#you know i left a part of me back in new york

[leesromanova]

dust collected on my pinned up hair

pairing: natasha x reader

warnings: angst, hurt reader, happy/hurt/guilty nat, idk they're both hurting, marrige, cursing, self-criticism, lots of feelings. (i’m sorry)

synopsis: you go on your usual coffee run and bump into your ex, who if it wasn’t for the mutual break up, would have been the one.

a/n: i love angst lol. blame my over active imagination and taylor swift. thank you all for continuing to support and read my works <3

to put y’all in the mood i recommend listening to ↴

The line seemed endless. Bodies upon, bodies of caffeine addicts waiting to be serviced.

The energy of a busy New York coffee shop at 8am was truly a sight to see for any newbie to the city—thank god, you were accustomed to the rude grogginess of the baristas and the lines to wait for your wanted—no, needed, yet still overpriced coffee.

You hear the door open again as a small bell atop of the frame is triggered by the entering customer. The chill breeze of the city winter rips through the space, making you shiver and wrap your coat around yourself a bit tighter. Cool air creeping through the fibers of the winter coat you were sporting made you need that coffee a bit more urgently.

“Next in line!” the line moved as you pulled out your phone and took a step forward. You scroll through your notifications, looking for anything you had missed in your previous peak, before feeling a tap on your shoulder. Your first reaction is to look up with a rather hostile look in your eyes at whoever intruded your non-social, pre-caffeine headspace.

“Natasha?” your eyebrows crinkle at the sight of the woman in front of you. Her smile genuine as she looks down at you.

“Hi, stranger” she says, the raspy voice bringing back memories of a not-so-forgotten time in your past. She moves her arm around you to pull you into a side hug, you accept it—a bit stiffly and pull away, taking in her appearance.

She looked professional yet still casual and comfortable, a combination that always suited her quite well—at least the version you had gotten to know in your past. Her red locks in a neat braid that swept across her head and onto her shoulder, a few framing strands left out on the sides. Her eyes were more worn on the sides—the start of crows feet present besides her lashes.

Her eyes were the same, still the same shade of captivating green.

“How are you? How have you been?” she asks, pulling you out of your thoughts. Her voice coming out a bit rougher than how you remembered. Maybe it was caused by the cold air or, maybe it was just the other way the few years had affected her.

You look down and pocket your phone, “I’ve been okay, just y’know…holding up,” you watch as the person ahead of you steps forward, prompting the both of you to move up and fill the gap. You shift to the side, and make room for the redhead to stand beside you. The scent of her perfume lingers in the air, stirring up memories of the past.

“How about you? What have you been up to, besides finding ways to cut-in-line at random coffee shops?” she lets out a huff of air as she turns to look at you “I was leaving when saw you…so I decided I should come and say hi," she looks at you with an amused expression.

you smile and hum in acceptance, letting her continue. She takes a breath before starting, "I've been okay—for the most part. Just trying to keep up with what life throws at me." She smiles and puts her hands in her pockets. You wonder if they were just as rough as how you remembered, or if they’d grown more calloused with time.

"Are you cold?" you ask, still looking at her now-concealed hands. She turns to look at you, you meet her eyes, and she lifts a brow "I've told you before how we Russians don't get cold," she says before continuing "that’s something you should've remembered." her voice carries as the last words enter your ears and without thinking you respond.

"I remember lots of things."

You feel the energy around you both change as the words leave your lips and you cringe as you watch her body visibly stiffen. Your brutally honest word choice must’ve reminded her of the reason why it had been so long since the two of you spoke.

∞ ∞ ∞ ∞

Sometime in the past 2 years

“Natasha… I just can’t do this anymore.” The words choke in your throat as you pace in front of her in the living room of your shared apartment. Every step you take feels like it’s pulling you further from everything you once wanted, but you can't stop yourself. You can barely breathe, the emotion inside you holding your lungs down. Your eyes move to look at Natasha, and everything inside you screams to hold on.

“I’ve always been here for you,” you continue, voice cracking. “Always. I kept waiting, hoping you’d open up to me, just like I did for you, bare an-and vulnerable.” Your voice cracks making you take a steadying breath before continuing, pointing a shaking finger toward her. “I put my heart on the line, expecting the same... but I never got it. And when you finally did open up... I was there. I loved you through the dark days, the lonely nights. I stayed, Natasha. I stayed through everything, and I'd do it all again in a heartbeat.” Your words spill out like a dam breaking, but the anger, the frustration, the heartbreak—none of it makes the pain go away.

You want to somehow make it work, to find the missing piece that would make her open up fully. You wanted this to work more than anything. But the hard truth is, you don’t know just how much more you can keep giving without receiving the same in return. You’ve poured so much of yourself into this relationship—your love, your patience, your vulnerability—but now it feels like you’re just…empty. Every night you lie awake, hoping that tomorrow will be the day she finally opens up to you the way you’ve been opening up to her, and every day feels like another unanswered question, an in-life purgatory you can’t escape.

Your fingernails find their way into the flesh of your palms, the sharpness grounding you, but it doesn’t help.

Her heart tears in two as she watches you like this, feeling like a failure. She feels it deep inside—your hurt, your exhaustion, the years of unspoken emotions—and she knows, with crushing certainty, that no matter how much she loves you, she can’t undo the damage. You’re the one person who has always been there, who’s loved her unconditionally, who’s been so patient, so willing to fight for the relationship. She’s failed you. It wasn’t enough. Nothing she did was enough. She loved you—God, she loved you so much—but somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to give you the one thing you needed most: her whole heart. Every single time you reached out, she recoiled, afraid that if she gave you more of herself, she’d lose herself in the process. She knew loving you would mean taking the risk of loosing herself within the beauty that was to love just as hard as you did. 

She doesn’t know how to love you the way you need.

She lifts her head, eyes red, blurry with unshed tears, and glances at your hands, fingers still digging into your skin like you're trying to hold yourself together, as the nails cut through the layers of flesh on your palms. The pieces of yourself feeling like they're falling through your fingers like water. She hurts seeing you like this, she knew you did it to feel control in moments where you felt that control slip away—she’d had been trying to help you stop it, to show you that hurting yourself wouldn't heal anything, but now, she feels just as lost. She feels herself drowning in guilt. 

She’s the one who’s made you feel like this, hasn’t she? 

A warm, trembling hand wraps around your wrist, pulling you out of the darkness of your thoughts along with herself–trying to claw her way out of her guilt. Her touch is gentle, almost too gentle, as if she’s afraid you’ll break if she holds on too tight. She guides your fingers away from your skin, but the ache in your chest only deepens. She’s trying to fix you–to help you, not acknowledging that she needed it as well. And neither of you knew how to do it.

What’s the hell is wrong with me? 

The question cuts deeper than anything she’s ever felt. 

Why can’t I just give her what she needs? 

I love her. 

I love her so much. 

Why isn’t that enough?

“I feel horrible,” she whispers, her voice thick with tears. When you meet her eyes, they’re filled with more pain than you’ve ever seen in them. It tears through you. You wanted to help her, to make her feel loved and safe, but all you've done is hurt her. You've made her feel like she's failing, like she’s not enough, and the guilt is suffocating. She wants to tell you how much she loves you, wants to apologize, to make it better, but she knows deep down that no amount of apologies can fix the damage done. 

You swallow, but your throat is tight, your chest heavier than it’s ever been. "You’re right. You always did the right things. You said the right words. You showed me you loved me, but… I couldn’t see it. I didn’t feel it the way I needed to, and I hate myself for that. I hate that I couldn't be enough for you, Natasha." Your voice breaks at the end, a sound that rips through you, as if you're breaking apart inside. Not enough for her to give you her all. “I’m so sorry. So sorry for making you feel like you weren’t enough.” Making her feel like she hadn’t been giving you enough because she couldn’t give you want you wanted—craved. The sudden realization makes you heave as you reel about you both hurting each other unwillingly—how could something so good turn into something so hurtful?

The weight of your own apology hangs in the air, suffocating, because you don't know how to fix this anymore. You don’t know how to make her stop feeling like she’s a failure when all she’s ever done is try. 

Her heart shatters as you speak. She sees the pure hurt in your eyes, feels the way you’re pulling away from her. it crushes her to know she's the one that hurt you, the one that made you feel as if you weren't enough. Every word you say is a reminder that she’s failed. She’s tried so hard to be the person you need, to show you how much she loves you, but every time she’s gotten close to letting herself go the crippling fear of falling too deep holding her back. 

“I wish I could change,” she says, voice barely audible, but you hear the depth of her regret in every word. She places her hand over her heart, almost as if trying to stop the pulsating ache there. “I don’t want you to suffer with my shit anymore. I don’t want to drag you through this anymore… but I don’t know how to fix me.” She looks at you, her tears falling freely now. “I hate that I can't give you everything you need. I hate that I couldn't be the person you deserved."

You feel every ounce of her guilt like a physical blow, and it’s suffocating. You wish there was something you could say to make her feel better, but the truth is, you're not sure if you even deserve to make her feel better right now. You've failed her too, in so many ways.

Maybe I’m not enough for her. Maybe I never was. 

The thought stings, like a shock against your skin. You can’t help but feel that maybe you’ve failed, that you’re the real reason things fell apart, not Natasha. But as you look at the redhead, her guilt hanging heavy in the air, you realize there’s not just one person to blame, there’s not only one person responsible for this. You’ve both been afraid. Afraid of fully trusting, of letting the walls down completely, of letting each other in.

And now? Now, it feels like it’s too late.

“I don’t want to hurt you anymore,” she says, her voice cracking. “You deserve so much better than me. You deserve someone who can love you with everything they have, without holding back... and I’m not her. I can't be that person." Her eyes search yours, desperate for some sign, some glimmer of hope, but all she finds is a reflection of her own pain.

Staring at her tear-streaked face, the realization hits you like a punch to the gut: it’s not going to happen. It’s not because you haven’t tried, and it’s not because she doesn’t love you—she does, so much, and you can see it in her eyes. But love isn’t enough. 

I can’t keep waiting for something that’s never going to come. 

I can’t keep hurting like this. 

You’re shaking now, but it’s not from anger. It’s from the unbearable truth that lingers in the space between you. The love you had, the connection you both tried so hard  to hold onto, is slipping away, and there's nothing you can do to stop it.

“I think…” you can barely get the words out, but they’re there, hanging in the air like the inevitable. "I think you’re right." Your voice cracks, your heart shattering with the weight of those words. You’ve known for so long, deep down, that this was coming. The back and forth, the exhaustion, the constant battle to make her open up, to make her let you in—it was destroying both of you, and it would never change. The months of fighting—wanting her to open up, to show you the real her, nothing was working as it should be. You had been fighting against something inevitable.

You run your thumb over her knuckles, trying to find comfort in the familiar motion, but it feels hollow now. “We’ve tried, Natalia,” you whisper, your heart breaking with every syllable. “We’ve tried to make this work, but I can’t keep pretending it’s going to be okay. I don’t want to hurt you anymore. I don’t want you to hurt for me anymore.”

Her tears fall harder now, as if the weight of your decision has broken something inside of her. You both sit there, silently, broken and exhausted from a love that was never enough. Neither of you knows how to fix what’s been destroyed. As she looks at you, so broken, so utterly lost, she feels like she’s watching her own heart crack in two.

You both sit in silence as the sounds of the city bleed into the apartment and circle the two of you.

∞ ∞ ∞ ∞

“Next!” the barista’s tired voice carries through the space of the café, and makes you both turn to reach the counter. Your cheeks warm and tinged a shade of red at your earlier admission.

“Uh, can I get an iced blond vanilla late, with an extra pump of vanilla, and sweet foam with Carmel drizzle on top?” you order and look over at the redhead who was diligently staring at the side of your face.

She wondered how you hadn’t changed. Time seemed to have left you untouched. While she felt it’s weight etched into her face and mind—you were still the same. With the same coffee order, at the same coffee shop, the same you.

“W-would you like anything?” you ask, stuttering at the gaze she held.

“I’m okay,” she turns to the barista, “That’ll be all.” she completes your order out of habit as you pull out your card to pay.

the barista asks for your name and you both utter a thanks to the young woman, who doesn’t return the pleasantry as you both walk off to the side. The silence, between you both not unwanted, but definitely heightening your anxiety at the unexpected meeting.

You were not dressed to be seeing your ex at a coffee shop.

“Would you like to sit?” you clear your throat and ask, finding a table with two chairs. She smiles and looks at her watch. “Yeah—yeah, I got enough time” she says, sitting down beside you and looking out at the busy streets of the city that never sleeps.

She loved it here, her time in other continents and cities made her realize just how at home the city lights and sirens made her feel, just how at home the people in her life made her feel.

The light of the rising sun reflects off of the glass windows of tall buildings and illuminate her face. Her nose had stayed the same, the feature being something you loved about her even if she said she hated it from time to time. She turns and catches you staring. You to look away and clear your throat as she smiles warmly. She always liked that about you, so attentive to everyone around you.

Stop staring. You mentally kicked yourself for being caught.

“Y’know…you still order your coffee as if you hate the taste of it.” she teases, her hands motioning to the receipt that outlined the specific order you gave. A smile grows as you turn to look at her and laugh softly at her face of accusation. “I swear, you get the sugariest thing on the menu.” she continues, making you laugh a little louder.

Your laugh was the same–she noticed, your smile the same, but your eyes now held a few winkles at the sides as the joy spread over your face. She smiles at you then and leans back in the uncushioned, tall stool.

You roll your eyes and remove your gloves, “hey, before you tease just know you traumatized me with your coffee order,” she looks at you questioningly, making you lean in “Nat, you order a black coffee with like two sugars and call that a coffee order.” she laughs, her cheeks tinting a wonderful shade of red as she answers “It’s a legitimate coffee order y/n, that’s why they make me pay and why I made you try it.” her voice raspy as ever as it leaves her lips. “Oh yeah, trust me I know. I can still feel it on my taste buds and recoil every time I think about it.” she looks at your now very serious expression with a raised brow, and you both break into a shared cackle.

As the laughter settles, you both look at each other. Familiarity and warmth returning to your veins, you missed her. Sure, it had been more than enough time for you to get over her, but you never truly did. Everyone told you it was time to move on, but you never did, hoping, praying, manifesting that maybe one day you could fix things and reunite with the love of your life.

You went out with people, met other singles, dated—but no one made you feel what she did.

"So, how’s work?" you ask, your fingers nervously fiddling with the paper wrapping of a straw that was left on the table by some other customer. She glances down at your hands, noticing how your nails are no longer bitten or ragged, your palms free of the crescent-shaped marks that used to linger there. She smiles softly, noticing how you'd managed to break those anxious habits.

"It’s been good," she replies, her voice warm. "We got some new teammates in—I'm sure you saw it on the news." She looks into your eyes, smiling as she sees the familiar focus in your gaze. That hadn't changed either.

You nod and smile back, leaning in as she continues. "One of them is named Wanda. She's brilliant—you'd love her. Amazing sense of humor, and the best style. I know you’ve always been into fashion."

You chuckle softly, the memory of how you used to carefully pick out your outfits coming back. "That’s nice. So, you and her are close?" you ask, your voice lighter than you feel. It's easy to fall back into the rhythm with her. Conversations with her never felt draining, never like you were just filling silence. At least, it didn’t, not before everything went wrong.

"Yeah," she says, smiling shyly, but her eyes drop to her hands. And that's when you see it. The ring.

The world seems to blur for a moment as your eyes lock onto the silver band adorning her finger. Simple, yet undeniably there. Your mind races, struggling to catch up, focusing on the details—an engraving, some flowers, maybe lilies? You remember how she always loved those.

The sound of her voice cuts through your thoughts. "Y/N?"

You snap back to reality, but it feels like your heart is still racing. You blink, meeting her gaze. The concern in her eyes is unmistakable, but it's not for you. She's moved on.

“Order for y/n!” the barista yells, and you turn, smiling tightly at Nat before getting up to retrieve your coffee.

God, how had you not seen it before? Was it always there? How long ago did she become so open? So willing to let someone in, that she’d actually gotten married?

The questions hit you like a wave, crashing over your mind with unbeatable force.

You make yourself look away, desperate to regain control of your thoughts. You tuck some hair behind your ear, trying to ground yourself, and take a long sip of your cold drink, the ice crunching between your teeth. It does nothing to ease the nausea building in your stomach.

“I—uh, I was looking at your wedding band,” you mutter, feeling the words slip out awkwardly. Your gaze drifts back to her fingers, the ring glinting in the sunlight. She follows your stare, quietly adjusting her hand, almost as if she’s waiting for this moment to land.

“Oh, um… yeah," she clears her throat, her voice sounding a little tighter than before. "Me and Wanda... we, uh... I proposed a few months ago,” she adds, looking down at the ring, tracing the engravings with her fingers. Finally, she meets your eyes, and for a brief second, it feels like everything you thought you knew about her is slipping away. This wasn’t the Natasha who used to laugh at your bad jokes, or the one who whispered your name in the quiet of your shared apartment, the one who whispered sweet nothings in your ear as you laid naked in bed after you’d had sex. No, this was a version of her you did not know.

“Oh.” The word barely leaves your mouth as you nod slowly, but it’s enough to echo in the silence between you two. It’s all you can manage, the word feeling too small, insignificant.

What else could you say?

You want to bury your face in your hands.

God, Y/N, think of something better. Say something better.

The words feel hollow, useless, as they form in your mind. The words don’t feel like your own. They feel forced, clumsy, like you’re trying to hold onto something that’s already slipping through your fingers. You hate how it feels. You hate how she feels like a stranger to you now, someone you don’t know anymore, someone who has moved on without you.

"Congratulations," you finally say, the words coming out flat, lifeless. Your smile feels too tight, too forced. You can feel it pulling at the corners of your lips as your body instinctively turns inward, the discomfort sharp and heavy.

Congratulations? Are you fucking serious?

She notices, of course—how could she not? Her eyes flicker with concern, watching as your posture shifts, your guard rising. But it’s too late. You’re already pulling away.

What the hell did I just say?

The self-criticism is almost suffocating.

Congratulations?

You want to slap your forehead, but you settle for simply glancing up at her. Her gaze is locked onto you now, intense and unwavering. It’s like she’s trying to reach you through the growing distance between you two, but you can’t shake the feeling that you’ve lost her... that you never really had her.

The sound of the coffee shop fade as your own internal dialogue takes over, mocking you.

You’re pathetic, it whispers.

You haven’t moved on.

You never really let go.

You glance around the coffee shop. There’s a woman in the corner smiling at her boyfriend—no husband, the wedding ring sparkling as she holds his cheek, a group of tourists chatting loudly about going to watch some play on Broadway, someone in the backline swiping through their phone, you can see the TikTok home screen from your place in the corner of the café.

But you can’t hear them. All you hear is the hollow beat of your own heart, pounding painfully in your chest, as if it knows that this moment is the end of something—something you still thought was possible.

It feels like you’re drowning, surrounded by noise, by life moving forward, while you’re stuck here in this tiny moment, unable to breathe.

Her eyes flicker with concern, noticing how your posture shifts, how you stiffen at the words that should have felt normal, casual. But they don’t. They can’t.

There’s nothing casual about this.

Nothing normal.

Not when your heart is bleeding under the weight of a past you can’t shake, a future you never thought you’d face.

You try to steady yourself, but you can feel the walls you’ve built around your emotions crumbling.

She’s married, Y/N. She’s married. Get over it.

But you can’t.

You feel a pang of guilt. Natasha’s gaze is warm, but there’s an ache in her eyes too—something that makes your heart hurt in a different way. She’s trying. She’s not the woman you left behind. But then again, neither are you. Neither is she.

Her hand rests, trembling, on the table now. She wants to reach out to you, but she’s scared of pushing too hard. You can see it in her eyes—she’s uncertain. She’s terrified of what you might say. Terrified of making it worse. Her fingertips brush against the edge of the table, hesitant, before pulling away. She’s probably wondering if she’s done the right thing. Wondering if she was wrong to move on, to make this decision without you, without this—whatever you two were. She watches you, her gaze softening as if she wants to comfort you, but she doesn’t know how. She doesn’t even know where to begin. She could try to reach for you, but she knows it might make things worse.

"Are you okay?" Natasha asks softly, her voice trembling slightly. She’s staring at you now, as if trying to understand what’s happening inside your head, but you don’t have an answer for her. You don’t even have an answer for yourself.

The silence stretches between you two, heavy with unspoken words, as the noise of the coffee shop crashes around you both, a stark reminder that the world keeps moving. And in it, Natasha is moving forward, and you... you’re left behind.

She regrets it. She regrets this—this distance. This moment. She wants to take it all back. To fix this. To fix you. But she can’t.

The weight of the regret hits her, and she breathes out a slow, steadying breath, her hand trembling on the table. She can feel it too, the unbearable tension between you both, the space that feels like a chasm even though you’re only inches apart.

But you—you’re the one who’s drowning, trying to keep your head above the weight of the memory and the feeling that you were never enough.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, almost too quietly to hear. “I never wanted to hurt you. I never wanted you to feel like this.” Her voice cracks, and she looks away for a second, almost as if she can’t stand seeing you like this, can’t bear the thought of how much she’s hurt you.

But the truth is, she’s already lost you.

And she’s the one who will never be able to move on.

Her words cut deeper than she knows, because you can’t help but wonder—does she really not know? Has she been so caught up in her own life that she hasn’t seen how much this is tearing you apart? Or is it just that she’s moved on, and this is all just… a part of the past to her?

The thought makes your chest tighten. Your breath feels shallow, and you find yourself squeezing your cold drink harder, trying to steady the storm inside. You swallow, but it feels like there’s a lump lodged in your throat, blocking any response. You want to scream, to tell her everything, to make her understand how much it hurts to see her here, happy, with someone else. But the words are gone—lost in the space between your need to cry and the reality of the life she’s chosen without you.

“Why?” The word slips out before you can stop it, raw and desperate and hurt. You didn’t mean to ask it—didn’t want to ask it—but you can’t help it. You need to know.

Natasha’s heart aches at the sound of your voice, the fragility in it. For a moment, she feels as though the floor beneath her might give way. She had hoped—hoped—that you would be okay. That this wouldn’t hurt so much. But the pain is evident, like a raw wound, and it’s impossible to ignore.

Her face crumbles for a moment, and she looks away, as if she’s searching for the right words, for something that might make this hurt less. But there are no words that can make this better. No words that can undo the last few years.

she feels a lump in her throat, the wounds she'd covered, gashes shed mended, all coming undone in this moment.

“I don’t know,” Natasha whispers. “I really don’t know. I thought I could give you what you needed, but… I couldn’t. And I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m sorry I couldn’t be what you needed me to be.”

Her voice cracks as she says it, and she feels herself breaking inside. She knows you’re hurting, but she’s not sure what she can do to make this right. She had tried—tried so hard—to be what you needed, but she failed. And it kills her that she couldn’t give you the love and stability you deserved. The love she thought she could offer, the love that now feels so distant and ungraspable.

Your heart aches. It’s a contradiction, isn’t it? The way she sounds so guilty, and yet you know deep down that she’s not really sorry for her life—she’s sorry for the fact that she hurt you in the process of living it.

Her words feel hollow to her, and as they leave her lips, she wonders if she’s just prolonging the pain for both of you. She swallows hard, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her ring again. It’s such a small, insignificant gesture, but in this moment, it feels like the biggest thing in the world. It feels like a symbol of everything she’s lost. A symbol of a promise she made to someone else, a promise she can’t go back on.

She wants to reach for you again, but she knows better now. She knows that you’ve already made up your mind—that you’ve already closed the door on what could have been. The door that used to swing open so easily for her, but now only feels heavy and locked.

You look at her, your gaze raw, and for a second, you think you might say something else. You might beg her to take it all back. To come back. But you know you can’t. You know you have to let this go. You feel a deep ache in your chest as you realize that this is the end. The finality of it settles in, and you can’t hold on any longer.

Instead, you take a shaky breath and pull back from the table, your hands folding into your lap as you gather yourself. It’s almost like you’re physically trying to close yourself off, to shield the part of you that still hopes and longs for something that no longer exists.

“Maybe... maybe you were never what I needed either,” you mutter quietly, more to yourself than to her. The words taste bitter on your tongue, and you wish you could take them back as soon as they leave. But it’s true. Somewhere along the way, you lost her. And maybe, just maybe, you lost yourself in the process.

The words hit Natasha like a slap, but it’s the truth. She’s never been able to give you what you needed, and that realization settles like stone in her stomach. She opens her mouth as if she’s going to say something—something to fix it, to undo the damage—but the words die in her throat. They would only make things worse, only deepen the wound between you both.

She doesn’t speak. She can’t. She just watches you, helpless, as you turn away from her, the finality of your departure cutting into her chest like a knife.

You shake your head, unable to meet her gaze. The tears you’ve been holding back for so long feel close now, threatening to spill over. You can’t let them. You won’t. Not here, not in front of her, not when everything feels like it’s already slipping through your fingers.

“I should go,” you say, your voice quieter than you intended. It’s not a demand, it’s not even a decision—it’s just the only thing you can bring yourself to say. You push your chair back, standing up slowly, feeling like your legs might give out beneath you. You feel empty, but in a way, that emptiness is almost worse than the pain.

Her eyes follow you, and Natasha doesn’t try to stop you. She doesn’t ask you to stay. Her hands are folded in her lap, and she’s left with the sense that, somehow, she’s failed you, failed the both of you. She doesn’t think she could stand to watch you walk away again. The understanding in her eyes is quiet, gentle. She knows this is the end.

As you turn to walk away, you hear her raspy voice one last time. “Y/N… I still care about you.”

You stop for a moment, the weight of her words pressing down on you. You want to say something back—anything—but you know it wouldn’t change things. It wouldn’t fix anything.

You don’t respond. Instead, you walk. One foot in front of the other as you push open the door of the coffee shop, the cold New York air hitting your face like a slap. It’s sharp, biting, but somehow, it’s exactly what you need. You step into the busy street, the noise and the rush of people washing over you, but all you can hear is the silence of her absence. Is this it? You think. It has to be.

You keep walking, trying to put one foot in front of the other, but every step feels heavier than the last. You don’t know how you’re supposed to move forward—to move past her. You don’t know if you ever will.

After all, it’s never over.

∞ ∞ ∞ ∞

a/n: YAYY!! i was so excited to start writing this fic, it’s my drafts since October so i’m happy it’s finally out. i hope you all liked it! it was my first time writing angst and i’m very proud of it, if you guys have any constructive criticism pls give it politely:)

ps: i’m excited to see everyone’s reactions to it, please do share how you feel afterwards <3

[1mnshw]

a very risky gamble // s.r.

words - 3.1k

spencer reid x female oc

type of fic: enemies to lovers

SSA Vivienne Harper is pulled into a grisly cult case with the BAU, but the real challenge isn’t the killers—it’s working with Spencer Reid, the brilliant profiler she swore she’d never deal with again. As the body count rises and buried tensions flare, Vivienne must outsmart a deadly cult while facing a past that refuses to stay buried.

— — — — — — — — —

one

Ever since Vivienne was young, she’d always loved silence. It wasn’t a disdain for noise—when you grew up in New York, the chaos of the city became less a nuisance and more a constant, unshakable rhythm of life. No, it was something else. Silence felt like clarity, like the space where she could fully let go and breathe. Just her and the low hum of the open air.

She’d say, by rough estimate, she got about three minutes of it that morning. Three whole minutes from the time she walked into the building until Julian Mercer knocked on her office door.

“Harper, we need to talk. Got a minute?”

He barged in without waiting for an answer, already settling into the chair opposite her desk. That was Julian Mercer for you—patience wasn’t part of his vocabulary. It always seemed like he had too much on his plate to bother with niceties, which, given that he oversaw one of the busiest FBI field offices in the country, wasn’t far from the truth.

He tossed a thick file onto her desk with a thud, the kind of file that could probably double as a weapon in several states.

“Young boy, fourteen. Found dead near the Capitol.”

“Good morning to you too, Mercer,” Vivienne said dryly, flipping open the folder. The photos inside were grim—grimmer than most cases she’d handled recently. “Vocal folds removed post-mortem?”

“Yes. Look at the next picture.”

Vivienne frowned, but when she turned the page, her stomach sank. Carved into the victims’ chests was a symbol she recognized instantly.

An eye, its pupil cradling a dove, with the crescent moon underneath. The design was as intricate as it was chilling. She didn’t have to think twice to know what it meant.

She tried to steady her voice when she spoke, but it came out rougher than she intended. “They’re back?”

“They’re back,” Julian echoed grimly, his tone heavy with unspoken implications. “And this is just the beginning. Which is why the brass wants us to collaborate.”

Vivienne narrowed her eyes at him. “Collaborate?”

“With the BAU in Quantico.” He clasped his hands together and leaned forward slightly. “Now, you know we don’t have the manpower to send a full team down there, and I have to stay here and keep things running…”

He trailed off, gesturing vaguely as if Vivienne was supposed to pick up on the rest. When she didn’t, he sighed.

“So,” he said, leaning back in his seat, “the Bureau told me to pick my best agent. After I sent them and the BAU unit chief your file, they were both thoroughly impressed. You’re going down there as a temporary member to help solve this case.”

“Julian, what?”

“You heard me, Harper. You’re going to assist the BAU on this case in Quantico. This is a huge opportunity, and you should accept it as a compliment. I—”

She cut him off. “Respectfully, I decline. This is ridiculous. Mercer, you need me here, not in Virginia.” She slid the file back across the desk toward him. “There are cases in this city—my city—that need my attention. People here need my help.”

Julian didn’t flinch. He slid the folder right back to her, his movements deliberate, almost dismissive. “Respectfully, Vivienne,” he said as he stood, leveling her with a steely gaze, “this isn’t a choice; it’s a requirement. This is part of your job, and unless you’d like to explore other career opportunities, I suggest you go home, pack your things, and prepare to leave. They sent their jet here, and it leaves in two hours.”

The click of her office door as he left echoed louder than Vivienne wanted to admit. She let out a frustrated groan, raking her hands through her hair. Damn it.

It wasn’t that she didn’t see the stakes. She understood the gravity of the case—better than anyone, probably. But to drag her out of New York to work with a team she had no connection with, in a city she hadn’t lived in since she trained at the academy? It felt like a waste of time and resources. Still, trying to argue with Mercer was like trying to move a mountain with a teaspoon. The man wasn’t going to budge.

So she sighed, grabbed the file in front of her and her keys, and left. Her fingers tightened around the steering wheel the whole way home, the weight of inevitability settling over her like a heavy blanket. By the time she reached her apartment, she was already halfway resigned.

— — —

She arrived at the airstrip ten minutes early, her fingers gripping the handle of her suitcase as she approached the jet waiting on the tarmac. She paused at the edge of the catwalk, staring up at the sleek private plane. It gleamed in the dim light of the overcast afternoon, all polished steel and understated power.

Julian’s words echoed in her head. This is a huge opportunity. Begrudgingly, Vivienne admitted he wasn’t wrong—neither he nor the brass were the type to blow smoke up your ass, no matter how bad the situation was. If they wanted her on this case, they believed she’d bring something to the table.

Still, a small, defiant part of her wanted to resent the whole situation.

Nonetheless, she sent Julian a quick text.

Thank you.

He responded quickly, which was a surprise.

Don’t make me regret it.

Vivienne smiled as she drew a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and climbed the stairs, her heels clicking against the metal steps. As she stepped into the cabin, she had to admit—despite herself—it wasn’t half bad.

In fact, it was ridiculous. Luxurious leather seats, polished wood paneling, and enough legroom to stretch out comfortably made it clear: the BAU was in a different league. This wasn’t just a jet; it was a statement.

She dropped her suitcase near one of the seats, brushing her fingers over the armrest. “Well,” she muttered under her breath, “this almost makes up for being yanked out of the city.”

Almost.

It was hard not to imagine what her own department could do with the kind of budget that paid for this. She sank into one of the seats, the plush leather cushioning her in a way that was almost absurdly comfortable. Her gaze wandered to the large windows, offering a view of the jet engines gleaming in the muted light. For the first time since Mercer had dropped this bombshell, she felt a flicker of something unexpected—curiosity. The BAU wasn’t just any unit; it was the kind of team agents dreamed about joining. Legends in their own right. Maybe—just maybe—there was something to be gained from this after all.

As the engines hummed to life, Vivienne let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. The soft vibration under her feet grounded her, and she allowed herself a small, wry smile. Quantico wasn’t home, and she wasn’t thrilled about leaving New York, but there was a certain thrill in the unknown. Working alongside a team like this, tackling a case that would undoubtedly be challenging and grim, was the kind of puzzle she’d secretly always craved. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe she could make this work.

— — —

Hotch led her through the bustling halls of the BAU with his usual no-nonsense efficiency. Agents moved with purpose around them, their conversations blending into a low hum of activity. The building’s atmosphere was different from her office in New York—less chaotic, more deliberate.

“You’ll find we operate a little differently here,” Hotch said as they approached the stairs. “This team is small but specialized. Everyone brings a unique skill set to the table, and we rely on that dynamic to tackle these cases. Our technical analyst, Penelope Garcia, will be meeting you later on. She’s on her way in.”

Vivienne nodded, adjusting the strap of her bag. “Understood. I’ve read up on the unit’s case history—it’s impressive. I’m looking forward to seeing the team in action.”

Hotch glanced at her, his expression giving nothing away. “They’re looking forward to meeting you. We’ve had to operate shorthanded on cases like this before. Having another experienced profiler will be an asset.”

She followed him up the stairs, the quiet intensity of his words not lost on her. It wasn’t a glowing welcome, but she wasn’t expecting one. Hotch struck her as the kind of leader who spoke through action, not words.

When they reached the bullpen, the space was alive with the low buzz of conversation and the shuffle of papers. A conference room off to the side was lit, the walls lined with evidence boards, but the team had gathered near the center of the room.

“Everyone,” Hotch began, his voice cutting cleanly through the ambient noise, “this is Agent Vivienne Harper. She’s joining us from the New York City field office to assist on this case.”

All eyes turned toward her, and she instinctively straightened her posture. Hotch stepped aside, gesturing toward each member of the team as he introduced them.

“Derek Morgan,” Hotch started, motioning toward the tall man leaning casually against a desk. “He’s our tactical expert and one of the best at getting into the minds of offenders.”

Morgan grinned, stepping forward to shake her hand. “Welcome to the team, Harper. You ready for the big leagues?”

Vivienne raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Big leagues? That what they call it when you’ve got a coffee machine that actually works?”

Morgan chuckled, crossing his arms. “Oh, I like her already.”

Hotch moved on, ignoring the exchange. “Emily Prentiss,” he said, indicating the dark-haired woman beside Morgan. Emily stepped forward, her smile warm but confident. “It’s nice to have another profiler on board. You’ll find we don’t bite. Well, most of us.”

“Good to know,” Vivienne replied, shaking her hand. “I’ll keep my guard up, just in case.”

“Jennifer Jareau,” Hotch continued, pointing to the blonde woman who stood next to an evidence board, clipboard in hand. “She’s our communications liaison and media coordinator.”

JJ smiled, offering a handshake. “You can call me JJ. Don’t worry—we’ll ease you in.”

“I appreciate that,” Vivienne said. “Just don’t expect me to smile for the cameras.”

JJ laughed. “Noted.”

“David Rossi,” Hotch said, turning toward the older man seated at a desk with a cup of coffee in hand. “He’s one of the founding members of the unit and brings decades of experience to the team.”

Rossi set down his mug, offering a polite nod. “Welcome, Agent Harper. Don’t let the chaos fool you—we’re very organized. Usually.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Vivienne said, chuckling.

“And this is Dr.—“ The man standing behind the group stepped forward and cut Hotch’s introduction short.

“Vi.”

Vivienne’s pulse spiked. She hadn’t heard that nickname in years, not since the academy. The only person who ever called her that was—

“Spence.” They stared each other down, and the intensity on both of their faces was enough to silence the rest of the team.

Hotch cleared his throat and attempted to break the tension in the room. “You two have met?”

Spencer spoke, not breaking eye contact with Vivienne. “We met when we were both in training.”

“How long has it been? Five, six years?”

“Five years, seven months, and seventeen days. Not nearly long enough.”

“Clearly.”

Hotch’s sharp tone sliced through the thick tension. “That’s enough,” he said, stepping forward slightly as though positioning himself between them. His gaze flicked between Spencer and Vivienne, calm but commanding. “Whatever history you two have, leave it outside this office. Understood?”

Vivienne forced herself to look away from Spencer and nodded, her jaw tightening. “Understood.”

Spencer’s response was quieter but no less resolute. “Understood.”

Morgan, sensing the shift in energy, gave a small grin, trying to lighten the mood. “Well, this just got interesting. You sure you’re not gonna need a referee for this, Hotch?”

Hotch shot him a sharp look, and Morgan immediately quieted, but not before muttering, “Alright, alright, just checking.”

“Everyone, back to work,” Hotch continued, voice firm. “JJ, you and Prentiss check with Garcia on potential connections with the cult. Morgan, I need you and Harper to finalize the timeline. Reid, go over the backgrounds with Rossi.”

The team scattered, but before they all went to take care of their respective tasks, Spencer stopped Vivienne.

“What are you doing here?” His voice was low and edged with irritation, the same tone that used to make her blood boil. Judging by the sharp look in his eyes, he was just as annoyed by her presence as she was by his.

Vivienne let out a dramatic sigh, rolling her eyes. “Oh, you know, just building a damn rocket, Spencer. What do you think I’m doing? I’m here to work. The Bureau sent me, just like they sent you. Hate to break it to you, but you’re not the only golden agent of the FBI.”

His eyes narrowed, a glint of sharp disbelief flickering in them. “Yes, I’m aware, Vi. I just didn’t expect you to be the ‘highly regarded’ New York agent Hotch and Mercer have been raving about. Though, now that I think about it, I shouldn’t be surprised. I’m sure you’re still the same reckless person you’ve always been.”

Vivienne squared her shoulders, the old nickname lighting a familiar spark of irritation. “First of all, I told you to stop calling me that. It’s Vivienne—but I guess listening isn’t exactly your strong suit. Second of all, I’m sure you haven’t changed much either. Still hiding behind your precious facts and statistics, clinging to your spreadsheets like a lifeline, instead of actually doing something out in the field?”

Spencer's jaw tightened, and for a moment, it seemed like he might actually snap back—something he rarely did. Instead, he straightened his posture and fixed her with a cool, unwavering stare.

“Facts and statistics save lives, Vivienne,” he said, his voice calm but laced with steel. “But I wouldn’t expect you to understand that. You’ve always been more comfortable charging in headfirst and hoping your instincts will catch you. And hey, maybe they do sometimes, but how many people have you put at risk with that reckless approach?”.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Vivienne shot back, crossing her arms. “I didn’t realize we were measuring success by how many textbooks you can memorize in a week. But sure, go ahead, Spencer. Quote me some studies about how I’m doing my job wrong. That’s so much more helpful than actually, you know, doing the job.”

His lips twitched, almost like he was biting back a smile—or maybe a smirk.

“At least I don’t need to prove I’m the smartest person in the room,” he said. “Some of us let our work speak for itself.”

Vivienne started to respond, but Morgan cut in between them, a playful glint in his eyes. “You with me, Harper?”

Vivienne gave him a quick nod and followed him over to the other side of the room, but not before giving Spencer one last glance.

Spencer plopped down next to a stack of case files, flipping through them as he glanced over at Vivienne. After he handed her half the stack, he spoke. “Alright, I’ll bite.”

“I feel like what you’re about to say isn’t going to be about my undeniable expertise and sharp wit,” Vivienne said dryly.

He laughed, but shook his head. “We’ll get to that later. You and Reid, what’s the deal?”

Vivienne shot him a glare, groaning. “Come on, Morgan. Can’t you ask me about anything else?”

“I get it, it’s just— I’ve known the guy forever. He’s usually so calm, and I can probably count the amount of times I’ve seen him mad on one hand. But all of a sudden you show up, and all that gets flipped on its head. I’m not complaining, it’s pretty entertaining to watch,” he laughed, and Vivienne rolled her eyes. “Obviously something happened.”

Vivienne raised her eyebrows at him, smiling. “If you think it’s entertaining, you’re the only one.”

“Maybe,” Morgan said with a grin, leaning back casually in his chair. “I’m just intrigued.”

Morgan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, clearly waiting for some juicy tidbit. Vivienne stared at him for a beat, then sighed, knowing he wouldn’t drop it until she threw him a bone.

“Fine,” she said, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms. “Reid and I met at the Academy. We didn’t exactly… get along.”

Morgan raised a brow, his grin widening. “Didn’t get along? That’s an understatement, judging by the way you two were about to throw punches back there.”

Vivienne smirked. “We were competitive, okay? He thought he was smarter than everyone, and I wasn’t about to let him walk around like he was the second coming of Einstein.”

“Let me guess,” Morgan cut in, “you made it your personal mission to knock him down a peg?”

“More like a few pegs,” Vivienne admitted with a shrug.

Morgan chuckled, shaking his head. “So that’s it? Just a couple of old rivals butting heads again?”

Vivienne hesitated, her eyes flickering across the room to where Spencer was sitting. “Something like that. It doesn’t matter. We’re here to work a case, not revisit ancient history.”

“Fair enough,” he said, though the glint of curiosity in his eyes didn’t fade entirely. He stood, grabbing the case files and flashing Vivienne a knowing grin.

“Come on, let’s get back to work before Hotch wonders why we’re sitting around gossiping.”

Morgan’s grin lingered as he moved toward the evidence boards, carrying a stack of case files under one arm. Vivienne grabbed her half of the pile and followed, letting his easy demeanor chip away at the irritation still simmering in her chest.

The bullpen was alive with the hum of focused activity. Agents moved between desks, flipping through files, pinning photos and diagrams to the walls, and mapping out connections. This was a team at its peak—efficient, driven, and unified. And now, whether Vivienne liked it or not, she was part of it.

Morgan dropped his files on the table with a dramatic thud, flashing Vivienne another teasing grin. “Alright, Harper, let’s see if that New York expertise can keep up.”

“Oh, please.” Vivienne smirked, pulling out a chair. “You’re about to get schooled, Morgan.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “We’ll see about that.”

As they delved into the files, the tension faded, replaced by the steady rhythm of collaboration. For now, the case took precedence, and Vivienne was more than ready to prove that she belonged here.

— — — — — — — — —

hi! hope u liked this. this is ch1 of many, and i'll be cross-posting on a03 once i hit 3 chapters if u prefer that format!! this is my christmas gift, from me to you. love ya!

(p.s. i imagine s6/7 spencer in this, and this will be when the fic is set, but we will be 👀overlooking the ENTIRE plot of emilys death. bless!)

[gremlin-girly]

It's a Wonderful Life

A Bucky Barnes Christmas fic

Tags/warnings: ANGST, FLUFF, mentions of suicide/depression/abuse/ptsd, post end game, Steve went back, generally depressing stuff but it's a happy ending :)

Not beta'd. I do not give permission for my work to be translated, copied or reposted or put through an AI machine.

Summary: based upon the film of the same name. On Christmas Eve, Bucky takes a walk and meets a stranger who assures him life is worth living.

Word count : tba

A/N: Merry Christmas everyone! ☺️ sorry to make it so sad - I may come back amd edit parts but I dont know yet! I apologise for any mistakes etc etc. And there's another note at the very end! - Love, Grem x

Dividers by: @/saradika-graphics

Bucky Barnes Collection | Navigation

Christmas Eve in New York was always cold and today was no exception. Bucky wasn't sure how far he'd walked, but he was at a bridge not far from the city, watching the lights wink in the distance.

Leaning on the stone ledge, breathing into his gloved hands to (at the very least) keep his flesh hand warm, he did what he had been doing since the moment he blipped back; think about his entire existence and the lead up to this point, here on the bridge, on Christmas Eve.

The water below whooshed by quickly although you couldn't see the inky mass below. It was loud, almost too loud to hear himself think. He sighed, dropping his hands to the metal railing stuck into the stones.

What was the point of it all?

Bucky wondered, staring into the black void below, if he'd ever truly be free of HYDRA. Sure, his brain was apparently brainwashing-free but, and not to insult Shuri, he was with HYDRA for almost a century.

Almost a century.

Almost a century of abuse. Seven decades worth of scars. Seven decades of murders deserved and not. Seven decades of being frozen and defrosted to the point his body sometimes makes him sick because he shouldn't be out of cryo so long. Seven decades of torture, mental and physical, on top of losing Nat, Tony and... Steve.

End of the line.

What a joke.

What was the point of dragging the Winter soldier kicking and screaming to fix him, to put your life and others' on the line for him; a man who tried to kill you and your friends multiple times, only to leave him once he was back to his old self?

Well, old self was a bit of an exaggeration.

Bucky's grip on the railing tightened, creaking under his strength as he clenched and unclenched his jaw. He hated, hated, hated to admit that he was angry at Steve. Resentful. If Bucky was in Steve's position he would have put a bullet in his brain.

He tells himself, night after night, that Steve had good intentions. Bringing him back, fixing him but... leaving him? Bucky knew very few people, and very few (rightfully) didn't trust him. The only connections he had to most people were Steve and with him gone, it was like people stopped having to pretend to tolerate Bucky and left him alone.

And Steve... after the blip, he'd changed. But coming back after five years, five blissful years where there was no fighting, no pain, just nothing... for Steve to vanish like that made Bucky think he had done something wrong.

Bucky didn't know when he had started crying. He wiped his eyes roughly with his hands and sniffed. He was also a man out of time. He didn't understand modern slang, modern music (which was awful), modern romance or any of that texting stuff or Facebook. Or whatever the bird app was. Or was it as letter now? God. Everything was confusing.

There was a sick comfort in knowing what he was good at with HYDRA.

What was the point of it all?

Even if he threw himself over the railing, by some sick cosmic joke he'd probably live; if not by losing another limb.

"Excuse me?" A voice calls. Bucky ignores it. "Bucky Barnes?"

Bucky blinks and looks over in the direction of the voice. It's not one he recognises and neither is the person.

Before him is an old woman, bundled in thick coats and scarves. She has thin, short white curly hair that's almost translucent and an angled face with chubby, rosy cheeks and eyes that glitter with a playful wit. She's somebody's grandma, with that half-stern eyebrow raise, matronly and motherly look rolled into one.

"Hi?" Bucky blinks at her trying to place her. He still doesn't recognise her.

She approaches a little closer and peeks over the bridge where Bucky had been staring and whistles, cutting through the rush of water in the darkness. "I hope you weren't thinking of jumping."

"No." Bucky lies, still confused.

"Ah, clever boy. It would do you no good. Plenty left to do."

"Do I know you?" Bucky asks, staring at her.

"Oh! No. You don't know me." The old lady says cryptically. "But I know you, James Buchanan Barnes. I know everyone."

Bucky stands up to his full height, towering above the old lady, who watches him unphased. He tilts his head at her, narrowing his eyes, trying to decipher who or possibly what she is and what she could possibly want with him.

"I'm guessing you know me from the news? Or from history books?"

"I know you as James Buchanan Barnes, born March tenth, nineteen-seventeen. I know you as the Winter Soldier. I know you as White Wolf and now I know you as just Bucky."

Bucky reels. Civilians didn't know about his time in Wakanda and he was certain that not many people just knew him as Bucky outside of SHIELD.

"How...?"

"Nevermind how." She snips, adjusting her handbag on her forearm. "What brings you to the bridge tonight, Bucky?"

It sounds like a loaded question. It is a loaded question. The old lady seems to be goading him into admitting something he didn't want to admit.

"I...Just out for a walk." He falters, looking down at his feet.

"Perfect. Walk with me?" The old lady offers her arm out to him, and for some reason Bucky is compelled to take it. Walking arm in arm, they slowly make their way back into the thrum of the city centre.

There are people everywhere.

Pretty standard for New York on Christmas Eve. There are kids, carolers, couples and Christmas-everything along the streets. There's music playing Here Comes Santa Claus somewhere, lights flashing and a giant tree decorated to the nines every few blocks.

"Look at them," The old lady murmurs looking out into the crowd with a warm smile. "Aren't they just the sweetest?"

Bucky follows her gaze. There's plenty of laughing kids, couples walking hand in hand and making gooey eyes at one another but Bucky knows there's more beneath the surface; abusers, pick pockets and murderers walk amongst them. He would know.

"Yeah." Bucky says gruffly. "I guess."

The old lady's gaze pierces him with a stern look. "You don't believe me."

"There are just as many bad people as there are good." Bucky huffs. "No matter what, it hardly makes a difference."

"Now, now," The old lady tuts with a small, patient smile. "That's just not true. Look at where we are."

Bucky frowns down at her. He doesn't know why he feels compelled to stay and argue with some random old lady on Christmas Eve, but he does.

"We're in New York, lady." Bucky grumbles. The old lady jerks her head upwards towards the street name etched into the side of a tall concrete building. Time had worn most of the wording away but Bucky could still just about make it out.

"Worthing Street?"

"Worthing Street." The old lady confirms. And glances up at Bucky. "This is where you first met Steven Grant Rogers all those years ago."

"How in the hell-"

"Language." The old lady huffs and then smiles. "I told you. I know you."

Bucky frowns.

"A little bit of good always makes a big difference. It's all about perspective." She chuckles happily. "This is where James Buchanan Barnes met his best friend; protecting him from bullies. Do you know he could've died that day?"

She gives Bucky a sideways glance as memories spill from Bucky's brain. Steve hacking up a lung and trying to stand, his face and knuckles bloody, struggling to catch his breath.

"I remember." Bucky says quietly.

The lady continues. "Had you not stepped in and saved him, your lives would have been very different. Without you, there would be no Steve Rogers, no Captain America as we know him."

"But there'd be no Wonter Soldier either." Bucky counters and is surprised when the old woman cackles at him.

"There would always be a Winter Soldier. Always a Captain America. Whether or not they were you or Steven is another school of fish entirely."

Bucky ponders her words but thinks that maybe discussing alternate realities would melt his brain. Clint had tried when he'd explained the time travel stuff in the search for infinity stones but it gave Bucky a headache. He was from the 40s for God's sake.

"Your small act of kindness, your selflessness, made Steve aspire to be who he was." The old lady says after a moment. "As difficult as it was, Steve felt that he owed it to you to give you back your life. He deemed you worthy of saving above all else."

Bucky's chest tightened. He could feel the sting of tears again and forced them back.

"Probably because I saved his ass more than once," Bucky tries to chuckle, but the lump in his throat is too thick.

"Because you were his brother." The old woman says simply. She looks back out into the crowd once more before tugging on Bucky’s stiff arm. "Come on. We're not done."

"If you know everyone," Bucky begins, walking alongside the old woman. "Why did Steve leave?"

"Love." The old woman sighs. "He had sacrificed so much and so many. He knew you'd be okay."

"Did he?"

The old woman grins wickedly at Bucky. "Of course. You now have Sam."

Bucky scoffs.

"And Sarah. AJ. Cass. Yelena. Alexei. Shuri. Okoye. T'challa. The list goes on." The old woman reaches into her handbag, scouring it for a moment before producing a mint humbug and offering to Bucky who awkwardly accepts it. She finds one for herself and they continue on down the street.

"And there's those you haven't met yet." She says after her humbug has melted enough for her to speak.

Bucky frowns again. "Oh yeah? Like, I don't know, a partner or something?"

The Old Woman's eyes twinkle. "Or something."

Bucky harumphs, wrapping his arms around himself. He didn't let himself think about that; a future. How could someone love him? After everything he'd done? He was beyond damaged goods.

But the way the Old Woman speaks, as if she knows, makes a small part of him jump for joy. If even he was worthy of love and affection...

"Must you always do that?"

Bucky gives the Old Woman a sideways glance. "Do what?"

"Scrunching up your face like that." She mimicks Bucky's expression, brows furrowing deeply adding extra wrinkles to her skin and pouting her lips comically. "You look like a sad little basset hound."

Bucky throws up his hands. "Its my face!"

"Well, make it smile more." The Old Woman argues back.

"I'm one hundred and six, lady, you can't tell me what to do!" Bucky's lips twitch upwards when he catches her small smirk. "Where are you taking me now, anyway?"

"We're going to see a friend of mine."

Horizon Resedential Care was one of the more impressive care homes in New York. Set within a small block with a park for residents to mull about in, the care home boasted glowing reviews from family members who adored seeing their loved ones sociable, active and well cared for.

The small, wrought iron gate was shut; locked tight to ensure no residents went walk about in the ice and snow. Only the intercom button glowed red, begging to be pressed, to allow family visits.

"No." Bucky said, standing outside the gate. His feet couldn't move. He felt sick. He wanted to run. "I'm not going in there."

The Old Woman looked at him sadly, heartache etched all over her face. "She'd love to see you, you know."

"I - would she? Surely she thinks..." Bucky swallows thickly.

Surely she thinks I'm dead?

"You don't give the woman enough credit." The Old Woman chuckles with a shake of her head. "They watch documentaries in there all the time. The latest one was that Netflix special on the Winter Soldier."

"Oh my God." Bucky murmurs.

"Language." The Old Woman puffs. "Rebecca is more upset that you haven't come to visit her."

Bucky's heart clenches uncomfortably. "She is?"

"Of course. And you clearly know she's in there." The Old Woman gives him another annoying, knowing look. "You’ve known she was alive and haven't visited. Why?"

"Why?" Bucky growls, irritation and a sense of overwhelm crashing over his nerves like a tsunami. "My baby sister is old. I am a killer. How could I show my face to her after everything?"

The Old Woman only shrugs, turning away and beginning to walk down the street again. "You'd be surprised at how much love can forgive, Bucky. But remember, you have her back. You ought to make the most of the time you have together. Perhaps you should not let her think that you have forgotten her."

Bucky's flesh hand is fisted to hard he can feel his bones ache. He grinds his teeth as he fights down his temper. Who was this woman? And how did she know so much about him?

Jogging to catch up to her, Bucky hangs his head falling into step beside her.

"Im sorry for snapping." He grumbles. "Its just-"

"No need to apologise." She holds up a hand and still wears that kind, grandmotherly smile. "However, I do have one more person I'd like you to meet. She should be up this next street."

She?

The alleyway the Old Woman stopped in was... well, exactly how you would imagine an alleyway at the busiest time of year to look like. Trash cans scattered, rotting food mixed with debris and cardboard neatly lining each side of the alley.

"She's supposed to be here." The Old Woman comments, looking down at a thin gold watch around her wrist.

Bucky watches as a rat dives into a trash can and grimaces. "Who?"

"Ah!" The lady throws up her hands and waves at someone past Bucky. "There she is!"

Bucky turns but there's nobody there. He's about to argue with the old lady when a soft meow draw his attention to the ground. At his feet, sitting daintily with wide blue eyes, is the scruffiest white kitten he'd ever seen.

"Alpine."The Old Woman beams. "I was worried you wouldn't make it."

Bucky looks at the rosy cheeked old lady; cherub-like with her dimpled smile and then down at the kitten, who chirps at him. There's something about the Old Woman that's strangely familiar, but he can't quite place it.

"Bucky, Alpine. Alpine, Bucky." She nods and the kitten, Alpine, looks back to Bucky. Bucky stares back. This is entirely surreal.

"What the hell is-"

"She's your companion." She says matter of factly. "I had to pull a few strings to get her a little sooner but-"

"I don't know the first goddamn thing about looking after a cat!"

"Language!" The Old Woman snaps before adding spritely, "You'll learn."

Alpine toddles over to Bucky, circling around his legs and purring loudly. Bucky blinks. Once. Twice. This wasn't a dream. All of this, the wandering was real and not some sort of fucked up nightmare like he was used to having.

A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth when Alpine's giant jeweled eyes meet his and she meows quietly; looking up at him with adoration that said I trust you.

"She needs you as much as you need her." The Old Woman says softly. "Take good care of eachother, you two."

He squats down and offers his flesh hand to Alpine, who sniffs it gingerly before bumping her tiny head against it. Bucky had never been one to say whether he was a dog or cat person, he never had either growing up, and then with the war and HYDRA.... But looking at this kitten before him, his heart was already a puddle at his feet.

Bundling Alpine into his leather jacket, Bucky turned to find the space the Old Woman had occupied was empty. Bucky whipped his head up and down the alleyway and peeked out onto the street. She'd disappeared.

Shaking his head slightly, he looked down at Alpine snuggled against him.

"This has got to be the weirdest Christmas Eve ever." He mutters, stepping into the street and heading back to his apartment.

Bucky's apartment was a lot noisier than when he'd left it over three hours ago. And far more brightly coloured with tinsel and fairy lights.

AJ and Cass are playing some video game on his sofa, Sarah is making something that smells delicious and Sam was in the middle of finishing up the decorations.

"I know you said you didn't want anyone around," Sam starts nervously, already holding his hands in surrender as Bucky opens the door. "But no one should be alone on Christmas. Sarah and I-"

Sam stops and looks at Bucky's jacket as Alpine pokes her head out. "Is that a cat?"

"Uh, yeah." Bucky looks down at Alpine who meows loudly. "This is Alpine."

"Right. Sorry." Sam shakes his head before continuing. "Sarah and I brought some food and snacks and the boys are gonna watch Christmas movies. I'd love it if you'd join us, Buck."

"I... yeah." Bucky nods and swallows thickly, smiling over at Sam. "Thanks, pal. Although... you're in my house."

"Yeah, yeah," Sam waves a hand dismissively but his grin is wide. "Come on. You hungry? We've got plenty of snacks. No cat friendly ones though."

Alpine puffs in annoyance making Bucky chuckle as he joins Sam and Sarah in his small kitchenette. Warmth blossoms in his tight chest as the ice begins to thaw. He tries not to let it show, when tears prickle his eyes again in the warm, flashing lights.

The Old Woman was right; there was plenty left to do.

~ END ~

A/N: Nadolig Llawen! Or happy holidays wherever you are. I hope you're having a good time!

I've been writing and editing this all damn day in between work and cooking.

Originally I played with a few ideas but ultimately decided that I wanted to keep it as non-complex as possible (but if you are curious, yes Old Woman was an angel - specifically I chose Gamaliel Angel of protection and strength, Angel of Cherubs, "recompense of God" - thanks Wiki for that one). I'm not Christian, but a big supernatural fan (hence why I loved this fic idea). I thought if anyone was to be thrown into an old school movie (Like It's a Wonderful Life) it would be Bucky.

And don't worry, he visited Rebecca the next day.

I hope you enjoyed if you've read this far! And once again, happy holidays

- Love, Grem x

[sh4wty18]

'tis the damn season.

pairing: ex!jake x ex!reader

summary: running into your ex at a bar on christmas night wasn't part of your holiday plans, but seeing him reignites old feelings. or maybe they'd never truly ever faded to begin with. "we could call it even, you could call me babe for the weekend."

cw: angst angst angst!!, closed-door sexual content, language, alcohol

word count: 2.2k + edited

a/n: merry christmas guys! this is my gift to you all <3 i've had this brewing in my mind for months and i finally had the motivation to write it. i really hope you all like it as much as i do. i genuinely think this might be one of my fav fics i've ever written

The sight of the bar is a sad one, with only the loneliest souls perched on its stools at 9pm on Christmas. The sweet burn of whiskey kisses your throat as you swallow a sip of your old fashioned. It’s nothing you’re not used to. The drink is familiar, just like the bar. You’d made a tradition with yourself: to go to the bar alone after Christmas dinner every year. There was only so much of your family you could take before you needed an escape. Kansas was never your home. New York was. There was only one thing that could’ve kept you here, and once he left, you did too. 

You swirl the ice in your glass, eyeing the cocktail, debating whether you want another sip yet, or if you could ride out the aftertaste of your previous one for a few more minutes. Jake had always said you liked ‘old man drinks’. You had argued that your palette was just more advanced than his, but now, staring down at the amber liquid in the lowball glass, you realized he was right. You smirk, he always did know you better than you knew yourself. You take another sip, allowing the liquor to burn your taste buds for a few seconds before swallowing.

Then you hear it. A laugh you would have recognized anywhere. His laugh. Your eyes flick upwards and there he is. Across the bar. Making small talk with the bartender. Presumably ordering something sweet and fruity. You look away before he can notice you, but not before taking in his appearance. He looks different than he did the last time you saw him. His hair is shaggier, dyed black. He has more tattoos now, you can barely make out an open space on either of his arms. He has lip piercings now. They look good, really good. You watch his adam's apple bob up and down as he continues to speak to the bartender, laughing politely at something he said. No matter how much his aesthetic changes, his smile is always the same. Big and toothy and squinty and genuine. The same smile you fell for so many years ago. 

You glance up again and he isn’t on the other side of the bar anymore. A hand brushes against your arm and when you turn, there he is. Giving you a different smile than the one he gave the bartender. It was his more intimate smile. Smaller and rosy-cheeked, and reserved only for you. It was the smile you were still learning how to live without. 

He’s holding an old fashioned, and when he takes a sip, you can see him physically holding back from making a face. “Can I sit?” he asks.

You stare at him, awestruck. You don’t know why. You grew up together. This was his hometown as much as it was yours. If there were two things the holidays reminded you of, they were your hometown and Jake. “Uh… yeah. Of course.” 

He sits and puts his glass down on the cocktail napkin you’ve neglected to use. He glances over at you, then back at his drink. 

“Funny seeing you here,” Jake says. His voice is low and raspy. It makes your stomach drop. “Alone at a bar on Christmas night.” 

“You’re here too,” you quip, chuckling. 

“Point taken.”

“So why are you here?” you ask, sipping your drink. 

He looks ahead. “Sometimes… family is shitty.” He turns to make eye contact with you, knowing you’d understand that sentiment better than anyone. “You?”

“Family is shitty.” You raise your glass to his, clinking them softly.

Jake inhales, “I haven’t seen you since–”

“Last year?” you ask.

“Yeah.” He looks around the bar, his eyes flicking between the liquor bottles lining shelves, as if he’s searching for his next words. “You look beautiful.” 

You feel your cheeks get hot. “Thanks.”

He places a gentle hand on your thigh. Not in a weird way. In an honest way. “I’m not just saying that.”

“I know,” you respond. You smile at him. “I know you.” 

The corners of his mouth creep upwards, and you watch a pink hue grow across his cheeks. He clears his throat, “How’s New York?”

“Good… good. I really feel like I found my home there, you know? I’m making good money, working a job I actually like, and I live with my best friends. But of course, then I come home and it’s just…” you trail off. He wraps his hand around your wrist, tracing your skin lightly with his thumb in the same way he always used to do when he knew you were struggling. He gives you a knowing look, and you smile at him halfheartedly. “How’s LA?” you ask.

“Great! I found an awesome group of people out there and I’m living with my best friends too. Working my dream job…” He breaks eye contact with you, turning to stare straight ahead. A look of embarrassment washes across his face and he clears his throat again. “Obviously you know that. Um. But yeah. I come home and… shit happens. I get pissed. But it’s family.” 

You look down at your drink, his words burning in your ears. Obviously you know that. Yeah, you did. You’d broken up six years ago so that he could move out to LA and pursue his dream. You wanted him to succeed, of course you did. You wanted nothing but the best for him. But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt like hell to watch him go, not even trying to fight for your relationship. Neither of you had been the same since then, whether you wanted to admit it or not.

He looks at you again, but you’re still hesitant to tear your eyes away from your glass. “Do you ever wonder if things would be different? If I’d–”

“Yes.” You meet his gaze now, and he raises his eyebrows in shock at your quick reply. “All the time.” 

“I was young and stupid and I wanted to get to LA with no attachments to this place. I-I never thought–”

“You don’t need to explain yourself to me, Jake. I understand.” You smile at him, a true smile. Because you were being honest. Because you knew why he did it. And because truthfully, it was probably better that you’d broken up then instead of having you go with him and risk breaking up years later. Then it would’ve all been for nothing. Now you’d just have to wonder what could’ve been. 

You check your phone, it was a little past 10 now. “Do you wanna get out of here?” you ask hopefully. 

A grin makes its way onto his face, and the familiar squint of his eyes makes your heart race. “Yeah.” 

He flags down the bartender and pays for both of your drinks, despite your arguments. “I can afford it, baby, trust me,” he laughs. The nickname rolls off his tongue so easily, it's almost like he’s yours again. He speaks up in a softer tone, “Plus…I want to.” 

A comfortable silence falls over the two of you, before you let out a giggle. “An old fashioned?” you point towards his glass, “Really? I thought it was an ‘old man’ drink.” 

He scratches the back of his neck and laughs at himself. “I, um, when I saw you across the bar, I thought maybe you’d think I looked cooler if I was drinking something more… grown up. And I knew these were your favorite.” 

Your heart flutters at the gesture, he really wanted to be cool for you. Shouldn’t it be the other way around? “I already think you’re cool, Jake. You could do nothing and I’d still think you’re cool.” 

He blushes again, turning away from you. You stand and walk toward the exit, knowing he’d follow you out. Just like he did last year, and the year before. 

The crisp winter air smacks your face when you get outside. You bundled up, but were still freezing. Jake stands next to you, cigarette in hand. “Cold?” he asks rhetorically before wrapping an arm around your shoulders to warm you up. 

“Can I get a hit of that?” you ask. He smiles and raises the cig to your lips for you, watching as you inhale slowly, allowing the smoke to warm your body. You exhale away from him. He throws the dead cig on the ground and stomps it out with his foot. You turn to face him, and he smiles down at you. He brushes a stray lock of hair behind your ear. He rests his palm flat against your cheek, and you lean into his touch. “You always were the romantic. Even when you pretended not to be. Tough guy.” You turn your head half an inch and you’re breathing into his palm. You kiss it.

“Nuh uh,” he counters, childishly. But he’s giving you that smile again, the one reserved for you. And then he’s pulling your face closer to his, until your mouths are only separated by breath. 

“We can’t keep doing this,” you whisper.

“Doing what?” he asks, before pressing his lips to yours. His lips are as soft as you remember, and the kiss is just as desperate and aching as it always is. Your hands tangle in his jet-black hair, and he pulls you in by your waist. 

—

He pulls you into his childhood bedroom, giddy shushes and giggles coming from your mouths as he closes and locks the door. You immediately pull your shirt off, and he follows your lead, and then you’re both stripped down to your underwear. 

He stares at your body in the moonlight seeping in from his blinds. “Shit, you’re gorgeous” he whispers, taking you in his arms. He kisses all over your cheeks and neck and shoulders, walking you both backwards until you feel the bed press against the backs of your thighs. He pulls away, just to let you get comfortable on his bed. 

He climbs on top of you, as he’d done countless times before, and you gaze up at him. “Hi,” he says, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your lips. 

“Hi,” you giggle, like it was the first time. 

He slowly fingers the waistband of your underwear, eyeing you, waiting for your approval. You nod, desperate to have your bodies connected from the inside out. Intertwined so wholly you couldn’t tell where his body ended and yours began. He pulls your underwear off, throwing them across the room into the pile of clothes you’ve left by the door. Then he pulls off his boxers and there’s nothing left to separate you. Just skin on skin. You both let out sighs of relief as he sinks into you, all the tension in your bodies replaced with pure need. 

When he was inside of you, you forgot why you’d left Kansas at all. But when you were with each other, clamoring to each other’s bare skin, when he kissed your neck and whispered how you’re the only woman he’s ever loved, you remembered why you’d fallen in love with him in the first place. Why you were in love with him even after you’d broken up. Why you’re still in love with him now. 

An hour later and you’re sweaty and exhausted and just want to be in each other’s presence. You hold onto him, your bodies a tangle of limbs under the sheet, and he traces hearts into your cheeks with his index fingers. “Please…” he begs. “Let me be yours for the weekend.” 

How could you ever say no to that? To him? You nod, “Okay.” 

He grins and kisses you. “You’re still my perfect girl, you know that?” he asks.

You jokingly shove his shoulder and laugh, “Oh, shut up.” 

He only pulls your body even closer to his, until you’re practically laying on top of him. He kisses the top of your head, “I’m serious, baby.” he mumbles, before no doubt nodding off to sleep. 

The next several days are a whirlwind of movies, take-out Chinese food, sex, cuddling, and catching up with each other. 

This is how it always happened. Spending days on end together, pretending like nothing ever happened. Laughing during the day and whispering sweet nothings into each other’s ears at night. Telling each other the things you were too afraid to say when you were together, always late at night when you assumed the other was asleep. Like that a part of you always wished you’d gone with him. Or that you were certain you’d never love someone else the way you loved him. Love him.

But all good things must come to an end. For the third year in a row, you knew that. You still forced yourself out of his bed on the 30th at the crack of dawn to make your flight back to New York for New Years Eve. Maybe you’d see him again next year, or maybe not. You weren’t sure you even wanted to. 

You look over at him sleeping peacefully in his bed, watching the rise and fall of his perfectly sculpted chest, knowing that inside of him was a real beating heart. Knowing that he was alive and so were you and the fact that you got to exist on Earth at the same time was enough of a gift to last a lifetime. You kiss his forehead. “I’ll always love you.” 

Then you turn your back and walk out. You don’t dare turn around. If you did, you’d just break your own heart more.

When you get to the airport, a text from Jake pops up on your screen:

i’ll always love you too

i'm so proud of this one and i hope you guys like it :) tags for my beloved moots @liseytopia, @quinnynation, & @audr3yyyyy <3

divider from @/saradika-graphics. pics from pinterest.

[angegiarratanawriter]

I'll Be Home For Christmas

Warnings: Smut

Word Count: 4659

Summary: After two years of dating but being apart from most of it, you move to LA just in time to surprise Angela for the holidays

A/N: Here's to me actually getting this out on time, unlike anything I've written this year. This is for @thesixthimmortal. I hope you enjoy it, and I hope everyone has a happy holidays.

Being an actress has always been your dream. You can distinctly remember the moment where you made up your mind, no more than four years old, telling your parents that you were going to be on TV one day. And you would be. You have been. For the better part of the last five years, you’ve been starring in one of the most popular TV shows to air in the US. The only problem is, being an actress isn’t what you’ve been dreaming about lately.

Two years ago, on a summer long filming break, you ended up in Los Angeles. Cliche, you know, but it had just seemed like the place to be at the time. That’s where you met Angela, a fellow actor and comedian who had caught your eye at a networking event. She had approached you first, much more confident than you are, but from the moment you started talking, you had never felt more seen.

Never having felt like that before, you decided to do something completely uncharacteristic and give Angela your number. It was an olive branch, one that you half expected her not to use, but she texted you the next day and everything just took off. You went from texting to facetiming to hanging out in person every chance you got in the span of two weeks, and at the end of week three, she asked you out on a date. Of course, you said yes.

The rest of that summer was filled with a whirlwind of emotions. Being with Angela was refreshing, it made you feel like you mattered for more than what you could do on a screen. She made you happy, happier than you’d ever been. By the time fall was right around the corner and September was knocking on your door, you knew you were in love with her, and that made leaving so much harder.

Going back to New York that first year was the hardest thing you’ve ever done. Being back on set, away from your girlfriend, just felt so wrong. It felt like you were suddenly missing a part of yourself, like half of you stayed in LA when you left. The texts and the phone calls were barely enough, but somehow you made it through filming the whole season without just up and quitting.

As soon as you wrapped, you hopped on a plane back to LA. Getting to see Angela again after seven months away was like coming home, and it was then that you realized that she was the one. Every moment you spent together from then on, you found yourself wondering what it would be like to wake up by her side every morning, and fall asleep with her every night. Slowly but surely, your dream started to change, and you knew it was time to make a decision.

Getting out of your contract was tough, but your agency had gone to bat for you and made sure that a fair deal was struck. You had agreed to stay on for eight additional episodes, and in return, they agreed to release you from your contract early. As much as you hated that you had to go back at all, you knew that this deal was best for everyone. It gave the writers time to wrap up your character’s arc, and you time to get everything ready on your end.

When the summer came to an end, you left again, but this time you knew you’d be home sooner than expected. At first, you had wanted to tell Angela that you were leaving your show and moving to LA right away, but the producers had made you sign an NDA so that they could announce your departure on their terms.

Keeping the secret to yourself had been hard at first, but the longer you were away, the more you saw it as an opportunity to surprise Angela. After all, you were supposed to finish filming two weeks before Christmas, and you think that you moving to LA would be one hell of a present. So, you started planning.

In the span of a little over two months, you found an apartment downtown and rented it, canceled the lease on your New York apartment and packed up, shipped all of your stuff to LA, hired people to set up your new apartment for you, and filmed half a season of a TV show. By the end of it, you were exhausted, but it was so, so worth it.

Now, you’re on a plane back to LA, anxiously tapping your foot as you run through the plan in your head one last time. As soon as you land, a driver that your management has commissioned will pick you up and drive you over to your apartment so that you can drop your stuff off. Then, you’re going to get right back into the car and head over to the Smosh studio to surprise your girlfriend at work. Everything is all set up, it’s all about the execution now.

As soon as the plane lands, you deboard and head out to the Arrivals Pick Up area. There are a couple of photographers camped out by the doors, and when they notice you, they start snapping pictures. A couple even yell a few questions at you, but you just ignore them, heading straight out the exit and to the dark colored SUV that is waiting. The driver takes your bags and puts them in the trunk as you hop into the back seat, and soon enough, you’re on your way.

The trip to your apartment is quick, with you literally just retrieving your key from the building manager and chucking your stuff inside. As soon as you’ve locked up, you head back to the car and give your driver the address you want him to drop you off at. It takes a little bit longer to get to your destination this time, as the Smosh studio is on the outskirts of the city. As you pull through the front gate, you take out your phone to send a quick text.

Y/N: I’m out front.

Amanda: Coming to let you in now! Can’t wait to see you!

Angela’s best friend texts you back immediately, and you smile at her enthusiasm. While you haven’t had the most time to get to know each other, you’ve hung out a few times and your girlfriend talks about her a lot. Enough for you to know that she’s a great person and someone who you eventually want to call your friend as well.

When the car stops in front of the studio, your driver hops out of the car and opens your door for you. You give him a smile and a nod in thanks before taking out your phone and Venmoing him a decent sized tip. As you go to slip your cell back into your pocket, the studio door opens, and you look up to see Amanda walking out. She gives you a huge smile and immediately comes over to wrap her arms around you.

“It’s so good to see you,” Amanda says.

“You too,” you say, hugging the woman back. “How have you been?”

“Oh, you know me. Busy, busy, but I have no complaints. You?”

“Things are starting to look up.”

“That’s good,” Amanda says with a smile. “Come on, let’s head inside. Ange should be wrapping up her shoot in a few minutes.”

“Great!” you say.

You follow Amanda inside, letting your eyes wander as you pass through what seems to be the offices before heading into the common area. There are some crew members bustling around, bringing props from one set to another, and a couple of cast members that you recognize hanging out on some couches. Tommy and Shayne seem to be watching a video on one of their phones together, while Courtney and Arasha are going over the rules of some board game.

Amanda leads you over to the free couch in the cluster, and you sit down, sinking into the comfortable cushions. You let out a sigh of contentment, deciding that you’d be happy to close your eyes for a couple of minutes before Angela is done filming, but before you can, a squeal of excitement comes from the couch across from you.

“Y/N!” Courtney says excitedly. “You’re here!”

“I am,” you say with a smile.

“I can’t believe Angela didn’t tell us you were coming,” Shayne says.

“Yeah, about that…she kind of doesn’t know.”

“Oooh, a surprise?!” Courtney says. “I love it.”

“I just hope she does too,” you say, almost under your breath.

“She will,” Shayne assures you. “She’s missed you. Like, a lot.”

“I’ve missed her too.”

“Well not for much longer!” Amanda says with excitement. “Chanse just texted me that they just finished their shoot and are heading over here now.”

As soon as Amanda finishes, you hear a pair of voices start echoing from behind one of the stage doors. You can already tell just by the pitch that one of them is Angela, and by extension you can guess that the other one is Chanse. Judging by the tone, they’re arguing about something, but it seems more like a playful disagreement than anything. As the door opens and they both step out, you are able to pick up their conversation.

“...just saying that there is no reason you can’t come out with us tonight,” Chanse says.

“Yes, there is,” Angela says. “I don’t want to. All I wanna do is go home, climb into my bed, and facetime my girlfriend.”

“I think I’ve got something a little better than facetime,” Amanda says, smirking.

“Wha-” Angela cuts herself off as she looks up and your eyes lock. “Y/N?”

“Hey, baby,” you say.

Before you can even react, your girlfriend is throwing herself into your arms, and you find yourself spinning with her momentum so she doesn’t send you both toppling over. You laugh as you wrap your arms around her, burying your face in the crook of her neck and drinking in the sweet scent of home that you haven’t smelled in almost three months.

“You’re here,” Angela breathes into your shoulder.

“I am,” you reply softly.

“Fuck, this is amazing. I missed you so much.”

“I missed you, too.”

“How long are you here for?” Angela asks, pulling away from the hug.

“I’m not sure yet,” you say, trying not to cringe at your lie as you take a step back. “I at least have through Christmas, though.”

“So we can have our first Christmas together?”

“If you’ll have me.”

“How is that even a question?” Angela says, a huge smile on her face. “If you think you aren’t staying with me while you’re here, you’re insane.”

“You want me to stay with you?”

“Absolutely. I don’t want to spend a second away from you while I have you here.”

“Then you don’t have to,” you say softly.

“Good. Now, before we head out, do you want a tour?”

“Yes, please!”

“Cool,” Angela says happily, before turning to her castmates. “See you guys later?”

“Yeah, see ya,” Shayne acknowledges.

“Bye,” Courtney says cheerfully. “It was good to see you, Y/N.”

“Bye, guys!” Amanda adds.

“See you tomorrow,” Arasha says.

Angela and Chanse say goodbye with a complex handshake, and he gives you a nod before your girlfriend grabs your hand and pulls you off in the direction of the sets. She brings you through each of them slowly, taking the time to tell you funny stories from behind the scenes. There’s the TNTL bit about the election that got cut, and the time she got so excited about an update on Reddit stories that she almost tipped over the couch.

As you walk through the Culinary Crimes set, Angela tells you about the Thanksgiving episode that they did this year, where not one of the dishes was bad. You end up stopping for a minute on the Games set, where she shows you all of the video games that she’s been forced to play over the past two years.

The last set Angela brings you through is the podcast set, which is all prepped and ready for filming. She ends up telling you about her “Ham Cake” sketch and the many live streams that they’ve done in here, as well as showing you all of the holes in the back wall from the various darts videos that they’ve made.

After she finishes showing you all of the sets, Angela brings you out into the prop area for a brief look around, and then heads through the kitchen and lunch area. This brings you back to the offices, where she shows you her desk. You think that the tour is going to end there, but soon she grabs your hand again and starts leading you farther down the hall. She ends up stopping in front of a door, pushing it open for you to see inside.

“And this is the Crying Bathroom,” Angela says. “It’s the only place where anyone can get any privacy around here.”

“So this is where Tommy spends ninety percent of his time,” you joke, stepping into the bathroom.

“It is.” You hear the door shut behind you, and you turn to see your girlfriend locking it with a devilish smirk on her face. “It’s also where I’m going to fuck you for the first time in three months. Is that okay?”

“Fuck yes.”

Not wanting to give yourself time to change your mind, because this is your girlfriend’s place of work and is probably not the most sanitary place to have sex, you push Angela back into the door and connect your lips in a bruising kiss. She lets you set the pace for a minute, but she soon loses patience and you find yourself being spun around and pinned in place, your back hitting the oak with a thud.

You moan at the show of dominance, but the sound is swallowed by Angela’s mouth as she pushes her body against yours for full contact. As you kiss, you feel her start to trace her hands up and down your sides, letting her fingers brush up against the sliver of skin that’s peeking out between your jeans and your t-shirt. After a minute of torturous contact, you pull back with the little room that you have and pull your shirt off and toss it to the side.

Angela doesn’t waste a second in moving her lips down to your neck, then your collarbone, and then to the center of your chest. She teasingly brushes them along your naval, and you find yourself tangling your fingers in her hair to try and get her to speed up. It works, because the next thing you know, your bra is on the floor and your girlfriend has her lips wrapped around a nipple.

“Oh, fuck,” you moan. “God, yes!”

As Angela lavishes your chest, you find yourself grinding down on the thigh that she has strategically wedged between your legs. The pleasure is welling up fast, coming in tiny bursts that feel like mini supernovas bursting in your stomach. Just as you start to feel the dizzying edge approach, your girlfriend pulls back from your nipple, releasing it with a tug, and slowly gets down on her knees.

“Can I?” Angela asks, her voice on the edge of begging.

“Please,” you say, nodding rapidly.

Taking the given consent eagerly, Angela undoes the button of your jeans and slides down the zipper before pulling them down to your ankles with your underwear. She can’t get them past your shoes, so you carefully kick those off before she pulls your pants the rest of the way off and tosses them to the side with your other clothes. It’s then that you realize that she’s still fully dressed, but before you have time to process that, you end up getting distracted by her throwing your left leg over her shoulder.

Angela drags her tongue up from your entrance to your clit, circling around it skillfully before moving back down and dipping it inside of you. A loud moan escapes your lips, and you quickly bring one hand up to muffle yourself while the other one goes down to tangle in your girlfriend’s hair again. When she moves back up and sucks on your clit, you bite down hard as you try to fight the waves of pleasure already threatening to consume you.

Despite your best efforts, it only takes a few more flicks and another hard suck to have you tumbling over the edge. Angela holds you steady as your muscles tense and your legs shake, her tongue never stopping until she feels you start to relax. Once she’s sure your legs will hold you again, she puts your left one back on the floor and stands up. You don’t hesitate to pull her into a kiss, moaning as you taste yourself on her lips.

“My turn,” you say.

Using all of the strength you have left, you switch your positions and push Angela up against the bathroom door. She gasps in surprise, leaving an opening for you to dip your tongue into her mouth as you undo the button on her jeans and pull the zipper down. You don’t hesitate to slip your hand into her panties once you have enough room, and you immediately find her clit and start rubbing circles around it.

“Fuck,” Angela says, her head falling back against the bathroom door. “I’ve missed this. Missed the way you taste, missed the way your fingers feel inside of me.”

“I’ve missed you, too,” you reply, moving your lips down to her neck.

“God, baby. Inside, please. I need you.”

Never one to deny Angela anything, you slip your hand farther into her panties and dip two fingers inside of her. The gasp she lets out is downright filthy, but it’s nothing in comparison to the swearing and moaning that begins the minute you start moving. As you thrust, you crook your fingers up, smirking as you find the spot that always drives her wild and start to attack it.

“Fuck, baby, I’m gonna-”

Before she can even get the sentence fully out, Angela clenches hard around your fingers and shudders her way through an intense orgasm. You slow your fingers gradually, not wanting to overstimulate her, and lean in to press a gentle kiss to her lips. It takes her a minute to fully come down, but when she does, she kisses you back.

“Mmmm,” Angela hums, smiling against your lips. “Fuck, I always forget how good you are at that.”

“You’re one to talk,” you say, still catching your breath a little. “I’m pretty sure I saw God.”

“Nah, that was just me.”

You both break out into a fit of laughter at the joke, your foreheads pressing together as your chests fill to bursting with love and happiness. When you finally regain your composure after a couple of minutes, you sigh and then lean in to place one last soft kiss against your girlfriend’s lips.

“I love you,” you breathe out.

“I love you, too,” Angela says softly. “Now, let’s go home so we can continue this in an actual bed.”

“Yes, please.”

—

The two weeks leading up to Christmas are absolute bliss. You and Angela spend every free moment that you have together, just enjoying being in each other’s company again. On the days that she is home, you decorate her apartment while drinking hot cocoa together. When she has to work, you spend all of your time trolling the downtown LA area, looking for the perfect present.

A few days before Christmas, you end up passing a Tiffany’s, and suddenly, it just hits you. Before you know it, you’re writing out a check and handing it over to the attendant in exchange for a beautiful emerald cut diamond ring and a matching set of earrings. You almost add on a necklace, but decide to hold off, thinking that might be a bit too much. Instead, you find a La Perla and get Angela a beautiful set of lacy lingerie that you know you’ll both enjoy.

After getting your presents all figured out, you start planning the proposal. Figuring out what you’re going to say is harder than you expected, as nothing seems to do how you feel about Angela justice. It takes a long talk with Amanda at the Smosh Christmas party for you to finally realize that your speech doesn’t need to be perfect, it just needs to be you. It’s then that you decide to stop planning, knowing that you express yourself better in the moment anyways.

When Christmas day finally comes, you’re more excited than you’ve ever been. You find yourself awake at 8:00 almost on the dot with the complete inability to fall back to sleep. Instead of waking Angela up, you roll over in her arms and bury your face in her chest, breathing in her soothing scent. You stay like that for what feels like forever, just basking in your girlfriend’s warmth, before she finally opens her eyes.

“Good morning,” you say softly.

“Mmm, morning,” Angela replies huskily. “Merry Christmas, baby.”

“Merry Christmas, love. Do you want to stay in bed for a little while longer, or do you want to get up and open your presents?”

“Up. Definitely up.”

So you both get out of bed, heading into the bathroom to freshen up quickly before going out into the living room. Angela takes a seat in front of the tree, and you sit down across from her, both grabbing your presents for each other so that you can exchange them. You smile to yourself, sneaking a quick peek at where you had hidden the ring in the tree, before turning your attention to your girlfriend.

“Okay, so my gifts kind of have two different vibes,” Angela says, pulling at the collar of her shirt nervously. “I got a serious present, and a sexy present.”

“So did I,” you say reassuringly. “Which one do you want to open first?”

“Sexy.”

“Okay.”

You grab the wrapped box of lingerie and hand it to Angela, taking the bag that she gives you in exchange. She nods at you to go first, so you take out the tissue paper to reveal two boxes, one smaller and one larger. You pull them both out of your bag to get a better look at them, gulping when you realize what they are. A bolt of arousal shoots through you, and you have to remind yourself that you have a plan for today.

“A strap on?” you say, your voice unsteady.

“Yeah,” Angela replies nervously. “What do you think?”

“That maybe we should have exchanged serious presents first. Fuck, this makes me want to spend the rest of the day in bed.”

“Really?”

“Fuck yes. But I do need to raincheck the day in bed for like, another hour. Just enough time for us to finish opening our presents and then have some breakfast.”

“Deal. Do you want me to open mine now?”

“Please.”

Angela smiles at you and then turns her attention to the present sitting in front of her. She unwraps it carefully, tossing the wrapping paper to the side and sliding off the top of the box as you watch her intently. You can see the moment when she recognizes what it is, because her fingers flex on the sides of the box and her eyes get two shades darker.

“Do you like it?” you ask hesitantly.

“Like it?” Angela replies breathlessly. “I fucking love it. Thank you.”

“Of course, baby. Next present?”

After handing Angela the smaller box that holds the earring you’d gotten her, you take the present that she offers in return and place it in front of you. She tries to get you to go first again, but you resist, only giving in when she leans over to give you a persuasive kiss. As she pulls away, you unwrap her gift and open the box, revealing a beautiful white gold necklace with a ‘A’ charm on it.

“Will you put it on?” you ask, turning around.

“Of course,” Angela replies, taking the jewelry and clasping it around your neck. “Does it fit okay?”

“It’s perfect. I love it.”

“I’m glad. My turn?”

“Absolutely.”

You watch as Angela carefully unwraps the box in front of her, taking great care like she did with the first one. When she sees that the box has the Tiffany’s logo on it, her eyes widen in a little bit of panic. For a minute you worry that she’s nervous about you proposing, but she immediately puts that thought to bed.

“Baby, I thought we agreed on a spending limit?” Angela says, looking up at you.

“I didn’t go over it,” you say, breathing out a small sigh of relief. “I got a really good deal, I promise.”

It’s true, you did get a good deal, but it has a lot more to do with the fact that you bought an engagement ring at the same time than it does with the holiday deals. Angela looks at you skeptically for a minute, but she seems to accept your explanation because she reaches down and pops the box open.

“Oh my God. These are beautiful.”

“Yeah?” you say, smiling.

“Of course,” Angela replies. “I love them.”

“Good, because I have one last present, and it kind of goes with those.”

Taking a deep breath, you rise to your feet and walk over to the Christmas tree. Your thoughts are racing, running through all of the things that you want to express but haven’t ever found the words to say. Shaking your head to clear it, you reach into the tree and pull out the ring box before turning back to your girlfriend.

“These past two years with you have been the best in my life,” you start, finding your footing. “Even though we’ve only been able to spend a few months at a time together, you make me feel more loved and more seen than anyone I’ve ever known. I love you more than all of the stars in the sky, deeper than all of the oceans. Which is why, last August, I made a decision. I’m taking a break from acting.”

“Y/N-” Angela says, but you cut her off.

“Here is where I want to be. With you. So I’m leaving SVU. Left, actually. My last day of filming was the 10th.”

“Let’s move in together.”

“I’m way ahead of you. I already bought an apartment downtown. It’s twenty minutes from your studio.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes, baby. So fucking serious. Almost as serious as I am about this.” You take one last deep breath and get down on one knee, showing her the box. “When I was little, all I dreamed about was being an actor. Since I’ve met you, that’s started to change. Now the only thing I dream about is waking up next to you every morning and falling asleep in your arms every night. Well, that and being your wife. So what do you say? Will you marry me?”

“Yes,” Angela chokes out as tears stream down her face. “Yes!”

A wide smile breaks across your lips, and you open the box to take the ring out. You hear a small gasp escape Angela’s lips as she catches sight of it, but you just carry on with what you’re doing. As you take her hand and slip the ring on, you look up, locking eyes with the love of your life. She looks down briefly and then back up, before leaning in and pulling you into a passionate kiss.

“I love you,” Angela murmurs.

“I love you, too,” you say. “I can’t wait for you to be my wife.”

[beargyufairy]

You know I left a part of me back in Hargeon…

First Ep

Last Ep

[madeline-kahn]

Music in Film: The Sun is Also a Star (2019) dir. Ry Russo-Young

[loustyleshtommo]

Seriously Louis and Taylor are the death of me.

Her Miss Americana was released on Netflix the day he released WALLS

His All Of Those Voices premiered in London the day she re-released Eye Open, Safe & Sound, If This Was A Movie, and also unlocked the vault for All Of The Girls You Loved Before

Please actually collaborate and release ONE THING together TOGETHER already

[itspileofgoodthings]

listening to the back half of folklore tonight.

[flashover]

the fact that in 2020 i was the only person talking about how hoax was about steve and bucky. where were you. where were all of you

[jewishrizahawkeye]

god imagine the suprise song combo of cornelia street and hoax…

[emersonxcassidy]

☎️ + jace.

What My Muse Has For Your Muse’s Contact Info:

Jace @jaceberg

What Their Ringtone Is:

Hoax- Taylor Swift

The Last Text They Sent Your Muse:

Em: Have a safe flight

What Image My Muse Has For Your Muse In Their Phone:

[angelicsoka]

THE HAT RULE, t. owens

word count | 1.7k words

pairings | tyler owens x meteorologist!fem!reader

summary | where tyler owens decides to show the reader what the hat rule is. 

warnings | MINORS DNI!! 18+ ONLY!! HEAVY smut! reader doesn’t know the hat rule. not proofread. lowercase intended. 

a/n | first of all, sorry for disappearing, i've had NO motivation to write on here, but i saw twisters yesterday and seeing glen powell in a cowboy hat changed me as a person, and also gave me motivation to write. i’ve never written a full smut so i apologize if this sucks, i've stepped out of my comfort zone for this one.

the first time you had ever encountered a tornado was a memory you were sure to never forget. growing up in new york meant rain and snow but no tornadoes. so when traveling to nebraska on a field trip in high school, you were unprepared when the sirens sounded, sending everyone into a frenzy. you had watched as the rain pelted from the sky, a funnel forming up above. you were mesmerized as your teacher pulled you to safety, a sort of thrill tearing through  your body. from that moment on, you knew what you wanted to do. you went to college for meteorology, graduating near top of your class before going onto to work at a local news station. but it never quite settled the feeling that something was missing, until you stumbled across tyler owens’ youtube channel. 

tyler owens had become a sensation, a daredevil who did more than just chase the storms, he rode into them. and that seemed to heighten that need of a thrill. so, you hit him up and to your surprise, he replied. and what had started out as a week off of work to storm chase with the daredevil, turned to going part time at your job and joining him on the road.

that was a season ago, and now you were sat at a dingy bar, sipping a beer with tyler and the team. the man himself was sat on the stool next to you, nursing his own beer and listening to lily speak. you ignored the slight butterflies that entered your stomach as he laughed. you had learned to never mix work and love, but something about tyler had you questioning that lesson. he looked mighty fine in his blue jeans and button up, supporting a cowboy’s hat on his head. you noticed your beer was gone, standing up you turned to your crew.

“i'm gonna get another beer, can i get anyone anything?” no’s were murmured around the group except for one.

“i could use another, how ‘bout i come with ya?” you shrugged, tyler getting up to walk with you. lily let out a low whistle, stopping at your glare. 

“be my guest.” you two walked over to the bar top, signaling the busy bartender. “can we get two more, when you get a sec?” the bartender nodded, going to make a few drinks before he could grab their bottles. 

“so, miss city girl, how you likin’ riding with us? ready to go back to the big apple yet?” tyler questioned, turning to look down at you slightly. damn the height difference.

“don’t think you’re getting rid of me that quick, i have a lot more storm chasing left in me, cowboy.” you winked, tyler laughing. you debated for just a moment before reaching up and taking the cowboy hat from his head.

“the hell you think you’re doing?” tyler questioned as you placed the hat on your own head, admiring your reflection on your phone.

“you wear this hat all the damn time, i just wanted to see if there was something special about it? maybe it has some magical powers or something.” the bartender came back around, beer bottles in hand. you thanked him, handing him some cash before turning back to tyler, who had an odd look in his eye. you quickly took off the hat, worried you had pissed him. you went to hand it back to him, when tyler shook his head:

“keep it on, it suits you.” tyler picked up his beer, beginning back to the table. the comment caused a light blush to dust your cheeks. shaking your head, you hoped it didn't show too much as you followed him back. you sat in your seat, confused by the odd looks you received from the crew. nobody said anything about the hat as the night went on, but that didn’t stop the odd looks.

by last call, it was you and tyler left of the crew. thankfully the bar was across the street from the motel, tyler paying the tab much to your protest, before setting off back to the motel. you had forgotten you still wore tyler’s hat upon your head, only remembering when you went to brush your hair from your eyes, your hand bumping the rim. “hey, do you know why everyone kept giving me weird looks after i put your hat on? and why boone and dani wouldn’t stop snickering?” tyler looked over to you as you climbed the stairs of the motel.

“you don't know?” you shook your head in response, tyler holding a bewildered look. “you don't know the hat rule?”

“there’s a hat rule?” tyler stopped at his door, which neighbors your’s and lily’s. “what?”

“you wear the hat, you ride the cowboy.” he deadpanned, your eyes widening and a heavy blush coating your cheeks. 

“oh my god! i promise i wasn’t trying to imply that or anything. not there’s anything wrong with you, because you’re– well you’re you, and–”  you fumbled over your words, stopping mid sentence when tyler laughed.

“hey, it's fine. if you weren’t trying to insinuate that, that’s fine. but if you were, well, now's your chance. and i’d be more than happy to show you how that rule works.” tyler walked closer, a minimal amount of space between you, just enough to allow you to choose whether you close that gap or leave. 

you stood there for a moment, stunned at his offer. and without much thought, you closed the gap, hands going to grip his face and pull him closer to you. his hands moved to your hips, fingers digging into the fabric of your shorts. the kiss was feverish, all unspoken feelings surfacing. tyler began to pull away much to your dismay, one hand leaving your hip to fish out his keys from his pocket as he moved his other arm to hold your waist. he unlocked the door with ease, pulling you inside and shutting the door before pushing you up against it, the hat falling as he did so. he went to town on your neck, enticing soft moans and whimpers from your lips. the way he sucked at your neck and how he had previously handled you had conjured up a pool of wetness in your panties. 

your arm wrapped around his neck, holding him to your throat, as your fingers tugged at his hair. he groaned against your skin, biting down ever so softly when you tugged on his hair. he gripped at your leg, pulling it up to give him better access to your cunt. he rubbed his clothed cock along you covered cunt, pleased with the moans that escaped your mouth.

“god, keep moaning like that and i might have to take you right here.” you blushed once more, pulling tyler to meet your lips once more. you pushed off the door, lips still connected to tyler’s as you blindly pushed him back to the bed. his legs hit the edge of the bed, tyler breaking the kiss as he pulled off your shirt, both of you kicking off your shoes and socks before lips were reattached once more. 

you pulled back, tyler unbutton his shirt as you began to work on his belt buckle. “woah, easy, pretty girl. you’ll get a taste, don’t worry. the night’s still young. but for now, i gotta show ya what happens when ya wear the hat.” tyler pulled off his shirt, walking to pick up the forgotten hat, placing it on your head. “this stays on.” you nodded, eyes hooded as tyler pulled your shorts and panties down. “you’re even more perfect than i had imagined.” before you could question him, tyler pulled his jeans off, his boxers next as his cock sprung up. tossing them to the side tyler pulled you onto his lap as he sat on the edge of the bed, “you sure ‘bout this? i don’t have any condoms.” tyler asked, different from how he just was. you nodded, kissing him softly.

“i’m on the pill, and i trust you.” tyler nodded, holding over his cock as he slowly guided it along your pussy. you held yourself up as tyler’s thumb rubbing your clit, enjoying your whimpers. “please, tyler.” you begged, tyler aligning his cock with your entrance before guiding you down. you hand went your hat as your head rested on tyler’s shoulder, almost pornographic moans escaping from your lips. “oh my god.” he slowly eased himself into you, whispering praises as he did so.

“god, feels like you were made for me.” your cunt hugged his cock beautifully. when his cock was fully in, he allowed you to get used to the stretch, “tell me when you're ready.” you stilled for a moment, adjusting to his size. you kissed and sucked on his neck, slowly beginning to rock your hips. “fuck, let’s get this off of ya.” tyler’s hands skillfully unclipped your bra, tossing it to the side, fingers ghosting over your perky nipples. you pulled off his shoulder, giving him better access to your tits. “you’re fuckin’ beautiful, darlin’.” tyler attached his mouth to one of your nipples, enticing a soft moan. you continued to ride him, hips moving faster as you chased your incoming orgasm. your left hand gripped tyler’s shoulder, fingernails digging into his bare skin as your right hand held onto the hat that adorned your head. 

as your orgasm inched closer and closer, your movements became more erratic, chasing your high. tyler moaned, whispering praises as your walls clenched around his cock. he knew you were close, mouth moving to your pulse point as he pounded into you, taking over. tyler clapped a hand over your mouth as your orgasm hit, muffling your screams so you didn't wake up your neighbors. his movements however did not slow as he worked you through your orgasm, chasing his own high. your legs trembled as he continued to pound into you, your second orgasm of the night approaching quickly. “fuck! fuck, ty-” you cut yourself off, body shaking as you hit your climax once more. tyler began to huff and moan, pulling you impossibly closer as he reached his own high. you blubbered, unable to form actual words as tyler’s hands roamed your body. you pulled back, kissing him roughly.

“goddamn,” he helped you off his cock, helping guide you onto the bed, “think you’ll be able to handle a round two?”

“don’t go thinking you can get rid of me that easily.” 

[fairene]

one of your girls / ln4

part one

lando norris x fem!reader

reader uses she/her pronouns, no use of y/n.

part two

you are just one of his girls. a frequent regular. but something changes, and you are his favorite.

a/n ⋯ how do i explain myself...? guess i can't! this will be divided into two parts for the sake of dramatics, and truthfully i can't contain my excitement to share this with you all. reader's dresses are left to be ambiguous for your imagination, only the cut of the dress is described (perhaps a color, once, but i forget); as usual, it is always up to YOU what you are wearing;) i will be focusing on requests before the next part comes out!

inspiration ⋯ VIDEO

warnings ⋯ SMUT / 18++ minors DNI!!! language, drunk hookup, choking (slight), oral(m!receiving), unprotected p in v (wrap before you tap!), fingering!(f)receiving, overstimulation, feral lando. sickeningly in love lando, but not here; non monogamous (yet), insecure reader.

wc ⋯11.3k (unedited.)

your phone rang in from your bag, the vibration shocking you from your conference room in new york. you had been visiting there for your job, meeting with clients, and overall needing to schmooze the entire fucking office. you were sick of it at this point. 

and it was sunday, too. who works on a fucking sunday? you. because what’s life without the overtime pay? 

until you saw lando’s contact card lighting up your screen. you blushed, instantly, thinking of just how a week ago he had you laid out on his monaco penthouse, screaming and weeping his name while he fucked you rabidly. 

you answered, clearing your throat. 

“hello?” 

“i won! i won!” he shouted, the background noise of crowds drowning out the baritone of his voice. you raised a brow, but were quick to connect the dots. you’d been so busy with work that you’d forgotten that the race must’ve been over, you were only able to watch the beginning before you were swooped up into a meeting. 

your hand flew to cover your mouth as you stepped into your office, shutting the door. you couldn’t be loud, and tears began to welt in your eyes. “did you really?” 

“yes, yes! god, i’ve wanted this so bad…” he was absolutely full of rile and cheer. you could hear that from his voice clear as day. you were so happy for him. you wiped a stray tear that fell down your face and rolled to your chin. 

“i’m so happy for you, lan.” you breathed, laughing when your voice hitched with emotion. you knew that he caught it, letting out his own gasp at your retention. 

“you cryin’ for me?” he said your name, know damn well he had a cheeky smirk on his face. you scoffed, rolling your eyes and even he could hear the action. 

“shut up. let me be happy for you.” he laughed again, deep and rich, but relieved that you picked up the phone. it was hard for him to get your attention, though you felt vice versa. 

“let me be happy, then,” your brows raised at what he meant. “come to miami. tonight.”

you froze, your fingers fiddling with the hem of your work shirt. “lando…” you sighed. “you know i can’t…”

“please…!” he whined into the phone. 

your resilience to him was not good. clearly.

“call my boss.” you heard him yip and pop his lips. he was giddy and thrilled that you accepted his advances. it never did take much, though, did it? 

you hung up the phone before you could say anything else and settled back into your temporary station before you were back in monaco full time. the office here was more than sufficient and, you couldn’t help but thank god that you were here when lando called. the flight to miami wouldn’t be more than three hours. 

your boss knocked on the door a few minutes later with her brows raised. 

she spoke her name and you perked up. “you didn’t tell me you had family in miami,” she said, crossing her arms. but she wasn’t angry. 

“i do.” the lie was swift. but it wasn't really a lie, was it…?

“your cousin called me, said that you need to use pto hours for a wedding…” she looked at her apple watch. “which is in a few hours?” 

you gulped. “what can i say,” you shrugged, “i’m a workaholic.”

your boss shrugged, turning to leave. “take the week off, you deserve it.”

so this is what working so hard got you? damn. you practically leapt off your seat, packing away your laptop and other essentials you had brought to the office. when you were skipping down the steps of the building to the parking garage, you got a text. 

flight leaves 6

> one attachment 

it was lando. you opened the text as you were unlocking your door, realizing he sent you a boarding pass. he already filled out all your information. he wanted you there that bad, didn’t he? you wouldn’t even consider the two of you close friends rather than buddies who fuck. 

you hearted the message and raced home to pack. 

when you touched down in miami, there was a car waiting for you outside the airport. you were shocked with such lively treatment, but weren’t one to start complaining. the ride to lando’s hotel wasn’t very long, either, but it was beautiful. 

when you stepped out you were greeted by the miami breeze, refreshing from the stagnant air in your humid new york building. 

“thought you were gonna chicken out,” his voice was light and airy. you were so dazed by the grandeur of the building that you didn’t see lando standing there at the entrance. you immediately gaped at him, embarrassed that you were caught off guard. 

“on what, this? luxury? be for real!” you stifled a laugh. he held out his hand for your bag, and you gave it to him. but it was really meant for your hand. 

his other hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you close. he peppered light kisses to your neck, but not your mouth. your relationship wasn’t intimate like that, it never was. kissing was the next step to love, you told him, and you never reached for his lips with the amount of times you’ve fucked. 

but he did. 

there was always something about your aura that allured him. it drew him in like a moth to flame, and he would happily burn if it meant being in your presence. but he wasn’t ready for a relationship, so he told himself, and neither were you…so you told yourself. 

yet you’ve explored each other’s bodies like vestigios conquerors. you knew what made him tick, he knew what made you squirm. it was a fair trade, you thought, and you had no intention of staying exclusive to him. 

but you’d make it known to him that when you were both together, there were no other girls around. no boys. it would be just the two of you in your own world, but it was on a time limit. 

your hand found the back of his neck, leaning into his lips, but you pulled back when you heard some whispering– paparazzi. 

you said nothing as you shifted past him, ripping his head from your neck. he looked confused before he glanced towards the growing crowd around the hotel entrance, some phones being whipped out to record. but he honestly didn’t give a fuck. 

but you did. the last thing you wanted was to be plastered as a whore all over your feed. you still needed your fucking job. 

“what,” he said, coming closer to you. you took a distancing step back. he came closer. you didn’t move this time. “you didn’t miss me?”

him and his fucking ego. 

but you did. 

“want me to show you?” you spun around, full of sass. he let out a light laugh, pressing his shoulders back and straightening his posture. little to your knowledge, he was rendered speechless and his dick tightened in his pants. blood flooded to his abdomen, which had him shifting on his feet. this fucking girl. 

“come on,” you cooed, nudging his arm. “i came here to celebrate, no? and you haven’t even bought me a drink yet!” you got him there. he nodded, quickling showing you up to his hotel room in miami. it was a beautiful room with a living room and a single bedroom with a king bed. 

when you were up there you got a good look, running your hands over the fabric of the couch and the untouched champagne sitting on the coffee table. “this doesn’t count,” you picked up the bottle, turning to face lando from where he stood, placing your luggage on an armchair. 

“what? not expensive enough for you?” you rolled your eyes at him, placing the bottle back down on the platter with the glasses. you made haste opening your suitcase, rummaging through the outfits you brought for the duration of your stay, and in particular, your dress. 

you pulled out the carefully folded fabric. you held it out in front of you, impressed by the lack of wrinkles, and turned to lando. 

his jaw fell agape, staring at the magnificent piece. it was a longer dress that went to your mid calf, and sparkled in the dim lights of the room. he moved closer to you, running his fingers over the fabric. you gulped in his presence. 

“shit,” he sighed out, followed by a laugh. “better put it on now.” you raised a brow at him, confused. “else we won’t make it out that fuckin’ door.” 

you stifled a giggle and ran towards the bathroom, changing quickly. 

there was a knock at the front door when you were just finishing up your look. lando answered when you peeked your head out of the archway to the bathroom. it was carlos. 

“ready yet, mate?” 

lando shrugged, moving out the way so carlos could make eye contact with you. he said your name with a cheer, brushing past lando to wrap his arms around you. he kissed both your cheeks in greeting, you returned it. lando hummed to himself, wondering what that kind of affection was like from you. guess he’d never know, huh? too intimate, the words rang in his head. 

fuck off. 

“you flew today?” carlos asked you. you nodded. 

“had to celebrate, didn’t i?” you let out a giggle, covering your stained lips when you glanced at lando who was focused elsewhere, his jaw clenching. it had your joy dying in your throat, suddenly feeling like there wasn’t any reason to smile at all. 

“of course!” carlos cheered, slapping lando on the back which had him falling back to earth. “can’t believe he finally did it.” lando’s first ever formula one win was an astronomical achievement. you wish you could’ve been there in person. 

“neither can i…” your voice trailed when you were focused on his freckled face. a constellation, you called it, and could lose yourself in counting them. and lando was looking at you and your beautiful face. he was addicted to you, he learned, and no girl could fuck him like you could. 

carlos glanced between the two of you and raised his brows. “right, then.” he cleared his throat. “let’s get going then, yeah? got the whole grid celebrating you, lando!”

you were quick to put on your heels and grab your clutch. lando waited by the door for you, holding the door open. 

when you brushed by him, he grabbed your arm and twisted you around. he pushed his head close to your chest, which had you flushing. 

“lando!” you scolded beneath your breath. 

“you smell like me,” he raised a brow. 

shit. you thought he wouldn’t notice. “grabbed your cologne on accident. was rushing…replaced it with mine, see?” you raised your wrist for him to smell and he did, nose brushing against your sensitive skin. your veins pumped just beneath a thin layer. you felt him inhale and you had shivers running up your spine. he glanced at you again, dropping your hand. 

“think mine’s better.”

he meant it. you smelling just like him had him on fucking edge. he didn’t understand why it mattered to him to such a high degree. the primal inclination soaring right over his head, but he knew you were his for the night. longer he would wish, but he would take anything he could get from you. 

you only rolled your eyes at him, proceeding to walk down the hall. he caught up with you, hand coming to your lower back to guide you. when you made it to the elevator, he stuck his head into your neck again, breath hot as it fanned against your skin. you leaned into him, but stomped your heeled foot. 

“lando…” 

he grumbled something inaudible. 

“speak, won’t you?” you gripped his chin, pulling him upward. 

“driving me fuckin’ crazy.”

your breath caught in your throat. he was always touchy, but it was never this intense. the way he grumbled against the skin of your throat, the needy vibrations which plucked deeply at the strings of your heart. but there shouldn’t be any of your heart involved.

“you’re just a madman, then.” 

he chuckled. “gonna lock me up?” 

if only, you wanted to say, but held your tongue. 

“papaya does look good on you.” you giggled, hand roaming his chest. but you were right about his madness. he was sickeningly crazy. he should be institutionalized, even, in the comfort of your home. what a hell that would be, wouldn’t it?

the drive to the club was short. it wasn’t very far from the hotel. the inside of his expensive mclaren had you dazzled, though it wasn’t really his, just a rental whilst he was in miami. still, your fingers found the pleasure of finding the leather that boarded the doors, wondering just how much leather you could adorn as decoration. 

lando, on the other hand, was white knuckling the steering wheel the entire time, debating whether or not his hand would find a good home on the skin of your thigh. your dress had been too long for that, though, and he didn’t…fuck, he didn’t even know. he was anxious to be with you this weekend, not hesitating to call you to be the first one to come down to congratulate him.

he had so many other girls. why did he choose you? he didn’t know it himself, wasn’t sure if he was ready to face such intense truths, but his heart led him astray dialing your phone number. he didn’t even hesitate nor want to connect with another girl, just you. 

fucking hell, and you looked heavenly in that dress. he would spend the entire fucking night shifting his pants to hide his stark boner from your eyes. 

rolling up to the club, he gave his keys to the valet and you stepped out, fixing the fabric of your scrunched dress. you made your way over to him, elegant as ever, when the cameras began to flash. the amount of attention frightened you, and your phone fell to the ground. it clattered against the pavement. 

lando reached down smoothly to pick it up for you, his movements lingering for a moment. when he rose, his hand grazed the back of your exposed calf, trailing up your body to rest on the fabric of your lower back, the top of your ass. you wanted to swat his hand away teasingly, but for the night…you’d allow it. the cameras flashed more and more. lando only separated from you to take a few selfies with fans, but that had been it. 

his hand found your back once more, pulling the fabric down that was scrunched at the back. he also did it as an excuse to rest his hand on your ass. guilty!

and you let him. more cameras flashed. he was yours for the evening. so you’d relish in the momentary fame, but would surely be horrified by the comments the next morning. but fuck it, you looked hot in this dress and wouldn’t let these heels go to waste. let them envy you, for you were surely going to envy the next girl on his arm. what? no you weren’t. that thought was fleeting. you were shocked that you imagined of such a scenario. 

inside the club was an ambiance of celebratory cadence. it was lively. the bright lights, cheering on goers. everyone seemed to swarm lando, congratulating him and patting him on the back. he was so happy here. 

you attempted to shimmy out of the limelight to give him the attention he deserved, but he tightened his hold on you, digging his fingertips into your waist. you were surprised, looking at him with confusion, but he didn’t even take his eyes off of one of the mclaren engineers who attended the festivities. 

playing arm candy wasn’t your specialty, but you had the basics down. smile and laugh. straight posture. being fucking perfect. easy stuff, you know? surely sitting in an office chair for your day to day would enthuse a straight spine. surely listening to your old, ratty coworkers jokes would have you rolling with laughter and smiles. surely it was the easiest thing in the world to be perfect for lando norris–

your name was called by a girl at your side. it was alexandra!

you gasped, swinging out of lando’s arms and throwing yourself into her. she caught you, looking absolutely elegant while doing it, and smiled into your hair. 

“thank god you’re here!” you cheered, your hands landing on her shoulders to steady yourself. she looked stunning this evening. but she always did. you envied her for that much. 

“of course!” her french accent was sweet and endearing. her voice was even softer. “none of us would miss it. i’m glad you’re here!” 

alexandra and you had grown a relationship over the past few years you’ve been acquainted with lando. she seemed to always be where you were, and by coincidence, the two of you followed each other on tiktok and realized you had, if not, the same humor. you began messaging each other back and forth, and there you had it– a beautiful friendship between the two of you. being long distance best friends was hard, but it was times like these that you were grateful to see her. 

lando had froze when he felt you slip from his grasp, a horrible feeling of incomprehensible dread washing over him that he couldn’t pinpoint why. he interrupted the conversation he was having to see you with your arms wrapped around alexandra, kissing both of her cheeks. his face flushed, hand tightening on the drink he was given by his mates. 

why not him? 

lando excused himself and clung to your side. you jumped at the feeling of his hand around your waist, eyes snapping up to meet his… irritated ones? you were at a loss as to what could warrant such a look, but you didn’t let it linger when you shifted closer to him, your hips against his thighs. he seemed to relax both his body and face, giving alexandra a smile.

she was amidst congratulating him when charles and carlos approached. rebecca at carlos’ side. 

“is this a party or…?” charles remarked, luring you all to the center of the room to dance. lando glanced at you. you could feel his eyes, but you didn’t meet them. not yet. you thought that if you had, you wouldn’t be able to stop tonight. not with how good he looked, not with how he smelled. 

on the dance floor was no better. his hands were all over you. it was a bittersweet homecoming to feel so close to you, so flustered. but you loved the way he made you feel. pure adrenaline. alive. your hips swayed and grinded into his own, him matching your pace with a drink in his hand. there had been one in yours too, but you downed it already. 

at one point when the beat dropped, they all began to shout his name. you included. his cheeky little smile had him muster the courage to down his drink, emptying the large glass. whoops and hollers filled the club, and there were no more words to describe how magical this night was for him. he would remember it forever, and you couldn’t blame him. 

he was magnificent in the spotlight. with a charming tongue, funny jokes, and charisma that had him swooping up any girl he could want. there were a pack of women surrounding him before he pulled you by the arm, interrupting your conversation with alexandra, twirling you to be plastered against his side. the women’s attention didn’t last long after that. 

“cheeky, aren’t you?” you raised your lips to his ears, daring to lay one against the top of his throat. you felt him swallow, his adams apple thick and bobbing. 

“don’t like to be a cornered animal.” you knew it was meant to be a joke, but there was a layer of truth to it that you couldn’t ignore. lando didn’t do well in crowds without flustering with anxiety. to that truth about him, you could toast to. 

you were back on the floor with him in a matter of minutes, engaging in conversation with alexandra and charles. lando was talking to others as well, but he was firm against your back, hand on your stomach. the action had you blushing, unable to forget any time that he’d lay his hands there, asking if you could feel him. and you could. now, you could feel the imprint of his cock behind you. you didn’t know how he could last this long without asking you to fuck him in the bathroom, but you weren’t complaining. 

yet!

steadily as the night progressed, he would be laced with sweat and the smell of him. a mix of body odor, sure, it smelt like lando. your lando for the night. he flashed you a smile as he leaned over your body from behind, both hands gripping your hips against him. 

you returned the gesture, but were much more bashful than he anticipated. you were giving him that look. a look that he had become trained to respond to. his dick instantly hardened. pavlov was onto something, wasn’t he? 

you both had been there for hours. you could only handle so many more amped up bass drops. and you were both plastered enough. it was around four in the morning when you were tumbling out, giggling and laughing at who knows what. 

one of the valet club drivers even drove the both of you back to the hotel. neither of you are in the state to drive. 

in the car, one of your legs was atop his, slotted between his thighs. you could feel his pulsing cock and your mouth watered at the sensation. he was staring at you through dangerously dark eyes, reflecting back your own stare of desire. it was like looking in a mirror for the both of you. ravaging and desperate to have one another’s hands on each other’s bodies. 

lando took liberty and lowered his head to your exposed shoulder, pulling down a thin strap of your dress to your bicep. he kissed the skin tenderly, an action too intimate for your own good, but you were too fucking drunk to deny it. 

“fucking beautiful,” he muttered into your skin, quiet for only your ears to touch. you let your fingers trace up the side of his face lazily, feeling your gaze spinning beneath his tender words. 

“i’m proud of you,” you whispered, brushing a stray curl from his sticky forehead up into the rest of his hairs. “you know that, don’t you?” 

your voice had been tender. delicious to his drunken ears. though he knew he’d remember this sober– he had a feeling. how could he forget that tone of voice, your gentle touch, clearly breaking the bounds of what was too intimate.

he gulped, eyes flaring wide at your declaration. his hand found your thighs then, gripping the soft flesh with depth. 

your fingers traced down to his bottom lip, puckering the flesh, but dropped to the car seat with a laugh. you brushed off his shocked expression, leaning back into the cool leather. but his grip didn’t relent. he kept his eyes on you, too, unable to find something else to fixate on. you were the object of all of his desires. he confirmed it then when he was desperate to hear more of your unsolicited praises from your lips. 

he craved your lips. 

lando’s head dropped to your waist, his face nuzzling into your soft flesh. he kissed through the fabric of your dress, desperate to feel you beneath such a guarding sheath from your skin. you turned your head to look at him from where your gaze latched to the window, your hand rolling down the curve of his neck. 

you kept your hand there for the remainder of the drive, but didn’t look down at him. you knew you’d be face with those desperate, glistening green eyes of his. you’d fall weak beneath the light of his love, and you’d find yourself disappointed when he didn’t want what you did. a relationship, dare you think it just for one second. 

the valet driver dropped the two of you off and was able to manage a cab on his own back to the club. lando tipped him a hundred euros for his time, beginning to sober himself enough to walk in a straight line and speak without slurring his speech. 

you were the same. stretching your legs from the car, hands above your head in a dramatic feline stretch. lando’s eyes were on you the entire time, gaping at your figure. your ass. his lip caught between his teeth, and you caught him ogling. 

your hips began to sway beneath the music of his eyes. you’re unable to resist his humorous allure, crumbling the second the second the corner of his eyes uplifted. a smile followed, his gapped, perfect, teeth shimmering the reflections of the pale moonlight. 

he stretched out his arm for you to join him at his side. you sashayed there, twirling in your heels that ached your feet. but you did it for him. you’d do it all, though the alcohol was driving your thoughts. 

lando swooped you into his grasp, wrapping his arms around your waist and digging his fingertips into your hips. you laughed amicably, his presence both a comfort and a feat of pride. 

you mustered the strength to break his hold, trotting up the steps of the hotel. your heels were loud in the quiet, tender moments of the rising miami sun, and your giggles even more so. lando wasn’t far behind, skipping the steps to catch up with you. 

you’d never seen him hit an elevator button harder. you resisted the urge to laugh, knowing it was an impossible situation to be so loud at dawn. so you bit your fist in your mouth, choking down a sound that lando yearned to hear. 

when the elevator arrived he jumped right in, dragging you along– though it’s not like you hesitated– by your elbow. 

he immediately began trailing kisses down your throat, the column of your neck, your collarbones, shoulders. he left no place untouched by his devout, worshipping lips. he’d often say in the heat of the moment that you were the best thing he’s ever tasted– a man feral for your sweet nectar– but you just thought it to be the post-euphoria sex high. 

the british driver muttered something into your neck which had your eyes flaring wide, uncertain if you heard him correctly. 

you pushed his head back, gripping at the curls near the base of his neck. “what did you say?”

he looked flushed. embarrassed. he choked on his words, shaking his head. he was clearly brushing it off. 

“nothin’.”

he resumed devouring your neck, saliva dripping onto your dress, but his words bubbled. 

the ding of the elevator alerted both of you. he was the one to lead the way to his hotel room, swiftly opening the door with skilled ease, and had you against the wall in minutes. he gripped at the fabric of your dress, tempting to rip it. you hissed with contempt. “don’t,” he looked up at you with heavy eyes and a half toothed smirk, challenging you. “too expensive.” 

you felt him scoff against the skin of your chest. “‘too expensive.’” he mocked. 

but he heeded your words, gentle with how he lowered the straps to your forearms. your head lolled against the wall, eyes glistening with liquidated pleasure. there was nothing better in the world that could feel better than lando norris’ lips against your skin. each press was a blessing, a kiss of life, hungry for the divination you relented this evening. 

“so fucking beautiful,” he breathed when he shimmied you out of the dress, neatly undoing the zipper. you wore nothing under the dress besides panties, which had his eyes gawking at your taut, perked nipples. you shifted forward, desperate for his touch on your suddenly cold body. 

lando didn’t wait. his cock was already painfully hard in his pants, punishing the fabric for being so restrictive. he pulsated, precum already ruining the pair. 

his lips found your nipple, other palm fisting the firm flesh. you let out a sweet moan that was delicious to his starving ears, your hips bucking into his for a relenting yearn for release. he let out the deepest chuckle from his throat, finding such impending amusement for your desire. 

when he was contempt with the titillation of your nipples, he moved to the skin of your belly, biting softly at the skin. enough to leave bruises for his own eyes when he’d see you next. next. there was always a next with you. 

but you had other plans. 

your hands reached for his face, pulling him to meet your eyes. his own blew wide, flickering to your lips, to your eyes. 

“let me,” you whimpered, reaching for the buckle of his pants. he’d stop you, usually intending on getting you off with his lips or tongue before he could even cum. but tonight, he couldn’t resist your lips. you looked up at him with pure heaven written in your iris’. 

he swallowed before nodding his head rapidly, his forehead leaning into yours. “yeah, yeah, please.” 

lando norris wasn’t a man to beg. he didn’t have to do any of that shit for his other girls– they were always eager to please him, fuck him, suck him off– but for you…

your lips found his neck, feeling the thick muscles with your tongue. it was arousing how muscular each part of his body was, thundering with endurance. 

there was a soft mewl in his throat when you slid your hand down the front of his pants, beneath his briefs, over the length of his cock. the sound excited you tenfold– wishing that you could hear it a hundred times over again. it was addicting how he wanted you. 

when your finger grazed his tip, his hips bucked instinctively into you, just how yours had. he cursed under his breath, letting his head fall limp into the crevice of your neck. 

you laughed into his skin, finally falling to your knees to drop his pants and briefs. his cock sprung free, red and vibrating for your touch. your touch. you often wondered how his other girls treated him. if you were better, if you were the worst. obviously not the worst if he was the one to call you after his first win, right?

one hand stroked his length, traveling to his balls, simultaneously glancing up at him. he was staring down at you, riddled with urgency, a pleading look reflecting in your eyes. his bottom lip caught between his teeth when his hand found the back of your head, stroking the sides of your face. 

his thumb caressed your bottom lip. it caused your lips to open for him, and his thumb found your tongue. you swirled it around the pad of his finger, never breaking the shared look between you two. you let him go with a pop, and he found his hand at the base of your neck again, hand wrapping a makeshift ponytail with his hand. 

your lips swirled around the head of his cock, swallowing the precum that dampened his briefs. he held back a rumble in his throat which annoyed you, so you took him wide in your mouth, bottoming him out in the back of your throat. 

your cunt clenched around nothing when his whole body sang in praise of your lips. he faltered when you began a steady pace of back and forth, stimulating his balls with your other hand. curses fell from his lips, sinful words, and he gripped your hair tightly. with his other one, he fell forward against the wall, bracing for dear life.

but you didn’t relent. faster and faster you went, and you were awarded by his hips snapping into you, cock gagging your windpipe. you choked, tears forming in your eyes, but it was divine how satisfying it was. to see his eyes rolling back into his head, hands shaking, desperate to feel you up. from this position, below him, you could see the entire world. you had it all on the tip of your tongue. 

“fuck, baby…” he groaned. you felt so good around him. warm and tight. it felt like fucking home for him. somewhere he’d always come back to. and he would. no other girl could make him feel this way, had him about to cum in a matter of three minutes. your lips were made to take his cock, and he would yell that to hell and back for the entire world to know. 

he felt you moan against his cock, the sound echoing in your throat. he swallowed harshly, drool dripping down the side of his chin at the sight of you alone. you were perfect. 

and when your hand came to run over your nipples, kneading at the skin of your breasts, he felt his abdomen tighten. you found so much pleasure in sucking him off that you felt the need to touch yourself. fuck, he never thought he’d see something so hot in his entire life. 

he knew he’d been done for in a matter of seconds. with a firm grip of your hair, he pulled you back from his cock. you looked offended, disappointed when the drool from your lips trailed down your chin. 

“not yet,” he uttered, gripping the side of your face with his other hand. his cock was angry, furious at the lack of attention. he was practically fucking edging himself. “wanna cum inside you.” 

say less, you wished to say, but all that came out from your lips was a whine. 

and then you were laid out on your back on his bed. the white sheets were clean and made, cold beneath your scorching skin. 

lando traced two fingers up your thigh, the junction of your hips, your waist. you shivered, toes clenching at the sensation. then to your naval, your pussy, your dampened underwear. a ruined pair, no doubt. he smirked, lip curling. 

“all for me, huh?” 

you nodded instantly. 

his hand slapped against your flushed pussy. you whimpered, grasping at the sheets. 

“words, pretty girl.”

“yes!” you gasped when you felt him tug the underwear down your legs. “you, you, you, lando. all you.”

he practically purred. your folds were swollen and glistening, drenched from how his cock pounded into your mouth. “so wet,” he observed, twisting his fingers to trail up your slit, gathering the slick between his fingers. he raised the pair to his mouth, tasting your sweet juice on his tongue. your legs pulsed together, eager for friction, a quiet mewl leaving your throat at the sight. “tastes like heaven.”

“lando…” you were getting impatient now. rightfully so. he stood there with his hardened cock, teasing you with his firm fingers. 

“what’dya want, baby? hm?” he asked, knowing damn well what the answer would be. yet he’d trace his hands gently up the sides of your body, fingers dancing over your nipples. you writhed. 

“you.” you said endearingly. “fuck me, lan, please.” 

he was so impressed with your manners that he couldn’t resist slipping his cock inside of you. atop of you he caged you in, a blessed enclosure, lips pressing to your exposed chest. you whined at the initial stretch, always finding yourself so tight around his thick cock. 

“fuck, lando.” you hissed, teeth clenching at his immaculate girth. it was a pleasurable burn, and your arousal only had you clenching around him. he huffed through his nose, hot hair breathing over your skin. 

“i know, baby,” he reassured you with his bittersweet voice. “y’can take me, can’t you? always such a good girl for me.” 

you whined at his words, low moan bellowing in your throat. you squelched with your slick and he could feel it. he smirked, having the gall to chuckle, even. but you didn’t punish him for it, especially not when he began to move his hips back and forth, a pair of fingers coming to rub against the bundle of nerves placatated at your clit. 

the sensation of feeling him slip in and out of you was impeccable. you could find no other pleasure than his cock nestled inside of you, filling you to the absolute hilt of your dreams. the imprint of his dick had him riled with lust when it ran over your lower belly. 

“feel me here,” his hand came to grab yours, bringing it to the imprint of his cock inside of you. “don’t you?” 

you nodded, lip catching between your teeth and opposite hand threading through his curls as if you were a needle and thread. “so good, lando, please. keep going.” 

and he did. if you asked him to do anything right now, he would’ve. the slapping of skin echoed in the hotel room, filling silence with vulgar sounds from both of your lips. lando was a moaning mess at the pulses of your cunt, intent on sucking him dry from his cum. and he was an expert at navigating your clit, pinching and swirling the rough pads of his fingers. 

your eyes rolled in the back of his head when you bucked your hips for a better angle. “deeper,” you said, finding a grim satisfaction at the thought of him splitting you open. 

his eyes flashed to yours, bloodshot and red with lust, and shifted so your thighs were over his shoulders. your back arched for him and he was pleased to see your receptiveness. his hips didn’t falter, and neither did his hands. 

this angle had been more than what any gospel could provide. more than any destiny written out for you. fucking him was written in the stars, you knew it for certain, and you blossomed into a glistening constellation before him. for he was the entire universe for you, and you just a mere fractal in the midst of it all. 

but oh, how that wasn’t true. how you were the sun in which he orbited, woke up and thought of. you were the first person that he called after his father, needing your presence with him in miami. he needed this. your cunt. your pleasures, your moans. you, it was on the tip of his tongue, edging its way forward through the kisses he laid upon your neck. 

you were drenched in his saliva, coated in the thick musk of lando norris. he would never say it aloud but he dreamed of the day to see his cum dripping down your thighs, full of him, the remnants of your love affair sticky and haughty with each step that you’d take. 

it was a primal instinct that became so vicious. it overtook him, thwarting him into a dick-measuring contest whenever you went out with him. he’d keep you close. his, the message would be clear. no man would approach you when he had his hand on your lower back, your hips in his hands, your pelvis grinding against his own. you were his own keepsake. the light at the end of the tunnel. a brazen warrior that he’d follow into any battle. 

the only battle he was intending on winning was the war of your heart, blessed be his troops. 

it only took a few more harsh thrusts of his cock and twiddling of his fingers before you were painfully close to a release. he could feel it. he knew it like the back of his hand. your trembling legs, intense writhing against his hold, your breathy moans. he wished he could take a picture of you, flushed and desperate, and keep it in his wallet. 

“come on, baby.” he urged, feeling the own heat of his orgasm rising in his lower stomach. he had been resisting the urge to cum for your sake, always finding a deeper satisfaction in seeing your overstimulated face after the fact. 

“come for me, won’t you? pretty thing. i’ve got you,” the words of praise that were only meant for you. he didn’t call any of his other girls ‘baby’, but you wouldn’t know that. you couldn’t know. it would ruin all of this, wouldn’t it? wouldn’t it? 

i’ve got you, he said tenderly. it’s what had you compulsing, drenching his cock in your slick. your orgasm washed over you like a tidal wave, drowning you in the euphoria of what was lando norris’ pleasure. 

he was staring at your worn out face, his own tongue coming to swipe at his bottom lip. he was ready to feast on you. 

lando’s own orgasm was swift to follow. the rhythm of his hips faltered, sloppily, aggressively. the overstimulation against the walls of your cunt was delectable. 

“come for me,” you begged him. it had his eyes flaring once more, shocked to hear such a request from your pretty lips. “inside me, lan, need it…” 

“fuck…” he groaned, and with one last snap of his hips he was spilling out inside of you. his forehead fell into the crook of your neck, breathing heavily. your chests moved in unison, catching your breaths after such an intense fuck. 

you were sticky against him. his body fell atop of yours, and your hands wrapped around his back. one hand came to run up and down his neck again, which had his eyes fluttering with sleep. but he didn’t let himself, and instead moved to get a towel for you both.

he slipped outside of you, the warmth of your cunt had his expression falling. he saw your face, too, empty once he made his way to the on suite. he grabbed a handheld towel and ran it under the warm water, and crossed the space between the bathroom and the bed. 

lando let it run up your thighs, between your legs. your cunt was swollen still, his cum thick and dripping from your slit. he smirked to himself, cleaning the remnants of himself from the immediate vicinity, but wouldn’t go further. 

you were aware. entirely too aware of how warm you felt. how filled you were. it was filthy how good sex with him was. you could never orgasm with any man but him. 

lando fell to the bed beside you, opening the sheet for you to slip in beside him. you hesitated, never having spent an entire night with him, except for a few drunk evenings. did this count? you weren’t sure. you’d certainly remember that mind blowing orgasm. 

but his eyes were drooping with sleep, weary when you hesitated. you couldn’t resist, and slid in beside him, comforted by the furnace of his body. 

lando’s head found home, once more, in the side of your neck. you brushed the hairs from his sweating forehead, roamed through his scalp. you ran circles through his hair until you heard the soft snores coming from him. it only took a few seconds for him to fall asleep in your arms and for once, you were perfectly content with that. if this was what your life would be, then so be it. 

the british driver woke approximately twenty four hours later. 

when he woke, you were not there. 

he was startled as he searched for you, but there was no sign of you. he sat up in his bed, sun peeking in through the curtains. he rubbed his eyes, hand resting on the spot that you had laid in. there was an imprint from your body. 

when he checked his phone, he knew he was in deep shit. 

“fuck.” it really had been a full day that he slept through.

but there were no texts from you. 

his gut tightened, heart beating loudly in his throat. why are there no texts from you? 

he scanned the room to find a glass of water on the nightstand, previously iced from the ring of water around the side of it. and there was a note, too, with some ibuprofen. he picked it up. 

had a good night

proud of you always

text me when you’re up x

and it was signed by you. 

he folded the piece of paper.

he supposed it was a good night. the best sex he’s ever had, in fact, and wouldn’t forget his own confession in the elevator. he wasn’t sure if you heard it or not, but there was a part of him that wanted you to. 

“you were always my favorite,” he spoke into the column of your neck. 

the next time you saw lando was in monaco. 

you were back home and invited by alexandra to the paddocks for the home race of charles. you accepted, of course, hoping to catch a glimpse of lando. 

you hadn’t texted him much, but neither had he. you heard first from him on that tuesday morning and it had you smiling at the airport, bags in hand. you texted back, and it was sporadic from there on out. it’s been a few days since either of you’ve said a word, and it was beginning to wane on you. 

alexandra repeated your name. 

“yeah?” you responded, head snapping towards her direction. 

“i asked if you were feeling alright.” 

“oh.” you breathed, laughing it off. “of course, do i not seem okay?” alexandra shook her head, petting leo’s little head in her hands. 

“you’ve been quiet, that’s all.” 

and you had been. but since she noticed, you were determined to make her forget about it. 

“nervous for charles,” you lied. but alexandra bought it and agreed with you, shedding her anxieties for her boyfriend’s home race. 

you were standing on the balcony with her in ferrari’s hospitality. you looked elegant today, matching alexandra’s own vibe. your hands were clasped together as you were leaning down, watching the drivers go in and out for their free practice. 

alexandra was still ranting about how nervous she was for charles when you saw him.

the papaya was noticeable from anywhere. 

lando

lando and company. 

a girl trailing behind him. her hair was done neatly, blonde, painfully thin. you grimaced against your will, face scrunching with a bitterness you had never felt before. 

alexandra tapped your elbow before she looked down at what you were staring at. 

“asshole.” she remarked, scoffing. 

you raised a brow. “you think so?”

alexandra nodded as if it was obvious. “don’t know why he brings them around,” she sighed. “not when he could have you.” 

you never felt so flattered before. you blushed, thanking her for saying something so kind. though you denied having feelings for him. she knew it was a lie this time. 

lando glanced up at the balcony, finding your eyes inevitably. he could feel your stare at the back of his head. 

and he fucking waved. 

the girl beside him looked up, too, but she did not. 

you could see lando’s smile from up here, but in your intensive bitterness, you did not wave back. you stood and turned to go back into ferrari’s hospitality, not thinking twice about your decision. 

the rest of the weekend you spent in bitter earnest. you’ve never seen yourself in such a state. but you plastered on a smile for alexandra and charles, entirely too elated when he crossed the finish line first in monaco. you held her as she weeped with joy. 

and, of course, you were invited to the festivities for the evening. your attitude was soured by the girl latched to lando’s arm throughout the entire weekend. but he looked so nonchalant with her, careless. none of it mattered. you’d put on your best dress for the evening. 

in the club you were found nursing a martini in your hand, not quaint on the taste, but were keen on getting wasted. you didn’t want to deal with whatever shit storm of emotions were brewing inside of your head. seeing lando with another girl was not new for you to witness. it was the norm, in fact, and you never thought about it otherwise.

but something changed that night of his win in miami. you knew it. he knew it. the words he uttered into your neck in that elevator was sending you up the wall and skyrocketing into the abyss of the universe. and you believe that somehow, he would find you.

he would find you. 

lando saw you instantly when you entered with alexandra and charles. rebecca and carlos paired together, too, leaving you the odd one out with no arm candy on display. good, the thought was impulsive. 

the girl beside him was giggling at something he said. but it wasn’t meant as a joke. he was convinced that she just had no idea what he was talking about, and was eager for a good fuck from him. he knew his skills of pleasure were not in comparison to any low life dude, but no girl could fulfill the void of receptiveness. of yearning desire. 

so when he tilted his head back to down the rest of his drink, he grimaced at the taste, and turned back to the girl he brought with him. but he kept stealing glances at you in your short dress. it was like you were punishing him– were you? he suddenly felt like a dog, a bad boy, reared and chained to the dog house outside your house of a heart. 

but you didn’t see him. not for a while, actually. you were intent on staying true to your morals– staying away from him this evening. he only brought trouble for you. confusion. you were sick of this back and forth, and most importantly, this rotten feeling of jealousy. it wasn’t a good look on you, or so you thought. 

“dance with me?” alexandra asked you. you accepted, of course, grabbing her hand and holding it high above the crowds as she led you to the dance floor. you were both twirling and laughing with your drinks in hand, purely electric with the rap music. charles joined her, gripping her from behind. you couldn’t help but watch, gulping down the feeling of envy. 

alexandra noticed. she knew what you were going through, even if you wouldn’t say it aloud. your ‘relationship’ with lando has gone on for far too long without any real commitment. everyone knew he was your favorite girl to be around, except you. you were the only one, apparently, who didn’t know that lando looked at you like a goddess reincarnate. 

and when you shook off your thoughts of envy, your eyes found another pair staring back at you.

sharp emeralds, piercing through the musk of the club.

your breath hitched, catching solemnly in your throat. 

the blonde was grinding up against him, throwing her head back against his shoulders. one hand was on her hip, the other with an empty shot glass in his hand. the girl was enjoying herself, at least, and you wondered if he fucked her the same as he did you. 

his eyes didn’t leave yours as his hips swayed in motion with hers. his hair was disheveled, a coat of sweat gleaning on his forehead. 

the pair of you were waiting to see who would break first. who would succumb to the challenge. you wanted so desperately to win, to grab another random man and kiss on his neck, but you were detested. 

the air inside the club felt heavy, and the world would collapse on you. the weight was too much on your shoulders as you became lightheaded. 

“i need air,” you said to alexandra before you fled from the dance floor, leaving your glass on the counter. 

the air of monaco was brisk when it pierced your skin, your thighs, your shoulders. but it was a much needed refreshment from the confines of that fucking club. you felt nauseous, sickened by lando’s eye contact with you. how dare he. 

you looked around before turning the corner of the club, seeing a pair of men smoking a cigarette. 

“care to share?” 

the men glanced at one another and the one holding the pack nodded. he handed you one and you placed it to your lips. he held out the lighter, too, and lit it for you. 

you weren’t one to smoke. it was a drunk cigarette kind of night. 

they insisted on you staying with them, talking each other up to be some pair of scrouges who deserved your attention. you politely declined their advances and walked the other way, feeling colder when the tobacco hit your lungs. 

when you blew out your first puff, it wasn’t long before the cigarette was ripped from your lips. 

“hey–” 

“this shit isn’t good for you.” 

lando.

he found you out here. rather, he chased you out. the minute he saw you turn your back he scrambled, pushing past every person that came in his way.

you scoffed, unable to look at him as you crossed your arms. 

“you don’t know what’s good for me.”

he paused, sucking in a tight breath. his jaw clenched. the cigarette was thrown to the ground, crushed beneath his foot. 

“rude–” you uttered, cut off when he grabbed your elbow. that had you looking at him. and his expression didn’t disappoint.

his eyes were widened, pupils blown wide as he looked into your own. his lip trembled momentarily, jaw entirely too tight for his own good. 

“what’s going on with you?” he wondered, holding eye contact with you. 

“nothing.” you answered instantly, brushing him off. but he didn’t accept that. 

“‘nothing,’” he mocked. “you’re not a very good liar.” 

you hummed. “thanks.” 

the conversation widdled down, but he wasn’t about to give up. 

“tell me,” he requested, his face pulling closer to yours. you had to give it to him. he was determined. but you were too.

“there’s nothing to tell.” you bit back. 

“i care about you. come on–” your name fell sweetly from his lips. he was prepared to grovel at any second now. 

but you cut him off. “ohhh…! yeah, right, you care? pfft, no need to pretend, lando.” 

he pulled back, shocked that you got in his face. your words were cruel, but he felt the double meaning behind them. 

“what?” he asked, softly. you knew then that he was hurt. 

but jealousy was a monster.

“i wish i was as stupid as you think i am.” you rambled, hands thrown up with emotion. but you were done with this conversation. “fuck it, i’m leaving–”

but he used his other hand to ground you before him. “don’t.” he pleaded. eyes watering. 

“what? like you’d notice?” 

then the bells chimed in his head. an alert that he understood what this was. he was stupid in not knowing what was happening before him. 

you’re jealous. 

“didn’t take you for a jealous type.”

you scoffed. “you’re ridiculous.”

but he shook his head and tsked. “can’t believe it, baby, that you hid it for so long.” 

“fuck you.”

he blew out a huff of air as if he were wounded, hand coming to run over his chest. it was a fatal one, that was for sure. you tried again to push past him, but to no avail nor universe would he let you go. 

“come home with me.”

his words were determined, sincere, though there was a layer of softness to it. like unsweetened honey that poured from his lips. 

you stared at him. “what?” 

he laughed. “you heard me. let me take you home.”

you couldn’t tell if he was being serious. couldn’t tell if he was mocking you. your facial expression dropped from its intense anger. 

“don’t…” you started, feeling the heat of emotions that you’ve been burying come to the surface. your eyes swelled with tears but fuck, you promised you’d never cry over him. “don’t be mean, lando.”

his smile dropped. he knew then that you weren’t playing around, messing with him in the ways you usually had. what was this feeling inside of him? guilt? he wanted nothing more than to fix whatever he’s done. the instinct blazed a fire through his veins, igniting a deep rooted reaction that he feared only you could bring out of him. 

his hand came to cup your cheek. you flinched backward, staring at the palm of his hand through your wet lashes, but allowed his touch. 

“come here…” his hand dropped from your cheek to hold out for you to melt into. an invitation for a hug. 

you hesitated, shifting closer on your tip toes. when you were in close enough reach, he grabbed you, earning a yelp. 

his body was warm. he pulled you flush against his chest, his head coming to rest on your shoulder. his hands were wrapped firmly around your torso. was he shaking? 

he was. lando was wrought with a surplus of emotion when he saw your anger diffuse. he loved to feel all of your emotions, it reminded him that you cared about him. but when he saw it disappear, faze into an abyss of melancholy, his heart set into overdrive. he never got such a rush of adrenaline before. not from racing. not from anything else in his life.

you relaxed into him, shutting your eyes. there was a wet stain from the single tears that fell from your face on his shirt. 

but you didn’t care. he smelled so good. it was lando. your lando. 

“let me take you home.”

your nose buried into his shirt. his stubble dug into your neck. 

“your place,” you muttered. “i want to go to yours.” 

his place was always for special occasions. but to your unbeknownst knowledge, you were the only girl he’s ever taken there. the only woman he’s fucked in his bed. 

he stuttered. “yeah,” he cleared his throat. “yeah, of course we can.”

you didn’t even end up texting alexandra goodbye. you were too wrung tight with your jealousy, coined poignantly by lando himself. he was quick to catch on to your attitude shift, but you could tell he was frightened. at least you wished for it to be. 

but he was. his heart plummeted when your anger reached him. it did more than touch him, it ripped him apart, had his heart bleeding in plain sight. anyone could see it except you. it was never you who saw the love beneath his eyes. 

lando’s apartment was just how you remembered it to be. 

open space, loosely decorated. it was rather bland. 

“you kept it!” you ran your fingers over the displayed teddy bear, one that you had won for him at a fair. 

he shut the door behind you two, locking it. he let out a soft hum. “‘course i did.” 

he said it like it was obvious. he would never get rid of anything that you’d give him. you squeezed the teddy bear in your palms, but dropped it when you felt lando’s arms wrap around your waist from behind. 

his lips found your neck in an instant. 

“i missed you.” 

you tensed. back arching, you turned your head to look at him, angled perpendicular to his face burrowed into the junction of your neck and collarbones. 

“really, now?” 

he chuckled against your skin, fanning his warm breath through your body. the hairs on the back of your neck rose instinctively, choosing to hold your breath instead of express anger. though you couldn’t help the huff through your nose. 

“you’re so vicious when you’re jealous, darling.” he thought this was funny. it angered you even more, attempting to writhe out of his hold. but he didn’t relent, keeping you taught against his chest. asshole. 

“am not.” 

he tsked. 

“sure.” he continued his trail of kisses down your neck. you fell into him, head lolling back and eyes rolling. fuck, his lips were always so good. he was so good to you. 

“am not.” you said again, biting back a moan when his hands came to your forefront, parting your legs for his hands to rest between your thighs. 

“whatever you say.” 

your hips grinded against his own in retaliation which had him humming in soft praises. his fingers trailed the lining of your panties, other hand holding your hip firmly . 

“because i’m not–” the moan that was pulled from your throat was pure divinity to lando’s ears. his fingers had run up your slit, teasing your entrance. blood ran down to your body, fueling your cunt to a puffy state. your weight went lax against his hold, which he was perfectly capable of supporting you. 

“not what?” he dared you to continue, not when he had you numb in his hold already. he was clearly cocky. you could hear the smirk in his voice. 

“i’m not–” you were determined. but lando was coming back in full force. his middle finger teased you, pushing between your slick, finding the warmth of your walls. you sucked in a tight breath, feeling just how wet you’ve become. 

“so wet, baby,” he said into your ear. “what were you saying?” 

“fuck–” you sighed, whining. “i’m not jeal–” 

and then he seized the bundle of nerves around your clit, curling his middle finger inside of you. you cursed, sweat beginning to bead around your forehead. 

“mhm.” lando proved himself right when you couldn’t mutter out a sentence, becoming dumb on his fingers alone. he began a steady pace with just a singular digit, flexing in and out of you supported by your natural lubrication.  

“more–” you pleaded. it had him standing up straight, reacting to your soft pleas like he was a dog to a treat. pavlov, and all that shit. he found himself staring down at the sight of your two– his finger etching in and out of you, drenched in your sweet nectar. if he was no better than a dog, why was he about to drool? 

“yeah? you can take another?” you were rapidly nodding against the back of his shoulder, biting your lip.

“yes, please. please, lando.” you mewled, gripping at his forearms that caged you in. you never wanted to be chained down, but for pleasure like this, you felt as though you could make an exception. 

he obeyed. adding a second finger was close enough to your release, and you knew that was barreling forward at any minute. if he kept this assault of your clit up and the delicious curl of his fingers, you would melt into a puddle. 

and you knew he would. if lando started something, he would finish it. the only priority for him was to make sure you reached an orgasm. that was a promise, forever and always. 

he found himself bucking his hips into you, the sight of you weak in his arms becoming too much for him to handle. the friction between his pants and your hot cunt was too irresistible. what can he say? you were just pure bottled heaven. 

his thumb had been applying more intense pressure to your clit. your face was entirely flushed now, brightened from his attention. he was entirely to carnal to hear the noises you made. noises for him to hear, no one else. 

but his pace was slow. teasing. you felt like this was a punishment. your lip curled, face contorting with both pleasure and angst. “please, please.” you whimpered. 

“what, baby? what do you want?” smug. always so smug. 

you gripped his hand that was flexing inside of you, tightening your grip. he chuckled deeply. 

“wanna come? that what you want?” 

your head bobbed up and down, breaths coming in fast pants. “need.” you corrected him, and he thought that he would fall dead at your feet. his jaw clenched, muscles in his arms flexing, and he would give you want you needed. 

you needed him. 

that was all that he needed to hear from you. 

you turned your head to look up at him with your bloodshot eyes, dreary with lust. lust for him. your lashes fluttered against your brow line, lip quivering with a singular wish. 

he wanted nothing more to kiss you. 

“fuck.” he groaned, your thighs were drenched in your slick, a sight he thought could never be hotter. and when he curled his two fingers sweetly, your hips bucked aggressively. he knew exactly how to navigate your body, but it was always so thrilling to see you react in such a way. 

“yeah?” he smirked, “that good?” 

“so good, lan,” the nickname you used for him was not intentional. it had his dick throbbing in his pants. fuck.

your words of praise would only have him working harder. he didn’t even need to add a third finger when your stomach snapped with tension, coming loose all over his fingers. your vision blurred, legs shaking rapidly. you cried out, head lolled against his shoulder. he held you tightly, and you didn’t miss how he stroked your hip with his thumb. a soothing action. 

how he could ever find this kind of pleasure in another woman, he didn’t know. but the challenge begged– could he ever admit that? 

his fingers remained buried in your cunt whilst you rode yourself free from your high. it was impossible to look anywhere else but you. 

and when he removed them, showing you the mess you made, his popped them into his mouth. it was such a vulgar statement, but you found yourself blushing. he sucked on his fingers, letting them out with a pop, clean as a whistle. 

“heavenly.” he reaffirmed. “no girl compares.” 

you froze, still delirious from your orgasm, but it had you spinning in his hold. he was slightly blurred in your vision, but you could make out his faintly cocky expression. 

“really, huh?” 

your attitude would have him rising, cocky attitude falling away instantly. 

he gulped. “guess so.” was this it? 

a smile grew on your face. your hands wrapped around the back of his neck, grooming through the back of his head. he smiled lazily, lip catching between his top teeth. 

but things like this didn’t last forever, did they?

there was a pounding knock at the door. it had you frightened, shifting your panties back into their rightful place. your fingers fixed your appearance the best you could, whilst lando adjusted his dick in his pants. 

“open the fucking door, lando!” 

it was a woman’s voice. 

your brow raised. 

“i know you’re in there with that bitch,” the woman seethed. you could feel her anger through the door– but you could feel your own flying through the roof. bitch? you didn’t fucking think so. 

you pushed past lando who was about to open the door and he called your name, attempting to stop you. 

the door flew open. “bitch?”

the blonde girl stood there. she clearly didn’t expect you to open the door. but she didn’t back down; fine. 

“yeah. bitch.” you straighten your posture. “he told me not to worry about you–” what? “and here you are, fucking him.” 

not quite, you wanted to correct her. 

“fuck off,” he said the girl’s name. “me and you aren’t a couple.” but she rolled her eyes anyway. 

“you promised me a good fuck, lando,” she had such a venom to her bite. it had you bristle. “i didn’t think you’d stoop so low.” 

“hey, now, don’t be–” lando started, but you were done. you had enough of this night. you turned back into his apartment and grabbed your handbag, your phone, and threw on your heels. you didn’t hesitate brushing past the pair. 

lando called your name. 

but you only turned your head over your shoulder. your gaze read an entire sentence that he felt up his entire body. 

two can play this game. 

[reignpage]

Modern au!Masterlist

Playlist FAQ Meet the cast:

Majors Who are they? Instas (jjk men) Readers' socials style JJk men's socials style

Gojo ❥ San Miguel: bottoms up (pt 1) ❥ Staropramen: drink up ❥ Stella Artois: stella? i barley know ya (pt 2) ❥ Birra Moretti: on the rocks (pt 3) ❥ Carling lager: shaken, not stirred (pt 4) ❥ Estrella Damm: don't drink and run ❥ Peroni Nastro Azzurro: brewing fun (pt 5) ❥ Corona Extra: sobering up (pt 6) Geto ❥ 1923 BMW R32: put your keys in my ignition (pt 1) ❥ 1937 Brough Superior SS100: take me for a ride (pt 2) ❥ 1957 Harvey-Davidson Sportster: bumpy ride (pt 3) ❥ Ducati 350 Desmo: rev my engine ❥ Yamaha XT500: slowing down (pt 4) ❥ Norton Commando: speeding up (pt 5) ❥ Kawasaki W800: flashing lights ❥ Aprilia Tuono: halting to a stop (pt 6) Choso ❥ Fauvism: strong colours and fierce brushwork (pt 0) ❥ Rococo: aristocratic leisure (pt 1) ❥ Suprematism: pure artistic feeling (pt 2) ❥ Surrealism: exploration of dreams (pt 3) ❥ Classicism: practice strokes ❥ Arte Povera: humility and irony (pt 4) ❥ Precisionism: sharp cuts (pt 5) Toji ❥ Boston Celtics: he's sweet, really ❥ Chicago Bulls: the virtue of training ❥ Atlanta Hawks: catharsis ❥ Brooklyn Nets: things we really shouldn't do (pt 1) ❥ Charlotte Hornets: plans in motion (pt 2) ❥ Cleveland Cavaliers: full college experience (pt 3) ❥ Dallas Mavericks: nothing but net (pt 4) ❥ Detroit Pistons: reaching for the ball ❥ New York Knicks: jumping through hoops (pt 5) ❥ Miami Heat: setting boundaries (pt 6) ❥ Philadelphia 76ers: shoot and a miss (pt 7) ❥ Indiana Pacers: faking left Nanami Slightly different structure than the others, read the Guide, but general idea is the parts prior to Pt 1 are both before and afters (pls ask for clarification if confused)

❥ Universal Gravitation: attracted to his mass (pt 0) ❥ Conservation of energy: changing forms for you (pt 0) ❥ Conservation of angular momentum: his torque ❥ Newton's first law: without you (pt 0.5) ❥ Newton's third law: steps back and forward (pt 0.5) ❥ Coulomb's first law: unlike charges attract each other (pt 1) ❥ Speed of Light: propogate your light through my vacuum (pt 2) ❥ Kirchoff's Law: calculating resistance (pt 3) ❥ Ohm's Law: potential difference (pt 4) ❥ Newton's second law: rate of change (pt 5)

Sukuna ❥ Judas: a king with no crown (pt 1) ❥ Brutus: et tu? (pt 2) ❥ Ephialtes: reveal the path to home (pt 3) ❥ Winston Smith: her, not me (pt 4) ❥ Quisling: crumbling defences ❥ Mir Jafar: puppeteer (pt 5) ❥ Hanssen: disasters all around ❥ Jingwei: abandon us (pt 6) ❥ Caesar: all roads (pt 7) ❥ Ames: espionage ❥ Petain: losing it all pt 1 ❥ Petain: losing it all pt 2 ❥ Satan: the end and the beginning

[pathologicalreid]

cryptic | S.R.

You and Spencer get a surprise beyond your wildest dreams.

who? spencer reid x fem!AFAB!reader category: fluff (hurt/comfort a little bit) content warnings: oh geez. pregnancy, periods, weight, medical inaccuracy, cryptic pregnancy, traumatic birth, NICU, hospitals, maybe a little ooc i'm not sure, breastfeeding, reader is running solely on oxytocin, crying. word count: 6k a/n: does anyone else have an irrational fear of this? is it just me? that's why i wrote this anyways. also i wrote this MONTHS ago so if it's bad i'm not culpable. (yall voted for unhinged fluff, here it is) anyways i'm calling this part of my "spencer reid dilf agenda".

him

In his work life, Spencer faced fear every day – that was part of the reason he loved life with you so much. The two of you had just moved to your first house together and were still unpacking boxes when he was called away to upstate New York for a case.

You weren’t frustrated with him; you merely kissed him and encouraged him to go save the day.

So, when he told you last night that you must’ve hurt your back trying to move the couch, he didn’t think anything of it. He just told you to rest and to let him know how you were doing in the morning, but when the morning came, there was a break in the case. Spencer had completely forgotten that he was expecting your call.

As the team waited in the police precinct, he didn’t wonder why Hotch answered a phone call and furrowed his brows at Reid until he called him over to talk in private.

For once, his overactive mind went blank when Hotch explained to him that you were in the hospital and that he should call your best friend, Ivy.

In a daze, Spencer pulled his phone out of his pocket to find that he had missed two calls from you and thirteen calls from Ivy. Isolating himself in an abandoned office, he looked at your friend’s contact and pressed the call button.

The phone didn’t even have a chance to ring before Ivy answered, “Spencer! Oh my god,” she said, sounding relieved to be hearing from him. “I am so sorry for calling your boss. I pulled his number from Y/N’s contacts – I didn’t know how else to reach you, and I- “

“Ivy, what’s wrong?” Spencer asked, teetering between panic and impatience. “She told me she thought he had just pulled a muscle moving,” he explained, wondering what could’ve happened.

On the other end of the call, Ivy took a deep, shaky breath. “She’s okay, but you have to come home,” she whispered, keeping her voice down.

Now he was leaning closer to panic, “Where is she?”

“Northern Virginia Hospital,” Ivy responded. “When you get here, call me, and I’ll bring you to her,” she told him.

Spencer took a deep breath and left the empty office once he ended the call, very nearly running into Hotch, “I need to- “

Holding his hand up in a ‘wait’ gesture, Hotch nodded, “There’s a flight going out, Morgan will drive you to the airport. Don’t worry about anything here,” he instructed him, gesturing over to where Morgan was standing with the keys to one of the SUVs.

After promising to call when he could, a thirty-minute flight, and a ten-minute taxi right, Spencer called Ivy back.

“Hey,” her voice was quiet through the receiver, “are you here?”

He turned around in the lobby of the hospital, “I just came in the front entrance; what wing is she in?” He asked. Which wing would a back injury be in?  He supposed it depended on the severity of the back injury.

She cleared her throat and there was a soft rustling before Ivy answered, “Stay put, I’ll come to you.” Her words came out quickly as if she was trying to prevent him from going looking for her.

Then he began to lean closer to impatience, nonetheless, he waited the couple of minutes that it took for Ivy to come out of an elevator, motioning for Spencer to catch up before they took the elevator back up. “Ivy,” Spencer said, “What is happening?”

“She called me at six this morning, saying that she thought she had pulled a muscle in her back and couldn’t sleep. I told her to take some ibuprofen and try to rest, and if she didn’t feel better by lunch, I’d bring her to urgent care. She called me again at ten and told me something was seriously wrong, but she didn’t know what,” Ivy informed him, her voice sounding distant. “She was crying, and I’ve never heard her sound so scared. So, I called an ambulance and met her here while she was triaged…” Her voice trailed off as they exited the elevator.

Spencer’s heart ached at the thought of you being so scared, but it still didn’t answer his question: What happened?

Ivy sniffled and wiped her nose, “Spencer, have you ever heard of a cryptic pregnancy?”

He stopped in his tracks, eyes as wide as saucers, “She’s pregnant?” His words came out as a whisper, a mix of emotions flurried through him.

Your best friend smiled softly at him, “No, she had a baby. That back pain? She was in labor.”

Questions popped into his head quicker than he could ask him. He took a trembling breath, “Where are they?”

She led him around the corner, crossing her arms in front of her chest, “She’s in postpartum recovery, the baby’s up a floor in the NICU. It all happened really fast; you know? Anyways, they kind of whisked the baby away while saying things about Apgar scores that we didn’t really understand.

They stopped for a moment to get Spencer a visitor’s badge before he motioned for Ivy to continue.

Ivy shrugged in response, “She was kind of inconsolable after that, they gave her something to calm her down, but she keeps asking for you,” Ivy said, stopping outside of a door.

Spencer peeked through the blinds to your room. You’re awake, lying on the white bed, absentmindedly picking at the hospital bracelet around your wrist.

“If you need a minute before going in there, take it. Once you go in there, you need to be strong or brave or whatever,” Ivy instructed, putting her hands on her hips. “I’m not saying you can’t be confused or upset, I’d be worried if you weren’t. I’m saying she just gave birth unmedicated without ever even knowing she was pregnant, and they haven’t come back with an update,” she said, looking at Spencer like she was assessing a threat.

He nodded in understanding. Maybe when his head was clear he’d thank Ivy for being so protective of you, but he just nodded. “I need to be in there with her,” he insisted.

Ivy acquiesced, letting him know that she was going to go to the house to get clothes and was going to the store. At that point, Spencer had only been half listening to her.

You didn’t move on the bed when he opened the door. He looked at the whiteboard on the wall, his heart clenching when he saw the words ‘Baby Reid’ written below your name. Spencer quietly walked closer to you before he pulled a chair up so that it was at your bedside and took a seat. He could see tear tracks on your cheeks, “Sweetheart,” he whispered.

Your eyes closed, and two more tears streaked down your cheeks. There was an IV in your wrist and your vitals were being monitored. It wasn’t until Spencer leaned over and smoothed your hair back that you really started to cry.

Gently, Spencer sat on the edge of your bed, and you leaned forward into him. He just held you, running a hand up and down your back as he gently shushed you, “I’m here, darling. I’m here.”

“I had a baby,” you rasped, so quietly that Spencer wasn’t sure if you were telling him or trying to convince yourself that it wasn’t a dream.

He was quiet for just a moment, letting a few silent tears stream down his own cheeks. “I know,” he murmured, “I’m so proud of you.”

You hummed, leaning back ever so slightly, closing your eyes when Spencer kissed your forehead. “I tried calling you,” you whispered, looking up at him with watery eyes and lifting your hands so that you could wipe away the tears.

“I know. I’m so sorry,” he tried to apologize. There was no way for him to navigate this situation, but if he felt this lost, then he couldn’t begin to fathom how you were feeling.

Shaking your head, you waved off his apology, “Did you catch the bad guy?”

He nodded, smiling at your question, “Yeah, we got him this morning. That’s why I didn’t get your call,” he said as he took your hand and intertwined your fingers. “Can I get you anything? Have you eaten? Do you need water?”

A slight smile grew on your face at his concern, a fact that made his heart soar, “I should probably eat something.” The smile faded quickly, “We should probably talk, right?” You asked, leaning forward in the bed to reach for a pile of papers at the foot of the bed.

Noticing a pained look on your face, Spencer set a hand on your shoulder. “I’ll get it,” he said, guiding you so you were lying back on the pillows. “Please be careful,” he reached for the papers and handed them to you.

Quickly, you flipped through the stack of papers that was now in your lap. “I’ve been thinking, you know, and they gave me all of these papers with my options, but we have space at the new house. I work from home most of the time anyway, and we can afford it and- “

Spencer cut you off, leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to your lips. “Yes,” he whispered against your lips before he kissed them again.

Studying you, he watched as you visibly relaxed into your hospital bed. He followed your gaze as you looked out the window of the hospital room, “Spence,” you breathed as a nurse wearing pink scrubs walked into the room.

She looked at him, “Hello, are you dad?”

Dad. He was a dad. Spencer nodded enthusiastically at the nurse.

“I’ve got these bracelets for you two then, they’re to help keep little families like yours together,” she says, loping the white bracelets around both his and your wrist. “Baby’s got two,” she lets you both know. “So, Baby Reid had a hard time breathing at first, but we up in the NICU cleared some of the amniotic fluid from her lungs and everything is looking much better now. Another nurse is bringing the bassinet now…” her voice trailed off when someone knocked on the door.

He wanted to make sure he had heard the nurse correctly. Did she say ‘her’?

The door opened, and it was the tiny hat with the bow that gave it away. She wriggled on the white sheet in her bassinet, looking around her new surroundings. Spencer looked from you to her and couldn’t help the tears that pricked his eyes. It was an emotion that he couldn’t quite place.

Noticing the way you leaned forward, the nurse spoke, “Would you like to hold her?”

“I- Can I? Is she okay?” You asked nervously, for the first time that day, Spencer heard the fear in your voice.

Nodding, the nurse wheeled the bassinet closer to you, helping you move your hospital gown so that you could do skin-to-skin. As she did so, she talked about bonding with a newborn, but Spencer was so enamored watching you that he wasn’t really listening. “We’re estimating that she’s about thirty-five weeks, so she’s late preterm, but she should be able to go home when you do,” the nurse informed you, making sure you were comfortable holding the baby before she stepped back.

The concept of being in a home surrounded by boxes with a newborn stressed him out, but then the tiny baby on your chest let out a squawk and he returned to just watching the two of you.

Both of the nurses left to give the three of you time, and you turned to Spencer, “What was thirty-five weeks ago?” You asked, gently rubbing your thumb over your newborn’s back.

“Exactly? July sixteenth,” he responded, watching your daughter as her eyes shut. “She fell asleep,” he observed, dropping his voice down to a whisper.

You hummed in response, bending your head down and pressing a gentle kiss on the crown of her head. “She needs a name,” you murmured, “we can’t keep calling her baby.”

Spencer leaned over the edge of your bed, “Do you have any ideas?” He asked, even though he already knew you’ve been keeping a list of baby names in your phone for years.

Shrugging ever so slightly, you peered down at your daughter, “All I know is that her last name’s gonna be Reid.” Your eyes flittered up to his, “Please don’t cry. If you cry, I’ll sob, and our daughter is asleep on me, and I don’t want to wake her up.”

“I just love you so much,” he told you softly.

“We can do this, can’t we?” You asked him nervously, narrowing your brows. “She doesn’t have a name. Our house is a disaster. Oh… Spence, we don’t have a car seat. We can’t take her home if we don’t have a car seat.”

Realistically, Spencer knew that you had at least twenty-four hours before you were released from the hospital, maybe forty-eight, given the circumstances. He also knew that you knew this, and he was afraid the events of the day were beginning to take a toll on you. He wasn’t going to say that, instead, he leaned forward and comforted you, “We’ll figure something out, I promise, okay? The name thing we can do.” He encouraged you to take one step at a time, “What about Ivy?”

Your head snapped up, “Really?” You asked, staying conscientious of the newborn on your chest.

“She was there for you through all of this when I couldn’t be,” he shrugged. “Did you know she dug through your contacts on your phone and called Hotch when I didn’t answer?” He watched a small smile tug at your lips, “I just think we should honor her in some way.”

Nodding, a full smile bloomed on your face, “Absolutely.” There was a brief silence, “Do you need to call Hotch? You can step out if you need to. We’re fine alone. I mean just for a little while not for- “

That was the second time you had nearly worked yourself into a panic. Spencer set a hand on your shoulder, “Y/N, angel. Don’t stress yourself out, okay? I’ll handle it.” He promised, after all, you had already done the hard work.

You paused and took a deep breath at his encouragement, leaving the both of you in silence while you caught your breath. “What about Eleanor?”

He smiled and looked at your sleeping baby, “It’s perfect,” he whispered.

The first time Eleanor, who had quickly been nicknamed Nell, cried with the two of you in the room was also the first time Spencer held her. He had been too nervous before, not that he’d tell you that, but when her wails started and he saw you wincing as you sat up in the bed, he instinctively picked her up.

He was still in his work clothes. Granted, he had taken off his tie and the top two buttons of his shirt had been undone, but it didn’t seem to bother Nell, the baby had quickly hushed upon contact. “Sit back,” he gently instructed, “Are you in pain?”

You nestled back into the pillows, “Just a little, they said it’s normal.”

Nothing about this was normal, Spencer wanted to say, but he knew you were well aware. He handed you the baby, knowing that it had been two hours since she last ate and that was likely why she was crying. According to the nurses, she was a good eater. He took their word for it.

Spencer watched you rock gently as Nell ate, you were staring off at nothing, so he asked, “What are you thinking right now?”

“I’m wondering why you’re not more freaked out,” you admitted, looking down at the newborn.

He leaned back in the chair, “I don’t know. I work best under pressure and with a little bit of chaos. It’s also highly likely that the entire situation hasn’t fully sunken in yet.”

You nodded understandingly, “It’s a lot to take in. If you think about it, most parents have months to fully prepare and wrap their heads around it. It’s been about ten hours for me. Maybe six hours for you.”

Nodding, Spencer watched intently as Nell fell asleep, her tiny fists falling and quiet coos coming from her. He heard you say something to him, but the words didn’t process. “What?”

Giggling quietly, you cocked your head at him, “Do you want to hold her?”

“Uh, I don’t know,” he replied honestly. You seemed like you were taking to parenthood exceedingly well, he was afraid he wouldn’t match up.

In the end, it was your understanding smile that prompted him to agree. “Unbutton your shirt,” you ordered, laughing at him when he looked bewildered. “Skin-to-skin isn’t just for moms, Spence. Besides, I want you to bond. I want her to know who you are even when you’re away for work.”

He obliged your request, undoing his shirt so that he could gently place Nell on his bare chest. She squawked while she was being moved from parent to parent but quieted again as soon as she was being held, “she’s so small,” Spencer remarked, marveling at the tiny creature on top of him.

You nodded sleepily, “Four pounds, fourteen ounces. She had to fit behind my ribcage somehow.”

The oddness of the situation began to find a place in him. Were there changes in you that neither of you had noticed? Your period was always irregular, there was no significant weight change, and even morning sickness had seemed to totally pass you by. “I can’t believe we had no idea,” he murmured as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to Nell’s head.

“I went to the doctor three months ago for chest pains, do you remember? I took an at-home pregnancy test just in case and it came back negative. The nurses here told me that there’s a less than one percent chance of that happening,” you informed him, slowly starting to mumble.

Spencer looked up at you to find that your eyes were fluttering shut. “You should sleep. I’ve got this.”

You grunted in protest, “but what- “

“No,” he interrupted. “She just ate, she’s sleeping, and you’re exhausted. I can spend some time with her while you sleep.”

Sleepily, you grinned, sliding down on the bed, and settling your head on the pillows, “Daddy’s girl,” you whispered.

He loved the sound of that.

you

You had always known that Spencer Reid was perfect, and as you watched him fall into the role of father, that knowledge became concrete. You blinked the sleep out of your eyes and kept your gaze on the two of them, not daring to disturb the peace. Instead, you watched in awe as he held your daughter, softly speaking to her as if she could fully comprehend what he was saying.

For all you knew, she could understand what he was saying. She was Spencer’s kid, after all.

Gently, he whispered to her and one of her little fingers gripped his index finger. “Your palmar reflex lets you hold my finger like that, Nellie. It’ll go away when you’re six months old,” he softly swiped his thumb over her back as he murmured to her. “I don’t usually like surprises,” he admitted to the infant, “but you and your mama might just be the best thing to ever happen to me.”

You grinned, reaching your hand out and touching the green armchair, “I love you.” He reached out a hand to hold yours. “Do you want to try to get some sleep?” You offered. Your body still ached, but getting some sleep had made you feel loads better.

“I don’t think I can,” he answered candidly. “I feel so…”

“Wired? Stressed?” You suggested.

He shrugged slightly, “I was going to say hyperaware, but yes,” he responded.

You wheeled the empty bassinet closer to him, “Set her down. Babies can sense stress. Take a minute, catch your breath,” you told him.

Reluctantly, Spencer placed Nell in the bassinet, adjusting the hat on her head while you watched him. “Don’t worry about me,” he said softly.

Your shoulders drooped involuntarily, “When was the last time you slept, love?” After years with Spencer, you know he would go days without sleeping in order to break a case. His lack of a response answered your question well enough. Quickly, you pressed your call button and asked if a nurse could take Nell to the nursery.

Once you made sure the baby was taken care of, you moved over in the hospital bed and patted the open space. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” he told you.

That was the problem with Spencer. He would always put you, and now Eleanor, ahead of himself. It made your heart ache. “Spence, this has been the craziest day, and I can tell you haven’t slept. So, get over here and lay down with me,” you instructed.

Rolling his eyes, Spencer kicked off his shoes before lying next to you in the hospital bed, “Do you promise to wake me if you need anything?” He asked as he gingerly pulled you into his arms, afraid of hurting you.

You hummed, resting your head on his shoulder, “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“I hate that saying,” Spencer whispered, pressing a tender kiss to your hairline.

Closing your eyes, you relaxed into him, “I promise, angel. Get some sleep.”

You startled awake, looking to make sure you didn’t wake Spencer. Your chest ached as you sat up, cringing at the noise your papery hospital gown made. Gingerly, you placed a hand over your heart, feeling the pounding of your heart and listening to the beeping of the monitor, cursing the screen for making so much noise.

This had happened earlier before Spencer arrived, and the doctor had given you something to calm down then.

When you came into the ER, they thought your appendix was bursting, but when they did an ultrasound, they found that you were in active labor. There was no time for an epidural, they didn’t have time to give you anything for the pain. A kind nurse held your hand and quickly explained what was going to happen.

Within thirty minutes, you arrived at the hospital, gave birth, and had your baby taken to the NICU.

It was too fast; your brain was so overwhelmed that it had shut down. It seemed like a ridiculous thought; how did you miss the birth of your daughter?

Hiccupping back a sob, you felt a comforting hand on your back, but the fact that you had woken Spencer up just made you cry harder. He wrapped his arms around you, and you buried your face in the crook of his neck. “Shh, it’s alright,” he cooed, rubbing small circles on your back. “I love you so much, you know that, right? I’m so sorry I wasn’t here for you,” he comforted you. “It’s okay, it’s just all catching up with you, honey.”

You pulled away, wiping the tears from under your eyes. “It’s okay,” you repeated his words.

“What do you need right now?” He asked, smoothing your hair back. “Do you want to make a list? Do you want to move around?”

Nodding absentmindedly, you watched as Spencer pressed the call button and got up, helping you stand. Your legs shook, and you felt a bit like a foal, but it felt good to be out of bed. You haphazardly finger-combed your hair before stepping into hospital slippers and leaving the room. For now, the nurses instructed you to just walk around the maternity ward.

As the two of you walked around, you made several lists. Things you needed to buy. People you needed to call.

By the time you’d returned to the room, Ivy had returned. Spencer opened the door for you and helped you sit on the end of the bed.

“I’ve come bearing gifts,” Ivy greeted, grinning with bags in her hands. She gestured to a suitcase, “First, clothes for both of you. I just grabbed whatever I thought might be good. Toiletries and stuff too,” she said, rolling the suitcase off to the side. “I grabbed a couple of newborn outfits, but again, I was kind of flying blind. The lady at the department store was extremely helpful.” She handed Spencer a bag of baby clothes. “I got a car seat, the same lady recommended it, she was probably getting a commission, but it’s in my car. I have approximately zero idea how to set it up, but I figured, Spencer has a doctorate in engineering. He can do it.”

You glanced blearily at your best friend, “Ivy, you didn’t have to do all of this. This is too much,” you confessed, holding a tiny onesie in your hand.

She dismissed your insistence with a wave of her hand, “I also got this.” Ivy held out a small stuffed duck. “I know it won’t do her much good now, but I couldn’t help myself.”

After you changed out of your hospital garb, you looked at Spencer, “Go call Hotch, we’ll be good here for a while.” You gestured to your best friend, who was filtering through the suitcase she had packed, trying to find your hairbrush. At your request, he told you he’d also ask the nurse to bring Nell back down so that Ivy could meet her.

Once he was gone, Ivy sat behind you on the bed and brushed through your hair, tucking it out of your face, you were finally beginning to feel a little bit more like yourself by the time she had finished.

You watched intently as the nurse arrived at the door, “Do you want to meet her?”

Ivy nodded enthusiastically, lips parting as she observed the small baby. “Is that her name?” She rasped, looking at the card on the bassinet, Eleanor Ivy Reid. “That’s not funny, don’t joke about stuff like that.”

“Yeah,” you whispered, keeping your voice down as Eleanor slept. “It’s not a joke, and for the record, it was Spence’s idea,” you informed her, reaching into the bassinet, and scooping up the now-swaddled infant. “He’s so grateful that you were there for me, and I am too.”

She smiled, “I’m always going to be here for you two – you three now. Number one babysitter,” she said, pointing to herself. 

You sighed and looked from your friend to your daughter, “She’s got a whole FBI unit of babysitters.”

“I’ll be here when they’re away – when Spencer’s away,” she reminded you, carefully adjusting the hat on the baby in your arms.

The last thing you wanted to think of was Spencer being gone, leaving you to take care of a baby you weren’t ready for.

Ivy must have sensed your nerves, “Hey, you know I’m always in your corner, right?”

You nodded slowly, “It’s just all catching up with me. I have to call my mom. I have to call my boss. How do you retroactively apply for maternity leave?”

“One thing at a time,” she said soothingly. “Right now, just enjoy your time with your perfect little family. I’ll call your mom for you,” she offered. “If your boss gives you any grief, he’ll have to deal with me.” Standing up, she placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, “I’m going to go get food, do you two still have the same orders from the deli?”

Confirming with her, you moved so that you could feed Nell, watching her as she looked up at you. “She’s right, you know? You are perfect,” you cupped her head with your hand, looking up to find Spencer watching from the doorway.

“Hotch says congratulations,” he spoke gently, striding over to your bedside and sitting on the edge of the bed. “He also said to let the team know if we needed anything,” he let you know, pressing a kiss to your forehead. He continued to let you know that Hotch had offered to figure out Spencer’s paternity leave, and while you felt bad about giving Hotch something else on his to-do list, it felt nice to have one less thing on yours. 

You nodded, “Ivy’s gonna call my mom, so that’s two things off of our list.”

Spencer squeezed your shoulder, “They asked if they could come to visit, but I didn’t want to answer for you.” He moved back to the armchair, “I just said we’d let them know.”

“At the very least we’ll send a picture,” you murmured. “I’m surprised you’re not researching newborns right now.”

Raising his eyebrows, Spencer shrugged, “I asked one of the nurses if I could get access to the hospital library.”

You snorted, “Of course you did.”

No one from the BAU ended up visiting while you were in the hospital, mainly because the idea of too many people in the one hospital room made you anxious, but both you and Eleanor had been cleared to go home. Eventually, you would have to allow visitors.

“Spencer, you can go the speed limit,” you said from the backseat of the car, not taking your eyes off of the baby in her car seat.

He glanced back in the rearview mirror, “This stretch of road is bumpy. I don’t want to wake her.” Despite his anxieties, he was taking to fatherhood remarkably well.

You shook your head, “She’s already awake, babe.” She looked around her new surroundings, spending part of the six hours a day that she was awake going home for the first time. Part of the beauty of a newborn was that they slept for eighteen hours a day, but only in about fifty-minute bursts.

Spencer kept glancing back, and you made a mental note to get a mirror for the rear-facing car seat.

As he turned onto your street, you sat up slightly. “Who’s here?” You asked, looking at the cars in your driveway. You recognized Ivy’s car, but none of the others rang any bells.

“That’s JJ’s car, and that’s Morgan’s truck,” Spencer told you as he pulled into the driveway. Once he got out of the car, he ran around to where you were sitting. He opened the door, taking the car seat out of its base before helping you out of the car. “I had no idea they were here,” he said curiously.

You hummed thoughtfully, looking at Eleanor in her car seat. There was a part of you that felt horrible, you didn’t have anywhere for her to sleep set up. Another part of you knew that she’d be just fine sleeping in your arms while Spencer set something up. “Far be it from the BAU to abandon one of their own in their time of need,” you murmured, stepping through the front door as Spencer held it open for you.

Setting the carrier on the coffee table, you undid the clips so that you could hold the baby. As you lifted her, her legs scrunched up until you held her to your chest, at which point she settled.

“Where are they?” You asked, gently rubbing Nell’s back as she started to fall asleep on you. You peeked around the corner into the kitchen, across the counter, there were bottles set out to dry, along with other various baby things. “Oh, Spence,” you breathed.

There was a distinct lack of boxes in your house, they weren’t entirely unpacked, but there were much less than there had been when you left. A crash from upstairs got both of your attention, Spencer’s arm instinctively going around your waist.

Together, the two of you walked upstairs, finding members of the BAU in one of the rooms that was going to be a guest room setting up a nursery. “Hey?” You said, peeking in through the doorway.

“Oh my god!” Penelope said, “Wait, crap, sleeping baby.” She covered her mouth with her hands, horrified at the idea of disturbing the sleeping infant.

You smiled, looking around suspiciously, “What’s going on here?”

Rossi waved a finger at you, “Your best friend is a drill sergeant is what’s going on here.”

Confused, you turned around to see Ivy with her hands on her hips. “I thought you weren’t coming home until the afternoon,” she explained, “I was going to have them all out of here so you could have a nice peaceful house.”

“You enlisted the BAU to unpack our house?” You asked her, tears pricking at your eyes.

Ivy shrugged, “It started as just asking a question, but we all came to the same conclusion. The two of you were never going to ask for help, so we had to take matters into our own hands.” She wiped her hands on her jeans, “Plus, they have kids, so they actually knew what you needed,” she gestured to JJ and Hotch.

You leaned forward to give her a one-armed hug, keeping yourself mindful of the baby. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Penelope hugging Spencer.

JJ stepped forward, “I’m around. Any questions you have,” she assured you. “How are you feeling?”

Laughing nervously, you looked up at Spencer, “Still reeling.”

The rest of the team laughed too, which brought you some semblance of comfort. “I almost thought you were playing a prank,” Emily confessed.

“No, you definitely thought they were trying to prank us. You didn’t believe them until they sent the picture,” Morgan said, exposing her.

Appalled, Emily rolled her eyes, but you spoke up, “I’m not sure I would have believed us either.” Had you not experienced it firsthand, you definitely would’ve been skeptical. Eleanor was going on two days old, and you had still woken up wondering if it was all some kind of dream.

Spencer had previously told everyone that no one could hold her. He was concerned about germs. You echoed his concerns, just maybe not as strongly. So, instead, everyone just cooed at her until Spencer gently ushered you into your bedroom.

You let out a sigh of relief when you spotted a bassinet set up next to your bed. Gently, you set her down while Spencer pulled the bedding down, “You should rest,” he told you softly.

“Spence, I just spent the majority of the last two days in a bed. I’m tired of bed,” you responded, sitting down on the ledge of the bed.

He hummed in response, “You just had a baby.”

Reaching out, you took his hands in yours, “Moving around will be good for me. I promise not to do anything to tear my stitches. I’ll just show Nell the house.”

“Babies don’t recognize their surroundings until four to six months, so she wouldn’t recognize anything you showed her anyway,” he told you.

You narrowed your eyebrows at him, “Spencer."

He held up his hands in concession, “Right, overbearing.”

“Hey,” you said softly, “We’re still figuring this out, right? So, we’ll take it one step at a time.” You offered, having already had an in-depth discussion about being okay with making mistakes. “Why don’t we go check out the nursery?” You stood up, watching as Spencer carefully picked Nell up, cradling her in his arms.

You led the way into the hallway to find JJ, Morgan, and Ivy finishing the nursery. Morgan and JJ moved the crib to a different side of the room while Ivy placed books on a shelf.

Ever so slightly, you leaned into Spencer, glancing at the sleeping infant in his arms, you reached over and cupped her head with your hand. “This is your family, Nell,” you whispered, smiling when Spencer leaned down to press a kiss to the crown of your head.

That was your first lesson in parenthood, it really does take a village.  

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