of stadium tours who could have inspired as much fan-crafted clothing rooted in the power of words.

Combos of middle-aged mothers and their teen or 20-something daughters abound; some of them have seized on Swift’s mentions of her own mother, Andrea, to come up with their T-shirt ideas. On Lansdowne Road, I talk to a mum whose red-on-black shirt says, “Had to listen to all this drama,” accompanied by a daughter bearing the legend, “And here’s to my mama.” (This is a reference to Swift’s song “This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things.”)

Later, in a stadium Guinness line, I chat up a pair of thirsty locals, the daughter’s shirt reading “I call my mom, she said …,” with the mom’s shirt completing the thought: “It was for the best.” (Damn it, I had to Google to recall that’s from a “1989” Vault track that came out last year.) I ask the daughter if she had to explain to her mom what she was wearing. “She’s 52,” she replies. “I don’t think she knows.”

Age is really no guarantor of not getting it — the popular #SwiftieOver50 hashtag on X proves that. Although outnumbered, plenty of older people are unaccompanied by a minor, or by anyone who has been a minor in the past 20 years. I approach a middle-aged couple, Jean Sebastian Conley and Natasha Gagne, again bidden by their matching shirts — “Who’s Taylor Swift?” and “Who’s Travis Kelce?” They turn out to be French Canadians who found their 206-euro SRO tickets to be a steal compared with the extravagant resale prices they briefly considered back home after being shut out of the initial on-sale. I ask what attracted them to Swift since, unlike so many others here, they didn’t grow up with her.

“I really fell in love with her with the ‘Folklore’ album,” Conley says, referring to her low-key Grammy-winning album recorded during the early months of the pandemic. “I think different audiences and older audiences found her through that and ‘Evermore’ because they were more singer-songwriter, a little bit rougher indie music, and that’s what we like most. So that’s how I got hooked.” For her part, Gagne says, “I like everything she represents. And when she redid all her masters, that’s where I thought she was a lady boss.”

It’s a reminder that, for however many mini-narratives Swift packs into the three hours and 20 minutes of an “Eras” show, there are really four or five years of backstory that feed into the audience’s shared awareness. When she sings the ominous ballad “My Tears Ricochet,” accompanied by a coven of stone-faced dancers, at least some fans will understand it as a distant reflection of her very public feelings about the men she considers her business bêtes noires, Scooter Braun and Scott Borchetta, who bought and sold (respectively) the rights to her first six albums, spawning much vitriol as well as four “Taylor’s Version” rerecorded albums to date.

When the dancers put their grins back on, Swift plays an ebullient excerpt of a very recent “Poets” bonus track, “So High School,” which every person in the crowd will know is inspired by Kelce. There are some breakup songs of recent vintage too — yes, Mr. Customs Man! — like “The Smallest Man in the World,” which may or may not have cost Matty Healy, the 1975 frontman and former Swift paramour, a night of sleep.

The whole tour is themed around not just the newer records but the rerecordings that have made every older album in her catalog feel improbably fresh. It was, quite possibly, the single most baller move in the history of the record industry … and led to the career-retrospective concept for what is already unquestionably the biggest tour in the history of popular music.

Any discussion of the charms of fandom isn’t meant to forestall discussion of “The Eras Tour” as big business. The numbers are fuzzy because Swift’s camp does not release grosses from her shows, unlike nearly every other artist at the stadium or arena level. Even when the tour wraps after 20 months on Dec. 8 in Vancouver, it seems likely those numbers will continue to be guarded with a zeal on par with the government of North Korea’s. Many industry experts believe the gross will approach or even surpass $2 billion.

What is known for certain — even without a confirmation from Swift World — is that she broke the all-time tour-gross figure when she hit the $1 billion mark, whenever exactly that might have been. The two trade publications that specialize in the touring industry have slightly differing estimates: Billboard calculated a cumulative gross of approximately $900 million when she took a break at the end of 2023, figuring that she would crack $1 billion shortly into the tour’s resumption in April, while Pollstar estimated that she had passed $1 billion by the conclusion of last year. Any way you guesstimate it, Swift took less than a year to break the previous record of $939.1 million, which Elton John grossed with his “Farewell Yellow Brick Road” tour across nearly three years of shows.

One source close to the production said early in the “Eras Tour” era that her average gross each night is $14 million. Others believe that is a highly conservative estimate, with a possible total that on at least some nights edges closer to $17 million. One remarkable aspect is that this does not include the revenue from any inflated resale tickets — which, as anyone who has tried to get tickets through Vivid Seats or StubHub knows, mostly have gone for several times their face value. It was little publicized, but Swift had “dynamic pricing” turned off for her ticket sales, possibly to avoid the controversies Bruce Springsteen encountered when the face value on some of his tickets leaped to the four-figure range upon their first sale. Swift left money on the table by not participating in the scalping of her own tickets, which had an average price of around $230 and topped out at $499, excepting VIP packages, which zenithed at $899 — all well short of what some other superstars ask nowadays. Of course, neither Argentina nor anyone at Wembley Stadium ahead of Swift’s opening night performance in June will be crying for her when she’s in reach of $2 billion without the resale inflation … not to mention the hundreds of millions of dollars in merch.

(This is extraordinary also because Swift hasn’t done any press to promote the tour, except for when she was selected as Time Magazine’s Person of the Year in December. But she doesn’t need to — the tour is constantly being celebrated on social media with every outfit change. And it’s also become so huge, it’s featured more A-list sightings than the Oscars, from Julia Roberts to Tom Cruise to Stevie Nicks, who had the surprise song “You’re on Your Own, Kid” dedicated to her in Dublin.)

Benson Boone, whose “Beautiful Things” is the most-streamed song of 2024 in the U.S. and the world, says he felt dwarfed when performing as the opening act at one of Swift’s seven shows at London’s Wembley Stadium. He has forever committed to memory the exact attendance figure he was given for the night: “89,497,” he says. “Just her stage alone is bigger than anything I’ve ever seen — 300 feet of it!” he says. “I took in every moment. It was cool for me to experience another artist’s world and learn from it. I want to work that hard and be the captain of my ship.”

Although it’s maddening to a media that likes official box office reports and can’t get them, it’s easy to see the wisdom in not flaunting those figures if you’re a superstar artist who counts on being seen as relatable. Swift certainly is proud of breaking records — she posted a tweet when “The Tortured Poets Department” spent its first 12 weeks at No. 1 on the album chart, one of only three albums in history to do so. But she’d rather count fan impressions than dollars. By the same token, she doesn’t publicize or confirm acts of generosity that leak out, like the sizable food-bank donations she makes in every city she tours, or the $100,000 bonuses that the tour’s 50 truck drivers reportedly got for Christmas.

An addendum to all this is how the “Eras Tour” film — released last fall, less than halfway through the actual tour — grossed just over $180 million domestically and $261 million globally, beating the records set by Justin Bieber’s concert film in the U.S. and Michael Jackson’s globally. Massive big-screen spoilers only heightened, rather than diminished, resale demand for the shows yet to come on the 152-date tour and helped precipitate the movement among Americans to head overseas, to make up for the supply found sorely lacking at home.

“She is the torchbearer for the live industry,” says Andy Gensler, editor of Pollstar. “It’s nothing we’ve ever seen before, and it’ll be a long time before we see it again. Her timing was exquisite: The pandemic created this yearning and hunger for live entertainment like nothing else in our history, so she couldn’t have picked a better time to go out.” Pollstar called last year a “historic golden age” for touring, as the top 100 global tours collectively surpassed $9 billion — up 46% from 2022 — with Swift obviously contributing a significant chunk of that total. (This year, the trade reports that overall tour attendance is down, with flat grosses, representing a slight reckoning for the live industry that, obviously, isn’t impacting “Eras.”)

“What my partners and I talk a lot about is how it’s one thing to have a big tour in North America. It’s another thing to have an equally big tour wherever you are in the world and to do doubles and triples in these markets,” says Bernie Cahill, an Activist founding partner and manager of acts including the Grateful Dead and the Lumineers. “It’s an anomaly. It’s not normal. And don’t forget, you’re going into what I call asymmetric venues, which are venues that are not really built for music; these are venues that are built for football games or soccer games and can be very challenging to do music. And they get it right every time — Louis Messina [Swift’s tour promoter since her earliest days] and his team are world-class.” But for all that globe-trotting, he notes, “there are some artists that you see do a show and you know they don’t even know what city they’re in. I always feel like Taylor knows exactly where she is. She has a relationship with that city or that market and those fans and she’s connected to them in ways that are very authentic, that you can’t fake.”

The one big snafu in the rollout of “The Eras Tour” occurred in November 2022 when the Ticketmaster system melted down after too many North American dates went on sale at once, causing thousands of fans to experience long delays. The on-sale broke the all-time record for tickets sold in a single day at 2 million, but it also nearly broke the world’s largest ticketing platform. Swift herself was Teflon in this situation, as the blame fell on a ticketing system not capable of handling so much of the Swift-loving world at once. And although most of the problems people have with Ticketmaster are different from what fans faced in the “Eras Tour” debacle — mainly, hidden fees and monopolistic practices — it could have big legislative consequences anyway. Dean Budnick, co-author of “Ticket Masters: The Rise of the Concert Industry and How the Public Got Scalped,” believes that the Swift hullabaloo was the main catalyst for Congress enacting reform. “There’s no question that perhaps there’s gonna be some meaningful change in ticketing as a result of what people experienced with that on-sale.”

That sense Cahill spoke about of the singer making it clear to an audience she knows exactly where she’s at is in full force in Dublin. Swift introduces the “Folklore”/”Evermore” segment by suggesting that she had a spiritual locale in mind when she started writing that more intimate material, locked in during the first part of the pandemic. “It keeps me up at night all year long: Which era is the most Irish?” she half-jokes to the crowd. “I’m gonna make a case for it being ‘Folklore’ … This album’s imaginary world had a whole aesthetic — like I lived in this cabin in a really green, nature-y, moss-covered landscape. You see where I’m going?… Another thing that I think makes it more Irish than the other eras is, ‘Folklore’ was all about storytelling. And I know you hear this a lot, but you guys are naturally gifted storytellers, right?”

Later on, Swift will cement the local connection by playing, as a “secret” surprise acoustic song, “Sweet Nothing.” She doesn’t have to give the crowd any explanation for that: From the first notes, Irish Swifties will immediately recall that the lyrics reference to the coastal town of Wicklow. The real cherry on top of the show for locals at any international Eras Tour stop, though, comes with a customized moment each night during “We Are Never Getting Back Together” when the spotlight is put on backing dancer Kameron Saunders for a couple of seconds, as he blurts out something locally appropriate, and cheeky. One night in Dublin, it’s the Irish catchphrase “the neck of ye!”; on another, he yells out “pog mo thoin,” meaning “kiss my ass!”; the massive, knowing laugh that inside joke gets makes it clear this isn’t entirely an audience of American tourists after all.

But the basic theatrics and emotional currents remain consistent from show to show. If Swift is surprisingly reticent to make her “Eras Tour” numbers public, that may be, in part, her desire to keep the focus primarily on a personal fan connection. Music industry veterans are taken aback by Swift’s ability to be giant and intimate onstage. “She’s a master marketer of herself — and she is not afraid to be vulnerable to her fans,” says Michele Bernstein, who runs a consultancy that works with stars like Drake. Bernstein could almost be quoting the lyrics of “Mastermind,” where Swift describes herself in almost comically omniscient terms, then dives into a bridge about how no one would play with her as a little girl.

People like my guardian of the customs gate may complain about Swift’s songs centering on her romantic splits, but that subject matter magnifies her own insecurities and weaknesses, expressed in genuinely eccentric wordplay, in ways that keep the audience in thrall to someone they perceive as a humble underdog as well as a veritable cage fighter. She could do a $10 billion tour someday and still keep the crowd enraptured by how she measures up to, or rallies to exceed, the smallest man — or men, or Kardashians — in the world.

This plays out in the “Eras” show in all sorts of symbolic ways, like the new segment in the “Tortured Poets” section where she seems to have fainted from the vapors of failed romance. Dancers in tuxedos try to revive her while a swing version of “I Can Do It With a Broken Heart” plays over the PA. A pair of women dressed as nurses fit her with what looks like a majorette’s uniform — or, with all its off-white stripes, is it really meant to resemble a straitjacket? The resemblance is probably not coincidental. Swift fans know there’s nothing like a mad woman.

The most exhilarating moment that has been added to the show this year has her gliding down the ramp on a platform, appearing to anyone at floor level like she is levitating like the witch she makes herself out to be in “Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me?” Taylor Swift: She was Agatha all along!

Yes, there is much to unpack. But in Dublin and in every other city where “Eras” has alighted, there is also pure inspiration for those who maybe haven’t always felt like they’ve had a voice, whether it’s her LGBTQ+ fan base or, well, women. It’s a modern transmutation of Beatlemania in which Swift manages to be all four Fabs, and a mirror, as well as object, of that gaze. You don’t have to be a woman to experience the explosion of pure female joy that takes place on a mass scale at an “Eras” gig, but for men, it doesn’t hurt to have a healthy sense of where you might sit on the female spectrum.

Outside Aviva Stadium, two young Londoners have formed their own two-woman straight-gay alliance: One is wearing a shirt with the hand- drawn words “You’re obsessive and crazy,” and the other’s shirt has the phrase “You’re gay,” each with an arrow pointing to the other. This echoes the original lyrics to Swift’s 2006 oldie “Picture to Burn,” which was rerecorded after some were offended by “gay” as a possible teen epithet. “I am obsessive and crazy, and she is gay,” laughs Zoe Gibson, pointing to her friend, India Day. “We want to bring back the original lyrics. We never found them homophobic — we want to reclaim it.” Day adds, “We’ve listened to her since we were 4 years old, so obviously there’s the nostalgia factor. But for me, she speaks on quite a lot of issues like gay rights and feminism, and all of her songs perfectly sum up the experience of being a woman.”

Some of the shirts are apropos for Pride Month. Seeing a boy of no older than 15 or 16 wearing a homemade “But Daddy I Love Him” shirt (the title of a “Tortured Poets” fan favorite), it’s easy to imagine some courage was required to don that apparel. Along the same lines, I spot any number of women making their own statement in shirts with the modified exclamation “But Daddy I Love Her.”

Gay or straight, 6 years old or 60-something, female or just female-allied, the crowd inside gets its sway on early in the show, with the arrival of the gentle, waltz-time “Lover.” It’s not one of the big set-pieces of this nonstop Broadway-style production — the spotlight is just on Swift and her acoustic guitar — but it might be the one where the entire audience feels like it’s at a four-minute campfire. No wicked witchiness here, just winsomeness.

Down on the floor, I’m seeing what amounts to a Taylor Swift mosh pit: gangs of two or three or five young women, ignoring the fact that Swift herself is just yards away from them on the ramp. They’re singing and acting out every last line to each other, as if the superstar isn’t even towering right over them. A waste of their euros? Hardly. Swift will capture their full attention again as the show proceeds, but in the moment, she isn’t just a superstar — she might be the world’s greatest community organizer.

[gghostwriter]

Poison Me, I’m Fine

Spencer Reid x Songwriter!Fem!Reader

Summary: Your choice of poison was Spencer Reid. Who knew he would kill you and set you free in the process

Warning: angst with no happy ending

A/n: I feel insane for writing this in one sitting and not editing it. There's no part 2 for this, I just wanted to purge myself of this angst plot that took over me. This is probably the closest I could write to a singer-songwriter reader x spencer, granted she just writes for other pop stars (maybe I'll write some popstar!reader next time idk yet.) Also, 'Free Now by Gracie Abrams' and 'The Black Dog by Taylor Swift' was on repeat when I wrote this so you can spot some inspiration from both here. Hope you like it!

Main masterlist

You don’t know why you settled for less. Why you opted to walk on a blurry tight rope, why you chose a crumbling place to land on, and why you chose to enter a situationship that will end in heartbreak. Actually, scratch that, you do know why. Spencer Reid, that was enough reason for you to put yourself on the line. Or it was until your treacherous, greedy heart wanted more. 

Does she follow like an echo? Like your shadow, you can try, but you can't run

It started with hushed whispers. Your mind slowly poisoning itself with what ifs and scenarios where he was fully yours, just like how he unknowingly owned you—mind, body, and soul. Whispers of—wouldn’t it be nice to visit this museum again with Spencer or he’d love this newly opened vintage bookstore around the block or it’d be nice to see the stars with him right now. You tried to cleanse those thoughts away but that’s the thing, poison that has entered your bloodstream is hard to remove. 

It's a pain that I caught you at a bad time It's a shame that I memorized your outline

It morphed to vivid imagery next—hallucinations so life-like that you found yourself believing it half of the time. Portraits of him and you holding hands as you both walked down the streets, phantom outlines of you together swaying close to muted music, and shadows of you and him twisting in bedsheets. All untrue, except for the latter. You attempt to blink them all away with no success. Your heart reluctant to part with the delusion than face the truth—that he had only offered you his body and nothing else.

Every page that I wrote, you were on it Feel you deep in my bones, you're the current

It seeped out of you next—to your writings, to your works as if your body was doing its best to reject the poison away. To save itself from the nearing death that seemed inevitable in the end. Your poetry, your lyrics, and your art all contain entangled webs of metaphors and colors that lead back to him. Purple streaks on your canvas to represent his favorite, his beloved authors mentioned in your verses, and symbolisms of his career scattered all over—cuffs, guns, shot and everything in between. You tried to pour it all out of you, the dark and sticky emotion of despair and longing covering you and all extensions of you. Everyone noticed the change. The dimming of lights in your eyes and the shadows that threaten to swallow you whole. Everyone noticed—your family, friends, colleagues, and even the pop stars that buy your singles. Everyone except for the one that could save you, Spencer. 

It turned into screams next. It was as if your body gathered all its remaining strength to shout for help or to howl in pain, you’re not sure really. All you’re sure of was that the end was near. The end was coming to free you from everything—from him. The trigger was overhearing him discuss you with his friend and male co-worker during a run-in in his apartment where he had no choice but to introduce you. Six months of pseudo dating him and no one knew you existed.

You excused yourself to the bathroom, wanting to escape the tension emitting from the situation and when you came back, that’s when you heard it. The lethal blow to your already dying heart.

“She seems nice,” his friend, Morgan, commented.

Spencer shrugged. “She’s no Maeve—not as deep but she’s—she’s safe.”

You bit your lip, trying to stop it from quivering lest you whimper out loud the pain his words has caused you.

Donning on a fake smile on your face, you watched as Morgan left with a wave goodbye to you and a casual ‘see you again.’ Not like that would ever come true.

Within seconds, you felt your mask cracking as tears slowly trickled down your face.

“I love you.”

They say the truth sets us free but not this truth. All it did was crash, burn, and pulverize your already precarious stacks of sticks that represent you and him. 

Silence.

“You know, when we first started this—whatever this is—I promised to myself that I wouldn’t fall for you. That this was purely physical, sex,” you sardonically laughed. “But you know what I realized, that you were easy to fall in love with. So easy that I found myself ruined even before I could comprehend where and when it happened.”

“We agreed, didn’t we? That we would tell the truth and stop when feelings are starting to get involved. Why didn’t you tell me?” 

You roughly swiped away the tears. “I didn’t know when it happened, Spencer! I thought if I stuck it out long enough, you’d feel something for me too! But that was foolish of me to believe. I see it now.” 

“See what?” 

You walked towards him, invading his personal space. The same way he did with yours. “That you’re not ready. Honestly I’d prefer if my opponent was standing in front of me. At least I could gauge if I had the chance to win. But with her, she’s gone, Spencer—” you jabbed your pointy finger on his chest, where his heart was. “I’m fighting with a ghost who I can’t even land a hit on. A ghost who haunts your every waking and dreaming moment. Tell me, Spencer, how do I compete with that—when I feel there’s little to no space for me. I exist only in between and in your limbo when you’re craving for a physical companion. How do I win, Spencer? Tell me or should I just throw in the towel?” 

“Y/N—”

His eyes contained the answer and although it wasn’t what you were wishing for, it was what you subconsciously knew you needed to free you. 

You nodded your head. “I guess—I guess this is it, huh. End of the line for us.” 

“I guess so.” 

You gathered your coat, haphazardly strewn on the floor—just like the pieces of your shattered heart and as you stepped out of his threshold, you gave yourself one last chance to memorize his outlines.

“Goodbye, Spencer.” 

And finally, the poison had killed you and had set you free. 

If you feel like fallin', catch me on the way down Never been less empty, all I feel is free now

[wandussyfantasy]

Wanna Bet?

Request: From @lesbianpizza They could also go to some kind of public event but each with vibrators that the other controls where they have a competition to see who will break first and beg for sex

Summary: Y/n surprises Wanda with tickets to see the Era's Tour but it comes with a price.

Pairings: Wanda x NB!AMAB!Reader

Word Count: 3,693

WARNINGS: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT READ & DO NOT INTERACT!!!smut, gn!reader amab, powerbottom!wanda, fingering, dirty talk, fluff, masturbation, public touching, fantasies, teasing, and creampie.

𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓. 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.

“I cannot believe that you got us tickets for the Era's tour!” Wanda jumps on your lap excitedly.

You grin because you're proud of yourself for making her so happy. When the tour was announced, Wanda made a small remark about wanting to go but doubtful that she would be able to. Every time a Taylor Swift song played in the car and she was singing it as loud as she could, never missing a lyric, you thought about getting her those tickets. Unfortunately, after being in the trenches of the presale and living in the ticket queue from hell, you were unable to get tickets on your own. So, after you and Wanda started to explore your relationship more, you decided to go to the one person you tried to avoid for this. Your dad.

He isn't a bad guy, he just doesn't want it to get in your head that everything in life will be handed to you. So, everything you ask for from him comes at his price. Which makes you not want to ask things from him. Luckily, when you asked for the tickets, he handed them over with no conditions at all. He told you that you work hard everyday and that he sees it and appreciates it.

“I’m happy I can take you,” you say as you lean in for a kiss. But Wanda abruptly moves away from you and jumps off of the bed.

“Oh my goodness, I have to figure out what to wear! It's too late to make a costume!”

“A costume? What?” you ask yourself quietly as Wanda continues to pace your room frantically while rambling.

“Damnit, there's no time for friendship bracelets! Well, maybe I can do a couple. Oh! I can get Y/n to help me,” Wanda talks to herself.

You rise from your bed next, “Why are we making friendship bracelets?”

“Because it's a Swiftie thing! We can't go there without bracelets!!” Wanda says in a panic.

“Woah, I thought this was supposed to be a fun thing,” you say as you lower her arms from the air.

Wanda takes a breath to calm down and smiles at you. “It will be fun, babe. But part of the fun is trading friendship bracelets, going in outfits that represent our eras, and knowing when to shout lyrics that she doesn't include in her performance.” She wraps her arms around your neck as she talks and you place your hands on her hips.

“Okay, I suppose I don't mind helping with the bracelets. Um, what era are we in? So I know what to look for.” You ask, unsure what she even means by an era.

“Lover, of course,” Wanda answers simply and she kisses your lips.

“I know that, but what does that look like?” You laugh as you misunderstand.

Wanda tilts her head to the side as if she's reading your mind. “Lover is the seventh album which is the album that probably represents us best. So you can look up the image of the cover to get a sense of the colors but we'll basically look like a unicorn threw up on us.”

“Perfect, I have a unicorn onesie in my closet I'm pretty sure. Will that work?”

“Oh you poor thing,” Wanda shakes her head. “Forget the movie. Looks like our date is going to be a shopping trip. Grab your wallet and keys, let's go!”

“Alright,” you say as you grab your things and get your shoes on. This is not what you thought giving her tickets would result in. You thought maybe at least a blowjob, not a shopping trip.

The two of you start at the craft store in the mall and grab the necessary items for the bracelets. “Hey, maybe I'll make one with my number and throw it on the stage,” you say jokingly. Hoping to maybe get a rise out of Wanda, but instead she turns to you with wide eyes.

“We’re going to be close to the stage?” She says in shock.

You shake your head, “No, sorry, we're going to be in my family's box at the stadium. We'll be secluded from everyone.”

She shoves your shoulder, “Don't play with me like that!”

“Ow!” you laugh. “So let me get this straight. You're not mad I made a comment about trying to hook up with Taylor, but you're mad I made a joke about getting you close enough to do it?” Wanda nods. “I don't know what hurts more, my shoulder or my heart,” you pout dramatically.

“Oh don't be so dramatic. I trust you and I know you were only joking,” she gives you a kiss on the lips and you feel better. “Besides, I know that given the chance, you'd invite me and honestly, I wouldn't mind.” Your eyes widen a bit at Wanda admitting to you that she wouldn't turn down a threesome with you and her favorite musician. “I think I'm good with this stuff. Did you see any colors you wanted?” You shake your head as you look around and follow her to the checkout counter.

Next, the two of you go clothes shopping. “Are you sure I don't already own something that will fit the theme?” You ask as you drag your feet through the isles.

“I've known you for years, baby, trust me. I know what's in your closet.” She stops at a tie-dye crew neck and looks it over a few times before moving on. At the end of the shopping trip, you have a new outfit for the show that consists of a short button up shirt with multiple pastel colors on it. Plus a new pair of light blue shorts. And sunglasses with a clear frame and rainbow lenses. She didn't make you buy a new pair of shoes because she said you already own an acceptable pair.

“Don’t you need an outfit?” You ask as you near the exit of the mall. Wanda laughs loudly as if you said the funniest thing ever.

“You’re cute, babe. I have an outfit for this, don't worry that pretty little head of yours,” she kisses you on the lips. You're happy to have her lips on yours. She is so addicting.

“I like how you keep calling me 'babe.' I thought you didn't like pet names like that,” you point out.

“I don't, but I know that you do and it's kind of growing on me, babe,” she pulls you for another kiss. “Let's get back to the house so I can thank you properly.” You hum in excitement as you try to pry yourself away from Wanda. Once you do, the two of you rush through the mall until a shop catches your eye. You've been wanting to bring Wanda to the shop for some time now.

“Come on,” you say as you pull her to the small shop full of novelty items. You take her all the way to the back where they have their adult toys.

“What are we doing back here?” She looks around frantically for a moment until her eyes land on the package that reads, Clone a Willy. “Oh, I could definitely use this.”

You make a face as you look at the box, “What’s that?”

“You make a mold out of your dick and I get a vibrator out of it so when we're apart, I can still have you with me,” the thought that she wants a vibrator version of your dick and not some random other type of dildo makes your cock twitch.

“Oh, wow,” you look at the container and read the directions. “Yeah, we can do this. Not today though.”

“Yes!” Wanda smiles as she takes it from your hand. “So, why did you bring me back here? Is this your way of telling me things are getting boring between us?” Her tone suggests that she is only joking but in her eyes you can sense the insecurity.

“No, it's not boring,” you put your hand under her chin and kiss her lips. “I was just thinking about exploring some of this stuff and was curious what you might be interested in. I also wanted to see if you might want to use,” you look around at the selection of vibrators until you find what you came here for, you grab it and hand it to her, “one of these things.” It's a vibrator that she puts inside of herself and you can keep the controller to use on her whenever you want. Wanda looks at it for a moment and her silence worries you. However, all she is thinking about is the endless possibilities. “They have pantie versions also if you don't want that,” you suggest next.

“Oh that sounds interesting,” she puts the package you handed her back on the wall and looks for the underwear set. “Wow, you know me so well,” she says as she finds a set she likes. “As much as I like the idea, I feel like it might be a tad unfair.”

You consider what she might be suggesting and look at the wall to find something that you could use. “I don't see any cock rings,” you reply.

“Why don't you get one of those? They're not that big,” she points to a little pink bullet and you shake your head rapidly.

“Nope, no way, not doing that,” you reject the idea of walking around with something up your ass. Wanda laughs at your reaction. She has played with your ass during sex a few times and you've liked it but when she made the suggestion of pegging you, you just couldn't wrap the idea around your head. You've had sex with a guy before and even then you didn't like the idea of receiving it.

“Okay fine, how about a pair of these?” She extends the box of the underwear and you aren't sure about it.

“I don't know, I feel like it'd give me a wedgie,” you say. Wanda looks in the wall again and spots a vibrator that you can add to any type of underwear and she hands it to you. “This looks like a big period pad,” you scoff.

“It's the best option you've got here. Unless you want to drop the whole thing,” she shrugs.

“Alright, alright, I'll do it,” you agree. “Come on, let's go check out.”

Finally, back at the house, you call out to your parents to see if either of them are home and you're relieved to find a note on the counter claiming that your dad had a business meeting in Europe and your mom had negotiations to make in D.C. You have the house to yourself once again. You drop the shopping bags and pull Wanda into a kiss in the middle of the kitchen.

Wanda wraps her arms around you as she responds just as eager. You put your hands on her hips and lift her onto the kitchen island. “I love you,” you say as you bring your lips down to her neck. Wanda still hasn't reciprocated those words and you haven't pressured her to do so. You're going at her pace. The two of you still haven't told anyone about the nature of your relationship. It was kind of hot having this secret.

You surprise Wanda as you pull her pants down to her knees. “Woah! Are you sure you want to do that right here?” She tries to pull you up but you're fine where you are and once you lick her you kill any further questions or protests she might have. “I thought,” she gasps as you bring her close to a climax, “I was supposed to- Oh god! Be the thanking youuu, that's it! Right there! Oh yeah!” You look up at her as she pulls your head back by your hair and she shakes her head. “Not yet,” she says breathlessly. You nod and rock backwards until your butt touches the floor, the outline of your erection presents itself proudly. Wanda bites her lips at the sight.

“What do you want to do?” You ask as you lick her fluids off of your lips. Wanda grins as she pulls you up and she guides you to your bedroom. Making sure to bring the bag of toys with her.

Later that month you are uncomfortably adjusting the crotch area of your shorts as you stand in the crowd waiting to enter the stadium. “Stop that,” Wanda swats at your hand.

“Well it's not an easy adjustment,” you complain. Wanda sighs and rolls her eyes.

“This was your idea,” she reminds you in a whisper. “Besides, once we get to the box you won't even remember how much you hate it.”

“Or you'll crack first and I'll be able to take it off,” you tease, making Wanda scoff.

“Please, I'm very capable of holding off. I was a virgin for two decades, you however, couldn’t go a month without humping everything in sight once you hit puberty,” she fires back.

You scrunch your nose, “I feel like that first decade and a half shouldn’t count. You were a child and that’s illegal.”

“Fair point, but I still have four or five years less of experience than you,” she clarifies and you shrug because she's not wrong. “Meaning, I can hold out longer than you can.” Before you can respond, the line moves forward and you are having the tickets scanned and are being escorted to the private stadium box.

There are snacks and an assortment of the merchandise that you would’ve otherwise had to stand in line forever waiting for. You certainly didn't do all of this and you're surprised that it's there at all until you notice a card addressed to you. Without allowing Wanda to see it, you read it and your cheeks and neck redden from embarrassment.

The note is from your father stating, “Enjoy your date, I'm happy that you and Wanda are together just… please, keep it in the bedroom. There aren't any cameras in there. Love, Dad.”

“What's that?” Wanda’s voice makes you jump and you rip the note.

“It's nothing, just my dad being you know, my dad. He suspects that this is more than a friendly gesture. Always thinking I have that Stark charm he claims used to have every supermodel and actress in his bed,” you joke as you don't completely lie to her but if she knew the truth, Wanda would be completely mortified. There are more times than you can count on both hands and feet that you've given each other head in a common area of the house. At least it was only ever giving head or hand jobs and some fingering outside of the bedroom.

You hold your breath as you wait to see if she bought the lie. “Oh, well, it was nice of him to arrange all of this. Really, the two of you have outdone yourselves. I really don't deserve all of this.” She wraps her arms around your neck and kisses your lips. “Thank you,” she says before going in for another kiss. You feel yourself start to be affected by her kiss and you have to step away. You couldn't lose this bet.

“How has the willy been working out for you?” You ask as you walk over to the bar to make yourself a drink.

“Mmm I think it might be better than the real thing,” she says teasingly.

You shake your head, “If that were true, you'd have broken up with me already.”

“Well, the willy can't arrange a set up like this, so you still have that going for you,” Wanda starts to head towards you and that's when you activate her vibrator with your phone. “That's not mhm, that's not fair.” You turn off the panties with a smirk. That falls as soon as she activates the vibrating pad that is attached to your boxers.

You take a deep breath and close your eyes for a moment as you think of the image that has killed your boners for decades. The image of Jabba the Hutt. Then you open your eyes and continue to serve yourself.

“What the fuck?” Wanda asks as she turns the device off.

You shrug, “I've been playing videogames for years next to you. I have a dick, Wanda. I've had to learn how to kill boners around you for about as long as we've known each other.”

Wanda shakes her head. She narrows her eyes and turns in the intensity on the device. This one is a little more difficult to stop the physical reaction so you turn up the intensity on her panties as well. Wanda almost topples over and turns off your device. “Ok! Ok! I surrender!” You shut off the panties and the both of you are left trying to catch your breaths as you stare at each other from across the room. You can smell her arousal from where you stand and she can see your bulge from her spot.

“What would you like to drink?” You ask as you finish pouring your drink. Wanda asks for just a water and you toss her a bottle. Not wanting to get close to her in your current condition. The opening act hasn't even gone on yet.

The two of you give each other time to cool off and enjoy watching the opening act. You don't tease her as much but she does have her hand on your thigh. She traces shapes and you have to control yourself. Refraining from moving her hand into your pants. Then the main event starts and she moves away from you completely as you watch her change into a person you don't recognize. Taylor Swift comes out onto the stage and it has Wanda screaming the lyrics at the top of her lungs.

“IT'S THE LOVER ERA!! STAND UP!!” She shouts as she pulls you up to start dancing with her. “I'M DRUNK IN THE BACK OF THE CAR!” You laugh as you opt to stand behind her and wrap your arms around her to sway with her.

You kiss her cheek and to her neck as the song changes. Having her body pressed against yours has it reacting almost instantly and she smirks as she feels your boner poking her ass. “Are you giving up so soon?”

You shake your head. “You're silly. Just because my willy is saying hi to you, doesn't mean you win yet.”

Wanda bursts out laughing. Then she hears the notes to another favorite song and her personality switches again. You laugh as you let her enjoy the moment. You try to step away but she keeps you close to her. She wants to experience the concert in your arms.

At certain songs you know that turn her on because she shared her “ovulation” playlist with you and taught you what that was code for. You would use the vibrating panties on her. She would just moan softly and bite her lips. Then she'd kiss your cheek and thank you.

You couldn't believe how strong she was in this challenge. You were impressed. But you didn't want to lose. If she won, then the two of you would continue to keep this relationship a secret. If you won, you were finally allowed to scream it to the rooftops that you were with her.

By the time the concert was coming to an end, the both of you were close to cumming. Nearly three hours of edging each other, you knew that you'd explode the second you entered her. If you lasted long enough to enter her.

At the “Vigilante Shit” chair routine, both of you lost your minds. “You should learn that dance,” you muttered to her with a tight voice. Wanda nodded, she was too wound up to say anything. She feared the only words that she could articulate in the moment was,“fuck me.”

“Oh fuck it,” you finally said as you pulled you zipper down and moved her panties aside and entered her without much warning. “You win,” you said behind her as you pumped inside of her.

“Finally,” she said as she let out the breath she'd been holding. She gripped the counter in front of her. The two of you eventually moved further back to the suite and shut off the lights to be able to hide just in case something like this happened.

You fucked her roughly. You were typically very gentle with her. But the pent up sexual tension released an animalistic tendency you didn't know you had inside of you. Wanda made no protests as she started to hold onto you. As the confetti ended the concert, you shot rope after rope into Wanda’s warm pussy. Painting her walls white.

“Fucking hell,” you groaned as you head fell against her back. Then you started laughing. Wanda couldn't help but join you.

“What's so funny?” She asked breathlessly.

“People are probably posting videos of being proposed to or all of their innocent experiences and here we are. It's just. It's funny,” you try to explain.

Wanda shrugs, “It's not uncommon to fuck at a concert. How many stories do you hear that someone was conceived at some concert?”

You smirk as you face her, “Do you think we'll be telling that kind of story?” You pull your limp dick out of her and shove it back into your pants. You cover her dripping pussy with her underwear.

Wanda shakes her head and bites her lips as she walks around to grab her things to get ready to leave. “As much as I would love an Era's Tour baby and as much as you'd like to believe you have super sperm, no. I'm pretty sure modern medicine still has you beat.” She pats your chest. “Let's get going. I kind of want you to eat me out. That was a lot of cum, I loved it.”

“Yes ma'am,” you salute her as you grab your things and brace yourself to face the crowded halls once again.

The End.

[reiderwriter]

hii!!! so i was wondering if you could do a one shot that’s inspired by either false god by taylor swift where spencer and reader are just worshiping each other? thank you <3

Hi! I'm not much of a swiftie, so I've never heard that song before I sat down to write this but it was perfect inspiration for a fic! I hope you enjoy it 💕

Warnings: Case details mentioned, typical CM violence, angst-adjacent confrontation with happy ending, hurt/comfort, heavy petting, oral (F receiving), squirting (implied), vaginal sex, implied creampie (no birth control mentioned). 2.2k words. Based on:

It was when the door to your hotel room slammed shut that you knew there was finally going to be a confrontation. Combing a hand through your hair, you threw your bag down and turned to look at Spencer. He stood there, just watching you from the door, his jaw tense as he struggled to break the silence and actually talk to you the way you knew he wanted to. 

“Spit it out, Spencer. If you’re going to push your way in here, you might as well say what you want to say.” You were frustrated and his silence was only making the fatigue from a day on a tough case worse. “Come on, Spencer, I don’t have all day.” 

“Do you want to die?” His voice held steady when he finally let out the words, and they hit you like a succer-punch. “Because what I saw out there today seemed like someone more than happy to put themselves in harm's way for no reason.” He stepped closer to you as he said the words, and you felt yourself grow hot. You just weren’t sure if it was from shame or anger. 

“Don’t profile me, Reid. I knew what I was doing.” You turned your back on him and began to go about your business, hoping that he would drop it and vacate the room as quickly as he’d stormed in. 

“You tried to take a bullet for me. Y/N, I was in the middle of talking him down, and you pushed me out of the way and forced his hand.” 

“So will the thank you card be delivered in the post, or can I expect it on my desk tomorrow?” You still wouldn’t make eye contact with him, thinking back to the events of the day. 

You’d known the plan all along was to have Reid talk the suspect down while you got his last victim to safety. Everything in the profile pointed towards the unsub being a loner, someone with narcissistic personalities who you knew wouldn’t end up shooting his way out. Someone that had acted with a cold violent misogyny in his crimes, and someone who would not respond well to a female agent trying to get through to him. You knew all that and you still couldn’t help yourself. 

“In this world of ours, Agent, men like you and I should be Gods. It’s my right to take that power for myself,” the man had said, holding his hostage in his arms as if she were a ragdoll, carefully watching every movement you and your team made. Morgan and Emily had the back entrances covered should he try to run, and Hotch, Rossi and JJ were coordinating with the backup SWAT team outside, should he gain any miniscule upper-hand in the situation. 

It was when Reid started talking to him again that you felt the bile rise in your throat and your body stop listening to your rational thoughts. He was giving the man everything he wanted to hear; stroking his ego, complimenting him, agreeing with him, and the man was responding as well as you could hope. 

But something was wrong, and it was clear from the moment that he levelled his gun in the direction of Spencer and released the female victim that something was about to go horribly wrong. 

“I think I was wrong, actually. We both cannot be Gods, can we?” He laughed as he said this, and you froze up instantly. Your only regret was probably that you forgot to go and check on the victim sitting on the floor, your eyes watching on in horror instead as your body through itself in front of Reid just as the unsub was ready to pull the trigger. 

The push had knocked the two of you off-balance. But the unsub was slack-mouthed and caught off-guard. He hadn’t even pulled the trigger yet, and now here the two of you were sitting pretty for him on the floor of his dump site waiting for him to put a bullet through your brains. He didn’t have the chance to, the SWAT sniper getting the orfer to open fire the second you’d strayed from protocol. 

Spencer still hadn’t left your room, his anger and frustration rolling off of him in waves. You moved about the room in an organized frenzy, completing your nightly rituals with as much obvious frustration as you could muster. You dropped your gun and badge on the nightstand, pulled off your jacket and mindlessly rooted through your bag looking for nothing in particular, praying that Spencer would walk out of the door and not force you to face your stupid decisions. 

Instead he grabbed your wrists, spinned you around and pushed you against the wall, forcing your eyes to meet with his as he pinned you there. 

“Stop fucking ignoring me,” he growled out in a low-voice. The sudden burst of movement had you both gasping for breath and you just stood there quietly again for a few seconds, breathing each other. You gave in first and rested your head against the wall, letting him force your eyes up to meet his.

“Ask me the question you really want the answer for, Reid. Because we both know I’m not suicidal.” 

“Why won’t you let me keep you safe?” his voice came out in a small whimper now, his body weight slowly pressing up against yours as he moved to rest his forehead on your head. The two of you stood there suspended in time, just lost in the feel of each other, the pressure and the heat from his body in contrast to the sharp cool of the wall at your back, and you silently begged him to make a move. But he was determined to get you to answer, holding his tongue when all you wanted him to do was crash his lips against yours and help you to fill yourself with him. 

“Because I do not want to be safe in a world without you,” you finally confessed. He lasted only a few seconds with that answer hung between you before he gave you what you wanted. 

His lips were cracked and dry but he was warm and sweet and you instantly received him, desperate to pull him so close that he could never leave. Your lips crashed together again and again, as if desperate to stretch your first kiss into your first ten, twenty, one hundred. He dropped your wrists after an eternity, only to greedily run his hands up and down your waist, snaking around you so tight that you gasped and let his tongue in. 

He explored you with his entire body, his mouth pressing into you messily his hands roaming desperately trying to map the plains of your body, like knowing you would be his salvation. You did the same, gripping his sweater with balled up fists and forcing him closer into you, unwilling and unable to let him move away. 

He gently walked you to the edge of the bed, not straying from his ministrations for even a second, until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed, and you were falling. But he was falling with you, and so you didn’t care, 

He finally pulled away from you then, raising himself up onto his arms and looking down on you like you’d personally put the stars in the sky. 

“Have you ever stopped to think for a second that I’d hate any world without you in it as well?” Shifting his weight, he bought his hand down to cup your cheek, then let his finger ghost over your neck and down to the swell of your breasts as he moved to undo each button of your blouse tantalisingly slow. 

“Give me the word, and I will worship you. I will show you exactly what you mean to me. Just give me the word and I will let you know peace.” You whimpered out a breathy ‘yes,’ and he was on you again in seconds, with a renewed passion. 

Your blouse was discarded in seconds as his tongue traced its way down to your breasts in sloppy open-mouthed kisses, and still the only sound that filled the room was your desperate pants. Your hips rolled up against his as he pulled you up to discard your bra, his tongue finally landing on your painfully erect nipples. He tweaked and teased, moving between them languidly, and you were content to have him stay there forever. 

He obviously had further plans though, and he moved lower still, kissing down to your navel and lifting your hips just enough for you to shimmy them down your legs and discard them quickly. And then there he was, just sat with his head resting in between your legs, pressing sweet kisses to the insides of your thighs and looking deeply into your eyes as he worked his way closer and closer to your core. 

Your panties were slick to your skin, so when he made his first drag of his tongue up your slit, it was with the beautiful added friction of the lace against you. He buried his face in your core then, and started licking and sucking and devouring you like a man starved, like you were nectar from the heavens and your attentions could grant him immortality. 

Even with the panties interrupting any direct contact, you could feel your need for him bubble up to your boiling point, and you squeezed your thighs around him, suffocating him in your first release. He pulled your legs apart again, taking the time to remove your panties now before pinning your legs apart again and returning to his last supper. 

He sucked, nipped, kissed you again, one hand pressed firmly against your hips to pin you down as you bucked and writhed in your sensitivity. His face was slick with your juices, as he thrust his tongue in and out of you now, using his nose to press into your aching clit. 

He worked tirelessly, desperate to shower you with all the attention he wanted to give you, and you gasped and moaned and whined back to him, like a goddess whispering affirmations in the ears of her most devout follower. 

It was understandable when your second orgasm hit, then, and he found himself flooded with your juices, doing his best to ride you through this time and taking in as much of you into his mouth as possible. When he finally pulled away, your legs were twitching and your eyelids heavy, but with your remaining strength, you cupped his cheeks and bought his face up to yours. He face glistened with your cum, his lips now plump and shining, and you pulled him down to you, aching with the desire to taste yourself on his tongue. 

“I’m going to keep you safe and hold you like this until you understand that I am not capable of living without you, do you understand?” he whispered in your ear when he finally pulled away, and you let the tears that had been building up fall finally as he pressed one final kiss to your lips before moving away to rid himself of his clothes. 

You were crazy to think that you would ever be able to turn your back on this man, that he would ever walk away from you and leave you alone. As he returned to you you held out your arms open to him, and he fell into them. It was a home-coming, a return to the palace the both of you belonged, wrapped up in each other like that. 

Still weak from his earlier attentions, he helped you move your legs to wrap them around him, as you twined your arms up and around his neck, pulling him in for a deep and passionate kiss as he pushed despairingly slowly into you. 

You winced as you adjusted to his size and he pressed chaste kisses along your neck as you got used to him, whispering between each one. 

“You’re beautiful,” your neck. “You’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever met,” your jaw. “I will spend my entire life in awe of you,” the corner of your mouth. 

When you were ready you finally blinked your eyes open and pushed your mouth into his, and he finally began his movements. Rocking his hips gently into yours, the two of you were in no rush to consume each other, savoring the feel of your coupling. You finally understood the meaning of calling the act making love - never before had you felt so cared for, so loved and desired as you did in that moment with Spencer Reid. 

You felt him getting closer and closer to bliss when he started picking up his pace slightly, his forehead resting against yours, his body heavy with the weight of his love for you. 

“I love you,” you gasped out as you felt him shudder inside of you, letting him hear the words just as he was tipped over the edge. Even though it was the first time you’d voiced the words so clearly outloud, you felt no panic, no anxiety at having made a hasty decision. It felt right, it was right. 

And you were going to keep telling this man, who worshipped you so wholly, as often as you could from this day forward,so help you god. 

[citrus-lamb]

hey! I love seeing sbg writers around! do you think you could write a reader who writes about all of their feelings? subsequently their entire room is covered in pages of scribbled notes and such. when the gang first sees their room they get really concerned? with the whole group! headcanons is fine but a small scenario would be fun to see! thank you!

a/n : yes ofc! this was very fun to write. thanks for being my first ask! sorry if this is a bit ooc, as i'm still trying to figure out how to write these characters.

song : the well (the crane wives)

You always carried around a notebook and pencil with you.

Ashlyn never questioned it, Aiden asked about it every time he saw it, and borderline begged to see, Ben looked interested but didn’t push, Logan asked about it once, but not again after that, Taylor was very interested but didn’t pressure you, and Tyler didn’t really care.

However, they all noticed how much you wrote in it.

At least three (3) times a day.

And they noticed that it switched every week.

Did you really write that much?

It became worrying for the group, especially because you never let them see your house.

They wondered how many notebooks were laying around,

And what was in them.

Luckily, there was a day you were going to be out for a night.

Aiden wanted to see your house, and somehow he convinced the rest of the group to sneak in while you were away.

Most of them didn’t want to invade your privacy, but were too curious to pass up this opportunity.

It was dark, two (2) hours before they were going to be sent to the phantom realm. The goal was to get in and out in one (1) hour only. “Uh, guys… are we sure of this?” Taylor asked. She was still unsure of this—thinking that this was going to ruin the groups friendship with you if you found out.

She was right, but hopefully you wouldn’t find out.

Right?

“It’s fine, they probably won’t mind anyways.” Aiden said, jumping through a window of your house he had pick-locked. The rest of the group followed suit. Aiden made a bee-line for all the doors, until he found yours, “Guys! I found it!”

Aiden opened the door and hurried inside before anyone could stop him, and flicked on the light.

Your room was a mess. Dirty clothes pushed into the closet and pages scattered all around your room. Each had hurried hand writing, to the point you could barely make out a word. It was a disaster. Aiden didn’t mind, moving to sit on your bed as he picked up a page and began to read.

Most of the pages were illegible

Ashlyn, Logan, and Ben refused to read any pages.

Taylor only read three (3) pages, Tyler read anything that was handed to him, and Aiden read all of them he could decipher.

Those that did read got to know you a lot better, and were much more careful around you than before.

You found it suspicious, but you didn’t mention anything.

You always asked yourself, though, did they know?

[seeingivy]

you belong with me

satoru gojo x f!reader

**part of my satoru as taylor swift songs series

content: high school!au, gojo is a robotics nerd, reader is class president, emo nanami (my beloved), toji is ur shitass football playing boyfriend, typical cheesy highschool drama

an: tell me why posting this is giving me a tummy ache like I haven't posted for gojo in forever and now i think I suck at it :OOO anyways, please be nice to me about this and close your eyes if you hate it. also, totally reliving my high school days when I was senior class vice president (worst experience of my life) FDLJFKDSJFLS

--

You’re a hater. A self proclaimed, real-life, deep in your soul hater. 

What do you hate today? Being class president. 

You hate that you willingly ran, somehow won, had people up your ass all day about stuff that wasn’t in your control, and got stuck in the current situation you were in. Which was arguing with your boyfriend Toji, as you pace around your room and do your own fair share of screaming back. 

“You just did that shit because you were pissed at me.” 

“I did not, Toji. You know, not everything is about you. Other people needed the money and I put it where it was needed.” 

“To the color guard team? Babe, no one gives a fuck about the color guard team. Everyone is at the homecoming game to watch the football team. Not a bunch of idiots waving flags in the air.” 

“They’re also part of the game and all their equipment is broken. They need it more than you when you guys literally get donors and funding from the district and-”

“You’re just pissed about the sweetheart thing. That’s why you’re doing this shit and taking it out on everyone else.” 

“Toji, I’m not even mad about-” 

You’re met with the sound of ringing over the phone, signaling that Toji had enough and finally hung up on you. You flop straight onto your bed, pushing your face so hard into your pillow that sits uncomfortably against your nose and the smell of your laundry detergent makes its way to the crevices of your brain.

You hear a banging behind you and twist around to see Gojo pointing at his walkie-talkie, switching it on as you reach for yours. It’s still covered in glittery pink stickers from when you were seven, the silver coming off on your hand every time you grab it. 

“Come in, bunny.” 

“Loud and clear, Toru.” 

He smiles, setting his hardware down - probably for another weird ass robot he was making - as he holds it up to his face, talking again. 

“You okay?” 

“Yeah. Just arguing with Toji, again. I’ll start allocating some of our funds to get you some sound proof windows.” 

“Much appreciated, Madam President. That’s very generous of you.” 

You laugh, dropping the walkie talkie to lift your fingertips to your temples, lightly massaging the pulsating under your skin. 

“For what it’s worth, the color guard team is really grateful you did that for them. I know Utahime was so excited when the new flags came in, she was flipping them around on the field for hours.” 

“That’s why it’s even more annoying. I know what I did was right, but he just doesn’t see it that way. Uta dragged me down to the field to watch them and their choreography looks so much better with the multicolored flags. They were really happy about it.” 

“Heavy is the head that wears the crown?” 

“Heavy is the head that’s dating Toji Fushiguro.” 

He laughs as you switch your channel off, taking the last few seconds to study you before you draw your curtains. He can see the tension sitting in your shoulders and how clearly it hurts you to argue with Toji like this. And it infuriates him. That you even have to go to sleep angry and that the cause is the headass idiot you’re dating. 

Toji Fushiguro is lucky, far more lucky than he realizes. Not for obvious reasons. Yeah, he’s a great football player and yeah, he’ll probably get scouted for some really good university at the end of the year. He doesn’t have a shortage of friends or intelligence and for all intents and purposes, he’s loved (which Gojo doesn’t understand at all). 

He’ll probably be that scumbag that people see a few years down the line and then get infuriated at. Because if an absolute asshat like Toji Fushiguro can be successful, then truly all things have gone to shit. That the patriarchy is real, that society is broken, living proof that the asshole always wins and everyone else always loses. 

But no, those are common reasons to hate Toji Fushiguro - ones he’s heard echoed by Suguru and Shoko every time he does something that pisses the two of them off. Like scream obscenities in the hallways, block their parking spots when they’re going to class, call them names when they walk by. 

No. Toji Fushiguro is lucky because he gets to date you. Because out of the long list of girls he had to pick one, Toji just had to pick the one that was his. The girl he’s been in love with since he moved in right across the street and had a smiley neighbor excitedly waving at him through her bay window. 

To him, love has always been the pigtail braids you used to wear everyday in the fourth grade, the matching walkie-talkies you bought him in sixth grade when he got grounded, and that sweet smile you’ve had since the first day he’s met you. 

And when he sees those green curtains pulled against the bay window he’s stared at for years, where he’s loved you from for years, he lifts the walkie and says what he forgot to mention. 

I love you.

--

Thanks to your gracious ride, you make it to school thirty minutes early. Your intuition - that Toji was ditching you as your ride to school this morning - was correct. Luckily, you made it in time just before class started. 

Nanami’s already seated on the green bench outside the classroom, headphones plugged into his ears. As you walk up, you silently wonder how much hair gel it takes to keep his Gerard Way hairstyle in place. 

“Hi Kento! How is my best friend doing on this fine morning?” 

“We’re not best friends.” 

“Sure we are!” 

You reach forward and pinch his cheek in your hand, which he only swats off and rolls his eyes at. That’s how you know your best friends. Because if it was anyone else, Nanami would probably break their hand and walk away. But he always lets you tease him, because he know he loves you. 

“Are you still fighting with that dog?” 

“That dog has a name. And it’s Toji. And I’m not sure, he didn’t pick me up for school this morning.” 

“Did he at least tell you he wouldn’t?” 

“No. I was lucky enough that Satoru had walked Megs to the bus stop a little late and I was able to get a ride with him.” 

Nanami looks over, narrowing his eyes at you, as the hallway starts getting crowded with people. And you know what he’s saying, what he’s been saying for the past few months. 

“You know, it’s very normal to give your neighbor a ride when they need one. Not everything has ulterior motives, Kento.” 

“That’s true. Everything doesn’t have ulterior motives. But he does. I’ve seen how he looks at you.”

“How does he look at me, Kento?” 

“Like he’d kiss the ground you’d walk on.” 

You roll your eyes, reaching up to mess up his perfectly styled hair. It doesn’t budge and you get a handful of minty smelling hair gel.

“As if.”

Like you’ve summoned him by bringing him up, Satoru’s sidestepping to where you and Nanami are sitting, Shoko and Getou in tow with him. 

“Nanami~~ How’s my best friend doing?” Satoru says, bending over to totally obscure Nanami’s line of vision.

“Shut the fuck up, Gojo.” Nanami responds. 

Nanami stands up, giving you a look, before he stalks away to his next class. Leaving you, Satoru, Shoko, and Getou standing in front of your classroom.  

“So. I hear you have a robotics competition?” you ask.

“Yeah. Next Saturday. We always practice our hardware out the night before, throw a little party in the lab. You should come.” Getou says, smiling at you. 

Satoru smacks Getou in the stomach right after he invites you, clearly trying to tell him something with his eyes. And then when he catches you staring, he gives you a nervous laugh. 

You get it. He doesn’t want you there.

“Don’t act too excited to see me now, Satoru. Anything more and I might think you like me.” you bite sarcastically.

“What? No, it’s not like that. I just-” Satoru stutters, 

“So you don’t like me?” you say, smirking at him. Shoko and Getou are laughing, the tips of Satoru’s turning pink as he very adamantly tells you that he does indeed like you. 

“I have stuff to set up for the homecoming game that day, so I won’t be able to. But I’ll try my best, yeah?” 

“Okay. Next time?” Getou asks. 

“Sure, Sugar-u. I’ll see you guys around, yeah?” 

You give the three of them a polite smile as you trudge away, leaving to meet Toji at his locker and give him a piece of your mind for this morning. Which leaves Shoko and Getou to give Satoru the scolding of his life. 

“Are you fucking stupid, Satoru? You made it seem like you didn’t want her there.” Shoko says, smacking him on the back of the head. 

“I panicked! Plus, Haibara always likes to play Just Dance and I’d rather not embarrass myself in front of her.” Satoru responds, rubbing the now sore spot on the back of his head. 

“You’re hopeless, Satoru. She’s never going to like you if you keep rejecting her the way you do.” Suguru says, dragging him along to the robotics lab. 

“She has a boyfriend. Who isn’t me. As if she would even consider dating me in the first place.” 

And when the three of them pass you by the lockers, clearly getting yelled at by Toji, it only furthers their argument more. 

“Yeah, I’m sure she really loves him, Satoru.” 

--

Your argument with Toji hours prior simmers in your head, as you wait for the bus to arrive and for this godforsaken day to finally be over. You watch him pile into his car with Salma and the other boys from the football team, which only makes your anger fester more. 

He’s doing this to piss you off. Of course, he’s doing this to-

“Need a ride?” 

You look up and unclench your fists to find Satoru, sparkly blue eyes shining at you and a hand held out to you. 

“Thanks.” 

He leads you to his car, an almost demolished Honda Civic from his maniacal driving, and you climb in, immediately putting your head in your hands. You can feel him moving around you, the engine purring on and him backing out of the spot. 

“About earlier. I don’t not want you to come to the robotics thing. I just thought it was awkward the way he asked you and I-I didn’t want you to feel obligated to come, you know? And I-I’d like it if you came too and so would the rest of us.” he rambles, a hand in his hair. 

You look up, his ears tinted pink from the confession. 

“I was just teasing you, Satoru. I’ll try to make it by, okay?” 

He sighs, a clear breath of relief, and looks over to smile.

“Okay, cool cool cool. Now tell me why you and Toji are fighting.” 

“When aren’t we fighting?” you murmur, pressing your head against the glass. 

“But why?” 

And when you look over, his blue eyes staring into yours, in earnest while the light is red, you unload it all. 

“Do you know about the sweethearts thing they do at the homecoming game?” 

“Uh. That’s when the cheerleaders wear the jerseys right. And then decorate the locker room or some shit for the players.” 

“Yeah. Well, it’s not limited to cheerleaders. It usually is, but if you’re dating someone, that person can do it for you.” 

“So I’m guessing Toji doesn’t want you to do it for him.” 

“Not exactly. He was just saying that it’s more traditional for a cheerleader to do it since they’re also on the side of the track and he wants to see his name out there instead of running around, trying to make sure the game is running and all that.” 

You slump into the chair as Satoru frowns, a pitying look in his eyes, as he keeps driving. You can’t help but watch him, his silhouette against the window - defined jaw, the slope of his nose. 

He’s not the guy who ran away from kissing you in the eighth grade. He’s just ten times hotter. 

You shake your head, letting the thought spill from your mind, as Satoru looks over. 

“Jamoca?” he says, giving you a wide grin. 

You can’t help but laugh, nodding as Satoru makes a sharp left turn, making his way to the ice cream shop. 

Jamoca is your favorite ice cream flavor. Coffee, layered with fudge and almonds, became a proclaimed favorite when Satoru dragged you once in the sixth grade. After very sorely losing the class president battle, you moped in your room for five days - even going as far as borrowing one of Nanami’s My Chemical Romance vinyls to truly and properly mope. 

On day three of blasting the vinyl, Satoru called enough and dragged you to the closest ice cream store, claiming it was the closest thing to therapy that you normies could afford. Since then, any bad day was easily solved with two things. 

Jamoca and Satoru. 

When you make it to the store, Satoru’s excitedly dragging you out of the car, his hand pressed in yours as you both run into the store, giggling while you order your single scoops. And when he drags you out to the curb and you sit there, you silently think to yourself why you ever stopped doing this in the first place. 

Satoru leans over, digging his chocolate fudge covered spoon into your cup, before talking. 

“So. If you guys fight so much, why are you still dating?” 

“Dunno. Feels weird to initiate a breakup, I guess. I can’t see myself doing it.” 

“Even when he wants other girls to be his sweetheart?” 

“Even when he wants other girls to be his sweetheart.” 

You kick the pebbles into the broken parts of the pavement, leaning your elbows on your knees. 

“I don’t know, Toru. I guess he was just the first guy who ever liked me back and then I….spent so much time in the relationship and trying to make it work that it feels weird to let it go now.” 

Satoru swallows hard, eyeing his melting ice cream, as he ponders the best response. Because in earnest, he has two options. Support you or be selfish. Support you to stay with Toji, to do what you’ve been doing because he knows it’s what you want. Or be selfish. Tell you that he you deserve better, that he could be that for you if you just let him. 

He reaches over, flicking you in the forehead. 

“Ouch, asshole.” 

“You’ve got a really big brain in there. And you always have. You’ll figure out the right thing to do, just give it time.” 

And when you give him a halfhearted smile, reaching over into his cup for a bite of his ice cream, he lets it go. 

He can’t be selfish. Not when it comes to you anyways. 

--

After running around all day, you give yourself thirty minutes to go to Satoru’s robotics thing. After triple checking the microphones work, the yearbook team has access to the field, the glitter has been set out for everyone trickling in, and that everyone who could possibly need your phone number has it, you speed run to the other side of campus, to the robotics lab. 

And when you make it, the five of them - Haibara, Nanami, Shoko, Getou, and Satoru - are in the room playing Just Dance. Shoko’s sitting on top of the desk, flippantly moving her remote in the air, while Satoru quite literally is trying to give it all he’s got - and losing apparently. 

You lightly push the door open, which stops the two of them in their tracks, and you’re met with some very excited cheers as they all drag you into the room. You take a seat next to Nanami, giving his cheek a pinch, which he hates. 

“You’re Haibara, right?” 

“You know who I am?” 

“Why wouldn’t I? You’re friends with Nanami and Nanami and I are best friends.” 

“No we aren’t.” responds Nanami, now sulking two seats away from you. 

“Are too.” 

You throw the nearest object, a pencil at Nanami, as you turn back to Haibara and laugh. 

“I like your shirt. Flight of the Navigator is a really good movie.” 

You see Satoru, Shoko, and Suguru’s eyes widen in the back at your words and hear a considerable amount of groaning from Nanami behind you. And after twenty minutes, you find out why. 

Haibara really, really loves Flight of the Navigator. Almost too much. In earnest, you barely remember the movie - at most, maybe the weird little alien companion he has. But here Haibara is, reciting the cast, the directors, acting out the scenes and it’s clear to you that you’ve tapped into some monster they all keep hidden. 

Luckily for you, Satoru comes to your rescue. 

“Okay, Haibara. I’m going to steal her for you for some Just Dance.” 

“I don’t Just Dance Satoru.” 

“Oh yeah? You’re just saying that because you know you’re going to lose.” 

You scoff, knowing exactly what he’s doing. 

“As if, sweetheart. I distinctly remember you banning us from ever playing that game together after I beat you in the fifth grade.” 

“You’re rusty. Maybe we’ll start with something easy. Like Rasputin.” 

“I could do Rasputin in my sleep, bitch.” 

“Prove it.” 

You roll your eyes as you march over to the front, where they’re projecting the game onto the screen. And just for posterity’s sake, you take Satoru’s sunglasses from where they were flipped over on the desk and put them on, effectively blinding yourself from the screen. 

And when the songs start, you can hear them all laughing behind you, Satoru and you hurling insults at each other as you dance on. And somewhere around the middle, you’re sure Satoru must be losing because he grabs your hands and suddenly he’s swinging you around in the air, his hands on your waist as you laugh. 

And when you take your blindfold off and the song dies down, Satoru wins by five points. 

“You asshole. You literally cheated, Satoru.” 

“Did not. You’re just a sore loser, bitch.” 

“You kiss your mom with that mouth?” 

“Every night, sweetheart.” 

You put the palm of your hand in his face as you push him away, moving to sit on the desk. He joins you, the two of you now watching Haibara and Nanami have a very one sided dance battle. 

After forty-five minutes, Satoru’s phone buzzes three times and the smile on his face drops when he checks. You place your hand on his, squeezing twice before asking. 

“You okay?” 

“Huh. Oh, yeah. I-I think you should go to the field. Right now.” 

“Wait, what? But you hate that kind of-” 

He grabs your hand, dragging you out, as you both start running to the field. You keep asking as he pulls you on, getting almost no response and only a faster pace. 

And when you reach the field, you catch just the end of it and the only thing grounding you to that moment is Satoru and Utahime, who was surely the one who had texted Satoru, holding onto your shoulders. 

Salma, the cheerleader Toji picked to be his sweetheart, just asked him to homecoming during halftime. And he said yes. 

Utahime squeezes your hand three times, a soft look in her eyes when she talks. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I just thought you would want to know and I wanted to tell you because you’ve been nothing but nice to me.” 

You smile, moving into her open arms as you whisper a small thank you into her shoulder. She leaves, having to return to the color guard team waiting for her on the side, leaving you and Satoru standing on the pavement right by the field. 

“Take you home?” 

“Thanks, Toru.” 

“You want Jamoca?” 

“Not today.” 

He nods, a hand on the small of your back, as he leads you to his car, even going as far as opening the door for you and letting you crack the windows while you drive back - which you know he hates. 

At the first red light, he taps on the top of your head to get your attention. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” 

“Do you think there’s something wrong with me?” 

“What? Of course, not. Toji is just an asshat who doesn’t see you for what you’re worth and-” 

“No. No, no. Not like that. Do you think there’s something wrong with me because I’m not even the tiniest bit sad right now? I’m…relieved.” 

Satoru looks over, the red front the traffic light flashing on your face, and a blank expression staring back at him. 

“Of course, not. He’s a grade one idiot. Anyone in your position would feel that way, bunny.” 

“I know. That’s true.” 

“But?” 

“Does this make me defective, Satoru? Like, maybe I just can’t like people that much or something and I was the problem.” 

Satoru twiddles his thumbs on the steering wheel, pondering the same question he has been asking for the past few days. Encourage her or be selfish. 

He can’t be selfish with you. 

“Okay, Y/N. Close your eyes.” 

“Huh?” 

“Just do it.” 

“Okay.” 

He looks over, to find you eyelids fluttering shut, your face lit up by the streetlights outside.

“Now. Tell me about your dream guy, bunny.” 

“What are you going on ab-” 

“Just do it.” 

You sigh, before thinking hard about his question. 

“Someone I can be comfortable with. That’s my type. Like we can have fun together and play games but also being around them is comforting to me. Things might suck, but at least they are there to kind of pick me up at the end of the day. They’re nice to people and are surrounded by good company, because you are who you love and they try to be better each day.” 

After finishing, you open your eyes to find Satoru staring at you, an all-knowing look on his face. 

“Bunny?” 

“Toru?” 

“Does that sound anything like Toji to you?” 

You slump back into your chair, sinking down. 

“No.” you murmur. 

“You aren’t defective. Well, maybe in the higher level cognitive thinking part because you clearly have some impaired decision making but-” 

“Hey. Don’t be rude, asshole.” 

“Get out of the car.” 

You crane your head out the window to see you’re in fact not at your house, but at the ice cream store. And when he comes around to your side of the car, opening your door, he drags you out, the two of you eating you ice cream in the light of the dingy lamp outside the store. 

--

You knock hard on your window, only stopping when Satoru looks up from his desk, dropping the pencil he was just scribbling with. You point to your walkie talkie, switching on the channel as he grabs his. 

“Hi bunny. You look nice.” 

“Thank you. Are you coming tonight?” 

To homecoming. Because despite all odds and last night, you still have to go. And crown the homecoming king and queen since you’re the class president, which you’re sure will be Salma and Toji since the universe is very, very kind to you. 

“I’m sorry. Haibara needed help designing something for next week.” 

“Oh. Okay. I wish you were.” 

“I wish I was too. His hardware is Flight of the Navigator themed so wish me luck.” 

You laugh, giving him one last smile as he pulls the curtains to his window. And when you see his navy windows against the pane you’ve stared at him through for years, it only now occurs to you. 

When he asked you to describe that last night, he unlocked something. Bringing it to your attention, to the forefront of your mind. 

The person you were describing is him. You lift your walkie talkie to your mouth, press the button, and mention the words you forgot to say. 

I love you.

And then you turn on your heel and drive yourself to the dance. 

--

Satoru ponders it for thirty minutes. 

Support her or be selfish. Support her or be selfish. Support her or be selfish. 

Be fucking selfish. 

Satoru gets up, dropping the hardware he was making for Haibara, and pulls out the first suit he can find. He grabs his walkie talkie off his desk, convinces Megumi to go beg your mom (who loves Megumi) for your walkie talkie, and then goes ninety on the freeway to get to the school on time. 

He finds Nanami first, the glob of gel on his head somehow even worse than normal and sets his plan in motion. 

“Nanami.” 

“Please, for the love of god, not tod-” 

“Go hand this to Y/N.” 

Nanami and now Shoko are taking the walkie in their hands, flipping it over and inspecting it like they’re the fucking FBI. And more importantly, wasting time. 

Three feet away, you’re standing by the punch table, counting how many balloons are on the ceiling. You reach three hundred and fifteen when you’re approached for the first time that night, by Nanami and Shoko. 

“Nanami. What is going on with your hair? You can’t possibly need that much hair gel.”

“You would be shocked, Y/N.” 

“That's what I said to him too. But this is for you.” Shoko says.

She hands you your walkie talkie, the silver glitter coming off on your hand, as you flip it over. 

“Did you break into my house, Shoko?” 

“No. But I’m guessing Satoru did. He ran in here five minutes ago and basically yelled at us to give it to you.” 

They both shrug as they walk away and you look around, clutching the walkie talkie so hard in your hand you think you might break it. Satoru’s here.

And when you scan your eyes around the room, you see him at the front door, his eyes already fixed on yours. He’s smiling so big that it makes your heart squelch and suddenly you’re moving towards him. And as you both start walking (running) to each other, you can’t help but feel the anticipation of what’s coming. 

Except that’s right when Toji stands in the middle of the two of you, his characteristic slimy, sneer on his face. He reaches for your hand first. 

“Can we talk, Y/N?” 

"No."

You shrug your hand off, pushing right past him, as you walk closer to Satoru. You can hear Toji shouting something at you, but you’re too tunnel visioned on Satoru to pay attention. And when you reach him, you’re both smiling so big at each other, that it makes your face hurt. 

He lifts his walkie talkie to his mouth, talking first. 

“Come in, bunny?” 

“Loud and clear, Toru.” 

“I love you.” 

You can feel yourself smiling so big, so excited that you’re basically jumping on your toes, your walkie shaking in your hand. 

“I love you.” 

“Oh thank god. I was scared I was going to get a breaking and entering charge.”

You laugh, pulling him down by his tie and kissing him square on his face. And when he pulls away, ears pink and face red, you whisper against his lips. 

“It was always going to be you. I belong with you.” 

He smiles, that stupid smile you’ve stared at, loved for years and you can’t help but cheese, leaning forward to kiss him again.

--

the satoru as taylor swift songs series masterlist

taglist: @porridgesblog @platrom  @k0z3me  @kayleegomez  @yihona-san06  @bsenpai @sweetenertea  @skzismyhome  @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters  @luna0713hunter @shotenvinsoot @itzmeme @squirrelspoetry

[pixel-percy]

🥊 Heartsteel Universe — You haven't seen your ex in years, not since he became a famous popstar, but today is about to ruin that streak. 🥊

🥊 Word Count: 3k 🥊 Music Vibes: Down Bad by Taylor Swift 🥊 Warning(s): Smut (fingering), public sex (technically), angst (about your ex/non-mutual break-up), & a sprinkle of jealousy 🥊 A/N: Apologies if there are any egregious errors, I've been trying to get this fic out of my head for so long now so I hunkered down to finally push it out today. I'll probably go back at a later date to spruce it up if it needs it. I passively enjoy League content & have favorites despite not having played in many years 🥰 heh

He probably thought you didn’t recognize him… But you did. Of course, you did. How couldn’t you? Sure, he was a pop star, glitz and glam probably filled his every moment nowadays, but he was still your ex-boyfriend.

A chorus of “SETT!”s at the highest pitch possible had carried through the gym air and met your ears at the front desk. You did your best to stave off the annoyed expression on your face—not just because there was a high possibility of seeing him, but because the sound of the fangirls that played a hand in ruining your relationship rattled you to your bones. Of course, he’d choose this gym. Of course.

So when Sett had finally passed by the desk, you thought you might have gotten lucky since his head was turned, but at the last second, he’d locked eyes with you. A surge of emotions passed through your body like an electric shock. It was hard to tell what exactly he was feeling, and part of you was trying desperately not to care, but you could have sworn you saw a hint of sadness mixed with surprise before his security team pulled him away. The fangirls pushed against the security at the front of the gym, shouting and waving their posters and other memorabilia they wanted him to sign. You rolled your eyes and returned to the task you’d been doing before the chaos of your ex’s entrance.

You’d done everything in your power to push through the slew of emotions you felt weighing on your chest—you were pretty sure you’d cleaned a single machine at least three times in a row while in your emotional daze—and didn’t spot him once after his initial entrance. You weren’t sure if you were relieved or not and by the time you made it to the end of your shift at midnight, you were ready to blow off some steam.

The gloves you donned were thick and absorbed each punch that collided with the punching bag. One, two. One, two, three. One. One, two. You timed the hits with your breaths as a guitar solo pulsed in your earphones and sweat dripped down your forehead.

It had been a year since you’d last had contact with Sett, or, since you cut off your communication with him. The decision wasn’t easy but it was what you felt was best for you and your mental at the time. You remember how he pleaded, holding your hands in his, absolutely dwarfing them, eyes big and tearful, but your pain was too much, the paranoia was too much.

The magazine that sparked the argument in the first place sat between you. On the cover was a story about him, the upcoming star, and Ahri, from KDA, and their potential romance brewing. This was in addition to the already circulating rumor amongst fans about him and his bandmate, Aphelios. He denied it all, doing everything he could to convince you, but between them, the fans, and the comments they made about you, it was just too much. You couldn’t take it and you couldn’t bear the idea of forcing him to deal with your emotions on top of his big break. So you cut off.

The punch you landed was a little rough, bending your wrist more than intended, and you felt the sobering pain radiate through your hand. You practically growled at the feeling and shook it out in an attempt to alleviate some of the tension you felt already building in your tendons. The room you were in was empty, it was rare to see it full at this time of night, and you were thankful for it. 

That bubble of frustration you’d felt in your chest pushed out and you sent all of it through your next punch. The impact sent the punching bag flying… but not as far as you thought it might go. You blinked and noticed a pair of hands holding on to either side. A head peered around the object—red hair with two ears poking out of the top of the strands, a long scar across his nose, and familiar green-blue eyes.

You could make out the words “Hey” and your name and you contemplated leaving in your headphones before he gently tapped his ears. A request. Your jaw clenched, taking a long moment to consider him before you pulled out your headphones and pocketed them.

“Why are you still here?” you asked, a bit cold. His sheepish smile turned downward ever so slightly and his ears flattened on his head. There was a small bloom of sadness in your chest seeing it.

“Just, you know, working out,” he answered.

“I hoped you would’ve been gone by now.”

His expression dropped completely at that point.

“You did?”

Your jaw clenched. Everything in you wanted to not be in this situation, to see his sad expressions, to feel so damn bad about being cold to him, but you didn’t know what else to do. Inviting the heartache of leaving him back into your life, even for a moment, wasn’t something wanted. Flashes of his tear-filled eyes watching you as you left with your bags of stuff crossed your mind and it made you start moving.

You moved past him and into the rows of punching bags in this part of the gym. From behind you, he said your name and pleaded for your attention, but you wanted out. You almost made it to the bench your stuff was on when you felt his large hand wrap around your forearm. It wasn’t a rough touch, but it was firm enough to pull your eyes back to him.

“What did I do to make you hate me so much?” he asked, confusion and pain in his words. You knew tugging yourself free would be useless so you stood your ground and stared him down. His touch was like molten lava seeping into your skin. You didn’t hate him, you hated the people that came with his fame and the lack of protection to shield you from them.

“I don’t hate you,” you said quietly.

“Then why are you acting like this?”

“Because being in the same vicinity as you is painful.”

Sett paused and his brows furrowed.

“You were the one that broke up with me,” he said, words laced with the hurt you imagined he was also feeling. You stared at each other for a long moment. Nothing that came to mind could quell the tension nor the steady increase of your heartbeat. It all just fell flat.

“Let me go,” you said, tugging at your arm, the tears gathering at the corner of your eyes despite all your attempts to stop them.

He huffed in disbelief.

“I haven’t seen you in a year. Not since you just, decided for the both of us that this wasn’t going to work. I’ve never known you to be so… So cruel,” he said. Sett’s eyes were as devastating as his words. It felt like a knife digging into your chest, threatening to carve your heart out.

“Sett, please,” you tried and turned your eyes down to where he held you.

“No, talk to me, please.”

“I have nothing,” you said. “I told you why I was leaving.”

“No, you gave me bullshit excuses and scenarios that didn’t exist,” he pushed… and he was right. You knew he was even back then when he sat across from you on the couch clasping your hands in his and tears streaming down his cheeks, just trying to understand.

“They weren’t excuses, Sett. I was so proud of you—s-still am, but…” You looked up at him and flared your nostrils with a sigh. There was no avoiding this. “Neither of us could have known how quickly fame would come. How possessive Heartsteel’s fans would be. How… brutal they’d be to me. How brutal it would be for me to watch rumors about affairs swirl. I couldn’t do it. I wanted you so bad, I wanted us, but I knew I couldn’t have you and… and…”

The tears had begun to fall. You cursed under your breath and wiped your free hand against your cheek, tears settling on the material boxing glove you still wore. Sett stepped forward and pressed his thumb over the new tear that had already begun its descent down your cheek. You recoiled a little but in response, he caught your chin and tilted up so you could look at him.

“You always had me,” he whispered. “Still do.”

Everything in you that wanted to bolt, to hide from the shame and sadness and anger seeing him made you feel, stilled. Your heartbeat pounded in your throat at his touch, at his attention, and you swallowed hard under his intense examination. The blue-green of his eyes felt so familiar and safe that it made the knot in your chest twist and expand.

“Sett… I don’t think we could even if we—”

“Why not?” he pushed. “I don’t care what any of them think. I never have. You didn’t even give me the chance to fight for us. For you… You just left.”

“I was scared. I didn’t want my heart broken by you… So I broke it for myself. I thought it’d be easier and it was but… Now…”

His ears twitched, a beam of hopefulness crossing his expression.

“Now? What about now?” he asked.

You didn’t know. A part of you felt so hopeful, so ready to try again just from his magnetic pull alone. How safe he made you feel. That hadn’t changed. You opened your mouth to say something but the sound of the door opening startled you both. Sett’s grip loosened enough for you to pull your arm away, both of you looking toward the interruption. A man in a suit you recognized as one of his security guards had begun approaching.

“There you are, sir—”

“Jackson, not now—No wait!” Sett called your name.

You’d already managed to get one of your gloves off so you could grab your bag and head toward the private bathrooms. You felt like you couldn’t breathe with his hand on your arm and now was your chance to pull yourself out of his orbit before you did something stupid.

You only managed to get to the door before you were stopped again by something yanking you to a stop, but this time it was the handle of your gym bag. You twisted around, ready to fight someone, but instead was met with a quick blur of Sett’s figure before his lips crashed into yours.

It was bold, something you hadn’t anticipated, and while you wanted to pull away… you felt him punching at the icy wall you’d built for yourself after everything. Every breath, every motion, everything felt like he was chipping at it piece by piece, until, well… It shattered.

Your free hand opened the door to the private bathroom and you dragged him into it. You were thankful that the cameras didn’t touch this part of the hallway, which only spurred on this potential mistake.

The two of you stumbled into the space—it was typically reserved for gym employees and special guests who wanted to avoid the more public locker rooms. It was spacious enough to house the usual bathroom amenities plus a bench for you to utilize as needed and the standing shower was nestled into the corner, blocked by the door whenever it was open.

Sett closed the door and locked it once you were both inside before his large hands clasped onto the back of your thighs to pull you into the air effortlessly. The bag you’d both been holding onto tumbled to the floor, kicked by the shuffle of his feet. Your back met the wall across from the door, inhaling deeply when his lips left yours to nip at your neck.

“Sett,” you tried, breathless.

“I’ve missed you—” His lips pressed urgently against your pulse. “So much.”

“Sett… We can’t… I can’t…”

Your mind was whirling at the feel of him, the heat he elicited from your body. His lips slowed to an agonizing pace but he heeded your words, head picking up to look directly into your eyes, surprised to find them not fully enveloped in lust… It was the adoration, the haze of love, that made your heart stutter. You could cry.

“I can stop,” he whispered. Sett’s gaze dropped to your lips. “I just…” You waited, drawing in a breath so deep that the orange-scented cleaner you were familiar with tingled in your nose.

All of your emotions and warning bells were as loud and overwhelming as an extreme weather siren. You shouldn’t do this. Any progress you’d made—either of you had made—was already shattered, leaving you vulnerable. But you still found yourself asking, “What?” It was just as soft as his whisper, timid, afraid.

Sett took in a similarly deep breath, except a hum danced within his throat and rumbled through his chest like a growl. 

“I don’t want to,” he said with a small, bashful laugh. One of his fangs pulled at his lip as he turned his eyes back up to yours. “I want to keep touching you… But only if you want me to. I can also leave. Just—Just tell me—” You placed one of your index fingers on his lips and he promptly stopped talking. 

You didn’t know what to do. Everything in you knew this was likely temporary, and the moment he left this room, things would go right back to the way they were, except this time with brand new wounds on your heart to cater to. But here he was, looking at you with his eyes, ears flat against his head, waiting for you to make your call, and probably just as scared as you. A sigh left you.

“Go ahead,” you said. Sett’s ears twitched, expression lightening. “Touch me.”

You got the feeling he’d waited for you out of courtesy, for you to potentially change your mind after that statement, but seized your lips with his after barely a second. His eagerness stole the breath from you, resulting in a chuckle that he inhaled and returned. He moved you toward the bench and effortlessly placed you down on it, lips never leaving yours.

The rush of approval had him on a mission that you guessed involved the shedding and ripping of clothes—but you were wrong. Instead, one of the hands that had been holding you reached down, slid past your waistband and started to work. A surprised gasp left your lips. He pulled away to gaze down at your face as it writhed in pleasure. The way his fingers moved against your clit was so deliciously familiar and mindful with every circle. 

You instinctively reached one of your hands down toward his growing bulge to provide some mutual relief, another familiar motion, but was stopped by Sett’s free hand. You brow furrowed and he leaned down to place a soft kiss upon it whilst guiding the hand he’d stopped on his neck. 

For a fraction of a second, you wondered if the world knew about this Sett, this loving, calm, goofy, loyal man you’d always known. Not just fist fights and bad boy leaning tendencies.

You selfishly hoped they never would.

“No, just you this time,” he said. You clocked the ‘this time’ but it was stifled the moment you felt one of his fingers ease into you. Your back arched.

Any protests you had left with the rest of your reservations about all of this. You nodded, warmth pooling in your cheeks now, and rolled your eyes back when the finger he’d slipped inside of you touched that spot he knew very well. Your body twitched, your other hand grabbing as much of his bicep as you could for balance, and let him work.

Sett’s mouth trailed kisses anywhere he felt like it as his fingers moved. Little whispers of your name left him occasionally but you could barely hear it over the thundering of your heartbeat in your ears. You wished you weren’t so close to coming already, you wished he didn’t know you in and out in every way imaginable, yet here you were about to topple over the edge of bliss at the hands of a man you still loved—no matter how much you wanted to deny it.

“Sett,” you gasped.

“I know,” he assured, the hand on your hip the only thing truly grounding you to this plane of existence. 

The tightness in your stomach finally released, a moan tumbling from your lips as stars danced behind your eyelids. Sett helped you ride through your orgasm with targeted praise, soft touches, and lips. Everything about his patience and opt for celibacy just added to your surprise about everything. He helped you to a sitting position and rubbed your back, a smile tugging at his lips.

“I…” You blew hot air out into the room. “Shit.” Sett laughed and brought one of your hands up to his lips.

“Yeah,” he said knowingly. You turned to catch his gaze, a smile breaking out on his lips that you couldn’t help but return. “Can I… give you a ride home?”

Reality started to set in after the high and you could feel the hardening of your heart begin again. You bit your lip in contemplation. His expression started to soften again, almost as though he were ready to be hurt by your rejection once more.

“Alright,” you said. The creeping freeze of your heart halted enough for you to add, “Maybe we can grab late-night ramen and talk…?”

“I’d like that,” he answered.

“Do not text your Mom about this,” you added with a deadpan look that made him laugh. He got to his feet and gently tapped his knuckles against your chin.

“No promises,” he said cheekily. You rolled your eyes, free of any real annoyance, and smiled. No matter what you wanted yourself to believe, you missed him too.

[evermoresversion]

FALLING FOR YOU, CONRAD FISHER. CHAPTER THREE.

PAIRING Conrad Fisher x Fem!Reader

TW/TAGS Established relationship, fluff, marriage proposal, mention of pregnancy.

SUMMARY After everything you've been through, you and Conrad decide the future of your relationship.

SONG Paper Rings by Taylor Swift.

REQUESTS ARE OPEN | CONRAD'S MASTERLIST | MASTERLIST | SERIES' MASTERLIST

"Where we go?" you asked Conrad as he guided you somewhere on the beach while you had your eyes covered with a blindfold.

It had been at least two years since what happened with Belly.

"Just wait a little bit." you could hear the smile on his lips and there was a moment where he let go of you.

"Connie?" you asked with a bit of worry but it dissipated when you heard his voice again.

"I'm here, hon." You waited until he gave the next instruction. "Walk a couple of steps forward."

"I'm not going to fall, am I?" you heard him let out a soft laugh.

"No, love, trust me."

You sighed and did as he asked, thus coming across his body, from which you took his forearms with your hands so as not to fall.

"I got you, I got you." he assured. "Take off the blindfold."

Once again you obeyed him and blinked several times to get used to the sudden change in light while Conrad adjusted your hair that had been messed up.

Once you could see clearly a big smile formed on your lips.

"We are in...?" You asked, looking into his eyes and observing a shine in them that you were sure was the same in yours.

"Yes, we are in the same place where..."

"We kissed for the first time." You both said in unison while you watched the beach and he admired you.

"Yeah." he smiled.

"This part of the beach is even prettier at night." you mentioned and your gaze finally landed on Conrad and he looked at you with love and adoration. Despite so much time together, he still managed to make you nervous.

"I thought about making dinner for you but everything would probably have burned, so I might as well pass on that option." He mentioned with a sly smile of embarrassment and you smiled, caressing the back of his hand with your thumb.

"It's perfect anyway." You murmured, observing everything in detail. "Did you decorate it yourself?"

"Yeah, yeah," he scratched the back of his neck, looking at everything as well and then at you. "Do you like it?"

"Are you kidding me? I love it. I love the vintage lights and the detail of the petals. Thanks, Connie." You smiled gratefully and he leaned down to peck your lips.

"Everything to see you happy."

Your attention was diverted to one of the nearby trees, some photos were hanging on it. You approached to see it up close and sure enough, they were photos of both of you.

"Connie this is beautiful..." as you turned to look at him, he was kneeling on one knee in front of you, holding the most beautiful ring you had ever seen in your life.

"y/n, we have been through so much together that I think we deserve a happy ending, I wanna teach you how forever feels like, I want to wake up with you every morning, spend the rest of my life with you and grow old together. You are everything I was looking for and I finally found it, so I won't let you go, I will take care of your heart as the most precious thing I have, you are everything to me. Do you want to marry me?"

Some tears threatened to come out of your eyes and a look of panic appeared on Conrad's face at your silence, but he sighed in relief the moment you began to nod effusively.

"Yes! Of course I want to marry you." Conrad got up from the ground, gently took your hand, put the ring on your finger, kissing your hand and took your face to kiss you lovingly.

"We're going to be very happy, you won't regret it." He murmured against your lips and you kissed him again excitedly.

At that moment you didn't need anything more than each other.

Deep down you have never needed it.

disclaimer ── evermoresversion © 2024.

TAGLIST OF THE SERIES : @ilovefamousmen11 @elcpsstuff @j-u-hs-world @akornsworld @conradfisherswifesstuff @sarcasm-and-stiles @nctma15

[ash5monster01]

hi!! i was wondering if i could request a charlie dalton x fem!reader inspired by guilty as sin? by taylor swift <333

Guilty as Sin?

Pairing: Charlie Dalton x FemReader

Warnings: 18+, sexual themes, sexual desire, heavy lust, language, big ego, fluff.

Summary: based on the song Guilty as Sin? by Taylor Swift. You have a longing for Charlie Dalton that you’re wishing would finally come true, lucky for you, Charlie thrives off of fulfilling fantasies. He’s happy to do the same for you.

word count: 2k

Masterlist

The sound of a book slamming against the table causes you to jump. Bringing you back to reality and tearing your eyes away from the boy on the other side of the library. With your heart now thrumming in your chest you eye the culprit, a frazzled student, rushing to drop his things on the other end of your table as he prepares to study. He has no idea he's just caused you to jump out of your skin but you're thankful to him anyway. If you weren't careful you could get too wrapped up in the idea of the brunette boy across the room and that was never good.

Charlie Dalton had become an all consuming thought. When Welton first became co-ed you had promised yourself you wouldn’t fall for any of the boys. Especially Charlie who had become the well known flirt amongst the school. Thing was, you couldn’t help it. Being in a place like Welton was like being trapped in a cage. It used to be fine but now you dreamed of breaking free. Dreamed of cracking locks, throwing your life to the wolves or ocean rocks, crashing into Charlie Dalton who was the definition of freedom simplified. The boy was a paradox.

Because of all this you couldn’t stop yourself from dreaming about him. It was the only exciting thing you had in this entire school. Seeing visions made up entirely of breaking every possible rule with the boy by your side. You weren’t sure if it made you bad, mad, or wise. All you knew is that you wanted Charlie Dalton in more ways than one. He was an ideology that made your heart soar and you dreamed of him claiming you as his own. Wishing he was written ‘mine’ on your upper thigh as his very hand slowly slide past your knee. Too bad it was only in your mind.

Feeling yourself slipping and falling back into the everlasting maze of dreaming about Charlie Dalton you quickly collected your things before it got too far. Even though dreaming about him would be lovely way to die, you had trigonometry homework that sadly the chestnut eyes of Charlie Dalton could not complete. Your safest option was getting as far away from him as possible. At least that was your goal until you bumped into a hard body after pushing open the doors to the library.

“Shit” the familiar voice swore as your books scattered across the ground. You froze in place as you spotted the apologetic smile on the boys face as he bends to collect your things. You hate that just the sight of him makes you recall things you never did. Things like needy top lip kisses, a longing for shared trysts, all without having ever touching his skin.

“It’s okay” you finally bring yourself to say, collecting your books back from him and probably looking like a deer in headlights. You hate even being around him made you feel guilty as sin. You had to keep these longings locked inside a vault before you got caught.

“You okay?” he asked with a soft chuckle, hand falling to your shoulder and you can’t help the goosebumps that cover your body just from the simple touch. Finally daring a glance into his eyes you hope he can’t see the desperate longing you have for him there.

“Do you want to hangout?” you can’t stop the words from leaving your mouth, instant regret fluttering in a breath behind them. Screw your trigonometry homework, Charlie Dalton was standing in front of you and you were going to take a chance.

“What?” he laughs, handsome eyes sparkling with amusement and you shake your head fastly even though the words coming out are opposite from the way you look.

“Yeah, I mean we have a few classes together and I just thought we could get to know each other” you look strained as you say it, contradicting yourself completely and the boy in front of you lets out a hearty laugh at the sight. Someone once told you there was no such thing as bad thoughts but you were having quite a few right now. At least your actions talked and hopefully he couldn’t see through the smoke screen that hid your fatal fantasies of labored breaths, him taking all of you, already doing it in your head.

“Yeah, I’d like to hangout. Got anything in mind?” he asks and it’s innocent. You know it is. That doesn’t stop your mind from running wild, recalling every dirty scenario you have put him in the last few months. If it was all make believe why does it feel like a vow you’re both going to uphold?

“Not particularly” you respond, nervously tucking strands of hair behind your ears and he just grins, arm reaching out and wrapping around your shoulders.

“Don’t worry, I know a place” he says confidently, sultry and smooth, the very personality you’ve been obsessed with. You hate that your cheeks redden, suddenly anxious about the fact that the same boys name you call out at night, building up like waves and crashing over your grave, has his arm around you.

“Is this the part where you kidnap me?” but he just grins and guides you out the doors and into the warm spring sun. You decide not to question him as he helps you sneak past the tree line and rush through the forest. In fact because of how obsessed you were with him he could murder you and you’d probably say thank you.

“Welcome to my humble abode” he says suddenly, a short cave in front of you both. Not in any place to question him, you duck inside just to see there are remnants of human life all around. Rubble from a previously burning fire lies in the center of the cave, blankets and a stack of playboy magazines on a rock to the side, some sort of lamp made out of a human statue. Whatever this place is, it was frequently visited.

“It’s… welcoming” is the word you find yourself saying as you perch yourself on a rock. Charlie just grins, settling onto the ground beside you, back pressed against the rock below you. If you moved only an inch you could hook your leg over his shoulder and the very thought has you stiffening your spine.

“Good, I’m glad. It doesn’t see nearly as much women as it should” Charlie says as he pulls a cigarette free from his pocket. You watch as he strikes a match along the rock you sit on before lighting the filter between his fingers.

“So this is where you take all your conquests?” you joke, crossing your arms over your chest before leaning back against the wall of the cave.

“Not all, but it would be a lie if I said none” he answers with a smirk, the cigarette pressed between his lips tipping upward at the action. You hate how attractive he is, the way you clench your legs together without even touching his skin.

“Does that make me one?” you find the confidence to question, realizing quickly if you’re going to do this little dance you might as well try your hardest to win. You may not be a conquest of Charlie’s but he was definitely one of yours.

Yet the look he gives you, a lustful stare burning behind his eyes, makes it easy to see you might be one of his too. So you anxiously wait as he pulls the cigarette from his mouth and blows the smoke towards the hole in the roof of the cave. Finally dropping his head to look back at you. “Only if you want to be”

“I thought I made it pretty clear when I asked to hangout” you say, a tone that oozes honesty pushing the words out. Charlie smiles that dazzling smile and much to your surprise reaches to hook his hand around your leg. Just the simple touch of his fingers curling around your calf sends a shudder down your spine. This is was you had wanted, a chance to live out a daring fantasy with the boy beside you. There was no backing out now, you had to roll the stone away, you’d end up crucified anyway.

“I thought you stared because I was annoying” he mutters, snuffing out the butt end of his cigarettte and abandoning it beside him. You watch with a pounding heart as he lifts himself onto his knees, hand still locked around your leg as he sat before you.

Out of all the ways you had pictured Charlie before, nothing could top him on his knees in front of you, hands holding your legs, itching to make their way up. Taking another daring chance you reach to graze your fingers through his hair, smiling at the way the action makes him instantly close his eyes. “I stared because of how bad I wanted you, that was still annoying though”

He offers a devious grin at that and just hearing the confirmation of how badly you wanted him, he starts to lift his hands up your legs, smiling at the feeling of your bare skin as he moved closer and closer to the hem of your skirt. You can’t stop your head from tipping back and enjoying the way he holds you which is truly holy. Just before his hands reach the end of your skirt, you stop him with your hands landing on top of his.

“Before this gets too far I need you to know this is a long suffering propriety for me. You have no idea how much you’ve haunted me” you tell him, prepared for him to stop his movements and step away from you. He just bumped into you at the library and was looking for a hookup, where you had been in love with the idea of him for far too long.

“I’d be content if you were mine and only mine” he confirms, a sweetness to the usually cocky smile. You’re stunned for a moment, realizing he just chose for it to be only you and him. This alone has you leaning forward and capturing his lips in your own, a messy top lip kiss at first and then slowly shifting into something magical.

The kiss gives Charlie the confidence to continue his trail, fingers slipping beneath your skirt and up the tops of your thighs. You moan at the memory of earlier, where you had imagined him writing mine on your thigh. As if Charlie reads your mind he breaks his lips apart from you, hands bunching up your skirt and revealing the doughy flesh there. He flashes you a smile before pressing a kiss to the top of your thigh and you wish to have it tattooed there forever.

“This is so much better than I imagined” you grin at him, smiling when he lifts his head and slides his hands to your waist. In one swift motion he’s lifted you up, sitting where you just were and settling you on his lap. You grin at the feeling, skirt still bunched up as you straddle his waist.

“Agreed” he says before peppering kisses along your collar bone and you draw your eyebrows together, hands gripping his shoulders for balance as he grinds up into you.

“Wait, you thought of me too?” you ask and he pulls back with that dazzling smile, eyes glazed and shining into your own.

“Guilty as sin babe” he tells you and you can’t help the soft laugh that falls out of you before sealing your mouth around his own. He kisses back just as eagerly, squeezing at your hips as you officially determine this was so much better than trigonometry.

Finally so happy you wondered if you were even allowed to cry.

[carmenized-onions]

Chicago's Kindest | Blurb #02 - Good.

logline; sometimes you just need to hear someone else say it.

[!!!] series history; not a new chapter!! but like, it's fun, and it's better than the nothing you've been getting, eh?

portion; 2k, just over.

pairing; A platonic Rich & Chip fic, for the boys

tasting notes; a pepper of hurt? a bunch of comfort? I'd describe it as fluff, I think.

possible allergies; this blurb is AFTER the next chapter coming out whenever it comes out (Chapter 16). So. Get into that grindset man. there's a fun thing in this hinting at a fun thing to come !! so!! have fun!! You should definitely read the other chapters in the series before this!!

Not a new chapter baby I'm sorry! But I was noodling around this idea, and I think perhaps you may like it. Should blurbs go on the masterlist? Idk.

When you finally tell Richie he's a good dad, it's when both of you least expect it. Mostly because you weren't trying to tell him at all that day. 

It's January. About a week before the Taylor Swift concert. About a week into back to back to back reservations. Richie’s been burning the candle at both ends— He always gets tipped well, so it's not like it's not worth it. He's fucking Richie. He's the go to. He's good with people. ...Right?

Richie might care too much, might write himself in the schedule too much, might cover for wait staff at a moment's notice too much, might do research on guests in his off hours too much, might push himself to be present at every waking moment too much.

He wishes Carmen noticed, he's certain Carmen doesn't. 

He's taking two personal days for the concert. How dare he? He wouldn't do it under normal circumstances, but his sweets takes priority. 

Carmen, his Highness, will certainly notice time-off before anything else. Fucker.

To make up for it, Richie's working a double shift today. And he's made a ten-page pamphlet on all the reservations and details of the guests that'll be coming in while he's gone. He's good. He's Richie. He's a really good manager, a stellar host, fantastic with people. 

Is he a good dad? 

Probably not. Because he scheduled his make-up hours and didn't think to double check his custody hours. Deadbeat. God, fuck you, Carmen. 

It wasn't entirely his fault. Tif asked if he'd want the extra weekend since something about wedding planning came up. And he did, he always does. More time with Eva is good time with Eva.

And usually he's very good at plugging that into his calendar but he got the call at a very busy time on his shift and he just said yes before actually putting it in and then forgot— Who remembers anything that happens in a phone call? She should’ve sent him a summary email—it got away from him, suffice to say. Then Tif texted asking ‘Hey, when are you coming to pick her up?’ and then suddenly he's the bad guy? Deadbeat. Bad dad. Richie Bad News. Fucked accent. Fuck you, David. Fuck executive chefs all together, just write them all off. 

He called around asking any and everyone if they could take Eva off his hands for just a couple hours, but Richie hasn’t really had many connections since his one connection kicked his bucket. The rest of his connections work the same hours as him, at the same fucked establishment as him. 

Well, that’s what he thought, until he complained about this to you over the phone, first thing in the morning, before he’s set to pick up Eva. 

“I could take her.” The words are lovely and jumbled. He can hear you shovelling scrambled eggs into your mouth. “Could just make Lu cover bar, he’s been wanting to test drive alone anyways.”

Excuse Richie, but he’s always been one to look a gift horse in the mouth. It’s a habit. “Isn’t the whole point of test driving to have someone watching you?” He wishes he was eating eggs too, but again, candle’s on fire. He’s choking down a Kashi bar and attempting to be happy about it.

“Meh.” Is all you reply. Meh. “He’s a talented ass chef, he can handle making some fuckin’ cocktails without me over his shoulder.” 

Even still, he’s got to work out all the kinks. “Carmen’s gonna be pissed.” But you both know, while he’ll have a less than stellar day without you, he will have a fucking awful day without Richie. 

“He will live.” There’s a moment of silence, as you finish chewing down your last few bites of breakfast. “…Would you please give me the gift of some long overdue Eva time, Rich?”

And when you put it like that, when you put it like he’s actually the one doing you the favour… Eva is dropped off at your place an hour before he has to clock in. It’s a touch hurtful how excited she is to spend a couple hours with you instead of him. 

“It’s the return of the champ!” But he gets it, as soon as they arrive, and you’re out front on your stoop ready to throw fake punches at Eva like a boxing coach. “They said she’d never be back in the ring folks—” And picking her up. “But here she is, better than ever, ready to face any and every challenger! E-E-Eva!”

Easy for anyone to get excited at the idea of hanging out with you. He wishes he could join in for even a few minutes, but it’s not in the cards— Nor today’s packed schedule. Rich promptly and tiredly runs over everything you need to know for the day, leaning against your doorway as Eva runs around in your apartment. 

“Full of energy today, get ready to be ever so slightly annoyed because she will not stop playing the why game today.” 

“Hm.” You hum, not the least bit annoyed by the idea. “I played that a lot too, I think. It’s simply karma.”

There’s a sigh of a smile on Richie’s face. God he looks burnt out. You won’t prod, though your worried face does plenty on its own. “Can I make you a coffee or somethin’ before you head out, Rich?” 

“No, no, it’s good.” He’s quick to shake his head, straightening up off your door. “I’ll get Copenhagen to make me somethin’, test drive, y’know?”

“A’right.” All you can do is shrug. “I will feed her the normal foods at the normal times, make her take her two naps, and we will be mostly screenless, if we can help it. But I think I fuck with Bluey more than she does, so…”

“I owe you.” 

The reply is off the cuff, “No you don’t, just bring me back a dead plate or somethin’.” 

Richie smiles and nods, but there’s a hesitation to it. And whether you notice it, or he even notices it himself, he’s not sure. But as you close the door, you peek it open, noticing something. You surprise the man, when you suddenly reach out and lightly slap his neck. You scratch at scruff that isn’t there, smiling. 

He lined up his beard. Richie listens. Even when he doesn’t want to.

“Good man.”

You close the door with a smile, like you didn’t just blast open his brain. You know what to say even when Richie doesn’t know what he wants to hear. And all he wants to hear is good. Good job. Everyone sees the work you’re putting in. You’re valuable. 

“What the fuck— Richard, no surprises—” “Shut the fuck up, shut the fuck up, of course surprises—” “It’s gonna make a mess—” “If Chip were here, you wouldn’t have a problem—” “Well she’s not here, isn’t she? She’s at home taking care of your kid—”

“W—Woah-holy-shit—” Syd has to elbow her way between Carmen and Richie— And a pinata— To break up this fight. “Way too personal too fast, straighten it the fuck up, Chef.” 

She rubs her chest with her fist, and Carmen returns it, after a deep breath. A thousand yard stare towards no one, as he apologizes— Well, he never really says it, but when he says, “My fault. I’m hot.” He means sorry. 

“You need… A second?” Sydney gestures over his general form. “Want to take your ten?”

“Five. Smoke break. Thank you, chef.” And he’s off. Double entendre. He’s always off, when you’re off. 

Syd turns back to Richie. She replaces you as union rep, when you’re off. She doesn’t ask questions, she doesn’t refuse Richie and his pinata, she doesn’t say, ‘Good idea, Richie, Fantastic research on the couple at table sixteen, Good job finding out that they met at a chocolate museum in Brussels as teenagers on separate school trips. It was all worth it, and you’re so valuable.’

She just says, “I’m not cleaning it up.”

But no skin off his back, he shrugs. It’s not meant to be a thankless job, but it is. “Fair enough.” And he puts on his brightest smile, grabs a bottle of champagne off of your shelf, and puts on a fucking show. 

When he’s finally finished, Richie does remember to grab you a dead plate. Well, more specifically, he grabbed a dead plate and then Carmy asked if it was for you, and when he said yes, the stupid loverboy fuck made him wait as he made you— And only you, a star worthy dinner. Yuck. 

He ate your original dead plate in the meanwhile. Richie texts you all this, sending terribly unflattering photos of Carmen during the whole cooking process. You laugh, over text, and tell him you’ll leave the door unlocked for him— Despite as bad an idea as he thinks that is, he just texts back a thumbs up. 

And when he finishes the exhausting day finally, and drives over to your place, and opens your door with one hand, tupperware in the other— He grimaces, as he can overhear his wonderful daughter playing the extremely aggravating ‘Why?’ game, with you, in the kitchen.

He quietly closes the door, not wanting to cause too much of a commotion. Neither of you seem to hear him, so he’s able to listen in. 

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why can’t I use the knife?”

Richie watches from the archway, just peeking slightly. You’re cutting carrots as a late night snack for yourselves. Your back is turned to him and Eva’s sitting on the kitchen counter. She’s not really letting the bowl you’re tossing the carrot sticks in get very full— She’s dipping them in ranch and eating them pretty immediately. 

“Because you might get hurt.”

“Why?”

“Because you’ve got little hands, and this is a big knife.”

“Why?”

“Because weirdly enough, big knives always seem to be the cheapest at my grocery store— I really don’t get it.”

“Hm.” She kicks her legs in the air, thinking of her next line of questioning. “Why are you watching me tonight?”

Because Richie’s forgetful, a bad dad, a typical deadbeat divorcee with half a brain— 

“Because I love you. Duh.” Well, of course you have to say that. 

“Why?”

“Because you’re a good egg.”

“Why?”

“Because your dad— And mum— Made you into a good egg.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s a good dad.”

Oh. Thank God for Eva asking on his behalf, “Why?”

“Because he’s good.” You say it like it’s so simple, mind still focused on cutting carrots, like you’ve said something as easy as describing the weather. 

“Why?”

“Well— I dunno, that’s like asking—” You put down your knife to pick up what’s left of your current carrot. “This carrot, why is it a carrot?”

“...” Eva can’t help but laugh as she answers, “Because it’s a carrot!” 

“Exactly! It’s a carrot! It just is a carrot! You can’t ask a carrot why it’s a carrot— It’s just a carrot!” You chuckle in return, putting the carrot back down to chop it once more.

You shake your head as you answer, “You can’t ask why Richie’s— Why your dad is good. He just is. He’s good.”

If he were still alone in his car with his Kashi bar wrappers hearing this, he’d probably be crying into your tupperware.

But he’s here, so, can’t.

He takes a step into your kitchen— “Th—”

Immediately, you shriek, stepping in front of Eva as you turn around, knife in hand. No coherent words come out of you, just screaming, thinking you’re about to pay repentance for leaving your door unlocked. 

He almost drops your tupperware, holding it up in what is either defense or an offering. “Not a third time, Christ, please God?!”

At least he knows that in a time of crisis, you can go to bat for his kid. 

At least Richie knows his best actively alive friend thinks he’s a good dad; thinks he’s good.

At least Richie will think of your words instead of any execs first, in his head. 

yippee!!!

one day i'll write romance for this guy, one day. maybe.

anyways. sorry for my absence!! i cannot say it will improve my loves. don't worry, we're still finishing CK, it has just REALLY gotten tossed down the laundry list. No one reads these, but, life updates:

Got a new job! In my industry! I'll be working part-time hours there, so I had to talk to my current job about going part time--- And they let me!! Lowkey was hoping my ass would get fired so I'd have more time for you and more importantly, the next thing i'm gonna write about. Alas. We ball.

NOT a we ball moment, PARENT GOT THE BAD DISEASE!!! (fuck cancer!!!) Send sweet thoughts psychically, but not through actual message or asks or anything because i DO hate talking about it, but yknow. that's taken up obviously: most of my time lately!!

so many parties in october man. having our housewarming party next weekend. yes i know it's weird to be normal in this state but that's sort of how life is. we have to keep going?? crazy .

anyways. Hopefully once I start my new position, I can have a concrete schedule for writing. But until then! I'll probably write you short blurbs whenever inspiration hits, so send in requests man!!

Not to be stupid but requests and just talking about writing instead of the big bad evil in my life will do WONDERS for my mental stabilty!! so come yap in my inbox about CK and make me write about it.

love you!!! bed time for me now jesus chrsit.

[orphicdreamers-wp]

So High School — Colston Loveland

Summary; In which dating the tight end for Michigan’s football team makes you feel like a high schooler in love.

Content Warnings; light smut if you squint, fluff, based on “so high school” by taylor swift. reader is a philosophy major at umich, reader is jim harbaugh’s daughter (for the plot😛)

I feel so high school, every time I look at you.

You felt your ears warm as you stopped to retrieve your scarf that the chilly Michigan breeze had knocked off your neck. Despite it being negative 3 degrees out you felt a flush breeze through your body as Colston held out a thin textbook towards you, “You dropped this.” Your cheeks pinked up like a giddy schoolgirl as you took the book from him, “Thank you Colston.” The football player paused briefly, “Have we met?” You smiled awkwardly, “I’m Katya’s roommate. We met at JJ’s birthday party last year.” Colston smiled as he put it together, “Ah, Katya’s shy roommate who ducked out super early. Also Coach H’s girl.” You smiled softly as the steaming apple cider in your hands fogged up your glasses, “Yeah that’s me. I have to get going, I’m already late to my intro to ethics class.” Colston smiled warmly as you disappeared down the sidewalk, he made a mental note to ask JJ to ask Kayta about your relationship situation.

I wanna find you in a crowd, just to hide from you.

A few weeks had passed since your interaction with Colston on the sidewalk. A few days after that interaction Colston had followed your private instagram which you learned JJ had given him in hopes of setting you up. You were currently huddled up with Katya at one of JJ and Colston’s football games. You absentmindedly searched the field for the blue jersey with the maize number 18 adorning the back. Your teeth were chattering from the chill air as the football spiraled from JJ’s hand and danced through the air before landing safely in Colston’s arms as his feet danced over the endzone. Michigan had won.

Katya squealed and grabbed your hand and pulled you down to the field. She left you alone as she made her way over to JJ. You scanned the crowd hoping to find Colston but falling short. A silky smooth voice filled your ears, “Looking for me pretty?” Your cheeks flushed a bright red as you spun around to find Colston smiling down at you. You grinned warmly, “Maybe so Loveland. Nice catch.” Colston smiled as he reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, “Thanks pretty. Do you have plans after this?” You smiled up at him, “Nah, Katya is probably gonna catch a ride back with JJ so I’m gonna catch the last bus back to campus and walk to our apartment. You?” Colston smiled, “No way, come out with me. I’m going down the road to Fleetwood’s Diner. Come with me.”

You hummed, “I don’t know. I don’t have my card and I only have a $20. Maybe next time?” Colston grinned, “Or you could let me pay for you this time and you can cover me next time?” You smiled at the boy, realizing he wasn’t giving up, “Fine only because Fleetwood’s has really good milkshakes.”

Tell me bout the first time you saw me

You awkwardly played with the rings on your fingers as you and Colston sat in a booth across from each other. You smiled softly as Colston spoke, “I still remember the first day I saw you and I actually think i crapped my pants.” A hearty laugh left your lips, “No! Why? I’m so sweet.” Colston grinned, “You had called your dad and said something about your tire was flat and you were crying because you didn’t know how to change a tire. He sent me and JJ to go change your tire for you. You were wearing an old ratty UMich tshirt and you looked like you’d been crying for hours and you were still so beautiful I swear I had never seen someone look so perfect until then.” Your cheeks pinked at his words as he smiled at you, “Go out with me. Like for real.” You looked taken aback slightly, “Okay.” Colston wasn’t expecting you to agree immediately so a warm smile washed over him.

I’ll drink what you think.

A few weeks had passed since Colston had asked you out, you had gone on two separate dates. The first being at a ace throwing place which suprisingly was a lot of fun, the second had been at a restaurant overlooking Lake Michigan and you were positive that he was going to kiss you goodnight when he dropped you off but he didn’t. You currently were stood in the off campus house some of the hockey players lived in at some party. You entered the kitchen to find Colston pouring some sort of alcohol into a red solo cup. You smiled as you leaned against the counter in the kitchen, “I’m sure my dad would love this.” Colston grinned as he instinctively reached for you and draped his arms around your waist, “Hi pretty. You thirsty?” You hummed, “Sure.” Colston grinned as he poured some Pink Whitney into a red cup, “Here you are gorgeous.”

You crinkled your nose at the strong smell of alcohol in your cup. Colston’s eyes searched to see if his drink assumption was correct. You noticed and smiled warmly as you sipped the drink. Colston spoke lowly, “Not the right drink is it?” You laughed softly, “No I’m more of a vodka person.” Colston hummed as he slightly frowned, “Why didn’t you say anything?” You grinned, “A cute boy did something sweet for me I can’t turn that down.”

Colston leaned closer to you, “Can I kiss you?” You smiled as your breath hitched ever so slightly, “I thought you’d never ask.” You leaned in a shared a sweet and passionate kiss with the tight end. You pulled away slightly breathless, “Wow.” Colston laughed as he pressed his forehead against yours, “Wow is right.”

I’m watching American Pie with you on a Saturday night

Shortly after you two shared the kiss at the party you and Colston decided to exclusively see each other. Colston was more of the social butterfly so not going out every weekend was different for him to say the least. But suprisingly the football player was content to be laying in your arms at 10:45 on a Saturday night watching the end of your favorite movie of all time, American Pie. He had tried to convince you to watch Any Given Sunday but was unsuccessful in his attempt. However you two did compromise and were going to watch Happy Gilmore next.

Are you gonna marry, kiss or kill me? It’s just a game but really I’m betting on all three.

You were rested upon Colston’s lap as the entire friend group was sitting around drunkenly playing kiss, marry and kill. JJ had to be the trashed of them all, he had thrown out your name, a annoying girl from his and Colston’s economics class and the water boy for Colston’s turn. Your boyfriend looked at you for help, unsure what to say. You hummed, “It’s just a game lovey.” Colston hummed as he traced circles into your bare thigh, “Marry my girl, kiss Carl the water boy and kill Sharon.” You hummed as you pressed a kiss against Colston’s lips, “You soo want to marry me.” Colston tucked your hair on one side of your head, “One day pretty. One day.”

Get my car door, isn’t that sweet

You grinned sheepishly as Colston pressed a kiss against your lips, “Don’t move.” It was pouring down rain and it was apparent the rain was harsh. Colston got out of his truck and ran around the front of the car and opened the door for you holding his jacket above your hair so it didn’t get wet. Your heart swelled at the sight of your boyfriend running back to his truck in the pouring rain.

No one’s ever had me not like you

Going back to your moms house with Colston was terrifying for you. Your parents had divorced when you were a freshman in high school so your years were split between their houses. You had your first kiss in your moms house. And the same boy you had kissed still lived next door to your mother. You were nervous about taking Colston home to begin with because your mom and you had a rocky relationship and you didn’t want to deal with her criticism.

But as you stood between your boyfriend who was very clearly jealous of Tyler who had been your first kiss, you were more nervous about that. You traced your nails over Colston’s tattooed arm, which seemed to calm him. You looked up at him and he relaxed as you entered your moms house. You spoke slowly, “No one has ever made me feel what you make me feel Colst.” Colston relaxed and pressed a soft kiss to your temple, “Thank you pretty.”

Touch me while your bros play Grand Theft Auto

You had grown accustomed to being around the Michigan football players as your relationship with Colston progressed. You had always been someone who was uncomfortable with PDA so for you to let Colston finger you while you sat in his best friends living room as they played GTA was pretty much unheard of. But you let it happen.

I feel like laughing, in the middle of practice to that impression you did of your dad.

Colston had absentmindedly been off his game all week. Coach Harbaugh had recently found out about his relationship with you and Colston felt like the other shoe was going to drop any minute now. You had laughed when Colston expressed his feelings. You had done a damn good impression of your father finding out about your relationship with Colston. So all week in practice Colston found himself near laughter when he thought of it. And you were right, your father reacted exactly the way you imagined he would.

You knew what you wanted and boy you got her.

_colstonloveland_: happy anniversary my pretty angel girl. two years of being entranced by you, one year of being your boyfriend. i love you💗 (tagged yourusername)

yourusername; baby🥹 i love you more than life💗

jjmccarthy; finally we set them up @katyakurpos

— katyakurpos: almost cuter than us🥹

user88; when he pines for her before being her bf😫

rutgermcgroarty: we all love y/n🫡

coachjim4um; my sweetest girl she’s so happy with you colston! thank you🙂🙂