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mugglebornmarvelite · 3 months ago

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BUT IMAGINE SUNSHINE DRAGGING BUCKY TO A PHOTOBOOTH AND HE PULLS HER ONTO HIS LAP ‘CAUSE HE’S TOO BIG FOR HER TO ALSO FIT IN THE SEAT

Mall Day

Paring: Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Avenger! Fem! Reader (Grumpy x Sunshine)

Summary: Despite his best efforts to stay unimpressed, Bucky ends up indulging in your playful antics, finding himself completely disarmed and charmed by you.

Word Count: Roughly 1.1k

Warnings: Fluff, cheeky moments, awkwardness, sarcasm, a little romantic tension, Bucky being a soft dom (manhandling and praise), affectionate teasing

Author’s Note: Thank you for the request, babe! This was such a cute idea, I hope it was to your liking. It was originally going to be a short blurb, but I made it into a mall day! @ghostlyfleur <3

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Divider by: @strangergraphics

It was supposed to be a peaceful day off for the Avengers. The sun was out, the mall was bustling, and for once, everyone had agreed to take a break from saving the world.

But for Bucky Barnes, the day was already feeling like a test of patience.

He wasn’t exactly thrilled about the idea of a crowded mall. The noise, the chaos, the shiny stores full of overpriced trinkets. It just wasn’t his scene.

But you were you. And he would do anything for you.

And with no match against you and your little smile, you dragged him around the mall for the past hour like a hyperactive puppy.

You were practically bouncing with excitement as you skipped from one shop to the next, and Bucky, despite his grumbles and sighs, was always just a step behind you, keeping a close eye on you.

“Bucky, come on!” you said, turning back with your bright, infectious smile. “Hurry up! We’re gonna miss all the fun!”

“I’m here to make sure you don’t get yourself killed in a mall,” Bucky grumbled, his voice low but fond.

You shot him a grin. “That’s why I came with you, big guy.”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, letting you pull him along.

You had this way of getting under his skin, making him smile even when he was trying to stay grumpy.

Just as you were about to break into a sprint to your favorite store, you tripped over your own feet.

Instinctively, Bucky’s hand shot out to catch you, pulling you against his chest.

“Careful, sunshine,” he muttered, his voice unusually soft. His hand lingered at your waist for a moment longer than necessary, his thumb brushing over the fabric of your jacket. “One of these days, I’m gonna need to wrap you in bubble wrap.”

“Thanks for the rescue, grumpy bear.” You giggled and straightened up, swatting his arm lightly. “But I’m fine!”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Bucky grumbled, but there was a hint of amusement in his tone. His eyes narrowed, and he scanned the crowd around you both. He was always on high alert, always protecting you.

As if on cue, your attention shifted to something else. You spotted it: the photo booth.

Bright lights flashing in the window, cute little props hanging around. Without even asking, you grabbed his hand.

He let out a sigh, but let you drag him across the mall.

“Really? A photo booth?” he asked, though the annoyance in his voice was half-hearted. You looked up at him, with those stupid doe eyes.

“Please, Buck, pleeeease! You owe me after almost letting me faceplant!” you grinned as you tugged him along with you.

"I didn't almost let you faceplant," he grumbled, "I saved you."

"That’s the spirit!" you beamed.

Bucky grumbled a string of curses under his breath.

“You’re going in, grumpy!” you said with a grin, “There’s no way you’re getting out of this. It’s for us.”

Bucky sighed. “I’m too big for this. You know that, right?”

“Too big for fun?” you teased. “I don’t think so!”

There was no fighting it.

Bucky wanted to put his foot down, but with how you smiled up at him, he could never refuse you.

He ducked into the booth, his broad shoulders hunched, trying not to take up the entire space. There was barely enough room for both of you, so Bucky did the only reasonable thing to do: he picked you up effortlessly and plopped you onto his lap.

"Bucky!"

He pulled you in tighter. "You wanted the pictures, brat. You’re stuck with me now."

“Alright, let’s take some pictures,” you said, playing around with props and making silly faces until Bucky begrudgingly joined in, his grumpiness melting as he went along with it.

Bucky reached over with one massive hand and squished your cheeks together, a smirk on his face. "Like this, sunshine?"

“Bucky! Stop it!” you giggle under his gentle touch.

He chuckled, squeezing your cheeks once more before he put on enormous, goofy glasses and scowled for the next picture.

“There, happy now?” he grumbled, his tone completely at odds with the ridiculous glasses.

“Oh, totally!” you said with a giggle. “You look adorable.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, though you could see the corners of his mouth twitching. “Don’t go telling anyone that, okay?”

“Of course not!” you assured him with a grin. “I’m not that mean.”

"And now, a kiss on the cheek," he said with an air of mock seriousness, before planting a quick kiss on your cheek.

You felt your face flush.

"Bucky!" you said, your voice suddenly quieter, though your smile betrayed how giddy you were.

He raised an eyebrow. “What? I’m a gentleman. Sometimes.”

Your face flushed a deeper shade of red.

The booth’s final picture snapped. Bucky leaned his cheek against your head and you both smiled.

He pressed a chaste kiss against your temple before he helped you out.

When the photos were printed, you couldn’t hide your grin as you handed one set to Bucky.

“Great,” he muttered. “This is gonna haunt me for the rest of my life, isn’t it?”

You practically beamed. “Yep! And I’m showing the team.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “You’re not.”

“I will!” you declared, undeterred.

Bucky tilted your chin to look at him with just the right amount of force. His thumb gently traced your skin, a subtle reminder of who was in control. “You won’t.”

“Yes, I will,” you insisted, although your voice got softer.

“No, you won’t.” His thumb traces against your cheek, almost like he was grounding you, pulling you closer into submission. “Right, sweet girl?”

“I won’t,” You agreed and held up your pinky. “Pinky promise.”

“Good girl,” he praised, hooking his pinky around yours.

You remained quiet until a small smile creeped up on your face. “You’re totally going to keep the pictures forever and ever.”

He sighed again, looking down at you with both exasperation and fondness. “I’m never gonna hear the end of this, am I?”

“Not unless you really pout,” you teased, poking his side gently. “Which I’m kind of hoping you do.”

“Now I understand why the others like to pick on you,” Bucky muttered.

You pout playfully and he ruffles your hair gently.

You smiled, and when you turned around, you spotted the cotton candy machine.

Without hesitation, you bolted toward it, yelling, "Cotton candy, Buck! Let’s get some!"

“I swear to God…” Bucky sighed, watching you go with a fond smile that he couldn’t hide.

The only thing worse than being dragged to a photo booth was following you to a cotton candy machine, knowing you'd get even more hyper off the sugar.

Was he still going to buy it for you?

Yes.

Why?

Because, like always, he was helpless against his sunshine.

"Can’t take you anywhere," he grinned as he followed after you.

No matter how grumpy he tried to be, when it came to you, Bucky Barnes was completely powerless.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed!

Tags: @princess-lil-spidey @sapphirebarnes @mgchaser @sparklystarsandstrawberries @arcadia-smith @rnurse-kole @juliebluehufflepuff @sailorsenshiuranep @alexxavicry @ficcharsimp @winchestert101 @thatesqcrush @bamitzzsam @grubler @peaches1958 @helen-2003 @ickearmn @Kimmie113080 @Xgbtmdmx @buckysbunnie @Shower-me-with-roses @pigeonmama @civilbucky @piinksdoll @desimarie12 @sleepysongbirdsings

If you'd like to be added to my taglist or just ask me, and I'll update it!

Much love x

- Maeve

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finniestoncrane · 1 year ago

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Virginal vault dweller reader you say?? I'd eat that up (and so would Cooper, heh) but seriously I would read the hell out of that if you're up for it <3

Different Up Here

Cooper Howard x Fem!Reader, word count: 6.3k anon thank you lmao i had already started drafting this, so vault dweller reader isn't quite a virgin but they are definitely inexperienced and have never known pleasure like the kind that cooper can offer 🤎 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: power imbalance, dubious consent because once you've said yes to cooper you can't change your mind, overstimulation, crying, oral sex, fingering, instructional, full penetration babiessss i realised i never tag that shit but yeah it's in here lmao, cumming inside, no protection, sweet coop afterwards but only briefly

If anyone else had asked you in that moment how you were, you couldn't have answered accurately without any hint of sarcasm and irritation. You were being worn down, like buildings by the sands of the desert. Each little molecule of your optimism being torn away from you, painful like plucking a hair. But when Cooper asked you, you tried your best to push down your knee jerk response.

"Let's see, shall we? Since leaving the vault a month ago, bravely in search of resources and supplies for my friends, I have killed, maimed, and eaten things I hope to never think of again. I'm in a constant cycle of very, very stressed and then very, very bored where there is no happy medium between fearing for my life and wishing for death. And oh, by the way, I'm sweating buckets the whole time because it's deathly fucking warm. Thank you for asking, Cooper!"

Instead, you shrugged and offered him at least a partial truth.

"It sounds silly... but I'm kind of bored."

A dry chuckle passed over Cooper's lips.

"Heh, that's a new one for out here."

Sensing an opportunity to at least get some conversation out of him, you sat up on the rusty bed frame, your body sinking into the almost entirely flattened mattress as you crossed your legs and did your best to get Cooper to talk more than a sentence at a time.

"Really? I would have thought you'd be bored a lot, especially when there's no raiders, or mirelurks, or scavengers, or feral ghouls, or super mutants, or roving gangs of-"

"See, this is why I'm never bored. Always somethin' or someone to be killin'."

"But what about like... now? When there's nothing else to do. There's no magazines, no books, no TV."

You watched as Cooper turned from you with a slight smile. You knew the one, the familiar grin that meant you'd divulged some information about your life in the vaults, something he always found so amusing. It was your naivety, your optimism. He was endlessly fascinated by it, as though listening to you talk about it reminded him of something he had before.

That fascinated you. It made you want to stay around him, the way he listened silently as you talked about the old films that were on the holotapes, the food that was still fresh and available, the music you could hear whenever you wanted to, not reliant on some two-bit radio host. He paid attention to you. And any time his deep, brown eyes focused on your lips it made your heart flutter in an admittedly unexpected manner.

Remembering that feeling, you tried again, hoping that your next approach might be something that interested him a little more than just conversation.

"You know how we used to pass time in the vaults?"

Over the sound of the evening breezes that whipped up the sand you could still hear Cooper sigh before he spoke.

"Now if you tell me that you wanna go out there again tonight to find an old blast radius board... well I am just going to have to shoot you."

You laughed at what you hoped was a joke and waved him off, despite the fact that he was still turned away from you, unable to see your gesture as he tried ignoring you in what you assumed was the hope that you might shut up and leave him alone.

"No, no no no no no. Just..."

The lump in your throat felt like it was about to choke you, so you swallowed the clump of nerves quietly, your voice trembling as you finished your sentence.

"... fooling around... y'know?"

Cooper turned to face you. You had piqued his interest, and you couldn't help but show the giddy glee on your face, the smallest smile crossing your lips as your eyes widened. But his words wiped away all hope that you had garnered in that short span of time.

"Oh... oh darlin'."

He laughed a little, each little sound of the short, sharp giggle like a slap to the face.

"I don't think you're ready for that at all."

You raised an eyebrow, defiant, irritated, and keen to know how he thought he had you pegged so quickly. You'd never talked about anything like that with him before. Was he assuming that you were a virgin based on how you behaved around him alone? Maybe he figured that the lack of flirting on your part was down to a complete lack of experience, when in reality, it was because every flirtatious quip he threw your way made you so nervous and flustered you felt like you might throw up.

"How come I'm not ready? I mean, I've... I've done stuff... I've done it!"

"The fat you're not saying it how it is makes me think that you are absolut-"

"I've had sex, Cooper. I've fucked before. I've been fucked."

Blinking off the irritation at being interrupted by you, Cooper pushed up the brim of his hat and stared directly at you, as though he was examining your, to see if you would stand up for yourself any further.

"By who? One of your little buddies underground? Fucking like little bunnies? I don't think that qualifies you, sweetheart."

"Why? Sex is sex..."

You said it with such confidence. As if you really knew. As if you hadn't spent your teenage years practising on your hand, holding a pillow close, lining up for that one girl in the vault who would sell practice kisses for extra bubble-gum. You'd had sex before, of course. You weren't a liar. Just because you'd only ever done it once didn't render it nonfactual. Just because it had only lasted for all of four minutes. Just because you weren't sure you even orgasmed, and your friend had told you that you'd know if you'd orgasmed. Just because it was all over so quickly, and he'd run off before anyone could catch you both, avoiding you at every opportunity after that.

"... Isn't it?"

"Oh no it ain't. Besides, like I keep telling you, it's different up here. Everything's different up here. And that includes fuckin'."

The way he said the word, consonants enunciated with such grit and vigour, filled your stomach with knots that began to tighten as you considered in what way things were so different.

"What exactly do you mean by that?"

Cooper sighed, exasperated, resigning himself to the fact that you were going to keep talking to him regardless of his short replies and attempts to end the conversation.

"You are a dog with a bone, huh? Ain't gonna let it go."

His yellowed teeth were exposed as his lips pulled back in a baring, mischievous smile. Those knots doubled, the ends being pulled by tension in your nervous system as Cooper's smirk put you into a dazed stupor.

"No, sir."

"Now, I don't remember signing on to be your personal tutor in all things apocalypse. Do I really need to show you how everything works up here?"

As your cheeks began to blush, you nodded enthusiastically.

"Yes, sir."

You were hopeful for just a bit of a distraction. Something to help take the stress away. To relieve the tension that had been building up between you and Cooper as of late. You'd been studying him, watching the way he looked at you, fascinated by your perceived, and frankly obvious, innocence. The way his fingers moved, contributing to the skilful way he handled his gun and his ropes. The confidence, the charisma, the charms.

You wanted him, but you weren't quite sure how to broach the situation without it seeming desperate. But you were past that now. You were desperate For anything, just something. Something to cure the monotony of walking and hiding and fighting and surviving. You didn't want to just survive. You wanted to at least find a semblance of fun and pleasure in this nightmare you had found yourself in. And in the vaults, when board games and books and debates got boring, there was always fucking. That was what you desired most right now. The fact that Cooper happened to be the closest target for your desires was just a sweet miracle, or a cruel tease depending on how willing he was.

And luckily, he seemed agreeable.

"Well then, how about you come over here and let ol' Coop show you a little thing or two about how dirty you can really get up here in the mean, dusty Wasteland, hm?"

Your excitement was palpable, even though you were trying to keep your composure. There was no escaping the echo of the giddy squeal you let out as you jumped up from the bed and made your way over to Cooper. He waited in the far corner of the room, setting himself down on an old armchair as you stepped towards him, slapping his thighs as an indication of where he wanted you. And you did as you were told, following his instructions, knowing they hadn't led you astray so far in your time together.

It felt awkward at first, being so close to him. You shifted your weight nervously, trying to get comfortable while making sure Cooper was still at ease, which of course, he was. He always was. Nothing stirred him, he was forever at peace. Competent in any situation. Quick to adapt. And as you fidgeted and fussed, you felt his strong hands pushing you forward on his lap, until your chests were practically pressed together, his hands skirting over your lower back as he held you still. In command. In control. The sudden sensation of his hands on your body made your breath hitch, a soft, surprised squeal on the inhale that had Cooper raising his brow at you.

"Now... you agree that you asked for this, alright? Because I am not going to put my effort into entertaining your little whims if you're gonna get fussy and decide it's too much for you. I did warn you."

"Yes, you did, and I really don't think you needed to. I doubt there's too much different about it, and I've picked up what I needed to know pretty quickly from your other lessons, haven't I?"

Your retaliation to his insistence that you needed him to teach you everything, and that some things just might prove themselves a little too hard even for your levels of enthusiasm, had irritated him when he'd first met you. But now your optimism and sheer refusal to believe anything was too much for you were a source of entertainment for him. A challenge.

"That's fine then, darlin'. But I'll remember that."

His eyes bore into your soul, keeping your focus on him as he dared you to look away. They sparkled as he ran his tongue over his lips, the pretence of preparing for his next words covering the obvious flirtation in the way he dragged the flat muscle along his chapped skin.

"So, gimme a benchmark here, lil lady. How much foreplay was involved in your previous encounters? I'd hate to leave you high and dry."

"Foreplay...? What... uh, what is that?"

Cooper sighed, rolling his eyes before closing his eyelids over gently.

"Well, it's something like this."

He pushed a loose strand of hair back behind your ear, rough fingers following the curve and grazing over your neck as he let them drift down the front of your chest, tickling the exposed skin as far as your jumpsuit would allow before he took a hold of the zip at the front. A quick flit of his eyes up to you seemed to ask for permission, and your small, almost imperceptible nod, told him to keep going.

Slowly, painfully so, he pulled the zip down, watching as the centre of your torso was slowly revealed to him. Smooth skin, in comparison to his anyway, clear of any unnatural blemishes or war wounds. One calloused digit followed down your sternum to your stomach and back up, hooking under the left side of the fabric and pulling it over, then the other, exposing the top half of your body to him.

Cooper traced his fingertips over the top of your breasts, watching as your chest moved in and out, slowly, but exaggeratedly. The knots in your stomach felt like they might burst with the tension as his sharp, ragged nails crossed over your hardening nipples, a gentle tingle coursing through your veins.

"Well?"

"No... n-nothing like that... just grabbing..."

"Oh yeah? You like that? How about this?"

He closed two fingers around your nipple, one hand still on your back to keep you balanced as your body reacted to his touch. Between the two digits, you felt your nipples heating up, the slight, burning pain from the way he squeezed them sending a signal down your spine that seemed to affect every part of you. Tighter, tighter, and then as your eyes closed a little more, eyelids pressed tight, he would ease up to offer some relief.

"You like that? Like it rough?"

"I think... I think I like both."

"So, something like this?"

He teased your nipples once more, pressing harder with his fingertips, pulling them out and jiggling your breasts as he tugged at them, this lewder act interspersed with a gentle caress as he held your breast against the palm of his hand, carefully cupping it as he flicked his thumb over the sensitive and completely erect nipple.

You bit your lip, trying to keep quiet, Coop's hand moved swiftly from your body to your cheeks, popping the lip back out as he pressed his thumb and forefinger into your face. Understanding the message, and seemingly showing this in your wide-eyed gaze, he let his rough, leathery hand make its way back down to your breast, cupping it once more as he spoke.

"Different, see? Pleasure is hard to come by out here. You gotta do it right when you've got the chance."

Cooper leaned into your neck, whispering the words low and slowly, his dry, chapped lips skimming over your skin as he continued.

"I bet down there they didn't know the first thing about real pleasure. Takes time, something like that. You gotta learn the body, gotta make it feel good."

His teeth grazed over your shoulder and back up along your neck before he pulled back, watching your eyes refocus from the haze of arousal.

"Did they make you feel good?"

"No."

You were confident in that statement. It hadn't felt good. It felt rushed. Clumsy. Shameful. And as you pondered it, your mouth remained open in a slight pout which trembled as Cooper asked his next question.

"And what about your pretty lips... did they kiss them?"

"A little..."

Cooper leaned in, his rough lips pressing onto yours with firm contact, his tongue staying in place as though he imagined that might be a bit too much for you right now. But that same level of restraint didn't keep him from letting his teeth catch onto your bottom lip, pulling it out, only letting go when you winced in surprise as the suddenness of the action.

"Didn't bite them either. Of course not, what am I thinking? That would be a little too adventurous for your kind."

His face took on a darker tone as he smiled knowingly towards you.

“And what about these pretty lips?”

Before you could piece together the question, his hand was diving into your jumpsuit, pushing down the front and past the waist, stroking against the front of your underwear which, by now, was soaking wet with your arousal.

“They touch these lips, huh?”

You gasped as he pushed your underwear to the side, stroking his fingers along your slick, plump pussy lips, withdrawing them soon after to taste you on his tongue, the way you had watched him taste the blood of enemies, the blood of victims.

“Stand up, darlin’… Why don’t you take that suit off, hm? Get yourself comfy.”

As you raised yourself up from his hips, your legs wobbled under you, not quite steady enough to support you so soon after being reduced to jelly by Cooper’s touch, his caramelised words that filled your ears, the sharp twang of his accent, the delicate cadence, the power rumbling underneath like an almost silent bassline.

“Do it slowly though.”

Cooper watched carefully as you stood nervously before him, shuffling out of your suit, stripping for him, your hips moving from side to side slow and steady, unintentionally sultry in the way you moved. Without taking his eyes from you he reached for his canteen, taking a long sip from it as you let your suit fall down over your legs, stepping out of it and pushing it to the side with your feet.

“That’s it, darlin’. Can’t do this half-hearted. I need to have access to all of you there. Now come sit back down.”

You held your arms in front of you, feeling far too exposed for the shelter you’d found for the evening. No windows, no locks on the doors. But it was difficult to focus on that worry for too long as you watched Cooper’s tongue flit back out over his lips, clear strands of drool sparkling in the light as he took you in, hungrily, dreamily.

“Turn around though. You face that way.”

The metal buttons on the front of his duster coat were cold against the skin of your back, but you leaned into them anyway. Cooper’s hand curved around your neck and up under your chin, holding your face forward.

“You keep an eye out, holler if you see anything coming. I’ll do everything else.”

A faint clicking sound, the safety on his gun being flicked to off, before those same fingers draped over your mound and down on to your lips, spreading them apart, the cool air of the decrepit room cooling the heat of your hot, aching cunt. With two fingers holding your lips apart, he let the middle digit tap against your clit, each tiny sensation turning your blood cold before heating it exponentially, a cold sweat beginning to form on your brow as you felt a tingle in your abdomen.

The finger that tapped the sensitive bud began stroking it from side to side, laying flat against it length wise as Cooper strummed your body, still holding your chin in his hands, smiling to himself every time your back arched away from him in intense pleasure. Every nerve-ending was at his mercy. He was right, it was different up here. But you wondered how much of that was the Wasteland and it’s effect on sexuality and pleasure, and how much of it was just him. Cooper Howard, Wasteland bounty hunter, a past life he refused to talk about, the most charismatic monster you had ever met. His fingers, daintily crossing over your clit, as you felt his breath, silent except for an occasional hum of satisfaction in the form of a long moan. Maybe it was just Cooper who was different.

It was hard to focus on this new line of though as his hard fingertips clamped down on your clit, pinching it as he rolled it between his fingers. Even harder when he let his hand drop from your neck and instead began teasing at your nipples once more. Soft, cruel flicks over the hardened bumps, his fingers at work on your body, his lips kissing at the back of your neck. Moans growing louder, more frequent, as he let himself enjoy the act of making you squirm. You could tell he was having fun, as you rolled your hips back a little, feeling the thick bulge of his stiffening cock against your rear. You wondered how it might feel, how it might look, and what he could do differently with it.

“Cooper… Coop… I think I’m going to cum…”

His movements quickened, cock twitching against your body as he pinched tighter and pressed his fingers harder against your cunt.

“Don’t you dare, little lady.”

“Ok I’ll… I’ll try but… you have to… stop… please stop… Coop…”

He ignored your please, the whining, desperate begging as you tried to stop your body from the natural, encouraged reaction.

“Have some self-control, sweetheart.”

“Cooper, I really can’t… please… please stop touching me…”

“I absolutely will not.”

Your fingers dug into his thighs, but you noticed that you refused to move away from him. You wanted to do as he asked, wanted to hold yourself back from the brink of orgasm to prolong his touch, but you couldn’t risk him actually stopping, fearing that your body might crumble if his fingers left your quivering, pathetic body for only a second.

Each stroke against your increasingly wet and sensitive pussy had you trembling and shaking, and Cooper had to remove his hand from your breast to keep you steady, placing it under your chin and holding you steady by the neck.

“I am warning you, missy.”

“Cooper… I can’t stop…”

You shuddered and whined as your body gave in to the temptation, feeling a rush of heat and relief as you came on his lap, your arousal coating his pants, adding to the collection of stains and wear on them. But he didn’t stop then.

“No wait… seriously, Cooper… I can’t… I can’t take much more, honestly…”

“Listen, I told you. I said you better not cum. I wasn’t done with you yet.”

Your eyes began to sting with tears of exasperation as your body kept on pushing to its limits, conjuring up another wave of climax, tormenting you with never-ending bouts of arousal that kept you rutting against him, despite how painful it was to keep writhing into his body. You could feel your stomach knotting again, not much time between each orgasm to relax, and you dug your hands into his thighs, pushing your body up off of him as you tensed completely.

“Ok, this time, you do it on my command. You do it when I say you can, alright?”

“Cooper…”

“Don’t give me that pleading shit, you asked me to show you how things are done. Well this is how Cooper fuckin’ Howard does things. So are you ready? You gonna come for me?”

“C-coop… I’ll… I’ll try…”

“Good girl, now you keep that mouth making those whines and moans. I don’t need you to call out my name or anything, I know I’m all you’re thinking about.”

The praise, the self-confidence, the way his fingers seemed to be pulling your orgasm out, motioning for it to come closer to him.

“Come on, darlin’, come on…”

Your vision blurred as the climax came over you, body rolling and convulsing as you came once more at Cooper’s insistence, your cheeks stained with tears, salted water rolling through the layers of grime and clearing paths to your chin.

As you settled back down onto his lap with a shudder, you felt Cooper’s fingers stroking through your hair. He was surprisingly gentle, oddly calm, but you supposed that you deserved his kindness as you had done as he had asked, making up for your previous indiscretion. He was almost cooing, shushing you as you found your breath, establishing your sense of self once more after the overstimulating orgasm that shook your core.

“You seen enough of the big bad world for one day then?”

You probably had, but you still found yourself shaking your head, ignoring the way your body reacted with a violent twitch at the notion of Cooper’s hands delivering intense pleasure.

“A glutton for punishment, hm? Or just keen to learn?”

As you pondered your answer, Cooper seemed to have come to the conclusion for you, as he tapped your hips and began to shift underneath you.

“Alright then, get onto your knees.”

Positioning yourself at his feet, you couldn’t help but look up at him, catching his eyes as he looked down at you with that unique brand of disdain and intrigue he had somehow mastered. You knew what was coming, what was about to happen, and your mouth began watering at the thought. What he might taste like. What he might look like.

You didn’t have to imagine for long though, as you could see his fingers working the belt of his pants, loosening it, unzipping his fly, and gripping his semi-erect cock at the base as he took it out, brandishing it. He kept close attention on your own eyes, a soft sigh of relief imperceptibly escaping his chest as he noticed your pupils widen, your mouth opening in preparation for him.

It was exactly as you had expected. The texture of the shaft was similar to that of his cheeks and his forearms, a similar colouring, though darker at the base and on the shaft which was tinted red. Thick, purple tinged veins covered it, winding around the length, cutting across the ridges of the scars.

“You can come closer, darlin’. I don’t know what they told you about mutations and radiation effects down there in your little utopia, but I can assure you… it doesn’t bite.”

The fear was palpable, clearly, but it was nothing to do with Cooper’s body and everything to do with your lack of experience, which, despite you arguing otherwise, was becoming plainly obvious even to you. You had only ever touched a cock with your hands outside of being quickly fucked. Several times you’d been cajoled into quickly stroking an erection under the blankets before your partner ran off to the bathroom, clean and tidy, flushing away the sins. And you were very well aware that there was always the option to suck on one, but it had never presented itself. It had never seemed that appealing to you. Until you were faced with Cooper’s.

He hadn’t even asked you to do either yet, but you found yourself curious, salivating over the thought of him, mind racing as you imagined how he might feel against your tongue.

“Can I taste it… you?”

Cooper smiled warmly, one of the few times you had seen him look at you with genuine pride.

“Now that is using your initiative. Of course you can.”

You kept your hands to yourself as you leaned in towards his body, content to let Cooper wield his length at you, his hand firm around the base as you inched closer, tongue pressed out over your lips. A strand of drool collected and spilled forward, hitting the floor in a soft patter just before the tip of your tongue came into contact with the tip of his cock.

A lot of the movements were instinctual, following your desires more than what you thought might be protocol as you dragged your tongue up the shaft and swirled over the blushing head of his cock. It tasted bitter, but in a pleasant way. Savoury, not sweet. Salted, a tang that stayed there for a few seconds after your tongue had moved on to another spot. A flavour you found yourself craving now.

Cooper gripped tighter and pushed forward, taking you by surprise as he slid himself into your mouth, his free hand moving to the back of your head, fingers curling into your hair. As the taste of him hit the back of your tongue, cock almost touching your throat, you coughed and spluttered a little.

“Fuck me, darlin’… do you need me to show you how to do this too?”

He looked down at you, filled with pity as he saw your face. Red cheeks, puffed out, lips stretched over the girth of his cock, tears welling up in your eyes as you struggled to breathe.

“Breath through your nose… breathe in…”

You followed his instructions, instantly calmed when you found your lungs filling with air once more. Almost immediately back to enjoying yourself, the feeling of Cooper inside of you, the control he had as he held your head against him.

“Now… you don’t want to choke too much, so keep your tongue flat… yeah, just like that…”

It was so much easier like that, and you could feel your cheeks getting warmer and redder as you realised that not only had you embarrassed yourself with your spluttering and lack of knowledge, but that Cooper had clearly done this a lot.

“And your teeth… well, usually they’ll tell you to keep ‘em outta the way, but you know me… gotta be different…”

Taking the hint, you let your jaw close slightly, the pain of the stretch lessened, your teeth scraping along the top of his shaft as your tongue worked the underneath, sucking and rolling as much as you could while keeping it flat.

He didn’t say much else, and you couldn’t tell if he was particularly enjoying himself. It worried you, the fact that he had specific preferences, the way it was so clear how much more experienced he was than you. How many others had there been? And were they all better than you? As your mind wandered to your anxieties, you completely missed the fact that you had begun to drool all over yourself until Cooper relaxed his grip on your head and wiped at your chin with his thumb. Catching your eyes and sensing some of your worries, he was surprisingly quick to soothe you.

“You can swallow or spit or let it all spill out, I don’t mind makin’ a mess darlin’. But whatever you’re doing, you keep that up.”

You were so pathetically grateful for the encouragement, for the tiniest semblance of praise, that you felt yourself moaning involuntarily. The soothing motion of sucking on his cock, the taste of something new, the comforting knowledge that he was happy with your efforts. You could feel your clit throbbing, aroused by Cooper’s satisfaction, how pleased he was with the way you worked him over.

Which is why it surprised you so much when he pulled his cock from your mouth, your lips slipping off of it with a disgustingly lewd popping sound, drool spilling onto your chin in long strands which stretched from your lips to his cock and tore apart as he distanced himself from you.

And again, that sympathetic gaze, the way he could tell what you were thinking before you even said it.

“Oh, don’t you look at me with those big, sad eyes. You got nothin’ to worry about, sweetheart. That was good, ‘specially for a first try…”

He winked to you as he spoke, causing your heart to skip enough beats that you thought you might die there and then.

“… It’s just that I’m all slicked up and ready to go now… so you wanna bend over for me? Or do you wanna come sit on my lap?”

“Uh… lap, please… I was kinda bent over for the last… first time.”

“Well, you come and take a seat then, darlin’, let ol’ Coop show you something new.”

You nervously settled your entirely nude body back down onto his thighs. Cooper’s hands were gentle against your shoulders as he pulled you backwards with him, leaning at a slight angle in the chair, his cock rigid and firm as it sat against your waiting cunt, coated in your drool which almost seemed to shimmer with the dancing light of the fire.

Then, so carefully, so gently, far more than you’d ever seen him be before, Cooper took hold of his cock at the base and slid it inside of you, one hand on your stomach as he braced you, keeping your body steady as he inserted himself further and further between your clenching walls.

“Bigger than before?”

You nodded, biting your lip as you felt the distinct stretch, his rough, textured cock forcing its way inside your cunt, pressed up to the hilt, testing your limits.

“Better?”

“Mhm…”

“Speak up, darlin’.”

With your voice strained and breathy, you managed to form some words.

“Yes… it’s better.”

“That’s it, good girl. Now, I’m gonna buck my hips, ok? You just try and keep your balance.”

Below you, Cooper shifted a little, his hips rolling backwards, inches of his cock escaping your tight, aching cunt, before he rolled them forwards and upwards, back into you. A slow, steady pace that he focused on keeping until you felt warmer, more relaxed.

“You got this, it’s like riding a horse.”

“I’ve never… hm… ridden a horse…”

Cooper chuckled, a low and rasping sound that sent shivers over your skin and seemed close enough to you that it was coming from inside of your body.

“Never ridden a ghoul before either, but you’re handling it alright for a first timer.”

You were coping ok, you had to admit, but you could feel your stomach muscles tensing, the knots back in full force as they tensed and tightened, loosened and frayed with each pump of his cock within you.

“Ah… Cooper…”

“Too much, darlin’? Does it hurt?”

There was a sense of genuine care in his tone, as though he had taken it upon himself to show you that yes, things were different up there in the Wasteland, but that didn’t always mean they were worse. Some things were good, if not a little bit difficult to take at first.

“A little…”

Cooper tilted your chin up, forcing your head to lean back completely against his shoulder. In a delicate move, one far more romantic than you imagined from him, he ran his thumb over your lips, angling his neck to look at them, his own mouth open ever so slightly, a monotonous panting as he kept his hips moving, increasing the speed and the force at which he entered you.

His eyes flicked up suddenly, looking into yours, catching your gaze and holding unblinking eye contact as he spoke.

“I know… I know… Just a little longer, though…”

He closed his eyes, focusing on the feeling of his cock pushing against your body, enveloped in your hot, wet, velvety interior.

“I know it hurts… but I ain’t stopping, so don’t even ask… here…”

You watched as he brought a finger to your lips, offering it up to you.

“…you bite down on that if it gets too much, ok… but don’t hold back on those sweet sounds… I wanna hear you scream.”

With that vaguely threatening remark, he thrust up into you, banging against your body, spurring on your orgasm but unleashing a dull ache that spread through every sensitive part of you.

“Won’t… be long… keep it together… good girl… good girl…”

It felt good, the pain, the sting, the ache, the shivers. The fact that he was using you, finding pleasure in you. All of it culminating in Cooper’s nearing orgasm which you could sense was closing in on him. His movements were becoming more frantic, sloppier, and he was mouthing all manner of sweet nothings as he let his façade slip away.

And those soft mumbles opened up into a wide roar as he clung to your body, the hand on your neck cutting off the air to your lungs only briefly, one hand on your lap pressing sharp indents into your skin as he forced himself into you. The last few moments of his fevered thrusting, fucking you wildly, drool pooling in the corner of his mouth as he rutted into you in a dazed stupor before his body gave in. His cock throbbed, each pulse sending another rope of cum against your insides, filling you with his seed as he shuddered finally, slinking backwards into the chair and taking in a deep breath as you removed yourself from him.

You’d only managed to take a few steps forward before Cooper addressed you, opening his eyes to watch you standing there awkwardly, his cum dripping down your thighs, a warmth that quickly turned cool in the air of the room.

“Did I say you could get up?”

Panic settled in your chest, aware that you had waited until you felt his muscles relax, his body retreating from you, before you slid off his cock, expecting him to push you away anyway, like your first time. You assumed he was finished, and you weren’t sure you were ready for the idea that he might not be done with you.

“Are we… oh, Cooper, I really can’t take anymore.”

Even as you stood, you could feel your legs shaking, weakened by the intense orgasms, the way they tightened against his every movement.

“That’s different up here too then, I suppose.”

Cooper stood up from the chair, pacing towards you with a purposeful stride as he pushed his cock back into his pants, zipping them up as he reached you. You inhaled sharply as he placed his hand at the back of your head, those knots in your stomach beginning to form again, worried that a further, albeit pleasurable punishment was on the cards. But you were surprised as he slid his free hand around your back, tugging at your waist as he pulled you in close to him. A quick smile before his lips were on yours, the brim of his hat pushed upwards as he leaned into the kiss. Warm, gentle, the kind of kiss you’d seen in movies. Practised and confident, meaningful, sincere.

When he pulled back, your body following him a little before you settled back onto your feet, he smiled warmly.

“Sweet with the sour, darlin’. You gotta keep ‘em wanting more.”

“M-more?”

More as in now? Or more as in the idea that Cooper had enjoyed himself and would be willing to offer that kind of pleasure to you again. And he answered with a wink.

“Definitely. There’s a still a lot you’ve got to learn.”

#fallout #fallout amazon #if this flops I’ll nuke everything by the way this fuckin behemoth stressed me out so much lmaooo #x reader #finnie writes #cooper howard #the ghoul #fallout fic #cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard fanfiction #cooper howard one shot #cooper howard smut #cooper howard imagine #fallout tv #fallout tv series #walton goggins #cooper howard x fem!reader

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4m0r1m · 2 months ago

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Closed Doors

SUMMARY: everyone thinks House and the sweet, gentle doctor hate each other—but behind closed doors, they’re far more than colleagues. when Wilson accidentally catches them in a heated moment, the secret they’ve been hiding threatens to unravel.

WORD COUNT: 1,116 words

PAIRING: greg house x reader

WARNINGS: a little heated moment but nothing too bad.

The corridor buzzed with the low hum of activity—nurses ferrying charts, pagers beeping intermittently, and hushed discussions about patient vitals. Amid it all, one thing remained a constant: Gregory House limping through the hallway like a tornado in tweed, cane tapping rhythmically, sarcasm trailing in his wake.

This morning was no exception.

“Foreman, try not to kill the patient with your god complex before I get a proper look at his scan,” House barked, brushing past his team without so much as slowing down.

“Good morning to you too,” murmured the woman trailing behind them, her voice soft enough to be overlooked—but with a hint of dry amusement that rarely went unnoticed by House.

She was the anomaly of the hospital. The type of doctor who remembered birthdays, lent pens, and somehow always had a stash of calming tea in her drawer. To patients and colleagues alike, she was the kind face of Princeton-Plainsboro—except, of course, to House, who made a daily ritual of riling her up with snide remarks and questionable nicknames.

“She’s got the bedside manner of a fairy godmother and the IQ of a well-trained golden retriever,” he’d said once. Loudly. In front of Cuddy.

She’d smiled sweetly and replied, “You’re just mad I’ve never let you borrow a pen.”

What no one knew—what absolutely no one could guess—was that behind the sarcasm, the sideways glances, the deliberately loud arguments… House was very much involved with her.

Behind closed doors.

And she, for all her angelic exterior, could match him wit for wit when no one was around to witness it.

It had started six months ago. A late-night consult, an empty hallway, and an unexpected kiss that left them both stunned and more than a little breathless.

Since then, they’d perfected the art of secrecy. The stolen moments in diagnostics. The lingering touches disguised as accidental. The occasional post-lunch escape to House’s office under the guise of “arguing about lab results”.

To the rest of the hospital, especially Wilson, their dynamic was obvious: House was being House, and she, poor thing, was just the latest target of his relentless teasing.

Wilson had once even said, “Honestly, mate, I don’t know how she hasn’t stabbed you with a scalpel by now.”

House had only shrugged and replied, “Maybe she’s saving it for Christmas.”

It was Tuesday afternoon when Wilson started to suspect something wasn’t quite right.

He’d passed House’s office and caught the tail end of laughter—her laughter, rich and warm, the kind no one else at the hospital ever seemed to coax out of her. Curious, Wilson lingered near the door. The blinds were drawn, but he could hear movement. A low chuckle. Muffled voices.

And then silence.

Frowning, he knocked.

“House?” he called out.

No response.

He tried the door.

It was unlocked.

The scene that greeted him upon entry froze him mid-step.

House, jacket discarded and shirt rumpled, sat on the edge of his desk, locked in a very enthusiastic embrace with the very doctor Wilson had been certain loathed him. Her hands were tangled in House’s hair, his cane discarded somewhere near the filing cabinet, and their lips—

“Oh, God,” Wilson muttered, instantly averting his gaze and turning on his heel. “I—Nope. I did not see that. I did not see that.”

House, entirely unbothered, detached his mouth long enough to smirk, “Your timing is impeccable, as always.”

She, however, buried her face in House’s shoulder and let out an embarrassed groan. “We’re going to have to kill him, aren’t we?”

“Tempting,” House murmured, dropping a kiss to her forehead. “But I need him to cover for clinic duty.”

Later that evening, after the drama had settled and the blinds were open once more, Wilson sat across from House, arms folded.

“You’ve been sleeping with her?”

House leaned back, tossing a rubber ball against the wall. “Only in the literal sense about fifty percent of the time.”

“Does she know you’re emotionally stunted?”

“Shockingly, yes. Turns out sarcasm and emotional repression are her love languages.”

Wilson scrubbed a hand over his face. “I genuinely thought you hated each other.”

“Technically we do,” House replied, ever smug. “But we hate everyone else more. It’s romantic.”

The next day, whispers trickled through the hospital. Nothing concrete, just vague observations. The way House had taken his coffee from her hand without comment. The way she’d rolled her eyes, but not with annoyance—with familiarity.

Someone even claimed they’d seen her leaving his office with a tie in her hand.

Of course, nothing was confirmed. Nothing could be.

House still insulted her in front of patients.

She still told him to sod off when he pushed her buttons in diagnostics.

But if you looked closely—really closely—you’d catch the smallest things.

The way her eyes lingered a moment too long.

The way his smirk softened when he thought no one was watching.

And the way she always knocked twice before entering his office.

Even though it was never locked.

A/N: I guys i hope you like this one!! I actually had it in my drafts and just didin't post it. This is a little different for what I usually write but i still hope people from other fandoms like it!!

#reader insert #imagines #fanfic #oneshots #gregory house #greg house #greg house x reader #gregory house x reader #house md #dr. house #james wilson #romance #writing

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salem-s · 1 month ago

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DO YOU THINK OF ME WHEN YOU HOLD HER THE SAME? ── RAFE CAMERON ONE SHOT

SYNOPSIS as Rafe dances with his new girlfriend, you can't help but stare because that's how he used to touch you, too. and Rafe? whenever he closes his eyes, he still likes to pretend he's holding you instead.

WARNINGS language, angsttttttt with a happy/hopeful ending, smoking. coooooouuuld be open to a pt 2.

WORD COUNT 6.3k.

SONG OF THE CHAPTER party 4 u by charli xcx

The remnants of Sarah's party dwindle down to the few who know her best, the music also getting the hint and slowly developing into a sweet embrace, ditching the rich EDM that coated the dance floor for how many hours.

Friends, lovers, strangers hold each other close to the songs, knowing it's nearing closing time but wanting to be embraced without having to speak for a little longer, the conversation of going home and continuing the night would have to be pushed until there's no more music left at all.

Sarah's still in line for the bathroom talking to girls she hasn’t seen since college, but it doesn't seem like any time had passed anyway as their laughs echoed across the dance floor and into the outdoor entrance where you stand, where you smile at your friend catching up on lost years.

You let her reminisce, as you'll see her tomorrow anyway as some of those people will (probably) not see Sarah again until a wedding or other major event emerged. As the minutes dwindle down until you ride arrives, you survey the scene playing out in front of you.

Your old friends from school, Kiara and JJ, sway on the disco-tech dance floor, though their mood does not match that of the floor’s fluorescent lights but instead reeked of grey, to which you assume they’d have to say goodbye in the morning once again.

Kiara and JJ are strange, even in college, where they would just dance and tango and sway to the music until the night ended, staying in each other’s arms until sunrise until it was time to say goodbye. Their goodbyes always seemed to linger, each wanting to say something more than their body languages could interpret but never had the courage to really articulate.

You and Sarah always predicted they’d come to their senses after graduation, realizing there's no one else on the planet made for the other person besides themselves, but the night always ends the same: in love lusted nights under the stars, spilled secrets from red wine stained lips, to ultimately say goodbye and move on with life as if their souls aren't connected.

You pity them, as always.

Because you wish you could love someone as much as they love each other, even if they don't fully realize it.

But your mind often wanders to one person, someone you never intend on thinking about too much due to his overwhelming arrogance and dripping sarcasm that you can't stand.

Said person is currently on the dance floor – mirroring the same love-stricken gaze as Kiara and JJ's – with someone else.

Said person is Rafe, as you hate to admit.

But truthfully you only admitted this to yourself during a night of no sleep and lingering thoughts that haunted your normal sequence of going-to-sleep dreams.

You two had gotten in an argument a few hours before, one of your worst, because you were scared of being with him for real, for being able to hold his hand outside of your bedrooms, for the implication it carries. He'd wanted you to be his, officially, to stop dancing around your feelings and sneaking around your friends. At the time, that scared you to heights unknown.

The daunting realization that you are in love with him hits at an ungodly hour, keeping you awake and riddled with excitement and jitters and paranoia.

Before you have the chance to tell him, to bring him back under your cotton sheets where he belongs, he's already seeing someone else.

That was three months ago.

No one really bats an eye at you distancing from him and vice versa. You both openly dislike each other, and have for a long time. Your friends know of your bickering and teasing tendencies. To others, maybe it looks like hate. But your friends know that's how you communicate, that's just your friendship.

But in private together it's less of loathing and more of understanding, which you often have a hard time with when opening yourself up to the dating pool.

He's one of your roommates, for Christ’s sake, not just a profile on Hinge or a friend of a friend that seems like a good match. He replaces the dish soap if it's getting low and will fluff the pillows if he know you're having company, not that he’ll ever admit it.

You've fucked here and there in desperate times of loneliness, having to go about the next day as normal since you're still technically strangers.

But you understood each other, even when the odds are constantly stacked against you.

You'd argue about throwing the old coffee pods away that are left in the Keurig, or about the drama going on in your friends’ lives that you couldn’t admit was happening in your own: like how one of them will fuck a stranger and expect a text in the morning asking if they made it home safe, or how to ask said person on a second date without seeming too clingy, or how to reject someone asking for a second date without seeming too much like an asshole.

You and Rafe could relate too hard, your opinions coming out unconventionally during these roommate-wide discussions. Funnily, your roommates just assume you're both really getting it on with strangers, unbeknownst to the real dilemma occurring beneath cotton sheets behind closed doors, with secrets echoed over Ikea duvets and Vera Bradley blankets.

And now, you watch him with a still gaze, an unknown rhythm setting in your heart beat.

He sways with Kristen to a slow beat, eyes closed in a melancholic feeling while touching her back, her hip, feeling her breathing.

As you stand from outside the bar, watching from the outside looking in, you can feel the beat. The rhythm. The bass of the song. You almost sway yourself, picturing yourself in Kristen’s shoes, but then you stop swaying and still very seriously.

He’s not mine, you think. He’s not. He’s the worst. I don’t want him. I can’t.

You can’t. You shake your head at the thought, already drunk off of the tequila shots Sarah demanded be ordered by the bartender who couldn’t give less of a fuck.

You think for a single moment what would happen the moment you step in the apartment: either you'd subtly be able to bring Rafe back into your room with a hushed whisper and ghost of smile and forget all about the implications of Kristen, or you'll end up covering your ears to the distant thump, thump, thump that will echo against the thin walls and the rooms that shared alley windows.

You hear every partner Rafe brings in. You wonder if he can hear the same.

Time seemed to still as Kristen says something in Rafe's ear. He nods off but then pulls back, almost in shock.

Then your heart sinks as he suddenly looks at Kristen with so much love and admiration that it almost kills her.

Rafe's hand cradles Kristen’s jaw, as if made from porcelain, looking at every corner of her face as if to remind himself that she’s real, before leaning in and embracing her in the sweetest kiss you can only imagine in a daydream.

Watching for a moment, you let yourself suffer as you yearn for the way Rafe holds Kristen, as if you were guaranteed his. As if he loved you.

Your phone is pinging, you realize.

Forcing yourself to look away, you sigh at the ground ridden with old gum and stained pavement. Your ride is here, honking, waiting for you.

What were you doing all this time? Only reminiscing on what could’ve been.

You don't wait any longer, finding the courage to look away from the sight in front of your eyes and getting inside the car.

Rafe has been holding Kristen all night, he realizes.

Not that he fully intended to, but he feels obliged to be tethered to at least one person tonight. If it isn't going to be his roommate, Pope, it's going to be Kristen, to his dismay.

No, no, no.

Don’t get him wrong. Kristen is great, really. She is. Kristen is the low TV glow when you’re falling asleep to whatever cartoon is showing on Adult Swim, or the dipping sunset behind the horizon that casts the hue golden streak across the sea. Kristen is great for winding down, being grounded into the earth and realizing that, hey, time doesn’t need to move that fast after all, that he’s here now and that’s what matters, not ten minutes or an hour from now. Just now.

But Rafe still feels like something is missing.

Well, he knows what was missing but doesn't have the balls to admit it to himself.

Rafe can't bear to look in your direction all night.

He catches a glimpse once when you aren't looking, and he curses himself for doing so because, god, do you look amazing.

But how can he even say that when he can't even gather the courage to approach you all night?

Well, for Christ’s sake, you're roommates, you see each other every day.

During the night, Pope mentions you in conversation as if you were a lingering thought, and Rafe catches himself doing a gaelic shrug as if to say, “Ah, that’s just Sweets for you.”

Huh? How would he know that’s just you? How would he know that's just Sweets, a nickname that he started because of your love for sweet treats.

You and him are just roommates. Barely acquaintances.

But beneath tangled sheets and suppressed giggles, Rafe can't see you as an acquaintance. He can't even see you as a friend.

Rafe sees you laughing with Sarah and a man he doesn't recognize earlier and feels a pang of jealousy, remembering Kristen’s, “Ow, Rafey, why are you squeezing me so tight?” when it happens, unbeknownst to him.

How can he even feel such a way towards someone he can't even bear to approach the whole night? How can he feel such longing for someone that isn't the girl latched to him all night? Not even with someone who looks like Kristen looping around his arm all night.

You can't be intimidated, and even if you are, Rafe wouldn’t be able to tell.

You're a mystery to him.

You'd tell him secrets in the dead of night about things he won't even write in a private journal, then act like you don't know his coffee order the next morning when offering to get the roommates some caffeine courage for their hangovers. You'd touch him in a way he’s never been touched before then act like you're getting teeth pulled when all the roommates hug goodbye to go home during the holidays.

The two of you had a mutual understanding when it comes down to the two of you alone in your quarters, tangled together in short-breathed kisses and sweet confessions against bare and freckled skin.

But when the sun comes up and the clocks reset to start anew, so do you.

Rafe could never understand why. He doesn't know what he can do to change that.

So he stays dancing with Kristen on the staggered dance floor. Kristen always holds him tight, secure in the way she feels about him with no doubt about it. Rafe likes that about Kristen. She doesn't give a fuck about how boldly she holds him or how hard she kisses him in front of his friends. In front of you.

No, no, no, Rafe thinks. I’m holding Kristen. Kristen. Not you.

“Do you wanna leave soon?” You whisper in his ear.

A low hum escaped Rafe’s throat, as if on a natural cue, unaware of the strange phenomenon that is. He relishes in the moment, picturing your doe eyes looking up at him swimmingly.

Then he pauses. He isn't holding you. He was holding blue-eyed Kristen. Kristen. Not you. Never you.

But suddenly, he is.

Rafe pulls back a bit harshly at the thought, preparing his speech and how he wants to go home in exhaustion from the hours of ingesting ungodly amounts of tequila and rum and vodka and whatever else is handed to him throughout the night, but instead of seeing Kristen’s bright eyes reflecting back at him, instead he sees yours looking up at him, the way you always look at him when you were at the mercy of your own solitude, full of life and curiosity and questions he never knows the answers to but wanted to know.

For you.

Those eyes, those big, doting eyes that drink him up and spit him out with a chuckle, that simultaneously embrace him with every fiber of his being and allow him to unwind and confess epiphanies that his mind only knows.

Those eyes, not Kristen’s.

Yours. For a moment, Rafe forgets all about Kristen.

Rafe grips you a little tighter as if to confirm you're real in his arms right now, swaying to a slow song in front of all your friends and strangers who’ll end up talking about it anyway with no regard as to who you are.

But it is. It's you.

You even twirl the ends of his hair as you always do to get your point across, and look up at him from your stature with a twinge in your brow that is nothing but promiscuous.

Evil, you are. But persuasive.

You gaze at him like no one else will, with a sense of understanding but not of pity, and with a sense of urgency for your bare bodies to meet once more without it being a big deal. Rafe laments at the thought that only you, no one else, truly know his real desires, fears, thoughts on anything he can even broach in discussion.

He doesn't think twice about kissing you.

You.

He does have to think twice to make sure you're real in his arms right now, pressing his fingertips into your face as he caresses your cheek, as the other hand digs into your hips that he often thinks about during pillow talk.

He's sure. He has to be.

Rafe can't think about the logistics of holding Kristen moments ago to now holding you. The logistics will kill him, naturally, so he has to simply act now and suffer the critical thinking later.

He kisses you with a newfound desire, as you're in front of all of your friends.

Who will really care if they find out, anyway? Who would really care if you and him told people you are together? No one, really.

Your dilemma was solely set inside your bubble. Rafe’s blood rushed. She’s with me, he thinks. No one else.

No one would even think about touching her, let alone talk to her, ever again. The fantasy makes him soar.

He doesn't dare open his eyes as you pull away from him, and his heart sinks as he hears Kristen’s voice, not yours.

But Rafe still can't open his eyes, he can't face it.

Instead, he leans in again to seize the moment before it's gone, the hmmph against her lips vibrating his own, as he knows, deep down in his heart, that this isn't the reality he immersed himself in, and it breaks his damn heart.

To think it's you breaks his heart, but in other ways – for Kristen, for people who only know him as someone who doesn't linger on past bodies, for his friends who don't even know the real truth.

He sighs into Kristen’s mouth, a sigh of lament.

For a moment, a single moment, Rafe peeks open an eye by accident, but to his dismay he's able to catch a glimpse of you – the real you – watching them from the outside for a fraction of a second before high-tailing it.

Then as soon as you appear, you disappear from his sight.

As quick as it was, Rafe will never forget the expression on your face, one that matched longing, resentment, and pain all in one glimpse, something he can't even make up in a nightmare.

He shuts his eyes again. But he only sees you, your face, over and over and over.

This is all some sort of sick dream.

He can only image you when he closes his eyes, so he forces himself to keep them open, even when he lies awake under sheets that smell like you, Kristen sleeping by his side soundly, unaware of his inner turmoil, of the chaos in his head.

He's with Kristen, Kristen, Kristen. Shutting his eyes will make that stick, it has to.

Eventually.

You hate how you share a wall with him.

Because there's always the anticipation of hearing him, whether he's innocently speaking on the phone or watching that weird show he made you binge with him once or having sex.

You really wish you shared a wall with Pope instead. He's quiet, neat, and doesn't bring his girlfriend over almost every night.

It's gotten to the point where you're so tense in your own bedroom, holding your breath to see when Rafe's going to start making noise and loving on her like he used to dote on you. The personalized cave, the escape from the rest of the world, no longer provides the privacy and solace you need. All because he's on the other side, careless in the way he makes noise.

Tonight only makes you restless. Because you hear nothing.

The only sound you hear is when Rafe arrives back at the apartment, Kristen in tow because you heard her muffled complaints of wanting a snack. But once he shuts his bedroom door behind them, it's radio silent.

Why isn't he doing anything?

It gnaws at you. Maybe they passed out after all the tequila shots everyone was taking earlier, especially Sarah, but you really didn't think they looked drunk while they were dancing, swaying, kissing.

You can't sleep.

The image of Rafe cradling Kristen on the dance floor plus the tension in your shoulders at the anticipation of them potentially having sex don't let you rest.

It's nearly four in the morning when you tip toe out of your room, clad in a ratty t-shirt and sleep shorts that are barely visible beneath the hem of the tee.

You're blaming your nausea on the fact that your hangover is already starting to hit, as you were trying to mix every possible liquor to attempt and forget the sight of Rafe holding Kristen how he used to hold you. Obviously, that stupid tactic does little to satisfy that need. Instead, it augments it.

Flicking a dim lamp on, you grab a glass of water and lean your elbows on the countertop, cradling the cup with nimble fingers, staring at a speck on the surface in a state of disassociation.

Every few moments, you sigh and take a small sip.

And you're so absorbed in your thoughts, feelings, grievances, that you don't hear his bedroom door creak open.

"You okay?"

You jump, nearly dropping the glass that definitely would've shattered, perking your head up to see Rafe standing in the doorway.

His hair is tousled, as if he had been tossing and turning as well, and eyes bleary as if he's been rubbing at them all night. He blinks heavily once, twice, adjusting to the low light. Granted, he looks rough. Although, you can't guarantee you look any better.

Despite it all, your heart skips a beat at the sight of him.

Though you swallow the lump in your throat. "Yeah. Jus' couldn't sleep."

Because of you, you almost say. Because I lost you.

You hope that's enough to deter him, to have him simply nod and saunter off to bed since you're not his responsibility anymore.

But to your horror, he slowly enters the kitchen, leaning on the opposite side of the counter as you.

"Me neither," is all he says, quiet and hoarse and pained. "Was gonna have a smoke."

You only hum in response, drifting your gaze back down the water, studying the ripples and the curve of the glass, anything to avoid looking at his deep blue eyes that always make you stumble over your words.

"Wanna join?"

There was a point in your life where that was a given, where he didn't even have to ask because you simply understood each other without speaking. It became a little weekly ritual, you and him, where you'd precariously climb onto the fire escape you're not supposed to go on and pass a joint back and forth, talking about nothing and everything.

But now you hesitate to respond, because obviously things are not the way they used to be. Because you're not sure you can sit shoulder to shoulder with him without breaking down over months lost.

Although your body betrays you, because you nod before you speak.

Rafe seems a little surprised, but masks it well by reciprocating your nod, pushing himself off the counter to dig through his bag that lays limp next to the coffee table, pulling out the encased joint accompanied with a lighter.

You follow timidly, wringing your fingers together as you watch him walk to the window, unlatching it and opening it slowly to not alert anyone else of your little endeavor.

Half of you waits for his usual ladies first, his signature low drawl that always left a pool of warmth in your belly, but it never comes. Instead he climbs through before you, disappearing into the dark and no doubt sitting in the spot you used to sit in, since you always climbed through first.

Swallowing the insinuation, you follow suit quietly, wincing slightly at the cool air before settling down on the harsh crate platform.

As you get comfortable, your shoulder brushes his and it feels like electricity.

You subtly shuffle away.

If Rafe feels it too, you would never know given his nonchalance, simply focused on lighting the pre-rolled joint and taking the first couple of hits. He puffs it once, twice, taking long inhales and exhaling as if he's had a long day at the office.

You let yourself gaze at him for a few moments, taking in the way he takes hits while peering out onto the skyline. Oh, how badly you want to reach forward and trace the ridges of his jaw and the slope of his nose with your finger as you once used to do as a second nature, and let your touch roam over the grooves and beauty marks on his body like topography on a map. Gentle, appreciative, curious.

More often than not, you wonder if he misses the way you'd let him touch you almost experimentally. How he'd skin over the worry lines on your forehead or over the pillowy skin of your tummy, tracing over scars you got as a clumsy kid and kissing them as you recounted the stories.

Rafe's handing you the joint before you can daydream further.

With nimble fingers, you accept, careful to not let your fingers brush his.

"Remember the one time Pope came out here with us," he starts quietly as you take your first drag, "and it was so foggy he thought the Felipe's sign was the moon?"

You smile lazily through your exhale of smoke. "And then he never smoked out here ever again."

Rafe laughs boyishly and you forget how much you love the sound.

"He's so fuckin' stupid," he murmurs endearingly, accepting the joint when you hand it back to him. "Can recite pi but thought chateau Mormont was trapdoor mama."

You snort, already feeling a little hazy. After a moment, you sigh as if you have all the time in the world. "Funny."

Letting your gaze drift onto the skyline again, you study the handful of lights that stick out like sore thumbs throughout the city, wondering what those people could be doing at this hour.

Eventually, in your peripheral, you sense Rafe handing the joint back to you.

Wordlessly accepting, you take another long hit, desperately trying to ignore the feeling of his eyes boring into your profile, almost waiting for you to speak, to say something, to address the elephant in the room.

You can't. You won't.

Instead, you mask the silence with the smoke and a hoarse voice. "I saw Trevor the other day, said to say hi."

All Rafe does is hum.

You continue. "Him and Aiden are still together, by the way. He says he wants to do another movie marathon with everyone, so he'll probably text you about that in the next few days."

The words hang thick in the air at his lack of response, dissipating like fog in the night as the smoke disappears into the night. You don't expect him to say much, since he probably knows you're delaying the inevitable and dancing around the sore subject that weighs you down. You wonder if he'll ever bring it up, because you certainly won't. Not while he's still dating Kristen.

Rafe's never been the one for emotional intimacy, you had to teach him it's okay to open up once in a while, it's good to have tough conversations and learn how to navigate using your words to convey your feelings, rather than just actions. You did it all under cotton sheets with entangled limbs. You taught him how to feel.

Without looking at him, you hand the dwindling joint back to him. After a moment of stillness on his part, still staring at you almost in disbelief, he takes it.

But he doesn't hit it. He lets the joint burn smoke into the night at his side.

"Are we ever going to be okay again?"

His words make your breath hitch and keep your gaze on the skyline, anywhere but at him. It doesn't do much to soothe your nerves, though, because you still feel his iron stare.

"We're okay now," you offer meekly.

Rafe's response is immediate. "No, we're not."

You can't decide if you want to scream or cry or simply shut down.

Yes, you were the one who said you couldn't do a relationship right now, the one who wanted to keep your intimate nights together a secret for a little while longer, just long enough for you to get your shit together. You were afraid of the implications of having him, all of him, all the time. It's a big responsibility to bear, to carry, to endure.

He's the one who took that has breaking up (can you even break up with someone if you were never really together?). He's the one who mistook your deferral as rejection, and distanced himself almost immediately after that night.

The night you realized you loved him.

And the next day when he started seeing Kristen. And everyday after that.

So you're not really sure what he wants from you right now.

"We're roommates," you whisper, almost as if it's sin, "that's all."

Rafe scoffs. "Not even friends?"

You only shrug. "A little."

You really can't bring yourself to meet his eyes, that still bore into your profile almost pleadingly.

"Why are you being like this?"

You almost want to laugh in his face. Nearly, you do, because you snort quietly and gently shake your head, almost in disbelief at his genuine confusion. Because he should know.

Rafe Cameron is many things. An idiot is not one of them.

"Why the fuck are you laughing?" Rafe asks angrily, low and unbridled. "It isn't funny."

It is, you want to say. In an ironic way.

But you know better than to mess with him, so you bite your tongue.

"I'm not..." You try and find the right words. "...being anything. We weren't really friends before, so we aren't now."

"Before..?" Rafe drawls out slowly, calculated. "Before what? Before we started fucking? Before you broke up with me? Before Kristen? What's before?"

You furrow your brows. "I didn't break up with you."

His answer is immediate. "You did."

"We were never even together."

"You said you didn't want to date me."

Your hands relentlessly pick at your nail beds. "I never said that. I said I needed time. I never said no."

"How was I supposed to know that?" Then, he huffs. "God, will you fucking look at me?"

And when you do, everything stops moving altogether.

His blue eyes are glossed with something you can’t decipher, perhaps teetering between desperation and disbelief and maybe a hint of sadness. The implication behind them, that this whole thing has wrecked him too, makes you feel a little better (suffer in solidarity, right?) but also weighs you down, a kettlebell settling in your gut.

You should look away. Really, you should.

But you can’t. You’re frozen in your gaze, darting between his eyes and gaping your mouth like a fish, unable to find the words you should say. You know what you shouldn’t say, those three words that have rendered you a mess these past few months.

“Why’d you have to bring it up?” You ask so quietly, more broken and smaller than you intend. “It was fine.”

“It isn’t fine,” he says even softer, despite the firm tone he holds. “You’re not fine.”

You find the gall to scoff.

Rafe, of course, has to comment on it. “Don’t sit here and act like you are. You can play that bullshit with Pope and Sarah but not with me.” Then, softer. “Never with me.”

“You have a girlfriend now,” you find yourself saying before you can catch yourself. “So I’m gonna have to be fine.”

That makes him falter, sucking in a breath he doesn’t anticipate as he stares down at you, this shriveled, careless, fragmented version of the person he used to know.

He blinks heavily once, twice, as if in disbelief. The joint has long gone out, sitting idly between his fingers since he can’t find the strength to ash it properly or flick it over the railing. All he does is stare at you. Ingest your words. Study your face.

Normally, it would make you squirm. But now, all you do is stare back, caught in a limbo since you know there’s nothing you can do right now. Nothing will progress further because he has her holding him back, she’ll always stand between them of what could or couldn’t be.

“You broke up with me,” he repeats, almost like a mantra that he needs to remind himself of.

You shake your head. “I didn’t.” Your fight holds no backbone, frankly you’re tired and your heart is aching harder than it has in a long time. “All I needed was more time.”

“More time to, what?” He asks, almost desperate.

“More time to only be yours.” The words feel easy. “To just be us without the anxiety of telling everyone.”

He looks at you as if the wind’s been knocked out of him, taking in your words to imprint on his skin, to learn them and study them to understand the true debacle of what went down all those months ago.

"I never stopped loving you."

As much as you’ve been dying to hear those words finally directed at you, the moment is anticlimactic. If anything, it only makes you sadder.

"I don't know if I can trust that,” you say quietly, tired.

Rafe looks at you like you've grown three heads, flickers of surprise and hurt glossing his pretty eyes. After all those nights you spent spilling secrets followed by kisses in the sanctuary of his room, pressing your lips against his scars and beauty marks and mapping regions on his body he’d never thought to love on, teaching him how to see the world differently, as a friend and not a foe. All for you not to trust him.

That breaks his fucking heart, you can tell. You’ve always prided him on how he wears his heart so boldly on his sleeve, but now it’s only to your detriment.

"You don't trust me?” Rafe murmurs so gently, so hurt, that you swallow the lump in your throat. “After everything we've... You don't trust me?"

The question should be simple. Should be a quick yes or no. But, of course, your brain won’t allow an easy way out like that.

You raise a brow. "I don't know, Rafe. One minute, you're telling me you love me, and then the next day you're dating someone else. What am I supposed to think?”

Rafe’s hand clenches so hard it turns white. “I thought you didn’t want me. I thought if I did that, then…

He trails off, but you have an idea of what he’s going to say. But you want to hear it anyway.

“Then, what?”

His eyes are boring into yours so intensely it hurts. “Then I thought I’d get over you.”

You frown. “That’s not fair.”

“I know.”

“I mean, you did it the day after you said that. The day after I—“

The day after I realized I loved you, you want to say. But you can’t.

You pause, sucking in a breath to avoid speaking it into existence, because if you say those three words aloud right now, to him, you’re doing no one any favors. You’re homewrecking, complicating things, making it all crumble. Granted, you should’ve said it long ago, but things are different now.

“The day after you want?” Rafe pleads, and it makes you shake your head, silencing yourself. He doesn’t like that, though, and urges you again by saying your name so fucking achingly. “Please, tell me.”

“I can’t,” you remind yourself, pained. “You’re with Kristen.”

“I don’t care,” he says immediately. “Answer.”

You frown. “It’s not fair to her.”

Rafe shakes his head. “I know. I know it’s not, fuck, none of it is, but I’m going to lose my mind here if you don’t say what you—“

“It was the day I realized I loved you too, okay?”

You almost say it out of irritation, because you know he’s only going to keep asking if you don’t answer. It’s in his nature to get what he wants, and he gets annoying when he doesn’t obtain the knowledge, object, or thing he desires. He’ll only keep hounding you if you don’t nip it in the bud.

Although you wish you hadn’t said it. Because then you’d never see the expression on his face right now, one that looks like he just got fucking stabbed in the chest.

“You love me?” He whispers.

Finally, finally you find the urge to look away from him, back to the skyline to avoid the discourse.

“It doesn’t matter now,” you respond in the cool air. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“But you love me?” Rafe repeats slowly, almost in disbelief.

Cursing yourself internally, you nod, only looking out onto the city.

He huffs out an exhale next to you, slumping against the brick exterior of your apartment building, matching your gaze and staring out onto the horizon, still trying to catch his breath and let his mind catch up to his heart.

And you sit like that, in the silence of each other’s company, unable to look at the other and simply bear the weight of the prior conversation, of its implications and heartfelt truths. The quiet could last for five minutes or five years, you’d never know the difference because it feels elongated yet condensed at the same time.

You could go inside. You really should, and leave this exchange behind you. But you can't seem to move, because frankly you've been yearning to sit this close to him for so long, and you figure you're going to be selfish, just for a few more minutes.

You swear his shoulder brushes with yours at one point.

After you twitch, body turned to start heading inside, he speaks.

“I’m ending it with her.”

That makes your head spin to him in surprise, brows furrowed and slightly panicked.

“I didn't mean to—“ you start.

But he interrupts you, sure of himself. “No, I am. It’s not…fair to her, I know. But it’s worse to keep seeing her when all I can think about is how you love me too.”

The words are spoken so nonchalantly yet it makes your heart thump. He says it so easily, as if it hasn't been weighing him down.

You feel evil. Your mind flickers back to Kristen, sweet, unknowing Kristen who's sleeping inside, perhaps dreaming of him. Kristen who shared her lemonade with you when you dropped yours at the farmer's market last month. Kristen who probably picked up on your and Rafe's history and still treats you like a friend. Kristen who will ask how your day is and beam when you ask about hers.

"I'm sorry," is all you can say, mainly to Kristen, who obviously isn't here right now.

Rafe doesn't know that, though, and shakes his head. "She'll understand. She keeps telling me I talk about you too much, anyway."

You reel. "What?"

All he does is shrug, as if it means nothing. "I think part of her always knew. I never meant to, I just...do, I guess."

There are so many things running through your mind right now, a kaleidoscope of theories and conspiracies pertaining to that one simple sentence, but you can't bring yourself to respond, half wanting to scold him for treating her like that and half curious as to what he would say.

"I'll make it right," says Rafe quietly, almost to himself. "The whole thing is fucked, but I'm going to make it right with her."

That makes you feel a little better, despite the guilt wavering in your chest. "You better. She's great."

Rafe stifles a laugh, pushing the hair off his forehead, almost a tension relief. "Yeah, she is. But she ain't you."

"Oh my god, that is horrible."

"What? It's true."

"Shut up. Please shut up."

Your tone is firm, but you can't help the sheepish smile that ghosts your lips, facing away from him to hide it. But, of course, he notices, letting out a small huff of a laugh.

After a moment, you move to go inside again but his words stop you.

"I'm gonna put in the work."

You halt, slowly turning to face him with your brows pinched in confusion as you stare at him, only to discover him staring right back at you, all undertones of humor gone and replaced with something serious, something determined.

"I will earn you," he says, clarifying. "I don't expect things to go back to the way they were, obviously. But I want to try. I'm going to try. First, I'll make it right. with Kristen, and then I'm going to make it right with you."

Perhaps it's the certainty of his tone that makes your heart skip. Maybe it's sadness at the thought of Kristen's feelings. Or it could be how pretty his eyes look right now boring into yours, eyes that have never held such determination until this very moment.

Whatever the reason it may be, all you do is nod, murmuring a quiet yet sincere, "Okay," before climbing through the window, leaving him alone in the night.

notes legit im sorry kristen?????

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innorris · 21 days ago

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More Than Just Old Friends / LN

The Quiet Before the Storm

Summary: Lando starts realizing his feelings for a longtime friend during a race weekend. A quiet moment between them hints at something more than friendship.

The paddock buzzed with the usual chaos of a race weekend—mechanics shouting over the whir of drills, media personnel chasing quotes, and fans lined up behind barricades hoping to catch a glimpse of their favorite drivers. But Lando Norris had tuned it all out. His gaze was fixed on someone else.

She was standing near the McLaren garage, talking to Carlos Sainz. Her presence wasn’t new—she had been around for years—but lately, something about the way she smiled or pushed her hair behind her ear made him see her differently.

Lando leaned against a metal railing, arms crossed over his chest. He wasn’t even sure what he was waiting for. An excuse to talk to her? A moment alone? He didn’t know.

“Are you going to stare at her all day or actually say something?” Dani Rics voice cut through his thoughts as he approached with his usual playful swagger.

Lando scoffed, pretending to look away. “I’m not staring.”

Daniel laughed. “Mate, you’re basically in a rom-com montage. All that’s missing is the music.”

“Shut up,” Lando muttered, but a smile crept onto his face anyway.

Daniel nudged him with his elbow. “You’ve known her forever. What’s stopping you?”

That was the thing. He had known her forever. Their friendship dated back to karting days—when helmets were too big for their heads and the only thing that mattered was who got to the finish line first. She was a constant. Someone who understood the madness of motorsport without ever needing it to define her.

Lando didn’t want to risk ruining that.

He was pulled from his thoughts when she turned and caught his eye. She smiled and waved.

God, that smile.

He waved back, pretending to be casual.

Later, after media obligations were done and the sun began to dip behind the garages, she found him sitting alone at the edge of the pit lane, legs hanging over the concrete ledge.

“Don’t tell me you’re getting soft,” she said, plopping down beside him.

He grinned. “Just enjoying the quiet before qualifying.”

She looked at him for a moment. “You always do this. Go quiet the night before a big race. What’s in that overthinking brain of yours this time?”

Lando shrugged. “Just… stuff.”

“‘Stuff,’” she repeated, amused. “That’s very specific.”

He turned to look at her, the corners of his lips twitching upward. “You know me. Man of mystery.”

She rolled her eyes. “More like man of sarcasm.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a while. The air between them wasn’t awkward—but there was a weight to it. Something unspoken. Something waiting to break through the surface.

Finally, she nudged him gently with her shoulder. “You remember that race in Valencia when you waved at me from the track and then nearly spun out?”

He groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

She laughed. “You were so embarrassed.”

“I thought I was being smooth.”

“You were being an idiot.”

He grinned. “Maybe I was trying to impress you.”

She paused at that. Her smile faded just slightly, her eyes narrowing in curiosity. “Were you?”

Lando looked at her, seriously this time. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

Her breath hitched ever so slightly—but then she smiled again, brushing it off with a smirk. “Well, if that was your best move, I’m not impressed.”

Lando raised an eyebrow. “Good thing I’ve got better ones now.”

She stood up, stretching, clearly ending the conversation—but not without throwing him a glance over her shoulder. “We’ll see about that, Norris.”

He watched her walk away, a smile tugging at his lips.

Maybe… just maybe, he wasn’t imagining it after all.

#lando norris x you #lando norris #lando norris imagine #f1 imagine #f1 x female reader #lando norris fluff #lando norris x reader #f1 x reader #f1 fic #lando x reader

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powderpinkprincess · 3 months ago

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Irresponsible [Lando Norris x reader]

description: Lando has an irrational fear of a cab driver kidnapping you once- Or something like that.

Lando usually didn’t mind when you went out without him. You had your own group of friends in Monaco, and as long as your best friend, Sasha was there, Lando didn’t worry much. He really liked her because she was nice and responsible even when she drank, keeping you away from trouble.

What he did mind, however, was you taking a cab home alone. It didn’t matter how safe Monaco was or how many times you had done it before - just the thought of you, possibly even drunk, sitting in the back of a stranger’s car made his stomach twist. What if the driver wasn’t who they seemed? What if something happened, and he wasn’t there? Lando knew it was probably just in his head, but that didn’t make it any easier. It was the one thing he hated about your nights out - waiting for that text saying you were home safe, hoping that nothing had gone wrong.

At least now that Lando finally had a whole week at home, he didn’t have to worry about that, and he could just pick you up himself. Besides training, he still had tons of work to do on his laptop, so he was busy, but he was available.

He didn’t mute his phone when he went to sleep as he usually did, so you could reach him whenever you wanted. However, when you left you noticed how exhausted he looked, so you didn’t want to bother him. At 2 a.m. you were more than ready to leave, and that was when you noticed your credit card was almost empty. You had two credit cards, one to use in your day-to-day life and another one for clubbing.

You didn’t want to wake Lando, but eventually you had to. He was fast asleep when his phone rang. He picked it up half asleep when he saw your number come up. Sitting up, he wiped his eyes and yawned. “Hey babe, is everything okay?”

“Uhm, hi, sorry to wake you up,” you started.

“No, no,” he said, slowly coming to his senses. “It's okay,” he added with a yawn. “What is it, love?”

“Could you maybe send some money to my blue card?” you sighed. Lando knew exactly what you meant as he used the same method when going out. If the card got lost or stolen, it was a much better situation when it was not the majority of your money disappearing.

Lando stifled a sigh as he turned the light on. “Why, did you forget to transfer money again?” he asked while he opened the bank app on his phone. Lando was a bit annoyed at you for being careless with your stuff again, but he sent some money to you anyway.

“I’m sorry,” you replied, noticing the tone of his voice immediately.

“Don’t apologize, just try to pay attention the next time.” He suppressed another yawn. “Are you guys going to stay out?”

“No, I was just about to call a cab,” you explained.

He was silent for a minute, then you could hear the soft ruffling of the sheets as he moved. “Why didn’t you call me before? I would have come to pick you up.”

“Cause you needed rest,” you mumbled. You knew he didn’t like it when you took a cab, so you expected the question.

“Well, I'm up now, so I don't think it matters anyway,” Lando said with a hint of sarcasm. “I would have come to pick you up at any time for you, love, you know that,” he added, trying to sound sincere. He didn't want to pick a fight now that he was awake, but it was a bit of a sensitive spot for him. Lando didn't like that you would just jump into a car with a stranger. He worried about your safety more than you realised.

“I know,” you sighed.

There was a brief silence on the line. Lando knew you were being considerate by not calling him earlier, yet he couldn't help but feel a bit frustrated. He wanted to voice that but held back, knowing it would lead to a pointless argument. “Where are you, anyway?” he asked instead.

“At Aurora. We're still inside at the smoking area cause it's quiet and warm here,” you added. “Why?”

“Just wondering. Aurora is on the other side of the city, and at this time of night I'd rather not send you in a random cab,” Lando replied, his concern growing. “Are the girls with you?”

“Yes, they are. But you really don't need to come,” you pushed.

Lando knew you were trying to not bother him, but he also knew that this was pointless to argue about. Besides, he would be restless if he just stayed home now that he was up. “I'm coming,” he said with a finality in his voice.

“Baby…” you sighed.

Lando was already getting up and putting on some clothes. “Stop protesting, Y/N. Half of the cab drivers barely even speak English here,” he retorted. “You’ve been drinking, you’re wearing that small dress, and you’re- You’re not going to call a cab. Just stay inside. I’ll be there soon.”

For a moment, you didn’t know how to reply. You could hear the frustration in his voice, but it somehow warmed your heart. “I love you,” you spoke eventually.

“Love you, too. See you at the club,” he added before he ended the call.

He didn’t know how to explain what he felt. It was just that- So many things in his life could be taken away within a second. And he barely had anything stable to hold onto, considering how much he had to travel. He knew what people and social media were capable of, and he was just so afraid of you getting hurt. You’ve been dating over three years now, so his followers knew who you were, and he was also aware that people didn’t always have good intentions.

Twenty minutes later he was parked outside the club. He called you, so you quickly grabbed your belongings, hugged the girls goodbye, and then hurried to his car. You sat in and closed the door behind yourself.

Lando winced at the sound. “Hey, careful.”

He had taught you not to smack the door of his car, but apparently you were too drunk to notice or remember.

“Oh, sorry,” you bit on your lip when you realized what you had done.

You checked your phone to see the time, and that was when you saw the notification of your bank application. You frowned and checked your account. Lando sent you money despite that he decided to pick you up, but you only expected an amount that would cover a cab ride. You huffed when you saw the numbers.

“Baby, I wanted to call a cab for a ride home, not to buy the driver with the car,” you glanced at your boyfriend, who had just started the engine.

“Consider it as a precaution,” he replied, his eyes never leaving the road as he started driving. He was still a little frustrated. “Better safe than sorry. And you know I don’t like you being in cabs with strangers at night.”

“I know, but this is extensive. Did you think I’d have to pay a ransom for myself or what?” you sighed. “You know I have my own money, right? Just not on this card.”

“I know,” he said, with a hint of annoyance in his voice. “But sometimes you can be irresponsible when it comes to money, like leaving your card behind or not checking your balance,” he said, recalling past incidents.

You just hummed. That was right.

“Besides, this most likely wouldn’t be enough for a ransom,” he added.

“I was just joking,” you mumbled. He wasn’t in a funny mood tonight.

“I know,” Lando sighed. He stepped on the break at a red light and looked at you. “Y/N, I don’t even know how to approach this anymore. I’m not saying that I would pick you up because I’m trying to be nice. I’m saying it because I’d much rather pick you up by myself than wait until some creep kidnaps you. I know, you’re a strong, independent woman, but can’t you just let me have it my way for once?”

Your eyes widened slightly at his words. “No one is going to kidnap me.”

“Y/N,” he pressed. “Please. Seriously.”

You couldn’t force back a small smile. Even though he could annoy you to death by being overprotective sometimes, he was still very cute.

“Okay,” you replied, shrugging your shoulders. Meanwhile, the light has turned green again.

“Okay?” he glanced at you again quickly before looking back at the road.

“Yeah. Okay.”

His shoulders visibly relaxed and he sent you a small smile back. Oh, how you loved him.

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando x reader #f1 x reader

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darkmatilda · 3 months ago

Text

𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you're going through a tough time after being forced to kill someone for the first time, and spencer decides to talk to you about it. the problem is, he approaches it in the most wrong way possible—driving you to fury.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x diva!chemist reader, argument (omg you have no idea how much i love writing fight scenes), mention that the reader shot an unsub during the case, reader copes by working a lot

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 3.1k

𝐚/𝐧: anon's request

Spencer reached for his coat, but before he could throw it over his shoulders and head for the exit, someone’s hand tapped him playfully on the arm.

“Hey, man,” Morgan greeted him.

Well, greeted might not have been the most accurate term. After all, they’d spent almost the entire day together, working on a case that fortunately ended successfully, and now, on this early Friday evening, they were both heading for the door in pretty good spirits. So, it would’ve been more fitting to say he stopped him. He stopped him with a slight grin on his face and his hands casually placed in the pockets of his black leather jacket. He stopped him because, most likely, he had something to ask— a question, or a suggestion, a request, or an offer, maybe even all of the above in one.

To clarify, it wasn’t like Morgan only started a conversation when he wanted something. Of course not, they were friends after all. It was just that his posture in that particular moment suggested he was about to speak to him with some specific intent.

Spencer shook his head. After spending the entire day deeply focused on analyzing every tiny detail of the case and interrogating people, his mind was working on such efficient gears that he couldn’t shake himself out of that state.

“Hi,” he replied simply, tossing his purple scarf around his neck.

"Any plans for the evening? Got anything interesting planned?"

"Actually, yes," Spencer replied, unable to hide the hint of excitement that crept into his voice. Derek raised his eyebrows, showing interest as he waited for what Spencer was about to say. He adjusted his scarf, tucking the loose end under his coat. "I’m planning to watch an online conference I missed on the use of iPS cells in treating neurodegenerative diseases."

His friend simply nodded, accepting the answer. Some might have thought it was a joke, but Derek had long since gotten used to it.

"Being friends with you, Reid, I constantly have to remind myself that we all have different definitions of the word interesting," he muttered, without malice or sarcasm in his voice. Slowly, they both headed toward the elevator, waiting for it to stop at their floor. "Have fun, then. But if you happen to be in the mood for something else, join us. Just a regular night out at the bar, nothing fancy, but at least with good company."

Normally, he wouldn’t have given the offer a second thought. I mean, he might have considered it for a fraction of a second, then immediately rejected it, simply because he’d prefer to spend the evening doing something else. However, for some reason, Morgan’s words stayed with him for much longer than just a fraction of a second.

“In good company,” he repeated, before he could bite his tongue. The elevator doors opened in front of them, and they both stepped inside. “You mean our team?”

“Yeah. As I said, nothing fancy.”

“I know, it’s just... no one else? Like Will, Kevin, other friends...?”

Morgan’s eyes widened, just like his mouth, which curved into an amused grin. He pointed a finger at him.

“I know what you're getting at.”

Spencer exaggeratedly shrugged his shoulders.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I just asked.”

“Sure. Oh, come on, Reid. Be a big boy and just ask directly.”

“I don’t have anything to ask directly, and, furthermore, I have no idea what you’re even talking about—”

“Dear Derek,” Morgan started, putting in embarrassingly little effort to mimic Spencer’s voice, which made him sound more like Penelope after inhaling a helium balloon. “Would you be so kind as to tell me if your dazzlingly beautiful and slightly sassy lab friend will be joining you guys as well? Because if so, I might change my mind.”

His mouth opened when something came out of it that he would never have said, and it wasn’t even his original intention! He just wanted to start a conversation and learn more about his friends' plans, that’s all. Whether Morgan’s dazzlingly beautiful and slightly sassy lab friend was going to be there or not didn’t interest him at all. And it definitely wouldn’t change his mind.

After the initial shock, which only caused Derek even more amusement, he let out an exaggerated snort. His friend always liked to make up things and suggest that he was head over heels for every attractive woman who crossed his path, just to embarrass him. Spencer seriously hated it and had no idea how to correct him, didn’t even think it was possible.

So, he just rolled his eyes, as if deeply exhausted by how irritating his conversation partner was.

“If you think I’d skip the conference for her, you’re deeply mistaken,” he stated briefly, in a defensive tone.

Morgan stared at him silently for a moment, piercingly. For all the mysteries of the universe, why was this elevator moving so slowly...

“Well, let’s say I believe you,” he began slowly. “But in any case, that’s not a choice for you tonight. Because she won’t be there. She was still in the lab when I went to invite her, and there was no sign she was planning to leave early. Again.”

The last word again was said with a slight sigh. Spencer felt his shoulders stiffen slightly, his brows furrowing as he looked at Derek in confusion.

“Still in the lab at this hour? She?”

The impression he always had of her was that she maintained almost perfect balance at work between her duties, rest, and fun. She did her job excellently but never arrived early or stayed later than required. Well, the only exception was when they were working on something truly urgent, but Spencer didn’t know anything about a situation like that.

“I mean, she didn’t want to go out with us recently either,” Morgan explained. “Which is worrying when it comes to her. You know, Reid, maybe you could talk to her.”

He glanced over his shoulder, as if someone named Reid were standing behind him. There wasn’t. But the request seemed almost ridiculous to Spencer.

“Why me?” he asked “I’d like to remind you that she’s your friend. And you’re the one who’s worried about her.”

“And you’re not?”

“I—” Spencer stopped, because the whole conversation and its course didn’t make much sense in his head.

Before he could respond or find a way to dodge answering a question he honestly couldn’t answer, Morgan beat him to it.

“I just thought you might reach her somehow, because I couldn’t. And if not, maybe at least you’ll annoy her enough that she’ll leave the lab on her own, not wanting to spend another second there with you. As they say, no way is the right way, but the result…”

The elevator finally stopped. Morgan was the first to step out, giving Spencer a nod as a farewell.

“I don’t think anyone says that,” Spencer mumbled, still not moving from his spot.

“Have a good evening, Reid.”

He didn’t know what drove him, but the thought of the conference he’d been so eager to watch seemed to have vanished. Or maybe it was still there, but not strong enough to stop him from pressing the elevator button with the intention of heading to the lab, not knowing yet what he was even doing.

She was there when he stopped right in the doorway, but bent over a microscope and some scattered papers, she didn’t even notice his arrival.

That, however, gave him the chance to look at her.

Well, when Spencer decided to come here, he expected her to look…noticeably worse.

Although he hadn’t mentioned it to Morgan, he had a pretty good idea of what might’ve caused her sudden withdrawal from social life, along with the way she’d started taking on more and more work. Those were fairly common ways in which trauma quietly echoed through someone’s life.

Though, if he asked her, she probably wouldn’t even call it trauma. She likely felt she had no right to feel bad about killing a man who had planned to do something far, far worse. She knew she had done the right thing— which was exactly why her own emotional response, the guilt that didn’t quite make sense, probably created a whirlwind of confusion in her mind.

At least, that was the assumption he’d built in his head back in the elevator—before he saw her. Once he did, he wasn’t so sure anymore.

Because, as he had just observed, she looked… exactly the same.

Spencer didn’t know what he had expected—maybe dark circles under her eyes, a tired face, messier hair, clothes that didn’t quite match. Something that would clash with who she usually was, some outward sign that something inside her wasn’t right.

But he found nothing like that.

“Admiring the view?” she asked, without even lifting her head or pausing what she was doing.

Because of the strange tone in her voice, he wasn’t sure for a second what she’d actually said. It was stripped of its usual bite, its usual rhythm. Not weak, not quiet—just…drained of something.

“You’re still here?” he stepped closer to her workstation, positioning himself across from her, though still keeping a fair amount of distance—one that only shrank when she leaned forward over whatever she was working on.

She didn’t rush to respond, but it wasn’t like she was deliberately delaying either.

“As you can see,” she replied.

He often claimed to absolutely hate the fact that she always had to have a sharp—really sharp—comeback ready for everything he said, but in that moment, he would’ve loved to hear one from her.

“You’re being nice, and it’s… concerning.”

“I’m being nice?”

“For you, yeah. I expected something more like, Well, if you still have to ask even though I’m sitting right in front of you, maybe invest in some glasses, because clearly your eyesight isn’t doing great. And then you’d add something like…”

“Wow,” she scoffed. “You really think highly of me.”

“That was pretty passive-aggressive.”

“Which, as we all know, is usually your territory, so don’t be a hypocrite and call me out on it. Do you want something? Need something?” She straightened up in her seat, resting her elbows on the desk and finally fixing her gaze on him—barely blinking. “Because I really don’t have time right now to argue with you over basically nothing. So if it’s nothing important, just do me a favor and leave.”

For a moment, they locked eyes in silence—she was clearly waiting for a response or a move, like him walking out. But when he didn’t budge, she only let out an irritated sigh and returned to her work, apparently deciding to just ignore his presence.

Reid cleared his throat, clearly not intending to grant her that wish.

“That’s a lot,” he noted, glancing at what she was working on. “And you’re planning to do it all by yourself? I mean, you have your team too. Why aren’t they…”

“Because I sent them home,” she cut in. “And besides—my team, not your business.”

“You sent them home,” he repeated, keeping his voice even, not letting it sound even slightly annoyed. And that calmness, in turn, seemed to irritate her. But that was the truth. He wasn’t annoyed with her—not since he started to suspect what might be behind her behavior. In fact, it felt like the angrier she got with him, the more honest she was willing to be. And he really hoped he was right about that. He really didn’t want to end up with something acidic thrown in his face.

He pushed the image out of his mind and kept going, following his theory.

“...right when there’s this much work. What’s the logic in that?”

She rolled her eyes, like it should’ve been obvious.

“The logic is that sometimes, if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.”

“Or maybe the logic is that taking all this work on yourself is the perfect excuse to isolate without having to explain it to anyone.”

He felt the weight of his words hit like a quiet bomb—its blast radius making her go completely still for a moment. Her whole body froze. Just for a second—a very short one.

Spencer had to pull in a breath before he could keep going.

“Because no one really questions it when you just say you don’t have time. Or maybe it’s an excuse for yourself, too—because the more work you pile on, the less time, and eventually the less energy, you have left to think about…”

“Stop.” She cut him off sharply, pulling her hand off the desk.

He still caught the way it clenched into a fist.

“Oh, so I’m wrong?” he asked, not really waiting for her answer.

Still, he eased up a little, softened his tone—figuring he’d already pushed her far enough.

“Listen, I get what this is about. Morgan told me today you’ve been acting a little off—or, well, not like you. Not going out with the others…”

“Wow, God forbid a woman wants to spend her time doing something other than parties and nights out…”

“We both know this isn't about what you suddenly decided you wanted to do,” he sighed, unable to suppress the frustration that caused another crack in his calm exterior. This time, though, he didn’t give himself a moment to breathe before continuing. “It’s about what happened, the unsub you shot, and that you weren’t ready for how much it would affect you…”

“What are you trying to achieve here, Reid?” she asked, suddenly rising from her seat. Her arms crossed over her body, not in a casual posture, but almost in a defensive, distancing gesture. The question wasn’t laced with a scoff, only a subtle irritation, which, however, still made it sound like the calmest thing she’d said to him all day. “You came here to what? To push me until, for some of your sick satisfaction I admit yes, fuck yes, it was hard for me, shooting someone in the head? Fine, I said it! So, now what?” She spread both arms wide, a questioning gesture.

Spencer opened his mouth to say something, even began shaking his head, wanting to make it clear that he wasn’t trying to pressure her. But then, he realized—well, he was. But not to make her feel bad, or, as she’d said, for some sick satisfaction. He just needed her to admit it to herself. And it seemed like that’s exactly what happened, because suddenly, she fell silent too, her gaze dropping. He noticed the irregular rhythm of her breath rising and falling.

“Do you really...do you really think I’m doing this for my sick satisfaction?” he asked incredulously, watching closely as she shrugged at his question. “Did it ever occur to you that I might, I don’t know, want to help you?”

“Oh, look, here comes the savior,” she scoffed, suddenly bursting into sarcastic laughter, gently shaking her head from side to side. “Well, you’ve really nailed it, haven’t you? So empathetic and understanding…”

“If I were trying to be empathetic and understanding, you wouldn’t even look at me, still buried in those papers, pretending like you don’t care what I’m talking about,” Reid pointed out, forcing himself to fully believe in the rightness of what he had done. Because when he saw her reaction, some doubts crossed his mind. Had he really approached this in the worst possible way? He exhaled, shaking off the thought. “Or you’d laugh at me, because that’s what you usually do. So stop pretending like I’ve hurt you so badly, because we both know that’s not true.”

She must have realized the truth in his words, as she only pressed her lips tighter instead of immediately firing back with a response. Spencer only then realized that the lab was completely silent. Before, he had felt like he was in the middle of a crowded office, where hundreds of voices were shouting over each other, and around them, there was a tense, almost buzzing atmosphere.

"Actually, yes. I think you're doing this for your sick satisfaction," she admitted after a prolonged moment of silence. Very quietly, and very sharply. As if it had been brewing inside her for a long time and was now finally spilling out with its sharpness.

Spencer couldn't stop himself from rolling his eyes, wanting to say that he already explained it, and there was no point in continuing this line of discussion. She, however, felt differently.

"Isn't that what your job is all about, huh, Mr. Profiler? You all get off on these psychological games. Bursting into someone's head when they don't want you there, trying to psychoanalyze them when they never asked for it," she began, listing off the points with a vacant stare locked onto him. Her expression remained the same—cold, unchanging. Only by the last few words did her voice slightly tremble, something she immediately swallowed down. "You can play those games with serial killers, fine, you might even be of use to all of us in doing so. But don't think for a second that I'm going to let you try anything like that with me."

After her last words settled, she held their gaze for a moment before breaking it with a certain dignity, beginning to gather all her papers into a tight stack, which she then grasped firmly. Spencer watched her movements, his words lingering, but he remained silent.

Why had he even come here? Was he fooling himself into thinking he could help her? Or had he known from the beginning that she didn’t need his help, but showed up anyway, driven by some kind of guilt because it was in his defense that she shot that man? Maybe, at first, there had been some concern. But now, he felt none of that.

Lost in his thoughts for a moment, he only then realized she was looking at him expectantly.

“It would be nice if you left,” she said, nodding toward the exit. “I need to lock up the lab.”

Spencer had always considered heightened politeness to be a form of ultimate anger. The kind that strikes directly at the shield it’s aimed at, double-edged and precise.

It was the kind of tone that only made him nod curtly and do exactly what she asked—leave.

post-reading author’s note: my personal headcanon, which you can accept or not, is that she left the lab and went to meet her friends 😆 so derek was right, and spencer did manage to annoy her enough that she left the lab on her own so kinda a win lol

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #diva reader ♱#doctor spencer reid #spence reid #spencer reid angst #criminal minds fic #criminal minds angst #dr spencer reid x reader #dr spencer reid

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pomefioredove · 11 months ago

Note

could you write the overblot boys (+ lillia & adeuce) with a reader who is really naïve? like they aren’t dumb by any means (the opposite, actually, they are smart and get amazing grades) but they have a lot of trust in people and sometimes takes things too seriously/at face value (like they don’t understand sarcasm at all, respond to rhetorical questions, etc)

how do you guys keep coming up with the most specific relatable ideas 😭😭 finally, oblivious representation!!!

summary: naive/oblivious reader type of post: headcanons characters: riddle, ace, deuce, leona, azul, jamil, vil, idia, malleus, lilia additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu

for someone who's entire life is structured around decorum, Riddle is unexpectedly lenient with you

he's always had a certain weakness for cute things...

AHEM

he's seen your grades, and he knows you aren't incompetent or dim, you just...

...lack social finesse

fortunately, he says he's an expert at socializing!

...unfortunately, that's not true at all

if you're not careful, he'll have you talking like a sickly Victorian orphan by month two

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

but at least he's not Ace, who finds your naivete VERY entertaining

you and Deuce are a two-man circus to him

tricking you is so easy, it's almost not even fun

almost

he has, on three separate occasions, told you and Deuce that "gullible" is written on the ceiling, and all times, you both looked up

but it's all in good fun, of course

Sevens help anyone else who teases you about it, though. then it isn't so funny anymore

Ace and Deuce are just a little overprotective

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Leona hasn't said a word about it

not that he hasn't noticed

...not that he's trying not to embarrass you, either

he's just trying to see how long it'll take before you can tell when he's being sarcastic

it's just... entertaining

for someone as smart as you to hang onto his every word...

it's... a bit of a power trip for him

not that he's taking advantage of you for anything other than amusement, of course

besides, you'll need someone around to tell off the idiots who do try to pull the rug out from under you

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

speaking of which...

if not for your friends' intervention, Azul would probably own your soul by now

he's not half as convincing as he thinks he is, but even then, you respond to everything he says in earnest

you actually believe the whole "nice guy" act

and, honestly...

well...

he likes the way you like him

you actually see him as a nice, smart, interesting person. you spend time with him without expecting anything in return

so, he gives up on trying to squeeze a deal out of you

...for now, at least, you're under his protection

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

someone get this poor man a day off

Jamil is tempted to put you and Kalim in a play pen together so he can take a nap

he just... doesn't understand you

he's seen your name in the hall after exams, he's heard the way the professors praise you, and yet you are almost painfully easy to manipulate

he could mold you like clay if he really wanted to

...unfortunately, he cares too much to do that

so, for now, he'll keep trying to trick you into tutoring Kalim so he can have the night off

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Vil is your number one protector

you're smart, you're competent, but you're way too easy to deceive

and knowing the boys at this school...

...of course, Vil has to keep you by his side at all times. he wouldn't trust half the students here with his laundry

he can't sit by and let you get taken advantage of

...not that he never teases you

he does, of course

your earnest responses are just so sweet to him, and you seem to genuinely enjoy complimenting him...

anyway

while Rook teaches you how to pick up on hints and cues, and Epel throws hands with anyone who even looks at you weird, Vil is busy pampering you half to death

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Idia's initial reaction is something along the lines of "well, at least I'm not that guy,"

(sorry)

but, really; he thinks he has it bad, and then you can't even read a room?

you're like total opposites; an overthinker and an underthinker

you're all... sweet and genuine and cutesy

and he's a lame weird loser...

he assumes that everyone else thinks the same; but then he starts hearing the things other people say about you...

...and the way you get treated when you don't understand a joke or pick up on a cue

maybe you're not so different, after all...

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

unfortunately, it looks like you and Malleus are on the same page

one oblivious to social cues, the other awkward from years of isolation

communicating with anyone else is a minefield

but, of course, you have each other

the way you talk to each other is kind of adorable?

Malleus can be quite blunt when he doesn't mean to, though, for you, that's a blessing

but he's also aware that you're a little oblivious, compared to other humans, and he's quite accommodating

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Lilia is a little shit

he may act all innocent about it, but he knows very well what he's doing

your naivete was the first thing he noticed about you

he absolutely uses it to his advantage

you're just so easy to prank, how can he resist?

he also enjoys flirting with you

it goes right over your head every time, and it's just the cutest thing he's ever seen

he's trying to see how far he can push it before you realize he's being serious

times he's said "I want you" to your face: 2 and counting!

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #queued #riddle rosehearts x reader #ace trappola x reader #deuce spade x reader #leona kingscholar x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #jamil viper x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #idia shroud x reader #malleus draconia x reader #lilia vanrouge x reader

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igotanidea · 3 months ago

Text

Kidnapped: Jason Todd x reader

Aka: the one when when Jason finds out his girlfriend is in a "life-threatening" situation.

“Kidnapped?! What the hell do you mean, she’s been kidnapped?! Who would dare?! And how would they know she’s connected to me!? I mean – to the Red Hood!?”

"Jason-"

“Don’t fucking Jason me right now! Why are you standing here?! Why am I standing here?!”

Jason’s screams were echoing through the Batcave since the very moment Dick acclaimed that Y/N has been taken hostage.

“We should be doing something! Fuck!” Red Hood tried to run fingers through his hair only to figure out he had his helmet on. Thank god for that, cause otherwise he’d probably pull and pull at his black mop, going completely bald.

“Jason – “

“Shut up or I’ll fucking kill you! How are you so calm about it?!”

“I – “

“They took Y/N!!! They took my Y/N and I don’t even know who “they” are. You know what, forget it – I’ll burn this entire city down if it means getting to her!”

Without waiting for any more input on his brother’s part, he took off running, ager in his eyes obscured by a layer of red metal.

Anger and concern combined.

Because – after all – she was in danger because of him.

***

“Where the hell is she?!” half an hour later, he was holding Black Mask’s goon by the collar, up in the air, man’s legs dangling dangerously as he was falling in and out of consciousness.

“I don’t know who Y/N-“

“Shut the fuck up! You don’t get to say her name with your fucking dirty mouth!”

“I don’t know her!”

“You’re fucking lying!” the gun barrel held to the thug’s head did nothing to refresh his memory. “Where are you keeping her?!”

“We’re not- AAAAHGH!”

Jason hardly hesitated before shooting the man’s arm and the man did nothing to try and hide the pain coming from the action.

“Talk or next thing I’ll aim at will be your kneecap. Much more painful and much more permanent if you ask me about it.”

“I don’t know – “ much to Jason’s disgust his victim for the night started crying. “I swear I don’t know - “

“Freaking minnow.” Red Hood hissed, feeling the passing time hot on his heels. Every second counted, cause it meant one more less breath for Y/N or one more punch or other type of injury inflicted upon her.

With a very dissatisfied groan, he tossed the man aside, pleased by the sound of something snapping, hoping it was at least a leg.

***

“Hmmm… Do you have any aces?”

“Nice try.”

“So you don’t?”

“Nope. Do you have any clubs?”

“Ah! God! How are you doing this!? Seriously, every time!?”

“You’re exceptionally bad at this game.”

“In my defense, there’s something else gnawing at me at the moment, so sorry if I can’t exactly fucking concentrate!”

“Are you having the moment of conscience calling?” third voice came into the discussion, a hint of sarcasm in it. “You feel like you’ve done something wrong by crossing the lines of being a lawful citizen?”

“Stop messing with my head! It was your idea!”

“I didn’t exactly see you object to it.”

“You dragged me into it!”

“Again – you weren’t pulling your punches.”

“My god!” the first person stood up abruptly, tossing the cards away “this is fucking ridiculous. We’re sitting on top of the roof, playing poker while Red Hood is out there hunting. You do realize he’ll find us sooner or later, right?” Just a thought of such possibility coming through sent a shiver down the person spine.

“Yes.” The two other people said in unison, completely unbothered by the fact that Gotham had a killer on the loose.

“And then what?!”

A shrug of arms and annoyed scoff followed by eye rolling had to do as a response.

“Are you insane?!”

“Stop showing you are new to this job and sit back down.”

“Your yelling at the top of your lungs into the city is not really helping with not dragging attention to ourselves, did you know? Now, do you have any deuces?”

“HA! I don’t have any deuces and – “

“AAAH! He’s coming! He’s coming--!” fourth dramatis persona busted through the door, though the exclamation was rather a show of excitement rather than fear. “And let me tell you, he is SOOOOO angry.”

“You three are freaking mental-“

“WHERE IS SHE-----?!” Red hood did indeed found them, but sure as hell it was not what he was expecting to see. “Wait… what—what – Y/N?!”

“Hey… Hey, Jason…” she sighed, rubbing her forehead putting on a grin that was both wide and fake.

“What are you – WHAT THE HELL IS THIS!?” Jason took in the surrounding. Blanket on the floor, a set of cards on it, a basket with snacks and most importantly – HIS THREE “BROTHERS” CASUALLY PLAYING POKER WITH HIS ALLEGEDLY KIDNAPPED GIRLFRIEND. A second later his helmet landed on the ground with a loud thud, only miraculously not blowing up from the explosive inside it.

Damian rolled his eyes, Dick chuckled, Tim was completely unbothered and Y/N just sighed in exasperation.

“What—What--?”

“Jason, I need you to breathe-“

“But why –“

“In and out, ok--?” she stepped closer, gently placing a hand on his shoulder in something that aimed to be a reassuring gesture.

“Y/N….?” he stuttered and everyone on the roof were getting ready for a rage attack.

“Yeah… Yeah, I’m here.”

“You’re okay?” Jason whispered like a kid, his eyes growing a little bigger, almost innocent reflecting every feeling he held for her.

“I’m okay, baby…”

“Y/N…” he stuttered and fell onto his knees, grabbing her calves making his poor girlfriend freeze at the spot. “I was so worried, I was so fucking worried, I thought something happened to you-“ his face ended up pressing into her stomach, grip on her hips tightening along with the way her heart clenched, almost painfully.

God, what had she done?

She was a terrible girlfriend.

Terrible human, terrible everything, putting Jason through another weight of trauma and pain, only trying to pull an innocent April Fool’s Joke.

“Jay…” she shook in his bruising embrace.

“I’m never letting you out of my sight again, you hear me, princess?”

“Jay….” A wave of guilt rolled through her body, turning into spasming and muffled sobs “Jay, I am so sorry-“

“Shh… Shhh, it’s okay, love. You’re safe, you’re safe with me.”

Jason and Y/N were now – respectively – breaking down and being eaten alive by remorse, a picture as pitiful and heartbreaking as well as touching and highly emotional.

“Ekhem… we’re still here!” Damian cleared his throat, not liking the display of affection. And it was enough to invite Red Hood back in.

“GRAYSON!”

“oh-oh….”

“YOU SAID SHE WAS KIDNAPPED!”

“I didn’t say she was kidnapped, I said she was kid-napped! And here she is, unharmed, with two kids, almost napping and – “

“AAAAAH!”

“Jason put the gun down!”

“Todd!”

“Stop it!”

Five people, four guys and a girl were struggling on the rooftop in poor attempt to finish the situation with the same amount of people alive as in the beginning.

***

“Shouldn’t you stop them, Sir?” Afred’s voice came through the Batman’s com.

“It’s not the first time they are fighting.” Bruce responded, observing the entire commotion from the other building’s rooftop.

“It seems different this time though.”

“they should have known better not to tease Jason like this. “

“Do you think they told him, that it was all orchestrated because Miss Y/N could not get Master Jason attention and time any other way, sir?”

“I think some things are between keeping private, Alfred. Wouldn’t like to be in Y/N’s shoes is that came out—”

“Tsk. Father, you are using the general com line.”

It seemed like Y/N was indeed in a very deep shit.

#jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #jason todd x you #red hood x you #jason todd x y/n #red hood x y/n #jason todd

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skye-obsolete · 11 months ago

Text

Welcome Back

ʟᴀᴅs ʙᴏʏs x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᯓ❅ ┆ 𝘴𝘺𝘯𝘰𝘱𝘴𝘪𝘴 ┆ : 𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘓𝘈𝘋𝘚 𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦?

ᯓ❅ ┆ 𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘴 ┆ : 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯, 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵, 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧 & 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘖𝘖𝘊

─────────────── ˗ˏˋ ❅｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽ ˎˊ˗ ────────────────

𝐗𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐫

Despite being utterly exhausted from your mission, you took great care in opening the apartment door you shared with Xavier, not wanting to wake him if he was already asleep.

Given how he always seemed drowsy during the day, you assumed he’d be in bed by now. But you had forgotten that Xavier was always up late, hunting Wanderers and attending to his own errands.

Quietly closing the door behind you, you were taken by surprise when a pair of arms wrapped around your waist, his chest pressing gently against your back.

“I didn’t wake you, did I?” you asked softly, concerned that your footsteps and the creaking floor might have disturbed his sleep.

He nuzzled into your nape, inhaling your scent, his embrace firm yet tender, as if afraid you’d vanish if he let go.

“No,” he murmured, his warm breath tickling your neck. “I waited for you.”

A twinge of guilt washed over you. “Let’s rest then?” you suggested softly.

But there was no response. Turning your head, you saw that he had miraculously fallen asleep in that position.

Even though he was leaning on you, his weight wasn’t burdensome, but his even breathing and heaving shoulders told you he was sound asleep.

Raising a hand to wake him, you changed your mind and instead began to gently massage his scalp with one hand while caressing his hand on your waist with the other.

He let out a soft, satisfied mumble, melting into your touch.

𝐙𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞

Usually, Zayne would be the one who would come home late after his night surgeries, but tonight, it was you.

Opening the door, you noticed a light on in the living room. Zayne was sitting on the couch, a book in his hands, his eyes immediately locking onto you as you walked in.

“You’re late. It’s already past midnight,” he stated calmly, though you detected a hint of concern in his voice.

“Yeah, sorry. I had to finish some documents,” you replied, feeling a pang of guilt for worrying him.

Setting his book down, he stood up, his expression composed but his concern evident. "You should have called," he said, walking over to you with steady, pragmatic concern.

"I know, but I didn’t want to bother you,” you admitted.

He sighed softly, a rare show of emotion. "It's never a bother when it’s about you," he said, gently touching your arm. "Are you okay?"

“I’m fine, just tired,” you assured him with a small smile.

“Good,” he nodded, his stoicism softening as he looked at you. "But next time, just let me know."

Nodding, you felt warmth in your chest at his words. Despite his reserved nature, you knew he cared deeply. “I promise.”

He gave a slight, approving nod before stepping back. "Alright, let’s get you to bed. You need rest."

𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐥

"Well, well, look who finally decided to show up," Rafayel quipped, his tone dripping with playful sarcasm as you walked in.

You sighed, closing the door behind you. "I had a job, Rafayel. It took longer than expected."

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really? And here I thought you were out having fun without me."

Rolling your eyes, you knew he was just trying to get a rise out of you. "Seriously, Rafayel, it was work."

He stood up, sauntering over to you with that roguish charm that never failed to make your heart skip a beat.

"You could have at least called, you know. I was starting to think you found someone more interesting than me," he said, a mock pout on his lips.

"You know that’s not true," you replied, a small smile tugging at your lips despite your tiredness.

He stopped in front of you, his playful demeanor softening just a bit. "Yeah, yeah. Just don’t make a habit of it," he said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "I might start to get jealous."

Laughing softly, you felt the tension of the day melt away. "I’ll keep that in mind."

"Good," he said, leaning in closer. "Now, how about a proper welcome home kiss?"

You obliged, pressing a kiss to his cheek. His teasing nature might annoy and drive you crazy sometimes, but beneath it all, you knew he cared deeply for you.

As you pulled away, he smirked. "See? Was that so hard?"

Shaking your head, amused, you replied, "You're impossible."

"But you love me anyway," he retorted, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Yes, I do," you admitted, sighing softly in defeat at his annoyingly-childish charm.

𝐒𝐲𝐥𝐮𝐬

"Out late, aren’t we, sweetie?" Sylus remarked coolly, his tone controlled.

The lights were still on, and he was sitting in a sleek armchair, a glass of whiskey in hand, looking completely unbothered.

“Nice to see you too, Sylus,” you said, setting your bag down and rolling your eyes. "The job just took longer than expected."

Standing up, he walked over to you with that confident, almost intimidating grace he always had. "You could have called," he said.

"And miss out on your reaction? Where's the fun in that?" you replied, a playful glint in your eyes.

He chuckled, almost a scoff of amusement, clearly enjoying the banter. "Fair enough. But next time, try not to keep me waiting."

"Impatient and bossy?" you teased, crossing your arms.

He smirked, his eyes glinting with amusement and something more intense. "Assertive, more like." He said, tilting your chin up. "Did you at least have a productive night?"

"It was fine. Just a lot of work," you said, trying to ignore the way your heart raced under his gaze.

"Good," he replied, his thumb brushing against your cheek. "I expect nothing less from you."

Raising an eyebrow, you didn’t back down. "And I expect nothing less than a proper welcome home from my significant other."

He laughed, a deep raspy tone. "Demanding, aren’t we? But I suppose you’ve earned it."

Leaning in, he kissed you in the forehead, a mix of possessiveness and affection in the gesture. When he pulled back, his eyes still twinkled with that ever-present dominance.

"If you keep coming home this late, I might have to start tagging along on these jobs of yours," he said lightly, but with underlying seriousness.

"Like you’d ever leave Onychinus for a night," you retorted, grinning knowing he’d never leave it to the twins.

"True," he conceded. "But for you, I might make an exception."

·❆　　　❆　❅　　　　•　　　　.　　　　　❆❆• 　·　.　　　❅

𝐴𝑢𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑟'𝑠 𝑁𝑜𝑡𝑒: 𝐼'𝑣𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑓 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑆𝑦𝑙𝑢𝑠 𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑙𝑦, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝐼 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑𝑛'𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑘 𝑜𝑓 𝑎 𝑠𝑜𝑙𝑜 𝑓𝑖𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛. ��𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑡𝑟𝑦 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑛𝑠. 𝐼 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑎 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑠𝑖𝑙𝑣𝑒𝑟/ 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑡𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑔𝑢𝑦𝑠 (𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ ℎ𝑒 𝑖𝑠𝑛'𝑡 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑡𝑒𝑙𝑦 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑡𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑒𝑑) 𝐼 𝑎𝑚 𝑠𝑜 𝑠𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑦, 𝑋𝑎𝑣𝑖𝑒𝑟.

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luminiamore · 4 months ago

Text

my love, mine all mine.

eren yeager x black female reader (bestfriend)

warnings: oral sex, fluffyness, jealous eren, soft sex, eren is kinda a nerd, creampies and a tight grip super soaker

enjoy and happy late valentine’s day!! :))

You were buried in your textbooks at your campus library, the various pages spread out before you. Psychology. An interesting major if you say so yourself. You thought it’d be simple enough: learning about how the human mind works and what makes people tick. It was fascinating, really.

And yet here you were, hunched over on the slightly uncomfortable chair, trying your hardest to remember exactly what your professor meant by “cognitive dissonance” and how it related to human behavior. You could feel your mind starting to wander as you tried to read through this particularly dense section.

Your focus was absolute, trying to absorb as much as you could for your upcoming midterm. The world outside this small corner you had found didn’t exist—just you and your thoughts. The peace and quiet here were comforting. It was rare that you could study without distractions and were determined to take full advantage of it.

You sighed and momentarily leaned back in your chair, the quiet hum of the library your only companion. The chair creaked slightly as you stretched, glancing out the window. Students were scattered everywhere, likely heading to their next class. The soft light from the afternoon sun cast a gentle glow through the glass, and you found a certain beauty in it.

You’re about to head back to your studies when something interrupts you. Someone, actually.

A shadow loomed over your desk, casting a slight imbalance in your peaceful space. A little startled, you looked up to see a tall figure standing beside you. You didn’t need to look too hard to recognize him—Eren—your best friend since grade school.

You blinked, a bit caught off guard. He wore a white wife beater that clung to his frame a little too tight. His jeans looked worn, with traces of dirt hinting at a long work day. A mechanic’s job was never exactly pristine, you guessed. He must’ve just gotten off his shift.

“You studying?” his voice smooth like it always was when he was trying to get your attention.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes softly. “What does it look like?” You gestured to the open textbooks and scattered notes with a slight flush. You mentally, thank God, it wasn’t visible. “Psych is kicking my ass. I’m starting to wonder why I thought this would be easy.”

He leaned against the edge of your table, his arms crossed. His recent gym visits have been seriously paying off, and it’s impossible not to notice. You look away from him and face your laptop, determined not to let him catch you staring. “Maybe you thought you could magically understand the human psyche,” he’s teasing you like he always does.

You shot him a half-smile, unable to resist his charm. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I thought,” sarcasm dripping from your voice. “But I’m pretty sure I’m about to fail the midterm at this rate.”

He stifles a snicker. “Nah, you’re too smart for that.” He pushed himself off the table, walked around to the chair next to you, and sat down casually. “You’ll figure it out. You always do.”

You tried not to let his proximity distract you, but it was hard. Downright impossible. His scent—a mix of motor oil, the fresh air from his work, and something else uniquely him—was all around you now. It was distracting. Stubborn that you are, you brush it off. Doesn’t mean anything. You shifted in your seat, pretending to focus on the words on the screen. Focus.

“So, what exactly is giving you the most trouble?” his gaze never leaving you.

You exhaled deeply, closing your textbook with a slight thud. “Theories of personality,” you said, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration. “I just can’t wrap my head around it. Freud and Jung… are so complicated. Like, how are we supposed to remember all this?”

He gives you an uncommitted hum and starts explaining it to you. Eren had this ability to make anything he said sound convincing, even if it was complete bullshit. You suppose it’s his confidence.

He was close. Too close.

He leaned in when describing Freud, his arm brushing against yours as he pointed at your notes. The warmth of his bare skin sent a shiver down your spine, but you forced yourself to focus on the words he was saying and not the way his voice sounded when he spoke so close to your ear.

His eyes stayed on you even as you stared down at your notes. They were sharp as if he were studying you more than the material before you. He tilted his head slightly, watching the way your lips parted in thought, the way your fingers tapped absently against the notebook as you processed what he had just explained.

He always thought you were beyond beautiful.

“You just need to simplify it,” he interrupts his own thoughts from going further.

He never hesitated to break the invisible barriers most people respected. You had never minded before. At least, you told yourself you didn’t.

When he finally finished his explanation, you blinked at him, momentarily caught off guard by how easily he made it all make sense. For a second, you forgot how smart he was.

“Okay, that helps,” you murmured, scribbling down his words before they slipped from your mind. You could still feel his gaze on you, but you kept your focus trained on the paper in front of you, trying to ignore how your fingers suddenly felt clumsier holding the pen. “I forget you have an almost 4.0.”

Eren leaned back, stretching lazily, the movement drawing your attention to the way his muscles flexed beneath his shirt. What is wrong with you today? He simply shrugged, “I’m just that good.”

That twinkle in his eyes—that mischievous glint he always had after saying something cocky—made your stomach flip in a way that annoyed you. You were used to it, used to him, but lately, it felt different. Lately, you were noticing too much.

His voice softened just a little as he added, “But, seriously, you’re gonna ace this thing. I believe in you.”

You forced yourself to roll your eyes, but the small, grateful smile you gave him betrayed you.

“Thanks, Ren,” you said quietly, tapping your pen against your notebook, something you picked up as a nervous habit. You cleared your throat, needing to shake the feeling away. “I trust you or whatever.”

“Good,” he replied instantly, watching you a beat longer than necessary. “But if you fail, I’ll take the blame.”

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “Sure. I’ll blame the nigga who cheated his way through high school but somehow knows more about psychology than I do.”

His smirk widened, and instead of arguing, he gave you a wide smile, looking way too pleased with himself.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ ᡣ𐭩 ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ ᡣ𐭩

The library had started to empty out after a few hours, the quiet hum of students packing up their things filling the space around you. You sighed, stretching your arms over your head as you finally closed your textbook. “I think that’s enough psych for one night,” you muttered, rubbing your eyes.

Eren, who had been scrolling through his phone while waiting for you to finish, pushed off the table with a lazy grin. “Took you long enough.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue, stuffing your belongings into the LV monochrome bag Eren had gotten you for your birthday last year. He sees it as a way of staking his claim on you. He fell into step beside you effortlessly as you walked out of the library, the cool evening air from the hallway AC brushing against your skin.

“You actually gonna remember any of that next week?” he asked, nudging your shoulder.

You huffed. “I’d like to think so.”

He snorted, shaking his head, but before he could get another jab in, a voice called out your name from just ahead.

You both turned in unison.

A guy. From your psych class—tall, almost matching Eren’s height, though not quite—was making his way toward you. His curls were neat, framing his face in a way that made him look effortlessly put together. His skin was fair, and his smile was easy and friendly.

He was dressed in a fitted long-sleeve shirt, the fabric clinging just enough to suggest he worked out but not in a way that screamed it. The sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, revealing forearms that were toned. It was paired with gray sweats. He was cute.

His hands were shoved into his pockets, his stride unhurried as he approached, like he had all the time in the world. His gaze flickered between you and Eren briefly before settling on you, his smile widening just a touch as he finally spoke.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt, but I just wanted to catch you before you left.”

You blinked in surprise, vaguely recognizing him in lectures from a few rows ahead of you. He was one of those students who always had the answer, constantly engaged in class discussions. A teacher’s pet almost. You never really talked outside of the occasional group work.

Your best friend shifted beside you. His arms remained loosely crossed over his chest, but there was a new stiffness in his stance, as if he was suddenly more aware of his own posture. His weight shifted slightly from one foot to the other, his jaw ticking just the slightest bit. You didn’t think much of it at first—Eren was always fidgeting in some way.

You tilted your head slightly, blinking up at the guy. “Oh—what’s up?”

He hesitated just a second as if gathering the nerve, before rubbing the back of his neck with a small, almost sheepish smile. “I, uh… I’ve seen you in class a lot, and, well… I was wondering if you’d wanna grab coffee sometime? Maybe this Saturday?”

There was a beat of silence.

Your brain took longer than usual to process what he said. It wasn’t like people never asked you out, but something about this moment—maybe the unexpectedness of it, maybe the presence of Eren beside you—had you hesitating.

Your best friend, however, didn’t hesitate at all.

You felt the way his jaw tightened, just a tiny twitch, but you noticed it because you always notice things about him. His stance changed, going from casually relaxed to something more grounded, like he was unconsciously bracing himself. Learning Psychology does pay off in some cases.

His voice, when it came, was firm.

“Sorry, we have plans that day. Don’t we, (꣑ৎ)?”

Your eyes flickered toward Eren, surprise flashing across your face, but he didn’t look at you. His gaze remained locked on the guy in front of you, his expression is unreadable. His green eyes, usually lazy and half-lidded with amusement, were hardened now in a way that sent a clear message. She’s unavailable.

It seems the guy wasn’t so easily deterred. He hesitated only for a second before his strained smile returned, a little tighter than before. “Oh. Sunday, then?”

His voice was lighter, forcedly casual—like he was only picking up on the tension in the air.

You barely had time to open your mouth, to form even the beginning of a response, before Eren spoke for you. Again. Are you just invisible?

“No can do,” his tone leaving no room for argument. “She has a midterm coming up that she needs to study for.” His head tilted slightly, almost like he was appraising the guy in front of him, before adding, “Speaking of, you should be catching up on that too, right?”

The question wasn’t really a question, that much you knew.

The guy stood there, blinking, an almost shocked look on his face, as if he wasn’t quite sure what to say. His mouth opened slightly before closing again, and for the first time since approaching you, he seemed genuinely unsure of himself.

Eren, more than satisfied with that reaction, barely gave him another second to recover before turning toward you. “We’ll be leaving now,” he said simply.

And just like that, he placed a hand against the small of your back, steering you down the hallway without so much as another glance at the guy he had just dismissed. You walked in silence, your mind racing, but you held your tongue, deciding to wait until you reached your dorm room before you interrogated him on whatever the hell just happened.

The soft click of your shoes echoed in the otherwise quiet hallway. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off, that Eren had done more than step in to save you from a potentially awkward situation. The way he responded, the way he shut it all down before you even had a chance to speak—it wasn’t the usual playful teasing that he was known for.

As you reached the door to your dorm, you couldn’t hold back anymore. You turned to face him, narrowing your eyes. “Okay, what the fuck was that?” you asked, crossing your arms.

Eren didn’t even flinch. His posture was relaxed as if he already knew you were going to challenge him, as if he was waiting for it. He didn’t even look at you when he spoke. “What are you talking about?”

You raised an eyebrow, the frustration in you bubbling to the surface. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. You practically scared him off and answered for me like I couldn’t say no myself.”

Eren pushed himself off the doorframe right then, he didn’t wait for you to catch up—he just walked into your room, leaving the door hanging open. “I just did what needed to be done,” he shrugged.

His back was still to you, and you couldn’t entirely ignore the way his long, dark hair—extensions, you’d noticed before—swung just below his shoulders as he moved. He always looks so pretty with his hair down.

You followed him inside, refusing to let go of the subject.

“What needed to be done? Are you serious? Eren, you shut the guy down before he could even finish his sentence. I barely had a chance to say anything.” You stopped in the doorway, trying to keep your voice steady before you slammed the door shut.

Eren turned to face you, a grin slowly spreading across his face, like he found it all amusing. His eyes got slightly hooded as he eyed you up and down. The outfit you wore left little to the imagination, and all he could think about was.. How could he let anyone else have you?

“Why are you upset? He was making you uncomfortable. It’s my job to step in when that happens.” His gaze flickered over to your face once more, almost like he was daring you to argue.

Before you could respond, he adds, “Unless… you wanted to go out with him?”

You scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief, dropping you bag on the nearby desk before turning back to face him, “I wouldn’t even know, cause once again, you didn’t even give me a chance to respond!”

He groaned, the sound almost exaggerated. His eyes rolled dramatically, like he was irked that you weren’t just agreeing with him. “Oh please, girl. He wasn’t even taller than me. He looks scrawny as fuck. He looks like a pussy. You deserve someone better than that.” He practically waved the whole thing off with a flick of his hand.

You stared at him for a moment, caught off guard by the bluntness of his words.

“And what? That someone is you?” The words slipped out before you could stop them, and you instantly regretted how it sounded—like you were baiting him.

Eren stepped closer to where you were standing, closing the space between you. His body was warm, his scent—it was clouding you as he looked down at you. There was a beat of silence.

His response comes out slow, “Could be,”

Your breath hitches, almost caught in your throat. You mind can’t understand what is happening, it never can when Eren is this close to you. His eyes are dark, more intense than they’d been a moment ago. Your pulse quickens, and you couldn��t stop yourself from looking down at his lips for a split second before snapping your gaze back up to his eyes. With the way your mouth opens and closes repeated, it was clear you didn’t know what to say.

“What’s the matter, baby?” Eren’s voice was barely a whisper now, his breath warm against your lips, his hand tentatively grasping your waist.

“Nothing,” you manage to whisper, your voice coming out shaky, unsure if you even believe your own words.

Eren’s lips twitch upward at your lie, you’re so cute sometimes. You’re fucking gorgeous all the time. His grip gets slightly tighter when he feels you don’t push away. You can’t stop yourself from leaning into his touch, from leaning into how the heat in your chest turns into something that pools low in your stomach.

“You’re lying,” he murmurs, voice rougher now. His thumb traces mindlessly circles on your skin, and you find yourself losing all self-control.

Your heart is racing, but it’s not from fear. Far from it. It’s from the way he’s making you feel alive in a way that only he could do. You can feel the uncomfortable stickiness pooling underneath your skirt.

His other hand moves up, cupping your chin gently but firmly, tilting your face upward to meet his gaze. There’s no mistaking the way his eyes flicker down to your lips again, and there’s a certain hunger in them.

His voice carries that commanding tone you’ve always known too well. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, his thumb gently grazing your bottom lip, making you inhale sharply. “Lemme help you get the words out. That okay?”

And when he does lean in, it’s not like anything you ever felt before. His lips brush against yours gently at first, being the tease that he is. Then, without warning, he deepens the kiss, his other hand coming up to slide into your neatly done butterfly locs, gripping it just enough to tilt your head back slightly.

You’re desperate, and your best friend knows it—the way your fingers clutch at the thin fabric of his shirt, practically begging. He pulls away just long enough to yank it over his head. The string of spit still barely connecting you makes something dark flicker in his eyes, his restraint snapping completely. The next kiss he goes in for is more forceful.

You try to push eren back, just a little, but he barely budges—barely even lets you catch your breath. The taste of him is overwhelming, as you manage to get the words out between shallow breaths. “Ren, Are you—Are you sure about this?”

“Never been more sure about anything in my life.” He moves fast, tugging the strings of your white top, pushing it down until it slips from your shoulders, falling to the floor. His lips stay on yours, the sweet taste of your strawberry lip gloss making him crave more. He feels like he might cum, just from kissing you—embarrassing as that is.

You’re the one more concerned, your voice faltering, “But what—Ah! I don’t want to ruin our friend…ship.”

His lips wander further down. Pressing feather-light kisses to the crook of your shoulders before he moves back up to where your sweet spot is. He doesn’t hesitate to harshly grip your beautiful breasts, pulling at both of your brown nipples the best he can while his mouth and brain are preoccupied. The moan you let out is sinful, staggering, really, as you find your brain getting more hazy with each move he makes.

You think he hasn’t heard you when he doesn’t answer right away. Eren gently pushes you back, guiding you to the chair by your desk. He makes you sit with a firm hand and then drops to his knees in front of you, his gaze intense as he speaks again, “You really wanna stay just friends after this?”

He sucks at the skin of your soft thighs as his hands work to slip your boots off. Your eyes widen when he unbuttons your shorts, prompting you to slightly lift up to make it easier for him to slide it off of you. Before you can answer his previous questions, he’s interrupting you, “No bra or panties? Were you expecting this to happen (꣑ৎ)?”

You release a pathetic whimper when he moves closer to your sopping core, taking a deep inhale like he’s trying to commit your scent to his memory forever. You shake your head at his accusation, but it’s clear he doesn’t believe you when he takes two of his thick fingers to spread you open, revealing your tiny clit barely hidden behind its hood.

“You’re making a mess, baby. You need my help to clean it up?”

He needs to shut up. His words, his voice, do nothing but make you wetter. Eren slowly starts rubbing your clit, barely applying enough pressure to give you the stimulate you need and it’s starting to get you frustrated. “Answer Ren, baby. Do you need my help?”

You let out a cute squeal when he blows on your mound, and you’re too depraved to do anything but listen. “Yes! Yes, please help me!”

And nothing if not devoted to you, he listens. Eren places a wet, open-mouth kiss on your twitching pearl. He’s slow with his movements, savoring the honey-like taste of you that’s just pouring into his awaiting mouth. He moves his tongue in slow circles, up and down, drinking the juice coming from your slit.

You’re struggling to breathe, the pressure that’s building up all too quickly is too overwhelming. He’s not just eating you out. Eren is making love to your sweet pussy. It’s breaking you apart.

His ministrations on your dripping sap continue for a minute before he gets impatient and slips one long finger inside of you. And God, you’re tight. Gripping onto his finger so firmly, it’s almost like you never want him to leave. He begins pushing them in and out slowly.

You breathe out, “Eren! Oh my- Goddd.”

The squelches your pussy was singing become louder and more obscene. Your best friend considers that as his starting point to add another finger that is equally big and long. They both curl up to reach your G-spot instantly. The minute he found it, he just didn’t let up. Despite his slow pace, he continues to abuse your sensitive area. You’re gonna cum.

“Are you gonna cum? All over my ‘pretty’ face?” He’s throwing your own words right back at you. You were never shy about telling Eren how good he looked, and maybe that’s exactly how you ended up here.

You’re quick to nod, unable to keep silent as broken moans escape from your mouth, “M’gonna c-cum! Right there- Oh!”

How quickly your release hits you is unexpected. You gush. Streams of squirt land all over Eren’s fingers, and his face even lands on his hair, leaving it a bit damp. He gazes in astonishment as your eyes roll in the back of your head during your dramatic convulsions, and he groans into your essence. He looks down to look at the mess you made and— Oh. You creamed, too.

Fuck. He loves it. He loves that he’s the only one who can make you do that. He loves you. He also realizes that he needs to be inside you. Now.

The movements he makes, from removing you from the chair to your single bed, are hazy. You’re not sure how you got there; your brain is still trying to process the most intense, body-curling orgasm you’ve ever had in your life. But you’re quick to feel something wide and heavy pressing at your still-gushing entrance.

“M’gonna put it in now, kay?” Eren figures giving you a warning is the least he could do before rearranging your guts and mushing your insides.

You beg him to fuck you already by whining and grinding on his leaking tip. After laughing at the sight, he leans in to give you a deep kiss. You’re gasping and mewling in his mouth as you finally feel him push in.

He’s gasping in your mouth. Feeling his mind starting to scramble at the feeling of suffocating cunt. God, you’re perfect. “Is it- Is it in yet?”

He snickers. God, you’re just so cute. “No, baby. Not even halfway.”

You’re whimpering, hiccuping as small tears start to pool in your lower lash line. You’re clenching around him so tightly, and the more he pushes in, he is trying his best not to cum so quickly. He decides to plunge the rest of his eight inches in one go. Fuck you’re so loud, sputtering and wailing at the feeling of being so.. Full. You’re so full.

“Move- Move, please. Oh my-”

You don’t have to tell him twice. He steadily drags his cock away from your cervix, pulling out all the way before he pushes back inside again, hard. He repeats this. Once, twice, thrice more, and God, you “Can’t take it-it.”

He shushes your whines, kissing the tears falling down your cheeks, reaffirming you, “Of course you can, baby. I’ll even help you, yeah?”

His attentiveness is entirely too much. You’re babbling when his hand reaches in between you both to rub your swollen clit in rapid circles. A complete contrast to his way of fucking you.

The pressure in your lower abdomen is building at such a fast speed. Every harsh thrust against your cervix is painful like he’s trying to prove a point. But it feels oh so good.

“You feel so fucking good. I want you to cum, baby. Make a mess, just like you did on my face. Can you do that for me?”

You’re nodding and spluttering incoherently about how you can, how you will. You’d do anything for him. Both of your holes are releasing the most beautiful sounds. Eren presses a messy kiss onto your plump lips without waiting for you to respond, causing drool to escape from both of you. The sheets below you are feelable because of your wetness.

With a few more strokes, your body convulses once more. This time, your best friend has an up-close view of how beautiful you look in your most vulnerable state. Your orgasm gets even stronger when you feel Eren whimper against your lips and his own release, caused by the feeling of your spraying all over him.

His thrusts don’t change its pace as he stuffs you full of his seed. Your eyes look dazed, your makeup slightly ruined, and your lip combo nowhere to be found. He still can’t help but think you look just as gorgeous. He places one final peck on your lips before he speaks once more,

“I’m taking you out on a date this Saturday.”

Guess he wasn’t kidding when he said you two had plans that day.

🏷️: @keraawrites

#eren yeager smut #eren jeager #eren jeager x reader #eren x you #aot eren #eren smut #eren #eren aot #eren x reader #eren yeager #eren jaeger #eren yeager x black reader #eren x black fem!reader #eren yeager x reader smut #eren yeager fluff #eren yeager x black reader smut #aot smut #aot fluff

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gf2bellamy · 3 months ago

Note

hihi :p

i was wondering if you could write at halloween, reader accidentally matches with spencer with a costume that they made!

cant wait to see what you do <33

-🦔

costume — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: nothing a/n: hii 🦔 !! love this idea <3 also i fight the urge to mention john steinbeck in every fic but this time i didn't fight it ( also i found this in my drafts so sorry for posting this so late </3 )

Garcia had made it very clear: no one was allowed to show up to her party without a costume. And Spencer wasn’t about to miss out on those mini quiches and fancy pastries, even if the idea of sitting at home watching his favorite halloween movies sounded tempting.

So, he’d complied.

He was dressed as a knight. Not an elegant, shining armor knight from medieval legends, but more like a knight who had taken a few shortcuts—just enough to make it work.

He wore a simple grey tunic, a belt with a fake sword slung around his waist, and a pair of metallic shoulder pieces that looked like something you'd find at a costume shop.

It wasn’t much, but it was something.

When he arrived at Garcia’s apartment, the door swung open to reveal the tech analyst herself, in a cat costume complete with ears, a tail, and whiskers drawn on her face.

Her eyes lit up as she took in Spencer’s outfit, but then she tilted her head, a mischievous grin spreading across her lips.

“Well, well, well,” she said, her voice dripping with playful sarcasm. “Look who decided to show up! But, uh… where’s your Juliet, Romeo?”

Spencer blinked, momentarily thrown off by the question, as he stepped into her living room. “I’m… not Romeo,” he replied, his voice soft and slightly confused. “I’m a knight. You know, from King Arthur’s court? Chivalry, quests, the Round Table…?”

Garcia raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. She gestured dramatically at his outfit. “Sweetcheeks, you’re giving me major Romeo and Juliet vibes. Like, all you’re missing is the tights and a feather in your cap. Admit it—you’re Romeo.”

Spencer frowned, his mind racing. “No, I’m not. I’m a knight. Knights and Romeo are from completely different time periods and literary traditions. Knights are medieval, whereas Romeo is a Renaissance-era character from Shakespeare’s—”

Garcia cut him off with a wave of her hand, laughing. “Okay, okay, Professor Reid, I get it. You’re a knight. But seriously, you’re totally giving off tragic romantic hero energy right now. It’s kind of adorable.”

Spencer stared at her, his brow furrowing in confusion. “But I’m a knight, not Romeo,” he insisted, his voice tinged with a hint of exasperation, the plastic sword at his side wobbling slightly. “Knights and Romeo are from entirely different contexts. One is a —”

“You know,” Garcia interrupted him, holding her hand up , her cat ears twitching as she tilted her head. “You can’t have a Romeo without a Juliet. It’s like, basic literary law. It’s science. Or… literature. Whatever. You get it.”

Spencer opened his mouth to protest further, but before he could say anything, the doorbell rang.

Garcia’s eyes lit up, and she shot Spencer a look. “Hold that thought, boygenius,” she said, wagging a finger at him before skipping over to the door.

When Garcia opened the door, her smile widened into a full-blown grin. “Look who decided to grace us with her heavenly presence!”she cheered, her voice dripping with excitement.

There you were, standing in the hallway in your angel costume. The white fabric of your dress shimmered softly under the light, and the delicate wings on your back seemed almost ethereal. You smiled warmly at Garcia, who immediately clapped her hands together in delight.

Spencer, who had been lingering by the snack table, froze mid-bite of a mini quiche. His eyes widened as he took in your costume, and for a moment, he forgot how to breathe.

Garcia, ever the matchmaker, seized the opportunity. “Reid!” she called out, her voice loud enough to draw the attention of the entire room. “We’ve got your Juliet!”

Spencer’s face flushed a deep shade of red, and he nearly dropped his plate. “I’m not—” he started, but Garcia cut him off with a dramatic wave of her hand.

“Oh, hush, Romeo. Look at you two! You’re practically a matching set. Knight in shining armor and his angelic muse. It’s like… destiny or something. Very poetic. Very romantic.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at Garcia’s theatrics, though your cheeks warmed at the implication. Spencer, meanwhile, looked like he was trying to decide whether to argue further or simply disappear into the floor.

He settled on awkwardly adjusting the plastic sword at his side, his eyes darting between you and Garcia.

“I, uh… I’m not sure angels and knights are historically accurate pairings,” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. “I mean, angels are celestial beings, and knights are, well, terrestrial. It’s not exactly a common literary trope.”

Garcia groaned, throwing her hands up in mock exasperation. “Reid, honey, it’s a costume party, not a history lecture. Just go with it, okay? You two look adorable together, and that’s all that matters.”

You stepped forward, your wings brushing lightly against the air as you moved. “I think it’s kind of fitting,” you said, your voice warm and teasing. “A knight sworn to protect, and an angel sent to guide.”

Spencer’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, the noise of the party faded into the background.

He felt a strange flutter in his chest. “I… suppose you could look at it that way,” he admitted, his lips curving into a shy smile.

Garcia clapped her hands together, clearly delighted by the turn of events. “That’s the spirit! Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go make sure Morgan hasn’t eaten all the guacamole. You two… mingle. Or whatever.” She winked before disappearing into the kitchen, leaving the two of you standing there.

You glanced at Spencer as you tilted your head. “So… a knight, huh?”

He nodded, his fingers nervously fiddling with the hilt of his plastic sword. “Yeah. I, uh… I’ve been reading The Acts of King Arthur and His Noble Knights. It’s by John Steinbeck. It’s not his most famous work, but i like it.”

You chuckled softly, stepping a little closer, noticing how flustered he looked. “Well, I think you make a very dashing knight,” you said gently, trying to ease his nerves.

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly, his mouth opening as if he had something to say, but then it quickly shut again, a nervous laugh escaping his lips instead. His cheeks were now definitely flushed, and his fingers fidgeted with the edge of his costume’s sleeve, avoiding your gaze for a brief moment before he finally looked up at you.

Maybe being Romeo wasn’t so bad after all.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds x you #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fic #🦔 anon

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zweigsangel · 7 months ago

Text

it started with the faint buzz of your phone on the nightstand, vibrating so persistently it startled you out of half-sleep. you grabbed it, squinting at the screen to see chris's name flashing. it wasn’t unusual for him to call, but at nearly two in the morning? that wasn’t normal.

“what the hell do you want?” you answered, voice raspy from sleep. “yo,” he slurred, dragging the word out. his voice sounded distant, like it was fighting through static and something else.

you sat up, rubbing your face. “are you drunk?”

“nah,” he said, then paused. “well, kinda. not drunk. high. like, really fuckin’ high.” there was another pause. then he laughed softly. “sorry, is that rude? don’t know why i’m apologizin’. i just—fuck, nevermind.“

“what’s up? you woke me up, dumbass.” but your irritation was mostly for show, your tone softening.

chris and you had always been like this—banter that felt like a second language, jokes that only the two of you got. you’d been friends for years, meeting in high school when he’d transferred to your school halfway through junior year. he was scruffy, cocky, and way too confident for his own good. but beneath that? he was sweet in ways he didn’t let many people see.

you leaned back against the headboard, adjusting to the idea that you weren’t getting back to sleep anytime soon.

“just..missed your voice, i think.” he said it so simply, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

your stomach did that annoying little flip at his words, and you cursed it silently. there’d always been something unspoken between you two. maybe it was the way he sometimes looked at you like you were the only person in the room. or the way his hand would linger on your back when you hugged goodbye. but you’d both avoided it, burying it under layers of sarcasm and jokes.

“you’re so full of shit,” you said, rolling your eyes even though he couldn’t see you. “nah, swear to god,” he said, voice still soft but with a hint of that teasing edge he always had. “can i-can i come over?”

“chris, it’s the middle of the night—”

“i know, i know. but i just... i really wanna see you. please.”

something in his voice made your chest ache a little. “fine. but if you wake my neighbors, i’m kicking your ass.”

“promise. be there in ten.”

ten minutes later, there was a soft knock at your door. you opened it to find him standing there, hoodie pulled over his head. his hair was a mess, and his eyes were glassy, but he grinned when he saw you.

“you look cute,” he said, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.

“shut up,” you said, shutting the door behind him. you were just in an oversized t-shirt and shorts, and you felt a little self-conscious under his gaze.

he flopped onto your couch, stretching out like he owned the place you grabbed a bottle of water from the kitchen and tossed it at him. “drink that. you look like shit,” you said, sitting down next to him. he smelled faintly like weed and the cheap cologne he always wore, and it made your chest ache a little in a way you didn’t want to examine too closely.

“thanks, babe. love the support.” but he opened the bottle and took a long sip, sighing afterward.

“so, what’s this all about?” you asked, pulling your legs up beneath you.

he rubbed the back of his neck, looking uncharacteristically unsure. “dunno. just..couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you.”

you laughed, trying to brush it off. “yeah, right. you’re high as shit. you probably couldn’t stop thinking about pizza, too.”

“nah, i’m serious.” his voice was quieter now, and when you looked at him, his eyes were on you, steady and unflinching. “i mean it. you’re all i’ve been thinkin’ about lately, and it’s been drivin’ me fuckin’ insane.”

your heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might break through your chest. “you’re just saying this because you’re high,” you said weakly, not meeting his eyes.

“bullshit,” he shot back, his voice sharper now. “this isn’t the weed talkin’, alright? this is me. i’ve been feelin’ this way for ages, but i didn’t wanna fuck shit up between us. but, god, it’s killin’ me,” he paused for a moment. “but tonight i was sittin’ at home, high as fuck, and i just couldn’t stop thinking about you. like, your stupid laugh, and the way you always steal my fries even when you say you’re not hungry, and how you—fuck, this is so embarrassing.”

you stared at him, your mouth slightly open but no words coming out.

he looked up at you, his eyes serious now. “i think i’m in love with you. no, fuck that, i know i’m in love with you. and i don’t know what to do about it, ‘cause i don’t wanna lose you, but i also can’t keep pretendin’ i don’t feel this way.”

you felt like the air had been knocked out of you. you sat there, stunned, your brain scrambling to process what he’d just said.

“say something,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “please.”

you swallowed hard, your mind spinning, and he laughed bitterly. “shit, i knew this was a bad idea,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “forget i said anything, alright? just—fuck. i’m sorry.”

he started to get up, but you grabbed his wrist before you even realized what you were doing. “wait.”

he froze, looking down at you, and you swallowed hard. “you’re not..wrong,” you admitted quietly.

his eyebrows pulled together. “what do you mean?”

you hesitated, but only because you were scared. scared of what this could mean, of how things might change. but then you thought about all the little moments over the years—his hand brushing against yours, the way his smile could light up your worst days, the way he always knew exactly how to make you laugh.

“i mean—i think about you, too,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “but i didn’t wanna ruin anything, either.”

for a moment, he just stared at you, like he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. then, slowly, he sat back down. “yeah?” he asked, his voice softer now.

“yeah,” you said, meeting his eyes.

his eyes widened, and for a moment, he just stared at you like he couldn’t believe what he’d heard.

then he did move, leaning in just a little, his gaze flicking to your lips. “can i kiss you?” he asked, his voice low and a little raspy. your breath caught, but you nodded. “yeah.”

and then his lips were on yours, soft and warm and a little hesitant at first, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to want this as much as he did. but when you kissed him back, threading your fingers through his hair, he deepened the kiss, his hands coming up to cup your face like he was afraid you might disappear if he didn’t hold on tight enough.

it wasn’t perfect—his nose bumped yours, and you could taste the faint tang of weed on his lips—but it didn’t matter. it was warm and messy and real, and it made your heart feel like it was about to burst.

when he pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, he was smiling—this soft, almost disbelieving smile that made your chest ache in the best way.

“fuck,” he whispered. “that was..better than i imagined.” you laughed softly, your cheeks burning. “you’ve imagined this?”

“yeah,” he admitted, his smile turning sheepish. “a lot, actually.”

you rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop smiling. “you’re such an idiot.”

“your idiot,” he said, grinning.

you groaned, shoving him lightly, but he just laughed, pulling you into his arms. and for the first time, it felt like everything was exactly as it should be.

#sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #sturniolo #sturniolos #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturiolo fanfic #chris sturniolo oneshot #chris sturniolo blurb #chris sturniolo fluff

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